The inspector gave him a knowing glance.
"I never feel sure of anything in this world. I may tell you in confidence that when I have made those footmarks out I shall have found out who murdered Lady Anne."
"I—I am glad to hear you say that," the man said almost gratefully. "It seemed so dreadful that one of us, one of us who loved her"—he gulped down something in his throat—"should have killed my lady."
When they reached Charlton Crescent again Bruce Cardyn touched the inspector.
"Did you see a tall youngish man, fair, with rather noticeable white teeth, and a monocle fixed in one eye, who sat a little way behind us and apparently took great interest in the case? He was making notes in a book on his knee."
The inspector nodded. "Mr. David Branksome, your predecessor."
"Was he?" For once Cardyn was taken utterly by surprise. "Did you see him apparently pushed close to our party by the jostling of the crowd? In reality he was cleverly edging himself up to Miss Balmaine. I saw him pass something—a note apparently to her."
The inspector laughed a little, and feeling in his waistcoat pocket held out his hand to the younger man. Bruce looked at the grubby piece of paper lying in his palm.
"Mosswolds'—4 o'clock to-morrow."
"An appointment?"
"Looks like it," said the inspector. "We shall have to put in an appearance there, Mr. Cardyn." Bruce glanced at it doubtfully. "But will Miss Balmaine keep the appointment when she finds that she has lost her note?"
"She will not know," the inspector said confidently. "Miss Balmaine like one or two of the others concerned in this remarkable case is just a little too clever, Mr. Cardyn. She managed to read that note, holding it low down in her hand while the people were all round the court. When she had finished she tore it into several pieces and let it fall to the floor, thinking, no doubt, that she was unobserved and that she had done with it for ever. But there was a little ragged boy, who had managed somehow to push himself into the court—a little ragged boy who was close behind her when she dropped it. He picked it up—I am sure it will not surprise you to learn that he is one of my keenest sleuths—he put the pieces together with some bits of stamp paper, took a taxi and was here as soon as we were."
"A smart piece of work altogether!" commented Bruce Cardyn. "'Mosswolds'—a restaurant off Piccadilly, isn't it?"
"Mostyn Street, left off Bond Street," corrected the inspector. "I hear the car is ordered directly after luncheon to-morrow to take the young ladies to the dressmaker's. I expect our young lady will manage to slip away from there. At any rate we shall be ready for her."
"Y—es." Bruce paused and hesitated, then he said slowly, "In spite of the doctor's evidence and also the fact that I know the modern young woman is athletic, I have always doubted the possibility of that blow having been struck by a woman, inspector."
The inspector looked at him.
"I fancy that an athletic girl of to-day could strike home just as swiftly and just as surely as a man."
"Well, it may be so," Cardyn acknowledged reluctantly. "But I should not call either of the two girls in this case—Miss Fyvert and Miss Balmaine—particularly athletic."
"Miss Fyvert plays hockey and cricket and tennis, takes fencing lessons and rides to hounds. She is no weakling," commented the inspector dryly. "As for Miss Balmaine, she has lived all her life in Australia until the last few months, for the most part at a sheep farm, miles from civilization. That fact speaks for itself."
"Y—es," Bruce acquiesced. "Nevertheless, inspector, I feel quite sure that neither of these girls killed Lady Anne. Miss Fyvert, of course, is out of the question—the idea is so absurd as to be almost farcical. And I do not, in spite of various suspicious happenings, I cannot believe Margaret Balmaine guilty!"
"No?" The inspector's eyes were watching the younger man's face with a curious expression in their keen depths. Then, taking his pocket-book from his breast pocket, he carefully extracted a bank-note and held it out to Cardyn. "Do you know what this is?"
"A fifty-pound bank-note," replied Cardyn, glancing at it in surprise. "Do you mean that—"
"It is one of the notes given in payment for the pearls by Messrs. Spagnum and Thirgood's manager to the supposed Lady Anne Daventry. The first we have traced so far. It was paid to her dressmaker by—whom do you think?"
"Miss Balmaine, I suppose," Bruce said quietly. "That is what you mean, is it not?"
"Not quite," said the inspector, a note of triumph creeping into his voice. "This note was paid to Madame Benoit by Miss Dorothy Fyvert in part payment of her account, which account had been running on for several years. Madame says that she had of late been very pressing for at least something on account, as her own liabilities were great. Another thread of the clue leading to Miss Dorothy Fyvert!"
"Clue—clue!" Bruce Cardyn repeated contemptuously. "If all the clues in the world led to Dorothy Fyvert I should still believe her innocent. As for this"—flicking the note contemptuously—"it is no clue at all. It may have been given to Miss Fyvert by Miss Balmaine, or by anybody. Probably it was a present from Lady Anne herself, for I am coming round to the opinion that the old lady sold her pearls and then pretended to have lost them."
"So that is your opinion, is it?" the inspector questioned dryly. "Well, well, time will show. Now, Mr. Cardyn, we have a busy day or two before us. This house is to be closed and placed in the hands of caretakers as soon as possible. As you know by Lady Anne's will, her brother has the right to select what furniture of hers he pleases up to the value of two hundred pounds, the rest passes to Mr. John Daventry, the jewels and Lady Anne's personal belongings are left to Miss Fyvert, though a codicil gives certain jewels to Miss Margaret Balmaine. Now, Mr. Fyvert and Mr. Daventry have decided that with a few exceptions the furniture shall be sold and the house placed in an agent's hands as soon as possible and either sold or let on a long lease. Mr. Daventry goes down to the Keep to-morrow and Mr. Fyvert and his nieces and Miss Balmaine will leave for North Coton at the end of the week. The servants are to be discharged at once. They will have their legacies and Mr. Daventry will give them a month's board and wages. Then, when the house is empty, our opportunity will come in. You and I will be able to do something, Mr. Cardyn."
"I don't know!" Bruce Cardyn took a few steps up the room then turned as if he had come to a sudden resolution. "If we have not discovered the murderer when the people are in the house I don't think we shall do much when it is empty. But, in any case, inspector, it is my intention to give up this case."
"Really! May I ask why?" The inspector took up a position with his back to the fire, throwing a lightning glance from time to time from beneath his bushy eyebrows at Cardyn.
"Well, in the first place, I am not really any use," Cardyn said, his voice growing determined. "I do not know whether it is by your orders, inspector, but any independent investigation attempt is at once suppressed by the police. I am reduced to watching you at your work and becoming a sort of chorus—a Watson to your Sherlock Holmes, don't you know. Now that won't suit me. I came here, engaged by Lady Anne Daventry herself, to make her life safe and to discover her would-be assassin. How lamentably I failed you know as well as do. But acknowledging my failure I see now that I ought to have retired from the case, not stayed on as your assistant or factotum, whichever you like to call it."
"So now you want to leave me to finish the case, I suppose."
"Yes. I mean to leave the case in the hands of the regular police. My partner is already grumbling at my long absence."
"Just so!" The inspector came a step nearer. "Suppose I say that you shall not go—that you shall stay and help us just as long as I choose, Mr. Bruce Cardyn?"
Cardyn flushed hotly.
"I cannot imagine anything so absurdly inconceivable."
"Can you not?" A change came into the inspector's voice. It grew suddenly