Stopping to reply to Lady Ardane’s enquiry as to how the shoot had gone off, he made a quick movement of his head in the direction of her room to let her understand that he wanted to speak to her.
She took in at once what he wanted, and directing the nurse to take the child downstairs into the lounge turned back and motioned to the detective to follow her.
In her boudoir, with the door closed the detective told her quickly and in a very few words what had happened, holding up his macintosh for her inspection1.
She went white to the lips. “Oh! how awful it is that they are so pitiless!” she exclaimed. “They will kill us both if they can’t get us alive.”
“But don’t imagine things are even coming to that,” said Larose reassuringly2. “They blundered badly in not finishing me off today, and they’ll never get such another chance.” He looked quite cheerful. “I shall be fighting in the open now, and that will strengthen my hand a lot. So don’t get downhearted, for I am certain we shall beat them in the end.”
Lady Ardane made a great effort to pull herself together, “And you have no idea who it was?” she asked tremulously.
“Not the slightest,” replied the detective, “and all that is clear is that they must have found out who I am, as Mr. Jones said they would.” He went on briskly. “No, I won’t come in to dinner to-night and you can tell them all about me. Then I’ll appear just before the meal is over for I want to get a few words with the men before they have a chance of going up to their rooms.”
“But wait a moment, please, Mr. Larose,” said Lady Ardane quickly, “and let me think. No, no,” she went on, “it mustn’t be done like that. You must come in to dinner just the same, but I’ll speak to the Senator at once and we will decide exactly what to do.” She drew in a deep breath. “My step-father will be dreadfully angry that I have called in anyone to do with the police.” A little assurance came back into her voice and she spoke4 much more firmly. “But, whatever he says, I am glad you are here”— she smiled wanly5 —“for I can see nothing frightens you, and you’ll be quite as merciless as they are.”
“Thank you,” smiled Larose, “I’m sure I’m very much obliged for your opinion of me.” He made a grimace6. “But you’re quite mistaken, for I do get very frightened sometimes, and I confess I’m a bit frightened now.” He shivered. “I’ve been in these wet clothes for nearly an hour and if I don’t change them soon I may have a peaceful death in my bed, instead of meeting with the honorable and violent one that I expect.”
She was all sympathy at once. “Then go and have a boiling bath and I’ll give you some special bath-salts of mine to put in. They’re splendid if you’re feeling chilled,” and she darted7 into her bedroom, to return almost immediately with a daintily-ribboned jar.
Larose thanked her very much, and she gave him a smile, the pleasantest one, he was sure, that she had yet given him.
“Yes!” he remarked to himself when he was stripping off his sodden8 clothes, “that young woman can be very appealing when she wants to.”
An hour later, feeling warm and comfortable and quite himself again, he was chatting to some of the ladies in the lounge, when he saw Senator Harvey enter, and before sitting down, glance intently in his direction. He could see instantly that the Senator had been told everything, and so excusing himself to the girl he was talking to, he walked over to him and sat down in a chair alongside.
“Good!” said the Senator dryly. “I wanted to have a word with you, young man.” There was no one near them, and in the noisy buzz of conversation they could speak as privately9 as if they were alone.
“Well,” went on the Senator with a sigh, “I’ve been told who you are and what has been happening, and I am very shocked about both pieces of information.” His face expressed his keen displeasure. “Calling in the police was the last thing I wanted”— he shrugged10 his shoulders —“but of course it can’t be helped now.”
“In my opinion,” said Larose sternly, “it ought to have been done at the very beginning, for there is all evidence that we are dealing11 with a very desperate gang of men.”
The Senator smiled a cold, grim smile. “I am not quite a simpleton, Mr. Larose,” he said, “and as the step-father of Lady Ardane I have been most fully3 alive to her danger, and keeping my eyes open very wide.” He looked amused. “For one thing, I have had you under close observation from the moment you arrived, and am quite aware that you have been prowling about, out of your bedroom, upon both nights that you have been here.”
“Oh, oh!” exclaimed the detective rather taken aback.
“Yes,” went on the Senator, “a piece of hair was blobbed on to your door with white of egg each night directly you went in.”
Larose felt very disgusted, but he passed the matter over as if it were of no importance.
“Now, none of the guests have been told,” he asked, “of the two warnings Lady Ardane has received?” He spoke sharply. “I want to be quite sure about that.”
“No,” replied the Senator slowly, “none of the guests have been told.”
“And not Sir Parry?” asked Larose.
“No, not even he,” was the reply. “Lady Ardane and I promised that Naughton Jones we would not mention the matter to anyone, and although we were both most annoyed that the fellow took himself off as he did, we have adhered to our promise.” He regarded the detective with a frown. “Now, what is it you want us to do?”
“I suggest a slight alteration12 to the plan I proposed to Lady Ardane,” said Larose, “and would prefer now to come in to dinner as usual, and then towards the end of the meal bring out in the course of conversation who I am.” He nodded confidently. “I’ll manage it without any fuss.”
The Senator considered. “All right,” he said wearily, “have it your own way,” and then as if glad to be relieved of all responsibility, he rose up without another word and moved over to join the ladies.
Larose remained where he was, and a few moments later, catching13 the eye of Sir Arnold, who had just come into the lounge, made a motion with his head that the surgeon should take the vacant chair nearby.
Sir Arnold strolled leisurely14 over and sat down. “Well,” he said quietly, “you feel all right now?”
“Quite all right, thank you,” replied the detective. He spoke very quickly. “I’m a detective, as I told you, and I come from Scotland Yard. My name is Larose, Gilbert Larose.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the surgeon, and his calm, impassive face broke into a pleasant smile, “I’ve heard about you.”
“Yes,” went on the detective, “and I’m going to take you into my confidence, because you can render a great service to Lady Ardane by helping15 me.” He bent16 towards Sir Arnold and spoke very quietly. “Now during dinner I’m going to let everybody know who I am”— his voice hardened —“and what I am here for. Then I am going to ask all the men to come with me into the blue morning room for a short talk.” He nodded. “You must understand I want to get them all in there before any of them can have the chance of going up to their rooms. Then directly the door is closed upon us, I shall demand that each of them hand over his keys, so that I can go through any suitcase or trunk that he is keeping locked.”
“But what on earth for?” asked the surgeon, looking very puzzled. “What do you expect to find in them?”
“A pistol, and probably narcotics17 and perhaps a hypodermic syringe,” replied Larose instantly. “The criminal of today is scientific and it is quite on the cards that with any opportunity to get at Lady Ardane or the child, they may be drugged first.” He nodded again. “Anyhow, I shall be very disappointed if I do not find something suspicious in the belongings18 of one of them.”
“And how can I help you then?” asked Sir Arnold.
“By at once consenting to let me make a search when I ask, for that will make it difficult for anyone else to refuse.”
“All right,” said Sir Arnold, drily, “so I see I am to act as decoy.”
That night at dinner Larose was at his brightest, and not a few wondering glances were from time to time cast his direction. He seemed to have become all at once quite a different man and was no longer the quiet and rather diffident young colonial they had hithereto regarded him.
Instead, he spoke now as an experienced man of the world, who had been brought in contact with many celebrities19 in his time, and had acquired a keen insight into human nature, generally. He told them, too, a lot about Australia; of its wide open spaces, its vast distances and the many adventures he had had there.
But, as none of them yet knew, he was doing it all for a purpose, and only waiting for the chance of disclosing in as careless and casual manner as possible, exactly what his profession was.
And presently the opportunity came. He had been telling them about the black trackers and how once, without a single mistake or false step, one of them had followed unerringly the trackless bush for ten days upon the trail of a desperado who was wanted for a murder in New South Wales. He told it very well, and everyone stayed their conversation to listen. Then when he had finished, Clive Huntington smiled and showed his beautiful white teeth.
“Really, Mr. Maxwell,” he said with a glance of sly amusement round the table, “but you describe everything so graphically20, that you might almost have been there yourself.”
“And I was,” replied Larose, smiling back. “I was the police officer in charge. I was a detective-inspector in Sydney then, and mine was the responsibility to obtain the man’s arrest.”
An amazed silence followed, and even, it seemed, the well-trained staff had been thrown out of their stride.
Lips were parted and every eye in the room was fastened upon Larose. It was as if no one there could believe their ears.
“Yes,” went on Larose carelessly, “but I’ve been over here for more than a year and am attached now to Scotland Yard.” He laughed. “Of course, Maxwell is not my real name. It’s Larose, Gilbert Larose,” and he swept his eyes round the table and in a lightning glance took in the expressions of them all.
Lady Ardane was flushed, but in a proud and queenly way quite at her ease. Senator Harvey was frowning heavily; the American seemed most interested; Sir Parry Bardell was looking very mystified and as if he could not understand it at all; the airman was scowling22; Lord Wonnock looked very shocked; Lestrange was only bored; Admiral Charters looked as if he were going to burst; Clive Huntington was looking down his nose and smiling very thoughtfully and Patricia Howard was simply thrilled.
The girl was the first to break the silence. “And you are really the great Larose?” she asked breathlessly. “The man who’s always shooting at people and killing23 them, and who never fails!”
“Oh! Come, Miss Howard,” said the detective with a laugh, “please don’t give me such an awful character, for I assure you I am a very peaceful man. I only shoot when I have to and then”— his face lost its smiling lines —“I naturally shoot as straight as I can.”
Lord Wonnock cleared his throat “And are you down here in an official capacity, sir, if I may ask?”
“Certainly,” replied Larose readily, “and I want to have a little talk with all you gentlemen in a few minutes. I am here ——”
“Excuse me, please, Mr. Larose,” broke in Lady Ardane quickly, “but I think I would prefer to explain.” She looked round and her glance took in all at the table. “It is useless to make out to any of you that I have not been in great anxiety lately”— her voice trembled —“for I have been as distressed24 as any mother could be. As you all know, Mr. Naughton Jones came down to help me, but he was taken ill and had to go away. Then, upon his advice, I applied25 for Mr. Larose and we thought it best that no one here should know who he was. I acted all upon my own, and until this evening not even the Senator was aware what I had done. Now”— and her voice had become quite firm —“we think it is best you should all be taken into the secret and that is why”— she smiled —“Mr. Larose has been making himself known to you just now.”
She paused for a moment to draw in a deep breath, and then went on with some emotion. “I may tell you now that Larose has already been of great service to me, for he was with me the other night when that attempt was made to waylay26 me in my car. He fired upon them when they were after us, and burst one of their tyres and that is only how we managed to get away.”
Then suddenly all eyes were turned from her to the butler behind, for the man, ghostly pale, was seen to stagger and almost fall. One of the footmen rushed up to him, and steadying him upon his feet, half supported and half carried him from the room.
The incident occasioned no little concern among the ladies and Lady Ardane herself looked very upset.
“He’s served the family for over 30 years,” she explained, “and he’s very devoted27 to me. He’s very highly strung and has been anything but himself these last two weeks.”
But Bernard Daller immediately proceeded to bring back the conversation to Larose.
“And now that we know who this gentleman is,” he said pleasantly, “I expect we are all curious to know in what way it concerns us.”
“Well, I want first to speak to you all, please,” said Larose very quietly. “You gentlemen, only, I mean, and so when we have finished here, I’ll get you all to come with me into the blue morning-room. Lady Ardane has arranged for it.”
“Of course we’ll come,” said Sir Arnold promptly28. “You want to enlist29 our help, I suppose.”
Larose flashed him a grateful look. The surgeon had spoken in exactly the right tone and as if it would be only the natural thing for them to want to come.
A few minutes later, and the ladies having left the room, Larose moved to the door and held it open.
“Now, please, if you’ll oblige me,” he said briskly.
Sir Arnold went first, and with Larose following last of all, to make sure that no one slipped away, they were being shepherded into the morning-room.
Then, apparently30 greatly to their surprise, they perceived that one of the men servants was seated there, in a chair near the door, but he rose instantly to his feet upon their entrance and stood to attention with a very grim-set expression upon his intelligent face. He was Peter Hollins, the one time Assistant Scoutmaster in Hunstanton, and now the nightwatchman of the Abbey.
The detective shut the door, locked it and then calmly proceeded to put the key in his pocket.
“Hullo! hullo!” instantly exclaimed Bernard Daller, with a scowl21. “What does this mean? We are prisoners! Eh!”
“Not at all,” replied the detective diplomatically, “but I want to make sure we shall not be interrupted.” He moved over to the window and took up a position so that he was facing then all, but separated by the width of the table.
“Now,” he said sternly, “I’ll waste no time on preliminaries, and you shall all know why I have brought you here.” He paused a moment and let his eyes rove round upon each one.
Then he rapped out like the crack of a whip. “One of you gentlemen here this afternoon, tried to murder me. Now which of you was it?”
A dead silence followed, and in the hush32 it was as if the room was untenanted and it was the dead of night. His audience stared incredulously and as if they thought he had gone out of his mind.
“One-two-three-four,” up to nine, counted the detective. “You are all of you here, the same number as round that wood when one of you left his station and fired point blank at what you thought was me, from behind that hedge.” He bent down and from the seat of a chair pushed under the table, whipped out his macintosh and held it up. “Look, this was hanging over a bush and in the fading light the assassin made sure it was me and emptied two barrels into it.”
Still the same silence, but some of the faces were white and strained now, the looks of incredulity having changed to those of horror.
It was Clive Huntington who at last broke the silence by striking a match. He had taken out a cigarette.
“A mistake, of course,” he said quietly. “Most certainly a mistake.” He looked coolly at the detective. “You say the light was failing”— he shrugged his shoulders —“and in a half-light anything may happen.”
“A mistake!” snarled33 Larose. “A mistake! And he was not ten paces behind me when he fired! The birds would have been high up in the air and the macintosh was not three feet above the ground!”
“But come, Mr. Larose,” said Sir Parry huskily, and although it was evident that he was very much unset, there was nevertheless a stern and almost angry note in his tones, “you are not justified34 in saying it was one of us. It is only conjecture35 on your part.”
“No conjecture at all,” replied Larose sharply. “There was a gamekeeper at each end of that stretch of road, and I have questioned them both. They are certain no stranger passed during that last quarter of an hour, and that it was accessible to only you nine.” He inclined his head and added very solemnly, “And my life was attempted, gentlemen, because it had become known to one of you that I was a detective, and here to protect Lady Ardane and her son.” He looked challengingly round. “Now, what have any of you to say?”
But no one spoke in return. They just stared at the macintosh, then at the detective, and then back at the macintosh again.
“Well, we’ll get to business at once,” went on Larose, “and just put your innocence36 to the test.” His eyes again passed rapidly from one to the other of them and then he nodded in the direction of young Hollins. “Now, I am going to send this lad up to all your rooms, and from each room he will bring down any suitcase, bag, grip or anything that he finds locked. Then you will please hand over your keys and I will go through your belongings in front of you all here.”
“But what for, Mr. Larose?” asked Senator Harvey with some irritation37. “What has anything that we have in our rooms to do with your being shot at this afternoon?”
“You will learn that in a few minutes,” said the detective sternly “Now, please give me your keys,” and he held out his hand to Sir Arnold, who was standing38 nearest to him.
With a grim smile the surgeon at once complied, but then a quiet voice came from behind them all.
“I object,” said Theodore Rankin, “on principle. It is an insult, and I won’t put up with it.”
“And I object too,” said Clive Huntington, who was smiling blandly39, “also — on principle.”
“And I object as well,” burst out the airman. “Not on principle, but because it’s the worst piece of cheek I’ve ever heard.” He glared at Larose. “You say we are not prisoners, although you’ve locked the door, and who the devil are you then, to treat us as if we were pickpockets40 and thieves?” His anger rose. “You’ve no authority for this.”
“Oh! Haven’t I,” snapped Larose. “You make a great mistake there. I am an emissary of the law, an attempt has been made by one of you upon my life, and I am justified in taking any means to find out who is the would-be assassin.” His voice was stern and uncompromising. “Now, I tell you I am going to see the insides of your trunks.”
“Produce your search warrants first, then,” sneered41 the airman. He scoffed43. “We are not quite country bumpkins, sir, nor entirely44 ignorant of the law. You can do nothing without an authority, and I’m not going to knuckle45 under to ——”
He paused, as if unable to think of an epithet46 sufficiently47 insulting, and then Lestrange spoke up in a very bored sort of way. “As to the legal aspect, Mr. Larose,” he said, “this gentleman is quite right, for you have no authority, for the moment, to go through anybody’s belongings here.” He looked as if he were trying to suppress a yawn. “After all, too, you have produced no corroborated48 testimony49 that some unknown individual fired at your macintosh, for there is no evidence before us that you did not actually fire at it yourself.”
Larose almost choked with fury at the studied insolence50 of the barrister, but before he could frame any suitable reply, Senator Harvey broke in quickly.
“As a near relative of Lady Ardane,” he said, “I give my support to these gentlemen in their objections. To insist upon searching their belongings is not only an insult to them as her guests, but to my mind it is most ridiculous as well.”
Larose had got himself well in hand, and he realised that the opposition51 had now become too strong to combat with out further help.
“Very well, Senator Harvey,” he said. “But kindly52 wait a minute, will you.” He took the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door; then beckoning53 to young Hollins, he said, loud enough for them all to hear, “Go and ask Lady Ardane to spare me a minute, if she can.”
Hollins at once left the room and then Bernard Daller remarked with another sneer42, “Not very chivalrous54, Mr. Detective, is it — to send for a woman to fight your battle for you?”
Larose made no reply, and they all stood in silence, waiting for Lady Ardane to appear. But they were not kept waiting long, for hardly a minute, it seemed, had elapsed before the door opened and she swept into the room.
She looked paler than usual, but she carried herself with her head held high and there was no lack of spirit in her expression.
The detective spoke up at once. “I am sorry to have troubled you,” he said, “but I have asked all these gentlemen for permission to examine the contents of the suitcases in their rooms and some of them are refusing to grant it. Now, will you please try and persuade them?”
But Lady Ardane had not quite taken in what he meant. “You want to examine their suitcases?” she asked, looking rather puzzled, and when the detective nodded, her face cleared and she went on, “Well, why has anyone any objection?” She turned to her guests and said very quietly, “To oblige me and shorten all this unpleasantness, kindly consent.”
“But, Lady Ardane ——” began Daller with a scowl.
“Excuse me, Daller,” interrupted Senator Harvey quickly, “but I’d like to speak to Lady Ardane first.” He walked over to the door, and opening it, held it for her to pass out. “Just a moment, please, Helen,” he said, and then with a backward glance over his shoulder to the others, he added, “We shan’t be two minutes.”
But it was much nearer five minutes before they returned, and then Larose perceived instantly from her heightened color that Lady Ardane was upset in some way.
“Mr. Larose,” she said quickly, and the detective knew instinctively55 that she was speaking against her inclinations56, “Senator Harvey is right and you are not justified in asking these gentlemen for permission to go through their belongings.” She shook her head. “I cannot support your request with mine.”
The detective masked all signs of his bitter disappointment, and accepted his defeat with a pleasant smile. “All right,” he said quietly, “I’m only sorry I bothered you,” and he held open the door for her to pass out.
He closed the door after her, and returned to his position before the table. “Well, gentlemen,” he said dryly, “if you won’t let me examine your suitcases, then perhaps, very graciously, you will allow me to ask you a few questions”— he looked round upon them all —“and I’ll take Mr. Rankin first.”
He, regarded the American very intently and then rapped out —“And what, please, were you doing, sir, at one o’clock this morning, out in the grounds with a pair of binoculars57?”
The American looked very wooden. “Out — in-the — grounds — at — one — o’clock?” he repeated. He shook his head. “No, you are quite mistaken. I was in bed and asleep then.”
“No, no, you weren’t,” said Larose sternly. “I was watching you for more than a quarter of an hour, before I saw you reenter the Abbey through the cloister58 door.”
Rankin did not repeat his denial. “Well, if you watched me, as you say,” he drawled coolly, “for longer than a quarter of an hour, then you can inform yourself what I was doing and obtain all the information you want, at its very source.”
Larose turned instantly to Sir Parry Bardell. “You have a key to the cloister door?” he asked. “Then show it to me, please,” and when the knight59 held out one on a bunch, the detective proceeded to examine it very carefully. “Now has this been out of your possession at all?” he went on.
Sir Parry shook his head and replied instantly, “No.”
Larose made no comment, but turning now to the airman and Clive Huntington, embraced them both with the same glance.
“Now, Mr. Daller,” he said briskly, “perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell us where you met Mr. Huntington before, for you are old acquaintances, I see.”
The airman flushed and for a long moment made no reply. Clive Huntington was looking very scornful, and started to champ his jaws60 as if he were chewing a piece of gum.
“I have known Mr. Huntington,” said Daller very slowly and weighing every word, “for exactly forty-eight hours. Previous to then I did not know even that he existed.”
“And you, Mr. Huntington,” Larose asked sarcastically61, “of course, you subscribe62 to that?”
“Two days ago,” replied Clive Huntington, adopting the slow and precise tones of the airman. “I did not know of his existence either.”
“What!” thundered the detective, with the quickness of a flash of lightning, “you a sailor and crossing the Atlantic a score of times each year in the Bardell steamers, never to have heard of Bernard Daller, the airman, who has three times made the record transAtlantic flight!”
It was the first time anyone had seen Clive Huntington lose his pleasant smile. “Oh! I have heard of him in that respect, of course,” he said irritably63, “but I meant, as a private individual.”
The detective smiled. One of his shafts65 had at last gone home. He turned at once and addressed Admiral Charters.
“Now, sir,” he snapped, “it is your turn.” He emphasised each word with his finger. “To whom do you signal when you go up in the tower?”
All eyes were now turned upon the Admiral, who got as red as a turkey cock. “Darn your impudence66,” he spluttered furiously, “I don’t signal to anyone. You came sneaking67 up after me yesterday and I thought at the time you were spying.” He could hardly get out his words. “I go up there to look at the sea.”
“And the unfolded handkerchief, sir, that you were holding in your hand?” asked Larose scornfully.
“To blow my nose with,” barked the Admiral. “Darn your impudence, again I say.”
The detective waved his hand in the direction of the door and then sank back into an armchair.
“The interview is over, gentlemen,” he said, “and you are now all free to return to your pursuits of innocence.” His eyes glinted. “I have asked questions of many suspected persons in my time and can generally tell pretty well when they are lying or speaking the truth.”
With disdainful glances from some, but with no comments from any, they all trooped out of the room, and Larose and the Assistant Scoutmaster were left alone.
“Well, Hollins,” said the detective slowly, “I’ve only known you a few hours, but I’m going to trust you quite a lot. As a scout31, you have always, no doubt, hankered after adventure and you’re going to get plenty of it now.” He smiled as if it were a good joke. “You’ve heard what has just passed, and you can guess that one or two of those nice gentlemen, who have just gone out, would stick a knife into me with much pleasure, so with you acting68 as my assistant, you are quite likely to get a jab too.”
The young fellow smiled back. “It’s all right, sir, I’m quite willing to take my chance.”
Larose eyed him solemnly. “But it’s no game, my lad, and so I’ll be giving you a few hints. Here’s for one. You’ve got a pocket-knife with a sharp blade? Good! Well, when you go on duty into the hall to-night, have it open in one of the side pockets of your jacket. It will come in very handy then if anybody necks you from behind. I’ve saved my life twice that way.” He nodded. “You can go now, but I shall be wanting you to-night and mind”— he held up a warning finger —“not a whisper to anyone about me.”
Then with the departure of young Hollins, the detective proceeded to weigh up the situation.
“Well, it’s no good to imagine that I am not very disappointed,” ran his thoughts, “for I am. But I don’t blame that red-headed young woman at all, for there was undoubtedly69 something behind her refusal to support me, and I shall be learning what it was in due time.” He smiled cheerfully. “Now I rattled70 some of those gentlemen quite a good bit, and I certainly put a lot of my cards upon the table. But I meant to do it, for these guests here can’t be all guilty, and now I’ve made them suspicious of one another, and they’ll be watching amongst themselves.”
He nodded. “But I’ve just been told a good few lies, and of that I’m quite sure. The airman and Huntington were lying, and that Yankee chap too, also”— his face puckered71 to a frown —“I’m just a little bit suspicious about Sir Parry. His ‘no’ was so very ready when I asked about the key, and exactly as if he had been expecting the question.”
He shook his head. “Well, never mind about their lies for the present, for I’ve something much more urgent to tackle right away.” He looked very puzzled. “Now how did they get to know so quickly that I was an enemy and had been planted here to watch? I’m sure I’ve done nothing to give myself away, for I’ve never been seen talking to Lady Ardane for more than a few seconds, and then we’ve spoken very quietly and with no one by us, so that we could not possibly have been overheard. I’ve been with her twice in her boudoir, but the door and window were shut both times.” He stopped suddenly and then went on very slowly. “Ah! but I’m inclined, somehow, to be rather suspicious about that little room!”
He was silent for a long while, and then with a sharp snap of his fingers, he exclaimed, “Yes, there have been matters that have been talked about only in that boudoir of hers, that have very speedily become known to the gang! To my certain knowledge two, and”— he hesitated —“perhaps three; the proposed excursion on the morrow to those Brancaster Sands, the arrangements that the head chauffeur72 had made for bringing out the riflemen from Hunstanton and — surely my talk with her last night when she kept on saying, ‘Mr. Larose.’”
His heart began to thump73 quickly. “Great Scott!” he went on, “and the explanation of it all could be so very simple if conversations in there could be overheard, not through the keyhole or the window, but through the large ventilator, above her writing desk and facing the bedroom door.”
He snapped his fingers again and whistled softly. “Yes, I must learn where that ventilator opens out.”
Midnight had just sounded, and the detective and young Hollins were padding softly along one of the passages upon the third, and top floor, of the Abbey. They were carrying a 12-foot ladder between them.
Arriving at the end of the passage the detective flashed a torch upon the ceiling and nodded to his companion.
“All right,” he whispered; “that’s the one, and mind the ladder doesn’t slip when we get it up. You must wait, and not make a sound. I may be gone ten minutes or it may be an hour for the roof’s large and I’ll have to climb over those rafters like a cat. Now, up with it quickly.”
The ladder was lifted into position with its topmost rung less than a foot below a small trap-door in the ceiling. The detective mounted quickly and pushed up the door.
“Now don’t get anxious,” he whispered down, as a final injunction as he climbed through the opening, “and if you hear any noises, you’ll know that they’ll only be mine.”
As Larose had expected, the roof loomed74 very wide and long, and as he swept his torch round, it seemed as spacious75 as a cathedral. Its ends and sides were lost in the shadows, and in all directions there stretched a vast sea of rafters, with hundreds and hundreds of small iron pipes everywhere.
“And I hope they well and truly insulate the electric wires,” he muttered, regarding the pipes a little doubtfully, “for I shall be touching76 them nearly the whole of the time.”
He took a long look round to get his bearings. “Now, I go east,” he went on, “towards the rising sun, for all the bedrooms of the guests face that way and I shall probably find a well for the electric light pipes going down in each corner.”
Quickly, but with great care, he proceeded to cross over the rafters. He counted a hundred of them and then stopped for a short rest. “Gosh!” he exclaimed, “but I shall have to be careful or I’ll get bushed77, and not be able to find my way back.”
He walked over more than another hundred and then, just as he was beginning to think he must surely have been travelling in a circle, he saw the roof taking a downward slope, and in the corner yawned a large square opening.
“Exactly,” he whispered, “the well where the pipes go, but now, how the deuce do the electricians get down?”
He was soon, however, relieved of all anxiety upon that score, for his eyes fell upon an iron ladder bolted to one of the sides of the well. The ladder was very narrow and barely a foot in width.
He bent over and pulled strongly at it to make sure it would bear his weight. But it was securely bolted and as immovable as a rock.
With no delay, then, he entrusted78 himself to it, and started to go down, stopping, however, every now and then to ascertain79 how far he had descended80.
Presently, when he judged he must have come down 20 feet, and could not now be far above the floor level of the first story of the building, he perceived a sort of side shaft64, leading off at right angles to the main shaft he had been descending81.
He stepped off the ladder and found himself in a long passage between two walls, lined as the well had been, with the innumerable iron pipes, conducting the electric wires, but now added to these were much larger pipes of lead.
“The water service,” he exclaimed, “and very easy to get at if anything goes wrong!”
The passage was very narrow and he edged along sideways to get as little dust as possible upon his clothes, then flashing his torch up, he saw a long line of ventilators just above the level of his head and extending along the passage farther than the rays of his torch would reach.
“And those are the ventilators opening into the bedrooms,” he whispered, “and my room should not be far off here.”
But suddenly he trailed his torch down upon his feet, and then for a few seconds switched it off altogether, for in the distance he had seen a glow of light coming out from one of the ventilators.
“Ah! a night-bird,” he exclaimed, “and so someone’s not gone to bed yet”— he made a grimace of disappointment —“but the ventilator will be just too high for me to see through.”
But then approaching nearer and flashing on his torch again, to his amazement82 he saw that under this very ventilator that was showing the light was a small wooden box, about 2 feet in height.
“Gee!” was his startled comment, “and it’s been placed there on purpose for someone to see through.”
Instantly, then, he switched off his torch and mounted the box. His eyes were then just level with the ventilator, and peering through, he gave a gasp83 in which consternation84 and triumph were both blended.
He was looking straight down into Lady Ardane’s boudoir. The door leading into the bedroom was wide open, and he saw Lady Ardane in the very act of getting into bed.
His heart beat furiously. Then this was the secret of it all. Into the passage had come the spy, upon the box it had been his wont85 to take his stand, and a few feet only below his eyes, he had both seen and heard everything that had been taking place in the room below!
And then the detective began to blush furiously, and he ground his teeth in his rage. So this wretch86, perhaps night after night, had been spying upon Lady Ardane and she, poor creature, if she only knew it, would die of shame!
Fascinated, he watched her settle herself comfortably down into the bed. She sank her red head into the pillow, she pulled the bed-clothes warmly up around her neck, one beautifully moulded arm came into view for two seconds and then — the light was gone.
“And a good thing, too,” growled87 Larose, angry that for a few seconds he had been playing the spy himself, “a darned good thing, for otherwise that young chap might have been waiting for me all night.”
And then the great significance of his discovery thrilled through him and his face glowed with delight.
“And now,” he exclaimed, “it should be easy to discover at least one of the conspirators88, for he will come here again, and I shall have only to watch to catch him.” His face clouded over. “But how the devil does he get up here? He certainly doesn’t come the way I came.”
He stepped softly off the box, and flashing his torch again, continued to make his way quickly along the narrow passage. He passed eleven ventilators and then another opening yawned before his feet, but, as before, there was an iron ladder running down the side and with no hesitation89 this time he climbed on to it.
But his descent took much longer now before he finally landed into a sort of little square chamber90 that formed the bottom of the well. Three sides of the chamber were of concrete, but the wall of the fourth consisted of planks91 of rough wood.
There was no door to be seen anywhere, and for a few seconds the detective thought there was no means of getting out, but passing his hands over the planks, he felt two of them were loose, and a very brief examination showed him that the ends of both of them were unnailed and retained in their positions only by short cross pieces of wood. He lifted them up from the bottom, and pushing them apart, stepped out between them.
He found himself in a small untidy lumber-room, littered everywhere with miscellaneous articles appertaining to the building and decorating trade. Pots of paint, tins of calsomine, whitewash92, sacks of lime and brushes of all descriptions.
Making no sound, he crossed over to the door and softly turning the handle, found it was unlocked.
He stepped into a long passage outside, and flashed his torch up and down, but he was now in a part of the building in which he had never been before, and it was not until he had proceeded for quite 50 yards, in a direction that he knew must eventually lead to the main door, that he could get his bearings.
Then in the distance he saw the door of the library, and switching off his torch, he stood considering what his next move must be.
“No,” he told himself at last. “I’ll go back the way I came. It’ll be a dirty climb, but I won’t startle that lad by appearing from another direction.” So he passed back through the lumber-room, and pushed to the boards behind him.
“Now, in the ordinary way,” he whispered, “there should be plenty of finger-prints about, but I take it that if anyone is accustomed to come here pretty often, it is almost certain, that knowing how dusty it is, he will be wearing gloves to keep his hands clean.”
And that he was quite right in this conjecture was apparent when he reached the top of the first ladder again, for, upon the landing just above the well, he could see plainly where someone had placed his hand to climb up into the passage. But the impression in the dust was broad and blurred93, and certainly, he knew, could not have been made by a naked hand.
He regained94 the roof without any more discoveries, and was welcomed with great relief by young Hollins.
“I was afraid something had happened to you, sir,” whispered the boy, “and was wondering what I should have to do. Have you seen anything interesting?”
“Yes, something very interesting,” replied the detective, smiling to himself, “but now we’ll put back this ladder and then I’m off to bed.”
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1
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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2
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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4
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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5
wanly
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| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
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6
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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7
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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8
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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9
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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10
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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11
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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12
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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13
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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14
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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15
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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16
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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17
narcotics
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| n.麻醉药( narcotic的名词复数 )；毒品；毒 | |
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18
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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19
celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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20
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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21
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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22
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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23
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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24
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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25
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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26
waylay
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| v.埋伏，伏击 | |
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27
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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28
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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29
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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30
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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31
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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32
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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33
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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34
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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35
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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36
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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37
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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38
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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39
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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40
pickpockets
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| n.扒手( pickpocket的名词复数 ) | |
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41
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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43
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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45
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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46
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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47
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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48
corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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49
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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50
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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51
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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52
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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53
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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54
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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55
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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56
inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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57
binoculars
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| n.双筒望远镜 | |
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58
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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59
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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60
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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61
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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62
subscribe
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| vi.(to)订阅，订购；同意；vt.捐助，赞助 | |
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63
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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64
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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65
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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66
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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67
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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68
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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69
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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70
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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71
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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73
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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74
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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75
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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76
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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77
bushed
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| adj.疲倦的 | |
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78
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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80
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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81
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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82
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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83
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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84
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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85
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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86
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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87
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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88
conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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89
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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90
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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91
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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92
whitewash
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| v.粉刷，掩饰；n.石灰水，粉刷，掩饰 | |
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93
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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94
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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