Part 13 (1/2)

”A lady's been here recently, that's very evident. We must find out who she was.”

”A lady!” I gasped, wondering in an instant whether Aline had called upon him.

”The outer door is open all day, I think you said,” he went on.

”Yes.”

”In that case it is probable that if she came during this man Ash's absence, n.o.body would see her.”

”Very probably,” I said. ”We can only wait until Ash returns.”

”But it's already half an hour since you made the discovery, and nearly an hour since the gentleman died; yet the man has not returned,” the detective observed dubiously.

At that moment we heard a footstep on the stair, but instead of the dead man's valet, an inspector in uniform entered. The detective briefly explained the circ.u.mstances in a dry, business-like tone, the inspector walked through the rooms with his hands behind his back, and after a survey of the place, and a promise to send some men to remove the body to the mortuary, left again.

So startling had been the discovery, and so curious the whole of the events of that morning, that I had scarcely felt any grief at the loss of my friend. It did not seem really true that Roddy Morgan, my very best chum, was actually dead; cut off in a moment in the prime of his manhood by some mysterious, but fatal, cause, which even the doctor had not yet decided.

As the minutes pa.s.sed, slowly ticked out by the clock upon the mantel-shelf, I could not help sharing with the detective some doubts regarding Ash. Had he absconded?

If murder had actually been committed, then robbery was not the object of the crime, for on the writing-table were lying a couple of five-pound notes open, without any attempt at concealment. Roddy was always a careless fellow over money matters.

At last, at nearly half-past two, we heard the click of a key in the latch, and there entered the man whom we had been awaiting so long.

He walked straight into the sitting-room, but when he saw us, drew back quickly in surprise, muttering--

”I beg pardon, gentlemen.”

”No, come in,” the detective said, and as he obeyed his eyes fell upon his master, reclining there with his face covered with the silk handkerchief.

”Good heavens, sir, what's happened?” he gasped, pale in alarm.

”A very serious catastrophe,” the officer answered. ”Your master is dead!”

”Dead!” he gasped, his clean-shaven face pallid in fright. ”Dead! He can't be!”

”Look for yourself,” the detective said. ”He expired about noon.”

Ash moved forward, and raising the handkerchief with trembling fingers, gazed upon the cold, set face of the man whom he had for years served so faithfully and well.

”What can you tell us regarding the affair?” asked the detective, with his dark eyes set full upon the agitated man.

”Nothing, sir. I know nothing,” he answered.

”Explain what your master was doing when you left, and why you went out.”

”About eleven o'clock, when I was polis.h.i.+ng his boots in the kitchen, he called me,” answered the man, without hesitation. ”He gave me a note, and told me to go to the departure platform of King's Cross Station, and wait under the clock there for a youngish lady, who would wear a bunch of white flowers in her breast. I was to ask her if she expected him, and if so, to give her the letter. I took a cab there, waited at the spot he indicated for two whole hours, but saw no one answering the description; therefore I returned.”

”And the note?” asked the officer.

”Here it is,” answered Ash, placing his hand in his coat-pocket, and producing a letter.