Part 27 (2/2)

”Mr. Cazalette!” exclaimed Miss Raven.

”Mr. Cazalette is the name,” said Baxter. ”I have heard much of him, through the sources I've just referred to. Now, this Mr. Cazalette, going to or coming from a place where he bathed every morning, which place happened to be near the spot whereat Salter Quick was murdered, found a blood-stained handkerchief?”

”He did,” said I. ”And a lot of mystery attaches to it.”

”That handkerchief belongs to my French friend,” said Baxter. ”I told you that he joined me at York from Berwick. As a matter of fact, for some little time just before the Salter Quick affair, he was down on this coast, posing as a tourist, but really just ascertaining if things were as I'd left them at the ruins in the wood above this cove and what would be our best method of getting the chests of stuff away.

For a week or so, he lodged at an inn somewhere, I think, near Ravensdene Court, and he used sometimes to go down to the sh.o.r.e for a swim. One morning he cut his foot on the pebbles, and staunched the blood with his handkerchief, which he carelessly threw away--and your Mr. Cazalette evidently found it. That's the explanation of that little matter. And now for the tobacco-box.”

”A much more important point,” said I.

”Just so,” agreed Baxter. ”Now, my friend and I first heard of the murder while we were at York. In the newspapers that we read, there was an account of a conversation which took place in, I believe, Mr. Raven's coach-house, or some out-building, whither the dead man's body had been carried, between this old Mr. Cazalette and a police-inspector, regarding a certain metal tobacco-box found on Salter Quick's body. Now I give you my word that that news was the first intimation we had ever had that the Quicks were in England! Until then we hadn't the slightest idea that they were in England--but we knew what those mysterious scratches in the tobacco-box signified--Salter had made a rude plan of the place I had told him of, and was in Northumberland to search for it. Then, later, we read your evidence at the opening of the inquest, and heard what you had to tell about his quest of the Netherfield graves, and--just to satisfy ourselves--we determined to get hold of that tobacco-box, for, don't you see, as long as it was about, a possible clue, there was a danger of somebody discovering our buried chests of silver and valuables. So my friend came down again, in his tourist capacity; put up at the same quarters, strolled about, fished a bit, botanized a bit, attended the adjourned inquest as a casual spectator, and--abstracted the tobacco-box under the very noses of the police! It's in that locker now,” continued Baxter, with a laugh, pointing to a corner of the cabin, ”and with it are the handkerchief, your old friend Mr. Cazalette's pocket-book----”

”Oh! your friend got that, too, did he?” I exclaimed. ”I see!”

”He abstracted that, too, easily enough, one morning when the old fellow was bathing,” a.s.sented Baxter. ”Naturally, we weren't going to take any chances about our hidden goods being brought to light. We're highly indebted to Mr. Cazalette for making so much fuss about the tobacco-box, and we're glad there was so much local gossip about it.

Eh?”

I remained silent awhile, reflecting.

”It's a very fortunate thing for both of you that you could, if necessary, prove your presence at York on the night of the murder,” I remarked at last. ”Your doings about the tobacco-box and the other things might otherwise wear a very suspicious look. As it is, I'm afraid the police would probably say--granted that they knew what you've just told us so frankly--that even if you and your French friend didn't murder Salter Quick and his brother, you were probably accessory to both murders. That's how it strikes me, anyway.”

”I think you're right,” he said calmly. ”Probably they would. But the police would be wrong. We were not accessory, either before or since.

We haven't the ghost of a notion as to the ident.i.ty of the Quicks'

murderers. But since we're discussing that, I'll tell you both of something that seems to have completely escaped the notice of the police, the detectives, and of you yourself, Middlebrook. You remember that in both cases the clothing of the murdered men had been literally ripped to pieces?”

”Very well,” said I. ”It had--in Salter's, anyway, to my knowledge.”

”And so, they said, it had in Noah's,” replied Baxter. ”And the presumption, of course, was that the murderers were searching for something?”

”Of course,” I said. ”What other presumption could there be?”

Baxter gave us both a keen, knowing look, bent across the table, and tapped my arm as if to arrest my closer attention.

”How do you know that the murderers didn't find what they were seeking for?” he asked in a low, forceful voice. ”Come, now!”

I stared at him; so, too, did Miss Raven. He laughed.

”That, certainly, doesn't seem to have struck anybody,” he said. ”I'm sure, anyway, it hasn't struck you before. Does it now?”

”I'd never thought of it,” I admitted.

”Exactly! Nor, according to the papers--and to my private information--had anybody,” he answered. ”Yet--it would have been the very first thought that would have occurred to me. I should have said to myself, seeing the ripped-up clothing, 'Whoever murdered these men was in search of something that one or other of the two had concealed on him, and the probability is, he's got it.' Of course!”

”I'm sure n.o.body--police or detectives--ever did think of that,” said I. ”But--perhaps with your knowledge of the Quicks' antecedents and queer doings, you have some knowledge of what they might be likely to carry about them?”

He laughed at that, and again leaned nearer to us.

”Aye, well!” he replied. ”As I've told you so much, I'll tell you something more. I do know of something that the two men had on them when they were on that miserable island and that they, of course, carried away with them when they escaped. Noah and Salter Quick were then in possession of two magnificent rubies--worth no end of money!”

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