BEWARE YOUR NEIGHBOUR

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HALLOWS GREEN was a backwater in the busy city of Barncaster. As the name implied, the site had no doubt been once common land on the outskirts of the city. But now the name applied to a street bordered by fair-sized, comfortable detached houses, each standing in a comparatively extensive garden, shaded by trees.

These houses, of which there were ten, were not named but numbered. The numbering was peculiar, and, to, a stranger, slightly confusing. On the north side of Hallows Green, the numbers ran from one in the east to five at the west. Then, on the south side, the numbers ran back again, from six at the west to ten at the east. So that, for instance, number 3 on the north was opposite to number 8 on the south. The houses were by no means of uniform pattern, but differed widely in size, appearance, and internal arrangement.

There was little or no through traffic in Hallows Green. Such vehicles as used it had business at one or other of the houses, or were owned by their occupants. It ran between two busy thoroughfares leading out of the city, Paulthorpe Road on the east, and Otterford Road on the west. Along both these, traffic rumbled unceasingly, with buses to and from all parts of the city at regular intervals. But, to the dwellers in Hallows Green, this rumbling became no more than a background of sound.

No more desirable residential district existed within the city boundaries. It was commonly spoken of as Blokes' Row, or even, by those queer souls to whom any standard of living higher than their own was anathema, as Prigs' Parade. It was also said that all the families who lived in Hallows Green were in some way related, and always at loggerheads. For this legend there was only the flimsiest foundation. It was quite true that two of the families were related and, for reasons of their own, kept away from one another. But of the remaining eight families, none were related, and, for the most part on excellent terms together.

As to priggishness, that insinuation was quite unfounded. Even in the case of Mr. Walter Glandford, retired professor of science, who lived at number 3. His precise and intolerant manner might be aggravating, and might suggest an attitude of conscious superiority on his part. But his friends knew that this was merely superficial. It was simply that throughout his distinguished career he had never learnt to suffer fools gladly. And nobody could level an accusation of priggishness against, for instance, the popular Dr. Jeremy Teesdale, the general practitioner living at number 8, or against Mr. Peter Raynham at number 2, whose firm, Raynham and Raynham, were the most respected solicitors in Barncaster.

Nor was there any ground for the suggestion that the dwellers in Hallows Green tended to form themselves into an exclusive community. Most of them had friends in other parts of the city, whom they visited, and who visited them. Dr. Teesdale saw private patients at number 8, but the greater part of his work was done at his surgery in Market Row. Similarly, Mr. Raynham spent most of his time at his firm's office in Upper Close. Admiral Sir Hector Sapperton, K.C.B., retired to number 7 after brilliant service, was a popular member of the Barnshire County Club. Miss Florence Wayland, of number 4, was the daughter of a prominent manufacturer in the city, who at his death had left her very well off. She was middle-aged and energetic, and busied herself with a dozen welfare societies. Mr. Charles Vawtrey, of number 9, had retired from the Colonial service. His hobby was photography, and he now and then held exhibitions of his work at the city art gallery. At number 6, lived Mr. Claude Dodworthy, the manager of the Barncaster branch of the Metropolitan Bank, whose imposing premises dominated Regency Square.

Of the remaining three houses, number 1 was somehow apart, and hardly seemed to belong to Hallows Green. Its position, at the north-east corner, was in some way responsible for this. It was more nearly hidden by trees than the rest, and though it had an entrance on Hallows Green, this seemed to be rarely used. The other entrance upon Paulthorpe Road was no more than a gateway in a high wall. But through this, for the most part during the hours of darkness, trickled a stream of mysterious visitors, male and female. It was popularly supposed that number 1 was the temple of some strange cult, of which the occupants, Mr. Hopton Egremont and his wife Rachel, were respectively Prophet and Prophetess. The Admiral, in his breezy way, always spoke of them as Deborah and Barak. The Prophet was rarely to be seen but the Prophetess, hatless but wearing flowing robes and sandals, was more familiar to the conductors of buses on the routes passing along Paulthorpe Road.

The two related families lived one at number 5 and the other at number 10. It was symbolical of their mutual antagonism that these two houses should be at opposite ends of Hallows Green. And also convenient, for it obviated all chance of inadvertent meeting. If any member of the Lawrence Flamstead household from number 5 had business in the city, he or she would catch a bus at the junction of Hallows Green and Otterford Road. On the other hand, were any of the Barry Flamsteads from number 10 bound on a similar errand, they would obviously use one of the bus routes running along Paulthorpe Road. The two Flamsteads were brothers, Lawrence being the elder by a couple of years, and neither of them had any profession. Owing to the difference between them, their families normally moved in different circles. They avoided meeting one another, but not too ostentatiously. They couldn't help running across one another sometimes, and when they did they were distantly polite.

So much by way of brief introduction to Hallows Green and the families who lived there. It was shortly after Christmas that Mr. Glandford, whose chief ambition was to lead a quiet life, had a strange and to him disturbing, experience. He was a man of sixty, small in stature, with a studious expression enhanced by the powerful glasses without which he was never seen. He had retired from active work, and his main occupation now was writing articles for the scientific journals, and attending meetings of the many learned societies of which he was a member. It may be remarked that he had a long string of letters after his name.

The householder at number 3 consisted of Mr. Walter Glandford, his sister Faith, eight years younger than himself, and Mrs. Trigg, slightly deaf, who had been with them as cook and general household-help for many years. A charwoman, whose identity varied from time to time, was also employed for a few hours daily. Incidentally, the charwomen employed at the various houses in Hallows Green amounted in all to a veritable cohort. Faith Glandford had never married. The reason being, her brother alleged, that she talked so incessantly that she had never given a possible suitor the opportunity to propose.

Mr. Walter Glandford's post was usually fairly voluminous. His normal correspondence was added to by people all over the world who wrote him on scientific subjects. But he refused to deal with his letters till after breakfast. Mrs. Trigg took them in and laid them on his study table. Conversation at breakfast almost invariably consisted of a monologue from Faith. After the meal, Mr. Walter Glandford retired to his study, where he remained in seclusion till lunch time. It was understood that he was not to be disturbed.

Following this habit, he retired to his study on the last Saturday in December. A glance at the table showed him that morning's post was not very formidable. The season accounted for that, no doubt. Christmas always interfered with regular routine, a circumstance that Mr. Glandford found annoying. The study was the largest room in the house, having been designed as the principal living-room. It was one of Faith's grievances that she had had to furnish a much smaller room for the entertainment of her friends. The study was lined with glass-fronted cases, closely packed with scientific works. On every available piece of furniture, books were stacked in apparently hopeless confusion. But Mr. Glandford had his own method, and could always lay his hand on what he wanted.

His first act on entering the room was to consult the standard barometer and set it. Then, having made up the fire, he sat down at the big table that occupied the centre of the room. On it was a narrow-bladed paper knife, and with this he set to work to slit open his correspondence. Two wrappers, containing numbers of scientific periodicals. A volume of transactions of a learned society. Three letters, the origin of which he knew from the handwriting of the addressers. And finally a cheap and flimsy envelope, addressed in sprawling block letters.

As he slit this open he regarded it with mild curiosity. It was of local origin, for the postmark showed that it had been posted in Barncaster on the previous evening. It looked suspiciously like a begging letter. Well, if it was, the writer wouldn't be lucky. Mr. Glandford was no believer in promiscuous alms-giving.

Having slit open the envelopes, he withdrew the contents in rotation. The periodicals and transactions first, to be laid aside for leisurely perusal. Then, one by one, the letters. The first was a grateful acknowledgement for some information he had supplied. The second, a series of notes from a scientist of his acquaintance, engaged upon some research in British Honduras, asking for an opinion on certain observations.

This last letter aroused Mr. Glandford's interest. Before answering it adequately, he would have to look up a few references. He got up, selected half a dozen volumes, and laid them on the table. Then he sat down again and, as he studied the references, made copious notes on a pad of writing paper. As usual, when thus engaged, he lost all sense of time. His last note pencilled, he looked up at the clock. The morning had slipped by and only half an hour remained before lunch. Punctuality was the invariable rule at number 3.

In his concentration he had completely forgotten the unread letter. But now, as he surveyed the table, it intruded itself upon his gaze. With a feeling of distaste he picked it up, and withdrew a folded paper from the envelope. On it was scrawled, in the same rudely-formed block letters as the address, half a dozen words. But those were most extraordinary. Far more so than any begging letter could have been.

Ridiculous, of course. His first impulse was to crumple paper and envelope together and throw them into the waste-paper basket. But he refrained. Ridiculous, yes, but none the less alarming. Mr. Glandford was of rather a nervous disposition. Any hint of menace caused him serious perturbation. Was this a menace or a warning? It wouldn't do to let Faith know about it. She would chatter to all her friends, and he might be made to look absurd in their eyes. More than anything he resented the prospect of being laughed at. In the end he replaced the paper in the envelope and put them both in his pocket.

No doubt, half a century or so ago, most of the dwellers in Hallows Green had boasted a carriage and pair. In the grounds of nearly all the houses was the appropriate stabling, now converted into garages and outhouses. But Mr. Glandford kept no car. For local journeys he was content with a bus, and on the comparatively rare occasions when he went farther afield he hired a car and chauffeur. The coach-house of the stabling at number 3 had been fitted out as a laboratory, equipped with sufficient apparatus to enable him to carry out such simple experiments as his inclination suggested.

During lunch, his sister Faith remarked upon his preoccupation. This he ascribed to the letter he had received from British Honduras. There was so much in it that provided food for thought. This, if uncandid, was perfectly true. One query in particular had aroused Walter Glandford's interest, for it touched upon one of his pet theories. His reply might be expanded into a paper to be read before one of the learned societies. It all depended upon one comparatively small point, which could be determined by a series of not very elaborate experiments.

It was with the intention of preparing these experiments that Glandford, after lunch, betook himself to the laboratory. This necessitated first a visit to the study, to fetch the key, which was kept on a hook inside one of the bookcases. It was a very ordinary key, not of the Yale type, and of quite uncomplicated pattern. The sort of key one would find in any of the locks of interior house doors. A short walk from the house to the old stabling. He put the key in the lock of the laboratory door, but to his astonishment it refused to turn. After one or two ineffectual attempts he tried the handle. The door opened immediately. It hadn't been locked, that was why the key wouldn't turn. He turned the key in the reverse direction. The lock worked perfectly.

He had been working in the laboratory for an hour or so on the previous evening, and he must have neglected to lock the door when he left. So Glandford told himself, without conviction. He had locked the door, he distinctly remembered doing so. Besides, he was a creature of habit. Being accustomed to locking the door, and putting the key in the study, he would in any case have done so automatically. It was unthinkable that any member of the household should have unlocked the door without telling him. In fact, it was more than doubtful that any one but himself knew where the key was to be found.

He entered the laboratory and looked round. He could not perceive that anything had been touched. At all events, nothing seemed to be missing. It was of course impossible to remember the exact position on the bench where everything had stood. Somehow Glandford had the unpleasant feeling that the place had been entered in his absence. Imagination, perhaps, since there was no obvious evidence of this. But the trained scientific mind does not usually indulge in imagination. Almost apprehensively he opened the big cupboard in which he kept his bulkier apparatus. No intruder was there concealed, and everything was where it should be. Glandford started to set up the apparatus for his experiment. But his thoughts were elsewhere, leaping from that most peculiar communication to the unlocked door. Could there be any connection between them? It was really most disturbing. So much so that he knew he would never be able to concentrate upon precise observation. Leaving the apparatus only half assembled, he left the laboratory, carefully locking the door behind him, and returned to the study.

This particular kind of worry was entirely outside his experience, and he felt a fervent desire to consult someone about it. Not Faith, but some much wiser person. Peter Raynham seemed the obvious confidant. As a lawyer, he might be expected to know the proper course to take. But Glandford recoiled from the idea of approaching Raynham. It might seem like seeking free legal advice under the guise of friendship. Besides, Raynham was apt to be scornful, and might laugh at his apprehensions. And that was the last form of reassurance he wanted.

Who, then? Claude Dodworthy, whose sympathy with any one who approached him was well known. A bank manager must have experience of many other matters other than financial. Dodworthy wouldn't laugh at him. He would understand his misgivings and give him sound advice. Dodworthy it should be. But it was no good looking for him just yet. He always played a round of golf on Saturday afternoons.

It was not until after tea that Glandford went out and walked rather hesitatingly to number 6. Mrs. Dodworthy opened the door to him. “Good evening, Mr. Glandford!” she exclaimed in some astonishment. It was unlike Mr. Glandford to call unexpectedly. “Do come in. You haven't brought Faith with you?”

“No,” Glandford replied awkwardly. “I left her at home. I came in the hope of a word with your husband.”

“Why, of course,” said Mrs. Dodworthy.” He's in the lounge; come along.” She led him to the lounge, where Dodworthy was sitting at his ease-reading an evening paper. He was middle-aged, big and broad shouldered, with a pleasant face and kindly expression. “Come in, Glandford!” he exclaimed, cordially. “I'm delighted to see you. You want a word with me, you say? I'm very glad of the opportunity for a chat. Sit down and tell me.”

Mrs. Dodworthy tactfully left the two men together. Glandford cleared his throat nervously. Now that it had come to the point he felt overcome by shyness. “I want your advice, Dodworthy,” he began at last, fumbling in his pocket. “You know far more about the ways of the world than I do. I received a communication this morning which completely baffles me. I wish you'd read it and tell me what I ought to do about it.”

Dodworthy took the envelope which Glandford handed to him. He scanned the postmark, “Barncaster, 6.30 p.in. Dec. 29,” and the ill-formed block letters of the address, “W. Glandford, Esq., F.R.S., 3 Hallows Green, Barncaster.” Then he drew from the envelope the folded paper. This in itself was odd, for it was not writing-paper, but a common telegraph form. But the words penned upon it in block letters were odder still. “Beware! Murder stalks in Hallows Green!”

Dodworthy stared at this remarkable message. “I can understand that this must have upset you,” he said. “But I don't think there's any real cause for alarm. It can't be anything but a practical joke. The absurdly melodramatic wording alone suggests that.”

Glandford nodded. “Yes, I've thought of that. But who would derive any pleasure from playing a joke like that on me?”

“Someone who didn't mean you to find out who he was,” Dodworthy replied. “It was a neat dodge to use a telegraph form, which couldn't possibly be traced. You know what the General Post Office in the Market Place is like, I dare say. There's always a crowd in there, and no given individual would be noticed. All he had to do was to behave like a dozen others. Go to one of the writing desks, take one of the forms to be found there, and write this ridiculous message. Then, instead of taking the form to the counter, he slipped it into an envelope he had brought with him, addressed it, and popped it into the letter-box.”. “Bless me! ” exclaimed Glandford, to whom this simple procedure had not occurred. “But why should he have gone to that trouble? And the letter isn't the only queer thing that's happened. I'm morally certain that someone has been into my laboratory without my knowledge.”

This it seemed to Dodworthy, might be a more serious matter than a foolish hoax. “Broken in, you mean?” he said.

Glandford shook his head. “No, unlocked the door somehow and left it unlocked. It's most extraordinary. There's only one key, and I don't believe that any one but myself knows where it's kept.”

“Is there anything valuable in the laboratory that might attract a thief?” Dodworthy asked.

“I'm not an alchemist,” Glandford replied. “I don't transmute base metals into gold. I wish I could. There's some pretty expensive apparatus there, but it would be of no value to any one but a scientist. A thief would find it very difficult to dispose of. Besides, I haven't been able to discover that anything is missing.”

To Dodworthy the simple explanation seemed to be that Glandford had left the door unlocked himself, but he said nothing of this. He glanced again at the envelope and its address. “The chap who sent this must have known you at least fairly well. He was aware that you were a Fellow of the Royal Society, anyhow. I feel pretty sure he must be some friend of yours, trying to pull your leg.”

This seemed to offend Glandford's dignity. “My friends are not in the habit of indulging in such pastimes. I prefer to believe that this extraordinary communication is intended either as a threat or a warning. And my uneasiness is increased by what I have told you about the laboratory. What ought I to do?”

“You could inform the police, of course,” Dodworthy replied. “But I don't think I should if I were you. They could take no action on what little you could tell them. And I don't think you need regard the message as a threat. Murder, it says. Murderers aren't in the habit of advertising their intentions in advance, you know.”

II

IF MURDER indeed stalked in Hallows Green that week-end, it left no visible trace of its presence. Even Mr. Glandford, once more absorbed in his scientific studies, was lulled into a sense of security. Dodworthy might be right, after all. Profoundly irritating though the thought might be, some impertinent jester had tried to make a fool of him. The dignified attitude was to ignore the matter completely.

The Christmas season and the days following were always a busy period for Miss Florence Wayland. All the associations in which she interested herself held functions of one kind or another, and her attendance at these was of course necessary. Besides this was the harassing business of choosing and dispatching presents, to say nothing of the still more acute problem of putting to use those she received. What, for instance, could one do with the chromium plated fire-guard presented by the Girl Guides? And, of course, there were dozens of letters to answer.

Miss Wayland—very few people called her by her Christian name—was an angular spinster in the late forties, positively bristling with efficiency. She was apt to remind people that method was among the cardinal virtues. Only by being strictly methodical could she possibly get through all the things she had to do herself. She would have been most indignant if any one had suggested that strict method was apt to curdle the milk of human kindness. Human kindness, indeed! Didn't she spend the greater part of her time and the lesser part of her income on Good Works? Nonsense!

The household at number 4 consisted of Miss Wayland and her companion, Helen Brinton, some years younger than herself. The Admiral, with his fatal trick of finding nicknames for everybody, always referred to Miss Brinton as the Poor Relation. His name for Miss Wayland, by the way, was Martha. It was quite true that the two women were distant cousins. When Helen's parents had died. Miss Wayland had offered her the post of companion. Unpaid, of course, for Helen would get her board and lodging, and she had just enough means of her own to provide her with pocket money. In fact, in Miss Wayland's opinion, it was an act of charity on her part to offer Helen so comfortable a home. At number 4 she would live on a scale far superior to anything to which she had been accustomed. Socially, too, it would be of the greatest advantage to her. Helen's father had never risen above a humble clerkship in the City of London.

No resident servants were kept at number 4. It was Miss Wayland's view that two women ought to be able to keep house for themselves, assisted in the rougher tasks by one or two members of the cohort of charwomen. In theory this was excellent, but in practice it bore hardly upon Helen. It fell upon her to do the cooking, the shopping, and most of the domestic work. Miss Wayland never devoted a moment to such mundane matters. How could she? The various meetings she had to attend, and the business they involved, took up every minute of her time. Dr. Teesdale was always telling her that she positively must find more time for absolute rest and quiet.

On Monday, New Year's Day, Miss Wayland breakfasted by herself in solitary state. There was nothing unusual in this, for it had long been the recognised custom at number 4. She liked to come down to breakfast at nine o'clock, and Helen preferred to have hers earlier, with, of course, Miss Wayland's full approval. It gave Helen more time to get on with the housework. She was already acting as housemaid upstairs.

The Christmas rush was practically over, and Miss Wayland observed with relief that the postman had brought her little correspondence. She had more than enough letters to answer already, without being bothered with any more. The only envelope which lay beside her plate was large and square. It bore a penny stamp, and the flap was not stuck, but merely tucked in. The sprawling handwriting of the address was' unfamiliar to her.

Easy enough to guess what the envelope contained without opening it. Someone to whom she had sent a Christmas card bad failed to reciprocate the compliment. He or she-he the handwriting suggested-had striven to repair the omission by sending her a New Year card. A glaring example of forgetfulness due to lack of method. She was always most careful herself to make a list of people to whom cards must be sent, and to keep the list up to date.

Miss Wayland did not feel sufficient curiosity to open the envelope immediately. It could wait until she had finished breakfast, when the card it contained would be put on the marble mantelpiece in the drawing-room, already crowded with Christmas cards of every size and shape. She had a busy morning before her. A conference at St. Oswald's Hall, at eleven, which would almost certainly last till lunch-time. Before then, she must find time to write at least a couple of letters.

Not until she had finished her second cup of coffee did she pick up the envelope; absent-mindedly, for she was frowning at the empty cup, at the bottom of which were some unsightly grounds. She really must tell Helen to strain the coffee more carefully. Then, aware of the envelope in her hand, she slipped out the flap and withdrew the card, for, as she had so rightly guessed, such it was. A good quality card, too, not one of those nasty cheap things some people thought good enough to send. Thick, stiff, deckle-edged paper, folded in two with a bow of blue silk at the fold. On the outside, printed in fanciful gold characters, “New Year Greetings.”

She opened the card, to find that the blue silk bow retained an inner sheet, also folded. This in turn she opened, then with a gasp of horror dropped the card as though it had burnt her fingers. Not for some seconds could she control herself sufficiently to pick it up again. Then with trembling fingers she opened it once more. On the left of the inner sheet was drawn, crudely but with awful realism, a grinning skull. On the right was the conventional printed inscription, “To wish you a very Happy New Year, from —” And after this last word was the name of the sender, written in bold block letters traced in vivid red ink, “Death!”

Shuddering, she folded up the card and put it back in the envelope. The shock had frightened her, there was no denying that. She was not naturally timid, but this was too ghastly. Who could have sent her anything so disgusting? None of her friends, she was quite sure of that. As for the many people she so efficiently befriended, not one of them would venture to do such a thing. It must be someone who had a grudge against her, and had taken this crude step to disturb her peace of mind. But, try as she would. Miss Wayland could think of nobody who could possibly harbour a grudge against her. Her attitude towards everybody was always purely benevolent.

Gradually her alarm subsided, to be replaced by a suspicious indignation. Who would have dared to send her such a card? The handwriting was quite unfamiliar, but then of course it was probably disguised. She picked up the envelope again and tried to decipher the postmark. The impression was blurred, and only the end of a word —“caster” was discernible. Barncaster, surely. Somebody who lived in the City. Even perhaps in Hallows Green?

She was still holding the envelope when the door opened, and Helen, wearing an apron, looked in. She was distressingly plain, but had a pair of shrewd grey eyes whose penetrating glances Miss Wayland sometimes found a trifle uncomfortable. “Have you got everything you want, Florence?” Helen asked.

Miss Wayland laid the envelope on her lap. “You really must be more careful with the coffee, Helen,” she replied irritably. “It was so full of grounds this morning that I could hardly drink it. I shall be going out in an hour's time, and I may be a few minutes late for lunch. I've finished breakfast, you can clear away now.”

She rose and stalked majestically from the room, carrying the envelope with her. On reaching the drawing-room she glanced involuntarily at the mantelpiece, bedecked with cards. This one should certainly not be added to the collection. She unlocked a drawer of her bureau, put the envelope in it and locked it up again. It was typical of Miss Wayland that she kept everything locked, and carried a fat bunch of keys about with her in her handbag. It wasn't really very likely that Helen would interfere with anything. But the charwomen couldn't be trusted. One never knew how inquisitive they might be.

She sat down at the bureau, took up her pen, and resolutely began writing a letter. But she found it impossible to keep her mind from wandering to that dreadful card. The skull seemed to grin at her from the paper on which she was writing and that scarlet word, death, danced before her eyes. She hated the idea of death, it didn't fit in with her scheme of things at all.

Although she would never have admitted it, even to herself, Miss Wayland was at heart superstitious. An omen was to be drawn from the first visitor who crossed the threshold on New Year's Day. Might not this apply also to the first thing that came by post? Was this wretched card an omen that she was to die within the year?

Nonsense! She was allowing herself to become thoroughly upset over a trifle. It could be no more than a malicious joke on the part of somebody. But on whose part? That unpleasant thought which had been interrupted by Helen's entrance. Someone in Hallows Green? Through the window she could see above the trees the chimneys of number 7 across the road. The Admiral loved a joke. But his jokes, though sometimes out of season, were never malicious. He would never have sent her such a thing. Nor, surely, would any of her neighbours.

At half-past ten she got ready and went out. At the gate she turned to the left along Hallows Green, towards Paulthorpe Road, where she could catch a bus that would take her direct to St. Oswald's Hall. She met none of her neighbours until she had nearly reached the corner. Then the gate of number 10 opened, and Barry Flamstead crossed the road towards her. He was a few years younger than herself, a cheerful-looking individual with a rather unceremonious manner. “Hallo, Miss Wayland! ” he exclaimed. “You're looking very serious this morning. On your way into the city on one of your errands of mercy, eh?”

Miss Wayland was glad to see Barry Flamstead. She liked him much better than she did his brother Lawrence, whom she always found a trifle supercilious. “I'm going to a conference at St. Oswald's Hall,” she replied as they walked on together to the bus stop. “The Vicar of All Saints particularly asked me to come, and I promised him I would. It's about raising money for the repairs to the Parish Hall.”

Barry Flamstead laughed. “Don't you dare ask me for a subscription. I'm completely broke after Christmas. In fact, I'm on my way to the bank, to try to squeeze a few pence out of Dodworthy or one of his minions. The children are home from school, and one's got to do one's best to give them a good time. But it's devilishly expensive.”

Miss Wayland was accustomed to hearing him talk like that. Barry Flamstead was always bemoaning the fact that he hadn't a penny to bless himself with. It must be a ridiculous exaggeration, of course. He and his family did themselves remarkably well, and never seemed to deny themselves anything they wanted. Of course, that unfortunate lawsuit must be a drain upon their resources, but that was largely their own fault...

They got on the bus together, and during the journey Barry Flamstead did most of the talking. All about his children, and the fun they were all having together during the holidays. Yes, in reply to Miss Wayland's polite inquiry, Joan his wife, was as fit as she could be. Younger than her brats, she seemed sometimes. Oh, well, they were growing up now, and weren't the infants they used to be. Jerry was taller than his mother.

Barry Flamstead got off the bus at Regency Square, and Miss Wayland went on alone. For a moment, when they met, she had been tempted to tell him why she was looking so serious. But she had thought better of it. He wouldn't have listened, or if he had he wouldn't have spared a thought for it. Barry Flamstead was completely absorbed by his family, and always had been.

Miss Wayland was quite unable to give her full attention to the conference. In fact, when the vicar asked her to express her opinion, she failed for a moment to collect her thoughts. However, she found herself uttering some appropriate words, which were decorously applauded. The proceedings ended inconclusively, as conferences usually do. She caught a bus back to Hallows Green. At one of the intermediate stops it was boarded by Mr. Egremont.

He did not see her, perhaps because his mind was habitually in the clouds, and she did nothing to attract his attention. She didn't feel like conversation with him just then. He was a man of uncertain age, tall, thin and stooping, with an unworldly, ascetic expression. He sat down, took a book from his pocket, and started to read it.

Miss Wayland had nothing against either of the Egremonts personally, though it was a pity that she dressed so oddly. But, as a staunch supporter of the Established Church, she had a profound mistrust of any cult which if not actually pagan, must at least be heretical. Of the nature of the cult professed by the Egremonts she had no idea, for they were wholly lacking in missionary fervour. They never even spoke about it to their neighbours. But they gave occasional tea-parties, to which Miss Wayland had been invited. On these occasions the guests were ushered into a sort of hall, which had been formed by knocking two of the ground floor rooms of number 1 into one.

About this hall there hung a vague religious atmosphere, difficult to define. Miss Wayland always thought that she could detect a faint aroma of incense. For the purposes of the tea-parties it was furnished with rugs, chairs and small tables, but these looked singularly out of place between the soberly-painted walls. At one end of the room, partially hidden behind a folding screen, was an object completely enfolded in a spotless white embroidered cloth. Its shape suggested that it might be a large table. An altar of some kind, Miss Wayland supposed. She felt slightly shocked at drinking tea in such surroundings. But after all the responsibility lay with the Egremonts.

At the bus stop at the corner of Paulthorpe Road and Hallows Green Mr. Egremont alighted, and Miss Wayland followed him. He did not look round, and their ways diverged. Miss Wayland set out briskly along Hallows Green, but not so Mr. Egremont. He walked to the door in the wall bordering Paulthorpe Road, opened it and passed through.

Miss Wayland was still preoccupied with that hateful card, and started when a voice accosted her. “Beg pardon, Ma'am. Can you tell me which is number 2? I've never been along here before.”

“Next house on the right,” Miss Wayland replied promptly “There you are. You'll see the number on the gate.”

The boy thanked her and rode on to the gate at which she pointed. He stood his bicycle against the kerb and went through the gateway to the door of number 2. Miss Wayland caught sight of the parcel he took with him. It looked like a roll of papers covered in a brown wrapping. Legal documents of some kind for Mr. Raynham, very probably.

She had nearly reached number 4 when she saw Mr. Charles Vawtrey approaching, on the opposite pavement, very correctly dressed as usual in a dark-blue overcoat and a bowler hat. Mr. Vawtrey looked older than his years, perhaps because so much of his life had been spent in tropical climates. He was a bachelor, of a very retiring disposition, and a shy, rather awkward manner. The household at number 9 consisted of himself and a married couple, rejoicing in the homely name of Brown, who looked after him. In spite of their name, the exotic appearance of the Browns showed that they were not of English birth. They were popularly supposed to be natives of some remote colony, brought home by Mr. Vawtrey on his retirement.

On seeing Miss Wayland, Mr. Vawtrey raised his bowler hat, as he did so clutching anxiously the package he was carrying, as though afraid he might drop it. Miss Wayland called to him across the road. “Good morning, Mr. Vawtrey. You've been out shopping, I see.”

Mr. Vawtrey crossed the road and blinked at her with his short-sighted eyes. “Yes, it's a bottle,” he replied, clutching the package to his breast. “I've been so afraid I might let it fall. A new developer I want to try. I'm told it's very good if one has under-exposed a negative, as one is very apt to do at this time of year. The winter light is so deceptive. It is sometimes quite impossible to judge the actinic value, correctly.”

Miss Wayland knew that he was completely wrapped up in his hobby. But she had no knowledge of photography and felt no inclination to pursue the subject. “I hope you find it a success, Mr. Vawtrey. You really must come in and have a cup of tea with us some afternoon when you can spare the time. Good morning.”

She went on her way, rather wishing that the entirely conventional invitation had not escaped her. Mr. Vawtrey had occasionally dropped in for tea at number 4, and she had found conversation with him rather difficult. He was so terribly shy that he didn't seem able to talk about anything but his tiresome photography. At least, she couldn't make him talk But, rather to her annoyance, it had seemed that he wasn't quite so shy with Helen. In fact, they seemed to get on quite well together.

Like many spinsters of her age and disposition, Miss Wayland was mistrustful of any friendship between unmarried men and women. One never knew what it might lead to. Some people were so blind that they seemed to stumble inadvertently into the pit of matrimony. Well, let them, so long as by doing so they did not interfere with Miss Wayland's comfort. But Helen most definitely could not be spared. She was far too useful about the house. Miss Wayland had no idea how she could replace her. Without, at all events, putting herself to considerable expense.

She told herself that there could be no chance of any such thing happening. Helen was—let's see—she'd be thirty-five this year. Mr. Vawtrey must be twice her age, or at all events old enough to be her father. His grey hair and short-sightedness made him seem at least sixty. But yet he couldn't be. He was far too active for a man of such years. He would tramp the countryside for miles with a heavy camera over his shoulder. By the time she reached her own front door. Miss Wayland was not so sure. Mr. Vawtrey's visits should certainly not be encouraged.

III

MR. PETER RAYNHAM believed in keeping up appearances, perhaps as much for the sake of the firm's prestige as his own. He maintained a car and chauffeur and, disdaining the bus, used this method of transport to convey him to and from his office in Upper Close. For five days a week the routine never varied. At half-past nine the chauffeur brought the car to the front door of number 2. Mr. Raynham got into it, and was driven to the office. The car then returned to Hallows Green, when it was available for the ladies, should they wish to go shopping. Sharp at one o'clock it returned to the office, to bring Mr. Raynham home to lunch. At half-past two another journey to the office, after which the ladies could use the car for paying calls. They had to be back by five, for at that time the car was required to bring Mr. Raynham home at the conclusion of his day's work.

The ladies, for two Mrs. Raynhams lived at number 2. The elder, Mrs. Caroline Raynham, the mother of Peter and widow of Stanford Raynham, the founder of the firm, who had taken a prominent part in the affairs of the city. Mrs. Caroline could never forget that she had once been Lady Mayoress. She was rather a formidable old lady, very much on the alert, and the possessor of a remarkably strong will of her own. Doris Raynham, Peter's wife, was a rather colourless woman, mentally and physically, completely dominated by her husband and mother-in-law. The household was completed by Lotti, a Displaced Person of uncertain age and rudimentary intelligence, employed as general servant. The elder Mrs. Raynham's opinion was that she supposed it to be better to have Lotti than nobody.

That New Year's Day, Peter Raynham came home to lunch in an unusually irritable frame of mind. As a rule, he did not allow unpleasantness, incidental to his practice, to worry him overmuch. He was fond of saying that he didn't bring his cases home, but left them behind in the office. But that morning had been unfortunate, for he had had a serious difference of opinion with one of his more important clients. It had led to his telling the fellow that if he insisted upon the line he was taking, he would have to instruct another firm of solicitors to act for him. Peter Raynham's feathers were still ruffled.

He got out of the car and entered the hall. A parcel lying on the hall table caught his eye, and he picked it up to see if it was addressed to him. It was cylindrical, and the brown wrapping was secured with adhesive paper. The address upon it was vague, scrawled apparently with a stick of charcoal. “2, Hallows Green,” no more.

Raynham carried the parcel into the lounge, where he found his mother sitting by the fire. Doris was in the kitchen, helping Lotti to get lunch. From bitter experience she knew that if the potatoes were left to Lotti's tender care they would appear on the table either as a watery paste or half raw. Raynham displayed the parcel for his mother's inspection. “What's this? ” he demanded. “I've just found it on the hall table.”

Mrs. Raynham glanced at it without interest. “I don't know, my dear boy,” she replied. “I've never seen it before. Lotti must have taken it in, I expect. You'd better ask her.”

Still holding the parcel, Raynham strode into the kitchen. Doris was standing over the electric cooker, Lotti watching her with lack-lustre eyes. “Did you take this in, Lotti? ” he asked. Who brought it?”

Lotti's command of English, especially when she was accosted, was apt to fail her. “Ein Knabe,” she replied. “A youthling. Some minutes back. Er sprecht a herr him to leave it asked.”

“A boy, you mean?” Raynham asked irritably. “What boy? Where did he come from?”

Lotti shook her head helplessly, “Ich ken nicht. He did not me where he came from tell.”

Raynham flung out of the kitchen and went back to the drawing-room. “That girl gets more of a fool every day,” he grumbled. “From what I can make out a boy brought it and said a man had asked him to leave it here. There's no name on it, only the number of the house. Who's it for, that's what I want to know?”

“In that case, wouldn't the simplest way of finding out be to open it and see what it is?” Mrs. Raynham suggested.

Her son tore at the wrapping. The charcoal came off on his fingers, and the adhesive paper felt disgustingly sticky. Muttering under his breath he cast the wrapping aside, to find layer after layer of corrugated paper. At last he came to a hard object, in an inner wrapping of tissue paper. “What the dickens is it?” he exclaimed.

The tearing away of the tissue paper answered his question. It was the blade of a sixteenth-century duelling dagger, in a very bad state of preservation, and with the handle missing. But the blade had been sharpened, recently, as the brightness of the edge showed. And as Raynham held it to the light, he perceived what seemed to be an inscription roughly scratched upon the flat of the blade. The letters were grotesquely formed, and not easy to decipher. But, letter by letter, he made out four words, “Honourable Death is Best.”

“Well, I'm damned! ” he exclaimed. “The confounded thing is infernally sharp. Lucky I didn't cut my fingers when I was unwrapping it. 'Honourable Death is Best!' What the devil does that mean?”

“It sounds to me very like an invitation to suicide.” Mrs. Raynham replied. “Something in the Japanese line.”

“Suicide!” he exclaimed. “Who's it for? Me, I suppose. It can hardly be for you or Doris. It's a damned insult, anyhow. Who sent it? By jove, I wonder! That fellow who made himself so offensive in the office this morning! I'll let him know that he can't threaten like that and get away with it!”

“Be careful that you don't do anything foolish, my dear boy,” his mother said calmly. “If I were you I should put that thing away safely somewhere and say nothing about it. That's what your father would have done, I'm sure.”

Mrs. Raynham was rather too fond of telling her son what his father would have done, and he always resented this. “Father wouldn't have taken a thing like this lying down,” he retorted. “I shall take it to the office with me this afternoon and show it to the police. It'll be up to them to find that boy and the man who gave him the parcel.”

“You must do as you think best,” said Mrs. Raynham. “But it seems to me you're going to make yourself look ridiculous. It would be a mistake to take it too seriously. I think it's more than likely that absurd knife was sent by one of your friends, trying to get a rise out of you.”

To her son such a suggestion was positively shocking. That one of his friends should have the effrontery to attempt to get a rise out of the head of the firm of Raynham and Raynham was unthinkable. “A friend, eh?” he growled. “Well. I'll make it my business to find out who this friend was, and when I have I'll give him a piece of my mind. I've no patience with silly jokes like that. Why, suppose Doris had opened the parcel! The shock it would have given her might have had the most serious consequences. We'll keep the matter to ourselves, I think, mother.”

After lunch that afternoon Raynham did not for once go directly to the office, but told his chauffeur to put him down nearby, at the headquarters of the Barncaster City Constabulary. He and the Chief Constable knew one another well, and he was immediately shown into his room. “Good afternoon, Mr. Raynham! ” said the Chief Constable. “I'm very glad to see you. Sit down and tell me what we can do for you.”

“I'm wondering if you can do me a favour,” Raynham replied. “About one o'clock to-day a boy left a parcel at my house. There was nothing on the parcel to tell where it came from, and I'm particularly anxious to find out. Do you think you could possibly trace the boy for me?”

The Chief Constable smiled. “You seem to have a touching belief in the powers of the police, Mr. Raynham. What sort of boy? Can you give me any idea what he looked like?”

“No, I can't", Raynham replied. “My fool of a foreign maid took in the parcel. A11 she can say is that it was left by a boy, who said that a man had asked him to deliver the parcel. She hadn't the remotest idea what the boy looked like, or where he came from. It's my belief the woman's half-witted.”

“Well, we'll do our best,” said the Chief Constable doubtfully. “But you haven't given us very much to work on. It isn't very likely that we shall be able to spot this particular boy among the thousands round about the city. Still, I'll pass the word round, and if we hear anything I'll let you know.”

Raynham expressed his thanks, and went on to his office. While he dealt with the work awaiting him there, that confounded piece of impertinence rankled at the back of his mind. His mother was a remarkably shrewd old lady, and it was quite likely that she had hit the nail on the head. A most offensive leg-pull on the part of one of his friends, or one of his neighbours, perhaps. Someone living in Hallows Green. Damned cheek!

Later in the afternoon he was told that the Chief Constable wished to speak to him on the telephone. He picked up his instrument and announced himself. “Hallo, Mr. Raynham!” came the Chief Constable's voice. “We've got a clue to that boy of yours. It was one chance in a thousand, but I believe it's come off. At about ten minutes to one a boy riding a tradesman's bicycle stopped and asked the constable on duty at the junction of Paulthorpe and Otterford Roads where Hallows Green was. He said he had a parcel to deliver there. The constable noticed the nameplate on the bicycle. Smith's, grocers, Bridge Street. Do you want us to follow up the matter?”

“I won't trouble you as far as that,” Raynham replied hastily. “The less publicity the better. I'll see the boy myself. I'm very much obliged to you. And you'll allow me to congratulate you on a smart bit of work.”

“I'm glad we were able to oblige,” said the Chief Constable. “Any time you want help, let us know. Good-bye.”

Raynham instructed one of his clerks, and sent him to Bridge Street. After a while the clerk returned, bringing with him an intelligent looking boy of seventeen or thereabouts. “Sit down, my lad,” said Raynham paternally. “I want you to tell me something. Did you deliver a parcel at number 2 Hallows Green about one o'clock to-day?”

“That's right,” the boy replied. “A gentleman gave it me. I didn't know just where Hallows Green was, so I had to ask.”

“' I see,” said Raynham. “Who was the gentleman who gave you the parcel?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn't say. 1 didn't know him. It was this way. I was stopped at the traffic lights at the end of Bridge Street when he came up and spoke to me. Asked me if by any chance I was going to Paulthorpe Road or Otterford Road way. I said I was going up Paulthorpe Road to the far end. He slipped a brown paper parcel into the carrier of my bike, and asked me to leave it at 2 Hallows Green, as it was on my way. He gave me half a crown for my trouble and then marched off, as if he was in a bit of a hurry.”

“Do you remember what this gentleman looked like?” Raynham asked smoothly.

“Can't say that I do,” the boy replied. “Except that he could hardly speak for the shocking cold he had. He was all muffled up, and he held a handkerchief up to his face and coughed into it something chronic. I never got a proper sight of him, and he was gone before I had time to ask him if there was any message.”

Clearly there was nothing more to be learnt from the boy. “Well, if this gentleman gave you half a crown, I can do no less,” said Raynham. The boy pocketed the coin with a grin and a word of thanks, and Raynham showed him from the room.

He returned to his chair, frowning at the impasse in which his inquiries had ended. He could not withhold his reluctant admiration from the neatness of the job. To entrust the parcel to a casual errand boy, who would never know what it contained or who had given it to him! But who could the man have been? The shocking cold he had exhibited was of course, no clue to his identity. It had been assumed as a pretext for holding a handkerchief before his face And he had departed hurriedly, before any questions could be asked. The whole affair was completely baffling. Was it merely a joke, or was there something more sinister behind it?

It was getting on for five o'clock. Raynham was preparing to leave the office, when his head clerk came in. “I'm sorry to trouble you, Mr. Raynham. But Mr. Lawrence Flamstead is here, and says he must see you.”

Raynham groaned. Not that he disliked Lawrence Flamstead, who was not only one of his clients but his neighbour at number 5 Hallows Green. But he was apt to be infernally long-winded over his affairs, and Raynham hated to be detained at the office beyond his usual hour. “I must see him, I suppose. Show him in.”

Lawrence Flamstead came in. He was some years older than his brother Barry, and considerably more irascible. He plumped into the chair Raynham offered him, and started off angrily, without preliminary. “You'll have to do something about this, Raynham. It's that confounded brother of mine again. Or rather his family, but he knows all about it, I'll be bound. I'm not going to put up with any sauce from my nephew and niece. You must write a stiff letter to Barry, warning him to keep his brats from being a public nuisance.”

“I shall have to know what they've been up to before I can do that,” Raynham remarked dryly.

“What they've been up to! ” his client exclaimed. “I'll soon tell you that. I spent the afternoon at the Club. Lunched there in fact, for Elinor and Pauline have gone out for the day. I was just leaving a few minutes ago when I found a letter for me on the board. The porter told me the afternoon postman had left it. Letter, indeed! It wasn't a letter. Here, look at it for yourself!”

He produced an envelope and flung it on the table. Raynham picked it up and scanned it closely. It bore a twopence-halfpenny stamp, cancelled with the Barncaster postmark. The address was in irregularly-spaced print characters. “Mr. L. Flamstead, Barnshire County Club, Barncaster.” The envelope had already been torn open, and he withdrew the contents, to find a folded sheet of glazed art paper.

He unfolded it, to reveal a highly-coloured but realistic illustration of a tiger. So that the creature could not mistaken, it bore the caption in large print, ' Indian Tiger.'“ Raynham was staring at this, when Flamstead broke in: “Turn it over, man!”

Raynham did so. The back of the sheet was blank, but for a crooked line of printed characters, similar to those of the address, running across it. And, surprisingly enough, these printed characters spelt out a sentence in Latin. “Media vita morte sumus.”

“I remember enough of my schooldays to be able to construe that!” “Flamstead exclaimed, violently. “In the midst of life we are in death! We're reminded of that every time we go to a funeral. Did you ever hear of such confounded insolence? You'll have to put a stop to it, Raynham.”

Raynham made no immediate reply, his thoughts being busy with the inscription on the blade of the dagger. But his client's impatience would brook no delay. “You'll know best how to put it. Draft the letter as strongly as you can. Tell him I'll take action in the courts if I don't receive an immediate apology and an undertaking that it won't happen again.”

“What makes you so sure that it was your nephew or niece who sent you this?” Raynham asked.

“Why, surely it's obvious enough, even to a lawyer!” Flamstead exploded. “Can't you see? That sheet of paper is an illustration torn out of a child's picture book of animals. And that painting on the back and on the envelope. Just shows how badly they've been brought up. I don't remember ever before being addressed as Mr. It was done with a toy printing set. I know that, for Pauline had one when she was their age. And the Latin's just the sort of thing a schoolboy would think of. That was my nephew's contribution, I'll be bound.”

“All the same, I'm not so sure,” Raynham replied thoughtfully. “It wouldn't do to take any hasty action till we know for certain. Look here. Leave this with me and let me think it over for a day or two.”

“You lawyers always find some excuse for procrastination,” Flamstead grumbled. “All right, then, but only a day or two. I'm not going to let the family at number 10 think they've got away with it.”

“I'll have a word with you about it before very long,” Raynham replied. “Now, I was on the point of going home when you came. I'll give you a lift in my car, if you like.”

Flamstead accepted the offer, and, still growling, accompanied Raynham as far as the gate of number 5, where he was set down. On reaching his own house, Raynham retired to his study to think over this surprising sequel to his own experience. It was surely a safe guess that the dagger and the coloured plate had been sent by the same hand. The two inscriptions were sufficiently alike in tenor. And though it was conceivable that Barry Flamstead had incited his children to send his brother something that would infallibly annoy him, it was inconceivable that he had been the man who had entrusted the parcel to the errand-boy. So far as Raynham knew, Barry was not given to pointless practical jokes. And if he was, why should he have selected Raynham as the victim of his misplaced humour? Barry was not a client of his, and in fact the two men rarely met.

It was quite natural that Lawrence Flamstead should suspect his brother's family, for there was no love lost between them. From their earliest years the two had been more or less antagonistic. They had always held opposite views upon every conceivable subject. For instance, some years ago Lawrence had stood as a parliamentary candidate for the city in the Liberal interest, and had attributed his defeat to the machinations of his brother, an ardent Conservative. Then had come the death of their uncle, Sir Horace Flamstead, a very wealthy man. He had never married, and had left a will in favour of his nephews. So much, at least, was agreed as to the interpretation of that amazing document. If only people would employ a solicitor, instead of drawing up involved rigmaroles which have no meaning in law; Sir Horace's will was capable of half a dozen interpretations, according to the way you read it. His estate was to be divided between his two nephews, but in what proportions was open to dispute. Characteristically, each had taken his own stand upon the matter, from which neither could be persuaded to budge.

Of course, the sensible thing would have been to agree to some compromise, but this they resolutely refused to do. Barry, the more reasonable of the two, maintained that he had no right to prejudice his children's future. Lawrence, stubborn as a mule, declared that he had no intention of parting with anything that was rightfully his. So the matter had dragged on in endless litigation, with the only result of widening the gulf between the two families. Fortunately, apart from their expectations under their uncle's will, both had enough to live on comfortably.

Barry had a boy and girl, Jerry and Peg, who had been sent to boarding-schools. Lawrence's only child, Pauline, was just out of her teens. Her father was always talking about the party he meant to throw on her twenty-first birthday. She was really a lovely girl, a pleasure to look at, and always beautifully dressed. But Raynham was not alone in his opinion that she was completely empty-headed. He had once remarked to his mother that the only career which offered her any hope of success was that of a film star. But Lawrence Flamstead had no idea of any career for his daughter beyond marriage. Sooner or later the lawyers must see sense, when she would become a considerable heiress. And then, we should see.

But this, as Raynham reminded himself, was a digression from the immediate point. Granted that both jokes, if indeed they were jokes, had been played by the same person, who could that person be? If they were not jokes, the uncomfortable thought that they might be veiled menaces presented itself. Certainly, it was unlikely that Lawrence Flamstead would be devoured by tigers on his way to or from the County Club. Nor did Raynham feel the slightest inclination to plunge the sharpened dagger in his breast. Presumably the menaces were symbolic. But why should he and Lawrence Flamstead have been threatened? Raynham was as yet unaware of the strange experiences which had befallen Mr. Glandford and Miss Wayland.

IV

DR. JEREMY TEESDALE had for several years been in practice in Barncaster. He was in the late forties, brisk and energetic, and with a cheerful way about him that made him popular with the great majority of his patients. Only a handful of valetudinarians sometimes grumbled that the doctor did not take their complaints as seriously as they did themselves. But this was nonsense, for nobody could be more conscientious than Dr. Teesdale.

The doctor lived at number 3 with his wife Dilys, as energetic as himself, to whom he was devoted. Their only child, a son, Evan, had just left Cambridge. He had been at home for a few days at Christmas, but was now back in London, where he was studying medicine, having always wanted to follow the same profession as his father. The only other resident-member of the household was a maid, always known as Olwen. She was in fact a widow, Mrs. Griffiths, whom Dilys Teesdale's parents had befriended in their native Wales. Olwen had entered their service, and at their deaths , had been bequeathed, with the rest of their not inconsiderable possessions, to their daughter.

Like most doctors in active practice, Teesdale was a busy man. He kept a car, unlike Raynham, driving it himself, maintaining that a chauffeur was not only an expense, but a nuisance to boot. After an early breakfast, he drove to his surgery, arriving there at nine o'clock and parking the car nearby. Market Row was one of the older parts of the city, and with one exception its Queen Anne houses had long been converted into offices. The one exception was the surgery, the upper part of which was still in use as a residence. Teesdale's young assistant lived there. Assistant, not partner, for the arrangement was not intended to be permanent. It had always been understood that as soon as Evan was qualified, he would become his father's partner. Then, if he should get married, as he probably would, there would be a house all ready for him. Teesdale's habit was to spend an hour at the surgery. Not longer if he could possibly help it, for he had other calls on his time. He was on the visiting staff of the Barncaster and County Hospital, and went there every morning. On leaving the hospital he called on a few bedridden patients unable to attend at the surgery, and usually contrived to get home for lunch by half-past one. After that, he did not go out again till half-past three. His private patients knew that he was to be found at home during the early afternoon, and several of them took advantage of the fact. He then paid such calls as remained over from the morning, to return to the surgery at six. It was rarely that he got home for dinner before half-past seven.

On Tuesday morning, January 2nd, he set out for the surgery a few minutes earlier than usual. A meeting, which he would have to attend, had been summoned at the hospital for ten o'clock, and that meant that he must leave the surgery at least ten minutes earlier. He left the car in the park at Market Row, locked it and walked swiftly to the surgery. Early as it was, the queue of patients was already formed. He greeted his assistant, and the elderly Nurse Cawston, the receptionist and dispenser, and got down to work.

As so often happened when he was pressed for time, there seemed to be more people to see than usual. He found it impossible to leave until nearly five minutes to ten, and then literally ran to the car park. He always prided himself upon his punctuality, but traffic conditions would have to be exceptionally favourable if he was to get to the hospital in five minutes. He reached his car, the key in his hand ready to unlock it. As he did so, he caught sight of a piece of paper inserted beneath the arm of the windscreen wiper.

Was this a kind attention on the part of the police? He hadn't infringed any parking regulation. He snatched out the paper, to find that it was a cheap and dirty envelope, with the inscription in bold, ill-formed characters, “Dr. J. T. Urjent.” Not the police, anyhow. However urgent it might be, it would have to wait. Stuffing the envelope into his pocket, he unlocked the car, jumped in, and started off. By a miracle of driving he reached the hospital entrance as the hands of the clock above it pointed to the hour.

The meeting, which was concerned with a vital matter of hospital administration, occupied all his attention, and did not come to an end till half-past eleven. Not until he was once more seated in the car, prepared to start on his round of visits, did he remember the envelope. He drew it from his pocket, slightly crumpled, and looked at it more closely than he had before. A queer inscription, and queerer still as he examined it more closely. It was in pencil, broad and black, as though something in the nature of a carpenter's pencil had been used. And the writing, if it could be so described, was that of a child or illiterate person. His initials merely, and “urjent,” spelt with a “j.”

He tore open the envelope. Inside it was an irregularly shaped piece of paper, printed on both sides. Evidently a piece torn roughly from some journal or other. Yes, that was what it was. On one side was part of a description of some motor-racing event, partially erased with a heavily pencilled cross. The fragment had been torn from one of the motoring papers. Teesdale recognised it, for he was a subscriber to that particular periodical.

He turned the paper over. On this side was a displayed advertisement, which was familiar to him. It was in heavy type, the lines widely spaced. “Look out! Look out! It's on the way! What is?” But the following line, which Teesdale knew to be “The new Paragon Six-Ninety Mile-buster” had been heavily erased. Above it, as big as the space permitted, were the broadly pencilled letters, H C N.

Teesdale stared at this in utter stupefaction. What the dickens could it mean? H C N was the chemical symbol for prussic acid. One might well look out if such a deadly poison was on the way. But on the way whence and whither? Was this a well-intentioned warning? If so, why had it been addressed to him?..

It was really most extraordinary. The illiterate inscription on the envelope, with the faulty spelling; contrasted with this, the letters H C N. Would any illiterate person have known, or been able to learn, that prussic, or hydrocyanic, acid was scientifically indicated by those letters? Surely not. The only inference was that the illiteracy had been assumed. It had been an educated person who had sent the message. And he had disguised his handwriting, making this easier by the use of an unusually soft and spade-pointed pencil.

And then the method of delivery. The envelope could not have been put in the car, for that was locked. Slipping it under the windscreen wiper had been a good alternative. But wouldn't it have been as easy to drop it into the surgery letter-box, barely a hundred yards from the car park? Of course it would, but that would have involved the risk of the bearer being seen and recognised.

As Teesdale sat and pondered over the puzzle, yet another point occurred to him. He had taken delivery of his present car only a few days before Christmas. Previous to that he had for many years owned an old and dilapidated vehicle, conspicuous by the unusual shade of green in which it was painted. Every one had known that as the doctor's car. But this new car differed in no way from the dozens of others of similar make owned in Barncaster and the surrounding district. It had not a label “Doctor” attached to the wind-screen. How had it been identified, among the many other cars standing in the park, as his? One doesn't as a rule memorise the registration numbers of other people's cars.

The only distinguishing feature of the car was a fog-lamp which Teesdale had had fitted. Only someone who had seen him driving it frequently would have associated him with this peculiarity. Or someone who had seen it standing in Hallows Green, outside number 8, during the early afternoon. One of his neighbours? Among them only Walter Glandford might be expected to know the symbol for prussic acid. It was impossible to imagine that eminent scientist conveying a cryptic message in so roundabout a manner!

Teesdale drove away from the hospital. As he threaded his way through the traffic another idea occurred to him. Perhaps the letters were not a chemical symbol, but somebody's initials! He racked his brains for any of his patients or acquaintances who might fill the bill. The only one he could think of was old Mr. Narworth. His Christian name was certainly Henry, and for all Teesdale knew he might have a second; Charles, for instance. But, of all people, Mr. Narworth was the last to be on the way. He had been bedridden for years.

That word “urjent” on the envelope. What action was Dr. J. T. expected to take? If this was a serious though anonymous warning, and not the effusion of an irresponsible lunatic, the suggestion that prussic acid was on the way was a very grave matter, especially to a doctor. Should he hand it over to the police? It wasn't easy to see what they could do about it. Better show it to Peter Raynham, and hear what he had to say. He was a sensible chap, and his advice could always be depended upon. Drop in and see him at home this evening. That was the idea.

Teesdale finished his morning round and got back to number 8 about his usual time. He had decided to say nothing to Dilys, for the present at least. Not that she was likely to be unduly alarmed, but there was no reason to take the risk. She met him as he came in. “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes,” she said. “Have you had a very busy morning? You look rather worried.”

“That meeting at the hospital has given me a lot to think of,” Jeremy Teesdale replied. “And I only got away from the surgery just in time to make it. Any messages?”

“Only one,” said Dilys. “Lady Sapperton rang up. She'd like you to look in and see the Admiral, who's got rather a nasty chill. She's managed to persuade him to stay in bed.”

Teesdale nodded. “I'll run over after lunch. He must be feeling pretty poorly if he's consented to stay in bed. And he's not so young as he was, though he'd hate any one to tell him so.”

At half-past two Teesdale went out. A minute or two brought him to number 7, next door. He was admitted by Haskin, who had served with the Admiral before his retirement. He and Mrs. Haskin ran the house with the help of a daily charwoman. “Good afternoon, Haskin,” said Teesdale. “The Admiral's laid up, I'm sorry to hear.”

“Sir Hector is slightly indisposed, sir,” Haskin replied. “Perhaps you will speak to her Ladyship.” He showed the doctor into the lounge, a comfortable room hung with enlarged photographs of the various warships in which the Admiral had served. Lady Sapperton rose as he came in. She was a graceful, white-haired woman, with a haunting sadness beneath her welcoming smile. The submarine which her only son had commanded had been lost with all hands during the war. The Sappertons had no other children. The Admiral's grief was as lasting as hers. But in public, at least, he disguised it under a breezy manner, not too patently assumed.

“It was good of you to come. Doctor,” said Lady Sapperton. “I'd like you to see Hector. I don't think he's really ill, but he's got a sore throat and shivering fits, and I made him stay in bed. Shall I take you up to him?”

Teesdale followed her up to the Admiral's bedroom. He was sitting up in bed, wearing glasses and reading a newspaper. He looked the typical seaman, with a strong weather-beaten face and grey pointed beard. In the Navy he had always been known as Hearty Hector, and had lived up to the name. As they entered the room he flung the newspaper to the floor and put his glasses aside. “Come in. Doctor!” he bellowed huskily. “Sorry to receive you like this. Sit down and I'll pour out my troubles into your sympathetic ear.”

He waited until Lady Sapperton had left the room, then went on in a lowered voice: “Nothing the matter, really. Just a bit of a chill; can't think how I caught it. I was as fit as a fiddle yesterday. Lawrence Flamstead can tell you that, for I was talking to him at the Club in the afternoon. But you know what women are. Margaret wouldn't give me any peace till I promised to stay in bed and let her send for you. All nonsense!”

“Lady Sapperton was quite right,” Teesdale replied firmly. “It's folly to neglect a chill. Now then, let me have a look over you.” He took out his stethoscope and sounded his patient back and front. “Nothing very much wrong there,” he continued. “Throat's a bit sore, I hear. Open your mouth and let me see it.”

The Admiral obeyed, and after an inspection Teesdale grunted. “A bit painful, I dare say. Now, listen to me, Sapperton. You've got to obey orders, as I suppose you had to when you were a snotty. Just you stay where you are and keep warm. I'll make you up some stuff and send it over this evening.”

The Admiral laughed. “Very good, my lord. But I warn you I'm not going to stop in the sick-bay a moment longer than I feel like it. And you needn't trouble to send the stuff. That rascal Haskin can fetch it from your surgery.”

“You'll stay where you are till I come and see you again to-morrow,” Teesdale replied. “I'll see Lady Sapperton and tell her to lash you into your hammock if necessary.” He was about to leave the room, when the Admiral called him back. “Just a minute. Doctor. I've something here to show you. Make you laugh, I dare say.”

He fumbled under his pillow and produced a collection of letters. “Haskin brought this lot up this morning,” he said, as he reached for his glasses and put them on. “Bills and circulars, mostly. They say there's a shortage of paper, bat it doesn't look very much like it to me. But there's one among them I can't make out at all. Where's it got to now? Ah, here it is!”

He sorted out a square envelope and handed it to Teesdale. “Tell me what you make of that.”

Teesdale took the envelope. The stamp and Barncaster postmark of Monday's date were ordinary enough. But the method of address was far from ordinary. One of the Admiral's visiting cards had been stuck on the envelope. It read, “Sir Hector Sapperton, K.C.B., Royal Navy (retired),” and in the corner of the card was the address, “ 7 Hallows Green, Barncaster.”

“One way of saving oneself the trouble of writing a name and address on an envelope, eh? ” the Admiral remarked. “Now open it, and see what's inside.”

Teesdale did so. He drew from the envelope a card exactly similar to the one stuck to it. On this, above the Admiral's name, block letters had been traced in red ink. They formed the words, “Death comes for.” Beneath the name were the vivid scarlet letters, “R.I.P.”

The Admiral chuckled at the bewilderment of Teesdale's expression. “Thought that might make you open your eyes a bit. If that's somebody's idea of a joke, it's in shocking bad taste, that's all I can say.”

“This is the most extraordinary affair I've ever known!”Teesdale exclaimed. “Much the same sort of thing happened to me this morning. It's still in my pocket. Here, have a look at it.”

Through his glasses the Admiral peered at the dirty and crumpled envelope. “Dr. J. T. Urjent,” he remarked. “A bit unceremonious, eh? I've always said that most of the money squandered on education is wasted.” He took out the fragment of newsprint. “Eh, what's this? What the deuce is the sense of it? 'Look out, look out, it's on the way.' What is H C N? What does H C N stand for? One of these newfangled organisations that are always cropping up? The Honest Comity of Nations? Never heard of it.”

“You're not likely to,” Teesdale replied dryly. “I don't think the letters are initials. H C N is the chemical formula for prussic acid.”

“The deuce it is!” the Admiral exclaimed. “How did you get this? It doesn't seem to have come through the post!”

Teesdale told him. “I can't make it out. You know the park at the end of Market Row? There's room for two or three dozen cars. It's free, and there's no attendant. By the time I came out of my surgery just before ten it was full; it always is at that time. How any one can have known which of the cars was mine beats me.”

“Someone did know, apparently,” said the Admiral. “Look here, you get a warning prussic acid is on the way, to you, I suppose. I get a warning that death is coming for me. Pretty obviously the same person sent both. Who was it, and what are we going to do about it?”

“I was wondering what I should do before you showed me yours,” Teesdale replied. “And I came to the conclusion that the best thing to do would be to consult Peter Raynham. Have you any objection to my telling him about yours?”

“Take it and show it to him,” said the Admiral promptly. “He'll know whether we ought to hand the things over to the police. But tell him to keep it quiet. I haven't told Margaret about it, and I shouldn't like her to hear. She might get scared, and I don't want that.”

Teesdale nodded. “I'll tell Raynham it's confidential. You're the only person I've told about mine, so far. I'll have a word with him this evening, and tell you what he says when I see you to-morrow. You behave yourself, there's a good fellow. Do what I tell you, and you'll be all right in a day or two.”

V

“I'M GOING to run across the road for a minute or two,” said Teesdale, as he and Dilys finished dinner that evening. “I want to ask Peter Raynham's advice about a legal point that cropped up this morning.”

“At the meeting?” Dilys replied. “All right, I shan't be lonely. There's a Bartok concert on the Third I should like to listen to. I wouldn't have turned it on if you'd been at home, for Bartok always makes you use bad language.”

Her husband laughed. “He's no more than an unnecessary noise to me. All right, I'll get along.” He went out and walked to number 2. Perhaps because they were both professional men, he and Raynham were very good friends. He felt that he could talk to Raynham more easily than he could to any other of his neighbours. He rang the bell, and after an interval Lotti, a dishcloth in her hand, opened the door. On seeing who was there she grinned broadly. She knew the doctor and liked him. “Good night, Herr Doctor. You come in, it is so?”

“Good evening, Lotti,” Teesdale replied cheerfully. “You're keeping well, I hope? Is Mr. Raynham at home?”

“All at home,” said Lotti. “In der lounge. You come, I show you.” He followed her to the lounge, the door of which she flung open. Raynham, his wife and his mother were sitting there, and looked up at Teesdale's entrance. Mutual greetings followed, but Raynham guessed that the doctor had not looked in to pay a social visit. “Why, you're just the man I wanted to see! ” he exclaimed. “I'd have rung you up, but I was afraid you might be busy. Come along into my sanctum for a minute, will you?”

The sanctum, as he called it, was a small room to which Raynham retired when he found feminine company becoming wearisome. “You'll forgive the mild deception, I know,” he said, as he and Teesdale settled themselves down there. “I haven't anything to say to you really, but I guessed that you probably had something to say to me. Sit down and have a cigarette.”

 “I want your advice,” Teesdale replied. “Something rather queer has happened. This morning I received a remarkable communication. That, by itself, was perhaps nothing very much. The extraordinary thing is that the Admiral received something very similar.”

Raynham stared at him fixedly. “A remarkable communication? Of what nature?”

Teesdale repeated his story. “There you are. Look at it for yourself. I should explain that H C N is the formula for prussic acid, and that's what is meant, I suppose. And here's the Admiral's contribution, which he said I might show you in confidence. It came by post this morning.”

Raynham studied the two, then laughed, shortly. “This is even more extraordinary than you suppose, Doctor. Two other residents of Hallows Green have received what you describe as remarkable communications: Lawrence Flamstead and myself. Since we are speaking confidentially there will be no harm in my telling you.”

So Teesdale heard about the dagger and the coloured plate. “The same person sent the lot,” he remarked. “There can't be any doubt about that. If it's a joke, it's not only elaborate, but quite meaningless.”

“I'm not sure that it is a joke,” Raynham replied gravely. “Though what the intention may be I find it difficult to imagine. The disquieting aspect of the matter is that it seems the sender must be one of ourselves, so to speak. Someone living in Hallows Green. Many things point to that. You are surprised that any one should have recognised the car you have owned for so short a while. The sender must have been aware that Lawrence Flamstead was in the habit of frequenting the Club. Even more significant is the use of the Admiral's visiting cards. They can have been obtained only by some person on whom the Admiral had called.”

“Yes, I know,” Teesdale agreed. “It's someone who knows us all pretty well. But who the dickens can it be? If one takes it seriously, it looks sinister. In every case there's an allusion to death, one way or another.”

“Concerning four entirely different people,” said Raynham. “The only thing in common between them is that they all live in Hallows Green. I can hardly believe that a wholesale massacre is contemplated.”

“It must be a joke!” Teesdale exclaimed. “But I can't imagine any of our friends playing it. What strikes me most forcibly is the precautions the chap has taken to avoid being traced. You'll never find the man who gave the errand-boy the parcel to deliver. Any one could have walked through the car park and slipped the note under the windscreen wiper of my car without being noticed. To stick one of the Admiral's cards on the envelope was a very good way of avoiding writing the address. Flamstead's address was not written either, but printed by what seems to have been a toy printing set. The chap's no fool, whoever he is.”

“He most certainly isn't,” Raynham replied. “Would any one take all that trouble with a rather pointless joke? And if it isn't a joke, what's the idea? Are we to treat these hints as a serious warning?”

Teesdale shook his head. “I don't know. A warning to whom? Not all four of us, surely. And what are we to do? Turn the whole affair over to the police?”

“Not without the consent of all of us, certainly,” Raynham replied. “You know what that would involve, sooner or later. A most undesirable publicity. And if, after all, it is a joke, we should look—well, damn' silly.”

“I know,” said Teesdale thoughtfully. “And perhaps that's just what the beggar's after. But why should any one want to make us look damn' silly? This isn't the first of April. Perhaps we'd better keep it to ourselves, then. So far as I'm concerned, I'm quite content to leave the matter in your hands.”

Raynham showed the doctor out by the front door. But, having done so, he did not return to the lounge. He would not have minded confiding the matter to his mother, for whose opinion he had the highest regard and who, in any case, already knew of the dagger. But Doris was with her, and her discretion was not to be counted upon. And the last thing he wanted was that the affair should be talked about. The possibility of ridicule lay too near the surface.

So he went back to the sanctum to try to derive some sense out of what seemed utterly meaningless. Joke or no joke, it made him feel not only resentful, but uncomfortable. An irresponsible lunatic might surely be ruled out. To the best of his knowledge and belief, all the residents in Hallows Green were at least comparatively sane, and everything pointed to the perpetrator being among them.

Raynham reached no conclusion that night. Perhaps Lawrence Flamstead was right. It was just dimly possible, though the children at number 10 were normally well behaved, and had no reputation for mischief. Not malicious mischief, at all events. And neither Barry Flamstead nor his wife were in the least likely to encourage them in such a series of impertinences. In the morning Raynham went to his office as usual. He had not been there long when his telephone rang. Mr. Dodworthy, from the Bank. Could Mr. Raynham spare him a few minutes if he called? Certainly, with pleasure.

Regency Square was only a short distance from Upper Close, and in a very few minutes Mr. Dodworthy appeared. His manner was hesitant, almost bashful, as he took the chair which Raynham drew up for him. “It's good of you to see me at such short notice,” he said. “I know you're a busy man, as I am myself. I really don't know that I have any right to take up your time. But I have just received something most unusual.”

“Have you?” Raynham replied calmly. “A communication of some kind containing a veiled threat?”

Dodworthy looked at him suspiciously. “Upon my word, Raynham! How did you know that?”

“Because you're not the only one,” Raynham replied. “What form did your communication take?”

“Not the only one!” Dodworthy exclaimed. “Why that's just it. I should probably not have said anything about it but for the fact that Mr. Glandford received something not dissimilar on Saturday. He showed it to me, and asked me what he should do. My advice then was that he should say nothing about it.”

“That makes six,” said Raynham. “Of which, you will be interested to hear, I am one. Tell me what you got.”

“I must first explain the circumstances,” Dodworthy replied. “As no doubt you are aware, we have at the Bank a night-safe. A slot in the outer wall, communicating with a strong-room. It is mainly for the use of tradesmen after banking hours. When they close in the evening, they can deposit their day's takings in safety, instead of retaining them in their premises overnight. Many of them habitually take advantage of this facility. It sometimes happens that small articles of value are deposited in the night by our customers. In the morning, as soon as I arrive at the Bank, I give the key of the strong-room to one of the clerks. He opens it, removes everything that he finds there, and takes the necessary steps for dealing with them. This procedure was carried out this morning. Among the contents of the safe was a package, wrapped in brown paper and string, and sealed with red wax. There was no indication on the outside of what the package contained, or who had deposited it. Although it seemed curiously light, the clerk supposed that it must contain some articles of value. He undid the wrappings, then, finding my name, brought this to my room.”

Dodworthy drew from his overcoat pocket a small wooden box, which he laid on the table for Raynham's inspection. It was of white wood and rectangular, about four inches square and two inches deep. One of the larger sides had been decorated in poker-work. An arabesque pattern round the edge, not very skilfully executed, and in the centre, in a fanciful script, the name C. Dodworthy. At one end of the box was a hinged lid, secured by a simple metal clasp. Through a slit in the end of the lid protruded a narrow strip of tough paper, one end of which had been bent back and glued to the outside of the box. At the opposite end a similar strip had been passed through a slit, and glued in the same way on the outside.

“You opened it, I suppose?” Raynham remarked. “What did you find inside?”

“I opened it,” Dodworthy replied. “I lifted the clip with my thumbnail and tried to raise the lid. It resisted my efforts, and I had to use some degree of force. The lid gave way suddenly, with a sharp and most unexpected crack. Open the box yourself, and you'll see why.”

Raynham did so. The lid offered no resistance, and he raised it easily enough. The nature of the strips of tough paper then became apparent. They were the two ends of the explosive device of an ordinary Christmas cracker, which had been inserted whole through the length of the box and the ends secured with glue. The opening of the lid by Dodworthy had caused the cracker to go off.

“I thought, of course, that it was a silly joke,” said Dodworthy. “Fortunately, the clerk who had brought it had left the room before I tried to open it. He'd have found his amusement at the trick I'd been played difficult to conceal. The box was empty but for the cracker. But when I looked inside I saw something that made me wonder whether the trick was as innocent as it seemed. Hold it up to the light and look for yourself.”

Raynham held the box so that the light penetrated the interior through the open lid. On the inside of the end opposite to the lid, three words had been traced in poker-work. The first two lightly, in the same fanciful script as the name on the outside, but smaller. “Next time.” The third, in bold, deeply burnt letters, “Death.”

“Next time, Death, eh?” Raynham remarked in a matter-of-fact tone. “Well, that's very much in line with what the rest of us have had. I suppose there's no clue as to who sent you this charming little box?”

Dodworthy shook his head. “None whatever. I got the clerk to recover the wrappings, but could find on them no indication of any kind. And, of course, anybody passing through Regency Square might have dropped it into the night-safe. The strong-room was locked for the night at four o'clock yesterday afternoon. It was then empty. It was opened at half-past nine this morning, when the package, among other things, was found in it.”

“You mentioned Mr. Glandford a few minutes ago,” said Raynham. “Are you at liberty to tell me what he got?”

“I don't see why I shouldn't tell you,” Dodworthy replied. “As client to solicitor, you understand.” He described the telegraph form which Glandford had shown him. “Block letters don't betray handwriting,” he remarked. “And any one could have gone into a busy post office and written a message on a telegraph form.”

“Just as any one could have dropped the package in your night-safe,” Raynham agreed. “Now, in return for what you've just told me, I'll give you the rest of the story.” He described briefly his own experience, and those of Lawrence Flamstead, Dr. Teesdale, and the Admiral. “It's the same in every case,” he went on. “The sender has taken good care to cover his tracks. Any one could have given that errand-boy the parcel for me. The lad says he wouldn't recognise the man if he saw him again. Any one could have torn a coloured plate from a picture book and posted it to Flamstead at the Club. Any one could have slipped the envelope under the windscreen wiper of the doctor's car. Any one could have used one of the Admiral's cards by way of address, and posted another to him. But, leaving the sender aside for the moment, the significant thing seems to me that the recipients are all people living in Hallows Green.”

“You're suggesting that the whole thing is a multiple hoax?” Dodworthy remarked.

“Can you suggest anything else?” Raynham replied. “That six people, who have nothing in common beyond the fact that they happen to be neighbours, should be seriously menaced seems hardly to make sense. And there's this about it. I think we may safely assume that the sender was the same in all six cases. There are indications that this practical joker, if such he is, knows a good deal about the residents in Hallows Green. For instance, he was able to recognise the doctor's new car, which he has owned only for a week or two. And he seems to have known that Lawrence Flamstead was generally to be found at the Club in the afternoon.”

Dodworthy frowned. “You surely don't suspect one of our neighbours?”

“There's not very much to found suspicion upon,” Raynham replied. “But obviously this chap knows us all fairly well. What I'm saying is in strict confidence, remember. Six out of ten families living in Hallows Green have received these mysterious communications. What of the remaining four? Lawrence Flamstead, who knows nothing of the other five, is convinced that his nephew and niece, aided and abetted by their father, sent him the coloured plate. But that's only natural, considering the state of tension between the two brothers.”

“Surely not!” Dodworthy exclaimed. “My wife has a particularly soft spot in her heart for Jerry and Peg. She asked them to tea yesterday, and they were there when I got home. I'll admit that there's a strain of childishness running through all this, but I should hesitate to put it down to them. They're lively, natural children, but they're normally quite well behaved. When they were with us yesterday evening, they could talk of nothing but a party they're giving on Twelfth Night. I don't think they had room for anything else in their minds. Certainly not a dark and complicated conspiracy. Besides, who was the man who gave the boy the parcel for you? Barry Flamstead? I don't believe it.”

“Very well, then,” said Raynham. “Consider who's left. I think you'll agree that we can leave the worthy Miss Wayland out of it. As I think we may the Egremonts. It seems hardly likely that the sending of anonymous communications forms a part of the rites of their religious cult. Remains only Charles Vawtrey, far too serious-minded to indulge in practical joking. And, for that matter, far too absorbed in his hobby.”

“It's not much good guessing,” Dodworthy replied. “What I really came to ask your advice about was this. Ought I to hand that box over to the police?”

“What could they do if you did?” Raynham asked. “I don't see how they could find out who dropped it in the night-safe. Even if they achieved such a miracle, what action could they take? I'm not at all sure that three words burnt on the inside of a box would come under the heading of a direct menace. And, as you know, you're not the only one involved. If we make too much of a song and dance about all this, we run a very grave risk of making six respectable people look supremely ridiculous.”

“I don't know that I'm altogether prepared to take it lying down,” said Dodworthy doubtfully.

“No more is Lawrence Flamstead,” Raynham replied. “When I last saw him he was breathing out threatenings and slaughter. But I'm all for keeping the matter in our own hands. And I've an idea about that. How would it be to invite all the heads of families living in Hallows Green to a meeting, to decide what, if anything, is to be done? Tell me what you think.”

“It's not at all a bad idea,” said Dodworthy thoughtfully. “But wouldn't it be letting the cat out of the bag?”

“Not necessarily,” Raynham replied. “We needn't tell any one but those directly concerned what the meeting is really about. It ought to be easy enough to find some plausible pretext to satisfy others. I've got it! The roadway in Hallows Green is getting into a shocking state. There's a great pot-hole just outside my gate. We're calling a meeting to draw up a complaint to the Highways Committee of the City Council. How will that do?”

Dodworthy smiled. “You lawyers have fertile brains. All right, if you can fix things up, I'll attend.”

“Leave it to me,” said Raynham. “I'll get in touch with everybody and try to arrange a meeting. It had better be on Saturday afternoon. That would suit those of us who have business to attend to on other days, and the Admiral ought to be up and about by then, from what Teesdale tells me.”

Raynham was as good as his word. During the next couple of days he sounded all his neighbours. He told all those he knew to be directly concerned the true object of the meeting. To the others he said merely that a meeting was to be held to consider a matter which concerned all the residents of Hallows Green. All agreed to attend.

The place of meeting presented a difficulty, but the Admiral provided the solution. The hall at number 7 was larger than that of any other houses, for at some time one of the ground floor rooms had been thrown into it. The Admiral called it his quarter-deck, and when it was too wet to go out, was fond of pacing up and down it. As soon as Raynham explained the project to him, he fell in with the scheme enthusiastically. “Jolly good idea. I've always believed in a show-down all round. We'll find out who's been up to these monkey tricks, I dare say. And I'll tell you what, Raynham. My quarter-deck is the very place for the meeting. We'll hold it there, with Haskin as sentry at the gangway, to keep eavesdroppers away. Eh?”

So shortly before three o'clock on Saturday afternoon visitors began to arrive at number 7. Haskin had interpreted his orders so literally that one almost expected him to demand a password. Although he knew all the arrivals perfectly well, he demanded their names before passing them on to the Admiral, who stood in the centre of the hall. At a hint from her husband, Lady Sapperton had invited herself to spend the afternoon with Faith Glandford. Ten chairs of various sizes and shapes had been collected, and arranged in a wide semicircle round the blazing fireplace.

As each visitor came in and was introduced to the Admiral, he waved his hand towards this semi-circle, allowing them to take which chairs they would. The result showed the feeling of mistrust which permeated at Hallows Green. No one seemed disposed to sit next to a chair already occupied. Lawrence Flamstead was one of the first to arrive. He looked about him suspiciously, then took the chair at one of the extremities of the curve. His brother Barry followed shortly afterwards, and after a glance round, seated himself at the opposite extremity. This meant that the two brothers faced one another, but each was careful to avoid the other's eye.

Mr. Egremont was early on the scene. As usual, his manner was remote, as though his mind inhabited a different world. He seemed to have no care where he sat, but walked straight to the chair nearest him, which happened to be two away from Lawrence Flamstead. Miss Wayland came in almost on his heels. But she seemed to avoid him, and went to the other side, leaving a vacant chair between herself and Barry Flamstead. To his greeting she returned a polite but hardly encouraging reply. A short pause before Mr. Vawtrey came in. He looked about him shyly, then approached Miss Wayland. He might have sat down beside her, but was apparently chilled by the fact that she took no notice of his presence. Instead, he seated himself midway between her and Mr. Egremont.

There was thus no opportunity for latecomers to leave gaps between themselves and their neighbours. They drifted in one by one, and seated themselves more or less at random. Glandford, Dodworthy, Raynham, and finally Dr. Teesdale, apologising for the fact that a call from one of his patients had delayed him. Then the Admiral settled himself into the only chair that remained vacant. He did so in complete silence, for his visitors showed a strange disinclination to talk to one another. “Well, we're all here,” he said heartily. “Will you say your piece, Raynham?”

Raynham stood up and cleared his throat importantly. He seemed about to begin, ' Ladies and gentlemen,' but checked himself in an endeavour to speak less formally. “Some of us are already aware why we have been asked to come here this afternoon. For the benefit of those who are not, I must reveal that certain residents in Hallows Green have recently received communications of an unusual nature. It is possible that others present may have had similar experiences. A common policy on the part of the recipients would appear to be called for. But before deciding what that policy is to be, it will be necessary to know exactly who the recipients were.”

He paused, but nobody spoke. A few furtive glances were exchanged, but no word was uttered. He went on, choosing his words with considerable care. “The names of six people who have been annoyed in this way are already known to us. It would be of the greatest assistance if the remaining four residents in Hallows Green would tell us whether they have been similarly annoyed. I do not ask for details, but whether any unusual communication has been received recently. As the only lady present, may I ask you first. Miss Wayland?”

Miss Wayland hesitated, but, being used to speaking in public, only momentarily. “Yes! On Monday morning I received by post a most offensive New Year Card.”

“Thank you. Miss Wayland,” said Raynham. “May I ask you next, Mr. Barry Flamstead?”

Barry shook his head. “The only communications I have had lately are bills, and they are by no means unusual, I assure you.”

“You have received nothing of any kind of a menacing nature?” Raynham insisted.

“Well, I'm not sure about that,” Barry replied. “One chap wrote to say that unless I paid up within ten days he would have to place the matter in other hands. That's a menace, I suppose.”

“But hardly the kind of menace to which I am referring,” said Raynham dryly. It was obvious that Barry had not been among the victims. Or that if he had he was not prepared to admit it. “And you, Mr. Egremont?”

Egremont pulled himself together with a start. His thoughts had been clearly far away. “Eh? I hardly understand your meaning, Mr. Raynham. I was under the impression that this meeting had been called for a very different purpose. The only communications my wife and I have received recently have been from members of our congregation. Since these contained wishes for our spiritual happiness during the year, they cannot be described as unusual. That being so, I see no need for me to partake in further discussion.”

Raynham snatched at this. It was an excellent way of getting rid of those not immediately concerned. The narrower the circle could be kept, the less chance there would be of the secret leaking out. The spectre of possible ridicule was always hovering at the back of Raynham's mind. “There is no need, Mr. Egremont,” he said. “I owe you an apology for wasting your time in this way. And you, too, Mr. Barry Flamstead.”

“Well, if I'm not wanted any longer, I'll get along home,” Barry replied. He and Egremont got up and went out together. Haskin, stationed in the outer hall, opened the front door for them. As they lived opposite to one another, they walked in company along Hallows Green. “It's my belief Raynham's got a bee in his bonnet,” Barry remarked. “What's all this about unusual communications? And of a menacing nature, too. Fancy our benevolent Miss Wayland owning up to having been sent an offensive New Year Card. What's it all about?”

“I have no idea,” Egremont replied stiffly. “I cannot help feeling that Mr. Raynham has behaved deceitfully. I was given to understand that the subject of discussion was to be the condition of the roadway. Had I known that it was in fact of a scandalous nature, I should have declined to attend. Scandal in any form is entirely contrary to my religious principles.”

“I don't care much for it myself,” Barry agreed. “But I fancy that some of our neighbours, or at all events their womenfolk, will revel in it. Nothing like a good juicy scandal to bring some folk together.”

VI

BUT, FAR from having been brought together, the distance between those remaining in the hall of number 7 seemed to have increased. Each individual harboured his or her own suspicions, and all were careful to avoid any exchange of glances. An uneasy silence followed the departure of Barry Flamstead and Egremont, broken at length by Raynham, who had almost forgotten the retiring Charles Vawtrey. “May I ask you the same question, Mr. Vawtrey?”

Vawtrey flushed, as he very often did when suddenly addressed. “Why, yes,” he stammered. “I have received what might be described as an unusual communication. A couple of days ago, I think. Yes, on Thursday morning, by post. Amateur photographers who have been to my exhibitions sometimes send me specimens of their own work for criticism. I am always glad to help beginners in the art. And when I saw the envelope, and felt the cardboard stiffening inside, I guessed it must contain a photograph, in spite of the peculiar method of address.”

“What was peculiar about it?” Raynham asked. “My name and address were not written or typed,” Vawtrey replied. “They were printed, most irregularly, as though each letter had been separately and not very carefully impressed.”

“There you are, Raynham,” Lawrence Flamstead growled. “A child's printing set. It's just as I told you.”

Raynham ignored this remark. “And did the envelope in fact contain a photograph, Mr. Vawtrey?”

“It did,” Vawtrey replied. “From the technical point of view it was excellent. The exposure and development had been well judged. But the subject had no artistic merit whatever. It was a full-length skeleton. And under it, in looking-glass form, was the word 'Yours,' in white.”

“In looking-glass form?” Raynham asked. “You mean that the letters were reversed?”

“Exactly,” Vawtrey replied. “The explanation, I imagine, is this. It would have been difficult to print on the glossy paper of the positive. The word had therefore been traced on the negative, in block letters, using some opaque paint. On the positive therefore it appeared reversed, and in white. I am bound to admit that it gave me quite a shock at the time, but I became somewhat reassured when I reflected that it could only be a joke. I have, of course, no idea who sent it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vawtrey,” said Raynham. “All the eight of us now present have received anonymous communications referring, directly or indirectly, to death. Before coming to any decision, I think it would be as well for each of us to describe his or her experience. I will begin with my own. On Monday morning an errand-boy left at my house a parcel bearing no name, but addressed merely to number 2.”

Miss Wayland interrupted him. “I saw the boy. I had been to a meeting on Monday morning. On my way home, as I was walking along Hallows Green after getting off the bus, a boy riding a tradesman's bicycle stopped and asked me which was number 2. I told him, and I saw him go through the gateway with a parcel.”

All eyes were turned on Miss Wayland. Was it possible that she, the pillar of rectitude, had engineered this elaborate hoax? The mystery was so profound that anything was possible. She had admitted speaking to the errand-boy. What if she knew more about the origin of the parcel than she cared to say?

But Raynham went on. “I was enabled to trace the boy. He told me that the parcel had been given him, earlier that morning, at the corner of Bridge Street, by a man. All he could tell me about the man was that he appeared to be suffering from a severe cold. He could not see his face, for he held his handkerchief in front of it.”

The Admiral instantly became the centre of suspicious interest. Every one knew that although he had been about on Monday, for the next three days he had been laid up with a chill. In his jocular way, the Admiral was fond of a joke. When one came to think of it, he was a more likely perpetrator than Miss Wayland.

Raynham went on to describe what he had found inside the parcel. “The dagger itself could very well have been picked up in an antique shop,” he concluded. “But the sharpening of the blade, and the words scratched upon it, presumably with a glazier's diamond, or something similar, are quite recent.”

Raynham was followed by the remaining six, each describing what he or she had received, and how. Lawrence Flamstead allowed his suspicions to appear fairly plainly. The rest professed no idea as to the origin of the communications they had received. When the last experience had been recounted, Raynham summed up. “To each case there is one thing in common. A reference to, or a suggestion of, death. We may regard this either as a collective menace, or as a most inconsiderate hoax. Further, there can be little doubt that they are all the work of some person.

“Now, if only in order to set our minds at rest, we must all wish to discover the identity of that person. Should we or should we not put the matter in the hands of the police? I have devoted considerable thought to the question. The Chief Constable is a personal friend of mine, and I feel sure I could persuade him to employ the utmost tact in any investigation. On the other hand, we should none of us welcome police inquiries in Hallows Green. An even more weighty consideration is that the fact that such inquiries were being made could not long remain a secret, and we should find ourselves in the glare of a most unwelcome publicity. And, should it prove to be an elaborate hoax, Hallows Green would become an object of ridicule to the whole community.”

A murmur of approval greeted this. Nobody wanted the police poking round, or to run the risk of being exposed to the ribald laughter of the multitude. And after an interval the Admiral spoke. “I've got an idea. It seems to me that this is hardly a matter for the police. I've every respect for them, but, after all, crime is their job, and no crime has been committed. A private investigator might solve our problem for us, and we could keep the affair to ourselves.”

“A private detective, you mean?” Teesdale asked. “I've always understood that one has to be pretty careful of chaps like that. They aren't all as reliable as they might be. Still, if that's what is decided upon, I'm ready to subscribe.”

“I didn't mean a professional private detective,” the Admiral replied. “Nor need any expense be involved. I have a friend who has, a wonderful knack for unravelling mysteries of this kind. If the meeting approves, I will ask him to come and stay with me for a day or two and put the facts before him. If he can't tell us the answer, we might then consider putting the matter in other hands.”

“I don't see any need to trouble your friend,” Lawrence Flamstead growled. “Or the police either, for that matter. It strikes me as most remarkable that my brother, almost alone of us who live in Hallows Green, hasn't had one of these things.”

“How can you say such a thing!” Miss Wayland exclaimed. “I'm quite sure that Mr. Barry knows nothing whatever about it. Why, we went into the city on the same bus together on Wednesday morning.”

Raynham interposed hastily. “I think that conjecture at this stage would be most unwise. It might lead to consequences of an extremely unpleasant nature. I personally am in favour of adopting Sir Hector's suggestion. Has any one any objection to this course being taken, in the first instance, at least?”

Lawrence Flamstead shrugged his shoulders contemptuously but no one spoke. “Very well, then,” Raynham continued. “I am sure we are all most grateful. Perhaps you will be good enough to communicate with your friend, Sir Hector?”

“I'll ring him up this evening,” the Admiral replied. “He lives not very far away. It would be as well if you would all let me have your contributions to the problem, so that I can show them to him when he comes. You needn't be afraid that he will talk. I can guarantee his complete discretion.”

The meeting broke up, a silent and mutually suspicious procession filing out of the house. Haskin busied himself putting the quarter-deck in order, replacing the chairs where they belonged. While he was doing this, the Admiral paced up and down, his hands clasped behind his back. That had been a first class idea! He ought to have thought of it sooner. Merrion was the very chap. If he couldn't get to the bottom of this confounded puzzle, nobody could.

During the earlier part of the last war Sir Hector had served at the Admiralty, in charge of a section of Intelligence. His chief assistant had been Captain Desmond Merrion, R.N.V.R. At first there had been some friction between them. For one thing Merrion knew far more about Intelligence methods than his superior, and when their opinions diverged, as they frequently did, Merrion's generally proved to be right. And, for another, the Admiral had a rooted mistrust of civilians masquerading in naval uniform.

But Merrion's ability, combined with his placid demeanour, soon triumphed over this. Mutual respect ripened into partnership and admiration. Before long the two were working together hand and glove. It might be remarked that Merrion's was the cunning hand hidden within the Admiral's official glove. Even when the Admiral had been posted to sea, and with profound relief had shaken the dust of the Admiralty from his feet, the two had remained in close touch. And at the end of the war, when the Admiral had retired, and Captain Merrion had once more become Desmond Merrion, Esq., of High Eldersham Hall, the friendship had continued. Sir Hector and Lady Sapperton had spent a few days at the Hall, and Merrion and his wife, Mavis, had paid a return visit to number 7.

While the Admiral was still pacing his quarter-deck, Lady Sapperton came home. She liked, whenever possible, to have tea with her husband. “Mr. Glandford came back to number 3 a few minutes ago,” she said. “So I knew the meeting must be over. Faith wanted me to stay to tea, but I wouldn't. How did things go?”

“Oh, pretty well, pretty well,” Sir Hector replied. “We came to a decision of sorts, anyhow. I won't bore you with all the details. Better come along and take your things off. It's tea-time already.”

A few minutes later they were sitting in the drawing-room, the tea tray between them. “I've been thinking, my dear,” he said. “It's a long time since I've seen anything of my old friend Merrion. I've a jolly good mind to ring him up and ask him if he can spare the time to spend a day or two with us. What do you think?”

His wife smiled. Knowing her husband as well as she did, she perceived there was something in this sudden desire for Merrion's company. “Why not? ” she replied. “You'll ask Mrs. Merrion, too, of course?”

The Admiral hesitated. He had for a moment overlooked the fact that in inviting a married man to stay, his wife must, in common politeness, be included in the invitation. “Why, yes, I suppose so. Of course, I mean. It was Merrion I was thinking about, really. You know how he and I love swopping yarns about the old days we had together.”

This was a trifle too disingenuous. She sipped her cup of tea. before she spoke. “Aren't you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, my dear? ” the Admiral replied innocently. “I've told you that I'd like to see Merrion again.”

Margaret Sapperton shook her head. “It's no good. I've known for the last few days that you've been hiding something from me. And not only that. My feminine intuition has sensed an air of mystery. People seem to be avoiding one another. And your excuse for the meeting won't work. When Mr. Glandford came home just now and Faith asked him if it had been decided to complain to the Highways Committee about the road, he quite obviously hadn't the remotest idea what she was talking about.”

“I'd rather you didn't ask questions just yet,” the Admiral replied. “I'm not at liberty to talk. It's quite true that there is a mystery, but it concerns half a dozen people besides myself. That's why I want to see Merrion. You know very well that I have the highest opinion of his ability to ferret out a secret.”

Like a sensible woman, Margaret Sapperton pursued the matter no further. After tea the Admiral put a trunk call through to High Eldersham Hall. Much to his relief, Merrion himself answered it. “Hallo, Admiral! I'm delighted to hear from you. I've been meaning to write to you for ever so long, but I'm a shocking hand at writing letters. How goes it?”

“Lights burning bright, and all's well,” the Admiral replied. “But for a small matter that's been exercising my mind for the last few days. Look here, old chap, I don't want to say too much over the phone, but a situation has risen here which I feel sure would appeal to your imagination. Could you possibly come and stay with us for a day or two and see for yourself? And the sooner the better.”

The hook had been skilfully baited, for Merrion could never resist the slightest hint of a mystery. “I expect I can manage that,” he said. “In any case I shall be delighted to see you again. The sooner the better, you say. Would it suit you and Lady Sapperton if I turned up tomorrow afternoon?”

“Nothing could suit us better! ” the Admiral exclaimed. Then, hastily recollecting himself, “You'll bring Mrs. Merrion with you, of course?”

This was so obvious an afterthought that Merrion smiled to himself. “That's very kind of you. Admiral. I know that Mavis would be delighted to come. Unfortunately, I also know that she has a lot of engagements here next week. I'll ask her when she comes in. But if she can't come, you'll understand, won't you?”

“Of course we shall,” the Admiral replied heartily. “We'll leave it at that, then. We'll expect you to-morrow afternoon. And if you can bring Mrs. Merrion with you, so much the better. So long till then.”

In spite of what Merrion had said, Mavis was not out, but had been standing at his side. “You got me out of that,” she remarked. “But your imagination is apt to obscure the truth. Engagements, indeed? Have you forgotten that I couldn't possibly have gone with you, as Clara Foxcroft is coming to stay on Tuesday?”

“I had forgotten that for the moment,” Merrion confessed. “But a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. The Admiral wants to unburden his soul to me about something that's worrying him. You don't mind?”

“Have I ever kept you from your play?” Mavis replied. “You go along and amuse yourself to your heart's content. I shan't be lonely with Clara to talk to. You'll drive to Barncaster, I take it?”

“It'll be the quickest, especially on Sunday,” said Merrion. “But I'm not likely to want the car after I get there. I'll take Newport with me, and he can bring it back, so that you and Clara can make use of it if you want to.”

Merrion set off next day after lunch, and covered the seventy miles to Barncaster in a little over a couple of hours. The gate of number 7 was wide open, and he drove up to the front door. The Admiral, expecting his arrival, had been pacing the hall impatiently, and, hearing the car, flung open the front door. “Ah, here you are, my dear old chap! ” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Merrion couldn't come with you, after all? Well, that is a disappointment for us. Leave your bag here. Haskin will take it up to your room. Come along into the drawing-room. Margaret's there, and we'll ring for tea at once. You'll be glad of it after your drive, I dare say.”

It was not until after supper, when the two men had retired to the little room which the Admiral called his cabin, that the subject at issue was broached. Now that he had come to it, the Admiral seemed hardly to know how to begin. “Pour yourself out a glass of whisky. That's right. Now, as I hinted to you on the phone yesterday, I want to tell you something. You'll find it damn silly, I expect. Some ass playing a series of practical jokes. No more than that, I dare say. But it's deucedly uncomfortable, all the same.”

Merrion smiled. “You remember the old days. Admiral. More than once something that appeared to be damn silly turned out to be pretty serious. The case of the Man who Made Faces, for instance.”

The Admiral nodded. “I remember that well enough. And I remember, too, that if it hadn't been for you, the fellow would have got away with it. Well, as I say, our trouble's laughable, childish, if you like. But, all the same, it's created a most unpleasant feeling. You know what sometimes happens on board ship. A rating misses half a crown, in such a way that one of his shipmates must have pinched it. The whole lower deck becomes demoralised and all sense of comradeship vanishes. Until the thief is spotted, the ship seethes with suspicion. Every man withdraws himself from his opposite number, and the ship's company treat one another as strangers.”

“I know very well,” Merrion replied. “The situation rapidly becomes impossible.”

“Well, much the same sort of thing has happened here,” said the Admiral. “Take this morning, for instance. On Sunday mornings most of us who live in Hallows Green go to the parish church. All Saints, a few hundred yards up Otterford Road. Except Mr. Lawrence Flamstead, who wouldn't dream of attending the same church as the Barry Flamsteads. They always hire a taxi, and go in style to the Cathedral. And of course the Egremonts, who practise some weird religion of their own. As a rule, after service, it's a regular church parade, as those of us who have been to All Saints walk home together. Not this morning, though. A dozen or more of us had been to church, but we didn't come home in a body. We straggled back in twos and threes, each party keeping to itself, with hardly a word for their neighbours. A small matter, I dare say, but it illustrates what I mean.”

“And the cause of this estrangement?” Merrion asked.

“Ah, that's just it,” the Admiral replied. He got up and unlocked a massive sea-chest which stood against the wall. From it he took out a number of things which he laid in order on the table. “Come and look for yourself. A New Year card sent by post to Miss Wayland. A telegraph form, also sent by post, to Mr. Glandford. A dagger, or what remains of it, left by an errand-boy at Peter Raynham's house. A coloured plate, with a message in Latin on the back, sent by post to Lawrence Flamstead at the Club. One of my own visiting cards, with additions, sent to me by post. A cutting from one of the motor papers, pushed under the windscreen wiper of Jeremy Teesdale's car. A minor infernal machine, dropped into the night-safe of the bank of which Dodworthy is the manager. A photograph, posted to Charles Vawtrey.”

Merrion examined these one after the other. “They're all pretty suggestive, aren't they? ” he remarked. “The general significance seems to be summed up in the message on the telegraph form, ' Beware! Murder stalks in Hallows Green !' It doesn't, I suppose? Nobody has been attacked?”

“Nobody!” the Admiral replied emphatically. “And I don't believe there's the slightest probability that any one will be. Now that you've seen these things, I'll repeat to you exactly how, by their own accounts, the various people came by them.”

Merrion listened attentively. “It's all very interesting,” he said, when the Admiral had come to an end. “We can take it as a fact to start off with that they were all sent by the same person, who in every case had taken considerable pains to conceal his identity. You've no guess as to who he might be?”

“Someone living in Hallows Green,” the Admiral replied. “Eight out of the ten heads of families living in Hallows Green have had one of these things. And whoever sent them must know us all pretty well. I'll give you three instances. Glandford isn't the sort of chap to throw his weight about. He doesn't boast about the learned societies to which he belongs. Yet, on his envelope, the letters F.R.S. are correctly added to his name. The doctor has had his new car only since just before Christmas. There's nothing about it to show that it belongs to him, yet someone was able to pick it out among several others in the car park. Then there are those cards of mine. Only someone we had called upon could have got hold of them. And I don't believe Margaret or I have left cards at half a dozen houses outside Hallows Green since we've been here.”

Merrion nodded. “That argument seems sound enough. You can't narrow it down at all?”

“Well, I'm not sure,” the Admiral replied doubtfully. “By the way, there's just one thing that rather puzzles me. It doesn't quite seem to fit in with a sender from Hallows Green. That photograph that Vawtrey got. So far as I know, he's the only one of us who makes a hobby of photography.”

“I don't think we need take that as an exception,” said Merrion. “It by no means follows that the sender of the photograph took it himself. It was, by the look of it, taken by an expert photographer. For the purpose, I imagine, of reproduction in some medical text-book. Having served that purpose, the negative was thrown aside and may have got into any one's hands. And inexpert hands, at that. Nobody who knew his job would have allowed the caption to come out in reverse on the print. He'd have painted it in reverse on the negative, a clumsy proceeding in any case. No, it seems to me strongly in favour of the sender being someone who knew a lot about Mr. Vawtrey, probably one of his neighbours. He was sent a photograph, for the very reason that this person knew that he frequently received photographs for criticism.”

The Admiral laughed. “Trust you to answer a riddle! So that difficulty is smoothed out. Another indication that the sender lives in Hallows Green. You ask me if I can narrow it down to a finer point than that? Well, there are two families living in Hallows Green, and only two who haven't been honoured in this way.”

VII

MERRION lighted a fresh cigarette. “You suspect a member of one of them? ” he suggested.

“Far be it from me to suspect any one,” the Admiral replied. “But it seems rather odd that Barry Flamstead should have been left out. He's always been one of us, so to speak. His brother Lawrence is convinced that he is at the bottom of this; that he put his children, now at home for the holidays, up to a bit of mischief.”

“Is that very likely?” Merrion asked. “I'm inclined to regard all this as rather more serious than a bit of mischief. And though I don't profess to be an expert in child psychology, it doesn't look to me like the work of a pair of children, if only because too much time and trouble must have been involved. They'd never have had the patience to stick to it.”

“I don't believe the kids did it,” the Admiral agreed. “I've just told you I suspected nobody. Lawrence's attitude is explained by the fact that the two brothers are at daggers drawn. Something to do with a lawsuit over their uncle's will. I don't understand the rights and wrongs of it, and I'm not sure that any one else does, either. Even Peter Raynham, who's Lawrence's lawyer. But this I do know. If they'd sit down together sensibly and come to some agreement, the matter could be settled in half an hour. But they won't. They're both as pig-headed about it as they can be.”

“If that's how matters stand, one brother would always be ready to think the worst of the other,” said Merrion. “I suppose it is possible that Barry might instigate his children to annoy Lawrence. But why include so many others in his malicious scheme? Is he that sort of person?”

“Not a bit of it!” the Admiral exclaimed. “He's a thorough good chap, and his wife is another like him. He's always grumbling that he hasn't got a bean in the world, but that's all nonsense. I dare say he finds that absurd lawsuit a bit of an expense. But Joan Flamstead, she's Barry's wife, has money of her own, and she'd be the last to grudge it to her husband. Incidentally, they and their children are the happiest family imaginable.”

“And the other people you mentioned as being outside the charmed circle?” Merrion asked.

“The Egremonts? ” the Admiral replied. “Well, they're different, somehow. One never thinks of them as really belonging to Hallows Green. So far as I know, none of the rest of us sees very much of them. Deborah and Barak, I call them, though I don't think Mrs. Egremont is the sort of person to approve of driving a nail into any one's head. But they run a religion of their own, of which, so far as I can make out, they are the High Priest and Priestess.”

“They have a following of some kind?” Merrion suggested.

“Not in Hallows Green,” the Admiral replied. “In fact, I've never spoken to any of their adherents. The Egremonts give tea-parties occasionally, but their co-religionists are not invited. The guests are confined to their immediate neighbours. I went to one of their parties, I must confess out of curiosity after what Margaret had told me. Queerest thing you ever saw. Tea is served in a big room that looks like a cross between a chapel and a pagan temple. There's a sort of altar at one end, covered all over with a white cloth. One feels one ought to talk in a hushed voice. See what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Merrion. “I can imagine it, anyhow. I suppose we may assume that people who evolve religions of their own are to some extent unbalanced?”

The Admiral looked doubtful. “Well, yes, I suppose we may. Unbalanced in that particular direction. Egremont is apt to be dreamy, but that's what you'd expect of a prophet, isn't it? When you can get him back to earth, he's sensible enough. Mrs. Egremont I hardly know, but apart from her taste in clothes, she seems pretty sane. I somehow can't imagine them sending these things.”

“You say that you're not acquainted with any of their followers?” Merrion asked.

“I'm not,” the Admiral replied. “I don't believe that any of us are. The fact is we don't see the people who attend the ceremonies at number 1. Like the rest of the houses, it has a gateway opening on to Hallows Green, but it's very rarely used. There's another gate on the Paulthorpe Road, and all the comings and goings are by that. More than once I've seen people I didn't know going in that way. Quite ordinary looking people, nothing in any way remarkable about them. What I want you to understand is that though the Egremonts live in Hallows Green, they are in a sense apart from the rest of the community. I've never heard of a prophet being a practical joker. And if this isn't a joke, I can't imagine what would have induced the Egremonts to go to all that trouble to annoy neighbours who haven't done them any harm.”

“The motive is certainly obscure,” Merrion agreed. “But it is in any case. You seem to have disposed of the two exceptions. For my part, I'm inclined to regard them with less suspicion than the others. If I had sent out these things, I should have been careful to include myself among the recipients.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” said the Admiral. “Well, there are eight of us. I, for one, am ready to swear on oath that I know nothing about it. And what, in heaven's name, is the idea?”

“That's not so easy to say,” Merrion replied. “Since I don't know the people concerned, I can look at the affair impartially. In no case is a direct threat to a particular individual expressed. Nor is there any suggestion of blackmail. It's not a case of demanding money by menaces. The object of the sender may have been to induce a number of people to make themselves look ridiculous.”

“Yes, I know,” said the Admiral. “We've all had that idea, I gather. It's just why we've agreed to keep the matter to ourselves, and not complain to the police. But which of us would want to make the others look ridiculous?”

“I don't know,” Merrion replied. “You know all these people fairly well. Can you imagine any one of them having been offended by his or her neighbours in a body, and using this means of paying off an old score?”

The Admiral shook his head. “I'll try to explain the degree of neighbourliness that exists, or rather has existed till now, in Hallows Green. We're all, except the two Flamstead families, on very good terms. Our interests vary, and I don't know that any of us have many in common. There are no passionate friendships between us, but on the other hand, except in the one case, there are no enmities. We're not always running in and out of one another's houses, but as a rule we meet fairly frequently. We are by no means a closed society, living in a world of our own. Each family has friends outside Hallows Green, and the friends of one family don't necessarily know the other families. I think that's a pretty fair picture.

“There is no question of any individual, or family, having been ostracised?” Merrion asked.

“None whatever,” the Admiral replied. “We've always lived in a true spirit of liberty, equality and fraternity. With one exception that you must bear in mind, there have never been any feuds among us. Nor have we split up into cliques, one small group holding themselves in any way aloof from the rest.”

“Then, as a motive, we may exclude revenge for insult, real or imaginary,” said Merrion. “Genuine wholesale menace may also be ruled out. It seems to me that there is only one possible explanation. And that is that the one object of the sender of this remarkable collection has already been achieved.”

The Admiral frowned at him. “What do you mean? Nothing has been achieved, for nothing has happened.”

“Hasn't it?” Merrion replied quietly. “You've been at considerable pains to explain to me that something has happened. The neighbourliness you have so ably described has been disrupted. You now avoid one another. Just now you gave me an instance of that when you described your experiences this morning. The bond of fraternity, which linked you together in such content, is busted. That may have been the object.”

“I'm beginning to see what you're driving at,” said the Admiral. “Let's put it in more homely language. The object was to set us all at loggerheads with one another. But will you tell me why?”

“Not in half a dozen words,” Merrion replied. “If only because I'm by no means clear about it myself. The position, as I see it, is this. You all believe, apparently on very good grounds, that the sender is one of yourselves. Consequently, each of you is suspicious of his neighbour. It's an unpleasant thought that the man next door might have sent you an anonymous communication referring, none too delicately, to the imminence of death. That's about how the matter stands, isn't it?”

“It's exactly how it stands!” the Admiral exclaimed. “And it's damned uncomfortable, I may tell you.”

“An atmosphere of mutual suspicion and mistrust has enveloped Hallows Green,” said Merrion. “Fog is likely to develop, and may be thick in places, as the forecast would say. Is it too great a stretch of imagination to infer that the fog was created by some person who intends to take advantage of it?”

“Why can't you speak plainly, man? ” the Admiral asked irritably. “What are you talking about now?”

“It's not easy to speak plainly about the intangible,” Merrion replied. “We've only got an atmosphere to start with. Look at it this way. Suppose something more definite were to happen. Suppose that some resident of Hallows Green were to suffer a misfortune, attributable to human agency. What then?”

“Eh?” the Admiral exclaimed. “Do you mean what if one of these veiled threats took effect? Well, the answer's plain enough. We should all suspect one another of murder.”

Merrion smiled. “Perhaps that's going to extremes. But you've got my meaning. If any misfortune were to occur, the neighbours of the victim would accuse one another. The person actually responsible would find safety in numbers amid such a welter of mutual accusation.”

“But this is nonsense! ” the Admiral replied. “You've let your imagination run away with you. If I follow you properly, this is what you're suggesting. One of us is contemplating a crime, major or minor, against the person or property of another. And I'm bound to say that I find that very difficult to believe.”

“May I remind you of the many things that, when we were working together, we found difficult to believe,” said Merrion. “We have to face the fact that someone has already expended considerable time and trouble. Far more than would be warranted in order to obtain the satisfaction of a successful hoax. Something more profitable must surely be intended. It seems to me, I repeat, that the initial object has been achieved. The stage is set and the drama will follow. Whether it will be of the nature of a tragedy or of a comedy, I am not prepared to predict.”

Well, your guesses have an uncanny knack of turning out right,” the Admiral admitted grudgingly. “One of us is preparing to play a trick of some kind on another. But who, and on whom?”

“I don't know,” Merrion replied. “Does no combination suggest itself to you?”

The Admiral shrugged his shoulders. “Only one. Either Flamstead would be ready enough to play a trick on the other, I dare say. Beyond that, I've no suggestions to make. Leaving them out, take the other houses in order. Number 1 is the Egremonts, and they hardly seem to come into the picture. Number 2, Peter Raynham. He's not the sort to play tricks, but a lawyer is bound to make enemies, and one of them might try to get his own back.”

“One moment,” Merrion interposed. “You say that the Flamsteads are engaged in a law-suit, and that Lawrence Flamstead is one of Mr. Raynham's clients. I take it that Barry Flamstead employs some other lawyer?”

“I believe he does,” the Admiral replied. “I don't know which one. He's not a client of Raynham's, I know.”

“A point worth noting,” Merrion remarked. “Sorry I interrupted.”

The Admiral waved the apology aside. “Oh, that's all right. Then we come to number 3. Walter Glandford and his loquacious sister. He's the sort of chap who goes about with his head full of the higher mysteries of science. It costs him a visible effort to descend to the lower plane of conversation with the rest of us. I don't think he's sufficiently interested in unscientific people to play tricks on them. And it's not easy to imagine why any one should want to play a trick on him.

“At number 4 lives the estimable Miss Wayland. I can't imagine her contemplating any sort of mischief. On the other hand, her perpetual harping on good works does get on some people's nerves. It does on mine, now and then, I'm bound to admit. Someone might be glad to shake the complacency out of her. She's undoubtedly a rich woman, though she has the reputation of being a bit stingy with her money. She certainly keeps Helen Brinton, her companion and distant cousin, very much in her place. Treats her more like a slavey than a companion, I always think.

“The Lawrence Flamsteads live at number 5. Now we come to this side of the road. At number 6 is Claude Dodworthy, the highly respected manager of the Metropolitan Bank here. A very decent understanding sort of chap, who plays a good game of golf. Not at all the still, remote person that you might expect a banker to be. Thoroughly enjoys a joke but not in the least likely to play a silly trick on any one Bank managers should be beyond suspicion of that sort of thing. So far as I know, we're all his customers.”

“Any search for motive in that direction?” Merrion asked. The Admiral laughed. “You can try it, if you like. Has one any incentive for playing tricks on one's bank manager? Perhaps Dodworthy has refused to allow somebody an overdraft. The aggrieved person means to pay him out for that. You can exercise your powers of imagination upon that, if you care to.

“Here we are at number 7. You'll believe me when I tell you that I have no intention of playing tricks on anybody. As to any one playing tricks on me, I can't, of course, be so sure. I can only say that I'm not conscious of having offended any of my neighbours, and I can't think what satisfaction any one would derive from adding to my cares.

“Next door, at number 8, is the doctor. Jeremy Teesdale is a thoroughly good chap, and we all like him. He has very little time to spare, for his practice works him off his feet, although he has an assistant. A doctor wouldn't be very likely to play tricks on his patients. Is it any more likely that his patients would play tricks on him?

“At number 9 is Charles Vawtrey, a bachelor and a retired colonial civil servant. Shy, diffident sort of chap, who usually seems to be in a fluster about something. I'm bound to admit I pull his leg sometimes, but he doesn't seem to mind. His hobby is photography, and to all appearances he devotes all his working hours to it. He's an utterly inoffensive person, and nobody could possibly want to shake him up in any way. And he's far too good-natured to play malicious pranks. We all like him, though he's apt to be a bit of a bore once he gets on his own particular subject. Number 10, the last house, is where the Barry Flamsteads live. Hallo! What the devil's that?”

There was no doubt what it was. The clanging of the bell of a fire-engine. Both men listened for a second or two, till Merrion spoke. “It appears that something has happened,” he said significantly. “Shall we go and see?”

As they hurried out of the room he glanced at the clock, to find the time was just after ten. In the hall they met Lady Sapperton. “You heard? ” she asked. “I was just coming to tell you. I looked out of the window, and saw a fire down the road. It's this side, towards Paulthorpe Road.”

“Come on!” the Admiral exclaimed. “Let's go and see where it is.” As soon as they were outside the front door, they saw a bright glow, apparently at the back of number 9. The clanging had stopped, and the fire engine was now drawn up in the roadway, with the firemen about it, unrolling hoses. A crowd had already collected, kept in check by a policeman in the gateway of number 9.

They reached the fringe of the crowd, and in the uncertain flickering light the Admiral recognised several of his neighbours. The nearest was Teesdale, and the Admiral accosted him. “Hey, what's this. Doctor? Vawtrey's house caught alight? How did it happen?”

“Good evening, Admiral,” Teesdale replied calmly. “And you too. Lady Sapperton. No, not his house, so far. Only that wooden shed at the back. I seem to have been the first to see it. I thought I heard something outside my back door, and opened it to see what it was. There was a dickens of a crackling, that's what I heard, and what looked like a bonfire in the back garden next door. I ran to the hedge and looked over, to see it was that wooden shed, with flames beginning to shoot through the roof.”

“You were the first to see it? ” the Admiral asked. Vawtrey wasn't there, then?”

“Nobody was there,” Teesdale replied. “I scrambled through the hedge and found nobody about. So I hammered on the back door of number 9, and after a bit Vawtrey's man Brown opened it. I didn't have to tell him what was the matter, for he could see for himself. He howled like a wild animal, and bolted back into the house. Then, as I knew Vawtrey wasn't on the telephone, I ran back to my own place and rang up the brigade.”

“And Vawtrey? ” the Admiral asked anxiously. “He's all right? You're sure he wasn't in the shed?”

“Oh, he's all right,” Teesdale replied. “I saw him a moment ago, running round in circles like a man distracted. There's no danger of the fire spreading to the house now. There's a gap of several yards between it and the shed. And the brigade will soon get the blaze under control. Look, the flames are dying down already.”

It was cold, standing out there in the roadway, and in a few minutes the party from number 7 returned home.. “Curious,” the Admiral remarked. “How did that shed or whatever it is catch light, I wonder. Eh, Merrion?

“Fires do break out from unexplained causes,” Merrion replied oracularly. “But is this the sequel?”

VIII

“I TELL YOU what, my dear,” said the Admiral as Lady Sapperton poured out his coffee at breakfast next morning. “It would only be neighbourly to see Vawtrey and ask if there is anything we could do for him. No need for you to put yourself out. Merrion and I will stroll along to number 9 as soon as we've finished our breakfast.”

Margaret Sapperton fully agreed, though she may have doubted whether her husband was prompted by neighbourliness alone. He and Merrion set out, meeting no one on their way to number 9. The door was opened to them by Brown, who seemed hardly to have recovered from his shock of the previous evening. His expression was startled, and his clothes looked as though he had slept in them. Merrion was mildly amused at the contrast between this uncouth shambling creature and the immaculate and soldierly Haskin. A thought passed through his mind. Did the backstairs inhabitants of Hallows Green associate? And, if so, what secrets did they share between themselves?

“I think Mr. Vawtrey is round at the back, sir,” Brown replied to the Admiral's question. “Shall I find him for you?”

“No, never mind about that,” said the Admiral. “We'll find him for ourselves.” They started to walk from the front door round the house. “That fellow wants smartening up,” the Admiral muttered. “And his wife's a slattern, too. Usually goes about in a sort of sarong. Can't think why Vawtrey keeps a couple like that. He knows his own business best, I suppose. Ah, there he is.”

They had reached the back of the house, where the tradesmen's entrance was situated. An ill-kept kitchen garden stretched for some distance. In this, a few yards from the back door of the house, was a blackened patch, littered with fragments of charred wood and debris of all kinds. In the centre of this was Vawtrey, prodding aimlessly with a walking stick.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, an air of childish bewilderment on his face. For a moment he stared in shortsighted suspicion, half-raising his stick as though to defend himself. Recognising the Admiral, he smiled in obvious relief, seeming genuinely pleased to see him. “Why, good morning, Sir Hector. What —?”

“Just stepped round to see if there was anything we could do to help,” the Admiral replied heartily. “Let me introduce you to Mr. Merrion, a friend of mine who is staying with us for a few days.”

Vawtrey's eyes lit up with interest. “The friend you mentioned on Saturday, no doubt. I'm delighted to meet you, Mr. Merrion. But I'm afraid there's nothing anybody can do. This is a complete disaster to me. The shed that stood here was my dark room and workroom. Most of my apparatus, and all my valued negatives, were stored here. Not my cameras, I'm thankful to say, for I always keep them indoors, but practically everything else. I can't find anything that's worth salvaging. It's a tragedy!”

“You're covered by insurance, I expect?” the Admiral suggested, in an attempt to alleviate his distress.

“What's the good of that?”Vawtrey replied querulously. “The negatives, upon which I had expended so much time and patience, can't be replaced. Neither can most of the apparatus, a good part of which I had put together myself. It's very difficult to buy that sort of thing nowadays. The work of years has been swept away in an hour.”

“It's a piece of rotten bad luck!” the Admiral exclaimed sympathetically. “How on earth did it happen?”

Vawtrey glanced at him sharply. “How did it happen? That's just what I'm asking myself, and so far I haven't found the answer. I was in the workroom for about an hour yesterday evening, between five and six. When I came out, everything was perfectly all right, and I shut the door behind me. It had an automatic lock, and I always keep the key on me.” He fumbled in his pocket and produced a Yale key.

“That's it. I shan't want to use it again. I can hardly realise yet what's happened.”

“Was there anything inflammable in the room?” the Admiral asked.

“Lots of things,” Vawtrey replied. Celluloid and methylated spirit, for instance. But they couldn't have caught fire of themselves. And of course, the room itself was inflammable, for it was built entirely of wood. A semi-portable structure, which I bought some years ago and had fitted up by a carpenter to my own ideas.”

“How did you keep yourself warm when you were working in the room at this time of year?” Merrion asked.

Vawtrey shook his head. “I think I see what you have in mind, Mr. Merrion. The only means of heating were two electric fires, one in the dark-room and one in the workroom. There were no coal fires, or stoves, or anything like that. And I had turned out both the electric fires before I left.”

“Electric, eh?” the Admiral remarked. “Perhaps that explains it. A short circuit.”

“No, that can't be the explanation,” Vawtrey replied patiently. “And I'll tell you why. Besides the electric fires there were several lamps of various kinds. The current was led to the room from the house by a couple of overhead wires. You can see the ends of them still hanging from the wall of the house, just beside the back door there.

“When the current was laid on to the room, I had a separate meter and switch installed inside the house. They're in the passage leading to the back door. To make quite sure that nothing has been left on in the workroom, I always kept that main switch turned off when I was not there. In my absence there was no current in the room at all. Even if a short circuit had been there, it would have been dead, and could have done no harm.”

“Are you quite sure that you turned the switch off when you left the room yesterday evening? ” the Admiral asked.

“Absolutely,” Vawtrey replied. “You see, the action had been automatic for years. I always went out to the room by the back door. I walked along the passage, put up my hand to the switch, and pulled it on, then opened the door. Coming back, I performed exactly the same actions in the reverse order. I distinctly remember turning off the switch yesterday evening. To make quite sure I looked at it after the fire and found that it was off.”

“Well, it's a very queer thing,” said the Admiral. “Where were you when the fire broke out?”

“In the lounge at the front of the house, reading,” Vawtrey replied. “Brown burst in and gibbered at me that the room was on fire. I couldn't believe him till I went to the back door and saw for myself. And in a very few minutes the fire brigade came along. The doctor telephoned for them.”

He glanced round apprehensively, as though to make sure that no one was within earshot. The proximity of the house seemed to cause him some uneasiness. “These ashes are not a pleasant spectacle,” he went on. “Shall we walk a little way down the garden?”

He led them along the path, between rows of wilted greens, then came to a sudden stop. “I'm going to say something which I will ask you two gentlemen to keep strictly to yourselves,” he said in a lowered voice. “You will understand that I am making no accusation whatever. But I cannot but be struck by a remarkable fact. On almost every evening of the week I was in the habit of spending an hour or two, sometimes longer, working in the room after supper. But on Sundays I very rarely did so.”

“What! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “You mean that if the room had caught fire on any evening but yesterday, you'd have been in it?”

Vawtrey glanced inquiringly from one to the other. There was a flicker of suspicion in his eyes as he hesitated. “Is Mr. Merrion aware of the matter we were discussing on Saturday afternoon? ” he asked.

Merrion himself replied to this. “Sir Hector has told me. You, I understand, received from some person unknown a photograph of a skeleton, with the word 'Yours' as a caption beneath it.”

Vawtrey nodded meaningly. “Exactly. At first I imagined it to be no more than a grimly facetious jest. But for what I heard at the meeting on Saturday, I should have said nothing about it. But what happened last night has convinced me that it was not a jest, but a threat. There can be no doubt that my workroom was set on fire at a time when I was believed to be in it.”

“Have you said anything of this to anybody but us? ” the Admiral asked.

“I have not,” Vawtrey replied emphatically. “Nor do I propose to. Although an attempt has been made on my life, I shall not seek the protection of the police. I do not relish the prospect of a constable perpetually on guard at my door. I am a mild-mannered man, with a profound dislike of violent methods. But many years spent in uncivilised countries have taught me how to take care of myself. I shall not be caught off my guard again. Brown, too, has more than once in the past proved himself an efficient bodyguard.”

The Admiral restrained a smile. “Aren't you taking rather too serious a view of the matter, Vawtrey? You can't be sure this is a case of arson. The room might have caught fire accidentally.”

“How?” Vawtrey demanded. “I thought I'd made it pretty clear that the possibility of a short circuit could be ruled out. There was no trace of fire or smouldering when I left the room some time after six yesterday evening. There was nothing in it which could have ignited spontaneously.”

“But who would have set fire to the place, and why?” the Admiral persisted.

“I don't know,” Vawtrey snapped. “And I am not prepared to speculate, further than this. My neighbours on either side could very easily break through the hedge into this garden. Dr. Teesdale in fact did so. I have said enough. I shall know what precautions to take in the future. And once again, I must beg you two gentlemen to keep what I have told you to yourselves.”

As though to put an end to the conversation, he started off in the direction of the front gate. The Admiral and Merrion followed him, and having reached it took their leave. As they walked away, the Admiral could no longer restrain his hearty laughter. “What a marvellous sight!” he exclaimed. “Charles Vawtrey and his barbaric retainer, both armed to the teeth, prowling round number 9 in search of an imaginary enemy! Look here, let's walk down to the Club. I'll give you a cocktail there, and we can take a bus home for lunch.”

“That's a thoughtful idea,” Merrion replied. “What strikes me most forcefully about the affair is the atmosphere of suspicion. You told me about it, and now I've experienced it for myself. Mr. Vawtrey oozes it at every pore Without any evidence whatever, he is quite ready to suspect his neighbours of an attempt to offer him as a burnt sacrifice Let s hope he won't proceed to reprisals.”

 “It's all nonsense, of course,” the Admiral replied. “It was an accident, due to carelessness on Vawtrey's part, I dare say.”

“Mr. Vawtrey doesn't strike me as a careless sort of chap,” said Merrion soberly. “Look here, I don't want to pose as a prophet, for you tell me that you've already got one on the spot. But perhaps I might remind you that yesterday evening I suggested that something might be expected to happen. And it has.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you really believe someone tried to murder Vawtrey?” the Admiral asked scornfully.

“I preserve an open mind,” Merrion replied. “All the same, don't forget that melodramatic message on Mr. Glandford's telegraph form, 'Murder stalks in Hallows Green!' Can there be yet another prophet in the field? Seriously, though, I'm not at all sure that it was an accident. If Mr. Vawtrey is right, and there is no reason to suppose he isn't, it's rather difficult to understand how the place could have caught fire by itself.”

“Fires do break out accidentally,” said the Admiral. “You ought to know that.”

“I am well aware of the fact,” Merrion replied. “But, unaccountable as they may seem, there is always some cause, if only one can discover it. In this case, for instance, Mr. Vawtrey mentioned celluloid. You may believe, if you like, that his stock of celluloid films somehow got heated, and burst into flames. But that doesn't get you much further. You're left with the question, how did they get heated on a cold winter evening?”

“You always were like that,” said the Admiral tolerantly. “Give you a problem, and you'll worry it like a dog does a bone. Well, what's the solution?”

“Mr. Vawtrey's, I think,” Merrion replied. “The place was set alight deliberately. We can, of course, discount some of his dark suspicions, particularly that one of his neighbours broke through the hedge to do his dastardly deed. It wouldn't have been necessary. Any one could have walked in by the front gate and round the house to the workroom. If Mr. Vawtrey and the two Browns were inside the house at the time, he wouldn't have been seen.”

“It's not easy to set fire even to wooden buildings without attracting attention,” the Admiral remarked dryly.

 “In this case, it wouldn't have been so difficult,” Merrion replied. “Mr. Vawtrey told us it was a semi-portable building, and they don't as a rule have very substantial doors. This one could easily have been forced with a jemmy or something of the kind, I don't doubt. And once inside, the deed was practically done. The incendiary put a match to one of those inflammable things Mr. Vawtrey spoke of, and cleared out quickly by the way he had come.”

“Any one who broke in would have found that Vawtrey wasn't there,” the Admiral suggested.

“It doesn't follow that the motive was murder,” Merrion replied. “It may have been mere spite. To destroy Mr. Vawtrey's cherished possessions. You've seen for yourself how badly he's cut up about it.”

“Well, spite or attempted murder, who did it? ” the Admiral demanded. “I tell you, Vawtrey is as harmless as a dove. Or rather, he was till this happened. Now, I admit, he seems to have started on the warpath. I won't say that he's extravagantly popular, but we all get on with him well enough. I can't imagine him doing anything to arouse such a violent spite against him.”

“What about that chap Brown?” Merrion suggested. “Is it possible that some savage undercurrent in his nature came violently to the surface?”

“And impelled him to make a bonfire of his master's property?” the Admiral replied. “I wouldn't put it past him. But, when one comes to think of it, it isn't very likely. What had he to gain? Revenge for some fancied slight? Perhaps. But against that he had everything to lose. If Vawtrey suspected him, he'd get the sack. And he and his wife aren't the sort of people who'd find it easy to get a job with somebody else. Besides, my friend, this is what sticks in my ribs. If the fire was started maliciously, the most likely incendiary was the chap who sent round those unusual communications, as Peter Raynham calls them. And I think we can agree that chap wasn't Brown.”

“Then we're back to where we started,” said Merrion. Except that the fog we were speaking of has thickened considerably. Threat has been followed by action. Nothing will ever persuade Mr. Vawtrey, or in all probability his neighbours, that a deliberate attempt upon his life was not made. Who made that attempt, is the first question they'll be asking.”

“They'll be asking, all right,” the Admiral replied. “And they'll all be suspecting one another. I come out of it with a clean sheet, for you're my alibi. We weren't apart for more than a minute or two from the time you arrived till we heard the fire-engine.”

“That might only deepen suspicion,” said Merrion. “What if we were accomplices in conspiracy? You invited me here for that very purpose, and we set fire to Mr. Vawtrey's work room together. No, I mean it. I know from experience what amazing theories gain ground once suspicion is aroused. And the next question to be asked will disturb everybody's peace of mind even more. Who's going to be the next?”

“Eh! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “You don't seriously think there will be a next, do you?”

“What I think is beside the point,” Merrion replied. “I'm trying to look at it from the point of view of you and your friends. Under the circumstances, there would be a more or less rational argument. Eight people received, shall we put it, an ominous hint. After what happened last night, those hints are bound to be interpreted as threats. If Mr. Vawtrey were the only victim intended, why were the other seven threatened?”

“You mean that we may all expect something unpleasant to happen to us at any moment?” the Admiral asked.

“I mean that that's the expectation that will be aroused,” Merrion replied. “It's going to be a jolly situation for you all. Everybody in Hallows Green in a perpetual state not only of apprehension, but of profound mistrust of their neighbours. The harmony of communal life completely disrupted.”

“Confound you, Merrion!” the Admiral exclaimed. “I believe you're laughing at us. Do try to be serious for once. Do you honestly believe that anything else is likely to happen?”

“I do,” Merrion replied. “And not because I've fallen under the influence of the local atmosphere. This is how it appears to me. I am pretty well satisfied that Mr. Vawtrey's workroom did not take fire accidentally. From that it's a fairly logical argument that the person who set it alight was the sender of the threats. Is his ultimate object now accomplished? It doesn't seem to me very likely.”

 “Well, then, what are we to do about it?” the Admiral demanded.

“I don't know what you can do,” Merrion replied. “Hand that most interesting collection over to the police? But what could they do? Even if the whole of the City police were employed to patrol Hallows Green night and day, that couldn't go on indefinitely. The miscreant would merely bide his tune until the hue and cry was over. Nor do I think it would be wise for you all to enrol yourselves into a train-band. Under the leadership of the belligerent Mr. Vawtrey, perhaps.”

“Oh, talk sense! ” the Admiral exclaimed impatiently. “In the old days, when a difficult situation cropped up, you usually knew what was the best thing to be done. Haven't you any suggestion now?”

“Only one,” Merrion replied. “An eminent politician achieved lasting fame by recommending us to wait and see. We can't guess who was responsible for last night's incident. But if any further unpleasantness should occur, it may give us a clue as to who is at the bottom of all this.”

IX

BY THIS TIME they had reached the Club, and, on entering it, the subject was dropped by mutual consent. They sat for a while over a cocktail, then went out and boarded a bus, which took them up Paulthorpe Road. When they reached the stop at Hallows Green, a well-dressed woman carrying a capacious hold-all got off before them. Following her, they saw her hesitate for a moment, then approach the gateway in the wall leading to number 1.

“There you are! ” the Admiral whispered. “You were asking about the Egremonts' adherents. She must be one of them.”

They paused to watch. The door did not appear to be fastened in any way. It opened noiselessly as the woman pushed it, and when she had passed through swung back into place as though controlled by a spring. “Nothing out of the way about the lady,” Merrion remarked. “I wonder what she's got in that hold-all.”

“Clothes, by the look of it,” the Admiral suggested. “The robes she wears at the ceremony, whatever it is, I dare say. Come along, we shall get into hot water if we're late for lunch.”

They set off smartly along Hallows Green. “Yes, lunch-time,” Merrion remarked. “Do your Priest and High Priestess always hold ceremonies at meal-times? It must be rather inconvenient.”

“My dear fellow, how should I know? ” the Admiral replied. “I'm not a member of their congregation. Why shouldn't they? For all we know the ceremony may be a meal. A sacrificial feast of some kind, with a tin of snoek as the victim. We'll do better than that, I hope. Anyway, you've seen now that the members of the sect are quite ordinary people.”

The afternoon turned out wet, and neither the Admiral nor his guest went out. Their conversation was not wholly concerned with the mystery overhanging Hallows Green for they wandered into reminiscence of the days in which they worked together. Lady Sapperton joined them for tea, after which they retired to the Admiral's cabin. “It's a queer thing,” said the Admiral. “I told Margaret all about it last night. It seemed only fair, and in any case she'd guessed for the last day or two that something was up. And it looks very much as if the other womenfolk in Hallows Green had got wind of it too.”

“It couldn't have been kept from them for very long,” Merrion remarked. “But what makes you think the news has spread?”

“Because nobody's been here the whole afternoon,” the Admiral replied. “It doesn't often happen that somebody doesn't run in, more often to see Margaret than me. Faith Glandford, for instance. She always has something she wants to get off her chest, and her brother shuts himself up and won't listen to her. And she's not the only one. Mark my words, they all know by now. It's just another example of the way we're all trying to avoid one another. And where's it going to end? That's what I want to know.”

Merrion was about to reply when the door opened and Haskin appeared. “Mr. Vawtrey has called to see you, sir.”

“Vawtrey?” the Admiral replied. “All right. Show him in here.” A few moments later Vawtrey came in. He was wearing a rather tight-fitting overcoat, the right hand pocket which bulged suspiciously. “Come in, Vawtrey,” the Admiral exclaimed. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Rotten afternoon, isn't it?”

“Most unpleasant,” Vawtrey replied. “I hope you'll forgive my dropping in like this. I thought it was likely time to find you and Mr. Merrion at home. I've left Brown on guard.”

“Forgive you?” said the Admiral. “We're delighted to see you. You've something to tell us?”

“I have indeed,” Vawtrey replied, with immense determination. “I've found a footprint!”

“The dickens you have! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “What sort of a footprint, and where did you find it?”

“I'll tell you,” Vawtrey replied. “As I told you this morning, I was quite satisfied that an attempt had been made on my life. It occurred to me it was possible that the murderer had left some clue behind him, so, after you had gone, I searched the back garden pretty thoroughly. You may have noticed that it is divided from the property on either side by privet hedges. There are no actual gaps in those hedges, but in places they are rather thin.”

“Teesdale got through one of those places last night,” the Admiral remarked.

“He was not the only one,” Vawtrey replied darkly. “I found where he had broken through. But it was on the other side of the garden that I found the footprint. Last week Brown was digging a narrow strip just inside the hedge that divides my garden from the garden of number 10, and the ground is still soft. On it was a footprint, pointing towards the spot where my workroom stood. And beside it were a few sprigs of privet, broken from the hedge as the owner of the footprint pushed his way through.”

“You're sure that the footprint wasn't made by Brown while he was digging?” Merrion asked.

“My dear sir!” Vawtrey protested, thrusting out his foot for Merrion's inspection. “I take a size six in shoes. I don't know what size Brown takes, but his foot can be little longer than mine, for he is able to wear my cast-off slippers. The footprint I found was gigantic. I called Brown and showed it to him, and he watched me while I measured it with a foot rule. It was no less than thirteen and a half inches from toe to heel, and nearly five inches broad. The footprint of a giant!”

“Most extraordinary! ” the Admiral commented. “I can't think of any one with feet that size.”

“Whoever it was came through the hedge from number 10,” Vawtrey replied. “I have told no one else about this. But this morning I felt that you and Mr. Merrion were slightly incredulous of what I told you. It is some satisfaction to me to be able to tell you of this definite proof.”

He rose abruptly. “I must go back to see that Brown is on the alert. Now that I know what I may expect, I have no fears for myself. If the man with the big feet makes his appearance again, I shall know how to deal with him.” He patted the bulge in his overcoat pocket significantly.

“Well, if you must go, I'll see you out,” said the Admiral. The two left the room together, and the Admiral returned. “Fancy our inoffensive Charles Vawtrey blossoming out into a gunman!” he exclaimed. “I wonder what lethal weapon he's providing Brown with. Well, what do you make of his story?”

“It more than ever indicates his tendency to dramatisation,” Merrion replied. “We can only hope that he or his henchman won't draw a bead on some innocent visitor. Quite honestly, I'm not greatly impressed by his judgment. He seems to have overlooked the fact that the fire brigade, not to mention the policeman we saw, were all over his garden last night. That seems to me the most probable explanation.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” said the Admiral. “Then you don't believe that somebody broke through the hedge from the garden of number 10 in order to set light to Vawtrey's workshop?”

“I'm quite prepared to believe that somebody broke through the hedge,” Merrion replied. “Not to start the fire, but to help in extinguishing it. In the darkness and confusion it's quite likely that one of the men found himself in the wrong garden. Discovering his mistake, he took the shortest cut to the blaze.”

The Admiral laughed. “That's a matter-of fact view. I admit that Vawtrey has worked himself up into a state of melodrama. But as he believes that someone is out to murder him, you can hardly blame him.”

“Oh, I don't blame him.” Merrion replied. “I'm only apprehensive of what his exuberance may lead him to. I shouldn't care to call at number 9 after dark.. There you are again! You see how the ferment of suspicion is working. Mistrust of one's neighbour in Hallows Green has reached such a pitch that one of them is ready to shoot any of the others at sight!”

“It's no joke, my friend,” said the Admiral. “And you're exaggerating of course. Vawtrey is suspicious of only one his neighbours. You can tell that he has made up his mind that the malefactor came from number 10. And that's Barry Flamstead.”

“Is the gentleman in question possessed of exceptionally large feet?” Merrion asked dryly.

“I've never noticed his feet,” the Admiral replied. “And if they were that size, I certainly would have noticed them. Besides, what possible reason could Barry Flamstead have for destroying Vawtrey's property?”

“We have yet to discover why any one should have done it,” said Merrion. “All the same, I'm still pretty well satisfied that it wasn't an accident. Nor do I think the motive was to cause Vawtrey to go berserk. In any case, I don't regard the footprint as a particularly valuable clue. My explanation of it seems the most likely one. If only because any one bent on mischief would have been careful not to leave it behind him. If he'd felt his foot sink into that soft patch, he'd have kicked the earth over the spot.”

The evening proceeded without further interruption. “All quiet on the Hallows Green front,” said the Admiral, as he and Merrion were again sitting in the cabin after dinner. “Do you know, I believe we've come to an end of it. The aim and object of all the fuss and bother was merely the annoyance of the unfortunate Vawtrey. Let's step outside for a moment and see what the weather looks like. I usually do about this time.”

They went out by the front door and strolled down to the gate. The rain had stopped, and the night, though fine, was dark and overcast. The roadways and pavements of Hallows Green seemed to be deserted, but the rumble of traffic along the thoroughfares at either end came plainly to their ears. Looking across the road they could see the chinks of light creeping from behind the curtained windows of number 4.

For a few minutes they stood there in silence. Then, sharp against the rumble of the traffic, came a not very distant report. The Admiral, whose nervous tension was greater than he would have admitted, positively jumped. “Eh, what's that?” he exclaimed. “It sounded over Vawtrey's way. Had we better go and see?”

“You can go if you like,” Merrion replied. “You've got a reputation for courage to maintain, whereas I haven't. Nothing would induce me to call on Mr. Vawtrey in his present mood in anything less than an armoured car. I'd recommend waiting a minute or two. If he's shot anybody we shall very soon hear about it. Besides, it may not have been a shot at all, but a motor-cycle back-firing.”

They listened for a few minutes, but no alarm ensued. “Must have been nothing after all,” said the Admiral at length. “It's not over warm out here. Shall we go in again?”

As he spoke, they heard footsteps across the road, opposite. The gate of number 4 opened, and Teesdale appeared, carrying his bag, recognisable in the rather meagre street lighting of Hallows Green. The Admiral called out to him, “Evening, Doctor!”

Teesdale started, then, seeing the two men at the gate opposite, crossed the road. “Good evening. Admiral. You startled me for the moment. Are you keeping the first watch, then?”

“Just come on deck to look at the weather,” the Admiral replied. “Let me introduce my friend Merrion. He's the chap I spoke about on Saturday. Saw you come out from over the way. Nobody taken ill there, I hope?”

Merrion had the impression that Teesdale was trying to size him up in the semi-darkness. “You're trying to help us solve our puzzle, Mr. Merrion? Well, perhaps I can supply a piece to fit into the jig-saw.”

“Come along inside. Doctor,” said the Admiral. Without awaiting a reply he led the way to the house and into the cabin. “Now then. Sit down and tell us about this missing piece you've found.”

“Perhaps it isn't,” Teesdale replied. “Perhaps it was only an accident, like that fire at Vawtrey's place last night. Miss Wayland doesn't think it was. She's pretty badly shaken up, mentally rather than physically. Look here. I hate gossiping about my patients. This is entirely between ourselves?”

“Entirely,” said the Admiral. “You can set your mind at rest about that. Merrion and I have sufficient experience of the Official Secrets Act to have learnt to keep our mouths shut. You can consider us bound by a Professional Secrets Act, if you like. Nothing you may care to tell us will go any further without your permission.”

This seemed to satisfy Teesdale. “All right, then. I'll tell the story as simply as I can. Half an hour ago I was sitting at home when the telephone rang. I answered it myself, and found Helen Brinton at the other end. She asked me to come to number 4 at once, as Miss Wayland had received a severe shock. I asked her what sort of shock, and she said an electric shock.

“I went at once, and Helen Brinton let me in. She told me that Miss Wayland was in bed, and that she had got the shock from her electric bed-warmer. She took me upstairs, and I found Miss Wayland in bed, a good deal more frightened than hurt. The first thing she said was that someone had tried to electrocute her.

“Her account of what had happened was rambling, and punctuated with bitter complaints of some person or persons unknown. But this was what it amounted to, in as few words as possible. When she was in her bedroom, immediately before supper, she had put in the bed-warmer into the bed and switched it on, as she always did in wintertime. I'd better describe the thing. It's not an electric blanket, but an apparatus about the size and shape of a hot water bottle, connected to a plug in the wall by a length of rubber-covered flex. Miss Wayland told me that she had had the thing a couple of years or more, that she used it every night in the winter, and that it had never given any trouble.

“She had gone downstairs, to find Helen Brinton putting the supper on the table. They had their meal together, taking about half an hour over it. After supper Miss Wayland went into the drawing-room, and when Helen had cleared away in the dining-room, she joined her there. Miss Wayland had had a busy day, and was feeling tired, with a headache. Soon after nine o'clock, much earlier than her usual hour, she decided she would be better in bed. She went upstairs, and noticed nothing unusual about the room. She undressed and got into bed. A moment later her leg touched the bed-warmer and she felt a violent shock. Helen heard her scream and ran up.

“When I got there the contraption was lying on the floor. Miss Wayland had kicked it out, I suppose. I examined her, to find that she had a minor burn on her leg, and that she was undoubtedly suffering from the effects of shock. Then I turned my attention to the bed-warmer. The switch controlling it was on, and I turned it off before I picked it up. Then I found that the flex had come adrift where it entered the warmer. The rubber covering had a tear in it, and the bare wires were showing. This fully accounted for the shock Miss Wayland had received. She swears that the flex wasn't like that when she put the thing in the bed.”

“Did she examine it as carefully as all that? ” the Admiral asked sceptically. “When one does a simple thing as a matter of habit, one doesn't look very closely at what one's doing. The flex might have been torn without her noticing it.”

Teesdale shrugged his shoulders. “You know what women are. She's positive about it, and a question like that wouldn't be likely to shake her. It looked to me as if the flex had been torn against something sharp. Anyhow, when I had made Miss Wayland as comfortable as I could, I went downstairs with Helen Brinton, and asked her if any one could have tampered with the warmer between half-past seven and the time Miss Wayland went to bed. For your benefit, Mr. Merrion, I should explain that nobody but the two women lives in the house.

“Helen told me that she didn't see how anybody could have. She had not been upstairs herself during the period. And she didn't see either how any one could have got into the house without her knowledge. Nobody could have got in by the front door without a latch-key. The back door was not locked, though it was shut. But during supper she was in and out of the kitchen changing the courses. And after supper she was again in and out as she cleared away.”

Merrion smiled. “I don't want to cast the slightest doubt upon Miss Brinton's veracity. But, you know, it's ridiculously easy to get in and out of a house without being seen and without leaving any traces, especially when there are only two people in it. And in this case neither of those two people went upstairs during the period you mention. Which way does Miss Wayland's bedroom look?”

“To the westward,” Teesdale replied. “Towards number 5. It's a big room with a couple of windows.”

“Did you notice if either of the windows was open?” Merrion asked.

Teesdale shook his head. “I can't say that I did. The curtains were drawn, and I shouldn't have seen if they were.”

“A cat-burglar! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “Did Miss Wayland complain of anything having been stolen?”

“No, she didn't,” Teesdale replied. “I don't suppose, after the shock, she was likely to have looked. But she does say very firmly that there was no sign of disturbance in the room when she went to bed.”

“I doubt whether a cat-burglar would have been interested in the bed-warmer,” Merrion remarked. “By the way, Doctor. About four or five minutes before you left the house, did you hear a distant shot?”

“About four or five minutes before I left the house I was coming downstairs with Miss Brinton. I doubt it I should have heard a distant shot outside. If I did, I didn't notice it. Why?”

“We fancied we heard something like a shot when we were standing at the gate,” said Merrion, easily. “Another question, Doctor. You were the first to discover the fire last night. I think you said you heard a lot of crackling, then saw flames. From what part of the wooden building were the flames coming?”

“Through the roof,” Teesdale replied. “The walls were only just beginning to catch. Well, I must be getting home. I know I can rely on you two to keep what I've told you to yourselves.”

The Admiral saw him to the front door, and then came back, frowning thoughtfully. Merrion threw away the match with which he had lighted a cigarette. “Didn't you say just now that it was all over?” he asked lazily.

“Confound you! ” the Admiral replied. “You know very well I did. Well, I was wrong, it seems. Unless this affair over the way was an accident. Gadgets of that kind do go wrong, as everybody knows.”

“According to the doctor, Miss Wayland doesn't believe that it was an accident,” said Merrion. “She says that someone was trying to electrocute her. Much as Mr. Vawtrey is convinced that someone was trying to burn him alive Well we've got two incidents to compare now, and the comparison is rather interesting.”

“I'm glad you find it so,” the Admiral growled. “Let's hear it, then.”

“There's this in common between them,” Merrion replied. “As attempts to murder, they were both pretty futile. For my own part I don't believe that in either case murder was intended. Suppose that somebody set fire to the workroom, believing Mr. Vawtrey to be inside. Did he expect his victim to resign himself to the flames like an early Christian martyr? He could have got out easily enough before the place was properly alight. Besides, from what the doctor said a moment ago, its clear that the fire was started from the inside. It follows that whoever started it knew very well that Mr. Vawtrey wasn't there.

“Then Miss Wayland's adventure. We'll agree with her as far as this, that someone deliberately bared the live wires where they entered the warmer. A dirty trick, admittedly, but not the work of an intelligent homicide. The chances of a healthy adult being killed by a shock from the ordinary, domestic supply are about one in a hundred, I should imagine. Often enough, when I've been tinkering about with the electrics at home, I've had one, and never felt any serious ill-effects.

“Yet in both cases the victim jumps to the same conclusion, that an attempt has been made to murder him or her. Why? Because the way had already been paved to that conclusion. Both had received, if not a definite threat, at least a hint of death. Is it somebody's object to produce a state of alarm and despondency in Hallows Green?”

“If it is, he's succeeded pretty well so far,” the Admiral replied. “He's already got Vawtrey prowling round with a gun in his pocket. How Miss Wayland will react to what she imagines to have been an attempt on her life we don't yet know.”

“And the remaining six of you?” Merrion asked. “Two out of the eight people threatened have had unpleasant experiences. May not the rest expect something similar, or will two examples be enough?”

“I don't know,” the Admiral replied. “I'm completely beat. What's the object of it all?”

“Apparently to produce panic and mutual suspicion,” said Merrion. “This doesn't strike me as the work of an irresponsible lunatic. There must be some ultimate purpose, towards all which has happened so far is only a series of steps. Granted that these two incidents were not accidental, was the same person responsible in each case?”

“Why, of course!” the Admiral exclaimed. “There can't be two people about playing monkey tricks independently of one another. The same person all through. The chap who sent those threats. Someone living in Hallows Green.”

Merrion smiled. “Exactly. But don't ask me to guess what the ultimate purpose may be. Meanwhile, I should very much like to find out if some ribald soul could have profaned the sanctity of this elderly virgin's bedroom. The trouble is, we're not supposed to know anything about it. Could you think up some pretext for calling on Miss Wayland, to-morrow morning, say?”

The Admiral considered this. “Why, yes, I fancy I could. She told me not long ago that a committee had been formed for the repair of the Parish Hall. She's a member, of course. She's always a member of a committee of that kind, if she isn't the chairman. I could step across and offer her a subscription. It wouldn't be sacrificing myself in the interests of your curiosity, for I shall have to stump up in any case.”

“Good! ” said Merrion. “Take me with you. I'm an enthusiastic gardener, and you can ask if I may see the garden.”

X

THIS PRETEXT was put into operation. After breakfast on Tuesday the Admiral and Merrion walked across the road and rang the bell of number 4. Helen Brinton opened the door, and seemed astonished at seeing these visitors. “Good morning. Miss Brinton!” said the Admiral cheerfully. “Nice morning after the rain yesterday, isn't it? Is Miss Wayland at home? I thought I'd step over and see her about that Parish Hall business.”

“Florence is at home,” Helen replied mysteriously. “But she's upstairs in bed. She had a nasty accident last night, an electric shock, and it upset her terribly. I had to send for Dr. Teesdale. He told her to stay in bed till he came to see her again this afternoon. Shall I tell her you called?”

“Dear me, I'm sorry to hear that!” the Admiral exclaimed. “I do hope Miss Wayland will soon get over it. No, don't disturb her on any account. Bless my soul, what am I thinking about? I ought to have introduced you at once. This is my friend Mr. Merrion, who is staying with us for a few days.”

Helen held out her hand. “I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Merrion. And I'm sure Florence would have been, too.”

“Another time, I dare say,” said the Admiral. “Look here, Miss Brinton. Merrion is one of these queer chaps who's never happy unless he's pottering about among plants and things. And there's nothing he loves better than prying round other people's gardens. I wonder if he might look at yours?”

“Why, of course, Sir Hector!” Helen replied. “You know the way. Will you show Mr. Merrion round? You'll excuse my not coming with you, won't you? I must stay indoors, in case Florence wants me for anything.”

“Marvellous!” Merrion exclaimed as they walked away from the front door. “Nobody could have played the part better. Now then, let's inspect this garden. It's just possible we may find something interesting.”

Like the rest of the houses in Hallows Green, number 4 stood in a garden shaded by trees. The western boundary, between the gardens of number 4 and number 5, was a low wooden paling, with tall trees at intervals on either side. Close to the wall of the house on that side was a wide gravel path with a lawn between it and the boundary paling. Looking up from the lawn, Merrion pointed to two sash windows, one of them partly opened at the top. “That'll be Miss Wayland's bedroom,” he whispered. “What is the room beneath it?”

“The drawing-room,” the Admiral whispered back. “The dining-room is at the other side of the house.”

The back garden was in striking contrast to the unkempt wilderness of number 9. It was well-kept, with at the farther end a miniature orchard of about a dozen apple trees. Merrion looked at these speculatively, then, struck with an idea, set off towards them, the Admiral following. “Nice trees,” said Merrion, when they were out of earshot of the house. “And been properly looked after. Ought to bear a decent crop.”

“They do, I believe,” the Admiral replied. “Miss Wayland brought Margaret some last year, and very good they were.”

“She employs a jobbing gardener, I expect,” said Merrion. “But he couldn't pick them without a ladder. I wonder if he brings it with him, or whether one is kept on the premises? Let's have a look.”

At the extreme end of the garden, beyond the apple trees, was a substantial potting shed. Merrion walked up to this and uttered a grunt of satisfaction. “Just what I expected. Look!” The Admiral's glance followed the direction of his pointed finger. Hanging on two brackets fixed to the wall of the shed was a ladder.

“Long enough to reach up to the first floor windows of any ordinary house,” Merrion remarked. “Now let's explore a little further.” At either side of the shed was an asparagus bed, about six feet wide and extending from the shed to the boundaries of the garden. At this time of year the beds exhibited nothing but bare earth, carefully weeded and soft from the rain of the previous afternoon. Merrion walked along the grass bordering the eastern bed as far as the end, then returned. Then he started along the western bed, to come to a sudden halt half-way along it. He stood motionless for a few moments, then beckoned to the Admiral “Come and look here!”

The Admiral joined him and uttered an exclamation of amazement. What he saw was a footprint, the outlines rather blurred, as though the foot of someone walking on the grass had slipped inadvertently on to the edge of the bed. That person had been walking towards the boundary paling. The outlines of the print were clear enough to reveal its outstanding size. Merrion took a piece of string from his pocket, with which he measured its length and breadth, tying knots in the string for future reference.

Further progress revealed no more footprints of any kind. On reaching the paling, Merrion observed that it was low enough for the average man to put his leg over it without much difficulty. But he had no intention of trespassing in the grounds of number 5. He and the Admiral turned and walked back towards the house.

One window of Miss Wayland's bedroom was still slightly open. Merrion tiptoed to the gravel path immediately beneath it. He found the surface disturbed, with two slight depressions about fifteen inches apart. With a warning glance towards the window above he pointed to these. The Admiral signified his comprehension by nodding his head. Then in silence they left the garden by the front gate.

Neither spoke till they had crossed Hallows Green. “You've got a foot-rule, I dare say?” Merrion asked then.

“Haskin will have,” the Admiral replied. They entered number 7, where they found Haskin turning out the hall. At the Admiral's command he disappeared, to return with a carpenter's rule. The Admiral took it, and he and Merrion went into the cabin, where the latter measured the distance between the knots he had tied in the piece of string. “Thirteen and a half inches long, and four and three-quarters broad. Just the measurements Mr. Vawtrey described.”

The Admiral chuckled. “You've run off the rails for once, then. Your ingenious theory of a strayed fireman or policeman won't work in this case. Whose can it be?”

“There were giants in those days, we're told. But that was some time ago, and it's unlikely that any have survived till now. Never mind for the moment who it was. We'll call him Big Foot. And there can't be much doubt now that it was Big Foot who played that trick with Miss Wayland's bed-warmer.”

“If he knew she used one, he can't have been a stranger,” the Admiral remarked darkly.

“I don't suppose he was,” Merrion, replied. “But first of all let's follow him as far as we can. We don't know how he got into the garden. If the two women were both indoors, they wouldn't have seen him after dark, whatever route he took. I rather fancy that the time he selected was between half-past seven and eight, when they were in the dining-room. From the lawn to the west he could see that no lights were turned on that side of the house. Except where a complete black-out has been made, it's always possible to see whether or not there's a light in a room, even though the curtains are drawn.

“He went to the shed and fetched the ladder. By keeping to the grass all the way there and back, he avoided leaving footprints. Then he put up the ladder under Miss Wayland s bedroom window. The ladder with his weight on it made those depressions on the gravel path. He found the window slightly open, and therefore not fastened. It was quite simple for him to push up the lower sash, and so get into the room. He found the warmer already in the bed, switched on, and he pulled it out. The doctor said it looked as if the flex had been torn against something sharp. Big Foot probably switched off, and cut away the rubber covering of the flex till the bare wires were exposed. Then he put the warmer back, and switched on again.

“He was careful to disturb nothing in the room. When he had climbed out of the window, he rearranged the curtains, and drew down the lower sash. He reached the ground, picked up the ladder, and put it back in its place. Then he set off, keeping to the grass beside the asparagus bed. It was dark, and I don't suppose he risked using a very powerful torch. His right foot slipped off the edge on to the bed. It is quite likely that in the circumstances he didn't realise that he had left a recognisable footprint behind him.”

“It's clear enough what he did,” said the Admiral. “But that doesn't tell us who he was. Of course, he was the same chap who left the footprint in Vawtrey's garden. There can't be two men about with feet that size. And this is what strikes me pretty forcibly. Vawtrey's footprint was coming from Barry Flamstead's direction, while the one we've just seen was going to Lawrence Flamstead's. What do you make of that?”

Merrion smiled. “I don't know that I make anything of it. You've told me of the feud between the two brothers. Such queer things happen in Hallows Green that I might almost be persuaded to believe that one had hired Big Foot to assassinate the other. But if that was the case, Big Foot has unaccountably mistaken his objective. After what we've seen this morning, I should like to have a look at the footprints Mr. Vawtrey found. In daylight, and with due precautions, I'd risk a cautious approach to number 9. Shall we walk along and see him?”

The Admiral thought this quite a good idea and they set out. As they entered the gateway of number 9, Vawtrey appeared from behind the house, again wearing the overcoat with its suspiciously bulging pocket. His sight was not sufficiently good for him to recognise his visitors immediately at that distance, and he stopped abruptly, plunging his hand into his pocket.

“Do we advance or take cover?” Merrion asked.

“Oh, come on!” the Admiral replied. “It's all right. He'll see who we are in a moment.”

His confidence was justified. As they approached the house, Vawtrey withdrew his hand and hurried towards them. “Why, good morning! ” he exclaimed. “I couldn't make out who you were at first. I was patrolling round the house, and the sight of people coming through the gate startled me.”

“Oh, we've just looked in as we were passing,” the Admiral replied. “It's Merrion's confounded curiosity. He wants to know if you will let him see that footprint you told us about yesterday evening.”

“Willingly,” Vawtrey agreed. “But I'm afraid yesterday's rain has blurred it a bit. Come along and I'll show you.” Following him, they found Brown at the back, marching to and fro like some scarecrow sentry. But instead of a rifle he carried over his shoulder a huge club of sinister appearance. Vawtrey took no notice of him, but led his visitors to the hedge between his garden and number 10. “There you are,” he said.

A glance was sufficient to show Merrion that Vawtrey's description had been perfectly accurate. At that point the hedge was thin enough for any one to force a way through without difficulty. And in the soft mould was an impression, with edges no longer sharp but still recognisable as a footprint of exceptional size.

“Must have been a big man who made that,” Merrion remarked. He bent over the impression, studying it carefully, then straightened himself. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Vawtrey. Did you hear something that sounded like a shot last night, between half-past nine and ten?”

Vawtrey frowned and glanced over his shoulder. “Did you hear it? It was Brown. I'd given him my other revolver. He saw, or thought he saw —but he'd better tell you himself. Brown! Come here a minute.”

Brown, still bearing his club, marched lurchingly up to them. “Tell us about that shot you fired last night,” said Vawtrey.

Brown's eyes rolled from one to the other as he grinned foolishly. “Master, he told me to keep watch. So I stood by the back door where I could see across the garden. And all of a sudden I saw a light, right down at the bottom there.” He pointed dramatically to the farther corner of the garden, where it and the garden of number 10 came to an end. “Just like someone carrying a lamp. Master had given me a gun, so I fired.”

“At the light, I take it,” Merrion remarked. “You're quite sure there was a light there?”

Brown raised his eyes to heaven. “As sure as I'm standing here,” he replied fervently.

“All right, Brown, that'll do,” said Vawtrey. He waited till Brown returned to his sentry-go, and then went on: “I was indoors when I heard the shot. Naturally, I rushed out, and Brown told me what he has just told you. He was quite positive he had seen a light in that corner. I told him to stay where he was and, taking a torch with me, went to investigate. I could find nothing, or any trace of any one having been there. Come and see for yourselves.”

The farther end of the garden had not been cultivated for some time, and was overgrown with grass and weeds. The surface would not record the impression of a footprint. The privet hedge was so straggling that it ceased to be a boundary at all. To take its place, a few rusty strands of wire had been stretched between two posts. Beyond this, in the garden of number 10, was a low rubbish heap, dead leaves and vegetable refuse. Merrion, glancing about him, saw that the spot was not overlooked, for a few yards away in the garden of number 10 a tall shrubbery blocked the view of the house. He crawled swiftly between the wires, walked round the rubbish heap and came back again. “There's no dead body there,” he reported cheerfully. “If Brown fired at somebody carrying a light, he must have missed him, which perhaps is just as well.”

“I'm not so sure about it,” Vawtrey replied doubtfully, as they walked back towards the house. “He's apt to be a bit excitable at times. I thought it better to take the revolver from him and give him the club you saw instead.”

The Admiral and Merrion parted from Vawtrey and started back towards number 7. “It strikes me that Vawtrey and that savage of his will be getting into trouble with the police if they don't look out,” the Admiral remarked. “It was all imagination, of course. The fact is that both of them have got the wind up properly.”

“That's true enough,” Merrion agreed. “I warned you that it wasn't safe to approach the place. But I don't know that it was imagination, just the same. You saw me walk round the rubbish heap. In one place the stuff rotting there has got pasty with the rain. And Big Foot had stepped in it.”

“What! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “You don't mean to tell me you found his footprint?”

Merrion nodded. “I did, though I didn't say so at the time. No need to increase Mr. Vawtrey's nervous tension, which is already pretty near to breaking point. I saw a footprint exactly like the one he showed us. The impression isn't very distinct, for the stuff is wet, and it's already beginning to fill up. But I'm ready to swear it was made by a man wearing an out-size boot, though of course I can't say when.”

“Then you believe that Brown did actually see someone carrying a light?” the Admiral asked.

“Say rather that I believe he may have seen something of the kind,” Merrion replied. “We know from our own observation that it was pretty well pitch dark at the time. If Big Foot was trying to get into Mr. Vawtrey's garden, he'd have had to use a torch, if only to clamber through those wires. At the moment he switched it on, Brown pulled the trigger.”

“But why the devil should Big Foot want to get into Vawtrey's garden? ” the Admiral demanded.

“He paid a visit to Miss Wayland's garden earlier in the evening,” Merrion replied. “We know what he wanted there. It doesn't follow that he had any further business at number 9. He may have intended to use that garden as a thoroughfare.”

“Now, what the dickens are you talking about?” the Admiral growled.

Merrion smiled. “Big Foot makes a habit of hedge-hopping. On Sunday night he seems to have got into the number 9 garden from number 10. Yesterday, he seems to have left the number 4 garden by way of number 5. Now numbers 6 and 10 are at opposite ends of Hallows Green. Number 1 has a side entrance, for I've seen it. Have the other end houses?”

“Why, yes,” the Admiral replied. “All four have, but except in the case of number 1 they are used only by tradesmen, so far as I know. Numbers 1 and 10 have side entrances from Paulthorpe Road, and numbers 5 and 6 from Otterford Road. But what's that got to do with it?”

“Just this,” said Merrion. “If Big Foot was up to one of his little pranks, he wouldn't want to risk being seen in Hallows Green. Suppose, for example, that last night, after monkeying with Miss Wayland's bed-warmer, he thought he might as well round up the evening's work by heaving half a brick through one of the doctor's windows. He set out by the side entrance of number 10 on Paulthorpe Road. Instead of going to the house he went to the bottom of the garden. His intention was to cross the bottom of the number 9 garden and get into the number 8 grounds that way. The shot fired by the lynx-eyed Brown deterred him. How's that?”

“Well, I suppose it's possible,” the Admiral replied doubtfully. “But who the devil is Big Foot? Someone with a pretty extensive knowledge of the habits of the people living in Hallows Green, that's quite certain.”

They had reached the gate of number 7, and were about to turn in, when the Admiral caught sight of a man walking along the opposite pavement from the direction of Otterford Road. “Good morning. Professor!” he called out.

Walter Glandford hardly looked round. He merely nodded distantly and hurried on towards number 3. “Well, I'm blest!” the Admiral exclaimed. “There you are again. That's the way neighbours treat one these days. A week ago he'd have stopped for a few words at least. We've always been friendly enough till now.”

“I noticed that his feet were on the large side.” Merrion remarked. “Who is he?”

“Walter Glandford,” the Admiral replied. “I always call him the Professor, for he's a scientist of some kind. He's the chap who got the first of the threats, if that's what they were. The telegraph form with the warning to beware of murder. And that reminds me. When he was telling us about it on Saturday he said something else. After he had got it he went into his laboratory and found it unlocked. He was quite sure that he hadn't left it like that, and thought that someone must have been in.”

“Only thought?” Merrion asked. “Did he find anything missing?”

“Apparently not,” the Admiral replied. “He was very vague about the whole affair. But then he always is vague, except when his scientific work is concerned. For the matter of that he hasn't very much time for any one without at least a smattering of scientific knowledge.”

“Not surely to the extent of bearing a grudge against them for their ignorance?” Merrion suggested.

The Admiral chuckled. “Hardly, I should think. Anyhow, I don't see him climbing up a ladder to Miss Wayland's bedroom. Rather too romantic an adventure for a matter-of-fact scientist. By jove, it's lunch-time already.”

After lunch the Admiral suggested that as nothing sensational was likely to happen during daylight, they might pay a visit to the Club. Merrion agreed, and while they were there, Lawrence Flamstead came in. He looked searchingly at them, then subsided into an arm-chair and hid himself behind a newspaper. “That's what I call really sociable,” the Admiral muttered. “He's usually got something to say for himself, if it's only about his brother's unreasonable behaviour. Does he think I'm likely to knock him on the head one of these dark evenings?”

He and Merrion walked back in the dusk, to find Hallows Green quiet and peaceful. As they were sitting together in the cabin after dinner, the Admiral glanced at the clock. “This is about the time things may be expected to happen,” he remarked. “Shall we go for a stroll and see if anything's stirring?”

Merrion agreed, and they went out, to walk along Hallows Green in the direction of number 9, but prudently keeping on the opposite side of the road. As they passed the house the only sign of life was a glint of light in one of the upstairs windows. If Vawtrey and his lieutenant were on watch, it must be on the other side of the house.

They met nobody until they had almost reached Paulthorpe Road, where the street lighting was more vivid. Then a man came round the corner, cheerfully swinging a walking-stick. “Barry Flamstead! ” the Admiral exclaimed under his breath. “Where's he been to, I wonder?”

Barry Flamstead caught sight of the two on the opposite pavement, and seemed to hesitate. Then he crossed the road. “Hallo, Admiral! I've just been out to post a letter. Where are you bound for at this time of night?”

“Oh, just taking a little exercise,” the Admiral replied breezily. “After supper walk a mile, you know. You haven't met my friend Mr. Merrion, I think.”

“Very glad to now,” Barry Flamstead replied. “Well, if you're out for exercise, I won't detain you. It's chilly if one doesn't keep on the move. Good night to you both.” He crossed the road again, and disappeared through the gateway of number 10.

“They're all the same,” said the Admiral scornfully. “Before all this happened he'd have insisted on our going in and having a drink with him. Well, all seems pretty peaceful. Shall we stroll back to the farther end of the road before we go in? “This time they walked the whole length of Hallows Green without meeting any one. Nor were they aware of anything out of the ordinary during the rest of that night.

XI

PETER RAYNHAM had not heard of Miss Wayland's misfortune with the bed-warmer. He had of course seen the blaze at the back of number 9, and, since he lived opposite, had had a front row view of the commotion caused by the arrival of the fire brigade. But he remained entirely sceptical towards any theory of arson. It had been an accident, or, rather, a piece of gross carelessness. A dropped cigarette in a wooden shed full of photographic stuff. Vawtrey himself, in a fit of absent-mindedness. Or that simian creature Brown.

So that as he drove home from the office on Wednesday afternoon he had no apprehension of further incidents in Hallows Green. His womenfolk had been in a state of jitters for the last couple of days, but that was merely tiresome. The revelations made at the meeting on Saturday had leaked out; nobody seemed quite to know how. Raynham suspected Elinor Flamstead, from whom her husband Lawrence could hide no secrets. She hated Joan, her brother-in-law's wife, and would delight in whispering malicious suggestions. Queer that Barry Flamstead should have been one of the only two householders in Hallows Green who hadn't received something threatening. The Egremonts one could understand, for they were somehow apart. But Barry! Why should he have been left out? It looked very suspicious.

It wasn't really fair to say that both the Raynham ladies were jittery. The younger certainly was, but Mrs. Caroline Raynham was superior to any such weakness. Whatever her fears might be, she was fully capable of concealing them. At the sound of her son entering the house she went into the hall to meet him. “You're home nice and early, dear,” she said placidly. “Doris has been rather upset all the afternoon, complaining of a raging headache, so I sent her to bed. I think it's the best place for her.”

Raynham seemed rather relieved than distressed. “I'll go up and see her later on. Best thing you could have done.” The telephone bell interrupted him. He turned to answer it. “Yes? Mr. Raynham speaking.”

The voice of one of his clerks answered him from the office. “Just after you'd gone, sir, a gentleman rang up. He gave his name as Mr. Egremont, and said he lived next door to you.”

This seemed to Raynham rather odd, for he knew that number 1 was not on the telephone. “Where did Mr. Egremont ring up from? ” he asked.

“He said he was in the city, sir,” the clerk replied. “He asked if you were still in the office, and if so might he come and see you. I told him that you'd left only two or three minutes ago. He then asked if I'd mind getting in touch with you, as he wanted to see you on an urgent matter. He would be home by nine o'clock, and he would be very grateful if you could make it convenient to go and see him at his house as soon as possible after that.”

“All right, I'll go,” said Raynham. He rang off and turned to his mother. “Egremont wants me to go and see him after dinner. I wonder what he wants? Some legal business, I suppose, though I've never acted for him before. He says it's urgent, but then clients always think their business is urgent enough to drag a lawyer out at all hours. Oh, well, after all, it's only next door.”

Since they always enjoyed each other's company, Raynham and his mother dined together very contentedly, in spite of the fact that Lotti, unrestrained by Doris Raynham's supervision, had made a sorry mess of the chicken casserole. “That girl contrives to make everything she touches uneatable,” Raynham grumbled. “If it wasn't that I don't know how we should ever replace her, I'd get rid of her to-morrow.”

However, even Lotti could not spoil the cold trifle that followed. Doris had made it that morning and all Lotti had to do was to take it from the refrigerator and put it on the table. With the glass of port which always concluded his dinner, Raynham's good humour returned. “I'll go over in a few minutes and see what Egremont's trouble is,” he said. “If he's long-winded and keeps me there, don't sit up for me. Whatever it is, I hope it's got nothing to do with that freak religion of his. I hardly feel competent to advise him about that.”

“I'm sure you will be able to tell him what to do ” his mother replied confidently. “I think I'd better go up and see if Doris wants anything.” She went out, leaving Raynham to finish his port. He did so, and poured himself out a second glass. No point in settling down to anything if he was going out so soon. Egremont's business would probably turn out to be simple enough. One might expect a prophet to be bewildered when confronted with any legal issue. It wouldn't be at all in his line of country, so to speak.

When the clock struck nine, Raynham put on his hat and overcoat and went out. The night was fine and cold, and as he reached the pavement he decided that there would probably be a frost before morning. He heard slow steady footsteps over the way, in the grounds of number 9, but it was too dark for him to see anybody. It did not take him long to cover the short distance between his gate and that of number 1. When he reached this, he found it shut and secured by a padlock and chain. This did not surprise him, for the only occasions on which he had seen the gate open were the afternoons when the Egremonts gave tea-parties. Then it was thrown open and fastened back. Egremont would be expecting him to use the entrance in Paulthorpe Road.

He turned the corner, and reached the door in the wall. As there was no bell beside it, one was apparently expected to walk in. Nor was there any handle to turn, but the door yielded to the pressure of his hand. He passed through and the door closed noiselessly behind him.

He found himself suddenly in the dark. He might have thought of that and brought a torch with him. Never having approached the house by this way before, he did not know what lay ahead of him. But enough light came over the high wall from the Paulthorpe Road to enable him to discern dimly a flagged path running beneath tall trees. This must lead to the house, which seemed to be in complete darkness.

Feeling his way cautiously, he advanced step by step. A dozen paces, and he could make out the wall of the house looming before him. Then suddenly, a sharp crack above his head, followed by a swishing sound. An instant later, something overpoweringly heavy grazed the side of his head and descended on his shoulder, bearing him with it to the ground.

How long he lay there, dazed and sprawling, he could not tell. It seemed an eternity, but was probably in fact only a very few minutes. Then, trying to pull himself together, he found he was entangled in something. As he strove to disengage himself from it, his fingers came in contact with rough bark A branch of a tree! He managed to push it aside and struggled to his feet. His shoulder ached intolerably and he wondered if any bones were broken. He put his hand to his head and withdrew it wet with blood.

He was pretty badly shaken and his mind worked erratically. His hat had been knocked off and he didn't feel inclined to grope around for it. He certainly couldn't call on Egremont hi the state he was in. He'd go home. But then his mother would get a nasty shock, and Doris would probably have hysterics. Better idea than that. He'd go to Teesdale's place first and get him to run over him.

He staggered back to the door in the wall and fumbled with it. At last he found a projection of some kind, by which he was able to pull it open. A passer-by in Paulthorpe Road eyed his dishevelled appearance curiously. He hurried round the corner into the comparative obscurity of Hallows Green. The distance to number 8 seemed interminable. At last he reached the front door and rang the bell.

Olwen opened the door. The spectacle of the dignified family lawyer in such a condition was too much for her and she uttered an exclamation. “Why, Mr. Raynham! Whatever has happened to you?”

“I've had an accident,” Raynham replied. “I'll go to the consulting room. I know my way. Will you ask Dr. Teesdale to come and see me there? “He went into the room where Teesdale saw his private patients and sat down heavily. A few moments later Teesdale came in. “Good heavens, Raynham!” he exclaimed. “What on earth have you been up to? Let me have a look at your head, it's covered in blood.”

Teesdale set to work, to find that though the left side of Raynham's head was bleeding freely, the injury was only superficial. While he was attending to this, Raynham told his story. “I remember hearing a crack and the next moment I was knocked flat. Laid me out for a bit and then I found out what it was. A branch falling from a tree, just as I was passing under it. It didn't hit me on the head luckily, but caught me on the shoulder, which is devilishly painful.”

Teesdale ran his fingers over it. “No bones broken, I'm glad to say. But you'll have a nasty bruise there. A branch fell from a tree just as you were passing under it, eh?” For a few minutes he worked in silence, staunching the flow of blood and preparing a bandage. Then he spoke again abruptly. “Look here, Raynham. This is the third so-called accident in Hallows Green this week.”

“What do you mean?” Raynham replied irritably. “So-called accident? What else could it have been?”

“I don't know,” said Teesdale. “You say it was pretty dark once you got in the grounds of number 1?”

“Don't talk nonsense!” Raynham replied. “Are you trying to suggest that Egremont contrived that the branch should fall on me? You know as well as I do that he wouldn't play a trick like that.”

“I can't help thinking that someone played you a trick,” said Teesdale soberly. “And I'm going to make a suggestion. You remember what the Admiral said on Saturday. The friend he spoke about is here and I've met him. He strikes me as being remarkably quick in the uptake. Why not tell him your story?”

Raynham frowned. Added to the ever present dread of ridicule was a feeling that there had been something undignified in his adventure. “You say that somebody played me a trick,” he growled. “How do you know that it wasn't the Admiral and this precious friend of his?”

“I don't know,” Teesdale replied. “But it seems to me worth risking. If it had been an isolated happening, I shouldn't be so concerned. But it's the third this week, and I can't get out of my head those queer things so many of us received. If any steps are to be taken, they ought to be taken at once. If you feel up to it, how would it be if I rang up the Admiral and asked him to bring his friend Merrion along here now?”

“Oh, yes, I feel up to it,” said Raynham grimly. “I'll see this thing through, if I must.”

Teesdale rang up, merely asking the Admiral if it would be convenient for him and Mr. Merrion to come to number 8 as soon as possible. The Admiral replied that they would start at once, and Teesdale went to the front door to meet them. He had only a few minutes to wait, and without explanation he took them to the consulting room, where sat Raynham, his head by now swathed in bandages.

The Admiral came to an abrupt halt at this sight. “Hallo, Raynham! You've been in the wars, then? What is it?”

Teesdale introduced Merrion, and Raynham answered the Admiral's question. “In the wars! A queer thing happened to me just now. Half an hour ago.” And for the second time he described his experiences.

His audience listened with the greatest interest “A very remarkable accident,” said Merrion, when he had come to the end “You went to number 1 to keep an appointment that Mr. Egremont had made on the telephone. Did you speak to him yourself?”

“No,” Raynham replied. “I had left the office when he rang up. One of my clerks took the message.”

“Is this clerk likely to be familiar with Mr. Egremont's voice? “Merrion asked.

“Eh? “Raynham exclaimed. “No, I don't suppose he is. Egremont has never rung me up at the office before, or anywhere else for that matter. The caller said he was in the city.”

Merrion smiled. “That seems to me rather suspicious. I have an idea that Mr. Egremont was not the caller. This may have been the way of it. Some other person watched your office till he saw you leave. Then he went to the nearest call-box and rang up. He thus avoided speaking to you, feeling that you might detect that the voice was not Mr. Egremont's. The idea being, of course, to lure you into the grounds of number 1!”

“I said a few minutes ago that Egremont would never play a trick like that,” Raynham replied. “Who would?”

“The person who sent you that dagger with the inscription scratched on the blade, perhaps,” Merrion suggested. “We're not absolutely certain yet that it was a trick. I should very much like to see that branch.”

“Raynham found the door in the wall unlocked,” said Teesdale. “There's nothing to prevent us taking a peep inside. If either of the Egremonts catch us at it, we've got a perfectly good explanation. You'd better go home to bed, Raynham. Or would you rather wait here till we come back?”

“I shall come with you,” Raynham replied doggedly. “This is my affair, after all. I feel quite up to it.”

So the four of them set out. Merrion and the Admiral had brought torches with them. Teesdale provided himself with one and found another for Raynham. Like a band of conspirators they passed along Hallows Green, saying nothing and making as little noise as possible, Merrion leading. To their profound relief they met nobody, though Merrion fancied he heard sounds of movement in the grounds of number 9. The watchmen were still on the alert, no doubt.

They reached the corner and waited for a favourable opportunity when no one was passing. Then they filed towards the door in the wall. “There's no handle or anything,” Raynham whispered. “You've only got to push it.”

Merrion put his hand on the door and pushed. “Seems to have stuck,” he muttered. He put his shoulders to it and shoved with the whole weight of his body. The door remained unyielding. “It may have been unbolted just now,” Merrion remarked, “but it's been bolted since you went through, Mr. Raynham.”

The conspirators retired to the comparative seclusion of Hallows Green, fearing to attract attention by remaining too long outside the closed door. “That's a very strange thing, Raynham,” said the Admiral suspiciously.

“Do you mean I haven't told the truth?” Raynham replied. “Let me tell you that I have. Sir Hector. I do not find it at all strange. Egremont was expecting me at nine o'clock. He gave me half an hour's grace, then-came out and bolted the door. I don't suppose he leaves it unbolted all night.”

Once more the mistrust which pervaded Hallows Green had been revealed. “That must be it, of course,” said Merrion smoothly. “What about the main entrance here in Hallows Green?”

“It's padlocked,” Raynham replied, in a somewhat less ruffled tone. “One might climb over it, I dare say.”

“Better not do that,” Merrion said, with vivid memories in his mind of the armed watchmen across the way. “I fancied I heard someone about at number 9 just now. It wouldn't do for us to be seen climbing over gates. If people got wrong ideas into their heads, they might take action which seemed to them appropriate. What divides your garden from number 1, Mr. Raynham?”

“A low brick wall,” Raynham replied. “With a line of shrubs along it on my side. It wouldn't be difficult to climb over.”

“That would be a better way, I think,” said Merrion. “Would you mind showing us?”

“I will show you with pleasure,” Raynham replied. “But I must ask you all to be careful to make no noise. I do not wish to alarm my mother and wife. Follow me.”

He led the way through the gateway of number 2, then, keeping as far from the house as possible, to the dividing wall. It was about four feet high and offered no insurmountable obstacle. Merrion climbed on to it first, then, sitting astride the coping, helped the others over one by one. The Admiral came last. “We only want a gun-carriage to haul over,” he muttered, out of breath. “Then we'd be all set to compete at the Tournament. By jove, it's dark in here!”

It was. The trees which surrounded number 1 shut out all light from beyond. Using their torches cautiously, they crept towards the opposite side of the house, their feet rustling on the carpet of dead leaves. The spirit of adventure had entered into all of them, even the staid lawyer. They might have been a pack of schoolboys out to rob an orchard. A sudden fluttering of wings, as they disturbed some sleeping bird, brought them to an abrupt stand, their hearts beating wildly.

They skirted the house, expecting every moment to hear a challenging voice. But everything remained perfectly quiet. 1 The house remained invisible, with not a glimmer of light showing from it. The only sound that reached them was the subdued rumble of the traffic in Paulthorpe Road. Step by step they made their way forward, keeping close to the outer edge of the property, till they reached the wall dividing it from Paulthorpe Road. Following this for a very few yards, they came to the door set in it.

Merrion flashed his torch upon it. “It's bolted, all right!” he whispered. “Look!” On the inner side of the door were a couple of stout bolts, top and bottom, and both of these were driven home. “It's as I said,” Raynham muttered peevishly. “Egremont must have come out and bolted it. It was along this path here that the branch fell on me.”

Again Merrion took the lead. When he had gone little more than a dozen yards, Raynham was justified. A fairly large and thick branch was lying across the flagged path. Merrion bent down and examined it by the light of his torch. “Elm,” he remarked. “Dead and rotten where it joined the tree, but still heavy enough to knock any one out if it fell on his head.” He straightened himself and turned his torch on to the trunk on the tree whose branches overhung that particular spot. “And it's curious that an elm branch should have fallen from a beech tree.”

“Well, it did,” Raynham replied indignantly. “You don't suppose I put it there, do you?”

“Not for a moment,” said Merrion. “But it's pretty obvious that someone else did. Not on the path, but among the branches of this beech, above it. And that person contrived that it should fall on you as you were passing underneath, Mr. Raynham.”

“He can't have been sitting up there waiting!” Teesdale exclaimed incredulously.

“Why not?” Merrion replied. “The Admiral will tell you of a cherub that sits up aloft. But I fancy that isn't quite the right answer. More likely the chap balanced the branch he had broken from an elm on one of the branches of this beech. Then he passed a cord round it, retired to some little distance and waited. Not for long, for he knew when Mr. Raynham was to be expected. A tweak of the cord and down came the branch. It might be worth while looking round to see if we can find any trace of him.”

They searched on either side of the flagged path, but found only Raynham's hat, which was restored to its owner. “There's one thing that beats me,” Merrion remarked, “and that's the bolting of the door. This path is the way to it from the house, and we found the branch lying on it. When Mr. Egremont came out to bolt the door, he presumably had a torch. He couldn't have missed seeing the branch and would surely have pushed it aside out of the way, and if he hadn't a torch, he'd have fallen over it.”

“That's true enough,” the Admiral agreed. “What's the answer to that one?”

“The chap who put the branch in the tree bolted it after he had done his job,” Merrion replied. “It's pretty clear to me that someone besides ourselves has been trespassing on Mr. Egremont's property. Oughtn't we to let him know about it? What do you think about it, Mr. Raynham?”

“I think that Egremont should certainly be told,” Raynham replied, a trifle resentfully. “And I have the right to learn from his own lips whether or not he rang up my office this afternoon.”

XII

THEY WALKED silently along the flagged path towards the house, each busy with his own thoughts. None of them had ever approached it from this direction before. No light shone from any of the windows. A few yards from the house the path forked, each branch leading to a door, one in the side of the house facing them, the other round the corner.

They approached the former door, as being the nearer. It seemed to be the back door and appeared not to have been used recently, for the threshold was deep in drifted leaves. It had a rusty knocker, and Raynham, who had tacitly assumed the role of leader, rapped loudly with it. They waited, listening, for a few minutes, then Raynham knocked again. A longer wait this time, but still no sound from within the house. “Perhaps, if they're in the front of the house, they can't hear,” the Admiral remarked. “We'd better try that other door.”

The second door, round the corner of the house, had a small porch, and on the door-post was a bell-push. As Raynham put his finger on this, they all started. The answering ring was so loud and insistent that it seemed to reverberate throughout the house. “That'll fetch 'em,” said Teesdale. Merrion stepped back, watching the windows for a light to be switched on. But the house remained dark and silent. Raynham pressed the push again, keeping his fingers on it till it seemed that the clamour of the bell must be audible the whole length of Hallows Green. But, though they waited patiently, no reply came from within.

“I can't make it out,” said Raynham irritably. “If they were in bed and asleep, that would have wakened them. They must both be out, that's what it is.”

“Then they'll find the door in the wall bolted against them when they come back,” Merrion remarked. “I don't altogether like the look of things. Try the door and see if it's locked.”

Raynham turned the handle and pushed, but the door resisted his efforts. “It's locked all right,” he replied.

“There's still another,” the Admiral suggested. “The front door. We might try that before we give up.”

To reach the front door they had once again to turn the corner of the house. Here they came to the drive leading from the entrance in Hallows Green. It was grass-grown, and had been encroached upon by the laurels on either side. The front door was approached by a flight of half a dozen stone steps, broad and shallow. The stones were chipped and falling apart, with moss growing in the crevices. Beside the front door was another bell-push, and Raynham pressed this firmly. Only the faintest, scarcely audible tinkle rewarded him.

Then, as they stood there, they heard a sharp click not very far away. “What's that?” Raynham whispered nervously.

“Sounded to me like the click of a latch,” Merrion whispered back. “The front gate, perhaps.”

The drive curved and the laurels on either side of it hid the front gate from where they were standing. Moved by a common impulse, they all switched off their torches. “It's the Egremonts coming home,” the Admiral muttered. “They found they couldn't get in by the door in the wall, so they're opening the front gate. They've probably got the key of the padlock with them. Hadn't we better go and meet them?”

“No, wait!” Merrion hissed. “If they open the gate, we shall hear their footsteps. Listen!”

Faintly a sound of rattling came to them, as though someone was trying to loosen the chain securing the gate. The effort was apparently unsuccessful, for after a few minutes the rattling ceased. It was followed by the tapping of hurried feet on the pavement, rapidly fading away in the distance. “Unmistakably a woman wearing high-heeled shoes,” Merrion remarked. “Mrs. Egrermont, perhaps?”

“The Prophetess doesn't wear high-heeled shoes,” the Admiral replied. “She always slops around in sandals.”

“Then somebody else has business at number 1,” said Merrion. “Well, what are we going to do now?”

Nobody seemed to have a ready answer to this question and he went on. “I have a feeling that something out of the ordinary has happened here. We all seem pretty sure that it wasn't Mr. Egremont who laid a booby-trap for Mr. Raynham. Someone has been at work outside and it's quite possible that he's been up to mischief inside as well. I think we ought to investigate a little further.”

“What do you suggest we should do?” Raynham asked.

“Well, this,” Merrion replied. “It's pretty obvious that the Egremonts have gone out, leaving this house securely locked up behind them. And I think it's fairly safe to assume that the booby-trapper knew they would be out, or he would hardly have ventured on his trick. If he wanted to break into the house this was his opportunity. His most promising way of getting in was by one of the ground-floor windows. If only to satisfy our curiosity, we ought to make sure that they're all intact.”

They retraced their way to the back of the house, examining the windows as they went. All seemed in order, shut and fastened, until they regained the back door. Beside it was a narrow sash window not far above ground level and uncurtained. Directing his torch through the panes Merrion saw that the room beyond was a larder. Then he examined the window itself. “Come and look here,” he said quietly.

The window was shut, but between the lower sash and the sill was a rectangular indentation where the point of some tool had been inserted. Merrion shifted his torch from this to the catch securing the two sashes. This had been torn away from the woodwork and was hanging crookedly from one screw. The window told its story plainly enough, even to the. most unobservant eye. “By Jove, a burglary!” the Admiral exclaimed.

“A forcible entry, certainly,” Merrion replied. “But whether the object was burglary, I'm not so sure. I'm very much tempted to climb in by that window and see if all's well inside.”

“I should advise you to do nothing of the kind, Mr. Merrion,” said Raynham severely. “This is a matter for the police and it would be most unwise to touch anything until they have been summoned.”

The mention of the police evoked no enthusiasm. An uncomfortable silence ensued, broken by Teesdale. “If we call the police, they'll be bound to ask a lot of awkward questions, which might lead to matters we've agreed to keep to ourselves. And, you know, it's not our business, but the Egremonts'. Oughtn't we to wait till they come back? They're not likely to have gone far away and they'll probably be home any minute now.”

This was reasonable enough, and Raynham seemed relieved.

“Yes, that would perhaps be best,” he said. “But I must ask to be excused from waiting. The effects of the blow I received are beginning to make themselves felt and I'm feeling extremely shaky. The best thing for me will be to go home to bed.”

“You're quite right,” Teesdale replied. “I'll see you home and then I ought to go home myself. I'm half-expecting a call from one of my patients to-night. It might come through at any time. Do you mind, Admiral?”

“Not a bit!” the Admiral replied heartily. “Merrion and I will keep watch, never fear. We may as well let ourselves out by the door in the wall. That's the way the Egremonts will come. You two can go home and we'll hang about outside.” They walked down the flagged path and drew back the bolts securing the door. They must have been recently oiled for they moved smoothly and silently.

Raynham hesitated. “If the Egremonts decide to send for the police, there will be no need to mention what happened to me. I will call on Egremont in the morning and ask him if he can offer any explanation of the telephone call to my office. Good night.”

He and Teesdale walked away, to disappear round the corner into Hallows Green. The Admiral and Merrion began to pace up and down, quarter-deck style, on the pavement outside the wall. “This is the most amazing thing yet,” the latter remarked. “If Mr. Raynham is telling the truth, and we've got to suppose he is until we have proof that he isn't, his adventure fits in perfectly with Big Foot's technique. There was no attempt to murder, for if that branch had fallen square on Mr. Raynham's head, it isn't heavy enough to crack his skull. The intention was merely to produce alarm, as in the two previous cases.”

“Suspicion rather than alarm,” the Admiral replied. “And in that the intention succeeded, as you saw for yourself. Of course Raynham was quite right not to let you climb through the window.”

Merrion laughed. “I suppose he was. But I'm glad we're outside the wall. If we were inside I should find the temptation to disregard his good advice almost irresistible. It's just the sort of puzzle I should love to tackle for myself.”

“I dare say you'll have the opportunity when the Egremonts come home,” said the Admiral consolingly.

“They may not trust me,” Merrion replied. “Trustfulness is not a conspicuous quality in Hallows Green just now. Look here! The whole affair simply doesn't make sense. We're agreed that somebody, probably Big Foot, broke into the house yonder. He chose his opportunity when the inmates had gone out. Did he know in advance that they would be going out, or, watching the place, did he see them go?”

“If Big Foot lives in Hallows Green, the second alternative is more likely,” said the Admiral.

“Very well,” Merrion replied. “He also seems to have seen Raynham leave his office. And that's where the incomprehensible stares us in the face. This chap had satisfied himself that the coast was clear. You would have thought that the very last thing he would have wanted was a visitor to number 1. Yet he takes steps to ensure that Raynham should call there at nine o'clock. And, by way of confusing the issue still further, he sets a booby-trap for him. He must have been in the grounds at the time, for there's no other way of accounting for the door being bolted. Unless the whole affair was a plant.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” the Admiral asked.

“That Egremont laid the trap and forced the window himself,” Merrion replied. “In fact, that Egremont is Big Foot. All the evidence so far suggests that Big Foot lives in Hallows Green. It doesn't seem to me any more ridiculous ,to suspect Egremont than any of the rest of you. And if Egremont is the chap who is causing all the trouble, he's probably not out at all, but lying doggo in the house all the time. It's a thousand pities I wasn't allowed to climb through that window to find out. It's not too late, even now.”

Before the Admiral could reply, a car driving up Paulthorpe Road from the centre of the city slowed down and pulled up opposite the door in the wall. The Admiral walked towards it, supposing that it was a taxi and that the Egremonts would appear from it. Instead of which a tall man got out and accosted him briskly. “Well, here we are. Sir Hector. What's the trouble?”

The Admiral stared at him blankly. “Who told you there was any trouble, Inspector?”

If the Admiral was astonished, the Inspector was even more so. “Why, you sent us the message yourself!”

The Admiral tugged at his beard. “I think I must be asleep and dreaming. Let's get this straight. I sent you a message, you say? When and how?”

 “Why, by telephone, a few minutes ago,” the Inspector replied. “We had a call from someone who said he was speaking for you. The message was, would we go to number 1 Hallows Green at once, as something was very wrong there. We supposed it must be your man.”

“Haskin?” said the Admiral. “It can't have been. I suppose Raynham thought better of it after all. But why should he say he was speaking for me? I can't understand it.”

“Nor can I, Sir Hector,” said the Inspector severely. “If you did not send that message, how is it that I find you here, waiting for me?”

“I wasn't waiting for you,” the Admiral replied. “I was waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Egremont, as my friend will tell you. Let me introduce you, Mr. Merrion. Inspector March, of our City Constabulary.”

Merrion came forward and the two shook hands. “Pleased to meet you, Inspector. I can confirm that Sir Hector sent no message, for he and I have been together all the evening. But perhaps it's just as well you came. Number 1 appears to have been broken into. We rang the bell but got no reply. Mr. and Mrs. Egremont seem to be out and we were waiting to tell them.”

Even as he spoke, Merrion realised how improbable his story must sound. And March certainly appeared to have his doubts of it. “I'll ask you and Sir Hector to show me what makes you think the house has been broken into.”

“Don't believe us, eh? ” the Admiral exclaimed. “Well, come and see for yourself.” He pushed open the door and led the way up the path, holding his torch before him. “There, look at that!” he said triumphantly, as he reached the window. “If that's not the mark of a burglar, I'll eat my hat.”

The Inspector examined the window carefully, then made a few rapid measurements and entered them in his note-book. He turned to Merrion. “You say you rang the bell,” he said sharply. “I don't see one here.”

“It's at the other door, in the side of the house,” Merrion replied. “I'll show you.” The three of them marched to the side door where, on seeing the bell-push, March leant his hand firmly upon it. The resulting clamour caused him to withdraw his hand hastily.

“My word!” he exclaimed. “Some bell! It's like a fire alarm. If any one's asleep in the house, that ought to wake them!”

“Of course it ought!” the Admiral replied. “But nobody answered it when we rang it half an hour ago. There's nobody at home, that's plain enough.”

“What brought you here this evening, Sir Hector?” March asked with transparent carelessness.

“Why bless my soul! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “I can call on my neighbours if I want to, can't I? And bring a friend with me, too. I wanted a word with Mr. Egremont, that was all.”

“And when nobody answered this bell, you went to one of the back windows,” said March. “Oh, quite natural, of course. Well, there certainly seems to be no one at home. You're familiar with the inside of the house, Sir Hector?”

“Well, yes, up to a point,” the Admiral replied. “I've been inside half a dozen times, I dare say. It's a queer sort of place, with a kind of temple on the ground floor. I've never been upstairs.”

“Very well, then,” said March. “You will know if anything has been disarranged. I am going to enter by that window. I will then open the back door and let you in.” The three of them went back to the window, where March had no difficulty in raising the lower sash. He climbed in to find himself in the larder. His torch showed him a switch by the door. He switched it on, but nothing happened though there was a bulb in the pendant hanging from the ceiling. Burnt out, he thought. He opened the door and found himself in a passage leading to the back door. Here he found another switch and turned it on. Still no light rewarded him. The point must be on the same circuit as the other and the fuse had blown.

His torch gave him sufficient light for his purpose and he set to work to open the back door. This was no easy task, for it was not only locked, with the key in place, but bolted top and bottom. The key turned with the utmost difficulty, groaning in protest, and the bolts seemed to be rusted into place. Even when he had overcome these obstacles, he found that the door had stuck. For a few seconds he tugged unavailingly at the handle. Then the door suddenly yielded and, as he staggered back, the pile of dead leaves outside swirled after him in a cloud.

The Admiral and Merrion were standing outside. “You had a bit of a job with that door, Inspector,” the former remarked.

“It can't have been opened for ages,” March replied. “I suppose the tradesmen have been told to deliver at one of the other doors. Come in and help me look over the place.”

They went through the back premises finding everything in order. As they entered each room in turn, March turned on the switches without producing any result. After a while, they came to a baize-covered door, beyond which was the front part of the house, the hall, into which the front door opened, and a short passage leading to the side door. On one wall of the hall was an outsize electric bell, evidently the one actuated by the push outside the side door.

The hall was very scantily furnished and on either side of it were inner doors, both shut. As March opened one of these he tried the switch as usual, and again as usual, nothing happened. “It's very odd,” he muttered. “The current must be cut off.” All three of them swept their torches round the room. It seemed to be the only living-room, for it was furnished half as a dining-room and half as a lounge. The room was perfectly tidy and undisturbed. The fireplace was big, with a scuttle half full of coal standing before it. But the fire had gone out, leaving only a few cinders. March put his hand on these and found them quite cold. As he did so the clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven.

At one side of the room stood a bureau with the lid closed. March tried this and finding it unlocked, opened it to find a few papers, apparently tradesmen's bills or receipts. In one of the divisions at the back was a small tin cash-box. This, too, was unlocked, and contained only half a dozen pound notes and some silver.

“If a burglar's been here he didn't look very far,” March remarked. “Have you been in this room before, Sir Hector?”

The Admiral shook his head. “No, I've only been in the hall and the room on the other side. That's the temple I told you about.”

“We'll have a look in there,” said March. They crossed the hall and opened the second door. The air within was cold and seemed tinged with some peculiar fragrance. “Well, this is a rum go!” March exclaimed, as their torches revealed the interior. “Looks like a chapel of sorts. Was it like this when you saw it, Sir Hector?”

“Well, yes and no,” the Admiral replied. “The only time I've been in here was to a tea-party. The room itself is the same but then there were a lot of chairs and tables scattered about, and a screen across the farther end there.”

The room now was almost bare and their voices gave back a hollow echo. Across the floor was a row of wooden chairs. In front of these was what was undoubtedly an altar, though a most extraordinary one. It was rectangular, about six feet long and three feet high, completely draped in a white silk cloth, the edges embroidered in curious patterns of green and crimson. On the altar stood a most realistic and repellent figure of an octopus, with waving tentacles, carved out of some wood, the colour of blood. A pair of tall gold candlesticks, one on either side, flanked this figure. The candles they had held had burnt to the end, leaving only a few spots of wax. Immediately in front of the altar was a low tripod, apparently of solid silver, bearing a bowl, also of silver, in which were a few pinches of grey ash.

“A pagan temple in Hallows Green!” Merrion exclaimed. “Devoted apparently to the worship of the octopus-god. It's most amazing. And surely that gold and silver would have been irresistible to an burglar.”

“You'd have thought so,” March replied, with a shiver. It was certainly chilly in this strange room. There was no fireplace, but radiators stood at intervals against the walls. March put his hand on the one nearest him to find it stone cold. “I'm beginning to think Mr. and Mrs. Egremont must have gone away,” he said. “That burnt-out fire in the living-room and these cold radiators. And the current being cut off too. Have you seen either of them lately, Sir Hector?”

“I saw Egremont on Saturday afternoon,” the Admiral replied. “But I haven't seen either of them since. But I remember that they had a visitor on Monday, a woman. You recollect her, Merrion?”

“Quite well,” Merrion replied. “We saw her go in by the door in the wall, about lunch-time.”

“The way I came in?” March asked. “That's the tradesmen's entrance, I suppose?”

“It's the one that's always used,” the Admiral remarked. “The front entrance is reserved for state occasions. You'll find at this moment the gate is secured with a chain and padlock, if you care to look.”

“Later on,” said March. “Well, nothing seems to have been disturbed here. We'd better have a look upstairs.”

They went back to the hall and approached the foot of the staircase. Seen in the light of their torches, the stair carpet seemed new and hardly worn. March, leading, was about to ascend, but came to a sudden halt. “Stop!” he exclaimed.

Merrion smiled to himself when he saw what had arrested him. On the first tread was a black mark of coal dust, the shape of the sole of a man's foot, with no heel visible, stretching the whole width of the tread. “I wonder what that is?” March muttered. “I thought at first it was a footstep. But nobody ever had a foot that size. And there's no mark like it on any of the other treads that I can see. Mind you don't touch it as you come up. All right follow me carefully.”

They went on up the stairs, the Inspector leading, until they reached the first-floor landing. Several doors opened off it and March opened the one nearest to him, revealing what was apparently a lumber room, for it contained various pieces of furniture, stacked together. He turned to the other side of the landing and opened the opposite door. He swept his torch round, then retired hastily. “There's a man and a woman asleep in bed!” he whispered in a shocked tone.

“Eh? ” the Admiral replied. “Egremont and his wife. But nobody could have slept through the racket that bell kicks up.”

“Go in and see if you recognise them,” said March curtly. The Admiral obeyed, followed by the Inspector and Merrion. The room was in perfect order, with masculine and feminine clothing folded and lying on chairs. It contained a pair of twin beds, the man in one, the woman in the other. The Admiral tiptoed towards them, looked at them intently, then laid his hand for a moment on one forehead after the other. “Yes,” he said gravely. “Egremont and his wife. But they aren't asleep. Inspector. They're dead.”

XIII

IT DID NOT take the Inspector long to assure himself that in this last respect Sir Hector was right. He stared at the dead couple, then even more intently at the Admiral and Merrion. “I must ask you gentlemen to carry out my instructions to the letter,” he said. “Go out of the house by the back door, and to my car, which is standing in Paulthorpe Road. Tell the driver from me to fetch the divisional surgeon and bring him here. He knows where he lives. And then go home. Your friend Mr. Merrion is staying with you. Sir Hector? Very well. I must ask you both to await a visit from me in the morning.”

The Admiral and Merrion obeyed without protest. Having given the message to the driver, they walked back to number 7. Lady Sapperton and the Haskins had gone to bed, and they made their way to the cabin, where the Admiral poured out two stiff whiskies. “What does it mean?” he demanded.

Merrion laughed mirthlessly. “That's just what the Inspector will want to know in the morning.”

“It's like a nightmare! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “It's clear enough that March suspects us. And it's not going to be easy to explain why we were prowling round that fantastic house. But there's this in our favour. The Egremonts didn't die this evening. They were both stone cold when I touched them.”

“There's only one thing for it,” Merrion replied. “To tell the whole truth, hiding nothing. But in this case the whole truth, recorded in the bald language of a policeman's notebook, will seem hardly credible.”

“That's just what I mean,” the Admiral groaned. “And it will mean giving the others away. I wish to goodness now that we'd put the whole affair in the hands of the police days ago. It must have been Raynham or Teesdale who rang them up this evening. But why did whoever of them it was say he was speaking for me?”

“Because they knew it was you the police would find when they got there, I suppose,” Merrion replied. “A darker thought is that the intention was to divert suspicion on to your devoted head. And, incidentally, on to mine as well. The whole chain of events will come under the limelight now, there's no way of avoiding it. I can hardly suppose that Mr. and Mrs. Egremont simultaneously died a natural death.”

“Meaning that they were murdered,” said the Admiral. “But why on earth? Robbery wasn't the motive, or those gold and silver things in that amazing temple would have been taken.”

“Ritual murder, perhaps?” Merrion suggested. “That temple might well indicate some pretty primitive form of belief. You haven't read the Golden Bough, I dare say. It's just possible that the priest and priestess had to die to ensure the welfare of their followers. However, apart from speculations into the occult, one material fact stares us in the face. The Inspector's first impression was right. That mark on the stair carpet was the print of Big Foot.”

They continued the discussion for an hour or more, agreeing finally that the whole truth must be told. At last they went to bed, but neither of them spent a very restful night. Breakfast next morning was eaten in an atmosphere of constraint. Merrion could tell from Lady Sapperton's expression that her husband had confided in her. The meal over, the two men sought the seclusion of the cabin. “Well, here we are, awaiting interrogation,” said the Admiral gloomily. “Now I know exactly what defaulters must feel like. By the way, just to set any doubt at rest, I asked Haskin if he rang any one up last night. Of course, he said he hadn't. He couldn't have said anything about number 1 for he didn't know we'd gone there.”

The time dragged on but no one came to the house. And then at last, when their nerves were becoming frayed with the suspense, Haskin opened the door. “Inspector March and another gentleman to see you, sir.”

As the two visitors entered the room, Merrion leapt to his feet. “Well, if this isn't a stroke of luck! ” he exclaimed. “Sir Hector! Let me introduce you to my old and valued friend, Inspector Arnold, of Scotland Yard.”

“Glad to meet you. Sir Hector,” said Arnold. “As for you, Merrion, it's just like you to be on the spot when anything queer happens. I've already told Mr. March that if the Mr. Merrion he mentioned turned out to be the one I knew, I'd vouch for his good character. But it seems that you two gentlemen are guilty of suspicious behaviour. What were you doing at number 1 Hallows Green last night?”

The Admiral glanced at Merrion. “Tell him. Since Mr. Arnold is a friend of yours, he'll believe you sooner than he would me. But sit down all of you. It's going to be a long story.”

They sat down; and Merrion began from the beginning. At his request the Admiral produced from the sea-chest the collection of strange exhibits and indicated the recipient of each. Merrion then went on to describe the events of the current week. The fire at number 9 on Sunday, Miss Wayland's misfortune with her bed-warmer on Monday, and Raynham's unpleasant adventure of the previous evening. “It was this last accident that took us to number 1,” he said. “We did not enter the house. But someone had been there, or at least in the grounds, before us. At nine o'clock Mr. Raynham found the door in the wall unbolted. Little more than half an hour later we found both bolts shot.”

“Well, that's the most extraordinary yam I've ever heard!” Arnold exclaimed, when Merrion had come to an end. “I don't pretend to understand what it all means. What do you say, Mr. March?”

“That it's a pity all this was not reported to us from the first,” March replied. “Can you explain why it wasn't, Sir Hector?”

The Admiral shrugged his shoulders. “The answer's simple enough. The fear of being made to look ridiculous. Very few of us took these warnings very seriously. I think most of us thought someone was trying to pull our legs and we should have looked damned silly if we'd made a fuss. And even when things began to happen, there was no certainty. Those who suffered might have been the victims of accident, or at the worst, of a malicious practical joke. They didn't relish the publicity of police inquiries.”

March looked unconvinced, but Arnold nodded. “I think I understand,” he said. “Now, Mr. March is going to take me to number 1. You'd better come with us, Merrion. You can explain on the spot what you know of yesterday evening's happenings.”

“I'll come with you willingly,” Merrion replied. The three of them left the house and entered March's car which was standing outside.

“I can guarantee Mr. Merrion's discretion,” said Arnold as they drove along Hallows Green. “And I think it would be to our advantage to take him into our confidence. For one thing, he's got a gift for answering riddles. And, for another, I expect he's already formed a few opinions of his own. Have you any objection, Mr. March?”

“None whatever,” March replied. “It is a matter for you entirely. The case is in your hands now.”

The car drew up round the corner in Paulthorpe Road. They got out and March pushed open the door in the wall. Passing through, they found a uniformed constable stationed on the flagged path, who sprang to attention and saluted. “Anything to report, Newson?” March asked curtly.

“Yes, sir,” Newson replied, taking his note-book from his pocket and opening it. “At ten-fifty this morning a well-dressed gentleman, carrying an attache-case, came through the doorway. I stopped him and asked him what he wanted. He told me that he had come to see Mr. Egremont. I told him that Mr. Egremont was not at home and asked him for his name and address. He gave them as James Harpley, of Sleaford's Hotel, London, W.1.”

“Yes, yes!” March replied impatiently. “That's all right for the witness-box. Now let's have your own impressions! What was this man like? Did he seem surprised at finding you here?”

Newson discarded his official manner. “He was middle-aged, short and rather stout, sir. Looked to me like a well-to-do business man. And as to being surprised, sir, he seemed to be struck all of a heap when he saw me. Just gaped, like, and couldn't answer my question till I'd asked him twice. And then he said he'd come to ask Mr. Egremont's advice on a private matter. He said Mr. Egremont was the head of the religion he belonged to and that he never did anything without speaking to him first. He'd come all the way from London by the first train this morning to see him.”

“The train I came by,” Arnold remarked. “When you told him Mr. Egremont was not at home, did he ask when he was likely to be back?”

“No, sir,” Newson replied. “He didn't ask anything. As soon as I got his name and address he went off sharp.”

Leaving Newson on duty, the others went along the path. Merrion pointed out the branch still lying beside it. “That's the one that fell on Mr. Raynham,” he said. “The peculiar thing about it is that the branch is elm, while this tree it fell from is a beech. The conclusion to be drawn from that is fairly obvious.”

“Meaning that it was put up in the tree by somebody?”Arnold asked.

“And caused to fall on Mr. Raynham as he was passing underneath by somebody,” Merrion replied. “By dislodging it with a cord from some little distance is the most likely way. The point is that someone was in here at nine o'clock. Mr. Raynham picked himself up and went out by the door in the wall. It was bolted on the inside within the next half-hour.”

They entered the house by the back door, passing thence into the hall. “Arnold was quite right just now,” said Merrion. “He suggested that I might already have formed a few opinions of my own. Well, I have and they concern a series of rather remarkable footprints. Mr. Vawtrey saw the first in his garden on the morning after the fire at number 9, and he measured it. I myself saw the blurred outline of this print next day.

“Sir Hector and I found the second in the garden of number 4 on Tuesday. We measured it and found that the result corresponded with Mr. Vawtrey's measurement. On the same day I found a similar footprint on a heap of rubbish at the bottom of the garden of number 10. Now, Mr. March, you couldn't believe that the mark on the stair carpet here was a footprint because it was too big. You can't measure the length for it isn't all there. But if you measure the width I'm willing to bet that you will find it four and three-quarter inches.”

March took a rule from his pocket and bent over the step. “You're right, Mr. Merrion. But whoever's got a foot that size?”

“We ought to be able to find him,” Arnold replied. “There can't be many like that about. That's one up to you, Merrion.”

“The mark isn't mud, but coal dust, you notice,” said Merrion. “Whoever made that print must have picked up the dust inside the house, one would imagine. Shall we look round and see where the coal is kept?”

It did not take them long to find the coal cellar at the back of the house, with a shuttered opening in the outside wall. It contained about half a ton of coal in a heap below the opening.

The rest of the floor was liberally covered with dust. And in the dust, just inside the door, was a complete and well-defined footprint. March bent down and measured it. “Thirteen and a half inches by four and three-quarters,” he reported.

“Exactly,” said Merrion. “The size Mr. Vawtrey and I made it. Big Foot again. But what the dickens did he come in here for? “He looked round the cellar, then smiled. “You remember, Mr. March, that last night we found the current cut off. Has it come on again, yet?”

Arnold flicked on the switch in the passage. “Not here, at all events,” he replied.

Merrion pointed upwards. “There's the meter, above the door in the cellar. And there'll be a main switch beside it. If one of you got a chair from the kitchen and climbed on it, you'd be able to see if the switch is on or off.”

Arnold fetched a chair and stepped on to it. “The switch is here all right, but I can't tell whether it's on or off.”

“Well, move it to the position it isn't in now,” said Merrion. He tried the switch in the passage again. This time the light came on brightly. “That's the answer, I think. Big Foot came into the cellar to turn the light off.”

“And picked up the coal dust,” March replied. “Well, Mr. Merrion, I'm beginning to be glad we brought you with us. Now we'd better go upstairs. Mr. Arnold will want to see the room where we found the bodies.”

He led the way. The beds were now empty with the upper sheets and blankets pulled back. Arnold plumped himself down on the nearer one. “Now then, Mr. March,” he said. “You might tell Mr. Merrion the rest and I'd like to hear it in detail myself. You might take up the story from the time he and Sir Hector left you.”

“I didn't touch anything in here,” March replied. “After a while I went out to the door in the wall to wait for the divisional surgeon. It wasn't very long before he turned up, cursing me for dragging him out in the middle of the night. I brought him up here and showed him the bodies. He examined them as best he could in the light of our torches. He couldn't find any external signs of the cause of death in either case. But he said there was no doubt that they had both been dead for some hours. About twenty-four, he thought.”

“He saw the bodies about midnight, didn't he?” Arnold asked. “That means they died during Tuesday night.”

 “That's so,” March replied. “He said it would be impossible to determine the cause of death without a post-mortem, and that the best place for that would be the room equipped for the purpose at the Barncaster and County Hospital. So we sent for the ambulance and got the bodies taken there. The divisional surgeon said that he'd get the pathologist to help him with the post-mortem this morning.”

“Then we ought to hear something before very long,” Arnold remarked.

“I arranged to see the divisional surgeon this afternoon, said March. “After we'd got the bodies away I went back to headquarters and rang up the Chief. I told him that though there was no definite evidence of murder, the death of these two people was unexplained. He said he'd ring up the Yard and ask them to help.”

“He did,” Arnold replied. “I was on tap and was put on the job. I caught the first train and you know the rest. I suppose it can't be a suicide pact? You haven't looked round the room, Mr. March?”

March shook his head. “I thought it better to leave everything as it was. Except the bodies, of course.”

While Merrion was listening he had been looking round the room. Now, in daylight, the details were more clearly visible than they had been before. The room was large and airy with two windows. The curtains of one of these were drawn back, and the windows were open at the top. Among other furniture was a dressing-table, two chests of drawers, and a big wardrobe.

“Suicide?” Merrion remarked. “The first thing one suspects is gas poisoning. But no gas is laid on here, or anywhere else in the house that I've noticed. And accident seems out of the question. The point that impresses me is that the Egremonts died during Tuesday night. That being so, it can't have been Mr. Egremont who rang up Mr. Raynham's office yesterday afternoon. Did the impersonator know that Mr. Egremont was dead? Coupled with that is another question. When was the larder window forced?”

“You can set your imagination to work on that,” Arnold replied. “Meanwhile, we'll have a look round the room and see if we can find anything to throw light on this affair.”

Merrion watched as Arnold and March set to work. They started with the dressing-table, which had evidently been used by Mrs. Egremont. Among the toilet articles were several objects of personal adornment, some rings and a brooch or two, obviously of some value. In the drawers were more pieces of jewellery, a surprising number, in fact. In one of the drawers was a hand-bag, which Arnold opened. Besides a few feminine vanities, it contained a purse holding some notes and silver.

“If these people were murdered, robbery wasn't the motive,” Arnold remarked. He turned to the chests of drawers. The first one he opened was packed full of masculine underwear. On it was a pair of silver-backed hair brushes, engraved with the initials H.F.E. Beside these lay a wallet and a bunch of keys. Arnold looked through the contents of the wallet. An identity card, with the name Egremont, Hopton F., a partly used book of stamps, and a number of pound and ten-shilling notes. Then he looked at the bunch of keys. Two or three of the Yale type and one most obviously the key of a safe.

Arnold held this up for March's inspection. “You've been round the house, you say. Did you see the safe this belongs to?”

“I didn't see a safe last night,” March replied. “Did you, Mr. Merrion?”

Merrion shook his head. “There was no safe in any of the rooms we looked into.”

“We'll have a look for it presently,” said Arnold. He opened the drawers of the other chest, in this case to find a stock of feminine underclothing. Then he approached the wardrobe which had two doors. The opening of the first revealed a number of voluminous garments suspended on hangers and beneath them several pairs of women's sandals.

“Mrs. Egremont's,” Merrion remarked. “I've been told she always went about in flowing robes and sandals. And no doubt you'll find that the other side was her husband's.”

Arnold opened the other door to find Merrion's prediction correct. Coats and trousers in quantity suspended from hangers. And beneath them an assortment of footwear, among them, most surprisingly, a pair of enormous fisherman's waders dwarfing everything else.

As these were revealed to Merrion he uttered an exclamation. “I must be suffering from senile decay! Why did I never think of that simple explanation? Pull those waders out and let's have a look at them.”

As Arnold did so, Merrion turned to March. “May I borrow your rule a minute?” March gave it to him. He turned up one of the waders and measured it. “Thirteen and a half inches from toe to heel, and four and three-quarters across the widest part. The exact dimensions of the footprints I told you about. You see? These waders were meant to be worn over a pair of ordinary shoes. Give me one of those from the wardrobe.”

Arnold handed him a shoe and he inserted it into the wader. “There you are! It goes in easily. Bit of a loose fit, perhaps, but that would make it easier to get the waders on and off.” He turned back the upper end of the wader. On the inside lining were the initials H.F.E. in black marking ink. “Not much doubt now of the identity of Big Foot,” he muttered, half to himself. “But why on earth? This only complicates the problem.”

He continued his examination. The lower part of the waders showed patches of dried mud. “Might be worth while scraping that off and comparing it with the soil of the gardens in Hallows Green,” he said. But I suppose that's only a matter of academic interest now. And, look here. The sole of the right wader is distinctly black. I think I can still see fragments of coal dust sticking to it. But why did Mr. Egremont put on his waders to turn the current off at the main switch? There's a riddle for you sleuths to answer.”

“We'd like to hear what your imagination makes of it,” Arnold replied.

Merrion glanced at his watch. “My imagination wants a rest for refreshment. With your permission I must get back to the Admiral's. I'm late for lunch already.”

“The police won't detain you,” Arnold replied. “Eh, Mr. March? You'll be available if you're wanted, though?”

“I shan't leave Hallows Green till this affair's settled,” said Merrion firmly. “You can rest assured of that.”

XIV

AFTER LUNCH, Merrion told the Admiral what he had seen and heard at number 1. “I'm not betraying any confidences, for all this is bound to become public property at the inquest, if not sooner. And I'm bound to admit that I can't make head or tail of it. There can't be much doubt that Big Foot was Egremont. But why should a man, whose only interest appears to have been his own most remarkable religion, have behaved in such a way?”

“Perhaps his religion drove him off his head,” the Admiral replied. “What we saw last night looked crazy enough. Don't forget that Egremont was one of the only two people who didn't get a threat.”

“I'm not forgetting that,” said Merrion. “Now, the next thing. We're told that the medical evidence shows that the Egremonts died during Tuesday night. If that's correct, Egremont didn't ring up Raynham's office yesterday evening, nor did he bring off the booby-trap. Which means that someone else indulges in mischievous pranks. What's the answer to that?”

The Admiral shook his head. “I haven't one. Could it have been an accident after all?”

“Elm branches don't fall from beech trees by accident,” Merrion replied. “As I left number 1 on my way back here I had a look round. I couldn't see an elm, all the trees there seem to be beeches. But you remember when I climbed into the grounds of number 10 on Tuesday? I noticed the trees there, for I wanted to be sure that I couldn't be seen from the house. Among them was a rather fine old elm.”

“Barry Flamstead! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “Why should he want to play a trick like that on Raynham?”

“I don't know,” Merrion replied. “You reminded me a moment ago that Egremont was one of the only two who hadn't received a threat. Barry Flamstead, I believe, is the other. And you've told me of the vendetta which exists between the two branches of the Flamstead family. Since it is a legal vendetta, might it not extend to the lawyers on either side? Mr. Raynham is Lawrence Flamstead's lawyer. It sounds absurd, I know. But, then, you see. Hallows Green seems to have entered upon an era of absurdity.”

“A tragic absurdity for the Egremonts,” the Admiral remarked.

“That's one of the main complications of the puzzle,” said Merrion. “As I've pointed out before, the three previous incidents were really no more than malicious practical jokes. In no case, whatever the victims may think, was there any serious attempt to murder. Were the Egremonts murdered in their beds? If so, what can have been the motive? Certainly not robbery. Apart from the gold and silver we saw in the temple, money and more or less valuable trinkets are lying about all over the house.”

“You said something about ritual murder,” the Admiral replied. “I've heard something about that in my time, for long ago, when I was a sub., I served on the West African station. But if the Egremonts had been offered as a sacrifice to the octopus, wouldn't they have been found before the altar with their throats cut?”

The two were sitting in the cabin about six o'clock that evening when Haskin announced Inspector Arnold. “I came to see if you could help us. Sir Hector,” he said. “Nobody in Barncaster seems to know much about Mr. and Mrs. Egremont. You have been to the house several times, I understand?”

“Hardly as often as that,” the Admiral replied. “Two or three times, to the tea-parties they used to give. I know nothing about their affairs or their acquaintances. The only people who are likely to tell us much about them are their followers who visited the temple.”

Arnold smiled. “And they don't seem anxious to come out into the open. One of them called at number 1 this morning. Merrion heard the report of the constable on duty. I rang up the Yard and told them to make inquiries. I got a call back just now to say they hadn't been able to find any such place as Sleaford's Hotel.”

“That doesn't altogether surprise me,” Merrion remarked. “One can understand an octopus-worshipper being a bit shy about confessing his peculiar tenets. Have the doctors discovered the case of death?”

Arnold shook his head. “If they have, they're being pretty cautious about it. March and I saw the divisional surgeon early this afternoon. He told us that the post-mortem had been performed, but that the results were for the present inconclusive. A definite opinion must await the results of certain analyses to be carried out by the pathologist. You know how careful these doctors are not to give themselves away. But he said that he and the pathologist were in full agreement that in both cases death had taken place in the course of Tuesday night.”

“A regular sequence of events,” said Merrion quietly. “Sunday, the fire at number 9. Monday, Miss Wayland's unfortunate misadventure with her bed-warmer. Tuesday, the at present unexplained deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Egremont. Wednesday, the hoax and booby-trap arranged for Mr. Raynham.”

“Yes,” Arnold replied. “We hadn't forgotten what you and Sir Hector told us this morning. After we'd had a bite to eat and seen the divisional surgeon, March and I came back to Hallows Green. The first thing we did was to have a good look over number 1. My word! That temple, or whatever it is, is a queer place! It fairly gives me the creeps. What we were looking for was correspondence, or accounts, or something like that which would give us a clue to the Egremonts' friends. But we found nothing but a few bills and receipts from local tradesmen. Not even a cheque book or a pass book, and no letters whatever.”

“Not in the safe?” Merrion asked. “You found that, I suppose?”

“There isn't a safe,” Arnold replied positively. “We've been over the house from cellar to attic, and there's no sign of such a thing.”

“I can't make that out,” said Merrion. “Mr. Egremont must have had a safe, or he wouldn't have carried the key of one with him. Did you spend the whole afternoon at number 1?”

“Not a bit of it,” Arnold replied. “After what you'd told us, we thought we might as well pay a few calls in Hallows Green. We started with Dr. Teesdale, as March thought he might have attended the Egremonts professionally. He knew all about what had happened, for he heard when he went to the hospital this morning, and saw the bodies. In fact, the news seems to have spread all over Hallows Green. But the doctor couldn't tell us much. Neither of the Egremonts had ever been his patients. He didn't know any one who had known them at all intimately.”

He paused, then went on: “I don't know that I ought to say this. We asked the doctor about the incidents you told us about, and I'm bound to say that he confirmed your story in every detail. But what struck me was that he was significantly involved in all of them. He was the first to see the blaze at number 9. It was he who discovered the trouble with Miss Wayland's bed-warmer. It was his suggestion to Mr. Raynham that Sir Hector's friend, Mr. Merrion, should be called in.”

Merrion laughed. “You've caught the infection, my friend. And I'm sorry I can't tell you what the proper treatment is.”

“Infection?” Arnold exclaimed. “What infection? What nonsense are you talking?”

“The infection of suspicion,” Merrion replied. “Hallows Green is reeking with it. Ever since those warnings, or threats, or whatever you like to call them, started coming in, every man and woman has had growing suspicions of his or her neighbours. That's so, isn't it, Admiral?”

“It is so,” said the Admiral gloomily. “And it strikes me that the suspicion is justified.”

“I've noticed quite a lot of it myself,” Arnold remarked. “After we left Dr. Teesdale, we went to number 9 to see Mr. Vawtrey. The place seemed to be mobilised for defence. We'd hardly got inside the gateway when a queer looking chap armed with a whacking great club appeared behind the house. I thought for the moment he was going to knock us both on the head without further parley.”

“You were lucky he didn't,” said Merrion. “He's already had one pot-shot at a real or imaginary murderer. He's Mr. Vawtrey's servant. Brown by name. Go on.”

“We hastily told him who we were,” Arnold replied. “That seemed to pacify him slightly. Only slightly, for he kept on swinging his club as he took us into the house. There we found Mr. Vawtrey, who was almost as belligerent as his henchman. He told us all about the fire, and that he could never replace the stuff he had lost in it. And he went on to say that it was quite obvious a deliberate attempt had been made upon his life.”

“Yes, I know,” said Merrion. “He's convinced himself of that. Personally, I don't think it's very likely. Did he tell you who he thought was out to murder him?”

“We asked him, naturally,” Arnold replied. “He said straight out that it must be his next door neighbour, Mr. Barry Flamstead. He couldn't, or wouldn't, suggest any motive. His suspicions seemed to be based entirely on the footprint he found in his garden, which seemed to show that someone had come through the hedge from number 10. We didn't tell him what we knew about those outsize footprints. It comes to this. Is it at all probable that Mr. Egremont set fire to Mr. Vawtrey's premises?”

“I think Mr. Vawtrey is right up to a point,” said Merrion. “I'm pretty well satisfied that the fire didn't start accidentally. Someone must have started it, but not, as I say, with the intention that Mr. Vawtrey should be consumed in the flames. Sir Hector can tell you better than I can whether it is likely that person was Mr. Egremont.”

The Admiral shook his head. “It seems to me utterly unlikely. So far as I know, the Egremonts had no more contact with Vawtrey than they had with any one else in Hallows Green. He is, or was till this happened, a quiet, inoffensive sort of chap, whom every one liked. Not that we have ever seen very much of him, for he seemed to have little time to spare for anything but his pet hobby of photography.”

“I shouldn't describe him as quiet and inoffensive now,” said Arnold. “His attitude is that of a Red Indian on the war-path. We had to warn him that he really mustn't take the law into his own hands. Our next call was at number 4, to hear about Miss Wayland's adventure from her own lips. But she wasn't there.”

“She's often out,” said the Admiral. “Busy with her good works. You'll have to try again.”

“Miss Wayland wasn't out, in that sense,” Arnold replied. “We saw her companion. Miss Brinton, who told us that Miss Wayland had gone away yesterday morning to stay with some friends of hers in London. Miss Brinton also told us what happened on Monday evening, and how she sent for Dr. Teesdale. And she said that you had called next morning, Sir Hector.”

“Quite right,” said the Admiral. “Merrion wanted to look round the place, and I faked up a pretext. That was when we found the second footprint. Miss Wayland's departure was a bit sudden, wasn't it?”

“It was,” Arnold replied dryly. “We suggested that to Miss Brinton. She told us that Miss Wayland had gone away as soon as she felt fit enough, before another attempt was made to murder her.”

“Frightened, eh? ” the Admiral remarked. “And had she any idea who the would-be assassin might be?”

“Miss Brinton told us she had, Sir Hector,” Arnold replied. “Miss Wayland thought it most extraordinary that you should have called on Tuesday morning. The only reason could have been to discover whether she had fallen a victim to your attempt of the night before.”

“I never heard anything so ridiculous in my life! ” the Admiral spluttered indignantly.” “My attempt, indeed! Merrion can tell you exactly where I was at the time it happened. And why on earth should I want to slaughter the wretched woman?”

Merrion laughed. “You did give a false pretext for going to number 4, you know. Admiral. And then, again, your wanting to show your friend the garden may have seemed a bit suspicious. That Miss Wayland should suspect you is really no more ridiculous than that Mr. Vawtrey should suspect Mr. Barry Flamstead. We come back to the same question. Could Mr. Egremont have had any grudge against Miss Wayland?”

“Well, I don't know,” the Admiral replied, slightly mollified. “She's a rigid churchwoman, and disapproves of any fancy religion. I've heard her say as much, and she may have let the Egremonts know her opinions. If she'd seen that revolting octopus on the altar she'd have disapproved even more violently. But, of course, it and the other trappings weren't there when the Egremonts gave their tea-parties.”

“That may be,” said Arnold, doubtfully. “Dr. Teesdale told us that Mr. Raynham had not gone to his office to-day, as he was feeling a bit knocked up after his experience yesterday. So we went to number 2 to see him. He seemed a bit grumpy, and wasn't inclined to say very much, but we got him to describe what had happened to him. He knew about the Egremonts, of course, and pointed out that it couldn't have been Egremont who rang up his office. Whoever it was had evidently played that dirty trick on him.”

“Did he offer any suggestion as to who that person may have been?” Merrion asked.

“After some pressing on our part, he did,” Arnold replied. “With the typical cautiousness of a lawyer, of course. He kept on saying that what he was telling us was without prejudice. It was all pretty vague. Mr. Glandford, of number 3, was a client of his. Some little while back they had had a slight difference of opinion. Mr. Glandford had objected to a charge Mr. Raynham had made for professional services. Mr. Raynham admits that his reply may have been unduly sarcastic and may have hurt his client's feelings. At all events, since then he had noticed that Mr. Glandford had seemed to avoid him.”

“It's extraordinary what directions suspicions will take,” the Admiral remarked. “I know that Glandford is rather quick to take offence. More than once he's been rather huffy at a jocular word of mine. But somehow I don't see a distinguished scientist playing a trick like that on his lawyer. But there's one obvious question. Where was Glandford at nine o'clock yesterday evening?”

“I haven't asked him,” Arnold replied. “But Mr. Raynham raised that very point himself. He told us that Mr. Glandford very often worked in his laboratory in the evening. But neither his sister nor his housekeeper could possibly know whether he was inside it or not. The laboratory isn't in the house but in a detached building outside it,” he said.

“Quite right,” said the Admiral. “It's the old coach-house, converted. Did Raynham tell you anything else?”

“Well, yes,” Arnold replied. “March has been puzzled about that call to police headquarters yesterday evening. I've spoken to the sergeant who took the message. A man's voice said, ' I am speaking for Sir Hector Sapperton. Will you go at once to number 1 Hallows Green, as something is very wrong there.' The sergeant asked for the name of the caller, but he had rung off as soon as he had spoken.”

“I can only assure you once more that I didn't ask any one to send that message,” said the Admiral. “Let me make it quite clear. Merrion and I were sitting in this room. About a quarter past nine I heard the telephone bell ring and went to answer it. The caller was Teesdale, who asked me to come to his place and bring Merrion with me. There was no mention of number 1. Neither Merrion nor I had any idea we should be going there. Neither of us was near a telephone from the time we left number 8 till March turned up. It must have been Raynham or Teesdale.”

“We asked them both,” Arnold replied. “Separately, of course. They both declared that they had never telephoned to the police. It had been agreed that you and Merrion should wait for the Egremonts to come home before doing that.”

The Admiral shook his head. “I find that very difficult to believe. Only the four of us knew that anything was wrong at number 1, and even so all we knew was that the larder window looked as if it had been forced. Either Raynham or Teesdale must have rung up police headquarters. They're both on the telephone.”

“But why should they deny having done so?” Arnold persisted.

“For some good reason of their own, no doubt,” the Admiral replied darkly. “It was Raynham, most probably. His yarn about what happened to him is a pretty queer one, when you come to think of it. We've only got his word for it.”

“So suspicion spreads in ever-widening circles,” Merrion remarked. “But you've forgotten one thing. Admiral. There was somebody beside us four prowling round number 1 last night. The chap who bolted the door in the wall. It's quite possible that when he had done that he remained hidden in the garden somewhere. And that from his place of concealment he watched our proceedings with interest not untinged with amusement. We were flashing our torches all over one another, so he could have seen who we were easily enough. And when he'd had enough of the entertainment he went off to telephone that message.”

“Oh, come now!” Arnold protested. “This chap, whoever it was, had been up to no good. Why should he ring up the police?”

“For a fairly obvious reason,” Merrion replied. “And it worked, for I saw it working. March got a message purporting to have been sent on behalf of Sir Hector, and went to number 1, where the first person he saw was Sir Hector. If he knew nothing of the message it was very remarkable that he should be there waiting. The Inspector's suspicions were so powerful that you could almost see them surrounding him like a halo.”

“I wonder if Raynham's right after all? ” the Admiral growled. “But then Glandford isn't on the phone.”

“Don't let that stand in your way,” Merrion replied. “I've noticed that there's a telephone kiosk in Otterford Road, just round the corner from Hallows Green. But aren't we rather losing sight of the main point? Our adventure took place last night, while it seems to be established that the Egremonts died the night before.”

“That's just what makes it all so extraordinary,” the Admiral remarked.

“It does,” Merrion agreed. “And for this reason which hasn't perhaps occurred to you. Except on special occasions the only visitors the Egremonts received were from their co-religionists. We know from our observation that these visits were not infrequent. We saw a woman call at number 1 at lunch-time on Monday. We heard another, or possibly the same, trying to get in last night. This morning a man called and, when questioned, gave a false address and probably a false name. It appears then that these people are not anxious for publicity. It is therefore unlikely, if any of them found themselves unable to get into number 1, that they would report the matter. Now, if you, Admiral, or any of your neighbours, had for some days failed to see either of the Egremonts about, would you have had sufficient curiosity to investigate?”

“I shouldn't,” the Admiral replied. “And I don't think it's very likely that any of the others would.”

“Well, there you are,” said Merrion. “That's what makes last night's adventure so extraordinary. But for it, the death of the Egremonts might have remained undiscovered almost indefinitely. If Raynham hadn't received that telephone message, ostensibly from Egremont, he wouldn't have gone to number 1. If the branch hadn't fallen on his head when he got there, we shouldn't have been called upon to investigate. If March hadn't turned up so unexpectedly the house would not have been entered. You can go on piling up the ifs as long as you like.”

“Here, wait a minute!” Arnold interposed. “Your imagination travels so fast I can't keep up with it. Are you trying to make out that the object of the trick played on Mr. Raynham was that the bodies should be found?”

“I won't go quite as far as that,” Merrion replied. “But you can't deny that it did in fact lead to the discovery. The real point at issue is this. When was that larder window forced? Yesterday evening, or the night before? After the death of the Egremonts, or before that event? Can you answer that question?”

“No, I can't,” said Arnold, shortly. Can you answer it?”

“Not yet. “ Merrion replied. “You seem to have searched the inside of the house pretty thoroughly, but if any clue exists it strikes me it's more likely to be found outside. But that's a matter that requires daylight. I suggest that you call here to-morrow morning and invite us to help you.”

XV

ARNOLD DECLINED the Admiral's invitation to stay to dinner, on the score that he had an appointment to meet March. “It doesn't do for Yard men to dine at suspects' houses,” Merrion remarked when he had gone. “Oh, yes, we're all suspects, there's no getting away from that. You, for instance, are suspect in Miss Wayland's eyes.”

“It's preposterous! ” the Admiral exclaimed. “Even more so than Vawtrey's idea that Barry Flamstead set light to his work room thinking that he was inside. You spoke just now of a chain of incidents, four nights running. Are we to expect another link in that chain, to-night?”

“I doubt it,” Merrion replied. “And that for many reasons. One of them being that March and his merry men are sure to be very much on the qui vive. And another that we know now where Big Foot's waders are. On the whole, I am inclined to think that the discovery at number 1 will turn out to be the last act.”

“But it wasn't,” the Admiral objected. “The Egremonts had been dead quite a while when Raynham met with his adventure.”

“I said the discovery of their deaths,” Merrion replied. “I can't get it out of my head that it was Raynham's adventure that led to that. And it's that I want to follow up in the morning. How did the chap who was responsible for that get into the grounds of number 1? Did he find the door in the wall unbolted? Surely Egremont would have bolted it before he went to bed on Tuesday night. He'd hardly have ventured to climb over the front gate. The risk of being caught in the act would have been too great. It's more likely, I think, that he got in by the way we did, from Raynham's garden. Perhaps we shall see.”

The night passed quietly. In the morning, soon after breakfast, Arnold turned up. “Well, here I am,” he said. “But, before we go along to number 1, you'll be interested to hear something rather curious. March has been busy trying to get some sort of a line on the Egremonts. He inquired at every bank in the town, only to find that they haven't an account at any of them. Then he tried the tradesmen, whose bills and receipts we had found. He wanted to know if any of them had delivered, or tried to deliver, at number 1 during Wednesday. And that led to the surprising discovery that none of them ever delivered at the house.”

“What? ” the Admiral exclaimed incredulously. “How about the milkman?”

“Not even the milkman,” Arnold replied. “One of them, usually Mrs. Egremont, used to call at the dairy regularly and take away a bottle of milk. It was the same with the rest of them, butcher, baker, grocer and so on. Everything was taken away, nothing was ever delivered. The Egremonts used to run monthly accounts. When the time came to pay, one of them called and settled in cash, never by cheque. The only exception was the coal merchant. He took coal to number 1, but he never went inside the house. He shot the coal from outside through the opening into the cellar. And whenever he called he was paid in cash on the spot.”

“It's rather curious,” said Merrion thoughtfully. “Postman? Newspapers?”

“March didn't forget them,” Arnold replied. “There's a letter-box on the inside of the front gate. The postman never got farther than that. None of them remembers ever having a registered letter or parcel to deliver. The Egremonts took The Times and the Barncaster Daily Post. The boy had instructions to put them in the letter-box.”

“Where did they draw the cash from, if they hadn't a banking account?” Merrion asked. “I suppose it's possible that they derived their income, in cash, from their congregation. We know there was some cash lying about the house. Is that all they possessed? That safe key on Egremont's bunch suggests to me that it wasn't. There must be a safe somewhere.”

Arnold shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps you can find it. Both March and I have a good deal of experience in searching houses, and we can't. We'll go along there now, if you're ready, Merrion.”

The invitation was, rather pointedly, addressed to Merrion alone. “Don't want too many people poking round,” said Arnold, when he and Merrion had set out. “Sir Hector is all right, of course, but you never know. At all events, I've satisfied March that you're to be trusted.”

“I'm glad of that,” Merrion replied dryly. “After all, I don't live in Hallows Green, you know. Have the doctors made up their minds yet as to the cause of death?”

“Not yet,” said Arnold. “There's to be an inquest this afternoon, but the pathologist says that he won't have finished his experiments by then. It'll be adjourned after enough evidence has been taken to allow the bodies to be buried. You and Sir Hector won't be called, this time, at least.”

They passed through the doorway in the wall to find a constable on duty inside. Recognising Arnold, he saluted, and they went on. “Not to the house,” said Merrion. “I want to find my way to the bottom of the garden.” The trees, all of them beeches, surrounded the house in a wide belt. If flower beds had ever existed, they had long been obliterated. Beyond the belt of trees they came to a patch which might once have been a kitchen garden, but was now overgrown with weeds and brambles.

“The Egremonts don't seem to have been very keen gardeners,” Merrion remarked. “And if any one had been tramping about here, he wouldn't have left any footprints, which is rather disappointing. Never mind, let's go on for a bit.”

They reached the low wall separating the grounds of number 1 from those of number 2. Merrion peeped over it, to find on the other side a well-kept vegetable garden. “Mr. Raynham, in contrast, looks after his garden properly,” he said. “He's almost finished his winter digging already. Now let's see what we can find. It was much higher up that the four of us climbed over the wall on Wednesday evening.” He walked slowly along the wall towards the bottom of the garden, looking over it as he went. Then he came to a sudden halt, and beckoned to Arnold. “Just what I expected. Come and see for yourself.”

Beyond the wall was a row of trimmed shrubs, with spaces between them. Beyond these again, the garden had been fairly recently dug, in a narrow border extending to a gravelled path. The soft surface of the border showed indefinite footprints, both approaching the wall and receding from it. It seemed as though an attempt had been made to obliterate the footprints by kicking the loose soil over them. Their shape had thus been destroyed, but the outlines that remained visible suggested a normal-sized shoe, heel-less, like a bedroom slipper.

“The chap who played the trick on Mr. Raynham,” said Merrion confidently. “But you won't be able to trace him by his shoes, he was too cunning for that. Anyway, he wasn't Big Foot.”

“If those marks were made on Wednesday evening, how could he have been?” Arnold asked scornfully.

“That brings us back to a question I asked yesterday,” Merrion replied. “When was the larder window forced? If on Tuesday night, a way in and out of the house existed from that moment. Any one could have gone in and borrowed those waders. Yes, and put them back again while Mr. Raynham was being tidied up at the doctor's.”

“Well, this chap wasn't wearing them, anyhow,” said Arnold.

Merrion smiled. “He most certainly wasn't. I was only trying to point out that under certain conditions he might have been. And it's no good looking any further for more footprints. He couldn't help leaving traces on this soft patch. But for the rest he kept to the hard paths, I'll be bound.”

“And got away by Mr. Raynham's front gate, I suppose?” Arnold remarked.

“I wonder,” said Merrion thoughtfully. “Why shouldn't he have gone across Mr. Raynham's garden, keeping to that path you can see, and so into the garden of number 3, beyond?”

“Number 3?” Arnold replied. “That's where Mr. Glandford lives. I told you what Mr. Raynham said.”

“You did,” Merrion agreed. “It may be that Mr. Raynham is right. It's no good the Admiral saying that he can't imagine Mr. Glandford doing such a thing. I feel it equally difficult to imagine any one else in Hallows Green doing such a thing, but I feel pretty sure that one of them must have. Well, I've seen what I wanted to see out here. The booby-trapper wasn't Big Foot, it seems. Shall we stroll up to the house?”

“March said he'd be there in the course of the morning,” Arnold replied. They walked to the back door, which, being in view of the constable on duty, had been left unlocked. They entered, and as they opened the baize door leading to the front of the house, a voice challenged them. “Is that you, Mr. Arnold?”

“Yes, and I've brought Mr. Merrion with me,” Arnold replied. They went into the living-room, where they found March rummaging about. “Good morning, Mr. Merrion,” he said. “I'm having one more shot at trying to find some link between these people and the outside world. I dare say that Mr. Arnold has told you that nobody in Barncaster knows much about them.”

“He has,” Merrion replied. “They seem to have been pretty queer folk. They used to give tea-parties, to which they invited their neighbours, but then the house, and especially the temple was swept and garnished for the occasion. At other times they seem to have discouraged anybody except members of their congregation coming here. Even the tradespeople didn't deliver. Which, by the way, accounts for your finding that the back door hadn't been opened for a very long time.”

“Such callers as there were came to the side door, I expect,” Arnold remarked.

“Where there is a bell which, I was about to say, would wake the dead,” Merrion replied. “But that's an exaggeration, for it didn't when we rang it. What strikes me as most peculiar is that they don't appear to have had a banking account, and that all their doings were in cash. How did they get the cash, and where did they keep it? It seems to me there must be a safe somewhere.”

“I tell you there isn't,” said Arnold. “We've hunted high and low, and there's no vestige of anything of the kind. What's more, we've opened every drawer and cupboard, none of them was locked, by the way, and there was no cash in any of them. However they got the money, they must have spent it just as it came in.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Merrion replied doubtfully. “They may have had no interest beyond that remarkable religion of theirs. Could we look into the temple? I'd very much like to see it by daylight.”

March smiled. “You'll never be able to do that, Mr. Merrion. Come along and I'll show you why. I've locked it up, because of those gold and silver things there, but I've got the key in my pocket.”

They crossed the hall, and March unlocked the door. “Now, see for yourself,” he said as he opened it.

The temple was in complete darkness, relieved only by such light as came through the open door. At the farther end the golden candlesticks and the eyes of the octopus reflected a feeble glimmer. “Bit creepy, eh?” March went on. “And the lighting's pretty queer, too. Now that the current's back again, we can switch it on.”

He felt for a switch inside the doorway, and suddenly the details of the interior became visible. A concealed lighting system had been fitted behind a cornice at the top of the walls. The light that came from this was pale blue, giving everything an unreal appearance, and showing the men's faces in a corpse-like pallor. By some queer effect, the red eyes of the octopus glared balefully, and seemed to flicker.

“It's horrible!” Merrion muttered. “If this isn't devil-worship, I don't know what is.” He looked about him, able now to see details which at his first—visit had been unrevealed by their torches. The absence of daylight was explained by the fact that the windows of the original rooms had been solidly blocked up. Shaking himself free from the uncanny feeling which possessed him, he walked up to the altar. The eyes of the octopus seemed to leer at him as he did so. Closer inspection revealed to him that each of them was a big ruby.

Arnold and March joined him. Merrion's fancy imagined the three of them as corpses standing there, waiting to be enfolded in the tentacles of the octopus. “It's amazing! ” he exclaimed. “Can you imagine the effects when the ceremonies were going on? This ghastly blue light switched off, candles burning in those tall candlesticks, and a cloud of smoke coming from the incense in the bowl on the tripod? Human sacrifice? I shouldn't wonder. But why upstairs, in a perfectly normal bedroom? It doesn't seem in keeping, somehow.”

The altar stood, not against the end wall, but three or four feet away from it. Merrion walked round to the back, to find that here as well the embroidered cloth covering the altar reached to the floor. He lifted it a few inches, to find that the altar was not a mere table, but a box-like structure, made of solid oak. He was about to let the cloth fall, when a sudden idea struck him. He raised the cloth to its full extent and folded it back on the top of the altar. The whole of the back of the altar was thus revealed, and he examined it closely. “Come and look here,” he said quietly.

The other two came to his side and watched. The oaken side was not continuous, but divided into two halves by a narrow vertical crack. Close to the top, on either side of this crack, a hole an inch in diameter had been bored. Merrion put a finger into each of the holes and pulled. The two halves of the side swung open on hinges. And inside, occupying nearly the whole of the height and width of the altar, was a large burglar-proof safe.

Merrion straightened himself and stood aside. “It's your turn now,” he said dryly.

Arnold looked utterly bewildered. “Well, I'm blest! The thing was under our eyes all the time!”

“We're indebted to your friend again,” March remarked. “ “How did you come to think of it, Mr. Merrion?”

“I didn't come to think of it,” Merrion replied modestly. “It was just a sudden idea. You see, you've looked everywhere for a safe, and couldn't find one. You couldn't have been expected to examine an altar very closely. But when I got behind here it struck me all at once that it was big enough for a safe to go inside it. That was all.”

Arnold had dropped on his knees and was examining the safe. “It hasn't been forced, that's a sure thing,” he said. “We'll open it and see what we can find inside. Have you got that bunch of keys, Mr. March?”

March produced the bunch from his pocket, and handed it to Arnold, who inserted the key in the lock. It turned smoothly and easily, and he swung open the heavy door. The safe was divided into two unequal parts. The larger fitted with shelves, and the smaller with drawers.

The shelves were packed closely with cardboard boxes, of various shapes and sizes, and Arnold took them out one by one. There were a couple of dozen of them altogether, and each bore a number in bold ink figures. Arnold picked one of them up at random and opened it, to find it packed tightly with cotton-wool. Removal of this disclosed six objects wrapped in tissue paper, which proved to be ladies' diamond-studded wrist watches.

“This is becoming interesting,” Merrion remarked. “I'm beginning to form quite a fresh idea about the Egremonts. Go on, open the rest of those boxes and see what else you can find.”

Arnold opened each of them in turn, leaving the lids off so that the contents were visible. By the time he had finished, the floor behind the altar was covered with an exhibition of valuable jewellery. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, tie-pins and so forth, besides single stones, some of considerable size. “Why, that lot must be worth a fortune!” March exclaimed. “Where did they get it all from? It looks very like the proceeds of a burglary at a jeweller's shop.”

“There may be another explanation,” said Merrion. “I don't profess to be an expert in jewellery, but some of the stuff looks to me to be of foreign origin. Those bracelets, for instance, are most certainly French. However, you can easily decide that point by showing the stuff to a jeweller. But we needn't bother about that for a moment. Look in the drawers. You'll find cash in them, I don't doubt.”

There were six drawers in all. Arnold cleared them out, laying the contents on the floor beside him. “There's no cash here,” he said at last. “Not so much as a threepenny piece. Only a lot of rubbish.”

“It may be rubbish,” Merrion replied. “But I find it extraordinarily interesting. Let me sort it out.” He knelt down beside Arnold, and examined the various objects he had found. “Well, that's one mystery of Hallows Green explained,” he went on after a while. “Look here. A toy printing set. A lot of loose letters, a clamp to hold them together, and an inking pad. You remember those things the Admiral showed you yesterday. The printing on the envelopes sent to Lawrence Flamstead and Mr. Vawtrey. That was done with this set, I'll be bound. And you remember what Lawrence Flamstead's envelope contained? An illustration torn from a child's picture book. Well, here's the book it was torn from.”

He picked up the book, then turned over the pages. “I thought so. Here's a description of the tiger, but there's no illustration to go with it. You can see where it's been torn out. And here's something equally significant. Do you know what it is? Perhaps you don't, but I do, for I had one myself in my early boyhood. It's an old-fashioned poker-work set, using methylated spirit. And just to round up Mr. Dodworthy's exhibit, here's a stick of sealing wax and the noisy part of a Christmas cracker.

“The rest of the collection fits in quite naturally. The bottle of vermilion Indian ink, used to decorate Miss Wayland's New Year card. The glazier's diamond, with which the inscription on Mr. Raynham's dagger was scratched. One of Lady Sapperton's visiting cards. I expect she left that with two of the Admiral's, and we know the use that was made of them. And finally, an old copy of The Autocar, from which half a page has been torn. Dr. Teesdale found the missing bit under his windscreen wiper.”

“Well, I can't make it out,” said Arnold. “You're right, as any one can see. The Egremonts must have sent those warnings, or whatever they were. But what on earth made them do it?”

Merrion shook his head. “You can't expect me to answer a question like that off-hand. But we're beginning to learn a lot of queer things about the Egremonts. They weren't altogether the inspired prophet and prophetess they appeared to be. In fact, I'm inclined to believe that all this mumbo-jumbo was pure spoof.”

“They're dead now, so we can't do much about it,” March remarked, a trifle impatiently. “It's the jewellery that worries me. How did they come by it? That's what I want to know.”

“I've an idea about that,” Merrion replied. “Those cardboard boxes are all numbered, but not in sequence, presumably for identification and record. In the course of your search for documents, have you found a book or paper with a list of numbers, or anything of that kind?”

“Yes, we did,” March replied. “There's a small note-book in Egremont's wallet, with a lot of numbers in it. We couldn't make anything of it at the time. It's upstairs in the bedroom. I'll fetch it.”

“You've stumbled, quite by accident, upon a pair of crooks, I fancy,” said Merrion, as March went out. “I may be wrong, but we shall see.”

March returned with a small thin note-book. Merrion took it from him and opened it. The pages were ruled and perforated at the inner edge. Many of them had been torn out, but the first two or three of those that remained bore on each line a row of letters and figures in small neat handwriting. Each line began with a number, and these followed in sequence down the page. Following each number was a group of letters, obviously a code of some kind. After the letters came a number, and the row ended with either a blank space or another number. In the latter case, a pencil line had been drawn, cancelling the row.

Merrion read one of these cancelled lines aloud. “ 143 IPQRT 1200 1750. Just look over the lids of those boxes, and see if you can find one numbered 143.”

Arnold looked them all over. “No, there's not one with that number on it,” he replied.

“I rather thought there wouldn't be,” said Merrion. “Now, let's try the last entry in the book, which isn't cancelled. 181 FLYBA 60. Can you find number 181?”

“Yes, here it is,” Arnold replied. “In the box are eight silver rings, each with a single small stone set in it.”

Merrion glanced at the rings. “Zizcons, I fancy. They're very popular in Paris. And sixty pounds is rather more than they were bought for, I dare say. Well, that riddle's solved, anyhow.”

XVI

ARNOLD AND MARCH stared at him suspiciously. “It may be for you, Mr. Merrion,” said the latter stiffly. “But it's anything but clear to me. Perhaps you'll be good enough to explain yourself.”

“I'll try,” Merrion replied. The more I look at these things, the more convinced I become that they all came from abroad. That's the first point. The second is that all the visitors to this house were strangers, not Barncaster people, that is. Further, they seem to have been anxious to keep in the shadows. The man who called yesterday morning, for instance. You remember the vivid remark of your constable, Newson. The man seemed struck all of a heap when he saw him. If he had called on some shady business, the sight of a uniformed policeman on the premises must have been a bit unnerving. Anyway, he gave a false address.

“Now, we'll get back to this note-book. I'm going to read out a list of numbers for you to check.” He read out the numbers of the entries through which a line had been drawn. In each case Arnold after a scrutiny of the numbers on the boxes, replied “No.” Then Merrion read the numbers of the entries which had not been crossed through. To these in every case Arnold replied, “Yes.”

“That seems pretty clear, then,” said Merrion. “The crossed-out entries refer to boxes which are not here, but presumably have been at some time. All those entries have two numbers following the group of letters, the second always larger than the first. The entries which have not been crossed out refer to boxes actually here, and have only one number following the group of letters, with a blank space for the insertion of a second number. Now do you get it?”

“I think I'm beginning to,” Arnold replied. “But let's hear how you put it.”

“This way,” said Merrion. “A parcel of jewellery arrived here, no matter how for the present. It was put in a box, which was numbered. That number started an entry in the note-book. Code letters followed this, probably denoting the contents of the box and possibly their source. The first number following the group of letters I believe to be the price paid for that lot of jewellery, in pounds.

“The parcels of jewellery did not arrive here as offerings to the octopus, or for indefinite storage. We have evidence that in the course of events they found their way elsewhere. When that happened in any particular case, a second figure, was added to the entry, which was then crossed out, the transaction being completed. It's hardly a guess that the second figure, always higher than the first, denoted the price received.”

“You mean, Mr. Merrion, that the Egremonts were receivers of stolen jewellery? “March asked.

“Not of stolen, but of smuggled goods,” Merrion replied. “It may be that some of this stuff was acquired by doubtful means, but I expect that the bulk of it was legitimately bought and paid for. But not in this country. The import duty and purchase tax on jewellery is prohibitive. Consequently we're always reading in the newspapers of people being caught out while trying to smuggle it in. The mistake they usually make is trying to bring in too much at a time.

“The scheme the Egremonts worked out was, I imagine, something like this. They let it be known in certain circles that they would pay a fair price for foreign jewellery. By a fair price, I mean twenty per cent above the cost of the articles in Paris, for example. They also let it be known that they could sell such jewellery for considerably less than it would cost to import it in the normal way, paying duty. As an example of what I mean, take the first entry I read. 143 IPQRT 1200 1750. We don't know what the article was, but for the sake of argument we'll say that it was a pearl necklace. It was bought on the Continent for the equivalent of a thousand pounds. After payment of duties and so forth it could not have been sold at a profit for less than two thousand, in fact considerably more.

“The necklace was smuggled in and brought here, and the Egremonts gave the purchaser twelve hundred for it. He or she was perfectly happy, with a clear profit of two hundred, without any fuss or bother. The Egremonts then let it be known that they had landed their fish. How? In any one of a dozen possible ways which would convey a meaning only to those interested. Sooner or later one of these people turned up and bought the necklace for seventeen hundred and fifty. He could well afford to do that, for he could sell the necklace more cheaply than a competitor who had imported a similar article and paid duty on it, and still make a handsome profit.

“Of course, these transactions had to be conducted in person. They weren't the sort of thing that any of the parties would care to entrust to the post. And that meant a continual trickle of visitors to this house, some to sell, and some to buy My imagination likes to play with the idea that the lady the Admiral and I saw on Monday brought the rings in the box numbered 181. And that the gentleman who was so much taken aback by his unexpected encounter with the policeman had come to make an offer for those loose diamonds.

“But that trickle of visitors had to be camouflaged, for neighbours are apt to be inquisitive, even in Hallows Green. Suspicion might have been aroused, leading eventually to a search of the house. Hence the invention of a purely fictitious religion, with the adoption by the Egremonts of the role of the High Priest and Priestess. A religion must have worshippers, and the coming and going of the visitors was explained.

“So this temple, with its spectacular trappings, served a double purpose. Not only did it demonstrate the religious eccentricities of the Egremonts, but it served as an excellent place of concealment. No doubt it was normally got up as it is now, but with lighted candles and incense burning on the tripod. No unauthorised intruder would suspect the safe hidden under the altar. And those periodical tea-parties, held in here. They were a stroke of genius. The trappings were removed, but the altar was only half hidden by a screen. Just enough suggestion left to rub into the guests that the Egremonts were wholly engrossed in their religion.”

“It's a rum go,” said March. He pulled out his watch and uttered an exclamation. “My word, Mr. Arnold! If we're to get something to eat before it's time for us to get to that inquest, we shall have to get a move on. We'll bundle all this lot back into the safe, and I'll keep the key for the present.”

Merrion got back to number 7 only a few minutes late for lunch. No indiscreet question followed his apology. That afternoon, in the seclusion of the cabin, he told the Admiral something of his adventures. He described the finding of the safe, and enumerated the various articles taken from the drawers. But of the jewellery he made no mention. That must be considered the exclusive province of the police. “So now we know the provenance of that curious collection in your sea-chest.” he concluded.

The Admiral shook his head in utter bewilderment. “It's astounding! The Egremonts were the last people in the world to indulge in practical joking. And what other reason could they have had for sending the things?”

“They'll never be able to tell us now,” Merrion replied. “We can only guess, and I'm bound to admit that I can't suggest anything plausible. I don't think it can have been an object in itself. Death was the theme of the communications. But so far it isn't the threatened people who have died, but the Egremonts themselves.”

“It was after they were dead that Raynham met with his adventure,” the Admiral remarked.

“Yes, I know,” Merrion replied. “But it didn't kill him, and I'm pretty sure that it wasn't intended to. Whoever played the trick was wearing sandshoes or something of the kind. And he came and went across Raynham's garden. I can't help thinking that the object of the trick was not so much to cause inconvenience to Raynham as to draw attention to number 1.”

“I don't see that,” the Admiral objected. “Who would want attention drawn? Not the chap who forced the window, surely?”

“It's all very difficult,” said Merrion. “We aren't sure yet that the Egremonts were murdered. I suppose it's possible that they ate something for supper on Tuesday so poisonous that they both died in the night. It didn't look a bit like that, though. But if it was so, the window may not have been forced till Wednesday evening.”

“Before about half-past five, when the call was made to Raynham's office? ” the Admiral suggested.

“I don't see why not,” Merrion replied. “It was dark for a good hour before then. The chap, whoever he was, broke in, and went upstairs, and found the Egremonts dead in their beds. And that gave him a pretty nasty shock, for if he were ever caught out, he would be charged not only with house-breaking, but with murder.

“He could tell that they had been dead for some hours, and he had a perfectly good alibi for Tuesday night. But if that alibi was to be any good to him, the bodies must be discovered with as little delay as possible. Then the doctor would be able to judge pretty accurately when death had taken place. Whereas, if discovery were to be delayed for any length of time, such accuracy would be impossible. It might be doubtful whether death had taken place on Tuesday or on Wednesday.

“But how was this chap to contrive that the discovery should be made at once? To raise the alarm would lead to awkward questions as to who he was and what he was doing at number 1. Hence the summoning of Mr. Raynham. Surely this would lead to the house being entered. It very nearly did, you remember, but I was overruled. As I've already suggested, the chap was probably a spectator of our proceedings. As nobody went in, some further step had to be taken. Hence the message to the police, in your name.”

“Well, that may be,” said the Admiral. “The whole affair is so extraordinary that I am prepared to believe anything, however far-fetched. Well, I dare say we shall learn something further later on.”

They did. They were sitting in the cabin after tea when Ha skin appeared, looking preternaturally grave. “A policeman to see Mr. Merrion, sir,” he announced.

The Admiral chuckled. “You're for it, my friend. Let me know if he runs you in, and I'll come and bail you out.”

“I'll go and see what he wants,” said Merrion. He went out, to find a uniformed constable in the hall. “Mr. Merrion, sir? I have a message for you from Inspector Arnold. Will you come to police headquarters and speak to him? I have a car waiting.”

“I'll come at once,” Merrion replied. After telling the Admiral where he was going, he entered the car and was driven to headquarters. There he was shown into a room where Arnold and March were sitting. “That's good,” said the former. “Come and take a chair. We sent for you because you may be able to give us some information. Mr. March and I have been hearing a lecture on chemistry, and it was a bit beyond us.”

“My knowledge of chemistry is hardly more than elementary,” Merrion replied. “And I expect it's out of date.”

“Never mind,” said Arnold. “I've made a few notes, enough to give you the gist of what we've been told. But first of all the inquest. To-day's sitting was purely a matter of form, and the coroner adjourned it. The doctors said they were not yet prepared to give a positive opinion upon the cause of death. But, an hour ago, the pathologist from the hospital came here to see us. He told us that though he had reserved his opinion at the inquest, he had formed one, at least, tentatively. He wanted me to get the Home Office to send one of their toxicologists down to confirm it. I've just rung up the Yard to that effect.”

“Toxicologist, eh?” Merrion replied. “Then his opinion is that the Egremonts were poisoned?”

“That's it, but just how he can't make out,” said Arnold. He referred to his notes, then went on. “His opinion, and he's pretty confident about it, is that in both cases death was due to the inhalation of arseniuretted hydrogen, shortly known as arsine. What do you say about that?”

“I know something about arsine,” Merrion replied. “It's a gas, so poisonous that two or three deep breaths of it would almost certainly be immediately fatal.”

“That's very much what the pathologist told us,” said Arnold. “He said, too, that the stuff was comparatively easy to make. It seems that cases of arsine poisoning have been known to occur in industrial processes in which arsenic is employed. But he doesn't see how it could have occurred accidentally in the Egremont's bedroom.”

“It couldn't,” Merrion agreed. “Nor could they have committed suicide by filling the room with arsine. Although the preparation of the gas is simple enough, it requires certain materials and apparatus. You found nothing of the kind, I take it? No sign of metal having been dissolved in acid?”

March replied to this. “Nothing of the kind whatever. I went over the room pretty thoroughly on Wednesday night. Since then, Mr. Arnold and I have been through it more than once. He'll tell you that we found nothing one wouldn't expect to find in a bedroom.”

“Then it's fairly well established that the Egremonts were murdered,” said Merrion. “The chap who broke into the house brought a supply of arsine with him. A toy balloon would be a suitable container.”

“Very well,” said Arnold significantly. “You've heard a good deal about the people living in Hallows Green since you've been staying there. Which of them is likely to know about this stuff, and to have the apparatus and materials necessary for making it?”

“There can be only one answer to that,” Merrion replied. “Mr Glandford, at number 3. He is a scientist, and has a laboratory. You know that already, for Mr. Raynham told you.”

“We haven't forgotten that,” said Arnold darkly. “But before we go any further, we're bound to ask what the motive of the murder was. It quite obviously wasn't robbery. The key of the safe was lying on the chest of drawers, for all the world to see, yet the valuables in the safe weren't touched. Can Glandford have found out that it was the Egremonts who had sent those threats to their neighbours, himself among them?”

Merrion smiled. “And given them a whiff of arsine, to make sure they wouldn't do it again? No, I don't think that's altogether likely. As for the key, that wouldn't be much use to the murderer if he didn't know where the safe it fitted was to be found. He probably never thought of looking inside the altar. In any case, I don't suppose he worried about that as he'd already got what he wanted.”

“Got what he wanted?” Arnold exclaimed. “What had he got? What are you talking about?”

“Just think for a minute or two,” Merrion replied. “You can have very little doubt that the Egremonts were dealers in smuggled jewellery. People brought the things to the house and were no doubt paid for them on the nail. Other people came to the house as purchasers, and paid equally promptly. Apart from the fact that the Egremonts kept no banking account, transactions of that kind would not be settled by cheque, but always in cash.

“And a considerable reserve of cash must have existed. Take that example 143, for example. It shows, unless I'm very much mistaken, that —the Egremonts paid out twelve hundred pounds. And there are other entries, showing even larger sums than that. Again, look at it this way. The Egremonts' business showed a very considerable profit. Taking 143 as an example again, they made five hundred and fifty pounds on the deal. If you cared to add up the profits shown in the note-book, you'd find they totalled a good many thousands.

“This money was not banked. Can it all have been spent? There's another sum in arithmetic for you. Add up all the receipts you've found and I'm willing to bet the sum will amount to only a small percentage of the profits. I refuse to believe that the few pounds lying about the house comprised the balance. Yet there was no cash in the safe, and your search of the house has failed to reveal any considerable sum anywhere else. How do you account for that?”

“Oh, get on with it,” Arnold growled. “Your imagination is quite ready to account for it, I can see that.”

“I think the answer is a very simple one,” Merrion replied. “I don't doubt that the cash was kept in the safe during the daytime. It would be required for the transactions of the business. But when the Egremonts went to bed they took the money with them. They may have arranged it in bundles under their pillows. Wads of notes wouldn't make a bad bolster. The murderer, knowing this, had no need to poke about the house hunting for a safe. He just took the notes and cleared out.”

“So the motive was robbery after all!” March exclaimed. “Upon my word, Mr. Merrion, I think you must be right! And it's pretty clear who the murderer was. What do you say, Mr. Arnold?”

“We've got to form a clear picture of how it was done,” Arnold replied. “The first step was the preparation of this stuff, arsine. How could that be done, Merrion?”

“I'm only an amateur,” said Merrion. “You'd better consult an expert on chemistry before you take my word for it. But if I wanted to prepare arsine, this is how I should set about it. No elaborate apparatus would be required. I should put some zinc and arsenic into a flask, and some diluted hydrochloric acid, and warm it up gently. More or less pure arsine would be given off, and could be led through a tube from the flask into, say, an empty toy balloon, which would become inflated with the gas. As soon as the balloon was full, I should tie the neck securely, and leave it like that till I wanted it.”

“Very well, then,” said Arnold. “The murderer made himself a balloon full of arsine. The next point is the time. We don't know when the Egremonts were in the habit of going to bed, but they probably didn't sit up very late, especially at this time of year.”

“It must have been about ten, or not much later, when we heard someone trying to get into the place on Wednesday night,” Merrion remarked. “A would-be vendor or purchaser, no doubt.”

“The Egremonts' customers, or some of them, might prefer to call when there weren't many people about,” said Arnold. “For their convenience business hours may have been extended till, say, eleven o'clock. Hardly much later than that, I should think. The last thing before going to bed, the Egremonts bolted the door in the wall. Then they fetched the cash from the safe, and took it with them. By midnight they may be assumed to be in bed and asleep.”

“Just one moment,” March interposed. “About that door in the wall. Was it always bolted at night? If the Egremonts bolted it on Tuesday, how was it that Mr. Raynham found it unbolted the following evening?”

“I think it must have been bolted regularly,” Merrion replied. “We found the bolts working easily, as though they were frequently used. Probably the man who laid the trap that evening unbolted the door so that Mr. Raynham could get in.”

“It's not a point of much importance,” said Arnold. “The murderer didn't get on to the premises by the door. He went across the bottom of Mr. Raynham's garden, and so into the grounds of number 1.”

“That's likely enough,” Merrion remarked. “We know that someone did that on Wednesday evening.”

“All right,” Arnold replied. “The murderer had with him a cold chisel, or something of the kind, and the balloon of gas. With the chisel he forced the larder window and climbed through. I expect he took off the shoes he was wearing, and left them downstairs. He wouldn't have noticed the current was off, for he wouldn't have tried to switch on a light. He had a torch, and that was all he needed.

“He crept upstairs, listening, to find everything quiet. I noticed that there was no key in the lock of the bedroom door. By looking through the keyhole, he could see that there was no light on inside. He quietly opened the door, to find the Egremonts both asleep. He cut the fastening of the neck of the balloon and held it to their faces in turn. We're told that two or three breaths of the gas would be enough.”

How was it he didn't get a whiff of the stuff himself? “March asked.

“He took the precaution of wearing a gas mask of sorts,” Merrion replied. “A chemist would know of something that would absorb arsine or turn it into something comparatively harmless.”

“A chemist,” said Arnold significantly. “There's only one chemist in Hallows Green. Having killed his victims, the murderer picked up the bundles of notes, stuffed them in his pockets, and went out by the way he had come, picking up his shoes en route.”

“Well, you don't want me to tell you what to do about it,” Merrion remarked. “I'll be getting along. I dare say the driver who brought me here won't mind taking me back?”

XVII

THE ADMIRAL managed to restrain his curiosity during dinner, but no sooner had they retired to the cabin afterwards, it burst out. “Well? How did you get on with the police? Anything fresh?”

“Lots,” Merrion replied. “I feel a trifle inquisitive. Do you mind if we stroll down to the front gate?”

“Not a bit,” said the Admiral. “You'll tell me what for when you think fit, I dare say.” They went out and leaned over the gate. Across the road, drawn up at the entrance to number 3, was a car. “Hallo! “ the Admiral exclaimed. “The Professor seems to have a visitor. Who is it, I wonder?”

“That's all I wanted to see,” Merrion replied quietly. “Shall we go in again?” They returned to the cabin where Merrion lighted a cigarette with extreme deliberation. “You'd better hear all about it,” he said abruptly, as he threw the match into the fire. “It'll be all over the town before very long, in any case. And I may as well warn you that yet another sensation awaits Hallows Green. Two sensations, rather.”

“Eh? ” the Admiral exclaimed. “Still more sensations? What are they this time?”

“First, that two members of your highly respectable community were crooks,” Merrion replied. “And second, that another has been detained in custody by the police. More was found at number 1 than I told you about this morning. And the cause of the death of the Egremonts is now known.” And he preceded to tell the whole story in full detail.

The Admiral listened in growing astonishment. “Well, that caps everything!” he exclaimed at last. “To think that the Egremonts kidded us all with that tomfoolery of theirs! A smart dodge, though, I'll say that.”

“Not quite all of you,” Merrion remarked. “The murderer must have found out what they were really up to.”

“True enough,” the Admiral agreed. “Do you know, I had my doubts about the Professor, long before Raynham suspected him of playing that trick last Wednesday. Only it seemed nonsense to suppose that a scientific chap like him should behave in that way. I thought his manner a bit queer when we had that meeting last Saturday. His yarn about somebody having been in his laboratory sounded utterly unconvincing.”

Merrion was secretly amused, for the Admiral s suspicions were so obviously after the event. “There can't be much doubt about it,” he said. “But one of the many things that puzzle me is how he discovered the secret. We can't suppose that the Egremonts took him into their confidence. Was he sufficiently a friend of theirs to drop in at number 1 at odd times?”

The Admiral shook his head. “Not that I know of. And I should have known, for his sister Faith would have babbled about it. Unless, of course, he used to go there without her knowledge. And that would mean there was something up between him and the Egremonts. You say that's only one thing that puzzles you. What else?”

“The whole sequence of events!” Merrion exclaimed impatiently. “There's so much about the affair that doesn't seem to make sense. The sending of the warnings, in the first place. We know now who sent them. It can't be coincidence that all the things that were necessary to prepare them were found in Egremont's safe. Even if you accept the coincidence, why, if they were intended for some perfectly innocent purpose, were such valueless things kept in the safe? What then was Egremont's purpose? It's no good telling me that it was just the childish folly of a lunatic. No lunatic could conduct such a profitable, if illicit, business.”

“Didn't you answer that question yourself some time ago?” the Admiral asked. “You said, if I remember right, that the object of those drawings was to spread alarm and despondency through Hallows Green.”

“I did,” Merrion replied. “And the attempt certainly succeeded. But that doesn't get us any further. We're still left with the question, why did the Egremonts want to spread alarm and despondency?”

“I can't tell you,” said the Admiral. “And now that they're dead, we're not likely to know. Perhaps they had some scheme which was rudely interrupted by their murder. Since it turns out that they were crooks, that doesn't seem so very unlikely. The scheme might have been blackmail of some kind.”

“To which the warnings were a preliminary?” Merrion suggested. “Well, I suppose it's not impossible. But I don't quite see how it fits in with the activities of Big Foot which followed. Again it can't be coincidence that Egremont's waders were the exact size of the footprints. Why did he set fire to Mr. Vawtrey's workroom, and tamper with Miss Wayland's bed-warmer? What would have happened if he hadn't been murdered, and his activities thus cut short? Would every one else who had had a warning have met with an unnerving experience?”

“I expect so,” the Admiral replied. “I fancy we've all been secretly afraid that we might be the next victim. And we all suspected one of our neighbours, rightly, as it turns out. Well, now that the Egremonts are dead, we needn't be afraid any longer. There won't be any more of these mysterious happenings. Vawtrey can disarm his henchman and take that revolver out of his pocket. And Miss Wayland can come home in perfect safety.”

“That's getting to the root of the puzzle,” said Merrion. “Egremont sent out a series of warnings or threats, whichever you like to call them, hinting in no uncertain ways at death. The amazing thing is that the threats recoiled upon his own head. One might suppose that he was murdered before he could do any further harm. But, apart from the fact that we know that wasn't the motive, nobody guessed that Egremont was the villain of the piece. We've heard how nearly every one suspected some different person, but Egremont's name was never mentioned. The High Priest of a religious cult was, like Caesar's wife, above suspicion.”

The Admiral laughed. “It's no good tying yourself up in knots, my friend. It's all over now, bar the shouting, and we can leave that to the popular press. It strikes me that the police have a good deal to thank you for.”

But Merrion shook his head. “I can't feel satisfied. Apart from the main issue, there are so many riddles which completely baffle me. Details, you'd call them, and irrelevant at that. Yes, I know. But, as I dare say you've noticed before, I have a passion for detail. Were the Egremonts in the habit of turning off the main switch before they went to bed?”

“How the dickens should I know?” the Admiral replied. “Some people are terrified by the possibility of a fire being caused by a short-circuit. They may have turned off the main switch every night to prevent any risk of that.”

“Yes, but just think,” said Merrion. “People who did that would provide themselves with some alternative source of illumination, an oil lamp, or a torch or candle. They wouldn't grope their way upstairs and undress in the dark. Yet nothing of the kind was found in the Egremonts' bedroom.

“There's an alternative, of course. They didn't turn off the switch before they went upstairs. They both undressed, and Mrs. Egremont got into bed. Then her husband put on his waders over his bedroom slippers, and went down again, to the coal cellar. His footprint is there, plain enough. He needn't have climbed on a chair, for he could have pushed off the switch with a walking stick easily enough. Then he went up to bed, leaving some coal dust from the sole of his foot on the stair carpet.”

“Well, that seems reasonable enough for me,” the Admiral replied. “What's the matter with you? Here, pour yourself out another drink. That'll soothe that restless imagination of yours.”

Meanwhile Arnold and March had not let the grass grow under their feet. At a consultation with the Chief Constable it was agreed that they should act without delay. They drove to number 3 and rang the front-door bell. An interval of a few seconds, then the light in the porch was switched on. Another light appeared in one of the ground floor windows, as the curtain was pushed back momentarily. “They want to see who we are before they open the door,” Arnold whispered.

Then the door opened a few inches, and Faith Glandford's face appeared round it, apprehensive of these two strangers. “What do you want?” she asked, shakily. “Are you sure you haven't come to the wrong house? It's no good trying to force your way in, for the door's on the chain.”

“We have no intention of trying to force our way in, madam,” said Arnold in a dignified tone. “We are police officers, and we wish to speak to Mr. Glandford. Is he at home?”

“Police officers?” Faith exclaimed. “Oh, I'm sorry. But you know, so many dreadful things have happened lately that we have to be very careful. My brother told me not to let anybody in, especially our neighbours. He's at home, but not in the house. He's in his laboratory. Shall I show you the way?”

“Thank you, we will find it for ourselves,” Arnold replied. As they turned away, the door was shut and the porch light switched off. “The lady's scared,” Arnold remarked. “Not surprising, after the things that have been happening in these parts lately. But I don't suppose she has any inkling of the truth. Do you know the way?”

“Mr. Raynham told us the laboratory was in the old coach-house,” March replied. “Over here, I expect.”

In the semi-darkness, a short distance away, loomed a detached building. As they approached it more closely they could make out that the double doors of the coach-house had been removed and replaced by a wooden partition. In this was set an ordinary and rather ill-fitting door, and through the chinks between it and the frame light was showing. “This is the place,” March whispered. “And our man's inside.”

They moved up to the door and listened. From within came the sound of someone moving about. After a minute or two Arnold rapped sharply upon the door. An irritated voice replied; “Is that you. Faith? What do you want? You know I'm busy.”

Arnold tried the handle, to find that the door was locked. “We are police officers, Mr. Glandford,” he replied. “Will you be good enough to unlock the door and let us in?”

“Very well,” Glandford replied peevishly. “Wait a minute.” A tinkle of glass, the footsteps crossing the floor, and the turning of the key in the lock. The door opened, and a wave of warm air came out, carrying an indefinable smell of chemicals, of which ammonia seemed to predominate. Glandford was wearing an apron, once white, but now stained with many dull colours. “Come in, if you must,” he said ungraciously. “But keep away from the bench, please. I don't want any interference with my experiment.”

Arnold looked curiously at the bench. On it stood a chain of apparatus, a flask resting on a gauze mat above a bunsen burner at one end, an aspirator at the other. The laboratory was heated by a gas stove, turned full on. Arnold stepped up to this and held out his hands to the warmth. “We've come to ask you for some information, Mr. Glandford,” he said conversationally. “What can you tell us about arsine?”

Glandford had returned to the bench, and his back was towards them. He peered at a thermometer included in the apparatus, then at his watch, and made a note on a sheet of paper beside him. Not till then did Arnold's question seem to penetrate his consciousness. “Arsine? “ he replied. “It is an extremely poisonous gas, acting directly upon the blood. I should recommend you to have nothing to do with it. At least one eminent experimenter has lost his life through inhaling it accidentally.”

“We are told that it is comparatively simple to prepare,” said Arnold. “Could you, for instance, prepare it here, with the materials and apparatus in your possession?”

“Well, yes, I could,” Glandford replied. “But it would never enter into my head to do anything of the kind, without adequate precaution. Arsine is extremely dangerous.”

“So we are given to understand,” said Arnold significantly. “We will not actually ask you to produce the gas, but, for our information, we should like to see how you would set about it.”

Glandford frowned. “Dear me, this is a most unwelcome interruption. I am watching the progress of an experiment of considerable importance. Could you not postpone your inquiries to a more convenient time? To-morrow morning, say, when I shall have more leisure?”

Arnold shook his head. “I'm afraid we must ask you to give us the information now, Mr. Glandford.”

Glandford sighed heavily. “Very well. In a minute or two.” He again checked the temperature and made a note of it. His actions seemed to Arnold painfully deliberate. He stared intently at the apparatus for several seconds, blinking at it through his glasses. Then he turned up the bunsen burner a trifle, and adjusted the water-tap to which the aspirator was attached. It almost seemed as though he had forgotten the presence of his visitors.

Then at last, with obvious reluctance, he turned away from the bench. From a shelf on the farther side of the room he selected various objects and laid them on a corner of the bench, well away from the apparatus already there. Then he began, as though addressing a class of students, holding up each object in turn. “I have here a wide-necked flask, a cork perforated with two holes, a glass funnel, and a short piece of bent tube. That is all the apparatus required. Now for the materials. Arsine is most easily produced by the action of dilute hydrochloric acid upon an amalgam of arsenic and zinc. The resulting gas is arsine, not of course chemically pure. We shall therefore require acid, metallic zinc, and metallic arsenic.”

As he spoke, he walked across the room to a cupboard, and opened it. “Here we have the acid,” he went on, taking a stoppered bottle and holding it up. He put down the bottle, and after some fumbling in the cupboard produced another, smaller and with a wide neck. “And here we have the metallic zinc. It is, as you see, not solid, but granulated, to offer a larger surface to the acid.” He laid down the second bottle and searched the cupboard for a third. He found it and held it up, the same size and shape as the second. “And here we have the metallic arsenic, also, you observe, finely divided. Why, how's this?”

“How's what, Mr. Glandford?” Arnold asked sharply.

“Why, the bottle's empty!” Glandford exclaimed. “I can't understand it. I'm sure I left some after I last used it.”

“Are you quite sure?” Arnold replied meaningly. “When did you last use it?”

“About a month ago,” said Glandford, peering into the empty bottle. “I can't tell you the date exactly, without looking up my diary.”

“And for what purpose did you use it, Mr. Glandford? “Arnold asked.

“For normal purposes of research,” Glandford replied.” Much of my work is concerned with the determination of the constituents of various soils. Arsenic is occasionally present in certain samples. A month ago I was engaged upon one of these, and I used a small quantity of arsenic in control experiments.”

Arnold shook his head. “I suggest that you used the contents of that bottle more recently than a month ago. And that on that occasion you emptied the bottle. It is my duty to caution you that any statement you make may subsequently be used in evidence. What is the truth, Mr. Glandford?”

But the menace of Arnold's words seemed lost on Glandford. He continued to stare into the empty bottle. Then with a start he laid it down and hurried to the bench and consulted his watch anxiously. “Just in time,” he muttered, as he read the temperature and noted it. He made a slight adjustment, then stood frowning thoughtfully. “I've got it! “ he exclaimed abruptly. “That must be it! There's no other explanation.”

“I shall be glad to hear your explanation, Mr. Glandford,” said Arnold.

“I knew someone must have been in here,” Glandford replied excitedly. “Let me see now, what day was that? The same day that I got that offensive message written on a telegraph form. A fortnight ago, Saturday, December 30th. I couldn't find that anything was missing, but then, of course, I didn't take out all the bottles and examine them. Whoever it was must have stolen the arsenic from that bottle!”

This was so unconvincing that Arnold smiled. “I hardly think that's likely, Mr. Glandford. Can't you think of some better explanation? How did you know that someone had been in here?”

“Because I found the door unlocked,” Glandford replied. “I didn't leave it like that. I always lock it when I come out and take the key to my study.”

“I see,” said Arnold, not greatly impressed. “Do you work here in your laboratory every evening, Mr. Glandford?”

“It all depends,” Glandford replied absently, his eyes fixed upon his apparatus. “Whether or not I have reason to make experiments. If I have, I choose the evening for laboratory work. I can usually count on being secure from interruption then.”

The significance of the last sentence was obvious enough, but Arnold persisted. “This week, for instance?”

Glandford made a further note before he replied. “This week, yes. On Tuesday morning I received a letter from a colleague of mine. He described the results of a certain observation he had made, which seemed to lead to an unexpected conclusion. So unexpected, in fact, that he thought there might be a possibility of error. He therefore asked me to repeat his series of experiments independently.”

“Which apparently you agreed to do,” said Arnold. “When did you begin?”

“I set up the apparatus, as you see it now, on Tuesday afternoon,” Glandford replied. “That evening I worked out the first experiment of the series. Since then I have continued with the remainder on successive evenings. If I am allowed to be free from distraction, I should complete the series to-morrow.”

“In spite of your scientific preoccupations, you have no doubt heard of the death of Mr. and Mrs. Egremont?” Arnold asked.

“Yes, my sister mentioned it to me,” Glandford replied. “Most distressing. But in my concentration upon a very delicate piece of research, I have not given the matter much thought. Although the Egremonts were my neighbours we had no interests in common. In fact, I hardly knew them.”

“You say you were at work on Tuesday evening?” Arnold asked. “How many hours did you spend in here?”

“Four or five,” Glandford replied. “I came here after supper, I suppose about eight o'clock. But I can tell you exactly.” He made a note on the sheet of paper, then turned it over. “Here are the results I recorded on Tuesday. I find that the experiment was started at 8.10. The first observation was recorded at 8.40, and these were continued at five minute intervals till 12.10.”

“After the last observation you concluded the experiment and went to bed?” Arnold suggested.

“Exactly,” Glandford replied. “I finished in here, locked the door, took the key to my study, and went upstairs.”

“Did any one see or hear you enter the house?” Arnold asked.

Glandford shook his head. “I doubt it. My sister and my housekeeper are always in bed by that time. I do my best to make no noise which would disturb them.”

“Most considerate of you,” said Arnold. “And on Wednesday evening?”

Glandford was making another observation. He made a slight adjustment to the apparatus, then a further note. “You will pardon me if I say this is becoming monotonous. On Wednesday the experiment was started at the same time. But I see that the last entry was made rather earlier, at 11.45.”

“Can you tell us where you were between five and six on Wednesday afternoon? “Arnold asked.

“Why, in my study, I expect,” Glandford replied. “I'm usually there at that time.”

“Miss Glandford would know whether you were in your study or not?” Arnold suggested.

“She might or she might not,” Glandford replied. “If it was Wednesday, she wouldn't. To the best of my recollection, Faith was out that afternoon. I forget where, but no doubt she'll tell you if you ask her.”

So once again Glandford had no alibi. Arnold delivered his final blow. “Would it surprise you to learn that Mr. and Mrs. Egremont, about midnight on Tuesday, were poisoned by arsine?”

Arnold could not observe Glandford's reaction to this, for he was bending over his apparatus. “Oh, so that's it,” he muttered. “I wondered why you were interested in arsine. Yes, it would surprise me, very greatly.”

“Do you know any one in Hallows Green who would be able to make arsine?” Arnold asked.

“Teesdale, I suppose,” Glandford replied unhesitatingly. “I imagine that doctors have to have some knowledge of elementary chemistry. And there's the person who stole my arsenic, don't forget.”

Arnold and March exchanged meaning glances. The latter stepped forward and laid a hand on Glandford's shoulder. “I must ask you to come with me, Mr. Glandford,” he said solemnly. “You have already been cautioned.”

“Come with you!” Glandford exclaimed. “My good man, how could I possibly do that? My experiment would be ruined.”

“That's unfortunate, but it can't be helped,” said Arnold coldly. “You must come at once, please.” And with Arnold and March one on either side of him, Glandford, protesting volubly, was led to the car.

XVIII

ARNOLD DID not accompany the prisoner to police headquarters, but watched the car drive off, then returned to the laboratory. There he turned off the light and the gas fire, then came out, locking the door and putting the key in his pocket. It was still early, barely half-past nine, and it was unlikely that Sir Hector and Merrion had yet gone to bed. He walked to number 7 and rang the bell. Haskin opened the door and informed him that the gentlemen were in the cabin.

Merrion, at least, did not seem surprised when Arnold was announced. “I thought you might pay us a call,” he remarked. “I saw a police car outside number 3, less than an hour ago.”

“I called to ask a question,” Arnold replied. “You've told us, Sir Hector, that you've sometimes been to tea-parties at number 1. Do you remember if Mr. Glandford was among the guests?”

The Admiral considered the question. “No, I can't,” he replied. “His sister Faith was always there, and did most of the talking. But I don't remember that Glandford himself ever was.”

“You can talk quite freely,” said Merrion. “I've already told Sir Hector what I know of the story, up to date. You've interviewed Mr. Glandford, I take it. What makes you ask the question?”

Arnold frowned slightly. “In that case, Sir Hector, I must ask you to keep what you have been told strictly to yourself. I asked the question because Mr. Glandford says he hardly knew the Egremonts.”

“That may be true enough,” the Admiral replied. “I'm pretty sure he wasn't in the habit of going to number 1.”

“Even in the evenings, when he was supposed to be in his laboratory? “Arnold asked. “If he hardly knew the Egremonts, and didn't go to number 1, how can he have found out what they were up to?”

“The very question I've been asking myself,” Merrion replied. “And I think I've found a possible answer. The Egremonts' secret was not discovered in Hallows Green.”

 “Why, where else, then? ” the Admiral demanded. “It was at number 1 the secret was hidden.”

“Yes, I know,” Merrion said, smiling. “Has Mr. Glandford ever indulged in holidays abroad?”

“I don't know about holidays,” the Admiral replied. “But he has been abroad now and then. Faith has told us that he had to attend congresses of foreign scientific bodies.”

“Then that's probably the explanation,” said Merrion. “I don't mean that Glandford was one of the Egremonts' customers, for I don't think that's at all likely. But quite a number of people travelling to and from the Continent must have known where smuggled jewellery could be disposed of at a reasonable profit. The tip would pass from one to another. A few words spoken in a Paris cafe, for example. ' If you can get it across, you've only got to take it to number 1. Hallows Green, Barncaster.' If Glandford were sitting by, you can imagine how he would prick up his ears at hearing that address. And once he had that clue, it would be only a matter of putting two and two together.”

“Well, that may be it,” said Arnold. “I'm going to have a good hunt through that laboratory of his. I wonder if you'd care to come across and help me, Merrion. You're more familiar with that sort of thing than I am.”

They went out together. “It's all plain enough,” said Arnold. “He used up his stock of arsenic making the gas, and he was fool enough not to renew it. He told us a cock and bull story about someone having got into his laboratory and stolen it. I suppose it was the only thing he could think of on the spur of the moment.”

“According to what I'm told, he told the story a fortnight ago of someone having got into his laboratory,” Merrion replied.

“Well, if he did, he was only preparing the ground in advance,” said Arnold impatiently. “What he said this evening was simply ridiculous. He had found the door unlocked. If any one had been in after something, using a duplicate key, he'd have locked the door after him again when he came out.”

Merrion nodded. They entered the gateway of number 3 and made their way to the laboratory. Arnold took the key from his pocket and was about to put it in the lock when Merrion stopped him. “Let me have a look at that.” Arnold gave him the key and shone his torch upon it. “A very ordinary key,” Merrion remarked. “And, by inference a very simple lock. Given patience and a piece of bent wire, I'd undertake to open it without a key at all. But locking it again might be a different matter. All right, carry on.”

Arnold inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. The interior, thus revealed, was distinctly eerie. The only gleam of light was shed by the almost non-luminous flame of the bunsen burner, and the only sound was the gentle trickle of water from the aspirator. They entered, and Arnold switched on the electric light. Merrion walked to the bench and surveyed the apparatus upon it. “Looks a bit complicated,” he remarked. “I can't pretend to guess what the purpose of the experiment is. At all events, Glandford has lost interest in it temporarily. We may as well put a stop to it.” He turned off the bunsen burner, which expired with a faint pop, then the water tap to which the aspirator was attached.

Then the sheet of notes caught his eye. He picked them up and examined them. “Quite interesting,” he said. “A record of observations. Made at intervals of five minutes from 8.40 until 12.10 on Tuesday night, and from 8.40 until 11.45 on Wednesday night. Indicating, of course, Glandford's continued presence here between those times.”

Arnold shrugged his shoulders. “If you're prepared to accept that as an alibi, I'm not. Glandford may have broken into number 1 after 12.10 early on Wednesday, in fact he probably did. Besides, the notes are almost certainly faked. They could have been written up at any time, before or after. Now, lend a hand in searching this place. You can busy yourself with that cupboard over there.”

He pointed to the cupboard from which Glandford had taken the bottles, then proceeded methodically to examine the rest of the room. For some time they worked in silence till Arnold spoke. “I can't find what I'm looking for. What have you come across in that cupboard?”

“Enough metallic poisons of various kinds to polish off the whole population of Hallows Green,” Merrion replied. “But not arsenic among them. The arsenic bottle is empty, and there isn't another bottle containing arsenic in any form. What exactly were you looking for?”

“Of course, there's no arsenic left,” said Arnold. “I tell you, he used up his supply and neglected to renew it. And you ought to be able to guess what I'm looking for. The notes he took from number 1. He'd never have risked taking them to the bank, for he couldn't give any satisfactory explanation of where he got them from. He's got them hidden somewhere, but not here. I shall apply for a warrant to search the house.”

“Yes, of course,” Merrion replied thoughtfully. “And when you've found the notes, your case will be complete. But, all the same, I can't help wondering. So much remains unexplained.”

“Does it? “Arnold asked scornfully. “It's clear enough how he did it, and what he did it for.”

Merrion sat himself down on the corner of the bench. “The object of the crime, and the way it was carried out, are clear enough, I agree. One of the Egremonts' neighbours found out the true nature of the religion of which they were High Priest and Priestess. It was the receiving of smuggled jewellery.

“I'll give him credit for as much intelligence as I have myself. It must have been obvious to him that the nature of the business demanded a very considerable supply of ready cash. How was that cash to be appropriated? Only at the cost of murder, and that could best be accomplished when the Egremonts were in bed and asleep. So the criminal brewed himself some arsine, the effect of inhaling it would be instantly fatal. Having carried out his intention, the murderer was free to look for the cash. But it was a most marvellous stroke of luck for him that he found it in the bedroom, ready to his hand. He might never have found the safe hidden underneath the altar.”

“If he had found it, he'd have taken the jewellery as well as the cash,” Arnold remarked. “But we know all this already. You haven't told me yet what remains unexplained.”

“The conduct, not of the murderer, but of his victims,” Merrion replied. “What object could the Egremonts have had in sending out those threats? What can have been the purpose of Egremont's exploits in the role of Big Foot? We don't know, and we never shall, but we've seen the results. Hallows Green has become a hot-bed of suspicion, each neighbour mistrusting the others, and believing them capable of any enormity. Each individual expecting, secretly or openly, to be murdered at any moment. You've seen something of that for yourself. I wouldn't put it past Mr. Vawtrey to shoot Mr. Barry Flamstead at sight, if he saw him prowling anywhere near his garden. Miss Wayland has fled to London, to avoid a further attempt on her life on the part of the Admiral. And, sure enough, in the end someone was murdered. The Egremonts themselves.”

“But what's all this got to do with it?” Arnold demanded.

Merrion shook his head. “Quite frankly, I don't know. For once, I'm completely bewildered. Never before have I heard of people creating in advance an atmosphere favourable to their own murder. And that's exactly what was created. After what had happened, murder was the only logical thing to expect.”

“Well, that's true enough,” Arnold agreed. “But we found out soon enough who did it, and why.”

“Yes,” said Merrion. “But suppose you hadn't? Suppose the safe had not been found? The motive for the murder would have remained incomprehensible. Suppose, as might easily have happened, the bodies had remained undiscovered so long that when they were eventually found the time and cause of death had been impossible to ascertain. You'd have a bit of a job, you know. Everybody would have been ready enough to accuse someone else, and someone different in each case. In the general confusion and uncertainty Glandford, if he turns out to be the murderer, might well have escaped.”

“Oh, dash it all!” Arnold exclaimed. “Don't start sidetracking at this time of day. If he turns out to be the murderer? I'd like to remind you that you were the first to mention his name.”

“Every man must be deemed innocent until he is proved guilty,” Merrion replied. “I don't think there's much doubt that Glandford is the man. But it hardly seems to me that you have yet got a case that you could put before a jury. I know it's not necessary for the prosecution to prove motive. But in this case no jury would convict unless you could show some plausible reason for the crime. And you can't do that until you have evidence that the stolen notes are, or were, in Glandford's possession.”

“They're hidden in the house somewhere,” Arnold replied confidently. “Or buried in the garden, perhaps. I'll find them, don't you worry about that. In any case, the empty arsenic bottle is enough to convict him.”

Merrion took a cigarette from his case and lighted it. “No use offering you one, I know. By this time you must be aware of the contrariness of my nature. No sooner have I set up an Aunt Sally than I have an irresistible impulse to hurl my imagination at her. The empty arsenic bottle, you say. What if Glandford's yarn about somebody having got into this laboratory a fortnight ago is true, after all?”

“What if it is?” Arnold replied. “I don't fancy it would help his defence very much.”

“Look at it this way,” said Merrion. “Suppose I lived in Hallows Green, and had discovered the Egremonts' secret. Knowing how to make arsine, I decided to use it as a, means towards appropriating their cash. I set about acquiring the necessary apparatus and materials. Most of it I could buy openly, without arousing the slightest suspicion. The apparatus itself, dilute hydrochloric acid, and metallic zinc are perfectly innocent. I might want to generate hydrogen with which to inflate a toy balloon.

“But arsenic is an entirely different matter. I couldn't buy that so easily. I might persuade a chemist who knew me to let me have some, on the pretext that I wanted to kill weeds, or poison rats, or something of that kind. But I should have to sign the poison book, recording the purchase.

“However, I thought of a way out of that difficulty. I knew that one of my neighbours had a supply of arsenic. If I didn't know for certain, it was a perfectly safe guess, for an experimenting chemist would be sure to keep arsenic in some form. So I had a look at this place, and found the lock was a burglar's dream. What did I point out as we came in? A piece of bent wire would do the trick. I emptied the arsenic bottle into some receptacle I'd brought with me. I couldn't manage to lock the door behind me, but really, from my point of view, that didn't matter very much. I had now got everything I wanted for making the arsine.”

“Yes,” Arnold replied. “But you don't live in Hallows Green. And in spite of your highly suspicious behaviour on Wednesday evening, I don't believe you murdered the Egremonts. Who else here is likely to know how to make arsine? I put that to Glandford, and he said Dr. Teesdale. But it's ridiculous to suppose that a doctor would play a trick like that.”

Merrion smiled. “There we are again. Wouldn't it be ridiculous to suspect any resident of this highly respectable street? Run over them in your mind. Could you have imagined any of them to be steeped in crime? Yet look at the shocking facts that have been revealed. The Prophet and the Prophetess, revered despite the eccentricities of their creed, turn out to have been common crooks. And it is patently obvious that one of their neighbours, inspired by a greed for filthy lucre, is a murderer. Which one? Is it more ridiculous to suspect one more than another? A general practitioner rather than a not undistinguished scientist?”

“All the same, you don't suppose that the doctor did it?” Arnold asked sceptically.

“I personally, have no opinion, one way or the other,” Merrion replied. “The question is, if Glandford didn't do it, who did? You can't answer that by comparing the characters of the rest of them. You're bound to ask which of them had the necessary chemical knowledge. Glandford suggested Teesdale, and I don't doubt he was right. But we have evidence that one other resident of Hallows Green had at least a rudimentary knowledge of chemistry.”

“Who's that? “Arnold asked. “What evidence do you mean?”

“The Egremonts, or one of them,” Merrion replied. “You looked through that weird collection that Admiral showed you. You remember the torn-out advertisement pushed under the windscreen wiper of Teesdale's car. Whoever wrote the formula H C N on that knew that it stood for prussic acid, thus displaying some slight knowledge of chemistry. And we know who must have written it, for you found the periodical from which the advertisement had been torn in the Egremonts' safe.”

“But that's preposterous! “Arnold exclaimed. “Granted that they may have known how to make arsine. But why should they have made it? They didn't commit suicide, that at least is perfectly certain. Did they make it and leave it ready for their murderer when he came along? Can you explain that?”

“I've already said, more than once, that there are so many things unexplained,” Merrion replied. “Can you, for instance, explain why the Egremonts should have torn out that advertisement, altered it, and left it for Teesdale to find under his windscreen wiper? There's only one theory that I can think of.”

“Well, let's hear it,” said Arnold. “Your imagination is always entertaining, if nothing else.”

“It's a queer theory,” Merrion replied diffidently. “But everything about Hallows Green has been queer these last couple of weeks or so. I still believe that the only object the Egremonts can have had in sending round those warnings was to create an atmosphere favourable to murder. If that was the case, they must themselves have contemplated committing a murder. But someone, not necessarily their intended victim, anticipated them by striking the first blow. Or rather, by releasing the gas they had prepared.”

“But whom should they have wanted to murder, and why?” Arnold asked.

Merrion shrugged his shoulders. “It may be that they knew, or imagined, that someone had discovered their secret. It may even be that it had been discovered, and that they were being blackmailed. But that's only guesswork. I'll put it to you this way. Suppose things had been the other way round. Suppose you had found Glandford dead in his bed, poisoned by arsine. Would you have suspected the Egremonts, rather than any other of his neighbours? Of course you wouldn't. They would probably have been the last on your list of suspects.”

“Do you really believe that there's anything in that theory? “Arnold asked. “That Glandford's reason for murdering them was not only to steal the cash, but because he was afraid he might be murdered himself?”

“I don't know,” Merrion replied. “Take it or leave it. One thing is quite certain. Even if we sit here all night, we shan't get any nearer the truth. I'm going back to number 7.”

XIX

MERRION PASSED a restless night, haunted by the misgivings which presented themselves to his imagination. As Arnold had said, he had been the first to mention Glandford's name. Well, that might be all right. If the police found the stolen notes on his premises, his guilt would be established. But if they didn't?

Those notes, again. When one came to think of it, there was no definite evidence that any notes had been stolen from number 1. Only the logical supposition that there must have been notes there, and that they weren't there now. Curious that, having a perfectly good safe, the Egremonts should not have left their money in it overnight. The odds against any burglar finding the safe were surely heavy enough.

And even then, even were Glandford's guilt to be fully established, the original mystery of Hallows Green was not fully solved, to Merrion's satisfaction at least. Admittedly, the sender, or senders, of the threats had been unmasked. And the identity of Big Foot had been revealed. But still an insistent question mark seemed stamped upon Merrion's brain. Why? What had been the ultimate object of these strange proceedings? The obvious answer carried one no further. The object had been to create an atmosphere favourable to murder. True. But the Egremonts themselves had been the victims.

The more Merrion brooded over this, the more convinced he became that there was a flaw somewhere. Some vital fact had not yet been discovered. Or the true significance of what had been discovered had not been properly realised. He went over every detail, trying to look at each from some fresh angle. Now and then he dozed off, only to wake again with a start. His active brain would allow him no rest.

In the early hours of the morning he decided firmly to put the matter from his mind. He switched on his bedside lamp, picked up a book that lay beside it, and began to read. His eyes followed the words, but his brain refused to register the sense of them. The old wearisome plodding in circles began once more.

Then, suddenly, like a ray of light, an idea sprang into being. He laid down the book and allowed his imagination full scope to explore this new line. The ray grew in intensity until it reached the full light of day. He switched off the light, settled himself down, and at last slept soundly.

He came down to breakfast on Saturday morning trying to bide the excitement he felt. “Well, what's the programme? ” the Admiral asked in the course of the meal. “I suppose that unfortunate couple will be buried to-day, but you'll hardly want to attend. Or any one else in Hallows Green, either.'

“Funerals aren't much in my line,” Merrion replied. “I think, if you don't mind, I'll stroll down to police headquarters. I told Arnold I'd get in touch with him this morning.”

The Admiral raised no objection, and told him of a bus which would take him there. He followed this suggestion, and rode to police headquarters. Here he was recognised from his visit of the previous evening, and was shown into a room where he found Arnold and March. “Good morning, Mr. Merrion,” the latter greeted him. “Mr. Arnold tells me you helped him search the laboratory last night. What brings you here now?”

“Curiosity mainly, but not entirely,” Merrion replied. “How does Mr. Glandford react to his detention?”

“Fairly philosophically,” Arnold replied. “He's made no statement, beyond repeating that it's all a terrible mistake. He was very anxious about his experiment, and seemed much relieved when I told him it had been turned off. That's all bunkum, of course. He asked if he was entitled to legal advice, and when we told him he was, he asked that Mr. Raynham might be sent for. We're going to ring him up, presently.”

“Is the fact that you've got him locked up here generally known? “Merrion asked.

“That I can't say,” Arnold replied. “After you left me last night, I told Miss Glandford. It didn't seem fair to leave her in ignorance of what had happened to her brother. Of course it was a shock to her, but she very soon got over it. In fact she laughed at me, and said it was ridiculous to think that Walter had done anything he shouldn't.”

“You didn't tell her on what grounds he had been detained, I take it,” Merrion remarked. “Well, we can be quite sure that it is generally known, at least in Hallows Green. Miss Glandford has a reputation for loquacity. If she hasn't spread the news herself, it will have filtered through the back doors, for the housekeeper is bound to know about it. What about the search of the house?”

“All in good time,” Arnold replied. “We've got the warrant and we shall be along there very soon.”

Merrion nodded. “Something occurred to me last night. You'll say it's all rubbish, I expect. But before you go any further, it might be worth while to ask Mr. Glandford a question. To his knowledge, have any of his neighbours in Hallows Green ever been inside his laboratory?”

“You know very well what his answer will be,” Arnold replied. “That old yarn about the arsenic being stolen.”

“Never mind,” said Merrion quietly. “Any statement of the accused is valuable. I'd ask him if I were you.”

Arnold glanced at March. “Merrion gets queer ideas into his head. Shall we humour him?”

“I don't see what harm if would do,” March replied. “I've already learnt to respect Mr. Merrion's ideas. And he shall hear the answer himself. We'll have Glandford brought in here, and you can ask him the question.”

So, after a short delay, Glandford appeared. He had discarded his apron, but was otherwise dressed as he had been the previous evening. His expression was calm and slightly supercilious. He glanced at Merrion for a moment, but, never having seen him before, must have supposed he was a police officer of some kind.

Arnold put the question exactly in Merrion's words. “I'm not in the habit of entertaining guests in my laboratory,” Glandford replied shortly. “Nor do I encourage visitors there. The only person I know of who has been there at all recently is the chap who got in somehow a fortnight ago.”

Arnold's smile almost audibly conveyed his meaning, I told you so. He was about to dismiss the prisoner when Glandford continued. “Wait a minute, though. I recollect now. I did take one of my neighbours into the laboratory. A month ago or thereabouts, I think it was.”

“Who was this neighbour, and why did you take him there?” Arnold asked.

“I'll tell you,” Glandford replied. “It was one Sunday afternoon. Mr. Vawtrey came to see me. He was in his usual flustered state, and most apologetic for disturbing me. He kept on saying that he would never have done so if he hadn't found himself in a fix. I couldn't make out at first what he wanted.

“At last I got it out of him. It seemed that he was in the middle of some photographic process or other, and was held up for the want of an ounce or two of calcium chloride. Being Sunday, he couldn't go down to the shops and buy it. If I had any, would I lend him some? He'd be sure to replace it next day.

“I had plenty, for I often have occasion to use it, so I took him along to the laboratory. He'd brought a small jar with him, so I filled it for him from the stock in the cupboard. He was so grateful that I could hardly get rid of him. And I'm bound to say that he was as good as his word. He bought some calcium chloride at the chemist's next morning, and brought it to me.”

Arnold nodded, and Glandford was taken back whence he had come. “Now are you satisfied?” Arnold asked.

“Perfectly,” Merrion replied quietly. “You see, the laboratory wasn't quite the home of mystery that might have been supposed. One at least of Glandford's neighbours had been taken into it and had seen where he kept his stock of chemicals. And what one of them knew, the rest would very soon become aware of. No doubt Mr. Vawtrey chattered about his visit, and what he had seen in the course of it.”

“I dare say he did,” said Arnold impatiently. “But what about it?”

“Only this,” Merrion replied. “If some unauthorised person did get into the laboratory, he'd have known where to look for what he wanted. And perhaps that point is rather more important than appears for the moment.”

“Are you beginning to have doubts about Glandford's guilt, Mr. Merrion? “March asked uneasily.

“There will always be room for at least a shadow of doubt till you've found the cash,” Merrion replied. “I'm a great believer in having more than one string to one's bow. And, of course, there's always the possibility that the notes aren't on Glandford's premises at all.”

“What the dickens do you mean? “Arnold asked. “Where else should they be?”

“Somewhere he thinks you aren't likely to look for them,” Merrion replied. “The first impulse of a crook is to hide incriminating evidence. Glandford may have deposited the swag on someone else's premises.”

“Oh, come now, Mr. Merrion! “March expostulated. “Do you mean there's a fence in Hallows Green?”

Merrion smiled. “We're learning some pretty queer things about the dwellers in Hallows Green. Not a conscious fence perhaps. Glandford may have deposited the stuff in someone else's garden, for instance, meaning to recover it when the hue and cry was over.”

“Do you expect us to carry out a wholesale search of Hallows Green?” Arnold asked acidly.

“Perhaps it won't come to that,” Merrion replied. “Look here, this is how I see things. We may take it that by this time everybody knows that Glandford has been detained. If any of his neighbours have anything on their consciences they'll feel greatly relieved, for all the recent unpleasantness will be attributed to him. They'll all be off their guard, in fact. Do you see what I mean?”

“Not in the least,” said Arnold. “Except that you've got something in your mind that you're wrapping up in vague hints. You may as well tell us plainly what it is.”

But Merrion shook his head. “I daren't do that. You'd have me certified as a lunatic. I couldn't offer you a shred of evidence. Look here. If, when you've ransacked number 3 inside out, and dug up the garden, you haven't found the notes, what are you going to do about it?”

“Look somewhere else, I suppose,” Arnold replied. “You've just suggested where.”

“Isn't now your opportunity? “Merrion asked swiftly. “No need for a multitude of search-warrants. Far better not set about it that way at all. Just call at each house in turn, and ask permission to look round. In the state of suspicion which exists in Hallows Green, nobody would like to refuse you. And, for that matter, a refusal would be a pretty clear indication that there was something to hide.”

Arnold glanced doubtfully at March. “What do you say about that?” he asked.

“It's no more than perfectly legitimate inquiry by the police,” March replied. “You're thinking that we may come across the notes that way, Mr. Merrion?”

“I'm not absolutely sure of that,” said Merrion. “But I think you would stand a very good chance of learning the truth about several things that have puzzled us all. And, if I may suggest, I wouldn't start at one end of Hallows Green and work regularly through to the others. That would be giving plain warning of the house to be visited next. Better to pick and choose at random. For instance, Mr. Vawtrey's name has been mentioned. Why not start at number 9? You've got a very good pretext there. You want to hear further details of that mysterious fire that broke out on Sunday evening.”

“Number 9 will do as well as any other, Arnold agreed. “But when we were there the other day, Mr. Vawtrey didn't seem to have much to hide. Shall we divide forces, Mr. March? If you'll tackle the search of number 3, I'll go and have a chat with Mr. Vawtrey. Though what I'm going to say to him I hardly know.”

“Care for me to come with you?” Merrion asked. “He's met me already, and I could provide the light relief. It might fluster him less than if you were to question him alone.”

Arnold agreed. He knew very well that Merrion was working his way towards something, but what it was he couldn't fathom. They set out in the car, and stopped at number 3. March went through the gateway, while Arnold and Merrion walked on towards number 9. “Now that we're alone, how about telling me what all this is about? ” the former asked.

“It's too much of a gamble,” Merrion replied. “Besides, I don't want to prejudice you in advance. But the odds are that you're going to hear something that will surprise you.”

They reached the front door of number 9 and rang the bell. The door was opened by Brown, who grinned at them inanely. He had discarded his club, and looked much less bellicose than when Merrion had last seen him. Yes, Mr. Vawtrey was at home, in the lounge. This way, please.

Vawtrey, who was sitting in an arm-chair before the fire, reading a newspaper, drew himself to his feet as Brown showed them in. Merrion allowed him no time for speech. “Good morning, Mr. Vawtrey,” he said impassively. “I hope we're not disturbing you. Mr. Arnold wanted to talk to you about that fire, and asked me to come with him. I'm a witness to that footprint you found, you know.”

Leaving Arnold to do the rest, he turned away, assuming an interest in the framed photographs with which the walls of the room were covered. It was easy to guess that they were all Vawtrey's work, for the most part studies of Barncaster and the surrounding country.

One of them particularly, captured Merrion's attention. He knew where it must have been taken, for he recognised the tract of marshland some five miles from Barncaster, skirted by the road from High Eldersham. The photograph, which had obviously been taken in the centre of the marsh, was a study of a group of willows rising above a pool of water. For some moments Merrion contemplated it, his mind working swiftly. Then, without apology, he burst in upon the conversation between Arnold and Vawtrey. “Upon my word, Mr. Vawtrey! ” he exclaimed, pointing to the photograph. “That is an outstanding work of art! You must have gone to infinite trouble and patience to get the right light and angle. Paddling about in the marsh, carrying a heavy camera, too. My word, you must have got your feet wet!”

“I am glad you admire it, Mr. Merrion,” Vawtrey replied. “Yes, it was not an easy subject to capture. I spent a day or two before I was satisfied with the conditions. Of course, I was suitably equipped, though.”

“Oh, naturally,” said Merrion. “And your art didn't finish with the exposure. The excellence of the development and printing is really marvellous. You mix your own developers and so forth, I expect?”

Vawtrey threw out his hands in a gesture of despair. “I did,” he wailed. “But what am I to do now? My workroom is utterly destroyed, and with it most of my valuable apparatus. I haven't even got a dark-room now.”

“It is bad luck,” Merrion replied sympathetically. “I notice that these studies are all local. Your fame as a photographic amateur does not extend beyond Barncaster and the county, I expect.”

Vawtrey's vanity was clearly touched. “Hardly that, I'm glad to say. My work has been frequently exhibited in London. And it is known even more widely than that. I am a member of several foreign photographic societies, and I have shown my studies in several continental cities.”

“I must congratulate you, Mr. Vawtrey,” said Merrion. “International recognition is indeed a tribute to your abilities. Yours is a most interesting hobby, but, I should imagine, a very expensive one. These continental exhibitions must make it necessary for you to go abroad fairly frequently?”

“That is so,” Vawtrey agreed. “And the returns barely cover the expenses.”

Merrion had been conscious of Arnold's growing irritation. When was this tomfoolery to end? They hadn't come to number 9 to discuss Mr. Vawtrey's hobby. “We were talking about that most unfortunate fire, Mr. Vawtrey,” said Arnold. “You tell me that you are perfectly certain it could not have been started accidentally?”

“How could it?” Vawtrey replied. “I have explained the impossibility. I am convinced that my neighbour next door deliberately set fire to my workroom, believing me to be in it.”

By this time Merrion had observed everything that the room contained. Under the window was a divan, with a loose cover and a few cushions lying on it. Aimlessly he strolled over to the divan and sat down upon it, to find the surface unyielding. His fingers felt the side of a chest under the loose cover. Evidently this piece of furniture had a use beyond providing seating accommodation. “What do you keep in here, Mr. Vawtrey?” Merrion asked idly.

Vawtrey seemed taken aback by this innocent question. “Such of my photographic gear that I didn't keep in my workroom,” he replied hastily. “They're the only things I've got left now, for the rest was utterly destroyed in the fire. The more valuable of my cameras have always been kept in the chest, I'm thankful to say.”

“That is indeed fortunate,” said Merrion. “May I have a look at them? I'm awfully interested in any kind of optical apparatus, cameras especially.”

He got up and made as though to raise the loose cover. But Vawtrey hurried towards him, his hand outstretched in protest. “No, please don't open it, Mr. Merrion. There are some unexposed plates and papers in it, and I don't think the boxes are light-tight. They might be ruined if the boxes were opened in daylight.”

Merrion smiled as he sat down again. “Then we certainly won't open it, at least, not yet. You told us just now that when you were paddling about the marsh, studying the aspect for the photograph yonder, you were suitably equipped. Meaning, I take it, that you were wearing a pair of waders?”

“Yes, that's right,” Vawtrey replied nervously. “They were in the workroom, with the rest of the gear, and of course they've gone.”

“I think you must be mistaken,” said Merrion. “When did you last wear the waders?”

Vawtrey was obviously becoming rattled. He was trembling, and his gaze was fixed intently upon the divan on which Merrion was sitting. “I don't remember wearing them since I took that photograph early last autumn.”

“Your memory is very short, Mr. Vawtrey,” said Merrion quietly. “Surely you remember using them as recently as last Tuesday night? Where have you put the notes that you took from the safe at number 1?”

XX

VAWTREY STAGGERED and almost collapsed. But he quickly recovered, to some extent at least. “This is preposterous!” he exclaimed. “I appeal to you, Mr. Arnold. Am I to be insulted in my own house?”

Arnold walked to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. “Have you anything you care to say, Mr. Vawtrey? ” he asked. “I must caution you —”

Merrion interrupted him. “Perhaps it will save Mr. Vawtrey some embarrassment if I do the talking. I'll begin my story some time ago, on one of the occasions when you were abroad, Mr. Vawtrey. Then, probably by chance, you learnt the true vocation of Mr. and Mrs. Egremont. You discovered that they were not, as they appeared to be, the votaries of an occult religion, but were in fact receivers of stolen or smuggled jewellery.

“Your hobby must have been a considerable drain upon the resources of a retired Colonial civil servant. I will go so far as to suggest that your finances were in none too healthy a state. You inferred that in order to carry on their business the Egremonts must keep a considerable amount of cash on the premises. And if that cash could find its way into your own pocket, it would relieve the situation greatly.

You had attended tea-parties given by the Egremonts in a most remarkable setting. The atmosphere of the temple, with its half-concealed altar, must have impressed you, as it did the other guests. But the discovery of the Egremonts' true occupation shed an entirely new light on these surroundings. The occult religion was pure spoof, and its trappings merely an elaborate camouflage. But was that all they were? That massive altar, for instance? You, as someone else did subsequently, made a correct guess. The altar was an ideal object under which to hide a large safe. And, obviously, in the safe the cash was to be found.

“The difficulty was, not only to get at the safe, but to open it. I am assuming that among your hobbies you do not include safe-breaking. You would have to get hold of the key. And the only way of doing that that you could think of was to murder both Egremonts while they were asleep in bed. You would then be at liberty to look for the key, which would certainly not be far off.

“But murder, under these circumstances, required scientific means. Shots from your revolver would probably be heard in Paulthorpe Road. The employment of the hackneyed blunt instrument might involve the risk of failure. While you were battering in the head of one, the other would sit up and do something about it. Other methods must be sought. And such a method presented itself to you.

“You have told us that you were in the habit of preparing your own developers and other solutions. In order to do this, you had acquired some experience of chemical manipulation. You possessed certain chemical substances and apparatus. Anything further you might require, you could buy without attracting notice. With one exception. The attempt to purchase arsenic would be attended with considerable inconvenience.

“However, you overcame that difficulty. As an experienced chemist, Mr. Glandford was bound to have at least a small quantity of arsenic in some form. But you couldn't very well ask him for it. He would have wondered what you wanted it for. So you hit upon a very simple dodge. You asked him to lend you some calcium chloride, a perfectly innocent substance in common use. He agreed, and took you to his laboratory. Thus you learnt where he kept his materials. Not only that, but you had an opportunity of observing the very primitive lock of the laboratory door. A fortnight ago, you unlocked the door without much difficulty, and took the arsenic from the bottle you found in the cupboard.”

Vawtrey attempted no denial. His expression showed that he was utterly overwhelmed by the accuracy of this indictment. Merrion paused to light a cigarette, then went on, quietly, as though recounting something of only incidental interest to his listeners. “But I am anticipating. Before you stole the arsenic, you had already taken steps to prepare the ground for the murder you contemplated. You had, for instance, possessed yourself of a couple of Sir Hector's visiting cards. They may have been left here, but it is more likely that you picked them up at some house you visited. And you had made a few casual purchases, all of them apparently perfectly innocent. From a junk shop, a broken duelling dagger and an old-fashioned poker-work set. From a stationer, a New Year Card, a bottle of vermilion Indian ink, and a copy of a motoring paper. From an ironmonger, a glazier's diamond. From a toy shop, a child's picture book of animals. The Christmas season was a natural time for such purchases. I dare say Mr. Arnold will be able to trace them all, if he thinks it worth his while.

“We all know the use you made of the things which you bought. Your secret amusement during the meeting at Sir Hector's house last Saturday must have been most enjoyable. You perceived that you had accomplished exactly what you had set out to do. A feeling of profound mistrust had been created in Hallows Green. Each individual was suspicious of his neighbours, and you intended to increase this mutual suspicion to such an extent that, when the murder was discovered, no one, however blameless their character and reputation, would be free from accusation.

“It was part of your carefully conceived plan to make two exceptions. Mr. Barry Flamstead and Mr. Egremont were not among the recipients of your gifts. It was a reasonable conclusion, actually voiced, I understand, that one of those who had not received a warning had been the sender. And, if the sender, the perpetrator of the enormities you had in store. You would accuse Mr. Barry Flamstead, your next door neighbour, of setting fire to your property. And it was your intention to make it appear that the Egremonts were the senders of the warnings.

“By Sunday afternoon you had prepared your deadly weapon. Your choice of arsine was influenced by the fact that only one person in Hallows Green might be supposed to have the knowledge, apparatus and materials to prepare the gas. You intended to throw all possible suspicion on Mr. Glandford. You collected the arsine in some convenient receptacle, probably a toy balloon which had been among your purchases. It was then essential to destroy all trace of the preparation.

“You removed from your workroom everything you valued, including the inflated balloon and your waders. Then, in some convenient spot, you made a heap of old films and the other inflammable substances you described to us. To this you led a slow-match. A length of string, soaked in a solution of saltpetre and then dried, would serve this purpose well enough. You lighted the end of the slow-match, left the workroom, locking the door behind you, and went indoors. After the fire, when all was quiet, probably in the early hours of Monday morning, you put on your waders and made that most convincing footprint just inside your boundary hedge. I expect you had already printed in marking ink Mr. Egremont's initials on the lining of the waders.

“Your pose as the indignant victim of intended murder was most convincing. Moreover, you were not to be the only victim of the mysterious Big Foot. Why you selected Miss Wayland is best known to yourself. Perhaps because in the course of a visit to number 4, you had learnt that she used an electric bed-warmer and had ascertained the routine of the house. You reached number 4 from the grounds of number 5, entering them by the side gate in Otterford Road, I dare say. To suggest an intruder from number 5, you left a footprint at a significant spot in Miss Wayland's garden.

“Your attention to detail was really amazing. It must be established, beyond any possibility of doubt, that the nocturnal prowler could not possibly be you. He must be seen, or at least strongly suggested, at a time when it could be proved that you were in this house. To this end you evolved a very pretty dodge. At some time after dark on Monday, you hung a small mirror among the shrubs in the corner at the bottom of your garden, where it abuts on that of number 10. I expect that it was at the same time that you left another trace of Big Foot's passage on Mr. Barry Flamstead's rubbish heap.

“That evening you armed your man Brown with a revolver and put him on guard. Incidentally, this kept him out of the way of observing your comings and goings. After your exploit at number 4 you returned home. A visit to Brown, ostensibly to see whether he was on the alert, would demonstrate to him that you had done so. Then you went upstairs to one of the rooms overlooking the back garden. There, standing well back from the open window, you flashed a powerful torch. The rays would not be visible until they fell on some object, in this case the mirror. The impression conveyed to Brown was of a light momentarily at the bottom of the garden. Inspired no doubt by your warlike fervour, he loosed off a shot in that direction. The report brought you to the spot. Brown could swear to seeing you come from inside the house. You gallantly announced your intention of confronting the enemy, thus securing the opportunity of detaching the mirror and putting it in your pocket.”

Merrion paused to light a fresh cigarette. But neither of his listeners spoke. Arnold knew better than to interrupt, and Vawtrey seemed fascinated, as though by a snake charmer. After a puff or two, Merrion went on. “So now we come to Tuesday, the night you had decided upon for the murder. You told Brown that it was your turn to keep the night watch, and sent him up to bed. After that, your first move was a reconnaissance, not of number 1, but of number 3. On creeping up to the laboratory, you saw light showing through the chinks of the door. This told you that Mr. Glandford was at work inside, and you appreciated that this fact would not provide him with a satisfactory alibi.

“At some time after midnight you got down to serious business. You left here wearing sand-shoes, and carrying a cold chisel and a torch in your pocket, a walking-stick and the inflated balloon, with your waders slung round your neck. With this impedimenta, you slipped across the road, and through the gateway of number 2. From there you made your way down Mr. Raynham's garden, and across the wall into the grounds of number 1. Reaching the back of the house, you forced the larder window with the chisel, and climbed in.

“Once inside, you looked for the main switch, and found it in the cellar. You put on your waders, or at least one of them, and stepped in the coal dust. With your walking-stick you pulled off the switch. Then you took off your waders again, and crept past the baize door to the front part of the house. Everything was quiet. The interruption of the current had not disturbed the Egremonts. It might be supposed that their bedside lights were already switched off, and that they were asleep. You pressed the wader in which you had stepped in the coal dust on to the stair carpet. Then you stole upstairs.

“Listening at the bedroom door you heard no sound, or, at the most a peaceful breathing. I rather expect that you tied a handkerchief, soaked in some absorbent solution, over your mouth and nose. With infinite caution you turned the handle and opened the door. The room was not entirely dark, for a window was open with the curtains drawn, and a faint light filtered in from Paulthorpe Road. Enough for you to make out the two sleeping figures, which your entry had not disturbed. Releasing the neck of the balloon, and squeezing it gently, you held it to the faces of each in turn, ensuring that they should take deep breaths of the deadly gas. They died peacefully in their sleep.

“This accomplished, you could safely switch on your torch and look about you. The waders, marked with Egremont's initials, you put in the wardrobe with the rest of his footwear. On the chest of drawers you found the bunch of keys, that of the safe among them. You went downstairs again and into the temple. There you explored the altar and discovered its secret. As you had surmised, the safe was hidden beneath it.

“With the key you opened the safe. The shelves you found stacked with cardboard boxes, the contents of which you could guess. But jewellery was not what you were after. Not knowing the ropes, you would have had considerable difficulty in disposing of it profitably. You opened the drawers in the other half of the safe, and there you attained your objective. They were packed full of notes.

“You had plenty of time at your disposal, for there were many hours yet till daylight. Leaving the safe as it was, you came back here. Having disposed of the chisel and the empty balloon, you provided yourself with a suitcase, or something similar. Into this you put the various gadgets you had used for the preparation of your warnings. With the suitcase you returned to number 1, and re-entered the temple. You emptied the drawers of the safe, and replaced them with the gadgets. You put the notes in the suitcase, relocked the safe, and draped the cloth over the altar as you had found it. Once more you went upstairs, this time to put the bunch of keys back on the chest of drawers. There was no more to be done. Carrying the suitcase with its valuable contents, and shutting the larder window after you, you came back here.”

Arnold, who had been watching Vawtrey intently, made a move towards him. But Merrion went on relentlessly: “That is not quite the end of the story. Your apparently strange behaviour on Wednesday evening has yet to be explained. You knew that Mr. Glandford had an alibi, which was no alibi, for Tuesday night. You may have been aware that he was not working in his laboratory on Monday night. You certainly had no means of knowing whether he would be on the remaining nights of the week.

“Since, then, it was part of your plan to incriminate Mr. Glandford, it was necessary that it should be established beyond any doubt that the Egremonts had died during Tuesday night. But this presented some difficulty. Neither tradesmen, nor their neighbours, were in the habit of calling at number 1. Such visitors who might call would find themselves unable to get in. But the nature of their business made it unlikely that they would report the matter, to the police or any one else. That being so, it was more than possible that the deaths might remain undiscovered for some considerable time. And that, when they were eventually discovered, it would be impossible to fix the time of death with sufficient accuracy for your purpose. You had to contrive that number 1 should be entered with as little delay as possible.

“So you staged another of those strange happenings which had so perturbed Hallows Green, and chose Mr. Raynham as the victim. Quite a reasonable choice, for any one, even a Prophet, might want to consult a solicitor on urgent business. On Wednesday afternoon you went to Barncaster, and took up a position from which you could watch Mr. Raynham's office. As soon as you saw him leave there, you went to the nearest telephone-box and gave your message. You could count quite safely upon the clerk who took it not suspecting that the voice he heard was not Mr. Egremont's.

“Then you came back here, and equipped yourself with a fallen branch. I have an idea that you picked it up in the grounds of your next-door neighbour, Mr. Barry Flamstead. At some time before nine o'clock you made your way to number 1, by the now familiar route, taking with you the branch and a length of cord. You balanced the branch on one of the trees overhanging the flagged path, looped the cord round it, and led the ends to some convenient hiding-place. Then, having unbolted the door in the wall, you awaited the arrival of Mr. Raynham.

“He did not disappoint you, and arrived punctually on time. As he passed under the tree, you pulled the cord, and the branch fell on him. Since you had tied no knot, you were able to retrieve the cord by pulling on one end. Mr. Raynham picked himself up, and staggered out by the way he had come. You bolted the door in the wall behind him. You guessed that Mr. Raynham, or someone on his behalf, would return. When they found the door bolted, they would know that something pretty mysterious was going on at number 1, and that was just what you wanted. So once again you awaited events.

“I needn't dwell upon what happened next. You watched the four of us prowling about until at last we found that the larder window had been forced. But still no one entered the house. If it affords you any satisfaction, I may tell you that it was only with difficulty that I was restrained from doing so myself. So you were driven to a last resource. You had recognised Sir Hector among the party of explorers. You rang up police headquarters, I expect from the telephone-box at the corner of Hallows Green, saying that you were speaking on his behalf. Thus, incidentally, distributing suspicion even more widely. Anyhow, the police entered the house, and your final object was accomplished.”

Merrion got up from the divan upon which he had been sitting. He removed the loose cover and opened the lid. The interior was packed as full as it would hold with cameras and photographic material of every description. “You don't seem to have left anything of much value in your workroom,”, Merrion remarked. “But then, naturally, you'd have wanted to cut your losses as far as possible.”

He lifted out the objects one by one, and laid them on the floor. But their removal hardly half emptied the divan. Beneath them had been laid a layer of several sheets of brown paper. “Now we come to it, I think,” said Merrion quietly. He removed the brown paper, to reveal score upon score of big bundles of notes, each secured with pink tape.

Merrion glanced at Arnold, whose hands were held ready to seize Vawtrey, should he attempt any movement. “I'll go along and find Mr. March and send him to you,” he said.

He went out and walked along Hallows Green towards number 3. The police car was still standing outside and as he reached it, March appeared, looking distinctly glum. “Hallo, Mr. Merrion 1 ” he exclaimed. “Where have you left Mr. Arnold? I haven't found those notes yet.”

“No, but we have,” Merrion replied, not without a pardonable note of triumph in his voice.

XXI

“BUT WHAT I can't understand is how you ever came to hit upon Vawtrey!” the Admiral exclaimed. He and Merrion were sitting in the cabin after dinner that Saturday. Merrion had described the discovery which had led to the arrest of Vawtrey and the release of Mr. Glandford. “How I hit upon him? ” he replied. “It wasn't pure intuition, I assure you. You want me to reveal my mental processes? Well, here you are.”

He lighted a cigarette, and then continued: “I won't pretend that I suspected Vawtrey from the first. In fact, as I think you know, my original guess was Mr. Glandford. It may be that the sudden transformation of an inoffensive retired civil servant into a vengeful gunman, breathing threatenings and slaughter, seemed to be a bit odd. But then every one in Hallows Green was suffering from jitters more or less. That, of course, was the essential preliminary to the game.

“But, leaving Vawtrey aside for a moment, we were faced with a manifest impossibility. It was literally incredible that Egremont should have sent round those warnings, and, if possible, even more incredible that he should have worked out all the exploits of Big Foot. His profession was diametrically opposed to any such adventures. His aim must surely have been to keep himself as unobtrusive as possible. To allow Hallows Green to remain in a state of peaceful ignorance of what he was really up to.

 “Yet, in his safe were the gadgets which had been used, and the waders worn by Big Foot, with Egremont's initials on them. By the way, wasn't it a bit strange that a receiver of smuggled jewellery, or the Prophet of an occult religion, for that matter, should own a pair of waders? What use could he have found for them? It wasn't at all likely that he had bought them recently for the express purpose of masquerading as Big Foot. The risk of the purchase being traced to him was too great.

“However that might be, the gadgets in the safe could not be explained away. You see, the safe seemed to tell its own story. To all appearances the murderer had not opened it, probably because he had been unable to locate it. His motive being obviously loot, had he opened the safe he would have taken the jewellery it contained.

“That seemed so logical that we all followed the wrong track, like so many sheep. This was the argument. There must have been a considerable amount of money in the house. After the crime, it was not to be found in the safe or anywhere else. Therefore the murderer must have taken it. If he had not opened the safe, he must have found the money elsewhere. The Egremonts had taken it to bed with them.

“Perfectly logical. But it left me with just the faintest trickle of doubt. The sort of indefinable feeling one has in the throat when one has a cold coming on. I'm bound to admit that it kept me awake. And then, last night, or rather early this morning, the truth dawned on me. The murderer had opened the safe, and had found the money in the drawers. The reason why he had left the jewellery alone was because he didn't know how to dispose of it without the risk of being identified.

“And then, don't you see? If something had been taken from the safe, why should not something else have been deposited in it? The apparently conclusive evidence that the Egremonts had been the senders of the warnings went up in smoke. The murderer had put those gadgets in the safe. He had been the sender of the warnings, and he, therefore, had been Big Foot. The waders were his, and not Egremont's!”

The Admiral smiled at Merrion's enthusiasm. “Still, you haven't satisfied my curiosity,” he remarked.

“About Vawtrey?” Merrion replied. “Well, it was a matter of joining up a lot of things, none of them very convincing by themselves. Vawtrey's insistence that an attempt had been made to offer him as a burnt sacrifice was manifestly absurd. The security measures that he adopted were even more so. The fire had started inside the workroom, not outside. What Teesdale told us proved that. Of course, someone might have broken in and started it. But the possibility remained that Vawtrey might have started it himself.

“And then the arsine. Who in Hallows Green had the knowledge and opportunity to prepare it? Obviously and confessedly, Mr. Glandford. Possibly Teesdale. But there was a third person who knew something about chemistry. Vawtrey developed his own negatives, and, as I guessed, prepared the developers himself. He had a workroom where he could carry out the process unobserved. And if he had prepared arsine, he would naturally destroy all evidence that he had done so. The burning down of the workroom might be explained.

“Again, consider the activities of Big Foot, and the comings and goings of the murderer to and from number 1. That had involved repeated and unexplained absences from home on somebody's part. Who could have performed those mysterious errands without arousing the suspicions of his household? Mr. Glandford, under cover of working in his laboratory. Who else? Only Vawtrey, having relieved Brown, and taken upon himself the nocturnal patrol.

“Finally, those waders. When at last I tumbled to the fact that they weren't Egremont's, it was perfectly clear that their owner had marked them with his initials, in itself a sufficiently damning action. Who in Hallows Green was likely to be the owner? Perhaps among your neighbours was someone who indulged in fishing as a sport. Mr. Dodworthy, or one of the Flamsteads, for example. And you had told me that Vawtrey was in the habit of wandering about the countryside taking photographs.

“All this was collecting material for my case, stone by stone. All that was lacking was the cement with which to bind the stones together. It came, shall we say, in two bags. The first, when I heard of Vawtrey's call on Mr. Glandford, with the pretext of wanting to borrow some calcium chloride. The second, when I saw that photograph in Vawtrey's lounge. As soon as I set eyes upon it, I knew that when he took it he must have been wearing waders. After that, it was a foregone conclusion that when we opened the divan we should find the notes.”

The arrest, and its implications, produced a profound effect upon Hallows Green. For a week or more the atmosphere of suspicion had persisted, each inhabitant mistrusting his or her neighbour. But now the scapegoat had been identified, and isolated from the fold, the tension had been relaxed, and a corresponding reaction set in. It took the form of a somewhat shamefaced renewal of confidence and friendship. Even Walter Glandford, who had every reason for feeling aggrieved, shared the general relief. He accepted the apologies of the police in good part, and seemed to bear no resentment. That Saturday evening he resumed the threads of his experiments, so rudely interrupted.

On Sunday morning Merrion accompanied the Admiral and Lady Sapperton to church. After the service, quite a crowd walked back to Hallows Green, chattering volubly. Besides the party from number 7, Claude Dodworthy and his wife, Dr. and Mrs. Teesdale, Barry Flamstead, with Joan and the two children, Peter Raynham, with his wife and mother, Walter and Faith Glandford, and Helen Brinton.

Merrion, smiling to himself, caught scraps of conversation now and then. Mrs. Caroline Raynham assuring the Dodworthys that her son had fully recovered from his accident. Faith Glandford complaining volubly to Dilys Teesdale that she was terribly afraid her brother might have caught cold in that dreadful police cell. Helen Brinton telling Barry Flamstead and his family that she had written a long letter to Florence Wayland, explaining everything and saying that she could come home without the slightest apprehension.

There seemed to be a tacit agreement that the names of Vawtrey and the Egremonts must not be mentioned.

But Merrion did not witness the most striking reconciliation, for he returned to High Eldersham that afternoon. On Monday Lawrence Flamstead was returning from the club at the same (time as his brother Barry was on his way to the telephone-box in Otterford Road to make a call. They met face to face, outside the front gate of number 5. Both hesitated, then Barry came forward, hand outstretched impulsively. “Look here, Lawrence!” he exclaimed. “The queer things that have happened these last few days have been making me think quite a lot. Haven't you and I been behaving rather childishly all this time?”

“Childishly?” Lawrence replied doubtfully, but without resentment. “Well, I don't know about that. But we don't seem to get on with the job, that's true enough.”

“Just what I mean,” said Barry. “Can't we sit down together and come to some arrangement? Then we can tell our lawyers to settle the matter between them once and for all.”

“Not a bad idea,” Lawrence replied. “I tell you what, You and Joan come round and have tea with us to-morrow Elinor will be ever so pleased. And, while you're about it you may as well bring the brats with you. Pauline will keep them amused while we're talking.”

THE END