"Yesterday I counted eight gowns, to-day—to-day there are nine."
"What do you say?" Cardyn was regarding him with a distinctly sceptical expression. "Where should the ninth come from, pray?"
"The ninth," said the inspector, taking out the garments one by one and laying them on the bed, "was worn by the woman who impersonated Lady Anne at Spagnum and Thirgood's."
"If there was such a woman," Bruce questioned, "why should she put her gown here?"
"To get rid of it of course," the inspector said, with what Bruce usually termed his air of cocksureness. "Don't you remember that every one in the house was likely to have his or her luggage searched? I had some such eventuality as this in my mind when I framed that order. You see the possession of a gown of this kind would inevitably have damned the possessor. It was too bulky to be hidden or burned. This I call a brilliant idea for disposing of it. It might have succeeded, probably would have, if the idea of making a note of the number of dresses in Lady Anne's wardrobe had not occurred to me yesterday. Now, to discover the interloper."
He turned back to the bed and began to examine the garments minutely.
Cardyn watched him for a moment. "I am not supposing you made a mistake in the number of dresses yesterday. But it is surely possible that the maid transferred another gown of Lady Anne's to the wardrobe?"
"She hadn't the chance!" the inspector said as his quick, capable fingers turned the garments over. "Pirnie went early yesterday afternoon, you may remember. There was nothing to keep her—her work was over. I went over to the wardrobe after she was gone."
"Then this was only put in last night!"
The inspector nodded. "And I should have caught the person who did it in the act, but the child Maureen had an attack of sleep-walking and I followed her. A good thing I did, for she seemed to be trying to throw herself out of the window. Her sister was terrified."
"Which window?" Cardyn questioned quickly.
"The one at the back of the landing over this," the inspector answered, throwing another gown back. "These damned things look all alike and we shall have to get a dressmaking expert here."
"I believe they always have the name of the woman that made them stuck on somewhere—on a bit of tape, don't you know?" ventured Cardyn. "Now, if one of these was different from the others it might tell us something."
"Brainy idea!" commented the inspector. "But unfortunately every one of these gowns has the name of Lady Anne's dressmaker upon it. What do you make of that?"
"It looks to me as if you were on the wrong track," Cardyn commented. "I should say they were all Lady Anne's."
"Would you indeed!" the inspector questioned in that satiric voice of his that seemed to be reserved for Cardyn.
He had taken a small case from his pocket and was looking intently at what looked like a snippet of black rag laid across.
"I suppose you are wondering where this came from?" As Bruce did not reply, he went on, "It was caught in a little bit of the side of the table on which Miss Balmaine's sewing-machine stands."
"A—h!" Bruce drew a long breath. "Still—"
"In itself it is nothing. But Miss Balmaine burned something, remember, and there would be bonnet and mantle to get rid of. This tiny bit of silk is almost too small to make certain, but I believe it is exactly the same texture as this gown," pointing to the one that lay by itself.
Bruce put the piece of silk on the skirt of the gown and examined it through his microscope. "I believe it is. You see this gown is much thicker than some of the others. It is what is called watered silk—and on this little piece I see a suspicion of the water."
"Well done!" said the inspector absently.
But he did not appear to be much excited at the discovery. He was holding the gown up at arm's length, shaking it and peering into the folds.
He drew out a tiny bit of notepaper, a scrap that had evidently once been part of a letter.
"Ah! at last we have caught our clever friend napping!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "'Impossible to come to you, my sweetheart, until suspicion has—'" That was all. On the other side of the paper was nothing, and not another scrap of paper was to be found, search and shake as the inspector would. At last he desisted and turned to Cardyn. "I suppose that you will hardly assert that this belonged to Lady Anne."
"Well, no," Bruce conceded. "But unfortunately it does not seem to bear any internal evidence as to the real owner."
The inspector chuckled and apparently he was well pleased with the result of his search so far.
"It may help us—we are getting the threads together. What is that?" as a loud rat-tat and peal of the bell sounded simultaneously through the house. "A telegram! Can't be from the Yard. They would have phoned!" the inspector grumbled.
Cardyn hurried downstairs to the door, a vague sense of disaster deepening as he went.
Chapter XIV
The brown envelope was addressed to Inspector Furnival. Leaving the boy on the steps, Cardyn took the telegram to the inspector and stood by whilst he opened it.
"From Dorothy Fyvert, The Rectory, North Coton,"
he read aloud. Then he uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise:
"What does this mean?"
"What is it, man? Can't you say?" Cardyn questioned hoarsely.
"'Maureen has disappeared. Is she with you? If not, make inquiries. Coming up by next train,'"
the inspector read out slowly and stutteringly. "Disappeared! That child! But when, or where. It is all very well to say 'Make inquiries,' but how is one to make inquiries if one has no data to start from?"
"Better phone to North Coton at once," Cardyn suggested.
The inspector shook his head. "No use. They are not on the phone at North Coton Rectory. I had to wire when Lady Anne died. The Rev. Augustus said he wouldn't be bothered with one for anything. I fancy he rather despises modern improvements—like his sister. 'Coming up by next train?' Now, I wonder what that means? We will have a look at the time-table."
He turned to "Bradshaw."
"Um! This telegram has been delayed," he said grimly, as he turned over the pages. "Three-quarters of an hour longer than it should have been on the way. Ah, here it is. There is a train from Overend, the Junction for North Coton, due at Marylebone directly. If Miss Fyvert caught that she could be here in a few minutes.
"Oh, no good going to meet it," in answer to a murmur from Cardyn. "We should only miss one another; pass on the road. But what can have gone wrong with the child? However, it's no use speculating until we know the facts of the disappearance. Now, until they come I think we will just take a look round the offices, the butler's pantry, the kitchens and the servants' hall."
"There didn't seem to be much there when we went over them before," remarked Cardyn.
"No; and I don't expect to find much there now," the inspector nodded. "If there ever was anything incriminating in the rooms, it would have been got rid of before now you may be sure." He spoke as if he had entirely forgotten he was talking to one of the suspected number.
Cardyn shot a quick glance at him and a slow, dull crimson line showed on his forehead.
They went down the passage at the end of which was the green baize door admitting