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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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In this remarkable long, complete novel, a very remarkable New Year adventure of Sexton Blake, Tinker, and Pedro is vividly described, It tells how the great detective and his assistants, finding themselves snowed up in a train, resolve to tramp across a moor and seek a shelter at the nearest house, and how they become members of the queerest New Year party ever gathered together.
A Winter's Journey - The Train in a Snowdrift —
A Midnight Tramp - Astray on the Moors.
"LOOKS as if we should have a bit more snow before the year's out, doesn't it, sir?"
The speaker was Tinker—the scene the platform of a railway-station in the North of England, where he, together with Sexton Blake and Pedro, were waiting for the local train which was to land them at York in time to catch the night mail for London. Business and not pleasure had been the cause of the three companions' journey to an out-of-the-way part of Yorkshire—business, however, that had been successfully accomplished a day or two before the old year ran its course.
There was a chill nip in the air as they stamped up an down the shelterless platform waiting for the train which. in accordance with the habits of local trains, was already some time overdue. Although the South of England had been favoured with a singularly mild Christmas, the same was not the case with the North — already one snowstorm had whitened the surrounding moors to the depth of several inches and, as Tinker had remarked, the sky betokened another heavy fall before long. For some time before the sun sank his face had been hidden by thick masses of dull grey cloud which had gradually overspread the whole of the sky.
"Twenty minutes late already," the detective said, as he glanced at his watch. "It's a good thing we've some time to wait at York, or we should miss the connection—Ah, there goes the signal at last!"
"Thank goodness!" Tinker said, as he gave his woollen muffler another twist round his throat. "It's what you might call a bit draughty on this wretched little platform."
Five minutes later the train had snorted into the station, and Sexton Blake, Tinker, and Pedro had tumbled into en empty compartment, just in time to escape the first white flakes driven along before the pitiless north wind.
The run—or, as Tinker impatiently expressed it, the crawl—to York was timed to take two hours; and as they had been pretty well chilled by their wait on the platform, and the carriage was badly lit and destitute of heating apparatus, the detective and his assistant would have been glad if it had been a good deal shorter. Tucking their rugs around them, they made themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, and for nearly an hour the train wound its way slowly along, now sheltered from the storm by overhanging heights and again exposed to the full fury of the wind as the track mounted to higher ground.
"Ugh!" Tinker grunted at last, as a fierce blast caused the window to rattle furiously and the lamps to flicker. "I shall he thankful when we get to York—this beastly carriage feels like an ice-house on wheels. Well, I suppose we sha'n't be much longer now."
The words had scarcely passed his lips when the train—which during the last few minutes had been creeping up an incline, and had then quickened its pace on the level—suddenly, with a loud hiss of escaping steam from the engine, came to a halt.
"Hallo! what's up?" Tinker exclaimed, starting to his feet and letting down the window. "There isn't any station here. Say, guv'nor, what's the mater?"
"The snow—we've stuck in a snowdrift!" the guard shouted back as he hurried by, lantern in hand.
It was true. At the top of the incline the track ran between banks three or four feet high, and between these banks the drifting snow had settled and collected in a solid mass. Into it the engine had plunged, ploughing up the snow for a few yards and then sticking fast.
Springing out of the carriage, Blake and Tinker hurried along to the engine.
"Can't you back her out. Ned?" the guard was asking anxiously as they came up.
"I'd ha' backed her out already without your telling me," the driver retorted, "if it could have been done—but it can't, The snow's got to her fires—we're stuck till they can send an engine from the junction to haul us out backwards."
A simultaneous groan issued from the group of passengers who had descended from their carriages end collected on the track. Frankly, the prospect before them was not a cheerful one. Though the worst of the snowstorm had blown over and the sky was beginning to clear, the wind was icy, and the nearest station was nearly six miles behind them. How long it would be before a relief train would arrive it was impossible to say—the guard when questioned had only a vague idea on the subject. Oastwick Junction was not more then twenty miles away, but it would be necessary to walk some distance to the nearest signal-box in order to get into communication with the junction.
"And," Blake remarked drily, "when they have heard the news at the junction, goodness knows how long they will be before they get an engine off; I know this line of old. Do you know, guard, if there's a village anywhere within reach—a place where one can put up for the night?"
"Afraid I don't, sir," the harassed guard replied. "Thorpe Ashley is somewhere about here, I know, but I couldn't direct you to it; but if you'd like to walk down the line to the signal-box with me, no doubt the chap there could tell you which way to take."
"What do you think?" Blake asked, turning to Tinker, "Shall we try and hunt up an inn, if there's one within a walk? We can't catch our train at York to-night, whatever happens, so we may as well try and find a bed instead of hanging about here waiting foe the train from the junction, which will probably be hours before it arrives."
"Right you are," Tinker agreed willingly: "anything is better than sticking here in these icy-cold carriages."
They set out accordingly along the track, accompanied by the guard and two or three of their fellow passengers, and with Pedro slouching at their heels; and twenty minutes' brisk walking brought them to the signal-box, whose occupant promptly wired the news of the stoppage along the line to Oastwick.
As the guard had said, the signalman was able to give Sexton Bake all the information he required, The nearest village was Thorpe Ashley, close on three miles away. There was a good sized inn there—the Three Feathers—and the landlord would no doubt be able to accommodate anyone who chose to walk so far. Further there was no difficulty about the way—a track across the moor struck the high-road not more than a quarter of a mile away, and when the road branched, about two miles further on, there was a signpost. It was not yet half-past nine, so that there would be plenty of time to arrive at Thorpe Ashley before the Three Feathers put up its shutters for the night.
Blake and his assistant promptly decided to set out for Thorpe Ashley; but the other three passengers, who had accompanied them as far as the signal-box, evidently had no fancy for a moorland walk through the cutting wind, and preferred to turn back and seek such shelter from the weather as the train would afford.
Buttoning up their coats, and bending their heads to the icy blast that came swooping in gusts across the moorland, Blake and Tinker set out on the first stage of their journey. It was only a few minutes walk to the high road, and so fierce was the wind that the exposed ground over which their way lay had been almost swept bare of snow, so that the path was easy enough to trace. Soon they were tramping along the high road, now in almost complete darkness as the moon was hidden behind scudding clouds, now able to see some distance around them over the bleak moorland landscape. The wind was against them all the way, and as it increased rather than lost in violence as time went on, their progress was much slower than they had expected, and fully an hour had gone by since they had set out, before the moon, breaking through a cloud, showed them the cross-roads of which the signalman had spoken, a little way ahead. A few minutes later they gained the parting of the ways—three roads forking oft nearly at right angles to each other.
"Now, where's the signpost?" Tinker exclaimed. "I don't see it."
In fact, no signpost was visible at the spot where it might be expected to stand.
"How's that I wonder?" Blake said. "The man distinctly told us that there was a signpost, and surely it ought to be here—Ah!"
He broke off and pointed to a post standing beside a group of blackberry bushes where the three roads met—a post between three and four feet, and with its top jagged and splintered.
"That's the signpost," he said, "or rather the remains of it. It has been broken off, and quite recently—I expect by the winds to-night. It's not been quite strong enough for that, and I dare say the wood was rotten."
"Well, where's it gone to, then?" Tinker said, in a voice of dismay, for not a sign of the board was to be seen.
Sexton Blake shrugged his shoulders.
"It has blown somewhere down that slope," he said, "for the wind's in that direction, and as the snow has all blown down there too, and is lying several feet thick at the bottom, I should say, it won't be much good our wasting our time hunting for it. We must either turn back to the train, or chance the road and go on. I'm inclined to think that we'd better turn back."
"Perhaps we had," Tinker retuned reluctantly; and then, pointing into the darkness ahead he exclaimed.
"Look, there's a light straight on—that must be the village!"
Sure enough a faint twinkle of yellow light was visible in the direction in which he pointed.
"It doesn't move," he went on, "So it must come from a house—it's about a mile off, I should say."
"About that," Blake replied. "Come along, Pedro, old chap."
And the trio stepped out briskly along the road which seemed to lead in the direction of the light. They lost sight of it almost immediately as the road wound round the shoulder of a hill, caught another glimpse of it a little nearer, and then lost sight of it again as their way led downwards into a dip between the hills. Here, though they were sheltered from the wind, the snow lay thickly—so thickly that they had considerable difficulty in keeping to the track. More than once they wandered right off it, and once Tinker floundered into a drift of snow, whence he struggled out with Blake's help damp and shivering, and long before they emerged from the valley both of them felt distinctly regretful that they had not turned back to the train at the cross-roads.
What was their dismay, therefore, when they struggled up out of the valley on to a rounded shoulder of the moorland to find that the light had completely vanished, and nothing but black darkness met their sight on every side! Further, the road had dwindled till it was little more than a track, which in itself was good evidence that they had not taken the turning leading to Thorpe Ashley.
"Here's a pretty kettle of fish!" Tinker groaned between his chattering teeth. "What on earth has become of that house? I made sure we should be close to it by now."
It can't be very far off," Blake returned hopefully. "I dare say it's hidden from us by a hill or a clump of trees. It's somewhere in that direction, I fancy—-and Pedro thinks so too. I wouldn't mind betting he'll lead us to it if we follow him. Go on, Pedro, old boy!"
The dog had turned to look inquiringly at his master, and on receiving the word of command. he gave a short bark, and turning off the path, began to trot steadily over the moor.
For five minutes or so Tinker and Blake followed him, and then they gave a simultaneous exclamation of relief as, on reaching the crest of a stretch of rising ground, they saw below them and about a hundred yards away the lighted windows of a house.
"Good old Pedro! Tinker said, patting the dog's huge head. "You've done us another good turn to-night."
The Silent House - No Answer - The Plan at the Window
A Surly Reception - Admitted at Last - Locked In.
IT did not take Blake and his assistant long to scramble down the hillside and strike the path that led on to the house, which, as they neared it and the moon broke through the clouds, they saw to be a good-sized-solid-looking building surrounded by a stretch of garden. No doubt its occupants would he rather surprised to receive a visit at that time of the night from two complete strangers, but it was hardly likely that they would be so churlish as to refuse some sort of hospitality to benighted travellers.
Mounting the steps to the portico, Blake felt for the knocker and rapped loudly. But a couple of minutes went by and no one approached the door.
"Knock again, guv'nor," Tinker said, as he blew on his fingers and stamped vigorously. "They're not all asleep; I saw a shadow cross the blinds just now."
A second time the detective knocked, even more loudly, and accompanying the rap by a peal of the bell that echoed through the house. The result was the same, and a third attempt was equally unsuccessful.
Blake and Tinker looked at each other in astonishment.
"What on earth does it mean?" the boy exclaimed. "They must know we're here; don't they want to let us in?"
"Evidently not," Blake returned. "Perhaps there are only women in the house, and they are afraid to open the door."
"No; it was a man's shadow I saw on the blind." Tinker said, "Look, there it is again, and he's putting the blind on one side to have a look at us!"
It was true. The shadow of a man's figure was thrown clearly for a moment upon the blind of one of the windows on the first floor, and the blind itself was pulled slightly to one side and then dropped again as the shadow vanished.
"Well now he has had a look at us I hope he'll come and open the door," Blake said impatiently.
But in this expectation he was disappointed. No one came: and a fourth thundering rap had exactly the same effect as the three former ones.
"It's no good. guv'nor." Tinker said at last, "They don't mean to let us in. We shall have to give it up as a bad job and find our way to Thorpe Ashley, or else go back to the train, if it hasn't gone."
"Nonsense!" the detective replied decisively, as he once again awoke the echoes with the knocker. "I'm going to have the door opened, or know the reason why. There's something queer about this extraordinary silence, and I intend to find out what it is. Let's try if this has any effect." And. stooping down, he gathered up a handful of gravel from the drive and flung it at the window at which the shadow had appeared.
There was no response at first, but after Blake had sent a second shower of gravel pattering on the glass the blind was suddenly drawn up, the window flung open, and two or three figures appeared looking out of it.
"Go away!" a man's voice called curtly. "Whoever you are, go away! It's no use your knocking; we sha'n't let you in."
And the speaker drew back his head, and had raised his hands to shut the window again when Blake's voice arrested the action.
"One moment!" the detective called out. "Will you let me explain?"
"Explanations are quite unnecessary," was the retort from the window. "However much you explain, you won't be allowed to set foot in this house this side of January 1st, so the best thing you can do is to take yourselves off at once."
"What is it you are afraid of?" Blake called back, as the man's hand went up to the sash. "Surely you don't imagine that my friend and I and I are thieves. We should not be such fools as to rouse you by knocking at the door if we wanted to rob the house."
"It doesn't matter what we imagine," was the rough reply. "The only thing that matters to you is that you will not be allowed to set foot within this house, so off with you!"
"It's no good." Tinker muttered disconsolately. "That chap means what he says. We shall have to hook it."
"Wait a moment before you shut the window," the detective called up. "If you won't let us in, perhaps you will at least have the civility to direct us to Thorpe Ashley, or some other place where we can get food and shelter for the night. We are both of us very badly in need of it, and my friend is wet through from falling into a snowdrift. We are complete strangers in these parts; we were travelling to York by a train that got stuck in a snowdrift a few miles from here, and in trying to find our way to the inn at Thorpe Ashley we have lost our way on the moor."
"H'm!" the man at the window grunted. "So that's your story, is it? Well, whether it's true or not, I shouldn't mind directing you to Thorpe Ashley or anywhere else if I knew the way, but as I'm also a stranger in these parts I don't. Do you know where Thorpe Ashley is?" he went on, turning to another man who had been standing silently behind him.
The latter shook his head, whereupon the speaker vanished from the window, which, however, he left open.
"I suppose he has gone to make inquiries from someone else in the house," Blake said in a low voice, keeping his eyes upon the lighted window.
And a moment later someone else appeared at it—this time the slight figure of a young woman, who peered down over the sill at Blake and his assistant, and then hurriedly drew back and vanished in her turn.
"I wonder how many people there are in the house," Tinker muttered. "That's four I've seen—-there were three men standing at the window just now, and now that girl. It's a queer go, isn't it, guv'nor; what on earth makes 'em so frightened of us? I wish that fellow would he quick. It's beginning to snow again, and pretty thickly, too."
It was true. The sky had been clouding over heavily for the last few minutes, and suddenly heavy flakes had began to descend so thickly that the surrounding hills were immediately blotted out from sight.
Three or four minutes went by, and then once again the man who had spoken to them before came to the window.
"I'm sorry," he called out sullenly, "but we are all of us strangers in this district. No one in the house can direct you to Thorpe Ashley; you must find it us best you can. We can't help you."
"Look here," Blake returned angrily, "do you really mean to say that you are going to turn us away on a night like this to wander about the moors, with the snow coming down so that it is impossible to see a couple of yards ahead? If you won't let us into your house, will you let us have a shakedown in a stable or an outhouse? We are willing to pay handsomely for shelter, and, if you don't give it us the chances are we shall be frozen to death before morning."
For the first time the detective's arguments appeared to have made some impression on the stranger. He glanced up at the threatening sky, hesitated, and, then turned abruptly away from the window.
And Blake and Tinker, standing shivering upon the pathway below could hear the sound of several voices talking in the lighted room above them. Though they could not hear what was said, they could distinguish the different tones—-three or four men's voices and now and again a woman's. More than five minutes went by, and then once again the same man appeared and leaned out over the sill.
"Are you armed " he asked abruptly.
"I have a revolver in my pocket,' the detective answered, astonished at the question.
"Throw it in at the window, then."
"What do you mean?" Blake exclaimed, still more astonished.
"What I say. As it is quite possible your story may he true, we have decided to allow you to take shelter here for the night, but before we let you in we require you to give up any arms you possess. If you prefer to stick to your revolver, you can stay where you are.
"Stand beak from the window," Blake replied quietly. And as the man slipped aside he tossed his revolver over the sill.
The window was immediately closed, and a moment later steps could be heard descending the stairs and echoing through the hall. Then the bolts were withdrawn and the door flung open, disclosing to view a largo oak-panelled hall, lit by a gas chandelier, with a broad staircase leading to the upper floor.
Just inside the door two men were standing, and it did not escape the detective's quick eye that one of them-—a slight, good-looking young fellow of about twenty-—was holding a revolver in his right hand. The other was the man who had addressed them from the window-—tall, broad-shouldered, and red-haired.
The latter it was who had opened the door, and as soon as Sexton Blake and Tinker, followed by Pedro, had crossed the threshold, he slammed it to again, locked it quickly, took out the key and shot the three or four heavy bolts with which it was furnished. And Sexton Blake's quick glance round the hall showed him that the heavy shutters over the windows were likewise strongly padlocked and bolted, as were the doors leading into other rooms on the ground floor.
Neither Sexton Blake or Tinker could ever have been accused of being nervous, but to say that they did not feel a little uncomfortable thrill as the key grated in the lock of the front door and they found themselves in what seemed practically a prison, would be hardly the truth.
Nor was there anything very reassuring in their reception by the two men who had so reluctantly admitted them, and who, as they entered, scanned them with quick, suspicious glances, the younger of the two keeping his finger upon the trigger of his revolver as he did so.
"Is your dog under control?" the elder asked sharply.
"Perfectly."
"H'm! He looks as if he were capable of killing a man if he tried."
"Pedro is quite capable of it," Blake replied drily. "But you need not be alarmed; Pedro is the quietest beast going, unless I order him to be otherwise."
"Oh, I'm not alarmed!" the stranger replied, calmly tapping his breast, pocket. "I should shoot him if he tried to fly at me. I was only thinking of my sister; she is upstairs, and a huge beast like that might frighten her."
"I will see that he is on his best behaviour," Blake returned. "To heel, Pedro!"
"This way, then," the other returned in the same unwilling tone, and he led the way upstairs, Blake and Tinker following him, and the young man bringing up the rear.
Opening a door on the first floor, he ushered them into a large, well-lit room, where three other people were sitting around a blazing fire. Two of them—-a slight girl, whose face would have been distinctly pretty but for its intense paleness, and a stalwart young man of about five-and-twenty-—rose to their feet as the new-comers entered; the third did not stir, but the crutches which were propped against the chair showed the reason for his unwillingness to move.
It did not escape the notice of Blake and Tinker that the three strangers, one and all, glared at them with the same sharp suspicion with which the others had greeted them in the hall. For the moment there was an awkward silence, which was broken by the girl.
"I expect you must be fearfully cold and hungry," she said in a nervous, hesitating voice. "If you will sit down and warm yourselves by the fire I will get you something to eat. Will you accompany me to the kitchen, Kenneth?"
And she went out, followed by the young man whom she had addressed as Kenneth-—the same who had held the revolver when the door was opened.
Blake and Tinker were glad enough to avail themselves of the invitation to draw near the fire, but they would have been a good deal more at their ease if their hosts had made the slightest effort to disguise the reluctance which they felt at admitting the two strangers. Neither of them spoke a word, but the detective was conscious that his every movement was curiously watched; even the cripple, as he lay back on his couch with his eyes apparently closed, was peering nervously from under his lashes.
That there was some mystery concealed behind his hosts' curious behaviour, Sexton Blake felt certain. It did not escape him that though all of them were comparatively young, their faces wore an expression of intense anxiety-—anxiety that seemed as if it were a habit. Nor did he fail to note that at the slightest sound—-the creaking of a board or even the dropping of a cinder in the grate-—each of them would start and look round sharply. Another curious thing was, that though the room was comfortably and even luxuriously furnished, there appeared to be no servants in the house, since it had been necessary for two of the party to go down to the kitchen themselves in order to obtain food for the strangers.
After a few minutes of awkward silence the girl and her companion returned, bringing with them a plentiful supply of cold chicken, ham and bread, upon which Tinker and Blake were glad enough to fall to.
Hungry as they were, they were glad when the meal was over. Tinker afterwards declared he felt like an animal at the zoo while it was going on; he never looked up from his plate without finding that someone was watching him more or less intently. Blake endured the ordeal with seeming indifference, but it was all that Tinker could do not to show his annoyance at his hosts' scrutiny.
Complete silence reigned during the meal, and the first to break it was the detective, who, as he pushed away his plate, glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece.
"I see it is nearly twelve," he said. "I need hardly say that we are very tired, and we should be much obliged if you would let us know where we are to sleep. Any sort of a shake-down would do; we are not particular."
"There are plenty of spare bed-rooms in the house," the red-haired man replied coldly. "We will have one ready for you in a few minutes. Will you come with me, Oscar?"
The man who was addressed as Oscar nodded, rose from his seat, and left the room with his red-haired companion; and again silence fell upon the little company. Sexton Blake made an attempt to break it by speaking to the girl; but though she answered him, it was with an obvious effort, and he saw that her eyes kept wandering round the room with the same nervous look in them that he had observed, though not so strongly, in the other members of the household.
After an absence of about ten minutes Oscar and his companion returned, and informed the guests that their room was ready for them.
"Curious," Blake said to himself, as he followed the pair out of the room. "Why do these people always go about in couples? It even takes taco of them to show us the way to our bed-room."
"This is your room." Oscar said. pausing at a door at the end of the passage. "I hope you will find all you want in it. Good-night!"
And, with no more ceremony, he closed the door sharply behind him.
The travellers certainly had no reason to complain of their sleeping quarters—-a large, lofty room, containing a couple of beds and with a cheerful fire crackling in the grate.
"This isn't so bad—eh?" Tinker said, as he looked round approvingly. "But what does it all mean? They're the queerest lot I ever came across."
"Listen!" Blake said sharply. holding up his finger.
Tinker listened, and distinctly heard a faint grating sound. On tiptoe he stole across the room to the door, seized the handle and turned it gently; then he looked at the detective and nodded.
"Yes," he said, "that's it; they've locked us in! What the dickens is the meaning of it? "
A Midnight Expedition - A Check -
A Voice in the Dark - A Rescue - Just in Time.
SEXTON BLAKE drew his brows together, while a queer smile played round his lips.
"That's just what I don't know at present." he replied; " but I intend to know before very long, Tinker."
"Right you are," Tinker returned. "What do you make of it all, guv'nor 7 Why are these people so afraid of us?"
"It isn't only us they are afraid of," Blake said quietly, "they are afraid of each other."
"Of each other!"
The detective nodded.
"Yes: I noticed that when they were not watching us they were watching each other. Not one of them ever seemed to be at his ease; they were always on the alert, always nervously listening and waiting for something to happen."
"Are they all one family? " Tinker said. "They seem to call each other by their Christian names."
"I rather fancy they are," Blake replied. "The girl is the red-haired man's sister, of course, and there is a distinct likeness between the two they call Oscar and Kenneth."
"Take them all round," Tinker said. reflectively, "they're the oddest New Year's party I've ever come across. I wonder how long they've been living shut up by themselves like this?"
"That is impossible to say, but it is clear, from what the red-haired man said, that they mean to go on living in this extraordinary way till New Year's Day. You remember what he called to us out of the window—-that we shouldn't be allowed to set foot in the place this side of January 1st."
"If we are to get to the bottom of the mystery," the detective went on, "we must set to work to-night, for our hosts will certainly not ask us to stay on after to-morrow morning. If we could have a look round the house, perhaps we could hit on something that would put us on the scent."
"But how are we to get a look round?" Tinker asked, pointing to the locked door. Before replying, the detective went to the window, raised it, and looked out.
"I think it can be managed." he said, as he closed the window; "but we must wait an hour or two till the house is quiet. They are moving about in the passage now. Listen! That is the tap of the cripple's crutch, so they are probably on their way to bed. As soon as I think they are asleep I shall explore the place."
"But how are you going to manage it? They'll hear us if we break the door open."
"I'm not going to break the door open. When I looked out of the window just now I saw that there was another window with a little iron balcony before it, only a few feet away. It is only on the ground floor that the windows are shuttered, so that it will he easy enough to step from our window-sill on to the balcony, raise the sash, and get into the room beyond—-if no one is sleeping there, that is to say-—and we can find that out by seeing if a light appears at the window."
Tinker nodded.
"We shall have to be careful," he said. "These fellows are all armed, and if they find us prowling about the place, they will shoot us at sight."
"I haven't the least doubt of that," Blake replied grimly. "All the same. I'm not going to leave this house to-morrow without having had a try to get to the bottom of the mystery that hangs over it. Meanwhile, we'd better put out the lights, so that our hosts, if they are curious on the subject, will imagine that we have gone to bed."
He turned out the gas as he spoke, and he and Tinker seated themselves in front of the fire, before which Pedro was already stretched comfortably asleep. For a little while they heard subdued sounds of people moving about the house-—the occasional passing of a footstep in the passage and the closing of a distant door-—and then complete silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the grate and the moaning of the wind outside. Once or twice Sexton Blake crept on tiptoe to the window and peered out, so as to see if there was a light in the next room; but greatly to his satisfaction it remained in complete darkness, showing that no one could be sleeping there.
More than two hours went by before the detective deemed it safe to act, and it was not till the fire was dying down into ashes and two o'clock had chimed out from the little clock on the mantelpiece that, he quietly rose to his feet and laid his hand on Tinker's shoulder. The boy had been half dozing in his chair, but the touch of Blake's hand roused him in an instant.
"Ready?" the detective whispered. "Then come along-—quietly, mind. Lie down, Pedro, old boy; we don't want you yet."
The dog lay down obediently, and, on tiptoe Sexton Blake and Tinker crossed the room and with the utmost caution raised the window-sash, letting in a rush of cold air. The snow had ceased, and the sky overhead was clear and frosty, while the white, rounded tops of the hills showed up sharply against the dark blue overhead.
Brushing away the snow from the window-sill. Blake placed his knee upon it, and was about to draw himself up into a standing position, when Tinker suddenly laid a hand upon his arm.
"Look! " he whispered. "What is that light, I wonder? There isn't a, house there, for it's just by the way we came. Besides, it wasn't there a moment ago."
He pointed as he spoke along the valley to a yellow point of light which had just flashed into view from the surrounding darkness. Sexton Blake turned his head to look, but he had barely caught sight of the light when it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Not for long, however. After on interval of perhaps ten seconds it shone out again exactly in the same spot. glowed brightly for an instant, and was then once more extinguished.
"Curious," Blake whispered. "Can it be a signal of some kind? There it is again!"
Once again, after exactly the same interval of darkness, the light shone out and disappeared, and this time it did not appear again.
But something else did. Blake and Tinker were still gazing at the spot at which it had vanished, when suddenly the snow beneath them reflected a broad ray of light. And, looking upwards, they saw it came from, a window immediately above them. Just as the light down the valley, had done, it shone out for an instant, vanished, and then, twice reappeared.
"It is a signal!" Blake said, under his breath. "Tinker, we must be careful. Someone is awake in the house, and I have not got my revolver."
He raised himself cautiously on the sill, gripped with one hand the brickwork at the side of the window, and stretched out the other until he grasped the rail of the balcony; and in another moment he was standing on the balcony and giving Tinker a helping hand as the boy in his turn stepped across to it.
The window before which they were standing was, of course, raised, but it did not take the detective long to get his knife under the hasp and gently force it back. Then, very gingerly, they raised the sash and stepped into the darkened room beyond. Once inside, the detective listened for a moment to make sure that they were alone, and then, drawing out a tiny electric pocket-lamp, he switched it on.
As they had expected, the room, which was a very small one, was empty: hut to their dismay they saw that the only door which led out of it opened not directly into the passage, but into another room, from which, earlier in In night, the detective had remarked that a light was shining. It was easy to see, from the way it was furnished and the clothes hanging on the rail, that the little room they had entered was used as a dressing-room by the man who occupied the room beyond.
"Hallo! what's to be done now? " Tinker whispered. "Do you think it would be safe to try and get through the next room?"
"Rather too risky. I'm afraid," Blake returned. "Our hosts all seemed to go about armed. The probability is that the fellow in the next room sleeps with his revolver under his pillow. Besides," he added, a moment later, after cautiously trying the handle of the door, "the thing's an impossibility! Our friend has taken the precaution to lock his bed-room door on the inside. I'm afraid, there's nothing but to go back by the way we came."
"Hard lines," Tinker muttered reluctantly.
"Better luck next time," the detective whispered back cheerfully. "Don't you worry, Tinker, I've made up my mind to get to the bottom of this business some way or other, but meanwhile, the best thing we can do it to get a night's rest. Halo! what was that?"
As he spoke he switched off the light, and he and Tinker stood listening intently, for a sound had reached their ears from the next room. For a moment they feared that they had aroused their neighbour, then the sound was repeated-a long-drawn, gurgling groan, like that of a man gasping and fighting for his breath. Tinker felt a cold thrill run down his back, and involuntarily he gripped at the detective's arm.
'What is it? " he whispered. "It sounds as if he were dying. There it is again!"
For again the groaning sound had reached their ears, this time more faintly, as if the sufferer were almost at his last gasp.
Sexton Blake hesitated no longer. Someone in the room beyond was in dire need of help, of that he felt sure, and with a bound he hurled himself against the drawing-room door. He had to repeat the attack three or four times before it was successful, but at last the hinges yielded to his vigorous assault, and with a crash the door swung open and Blake and Tinker rushed into time room beyond. As they did so an overpowering smell of gas assailed their nostrils, and as Sexton Blake switched on his electric lamp, Tinker darted to the window and flung it wide open, so as to let a rush of fresh air into the thick and stifling atmosphere.
A quick glance round the room showed Blake that there was only one person in it-—the man who had uttered the groans, and who was lying in a huddled heap at the side of the bed. Falling on his knees beside him, the detective turned him over on his back, and saw that it was the young fellow who had been addressed as Kenneth, ghastly pale and to all appearance lifeless. Evidently he had awoke to find himself suffocating, had dragged himself out of bed to get at the gas and turn it off, and before he could reach the bracket, had fallen to the ground, overcome by the fumes.
"Is he dead?" Tinker asked, in an awe-struck voice, as Sexton Blake laid his hand on the young man's breast.
"No; his heart is still beating. Open the door quickly, and let us get him out of this horrible atmosphere as quickly as we can.
And the detective hoisted the unconscious man into his arms while Tinker hurriedly unfastened the door leading to the passage, which, like all the doors in this house of mystery, was locked and bolted.
Evidently the noise they had made in breaking into the room had attracted the attention of others in the house, for they heard the sound of voices and of feet hurrying along the passage, and as Tinker flung open the door he saw the man who had been addressed as Oscar only a few paces off. And no sooner did the latter perceive the lad, than with an exclamation of amazement he snatched a revolver from his pocket and presented it at Tinker's head.
"Drop it!" Tinker said coolly. "I'm not going to hurt you. Don't be such a fool! Put away your pop-gun, and come and help us look after your friend,"
And he pointed to Sexton Blake, who came staggering into the passage carrying the limp figure of Kenneth in his arms. Oscar gave a cry of horror.
"You have killed him!" he cried, turning his weapon from Tinker to the detective. Like lightning the boy sprang forward, and, knocking his hand up, held it pointed towards the ceiling,
"Killed him?" he said. "If it wasn't for us he'd have been dead by now. Are you all mad here?"
"Go into the room and see for yourself," Blake said quietly. as he laid his burden down in the passage. "It is full of gas. Your friend would have been dead if he had been left there a few minutes longer. We heard him groaning, and broke in just in time to save him. He will come round before long, I hope, now that we have got him out of that choking atmosphere."
Oscar stared at the detective's face as if uncertain to believe him or not, and then turned towards the red-haired man, who at that moment came dashing along the passage.
"It's Kenneth this time, George!" he said; and then with a groan he buried his face in his hands.
Sexton Blake Reveals Himself - His Host's Story - The Five Heirs.
LIKE his companion, the red-haired man was at first inclined to lay the blame for what had happened at the door of Sexton Blake and Tinker: but the detective's quiet story, together with the evidence of his own senses as the fumes of gas spread into the passage, soon convinced him of his mistake.
"But how did you manage to get into the room? " he asked sharply.
"I'll tell you the whole story directly." Blake replied: "but the first thing to do is to at tend to your friend. Where had we better take him; we can't leave him in this icy passage?"
"There's a fire in the sitting-room. We'll carry him down there," the other replied.
Accordingly, wrapping the still unconscious Kenneth in blankets, they carried him along the corridor to the sitting-room, where lights were still burning and a large fire blazing on the hearth.
"Two of us sit here all night to keep watch." Oscar explained, as he saw the detective glance round curiously at the flaring gas-jets.
From the moment that Kenneth had been carried out of his bed-room he had begun to breathe more easily, and it was not long after he had been laid on the sofa before he opened his eyes and looked round him with a bewildered gaze. As soon as he saw that Kenneth was well on the way to recovery. Sexton Blake slipped quietly out of the room and made a careful examination of the gas-bracket which had so nearly been the means of the young man's death, and by the time he re-entered the room he found that the patient was sitting up and able to give an account of his experiences. All he knew about the matter was that he had awakened with a terrible feeling of suffocation: that he had got out of bed intending to call for help, but had lost his senses before he could reach the door. As for the gas, he was perfectly certain that he had turned it off carefully before he got into bed.
There was silence when he had finished, and Sexton Blake noticed that the three men eyed each other with the same look of gloomy distrust, that he had so often remarked in their faces before. Kenneth was the first to speak.
"I suppose the scoundrel—whoever he may he—got into my room and turned the gas on while I was asleep. How he managed it I can't think, for both doors were locked, and I am a very light sleeper."
"You are quite mistaken." Sexton Blake said quietly. "Until we broke open the door you were the only person to enter your room to-night."
"How do you know?" sprang simultaneously to the lips of his hearers as they turned and stared at him sharply.
"I quite agree with you," the detective went on in the same even tone, "that the escape of gas in your room to-night was the deliberate work of a would-be assassin: but he did not go to work in the way you imagine. His plan of operations was much more skilful, and it is quite possible that it was carried out some days ago. What he did was this: He bored a hole in the gas-pipe about two inches from the wall—a hole large enough to allow a considerable quantity of gas to escape; this hole he then filled up with wax, and you can easily see that every time the gas was lighted and the pipe got warmed the wax would begin to melt, until gradually it melted away entirely, when the gas would flow into the room unhindered. That is what happened to-night. If you doubt, it go and look at the hole in the pipe. You will easily see it, although I have stuffed it up for the present: and on the floor beneath the bracket you will find the stain made by the dropping grease."
The three men stared at him in amazement.
Smiling quietly. Sexton Blake took a card from his pocket-book and handed it to Ike red-haired man.
"That is my name," he said. "If you had asked me I should certainly have given it you before."
"Mr. Sexton Blake, the detective?" the other exclaimed.
"ExactlY," Blake replied. "Now that you know who I am, don't you think you would be wise in letting me into the secret of the mystery that overhangs this house. Of course I don't wish to force my services upon you, but I
think I have proved to you that I should be able to be of assistance in the matter."
The three men looked at each other for a moment, and then Oscar said firmly:
"I certainly think that we ought to accept Mr. Sexton Blake's offer. Curiously enough, I was wondering an hour or two ago whether I should write to him and lay the matter before him. As the other detectives have failed so completely in attempting to solve the mystery. I ought to have done so before. What do you say. George?"
"I am quite willing to take Mr. Blake into our confidence," he said.
"And so am I." Kenneth said decidedly.
"Sit down, Mr. Blake," the red-haired man said as he pushed an armchair towards the fire. "I will be as brief as I can, but the story will take a few minutes to tell, and when you have heard it I believe you will forgive the very discourteous reception you met with on your arrival to-night."
"To begin with I must tell you who we are. My own name is George Gilfayne, and these are my cousins, Oscar Neville and Kenneth Brant. The other occupants of the house, whom you have already seen, are my sister Brenda, and our crippled cousin Felix Gilfayne."
"You are, in fact, a family party," Blake nodded.
"Exactly: but as you already know a peculiar family party. And now for the reason of the extraordinary life we lead here. Just five-and twenty years ago there died in Manchester a successful cotton-broker named Joseph Gilfayne, my great-uncle. At the time of his death he was known to have a good round sum invested in excellent securities, and, as he had never married, his brother Walter, who was his only surviving relation, naturally imagined that be would be the sole heir. To his surprise and annoyance, however, Walter Gilfayne discovered that Joseph, who had always been slightly eccentric, had made a peculiar will. He had left his property to accumulate in the hands of trustees for five-and-twenty years. Not a penny of it was to be touched before the time was up, but at the end of the twenty-fifth year the whole sum was to be divided among such of his descendants as were then alive, each taking an equal share."
"I see," Blake said, as George Gilfayne paused. "And the five-and-twenty years are now up? "
"They will he on New Year's Day. it is on January 1st that the distribution of my great-uncle's fortune is to be made between the five persons whom you have met in this house."
"And what is the amount to be divided between you?"
"Roughly speaking, a hundred thousand pounds."
"A hundred thousand pounds. Then, as there are five of you, you will each be entitled to about twenty thousand."
"If there are five of us alive on New Year's Day," Oscar Neville broke in with a forced laugh. "But the chances
are that we shall not all of us be alive when January 1st comes round."
"What Oscar says is true," George Gilfayne went on quietly. "It is very unlikely that we shall all be alive three days from now. Mr. Blake, you yourself have been a witness of the danger that has threatened one of us to-night, so you will know that I am not exaggerating when I tell you that for the past few weeks we have been living in constant fear of our lives. Again and again some such terrible peril has threatened—or seemed to threaten—each in turn. And again and again we have escaped only by the skin of our teeth."
"And bow long has this state of things been going on?" Sexton Blake asked.
"Since the beginning of this month—December. It was on December 2nd that the first attempt was made. Felix was selected as the victim on that occasion."
"The cripple?"
"Yes. His bed-room was set on fire one night after he had fallen asleep, and he would certainly have been suffocated or burned, since be could not find his crutches, and is almost helpless without them, if his valet Morton had not happened to smell the smoke. He hurried upstairs, heard his master's cries, dashed in, and carried Felix out of the burning room only just in time. The fire was got under, but not the slightest clue to its origin could ever be found. Still, it would probably have been considered the result of an accident if it had not been for what has happened since.
"Three days after Felix had so narrowly escaped with his life from fire, I had an equally narrow escape. My sister Brenda and I have been living for the last year or two in a little village in Hertfordshire, not far from Hatfield, and I have been in the habit of bicycling in the morning to catch the train to King's Cross, and bicycling back at night. The distance is nearly three miles each way.
"On the evening of December 5th I was bicycling homewards, and had reached a point on the high-road about a mile and a half from Hatfield, when I heard the rattle of a motor-car behind me, and, looking back, I saw a large and heavy car descending the hill behind me at a terrific speed. I remember thinking how unfair it was to other users of the road to dash through the dark at that pace, and then I turned off at the main road into the lane that formed a short cut to our cottage. I had only got a short distance along it—perhaps thirty to forty yards—when the motor also swung round the corner, and without diminishing its pace in the least, swept towards me down the lane. So narrow was the space between the hedges, and so reckless did the driver seem to be, that I took care to ride almost in the gutter, leaving the road entirely to the car.
"I might as well have saved myself the trouble; for as I looked over my shoulders I saw the huge vehicle suddenly and deliberately swerve to the wrong side of the road, and the next instant I was flying through the air, and lost my senses as I struck the ground with a violent thud.
"When I came to myself, about half an hour later, not a sign of the car was to be seen; the only traces of the accident were my broken bicycle and the injuries I had received—and which, fortunately, though painful, were not very serious. I was able to limp home, and a few days' doctoring set me on my feet again but though I had inquiries made in every direction, the car was never traced, nor to this day have I been able to discover who the man was who deliberately tried to murder me."
"You would not recognise him, I suppose? " the detective asked.
George Gilfayne shook his head.
"He wore goggles, and a coat with a collar turned up over his month. I should not know him from Adam, I am sorry to say," he returned bitterly.
As George Gilfayne rested his head upon his hand and stared moodily at the fire, his cousin, Oscar Neville, took up the story.
"I was the next," he said. "A few days after George's adventure—on December 10th—I got a letter signed by an old college friend of mine, Jack Westbrook. I had been great friends with Jack at the Varsity, and I was horrified to find from his letter that he was in awful trouble. What the trouble was he did not say exactly, but he hinted that he dared not show his face anywhere where he might be recognised, and begged me to meet him that night down by the London docks.
"As I dare say you have guessed already, Mr. Blake, the whole thing was a hoax. I have heard since that Jack Westbrook is doing very well in the diplomatic service; but at the time I was completely taken in, and following the directions given me in the letter. I found myself between eleven and twelve o'clock that night, on a lonely wharf not far from the East India Docks. After I had waited there for about ten minutes, I heard a step behind me. I turned, expecting to see Jack Westbrook, and I received instead a stunning blow on the head with a heavy stick—a blow that sent me toppling backwards over the edge of the wharf. Fortunately, my head is pretty thick, and the tap which was meant to stun me did not quite effect its purpose. The plunge under the water brought me round pretty quickly, and as I am a pretty fair swimmer, I had no difficulty in keeping afloat until I reached some waterside steps. That was my adventure, Mr. Blake, and, like George, I have no idea what my assailant was like, it was dark when he attacked me, and he held his head down, with a cap pulled down right over his eyes and a muffler twisted round his throat and chin."
The detective nodded without making any comment; then he turned to Kenneth Brant.
"And you, Mr. Brant," he asked; "have you ever been attacked before to-night? "
The young man nodded.
"Yes," he said; "it was on December 12th. I was standing on the platform at Clapham Junction waiting for a train back to Victoria. It was between ten and eleven at night, and there was rather a thick fog. The train was late, and I had strolled almost to the end of the platform, and was standing there alone when I saw the lights of the engine appear through the fog. At the same instant a man who had been standing a few paces away from me, still further along the platform, turned suddenly and ran by me—and as he passed he struck out at my head with his clenched fist, and sent me reeling backwards over the edge of the platform on to the track, exactly in the path of the oncoming train. By a piece of good luck, instead of falling across the metals, I fell in between them, so that the train rolled over me without doing me the slightest harm. As soon as it had come to a standstill, I climbed up on to the platform again; but all my attempts to trace my assailant were quite in vain. In the fog and the darkness no one had seen him strike me, and I myself could give only a very vague description of him, since I had never even caught a glimpse of his face.
That was on December 12th," George Wayne went. on. Twenty-four hours later, soon after dusk on the evening of the 13th, my sister Brenda was shot at from behind a thick hedge as she was returning home from the village, which is not much over a quarter of a mile from our cottage. The shots—two were fired—both missed her, and the scoundrel who had fired them took to his heels when he heard someone approaching, and got clear away in the darkness."
The End of the Story - An Anxious Life - A Fruitless Hunt.
THERE was silence for a minute or two after George Gilfayne had finished speaking—a silence during which the detective scanned in turn the face of each of the three cousins.
"But you have not told me," he said at last, "how it is that you come to be living here in this out-of-the-way place, and surrounded by so many precautions?"
"That was my idea in the first place," Oscar Neville replied. "You can imagine, Mr. Blake, that it was not long before we came to the conclusion that these various attempts against our lives were all part of one deep-laid plot; a plot whish has for its object the destruction of some, at least, of the heirs of Joseph Gilfayne. And as we never knew who would be the next victim of the assassin's cunning, or whence the next blow would fall—as the police utterly failed to help us-I suggested that the best thing to do would be to band ourselves together, secure a house standing by itself in a lonely district, and cut ourselves off from the world for the time being—in fact, live in a state of siege until January 1st next."
"Then you believe that the danger will be over on January 1st?"
Neville nodded.
"We do," he said sternly. "We believe that the danger will be over when once our great-uncle's money is divided up amongst his heirs."
"Ah, I understand!" the detective said quietly. "Your theory is that it is one of the five heirs to your great-uncle's property who is trying to increase his own share of the inheritance by lessening the number of those who are to divide it with him? "
"Yes," Neville returned, while his two cousins nodded silently; "that is our theory—and I do not believe any other conclusion is possible, Mr. Blake. No one has anything else to gain by our deaths, and the wording of Joseph Gilfayne's will is explicit—the money is to be divided equally amongst those of his brother's descendants who, on January 1st next, are alive to claim it. The fewer who are alive on that date, the larger will be the share of those who survive. That is clear enough."
"Certainly," Blake agreed. "But there are other things to be taken into consideration. You said Mr. Gilfayne left his property in the hands of trustees. Are you sure that these men have discharged their trust honestly? If not, it would certainly be to their interest not to render an account Of their trusteeship on New Year's Day."
Oscar Neville shook his head.
"We thought of that, Mr. Blake. and the trustees them selves, who are men of unimpeachable honesty, seeing that suspicion might be directed towards them, insisted upon making a full statement of the manner in which the property was invested. No fault can possibly be found with their management of it. No; the criminal must be looked for amongst those who are to benefit by my great-uncle's will—that is to say, among the five persons who during the last week have been living together under this roof, So far he has outwitted all attempts to discover him, and he has even been cunning enough to make it appear that he shares the perils of those he is trying to destroy."
"I see," Sexton Blake returned. "Then, besides cutting yourselves off from the world outside, you are constantly keeping watch upon each other."
"Yes." George Gilfayne replied. "Since we came here. just a week ago, we have been constantly on the alert. Two of us always keep watch the whole night through—never one alone, for we dare not trust each other so far. Mr. Blake, you cannot imagine how terrible this strain of constant watching is; how dreadful it is to he always out the look-out for some fresh danger; to be always scanning the faces of your companions—even those you have known and trusted all your life—for some sign of treachery. If I am alive when New Year's Day dawns. I shall thank Heaven, not only for my life, but because this horrible and torturing time of suspicion and anxiety is at an end at last."
The man's face confirmed his words. Unusually strong though he was, it was clear that the strain of a ceaseless suspense was begin big to tell even on his iron nerves.
"In spite of all our vigilance." he went on. "we have not yet discovered the slightest clue to the miscreant, though tonight's work shows only too clearly that he has not yet abandoned the hope of succeeding in his horrible plans. Now, Mr. Blake, you know the whole story, and you understand why it was that we treated you with such discourtesy when you arrived here to-night."
A rough welcome was quite excusable under the circumstances," the detective returned; "for all you knew I might have been the accomplice of your enemy inside the house."
"That was my first idea." George Gilfayne admitted; "ridiculous as it seems now."
"I am going to offer you a bit of advice, if you will allow me," Sexton Blake went on; "and that is that you all three take a few hours' sleep; I can see that you all need it badly; and while you are resting you can trust us to keep watch."
The three men hesitated for a moment; they had been so long accustomed to suspect everybody that, although they had no doubt of Sexton Blake's identity, they found it difficult even to trust him. The detective noticed their hesitation, and smiled as he went on:
"Do just as you like, of course. If you had rather not trust us to prowl about the place by ourselves, I shall not he in the least offended, I assure you. At the same time, you must understand that if I am to undertake this case. I must -undertake it in my own way, and I shall expect to have a perfectly free hand."
"That is only fair," George Gilfayne said slowly.
"At present," Blake went on, "I am in the same position as yourselves—I suspect everyone and no one; but I hope and believe that if von allow me to follow out my own methods unhindered, I shall he able to lay my finger upon the guilty perty before many days—perhaps before many hours—are over."
"I sincerely hope that von are not mistaken, Mr. Blake." Oscar Neville said, with a heavy sigh. "I, for one, am quite ready to place myself under your orders."
"And so am I," Kenneth Brant exclaimed eagerly; while Gilfayne also nodded his assent.
"Very well," the detective said, smiling; "then my orders are that you take as much rest as you can to-night, and hand me over the keys to the various doors, as I intend to make a thorough exploration of the house at once. Before you go, however, there are one or two questions I should like to ask you. The first is, how came you to fix on this particular house?"
"We put an advertisement in the daily papers," Gilfayne replied, "stating that we required a furnished house right in the country which we could enter into possession of immediately. We received replies from several house-agents, and as this sounded the sort of place we wanted, we decided to come here as soon as the bargain was settled. We all travelled down from London exactly a week ago."
"And no one except yourselves has entered the house from the time you took it?"
"No one except my cousin Felix's valet Morton, who came down with him and left the next morning."
"That was the man who saved his life?"
"Yes, He has been with Felix for some time, and nursed him through a long illness. Felix. who is able to do very little for himself, was most unwilling to part with the man, and wanted to allow him to remain here with him; but, having talked the matter over, we came to the conclusion that no one but ourselves must be allowed in the house. As Felix was out of health, Morton travelled down with him, and left in time to catch the first train in the morning."
"Exactly. And you hold no communication even with tradespeople?"
"No. We brought down a stock of provisions from London—quite sufficient to last us till the New Year—so as to avoid having any dealings at all with any human beings. Until you arrived to-night the only person who has been near the house was the postman."
"Thank you," the detective nodded, "that is all I wanted to know to-night. except that I should be glad if you would show me where your various bed-rooms are. By the way, you had better change yours, Mr. Brant—you may as well take ours for to-night as Tinker and I shall have no use for it at present."
Accordingly. Kenneth Brant took possession of the room which earlier in the evening had been allotted to Sexton Blake and Tinker, but which during the last hour or so had been occupied only by Pedro—whom the detective now released and brought down to the sitting-room.
"Well, sir, and what do you make of it all?" the boy asked eagerly, as soon as they were alone.
Sexton Blake shook his head thoughtfully.
"At present I'm in the dark, Tinker. The only thing we can do to-night is to make a thorough examination of the house. To-morrow night we may learn something if those signal-lights that we saw to-night are repeated."
Tinker nodded.
"I noticed that you didn't mention that we'd seen them," he said.
"No: we've got to suspect everybody for the present, and, therefore, to take nobody into our confidence. Those lights make it clear that one of our five hosts has an accomplice outside, and if we can lay our hands on that accomplice—as I intend to do before another twenty-four hours are over—we shall probably lay hands at the same time on the clue to the mystery. Meanwhile, here are the keys, and we had better reconnoitre—it is possible that we may find something that will put us on the right track."
But in this expectation they were doomed to be disappointed. The closest investigation failed to reveal any clue, even the slightest, and, having practically examined the whole place from garret to cellar, they returned to the sitting-room—-glad of its cheerful warmth after the cold atmosphere of cellars and corridors. Tinker curled himself up on the sofa in front of the fire and was soon asleep. but there was little sleep that night for Sexton Blake. Until the first cold rays of dawn began to peep in at the window he sat staring intently at the fire, his head resting upon his hands and his brow wrinkled in thought.
The Explosion - Tinker's Narrow Escape.
SOON after eight o'clock in the morning the household was astir. The first to enter the sitting-room was Brenda Gilfayne, who came up to the detective with her hand outstretched.
"Mr. Blake," she said frankly," my brother has just been telling me who you are, and also of your kind offer to help us. I feel we owe you a humble apology for the discourteous way we received you last night." _
"Please say no more about that, Miss Gilfayne," the detective said kindly, while he noted the intense pallor of he girl's face and the dark rings round her eyes, the result of sleeplessness and anxiety. "If I can help you be sure I will—and I believe I can. So keep up your courage and hope for the best."
The girl smiled faintly as she turned to busy herself with laying the table for breakfast—a task in which Tinker promptly offered his assistance. One by one the other members of the household put in an appearance—and one by one Sexton Blake scanned their faces with his keen eyes for some sigh of guilt, and in each case had to confess himself
baffled. Of Kenneth Brant's innocence he felt certain; it was impossible to suspect his narrow escape on the night before of being a put-up job. Which of those four others was it then. Who had flashed the signals to an accomplice on the hillside? Surely not the girl, the detective thought, as be watched her pale, nervous face, which lit up when one of Tinker's sallies made her forget her troubles for the moment. To imagine that such a gentle. sweet-faced woman would take part in a horrible plot, which had greed and murder for its object, was almost ridiculous. That, being the case there remained only the three other men, Oscar Neville, George Gilfayne, and the crippled Felix. Yet the stories of the former two had both rung true—their voices had the note of truth in them, and their faces bore unmistakable signs of continued anxiety. As for the cripple, Blake would have dismissed the idea of his guilt at once, so frail and helpless did he seem, had it not been for the certainty that the criminal, whoever he was, was acting with the aid of an accomplice. Yet, even remembering that, the detective found it hard to reconcile the idea of deliberate murder with the invalid's gentle manners and patient expression.
"It's the most puzzling problem I've had to tackle for a long time," he said to himself. "I fancy to-night will solve it once for all, and I suppose I must wait in patience till then."
While Sexton Blake was taking stock of his hosts, Tinker and Brenda Gilfayne were bustling to and fro, putting on the kettle and preparing the morning meal.
"I see we want some more coals," the girl said, as she shovelled all that remained in the coal-box on to the fire. "Will one of you fetch them up "
"I will." Tinker replied readily. "I know where the coal-cellar is."
And picking up the empty coal-box and a candle from he mantelpiece he ran downstairs to the basement, which he and the detective had thoroughly explored a few hours before.
"Your friend is bent on making himself useful," Brenda Gilfayne said to the detective, when Tinker had vanished. "It is a shame to let him do all the work when he must be so tired."
"I am sure he is only too glad to help." the detective replied. "And as to being tired, Tinker and I are both used to doing without a night's rest now and again—Good heavens, what is that?"
He broke off and started to his feet as a sudden dull roar filled the air, while at the same time the windows rattled violently, and from garret to cellar the house shook as if in the throes of an earthquake.
With white, questioning faces the five occupants of the room stared at each other for a second; then Sexton Blake dashed for the door with Neville, Brent, and George Gilfayne at his heels.
"Tinker, Tinker, lad, what has happened? Where are you?" the detective cried, as he tore down the stairs. There was no answer but as he reached the head of the steps leading down to the kitchen a heavy cloud of smoke came curling up into the hall.
"Fetch a light—quick " Blake shouted, to those behind him, as, without an instant's hesitation, he plunged down the steps. The basement was in utter darkness, for the windows on the lower floors were all heavily shuttered, add Tinker's candle had, doubtless, been extinguished by the force of the explosion, for not a flicker shone through the gloom as the detective groped his way down the steps and along the flagged passage leading to the cellar-door. So thick were the stifling fumes that before he had gone very far the detective, afraid of being overcome by them, had to halt and tie a handkerchief over his mouth and nose; thee he pushed on again, and he had, as he judged, almost reached the cellar when he stumbled over a figure lying in a huddled heap on the stone floor. Bending down he gathered the lad into his arms and dashed back along the passage and up the stairs, reaching the hall just as Oscar Neville came hurrying towards him with a candle.
Sexton Blakes gathered the lad into his arms and
dashed back along the passage towards the stairs.
"What has happened? Is be much hurt?" the three men asked anxiously.
"I can't say yet," the detective replied between his teeth, as carrying the helpless boy in his arms he pushed past them, and hurrying into the sitting-room, laid Tinker on the sofa. The lad's free was deathly white and blood was trickling from a cut in his forehead, while his clothes smelt strongly of singeing. Brenda Gilfayne uttered a cry of horror.
"Some water, please. Miss Gilfayne—at once! Ah, thank Heaven!"
For Tinker had stirred and uttered a groan, and the next moment, as Blake held the water to his lips, he opened his eyes and stared round him in a bewildered fashion.
"It's all right, sir," he said, smiling faintly; "don't you worry. I don't think there's any bones broken: 1 shall be all right in a minute or two."
He took a long gulp at the water and then pulled himself up into a sitting position on the cushions. Blake drew a long breath of relief.
"No, I don't think there's much harm done," he said, "but tell me what happened, Tinker? There was an explosion—"
"I should think there was," the boy said, interrupting him. There was an explosion, and a mighty fine one it was as far as my recollection goes. I thought the whole house was coming down about my ears, and then I felt myself lifted off my feet and banged against something—a wall, I suppose—and I don't remember anything else."
"But what caused the explosion?" George Gilfayne asked.
"I'll tell you exactly what happened," the boy replied. "As you know, I went down into the cellar for some coal. I put down the coal-box on the floor and the candle beside it, and as the coal was in pretty big chunks I took up a hammer that was lying in a corner, meaning to smash up the blocks with it. I set to work on one big chunk, gave it a couple of good hard thwacks—and then as it spluttered there was a blaze of light and a roar that nearly deafened me. The whole place seemed to rock, and I was lifted off my feet and hurled through the air backwards. I had just time to think that I was done for, and then came a tremendous thump, and I didn't know any more till I opened my eyes again and found myself here."
"You must have been blown through the open door in the cellar into the passage," the detective said, "for you were lying outside the door when I found you. You've had a narrow escape. It's lucky you got off with a few bruises and a scratch or two."
Tinker nodded.
"Next time you're getting a load of dynamite, Miss Gilfayne," he said cheerfully. "if you will take my advice you won't have it stacked with the coals. They don't seem to mix well, somehow."
"You see, Mr. Blake," George Gilfayne said bitterly, "our enemy is at work again. The time is drawing on. There are only three more days till January 1st. He knows he must strike soon if he is to strike at all."
"Well. I say this for him—he strikes pretty hard when he does strike," Tinker rejoined, ruefully rubbing the back of his head on which a lump the size of an egg Was rising.
Sexton Blake made no reply. Taking up the candle which Oscar Neville had blown out, he re-lit it and once more descended the stairs to the cellar. The heavy clouds of vapour had began to disperse, and the atmosphere of the basement was quite bearable when the detective entered it. Some of the coal which had been spattered about the cellar by the force of the explosion was still smouldering, and Blake's first action was to fill a pail of water at the scullery tap and pour it over the smoking fuel. That done, he set to work to search for some remains of the infernal machine which had so nearly proved fatal to his assistant. Nor was it long before he made a find in the shape of a torn and twisted fragment of tin—all that was left of the metal case that had doubtless contained the explosive. Examining it carefully, he noticed that a small piece of wire was still hanging to it, and after a careful search he discovered a similar piece of wire protruding from under a piece of coal. He attempted to pull it out, but failed, and moving the coal away he discovered that the end of the wire was tightly wound round a large brass-headed nail that had been driven firmly into a chink in the cellar flooring.
"H'm." he muttered to himself, "the scoundrel was evidently determined to leave as little as possible to chance. It is easy enough to see why he took the precaution of nailing his infernal machine to the ground. If anyone saw it lying amongst the coal, and tried to pick it up, and tugged sharply at the wire, the jerk would probably be quite sufficient to explode the bomb. It strikes me that I have a very clever scoundrel to deal with."
Sexton Blake did not leave the cellar until he had assured himself by long and careful search that there was no second infernal machine concealed anywhere about it. Having completely satisfied himself on that point, and also ascertained that no other clue to the assassin's identity was to be obtained in the cellar, he washed away the traces of his search and once again mounted the stairs to the upper part of the house.
Blake's Expedition - The Mysterious Stranger - A Struggle in the Snow.
THE rest of the day passed quietly enough. The keenest watchfulness on the part of the detective failed to find anything suspicious in the conduct of his five hosts, who on their side seemed to be occupied in distrustfully watching each other. The terrible strain was evidently telling on them, and especially on Brenda Gilfayne, who started and shivered at every sound.
By Blake's advice Tinker went early to bed, and soon after ten Blake himself bade good-night to the household and entered the room where Tinker was already sleeping soundly. Taking care not to rouse the boy, Blake flung himself, carefully dressed, on his own bed, closed his eyes, and soon was fast asleep—to wake, as long habit had taught him to, at the moment he wished, just as the clock on the mantelpiece was chiming the hour of midnight. Crossing the floor quietly, he laid a hand on the sleeping boy's shoulder.
"Time to turn out. Tinker," he said; "move as softly as you can. Kenneth Brant and George Gilfayne are on the watch to-night, and I don't want them to hear us."
"Right you are," the boy whispered back as he tumbled out of bed and began to slip into his clothes.
While he was doing so Blake donned his overcoat and twisted a thick muffler round his neck.
"We're going out, then?" Tinker asked.
"I am," the detective replied. "You've got to stay here, Tinker. I trust you to find out who flashes the signals from the window while I go in search of the gentleman who signal from outside. Of course, its quite on the cards that there may be no signals to-night at all; but we've got to chance that, and I expect myself that two accomplices communicate with each other every night. Now, what you are to do is this. The signals, as you know, were flashed last night from a window at the end of the passage. Close by that window there is a cupboard; it is empty and, as I took care to see before I came to bed, unlocked."
"And I am to take up my quarters in the cupboard and keep my eye on the window?"
"Exactly. If anyone does leave their room and come down the corridor to the window, you can't fail to see them, You must be careful, though, to get to the cupboard unseen. remember that Brant and Gilfayne are sitting up and on the alert for the slightest sound."
"Trust me," Tinker nodded. "It's early yet, though, only a few minutes past twelve, and it was after two last night when we saw the lights."
"I know that; but we'd better be too early than too late, though I expect the signals are always made at the same time. Besides, I must leave myself plenty of time to get over yonder and find cover before the fellow arrives, so I shall be off at once."
As he spoke the detective gently raised the window and glanced over the sill at the ground below.
"A couple of sheets will reach far enough." he said, as he pulled the coverings of the beds and began to knot them firmly together. "Haul up the rope when I'm gone in case anyone should look out and spot it. If you see nothing, wait till four o'clock, and then slip back into the room as soon as you can do so unobserved. If I have been equally unlucky. I shall be under the window by that time. and you can let down the rope to me."
"Very well," the boy replied. "But what am I to do if I spot someone coming to the window—rouse the house or say nothing?"
"Say nothing till I come back," the detective replied as he knotted his improvised rope to the end of one of the beds. "I hope when I do come back that we shall hold all the threads of the conspiracy in our bands: but till we are sure of that, hold your tongue. Now, then, I'm off."
And after a cautious glance out of the window, the detective gripped the sheet firmly, slipped off the sill and lowered himself noiselessly to the ground below. Keeping in the shadow, he crept along by the house, and then darted swiftly across a patch of moonlight into the black shade cast by a row of firs, and vanished from Tinker's sight.
The boy lost no time in hauling in the rope and gently closing the window; then, creeping to the door, he stood listening at it for a minute or two before cautiously turning the handle. The corridor outside was in complete darkness, but Tinker had barely made a step in the direction of the stairs leading to the upper floor when he heard footsteps, and he had only just time to dart back into his room before the door of the sitting-room opened and Kenneth Brant and George Gilfayne came out into the passage.
"Going their rounds. I suppose," the boy said to himself. "Well, I must wait till they come back again, that's all."
For nearly twenty minutes he remained crouching just inside the door, while now and again distant sounds told him that the two watchers were moving about the house. At the end of that time he heard them returning along the passage, slowly, and halting now and again to try the fastenings of a window or a door, and at last the sitting-room door opened and closed again. Not till five minutes later did Tinker venture to open his own door and creep on tiptoe towards the stairs. Moving noiselessly, he gained the upper storey, crept softly along the passage, and slipped into the cupboard by the corridor window, leaving the door an inch or so open. It was not till some time after he had entered his hiding-place that he heard the clock in the hall strike one, so that, as he did not expect anything to happen for another hour at least, he resigned himself to a long and rather chilly period of waiting.
Meanwhile, Sexton Blake was making his way down the valley towards the spot from which the signal-lights had flashed out on the previous night. Though it was probably less than half a mile from the house as the crow flies, it took the detective more than half an hour to reach it, since he took the greatest precaution to keep to the shadow and avoid the open, where the bright moonlight would certainly have revealed his presence as he walked over the white carpet of snow which still lay thickly upon the moors.
The detective had taken the further precaution of bringing his revolver—which he had that morning got back from George Gilfayne—and as he neared the clump of fir-trees in which he had determined to take up his stand, he gripped it firmly, ready for action in case of need. But, except the faint crunch of his own footsteps on the snow, not a sound broke the silence as he crept into the dark shadow cast by the trees.
Very slowly the time went by. In spite of his thick coat, Sexton Blake shivered in the icy cold, but he dared not move about, and motionless as a statue he waited, leaning against the trunk of a tree. He was beginning to be afraid that his cold watch would be a fruitless one when suddenly he started and listened intently as a faint sound fell upon his ears—the sound of feet crunching over the frozen snow.
Nearer and nearer it came, and then round the corner of the clump of fir-trees there emerged into sight the figure of a man who came to a halt only a few paces from the spot at which Sexton Blake was crouching in the snow. The stranger's first action was to put down at his feet the dark lantern that he had been carrying; his next to draw out his watch and glance at it.
"Five minutes yet," the detective heard him mutter as he stamped his feet vigorously on the frozen ground.
From his hiding-place Sexton Blake could see the stranger perfectly, and the moonlight falling on his face showed him to be a young man of perhaps seven or eight-and-twenty. He was strongly though slightly built, and—as the detective's keen eye noted at once—looked as if he might prove a formidable antagonist in a tussle. He was evidently under no apprehension of being discovered, for as he strode up and down in front of the trees he whistled the air of a music-hall song. Twice before the five minutes were up he drew out his watch and looked at it; then as a third glance told him that the minute had come, he snatched up his lantern, and holding it on a level with his head he drew back the shutter, and let the yellow rays stream out over the snow. Shutting them off, he repeated the action three times, and then bent forward to gaze at the distant house in an attitude that betrayed keen anxiety. Blake could see that the hand that still held the lantern was shaking violently, and when after a delay of several seconds the answering signal flashed out a deep sigh of relief burst from the watcher's lips.
"Good!" the detective heard him murmur.
He waited motionless until some time after the three answering signals had ceased, and then, turning on his heel, was about to set out on his return journey, when he started at the sound of a footstep behind him, and, wheeling round, found himself face to face with Sexton Blake, as the detective strode out from the shelter of the trees to detain him.
With a cry of amazement the young man staggered back a pace: then before the detective had had time to utter a word the expression on his face changed from astonishment to fury, and with a fierce cry of rage he sprang at Sexton Blake like a wild beast. So swift and unexpected was his action that before the detective could raise his hand in self-defence his assailant's fingers were gripping him tightly round the throat. Even then Sexton Blake could easily have turned the tables by using his revolver; but he hesitated to do so, not only because the last thing he wished to do at that moment was to kill his antagonist, but because the latter was evidently armed with no more formidable weapon than his fists.
"Sneak, spy!" the stranger hissed between his teeth, as he and the detective swayed to and fro wrestling fiercely for the mastery. "I'll stand this no longer! By heavens, I'll make you pay, even though you are—"
His sentence came to an abrupt end as Sexton Blake's foot slipped on the snow and he and his opponent crashed down into a clump of brushwood. The stranger was uppermost, and with a hoarse shout of triumph he took advantage of the fact by planting his knee on the detective's chest and gripping his throat with both hands. The fall had jerked the revolver from Blake's hand, and he was thus absolutely at the mercy of his opponent.
The stranger's broken words showed the detective plainly enough that his opponent mistook him for someone else—a mistake which was easy to understand since Blake's back had been turned to the light when they met, and his face was therefore in deep shadow. But even if an explanation was any good it was quite impossible to give it under the circumstances, since, with his antagonist's powerful fingers compressing his windpipe, it was all the detective could do to breathe, let alone speak. Nor was there any likelihood of the stranger discovering the error. for the spot upon which the pair had fallen was plunged in the deep shadows cast by the fir-trees.
As he struggled vainly to free himself the detective bitterly regretted the mistaken generosity which had prevented him making use of his revolver earlier in the fray. It actually seemed for a moment as though his antagonist intended to strangle him, and then—just as the detective was turning black in the face with his efforts to get his breath—he felt the terrible hold upon his throat relax, and without a word his assailant leaped to his feet and darted away over the snow. And as Sexton Blake started up he saw the flying figure of his enemy hurrying up the slope of the hill as fast as his legs could carry him.
The Pursuit - The Stranger's Escape - What Tinker Saw.
SEXTON BLAKE'S first move was to pick up his fallen weapon, his next to glance round for the cause of his antagonist's sudden flight. Something must have alarmed the man, he supposed—he must have seen or heard someone approaching. But to his astonishment the detective found that no one was in sight. And listen as he might, no sound reached his ears except the crunch of his enemy's flying footsteps, growing fainter with every moment. So far as Blake could make out there was absolutely no reason at all for his extraordinary flight. Moved by some mysterious impulse the stranger had suddenly taken to his heels in the very moment of victory.
Needless to say, Sexton Blake had no intention of allowing his strange antagonist to slip through his fingers if he could help it, and he promptly set out in pursuit of his flying enemy. The latter had made a good use of his start—further, the smart pace at which he went on the snow-covered hill showed that he was in excellent training, and it was as much as Sexton Blake could do to prevent him from increasing his lead. A glance thrown hack from over his shoulder having shown him that the detective was in hot pursuit, he redoubled his efforts to escape, and by the time that Blake had reached the brow of the hill he was already half-way down the slope on the other side. Helter-skelter pursuer and pursued charged down the hill, and fortune so far favoured the detective that before he reached the bottom the fugitive slipped on the slippery ground and went sprawling on all fours. He was up again directly, but the delay had enabled Sexton Blake to gain upon him, and only a few yards now separated the pair.
"Stop, or I fire!" the detective shouted.
The fugitive paid no heed to the order, though he must have heard it plainly enough. The only effect it had on him was to cause him to quicken his speed still more, if that were possible, Unwilling to run the risk of killing the man—since it was difficult to get a steady aim while both were running at full speed—Sexton Blake hesitated for a moment, and then, as he saw that the fugitive was beginning to draw ahead, fired, but purposely wide of the mark, hoping that the report of the revolver would frighten the stranger into coming to a halt. But in this hope he was disappointed; the young man merely turned his head over his shoulder for an instant, and then continued to dash ahead at the top of his speed.
By this time they had almost reached the bottom of the hill and were plunging into the comparative darkness that covered the lower part of the valley. By a desperate effort Blake had again lessened the distance between himself and the fugitive, and he was only two or three yards behind him when for the second time he saw the young man stagger and slip, though this time he did not loose his footing entirely. Almost in the same instant Sexton Blake slipped and floundered, for in the darkness the pair had unawares run on to the surface of the sheet of ice which now covered the pond that lay at the bottom of the valley.
Whether the ice was strong enough to bear their weight neither pursuer nor pursued stopped to inquire; it was enough for Sexton Blake that the fugitive was endeavouring to cross it, and the chase continued, though much more slowly than before.
Slipping and sliding, they gained a distance of some yards from the shore, when suddenly an ominous crack rang out, and Blake felt the ice tremble beneath his feet, and before he could pull up he found himself struggling in the water. The stranger, more fortunate than he, had just managed to get over the dangerous spot before the ice broke.
Luckily for the detective the pool was a shallow one, and even after the winter's rains it was not much more than five feet in depth. Blake went under, but was upon his feet in a moment, and as he shook the water out of his eyes he saw that the stranger had halted and was looking back at him. As soon, however, as he saw the detective try to struggle out of the water on to the ice, he turned on his heels with a derisive laugh, and, hastening off, was soon lost to sight in the darkness.
Though not actually dangerous, Sexton Blake's position was sufficiently unpleasant. He was up to the shoulders in ice-cold water, deep enough to make it a matter of difficulty to scramble out of it on to the sheet of thin ice around, which broke away at the edges every time the detective tried to hoist himself on to it. It was not until he had been shivering in his cold bath for nearly five minutes that he at last succeeded in gaining a footing on the ice. Long before then, of course, the fugitive had completely vanished.
"Hard luck," the detective muttered as, with his teeth clanking like castanets. he wrung the water out of his dripping garments. "It's no goad trying to follow him now; besides, my clothes would freeze on me. I must trust to Pedro picking up his trail to-morrow. I had better get back to the house as fast as I can, and find out whether Tinker has had better luck than I have."
Accordingly, twenty minutes later found him under the window of his bed-room, against which be flung a handful of gravel. He was more than half afraid that the boy might still be on the watch in the passage and not within hearing, and it was with a sigh of relief that he saw the sash open and the knotted sheets dangling over the window-sill. His hands and feet were so numb—for the atmosphere was some degrees below freezing-point, and his clothes were already stiffening on him—that it was only with difficulty that he hauled himself up the rope and scrambled into the room.
"Hallo, sir; been having a. bath?" Tinker said, as he helped the detective over the sill. "Never mind, I've made up a roaring fire; I guessed you'd be cold when you came in. Now then, what's your news?" he went on as Blake began to strip off his soaking clothes.
"Let's hear yours first," the detective returned. "You've got some. I suppose?"
The lad nodded.
"Yes, I have," he replied; "and I think it will surprise you a bit, guv'nor."
"Well, what is it? Go on!"
"I hid myself all right in the cupboard," the boy replied, "and waited there about an hour before anything happened; and jolly cold it was. At last, when I was beginning to think that there would be no signals that night I heard a noise—a creak as if someone had trodden on a loose board. I listened with all my ears, you bet, and sure enough in a minute more I heard footsteps creeping along the passage. Soon I could hear someone breathing just outside the cupboard door, and then, very slowly and cautiously, the person-moved on and stood between me and the window. The moonlight was streaming in and I could see clearly enough."
"Well, who was it?" the detective asked sharply.
"Miss Gilfayne," Tinker returned.
"Miss Gilfayne—Brenda Gilfayne?"
"Yes."
"And she flashed the signals from the window?"
"I'll tell you just what happened. She crept up to the window and stood looking out; then, all of a sudden. I heard her give a gasp, and she turned round and darted back along the corridor. At the same time I heard voices and footsteps on the stairs, so I guessed what had happened. George Gilfayne and Kenneth Brant were having a good look round. I suppose she had gone back to her bed-room, but, as you know, it is at the other end of the house, and she must have seen that she could not reach it without meeting her brother and Brant, for in a moment she came hurrying back to the window. I saw her wring her hands, and she whispered something like 'What am I to do?' Then she must have seen that the cupboard door was just ajar, for she rushed towards it, flung it open, and darted in—"
"And saw you?" the detective asked.
"No; she didn't. The cupboard is a good big one, and as I saw her coming, I stepped back to the further end of it. As she was only just inside the door, she hadn't the slightest idea that she wasn't alone. She kept the door just an inch or so ajar, and stood listening; and I could hear that her breath was coming in quick little gasps as if she was horribly frightened. Meanwhile, we could hear Brant and Gilfayne moving about in the corridor; and at last they came close up, and a chink of light showed through the door. If Miss Gilfayne had turned round now she might have seen me, but she didn't stir; she stood motionless and stiff as if with fright. I thought each moment that someone would open the door and look into the cupboard, but after they had walked to the end of the corridor, I heard Kenneth Brant tell Gilfayne that he must have imagined that he heard footsteps and that boards often creak of themselves in old houses like this. After that, they turned and wont downstairs again; and when we heard the sitting-room door shut behind them, Miss Gilfayne gave a great sigh of relief. Then she opened the door very gently, slipped out of it, and stood by the window again. I should think she stood there nearly ten minutes without moving. I noticed that she was holding something in her hand, and at last she raised it, and I saw it was a dark lantern. She looked over her shoulder down the corridor, and then snapped back the shutter three times, just as we saw it done the other night. When she had closed the lantern, she crept back along the passage after I had waited about a quarter of an hour, I stole out of the clipboard and sneaked back here. That's my story, guv'nor! Now, what's yours?"
In a few words the detective told the story of his encounter with the stranger, the latter's flight, and the unlucky chance which had enabled him to make good his escape.
"Pedro will help us to find him to-morrow, Tinker, and, meanwhile, remember, not a syllable to anyone!"
The boy nodded.
"Mum's the word." he said. "But I say, guv'nor, what's your idea about Miss Gilfayne? She seems such an awfully decent sort—unless I'd seen her with my own eyes, I could never have believed it! And it's too horrible to think of her plotting against her own brother's life—a girl like "
Sexton Blake smiled quietly.
"Appearances don't go for much," he said. "I doubt if you could find a single really successful criminal who did not owe a good deal of his success to the possession of a seemingly open face and frank manners. All the same, I should be the last to condemn Miss Gilfayne on such evidence as there is against her. We have a good deal to learn yet before we pronounce anyone innocent or guilty."
"The first thing will be, I suppose, to follow up this fellow who escaped you—if we can catch him."
"Exactly. If he is anywhere in the neighbourhood, Pedro will find him for us in the morning. Meanwhile, I'm going to turn in and sleep, and I advise you to do the same."
On the Track - Foiled Again -
A Deadly Gift - The Coral Snake.
HIS icy bath had no effect upon the iron constitution of the detective, and the sun had not yet appeared over the horizon when, fresh and fit as ever, he walked into the sitting-room and asked George Gilfayne for the key of the front door.
"The front door?" Gilfayne repeated. "Surely you don't mean that, you are leaving us?"
"Only for a few hours," Blake returned. "We shall be back by midday—perhaps sooner."
"You are going to follow up a clue?" Gilfayne asked eagerly.
"What may or may not prove to be one." the detective returned, with a shrug of the shoulders. "1 can say no more at present."
And with that Gilfayne and Kenneth had to be content.
Five minutes later, Blake, Tinker, and Pedro were hurrying down the valley in the direction of the scene of the previous night's struggle. It was still nearly dark, and Blake carried a lantern. By its aid he had no difficulty in picking out the foot-marks of the stranger, clearly visible in the snowy ground.
Pedro quickly understood what was expected of him, and with a deep bay he started off along the trail. As long as it ran over the snowy moorland they could have followed it easily enough with his help, but shortly after they had passed the pond, round which they made a detour, easily picking up the scent on the other side, they found that the fugitive had struck a narrow road, upon whose frozen surface his feet had left no trace. For more than half an hour they followed the windings of the road, which finally came to an end before an isolated farmhouse perched on a hillside.
"If I had known we had such a short distance to go. I should have started out directly I got back," Blake remarked, as he swung the farmyard gate wide open; "but I thought we might be some hours before we ran our man to earth; and I wanted some sleep to fit me for the job. Good-morning," he went on, raising his hat, as the furious barking of a watch-dog brought the farmer's wife to the door. "Is the gentleman who is lodging with you up yet?"
"Mr. Wilmot, you mean?" the woman replied.
"Yes; Mr. Wilmot. I want to speak to him at once."
"You can't do that," was the answer. "He started off to walk to Ridgwick more than an hour ago."
"To Ridgwick?"
"Yes; to catch the morning train—the seven o'clock. He found he had to go back to Lunnen all of a sadden—summat to do wi' the newspaper he writes for. I suppose. But he left a letter for you—leastways, I suppose it's for you. He said I was to give it to a gentleman as might come here asking about him. Here it is!"
And, turning to the mantelpiece, she took from it an envelope and placed it in Sexton Blake's hands.
The detective turned it over curiously. There was no address of any kind—the envelope wan perfectly blank. Tearing it open, he took out a sheet of paper, on which was written, in bold penmanship, the following words:
"You need not trouble to watch to-night: there will be no more signals. I am leaving here, but not because I am afraid of you. Our meeting last night will have shown you that you were lucky to get off as lightly as you did. It was not for your own sake that I did not treat you as you deserve."
That was all—neither commencement nor signature. Sexton Blake read the lines through twice, and then folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket.
"That's all right! Much obliged to you," he said. "Bet he has forgotten to give me his London address. Did he leave it with you?"
"No, sir," was the reply. "He went off in such a hurry that I clean forgot to ask him for it."
"It doesn't matter. I shall hear from him before long," the detective said carelessly. "Wilmot tells me that he has been very comfortable in your house, Mrs. —"
"Mercer, sir."
"Mrs. Mercer. You usually take lodgers. I suppose?"
"Well, not as a general rule," was the reply, "thought we're glad enough to get 'em. We're a bit out of the way for lodgers, though we have had one or two in the summer now and again. Mr. Wilmot is the first that has ever stayed here in the winter. If you knew of anyone as you could recommend the place to, sir, I'll be much obliged. We've a nice big bed-room to let."
"Supposing you let me have a look at it?" Blake returned.
"It's untidy just now," Mrs. Mercer said. doubtfully. "Mr. Wilmot only left it an hour ago."
"Oh, of course, I understand that. Never mind about the untidiness," Blake said, as he followed Mrs. Mercer up the stairs into the large bed-room which had been occupied by Mr. Wilmot.
"It's a nice room when it's in order," Mrs. Mercer said apologetically. "I put a table in for Mr. Wilmot to do his writing at."
"Ah, yes, a very nice room," the detective said, as he walked over to the table upon which still stood an inkstand and open blotting-book. "Well, if I hear of anyone wanting country lodgings, I'll be sure to mention your name, Mrs Mercer."
"Thank you, sir! Staithes Farm is the address—Staithes Farm near Thorpe Ashley."
A couple of minutes later Blake and Tinker had bidden Mrs. Mercer "Good-morning" and were starting upon their homeward journey; the detective with a straight line between his brows which, as Tinker knew well, meant annoyance.
"Hard luck the fellow slipping through our fingers like that," the boy said, as the gate swung to behind them.
"You're making a mistake," the detective returned. "He hasn't slipped through our fingers; I can put my hand on him whenever I want!"
A question sprang to the boy's lips, but he checked it as he saw by the look in Blake's eyes that he was thinking deeply; and in silence they strode along the moorland track—a silence that remained, unbroken until, as they reached the crest of a hill, the house came in sight.
"Hallo, there's someone on ahead of us!" Tinker exclaimed, pointing to a figure that was tramping along a quarter of a mile away. "The postman, I suppose; he's the only visitor we have."
Tinker was right. The visitor was the postman, whom they overtook just as he turned in at the gate.
He glanced at them curiously as he returned their "Good-morning," for rumours of the strange seclusions in which the inhabitants of the house lived had already spread through the neighbourhood. His double knock—for he had a parcel as well as some letters to deliver—soon brought Kenneth Brant to the door. As he took the letters from the postman, Brant gave an inquiring glance at Sexton Blake; but the detective took no notice of it, and, still with a thoughtful frown on his face, followed his companion into the sitting-room. The rest of the household were there, seated at breakfast, and Brent went round the table handing the letters to each in turn.
"A parcel for you, Felix!" he said, placing an oblong parcel wrapped in brown paper and tightly knotted with string beside the cripple's plate. "A New Year's present come a little too soon."
"Don't know the writing," Felix returned, as he turned the parcel over. "It looks like a child's." He severed the string with a knife, and then slowly unwound the brown paper, revealing a good-sized cigar-box, also tied with string. "Cigars!" Felix said in a tone of disgust. "What fool has taken it into his head to send me a box of cigars when I never smoke—Ah!"
The sentence ended in a wild shriek of horror—a shriek echoed by Brenda Gilfayne; while everyone in the room started to his feet; for as Felix had cut the last piece of string and raised the lid of the box, there had darted out from under it a small, brilliantly red snake, which in the twinkling of an eye had wound itself, hissing horribly, around the cripple's thin wrist.
One shriek passed Felix Gilfayne's lips; then, seemingly paralysed with horror, he stared motionless at the upraised head of the little reptile, at its bright eyes like twinkling points of diamonds, and at the deadly little fangs in its open laws. The others stood as motionless as he—afraid to stir lest the slightest movement on their part might he the signal for the snake to strike. And so for a few seconds they remained—seconds that seemed like hours; while the reptile with its head raised up seemed to hesitate before giving the fatal stroke.
Suddenly and swiftly the terrible uncertainty was ended, and by Tinker. When Felix Gilfayne had opened the parcel he had been just about to take an empty chair next to the cripple's place at table. For a moment he had stood motionless like the others. measuring the distance between himself and the upraised head of the snake, and then, with the swiftness of lightning his hand darted out and gripped the reptile close to the head. Writhe as it might, it was helpless to use its deadly fangs. It could only hiss furiously as it strove in vain to free itself from the lad's grasp.
"Well done, Tinker—well done!" Sexton Blake cried, as he darted round the table, snatching up a knife as he ran. And the next instant, with one smart sweep, he had severed the snake's head from its still writhing body.
The peril was over. With a faint groan Felix Gilfayne lay back in his chair, white and rigid, while a babel of voices broke out from the other occupants of the room.
"It's a coral snake," Oscar Neville could be heard exclaiming—"a West Indian coral snake! I saw them when I was out in Trinidad two years ago. It s bite is always fatal. Nothing can be done. It kills in about two hours."
Sexton Blake nodded as he carefully picked up the severed head of the reptile on the point of a knife.
"Yes," he said, "you are quite right, Mr. Neville. It is the Trinidad coral snake."
He wrapped up the head in his handkerchief as he spoke and slipped it into his pocket, and then turned to Felix Gilfayne, who was lying back in his chair, ghastly pale and apparently lifeless, while Brenda bent over him chafing his hands. Without a word the detective lifted one of the cripple's closed eyelids, and as he let it drop again he said:
"The poor fellow is in a dead faint. The shock has been too much for him. Better lay him down flat on his back till he comes round."
And while the others busied themselves with the invalid he turned to the table and carefully gathered together the wrappings of the box in which the snake had arrived—the piece of brown paper and the knotted and sealing-waxed string that had bound it round.
In the confusion of attending upon the cripple, nobody except Tinker noticed that Blake slipped quietly out of the room: and the boy, well knowing that there was some purpose underlying the detective's movements, made no remark upon his absence. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before Felix Gilfayne came to himself again, and by that time Sexton Blake was back carrying his overcoat and cap. In reply to Tinker's questioning look he drew the boy aside.
"We leave here at once," he said. "If we are quick we may catch the train that leaves Ridgwick in an hour and a quarter from now.
"Mr. Gilfayne." he went on, turning to George. "I and my assistant are starting for London. I hope to have good news for you before long; but, meanwhile, let me warn you on no account to relax your vigilance. Keep watch night and day. I can say no more than that at present. Besides, there is no time. We have to be at Ridgwick in a little over an hour."
The Clue of the Coral Snake - Back in London -
Tinker's Instructions - The Young Journalist.
FIVE minutes later the detective and Tinker, with Pedro at their heels, were swinging along at a rapid pace over the ground that they had already traversed twice earlier in the day. They had no difficulty in finding their way, for whilst Pedro was leading them that morning they had seen a signpost showing where the road branched to Ridgwick; but the five miles to the station led through a hilly and uneven country, and they had to put their best foot foremost in order to do the distance in the short time at their disposal. The last mile or so was a long uphill pull, and they would hardly have caught the train if it had been punctual to the minute. As it was, they had just time to take their tickets before it came puffing into sight.
The speed at which they had been walking had prevented much conversation on the road, and Tinker's curiosity was still unsatisfied when they took their seats in an empty compartment.
"Well, guv'nor," he asked eagerly, as the train pulled out of the little station, "aren't you going to tell me what you're up to?"
Blake smiled quietly.
"That was a smart thing to do—the way you got hold of that coral snake," he returned.
Tinker looked at him sharply, fancying he detected a note of amusement in the detective's voice.
"Are you trying to cod me, guv'nor?" he asked.
"Tell me." Sexton Blake returned, as he stretched his legs and lit a cigarette, "what conclusion would you draw from this last development of the case?"
"What conclusion would I draw?" the boy repeated. "Why, first and foremost, that whoever has a hand in this mysterious business it can't be Felix Gilfayne."
"Very good! "the detective nodded. "And what are your reasons for coming to such a conclusion?"
"You are getting at me, sir," the boy returned, laughing. "Why if Felix Gilfayne was in the plot he would hardly be such an idiot as to send himself a deadly snake by post, would he? Why, he had as near a shave of death this morning—"
"You think so?" the detective interrupted drily.
Tinker stared at him questioningly.
"I am afraid," Blake went on, as he flicked the ash from his cigarette, "that your pluck this morning was wasted, Tinker."
"What do you mean?" Tinker exclaimed. "Wasn't the snake a deadly one, after all? I thought you said it was a coral snake?"
"Oh, it was a coral snake right enough," was the reply, "and the coral snake is as deadly a reptile as you can find."
"Then what on earth do you mean?"
"I'll show you in a moment," the detective replied, as he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and, unwinding it, revealed the severed head of the snake. With the blade of the penknife he forced the gaping jaws as far apart as they would go, and then handed to Tinker his pocket magnifying-glass.
"Now look," he said. "That puts a different aspect on the case, doesn't it?"
"I should think it did," Tinker returned in a tone of disgust. "Why, the blessed thing was as harmless as a kitten all the time, and we were all struck silly with fright."
"You can't say you were struck silly!" the detective laughed. "You certainly kept your head, and your nerve, whoever else didn't. You've nothing to reproach yourself with, and it wasn't your fault that the reptile had paid a visit to the dentist before it was packed off to Felix Gilfayne. I saw that the poisoned fangs had been drawn as soon as I picked up the severed head from the floor. The sending of the snake to him was only a blind, intended to divert suspicion into a wrong channel. Luckily, it has done nothing of the kind."
"Then you mean," the boy said, "that it is Felix Gilfayne—the cripple—who is at the bottom of this plot?"
"I have my own theory on the subject." Sexton Blake returned, "and before many hours are over I shall be in the position to prove whether it is correct or not. But whether or not I am right, one thing is certain—Felix Gilfayne's life is in no danger."
Tinker saw that it would be useless to attempt to question him further. He relapsed into silence, therefore, and sat watching the detective while the latter, with the aid of his magnifying-glass, slowly and carefully examined a packet of string and brown paper which he had produced from his coat-pocket. The string and brown paper Tinker knew had been fastened round the box in which the coral snake had made its journey through the post, and he knew also that Blake must have some good reason for the intentness with which he first scanned the surface of the brown paper, and then the knots in which the string was tied. One of these knots he slowly and carefully unraveled, and then slowly and carefully re-tied in the same shape as before.
After a dawdling journey the train landed them at York, where they had a long half-hour to wait for the midday express to King's Cross; but from York onwards the journey was swift and uneventful, and by four o'clock the train was dashing into the outskirts of London, and promptly to schedule time the express drew to a standstill in the terminus.
"No, no luggage," the detective said, slipping past the porters. "Hansom there! Come along, Pedro, jump in, old boy! Drive to Fleet Street-the 'Daily Courier' office—and as smart as you can."
With the prospect of an extra fare before him, it did not take the driver many minutes to steer him away from King's Cross to the imposing block of masonry that housed the "Daily Courier" newspaper. Before the cab had come to a standstill Sexton Blake was out on the pavement.
"Wait here a minute, Tinker," he said, "whilst I see if the man I want is in.
"Is Mr. Wilmot here?" he asked at the door.
"I'll send and see," was the clerk's reply. "What name, please?"
"Here's my card," the detective replied, handing him a card on which he had scribbled, "On urgent business connected with B. G."
A couple of minutes later a uniformed boy put his head into the office, with the announcement that Mr. Wilmot was engaged just at present, but if Mr. Sexton Blake would be good enough to wait he would he down as soon as possible —in a quarter of an hour at the outside."
"Very well, I'll wait," Blake said; and when the boy had gone he strolled back to the street.
"I've found my man, Tinker," he said, putting hie head into the hansom. "I shall follow with him soon, but you had better start off and get to work at once. Go home and change as fast as you can—make yourself as thorough-going a ragamuffin as possible. When you've done that, train to Whitechapel, and find your way to Morris Street. It's not far from the Commercial Road. There's a shop there I want you to keep an eye on, a bird and beast shop. The name over the shop is Amberg. Reconnoitre the house and find out what will be the easiest way of getting into it to-night; also note who goes into the place. The man I particularly want you to look out for is about forty-five, tall, dark, and left-handed, with a slight scar on the right side of the neck just under the ear. If be leaves the shop, follow him, and find out where he goes. You understand? Right; then be off, and I'll join you as soon as possible."
And as the hansom clattered off, Blake re-entered the "Courier" office and took up a newspaper in the waiting-room.
The quarter of an hour was barely over when the waiting' room door was flung sharply open, and a young man entered carrying Blake's card in his hand.
"Mr. Sexton Blake?" he asked, as his eyes rested on the detective's face without a shade of recognition in them.
"Exactly," Blake replied.
"May I ask what you mean by this?" Wilmot went on, pointing to the pencilled message on the card.
"Before I answer your question," Blake returned, "will you tell me if you are at liberty for to-night?"
"I am. I was just finishing an article when your name was sent up to me."
"Good. Then you can give me your company for the present—if I tell you that I may have need of you to serve Miss Brenda Gilfayne's interests?"
A hot flush mounted to the young man's forehead—then he glanced at the detective sharply and almost suspiciously.
"I would do anything to serve Miss Gilfayne's interests," he said in a constrained tone.
"I know that," Blake said, smiling. "You can trust me, Mr. Wilmot."
Wilmot hesitated for a moment, and then held out his hand frankly.
"I am sure I can, Mr. Blake. Then you know the whole story?"
"A good deal of it," the detective nodded. "Now, if you are ready, we'll call a hansom; we can talk as we go along."
He led the way to the "Daily Courier" office as he spoke, and hailed a hansom, telling the man to drive to 132B, Harley Street.
"Are you taking me to Sir Michael Fergusson's then? Wilmot asked curiously as he heard the direction, for he knew that 132B, Harley Street was the address of the famous physician.
"I want to see him for a few minutes if I ran get at him," the detective replied. "I daresay you won't mind waiting if he is at home. After I have seen him I am taking you to my rooms, and then on to Whitechapel. And now," he went on leaning back with a laugh, "do you happen to remember where and when we met before?"
The journalist shook his head.
"Where and when we have met before." he repeated in a puzzled tone. "I don't believe we have ever met before. I knew you well enough by name of course-who doesn't?—but I am certain I should remember if I had seen you."
"Are you?" the detective answered drily. "All the some, we have met, and not so very long ago either; if I were a revengeful man I should bear you a grudge."
"What on earth do you mean?" Wilmot exclaimed.
"I mean that you used me pretty roughly at our first and only meeting," was the smiling reply.
"I used you roughly? I am sure you must be making a mistake," the journalist said in astonishment.
"It is you who are making a mistake," Sexton Blake returned quietly. "Hasn't it struck you that you were a little premature last night in jumping to conclusions—on the moor?"
"What—George Gilfayne has told you?" Wilmot stammered.
The detective shook his head.
"No; George Gilfayne has not told me for the simple reason that he knows nothing about it. It was not George Gilfayne who was on the watch for you last night and whom you did your best to strangle."
"What!" Wilmot cried, "not George Gilfayne. Then-who was it?"
"Your humble servant," the detective replied. "You see, Mr. Wilmot, you were in too much of a hurry—a little explanation would have put things right at once."
"You?" Wilmot stammered. "Good heavens, how did I come to make such a mistake? But I remember now I never saw your face; it was in the shadow when you stopped me."
"And you took it for granted that no one but Miss Gilfayne's brother would have an interest in your movements," the detective said. "Well, the mistake was a natural one, and though its consequences were unpleasant for me—I don't think I ever was so cold in my life as when I scrambled out of that pond—I bear you no grudge, Mr. Wilmot."
"I am sure I'm awfully sorry," the journalist said apologetically. "What a fool I was; but I was so furious at being spied on that for the moment I lost my head. It was only when I had got you down on the ground that I remembered that Brenda had asked me not to quarrel with her brother it I could help it; so as I could not trust my temper with him I thought the best thing I could do was to leave him and take to my heels."
"I guessed that was the explanation of your sudden flight," the detective laughed. "Well. it was just as well that it was I and not Miss Brenda's brother who felt the weight of your arm last night. For one thing, if I had not made your acquaintance I should not have been able to count on you to help me against the scoundrels who are plotting to take the lives of Joseph Gilfayne's heirs."
"Then you have found out who they are?" the journalist asked eagerly.
"Yes, I have found out who they are." Sexton Blake replied," but whether I can prove their guilt and lay hands on them is altogether a different matter."
"Did Brenda—a—Miss Gilfayne tell you that you could find me at the 'Courier' office?" the young man asked.
"No, Miss Gilfayne knows nothing of my meeting with you."
"Then how on earth did you find out?"
"Very easily," was the calm reply. "A chance word of your landlady's told me you were a journalist, and the open blotting-book on your table showed me that you had addressed more than one letter to the editor of the 'Daily Courier.' I concluded, therefore, that you were a regular contributor to the paper. and very probably on the staff. But here we are at Sir Michael Fergusson's. Excuse me if I keep you waiting for a few minutes."
In Whitechapel - The Watch on the Animal Shop - The Left-handed Man.
THE portly butler who answered the detective's knock was at first unwilling to announce the visitor to the famous specialist, declaring that Sir Michael never saw anyone except during his regular consulting hours.
After a little hesitation, however. Blake's cool, decisive manner prevailed over his doubts, and he consented to carry a message to Sir Michael, asking for an interview of a few minutes on a matter of extreme urgency.
Sexton Blake kept his word, and did not detain the great doctor for long; it was barely ten minutes after he left Wilmot alone in the cab before he reappeared, and dashing into the hansom gave the driver the address of his rooms. The young journalist noticed that there was a satisfied look on his companion's generally impassive face: but Sexton Blake volunteered no further information, and the rest of the drive was performed in silence.
As Blake had expected, there was no sign of Tinker when he let himself into his rooms; the lad had already started on his errand.
"Now then," Blake said, leading the way into his bed-room and opening the door of a cupboard in which hung a motley assortment of garments, "I must ask you to alter your rig-out a bit, for to-night you are a street loafer—something like this is the ticket."
And he tossed over to the journalist a stained and rusty suit of rough frieze, selecting another of much the same quality for himself.
"Here's a cap to match," he went on, diving into a box. "and no collar, please—this handkerchief instead. Off with your boots, too. I think you can get into these."
Wilmot laughed as he looked in the glass when his toilet was finished and realised the change that his garments and a few touches of make-up from Sexton Blake's deft fingers had wrought in his appearance.
"I didn't know I could look such a thorough-going scoundrel," he said.
"It's not a bad make-up," the detective said, as he twisted a crumpled muffler round his own throat. "Slouch when you walk and you'll do. Here, slip this into your pocket."
"This" was a six-chambered revolver.
"And now come on; the sooner we join Tinker the better."
About three-quarters of an hour later a dirty disheveled-looking lad who, with his hands in his pockets, was staring at a cage of white rabbits outside an animal shop in Morris Street, Whitechapel, heard a voice behind him remark gruffly; "Nice little beasts 'ain't they, matey? I could do with one of them in a pie.
"Hallo, young 'un!" the speaker went on, addressing the ragamuffin lad, "what are you thinking o' buying this evening? The pink-and-white cockatoo, or a few o them nice little green lizards! Let me recommend the lizards, they're in prime condition, and very cheap to-day."
"Garn!" the boy retorted, "none of your lip, Bill Simmons! You go on 'ome and let the bunnies have their greens in peace; the sight of your ugly mug is putting 'em off their food, poor little things."
The rejoinder raked a laugh among the five or six persons who had halted to look at Mr. Amberg's shop window which was always a source of interest to the neighbourhood. Bill Simmons took the boy's retort in good part and joined in the laugh against himself, and he and his mate stood surveying the varied collection of birds and beasts until one by one the other idlers moved on. Then the lad, without looking up from his occupation of thrusting a piece of carrot between the bars of the rabbits' cage, said in a low voice:
"It's all right, guv'nor, I've seen him—the chap you told me to look out for—he went in through the shop?"
"And he's in there still?"
"Unless he's gone out by a back door—I can't be In two streets at once, you know. However, I think he's safe inside."
"When did he come?"
"Just about twenty minutes ago. There was an old man with a bald head in the shop, besides the boy that's there now, and our man just nodded to him as he walked through. The old chap looked up and nodded back, but didn't say anything; he was attending to a customer just then—an old lady choosing a parrot and taking a mighty long time, about it. About five minutes before you turned up the old woman settled on a grey one with a red tail and marched off with it in a rage. I could see the bald-headed josser was thankful to get rid of her, for as soon as he'd shoved her money into the till he said something to the boy and hurried off to the door at the back of the shop. I haven't been round to look at the back of the premises yet. I was afraid of missing the fellow if he came out, so I bought a ha'porth of carrots at a master stall and stayed here and fed the rabbits."
"I'll go and have a look at the back of the house myself." Blake replied. "Wilmot, you stay here with Tinker. Remember, if our man comes out he must be followed; now we have found him we mustn't lose sight of him at any cost."
And he strolled off with the aimless air of a street loafer, finally diving down a narrow lane about half-way down the street.
It was nearly half an hour before he reappeared, and as he rounded the corner into Morris Street he noticed that the flaring row of gas-jets outside the animal shop had been extinguished.
"Shutters just been put up." Tinker explained briefly. The shop-boy has gone home."
"Ah," the detective said drily, "it's early yet to shut up shop; I suppose that means that Mr. Amberg has other business on hand and doesn't want to be disturbed. No one except the boy has come out, I suppose?"
"No."
"Right! I've reconnoitered the back of the house, and there is no other door, so if we keep a watch on this one we shall be certain that our man is inside. You stay here and patrol, Wilmot. I'll come back and give you further orders presently. Tinker. I want you with me; got one or two things to buy."
The detective's first purchase was made at an ironmonger's—a stout iron rod a couple of feet in length.
"What's that for, guv'nor?" the boy asked as they left the shop.
"To use as a lever," was the reply. "Now then for a corn-chandler's."
"A corn-chandler's?"
"Yes, I want some straw. I fancy I passed one just before I turned into Morris Street."
The detective was right. There was a corn-chandler just round the corner of the street, and in anther five minutes Sexton Blake and Tinker were the owners of a couple of good-sized bundles of straw.
"What comes after this lot?" Tinker asked, as they turned into the street with their bundles tucked under their arms. "Any more little purchases to make, guv'nor?"
"No more for the present; but I want some water. There's a horse trough over there, that'll give us a good supply. Come along."
And striding across the road the detective dipped the bundle of straw he carried into the trough.
"Dip your's in, too," he said. "Don't make it too wet, not wet through. That's right. Now then, let's get back to Morris Street."
Wilmot was still on the watch where they had left him and had no news to give them. Bidding him stay where he was the detective led the way to the narrow alley down which he had previously gone in order to investigate the surroundings of Mr. Amberg's back premises. A few yards down the alley he turned to the right, down a dark court barely lit up be the lamp that stood at its entrance. So silent and gloomy was it that it was hard to believe that only a few paces away was a noisy and crowded thoroughfare.
"A good many of the houses here are condemned," the detective said as he led the way to the darkest corner of the court. "The people have been turned out, for nearly all the rooms are boarded up. It's all the better for us; we don't want any onlookers. Here we are—that lighted window up there is in Amberg's house."
He laid down his bundle of straw as he spoke and knelt down on the pavement at the same time—after a cautious glance round—switching on his electric lamp. By it's light the boy saw that the spot at which he was kneeling was just beside a grating which protected a basement window.
"You go and stand at the entrance to the yard," Sexton Blake whispered, "and give me the tip if anyone comes this way. I'm going to prize up some of these bars; they're so rusty that I think I can do it easily enough, but I don't want a policeman to take me for a burglar before I'm half way through the job."
With a nod Tinker dipped silently away to carry out his orders, while with the aid of his lever Blake set to work on the task of wrenching the rusty bars from their sockets. It was not a very difficult job; even a man of far less muscle than Sexton Blake would not have found his strength severely taxed by the rusty old iron and rotten mortar, and in a very short time he had dislodged no less than three of the bars, leaving a gap quite large enough for a man to scramble through. His only fear was lest the noise might attract attention in the lighted room above; but if its occupants heard the sounds they certainly did not connect them with an attempt to break into the house.
After listening for a moment, the detective slipped down through the opening he had made into the narrow space between the window and the ground beneath the level of the court. To open the window was a very simple task, for a pane in the upper part had been broken and mended with nothing more substantial than brown paper. Tearing it away, Sexton Blake inserted his hand through the hole, pushed back the hasp, and raised the sash.
A low whistle brought Tinker to hie side.
"What is it?" the boy whispered.
"Hand me down that straw," the detective returned. "Wait till I'm inside the room."
He crept over the window-sill as he spoke and slipped down on to the floor. Flashing his lamp round, he saw that he was in a dirty underground room that had probably once been used as a kitchen, though, to judge by the look of it, it had not been used at all for some time past.
Crossing the room he tried the door, and found that it was as he had hoped, unlocked; then, coming back to the window, he again whistled softly, and Tinker, understanding the signal, pushed down to him first one and then the other of the bundles of straw. Blake carried them over to a corner near the door, and then scrambled out through the window into the open air.
"Come along," he said, "let's go round to Wilmot. I want to give you both your instructions."
Inside the House - What Blake Heard - The Alarm - The Tin Box.
WILMOT'S report was the same as before; no one had left the house.
"Well," he asked eagerly, "and what is to be done now?"
"For the next half-hour, nothing," the detective replied—"that is to say, as far as you and Tinker are concerned. I am going into the house. You two will wait outside and keep watch—you here, Wilmot, and Tinker at the back. Unless you hear me call for help you will do nothing until the half-hour is up; but at the end of that time you had better join Tinker at the back—and you, Tinker, will get through the window as I did just now and set light to the straw which I have placed in the basement room."
"Set light to it?" Wilmot exclaimed in astonishment.
"Yes, set light to it," Blake continued. "But you needn't he alarmed, there will be no danger of the fire spreading. In fact, there won't be a fire at all in the proper sense of the word, for the straw is too wet to burn—only a powerful deal of smoke, which is what 1 went. When you have got the straw to smoulder, open the door and let the smoke up the stairs."
"Right," Tinker nodded; and then?"
"Then get outside again and wait developments. If you hear me call or hear a row going on, come in as fast as you can—call the police if you like, but don't wait to call them. Another thing—if I am hard pressed I may throw something out of the window. Look out for it. That's all clear, I think. Now then, I'm off. Come along, Tinker." With the boy at his heels, Sexton Blake regained the courtyard, and leaving Tinker outside, he once more slipped through the open window, and on tiptoe crossed the room and gently opened the door. Not a sound reached his ears as he made his way along a flagged passage and up a flight of stairs, but as he reached the ground floor he thought he heard a faint murmur of voices coming from above, Moving cautiously along the passage he gained the foot of the stairs, and as he did so the murmur reached him more plainly, and he saw a streak of light shining on the first floor landing.
"They've left the door ajar—good luck!" the detective said to himself.
Two voices were audible as he neared the door—a deep base and the rather quavering tones of an elderly man. It was the older man who was speaking when Blake first got near enough to distinguish the words of the conversation.
"But mein friend," he was saying, in a strong German accent, "how, I ask you, can you tell zat none of your devices have taken effect, and zat zey are all alive still? While these people shut zemselves up it is impossible for us to know how many of zem are alive or dead."
"They're none of them dead. I tell you,' the other returned in his growling bass. "If any of our devices, as you call them had taken effect, the survivors would have let the police know fast enough, and the news would have been all over the country. It strikes me that every one of the whole lot has as many lives as a cat, confound 'em! And the day after to-morrow is January 1st."
By this time the detective was close outside the door, and leaning down and applying his eye to the keyhole—which was luckily without a key—he could command a good view of the two occupants of the room. The elder was the owner of the shop, a bald-headed, grey-bearded old man, still alert and powerful, and with cunning black eyes and a hooked nose that gave him a strong resemblance to a bird of prey. His companion was the man whom Blake had earlier in the evening described to Tinker, a tall. muscular-looking fellow of between forty and fifty, clean-shaven, and with a certain air of refinement about him in spite of his rough dress.
"Hang it all," he exclaimed, bringing huge fist down heavily on the table, don't sit staring there like a stuck pig, Amberg, you old fool! Don't I tell you that the day after to-morrow is January 1st?"
"I know zat as well as you do, Jim," the German returned with a shrug of hie shoulders; "but I don't see how you help matters by calling me names and knocking my furniture about, mein friend. You've got a heavy fist, my goot Jim, und mein table he is a bit cranky in ze leg." A sullen growl was the only reply, and Amberg went on soothingly; "After all, if we have failed, dere's no harm done."
"Harm!" the other retorted. "Don't you call it harm to lose a fortune?"
"Of course I do," the German returned; " but you forget we don't lose all of it even if Joseph Gilfayne's heirs all live to claim zeir share of his money on New Year's Day; we are certain to have twenty thousand pounds to divide between us before long."
"Yes, we are certain of that." Jim growled. "We shall have a beggarly ten thousand each before many months are over; but if things had turned out as I had expected, we should have had fifty thousand apiece—thirty or forty thousand at the very least. But the luck's been against us all along. They're escaped almost by a miracle. and I wouldn't mind betting a hundred to one that they're all safe and sound still. If I could only hit on some plan for getting at them before January 1st."
And the speaker leant his head on his hands and stared moodily at the table
"For mercy's sake, Jim, don't do anything rash!" Amberg said hastily. "Not anything that would draw suspicion on us, I mean."
"You've got a precious lot of pluck, you have," Jim growled. "Always in a state of funk, you are afraid to take a risk. But don't you fear, there's no chance of anyone suspecting us. Why, they don't even suspect Felix Gilfayne, and they'd be much more likely to suspect him than us. Besides, there's no cause for you to worry," he went on.
"I can't see any likelihood of hitting on a plan that we could carry out between now and the day after to-morrow. As you say, we shall have to be content with the twenty thousand."
"Well, twenty thousand is a good round sum," the German said soothingly. "Not at I'm averse to having more, but it doesn't do to run too great risks, mein friend; and even fifty thousand isn't much use to a dead man."
His companion made no answer; but it was clear from his frowning brow that, less timorous or more covetous than the German, he was not so ready to reconcile himself to the loss of the money for which he had been :scheming. For nearly a quarter of an hour he sat silent, only once raising his head to ask sharply:
"The tin box—it's all safe?"
"It's vere you left it," Amberg replied, "You can go and look for yourself."
The other nodded, and again relapsed into moody silence. Meanwhile, Sexton Blake, knowing that the appointed half-hour must be drawing to a close, had been feeling his way cautiously about the darkened passage, and had discovered a door only a few feet away from that of the sitting-room. Gently opening it, he left it ajar so that he could dart behind it at any moment.
A few minutes more went by in silence, and then the detective's pulses quickened as his nostrils detected the faint odour of smoke. Tinker had carried out his orders; the heap of straw in the basement was alight.
A few minutes more went by before the smoke penetrated to the room in which the two men were sitting: but at last Sexton Blake, peering through the chink of the door, saw the German raise his head and sniff suspiciously.
"Do you smell anysing, Jim?" he asked.
"Yes, I do: it's smoke," Jim said briefly.
"Vere's it coming from?" Amberg asked uneasily. "Ze fire isn't smoking. Mine gracious, look at zat!"
For a thin wreath of smoke had come rolling in at the door, and was spreading slowly across the room.
Jim started to his feet.
"This old shanty of yours is on fire!" he exclaimed, as he darted to the door and flung it open, letting in a thick cloud of the pungent vapour that already filled the passage. As he rose from his chair Sexton Blake had slipped away from the door and taken refuge in his hiding-place.
"On fire! Impossible!" the German stammered.
"It is on fire!" Jim cried, as he saw the heavy billows of choking smoke rolling up the staircase. "The tin box—I must get the tin box! Here, let me get at the lamp!"
And pushing aside the terrified German, who stood wringing his hands on the threshold, he dashed for the table, snatched up the lamp, and darting out again into the passage, made straight for the room in which Sexton Blake was hiding. The detective had only just time to flatten himself against the wall when the door was flung open, and Jim hurried in-and made straight for the fireplace. Luckily for Sexton Blake, he never thought of looking behind him, or noticed that the door had suddenly stopped before opening to its full width; and setting the lamp on the floor, he fell on his knees before the hearth and dragged away the fender. Then, taking a large clasp-knife from his pocket, he unfastened the biggest blade and inserted it into a chink between two of the hearth-stones, using it as a lever. Evidently the stones were loose, for after a few seconds he succeeded in raising them and revealing to sight a square tin box lying in a cavity under the stone.
And he had actually stretched out his fingers to pick up the box when, with a noiseless movement, Sexton Blake emerged from behind the shelter of the door and bounded across the room. Before the man was aware of his danger, he had seized the kneeling Jim by the shoulders, flung him to one side, stooped down, and snatched up the tin box. And before Jim was on his feet again, he had darted for the door.
Taken by surprise, the scoundrel was for an instant almost paralysed with astonishment, but, recovering himself, he leapt to his feet, and with a yell of fury rushed after Sexton Blake. The detective, after gaining the passage, darted through the sitting-room door, intending to hurl the box out of the window to the watchers below and at the same time to raise the alarm; and he would easily have had time to do so before Jim came up with him had not he cannoned into Amberg.
The German, who had quite lost his head on discovering the fire, had first hurried to the head of the stairs, calling plaintively for help, and then, as the rolling smoke had entered his lungs, had darted hack again into the sitting-room. He had reached the window, and was just about to open it. intending to give the alarm of fire, when he heard his accomplice's shout, and, turning round to see what was the matter, was almost knocked down as Blake charged into him.
So violent was the shock that the pair lost their balance and went over together, Amberg clutching at the detective; but sat he stumbled, Blake raised his arm and hurled the tin box away from him. It struck the pane and crashed through i,. dropping with a shOwer of broken glass to the ground below.
"Tinker—Wilmot! Come on—help!" the detective shouted as he fell to the floor.
He and the German rolled over together, and then, as he tried to rise, a swinging blow struck him on the back of the head, and he rolled over senseless.
Tinker and Wilmot Carry Out Their Instructions -
The Vanished Detective - The Secret Door -
Following the Trail - Baffled!
TINKER and Wilmot had carried out their instructions to the letter. Just before the half-hour was up, the young journalist had left his pest in the front of the house and joined Tinker at the back, and punctually to the minute the lad had slipped through the basement window and struck a match to set light to the straw. He had some difficulty in getting the damp heap to burn; but once well alight and smouldering, it sent out volumes of acrid smoke before which Tinker hastily retreated to the courtyard again.
It Was not until more than ten minutes later that the two watchers below the window saw it suddenly darkened by a shadow, and then heard the crash of breaking glass, the clang of metal falling on the pavement, and Sexton Blake's well-known voice ringing out in a cry for help.
Tinker pounced on the tin box and thrust it into his cost pocket.
"Come on!" he cried.
The only way to enter the house was through the basement window, and they promptly lowered themselves into the room, and dashing across it into the passage. slammed the door behind then:, thus cutting off the supply of smoke from the upper part of the house.
Holding their breath, they groped their way through the nearly stifling atmosphere to the foot of the stairs leading to the ground floor, up which they dashed at full speed. Not a glimmer of light met their eyes as they felt their way along the passage to the foot of the next flight, and it struck thew both as curious that every sound of conflict had ceased and the house was as still as death.
They had barely began to ascend again, however, when from above them came a bang and a thud; and Wilmot. who was leading, reeled backwards into Tinker's arms, while the revolver he was carrying exploded towards the ceiling.
"What is it?" Tinker exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"
"No," the journalist gasped "but something knocked me over—a table, I think! Wait till I find a match!"
"Don't strike it!" Tinker cried. "If there's someone at the head of the stairs, he may fire if you give him a light! Let's get this out of the way—yes, it is it table!"
It took them a minute or so to move the table, which had got tightly wedged between wall and banisters, making it impossible to pass until it was removed. When at last the way was clear, they dashed upstairs in feverish haste, more then half expecting to be met at the top by their unseen enemy.
Contrary to their expectations, they were allowed to gain the landing unopposed. They halted as they reached it, and listened intently, but not the faintest sound reached their ears; the house was in perfect silence.
"Shall I strike a light now?" Wilmot whispered.
"Yes," the boy whispered back.
The complete silence following on the noise and tumult of a few minutes before struck a chill to both their hearts, and it was with anxious eyes that they gazed around as Wilmot's wax match flared up, throwing a little glimmer of light upon the scene.
The passage was empty. Three doors opened into it—two were open, and the third was closed. Tinker's first move was to peer through the two open doors—and to find the rooms beyond them empty. In one, which was furnished as a bed-room, a candle was standing on the mantelpiece. Wilmot put a light to it and carried it along the passage to the door at the end. He seized the handle and turned it, but the door remained fast.
"Locked!" he exclaimed.
"Not—not locked: bolted!" Tinker replied, with his eye to the keyhole. "There's no key in the door!"
"Can you see anything?"
"No; only just a glimmer of light from the window—there may be people there, of course; but I can't see them. We'd better break in the door—it doesn't Took so very strong."
Setting down the candle, Wilmot promptly aimed a furious kick at one of the lower panels. It cracked beneath the onslaught, and at a second assault splintered and gave way. A third kick sent the splinters flying, and left a good-sized hole, through which Tinker thrust his arm—not without some misgivings—and pulled back the bolt.
"Got your revolver ready?" he exclaimed as be flung the door open; and holding the candle above his head, be darted into the room, with the journalist at his heels.
There was no one there. An overturned chair and the broken window bore witness to the struggle that had lately taken place; but the three combatants had completely vanished. One of the windows had been flung wide open and the pair rushed to it and peered out; but not a soul was in sight.
"They must have jumped out of the window; and Blake has gone after them!" the journalist said.
Tinker was silent for a moment while he measured the distance to the ground with his eye. Then he said quietly:
"No; they have not done that."
"But they must have done!" the journalist insisted. "The doer was bolted on the inside, and there's nowhere for them to hide in the room —unless they're in that cupboard!" He rushed to the cupboard as he spoke, and thrust the door open, only to find it empty.
"You see?" he said triumphantly, turning to Tinker.
But the boy still shook his head.
"You're wrong," he said "and I'll tell you how know it. When we let ourselves down through the basement window there was a terrific row going on, wasn't there—shouts and signs of a struggle? By the time we had got across the room into the passage it had stopped altogether—all in a minute. That shows that somehow or other they must have got the better of the guv'nor —knocked him down and stunned him most likely. He must have been helpless; or the men who threw the table downstairs to delay us wouldn't have been able to leave him."
"Quite right," Wilmot nodded. "But if he was helpless, what have they
done with him?"
"That's just what we've got to find out," the boy returned quietly. "But one thing I'm sure of, and that is that they didn't jump out of the window with him. To begin with, it's a good distance down to the ground, and I expect the old man would hardly have dared to risk breaking his neck by trying it: for they didn't use a rope, or it would be hanging out of the window still. They raised the sash so that we might think that was the way they had gone, but that was only a blind."
Wilmot nodded thoughtfully.
"Yes. now you put it like that, I don't see how they could have managed to get a senseless man down without a rope. Are they anywhere else in the house, do you think? But then, the door! How could they have bolted it if they hadn't left the room?"
"It would have been a pretty tough job. I should say," Tinker said, as he fell on his knees on the floor, candle in hand.
"What are you looking for?" Wilmot demanded curiously. "I was right!" the boy replied, as he bent over the dusty boards. "The guv'nor had a bad knock on the head!"
"How do you know?"
"Here's a little tuft of hair—wet—that means blood!"
"You are sure it is his?" Wilmot asked uneasily.
"Dead sure! I know the colour."
Again there was a silence. while Tinker, candle in his hand, crawled slowly across the dusty boards, Wilmot watching him in tense anxiety. Nearly ten minutes went by before the boy rose to his feet.
"Well," Wilmot queried anxiously, "have you found out anything more?"
Tinker nodded.
"Yes, thanks to the dusty condition of Mr. Amberg's floor: I shouldn't think he has had it swept for a year! In the middle of the room and inside the door the dust is not so thick—it got disturbed, you see, every time people move about—but round the sides of the room it hasn't been moved for ages. Look here. there's a track through it to the cupboard door! Something heavy has been drawn along the floor to the cupboard!"
"Something heavy! You mean—"
"The guv'nor!" Tinker nodded. "He got knocked down somewhere near the middle of the room—there's where I found the bit of hair—close by the table."
"Yes."
"Then here, where the dust lies thick, is the track he made when they dragged him along the floor—see?—into the cupboard."
"Into the cupboard!" Wilmot repeated in amazement. "But what did they drag him into the cupboard for? And what did they do with him afterwards?"
For answer, Tinker smote with his clenched fist upon the paper-covered wall at the back of the cupboard.
"Hear that?" he said. "It's hollow! I suppose there's a spring somewhere that makes it slip back. but I can't find it. However, the wall is only match-boarding, so we can soon smash it and find out what's behind it."
And swinging the poker from the grate, he dealt a vigorous blow at the back of the cupboard. At the first blow the poker went right through the frail boarding, revealing a black space behind, and when it had splintered sufficiently, Wilmot and Tinker tore away great strips of the panelling with their hands.
"You can bet your life this is a regular thieves' den." the boy panted. as he wrenched and tore at the planks. "There are a lot of these places in the old quarters of London. When the police trace a man to a particular house and make a raid, he slips through a door in the wall into the next house, and gets off. This leads into another house, you can see—the empty one with the boarded-up windows."
Pitchy darkness met their eyes on the other side of the opening, but when Tinker held the candle through it, they saw that the secret door opened upon a landing on the first floor of the next house. The place had evidently not been inhabited for some little time, and as they stepped through the aperture, they heard the scampering of rats as the creatures fled before the light.
It was easy enough to see which way the men they were pursuing had gone, for everywhere in the disused building the dust had accumulated in a thick layer, in which the traces of footsteps showed as plainly as in sand. Straight down the staircase they led, and Tinker's practised eye told him at once that there were only two pairs of footprints. Further, by the way in which the dust was brushed away from the wall and from the crazy banisters, he knew that the two men had been walking abreast on the narrow staircase, doubtless in order to support their helpless burden.
Only the sound of their own hushed footsteps and the squeaking and scampering of the four-footed tenants of the house fell upon their ears as they descended the stairs, holding themselves in readiness for an attack. It was impossible that the two scoundrels could have gone very far or very fast, burdened as they were with the unconscious Blake, and if they were close at hand they must have heard the noise made by Tinker and Wilmot when they battered in the partition between the two houses.
With every sense on the alert, they followed the trail—down the stairs and into the ground-floor passage. Here the two men had evidently laid their burden down for a time, but they had afterwards picked it up again and continued their way to the back of the house, descending a few steps to what had once been a kitchen. Through this and then through a little scullery beyond it the track led; and when Tinker laid his hand upon the handle of the door at the further side of the scullery, the candle went out as a blast of fresh air rushed in from the courtyard.
An exclamation of angry disappointment sprang to Wilmot's lips; while Tinker, a prey to the keenest anxiety, glanced round in vain for any sign of the fugitives. The courtyard was silent and empty; of Sexton Blake and his two companions there was no sign.
For an instant only the boy stood on the doorstop. Then he dashed to the outlet of the courtyard and peered eagerly to right and left down the narrow street. But the only person in sight was at that moment an old woman standing at her door a few yards away. The boy hurried up to her.
"Have you noticed three men go by here?" he asked. "Two of them were carrying the third."
"Yes. I see 'em," was the reply. "I asked what the matter was, and one of 'em as I knowed—the German gentleman from the cat-and-dog shop—called back as his friend had fallen downstairs and hurt hisself, and they were takin' 'im off to the Lunnon 'Ospital."
"Which way did they go?" the boy asked, trembling with eagerness.
"Why, through Morris Street and into Commercial Road, I suppose," was the reply. "That's the way to the Lunnon 'Ospital. You won't catch 'em up before they gets there, if that's what you want to know, because they borrowed Bill Stevens's cart as he was just takin' into the mews there. I heard Mr. Amberg tell 'im they'd bring it back in a quarter of an hour if he'd let 'em 'ave it to drive the poor fellow to the 'ospital; so Bill he said 'Yes.' and helped to hoist the poor chap in, and so they drove off with 'im."
"And did Bill Stevens go too?" Tinker asked.
"No; it's only a small cart, and there wasn't room for more than three in it."
"Thanks—much obliged," Tinker said, moving away in the direction of Morris Street with Wilmot, who had been listening to the conversation at his side.
"Well," the journalist asked. "what do you make of it? What have they done with him?"
"Carried him off somewhere," the boy replied; "and it will be a difficult matter to trace them. They may drive any distance in this cart, which they certainly won't take the trouble to return; they will simply turn horse and cart loose when they have done with them. It won't be much good, I'm afraid, but we'd better ask if anyone in Morris Street noticed the cart, and which way it went."
The Masked Visitor - Blake's Life Against the Box -
Tinker Yields - An Unexpected Return.
IT was in the small hours of the morning of December 31st that Tinker let himself and Wilmot into Sexton Blake's lodgings. Both were weary and disheartened, for their efforts at tracing the detective and his companions had been quite in vain. As Tinker had prophesied, nothing had so far been seen of Bill Stevens's cart, and Mr. Bill Stevens himself was duly furious at the trick that had been played on him.
Realising that it was perfectly useless to continue the search that night. Tinker and Wilmot finally returned home, anxious and disheartened by their ill-success.
Tinker's first action on entering the lodgings was to draw from his pocket the tin box which he had been carrying about with him since Blake flung it down to him. In the first excitement of the detective's disappearance he had forgotten all about it; then, in the hope that its contents would give him a clue to Blake's whereabouts, he had examined it, and found that it was so securely padlocked that he would have to wait to break it open Until he could obtain the proper tools.
"I'll soon have this open," he said, as he dived into a drawer containing a miscellaneous collection of tools. "There's a chisel here somewhere. Hall! What's that?"
For a sharp rat-tat had broken the silence of the street.
"I'd better go down to the door," the boy said, putting the box into the drawer and closing it. "Our landlady's been abed for hours, and the chances are, of course, that it may be visitors for the guv'nor. It's not the first time he's had a call in the small hours of the morning."
He hurried down to the front door, but before he had reached it a second sharp rap gave notice of the visitor's impatience.
The current of air from the opening door blew out the light that the boy was carrying, and he could only see that a man was standing on the doorstep.
"Are you Sexton Blake's assistant?" the stranger asked directly the door opened.
"I am."
"I want to speak to you, then—on business of the greatest importance."
"Mr. Blake isn't here to-night," the boy began; but the stranger cut him short.
"I know that very well—it is you, not Mr. Blake, that I came to see."
"Anything to do with the Gilfayne case?" the lad asked sharply.
"Yes."
"Come in, then," Tinker said. "Just wait a minute while II light the candle, and then Ill take you upstairs."
He closed the door behind his visitor, struck a match and applied it to the candle, and as he did so he gave an involuntary start as he saw that the upper part of the stranger's face was covered with a black crape mask.
"Yes; I prefer to keep it on." the man said, answering Tinkers unspoken thought. "It is no concern of yours who I am. I have an important message to give you—that is all."
"All right," Tinker returned coolly. "Upstairs, please." And he led the way to the sitting.room, where Wilmot's eyes opened in astonishment as the masked man entered the door.
"Take a chair, won't you?" Tinker said politely. "Do you wish to speak to me alone?"
"No." the other returned; "I have not the least objection to Mr. Wilmot hearing what I have to say, since I understand that he is also interested in the case."
Wilmot started as he heard his own name pronounced, and stared even harder at the masked man, vainly endeavouring to make out who he was.
"I have been sent," the stranger went on, speaking slowly and deliberately, "to ask you if it is not the case that a few hours ago you obtained possession of a small tin box, shaped like a cash-box, and fastened with two padlocks?"
"Yes," Tinker nodded; "I did."
"And it is still in your possession?"
"It is."
"Have you opened it?"
"No. not yet."
Even through the mask Tinker could see that the stranger's eyes flashed with a look of relief at the answer.
"I was just going to force it open," the boy went on. "when I heard your knock."
"Ah." the other went on drily, "then I came just in time. It would have been unfortunate for you as well as for us if you had carried out your intentions."
"And why unfortunate for me?"
"Well, not so much for you yourself as for your friend Mr. Sexton Blake. It would have placed him in a most unpleasant, not to say dangerous, predicament."
"Ah!" Tinker and Wilmot exclaimed together. "Then you know where Sexton Blake is?"
The stranger nodded.
"I do," he said.
"Then doesn't it strike you," Wilmot broke in, "that you are doing rather A rash thing in coming here? What is to prevent us from handing you over to the police at once, on the charge of carrying off Sexton Blake?
"What is to prevent you?" the masked man repeated scornfully. "Why this—the certainty that if you did such a foolish thing you would never see Sexton Blake again alive. The sooner you understand that he is completely in our power, the better."
Tinker's heart beat fast; but his face was perfectly unmoved and his voice cool and unruffled as he said:
"You were talking about the tin box just now—what of it?"
"What of it? Why, I want you to hand it over to me at once," the other replied. "At once—and unopened!"
"Ah! And if I refuse?"
"If you refuse, it will he so much the worse for Sexton Blake. If you really desire to serve him you will not hesitate an instant, for I warn you that his life hangs on your decision."
"What!" Wilmot exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "You would not dare—"
The masked man interrupted him with a curt laugh.
"If I do not return with that tin box in my possession, believe me, Sexton Blake will never see the dawning of the New Year."
"But," Tinker said quickly, "how are we to know that he will be safe if we do give you the box?"
The stranger shrugged his shoulders.
"You must take my word for that," he said insolently. "I can give you no other security. Hand me over the box, and I undertake he shall be with you, safe and sound, within forty-eight hours; refuse, and he is as good as dead. I have no desire to hurry you unduly, but I can't stay long; you can have five minutes in which to think the matter over and make up your mind."
He drew out his watch as he spoke and laid it before him on the table, and for the next few minutes silence reigned in the room. Tinker was thinking hard, and his face showed the difficulty he had in coming to a decision. To give up the mysterious tin box would, in all probability, mean that the detective's work would be rendered useless, and that the guilty parties in the Gilfayne case would escape detection and punishment; but, on the other hand, the refusal of the stranger's terms might result in death to Sexton Blake himself. Tinker was on the horns of a dilemma, and it was no wonder that he hesitated. Confident as he was in the detective's powers in getting out of a tight place, he felt that it would not do to place too much faith in them in the present instance; he knew that he should never forgive himself if, through his decision, harm came to Sexton Blake.
"You have only one minute more," the masked man said at last; and then, when the sixty seconds were up, he closed the watch with a snap and slipped it into hie pocket. "Now, then, time's up; which is it to be—life or death for your friend Sexton Blake?"
"I leave, the decision to you. Tinker," the journalist said, as the boy glanced at him.
"I will give you the tin box," the boy said slowly and reluctantly.
"I am glad you have decided on the only sensible course," the masked man returned coolly. "As I haven't any more time to waste, perhaps you will be good enough to hand it over to me at once."
Very reluctantly Tinker opened the drawer, took the box from it and placed it on the table. The stranger snatched it up with his left hand and looked at it closely.
"I see you were speaking the truth," he remarked, "and that it has not been opened."
"Thank you." said Tinker drily.
"And now," the other went on, as he slipped the tin box into an inner pocket and buttoned his coat across it, "there is no need for me to detain you any longer. Good-night, or rather good-morning."
"Wait at minute," Tinker said, slipping between him and the door. "I want you to understand this—that, if you are playing me false—if Sexton Blake doesn't come back safe and sound—I will never rest until I see you hanged!"
"It's very good of you to give me the warning," the other said mockingly; "1 seem to have remembered having read somewhere that it's advisable to catch your hare before you kill him. However, I have no doubt you'd do your best; and in return for your piece of advice let me give you another—don't try to follow me. It would be quite useless for one thing, and for another, it might be dangerous, not only for yourself, but for Sexton Blake. Don't trouble to let me out, I can manage the door myself."
And with a careless laugh he ran downstairs. A moment later the front door banged, and Tinker, who was watching from the window, saw a tall figure hastening down the street.
"Are you going to follow him?" the journalist asked.
"It wouldn't be any good, even with Pedro." the boy replied. "He's got into a carriage that was waiting a little way down the street, and driven off. I'm afraid," he went on, as he turned away from the window with a sigh, "that I've made a mess of it in letting him have that box."
"I don't see what else you could have done under the circumstances," Wilmot replied, as he laid his hand upon the lad's shoulder. "Cheer up, Tinker, and hope for the best! Hallo! who is that coming upstairs now—another midnight visitor? I didn't hear anyone knock, did you?"
"No, I didn't," the boy replied, raising his head and listening to the nearing step: and then he sprung to his feet with a cry of amazement and delight as the door was flung open and Sexton Blake entered the room.
The House in St. John's Wood - Sexton Blake's Story.
"SURPRISED to see me, eh?" the detective laughed, as he flung himself into a chair. "Well, an hour or two ago I hardly expected to be home so soon myself. And I can't stay long. I have only just come to give you your instructions, and then I must be off again. Get me a loaf of bread and some cheese, Tinker; I will take it with me, for I can't stop to eat it now. And where have you put the tin box: I must see if my guess at its contents is the right one."
He stopped as he caught sight of the expression on Tinker's face.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked sharply. "You picked it up, didn't you, when I threw it out of the window?"
"Yes, but—"
"Out with it! What has happened?" the detective asked, frowning anxiously.
And in as few words as possible Tinker and Wilmot told the story. Blake listened in silence until they had finished.
"I believe," Tinker concluded, "that it was the same man that I watched going into Amberg's shop, for though he was differently dressed and the little scar on hi a neck was covered up, I noticed that he used his left hand more than his right."
Sexton Blake nodded.
"I don't doubt you are right. Well, I don't blame you for letting him have the box under the circumstances; I should be an ungrateful fellow if I did. But I can assure you of one thing." he added grimly, "he hadn't the slightest intention of keeping his part of the bargain and letting me go free."
He sat thoughtfully silent for a moment or two and then rose to his feet.
"Fortunately, I don't think that box will be out of my possession for very long," he said drily. "At least, I hope not. Well, come along, both of you: I'll explain matters later on. Got that bread and cheese, Tinker? Right. Maybe that is all we shall have to eat for the next twenty-four hours, so I hope you are prepared for short commons. Wait a minute while I get another revolver from my bed-room. Mr. Amberg was kind enough to relieve me of the other. Oh, by the way, we had better take a rug or two with us: we shall want them if it's very cold."
"Where are we going to?" the journalist asked, as the trio left the house, with Pedro trotting along at their heels.
"A house in St. John's Wood," Blake replied. "Step out. I want to reach it as soon as possible. Good luck—there's a growler. Perhaps that'll take us part of the way."
The cabman, who was crawling stablewards after a late night, at first objected to being kept out of his bed, but the promise of a large fare induced him to change his mind, and the four companions jumped into the cab and were driven off.
Half way along the St John's Wood Road the cab pulled up, its occupants alighted, and, having satisfied the cabman with a triple fare, the detective led his companions at a rapid pace down one of the streets branching off from the broader thoroughfare. A few minutes' fast walking and he pulled up beside a high wooden gate sunk in a stone wall, over which projected a notice-board signifying probably that the house was to let.
"Not a sound," he whispered, "and be prepared for surprises; it's just possible that the place may not be empty."
He opened the gate cautiously as he spoke and led the way into the garden beyond it—one of those old-fashioned, almost countrified gardens that still exist here and there in St. John's Wood. Leafless trees lined its walls, and a flagged path led past a lawn to the house beyond.
Closing the gate quietly, Sexton Blake led the way along the path to the front door. As he neared it he switched on his electric lamp, and to their surprise his companions saw that the door was standing right open.
"Right," Blake said. "Nobody has been here, or the door would not have been as I left it. Come in."
Tinker and Wilmot glanced round curiously as their companion shut the door behind them. The rays of Blake's lamp as they flashed to and fro showed them that they were in a neatly-furnished hall with doors opening off it on either side.
"Who does this house belong to?" the journalist asked curiously.
"To our friend Mr. Amberg."
"The old man at the animal shop?" Wilmot exclaimed incredulously.
"Yes; he is a much more prosperous man than you would imagine from his surroundings in Whitechapel. He has made money in a good many ways—not all of them honest—and owns two or three houses in various parts of London. That one is without a tenant at present, which is the reason he brought me to it."
"He brought you to it?" his hearers exclaimed.
Sexton Blake nodded.
"Yes, when I came to myself after the knock on the heed I received at Morris Street I found myself being carried up the garden path by Amberg and his companion—a man who has made use of a good many aliases in his time, but whose real name I happen to know is James Walters."
"James Walters?" the journalist repeated. "Not the James Walters who was suspected of being concerned in the burglary in the North-Eastern Bank four years ago?"
"That's the man," the detective nodded. "There isn't a shadow of a doubt that he had planned the coup. He is one of the most daring and cleverest criminals in Europe. He had safe-guarded himself so securely, however, that nothing could be proved against him, and the jury were forced to return a verdict of "not guilty "—greatly to the disgust of the police, who saw Walters slip through their fingers for about the twentieth time. Well, as I said, I came to myself just as we arrived here, but I took care not to let them know that I had my senses about me, and it was a good thing I did, since I picked up two or three valuable bits of information from their talk as they carried me into the house and downstairs into the cellar, where they locked me in and left me. For one thing, I learned that Walters had recognized me in spite of my disguise, and having a grudge against detectives in general, had not the least idea a letting me go alive."
"Then how did you get out, if they left you locked in the cellar?" Wilmot asked.
"Very easily." was the reply. "I took advantage of a bit of carelessness on Walters's part—a bit of carelessness that surprised me a good deal at the time, he went away leaving the key in the cellar door. If he had not been so foolish, I don't suppose I should ever have managed to break out, for the lock Was an enormously strong one, and there was no window to my prison."
"He left the key in the door on the inside?" Wilmot asked.
"On the inside? No, on the outside. But one of the first things a burglar learns is to turn a key in the lock from the wrong side, and a detective can't afford to be leas skilful then a burglar. In fact, I have a particular little instrument of my own invention which I use for such occasions, and which I have had attached to my pocket-knife. That was another piece of carelessness on my captor's part. They searched me for my revolver, but never troubled to take my knife. The consequence was that, after giving them a little time to get out of the house—which I heard them say they intended to do at once—I quietly turned the key in the lock, opened the door, walked out, and went straight home—just too late, unfortunately, to prevent Walters from walking off with the box. However, I have no doubt that we shall get hold of it again when he comes back."
"Then you are sure he is coming back?"
"Quite. I don't expect him before the evening—not earlier than between seven and eight; but it is quite possible that he may come before, and that is the reason I was anxious to be absent from the house as short a time as possible. Meanwhile, it is not necessary for all of us to be on the alert. We can take it in turns to be on the watch for our friends. I will take the first spell while you two get some sleep, and in a couple of hours I will rouse one of you to take my place."
So the matter was arranged; and while Tinker and the journalist stretched themselves on a couple of couches in the drawing-room, Sexton Blake, with Pedro beside him, sat on the first floor landing, whence he could command a good view of the front door. Nothing disturbed his watch, however; the house remained wrapped in darkness and silence throughout his vigil. And Wilmot and Tinker, when they took their turn at sentry duty, had the same experience; the wintry morning of the last day of the year dawned without any fresh development having taken place.
The Last Day of the Year - George Gilfayne's Peril - The Tables Turned.
AFTER the excitement of the preceding evening the next day seemed tediously long and slow. Hour after hour went by and no one came near the house. They dared not light a fire, since the smoke rising from the chimney would have betrayed their presence, and the chilly atmosphere of the empty house made them wish heartily for the end of their long period of waiting.
With the first light of dawn Sexton Blake had made an examination of the geography of the house, and had carefully oiled the hinges of all the doors, especially those on the ground floor, and including the large folding-doors between the back and front dining-rooms. But that did not take him very long, and when it was done there was nothing for it but to sit and wait and shiver. They were all of them thankful when the short December day began to close in.
At about six o'clock Sexton Blake issued his final instructions to his lieutenants. They were to remain quietly on the upper floor, whoever came into the house, until be called them.
"It is very unlikely that Walters or Amberg will come upstairs," he said, "so you run practically no risk of being discovered. They will almost certainly go into the front dining-room, which I see is the room they have been in the habit of using during their visits to the house. I shall be in the back dining-room. Don't come down too soon, mind."
"I sha'n't come too late, though," Tinker returned. "We don't want to have you knocked on the head again."
"No fear of that." Sexton Blake laughed. "I sha'n't let them catch me a second time. Besides, I shall have Pedro with me. Come along, old fellow; it's time we went to take up our positions."
The dog rose obediently and trotted downstairs after his master into the back dining-room. There Sexton Blake opened the door of a large cupboard and told him to go in, and the huge brute quietly curled himself up with his head upon his paws, understanding as well as a human being that he was not to make a sound.
Nearly an hour went by, and then Sexton Blake started as he heard the creak of a gate, followed, a moment later by the echo of footsteps on the flagged pathway.
"Quiet, Pedro!" he whispered, knowing that the dog's keen ears must have caught the sound before he did.
Following on the footsteps came the grating of a latch, and then the bang of a closing door. Stepping into the cupboard, Blake drew the door to; but, as he had expected, the new-comer entered the front dining-room, and a moment later the detective heard the crackling of wood as a match was applied to the grate. Very gently Sexton Blake stole out of his hiding-place, crept across the room to the folding-doors, and applied his eye to the keyhole, and saw that the new-comer was the old German. who was kneeling by the newly-lit fire and shivering as he stretched out his hands to the blaze.
Having satisfied himself as to his neighbour's identity, he crept back to the cupboard, and he had barely done so when he heard the German rise, and the folding-doors were opened. For a moment Blake feared that Amberg had detected some slight sound that had awakened his suspicions; but he was soon reassured. The German had only come to fetch a lamp that stood on a table in the bank dining-room, and which he lit and carried back to the room beyond, closing the doors behind him.
The detective's only fear was lest Amberg should take it into his head to visit the cellar, and so discover that the prisoner had made his escape; but the sounds that came from the next room told him that the German was still there. And when he ventured to make another survey through the keyhole, he saw that the old man had drawn a chair up to the fire and was sitting, waiting, with an expression of keen watchfulness on hie face. Every now and then he drew out his watch and glanced at it, while at the slightest sound he raised his head and listened till it had died away.
It was more than an hour after his arrival before the garden gate creaked for the second time and footsteps were heard nearing the front door—the footsteps of more than one person, since voices could be heard as well. And as the German pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, a thundering knock rang through the house.
"There they are," Blake heard the old man mutter in his native tongue—"there they are at last."
The detective noticed that his hands were shaking as he stood nervously clasping and unclasping them. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, and then, as the knock was loudly repeated, he shuffled across the room and into the hall.
Sexton Blake listened intently while the old man fumbled nervously with the latch and opened the door. In spite of his self-control he gave a start of surprise when a voice he easily recognised as Walters's asked loudly:
"Has Mr. Sexton Blake arrived yet?"
"Not yet," was the reply in Amberg's rather quavering tones; " but he is sure not to be very long. He sent round a message about an hour ago to say that he might possibly be delayed and not get here till a little after eight. The gentleman will come in and wait for him, I suppose?"
"You'll come in, won't you?" Walters repeated. Then there was an indistinct murmur of assent in reply. followed by the closing of the front door. A moment later the door of the sitting-room opened, and Walters entered, followed by Amberg and George Gilfayne. The latter glanced round as he entered with a nervous, suspicious glance that had become habitual to him during the last few weeks.
"Won't you take a seat by the fire, sir?" Walters asked deferentially. "I expect you're cold after your long journey."
It was clear that George Gilfayne was not altogether at his ease. Evidently the fact of Sexton Blake's absence had awakened in his mind a suspicion that all was not right. and instead of taking the seat that Walters pushed to him he stood looking from one to the other of the two men.
"One moment," he said slowly "there is something I should like to say to you both. I know you, Morton, and believe you to be trustworthy; but your friend I do not know at all, and I have learned lately to distrust everyone and always to be on the look-out for a trap. I don't say that I absolutely suspect either of you, but I warn you both that I carry a revolver"—he touched his coat pocket as he spoke"and that at the first sign of treachery I use it."
An uncomfortable expression crossed Amberg's face, but Walters or Morton, as Gilfayne called him, hastened to attract attention to himself.
"I don't wonder at your feeling like that, sir," he said, "after all you've gone through. It would be a wonder if you didn't. Mr. Sexton Blake was telling me about the narrow escapes you've had since you've been in that house. It's a mercy you are all alive at all. If you'd care to turn my pockets out to see whether I'm armed or not, I sha'n't be the least offended, and I'm sure Mr. Amberg will say the same."
George Gilfayne looked sharply at the speaker for a moment, but Walters met his eye without flinching, and seemingly half ashamed of his churlishness, Gilfayne sank into the chair by the fire and stared moodily at the flames.
"I suppose Mr. Blake did not tell you whet he had discovered?" he asked.
"No, sir, All he said when he sent for me was that he had heard I had been in Mr. Felix's service, and guessed I should be glad to be of use to you. He told me he had good hopes of knowing everything about the plot by to-night. and that, as it was necessary that you should be here in order to identify a person whom he suspected, he had telegraphed to you to come up to London at once. He would be too busy to meet the train himself, he said, so he asked me to meet you and bring you here as soon as you arrived."
Not a word of the conversation had been lost on Sexton Blake, who, with hie eye to the keyhole, was keenly watching the scene before him. Thanks to what he had heard, he knew by what means George Gilfayne had been decoyed to London—by a cunningly worded telegram in his own name. That Gilfayne's death had been resolved upon by the two scoundrels he had not the slightest doubt, and with his finger on his revolver he waited for the first sign of treachery.
It was not long in coming. Evidently Walters's aim was to avoid a dangerous struggle by catching Gilfayne unawares. and the seeming frankness with which he had met the other's suspicion had helped to throw him off his guard. He went on talking easily and naturally for a moment or two, asking questions about Felix Gilfayne's health, hoping that the continued anxiety had not told upon him, and so on; and then, as Gilfayne began to get more at his ease, he knelt down by the fire and began to poke it vigorously, complaining of the coldness of the room.
Sexton Blake guessed what was about to happen. While be continued to poke the fire with his right hand, his left stole gently towards the pocket of George Gilfayne's coat. So quietly and stealthily was the action performed that Gilfayne never noticed it until the weapon was suddenly jerked from his pocket and pointed to his own forehead.
There was a moment's silence. George Gilfayne, though he had turned pale, did not flinch or utter a sound as he gazed down the shining barrel of the revolver at Walter's mocking face. The latter was the first to speak.
"Neatly trapped, Mr. George Gilfayne," he said sneeringly, "I don't think there's any mistake about it this time. Move your finger or open your month to shout, and that instant I shall pull the trigger!"
"You scoundrel!" George Gilfayne said slowly. "So it is you who have been playing the traitor and assassin—you and your master, too, I suppose! Well, I've been a fool to be taken in by such a simple trick."
"Quite so." Walters sneered. "I hardly dared to hope you would swallow that bogus telegram and come up to London. I thought your recent experiences would have made you too wary for that."
"They ought to have done," George Gilfayne said bitterly. Then, fixing his eyes full upon his enemy's, he went on quietly: "There is only one thing that consoles me for my folly, and that is the certainty that sooner or later your crime will be brought home to you and your accomplices—sooner rather than later, I should say, since Sexton Blake is on your track."
"I am really sorry to have to deprive you of that consolation," was the mocking retort; "but Sexton Blake is no longer in a position to further the ends of justice. Like yourself, he will never leave this house alive."
"What!" George Gilfayne cried in horror.
Walters nodded as he rose to his feet, still keeping the revolver pointed at his victim.
"My friend Amberg will confirm what I have told you. Sexton Blake, the great detective, is a prisoner in this house, and therefore quite unable to he of assistance to you."
"That, is a lie, James Walters!" In a ringing voice Sexton Blake pronounced the words, flinging open the folding doors that had hitherto hidden him from the scoundrels and their victim. "That is a lie, James Walters!"
As the detective had expected, Walters wheeled round with a cry of astonishment as he heard the words, and George Gilfayne, taking advantage of hi eyes being turned away, leaped instantly to his feet and darted at his enemy, knocking up the hand that held the revolver.
The trapped scoundrel fought with the fury of despair and, strong as he was, George Gilfayne would probably have had hard work to subdue him had not Sexton Blake come to his assistance. Between them. after a short, sharp struggle. they succeeded in disarming the miscreant.
Meanwhile the German, seeing that the tables were effectively turned, had made for the door, hoping to slip out unobserved; but before he was half-way across the room, Pedro was on him with a bound, and when Tinker and Wilmot, hearing the noise of the scuffle, came rushing into the room, they found Amberg pinned down to the floor by the bloodhound and howling with abject terror. Walters was still struggling frantically with his two antagonists, but it was a useless struggle, for he had been forced to the ground, and the detective's knee was planted on his chest.
At last he was securely bound and laid beside his companion, who howled in vain for mercy, assuring his captors that he was innocent, and that Walters had led him into the plot on false pretences. Sexton Blake paid no attention to his cowardly wailings, but, bending over the captive Walters, he unbuttoned his coat and drew from the inner pocket the small tin box which the miscreant had induced Tinker to resign to him early that morning. The prisoner's eyes flashed with a look of impotent fury as he saw himself robbed of it once more.
"What's that?" George Gilfayne asked as Blake proceeded to shatter the box with the poker.
"To the best of my belief it contains the clue to the mystery," the detective replied. "Ah. I thought I was not mistaken!"
The padlock had yielded to his repeated blows, and, opening the box, Sexton Blake had drawn out from it a sheet of paper on which half a dozen lines were written. George Gilfayne looked over his shoulder as he read it.
"The last will and testament of Felix Courtney Gilfayne," he said in a mystified tone.
"Exactly. The last will and testament of Felix Courtney Gilfayne," the detective repeated. "By it your cousin leaves everything of which he dies possessed to his faithful and attached valet William Morton. The existence of this will explains everything, Mr. Gilfayne."
A Reconciliation - The Unraveling of the Mystery - The End.
BUT I don't understand why—" Gilfayne began.
Sexton Blake interrupted him with a laugh.
"You will when I have explained," he said. "But meanwhile, and while Tinker fetches the police, Mr. Gilfayne, I should be glad if you would
let me introduce you to a friend of mine who has been of the greatest service to me in this case, and to whom, therefore, you owe your thanks."
"Certainly," Gilfayne said. "Any friend of yours, Mr. Blake—"
He broke off as the detective laid his hand upon the shoulder of the young journalist and drew him towards the light.
"Gerald Wilmot!" he exclaimed angrily.
The young man flushed at the other's tone, but he answered quietly:
"Mr. Blake has kindly exaggerated the help I have given him. I am afraid I can only claim a very small share in the credit of running these scoundrels to earth. But I have done all I could, and I only wish it could have been a great deal more—for your sister's sake."
"Come, Gilfayne," Blake said, laying his hand on the other's arm, "haven't you been obdurate long enough? I don't want to interfere in your family affairs, and you, as your sister's guardian, have the right to dictate to her for the present. But tell me frankly, have you anything to allege against Wilmot, except that he is not a rich man?"
"No, I have not," Gilfayne admitted. And then, after an instant's hesitation, he stretched out his hand to the young journalist. "Shake hands, Wilmot," he said. "I tell you frankly that I should have preferred to see my sister married to a richer man: but I owe Mr. Blake too much to refuse any request of his, and if Brenda still cares for you—"
"She does!" Wilmot broke in eagerly.
The arrival of Tinker with the police put an end to the conversation for the time being, and it was not until James Walters alias Morton and Julius Amberg had been formally charged with attempted murder and handed over to the officers of the law, that Sexton Blake found time to give his promised explanation.
At first," he said, "I was as much in the dark as anyone; in fact, I was led off on the wrong scent-by discovering the system of signals which Miss Gilfayne and Wilmot used to communicate with each other."
"Yes," Wilmot nodded; "you can understand that I was terribly anxious about her, and we agreed that at two o'clock every morning we would signal to each other—three flashes of a lantern. As long as I saw those flashes I knew that she was alive and well."
"I soon found out my mistake," Blake continued, "and guessed how matters stood in that direction; but I was as far as ever from knowing where to look for the real criminal until the arrival of the parcel containing the coral snake. My first step in the right direction was the discovery that the snake's fangs had been extracted, and that it was perfectly harmless. For a moment-I thought that Felix Gilfayne was the criminal, and that his fainting fit was a pretence: but I made sure that it was not by lilting his eyelid and touching the eyeball with my finger. He never even winced, which showed me that his unconsciousness was real. I now had a definite clue. I knew that the assassin wished to spare Felix Gilfayne, although Felix himself was ignorant of the fact. And in ten minutes I had fixed upon Walters as the man."
"But how?" Gilfayne asked, bewildered.
"It was very simple. In the first place, I saw that the parcel containing the snake had been fastened by a left-handed man—the way the knots were tied told me that. And a close examination of the brown-paper coverings led to a still more valuable discovery. A spot of grease had been dropped on the paper—doubtless from the candle used to heat the sealing-wax—and it bore the clear impression of a finger print. I examined it with my microscope and recognised it."
"Recognised it?" Wilmot exclaimed incredulously.
"Not the lines," he replied, "but a mark across it—the jagged, uneven mark of an old scar. In a flash I remembered where and when I had seen a finger-print with exactly the same mark—at the time of the North-Eastern Bank trial, when one of the Scotland Yard men concerned in the case had shown me an impression of the fingers of James Walters, who was accused of being concerned in the burglary."
"But how did you know where to find him?" Gilfayne asked.
"That also was simple. The coral snake gave me the clue. At the time when Walters's movements were being closely watched by the police, it was discovered that one of his associates was a German Jew—Julius Amberg by name—who was strongly suspected not only of driving a profitable trade by acting as a receiver of stolen goods, but of furnishing the money Walters required for his dishonest enterprises. I remembered that Amberg's nominal trade was that of a dealer in animals, etc., and that he had a shop in Whitechapel, and the obvious conclusion was that it was from him that Walters had obtained the snake. I knew, therefore, where to find my man.
"What led me to guess that Walters and your cousin's valet Morton were one and the same, was the fact that the assassin, whoever he was, must have been in your house after you had decided to take it. You had told me that he had accompanied Felix from London' and that he had returned there the next morning; but before he left the house he had found means to tamper with the gas-bracket in Kenneth Brant's room and to secrete a bomb in the coal cellar, where he knew that Felix would never go, since a lame man could hardly be expected to carry coals upstairs.
"But the will—I don't understand about the will yet?" George Gilfayne asked.
"The will was obtained by fraud," the detective replied. "Your cousin's signature was obtained without his knowledge while he was under the influence of morphia."
"Of morphia?"
"Yes. During his severe illness a few months ago his sufferings were so acute that for several days morphia had to be injected in order to deaden the pain. I made sure of this by calling on Sir Michael Fergusson, who had attended him, and what he told me about the case proved to me that my conclusions were correct. While your cousin was in the state of semi-consciousness produced by the drug, Walters had made him set his signature to the will he had drawn up. By its terms the scoundrel was appointed his master's sole heir, so you can see easily enough what his motive was in trying to make Felix's share of Joseph Gilfayne's fortune as large as possible.
"There can be no doubt," the detective concluded gravely, "that if his plans had succeeded Felix would not have lived to enjoy the possession of his great-uncle's inheritance for very long. As soon as he dared, Walters would have murdered him in his turn, and would then have produced the fraudulent will, which in all probability it would have been impossible to contest since the signature is perfectly genuine.
"That, Mr. Gilfayne, is the whole story of the dastardly plot to destroy the heirs of Joseph Gilfayne. I know it will he a relief to you not only to feel that the danger is all over, but to know that the criminal has been found outside your own family."
The same night—the last night of the old year—George Gilfayne, Gerald Wilmot, the detective and his assistant, travelled down to Yorkshire, and the dawn of New Year's Day found them knocking at the door of the lonely house on the moors. Brenda Gilfayne opened it to them, and as her eyes fell upon Gerald Wilmot she gave a cry of joyful amazement.
"Yes, Miss Gilfayne," Sexton Blake laughed, "we've brought you a visitor and good news as well. And when the wedding comes off Tinker and I shall expect an invitation."
Needless to say that expectation was not disappointed. And when, before the year was many weeks old. Gerald Wilmot led his bride to the altar, Sexton Blake and Tinker were among the guests who assembled to wish well to the young pair whom they had helped to unite.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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