Part 14 (2/2)

”Don't trouble, pray, ma'am, on my account,” entreated Mr. Halfpenny.

”It's of no consequence. We're deeply obliged to you.” He swept off his hat in an old-fas.h.i.+oned obeisance and drew Mr. Tertius away to the coupe brougham. ”That was Barthorpe, of course,” he said. ”He lost no time, you see, Tertius, in trying to see Burchill.”

”Why should he want to see Burchill?” asked Mr. Tertius.

”Wanted to know what Burchill had to say about signing the will, of course,” replied Mr. Halfpenny. ”Well--what next? Do you want me to see c.o.x-Raythwaite with you?”

Mr. Tertius, who had seemed to be relapsing into a brown study on the edge of the pavement, woke up into some show of eagerness. ”Yes, yes!”

he said. ”Yes, by all means let us go to c.o.x-Raythwaite. I'm sure that's the thing to do. And there's another man--the chauffeur. But--yes, we'll go to c.o.x-Raythwaite first. Tell your man to drive to the corner of Endsleigh Gardens--the corner by St. Pancras Church.”

Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite was exactly where Mr. Tertius had left him in the morning, when the two visitors were ushered into his laboratory. And for the second time that day he listened in silence to Mr. Tertius's story. When it was finished, he looked at Mr. Halfpenny, whose solemn countenance had grown more solemn than ever.

”Queer story, isn't it, Halfpenny?” he said laconically. ”How does it strike you?”

Mr. Halfpenny slowly opened his pursed-up lips.

”Queer?” he exclaimed. ”G.o.d bless me!--I'm astounded! I--but let me see these--these things.”

”Sealed 'em up not so long ago--just after lunch,” remarked the Professor, lifting his heavy bulk out of his chair. ”But you can see 'em all right through the gla.s.s. There you are!” He led the way to a side-table and pointed to the hermetically-sealed receptacles in which he had safely bestowed the tumbler and the sandwich brought so gingerly from Portman Square by Mr. Tertius. ”The tumbler,” he continued, jerking a big thumb at it, ”will have, of course, to be carefully examined by an expert in finger-prints; the sandwich, so to speak, affords primary evidence. You see--what there is to see, Halfpenny?”

Mr. Halfpenny adjusted his spectacles, bent down, and examined the exhibits with scrupulous, absorbed interest. Again he pursed up his lips, firmly, tightly, as if he would never open them again; when he did open them it was to emit a veritable whistle which indicated almost as much delight as astonishment. Then he clapped Mr. Tertius on the back.

”A veritable stroke of genius!” he exclaimed. ”Tertius, my boy, you should have been a Vidocq or a Hawkshaw! How did you come to think of it? For I confess that with all my forty years' experience of Law, I--well, I don't think I should ever have thought of it!”

”Oh, I don't know,” said Mr. Tertius, modestly. ”I--well, I looked--and then, of course, I saw. That's all!”

Mr. Halfpenny sat down and put his hands on his knees.

”It's a good job you did see, anyway,” he said, ruminatively; ”an uncommonly good job. Well--you're certain of what we may call the co-relative factor to what is most obvious in that sandwich?”

”Absolutely certain,” replied Mr. Tertius.

”And you're equally certain about the diamond ring?”

”Equally and positively certain!”

”Then,” said Mr. Halfpenny, rising with great decision, ”there is only one thing to be done. You and I, Tertius, must go at once--at once!--to New Scotland Yard. In fact, we will drive straight there. I happen to know a man who is highly placed in the Criminal Investigation Department--we will put our information before him. He will know what ought to be done. In my opinion, it is one of those cases which will require infinite care, precaution, and, for the time being, secrecy--mole's work. Let us go, my dear friend.”

”Want me--and these things?” asked the Professor.

”For the time being, no,” answered Mr. Halfpenny. ”Nor, at present, the taxi-cab driver that Tertius has told us of. We'll merely tell what we know. But take care of these--these exhibits, as if they were the apples of your eyes, c.o.x-Raythwaite. They--yes, they may hang somebody!”

Half an hour later saw Mr. Halfpenny and Mr. Tertius closeted with a gentleman who, in appearance, resembled the popular conception of a country squire and was in reality as keen a tracker-down of wrong-doers as ever trod the pavement of Parliament Street. And before Mr. Halfpenny had said many words he stopped him.

”Wait a moment,” he said, touching a bell at his side, ”we're already acquainted, of course, with the primary facts of this case, and I've told off one of our sharpest men to give special attention to it. We'll have him in.”

The individual who presently entered and who was introduced to the two callers as Detective-Inspector Davidge looked neither preternaturally wise nor abnormally acute. What he really did remind Mr. Tertius of was a gentleman of the better-cla.s.s commercial traveller persuasion--he was comfortable, solid, genial, and smartly if quietly dressed. And he and the highly placed gentleman listened to all that the two visitors had to tell with quiet and concentrated attention and did not even exchange looks with each other. In the end the superior nodded as if something satisfied him.

”Very well,” he said. ”Now the first thing is--silence. You two gentlemen will not breathe a word of all this to any one. As you said just now, Mr. Halfpenny, the present policy is--secrecy. There will be a great deal of publicity during the next few days--the inquest, and so on. We shall not be much concerned with it--the public will say that as usual we are doing nothing. You may think so, too. But you may count on this--we shall be doing a great deal, and within a very short time from now we shall never let Mr. Barthorpe Herapath out of our sight until--we want him.”

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