Part 4 (2/2)

Bray grunted, and opened his little eyes. I took up the issue of the following day--the twenty-eighth:

”RANGOON: We have been forced to sell father's stick-pin--the emerald scarab he brought home from Cairo.”

I had Bray's interest now. He leaned heavily toward me, puffing. Greatly excited, I held before his eyes the issue of the twenty-ninth:

”RANGOON: Homburg hat gone forever--caught by a breeze--into the river.”

”And finally,” said I to the inspector, ”the last message of all, in the issue of the thirtieth of July--on sale in the streets some twelve hours before Fraser-Freer was murdered. See!”

”RANGOON: To-night at ten. Regent Street. --Y.O.G.”

Bray was silent.

”I take it you are aware, Inspector,” I said, ”that for the past two years Captain Fraser-Freer was stationed at Rangoon.”

Still he said nothing; just looked at me with those foxy little eyes that I was coming to detest. At last he spoke sharply:

”Just how,” he demanded, ”did you happen to discover those messages? You were not in this room last night after I left?” He turned angrily to the constable. ”I gave orders--”

”No,” I put in; ”I was not in this room. I happened to have on file in my rooms copies of the Mail, and by the merest chance--”

I saw that I had blundered. Undoubtedly my discovery of those messages was too pat. Once again suspicion looked my way.

”Thank you very much,” said Bray. ”I'll keep this in mind.”

”Have you communicated with my friend at the consulate?” I asked.

”Yes. That's all. Good morning.”

So I went.

I had been back in my room some twenty minutes when there came a knock on the door, and Colonel Hughes entered. He was a genial man, in the early forties I should say, tanned by some sun not English, and gray at the temples.

”My dear sir,” he said without preamble, ”this is a most appalling business!”

”Decidedly,” I answered. ”Will you sit down?”

”Thank you.” He sat and gazed frankly into my eyes. ”Policemen,” he added meaningly, ”are a most suspicious tribe--often without reason. I am sorry you happen to be involved in this affair, for I may say that I fancy you to be exactly what you seem. May I add that, if you should ever need a friend, I am at your service?”

I was touched; I thanked him as best I could. His tone was so sympathetic and before I realized it I was telling him the whole story--of Archie and his letter; of my falling in love with a garden; of the startling discovery that the captain had never heard of his cousin; and of my subsequent unpleasant position. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

”I suppose,” he said, ”that no man ever carries an unsealed letter of introduction without opening it to read just what praises have been lavished upon him. It is human nature--I have done it often. May I make so bold as to inquire--”

”Yes,” said I. ”It was unsealed and I did read it. Considering its purpose, it struck me as rather long. There were many warm words for me--words beyond all reason in view of my brief acquaintance with Enwright. I also recall that he mentioned how long he had been in Interlaken, and that he said he expected to reach London about the first of August.”

”The first of August,” repeated the colonel. ”That is to-morrow. Now--if you'll be so kind--just what happened last night?”

Again I ran over the events of that tragic evening--the quarrel; the heavy figure in the hall; the escape by way of the seldom-used gate.

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