The Moon Rock (Thriller Novel). Arthur J. Rees

a sacred charge—Robert’s last wish.”

      “It will be best for you to take charge of her, I think,” said Austin absently. “I expect she is provided for in Robert’s will. I found that in the old clock case last night, and I’ve handed it to the local lawyer who drew it up. But this is beside the point, Constance. I have come over here this morning to beg of you to let this terrible business rest where it is. There is not the slightest doubt in my mind that our unhappy brother has ended his own life—all the facts point to it only too clearly—and I particularly desire, for all our sakes, that you do nothing to put your ill-informed suspicions into action. Let the thing drop.”

      “It is too late,” said Mrs. Pendleton decidedly. “I have already been to the police. There is a detective from Scotland Yard on his way over from Bodmin.”

      “You might have told me this before and saved my time,” said Austin, rising with cold anger. “In my opinion you have acted most ill-advisedly. However, it’s too late to talk of that. No, there is no need to rise. I can find my way out.”

      Austin Turold left the hotel, and made his way up the crooked street to the centre of the town. His way lay towards Market Jew Street, where he intended to hire one of the waiting cabs to drive him back to St. Fair. As he neared the top of the street which led to the square, his eye was caught by the flutter of a woman’s dress in one of the narrow old passages which spindled crookedly off it. The wearer of the dress was his niece Sisily. She was walking swiftly. A turn of the passage took her in the direction of the Morrab Gardens, and he saw her no more.

      Her appearance in that secluded spot was unexpected, but at the moment Austin Turold did not give it more than a passing thought. He hurried across Market Jew Street and engaged a cabman to drive him home.

      The ancient vehicle jolted over the moor road in crawling ascent, and in due time reached the spot where the straggling churchtown squatted among boulders in the desolation of the moors, wanting but cave men to start up from behind the great stones to complete the likeness to a village of the stone age. The cab drifted along between the granite houses of a wide street, like a ship which had lost its bearings, but cast anchor before one where a few stunted garden growths bloomed in an ineffectual effort to lessen the general aspect of appalling stoniness. Austin Turold paid the cabman and walked into this house. He opened the door with his latchkey, and ascended rapidly to the first floor.

      Lunch was set for two in the room which he entered, and Charles Turold was seated at the table, turning over the pages of a book. He glanced up expectantly, and his lips formed one word—

      “Well?”

      “It is not well,” was the testy response. “My charming sister has called in the assistance of Scotland Yard. You’ll have to stay. We’ve got to face this thing out.”

      His son received this piece of news with a pale face. “You should have foreseen this last night,” he said.

      “I saw Sisily in Penzance—near the gardens.”

      “Where was she going?” asked Charles, flushing slightly.

      “I really cannot say. You should be better acquainted with her movements than I,” was the ironical response. “You do not suppose I have been altogether blind to your infatuation, do you? If you choose to go walking and flirting with a girl on Cornish moors you must expect to be observed. As a matter of fact I thought it rather a good move on your part, until I learnt the secret of Sisily’s birth.”

      “I tell you I won’t stand this,” exclaimed Charles, springing up from the table.

      “Won’t?” said his father. “You carry things with a high hand—Jonathan.” His look dwelt coldly on his son. “Do not be a fool. Sit down and let us have lunch, and we’ll discuss afterwards what’s best to be done.”