Chapter VII

Miss Mettleby took a cab and was soon stretched upon her bed more than ever torn and tortured by the perfect vortex of vague conjecture and too actual knowledge which now dragged her and the man she loved and her whole world down to some indefinite but certain ruin.

In the meantime Inspector Sharpe disposed of two cases that had just been brought in, and then sending for Ferret, the two penetrating, cool, keen-scented gentlemen sat on opposite sides of the little table in the Inspector’s private office and discussed the rapidly developing situation.

“But what the devil does it all mean?” inquired Sharpe, showing by his graver and tenser expression that the case was passing from an ordinary piece of blackmail, involving a few unimportant foreigners, to a very genuine mystery of much more serious aspect, involving not an English gentleman merely, but the particular English gentleman who was at that moment in the eye of the public.

“Mean? Mean?” answered Ferret, leaning back with an air of immense professional eagerness. “Why, man, can’t you see what it means? In the first place, something happened after I left the house that changed the dear little governess lady’s mind. She was told to leave the house, to follow the Cuban, you see. Well, the Cuban didn’t go out as the little one so prettily lied to you. I know this because I had five of our trustiest men watching every entrance to the house. So, for some reason the girl has joined Fair in his unaccountable effort to keep the rum chap out of our hands. There was a row of some sort just after I left the house, for Wilson, whom I let into the place, saw them all suddenly rush up from the dinner-table, but, as they came back presently, Wilson didn’t go up to the library—especially as he saw pretty Kate slip out into the street. Getting thickish, eh? Well, sir, the shot that we heard about seven o’clock was fired in Fair’s house, for I saw his revolver lying on the library-table with one chamber empty. How’s that for your little game?”

“This is getting interesting,” muttered the Inspector.

“Isn’t it just?” answered Ferret, sitting up triumphantly. “And what did I tell you? I knew there was a deal more than just an innocent bit of Mendes’s regular little practice. The papers will be worth reading, sir, tomorrow or the day after. I wish this governess, though, was out of it.”

“You have the house well watched?” asked the Inspector.

“Rather,” answered Ferret, with one of his expressive winks. “Wilson and Banks and Thorpe and two others. They won’t let very much get through their fingers. Another thing. The Fairs are closing the house tomorrow morning all of a sudden. All the servants have been notified. Fair himself will spend the day at Drayton Hall—you know, old Sir Nelson Poynter’s place in Surrey—and the missis and the kids will go to Paris. I quietly read the two telegrams that Fair sent off to engage the rooms for them in Paris. Wilson will follow them, while Thorpe will run down to Drayton Hall tonight to see how things lie. Tomorrow after they have gone I shall give the house a thorough looking over, I can promise you. Sharpe, my lad, we’ve struck a gold mine!”

“But what do you make of it all?” asked Sharpe. “I confess that I’m in the dark. Have you got at the real situation?”

“Walls have ears—and even minor police officials have a liking for knowing what their superiors are at—so, your ear,” replied Ferret, going to the Inspector’s side and whispering to him.

“Lord! You don’t mean that?” exclaimed Sharpe, jumping up.

“How’s that for a bit of sensation for the newspapers? Maxwell Fair—Phew!”

“But how ever did you come to talk to the young lady at the house? Was that quite prudent, do you think? Isn’t she a bit skittish?” asked the Inspector when he resumed his seat. “Poor little innocent!—what a fool she was to come here and tell us that he didn’t do it, eh?”

“Oh, the governess—ain’t she a circus?” laughed Ferret. “What a deep one to come and tell us not to send any horrid detectives! You see, she was in the library when I went up there during their dinner to have a look round for the cause of the shooting, and, incidentally, for the Cuban, though I knew he must be higher up in the house somewhere—attic probably. I had to get the blooming girlie out of the library, so I opened up my little plan about having her watch for the Cuban, and she took to it like a trout after a fly. That was before whatever happened a little while afterward which opened her eyes and changed her bearings. When I went out of the house I let Wilson into it, to be ready to investigate the library when pretty Kate came down to watch the door—but the row that sent them all hurrying from the dinner-table altered that. I stood just over the way under a tree, when out comes my little lady, not following the Cuban, for he hadn’t come out of the house, but all by her lone and all of a blue funk. She hops into a cab at the corner and I into the next one—and she got here half a minute ahead of me. Glory what luck we’re playing to; why, it’s better than——”

He was interrupted by the telephone bell. The Inspector answered it: “Well? Who? Yes. Yes. Ferret is here—with me in my office. What? No? Wait—Ferret will speak to you. Good. All right.”

Sharpe turned to Ferret: “Here, Ferret, it’s Wilson—says something’s up. Better get it yourself.”

Ferret grabbed the instrument eagerly. The case was developing a trifle too rapidly. What could Wilson, whom he had left under the stairs at Mr. Fair’s, want so soon?

(To be continued.)