Part 8 (1/2)

”He might not have been quite dead. Even doctors have been deceived before now, and crawled into the water to end his own misery. You can bet I'm going to keep the matter in mind.”

And it was a curious thing that this little handful of letters also set me off on a new tack. A possibility so bizarre and so terrible that it seemed almost beyond the pale of credibility flashed to my mind. I watched my chance, and slipped one of the ”George” letters into my pocket.

The idea I had was vague, not overly convincing, and it left a great part of the mystery still unsolved--but yet it was a clew. I waited impatiently until the search was concluded. Then I sought the telephone.

A few minutes later a telegraphic message was clicking over the wires to Mrs. Noyes, in New Hamps.h.i.+re, notifying her of her brother's murder and disappearance, and asking a certain question. There was nothing to do but wait patiently for the answer.

CHAPTER XI

In midafternoon the coroner called all the occupants of the manor house together in the big living-room. He had us draw chairs to make a half circle about him, and the sheriff took a chair at his side. He began at once upon a patient, systematic questioning of every one present.

None of us could read the thoughts behind his rather swarthy face. His coal-black eyes were alike unfathomable: whether he believed that the murderer was then sitting in our circle we could not guess. ”Of course this is not an official inquest,” he told us. ”The real inquest can't be held until there is a body to hold it over. I'm doing this in co-operation with the sheriff. And of course I needn't tell you that all of you are held here, with orders not to leave the immediate grounds, until a formal inquest can be held.”

”But what if you never find the body?” Marten asked. ”Some of us--can't stay forever.”

”The law takes heed of no man's business,” the coroner answered, somewhat sternly. ”However, I'll have counsel from the state in a few days, and then we can tell what to do. The district attorney will be here just as soon as his work will permit.”

He called Nealman first. Except for a strange and startling deepening of the worry-line between his brows I would have thought that he was wholly unshaken. Weldon asked his name, place of birth, thirdly his occupation.

”I can't hardly say--I'm interested in finance,” Nealman said in reply to the third question.

”And how long have you occupied this house?”

”Less than a month. I bought it last winter, but it has been under the charge of--of a caretaker until that time.”

”Who was the caretaker?”

Nealman's voice fell a note. ”Florey--the man murdered last night.”

”Ah.” The coroner paused an instant, as if deep in thought. ”And how did he happen to come into your employ?”

”He was employed at this house by its previous owner, just a few days or weeks before I purchased it. He asked for work here when I came to take possession. He was an experienced butler, he said.”

”Then that's all you know about the dead man?”

”Absolutely all.”

”His full name?”

”I made out his check to David Florey. I a.s.sumed he was an Englishman.”

”You didn't know that, for sure?”

”No.” Nealman hesitated, as if secretly startled. ”I really didn't know it, when I come to think about it. I always a.s.sumed that he was.”

”He was a good servant?”

”Excellent. I can go further. The best, most conscientious butler I ever had.”