Old Edgson was impatient to return to the house.
Perhaps her ladyship may be wanting me, sir, he suggested. May I go, sir?
Yes, Edgson, replied the young man. Tell my mother, if you see her, that Ill be back presently.
And the old servant, with his mechanical bow, retired, leaving his young master with his fathers murderer.
Raife gazed in silence upon the face of the dead stranger. Then, presently, speaking to himself, he said:
I wonder who he is? The police will find out, no doubt. Hes probably known, or he would not have been so careful about his finger-prints. By jove! he added, if Id met him in a train or in the street I would never have suspected him of being a criminal. One is too apt to judge a man by his clothes.
The local police had evidently gone through the mans pockets for evidence of identification, but finding none, had replaced the articles in the pockets just as they had found them. Therefore, Raife did the same, in order that the London detectives might be able to make full investigation. The only thing he kept was the scrap torn from the Morning Post.
He turned the body over to get at the hip-pocket of the trousers, when from it he at length drew a bundle of soft black material, which, when opened, he found to be a capacious sack of thin black silk, evidently for the purpose of conveying away stolen property.
This he also replaced, and when, on turning the body into its original position, the shirt became further dragged open at the throat he noticed around it something that had probably been overlooked by the local constable who had opened the dead mans clothes in an endeavour to discover traces of life a very fine silver chain.
Suspended from the chain was a tiny little ancient Egyptian charm, in the form of a statuette of the goddess Isis, wearing on her head the royal sign, the orb of the sun, supported by cobras on either side.
He removed it from the neck of the unknown, and, holding it in his palm, examined it. The modelling was perfect as a work of ancient art. It was cut in camelian about an inch and a quarter long, and, no doubt, five or six thousand years old. Up the back, from head to foot, were inscribed tiny Egyptian hieroglyphics, the circle of the sun, the feather, the sign of truth, a man kneeling in the act of adoration, a beetle and an ibis, the meaning of which were only intelligible to an Egyptologist.
He wore this as a talisman, no doubt, remarked Raife, speaking to himself. Perhaps it may serve as a clue to his identity. Who knows?
And, gathering the little goddess and its chain into his palm, he transferred it to his pocket.
Just as he did so, voices sounded outside the cottage. Edgson, with three men in overcoats and bowler hats were coming up the garden path.
They entered the room without ceremony, and old Edgson, who accompanied them, said:
These are the gentlemen from London, Master Raife.
Two of the men respectfully saluted the young baronet for he had now succeeded to the title while the third, Raife recognised as Inspector Caldwell from Tunbridge Wells.
Well, Caldwell, he said. This is a very sad business for us.
Very sad, indeed, sir, was the dark-bearded mans reply. We all sympathise with you and her ladyship very deeply, sir. Sir Henry was highly respected everywhere, sir, and there wasnt a more just, and yet considerate, magistrate on any county bench in England.
Is that the popular opinion? asked Raife, thoughtfully.
Yes, sir. Thats what everybody says. The awful news has created the greatest sensation in Tunbridge Wells. I wonder who this blackguardly individual is? he added.
The two detectives from Scotland Yard had crossed to where the dead man was lying, his white face upturned, and were scrutinising him narrowly.
I dont recognise him, declared the elder of the pair. Hes done time, no doubt. Look at his gloves.
An old hand, thats quite certain. Weve got his finger-prints in the Department, you bet, remarked the other. Wed better take off his gloves and take some prints as soon as we can; they will, no doubt, establish his identity. Mr Caldwell, will you please telephone to a printers somewhere near for a little printing-ink?
Certainly, replied the inspector. Ill phone back to Tunbridge Wells and have it sent out by a constable on a bicycle.
The three officers then proceeded to make a minute examination of the body, but Raife did not remain. He returned to the house, accompanied by Edgson.
A few minutes later he stood in the library before the open safe, plunged in thought. The sunshine streamed across the fine old room filled with books from floor to ceiling, for Sir Henry was a student, and his library, being his hobby, was cosily furnished a pleasant, restful place, the long, stained-glass windows of which looked out upon the quaint old Jacobean garden, with its grey, weather-beaten sundial, its level lawns, and high, well-clipped beech hedges.
Raife stood gazing at the safe, which, standing open, just as it was when his father had surprised the intruder, revealed a quantity of papers, bundles of which were tied with faded pink tape: a number of valuable securities, correspondence, insurance policies, and the usual private documentary treasures of an important landowner. Papers concerning the estate were mostly preserved at the agents office in Tunbridge Wells: only those concerning his own private affairs did Sir Henry keep in the library.
What had his dead father meant by those dying words uttered to old Edgson? That warning to be careful of the trap! What trap? What could his father fear? What truth was it which his father had hesitated to tell him the important truth the telling of which had been too late.
He recollected his fathers words as uttered to the faithful old servant: I was a fool, Edgson. I ought to have told my boy from the first. Every man has a skeleton in his cupboard. This is mine!
And, further, who was the woman whom he had referred to as her?
The young man gazed upon the dark patch on the carpet near the door, soaked by the life-blood of his unfortunate father. The latter, so suddenly cut off, had carried his secret to the grave.
That big, sombre room, wherein the tragedy had taken place, looked pleasant and cheerful with the bright, summer sunlight now slanting upon it. The big, silver bowl of roses upon the side-table shed a sweet fragrance there, while the spacious, old-fashioned mahogany writing-table was still littered with the dead mans correspondence.
The writing-chair he had vacated on the previous night, before going to bed, stood there, the silk cushion still crushed just as he had risen from it. His big briar-pipe lay just as he had knocked it out and placed it in the little bowl of beaten brass which he used as an ash-tray.
The newspapers which he had read were, as usual, flung upon the floor, while the waste-paper basket had not been emptied that morning. The servants had not dared to enter that room of disaster.
Young Raife re-crossed the room, and again examined the open door of the safe.
He saw that it had not been forced, but opened by a duplicate key one that had, no doubt, been cut from a cast secretly taken of the one which his father always carried attached to his watch-chain. So well had the false key fitted that the door had yielded instantly.
In the darkness in that well-remembered room, the room which he recollected as his fathers den ever since he was a child, the two men the baronet and the burglar had come face to face.
I wonder, Raife exclaimed, speaking to himself softly, scarce above a whisper. I wonder if there was a recognition? The words of the poor guvnor almost tell me that, in that critical moment, the pair, bound together in one common secret, met. They hated each other and they killed each other! Why did the guvnor admit that he had been a fool? Why did he wish to warn me of a trap? What trap? Surely at my age Im not likely to fall into any trap. No, he added, with a bitter smile, I fancy Im a bit too wary to do that.
I wonder, Raife exclaimed, speaking to himself softly, scarce above a whisper. I wonder if there was a recognition? The words of the poor guvnor almost tell me that, in that critical moment, the pair, bound together in one common secret, met. They hated each other and they killed each other! Why did the guvnor admit that he had been a fool? Why did he wish to warn me of a trap? What trap? Surely at my age Im not likely to fall into any trap. No, he added, with a bitter smile, I fancy Im a bit too wary to do that.
He paced up and down the long, silent, book-lined chamber, much puzzled.
As he did so, the sweet, pale, refined face of Gilda Tempest again arose before him. He had only met her casually, a few hours ago, yet, somehow why he could not explain, they had seemed to have already become old friends and, amid all his trouble, anxiety and bewilderment, he found himself wondering how she fared, and whether the dear little black pom, Snookie, was guarding his dainty little mistress.
True, a black shadow had fallen upon his home, a tragic event which had rendered him a baronet, and in a few months he would be possessor of great estates, nevertheless that thought had not yet occurred to him. His only concern had been for his bereaved mother, to whom he was so devoted, and from whom his father had hidden his strange secret. Through that dark cloud of mourning, which had so suddenly enveloped him, arose the beautiful countenance of the girl into whose society chance had so suddenly thrown him, and he felt he must see her again, that he must stroll at her side once again, at all hazards.
As his fathers only son, he had a right to investigate the contents of the open safe, for he knew that one executor was away at Dinard, while the other, an uncle, lived in Perthshire. At present, his fathers lawyer had not been communicated with, therefore he crossed again to the safe and methodically removed paper after paper to examine it.
Most of them were securities, mortgages, bonds, and other such documents, which, at that moment, did not possess much interest for him.
One bundle of old and faded letters which he untied were in a handwriting he at once recognised the letters of his mother before she had become Lady Remington. Another a batch written forty years ago were the letters from his grandfather, while his father was at Oxford. With these were other letters from dead friends and relatives; but, though he spent an hour in searching through them, Raife discovered no clue to the strange secret which Sir Henry had died without divulging.
Then he afterwards replaced the papers, closed the safe and re-locked it with the false key which still remained in it.
His mother was still too prostrated to speak with him, therefore he again went across to the cottage where the police were with the dead assassin.
As he entered, one of the detectives was carefully applying printers ink to the tips of the cold, stiff fingers, and afterwards taking impressions of them upon pieces of paper.
The secret of the dead thiefs identity would, they declared among themselves, very soon be known.
Chapter Four
Reveals Certain Confidences
Tell him to be careful to be wary of the trap?
Those dying words of Sir Henrys rang ever in his sons ears.
That afternoon, as Raife stood bowed in silence before the body of his beloved father, his mind was full of strange wonderings.
What was the nature of the dead mans secret? Who was the woman to whom he had referred a few moments before he expired?
The young fellow gazed upon the grey shrunken face he had loved so well, and his eyes became dimmed by tears. Only a week before they had been in London together, and he had dined with his father at the Carlton Club, and they had afterwards gone to a theatre.
The baronet was then in the best of health and spirits. A keen sportsman, and an ardent golfer, he had been essentially an out-door man. Yet he now lay there still and dead, killed by an assassins bullet. Raifes mother was inconsolable and he had decided that it was best for him to keep apart from her for the present.
To his friend, Mutimer, he had sent a wire announcing the tragic news, and had, by telephone, also informed Mr Kellaway, the family lawyer, whose offices were in Bedford Row, London. On hearing the astounding truth, Mr Kellaway to whom Raife had spoken personally had announced his intention of coming at once to Tunbridge Wells.
At six oclock he arrived in the car which Raife had sent for him a tall, elderly, clean-shaven man in respectful black.
Now, Mr Kellaway, said Raife, when they were alone together in the library, and the young baronet had explained what had occurred. You have been my fathers very intimate friend, as well as his solicitor for many years. I want to ask you a simple question. Are you aware that my father held a secret some secret of the past?
Not to my knowledge, Mr Raife or Sir Raife, as I suppose I ought to call you now, was the sombre, and rather sad, mans reply.
Well, he had a secret, exclaimed Raife, looking at him, searchingly.
How do you know?
He told Edgson, the butler, before he died.
Told his servant his secret! echoed the lawyer, knitting his brows.
No. He told him something not all.
What did he tell him? asked Mr Kellaway, in quick eagerness.
My father said he wished that he had been frank with me, and revealed the truth.
Of what?
Of his secret. He left me a message, urging me to beware of the trap. Of what nature is the pitfall? asked the young man. You, his friend, must know.
I regret, but I know absolutely nothing, declared the solicitor, frankly. This is all news to me. What do you think was the nature of the secret? Is it concerning money matters?
No. I believe it mainly concerns a woman, the young man replied. My father had no financial worries. He was, as you know, a rich man. Evidently he was anxious on my behalf, or he would not have given Edgson that message. Ah! If his lips could only speak again poor, dear guvnor.
And the young man sighed.
Perhaps Edgson knows something? the solicitor suggested.
He knows nothing. He only suspects that there is a lady concerned in it, for my father, before his death, referred to her.
Your respected father was my client and friend through many years, said Mr Kellaway. As far as I know, he had no secrets from me.
Raife looked him straight in the face for a few moments without speaking. Like all undergraduates he had no great liking for lawyers.
Look here, Kellaway, he said slowly. Are you speaking the truth?
The absolute truth, was the others grave reply.
Then you know of no secret of my fathers. None eh?
Ah, that is quite a different question, the solicitor said. During the many years I have acted for your late father I have been entrusted with many of his secrets secrets of his private affairs and suchlike matters with which a man naturally trusts his lawyer. But there was nothing out of the common concerning any of them.
Nothing concerning any lady?
Nothing I assure you.
Then what do you surmise regarding the trap, about which my father left me this inexplicable message?
Edgson may be romancing, the lawyer suggested. In every case of a sudden and tragic death, the servant, male or female, always has some curious theory concerning the affair, some gossip or some scandal concerning their employer.