I'd be a different man!'"
"And you guessed that he met the widow?" I said.
"I know that he did, for later that same morning he let a remark dropcasually that he had to see Mrs Olliffe off in Hastings."
"Then she had some hold upon him?"
"Apparently so. But Guy was always very close about his personalaffairs."
"That was over a month ago, eh?"
"Perhaps six weeks."
I was silent. Was it possible that the tragedy had been the outcome ofthat secret midnight meeting in Eastbourne? Yet why should they meet insuch secrecy when he had been in the habit of going to Ridgehill Manorso openly? By the discovery I had thus made mystery had been piled uponmystery.
We dropped the subject, and took our coffee and liqueurs in the bigsmoking-room which looked out upon Piccadilly and the Park. Then, whenhe had gone, I cast myself into an easy-chair in the silence-room andpondered deeply.
I reviewed all the facts just as I had done a thousand times throughthose long sleepless nights, and came to the conclusion that Asta,loving the dead man as she did, was the only person capable of assistingme to bring the culprit to justice.
The stumbling-block was that I could form no theory as to how GuyNicholson had been killed, such subtle means had been used in theaccomplishment of the crime.
Cardew expressed himself ready and eager to assist me in my inquiries.
"If you want any help, my dear Kemball, you have only to wire to me.I'll get leave and come to you, wherever you may be," he said.
I thanked him, and soon afterwards I waved my hand to him as hedescended the steps of the club.
It occurred to me that I should attempt to become on friendly terms withMrs Olliffe. By that means I might perhaps learn something.
Therefore, one afternoon a few days later, I was shown into the pretty,old-fashioned, chintz-covered drawing-room at Ridgehill Manor, where thewidow, in a cool gown of figured muslin, rose to meet me. With her wasa grey-moustached man of military appearance, and a young girl of twentyor so, and they were taking tea.
From my interesting hostess I received a pleasant welcome, and, afterbeing introduced, was handed a cup of tea. Yes, I actually took it fromthe hand that I suspected of striking down the poor fellow at Titmarsh!
Yet in her handsome, well-preserved face, as she chatted and laughedwith her friends, evidently near neighbours, there was surely no traceof guilt. That countenance fascinated me when I recollected herextraordinary career and the ingenuity and cunning she had displayed inher efforts to live upon the credulity of others.
The girl was talking of tennis, and gave her hostess an invitation to aparty on the following day.
"Sir Charles will be there, so do come," the girl urged.
"I'm afraid I have to go to the Reids' with my brother," the widowreplied. "He accepted their invitation a month ago."
And almost as she said this, a tall, distinguished-looking, clean-shavenman of forty-five entered, and was introduced to me as her brother,George King. As I bowed I wondered if this man were the accomplice ofwhom the police had spoken at the Old Bailey--the husband Earnshaw, whosometimes posed as her brother, sometimes as her husband, and sometimesas a servant!
As he seated himself near me and began to chat, I realised that he wasjust as clever and refined as his alleged sister. He had just returnedfrom six months in Russia and the Caucasus, he told me, and describedthe pleasant time he had had.
When at last Mrs Olliffe's visitors rose and left, I requested a wordwith her alone.
"Certainly," she said--not, however, without a slightly startled glance,which I did not fail to notice. "Come in here;" and she led me throughto her own little sitting-room--a charming, cosy place, very tastefullyfurnished and restful.
When we were seated, I began without preamble--
"You will recollect, Mrs Olliffe, that we had some conversationconcerning the late Melvill Arnold. You were anxious to learn factsconnected with his death."
"Yes," she said, with a strange look upon her handsome face. "Myobject, I may as well tell you, Mr Kemball, was to satisfy myself thathe died a natural death; that--well, that he was not the victim of foulplay."
"Foul play!" I gasped, staring at her. "Do you suspect that?"
She shrugged her well-shaped shoulders without replying.
"Had he any enemies--any person who would benefit by his death?" Iasked quickly.
"Yes."
"And you suspect them of--"
"I suspect nobody," she hastened to assure me. "Only his sudden andmysterious end is extremely suspicious."
"Well, I can assure you that you need have no suspicion," I said. "Iwas with him on board ship when he was suddenly taken ill, and Iremained with him nearly the whole time until the end."
"Nearly. You were absent sometimes."
"Of course. I was not with him both night and day."
"And therefore you can't say with absolute certainty that his enemieshad no access to him," she said.
"But even if they had, they can have profited nothing," I said.
"How do you know? Melvill Arnold was extremely wealthy. Where is itall? Who knows but that he was not robbed of it in secret, and deathbrought upon him in order to prevent the truth from being revealed."
I shook my head and smiled.
"I fear, Mrs Olliffe, that your imagination has run just a trifle wild.Arnold died a natural death, and the doctor gave a certificate to thateffect."
"I'll never believe it," she declared. "If there had not been foulplay, the whereabouts of his great wealth would be known. He was afriend, a great friend, of mine, Mr Kemball, so please forgive me forspeaking quite frankly."
"You are, of course, welcome to your own opinions, but I, who know thefacts so well, and who was present at his death, am able to state withauthority that his end was due to natural causes."
"It is curious that he should have trusted you--a perfect stranger," shesaid, with coolness. "You did not explain the nature of your trust."
"It was upon that very point, Mrs Olliffe, that I called to see youto-day," I said. "Mr Arnold gave me a letter addressed to a certainMr Alfred Dawnay, and--"
"To Alfred Dawnay!" she gasped, starting to her feet as all the colourfaded from her face. "He wrote to him?" she cried. "Then--"
She stopped short, and with one hand clutching her breast, she graspedthe edge of the table with the other, for she swayed, and would havefallen.
I saw that what I had told her revealed to her something of which shehad never dreamed--something which upset all her previous calculations.
"Tell me, Mr Kemball," she exclaimed at last, in a hard, strainedvoice, scarce above a whisper, "tell me--what did he write?"
"Ah! I do not know. I was merely the bearer of the letter."
"You have no idea what Arnold told that man--what he revealed to him?"
"I have no knowledge of anything further than that, after Arnold'sdeath, I opened a packet, and found the letter addressed to Dawnay."
"To Dawnay! His worst enemy and his--"
"Was Dawnay an enemy?" I asked. "I took him, of course, to be the deadman's friend and confidant."
The woman laughed bitterly as she stood there before me with deep-knitbrows, her mouth hard, and a determined look upon her cunningcountenance.
"Poor fool, he believed Dawnay to be his friend. Ah! what fatal follyto have written to him--to have placed trust in him. And yet, is notthis my vengeance--after all these years?" She laughed hysterically.
"Is this man Dawnay such a very undesirable person?" I asked quietly.
"Undesirable!" she cried, with flashing eyes. "If Arnold had known buthalf the truth, he would never have reposed confidence in him."
"But the letter may not, after all, have been one of friendship," Isuggested.
"It was. I can see through it now. Ah! why did I not know a week ortwo ago! How very differently I would then have acted," she murmured ina tone of blank despair. Her face
was deadly pale and her lips weretrembling.
"Was Dawnay aware of Arnold's identity?" I asked. It was upon the tipof my tongue to speak of the mysterious cylinder of bronze, but Ihesitated, recollecting that this woman was not a person to be trusted.
"How can I tell?" she said hoarsely. "Yet, from facts that haverecently come to my knowledge, I now realise how Arnold must havefoolishly disclosed the secret to his worst enemy."
"What secret?" I demanded anxiously.
But she was distrustful and evasive.
"An amazing secret which, it is said, if revealed to the public, wouldcause the whole world to stand aghast," replied the woman, in a