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Title: Max Carrados Mysteries – an Anthology
Author: By Ernest Bramah (1867-1942)
* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *
eBook No.:  0200901.txt
Language:   English
Date first posted: November 2002
Date most recently updated: December 2007

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--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Title:      Max Carrados Mysteries – an Anthology
Author:     By Ernest Bramah (1867-1942)




Contents

THE TRAGEDY AT BROOKBEND COTTAGE
THE MYSTERY OF THE POISONED DISH OF MUSHROOMS
THE LAST EXPLOIT OF HARRY THE ACTOR
THE KNIGHT'S CROSS SIGNAL PROBLEM
THE INGENIOUS MR. SPINOLA
THE GHOST AT MASSINGHAM MANSIONS
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF MARIE SEVERE





THE TRAGEDY AT BROOKBEND COTTAGE

[NOTE: as written here, no distinction made between hyphen and em dash--I have added the second mark to form each em, but I have not closed up spaces between words and marks--this needs to be done for just about all of them, as there is a space before and after each]  

"Max," said Mr. Carlyle, when Parkinson had closed the door behind him,
"this is Lieutenant Hollyer, whom you consented to see."

"To hear," corrected Carrados, smiling straight into the healthy and
rather embarrassed face of the stranger before him. "Mr. Hollyer knows
of my disability?"

"Mr. Carlyle told me," said the young man, "but, as a matter of fact, I
had heard of you before, Mr. Carrados, from one of our men. It was in
connection with the foundering of the Ivan Saratoy."

Carrados wagged his head in good - humoured resignation.

"And the owners were sworn to inviolable secrecy!" he exclaimed. "Well,
it is inevitable, I suppose. Not another scuttling case, Mr. Hollyer ?"

"No, mine is quite a private matter," replied the lieutenant. "My
sister, Mrs. Creake -- but Mr. Carlyle would tell you better than I can.
He knows all about it."

"No, no; Carlyle is a professional. Let me have it in the rough, Mr.
Hollyer. My ears are my eyes, you know."

"Very well, sir. I can tell you what there is to tell, right enough, but
I feel that when all's said and done it must sound very little to
another, although it seems important to me."

"We have occasionally found trifles of significance ourselves," said
Carrados encouragingly. "Don't let that deter you."

This was the essence of Lieutenant Hollyer's narrative: "I have a
sister, Millicent, who is married to a man called Creake. She is about
twenty - eight now and he is at least fifteen years older. Neither my
mother (who has since died) nor I cared very much about Creake. We had
nothing particular against him, except, perhaps, the moderate disparity
of age, but none of us appeared to have anything in common. He was a
dark, taciturn man, and his moody silence froze up conversation. As a
result, of course, we didn't see much of each other."

"This, you must understand, was four or five years ago, Max," interposed
Mr. Carlyle officiously.

Carrados maintained an uncompromising silence. Mr. Carlyle blew his nose
and contrived to impart a hurt significance into the operation. Then
Lieutenant Hollyer continued:

"Millicent married Creake after a very short engagement. It was a
frightfully subdued wedding -- more like a funeral to me. The man
professed to have no relations and apparently he had scarcely any
friends or business acquaintances. He was an agent for something or
other and had an office off Holborn. I suppose he made a living out of
it then, although we knew practically nothing of his private affairs,
but I gather that it has been going down since, and I suspect that for
the past few years they have been getting along almost entirely on
Millicent's little income. You would like the particulars of that?"

"Please," assented Carrados.

"When our father died about seven years ago, he left three thousand
pounds. It was invested in Canadian stock and brought in a little over a
hundred a year. By his will my mother was to have the income of that for
life and on her death it was to pass to Millicent, subject to the
payment of a lump sum of five hundred pounds to me. But my father
privately suggested to me that if I should have no particular use for
the money at the time, he would propose my letting Millicent have the
income of it until I did want it, as she would not be particularly well
off. You see, Mr. Carrados, a great deal more had been spent on my
education and advancement than on her; I had my pay, and, of course, I
could look out for myself better than a girl could."

"Quite so," agreed Carrados.

"Therefore I did nothing about that," continued the lieutenant. "Three
years ago I was over again but I did not see much of them. They were
living in lodgings. That was the only time since the marriage that I
have seen them until last week. In the meanwhile our mother had died and
Millicent had been receiving her income. She wrote me several letters at
the time. Otherwise we did not correspond much, but about a year ago she
sent me their new address -- Brookbend Cottage, Mulling Common -- a house
that they had taken When I got two months' leave I invited myself there
as a matter of course, fully expecting to stay most of my time with
them, but I made an excuse to get away after a week. The place was
dismal and unendurable, the whole life and atmosphere indescribably
depressing." He looked round with an instinct of caution, leaned forward
earnestly, and dropped his voice. "Mr. Carrados, it is my absolute
conviction that Creake is only waiting for a favourable opportunity to
murder Millicent."

"Go on," said Carrados quietly. "A week of the depressing surroundings
of Brookbend Cottage would not alone convince you of that, Mr. Hollyer."

"I am not so sure," declared Hollyer doubtfully. "There was a feeling of
suspicion and -- before me -- polite hatred that would have gone a good
way towards it. All the same there was something more definite.
Millicent told me this the day after I went there. There is no doubt
that a few months ago Creake deliberately planned to poison her with
some weed - killer. She told me the circumstances in a rather distressed
moment, but afterwards she refused to speak of it again -- even weakly
denied it -- and, as a matter of fact, it was with the greatest of
difficulty that I could get her at any time to talk about her husband or
his affairs. The gist of it was that she had the strongest suspicion
that Creake doctored a bottle of stout which he expected she would drink
for her supper when she was alone. The weed - killer, properly labelled,
but also in a beer bottle, was kept with other miscellaneous liquids in
the same cupboard as the beer but on a high shelf. When he found that it
had miscarried he poured away the mixture, washed out the bottle and put
in the dregs from another. There is no doubt in my mind that if he had
come back and found Millicent dead or dying he would have contrived it
to appear that she had made a mistake in the dark and drunk some of the
poison before she found out."

"Yes," assented Carrados. "The open way; the safe way."

"You must understand that they live in a very small style, Mr. Carrados,
and Millicent is almost entirely in the man's power. The only servant
they have is a woman who comes in for a few hours every day. The house
is lonely and secluded. Creake is sometimes away for days and nights at
a time, and Millicent, either through pride or indifference, seems to
have dropped off all her old friends and to have made no others. He
might poison her, bury the body in the garden, and be a thousand miles
away before anyone began even to inquire about her. What am I to do, Mr.
Carrados?"

"He is less likely to try poison than some other means now," pondered
Carrados. "That having failed, his wife will always be on her guard. He
may know, or at least suspect, that others know. No. The common - sense
precaution would be for your sister to leave the man, Mr. Hollyer. She
will not?"

"No," admitted Hollyer, "she will not. I at once urged that." The young
man struggled with some hesitation for a moment and then blurted out:
"The fact is, Mr. Carrados, I don't understand Millicent. She is not the
girl she was. She hates Creake and treats him with a silent contempt
that eats into their lives like acid, and yet she is so jealous of him
that she will let nothing short of death part them. It is a horrible
life they lead. I stood it for a week and I must say, much as I dislike
my brother - in - law, that he has something to put up with. If only he
got into a passion like a man and killed her it wouldn't be altogether
incomprehensible."

"That does not concern us," said Carrados. "In a game of this kind one
has to take sides and we have taken ours. It remains for us to see that
our side wins. You mentioned jealousy, Mr. Hollyer. Have you any idea
whether Mrs. Creake has real ground for it?"

"I should have told you that," replied Lieutenant Hollyer. "I happened
to strike up with a newspaper man whose office is in the same block as
Creake's. When I mentioned the name he grinned. 'Creake,' he said, 'oh,
he's the man with the romantic typist, isn't he?' 'Well, he's my brother
- in - law,' I replied. 'What about the typist?' Then the chap shut up
like a knife. 'No, no,' he said, 'I didn't know he was married. I don't
want to get mixed up in anything of that sort. I only said that he had a
typist. Well, what of that? So have we; so has everyone.' There was
nothing more to be got out of him, but the remark and the grin meant -
well, about as usual, Mr. Carrados."

Carrados turned to his friend.

"I suppose you know all about the typist by now, Louis?"

"We have had her under efficient observation, Max," replied Mr. Carlyle
with severe dignity.

"Is she unmarried?"

"Yes; so far as ordinary repute goes, she is."

"That is all that is essential for the moment. Mr. Hollyer opens up
three excellent reasons why this man might wish to dispose of his wife.
If we accept the suggestion of poisoning -- though we have only a jealous
woman's suspicion for it -- we add to the wish the determination. Well,
we will go forward on that. Have you got a photograph of Mr. Creake?"

The lieutenant took out his pocket - book.

"Mr. Carlyle asked me for one. Here is the best I could get."

Carrados rang the bell.

"This, Parkinson," he said, when the man appeared, "is a photograph of a
Mr. What first name, by the way?"

"Austin," put in Hollyer, who was following everything with a boyish
mixture of excitement and subdued importance.

" -- of a Mr. Austin Creake. I may require you to recognize him."
Parkinson glanced at the print and returned it to his master's hand.

"May I inquire if it is a recent photograph of the gentleman, sir?" he
asked.

"About six years ago," said the lieutenant, taking in this new actor in
the drama with frank curiosity. "But he is very little changed."

"Thank you, sir. I will endeavour to remember Mr. Creake, sir."
Lieutenant Hollyer stood up as Parkinson left the room.. The interview
seemed to be at an end.

"Oh, there's one other matter," he remarked. "I am afraid that I did
rather an unfortunate thing while I was at Brookbend. It seemed to me
that as all Millicent's money would probably pass into Creake's hands
sooner or later I might as well have my five hundred pounds, if only to
help her with afterwards. So I broached the subject and said that I
should like to have it now as I had an opportunity for investing."

"And you think?"

"It may possibly influence Creake to act sooner than he otherwise might
have done. He may have got possession of the principal even and find it
very awkward to replace it."

"So much the better. If your sister is going to be murdered it may as
well be done next week as next year so far as I am concerned. Excuse my
brutality, Mr. Hollyer, but this is simply a case to me and I regard it
strategically. Now Mr. Carlyle's organization can look after Mrs. Creake
for a few weeks, but it cannot look after her for ever. By increasing
the immediate risk we diminish the permanent risk."

"I see," agreed Hollyer. "I'm awfully uneasy but I'm entirely in your
hands."

"Then we will give Mr. Creake every inducement and every opportunity to
get to work. Where are you staying now?"

"Just now with some friends at St. Albans."

"That is too far." The inscrutable eyes retained their tranquil depth
but a new quality of quickening interest in the voice made Mr. Carlyle
forget the weight and burden of his ruffled dignity. "Give me a few
minutes, please. The cigarettes are behind you, Mr. Hollyer." The blind
man walked to the window and seemed to look out over the cypress -
shaded lawn. The lieutenant lit a cigarette and Mr. Carlyle picked up
Punch. Then Carrados turned round again.

"You are prepared to put your own arrangements aside?" he demanded of
his visitor.

"Certainly."

"Very well. I want you to go down now -- straight from here -- to
Brookbend Cottage. Tell your sister that your leave is unexpectedly cut
short and that you sail to - morrow."

"The Martian?"

"No, no; the Martian doesn't sail. Look up the movements on your way
there and pick out a boat that does. Say you are transferred. Add that
you expect to be away only two or three months and that you really want
the five hundred pounds by the time of your return. Don't stay in the
house long, please."

"I understand, sir."

"St. Albans is too far. Make your excuse and get away from there to -
day. Put up somewhere in town, where you will be in reach of the
telephone. Let Mr. Carlyle and myself know where you are. Keep out of
Creake's way. I don't want actually to tie you down to the house, but we
may require your services. We will let you know at the first sign of
anything doing and if there is nothing to be done we must release you."

"I don't mind that. Is there nothing more that I can do now?"

"Nothing. In going to Mr. Carlyle you have done the best thing possible;
you have put your sister into the care of the shrewdest man in London."
Whereat the object of this quite unexpected eulogy found himself
becoming covered with modest confusion.

"Well, Max?" remarked Mr. Carlyle tentatively when they were alone.

"Well, Louis?"

"Of course it wasn't worth while rubbing it in before young Hollyer,
but, as a matter of fact, every single man carries the life of any other
man -- only one, mind you -- in his hands, do what you will."

"Provided he doesn't bungle," acquiesced Carrados.

"Quite so."

"And also that he is absolutely reckless of the consequences."

"Of course."

"Two rather large provisos. Creake is obviously susceptible to both.
Have you seen him?"

"No. As I told you, I put a man on to report his habits in town. Then,
two days ago, as the case seemed to promise some interest -- for he
certainly is deeply involved with the typist, Max, and the thing might
take a sensational turn at any time -- I went down to Mulling Common
myself. Although the house is lonely it is on the electric tram route.
You know the sort of market garden rurality that about a dozen miles out
of London offers -- alternate bricks and cabbages. It was easy enough to
get to know about Creake locally. He mixes with no one there, goes into
town at irregular times but generally every day, and is reputed to be
devilish hard to get money out of. Finally I made the acquaintance of an
old fellow who used to do a day's gardening at Brookbend occasionally.
He has a cottage and a garden of his own with a greenhouse, and the
business cost me the price of a pound of tomatoes."

"Was it -- a profitable investment?"

"As tomatoes, yes; as information, no. The old fellow had the fatal
disadvantage from our point of view of labouring under a grievance. A
few weeks ago Creake told him that he would not require him again as he
was going to do his own gardening in future."

"That is something, Louis."

"If only Creake was going to poison his wife with hyoscyamine and bury
her, instead of blowing her up with a dynamite cartridge and claiming
that it came in among the coal."

"True, true. Still -- "

"However, the chatty old soul had a simple explanation for everything
that Creake did. Creake was mad. He had even seen him flying a kite in
his garden where it was found to get wrecked among the trees. A lad of
ten would have known better, he declared. And certainly the kite did get
wrecked, for I saw it hanging over the road myself. But that a sane man
should spend his time 'playing with a toy' was beyond him."

"A good many men have been flying kites of various kinds lately," said
Carrados. "Is he interested in aviation?"

"I dare say. He appears to have some knowledge of scientific subjects.
Now what do you want me to do, Max?"

"Will you do it?"

"Implicitly -- subject to the usual reservations."

"Keep your man on Creake in town and let me have his reports after you
have seen them. Lunch with me here now. 'Phone up to your office that
you are detained on unpleasant business and then give the deserving
Parkinson an afternoon off by looking after me while we take a motor run
round Mulling Common. If we have time we might go on to Brighton, feed
at the 'Ship,' and come back in the cool."

"Amiable and thrice lucky mortal," sighed Mr. Carlyle, his glance
wandering round the room.

But, as it happened, Brighton did not figure in that day's itinerary. It
had been Carrados's intention merely to pass Brookbend Cottage on this
occasion, relying on his highly developed faculties, aided by Mr.
Carlyle's description, to inform him of the surroundings. A hundred
yards before they reached the house he had given an order to his
chauffeur to drop into the lowest speed and they were leisurely drawing
past when a discovery by Mr. Carlyle modified their plans.

"By Jupiter!" that gentleman suddenly exclaimed, "there's a board up,
Max. The place is to be let."

Carrados picked up the tube again. A couple of sentences passed and the
car stopped by the roadside, a score of paces past the limit of the
garden. Mr. Carlyle took out his notebook and wrote down the address of
a firm of house agents.

"You might raise the bonnet and have a look at the engines, Harris,"
said Carrados. "We want to be occupied here for a few minutes."

"This is sudden; Hollyer knew nothing of their leaving," remarked Mr.
Carlyle.

"Probably not for three months yet. All the same, Louis, we will go on
to the agents and get a card to view whether we use it to - day or not."

A thick hedge, in its summer dress effectively screening the house
beyond from public view, lay between the garden and the road. Above the
hedge showed an occasional shrub; at the corner nearest to the car a
chestnut flourished. The wooden gate, once white, which they had passed,
was grimed and rickety. The road itself was still the unpretentious
country lane that the advent of the electric car had found it. When
Carrados had taken in these details there seemed little else to notice.
He was on the point of giving Harris the order to go on when his ear
caught a trivial sound.

"Someone is coming out of the house, Louis," he warned his friend. "It
may be Hollyer, but he ought to have gone by this time."

"I don't hear anyone," replied the other, but as he spoke a door banged
noisily and Mr. Carlyle slipped into and the seat and ensconced himself
behind a copy of The Globe.

"Creake himself," he whispered across the car, as a man appeared at the
gate. "Hollyer was right; he is hardly changed. Waiting for a car, I
suppose."

But a car very soon swung past them from the direction in which Mr.
Creake was looking and it did not interest him. For a minute or two
longer he continued to look expectantly along the road. Then he walked
slowly up the drive back to the house.

"We will give him five or ten minutes," decided Carrados. "Harris is
behaving very naturally."

Before even the shorter period had run out they were repaid. A telegraph
- boy cycled leisurely along the road, and, leaving his machine at the
gate, went up to the cottage. Evidently there was no reply, for in less
than a minute he was trundling past them back again. Round the bend an
approaching tram clanged its bell noisily, and, quickened by the warning
sound, Mr. Creake again appeared, this time with a small portmanteau in
his hand. With a backward glance he hurried on towards the next stopping
- place, and, boarding the car as it slackened down, he was carried out
of their knowledge.

"Very convenient of Mr. Creake," remarked Carrados, with quiet
satisfaction. "We will now get the order and go over the house in his
absence. It might be useful to have a look at the wire as well."

"It might, Max," acquiesced Mr. Carlyle a little dryly. "But if it is,
as it probably is in Creake's pocket, how do you propose to get it?"

"By going to the post office, Louis."

"Quite so. Have you ever tried to see a copy of a telegram addressed to
someone else?"

"I don't think I have ever had occasion yet," admitted Carrados. "Have
you?"

"In one or two cases I have perhaps been an accessory to the act. It is
generally a matter either of extreme delicacy or considerable
expenditure."

"Then for Hollyer's sake we will hope for the former here." And Mr.
Carlyle smiled darkly and hinted that he was content to wait for a
friendly revenge.

A little later, having left the car at the beginning of the straggling
High Street, the two men called at the village post office. They had
already visited the house agent and obtained an order to view Brookbend
Cottage, declining with some difficulty the clerk's persistent offer to
accompany them. The reason was soon forthcoming. "As a matter of fact,"
explained the young man, "the present tenant is under our notice to
leave."

"Unsatisfactory, eh?" said Carrados encouragingly.

"He's a corker," admitted the clerk, responding to the friendly tone.
"Fifteen months and not a doit of rent have we had. That's why I should
have liked -- "

"We will make every allowance," replied Carrados.

The post office occupied one side of a stationer's shop. It was not
without some inward trepidation that Mr. Carlyle found himself committed
to the adventure. Carrados, on the other hand, was the personification
of bland unconcern.

"You have just sent a telegram to Brookbend Cottage," he said young lady
behind the brasswork lattice. "We think it may have come inaccurately
and should like a repeat." He took out his purse. "What is the fee?"

The request was evidently not a common one. "Oh," said the girl
uncertainly, "wait a minute, please." She turned to a pile of telegram
duplicates behind the desk and ran a doubtful finger along the upper
sheets. "I think this is all right. You want it repeated?"

"Please." Just a tinge of questioning surprise gave point to the
courteous tone.

"It will be four pence. If there is an error the amount will be
refunded."

Carrados put down his coin and received his change.

"Will it take long?" he inquired carelessly, as he pulled on his glove.

"You will most likely get it within a quarter of an hour," she replied.

"Now you've done it," commented Mr. Carlyle as they walked back to their
car. "How do you propose to get that telegram, Max?"

"Ask for it," was the laconic explanation.

And, stripping the artifice of any elaboration, he simply asked for it
and got it. The car, posted at a convenient bend in the road, gave him a
warning note as the telegraph - boy approached. Then Carrados took up a
convincing attitude with his hand on the gate while Mr. Carlyle lent
himself to the semblance of a departing friend. That was the inevitable
impression when the boy rode up.

"Creake, Brookbend Cottage?" inquired Carrados, holding out his hand,
and without a second thought the boy gave him the envelope and rode away
on the assurance that there would be no reply.

"Some day, my friend," remarked Mr. Carlyle, looking nervously toward
the unseen house, "your ingenuity will get you into a tight corner."

"Then my ingenuity must get me out again," was the retort. "Let us have
our 'view' now. The telegram can wait."

An untidy workwoman took their order and left them standing at the door.
Presently a lady whom they both knew to be Mrs. Creake appeared.

"You wish to see over the house?" she said, in a voice that was utterly
devoid of any interest. Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned to
the nearest door and threw it open.

"This is the drawing - room," she said, standing aside.

They walked into a sparsely furnished, damp - smelling room and made a
pretence of looking round, while Mrs. Creake remained silent and aloof.

"The dining - room," she continued, crossing the narrow hall and opening
another door.

Mr. Carlyle ventured a genial commonplace in the hope of inducing
conversation. The result was not encouraging. Doubtless they would have
gone through the house under the same frigid guidance had not Carrados
been at fault in a way that Mr. Carlyle had never known him fail before.
In crossing the hall he stumbled over a mat and almost fell.

"Pardon my clumsiness," he said to the lady; "I am, unfortunately, quite
blind. But," he added, with a smile, to turn off the mishap, "even a
blind man must have a house."

The man who had eyes was surprised to see a flood of colour rush into
Mrs. Creake's face.

"Blind!" she exclaimed, "oh, I beg your pardon. Why did you not tell me?
You might have fallen."

"I generally manage fairly well," he replied. "But, of course, in a
strange house.” She put her hand on his arm very lightly.

"You must let me guide you, just a little," she said.

The house, without being large, was full of passages and inconvenient
turnings. Carrados asked an occasional question and found Mrs. Creake
quite amiable without effusion. Mr. Carlyle followed them from room to
room in the hope, though scarcely the expectation, of learning something
that might be useful.

"This is the last one. It is the largest bedroom," said their guide.
Only two of the upper rooms were fully furnished and Mr. Carlyle at once
saw, as Carrados knew without seeing, that this was the one which the
Creakes occupied.

"A very pleasant outlook," declared Mr. Carlyle.

"Oh, I suppose so," admitted the lady vaguely. The room, in fact, looked
over the leafy garden and the road beyond. It had a French window
opening on to a small balcony, and to this, under the strange influence
that always attracted him to light, Carrados walked.

"I expect that there is a certain amount of repair needed?" he said,
after standing there a moment.

"I am afraid there would be," she confessed.

"I ask because there is a sheet of metal on the floor here," he
continued. "Now that, in an old house, spells dry rot to the wary
observer."

"My husband said that the rain, which comes in a little under the
window, was rotting the boards there," she replied. "He put that down
recently. I had not noticed anything, myself."

It was the first time she had mentioned her husband; Mr. Carlyle pricked
up his ears.

"Ah, that is a less serious matter," said Carrados. "May I step out on
to the balcony?"

"Oh yes, if you like to." Then, as he appeared to be fumbling at the
catch, "Let me open it for you."

But the window was already open, and Carrados, facing the various points
of the compass, took in the bearings.

"A sunny, sheltered corner," he remarked. "An ideal spot for a deck -
chair and a book."

She shrugged her shoulders half contemptuously.

"I dare say," she replied, "but I never use it."

"Sometimes, surely," he persisted mildly. "It would be my favourite
retreat. But then -- "

"I was going to say that I had never even been out on it, but that would
not be quite true. It has two uses for me, both equally romantic; I
occasionally shake a duster from it, and when my husband returns late
without his latchkey he wakes me up and I come out here and drop him
mine.”

Further revelation of Mr. Creake's nocturnal habits was cut off, greatly
to Mr. Carlyle's annoyance, by a cough of unmistakable significance from
the foot of the stairs. They had heard a trade cart drive up to the
gate, a knock at the door, and the heavy - footed woman tramp along the
hall.

"Excuse me a minute, please," said Mrs. Creake.

"Louis," said Carrados, in a sharp whisper, the moment they were alone,
"stand against the door."

With extreme plausibility Mr. Carlyle began to admire a picture so
situated that while he was there it was impossible to open the door more
than a few inches. From that position he observed his confederate go
through the curious procedure of kneeling down on the bedroom floor and
for a full minute pressing his ear to the sheet of metal that had
already engaged his attention. Then he rose to his feet, nodded, dusted
his trousers, and Mr. Carlyle moved to a less equivocal position.

"What a beautiful rose - tree grows up your balcony," remarked Carrados,
stepping into the room as Mrs. Creake returned. "I suppose you are very
fond of gardening?"

"I detest it," she replied.

"But this Gloire, so carefully trained -- ?"

"Is it?" she replied. "I think my husband was nailing it up recently."
By some strange fatality Carrados's most aimless remarks seemed to
involve the absent Mr. Creake. "Do you care to see the garden?"

The garden proved to be extensive and neglected. Behind the house was
chiefly orchard. In front, some semblance of order had been kept up;
here it was lawn and shrubbery, and the drive they had walked along. Two
things interested Carrados: the soil at the foot of the balcony, which
he declared on examination to be particularly suitable for roses, and
the fine chestnut - tree in the corner by the road.

As they walked back to the car Mr. Carlyle lamented that they had
learned so little of Creake's movements.

"Perhaps the telegram will tell us something," suggested Carrados. "Read
it, Louis."

Mr. Carlyle cut open the envelope, glanced at the enclosure, and in
spite of his disappointment could not restrain a chuckle.

"My poor Max," he explained, "you have put yourself to an amount of
ingenious trouble for nothing. Creake is evidently taking a few days'
holiday and prudently availed himself of the Meteorological Office
forecast before going. Listen: 'Immediate prospect for London warm and
settled. Further outlook cooler but fine.' Well, well; I did get a pound
of tomatoes for my fourpence."

"You certainly scored there, Louis," admitted Carrados, with humorous
appreciation. "I wonder," he added speculatively, "whether it is
Creake's peculiar taste usually to spend his week - end holiday in
London."

"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, looking at the words again, "by gad, that's
rum, Max. They go to Weston - super - Mare. Why on earth should he want
to know about London?"

"I can make a guess, but before we are satisfied I must come here again.
Take another look at that kite, Louis. Are there a few yards of string
hanging loose from it?"

"Yes, there are."

"Rather thick string -- unusually thick for the purpose?"

"Yes, but how do you know?"

As they drove home again Carrados explained, and Mr. Carlyle sat aghast,
saying incredulously: "Good God, Max, is it possible?"

An hour later he was satisfied that it was possible. In reply to his
inquiry someone in his office telephoned him the information that "they"
had left Paddington by the four - thirty for Weston.

It was more than a week after his introduction to Carrados that
Lieutenant Hollyer had a summons to present himself at The Turrets
again. He found Mr. Carlyle already there and the two friends were
awaiting his arrival.

"I stayed in all day after hearing from you this morning, Mr. Carrados,"
he said, shaking hands. "When I got your second message I was all ready
to walk straight out of the house. That's how I did it in the time. I
hope everything is all right?"

"Excellent," replied Carrados. "You'd better have something before we
start. We probably have a long and perhaps an exciting night before us."

"And certainly a wet one," assented the lieutenant. "It was thundering
over Mulling way as I came along."

"That is why you are here," said his host. "We are waiting for a certain
message before we start, and in the meantime you may as well understand
what we expect to happen. As you saw, there is a thunderstorm coming on.
The Meteorological Office morning forecast predicted it for the whole of
London if the conditions remained. That is why I kept you in readiness.
Within an hour it is now inevitable that we shall experience a deluge.
Here and there damage will be done to trees and buildings; here and
there a person will probably be struck and killed."

"Yes."

"It is Mr. Creake's intention that his wife should be among the
victims."

"I don't exactly follow," said Hollyer, looking from one man to the
other. "I quite admit that Creake would be immensely relieved if such a
thing did happen, but the chance is surely an absurdly remote one."

"Yet unless we intervene it is precisely what a coroner's jury will
decide has happened. Do you know whether your brother - in - law has any
practical knowledge of electricity, Mr. Hollyer?"

"I cannot say. He was so reserved, and we really knew so little of him --
"

"Yet in 1896 an Austin Creake contributed an article on 'Alternating
Currents' to the American Scientific World. That would argue a fairly
intimate acquaintanceship."

"But do you mean that he is going to direct a flash of lightning?"

"Only into the minds of the doctor who conducts the postmortem, and the
coroner. This storm, the opportunity for which he has been waiting for
weeks, is merely the cloak to his act. The weapon which he has planned
to use -- scarcely less powerful than lightning but much more tractable --
is the high voltage current of electricity that flows along the tram
wire at his gate."

"Oh!" exclaimed Lieutenant Hollyer, as the sudden revelation struck him.

"Some time between eleven o'clock to - night -- about the hour when your
sister goes to bed -- and one thirty in the morning -- the time up to
which he can rely on the current -- Creake will throw a stone up at the
balcony window. Most of his preparation has long been made; it only
remains for him to connect up a short length to the window handle and a
longer one at the other end to tap the live wire. That done, he will
wake his wife in the way I have said. The moment she moves the catch of
the window -- and he has carefully filed its parts to ensure perfect
contact -- she will be electrocuted as effectually as if she sat in the
executioner's chair in Sing Sing prison."

"But what are we doing here!" exclaimed Hollyer, starting to his feet,
pale and horrified. "It is past ten now and anything may happen."

"Quite natural, Mr. Hollyer," said Carrados reassuringly, "but you need
have no anxiety. Creake is being watched, the house is being watched,
and your sister is as safe as if she slept to - night in Windsor Castle.
Be assured that whatever happens he will not be allowed to complete his
scheme; but it is desirable to let him implicate himself to the fullest
limit. Your brother - in - law, Mr. Hollyer, is a man with a peculiar
capacity for taking pains."

"He is a damned cold - blooded scoundrel!" exclaimed the young officer
fiercely. "When I think of Millicent five years ago -- "

"Well, for that matter, an enlightened nation has decided that
electrocution is the most humane way of removing its superfluous citizen
is," suggested Carrados mildly. "He is certainly an ingenious - minded
gentleman. It is his misfortune that in Mr. Carlyle he was fated to be
opposed by an even subtler brain -- "

"No, no! Really, Max!" protested the embarrassed gentleman.

"Mr. Hollyer will be able to judge for himself when I tell him that it
was Mr. Carlyle who first drew attention to the significance of the
abandoned kite," insisted Carrados firmly. "Then, of course, its object
became plain to me -- as indeed to anyone. For ten minutes, perhaps, a
wire must be carried from the overhead line to the chestnut - tree.
Creake has everything in his favour, but it is just within possibility
that the driver of an inopportune train might notice the appendage. What
of that? Why, for more than a week he has seen a derelict kite with its
yards of trailing string hanging in the tree. A very calculating mind,
Mr. Hollyer. It would be interesting to know what line of action Mr.
Creake has mapped out for himself afterwards. I expect he has half - a -
dozen artistic little touches up his sleeve. Possibly he would merely
singe his wife's hair, burn her feet with a red - hot poker, shiver the
glass of the French window, and be content with that to let well alone.
You see, lightning is so varied in its effects that whatever he did or
did not do would be right. He is in the impregnable position of the body
showing all the symptoms of death by lightning shock and nothing else
but lightning to account for it -- a dilated eye, heart contracted in
systole, bloodless lungs shrunk to a third the normal weight, and all
the rest of it. When he has removed a few outward traces of his work
Creake might quite safely 'discover' his dead wife and rush off for the
nearest doctor. Or he may have decided to arrange a convincing alibi,
and creep away, leaving the discovery to another. We shall never know;
he will make no confession."

"I wish it was well over," admitted Hollyer, "I'm not particularly
jumpy, but this gives me a touch of the creeps."

"Three more hours at the worst, lieutenant," said Carrados cheerfully.
"Ah - ha, something is coming through now."

He went to the telephone and received a message from one quarter; then
made another connection and talked for a few minutes with someone else.

"Everything working smoothly," he remarked between times over his
shoulder. "Your sister has gone to bed, Mr. Hollyer."

Then he turned to the house telephone and distributed his orders.

"So we," he concluded, "must get up."

By the time they were ready a large closed motor car was waiting. The
lieutenant thought he recognised Parkinson in the well - swathed form
beside the driver, but there was no temptation to linger for a second on
the steps. Already the stinging rain had lashed the drive into the
semblance of a frothy estuary; all round the lightning jagged its course
through the incessant tremulous glow of more distant lightning, while
the thunder only ceased its muttering to turn at close quarters and
crackle viciously.

"One of the few things I regret missing," remarked Carrados tranquilly;
"but I hear a good deal of colour in it."

The car slushed its way down to the gate, lurched a little heavily
across the dip into the road, and, steadying as it came upon the
straight, began to hum contentedly along the deserted highway.

"We are not going direct?" suddenly inquired Hollyer, after they had
travelled perhaps half - a - dozen miles. The night was bewildering
enough but he had the sailor's gift for location.

"No; through Hunscott Green and then by a field - path to the orchard at
the back," replied Carrados. "Keep a sharp look out for the man with the
lantern about here, Harris," he called through the tube.

"Something flashing just ahead, sir," came the reply, and the car slowed
down and stopped.

Carrados dropped the near window as a man in glistening waterproof
stepped from the shelter of a lich - gate and approached.

"Inspector Beedel, sir," said the stranger, looking into the car.

"Quite right, Inspector," said Carrados. "Get in."

"I have a man with me, sir."

"We can find room for him as well."

"We are very wet."

"So shall we all be soon."

The lieutenant changed his seat and the two burly forms took places side
by side. In less than five minutes the car stopped again, this time in a
grassy country lane.

"Now we have to face it," announced Carrados. "The inspector will show
us the way."

The car slid round and disappeared into the night, while Beedel led the
party to a stile in the hedge. A couple of fields brought them to the
Brookbend boundary. There a figure stood out of the black foliage,
exchanged a few words with their guide and piloted them along the
shadows of the orchard to the back door of the house.

"You will find a broken pane near the catch of the scullery window,"
said the blind man.

"Right, sir," replied the inspector. "I have it. Now who goes through?"

"Mr. Hollyer will open the door for us. I'm afraid you must take off
your boots and all wet things, Lieutenant. We cannot risk a single spot
inside."

They waited until the back door opened, then each one divested himself
in a similar manner and passed into the kitchen, where the remains of a
fire still burned. The man from the orchard gathered together the
discarded garments and disappeared again.

Carrados turned to the lieutenant.

"A rather delicate job for you now, Mr. Hollyer. I want you to go up to
your sister, wake her, and get her into another room with as little fuss
as possible. Tell her as much as you think fit and let her understand
that her very life depends on absolute stillness when she is alone.
Don't be unduly hurried, but not a glimmer of a light, please."

Ten minutes passed by the measure of the battered old alarum on the
dresser shelf before the young man returned.

"I've had rather a time of it," he reported, with a nervous laugh, "but
I think it will be all right now. She is in the spare room."

"Then we will take our places. You and Parkinson come with me to the
bedroom. Inspector, you have your own arrangements. Mr. Carlyle will be
with you."

They dispersed silently about the house. Hollyer glanced apprehensively
at the door of the spare room as they passed it, but within was as quiet
as the grave. Their room lay at the other end of the passage.

"You may as well take your place in the bed now, Hollyer," directed
Carrados when they were inside and the door closed. "Keep well down
among the clothes. Creake has to get up on the balcony, you know, and he
will probably peep through the window, but he dare come no farther. Then
when he begins to throw up stones slip on this dressing - gown of your
sister's. I'll tell you what to do after."

The next sixty minutes drew out into the longest hour that the
lieutenant had ever known. Occasionally he heard a whisper pass between
the two men who stood behind the window curtains, but he could see
nothing. Then Carrados threw a guarded remark in his direction.

"He is in the garden now."

Something scraped slightly against the outer wall. But the night was
full of wilder sounds, and in the house the furniture and the boards
creaked and sprung between the yawling of the wind among the chimneys,
the rattle of the thunder and the pelting of the rain. It was a time to
quicken the steadiest pulse, and when the crucial moment came, when a
pebble suddenly rang against the pane with a sound that the tense
waiting magnified into a shivering crash, Hollyer leapt from the bed on
the instant.

"Easy, easy," warned Carrados feelingly. "We will wait for another
knock." He passed something across. "Here is a rubber glove. I have cut
the wire but you had better put it on. Stand just for a moment at the
window, move the catch so that it can blow open a little, and drop
immediately. Now."

Another stone had rattled against the glass. For Hollyer to go through
his part was the work merely of seconds, and with a few touches Carrados
spread the dressing - gown to more effective disguise about the extended
form. But an unforeseen and in the circumstances rather horrible
interval followed, for Creake, in accordance with some detail of his
never - revealed plan, continued to shower missile after missile against
the panes until even the unimpressionable Parkinson shivered.

"The last act," whispered Carrados, a moment after the throwing had
ceased. "He has gone round to the back. Keep as you are. We take cover
now." He pressed behind the arras of an extemporized wardrobe, and the
spirit of emptiness and desolation seemed once more to reign over the
lonely house.

From half - a - dozen places of concealment ears were straining to catch
the first guiding sound. He moved very stealthily, burdened, perhaps, by
some strange scruple in the presence of the tragedy that he had not
feared to connive, paused for a moment at the bedroom door, then opened
it very quietly, and in the fickle light read the consummation of his
hopes.

"At last!" they heard the sharp whisper drawn from his relief. "At
last!"

He took another step and two shadows seemed to fall upon him from
behind, one on either side. With primitive instinct a cry of terror and
surprise escaped him as he made a desperate movement to wrench himself
free, and for a short second he almost succeeded in dragging one hand
into a pocket. Then his wrists slowly came together and the handcuffs
closed.

"I am Inspector Beedel," said the man on his right side. "You are
charged with the attempted murder of your wife, Millicent Creake."

"You are mad," retorted the miserable creature, falling into a desperate
calmness. "She has been struck by lightning."

"No, you blackguard, she hasn't," wrathfully exclaimed his brother - in
- law, jumping up. "Would you like to see her?"

"I also have to warn you," continued the inspector impassively, "that
anything you say may be used as evidence against you."

A startled cry from the farther end of the passage arrested their
attention.

"Mr. Carrados," called Hollyer, "oh, come at once."

At the open door of the other bedroom stood the lieutenant, his eyes
still turned towards something in the room beyond, a little empty bottle
in his hand.

"Dead!" he exclaimed tragically, with a sob, "with this beside her. Dead
just when she would have been free of the brute."

The blind man passed into the room, sniffed the air, and laid a gentle
hand on the pulseless heart.

"Yes," he replied. "That, Hollyer, does not always appeal to the woman,
strange to say."




THE MYSTERY OF THE POISONED DISH OF MUSHROOMS



Some time during November of a recent year, newspaper readers who are in
the habit of being attracted by curious items of quite negligible
importance might have followed the account of the tragedy of a St.
Abbots schoolboy which appeared in the Press under the headings, "Fatal
Dish of Mushrooms," "Are Toadstools Distinguishable?" or some similarly
alluring title.

The facts relating to the death of Charlie Winpole were simple and
straightforward and the jury sworn to the business of investigating the
cause had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict in accordance with the
medical evidence. The witnesses who had anything really material to
contribute were only two in number, Mrs. Dupreen and Robert Wilberforce
Slark, M. D. A couple of hours would easily have disposed of every
detail of an inquiry that was generally admitted to have been a pure
formality, had not the contention of an interested person delayed the
inevitable conclusion by forcing the necessity of an adjournment.

Irene Dupreen testified that she was the widow of a physician and lived
at Hazlehurst, Chesset Avenue, St. Abbots, with her brother. The
deceased was their nephew, an only child and an orphan, and was aged
twelve. He was a ward of Chancery and the Court had appointed her as
guardian, with an adequate provision for the expenses of his bringing up
and education. That allowance would, of course, cease with her nephew's
death.

Coming to the particulars of the case, Mrs. Dupreen explained that for a
few days the boy had been suffering from a rather severe cold. She had
not thought it necessary to call in a doctor, recognising it as a mild
form of influenza. She had kept him from school and restricted him to
his bedroom. On the previous Wednesday, the day before his death, he was
quite convalescent, with a good pulse and a normal temperature, but as
the weather was cold she decided still to keep him in bed as a measure
of precaution. He had a fair appetite, but did not care for the lunch
they had, and so she had asked him, before going out in the afternoon,
if there was anything that he would especially fancy for his dinner. He
had thereupon expressed a partiality for mushrooms, of which he was
always very fond.

"I laughed and pulled his ear," continued the witness, much affected at
her recollection, "and asked him if that was his idea of a suitable dish
for an invalid. But I didn't think that it really mattered in the least
then, so I went to several shops about them. They all said that
mushrooms were over, but finally I found a few at Lackington's, the
greengrocer in Park Road. I bought only half - a - pound; no one but
Charlie among us cared for them and I thought that they were already
very dry and rather dear."

The connection between the mushrooms and the unfortunate boy's death
seemed inevitable. When Mrs. Dupreen went upstairs after dinner she
found Charlie apparently asleep and breathing soundly. She quietly
removed the tray and without disturbing him turned out the gas and
closed the door. In the middle of the night she was suddenly and
startlingly awakened by something. For a moment she remained confused,
listening. Then a curious sound coming from the direction of the boy's
bedroom drew her there. On opening the door she was horrified to see her
nephew lying on the floor in a convulsed attitude. His eyes were open
and widely dilated; one hand clutched some bed - clothes which he had
dragged down with him, and the other still grasped the empty water -
bottle that had been by his side. She called loudly for help and her
brother and then the servant appeared. She sent the latter to a medicine
cabinet for mustard leaves and told her brother to get in the nearest
available doctor. She had already lifted Charlie on to the bed again.
Before the doctor arrived, which was in about half - an - hour, the boy
was dead.

In answer to a question the witness stated that she had not seen her
nephew between the time she removed the tray and when she found him ill.
The only other person who had seen him within a few hours of his death
had been her brother, Philip Loudham, who had taken up Charlie's dinner.
When he came down again he had made the remark: "The youngster seems
lively enough now."

Dr. Slark was the next witness. His evidence was to the effect that
about three - fifteen on the Thursday morning he was hurriedly called to
Hazlehurst by a gentleman whom he now knew to be Mr. Philip Loudham. He
understood that the case was one of convulsions and went provided for
that contingency, but on his arrival he found the patient already dead.
From his own examination and from what he was told he had no hesitation
in diagnosing the case as one of agaric poisoning. He saw no reason to
suspect any of the food except the mushrooms, and all the symptoms
pointed to bhurine, the deadly principle of Amanita Bhuroides, or the
Black Cap, as it was popularly called, from its fancied resemblance to
the head - dress assumed by a judge in passing death sentence, coupled
with its sinister and well - merited reputation. It was always fatal.

Continuing his evidence, Dr. Slark explained that only after maturity
did the Black Cap develop its distinctive appearance. Up to that stage
it had many of the characteristics of Agaricus campestris, or common
mushroom. It was true that the gills were paler than one would expect to
find, and there were other slight differences of a technical kind, but
all might easily be overlooked in the superficial glance of the
gatherer. The whole subject of edible and noxious fungi was a difficult
one and at present very imperfectly understood. He, personally, very
much doubted if true mushrooms were ever responsible for the cases of
poisoning which one occasionally saw attributed to them. Under
scientific examination he was satisfied that all would resolve
themselves into poisoning by one or other of the many noxious fungi that
could easily be mistaken for the edible varieties. It was possible to
prepare an artificial bed, plant it with proper spawn and be rewarded by
a crop of mushroom - like growth of undoubted virulence. On the other
hand, the injurious constituents of many poisonous fungi passed off in
the process of cooking. There was no handy way of discriminating between
the good and the bad except by the absolute identification of species.
The salt test and the silver - spoon test were all nonsense and the
sooner they were forgotten the better. Apparent mushrooms that were
found in woods or growing in the vicinity of trees or hedges should
always be regarded with the utmost suspicion.

Dr. Slark's evidence concluded the case so far as the subpoenaed
witnesses were concerned, but before addressing the jury the coroner
announced that another person had expressed a desire to be heard. There
was no reason why they should not accept any evidence that was tendered,
and as the applicant's name had been mentioned in the case it was only
right that he should have the opportunity of replying publicly.

Mr. Lackington thereupon entered the witness - box and was sworn. He
stated that he was a fruiterer and greengrocer, carrying on a business
in Park Road, St. Abbots. He remembered Mrs. Dupreen coming to his shop
two days before. The basket of mushrooms from which she was supplied
consisted of a small lot of about six pounds, brought in by a farmer
from a neighbouring village, with whom he had frequent dealings. All had
been disposed of and in no other case had illness resulted. It was a
serious matter to him as a tradesman to have his name associated with a
case of this kind. That was why he had come forward. Not only with
regard to mushrooms, but as a general result, people would become shy of
dealing with him if it was stated that he sold unwholesome goods.

The coroner, intervening at this point, remarked that he might as well
say that he would direct the jury that, in the event of their finding
the deceased to have died from the effects of the mushrooms or anything
contained among them, there was no evidence other than that the
occurrence was one of pure mischance.

Mr. Lackington expressed his thanks for the assurance, but said that a
bad impression would still remain. He had been in business in St. Abbots
for twenty - seven years and during that time he had handled some tons
of mushrooms without a single complaint before. He admitted, in answer
to the interrogation, that he had not actually examined every mushroom
of the half - pound sold to Mrs. Dupreen, but he weighed them, and he
was confident that if a toadstool had been among them he would have
detected it. Might it not be a cooking utensil that was the cause?

Dr. Slark shook his head and was understood to say that he could not
accept the suggestion.

Continuing, Mr. Lackington then asked whether it was not possible that
the deceased, doubtless an inquiring, adventurous boy and as mischievous
as most of his kind, feeling quite well again and being confined to the
house, had got up in his aunt's absence and taken something that would
explain this sad affair? They had heard of a medicine cabinet. What
about tablets of trional or veronal or something of that sort that might
perhaps look like sweets? It was all very well for Dr. Slark to laugh,
but this matter was a serious one for the witness.

Dr. Slark apologised for smiling -- he had not laughed -- and gravely
remarked that the matter was a serious one for all concerned in the
inquiry. He admitted that the reference to trional and veronal in this
connection had, for the moment, caused him to forget the surroundings.
He would suggest that in the circumstances perhaps the coroner would
think it desirable to order a more detailed examination of the body to
be made.

After some further discussion the coroner, while remarking that in most
cases an analysis was quite unnecessary, decided that in view of what
had transpired it would be more satisfactory to have a complete autopsy
carried out. The inquest was accordingly adjourned.

A week later most of those who had taken part in the first inquiry
assembled again in the room of the St. Abbots Town Hall which did duty
for the Coroner's Court. Only one witness was heard and his evidence was
brief and conclusive.

Dr. Herbert Ingpenny, consulting pathologist to St. Martin's Hospital,
stated that he had made an examination of the contents of the stomach
and viscera of the deceased. He found evidence of the presence of the
poison bhurine in sufficient quantity to account for the boy's death,
and the symptoms, as described by Dr. Slark and Mrs. Dupreen in the
course of the previous hearing, were consistent with bhurine poisoning.
Bhurine did not occur naturally except as a constituent of Amanita
Bhuroides. One - fifth of a grain would be fatal to an adult; in other
words, a single fungus in the dish might poison three people. A child,
especially if experiencing the effects of a weakening illness, would be
even more susceptible. No other harmful substance was present.

Dr. Ingpenny concluded by saying that he endorsed his colleague's
general remarks on the subject of mushrooms and other fungi, and the
jury, after a plain direction from the coroner, forthwith brought in a
verdict in accordance with the medical evidence.

It was a foregone conclusion with anyone who knew the facts or had
followed the evidence. Yet five days later Philip Loudham was arrested
suddenly and charged with the astounding crime of having murdered his
nephew.

It is at this point that Max Carrados makes his first appearance in the
Winpole tragedy.

A few days after the arrest, being in a particularly urbane frame of
mind himself, and having several hours with no demands on them that
could not be fitly transferred to his subordinates, Mr. Carlyle looked
round for some social entertainment and with a benevolent condescension
very opportunely remembered the existence of his niece living at Groat's
Heath.

"Elsie will be delighted," he assented to the suggestion. "She is rather
out of the world up there, I imagine. Now if I get there at four, put in
a couple of hours."

Mrs. Bellmark was certainly pleased, but she appeared to be still more
surprised, and behind that lay an effervescence of excitement that even
to Mr. Carlyle's complacent self - esteem seemed out of proportion to
the occasion. The reason could not be long withheld.

"Did you meet anyone, Uncle Louis?" was almost her first inquiry. "Did I
meet anyone?" repeated Mr. Carlyle with his usual precision. "Um, no, I
cannot say that I met anyone particular. Of course -- "

"I've had a visitor and he's coming back again for tea. Guess who it is?
But you never will. Mr. Carrados."

"Max Carrados!" exclaimed her uncle in astonishment. "You don't say so.
Why, bless my soul, Elsie, I'd almost forgotten that you knew him. It
seems years ago What on earth is Max doing in Groat's Heath?"

"That is the extraordinary thing about it," replied Mrs. Bellmark. "He
said that he had come up here to look for mushrooms."

"Mushrooms?"

"Yes; that was what he said. He asked me if I knew of any woods about
here that he could go into and I told him of the one down Stonecut
Lane."

"But don't you know, my dear child," exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, "that
mushrooms growing in woods or even near trees are always to be regarded
with suspicion? They may look like mushrooms, but they are probably
poisonous."

"I didn't know," admitted Mrs. Bellmark; "but if they are, I imagine Mr.
Carrados will know."

"It scarcely sounds like it -- going to a wood, you know. As it happens,
I have been looking up the subject lately. But, in any case, you say
that he is coming back here?"

"He asked me if he might call on his way home for a cup of tea, and of
course I said, 'Of course."'

"Of course," also said Mr. Carlyle. "Motoring, I suppose."

"Yes, a big grey car. He had Mr. Parkinson with him."

Mr. Caryle was slightly puzzled, as he frequently was by his friend's
proceedings, but it was not his custom to dwell on any topic that
involved an admission of inadequacy. The subject of Carrados and his
eccentric quest was therefore dismissed until the sound of a formidable
motor car dominating the atmosphere of the quiet suburban road was
almost immediately followed by the entrance of the blind amateur. With a
knowing look towards his niece Carlyle had taken up a position at the
farther end of the room, where he remained in almost breathless silence.

Carrados acknowledged the hostess's smiling greeting and then nodded
familiarly in the direction of the playful guest.

"Well, Louis," he remarked, "we've caught each other."

Mrs. Bellmark was perceptibly startled, but rippled musically at the
failure of the conspiracy.

"Extraordinary," admitted Mr. Carlyle, coming forward.

"Not so very," was the dry reply. "Your friendly little maid" -- to Mrs.
Bellmark -- "mentioned your visitor as she brought me in."

"Is it a fact, Max," demanded Mr. Carlyle, "that you have been to - - er
-- Stonecut Wood to get mushrooms?"

"Mrs. Bellmark told you?"

"Yes. And did you succeed?"

"Parkinson found something that he assured me looked just like
mushrooms."

Mr. Carlyle bestowed a triumphant glance on his niece.

"I should very much like to see these so - called mushrooms. Do you
know, it may be rather a good thing for you that I met you."

"It is always a good thing for me to meet you," replied Carrados. "You
shall see them. They are in the car. Perhaps I shall be able to take you
back to town?"

"If you are going very soon. No, no, Elsie " - in response to Mrs.
Bellmark's protesting "Oh !" - "I don't want to influence Max, but I
really must tear myself away the moment after tea. I still have to clear
up some work on a rather important case I am just completing. It is
quite appropriate to the occasion, too. Do you know all about the
Winpole business, Max?"

"No," admitted Carrados, without any appreciable show of interest. "Do
you, Louis?"

"Yes," responded Mr. Carlyle with crisp assurance, "yes, I think that I
may claim I do. In fact it was I who obtained the evidence that induced
the authorities to take up the case against Loudham."

"Oh, do tell us all about it," exclaimed Elsie. "I have only seen
something in the Indicator.”

Mr. Carlyle shook his head, hemmed and looked wise, and then gave in.

"But not a word of this outside, Elsie," he stipulated. "Some of the
evidence won't be given until next week and it might be serious."

"Not a syllable," assented the lady. "How exciting! Go on."

"Well, you know, of course, that the coroner's jury -- very rightly,
according to the evidence before them -- brought in a verdict of
accidental death. In the circumstances it was a reflection on the
business methods or the care or the knowledge or whatever one may decide
of the man who sold the mushrooms, a greengrocer called Lackington. I
have seen Lackington, and with a rather remarkable pertinacity in the
face of the evidence he insists that he could not have made this fatal
blunder -- that in weighing so small a quantity as half - a - pound, at
any rate, he would at once have spotted anything that wasn't quite all
right."

"But the doctor said, Uncle Louis -- "

"Yes, my dear Elsie, we know what the doctor said, but, rightly or
wrongly, Lackington backs his experience and practical knowledge against
theoretical generalities. In ordinary circumstances nothing more would
have come of it, but it happens that Lackington has for a lodger a young
man on the staff of the local paper, and for a neighbour a
pharmaceutical chemist. These three men talked things over more than
once -- Lackington restive under the damage that had been done to his
reputation, the journalist stimulating and keen for a newspaper
sensation, the chemist contributing his quota of practical knowledge. At
the end of a few days a fabric of circumstance had been woven which
might be serious or innocent according to the further development of the
suggestion and the manner in which it could be met. These were the chief
points of the attack:

"Mrs. Dupreen's allowance for the care and maintenance of Charlie
Winpole ceased with his death, as she had told the jury. What she did
not mention was that the deceased boy would have come into an
inheritance of some fifteen thousand pounds at age and that this fortune
now fell in equal shares to the lot of his two nearest relatives -- Mrs.
Dupreen and her brother, Philip.

"Mrs. Dupreen was by no means in easy circumstances. Philip Loudham was
equally poor and had no assured income. He had tried several forms of
business and now, at about thirty - five, was spending his time chiefly
in writing poems and painting watercolours, none of which brought him
any money so far as one could learn.

"Philip Loudham, it was admitted, took up the food round which the
tragedy centred.

"Philip Loudham was shown to be in debt and urgently in need of money.
There was supposed to be a lady in the case -- I hope I need say no more,
Elsie."

"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Bellmark with poignant interest.

"We do not know yet. A married woman, it is rumoured, I regret to say.
It scarcely matters -- certainly not to you, Elsie. To continue:

"Mrs. Dupreen got back from her shopping in the afternoon before her
nephew's death at about three o'clock. In less than half - an - hour
Loudham left the house and going to the station took a return ticket to
Euston. He went by the 3:41 and was back in St. Abbots at 5:43. That
would give him barely an hour in town for whatever business he
transacted. What was that business?

"The chemist next door supplied the information that although bhurine
only occurs in nature in this one form, it can be isolated from the
other constituents of the fungus and dealt with like any other liquid
poison. But it was a very exceptional commodity, having no commercial
uses and probably not half - a - dozen retail chemists in London had it
on their shelves. He himself had never stocked it and never been asked
for it.

"With this suggestive but by no means convincing evidence," continued
Mr. Carlyle, "the young journalist went to the editor of The Morning
Indicator, to which he acted as St. Abbots correspondent, and asked him
whether he cared to take up the inquiry as a 'scoop.' The local trio had
carried it as far as they were able. The editor of the Indicator decided
to look into it and asked me to go on with the case. This is how my
connection with it arose."

"Oh, that's how newspapers get to know things?" commented Mrs. Bellmark.
"I often wondered."

"It is one way," assented her uncle.

"An American development," contributed Carrados. "It is a little
overdone there."

"It must be awful," said the hostess. "And the police methods! In the
plays that come from the States -- " The entrance of the friendly hand -
maiden, bringing tea, was responsible for the platitudinous wave. The
conversation, in deference to Mr. Carlyle's scruples, marked time until
the door closed on her departure.

"My first business," continued the inquiry agent, after making himself
useful at the table, "was naturally to discover among the chemists in
London whether a sale of bhurine coincided with Philip Loudham's hasty
visit. If this line failed, the very foundation of the edifice of
hypothetical guilt gave way; if it succeeded . . . Well, it did succeed.
In a street off Caistor Square, Tottenham Court Road - Trenion Street we
found a man called Lightcraft, who at once remembered making such a
sale. As bhurine is a specified poison, the transaction would have to be
entered, and Lightcraft's book contained this unassailable piece of
evidence. On Wednesday, the sixth of this month, a man signing his name
as 'J. D. Williams,' and giving '25 Chalcott Place' as the address,
purchased four drachms of bhurine. Lightcraft fixed the time as about
half - past four. I went to 25 Chalcott Place and found it to be a small
boarding - house. No one of the name of Williams was known there."

If Mr. Caryle's tone of finality went for anything, Philip Loudham was
as good as pinioned. Mrs. Bellmark supplied the expected note of
admiration.

"Just fancy!" was the form it took.

"Under the Act the purchaser must be known to the chemist?" suggested
Carrados.

"Yes," agreed Mr. Carlyle; "and there our friend Lightcraft may have let
himself in for a little trouble. But, as he says -- and we must admit
that there is something in it -- who is to define what 'known to'
actually means? A hundred people are known to him as regular or
occasional customers and he has never heard their names; a score of
names and addresses represent to him regular or occasional customers
whom he has never seen. This 'J. D. Williams' came in with an easy air
and appeared at all events to know Lightcraft. The face seemed not
unfamiliar and Lightcraft was perhaps a little too facile in assuming
that he did know him. Well, well, Max, I can understand the
circumstances. Competition is keen -- especially against the private
chemist -- and one may give offence and lose a customer. We must all
live."

"Except Charlie Winpole," occurred to Max Carrados, but he left the
retort unspoken. "Did you happen to come across any inquiry for bhurine
at other shops?" he asked instead.

"No," replied Carlyle, "no, I did not. It would have been an indication
then, of course, but after finding the actual place the others would
have no significance. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing. Only don't you think that he was rather lucky to get it
first shot if our St. Abbots authority was right?"

"Yes, yes; perhaps he was. But that is of no interest to us now. The
great thing is that a peculiarly sinister and deliberate murder is
brought home to its perpetrator. When you consider the circumstances,
upon my soul, I don't know that I have ever unmasked a more ingenious
and cold - blooded ruffian."

"Then he has confessed, uncle?"

"Confessed, my dear Elsie," said Mr. Carlyle, with a tolerant smile,
"no, he has not confessed -- men of that type never do. On the contrary,
he asserted his outraged innocence with a considerable show of
indignation. What else was he to do? Then he was asked to account for
his movements between 4.15 and 5 o'clock on that afternoon. Egad, the
fellow was so cocksure of the safety of his plans that he hadn't even
taken the trouble to think that out. First he denied that he had been
away from St. Abbots at all. Then he remembered. He had run down to town
in the afternoon for a few things. -- What things? -- Well, chiefly
stationery. -- Where had he bought it? -- At a shop in Oxford Street; he
did not know the name. -- Would he be able to point it out? -- He thought
so. -- Could he identify the attendant? -- No, he could not remember him
in the least. -- Had he the bill? -- No, he never kept small bills. -- How
much was the amount? -- About three or four shillings. -- And the return
fare to Euston was three - and - eightpence. Was it not rather an
extravagant journey? -- He could only say that he did so. -- Three or four
shillings' worth of stationery would be a moderate parcel. Did he have
it sent? -- No, he took it with him. -- Three or four shillings' worth of
stationery in his pocket? -- No, it was in a parcel. -- Too large to go in
his pocket? -- Yes. -- Two independent witnesses would testify that he
carried no parcel. They were townsmen of St. Abbots who had travelled.
down in the same carriage with him. Did he still persist that he had
been engaged in buying stationery? Then he declined to say anything
further -- about the best thing he could do."

"And Lightcraft identifies him?"

"Um, well, not quite so positively as we might wish. You see, a
fortnight has elapsed. The man who bought the poison wore a moustache -
- put on, of course -- but Lightcraft will say that there is a
resemblance and the type of the two men the same."

"I foresee that Mr. Lightcraft's accommodating memory for faces will
come in for rather severe handling in cross - examination," said
Carrados, as though he rather enjoyed the prospect.

"It will balance Mr. Philip Loudham's unfortunate forgetfulness for
localities, Max," rejoined Mr. Carlyle, delivering the thrust with his
own inimitable aplomb.

Carrados rose with smiling acquiescence to the shrewdness of the
riposte.

"I will be quite generous, Mrs. Bellmark," he observed. "I will take him
away now, with the memory of that lingering in your ears -- all my
crushing retorts unspoken."

"Five - thirty, egad!" exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, displaying his imposing
gold watch. "We must -- or, at all events, I must. You can think of them
in the car, Max."

"I do hope you won't come to blows," murmured the lady. Then she added:
"When will the real trial come on, Uncle Louis?"

"The Sessions? Oh, early in January."

"I must remember to look out for it." Possibly she had some faint idea
of Uncle Louis taking a leading part in the proceedings. At any rate Mr.
Carlyle looked pleased, but when adieux had been taken and the door was
closed Mrs. Bellmark was left wondering what the enigma of Max
Carrados's departing smile had been.

Before they had covered many furlongs Mr. Carlyle suddenly remembered
the suspected mushrooms and demanded to see them. A very moderate
collection was produced for his inspection. He turned them over
sceptically.

"The gills are too pale for true mushrooms, Max," he declared sapiently.
"Don't take any risk. Let me drop them out of the window?"

"No." Carrados's hand quietly arrested the threatened action. "No; I
have a use for them, Louis, but it is not culinary. You are quite right;
they are rank poison. I only want to study them for- - a case I am interested in."


"A case! You don't mean to say that there is another mushroom poisoner
going?"

"No; it is the same."

"But -- but you said -- "

"That I did not know all about it? Quite true. Nor do I yet. But I know
rather more than I did then."

"Do you mean that Scotland Yard -- "

"No, Louis." Mr. Carrados appeared to find something rather amusing in
the situation. "I am for the other side."

"The other side! And you let me babble out the whole case for the
prosecution! Well, really, Max!"

"But you are out of it now? The Public Prosecutor has taken it up?"

"True, true. But, for all that, I feel devilishly bad."

"Then I will give you all the whole case for the defence and so we shall
be quits. In fact I am relying on you to help me with it."

"With the defence? I -- after supplying the evidence that the Public
Prosecutor is acting on?"

"Why not? You don't want to hang Philip Loudham -- specially if he
happens to be innocent -- do you?"

"I don't want to hang anyone," protested Mr. Carlyle. "At least -- not --
as a private individual."

"Quite so. Well, suppose you and I between ourselves find out the actual
facts of the case and decide what is to be done. The more usual course
is for the prosecution to exaggerate all that tells against the accused
and to contradict everything in his favour; for the defence to advance
fictitious evidence of innocence and to lie roundly on everything that
endangers his client; while on both sides witnesses are piled up to
bemuse the jury into accepting the desired version. That does not always
make for impartiality or for justice. . . . Now you and I are two
reasonable men, Louis-- "

"I hope so," admitted Mr. Carlyle. "I hope so."

"You can give away the case for the prosecution and I will expose the
weakness of the defence, so, between us, we may arrive at the truth."

"It strikes me as a deuced irregular proceeding. But I am curious to
hear the defence all the same."

"You are welcome to all of it that there yet is. An alibi, of course."

"Ah!" commented Mr. Carlyle with expression.

"So recently as yesterday a lady came hurriedly, and with a certain
amount of secrecy, to see me. She came on the strength of the
introduction afforded by a mutual acquaintanceship with Fromow, the
Greek professor. When we were alone she asked me, besought me, in fact,
to tell her what to do. A few hours before Mrs. Dupreen had rushed
across London to her with the tale of young Loudham's arrest. Then out
came the whole story. This woman -- well, her name is Guestling, Louis --
lives a little way down in Surrey and is married. Her husband, according
to her own account -- and I have certainly heard a hint about it
elsewhere -- leads her a studiedly outrageous existence; an admired
silken - mannered gentleman in society, a tolerable polecat at home, one
infers. About a year ago Mrs. Guestling made the acquaintance of
Loudham, who was staying in that neighbourhood painting his pretty
unsaleable country lanes and golden sunsets. The inevitable, or, to
accept the lady's protestations, half the inevitable, followed.
Guestling, who adds an insatiable jealousy to his other domestic
virtues, vetoed the new acquaintance and thenceforward the two met
hurriedly and furtively in town. Had either of them any money they might
have snatched their destinies from the hands of Fate and gone off
together, but she has nothing and he has nothing and both, I suppose,
are poor weak mortals when it comes to doing anything courageous and
outright in this censorious world. So they drifted, drifting but not yet
wholly wrecked."

"A formidable incentive for a weak and desperate man to secure a fortune
by hook or crook, Max," said Carlyle drily.

"That is the motive that I wish to make you a present of. But, as you
will insist on your side, it is also a motive for a weak and foolish
couple to steal every brief opportunity of a secret meeting. On
Wednesday, the sixth, the lady was returning home from a visit to some
friends in the Midlands. She saw in the occasion an opportunity and on
the morning of the sixth a message appeared in the personal column of
The Daily Telegraph -- their usual channel of communication - - making an
assignation. That much can be established by the irrefutable evidence of
the newspaper. Philip Loudham kept the appointment and for half - an -
hour this miserably happy pair sat holding each other's hands in a
dreary deserted waiting - room of Bishop's Road Station. That half -
hour was from 4.14 to 4.45. Then Loudham saw Mrs. Guestling into Praed
Street Station for Victoria, returned to Euston and just caught the 5.7
St. Abbots."

"Can this be corroborated -- especially as regards the precise time they
were together?"

"Not a word of it. They chose the waiting - room at Bishop's Road for
seclusion and apparently they got it. Not a soul even looked in while
they were there."

"Then, by Jupiter, Max," exclaimed Mr. Carlyle with emotion, "you have
hanged your client!"

Carrados could not restrain a smile at his friend's tragic note of
triumph.

"Well, let us examine the rope," he said with his usual
imperturbability.

"Here it is." It was a trivial enough shred of evidence that the inquiry
agent took from his pocket - book and put into the expectant hand; in
point of fact, the salmon - coloured ticket of a "London General" motor
omnibus.

"Royal Oak -- the stage nearest Paddington -- to Tottenham Court Road - -
the point nearest Trenion Street," he added significantly.

"Yes," acquiesced Carrados, taking it.

"The man who bought the bhurine dropped that ticket on the floor of the
shop. He left the door open and Lightcraft followed him to close it.
That is how he came to pick the ticket up, and he remembers that it was
not there before. Then he threw it into a wastepaper basket underneath
the counter, and that is where we found it when I called on him."

"Mr. Lightcraft's memory fascinates me, Louis;" was the blind man's
unruffled comment. "Let us drop in and have a chat with him?"

"Do you really think that there is anything more to be got in that
quarter?" queried Carlyle dubiously. "I have turned him inside out, you
may be sure."

"True; but we approach Mr. Lightcraft from different angles. You were
looking for evidence to prove young Loudham guilty. I am looking for
evidence to prove him innocent."

"Very well, Max," acquiesced his companion. "Only don't blame me if it
turns out as deuced awkward for your man as Mrs. G. has done. Shall I
tell you what a counsel may be expected to put to the jury as the
explanation of that lady's evidence?"

"No, thanks," said Carrados half sleepily from his corner. "I know. I
told her so."

"Oh, very well. I needn't inform you, then," and debarred of that
satisfaction Mr. Carlyle withdrew himself into his own corner, where he
nursed an indulgent annoyance against the occasional perversity of Max
Carrados until the stopping of the car and the variegated attractions
displayed in a shop window told him where they were.

Mr. Lightcraft made no pretence of being glad to see his visitors. For
some time he declined to open his mouth at all on the subject that had
brought them there, repeating with parrot - like obstinacy to every
remark on their part, "The matter is sub judice. I am unable to say
anything further," until Mr. Carlyle longed to box his ears and bring
him to his senses. The ears happened to be rather prominent, for they
glowed with sensitiveness, and the chemist was otherwise a lank and
pallid man, whose transparent ivory skin and well - defined moustache
gave him something of the appearance of a waxwork.

"At all events," interposed Carrados, when his friend turned from the
maddening reiteration in despair, "you don't mind telling me a few
things about bhurine -- apart from this particular connection?"

"I am very busy," and Mr. Lightcraft, with his back towards the shop,
did something superfluous among the bottles on a shelf.

"I imagine that the time of Mr. Max Carrados, of whom even you may
possibly have heard, is as valuable as yours, my good friend," put in
Mr. Carlyle with scandalised dignity.

"Mr. Carrados?" Lightcraft turned and regarded the blind man with
interest. "I did not know. But you must recognise the unenviable
position in which I am put by this gentleman's interference."

"It is his profession, you know," said Carrados mildly, "and, in any
case, it would certainly have been someone. Why not help me to get you
out of the position?"

"How is that possible?"

"If the case against Philip Loudham breaks down and he is discharged at
the next hearing you would not be called upon further."

"That would certainly be a mitigation. But why should it break down?"

"Suppose you let me try the taste of bhurine," suggested Carrados. "You
have some left?"

"Max, Max!" cried Mr. Carlyle's warning voice, "aren't you aware that
the stuff is a deadly poison? One - fifth of a grain -- "

"Mr. Lightcraft will know how to administer it." Apparently Mr.
Lightcraft did. He filled a graduated measure with cold water, dipped a
slender glass rod into a bottle that was not kept on the shelves, and
with it stirred the water. Then into another vessel of water he dropped
a single spot of the dilution.

"One in a hundred and twenty - five thousand, Mr. Carrados," he said,
offering him the mixture.

Carrados just touched the liquid with his lips, considered the
impression and then wiped his mouth.

"Now for the smell."

The unstoppered bottle was handed to him and he took in its exhalation.

"Stewed mushrooms!" was his comment. "What is it used for, Mr.
Lightcraft?"

"Nothing that I know of."

"But your customer must have stated an application."

The pallid chemist flushed a little at the recollection of that
incident.

"Yes," he conceded. "There is a good deal about the whole business that
is still a mystery to me. The man came in shortly after I had lit up and
nodded familiarly as he said: 'Good - evening, Mr. Lightcraft.' I
naturally assumed that he was someone whom I could not quite place. 'I
want another half - pound of nitre,' he said, and I served him. Had he
bought nitre before, I have since tried to recall and I cannot. It is a
common enough article and I sell it every day. I have a poor memory for
faces I am willing to admit. It has hampered me in business many a time.
We chatted about nothing in particular as I did up the parcel. After he
had paid and turned to go he looked back again. 'By the way, do you
happen to have any bhurine?' he inquired. Unfortunately I had a few
ounces. 'Of course you know its nature?' I cautioned him. 'May I ask
what you require it for?' He nodded and held up the parcel of nitre he
had in his hand. 'The same thing,' he replied, 'taxidermy.' Then I
supplied him with half - an - ounce."

"As a matter of fact, is it used in taxidermy?"

"It does not seem to be. I have made inquiry and no one knows of it.
Nitre is largely used, and some of the dangerous poisons -- arsenic and
mercuric chloride, for instance -- but not this. No, it was a
subterfuge."

"Now the poison book, if you please."

Mr. Lightcraft produced it without demur and the blind man ran his
finger along the indicated line.

"Yes; this is quite satisfactory. Is it a fact, Mr. Lightcraft, that not
half - a - dozen chemists in London stock this particular substance? We
are told that"

"I can quite believe it. I certainly don't know of another."

"Strangely enough, your customer of the sixth seems to have come
straight here. Do you issue a price - list?"

"Only a localised one of certain photographic goods. Bhurine is not
included."

"You can suggest no reason why Mr. Phillip Laudham should be inspired to
presume that he would be able to procure this unusual drug from you? You
have never corresponded with him nor come across his name or address
before?"

"No. As far as I can recollect, I know nothing whatever of him."

"Then as yet you must assume that it was pure chance. By the way, Mr.
Lightcraft, how does it come that you stock this rare poison, which has
no commercial use and for which there is no demand?"

The chemist permitted himself to smile at the blunt terms of the
inquiry.

"In the ordinary way I don't stock it," he replied. "This is a small
quantity which I had over from my own use."

"Your own use? Oh, then it has a use after all?"

"No, scarcely that. Some time ago it leaked out in a corner of the
photographic world that a great revolution in colour photography was on
the point of realisation by the use of bhurine in one of the processes.
I, among others, at once took it up. Unfortunately it was another
instance of a discovery that is correct in theory breaking down in
practice. Nothing came of it."

"Dear, dear me," said Carrados softly, with sympathetic understanding in
his voice; "what a pity. You are interested in photography, Mr.
Lightcraft?"

"It is the hobby of my life, sir. Of course most chemists dabble in it
as a part of their business, but I devote all my spare time to
experimenting. Colour photography in particular."

"Colour photography; yes. It has a great future. This bhurine process --
I suppose it would have been of considerable financial value if it had
worked?"

Mr. Lightcraft laughed quietly and rubbed his hands together. For the
moment he had forgotten Loudham and the annoying case and lived in his
enthusiasm.

"I should rather say it would, Mr. Carrados," he replied. "It would have
been the most epoch - marking thing since Gaudin produced the first dry
plate in '54. Consider it -- the elaborate processes of Dyndale, Eiloff
and Jupp reduced to the simplicity of a single contact print giving the
entire range of chromatic variation. Financially it will scarcely bear
thinking about by artificial light."

"Was it widely taken up?" asked Carrados.

"The bhurine idea?"

"Yes. You spoke of the secret leaking out. Were many in the know?"

"Not at all. The group of initiates was only a small one and I should
imagine that, on reflection, every man kept it to himself. It certainly
never became public. Then when the theory was definitely exploded, of
course no one took any further interest in it."

"Were all who were working on the same lines known to you, Mr.
Lightcraft?"

"Well, yes; more or less I suppose they would be," said the chemist
thoughtfully. "You see, the man who stumbled on the formula was a member
of the Iris -- a society of those interested in this subject, of which I
was the secretary -- and I don't think it ever got beyond the committee."

"How long ago was this?"

"A year -- eighteen months. It led to unpleasantness and broke up the
society."

"Suppose it happened to come to your knowledge that one of the original
circle was quietly pursuing his experiments on the same lines with
bhurine -- what should you infer from it?"

Mr. Lightcraft considered. Then he regarded Carrados with a sharp,
almost a startled, glance and then he fell to biting his nails in
perplexed uncertainty.

"It would depend on who it was," he replied.

"Was there by any chance one who was unknown to you by sight but whose
address you were familiar with?"

"Paulden!" exclaimed Mr. Lightcraft. "Paulden, by heaven! I do believe
you're right. He was the ablest of the lot and he never came to the
meetings -- a corresponding member. Southem, the original man who struck
the idea, knew Paulden and told him of it. Southem was an impractical
genius who would never be able to make anything work. Paulden -- yes,
Paulden it was who finally persuaded Southem that there was nothing in
it. He sent a report to the same effect to be read at one of the
meetings. So Paulden is taking up bhurine again -- "

"Where does he live?" inquired Carrados.

"Ivor House, Wilmington Lane, Enstead. As secretary I have written there
a score of times."

"It is on the Great Western - Paddington," commented the blind man.
"Still, can you get out the addresses of the others in the know, Mr.
Lightcraft?"

"Certainly, certainly. I have the book of membership. But I am convinced
now that Paulden was the man. I believe that I did actually see him once
some years ago, but he has grown a moustache since."

"If you had been convinced of that a few days ago it would have saved us
some awkwardness," volunteered Mr. Carlyle with a little dignified
asperity.

"When you came before, Mr. Carlyle, you were so convinced yourself of it
being Mr. Loudham that you wouldn't hear of me thinking of anyone else,"
retorted the chemist. "You will bear me out so that I never positively
identified him as my customer. Now here is the book. Southem, Potter's
Bar. Voynich, Islington. Crawford, Streatham Hill. Brown, Southampton
Row. Vickers, Clapham Common. Tidey, Fulham. All those I knew quite well
-- associated with them week after week. Williams I didn't know so
closely. He is dead. Bigwood has gone to Canada. I don't think anyone
else was in the bhurine craze -- as we called it afterwards."

"But now? What would you call it now?" queried Carrados.

"Now? Well, I hope that you will get me out of having to turn up at
court and that sort of thing, Mr. Carrados. If Paulden is going on
experimenting with bhurine again on the sly, I shall want all my spare
time to do the same myself!"

A few hours later the two investigators rang the bell of a substantial
detached house in Enstead, the little country town twenty miles out in
Berkshire, and asked to see Mr. Paulden.

"It is no good taking Lightcraft to identify the man," Carrados had
decided. "If Paulden denied it, our friend's obliging record in that
line would put him out of court."

"I maintain an open mind on the subject," Carlyle had replied.
"Lightcraft is admittedly a very bending reed, but there is no reason
why he should not have been right before and wrong to - day."

They were shown into a ceremonial reception - room to wait. Mr. Carlyle
diagnosed snug circumstances and the tastes of an indoors, comfort -
loving man in the surroundings.

The door opened, but it was to admit a middle - aged matronly lady with
good - humour and domestic capability proclaimed by every detail of her
smiling face and easy manner.

"You wished to see my husband?" she asked with friendly courtesy.

"Mr. Paulden? Yes, we should like to," replied Carlyle, with his most
responsive urbanity. "It is a matter that need not occupy more than a
few minutes."

"He is very busy just now. If it has to do with the election" -- a local
contest was at its height -- "he is not interested in politics and
scarcely ever votes." Her manner was not curious, but merely reflected a
business - like desire to save trouble all round.

"Very sensible too, very sensible indeed," almost warbled Mr. Carlyle
with instinctive cajolery. "After all," he continued, mendaciously
appropriating as his own an aphorism at which he had laughed heartily a
few days before in the theatre, "after all, what does an election do but
change the colour of the necktie of the man who picks our pockets? No,
no, Mrs. Paulden, it is merely a -- um -- quite personal matter."

The lady looked from one to the other with smiling amiability.

"Some little mystery," her expression seemed to say. "All right; I don't
mind, only perhaps I could help you if I knew."

"Mr. Paulden is in his dark - room now," was what she actually did say.
"I am afraid, I am really afraid that I shan't be able to persuade him
to come out unless I can take a definite message."

"One understands the difficulty of tempting an enthusiast from his
work," suggested Carrados, speaking for the first time. "Would it be
permissible to take us to the door of the dark - room, Mrs. Paulden, and
let us speak to your husband through it?"

"We can try that way," she acquiesced readily, "if it is really so
important."

"I think so," he replied.

The dark - room lay across the hall. Mrs. Paulden conducted them to the
door, waited a moment and then knocked quietly.

"Yes?" sang out a voice, rather irritably one might judge, from inside.

"Two gentlemen have called to see you about something, Lance -- "

"I cannot see anyone when I am in here," interrupted the voice with
rising sharpness. "You know that, Clara -- "

"Yes, dear," she said soothingly; "but listen. They are at the door here
and if you can spare the time just to come and speak you will know
without much trouble if their business is as important as they think."

"Wait a minute," came the reply after a moment's pause, and then they
heard someone approach the door from the other side.

It was a little difficult to know exactly how it happened in the obscure
light of the corner of the hall. Carrados had stepped nearer to the door
to speak. Possibly he trod on Mr. Carlyle's toe, for there was a
confused movement; certainly he put out his hand hastily to recover
himself. The next moment the door of the dark - room jerked open, the
light was let in and the warm odours of a mixed and vitiated atmosphere
rolled out. Secure in the well - ordered discipline of his excellent
household, Mr. Paulden had neglected the precaution of locking himself
in.

"Confound it all," shouted the incensed experimenter in a towering rage,
"confound it all, you've spoiled the whole thing now!"

"Dear me," apologised Carrados penitently, "I am so sorry. I think it
must have been my fault, do you know. Does it really matter?"

"Matter!" stormed Mr. Paulden, recklessly flinging open the door fully
now to come face to face with his disturbers -- "matter letting a flood
of light into a darkroom in the middle of a delicate experiment!"

"Surely it was very little," persisted Carrados.

"Pshaw," snarled the angry gentleman; "it was enough. You know the
difference between light and dark, I suppose?" Mr. Carlyle suddenly
found himself holding his breath, wondering how on earth Max had
conjured that opportune challenge to the surface.

"No," was the mild and deprecating reply -- the appeal ad misericordiam
that had never failed him yet -- "no, unfortunately I don't, for I am
blind. That is why I am so awkward."

Out of the shocked silence Mrs. Paulden gave a little croon of pity. The
moment before she had been speechless with indignation on her husband's
behalf. Paulden felt as though he had struck a suffering animal. He
stammered an apology and turned away to close the unfortunate door. Then
he began to walk slowly down the hall.

"You wished to see me about something?" he remarked, with matter - of -
fact civility. "Perhaps we had better go in here." He indicated the
reception-room where they had waited and followed them in. The admirable
Mrs. Paulden gave no indication of wishing to join the party.

Carrados came to the point at once.

"Mr. Carlyle," he said, indicating his friend, "has recently been acting
for the prosecution in a case of alleged poisoning that the Public
Prosecutor has now taken up. I am interested in the defence. Both sides
are thus before you, Mr. Paulden."

"How does this concern me?" asked Paulden with obvious surprise.

"You are experimenting with bhurine. The victim of this alleged crime
undoubtedly lost his life by bhurine poisoning. Do you mind telling us
when and where you acquired your stock of this scarce substance?"

"I have had -- "

"No -- a moment, Mr. Paulden, before you reply," struck in Carrados with
arresting hand. "You must understand that nothing so grotesque as to
connect you with a crime is contemplated. But a man is under arrest and
the chief point against him is the half - ounce of bhurine that
Lightcraft of Trenion Street sold td someone at half - past five last
Wednesday fortnight. Before you commit yourself to any statement that it
may possibly be difficult to recede from, you should realise that this
inquiry will be pushed to the very end."

"How do you know that I am using bhurine?"

"That," parried Carrados, "is a blind man's secret."

"Oh, well. And you say that someone has been arrested through this
fact?"

"Yes. Possibly you have read something of the St. Abbots mushroom
poisoning case?"

"I have no interest in the sensational ephemera of the Press. Very well;
it was I who bought the bhurine from Lightcraft that Wednesday
afternoon. I gave a false name and address, I must admit. I had a
sufficient private reason for so doing."

"This knocks what is vulgarly termed 'the stuffing' out of the case for
the prosecution," observed Carlyle, who had been taking a note. "It may
also involve you in some trouble yourself, Mr. Paulden."

"I don't think that you need regard that very seriously in the
circumstances," said Carrados reassuringly.

"They must find some scapegoat, you know," persisted Mr. Carlyle.
"Loudham will raise Cain over it."

"I don't think so. Loudham, as the prosecution will roundly tell him,
has only himself to thank for not giving a satisfactory account of his
movements. Loudham will be lectured, Lightcraft will be fined the
minimum, and Mr. Paulden will, I imagine, be told not to do it again."

The man before them laughed bitterly.

"There will be no occasion to do it again," he remarked. "Do you know
anything of the circumstances?"

"Lightcraft told us something connected with colour photography. You
distrust Mr. Lightcraft, I infer?"

Mr. Paulden came down to the heart - easing medium of the street.

"I've had some once, thanks," was what he said with terse expression.
"Let me tell you. About eighteen months ago I was on the edge of a great
discovery in colour photography. It was my discovery, whatever you may
have heard. Bhurine was the medium, and not being then so cautious or
suspicious as I have reason to be now, and finding it difficult -- really
impossible -- to procure this substance casually, I sent in an order to
Lightcraft to procure me a stock. Unfortunately, in a moment of
enthusiasm I had hinted at the anticipated results to a man who was then
my friend -- a weakling called Southem. Comparing notes with Lightcraft
they put two and two together and in a trice most of the secret boiled
over.

"If you have ever been within an ace of a monumental discovery you will
understand the torment of anxiety and self - reproach that possessed me.
For months the result must have trembled in the balance, but even as it
evaded me, so it evaded the others. And at last I was able to spread
conviction that the bhurine process was a failure. I breathed again.

"You don't want to hear of the various things that conspired to baffle
me. I proceeded with extreme caution and therefore slowly. About two
weeks ago I had another foretaste of success and immediately on it a
veritable disaster. By some diabolical mischance I contrived to upset my
stock bottle of bhurine. It rolled down, smashed to atoms on a
developing dish filled with another chemical, and the precious lot was
irretrievably lost. To arrest the experiments at that stage for a day
was to lose a month. In one place and one alone could I hope to
replenish the stock temporarily at such short notice and to do it openly
after my last experience filled me with dismay.

Well, you know what happened, and now, I suppose, it will all come out."

* * * * *

A week after his arrest Philip Loudham and his sister were sitting
together in the drawing - room at Hazlehurst, nervous and expectant.
Loudham had been discharged scarcely six hours before, with such
vindication of his character as the frigid intimation that there was no
evidence against him afforded. On his arrival home he had found a letter
from Max Carrados -- a name with which he was now familiar -- awaiting
him. There had been other notes and telegrams -- messages of sympathy and
congratulation, but the man who had brought about his liberation did not
include these conventionalities. He merely stated that he proposed
calling upon Mr. Loudham at nine o'clock that evening and that he hoped
it would be convenient for him and all other members of the household to
be at home.

"He can scarcely be coming to be thanked," speculated Loudham, breaking
the silence that had fallen on them as the hour approached. "I should
have called on him myself to - morrow."

Mrs. Dupreen assented absent - mindedly. Both were dressed in black, and
both at that moment had the same thought: that they were dreaming this.

"I suppose you won't go on living here, Irene?" continued the brother,
speaking to make the minutes seem tolerable.

This at least had the effect of bringing Mrs. Dupreen back into the
present with a rush.

"Of course not," she replied almost sharply and looking at him direct.
"Why should I, now?"

"Oh, all right," he agreed. "I didn't suppose you would." Then, as the
front - door bell was heard to ring: "Thank heaven!"

"Won't you go to meet him in the hall and bring him in?" suggested Mrs.
Dupreen. "He is blind, you know."

Carrados was carrying a small leather case which he allowed Loudham to
relieve him of, together with his hat and gloves. The introduction to
Mrs. Dupreen was made, the blind man put in touch with a chair, and then
Philip Loudham began to rattle off the acknowledgment of gratitude of
which he had been framing and rejecting openings for the last half -
hour.

"I'm afraid it's no good attempting to thank you for the extraordinary
service that you've rendered me, Mr. Carrados," he began, "and, above
all, I appreciate the fact that, owing to you, it has been possible to
keep Mrs. Guestling's name entirely out of the case. Of course you know
all about that, and my sister knows, so it isn't worth while beating
about the bush. Well, now that I shall have something like a decent
income of my own, I shall urge Kitty -- Mrs. Guestling -- to apply for the
divorce that she is richly entitled to, and when that is all settled we
shall marry at once and try to forget the experiences on both sides that
have led up to it. I hope," he added tamely, "that you don't consider us
really much to blame?"

Carrados shook his head in mild deprecation.

"That is an ethical point that has lain outside the scope of my
inquiry," he replied. "You would hardly imagine that I should disturb
you at such a time merely to claim your thanks. Has it occurred to you
why I should have come?"

Brother and sister exchanged looks and by their silence gave reply.

"We have still to find who poisoned Charlie Winpole."

Loudham stared at their guest in frank bewilderment. Mrs. Dupreen almost
closed her eyes. When she spoke it was in a pained whisper.

"Is there anything more to be gained by pursuing that idea, Mr.
Carrados?" she asked pleadingly. "We have passed through a week of
anguish, coming upon a week of grief and great distress. Surely all has
been done that can be done?"

"But you would have justice for your nephew if there has been foul
play?" Mrs. Dupreen made a weary gesture of resignation. It was Loudham
who took up the question.

"Do you really mean, Mr. Carrados, that there is any doubt about the
cause?"

"Will you give me my case, please? Thank you." He opened it and produced
a small paper bag. "Now a newspaper, if you will." He opened the bag and
poured out the contents. "You remember stating at the inquest, Mrs.
Dupreen, that the mushrooms you bought looked rather dry? They were dry,
there is no doubt, for they had then been gathered four days. Here are
some more under precisely the same conditions. They looked, in point of
fact, like these?"

"Yes," admitted the lady, beginning to regard Carrados with a new and
curious interest.

"Dr. Slark further stated that the only fungus containing the poison
bhurine -- the Amanita called the Black Cap, and also by the country folk
the Devil's Scent Bottle -- did not assume its forbidding appearance
until maturity. He was wrong in one sense there, for experiment proved
that if the Black Cap is gathered in its young and deceptive stage and
kept, it assumes precisely the same appearance as it withers as if it
was ripening naturally. You observe." He opened a second bag and,
shaking out the contents, displayed another little heap by the side of
the first. "Gathered four days ago," he explained.

"Why, they are as black as ink," commented Loudham. "And the, phew!
aroma!"

"One would hardly have got through without you seeing it, Mrs. Dupreen?"

"I certainly hardly think so," she admitted.

"With due allowance for Lackington's biased opinion I also think that
his claim might be allowed. Finally, it is incredible that whoever
peeled the mushrooms should have passed one of these. Who was the cook
on that occasion, Mrs. Dupreen?"

"My maid Hilda. She does all the cooking."

"The one who admitted me?"

"Yes; she is the only servant I have, Mr. Carrados."

"I should like to have her in, if you don't mind."

"Certainly, if you wish it. She is" -- Mrs. Dupreen felt that she must
put in a favourable word before this inexorable man pronounced judgment
-- "she is a very good, straightforward girl."

"So much the better."

"I will -- " Mrs. Dupreen rose and began to cross the room. "Ring for
her? Thank you," and whatever her intention had been the lady rang the
bell.

"Yes, ma'am?"

A neat, modest - mannered girl, simple and nervous, with a face as full,
as clear and as honest as an English apple. "A pity," thought Mrs.
Dupreen, "that this confident, suspicious man cannot see her now."

"Come in, Hilda. This gentleman wants to ask you something."

"Yes, ma' am." The round, blue eyes went appealingly to Carrados, fell
upon the fungi spread out before her, and then circled the room with an
instinct of escape.

"You remember the night poor Charlie died, Hilda," said Carrados in his
suavest tones, "you cooked some mushrooms for his supper, didn't you?"

"No, sir," came the glib reply.

"'No,' Hilda!" exclaimed Mrs. Dupreen in wonderment. "You mean 'yes,'
surely, child. Of course you cooked them. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, ma'am," dutifully replied Hilda.

"That is all right," said the blind man reassuringly. "Nervous witnesses
very often answer at random at first. You have nothing to be afraid of,
my good girl, if you will tell the truth. I suppose you know a mushroom
when you see it?"

"Yes, sir," was the rather hesitating reply.

"There was nothing like this among them?" He held up one of the
poisonous sort.

"No, sir; indeed there wasn't, sir. I should have known then."

"You would have known then? You were not called at the inquest, Hilda?"

"No, sir."

"If you had been, what would you have told them about these mushrooms
that you cooked?"

"I -- I don't know, sir."

"Come, come, Hilda. What could you have told them -- something that we do
not know? The truth, girl, if you want to save yourself?" Then with a
sudden, terrible directness the question cleft her trembling, guilt -
stricken little brain: "Where did you get the other mushrooms from that
you put with those that your mistress brought?"

The eyes that had been mostly riveted to the floor leapt to Carrados for
a single frightened glance, from Carrados to her mistress, to Philip
Loudham, and to the floor again. In a moment her face changed and she
was in a burst of sobbing.

"Oho, oho, oho!" she wailed. "I didn't know; I didn't know. I meant no
harm; indeed I didn't, ma'am."

"Hilda! Hilda!" exclaimed Mrs. Dupreen in bewilderment. "What is it
you're saying? What have you done?"

"It was his own fault. Oho, oho, oho!" Every word was punctuated by a
gasp. "He always was a little pig and making himself ill with food. You
know he was, ma'am, although you were so fond of him. I'm sure I'm not
to blame."

"But what was it? What have you done?" besought her mistress. "It was
after you went out on that afternoon. He put on his things and slipped
down into the kitchen without the master knowing. He said what you were
getting for his dinner, ma'am, and that you never got enough of them.
Then he told me not to tell about his being down, because he'd seen some
white things from his bedroom window growing by the hedge at the bottom
of the garden and he was going to get them. He brought in four or five
and said they were mushrooms and asked me to cook them with the others
and not say anything because you'd say too many were not good for him.
And I didn't know any difference. Indeed I'm telling you the truth,
ma'am."

"Oh, Hilda, Hilda!" was torn reproachfully from Mrs. Dupreen. "You know
what we've gone through. Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"I was afraid. I was afraid of what they'd do. And no one ever guessed
until I thought I was safe. Indeed I meant no harm to anyone, but I was
afraid that they'd punish me instead." Carrados had risen and was
picking up his things.

"Yes," he said, half musing to himself, "I knew it must exist: the one
explanation that accounts for everything and cannot be assailed. We have
reached the bed - rock of truth at last."




THE LAST EXPLOIT OF HARRY THE ACTOR



The one insignificant fact upon which turned the following incident in
the joint experiences of Mr. Carlyle and Max Carrados was merely this:
that having called upon his friend just at the moment when the private
detective was on the point of leaving his office to go to the safe
deposit in Lucas Street, Piccadilly, the blind amateur accompanied him,
and for ten minutes amused himself by sitting quite quietly among the
palms in the centre of the circular hall while Mr. Carlyle was occupied
with his deed - box in one of the little compartments provided for the
purpose.

The Lucas Street depository was then (it has since been converted into a
picture palace) generally accepted as being one of the strongest places
in London. The front of the building was constructed to represent a
gigantic safe door, and under the colloquial designation of "The Safe"
the place had passed into a synonym for all that was secure and
impregnable. Half of the marketable securities in the west of London
were popularly reported to have seen the inside of its coffers at one
time or another, together with the same generous proportion of family
jewels. However exaggerated an estimate this might be, the substratum of
truth was solid and auriferous enough to dazzle the imagination. When
ordinary safes were being carried bodily away with impunity or
ingeniously fused open by the scientifically equipped cracksman, nervous
bond - holders turned with relief to the attractions of an establishment
whose modest claim was summed up in its telegraphic address:
"Impregnable." To it went also the jewel - case between the lady's
social engagements, and when in due course "the family" journeyed north
-- or south, east or west -- whenever, in short, the London house was
closed, its capacious storerooms received the plate - chest as an
established custom. Not a few traders also -- jewellers, financiers,
dealers in pictures, antiques and costly bijouterie, for instance --
constantly used its facilities for any stock that they did not require
immediately to hand.

There was only one entrance to the place, an exaggerated keyhole, to
carry out the similitude of the safe - door alluded to. The ground floor
was occupied by the ordinary offices of the company; all the strong -
rooms and safes lay in the steel - cased basement. This was reached both
by a lift and by a flight of steps. In either case the visitor found
before him a grille of massive proportions. Behind its bars stood a
formidable commissionaire who never left his post, his sole duty being
to open and close the grille to arriving and departing clients. Beyond
this, a short passage led into the round central hall where Carrados was
waiting. From this part, other passages radiated off to the vaults and
strong - rooms, each one barred from the hall by a grille scarcely less
ponderous than the first one. The doors of the various private rooms put
at the disposal of the company's clients, and that of the manager's
office, filled the wall - space between the radiating passages.
Everything was very quiet, everything looked very bright, and everything
seemed hopelessly impregnable.

"But I wonder?" ran Carrados's dubious reflection as he reached this
point.

"Sorry to have kept you so long, my dear Max," broke in Mr. Carlyle's
crisp voice. He had emerged from his compartment and was crossing the
hall, deed - box in hand. "Another minute and I will be with you."

Carrados smiled and nodded and resumed his former expression, which was
merely that of an uninterested gentleman waiting patiently for another.
It is something of an attainment to watch closely without betraying
undue curiosity, but others of the senses -- hearing and smelling, for
instance -- can be keenly engaged while the observer possibly has the
appearance of falling asleep.

"Now," announced Mr. Carlyle, returning briskly to his friend's chair,
and drawing on his grey suede gloves.

"You are in no particular hurry?"

"No," admitted the professional man, with the slowness of mild surprise.
"Not at all. What do you propose?"

"It is very pleasant here," replied Carrados tranquilly. "Very cool and
restful with this armoured steel between us and the dust and scurry of
the hot July afternoon above. I propose remaining here for a few minutes
longer."

"Certainly," agreed Mr. Carlyle, taking the nearest chair and eyeing
Carrados as though he had a shrewd suspicion of something more than met
the ear. "I believe some very interesting people rent safes here. We may
encounter a bishop, or a winning jockey, or even a musical comedy
actress. Unfortunately it seems to be rather a slack time."

"Two men came down while you were in your cubicle," remarked Carrados
casually. "The first took the lift. I imagine that he was a middle -
aged, rather portly man. He carried a stick, wore a silk hat, and used
spectacles for close sight. The other came by the stairway. I infer that
he arrived at the top immediately after the lift had gone. He ran down
the steps, so that the two were admitted at the same time, but the
second man, though the more active of the pair, hung back for a moment
in the passage and the portly one was the first to go to his safe."

Mr. Carlyle's knowing look expressed: "Go on, my friend; you are coming
to something." But he merely contributed an encouraging "Yes?"

"When you emerged just now our second man quietly opened the door of his
pen a fraction. Doubtless he looked out. Then he closed it as quietly
again. You were not his man, Louis."

"I am grateful," said Mr. Carlyle expressively. "What next, Max?"

"That is all; they are still closeted."

Both were silent for a moment. Mr. Carlyle's feeling was one of
unconfessed perplexity. So far the incident was utterly trivial in his
eyes; but he knew that the trifles which appeared significant to Max had
a way of standing out like signposts when the time came to look back
over an episode. Carrados's sightless faculties seemed indeed to keep
him just a move ahead as the game progressed.

"Is there really anything in it, Max?" he asked at length.

"Who can say?" replied Carrados. "At least we may wait to see them go.
Those tin deed - boxes now. There is one to each safe, I think?"

"Yes, so I imagine. The practice is to carry the box to your private
lair and there unlock it and do your business. Then you lock it up again
and take it back to your safe."

"Steady! our first man," whispered Carrados hurriedly. "Here, look at
this with me." He opened a paper -- a prospectus -- which he pulled from
his pocket, and they affected to study its contents together.

"You were about right, my friend," muttered Mr. Carlyle, pointing to a
paragraph of assumed interest. "Hat, stick and spectacles.

He is a clean - shaven, pink - faced old boy. I believe -- yes, I know
the man by sight. He is a bookmaker in a large way, I am told."

"Here comes the other," whispered Carrados.

The bookmaker passed across the hall, joined on his way by the manager
whose duty it was to counterlock the safe, and disappeared along one of
the passages. The second man sauntered up and down, waiting his turn.
Mr. Carlyle reported his movements in an undertone and described him. He
was a younger man than the other, of medium height, and passably well
dressed in a quiet lounge suit, green Alpine hat and brown shoes. By the
time the detective had reached his wavy chestnut hair, large and rather
ragged moustache, and sandy, freckled complexion, the first man had
completed his business and was leaving the place.

"It isn't an exchange lay, at all events," said Mr. Carlyle. "His inner
case is only half the size of the other and couldn't possibly be
substituted."

"Come up now," said Carrados, rising. "There is nothing more to be
learned down here."

They requisitioned the lift, and on the steps outside the gigantic
keyhole stood for a few minutes discussing an investment as a couple of
trustees or a lawyer and a client who were parting there might do. Fifty
yards away, a very large silk hat with a very curly brim marked the
progress of the bookmaker towards Piccadilly.

The lift in the hall behind them swirled up again and the gate clashed.
The second man walked leisurely out and sauntered away without a
backward glance.

"He has gone in the opposite direction," exclaimed Mr. Carlyle, rather
blankly. "It isn't the 'lame goat' nor the 'follow - me - on,' nor even
the homely but efficacious sand - bag."

"What colour were his eyes?" asked Carrados.

"Upon my word, I never noticed," admitted the other.

"Parkinson would have noticed," was the severe comment.

"I am not Parkinson," retorted Mr. Carlyle, with asperity, "and,
strictly as one dear friend to another, Max, permit me to add, that
while cherishing an unbounded admiration for your remarkable gifts, I
have the strongest suspicion that the whole incident is a ridiculous
mare's nest, bred in the fantastic imagination of an enthusiastic
criminologist."

Mr. Carrados received this outburst with the utmost benignity.

"Come and have a coffee, Louis," he suggested. "Mehmed's is only a
street away."

Mehmed proved to be a cosmopolitan gentleman from Mocha whose shop
resembled a house from the outside and an Oriental divan when one was
within. A turbaned Arab placed cigarettes and cups of coffee spiced with
saffron before the customers, gave salaam and withdrew.

"You know, my dear chap," continued Mr. Carlyle, sipping his black
coffee and wondering privately whether it was really very good or very
bad, "speaking quite seriously, the one fishy detail our ginger friend's
watching for the other to leave -- may be open to a dozen very innocent
explanations."

"So innocent that to - morrow I intend taking a safe myself."

"You think that everything is all right?"

"On the contrary, I am convinced that something is very wrong."

"Then why?"

"I shall keep nothing there, but it will give me the entree. I should ad
- advise you, Louis, in the first place to empty your safe with all
possible speed, and in the second to leave your business card on the
manager."

Mr. Carlyle pushed his cup away, convinced now that the coffee was
really very bad.

"But, my dear Max, the place -- 'The Safe' -- is impregnable!"

"When I was in the States, three years ago, the head porter at one hotel
took pains to impress on me that the building was absolutely fireproof.
I at once had my things taken off to another hotel. Two weeks later the
first place was burnt out. It was fireproof, I believe, but of course
the furniture and the fittings were not and the walls gave way."

"Very ingenious," admitted Mr. Carlyle, "but why did you really go? You
know you can't humbug me with your superhuman sixth sense, my friend."

Carrados smiled pleasantly, thereby encouraging the watchful attendant
to draw near and replenish their tiny cups.

"Perhaps," replied the blind man, "because so many careless people were
satisfied that it was fireproof."

"Ah - ha, there you are -- the greater the confidence the greater the
risk. But only if your self - confidence results in carelessness. Now do
you know how this place is secured, Max?"

"I am told that they lock the door at night," replied Carrados, with
bland malice.

"And hide the key under the mat to be ready for the first arrival in the
morning," crowed Mr. Carlyle, in the same playful spirit. "Dear old
chap! Well, let me tell you -- "

"That force is out of the question. Quite so," admitted his friend.

"That simplifies the argument. Let us consider fraud. There again the
precautions are so rigid that many people pronounce the forms a
nuisance. I confess that I do not. I regard them as a means of
protecting my own property and I cheerfully sign my name and give my
password, which the manager compares with his record - book before he
releases the first lock of my safe. The signature is burned before my
eyes in a sort of crucible there, the password is of my own choosing and
is written only in a book that no one but the manager ever sees, and my
key is the sole one in existence."

"No duplicate or master - key?"

"Neither. If a key is lost it takes a skilful mechanic half - a - day to
cut his way in. Then you must remember that clients of a safe - deposit
are not multitudinous. All are known more or less by sight to the
officials there, and a stranger would receive close attention. Now, Max,
by what combination of circumstances is a rogue to know my password, to
be able to forge my signature, to possess himself of my key, and to
resemble me personally? And, finally, how is he possibly to determine
beforehand whether there is anything in my safe to repay so elaborate a
plant?" Mr. Carlyle concluded in triumph and was so carried away by the
strength of his position that he drank off the contents of his second
cup before he realized what he was doing.

"At the hotel I just spoke of;" replied Carrados, "there was an
attendant whose one duty in case of alarm was to secure three iron
doors. On the night of the fire he had a bad attack of toothache and
slipped away for just a quarter of an hour to have the thing out. There
was a most up - to - date system of automatic fire alarm; it had been
tested only the day before and the electrician, finding some part not
absolutely to his satisfaction, had taken it away and not had time to
replace it. The night watchman, it turned out, had received leave to
present himself a couple of hours later on that particular night, and
the hotel fireman, whose duties he took over, had missed being notified.
Lastly, there was a big riverside blaze at the same time and all the
engines were down at the other end of the city."

Mr. Carlyle committed himself to a dubious monosyllable. Carrados leaned
forward a little.

"All these circumstances formed a coincidence of pure chance. Is it not
conceivable, Louis, that an even more remarkable series might be brought
about by design?."

"Our tawny friend?"

"Possibly. Only he was not really tawny." Mr. Carlyle's easy attitude
suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. "He wore a false moustache."

"He wore a false moustache!" repeated the amazed gentleman. "And you
cannot see! No, really, Max, this is beyond the limit!"

"If only you would not trust your dear, blundering old eyes so
implicitly you would get nearer that limit yourself," retorted Carrados.
"The man carried a five - yard aura of spirit gum, emphasized by a warm,
perspiring skin. That inevitably suggested one thing. I looked for
further evidence of making - up and found it -- these preparations all
smell. The hair you described was characteristically that of a wig --
worn long to hide the joining and made wavy to minimize the length. All
these things are trifles. As yet we have not gone beyond the initial
stage of suspicion. I will tell you another trifle. When this man
retired to a compartment with his deed - box, he never even opened it.
Possibly it contains a brick and a newspaper. He is only watching."

"Watching the bookmaker."

"True, but it may go far wider than that. Everything points to a plot of
careful elaboration. Still, if you are satisfied -- "

"I am quite satisfied," replied Mr. Carlyle gallantly. "I regard 'The
Safe' almost as a national institution, and as such I have an implicit
faith in its precautions against every kind of force or fraud." So far
Mr. Carlyle's attitude had been suggestive of a rock, but at this point
he took out his watch, hummed a little to pass the time, consulted his
watch again, and continued: "I am afraid that there were one or two
papers which I overlooked. It would perhaps save me coming again to -
morrow if I went back now -- "

"Quite so," acquiesced Carrados, with perfect gravity. "I will wait for
you."

For twenty minutes he sat there, drinking an occasional tiny cup of
boiled coffee and to all appearance placidly enjoying the quaint
atmosphere which Mr. Mehmed had contrived to transplant from the shores
of the Persian Gulf.

At the end of that period Carlyle returned, politely effusive about the
time he had kept his friend waiting but otherwise bland and
unassailable. Anyone with eyes might have noticed that he carried a
parcel of about the same size and dimensions as the deed - box that
fitted his safe.

The next day Carrados presented himself at the safe - deposit as an
intending renter. The manager showed him over the vaults and strong -
rooms, explaining the various precautions taken to render the guile or
force of man impotent: the strength of the chilled - steel walls, the
casing of electricity -