“I’ve managed this little job, sir,” Middleton announced, with a smile of slow triumph.
“How did you get him?” Quest demanded.
“Little idea of my own,” the gamekeeper continued. “I guessed pretty well what he’d be up to. He’d tumbled to it that the usual way off the moor was pretty well guarded, and he’d doubled back through the thin line of woods close to the house. I dug one of my poachers’ pits, sir, and covered it over with a lot of loose stuff. That got him all right. When I went to look this morning I saw where he’d fallen through, and there he was, walking round and round at the bottom like a caged animal. Your servants have telephoned for the police, Mr. Ashleigh,” he went on, turning to the Professor, “but I’d like you just to point out to the Scotland Yard gentleman—called us yokels, he did, when he first came down—that we’ve a few ideas of our own down here.”
Quest suddenly whispered to the Professor. Then he turned to the keeper.
“Bring him upstairs, Middleton, for a moment,” he directed. “Follow us, please.”
The Professor gripped Quest’s arm as they ascended the stairs.
“What is this?” he asked hoarsely. “What is it you wish to do?”
“It’s just an idea of my own,” Quest replied. “I rather believe in that sort of thing. I want to confront him with the result of his crime.”
The Professor stopped short. His eyes were half-closed.
“It is too horrible!” he muttered.
“Nothing could be too horrible for an inhuman being like this,” Quest answered tersely. “I want to see whether he’ll commit himself.”
They passed into the bedchamber. Quest signed to the keeper to bring Craig to the side of the four-poster. Then he drew down the sheet.
“Is that your work?” he asked sternly.
Craig, up till then, had spoken no word. He had shambled to the bedside, a broken, yet in a sense, a stolid figure. The sight of the dead man, however, seemed to galvanise him into sudden and awful vitality. He threw up his arms. His eyes were horrible as they glared at those small black marks. His lips moved, helplessly at first. Then at last he spoke.
“Strangled!” he cried. “One more!”
“That is your work,” the criminologist said firmly.
Craig collapsed. He would have fallen bodily to the ground if Middleton’s grip had not kept him up. Quest bent over him. It was clear that he had fainted. They led him from the room.
“We’d better lock him up until the police arrive,” Quest suggested. “I suppose there is a safe place somewhere?”
The Professor awoke from his stupor.
“Let me show you,” he begged. “I know the way. We’ve a subterranean hiding-place which no criminal on this earth could escape from.”
They led him down to the back part of the house, a miserable, dejected procession. Holding candles over their heads, they descended two sets of winding stone steps, passed along a gloomy corridor till they came to a heavy oak door, which Moreton, the butler, who carried the keys, opened with some difficulty. It led into a dry cellar which had the appearance of a prison cell. There was a single bench set against the wall. Quest looked around quickly.
“This place has been used before now, in the old days, for malefactors,” the Professor remarked. “He’ll be safe there. Craig,” he added, his voice trembling, “Craig—I—I can’t speak to you. How could you!”
There was no answer. Craig’s face was buried in his hands. They left him there and turned the key.
2.
Quest stood, frowning, upon the pavement, gazing at the obviously empty house. He looked once more at the slip of paper which Lenora had given him. There was no possibility of any mistake:—
“Mrs. Willet,
157 Elsmere Road,
Hampstead.”
This was 157 and the house was empty. After a moment’s hesitation he rang the bell at the adjoining door. A woman who had been watching him from the front room, answered the summons at once.
“Can you tell me,” he enquired, “what has become of the lady who used to live at 157—Mrs. Willet?”
“She’s moved,” was the uncompromising reply.
“Do you know where to?” Quest asked eagerly.
“West Kensington—Number 17 Princes’ Court Road. There was a young lady here yesterday afternoon enquiring for her.”
Quest raised his hat. It was a relief, at any rate, to have news of Lenora.
“I am very much obliged to you, madam.”
“You’re welcome!” was the terse reply.
Quest gave the new address to the taxi-driver and was scarcely able to restrain his impatience during the long drive. They pulled up at last before a somewhat dingy-looking house. He rang the bell, which was answered by a trim-looking little maid-servant.
“Is Mrs. Willet in?” he enquired.
The maid-servant stood on one side to let him pass. Almost at the same moment, the door of the front room opened and a pleasant-looking elderly lady appeared.
“I am Mrs. Willet,” she announced.
“I am Mr. Quest,” the criminologist told her quickly. “You may have heard your niece, Lenora, speak of me.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me what has become of her?” Mrs. Willet observed.
“Isn’t she here?”
Mrs. Willet shook her head.
“I had a telegram from her from New York to say that she was coming, but I’ve seen nothing of her as yet.”
“You’ve changed your address, you know,” Quest reminded her, after a moment’s reflection.
“I wrote and told her,” Mrs. Willet began. “After all, though,” she went on thoughtfully, “I am not sure whether she could have had the letter. But if she went up to Hampstead, any one would tell her where I had moved to. There’s no secret about me.”
“Lenora did go up to 157 Elsmere Road yesterday,” Quest told her. “They gave her your address here, as they have just given it to me.”
“Then what’s become of the child?” Mrs. Willet demanded.
Quest, whose brain was working quickly, scribbled upon one of his cards the address of the hotel where he had taken rooms, and passed it over.
“Why Lenora didn’t come on to you here I can’t imagine,” he said. “However, I’ll go back to the hotel where she was to spend the night after she arrived. She may have gone back there. That’s my address, Mrs. Willet. If you hear anything, I wish you’d let me know. Lenora’s quite a particular friend of mine and I am a little anxious.”
Mrs. Willet smiled knowingly.
“I’ll let you know certainly, sir,” she promised, “and glad I shall be to hear of Lenora’s being comfortably settled, after that first unfortunate affair of hers. You’ll excuse me a moment. I’m a little slower in my wits than you. Did you say that Lenora was at Hampstead yesterday afternoon and they told her my address?”
“That’s so,” Quest admitted.
The woman’s face grew troubled.
“I don’t