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 PRICE &2.0( 
 
 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 BY 
 JOHN GOODWIN 
 
 Author of 
 "The Avenger," "Sealed Orders," etc. 
 
 is a. rattling good mystery story, a 
 story of suspense and curiosity from the 
 first to the last page. In England, at the 
 1 present day, Lord Trent, poverty stricken, 
 with only his castle, invites Elaine Corbyn, 
 a young American heiress, to visit him for 
 a month or two with the hope that his son 
 will fall in love with her. 
 
 The girl arrives with her companion, and 
 the son promptly falls in love with the com- 
 panion, which his father tries to prevent 
 unsuccessfully. It soon becomes evident that 
 the two women have come over from Amer- 
 ica to escape something sinister, and the old 
 castle becomes a center of a series of fights, 
 resulting in two murders. 
 
 The story now becomes a fascinating de- 
 tective tale, and one exciting adventure, 
 unexpected and almost unbelievable, follows 
 another until eventually the murders are 
 solved, Lord Trent's financial difficulties 
 overcome, and the reason why the beautiful 
 Elaine Corbyn wanted to bury herself in the 
 old castle, and what she feared and ran away 
 from America to escape, is disclosed to the 
 reader in this tense story of murder and 
 blackmail.
 
 BLOOD MONEY
 
 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 by 
 JOHN GOODWIN 
 
 Author of 
 
 " Dead Man's Treasure" 
 
 " Sealed Orders," 
 
 etc.
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. "BARRING ACCIDENTS" i 
 
 II. THE EAVESDROPPER 5 
 
 III. THE WARNING u 
 
 IV. ELAINE CORBYN 18 
 
 V. IN FULL CRY 22 
 
 VI. THE CHECK 28 
 
 VII. A PACT OF SILENCE . . . 33 
 
 VIII. THE HOME-COMING 41 
 
 IX. MR. GORDON CRIEFF 46 
 
 X. HARD BARGAINING 51 
 
 XI. SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT .... 57 
 
 XII. INSPECTOR BEGBIE 62 
 
 XIII. CROSS FIRE 71 
 
 XIV. MRS. JESSOP 78 
 
 XV. BLACK SPINNEY 85 
 
 XVI. BEGBIE'S CHALLENGE 89 
 
 XVII. THE 33 BULLET 96 
 
 XVIII. SPIKE O'Dowo 102 
 
 XIX. THE QUESTION 108 
 
 XX. THE INQUEST 112 
 
 XXI. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW . . .119 
 
 XXII. THE GIRL AND THE GUN . . . .123 
 
 XXIII. THE NEW CHAUFFEUR 128 
 
 XXIV. AGAINST ORDERS . . . . . .136 
 
 XXV. THE OPEN DOOR 142 
 
 XXVI. INSPECTOR PALKE . . . . 148 
 
 XXVII. THE BULLET . . . . . . 155 
 
 XXVIII. THE THREE TRAILS 164 
 
 XXIX. MRS. JESSOP 170 
 
 2135327 '
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CKAPTM PACK 
 
 XXX. LORD TRENT RETURNS 174 
 
 XXXI. THE WESSON PISTOL 180 
 
 XXXII. THE WILL .185 
 
 XXXIII. WHO is MICHAEL POWER? .... 192 
 
 XXXIV. THE CABLEGRAM 198 
 
 XXXV. ELAINE'S MARRIAGE 202 
 
 XXXVI. SHADOWED 209 
 
 XXXVII. THE LIGHT IN THE LODGE . . . .218 
 
 XXXVIII. THE REPORTER 222 
 
 XXXIX. THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE . . . 229 
 
 XL. THE GUNMAN 234 
 
 XLI. JAKE MAGUIRE 238 
 
 XLII. KATHLEEN ....... 244 
 
 LXIII. MICHAEL ....... 249 
 
 LXIV. THE MAN WHO KNEW .... 257 
 
 LXV. THE FINAL WITNESS 265 
 
 LXVL THE TRAP 272 
 
 LXVII. CONCLUSION 277
 
 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "BARRING ACCIDENTS" 
 
 W HAT! disliked about the man was that he moved so 
 silently. 
 
 I had no idea Linke was near me. I was drowsing before the 
 gun-room fire, the cat on one knee and the spaniel snoring 
 at my feet. It was the only home-like room in that great 
 house. And there was already a resolve forming in my head 
 to quit. . . . Clear out of this tame country and voyage West 
 again, take another grip at fortune with both hands. They're 
 big hands and they ought to be able to hold tight; especially 
 if one isn't too particular about the way they get there. 
 
 My eyes were closed; I smelt the dust of a trail, heard the 
 creak of harness, felt between my knees the heaving flanks 
 of a horse, saw the plain stretching up the foot-hills and the 
 Great Range beyond . . . and then a word dispelled the 
 vision and I heard Linke 's respectful, oily voice at my elbow. 
 
 "His lordship wishes to see you sir." 
 
 "Who?" I said, opening one eye. 
 
 "His lordship, sir in the library." 
 
 I suppose I shall never get used to hearing Dad called that. 
 But there's no doubt it suits my father very well; it fits him like 
 a glove, he looks the part. I never shall. I don't even want to. 
 
 When the footman had gone I have no idea how much we 
 owed him in wages I got up, brushed the ash from my 
 jacket, and started for the door. And there I hesitated, 
 scarcely knowing why. I wonder, had I known then what 
 was to come of that commonplace summons, whether I 
 should have just reached for my hat and walked out of 
 Stanways turned my back on Fate? Yet at the time I had
 
 2 BLOODMONEY 
 
 no idea that Dad wanted anything of importance; except 
 perhaps to ask me if I had any small change. 
 
 Though the end is not yet in sight, so many unexpected 
 things have happened that it has occurred to me to note 
 down a record of them in the hope that I may last out to the 
 finish just the plain facts, for I have not any imagination. 
 I am still wondering, and it's my theory that the police them- 
 selves are uncertain, which of us who are concerned will 
 feel the kindly hand laid on his shoulder and take that nine 
 o'clock in the morning walk . . . just ten steps into the next 
 room where the Prison Chaplain and the doctor and the 
 gentleman with the bandage are waiting. Three clear 
 Sundays after the trial. 
 
 No, there couldn't have been any turning back. Even if I 
 had known what was in the wind I should have gone ahead. 
 And in cutting it out I wouldn't have crossed Jenny's path. 
 There are compensations; there's just that hope and glamour 
 that keeps a fellow's head up. The whole thing has been too 
 wonderful even to imagine oneself outside it. 
 
 So I walked out across the great hall of Stan ways, on what 
 seemed the dullest of evenings among dull surroundings, 
 and strolled into the library. I can't feel the reverence I 
 ought for Stanways. The absurdity tickles me; that this great 
 barrack of a house should be ours, and that the death of an 
 uncle and a remote cousin should have installed Dad as 
 ninth Lord Trent of Denham, leaving him at the same time 
 nothing but debts to bless himself with. 
 
 I found my father sitting in the big chair before the 
 library fire, and except for the admirable cigar he was 
 smoking I have never seen anybody look more like a portrait, 
 by an old master. That white hair of his, his strong clear- 
 cut features, and that indescribable air of distinction. He is 
 the only living person for whom I had any real affection and 
 I believe he returns it, though we have not much in common.
 
 BARRING ACCIDENTS 3 
 
 "Sit down Ken," he said amiably, ''and have a cigar, I 
 called you in to tell you that the luck has turned. I'm a 
 believer in luck always have been." 
 
 "Time it did turn," said I, ignoring the cigars and filling 
 an old briar pipe. 
 
 "You haven't struck any great success yet, have you." 
 
 "If that last show in Yukon had come off I should have 
 made a useful little fortune. I worked like the devil for it." 
 
 "And came out of it with scarcely a cent, a bullet in your 
 shoulder, and urgent enquiries after you. You call two or 
 three thousand pounds a fortune. Ken, I am going to put a 
 fortune in your way, if you have the sense to take hold of it." 
 
 "I can take hold of anything," I said, "if the scheme isn't 
 too thick. What's the amount?" 
 
 ''What do you say to a million?" 
 
 I looked at him in wonder. There was a thoughtful smile 
 about the corners of his mouth, but he was entirely cool, 
 sane and serious. 
 
 "When one is very hard up as you and I are and the 
 chance arrives for acquiring a considerable sum, one cannot 
 afford to be painfully puritanical about the means one uses 
 for getting hold of it." 
 
 "Go on sir," I said. "So far the court is with you." 
 
 "There arrives to-day from New York, I understand a 
 girl, twenty-three years of age, independent, and I have no 
 doubt, very charming. Her name is Elaine Corbyn, and she 
 owns at least four million dollars in her own right. She will 
 be our guest at Stan ways." 
 
 I shifted in my seat. I began to feel uncomfortable. 
 
 "But why?" I asked. "I don't mean from your point of 
 view, but what does she expect to get out of it? Why should 
 she come here?" 
 
 "As a paying guest very paying indeed, Ken. We shall be 
 her hosts, she will be under our protection. She wishes to see
 
 4 BLOODMONEY 
 
 something of England, to be properly vouched for, and of 
 course to be launched in such society as Trent of Denham 
 can give her the entree to." 
 
 I looked at Dad. Then I sat back and laughed till the chair 
 shook. 
 
 "You know, Father, you must have been reading yellow- 
 backed novels dug up in the village library! You surely don't 
 believe there are American women who would pay real 
 money to stay at a peer's house and such a house as ours? 
 If you do, somebody's been stringing you along!" 
 
 "You are wrong. You have roughed it among Western 
 prospectors useful, horny-handed people who live on 
 beans and bacon; you know nothing of society in what are 
 now the wealthiest centres in the world," said my father 
 calmly. "I spent three weeks in New York myself last year. 
 Before I left much regretted by everybody the people who 
 really count were most charming to me, though I was not 
 Trent of Denham then, but just Hugo Rolfe. I paved the way. 
 
 "And to prove it, my boy, the whole thing is already fixed 
 up by an agent of mine over there, and she arrives to-night. 
 Here is a letter from her, written before she sailed." 
 
 He gave it to me. It was written in a clear, decisive hand. 
 
 "Dear Lord Trent, 
 
 "Barring accidents, I shall arrive at Euston, London, 
 by the boat-train on the 25th. I shall be glad if, as you 
 suggest, your son Mr. Kenyon Rolfe will meet me and take 
 me to Stan ways. 
 
 "It is understood that I do not wish anything to be known 
 about my intended visit, or my name mentioned to anyone, 
 when I actually arrive. Indiscretion might be dangerous. 
 "Please treat this as confidential. 
 
 "Yours very truly, 
 
 "ELAINE CORBYN,"
 
 II 
 
 THE EAVESDROPPER 
 
 THIS letter got hold of me. 
 
 Dangerous ! " I said . " Have you any idea what she means 
 by that?" 
 
 "No," said my father after a pause. 
 
 "This is a girl who knows her own mind, and her way 
 about, anyhow," said I. "Who on earth is she?" 
 
 "I can give you one solid fact that you can rely upon," 
 repeated my father patiently, "for I've satisfied myself 
 about it formally she has four million dollars. A very 
 desirable guest." 
 
 "And she's really coming to this house alone?" 
 
 "Not entirely alone. I understand she is bringing a woman 
 companion with her; an attendant of some sort. I don't 
 know who it is possibly a distressed gentlewoman. I 
 don't know whether gentlewomen become distressed as 
 easily in America as they do here." 
 
 "But seriously Dad, whoever Elaine Corbyn may be, and 
 however large her bank balance, what do you expect to get 
 out of her and how?" 
 
 "You are a little dense to-night, Ken," said my father 
 quietly, "leaving all other questions aside, it is of course 
 my suggestion that you should marry her." 
 
 I rose slowly out of my chair. 
 
 "Marry her!" 
 
 "Why yes. Eight hundred thousand would support you 
 very comfortably. And Stanways into the bargain." 
 
 I stared at him blankly. 
 
 "It doesn't occur to you Dad, that she is likely to have 
 different views for herself?" 
 
 "Turn a little away from the light, Ken. Yes. You are
 
 6 BLOODMONEY 
 
 unusually good-looking; you have that kind of laughing, 
 devil-may-care air that fits a man to face whatever turns up 
 and make the best of it. You are attractive. And a big, hefty 
 fellow at that; what the Westerners call a hundred-per-cent 
 man. You have never had quite the manner I would have 
 liked you to have; one sees very little left in you of Winchester 
 and Oxford . . . but that may be all to the good. Anyway 
 you are a Rolfe; you will eventually be Lord Trent of 
 Denham " 
 
 He paused a moment and waited. 
 
 "What's the matter with you Ken?" he said, eyeing me 
 curiously. "You remarked, only yesterday, you were so sick 
 of being hard up that you would let nothing that looked like 
 money get by you. That you were ready to hold up a bank, 
 or marry a girl with money enough to put you out of reach 
 of trouble. I wouldn't recommend the first scheme; that's 
 immoral, besides it's unsafe. But as for the other I'm giving 
 you the chance of a lifetime." 
 
 Well, a man may say a thing like that, and mean it, at the 
 time. But to have it set right down in front of you is a 
 different matter, and every complex in me rose up in revolt 
 against it. 
 
 "Listen," I said, "I want to point out something you've 
 overlooked. Look at that letter again. There's more in this 
 than any commonplace paying-guest affair. There's some- 
 thing very queer about this business." 
 
 "Exactly. Something queer. Well, that you'll presently 
 discover, and it is going to be a great help to you. 
 Besides," he added whimsically, "mystery perhaps peril 
 romance " 
 
 I was not listening to him, I had a sudden and vivid con- 
 viction that we were not alone; that the library was not quite 
 so private as he supposed. 
 
 I could have sworn I heard just the faintest possible rustle
 
 THE EAVESDROPPER 7 
 
 against the closed door. Without being especially thin- 
 skinned, I felt that our conversation was the very last that I 
 should wish anybody to overhear. 
 
 The conviction was so strong that I stepped to the door 
 and snatched it suddenly open, as quick as a flash. . . . 
 
 If this were a film story instead of a record of facts, no 
 doubt a crestfallen eavesdropper would have tumbled into 
 the room on his face. Nothing of that sort happened. As soon 
 as the door was open I looked up and down the passage. It 
 was empty. Yet I felt certain I had been right. 
 
 If there had been a listener he was an uncommonly quick 
 and efficient one too quick for me. I followed along to the 
 open door of the little hat and coat lobby a few yards down 
 the corridor, without losing a moment. 
 
 And there was Linke, the footman, sedately brushing my 
 father's brown Homburg. I looked him over thoughtfully, 
 before speaking. 
 
 "Linke," I said, "are you a professional in the matter of 
 keyholes, or just an amateur?" 
 
 He turned to me with respectful astonishment. 
 
 "I am afraid I don't understand you sir." 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 My eye strayed again to his right trouser-knee; on the 
 black of the cloth was a tiny fleck of crimson silk. There 
 is a crimson floss rug outside the library door. I looked at 
 his bland, dark face, his attitude and expression were so 
 perfectly correct. And such a wave of wrath and humiliation 
 urged up in me, that if he had uttered another word I 
 should certainly have pitched him through the window on to 
 the drive. 
 
 He maintained his respectful silence. I turned abruptly 
 and went back to the library. There was no use in saying or 
 doing anything more. My father had not moved from his 
 chair.
 
 8 BLOODMO NEY 
 
 "Someone listening?" he said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Linke, of course?" 
 
 "Yes, Linke. How long have you had that man?" 
 
 My father pressed the bell-push, and after a brief interval 
 the footman appeared. 
 
 "Linke," said my father quietly. "You have been ten days 
 in my service, I believe. You will leave it within the hour. 
 Go to the housekeeper for your week's wages in advance, 
 and get out." 
 
 The man looked so wounded and surprised that I decided 
 I had been mistaken about him. He began to protest and ask 
 for reasons. My honoured parent is usually mildness itself. 
 His voice could not have been quieter, but I have never seen 
 any man's eyes look more dangerous than his did at that 
 moment, as he turned them on Linke. 
 
 "I have done my best to give satisfaction here. I " 
 
 "You will give me more satisfaction when you are out of 
 the house," said my father. "Be off the premises before 
 eight o'clock." 
 
 Linke who was very pale, took one look at him and said 
 no more. He made a sad, crushed little bow of submission, 
 and went out. 
 
 "I hope the housekeeper has funds enough to pay him," 
 said Dad, moving to a chair on the other side of the hearth, 
 "I suppose you haven't any change about you Ken? To 
 return to matters of importance you had better get away 
 yourself now, time is running short; and remember my boy 
 when you meet Miss Corbyn that first impressions are 
 everything, you should take care to make as good a one as 
 you can. I advise you " 
 
 "Great heavens!" I said in exasperation, "you're surely 
 not sticking to that idea . . . even if there were nothing else 
 to it, this flunkey of yours heard what we said heard us
 
 THE EAVESDROPPER 9 
 
 talking about the girl the way we were ... it made me sick, 
 and I can tell you I came pretty near to wringing his neck " 
 
 "Nonsense," said my father calmly, "neither of us raised 
 our voices as you are doing now in your excitement." 
 
 "You think he didn't hear us," said I, hoping devoutly it 
 was so. 
 
 "I'm pretty certain he heard nothing that need concern 
 you; if I thought he did I would take steps myself; though 
 really what does it matter what a fellow of that type hears or 
 does not hear? Get your mind clear of it. Of course you're 
 going ahead with this, Ken. You may think you're not, but 
 you are facts are going to be too strong for you. And I 
 prophesy you'll find it very pleasant and attractive." 
 
 "Look here," said I, "I had quite settled that it wouldn't 
 do, when you first put it to me. But now will you under- 
 stand finally that I'll have nothing whatever to do with it!" 
 
 "Ken," he said gently, "there's another reason, though I 
 hate to mention it. We care a good deal for each other, you 
 know, we've always been loyal. A year ago I gave you my 
 help not for the first time I pulled you out of the tightest 
 kind of place did I not at a certain risk and a heavy 
 sacrifice to myself." 
 
 That was true enough. 
 
 "Well," said my father, "I am in a tighter place now than 
 ever you were, Ken, and unless help of some sort arrives 
 pretty soon ; unless something happens on the big scale, I'm 
 up against disaster so thorough that it doesn't bear thinking 
 about." 
 
 "Whatever it is," said I, "you know I'll stand by you." 
 
 He got up, and laid a hand on my shoulder. 
 
 "My boy," he said affectionately, "you know I'm not 
 trying to drive you; I've never done that in my life, and we're 
 neither of us the sort that can stand driving. Shelve the 
 idea for the present then don't worry about it. But you've
 
 10 BLOODMONEY 
 
 said you'd help me; I hold you to that just get along and 
 meet Miss Corbyn and bring her here. I'm not asking so 
 much of you." 
 
 "Of course, I'll do that." 
 
 "You had better hurry. The 8.55 Euston; you've barely 
 an hour and a half." 
 
 "Why on earth have you sprung a big thing on me at the 
 eleventh hour?" 
 
 My father's cheek twitched. He gave a confident little 
 laugh. 
 
 "You won't let me down, now. If it had been broached too 
 early, you might have brooded over it till you got scared 
 about this girl, and probably bolted you great oaf I" 
 
 I should say he was not far wrong. As it was, I went out 
 and got myself ready. I had not the least idea what prepara- 
 tions one should make for meeting a female paying guest 
 with four million dollars. So I just put on my cap and ulster 
 and made for the garage.
 
 Ill 
 
 THE WARNING 
 
 \V E had no chauffeur at Stanways then : we drove our- 
 selves, and the care of the car was my job. As I came out by 
 the side entrance twenty minutes later and passed the back 
 steps I caught sight of Linke, standing alone, in the gloom. 
 
 He was muffled in an overcoat, and there was something 
 so forlorn and unhappy in the fellow's attitude that I paused. 
 He had been prompt enough in obeying the order to leave. 
 He had no luggage with him, it had probably been piled on to 
 the carrier's lorry that calls at seven-thirty. The man looked 
 a picture of desolation. 
 
 I had troubles enough of my own to keep me busy, but I 
 was feeling a certain uneasiness about Linke. It stuck in my 
 mind that I might have been altogether mistaken about him, 
 and if so, he had been given rather a raw deal. I feel a sort of 
 unreasoning sympathy with any man who draws another 
 man's wage, and can be thrown out at will. 
 
 "So you're adrift, Linke?" I said. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Got another job in view?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 I have been adrift myself. And on the impulse I said : 
 
 "Would a couple of pounds help you to tide things over?" 
 
 "Two pounds? Thank you, sir," he said suavely. "Twenty 
 would be more useful, at the moment." 
 
 At that I stopped dead. Once more I revised my estimate 
 of Linke. I have had many varied experiences, but this one 
 was new to me. 
 
 It was particularly curious that he should have mentioned 
 twenty pounds evidently the man thought he knew some- 
 thing that was worth that for I had just that sum in my
 
 12 BLOODMONEY 
 
 note-case; it was pretty nearly all I possessed except a battered 
 gold watch and some small change. 
 
 "At the moment?" I said slowly. 
 
 "As an instalment against further benefits a little later 
 on, Mr. Rolfe," said Linke, "and you will find it will pay you 
 pretty well; but of course if you prefer " 
 
 "Linke," I said, "the two pound offer is withdrawn. You 
 are going to have the hiding of a lifetime." 
 
 I suppose that to come to one's hands with a discharged 
 servant is another of those things that no gentleman ever does. 
 There may be people who can receive the demand of a black- 
 mailer with serenity but I am not one of them. I think he 
 was quite as astonished at the way I took it as I had been at 
 his proposal ; my temper had been pretty well roughed up 
 already. Folks who ask for this sort of thing ought to get it. 
 
 Linke managed to duck under my swing, and the next 
 moment I had clinched with him. 
 
 But directly I had him in my hands he went all limp in 
 them. He was tall and bulky but there was no fighting 
 balance in the man at all; he collapsed. And one cannot 
 decently thrash a jelly. I spun him round and applied my 
 foot once, releasing him at the same moment. He was pro- 
 pelled quite an appreciable distance and subsided at full 
 length on the flower-bed across the gravel path. 
 
 "If there's another word from you about that," I said 
 through my teeth, "you'll get hurt, instead of being played 
 with." 
 
 He seemed satisfied. He got up with unexpected speed, 
 almost in one motion, and darted away into the darkness with 
 a snarl. It sounded to me more like the snarl of a beast than 
 a man. 
 
 I stared after him the evening was certainly full of 
 surprises. I was lightly shod and the sole of my foot was 
 tingling; it had impacted on a hard unyielding object in
 
 THEWARNING 13 
 
 Linke's hip pocket. Linke must have been tingling too, for 
 the kick was a hearty one. It is to be hoped it did him 
 good ; it certainly did me good, I felt immensely soothed. 
 
 A pocket-flask if the hard object was that is an un- 
 usual thing for a footman to carry, especially if he has a key 
 to the pantry. But so is an automatic pistol. However I did 
 not worry, for I had recently come from a country where 
 both these equipments are less uncommon than they are 
 here. I considered I was rid of Linke. One does make these 
 errors. 
 
 But as I turned away I glanced up at the open lighted 
 window overhead the back window of the library and 
 halted. A shadow flitted away from the blind. Someone, it 
 seemed to me, had heard what Linke said, and also what 
 happened to Linke. That did not trouble me either. I had 
 done the only thing that I felt could be done, and I wanted to 
 get away. In a few minutes I had the car out and was 
 humming along the park road, feeling considerably better. 
 In fact I remember laughing aloud as I turned through the 
 gates and trod on the accelerator. 
 
 Linke's action did rather puzzle me. To make a confident 
 attempt at blackmail like that, he must surely give me credit 
 for some knowledge which I didn't possess. I didn't see 
 how he could have done it solely on the strength of what he 
 may have overheard at the library door. Yet I was not sure. 
 On the face of it it looked like the action of a fool, but I was 
 convinced Linke was no fool. He might have made a blunder, 
 which is a different thing . . . the sharpest rogues make those 
 sometimes. Perhaps I had forced his hand in some way by 
 catching him eavesdropping and getting him fired. Certainly 
 the best thing for everybody. 
 
 Better still to wash the whole affair out of one's mind 
 altogether, it didn't really concern me. I dropped the windows 
 of the car and opened the screen, letting the rush of cold
 
 14 BLOODMONEY 
 
 clean air roar past me. It seemed to sweeten things up, and 
 blow the annoyance and bitterness out of my head. The 
 park and its gloomy elm trees was left behind, I threaded 
 through the by-ways and soon swung sharp to the right and 
 was spinning at full speed along the Great North Road. 
 
 It was good to be moving again . . . and that car could 
 move; an eight Chrysler saloon. I don't know how w r e came to 
 have a Chrysler, I remember wondering how Dad had raised 
 the money for the first instalment. However, he has his own 
 methods, and as for me I take these things as they come, 
 without question. Stanways is in Hertfordshire, forty miles 
 from Town ; I could make Euston in the hour even allowing 
 for the London traffic; it meant travelling at sixty the greater 
 part of the way. Speed sharpens the faculties; I can think 
 best when going an even sixty. But what was there to think 
 about? I felt more inclined to chuckle. 
 
 I had given my father a straight refusal; but I was beginning 
 to feel intensely intrigued and interested. Eight hundred 
 thousand . . . the beat of the car's engine seemed to sing it 
 aloud as she soared along over the high chalk downs before 
 the drop into Stevenage village. Eight hundred thousand . . . 
 Call it a cool million. 
 
 I shall never forget that drive. The night wind blowing 
 free; broad away to the right the blood-red of the afterglow 
 tinged a bank of dark clouds. Eastwards through the left 
 window, the purple black of the sky washed with silver by a 
 rising moon. Due south and ahead the vaguer, vaster glow of 
 the lights of London. I felt a sense of something impending; 
 something that I could not measure. 
 
 That red glow to the right seemed to bear me company all 
 the way, never fading from the sky, as I turned into the great 
 arterial road beyond Welwyn and let the car rip, till I slowed 
 up in the streets of Hendon and out through prosaic Regent's 
 Park into the roar of the traffic . . . fifty-five minutes from
 
 THE WARNING 15 
 
 Stan ways; the Magic Carpet of Bagdad has nothing on the 
 modern car. 
 
 I parked her at the arrival stage at Euston and locked the 
 steering-wheel. The usual loafer appeared at my elbow, as 
 if from nowhere. 
 
 "Look after the car for yer, sir?" 
 
 I nodded assent. I have had too many losses from light- 
 fingered folks in London to grudge the tip for having one's 
 'bus watched when she is left alone. I passed through to No. 
 7 Platform. 
 
 At Euston I always feel at home; I use the line a good deal; 
 even the loafer was an old acquaintance, and a porter saluted 
 me as I went through. 
 
 The boat train was late. I bought a paper and stood by the 
 barrier awhile, reading the football news. Here in London, 
 with these prosaic surroundings to remind me how common- 
 place life is, the puzzling events at Stan ways faded out to 
 nothing. It seemed useless to attach any importance to them. 
 I was here as an unpaid chauffeur to bring a guest home to my 
 father's house; that was all there was to it. 
 
 While I was absorbed in the reporter's account of a goal 
 smartly scored against the English team by Scotland some- 
 one touched me on the arm, and I looked down at a small 
 boy with a sharp and picturesquely dirty face, who held an 
 envelope half concealed in one paw. 
 
 "This here's for you, guv 'nor." 
 
 "Yes," I said warily, "what's the idea?" 
 
 "Dunno. Gent over there by the bookstall gave it me, told 
 me to pass it across to you, and sloped off. He gave me a 
 shilling, an' I'm to get another from you. That's all." 
 
 "Try somethin' easier," I said. "It's cattle-show week, 
 you'll show a good profit if you keep on doing this." 
 
 "Well, that's what he said and I don't know 'im no more 
 than I know you," said the boy resentfully, and held up the
 
 l6 BLOODMONEY 
 
 envelope so that I could read it. "Mr. Kenyon Rolfe." 
 "That your name or ain't it. He marked you an' told me to 
 hand it across." 
 
 I did what I suppose anyone else would have done in my 
 place, gave him the shilling, and found in the envelope a 
 sheet of note-paper such as one buys at the railway book- 
 stall; it carried a message of three lines in a neat, copy-book 
 round-hand, written with an indelible pencil. 
 
 "Unless you are a fool you will keep out of matters which 
 you do not understand. Take this for a first and final warning; 
 if you set any value on your life leave Elaine Corbyn alone." 
 
 I read this cool piece of impertinence and burst into irre- 
 pressible laughter, startling an old lady beside me, who 
 moved away indignantly. I looked round for the boy. He had 
 disappeared with my shilling. 
 
 It seemed to me that I had stepped straight out of every- 
 day life into the middle of a mystery story the sort of thing 
 that everyone reads but that can never possibly happen. 
 Who was the lunatic who had sent me this message? He must 
 have some reason for it; no one could do such a thing without 
 a motive. It struck me that there are people with such a 
 sense of the melodramatic that they can't help making use of 
 it, even when they are most in earnest. I have met with them 
 before the actor type. 
 
 Was it his idea that he could scare me? It did not seem 
 likely that this had any connection with the unspeakable 
 Linke whom I had left forty miles behind. Perhaps this was 
 an opposition firm. And yet it was a little difficult to separate 
 the two in one's mind. 
 
 It suddenly came home to me that I was intended to take 
 this warning very seriously. I glanced at the note, and was 
 about to rip it across and toss it away, when I thought better
 
 THEWARNING 17 
 
 of that and stowed it carefully in my letter-case. With any 
 luck I might get to close quarters with the sender: then I 
 could make a definite response. 
 
 For the first time, the scheme that my father had put 
 fonvard took a clear shape, and began to appeal to me. 
 This mysterious, insolent opposition acted like a spur. I felt 
 a decisive interest in the unknown Elaine Corbyn, and a 
 desire to get next to her. 
 
 The boat train had arrived, and the platform was in a 
 turmoil. I passed through the barrier. My instructions were 
 a little vague, but there was no real difficulty about it. In a 
 few minutes I had found her.
 
 IV 
 ELAINE CORBYN 
 
 I H E L D back for a brief interval to be sure I was making no 
 mistake, and to get an impression of her. For now I felt sure 
 that the step I was about to take was going to make a big 
 difference in my life. 
 
 Elaine Corbyn was standing beside a large pile of very new 
 and expensive-looking baggage. I took stock of her as the 
 hunter does when he is stalking an exceptional quarry. She 
 was rather above the average height, and carried herself 
 well; she wore a costly mink mantle, and there was rather 
 an arrogant little air of command about her. Of her good 
 looks there was no doubt at all. 
 
 Her features were small and regular, her chin firm; her hair 
 that dark coppery auburn that goes so well with a very white 
 skin. Bright, darkish hazel eyes, very wide and alert, that 
 missed nothing. She was strikingly attractive; I felt my 
 interest rise like mercury in the sun; all the more so for that 
 unsigned note in my breast pocket. If there was a job for me, 
 I would see it through. 
 
 I went straight up to her and raised my hat. 
 
 "Miss Corbyn?" I said. "I'm Kenyon Rolfe." 
 
 She turned to me with a smile, and quick keen inspection 
 that seemed to travel right through me. I felt as if I were being 
 judged, like a horse. Then she held out her hand frankly. 
 
 "How did you pick me out?" she said a trifle abruptly. 
 "We've never met." 
 
 That's easy. Waited till the passengers had thinned out 
 and looked for a girl who was obviously expecting somebody 
 she wasn't quite sure of, and wondering why he hadn't turned 
 up. Clothes with the New York cut there's nothing like it 
 anywhere else. And your luggage is marked 'E. C.' "
 
 ELAINECORBYN 19 
 
 Her eyes twinkled. 
 
 "That's rather cute," she said mockingly, "though its not 
 quite the right answer there was room for a compliment 
 here." 
 
 I laughed. 
 
 "Sorry. I'd better tell you at once I've no parlour tricks." 
 
 "We shall get on none the worse I haven't many myself. 
 How are you going to get me to Stanways Hall ? " 
 
 "It's a short hour's drive, and my car's ready." 
 
 She nodded, and looked round her impatiently, with just 
 the shadow of a frown. 
 
 "Come on, Jenny," she called to a girl who was moving 
 towards us, carrying a square, black morocco leather case, 
 heavily strapped. "Hurry, please!" 
 
 I remember the attendant whom my father had mentioned; 
 lady's maid or companion I wondered which. . . . She was 
 small and slight, very plainly and dowdily dressed in grey, 
 with a long, tweed coat. There was a timid, pathetic air about 
 the girl, as if she found life none too smooth. I could see 
 little of her face under the deep felt hat. 
 
 "This is Miss Craddock," said Elaine Corbyn briefly. 
 "Jenny, meet the Honourable Kenyon Rolfe." 
 
 The girl looked up at me shyly as I saluted her, and I 
 believe in that moment I forgot there was anybody else in 
 Euston Station, or for that matter in London or in the entire 
 two hemispheres. There was a charm in those fairy blue eyes 
 and that exquisite, wistful little face that I can't put into 
 words at all. 
 
 Yet she had a slightly puzzled expression, as if I were not at 
 all what she expected and she had been looking for something 
 very different. And just a glint of friendly laughter behind 
 those eyes of hers. She looked so absurdly young, too. If 
 this were the age of hair, I should have said she had only just 
 put hers up. But it was shingled, of course; rather plainly, it
 
 2Q BLOODMONEY 
 
 owed nothing to art ... a dainty gleaming chestnut gold, 
 and eyebrows just a shade darker. She was as straight as a 
 willow wand, and as slight and supple. 
 
 They say that into every one's life a lightning-stroke comes 
 just once; it had never come into mine till then. That appeal 
 and charm but it is no use trying to describe her. Think of 
 her as you thought of the first woman who quickened the 
 pulses within you that all the rest of them had no art to stir. 
 Though she was not looking her best, she was rather white 
 and tired. There is something about a tired woman that 
 touches a soft spot in me, and I suppose paid attendants are 
 not allowed to be weary. 
 
 "Let me take that," I said, relieving her of the black 
 valise. 
 
 "Oh no, please!" said Miss Craddock. "I can manage it." 
 But I had it away from her, and as we moved off with the 
 porter's baggage truck following behind I noticed that 
 Elaine Corbyn at once closed in on the other side of me and 
 stayed there till we reached the car park. It didn't occur to 
 me why, at the moment. But I soon decided that this girl 
 was particularly wide awake. 
 
 "You haven't a chauffeur?" said Miss Corbyn, running 
 her eyes over the Chrysler while I directed the porter to 
 strap the big trunks on to the carrier. 
 
 "We're a bit short of chauffeurs at Stanways just now 
 I'm driving you down myself," said I, putting the valise 
 inside. 
 
 " Wait a moment," said Miss Corbyn. "It's forty miles up 
 country, isn't it? I'm to be driven by Mr. Kenyon Rolfe? 
 Before we get away, I'm intending to be satisfied about that. 
 Anybody here who knows you? Don't let it get your goat." 
 
 It was just what I should have expected of this girl. I 
 fished out of my pocket the letter my father had given me, 
 and handed it to her.
 
 ELAINECORBYN 21 
 
 "That's my passport." 
 
 She nodded, and put the letter into her handbag instead of 
 passing it back. She didn't seem particularly pleased with 
 me; something or other before this happened had ap- 
 parently roughed her up, though I had no idea what it was. 
 But she was uncommonly good-looking, when displeased. 
 It suited her. 
 
 ' That's all right," she said, "I suppose you've read that 
 letter?" 
 
 "Yes. Addressed to the family. And by the way, if there's 
 anything you'd like to tell me about it, this might be a good 
 time. I mean if there's anything you'd wish me to do. 
 Just as you please, of course ... I don't want to butt in." 
 
 "Nothing, thank you. Until we know each other a little 
 better," she said briefly. She made a sort of imperious sign to 
 Jenny, and both girls got into the car. 
 
 My temper is none too good, and after a snub like that I 
 was feeling pretty raw myself, though no doubt I had asked 
 for it. I'd only meant to be helpful, and if I had been a 
 chauffeur she couldn't have treated me more off-handedly. 
 When I had paid off the porter, my car- watcher came 
 forward, and stuck his clenched fist under my nose as if he 
 wished me to admire it. The knuckles were barked and raw. 
 
 "See that, sir," he said grimly. 
 
 "I done that on a dirty dog that I caught jammin' a needle 
 into your back tyre, sir." 
 
 "What the devil for!" 
 
 "Spite, o' course; just because I got the job instead of 'im. 
 I put him down with one on the mouth and he shot up agen 
 and sloped off. Wouldn't stand to it. Look 'ere, sir!"
 
 V 
 IN FULL CRY 
 
 H E pointed to a mark on the near back tyre and touched it 
 with a wet finger. A tiny bubble rose up, showing a slow 
 puncture that would have left the tyre flat in half an hour's 
 travel. More annoyed than ever I took my coat off, jacked up 
 the car, and changed the wheel with as little delay as possible. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Miss Corbyn, putting her head 
 out. 
 
 "Nothing," I said shortly. And at the time I really thought 
 it was nothing . . . just the malice of some loafer or street 
 boy; one has had cars wantonly damaged before . . . When the 
 change was made I gave the watcher five shillings for his 
 barked knuckles and told him I wished he had used a spiked 
 club. 
 
 I slipped into the driving-seat and found the little Craddock 
 girl sitting beside me, looking rather timid and forlorn. With 
 the piles of bags and wraps inside there was now only com- 
 fortable room for one in the back seats, and Elaine Corbyn 
 had taken that place. When I looked round to see where she 
 was, she remarked briefly that she disliked sitting in the front 
 of a car and that Miss Craddock would take the forward seat. 
 Very much as if she were telling off the lady's maid to sit 
 with the chauffeur. 
 
 "Delighted," said I, as I let in the clutch. 
 
 This business was going wrong, from the very beginning. 
 I had been told to make a good impression on Elaine Corbyn, 
 and I had somehow mismanaged it so badly that I \vas 
 shunted alongside the attendant while Elaine sat in state 
 behind me and gave orders as if the whole outfit belonged to 
 her. And I was perverse enough to be pleased about it. 
 Though I had only known her ten minutes, there was no-
 
 INFULLCRY 23 
 
 body in London I would so soon have sat beside as Jenny 
 Craddock. It seemed to me that she shivered a little ; the 
 night was chilly and there was a rug in front. I spread it over 
 her knees with one hand while we swung out of the station 
 approach. 
 
 "Are you a good driver, Mr. Rolfe?" asked Miss Corbyn 
 from the back. 
 
 "Middling," said I. 
 
 "Can you go fast, if you have to?" 
 
 "Fast! That's the one thing I'm good at; I begin where 
 Segrave leaves off." 
 
 With a certain irritation I spirited the car up Camden 
 Road, past a traffic policeman and cut out two omnibuses 
 and a lorry, leaving a good deal of language behind me, and 
 whizzed past Swiss Cottage. Miss Corbyn said nothing, but 
 I glanced at Jenny and noticed that her eyes were closed, 
 maybe because she was tired; it occurred to me that my crazy 
 driving was scaring her and I slowed to a more reasonable 
 pace, not much caring whether it pleased my other passenger 
 or not. It looked as if Elaine liked speed. Altogether, I was 
 not carrying out my father's instructions at all ; in a sense I 
 wasn't playing the game. Still, all I had contracted for was to 
 bring these two girls home, and I was doing that. 
 
 We sailed over Child's Hill and struck the great arterial 
 road to Welwyn twenty minutes later, leaving London 
 behind us. The last of the raw, new suburbs faded out, the 
 wooded country beyond was washed with a faint fairy 
 shimmer of moonlight, the wide highway cutting through it 
 all as straight as a race track. So far, Miss Craddock had 
 sat beside me perfectly silent, a dainty, fragrant little 
 presence. I glanced at her face, and felt happy and friendly. 
 
 "Your first visit to England?" I said. She nodded. 
 
 "I've never been here in my life, and never dreamed I'd 
 have the chance. It's beautiful, anyway what I saw of it from
 
 24 BLOODMONEY 
 
 the train. Quiet and peaceful. I suppose nothing ever happens 
 here?" 
 
 "I was just wondering," said I. 
 
 "Stan ways is a famous house, isn't it? Like you read about 
 in English novels." 
 
 "I wonder if it will be anything like what you expect. 
 It's not exactly Windsor, nor even Chatsworth." 
 
 She smiled; a childish, attractive little smile. Her shyness 
 seemed to be falling away from her. 
 
 "You're not very much like what I expected either. But 
 
 it'll have to be quite a large house, to fit you, Mr. " she 
 
 paused. "I don't quite know what I ought to call you? The 
 Honourable Kenyon Rolfe?" 
 
 "Oh, that's never used here except on tradesmen's 
 letters and that sort of thing. Plain Mr. Rolfe; I'm Ken to 
 my friends. When I was ranching in Montana the boys saw 
 fit to call me 'British,' and it carries a long way over a plain 
 if it's yelled out in the right key." 
 
 "So you've ranched in Montana, Mr. Rolfe?" said Elaine 
 Corbyn's voice behind us. "By the way, is there somebody 
 trying to get past?" 
 
 I glanced back, and slowed a little. There was a car 
 somewhere behind us, and if there's anything I hate it is the 
 glare of headlights at the back of me. I was enjoying the 
 drive and she was quite welcome to go by if she was in such 
 a hurry. But instead of doing so the car astern hung on 
 behind in the annoying way some cars have, though there 
 was lots of room and no other traffic in sight. So to get rid of 
 the glare through the rear windows on my wind-screen I 
 speeded up to an easy fifty which is fast enough to leave 
 anything behind at night. We curved into the Great North 
 Road and shot through Stevenage and Baldock. 
 
 But when we passed over the high downs, those powerful 
 headlights at the back stole up and stuck to us still. That
 
 INFULLCRY 25 
 
 roused me, and I asked the Chrysler for her best; the speedo- 
 meter needle touched sixty-three! The other car just held us. 
 She didn't try to pass. She eased when I eased, and speeded 
 when I speeded, keeping always about two hundred yards 
 astern; the situation was now clear enough. 
 
 We were being dogged. 
 
 I made quite sure. I had the advantage here, for I know 
 every by-way in that district as well as I know the park at 
 home. At the foot of the long hill I slowed enough to turn 
 left and away into the Cranwell road, a long narrow gravelly 
 highway that runs straight northward through a lonely 
 country with a maze of lanes to either side. It was not a 
 route that anyone would be likely to take; it was a no-man's- 
 land to the ordinary motorist. But the car behind had watched 
 the course of my headlights when I turned, for here she was 
 again, as faithful as a shadow. 
 
 Instantly all the earlier events of the evening, forgotten 
 for the while, came back to me. The spy at Stanways, the 
 furtive attempt at blackmail; the anonymous warning at 
 Euston. They were taking concrete shape. This big, black- 
 looking, powerful open car behind me it was only a vague 
 impression I could get in a backward glance through the 
 glare of the oncoming lights meant business of some sort 
 and doubtless ugly business at that. 
 
 What was his game; what did he think he could do? If he 
 had the lead of us there were plenty of things he could do. 
 Watch us home, or get ahead of us and hold us up. Or 
 
 "Why are we going so fast?" murmured Jenny Craddock 
 uneasily. Elaine Corbyn leaned forward over the seat. 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe," she said quietly, "that car behind is trailing 
 us." 
 
 "You've noticed it?" said I. It had been pretty obvious 
 for the last ten miles. 
 
 "I've noticed it ever since we left Euston."
 
 26 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "The dickens you did! Have you any idea who it is?" 
 
 "Elaine!" gasped Jenny, "do you think it's " 
 
 "Shut up, Jenny," said Elaine briefly. No ... I don't know 
 who it is. But never mind talking now please keep going!" 
 
 "I will!" said I. "Taking it all round I've a pretty valuable 
 freight aboard. Do you think it's somebody with an eye to 
 that black jewel-case?" 
 
 "Jewel-case! You mean the valise? Why, there are a few 
 trinkets of mine in that " 
 
 "A few trinkets! I should say by its weight it held half the 
 stock in Tiffany's show window." 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe," said Elaine, " whatever they are after it isn't 
 likely to be the jewel-case, that's all I can tell you. Can you 
 get quit of them?" 
 
 I nodded. It was not a question of 'can' I had got to get 
 quit of them. 
 
 As a rule it pays better to stand than run. But with two 
 women in the car there seemed nothing for it but to keep on. 
 It might be that I had played into the pursuers' hands by 
 turning off the main route, and that they had got me where 
 they wanted me. I thought / had got them where I wanted 
 them. 
 
 There was something wildly exhilarating in that rush 
 through the night. Any moment we might find ourselves 
 ditched or turning head over heels; but the same applied to 
 the other fellow, and he didn't seem to mind. If we should 
 happen to stop and make closer acquaintance, the heavy, 
 steel lever of the car-jack was handy in its locker, and my 
 thoughts turned to it instinctively. But I was still keeping a 
 little of the Chrysler's speed in reserve. She was holding the 
 rough road splendidly; the car behind had opened its exhaust 
 cut-out, and was roaring like a devouring beast. 
 
 Apart from the commonplace risks of fast driving I could 
 feel in my bones that there was danger, real cold-drawn
 
 INFULLCRY 2J 
 
 danger at the back of this mysterious chase, and I couldn't 
 help admiring the self-possessed way in which Elaine 
 Corbyn took it, though there was a tense note in her voice 
 when she spoke, as though she were holding herself in. 
 Poor little Jenny was badly shaken; she said nothing, but I 
 could feel her trembling at my side. I felt a strong impulse to 
 put an arm round her and tell her not to worry. But I 
 repressed it besides I wanted both hands for the wheel. 
 
 "Peaceful England!" I said laughing. "Nothing ever 
 happens here." And not till then did I remember the un- 
 known loafer at Euston whose needle had put one tyre out of 
 action and I blessed my car-watcher and his barked knuckles; 
 I had changed the wheel in time! If the hunters behind me 
 wanted to make sure of a killing, they couldn't have chosen 
 a cuter way! The advice of the immortal huntsman James 
 Pigg flashed into my mind "If ye want to show a kill, pop 
 a few shot-corns into fox's hind legs, an' hounds '11 soon 
 catch him. . . ." 
 
 Was it fancy, or did the steering-wheel pull over and drag 
 to the left, as if the other tyre was giving out on me? It 
 seemed to me I could feel it plainly. 
 
 "They're gaining on us!" said Elaine. 
 
 I heard a click, as she pulled down the blind over the car's 
 rear window. Simultaneously I heard something else ... a 
 sharp, splitting crack away behind us, a pitiful little gasp 
 from the girl at my side, and the car lurched and swerved, 
 swinging me violently against her.
 
 VI 
 
 THE CHECK 
 
 I H A v E not the foggiest notion even now why the car did 
 not turn a double somersault, but I had still one hand on the 
 wheel and gave a sort of blind wrench that straightened her 
 on to the road again, more by luck than judgement, as I 
 heaved myself clear of Jenny and trod on the gas. 
 
 "Are you hurt?" I shouted. 
 
 "No !" she said huskily, and that was a bigger relief to me 
 than finding the car right side up and still speeding. I had 
 had the idea from the cry she gave after that pistol-like 
 crack away behind, that something deadly had happened to 
 her. The idea seemed perfectly mad but as far as I could 
 see the night was packed full of madness; I was long past 
 being surprised at anything. 
 
 "You're well ahead! They were nearly ditched too keep 
 going!" said an encouraging voice behind me. 
 
 So Elaine Corbyn was not damaged either; that was all to 
 the good, though somehow I hadn't given it a thought when 
 I sung out to Jenny. We had gained a little on the pursuers, 
 but I knew it could only end one way if this went on. They 
 had the speed of us, and though my tyre was holding out 
 there was no getting quit of them by running. Having this 
 freight on board the odds were too long against me if I came 
 to a halt and a scrap with the opponents whoever they were. 
 
 There was only one card left up my sleeve and I played it. 
 My headlights gave them a clear mark to follow. We were 
 flying down a long slope with a useful lead of the other 
 car, and next came a short steep rise. At the end of the 
 straight stretch beyond, was a right-angled bend with a 
 flimsy wooden rail and a sheer drop into a chalk-pit. We 
 should both have to slow when we reached that. ,
 
 THECHECK 2Q 
 
 I didn't mean to reach it. One reason why I had turned 
 into this Cranwell back-country was that I knew every acre 
 of it, and the notion had naturally flashed up from the first 
 moment I was sure we were being chased; I had one ad- 
 vantage over a hunted fox. He can't shut off his scent even 
 when he runs to earth. 
 
 When we topped the rise of the hill and dashed along the 
 straight, I could tell by my driving-mirror that the pursuer 
 had not yet come up over the crest; the glare of his head- 
 lights was not visible in the reflector beside me. And I shut 
 my lights off. 
 
 It was the biggest chance I ever took, that plunge from 
 light into gloom, going at such a pace. If my eyes failed to 
 focus themselves in time and enable me to steer, we should 
 crash to a certainty. If you doubt it, shut off your own head- 
 lights, speeding at night. But it was that or nothing. There 
 was just sufficient glimmer of moonlight to let me keep the 
 road. Seventy yards ahead on the left was a tall ash tree and 
 just beyond it, I knew, was the opening of a cart-track that 
 turned to the left between blind hedges. 
 
 "Sit tight!" I shouted, shutting off the gas and braking 
 hard. There was just space enough to reduce the speed from 
 fifty to about fifteen before we reached the tree; I wrenched 
 the wheel over and we dived sharp left into that blind cart- 
 track like a rabbit diving into a furze bush, and stopped 
 dead. 
 
 The whole move had not taken twenty seconds; if the 
 pursuer had his lights on us before we got off the road I 
 should have failed but even then he would be likely to pass 
 by, and there was no room for him to turn and swing. 
 
 I shoved my head out through the window. Here he came, 
 racing along at full clip. Never slackening in the least, 
 he roared by us, seeing nothing but the empty road in front of 
 him, and with a wicked thrill of delight that shot right down
 
 30 BLOODMONEY 
 
 to the soles of my feet I sprang out of the car and ran back on 
 to the road to watch. 
 
 The red tail-light of the other car was receding swiftly, 
 the two great beams from his headlamps stretched ahead like 
 the antennae of an insect seeking its prey. There was barely 
 a hundred yards before him to the bend of the road and in a 
 moment or two I heard what I was waiting for the squeal 
 of brakes jammed on violently, drowned by a sharp- 
 shattering crack, followed by a fraction of a second's pause. 
 
 Then a crash that woke the night and sent its echoes 
 throbbing along the moonlit road, dying away into a silence 
 that could be felt. 
 
 I stood still for a while listening. It was as satisfactory a 
 moment as I ever had. I went back to the Chrysler, started 
 her, and began to reverse her on to the road. Jenny 
 Craddock preserved a sort of paralysed silence. Miss Corbyn 
 was excitedly saying something that sounded like a round 
 of applause, much to my surprise; but I wasn't paying any 
 attention to her till the car swung clear. 
 
 "That's that," I said with relief, "you're sure neither of 
 you two are hurt?" 
 
 "That car crashed didn't it?" exclaimed Elaine, "where 
 is it?" 
 
 "Well, for a guess its in the chalk-pit at the bend," said 
 I. "Until somebody designs one with wings, there are very 
 few cars that will fly a chalk-pit. I shouldn't worry about it 
 if I were you; we're not likely to have any further trouble 
 that way." 
 
 I didn't feel that the occupants of the other car, whoever 
 they might be, were any loss to civilisation, I have a pre- 
 judice against shooting at any time; I'm not exactly squeam- 
 ish, but a fellow who shoots at a woman, even allowing that 
 he may have excellent reasons for it, is welcome to any trouble 
 I can put in his way. They certainly had not been after me,
 
 THECHECK 31 
 
 though if they were I should have been just as much 
 annoyed. 
 
 "Might have been us, you know with a little luck," I 
 said, "would you like me to " 
 
 There was an interruption; a faint gasp from Jenny, who 
 was staring ahead. And I stared too. Down at the bend a 
 bright glow was lighting up the trees, growing brighter 
 swiftly, till in a few seconds a column of yellow fire shot up 
 high above the hollow, illuminating the sky with a devilish 
 glare. 
 
 "Gosh!" I said, letting in the clutch, "her tank's flashed!" 
 
 "How awful!" gulped Jenny, trembling. "Can't you help 
 can't you do something!" 
 
 I was already shooting the Chrysler along towards the pit. 
 Even the fire didn't fill me with any humanitarian sentiments; 
 I've seen a house full of people alight, but this was different. 
 Still, one certainly had to do something. I pulled up at the 
 bend with a jerk and jumped out. 
 
 "Stay where you are!" I said, for it was not likely to be a 
 pretty sight that was waiting for us in the pit. 
 
 Rescue work is all very well, but I didn't know what other 
 work might be to hand, and I grabbed a heavy, two-foot 
 spanner from the tool-box before I ran to the gap where 
 the flimsy rail had been torn away, and looked down. 
 
 On the bare floor of the pit lay the car, the focus-point of 
 a fountain of flame that was flaring upwards like a geyser. 
 A glance was enough to show that no chance remained of 
 getting any living thing out of that mass of wreckage. 
 
 There seemed to be nothing to get, dead or alive. The car, 
 a big open one of semi-racing type, lay flat on its side; its 
 long bonnet was crushed, and through the sheet of trans- 
 parent yellow flame that was now sweeping it from end to 
 end I could see there was nothing inside the body. But 
 was that dark shadow there something pinned underneath it?
 
 32 BLOODMONEY 
 
 Without a second's pause I dashed round the edge where the 
 ground sloped and got down into the pit. 
 
 The heat was so fierce that one could not get very near. 
 It was like facing a blast-furnace. I did my best at the cost 
 of scorched hands and eyeballs, but I was beaten back, and 
 what I had thought I saw from above was no longer visible. 
 Nor did it seem possible that there was anybody beneath that 
 flat-lying wreck; if there was, he was beyond hope. 
 
 I stepped back and looked about me quickly; the whole 
 place was lit up like noon. I never saw anything more 
 diabolical than that pit with its fountain of flame and its 
 dancing black shadows. The white chalk floor was bare all 
 around. 
 
 For all the sign there was of anything human, the car 
 might have been driven by a ghost. 
 
 Then I caught sight of a pile of stones overshadowed by 
 a small bush, some twenty feet away to the left. Under the 
 bush, when I reached it, was a huddled figure, lying face 
 downwards. 
 
 I turned him over, and found I had to do with a dead man.
 
 VII 
 A PACT OF SILENCE 
 
 THE question was what to do next, and I solved that quickly. 
 For the man himself there was nothing to be done. 
 
 The first thing one naturally does in such circumstances 
 is to look into a man's face. But if I had ever seen him before 
 I should not have known it for he had no face. One does 
 not want to go into details. There was a chunk of limestone 
 on that rock heap into which he had evidently crashed front 
 first. It must have been one of the quickest deaths on record; 
 the effect on what had once been his features was beyond 
 description. 
 
 For a guess, I should say he had been shot clear of the car 
 when it checked at the crash through the fence above, and 
 the impetus had thrown him many yards beyond, into the 
 pit. One queer thing I noticed was that his soft felt hat was 
 still on the back of his head, jammed hard on as a man would 
 jam it when driving at high speed, and that it was hardly 
 crumpled. But forward of the hat nothing. I noticed he 
 was rather small of build, and wore good quality serge 
 clothes, and neat brown boots. But altogether I did not 
 spend twenty seconds over him. 
 
 The next thing was a rapid search all round the place for 
 his companions. He must have had somebody with him, 
 surely. Nobody would tackle such an enterprise single- 
 handed, nor would any man be able to drive at that pace 
 over such roads and shoot as well I was sure I had heard 
 at least one shot. But nothing could I find; save for the 
 blazing wreck and the corpse, the place seemed as empty as 
 the tomb. 
 
 The drop into the pit was a sheer twelve feet, at the pace 
 the car went it seemed incredible that anybody who was in
 
 34 BLOODMONEY 
 
 her could have got away with it. Yet people do sometimes 
 escape more or less unhurt from the most amazing crashes. 
 I searched hurriedly to the outer limit of the pit where the 
 ground sloped away, covered with clumps of bushes and 
 gorse looming darkly in the glare of the fire. It didn't seem 
 likely anybody could have been flung so far. Just short of the 
 cover I caught sight of what looked like fresh footmarks 
 ploughing through the chalky soil. I followed to where they 
 disappeared in the grass . . . the light was too bad here to let 
 one see much. 
 
 I was just pushing ahead when I took a glance behind me 
 and saw someone moving about the pit not far from the 
 burning car. I turned and ran back it was Elaine, of all 
 people . . . she had climbed down by the slope at the side. 
 
 "Go back, for mercy's sake!" I cried as I ran, "keep away 
 from that." 
 
 But she was already standing by the body when I arrived, 
 looking down at it; her face was pale in the glare, and 
 something in her expression made me blurt out. 
 
 "Do you know him?" 
 
 She shook her head it was a fool question I had asked, 
 his own brother wouldn't have known him. 
 
 "Is there no one else?" she asked. 
 
 "I believe so tracks down yonder . . . you go back while 
 I see to it." 
 
 Elaine laid a hand on my arm. 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe, I want you to take me out of this, please 
 at once! Will you? Let us get away from here just as quick 
 as we can. Let everything else go." 
 
 "Right! Get to the car, and for Mike's sake keep the other 
 girl from leaving it- -I can hear her crying out for you . . . 
 I'll be with you in a second." 
 
 She turned and hurried up the slope again on to the road. 
 I hesitated. What she asked of me was the common-sense
 
 APACTOFSILENCE 35 
 
 thing to do no doubt, with two girls on my hands. I hated to 
 turn my back on it; I wanted badly to know what had become 
 of that other man. Either he had got away, or he was hiding 
 up was he the man with the gun? Or maybe he had met the 
 same fate as his mate and I'd failed to find him yet ... he 
 couldn't be lying injured or he would surely have sung out 
 for help rather than be left to it. What had become of him? 
 It was the silence and the emptiness save for the dead 
 thing by the bush that shook me. 
 
 I darted along to the gorse where the tracks were, taking 
 a grip of the spanner, and ploughed to and fro for a few 
 moments but not a thing could I see, and Elaine was calling to 
 me. There was no help for it. Back I went. 
 
 As I crossed the floor of the pit I stopped dead, almost 
 stumbling upon something I had overlooked. A flat tweed 
 cap, lying crown downwards on the chalk, not a dozen feet 
 from the car. I was about to pick it up but instead I passed 
 round it and let it lie. I reached the road and slipped into 
 the Chrysler's driving-seat. Both girls were already inside. 
 
 "Away quick, please!" said Elaine as I swung the car. "Go 
 back by the way you came!" 
 
 There was no panic in her voice, she spoke as quietly as 
 ever, but she had dropped that curtness of command, as 
 though she were giving orders to a chauffeur, nor was there 
 any appeal in her tone either, she just spoke as one good 
 friend might to another. She was sitting beside me now, in 
 Jenny's place; I guessed that Jenny had left the car and had 
 been hustled back by Elaine who had relegated her to the 
 rear seat. 
 
 "Elaine!" she cried breathlessly from the place among the 
 baggage as we sped along the sandy road, "are you sure are 
 you sure it's all right . . . ?" 
 
 "Well, I think he got clear away," said I; it came home to 
 me pretty quick that Elaine had said nothing to her about
 
 36 BLOODMONEY 
 
 the dead man in the pit and I was right, for I felt an approving 
 nudge of Elaine's elbow against my arm. I felt glad enough 
 for the poor child to be spared any knowledge of it for as 
 long as might be, after what she had been through; she was 
 very far from being as tough stuff as her chief. 
 
 "And don't you worry," I added, "you're in no sort of 
 danger now, and we'll clear up this trouble for you." 
 
 I was feeling a good deal bewildered myself, and there 
 was silence till I had laid a couple of rapid miles between me 
 and the flare in the pit. I felt too that Elaine knew a lot more 
 about this business than I did, but she seemed tongue-tied. 
 But now that the tension was eased she turned to me. 
 
 "The way you handled that job was fine, Mr. Rolfe," she 
 said warmly, "it was a time for quick thinking, and I never 
 saw anything quicker. You're a man one can rely on." 
 
 I grew hot under the collar, and felt rather a fool. What I 
 had done was only the obvious thing to do, and we had had 
 a lot of luck with us. In a sense the crashing of the car and its 
 crew was my doing, but the last thing I had expected was 
 to have bouquets handed me by Elaine. It was pleasant 
 enough, but it was telling me nothing. 
 
 "The question is, what you're going to do next 
 
 "There's one sure thing we've got to do, now we're away," 
 I said, stopping the car under a hedge and jumping out, 
 "that tyre's gone flat on us at last." 
 
 I had no second spare wheel, but a powerful foot-pump 
 that would give us wind enough to beat a slow puncture and 
 get us home with the least delay possible. I got it to work 
 and was pumping busily when Elaine slipped out of the car 
 and came beside me. 
 
 ''Where are you going to make for?" she asked. 
 
 "Hertford or home . . . soon as you're out of the way I'll 
 report and get things moving. The quicker that's done the 
 better."
 
 APACTOFSILENCE 37 
 
 "Will you do something for me?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "Take me to Stan ways, Mr. Rolf e and leave it at that. 
 Whoever wishes to move in it, let them move 1 I don't want it 
 reported. I'd like you for the present anyway to keep all 
 this to yourself, and forget it. I don't want anything done 
 at all please." 
 
 I took my foot off the pump and stared at her in amaze- 
 ment. I couldn't believe she was serious. 
 
 "Of course if you don't agree I can't insist," she said 
 quickly, "but you'll be helping me if you say nothing." 
 
 I looked back at the distant flare against the sky it seemed 
 such a long way off now and thought of the dead man in 
 the pit. But nothing, so far, had surprised me as much as this. 
 It seemed incredible that she could mean it. 
 
 Here in England, anyway, my instinctive, thickheaded 
 British bias on the side of law and custom surged up against 
 the idea. And yet I'm not bigoted. I wasn't in the least 
 worried as to what had happened to those two thugs in the 
 car. And if she wanted this thing kept quiet, she must have 
 very strong reasons for it. 
 
 It flashed into my mind that my own part in the affair 
 from the start . . . the scene with my father . . . the spying 
 by Linke . . . Elaine's status as a guest at Stan ways. . . to say 
 nothing of this amazing drive didn't exactly shout for 
 publicity. And once the police start sorting things out you 
 never know where you are. Besides, when a woman asks 
 you not to give anything away, what else is there to be 
 done? 
 
 "If you say so," said I, "but doesn't it strike you this is 
 going to be a bit dangerous?" 
 
 "It's the least dangerous way for me. And I promise 
 you that if it comes up against you at all, I'll see you 
 clear."
 
 38 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of myself. You can cut that out don't 
 worry about me, I'd lose no sleep over it. Mum's the word 
 then. It's your show, and your decision." 
 
 I heard an audible sigh of relief from her. 
 
 "That's fine of you," she said gratefully, "you'd rather 
 have gone straight ahead with it, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 "Well I don't usually let people shoot at me without 
 taking steps about it. But " 
 
 "Shoot?" she exclaimed, "what do you mean ? they 
 didn't shoot 
 
 "Oh come!" I said. "D'you think I don't know a pistol 
 shot when I hear one . . . just before I turned the 
 car." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I should think what you heard was a back-fire. I'd have 
 noticed it if they had shot at us I was watching through the 
 back window, just before pulling the blind over it." 
 
 She might be right. She must have thought so for I didn't 
 see why she should try to fool me over a matter like that. 
 She hesitated a moment, and then said: 
 
 "You think I ought to tell you more about it ... there are 
 plenty of questions you'd like to ask me, aren't there? It's 
 going to be safer, for all of us, if I say nothing yet." 
 
 "That's just as you please," said I, "but if you're in any 
 sort of trouble or danger, and you care to tell me, maybe I 
 could help." 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I'm in some sort of trouble or danger. 
 Will you believe me when I tell you that even now I don't 
 know finally what it is, or what may come of it. It's some- 
 thing I can't talk about to anyone. This may be the end 
 of it all ... I hope so. I can say or do nothing, till I know 
 more than I do now. Later maybe, I'll tell you; if you care to 
 hear. For the time, do you mind if I keep it to myself and ask 
 you to do the same?"
 
 APACTOFSILENCE 39 
 
 "Certainly," said I. "The door's shut and the key lost, 
 so far as I'm concerned." 
 
 She murmured something that I didn't catch, and slipped 
 back into the car. I blew the tyre hard, jumped in, and was 
 buzzing along the road again, when Elaine called back to her 
 companion. 
 
 "Remember what I've told you, Jenny. If you're asked, we 
 ran straight through to Stanways, only stopping to change 
 a wheel." 
 
 "It's asking me to tell a lie," said Jenny huskily. 
 
 "Yes dear," said Elaine. "Most of us have to lie some- 
 times. I heard you say once that you wished you had a dollar 
 for every lie you've told. You'd be a capitalist you'd make 
 my little pile look like thirty cents. You might switch off all 
 lights, Mr. Rolfe, so that nobody who happens to be about 
 will see this car turn on to the main road again or remember 
 afterwards what time she struck it." 
 
 I was going to do that in any case; I was already driving 
 with the little side-lights only, but I switched even those off 
 and crept back on to the Great North Road in darkness, 
 not showing my lamps till I was well away on the route. 
 
 "Of course," she said under her breath, "if anyone hunts 
 around to-morrow, back there, they'll see your tyre-marks 
 where you took the cart-road by the chalk-pit and reversed 
 out again. There'll be no trailing us any farther now we've 
 hit the asphalt. I should say it will puzzle anybody to 
 identify that wreck any more than its driver by the way it 
 was blazing it will be fused into scrap-iron." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "and you should clean every trace of chalk 
 off your shoes Miss Corbyn; see to it yourself before any- 
 body else handles them at home. Meanwhile scrub them 
 well on the mat that's under your feet here, so they don't 
 carry the stuff out. The car, I'll attend to." 
 
 She nodded.
 
 40 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "You've a head on your shoulders, Mr. Ken Rolfe," she 
 said as we shot off for home at full speed, "you'll do." 
 
 Her manner had altered altogether since we got away from 
 the trouble. One couldn't help liking her. But somehow 
 the change didn't elate me as it ought to have done. I was 
 regretting all the time that she had changed places with 
 Jenny, who was sitting at the back of the car as silent as a 
 scared mouse. 
 
 My thoughts went back for the last time to that pit with 
 its dancing shadows, the unexplained disappearance, the 
 knowledge that a corpse lay there with the smashed head that 
 it had asked for . . . maybe there were two, but I doubted it. 
 And now that the flare was far out of sight it seemed as un- 
 real as a dream: I could scarcely believe it ever happened. 
 To me by far the most amazing aspect was the coolness with 
 which this self-possessed young woman met the whole thing 
 and took charge of it. 
 
 I supposed it was the command of money that gave her 
 such unlimited assurance. The back tyre held out, though 
 it was dead just as I pulled up before the porch of Stanways, 
 uncommonly glad to get there.
 
 VIII 
 THE HOME-COMING 
 
 THE maid-servant opened the great doors for us and took 
 charge of the baggage in the car while I walked behind the 
 two girls into the vast emptiness of the hall. It wasn't a very 
 impressive entry, but my father made up for it. 
 
 He was waiting for us in the library and he came forward 
 at once to greet Elaine, who was leading the party. I couldn't 
 help feeling proud of the old man not for the first time. 
 He was extraordinarily distinguished; Dad, in his evening 
 kit, does look a thoroughbred right down to his fetlocks, and 
 there is a charm in that smile of his that would wile a bird 
 off a tree. I could see that Elaine took to him at first sight. 
 He gave her both his hands, as if he were a prince welcoming 
 home a long-lost member of the family, and it was just right 
 not overdone in the least. 
 
 "Stanways is yours, Miss Corbyn," he said, "we're going 
 to make the dull old place just as pleasant as we can for you." 
 
 "That's nice of you, Lord Trent; I've a feeling I'm going 
 to have the time of my life here," said Elaine. "I've had all the 
 travelling I want for some time to come." 
 
 "A comfortable drive down no delay?" he asked. 
 
 Miss Corbyn nodded with that quiet little smile of hers. 
 
 "Yes, I can give your son a diploma for good driving." 
 
 "So glad. I'm fond of Ken, he is all I've got, but I 
 shouldn't think much of him if he couldn't do a little thing 
 like that," said Dad, laying a hand affectionately on my 
 shoulder. Elaine turned as if by an afterthought to present 
 Jenny, who was standing timorously in the background. He 
 seemed to wonder why she hadn't done it before. 
 
 "My friend, Miss Craddock," she said briefly. "Jenny, 
 meet Lord Trent."
 
 A 2 BLOODMONEY 
 
 My father never misses any detail of a woman's appearance, 
 especially a pretty woman, and he is an uncommonly good 
 judge. He had already, I guessed, formed his own opinion of 
 Jenny Craddock 's looks, that wistful childish charm of hers, 
 her dowdy travelling clothes and her obviously subordinate 
 position to Elaine; her consciousness of it too. His reception 
 of her was just as cordial and friendly; it was so well done that 
 I saw her flush a little with pleasure. 
 
 But I, who knew him so well, felt that there was a 
 difference; for some reason she did not suit him, he would 
 have been considerably better pleased if Elaine had arrived 
 alone, or at least had brought anybody with her except Jenny 
 Craddock. There came to me at that moment something I 
 had never felt before; a resentment and a hostility to my 
 father. It was as if we were on opposite sides of a barrier. 
 
 "We're going to be friends Miss Craddock, are we not?" 
 he said. "Why what's this?" 
 
 Elaine had handed him an envelope. 
 
 "I thought I'd give you this right away," she said, "it's 
 my letter of introduction from your agent in New York." 
 
 "Oh, that doesn't matter Miss Corbyn," he said smiling, 
 and tossed it carelessly on the table; he seemed rather em- 
 barrassed at her directness. "And now you'd like to go up 
 to your quarters wouldn't you after a trying journey." 
 He pressed the bell. "Supper whenever you are ready I 
 hope you'll like your rooms, they are side by side, my 
 housekeeper will show you to them. She's very capable. 
 Whatever you want done, tell her and she'll do it." 
 
 "I've heard of the old English housekeeper; I guess she'll 
 suit this wonderful old place of yours," said Elaine, looking 
 curiously round the vast, shabby room. "It's like reading 
 Bracebridge Hall" She paused a moment. "You don't 
 keep men-servants, Lord Trent?" 
 
 "I've found men-servants unsatisfactory. The old, reliable
 
 THEHOME-COMING 43 
 
 breed is dying out," said my father, and just then the house- 
 keeper came in, regulation pattern, billowing in black silk 
 and beads. It always beat me how anyone could look so 
 like a peer's housekeeper as Mrs. Jessop did. She dropped a 
 little curtsey to Elaine, taking no particular notice of Jenny, 
 and took the two girls upstairs. As soon as we were alone 
 my father turned to me. 
 
 "Ken, what do you think of Miss Corbyn?" 
 
 "I think that if you expect to get the better of that girl and 
 her bank account Dad, you've got another guess coming." 
 
 "You think that?" But he said complacently, "But who 
 ever supposed I expected anything of the sort, I find her 
 charming. And I can see that you like her." 
 
 "Like her! Well there's a good deal in her to admire." 
 
 "Not a bad beginning," he said smiling. "And you've 
 made an excellent impression on her better than you know." 
 
 I closed the door. 
 
 "Look here, sir," I said, "you had better tell me now, 
 just what you know about Miss Corbyn." 
 
 "I've already told you that I know nothing," he replied, 
 opening the letter she had given him and glancing at it. 
 
 That decided me. If he was going to keep his own counsel, 
 I would keep mine. He chose to play his own hand, and not 
 a word would he get out of me upon anything that had 
 happened. 
 
 "All right sir, if you say so. You know nothing of her nor 
 even whether she is Elaine Corbyn at all, and not an 
 imposter." 
 
 "Don't be absurd Ken," he said putting the letter and a 
 couple of enclosures into his pocket-book; I thought I caught 
 sight of a cheque. "That is the one thing you can take as 
 final. Did she tell you much about herself, on the road 
 did anything unusual happen?" 
 
 I looked at him quickly.
 
 44 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "She did not," I said. "And anything that does happen, 
 she'll prefer I should keep it to myself you may as well 
 remember that." 
 
 "Quite right," he said, "when a woman, and a guest into 
 the bargain wants any sort of a secret to be respected, surely 
 one can do no less. In these days my boy, never try to dip 
 too deeply into any girl's past any more than you would 
 wish her to enquire into yours. Then you've nothing to tell 
 me?" 
 
 "One thing, and then I've done," said I. "Do you know 
 that discharged flunkey of yours, Linke, tried to blackmail 
 me before I left the house?" 
 
 "An ugly word, blackmail," said my father, "one of the 
 most unpleasant words I know." 
 
 "It's an ugly thing." 
 
 "Very. I suppose that was the reason of the scuffle I 
 heard under my window a noise as of something soft being 
 violently hit. It was natural, but rather crude of you, Ken." 
 
 "I'm apt to be crude if people try that sort of thing on 
 me. You didn't, I suppose, hear what he said to me?" 
 
 I told him in a few words. My father listened as if it were 
 something of no importance, and shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "A creature of that sort will try to make money out of 
 anything. It really can't matter seriously. I believe Ken 
 you will not see any more of Linke." 
 
 "Shan't I? I'm rather hoping that I shall," I said, and 
 made for the door abruptly. 
 
 "Forget it, and devote yourself to making our guest feel at 
 home ... a very pleasant duty . And by the way , Ken ," he added 
 warningly. "That little companion Miss Craddock " 
 
 I stopped. 
 
 "A contrast in every way to her employer. They don't 
 seem to get on very well; rather curious she should have 
 brought her here. A pretty child, don't you think. But "
 
 THEHOME-COMING 45 
 
 "What about her!" I said curtly, turning to him. 
 
 "Nothing, Ken." 
 
 I went out, seething with annoyance. There is a power, a 
 sort of driving force in my father, quiet as he is, that one 
 can't help recognising. I have never met the person, however 
 obstinate or cunning, who could baulk him in the long run, 
 when he was set on anything. But for the present I had more 
 than I could stand, I ran the car down into the garage, 
 ignoring the flattened tyre, and incidentally looked her over 
 for a bullet mark. I found what looked like a groove in the side 
 of the saloon body, but even then could not be certain what 
 it was. 
 
 Only one thing I felt sure of in all this puzzling business 
 before long there would be the devil to pay. Who, I 
 wondered, would have to meet the bill? Probably me.
 
 IX 
 MR. GORDON CRIEFF 
 
 H A L F an hour later we were all at supper in the old dining- 
 hall, and I never saw anything like the way those two girls 
 brightened up and looked happy and comfortable and at ease, 
 before it was half over. Stanways might have been home to 
 them. It was my father's doing and not mine; he has the social 
 gift as very few men have it. It's a thing you can't explain 
 or put into words. I felt it myself, and it seemed to me as if 
 the rough stuff we had been through that evening had never 
 happened at all. We were all cosy and cheery together, amid 
 lights and laughter, crystal and flowers. Elaine got on 
 amazingly with Dad, and seemed impressed by him, though 
 I couldn't believe the idea that he was Trent of Denham 
 really cut any ice with her at all, and her attitude still baffled 
 me. But she was intensely interested in him, and in the 
 house, and in everything about her. 
 
 "I think this old place of yours is just wonderful, Lord 
 Trent," she said as we went into the hall for coffee, where 
 a great fire of logs was blazing on the hearth. "I'm going to 
 get your son to show me every secret it has, and explain it 
 to me." 
 
 "Ken doesn't value it as he should he hasn't the historic 
 sense," said Dad. "But you have got it, Elaine I'm going 
 to call you Elaine. Surnames are much too formal between 
 host and guests," he added smiling. "It falls in with our 
 little arrangement you know anything else would look 
 queer before strangers." 
 
 Elaine laughed. 
 
 "Certainly I'm Elaine to my friends," she said. "How 
 many children have you, Lord Trent?" 
 
 "Only Ken, but he's a host in himself. Yes he'll have the
 
 MR.GORDONCRIEFF 47 
 
 place some day; a pity, isn't it. And I haven't been feeling very 
 fit lately. But I shall keep him out of it as long as I can." 
 
 "I certainly would!" said Elaine. She was wandering round 
 the room, inspecting the pictures ranged on the panelled 
 walls, portraits of bygone Rolfes. They were an imposing 
 show. Dad had not yet been able to raise anything on them 
 as they were heirlooms. Why, I don't know, for I believe 
 most of them were copies; the originals had been sold at 
 Christies by a predecessor. 
 
 "Are those family portraits?" said Jenny Craddock to me. 
 "That one with the lace ruffles and the side-locks down over 
 his shoulders might be yourself in fancy dress," she laughed, 
 and added, "I've never seen such a likeness." 
 
 "I hope not," said I, "that's Carteret Rolfe the Cavalier; 
 the biggest rufHan of his period. The old boy in blue on 
 the quarter-deck leaning on his sword with the Rock of 
 Gibraltar behind him is Admiral Rolfe, one of Nelson's 
 crowd. He's looking down his nose as if he hated the sight of 
 me and didn't think much of his descendant." 
 
 Elaine interrupted. She had pulled from a shelf a big 
 red book which was evidently new to her: Burke's Peerage. 
 It's no favourite of mine, the sight of that fat, gilded volume 
 always galls me perhaps because it's an absurdity to a man 
 without a cent of his own. It opened naturally at the page 
 "TRENT OF DENHAM," with a sprawling picture of the 
 arms, two griffins clawing at a shield that displays three spur- 
 rowels in chief and a decapitated head, 'guttee desang,' which 
 means ' spotted withblood' ; and the crest , a broken tilting-spear . 
 
 "Why, Lord Trent, this is some record!" she exclaimed, 
 "you're entered up here just like a prize dog in the Kennel 
 Club book! . . . Mervyn Stanley Charles; i4th Baron, created 
 1326. Then your name's Mervyn?" 
 
 "No. That was my cousin; the book's out of date." 
 
 "I see. There's enough blood in this picture to satisfy a
 
 48 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 Chinese hatchet-man. Motto, 'Thou shalt want ere I want.' 
 That's frank, anyway. 'Lineage . . . Hugo Rolfe, in 1134 . . .' 
 Why, I've traced a duke in your line! You're the Duke of 
 Axminster's family." 
 
 Dad chuckled. 
 
 "Pardon me, dear lady the Duke of Axminster is of,my 
 family. We're the senior branch; and Axminster is nearly as 
 broke as I am." 
 
 The two girls were deep in the book, as interested as 
 children, and just then the door opened quietly and the 
 housekeeper appeared, looking so agitated that I saw there 
 was something seriously wrong. My father came across, and 
 as he joined her just outside I heard her whisper: 
 
 "My lord, there is a person in the breakfast-room I 
 don't know who he is or how he got into the house; he says he 
 must see you at once. And there's another man down in the 
 servants' hall " 
 
 The door closed behind them and I was left to look after 
 Elaine, who did not seem to have noticed the interruption. 
 I continued talking to the girls, though feeling uneasy, and 
 in a few moments I heard a disturbance, and voices raised in 
 high dispute. There certainly was trouble. I got away as 
 unobtrusively as I could, passing through the lobby opposite 
 where a swing-door opened into the morning-room 
 
 I found my father standing by the table, on which lay an 
 unfolded document close to his hand. It seemed to me he was 
 looking ten years older. He was facing a large stout man who 
 glared at him aggressively; a man with a dark, perspiring 
 face, a pair of fierce, keen eyes, and a hooked nose. 
 
 "Made an error, have I?" he cried, "By heck! You've made 
 the biggest error of your life. You " 
 
 "Will you lower your voice, Mr. Crieff?" said my father 
 quietly, "I don't care to be shouted at in my own house." 
 
 The intruder moved nearer to him, menacingly.
 
 MR.GORDONCRIEFF 49 
 
 "I'm to choose the tone I speak to you in, am I? Your 
 house I like that! By heck, that's good!" 
 
 For a moment I felt a sense of relief, which turned quickly 
 to wrath. I had rather expected to find the police on deck; 
 but I knew this man, Gordon Crieff I had seen him before. 
 What his business was I didn't exactly know, but his manner 
 roused my temper, my hands itched to put him out through 
 the window; I glanced at my father, but a warning flicker of 
 his eyes stopped me. 
 
 "You have a bailiff in my kitchen, and this is your writ, 
 Mr. Crieff," said Dad; "to begin with, you can neither install 
 
 a bailiff nor serve a writ after six o'clock " 
 
 The fellow laughed unpleasantly. 
 
 "Can't I! / know what I can do! Don't you try and bluff 
 
 me. I've got you like that." He opened his big hand and 
 
 clenched the fingers slowly together. "I get in while the 
 
 getting's good; see that bit of paper? Five hundred pounds to 
 
 that! Writ? I'll serve you a copy in the morning, if that's all. 
 
 "My man stays in possession, and so do I! You can't 
 
 kick. You'd like to throw me out you can't do it. Why?" 
 
 He flipped an envelope from his pocket, and took from it 
 
 a cheque which he opened and showed to Dad, holding it up 
 
 well out of reach. 
 
 "Take a look at it! Your cheque. Two hundred and fifty 
 pounds; made out to me. For money received, mark you. 
 And turned down at the Bank dishonoured." He craned 
 his neck forward. "You get what that means? False pretences 
 fraud! Your arrest's only waiting for a word from me 
 and you'll get it in the morning." 
 
 I saw Dad's eyelids droop a little, he said nothing. 
 It was not the pleasantest moment of my life. Gordon Crieff 
 glanced at me , and looked away again as if I were of no account . 
 He was right. There was nothing I could do; the simple meth- 
 ods that I generally use for emergencies were of no use here.
 
 50 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "What you want, Mr. Crieff," said my father calmly, "is 
 money. It's what you've always wanted. You couldn't have 
 chosen a worse moment than this to make trouble. If you had 
 given me time " 
 
 "Time!" jeered Crieff. "I'll show you the sort of 'time' 
 you'll get. Tot up the score; five hundred and the two-fifty 
 doubled, call it an even thousand ' 
 
 "It's utterly impossible, now," said my father. "You 
 might as well ask me for the National Debt." 
 
 "Yes, for all there is in this place to pay it ... everything 
 here is hocked already think I don't know that? But you 
 can raise it! You've got your own ways of doing it you 
 can always raise the stuff if you're cornered." He pointed a 
 thick, accusing forefinger at Dad. "You've twenty-four 
 hours to do it in, while I sit on the bolt-hole! See?" 
 
 "You should be a judge of what a man will do when he is 
 cornered," said my father quietly. "You have got me, as you 
 say, but I know the futility of arguing with such blood- 
 suckers as you, Mr. Crieff. I would as soon make terms with 
 a horse-leech." 
 
 The man exploded. I never saw anyone in such a fury. 
 He struck the table with his fist. 
 
 "You would? It's Hertford Jail for you, and that suits me 
 all the way!" he shouted, "you 
 
 The door opened, and Elaine came in, with Jenny behind 
 her. She stopped short as Crieff turned to her. 
 
 "Oh come in, all of you!" he cried. "You're welcome this 
 is where " 
 
 "Stop!" said my father, his face grey and drawn, "not 
 before my guest. Miss Corbyn, this is private 
 
 "Private nothing!" snarled Crieff, "I've done with 
 privacy." He faced Elaine who stood petrified. "Here madam, 
 if you are his guest do you know who this man is that calls 
 himself 'Lord Trent'? A crook and swindler!"
 
 HARD BARGAINING 
 
 THERE are times when the presence of women makes 
 things horribly difficult for a man. I got a glimpse of Jenny 
 Craddock's white, startled face behind the taller form of 
 Elaine, who looked wonderingly at Crieff and then turned 
 and went out without a word. 
 
 Following the click of the swing-door there was a tense 
 silence for several seconds. A bomb-shell of this kind is apt 
 to paralyse even a quick thinker, and I don't know that I 
 am ever that. In fact I was past thinking at all. Gordon 
 Crieff was paying attention to me for the first time, and as I 
 moved over to him he faced me and stepped back, turning a 
 sickly green colour; the glare died out of his eyes. 
 
 "Now they've gone," said I, "I'll take a hand." 
 
 "Leave the man alone, Ken!" said my father, "there's 
 nothing you can do." 
 
 The door opened again as he was speaking and Elaine 
 Corbyn came in alone, and just as self-possessed as ever. I had 
 thought we had done with her and I could have sworn aloud. 
 
 "I don't know that this is exactly my business," she said, 
 "but as I've been pulled into it I think I ought to hear a little 
 more." She turned to Crieff. 
 
 "You say, 'This man who calls himself Lord Trent.' Do 
 you mean that he is not Lord Trent?" 
 
 "He may be the devil for what I care?" growled Crieff. 
 "He's in my debt but that's not all; he's swindled me and 
 defrauded me, and insulted me!" 
 
 "But weren't you a little insulting yourself?" She looked 
 at my father, who had sunk into a chair by the table and 
 dropped his chin in his hand; he did not meet her eyes. It 
 was impossible for anybody not to feel sorry for him, even one
 
 52 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 who was not his son. "There are two sides to every case, but 
 of course if you'd rather have me withdraw at once, I will." 
 
 "If you're his guest, madam, my tip to you is to get out of 
 this place before something happens that you won't fancy!" 
 said Crieff . It surprised me more than ever that a man of his 
 profession should have such a slender control of his temper. 
 "Gordon Crieff is my name, and aside from my having an 
 execution on this house for five hundred, here's his cheque 
 for two-fifty dishonoured on a deal that means just plain 
 fraud and arrest by the police; they come right in and that's 
 the one thing you can bet on!" 
 
 "Well, Mr. Crieff, I don't know that I admire your way of 
 doing business, since you've dragged me into it," said 
 Elaine. "Then Lord Trent owes you, in all ?" 
 
 "A round thousand,'' replied Crieff grimly, "and he can no 
 more pay it than he could buy the Crown Jewels according 
 to him. It looks as if he's right there. He's the only man that's 
 ever been able to do me down." 
 
 Miss Corbyn looked enquiringly at my father. 
 
 "I can't deny this debt," he said slowly. "It is true Mr. 
 Crieff has judgement and execution against me for five 
 hundred pounds. And against a later advance, he has a 
 cheque for two-fifty which has not been met. I was badly 
 cornered, pressed for money, and I contracted the debt. I 
 thought I should be able to meet it. But I can't." 
 
 He raised his head wearily. 
 
 "Since I've told you that, Miss Corbyn, there's just one 
 thing more I'll ask you to believe. All I have had out of it, 
 first and last, is two hundred pounds." 
 
 "Well, I do believe that," she said, her eyes on his face. 
 "May I take a glance at this paper?" 
 
 She picked up the writ from the table and scanned it. 
 "Yes, that doesn't need any effort to believe," she said, and 
 turned to Crieff.
 
 HARDBARGAINING 53 
 
 "I'll pay this debt myself." 
 
 "You'll what!" gasped Crieff. 
 
 He rose from his chair. I saw him look at my father, 
 just the fleetest glance, and he faced Elaine. 
 
 "Why what is it to you, madam? You " 
 
 "Never mind what it is to me; you know nothing about 
 me." 
 
 "Well, this beats the band!" said Crieff. "What look' 
 here, wait a bit, I don't know that this suits me. I don't 
 say I'll accept a settlement from you " 
 
 "What you want is money," returned Elaine, rising, "and 
 you're going to get it from me." 
 
 She left the room abruptly. There was silence for several 
 moments after she had gone. Crieff gave a short, expressive 
 whistle between his teeth, and sat down again. My father 
 looked at the swinging door with a dazed expression on his 
 face. 
 
 As for me, Elaine's offer simply knocked me endways. It 
 was great of her, of course. I suppose I ought to have been 
 glad of any proposal that put my honoured parent out of 
 reach of the law. But the situation was perfectly ghastly. 
 
 "See here, sir," I said under my breath, "we can't let her 
 do this there must be some other way out of the business." 
 
 "Ken," he murmured, "I never dreamed of this . . . but 
 my boy, what can I do?" 
 
 "Listen," broke in Mr. Crieff sardonically, "lemme tell 
 you something " 
 
 "Let me tell you something," I said, turning on him, "if 
 you say another word you oily porch-climbing gangster, you 
 crawling hook-worm, I'll kill you!" 
 
 All the creature did was to gape blankly at me, like a 
 stranded fish, and Elaine returned just then as cool and 
 businesslike as ever, with a cheque-book and a wad of 
 notes in one hand. I suddenly felt helpless, a moment before
 
 54 BLOODMONEY 
 
 I would have broken Mr. Gordon Crieff 's neck and accepted 
 the consequences with pleasure. I made for the door, unable 
 to bear any more. 
 
 "Don't go, Mr. Rolfe," said Elaine, "I shall want your 
 help." She seated herself at the table, and produced a little 
 gold fountain-pen. 
 
 "Now Mr. Crieff, if that's your name, draw up a quittance 
 to Lord Trent for the entire debt; if not I'll do it for you," 
 she said, lifting a sheet of paper out of the stand beside her. 
 "Here are two hundred and fifty pounds in English bank- 
 notes, covering Lord Trent's cheque that you've got there, 
 and which you'll return to me. For the balance you will have 
 to take my open draft on the London branch of the Guar- 
 antee Trust; you can receipt it 'paid by cheque'." 
 
 "Why will I!" returned Crieff, "I don't have to accept 
 your draft or anybody's it's not currency!" 
 
 "I'll show you why you will," said Elaine, and she drew 
 up on the paper a formal discharge which was brief enough, 
 for it did not take six lines. She pushed it across to CriefT 
 with the notes and a cheque that she tore out of her book. He 
 glanced at the form with knitted brows. 
 
 "Five hundred pounds?" he exclaimed indignantly, 
 "forget it! A cold thousand." 
 
 Elaine paused. 
 
 "You won't take less?" 
 
 "Not a brass cent! I'll have my due." 
 
 "But if Lord Trent has had only two hundred? Do you 
 deny that?" 
 
 "You're taking his word for what he's had!" snapped 
 Crieff. "Look at the writ judgement for five hundred, and 
 that includes interest and costs. He didn't even defend it." 
 
 "Maybe he couldn't. I'm defending him. I think two- 
 fifty ought to be enough on the writ." 
 
 "Think again!"
 
 HARD BARGAINING 55 
 
 "I have thought, Mr. Crieff. Then there's two-fifty more 
 for the dishonoured cheque; how does that make up a 
 thousand? As I'm paying you, I ought to know." 
 
 "Doubled," said Crieff briefly. "He knows why!" 
 
 Elaine turned to my father. 
 
 "Mr. Crieff claims five hundred from you on that cheque?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Corbyn." 
 
 "Under the threat that if you didn't raise it which he 
 must have thought you could he would prosecute you for 
 fraud?" 
 
 My father nodded, staring dumbly at the carpet. 
 
 "I heard him. Of course, you were in a very awkward 
 position, Lord Trent. Now he has repeated it before me 
 because I'm going to pay. We've three witnesses. Mr. 
 Rolfe, ring up your local police headquarters. Tell them to 
 send round here at once and arrest Gordon Crieff for 
 blackmail." 
 
 A spasm of inward laughter shook me. This girl was 
 great. I slipped across to the telephone and shot an emer- 
 gency police call through to Wheatbridge. The veins 
 swelled on Crieff's thick neck and he started up from his 
 chair. 
 
 "What in thunder do you mean?" he exclaimed, 
 "why " 
 
 "Sit down, you!" snapped out Elaine. "Mr. Rolfe, I can 
 rely on you to keep this man in the room till the police 
 arrive?" 
 
 "You can rely on just that little thing!" said I, as the call 
 came through. 
 
 "By heck, you're crazy!" gasped Crieff, "you can't " 
 
 "Mr. Crieff, I'm not an expert on English law, but 
 American law's based on it and the same rule holds every- 
 where," said Elaine. "If you demand money from a man on 
 the threat of a criminal charge and hold it up against him
 
 56 BLOODMONEY 
 
 till he pays, that's blackmail, and blackmail's felony. You 
 know that as well as I do. It doesn't matter a cent whether 
 you're a creditor or not. Lord Trent can't call your hand; 
 but I can and do. Get on with it, Mr. Rolfe." 
 
 "Hello station!" I said. "The Inspector on duty, 
 please." 
 
 "Blackmailers are not too popular, these days," said 
 Elaine, rising, "they get it in the neck; the victim gets 
 protection. We'll have you in the cells right away, and you 
 can direct your prosecution from there. Hurry them, Mr. 
 Rolfe, please; they've a car handy, I guess." 
 
 "Here wait stop!" said Crieff, the perspiration breaking 
 out on his forehead and I saw his big white hands trembling. 
 "Hold the line," said Elaine quietly. "Now Mr. Crieff, if 
 you've any wish to remain a free man to-night ... a full 
 quittance of that debt. Here's your five hundred. I could cut 
 it down to two, but I hold by my contracts. Decide quick! 
 I'd prefer the police myself, its simpler and cheaper." 
 
 "Gimme!" said Gordon Crieff huskily, and signed at the 
 foot of the document. "Hang up that damned telephone!" 
 "Ring off," said Elaine to me. She laid the notes before 
 her. I saw her signature, Elaine Corbyn, in a fine clear hand 
 on the bank draft. She took the signed paper from him, 
 witnessed it, handed it to me to do the same, and passed it 
 to my father, who took it dazedly. 
 
 "Give me Lord Trent's cheque!" she said to Crieff, who 
 hesitated a moment, glanced at her face, and tossed the 
 cheque across to her as if it burned him. She inspected it 
 carefully, and folded it small. She turned again to Crieff, 
 who had stuffed the papers into his pocket shakily and stood 
 silent, his face moist and pulpy. 
 
 "That saved you two years in the jug," she said. "Mr. 
 Rolfe, if I were you I would put this gentleman out of 
 Stanways gently. We've done with him."
 
 XI 
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 
 
 I OPENED the door, and Gordon Crieff took a last look 
 at us and passed out, like a man in a dream. When we were 
 outside he seemed about to speak. I stopped him with a grip 
 on his arm. 
 
 "Crieff," I said, "you have a friend in the house some- 
 where he goes with you. Sing out for him and save time." 
 
 "Hyams!" called out Crieff huskily, and then with a 
 shriek as I squeezed his arm a little tighter, "Hyams!" 
 
 "Yes, guv 'nor," said a voice, and a dark, shabby-looking 
 man came out of the passage to the servants' hall, shambling 
 like a bear. 
 
 "We're leaving, Hyams all settled," gulped Crieff. The 
 bailiff made no comment; he evidently took in the situation 
 and I think he was glad to go, for when I opened the front 
 doors he hurried out in front of his chief. 
 
 "Good night, Crieff," I said, and shot him down the steps. 
 I had an almost overpowering impulse to lift my foot to him, 
 but it didn't seem worth while and I refrained. I saw the two 
 of them disappear into the night, closed the doors, and went 
 back to the morning-room. 
 
 I was not feeling triumphant; my emotions were of the 
 most mingled kind, in fact I liked the look of things less than 
 ever. I found my father holding both Elaine's hands in his; 
 if there were no tears in his eyes there ought to have been. 
 
 "My dear lady!" he said, "you have been wonderful. On 
 my honour, everything shall be returned to you in full. . . . 
 How can I possibly thank you for the way you came to the 
 rescue of a man whose case was so hopeless " 
 
 "Why, don't thank me, there's no need," said Elaine 
 quietly. "Yes ... I'm staying on. Sure, for the present any-
 
 58 BLOODMONEY 
 
 way. I didn't fancy taking my orders to leave at Mr. Crieff's 
 hands. Let it stand at that, Lord Trent. Now I think I'll go 
 to my room. I'm a little tired." 
 
 She nodded to me, and withdrew. When she had gone my 
 father drew a deep breath, and lit one of his excellent cigars. 
 His hand was a little unsteady. 
 
 "Ken," he said, "that girl has a heart of gold." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "and a big gold bank balance. Did that oily 
 fellow with the loud voice know the size of it, when he 
 sneaked in here to-night?" 
 
 My father looked at me from under his eyebrows. 
 
 "What on earth do you mean, Ken?" he said slowly. 
 
 I had to say it. The idea had been growing in my mind for 
 some time and was now a conviction; I couldn't keep it to 
 myself. That this business had been stage-managed; a 
 clever confidence trick perhaps not so clever after all, 
 rather sharp and desperate. A mere killing, even if deliber- 
 ate, seemed a little thing in comparison with this. I was 
 feeling perfectly sick, hating Stanways, and myself, and 
 everyone about me. 
 
 It had cost the girl a cold five hundred, anyway. But how 
 could a man put such a thing to his father. 
 
 "I mean that Crieff didn't make much of a price on the 
 division," I said grimly. "He was knocked down fifty per 
 cent, and pretty smartly too." 
 
 "Ken, do you really suggest I arranged this thing with the 
 man CrierT," he said gently. "If so you are mistaken." 
 
 I looked at him for a moment. 
 
 "All right, sir," I said. "If you say so, of course I believe 
 you." 
 
 Dad sighed. 
 
 "I should hope so! And I wish you wouldn't call me 'sir,' 
 Ken; it's so old-fashioned, it stifles the confidence that ought 
 to flourish between father and son. My boy, I wouldn't have
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 59 
 
 that cold, suspicious mind of yours for anything. I admit I 
 made a bad mistake, as a man is apt to when he's hard 
 pressed. A foolish thing to do; I had let myself get into that 
 man's power, and could see no way out of it." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "and now you're in Elaine Corbyn's." 
 
 I went up to my room, glad to get away. As soon as I was 
 undressed and into pyjamas I switched out the light and sat 
 on the sill of the open window, reviewing the events of that 
 amazing evening, trying to straighten them out in my mind. 
 
 Why had she come to the rescue? The money, no doubt, 
 wasn't so much, to a woman as wealthy as she. But why? 
 Was it just a generous gesture, a natural touch of sympathy 
 for one who was down and out? Had she a reason of her own 
 for not wishing to leave Stan ways, strong enough to make 
 the price worth while? Or was it a bid for silence? 
 
 CriefFs advent, unpleasant though it had been for all of 
 us, seemed to me less important anyway than the things 
 that had gone before. I couldn't make them fit together; I 
 had not yet got hold of the thread. I watched the moon 
 slowly sinking over the cedars in the park, and wondered 
 what sort of a scene it shone upon now, back there in the 
 Cranwell chalk-pit, where we had left the dead man. The 
 fire must have died down long since. Had it attracted in- 
 vestigators to the spot, and were they poking about now 
 among the wreckage? 
 
 Somehow I didn't care much what happened there. Let 
 come of it what might. Away to the left, in the west wing of 
 the house, the lights were still burning behind the blinds in 
 Elaine Corbyn's big three-windowed room. The little room 
 beyond Jenny Craddock's was lit too, but as I watched 
 it suddenly darkened. Elaine's light remained. 
 
 A remarkable woman, Elaine. Well able to look after 
 herself: she didn't rouse the protective instinct. Yet she 
 must have roused it in someone, else what did that warning
 
 60 BLOODMONEY 
 
 message mean at Euston, which had seemed to me only 
 food for laughter at the time? Should I put it to her; or keep 
 it to myself? I was not admitted to her confidence. 
 
 One thing I was very sure I would never mention to her, 
 and that was the affair of Linke. 
 
 I had almost forgotten Linke. The little casual black- 
 mailer had seemed of small importance. But now, to me, he 
 suddenly loomed bigger than anybody else, in the light of 
 what had happened since. There must be more to him than 
 I guessed; he was probably the key to the mystery. I felt 
 assured I hadn't done with Linke. And whatever else he 
 might know or not know, the remembrance of what he had 
 overheard in the library when my father was propounding 
 his plans for Elaine, made me more bitter than ever. It was 
 purely a personal feeling. There was doubtless much more 
 in Linke 's ugly little mind than that. I stared out of the 
 window, busy with speculation. 
 
 I could see the back-entrance steps, where I had encoun- 
 tered Linke, shining white in the gloom. I wished I had 
 kicked him harder. A kick that would land him on the far 
 side of the Styx was indicated. 
 
 The night seemed full of ghosts and shadows. I could have 
 sworn I saw a figure moving furtively among the dark 
 laurels on the lawn between Elaine's window and mine, and 
 heard the rustle of leaves. I drew back, and watched, but not 
 for long. It was only a stirring of the night wind, and a 
 vision bred of this atmosphere of mystery that was stifling 
 me. Dog tired and full of disgust I threw myself on the bed, 
 feeling that Stanways might be burned to the ground with 
 its occupants for all I cared, and the best thing that could 
 happen to it. If that started, there was only one person I 
 should feel interested in rescuing. I would make a bee-line 
 for Jenny Craddock. And so I fell asleep. . . . 
 
 A feverish, restless sleep it was, misted by queer dreams
 
 SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT 6l 
 
 and dream-people, of whom only one stood out vividly 
 Linke. He was sitting over me, grinning, his white face now 
 small, now swelling gigantically; sometimes savage and 
 menacing, sometimes cunning and friendly and detestable. 
 His hands were enormous, with fingers like the hairy limbs 
 of a titanic spider, twiddling arid quivering. 
 
 "You used your foot to me," said the dream-voice, in the 
 intervals of demanding incredible sums of money, and I saw 
 the shadow of a policeman's helmet loom behind him, 
 "there's a rope waiting for somebody before its finished. 
 You look out for her. I can give you the winner, but you've 
 got to get together with me. If you don't " 
 
 Then I got my hands round his neck, trying to choke the 
 life out of him; but my fingers were inert and refused action, 
 with that maddening helplessness we all know in dreams. 
 And as I held him, his eyes closed, his jaw dropped, I hea d 
 a rending noise like the crack of a whip, my hands were red 
 with blood I awoke and lay shaking and perspiring. So 
 real was the noise that my head still seemed to ring with it. 
 
 The room was dark and quiet; no sound but the derisive 
 hoot of an owl among the cedars outside.
 
 XII 
 INSPECTOR BEGBIE 
 
 I SUPPOSE! must have dozed off again without knowing 
 it, for the next thing I was aware of was the sun flooding the 
 room, and the chimes of the stable clock striking nine. I 
 bathed and dressed hurriedly, and went down. 
 
 Everything looked pleasant and commonplace in the 
 morning light. The scent of curry and fish and bacon stung 
 the nostrils pleasantly, a parlourmaid was ranging hot 
 dishes along the side table in the breakfast-room but there 
 was no one else in sight. There seldom is at that hour, in a 
 country house. 
 
 "Miss Corbyn breakfasting upstairs?" I asked. 
 
 "The young lady, sir? She hasn't come back yet," said the 
 maid. 
 
 "Come back?" 
 
 "She came down very early, sir, before seven, and \vent 
 away in a car." 
 
 I remembered not to show any surprise, though I was 
 feeling only half awake. 
 
 "Oh, yes," I said, "our car?" 
 
 "No, sir. I think she rang up the Wheatbridge garage as 
 soon as she could make the exchange hear. They sent a car 
 round just after seven, and she left in that. She told me she'd 
 be back later and not to wait for her," said the maid. "Not 
 your car, sir, his lordship went out in that himself, about 
 eight o'clock." 
 
 Before I had time to take this in she left the room and 
 Jenny Craddock appeared, looking as fresh as a little moss- 
 rose washed with dew. I was so glad to see her that I didn't 
 care what had become of the rest of the Stan ways household. 
 They could stay out of the picture indefinitely, for me.
 
 INSPECTORBEGBIE 63 
 
 "Come along!" I said, pulling out a chair for her and 
 bringing her a grape-fruit and the powdered sugar, "you 
 don't mind breakfasting with me? I'm all that's left. Miss 
 Corbyn seems to have got off the mark early." 
 
 She nodded, but said nothing. Now that I looked at her 
 closer she seemed anxious and distraite; her eyes were 
 troubled. I hated to see her that way; such a dainty little 
 creature ought to have been out of the reach of trouble. 
 
 "My father's made a daybreak start, too," I added, "I 
 feel a perfect sluggard." 
 
 "Your father!" she said, a little startled. "Do you know 
 when he'll be back?" 
 
 "I don't," said I, "he might not be back at all." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean!" 
 
 "It wouldn't surprise me if he's eloped with your friend 
 Miss Corbyn," said I, helping myself to a grilled sole. 
 "They both seem pretty quick movers." 
 
 She laid down her fork, with a little peal of laughter. 
 She laughed delightfully, I was glad to hear her laugh at 
 anything, even at that. And, by the way, what a happy way 
 out it would have been if only it were true. Unluckily it 
 wasn't even possible. 
 
 "If they have," I added, "when my stepmother comes 
 back she'll probably sling me out of the ancestral home. I 
 don't think she has much use for me." 
 
 "That's a mistake of yours," said Jenny quietly, "she 
 
 thinks a heap of you. She told me last night " she stopped 
 
 short, and added with a burst of enthusiasm, that surprised 
 me, "Mr. Rolfe, don't you think she's just wonderful?" 
 
 "I have the profoundest admiration for Miss Corbyn," 
 said I, sprinkling red pepper on my sole. 
 
 "So you ought to have!" she said warmly, and I felt 
 myself growing redder than the pepper, and hotter; re- 
 membering the settlement with Crieff.
 
 64 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "No doubt," I said, "if you mean " 
 
 "I don't mean anything," she interrupted quickly, with 
 some confusion, "except that Elaine is a woman in a thousand. 
 Not just because she stood up for Lord Trent when he 
 well, when he was having a little trouble. There isn't 
 so much in that, considering what you did for her yesterday. 
 But that's like Elaine. She hasn't always been wealthy. 
 She's known what it is to have trouble herself. Anyway," 
 she added, "you're glad she is staying on, aren't you?" 
 
 "Glad? I could go singing about the house!" said I, "for 
 as long as she stays you'll stay too, won't you?" 
 
 "I suppose I shall stay as long as she wants me," said 
 Jenny wistfully. "You see, Elaine has been very good to 
 me. When she found me, and gave me this chance to travel 
 with her, I was rather down and out " 
 
 So, I thought, she has got some pull over you, too; and 
 you have to do as she tells you. It didn't make me feel any 
 the friendlier to Elaine Corbyn. 
 
 "You had known her before, I suppose?" I said; "old 
 friends?" 
 
 "No, not very. I had known her before. But now, our 
 positions are different, rather. You see I we " 
 
 "That doesn't matter, does it?" I said. She was obviously 
 wanting to make it clear that she was dependent on Elaine 
 supposing me to be so dense that I didn't know it. It was 
 a subject I was anxious to avoid. 
 
 "It matters this much anyway; that though it must all 
 seem very strange to you what happened on our journey 
 down here, and after you mustn't ask me any questions 
 about Elaine." 
 
 "I wasn't going to," said I. "Miss Corbyn 's affairs are 
 Miss Corbyn 's concern. Tell me about yourself." 
 
 She didn't seem to mind that, and was soon in full swing. 
 Her people were small farmers in Michigan, her parents
 
 INSPECTORBEGBIE 65 
 
 died when she was a child, later she had a little money and 
 got a business training in Princetown. She drifted to another 
 little burg, where she held down a typist's job, but that 
 dried up and she was presently in difficulties and lost her 
 savings. 
 
 I listened to her entranced, not so much by what she told 
 me for it was a simple record of back country and small- 
 town life, as experienced by a girl thrown on her own 
 resources, but for the pleasure of sitting next her and hearing 
 her talk. I realised that I wasn't really learning much about 
 her, I only knew I didn't want any interruptions; she seemed 
 to like telling me, and I think we had forgotten our surround- 
 ings and everything else including the breakfast, when I 
 looked up and saw Elaine Corbyn in her fur motoring cloak 
 and hat, standing in the open window watching us. I won- 
 dered how long she had been there. 
 
 She stared at us with a cynically humorous little smile, 
 and I thought I saw a spark of resentment in her eyes. She 
 came forward; Jenny, flushing a little, rose and went out 
 meekly. 
 
 "Don't go unless you've finished, dear," said Elaine 
 coolly. Jenny said nothing. The door closed behind her. 
 Elaine taking no notice of the chair pulled out for her, 
 went to the sideboard and helped herself from one of 
 the dishes. 
 
 "I'm hungry," she said; "there's a kick in the early morning 
 air here. Nobody waited for me I hope ? What sort of a night 
 did you have, Mr. Rolfe?" 
 
 "A perfectly poisonous night!" I said ill-temperedly. 
 
 "Why?" she asked quickly, looking round at me. "Did 
 anything happen?" 
 
 "A series of nightmares, that's all." 
 
 "No wonder," she said. "Sit down and smoke you'll 
 feel better. I don't mind tobacco, even at meals. Put on that
 
 66 BLOODMONEY 
 
 old pipe I can see sticking out of your vest pocket, and be 
 good." 
 
 She attacked her breakfast in a healthy, businesslike way, 
 and I found myself filling the old pipe and lighting it, in 
 the arm-chair by the fire, in spite of an inclination to abstain 
 all the more because she told me to do it. But I did want a 
 smoke pretty badly, and I felt better. 
 
 "Well," said Elaine, "I suppose you're wondering " * 
 
 "Only how you managed to raise a car here at seven in 
 the morning, if you've never been in the place before." 
 
 "Surely that's simple," she said. "I've got a map, Stanways 
 Park is marked on it Wheatbridge is the nearest market 
 town, I looked up a garage there in your 'phone-book and 
 rang them up to send an auto round as soon as I could wake 
 the exchange. By the way I've a car of my own at the door 
 now. I suppose you've plenty of room for it?" 
 
 "A car of your own. Before breakfast?" 
 
 "A second-hand Essex, I did a deal for it with a Mr. 
 Brookfields, and brought it away; it will do till I get some- 
 thing better. One must have an auto; I've no use for hired 
 cars and hired drivers." 
 
 What on earth could she have been after, that she must 
 slip away like that in a car of her own, hours before most 
 people were out of their beds. She couldn't, I thought, have 
 been mad enough to go anywhere near the chalk-pit on the 
 Cranwell road. She wouldn't be able to find the place, any- 
 way. It was useless to pretend I was not intensely intrigued 
 and interested, and rather anxious. But not a word of explana- 
 tion did the girl offer, and since she had started this game of 
 secrecy which seemed to me rather childish though any 
 one less childish than Elaine I have never met I wouldn't 
 ask her for any. . . . 
 
 She finished her breakfast, came round to the fireplace, 
 and placed herself in a chair next me.
 
 INSPECTORBEGBIE 67 
 
 "You're very silent," she said. 
 
 "I thought silence was what you wanted." 
 
 She nodded, and looked at me rather oddly. 
 
 "It's been real good of you to do what I asked. It's a lot 
 to ask anyone, there are few people who would have agreed to 
 it. I'm fortunate, and believe me, I'm grateful. You feel now 
 that I ought to tell you more, but I know it's safer for you 
 and for me too if I don't. I'm too uncertain yet, what's 
 going to happen. Will you be content still, to wait a little?" 
 
 "That's all right. I'm not saying I don't want to know, but 
 tell me or not, when you please." 
 
 She paused a few moments and then said : 
 
 "That being so, it's not fair for me to ask you questions, 
 is it? If there were anything you could tell me well, I won't 
 complain." 
 
 I had been thinking that out. Most people have their own 
 secrets, which they couldn't endure being as much as 
 breathed to anyone else. But I had one thing in my possession 
 that she ought to know about, if there were any danger 
 attaching to it. The Euston letter was in my pocket, there was 
 nothing in it that I minded her seeing, and I had no right to 
 keep it to myself, in the circumstances. 
 
 "Oh, never mind about fairness," I said, "I got this last 
 night, it should interest you. If you can explain it it's more 
 than I can." 
 
 I gave her the pencilled note. " Unless you're a fool, 
 you'll keep out of matters you don't understand; if you set 
 any value on your life leave Elaine Corbyn alone." I told her 
 how I came by it, and watched her face while she read it; it 
 certainly seemed to take her aback. She went through it 
 twice, and examined it very carefully. 
 
 "You got this before you met me?" she said, her forehead 
 knitting. "Can you see what it means apart from a melo- 
 dramatic sort of threat?"
 
 68 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "As far as I can see through it, the writer's idea is to put 
 it quite frankly that Stanways is a house where a woman 
 with a good deal of money might find herself getting rid of 
 some of it as you've discovered for yourself," said I. 
 "We're known to be pretty hard up, and he was warning us 
 off . Or else he credits me with some special knowledge about 
 you, of which I'm really completely ignorant, and he wants 
 to hint to me that I'm to keep off the grass, as you have a 
 protector in the background," I concluded, still watching 
 her. 
 
 "Have I? That's news to me," she said dryly. "I don't 
 think you've guessed the answer. Is this stuff meant to be a 
 threat against me or you?" 
 
 "Threats never worry me. Miss Corbyn, that note isn't 
 signed but can't you tell who wrote it?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I don't know . . . this letter beats me. But I might find 
 out," she added with a vindictive little gleam in her eyes, 
 "and if I do, things will get lively. You and I could combine, 
 Mr. Rolfe." 
 
 "Delighted," I said. "Then that note doesn't help you 
 much?" 
 
 "Well, at present it's more puzzling than ever, but I 
 believe I'll soon see my way through it." She thought for a 
 moment. "There's nothing else, that you think I ought to 
 know?" 
 
 There was one other item. There was Linke. But there I 
 was up against a deadlock. There are limits to the humiliation 
 one can stand. ... I was wholly unable to tell her about the 
 man, the scheme he had overheard between my father and 
 myself, and what came of it. I would rather have been shot 
 than have Elaine know that. Besides, Linke was my affair; I 
 meant to deal with him myself. 
 
 "No. Nothing more," I said.
 
 INSPECTORBEGBIE 69 
 
 "Ah well . . . thank you for showing me this, anyway. 
 Would you mind very much if I keep it?" 
 
 "You're welcome to it," I said, and left her staring at that 
 confounded scribbled message as if it were something rare 
 and precious. I was not anxious for any more questions from 
 Elaine, I wanted to get away from her. As I reached the door, 
 it was opened by the parlourmaid. 
 
 "Oh I beg pardon, sir. There's a police inspector in the 
 library. He asked if he might see you at once." 
 
 "Who what?" I said. 
 
 "Inspector Begbie, sir, from Wheatbridge." 
 
 I closed the door and went across to the library, feeling 
 just that tingle of apprehension that I suppose a man of my 
 type does experience when unexpectedly visited by the police. 
 
 I knew Begbie, who had been to Stanways before. It 
 might be the matter of a dog licence, or tickets for the police 
 orphanage; if that were it, I felt inclined to subscribe gener- 
 ously. But if not, what had I got to face? Could they be on to 
 that affair of the chalk-pit already? 
 
 Inspector Begbie was standing in a military attitude by 
 the library table, on which lay his peaked cap with his 
 gloves neatly disposed inside; his hair was brilliantly oiled. 
 He was a large, heavy man with a chin like a boot, and he was 
 looking very serious; but Begbie always looked serious. 
 His manner was a blend of respectfulness and authority; he 
 couldn't help being impressed by Stanways House. The last 
 Lord Trent, our predecessor, had been a Justice and Deputy- 
 Lieutenant of Hertfordshire. . . . Dad hasn't been offered 
 either of these honours. 
 
 "'Morning, sir," he said, "I wanted to see Lord Trent but 
 they tell me he is out; I hope you can answer me some 
 questions, for I mustn't lose time. Matter's urgent and grave." 
 
 "Sit down, Inspector," I said, taking a chair, "what's the 
 trouble?"
 
 JO BLOODMONEY 
 
 "You have a man-servant here, sir name Peter Linke, I 
 believe?" 
 
 So it was Linke. I would far rather it had been the wreck 
 on the Cranwell road which was what I was expecting . . . 
 though even that would have been sufficiently awkward. 
 Linke had enough on me, but he surely couldn't go to the 
 police with it? Unaware what was coming I found myself 
 instantly on the defensive, and trying not to show it. 
 
 "We had," said I, "what about him?" 
 
 "That's what I wish to find out, sir," said Begbie. "All I 
 know for certain about him at present is that he is dead. 
 I am hoping you can put me in the way of further infor- 
 mation." 
 
 "Dead!" I said, staring at him blankly. 
 
 "Peter Linke 's body was found by a woman, just inside 
 Black Spinney on the borders of the park, at eight this 
 morning. Bullet wound through his head."
 
 XIII 
 CROSS FIRE 
 
 A BULLET through my own head would hardly have been 
 more of a shock than this piece of news, sprung on me so 
 abruptly. Then came a rush of mingled thoughts and 
 emotions all crowding together ... I think they were mainly 
 relief, for in a crisis one is apt to put oneself first, and 
 Linke's mouth was closed. Inspector Begbie sat squarely in 
 front like an image, watching me. I hoped he was not a 
 mind-reader he didn't look like one. 
 
 "Linke dead?" I said dazedly. 
 
 "Murder. Not much doubt about that, sir," said Begbie. 
 "The man had been shot through the skull, evidently at 
 close quarters." 
 
 "Who on earth could have done such a thing? Is there 
 anything to show who killed him? Do you suspect anybody?" 
 
 Begbie hesitated a moment. 
 
 "At present there's not a lot to go on, sir. The ground's 
 hard and dry down there in the Spinney no tracks. But I 
 want to begin with Linke himself he was in service at 
 Stanways. What can you tell me about him?" 
 
 "Very little, except that he has been footman here for the 
 past two weeks, and was discharged last night. He left the 
 house, and my father's service, before 8 p.m." 
 
 "Discharged? And left before eight? Rather sudden. But 
 that would account for his not having been missed," said 
 Begbie, writing deliberately in his note-book. "The body was 
 discovered by accident; he might not have been found, in a 
 place like that, for a week or more. You saw him last night , 
 sir? When?" 
 
 They could not possibly suspect me. I was not worrying 
 about that. Yet the situation was deadly, and whoever had
 
 72 BLOODMONEY 
 
 killed this blackmailer I was entitled to keep myself out of 
 it so far as I could, and still more the people with whom I 
 was concerned. 
 
 "At about half-past seven," I said, "just before I left by 
 car for London. And he must have quitted the house soon 
 afterwards. Is there any way of telling when this thing 
 happened?" 
 
 Again Begbie paused. 
 
 "Within limits we can fix that roughly." he said, "Doctor 
 Brent saw him an hour ago; he had then been dead not less 
 than ten hours." 
 
 "So he must have been killed between seven-thirty, when 
 I saw him here, and eleven o'clock." 
 
 "Yes, sir. When did you get back from London?" 
 
 "About half-past ten. He was certainly not here then." 
 
 "What road did you use, coming home?" 
 
 "The Great North Road, and in by the lane and our south 
 lodge gates." 
 
 "Then you must have passed within a hundred and fifty 
 yards of Black Spinney, sir." 
 
 "Why yes," I said. "Evidently. Yes, that's so." 
 
 "At a little before ten-thirty. If you'd only known, sir!" 
 said Begbie reflectively. "Didn't see or hear anything unusual, 
 of course? Didn't stop?" 
 
 "Why, no I drove straight through." 
 
 "Drove straight through," said Begbie, making a note. 
 "Anybody with you?" 
 
 "Yes, two ladies that I brought down from Euston. You 
 don't, I suppose, want to see them? Have you any reason to 
 think this crime had already been committed by the time I 
 came past Black Spinney? Because if so " 
 
 "I'm saying nothing definite yet, sir. But if you'll just 
 answer my questions we'll get along quicker. You tell me 
 Linke was discharged from Lord Trent's service last night;
 
 CROSSFIRE 73 
 
 that means summarily, I take it." He turned over a leaf of 
 his note-book. "What was he discharged for?" 
 
 It is no use lying to the police, however stolid and innocent 
 the individual police official may look. If you make one 
 statement that they can later discover to be false the whole 
 fabric collapses and you are up against it. To refuse to reply, 
 or refer them to somebody else, is equally sure to rouse 
 suspicion. 
 
 "He was fired for attending to keyholes instead of to his 
 work listening to conversation," I said briefly. "Some 
 servants do these things. I caught him at it." 
 
 "I see. Conversation between yourself and Lord Trent, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Certainly one wouldn't want to keep a man in one's 
 employ after that, Mr. Rolfe," said the Inspector sympa- 
 thetically; "you say you caught him at it. Where did this 
 happen?" 
 
 "In this room. I thought I heard somebody at the door 
 yonder. So I threw it open suddenly " 
 
 The door opened as I spoke. Elaine stopped short in the 
 doorway, with Jenny Craddock close beside her. The inter- 
 ruption distracted me and I started up. 
 
 "Not in here please private," I said hurriedly. The two 
 girls withdrew, Jenny wide-eyed and rather startled. I shut 
 the door behind them and returned to my chair. 
 
 I had seen Begbie glance with sudden interest at Elaine 
 and Jenny, but he stuck to his seat with the same stolid 
 serenity and continued his infernal questioning as if there had 
 been no interruption. 
 
 "You threw the door open, Mr. Rolfe and you found 
 Linke there?" 
 
 "I found him in the lobby, close by. He was a quick 
 mover."
 
 74 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "Then you didn't actually catch him listening. Did you 
 accuse him of it?" 
 
 "Yes, and he denied it. His denial was not accepted, and 
 he was fired for misbehaviour; servants who listen are not 
 reliable." 
 
 "Quite so. This is most helpful, Mr. Rolfe, it's just what 
 I want to know. Evidently a dubious character spying about 
 like that. The conversation between you and his lordship was 
 none of Linke's business, of course." 
 
 "None whatever." 
 
 "In fact, nothing private. It will be still more helpful 
 to the police if you will tell me what it was about." 
 
 The Inspector waited, his eyes on my face. 
 
 "Oh, just the arrangements about a couple of guests we 
 were expecting," said I. 
 
 "I see no business of Linke's. Was it the two ladies 1 
 saw just now?" 
 
 I was getting rattled. Between wrath and nervousness 
 though I don't usually suffer from nerves it was all I could 
 do to keep my temper. I was having the worst five minutes 
 I ever spent. 
 
 "Yes," I retorted. "They have nothing whatever to do 
 with Linke." 
 
 "So far as you know? Of course, Mr. Rolfe, these questions 
 are rather troublesome," said Begbie soothingly, "but you 
 see I can't put them to Linke, and I've got to get down to 
 bed-rock for the facts, they are bound to come out sooner 
 or later, and though there may be nothing in this, you might 
 be able to help me immensely." 
 
 "Certainly, if you'll leave my father's guests alone. They 
 only landed from New York last night." 
 
 "There'll be no difficulty about that, sir. From New 
 York? And their names are ?" 
 
 "Miss Elaine Corbyn, and Miss Craddock."
 
 CROSSFIRE 75 
 
 Begbie made another note deliberately. 
 
 "It's already quite clear, sir, that Lord Trent and you were 
 discussing these ladies whom you were expecting, which of 
 course was very natural when Linke listened at that door 
 and was interrupted and dismissed. This is very interesting 
 in fact it may be vital. It happened just before he left 
 Stan ways for the last time. Will you tell me just what 
 it was that was said concerning Miss Elaine Corbyn, which 
 Linke overheard?" 
 
 "I can't remember what was said." 
 
 Begbie leaned forward, fixing me with that penetrating, 
 gloomy eye of his. 
 
 "Think again, sir, and you'll remember," he said quietly. 
 
 I was up against it. I would sooner he had handcuffed me 
 and charged me with the murder, than have given him the 
 answer in fact I would sooner have throttled him where he 
 sat. And yet that answer he had got to have, one way or an- 
 other; he had me cornered. Sick and savage, I reflected 
 rapidly how to get out of it; and Begbie waited. He was 
 patient; he had a dead man to account for. 
 
 Before I could speak the door opened again and my father 
 came in. I was never quite so glad to see anybody in my 
 life. He looked delightfully cool and unruffled, in light 
 tweeds with a carnation in his button-hole. 
 
 "Good morning, Begbie," he said pleasantly, "I hear you 
 want to see me." 
 
 "About your servant, Peter Linke, whose body was found 
 by one of the farm hands at Black Spinney this morning, my 
 lord," said the Inspector. My father stared at him in mild 
 astonishment. Begbie repeated the facts in a few brief sen- 
 tences, much as he had given them to me. Dad sat down with 
 a sigh. 
 
 "A sinister business to hear about on a bright autumn 
 morning like this," he said regretfully. "The first murder
 
 76 BLOODMONEY 
 
 that has occurred at Stanways for a century it is a 
 murder, I suppose? Do you know how the unfortunate 
 fellow came by his death?" 
 
 "That is the point I'm investigating." 
 
 "I don't know that it surprises me as much as it otherwise 
 would have: from what I saw of him I should say that Linke 
 was a man who might very well have had enemies," said 
 my father thoughtfully. "Is he known to the police?" 
 
 "It's rather early to say that. I know little more about him 
 at present than what your son has told me," replied Begbie 
 guardedly, and he repeated the answers I had given him. 
 "Now, my lord, will you tell me what it was that Linke took 
 the trouble to try and overhear, between yourself and Mr. 
 Rolfe, just before he left your service and met his death at 
 the hands of someone whom it is my business to trace. I 
 recognise that it should be a private matter, but but I have 
 got to get at the facts." 
 
 "I will give you all the help I can," said my father; "when 
 Linke took such an interest in the keyhole yonder, he heard 
 me urging my son not to miss the boat train at Euston, as 
 our guest Miss Corbyn had to be brought to Stanways. At 
 the same time I mentioned to my son that Miss Corbyn is a 
 wealthy lady who would probably be bringing things of 
 considerable value with her, and that he should be on the 
 spot when she arrived such precautions are necessary in 
 the case of arrivals from abroad." 
 
 "Was nothing more said than that, Lord Trent?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever. At that moment my son who 
 always has his wits about him heard a slight noise at the 
 door and discovered the footman indulging in espionage 
 work which was not part of his duty. He was called in here, 
 dismissed summarily and was out of the house twenty 
 minutes later." 
 
 "Did you see Linke again, after he left this room?"
 
 CROSSFIRE 77 
 
 "No. When he left the house, my son was already away in 
 the car. We have no other conveyance. I heard afterwards 
 from my housekeeper that Linke went on foot, after he had 
 gone to her for his wages. Neither of us saw any more of him." 
 
 I felt a slight tightening of the throat, as I heard my father 
 make these two statements with easy deliberation. I didn't 
 look at him. We were committed to the course he had chosen. 
 
 By whose hand had Linke died? That question it was 
 Begbie's task to solve not mine. But when a man starts 
 lying, where is it going to end? My only rule is to avoid lying 
 for my own profit, which is mean work anyhow. But I don't 
 see that one has the right to give other people away. There 
 are times when it's impossible. 
 
 "It seems, Lord Trent, that your housekeeper saw and 
 spoke to Linke after you had parted with him. That traces 
 him a little further I should like to have a word with her." 
 
 "That's torn it," thought I.
 
 XIV 
 MRS. JESSOP 
 
 DAD pressed the bell twice. After a few moments Mrs. 
 Jessop sailed in, the image of respectability in black silk 
 and beads, the very model of a peer's housekeeper. She 
 bowed to my father with that reverent little drop of the knee 
 that I always admired, and looked at the Inspector as though 
 he were an accidental spider that had strayed into the library 
 and should be removed by the housemaid's broom. I 
 wondered if she had heard of Linke's death; by her expression 
 one would have thought not, but I felt convinced that she did 
 know of it. The Inspector did not even mention it. In answer 
 to his question she said: 
 
 "Linke came to me at seven o'clock last night and asked 
 me for his wages, as he was discharged. I gave him his pay 
 for this week and next. No, I didn't ask him for any reasons; 
 it was his lordship's order and I was pleased enough he was 
 leaving us. He said nothing more to me except to ask me how 
 was he to get to the station. I replied that of course the car 
 couldn't take him, as I knew it was wanted; I heard the car 
 going away at half-past seven. Nobody drives it but Mr. 
 Rolfe and his lordship. Linke had only one big bag that he 
 put on the carrier's lorry that called before seven-thirty. 
 He didn't go on the lorry himself, he went away on foot. I 
 saw him from the window of my room, going down the north 
 road through the park." 
 "Where is your window?" 
 
 "On the far side of the house, sir. No, not anywhere near 
 the garage; that's on the south side." 
 
 Begbie made a note of her statement. But for my part I 
 had listened to her with growing amazement. Linke had made 
 his exit from Stanways before I did, and not after.
 
 MRS.JESSOP 79 
 
 "That was the last you saw of him? Anybody else see or 
 speak with him before he went?" asked Begbie. 
 
 "Not to my knowledge, sir. The rest of the staff were in the 
 servants' hall. If they did they'd have mentioned it." 
 
 "You say you were glad to be rid of him. Why?" 
 
 "I didn't like the man. He knew his work, but I can tell 
 you nothing about him; he never talked of himself. He had 
 only been here a fortnight." 
 
 "Did you ever notice anything suspicious about him?" 
 
 "Only that he preferred listening to talking. Nothing 
 definite, or I should have informed his lordship at once. Has 
 he done something wrong?" 
 
 "He has been found shot, just outside the park, it seems, 
 Mrs. Jessop," said my father, much as if he were announcing 
 Linke's promotion to a better job, "and naturally one wants 
 to ascertain how and why it happened; I gather the police 
 have no doubt that he was murdered." 
 
 "Indeed, my lord, I always felt that he was not respectable." 
 
 "That is all you can tell us, madam?" said Begbie after a 
 pause. "Then I will not trouble you any further." 
 
 "Then I can go, my lord?" she said, turning to my father 
 for permission; he nodded kindly, and Mrs. Jessop went 
 serenely out. 
 
 "Rather a cool hand, your housekeeper, Lord Trent," said 
 Begbie dryly. 
 
 "I dislike emotional people about me," said Dad. "She is 
 an excellent servant. The first quality in an English house- 
 keeper should be imperturbable calm. Now, what more can I 
 tell you?" 
 
 "Let us go back, Lord Trent, to what Linke evidently 
 overheard before he left this house and met his death. In 
 what way would that be likely to affect him and his move- 
 ments, do you think?" 
 
 "I don't pretend to be able to probe into Linke's mind,"
 
 8o BLOODMONEY 
 
 said Dad, "but it seems likely to occur to a scoundrel like 
 Linke, hearing Miss Corbyn was a lady of wealth, that he 
 would stand a chance of getting some of it into his own 
 hands. What other explanation is there?" 
 
 "You say he heard that Miss Corbyn was bringing articles 
 of considerable value with her," said Begbie, and he turned 
 to me. "Was that so, Mr. Rolfe, to your knowledge?" 
 
 "There was a jewel-case she brought with her in the car," 
 I said, "it's in the house now." 
 
 "Now, now, Ken," interposed my father. "Miss Corbyn 
 told me a few minutes since, that she went out this morning 
 and deposited the case with Barclay's Bank at Wheatbridge 
 when they opened at nine. I was relieved to hear it; burglaries 
 at country houses are so common, as I told her last night." 
 
 "Did you mention Linke to her?" 
 
 "No, Linke was such an unpleasant subject to mention to 
 a guest; I imagined and hoped that we had done with him, in 
 fact I hardly gave him any further thought at the time. But I 
 did mention that Stanways is rather a lonely place for anyone 
 possessing valuables: we have no safe here. She evidently 
 took it seriously. Very wise of her. Doesn't all this suggest 
 what Linke's motive was, Inspector?" 
 
 Begbie drummed with his pencil on the table. 
 
 "It does, Lord Trent. It appears to fit it very well. But 
 there's one thing overlooked. It doesn't by any means 
 explain the motive of the man who shot him, and that's the 
 man I'm after. Allow that Linke knew Miss Corbyn was 
 wealthy, carried valuables, and might afford an opportunity 
 for loot. Undesirable knowledge for him to have. It's a 
 doubtful reason though, why anybody should risk his neck 
 or at best fifteen years in prison by killing Linke. Why 
 should he? It's the kind of thing that isn't done in this 
 country. This is no manslaughter case either; the man was 
 deliberately shot through the back of the head. There's more
 
 MRS.JESSOP 8l 
 
 to this than the matter of Miss Corbyn 's jewel-case; there's 
 a mystery here we haven't solved yet, and one point stands 
 out. Assuming that Linke was a crook he was killed by a 
 bigger crook than Linke." 
 
 "Ah, there you are wading too deep for me," said my 
 father, "the politics of the underworld are more in your line 
 than in mine. I see you've arrived at a conclusion." 
 
 "Yes. That Linke was here for a purpose, that he !:new 
 before he took service with you that Miss Corbyn would be 
 coming here, and he wished to get further information. It is 
 very unlikely that he was listening on the off-chance, and 
 heard of your two guests by pure coincidence." 
 
 "I am at a loss to guess how he could have known it," said 
 Dad. "His sudden ending, then, and the motive for it, is a 
 mystery which will have to be left to the police to solve." 
 
 "I shall be glad to see Miss Corbyn," said the Inspector, 
 remaining seated. "And her friend. It is just possible they 
 know more about Linke than your lordship does." 
 
 "I shall certainly be more careful about the servants I 
 engage in future," said my father regretfully. "This sort of 
 thing is very trying, and I hate upsetting my guests. However 
 if you insist " 
 
 He went out, and returned in a few minutes with Elaine 
 and Jenny, whom he introduced to the Inspector with an 
 apologetic air. 
 
 "Do either of you ladies know, or have you heard, of a man 
 named Peter Linke" asked Begbie. 
 
 "Never heard the name. We only landed from America 
 yesterday, we know nobody in this country," said Elaine. 
 Jenny looked bewildered, and shook her head. The presence 
 of the policeman seemed to strike her dumb. 
 
 "Apparently nobody knows who he is, nor where he came 
 from last," said the Inspector dryly. "But he has heard your 
 name, madam," he turned to Elaine. "He lost his job as
 
 82 BLOODMONEY 
 
 footman last night for listening at that keyhole to a conver- 
 sation in which you and your movements were discussed. 
 What he heard, so Lord Trent tells me, was that Mr. Rolfe 
 was to meet your train at Euston and bring you here. Lord 
 Trent discharged him on the spot. The next thing is that 
 he was found dead this morning, in a wood a mile from here. 
 He was shot through the head." 
 
 I saw Elaine's eyes narrow slightly. She heard this 
 staggering news with alert attention, but she said nothing. 
 Jenny was very white, and looked so aghast that I mentally 
 cursed the Inspector, my father, the dead man, and every- 
 body concerned, including myself. 
 
 "I'm sorry to trouble you with a business like this, madam," 
 continued Begbie, "but I'd like you to come down to the 
 wood with me and see if you can identify this man. There's 
 nobody here seems to know who he is or where he came from 
 last names count for nothing anyway." 
 
 "The sooner it's done the better, I think," said Elaine. 
 "I'm ready." 
 
 "Miss Craddock too, if she'll be so good," said the 
 Inspector, donning his cap and picking up his gloves. I saw 
 Jenny shrink. 
 
 "Elaine!" she said under her breath, "they can't want me. 
 You see him." 
 
 "Save a lot of trouble if you come now, miss won't take 
 five minutes," said the Inspector soothingly. "You were 
 mentioned, as well as Miss Corbyn. Only a matter of taking 
 a look at him." 
 
 "You certainly have to come, Jenny," said Elaine de- 
 cisively, "and don't wait to get your hat. Interests of justice." 
 
 "We'll all go," said my father, and the telephone on the 
 table whirred, making me jump slightly, for my nerves were 
 on edge. Dad calmly unhooked the receiver and listened. 
 
 "For you, Begbie," he said, "from police station, Wheat-
 
 MRS.JESSOP 83 
 
 bridge," and handed him the receiver. Begbie caught at it 
 eagerly. I saw his brows knit with surprise and impatience. 
 
 "Speaking . . . yes . . . burned? . . . what chalk-pit? . . . 
 who is he? ... who's in charge? . . . two car tracks? . . . why 
 not? . . ." 
 
 There was silence for nearly a minute while he listened; 
 I had that helpless cut-off feeling that you have when some- 
 one else is getting a message over the wires that you want to 
 hear; the little I did hear galvanised me. 
 
 "Right. Advise headquarters and get down to it yourself, 
 sergeant I'm full up. Join you when I'm through here 
 Lord knows when that will be." He hung the receiver up 
 with a snap. "Never rains but it pours. Now ladies, if you're 
 ready." 
 
 "You appear to be having a busy day, Inspector," said my 
 father; "a fresh clue, I hope?" 
 
 "Fresh case," said Begbie, briefly, "crashed car found on 
 a lonely road south of here one man dead, unrecognisable. 
 Wreck burned. Sounds a queer business no details yet." 
 He opened the door and waited for us, marshalling us out. 
 
 I looked at Elaine. For all the notice she took of me, I 
 might not have been there. 
 
 "Has it anything to do with this thing you are asking us 
 about?" she said to Begbie. "You still want us?" 
 
 "I want you all the more, miss," he said; "one thing at a 
 time. I won't keep you long." 
 
 If ever there was a time to speak it was now. But she let 
 it pass, quite coolly. Not a word came from her. She linked 
 her arm sympathetically in Jenny's and the two girls passed 
 out through the hall; it seemed to me that Jenny wanted 
 support. I could have done with some myself. 
 
 "You two gentlemen had best come too," said Begbie. 
 
 "I'm certainly coming," I replied shortly. 
 
 "And I," said my father, as if in a quiet rebuke to Begbie 's
 
 84 BLOODMONEY 
 
 officiousness. "I will at least share my guests' discomfort. 
 After all, the man was my servant." He paused as we reached 
 the Inspector's little two-seater car standing at the porch, 
 and inspected it as though it were an ash-bin. "We certainly 
 can't crowd into this get the Chrysler out, Ken." 
 
 Elaine stopped me. 
 
 "We don't need your car. Mine's just round the corner on 
 the terrace and will hold us all. I'll drive and the Inspector 
 can direct me. I want to get this over and done with." 
 
 I had been on the point of telling Dad that the Chrysler 
 had a tyre down and couldn't go; I had no intention of taking 
 unnecessary chances with Begbie and the family car. But 
 Elaine settled that. We crowded into the shabby Essex Sedan 
 that stood waiting on the terrace; Elaine driving while Jenny 
 and I and Dad sat at the back, we sped away through the 
 park.
 
 XV 
 
 BLACK SPINNEY 
 
 JENNY said nothing, the whole business was scafing her 
 dumb, and no wonder. I had a feeling that it wouldn't take 
 much to make her jump out of the car and bolt for it. Not 
 that she could personally have anything to fear, but to be 
 taken to inspect a defunct thief just after breakfast was 
 enough to upset the nerves of any girl, particularly such a 
 retiring little creature as Jenny. I felt considerably strung 
 up myself; there was no telling what Begbie's next move 
 would be. That worried me less than the whiteness of Jenny's 
 face and the way she shrank back against the cushions. 
 
 I slipped my hand over hers and pressed it; she didn't 
 draw it away, and seemed even to get a little comfort out of it. 
 
 In front, Begbie was talking to Elaine as she drove, 
 evidently questioning her; I heard the word 'jewel-case,' 
 though most of what they said didn't reach me. I couldn't 
 guess whether the answers satisfied him, but she was as cool 
 and self-contained as ever. 
 
 No doubt she had taken the case to the bank, since she told 
 us so. But that was no reason for leaving at seven in the 
 morning as I knew she had done; the bank doesn't open till 
 nine and is only three miles away. 
 
 Anyway I didn't believe that the jewel-case had anything 
 to do with the Linke aifair, plausible though it sounded. That 
 hare had been started by my father, it was a good one, but it 
 was not for me to hunt it. 
 
 As for Elaine, she had kept silence about the chalk-pit 
 crash at the very moment when, if ever, she should have 
 spoken . I thought it a very dangerous game she was playing . 
 She was not a woman to make any decision without a reason. 
 If she did not speak, I couldn't.
 
 86 BLOODMONEY 
 
 The journey through the park was made in a couple of 
 minutes. We turned out through the south gates into the 
 lane. Half a mile beyond was Black Spinney, a little dark 
 plantation of firs and larches, set in a triangle with its base 
 against the lonely by-road. 
 
 We found a policeman of the Herts. Constabulary on guard 
 by a gap in the Spinney fence. He saluted my father and 
 the Inspector as we all got out of the car, and I saw another 
 policeman standing some little way inside the wood. 
 
 "This way, please, and will you be good enough to follow 
 close behind me," said Begbie, leading us to another gap 
 farther up the lane, and from there we followed him in single 
 file as he threaded his way between the trees. It was clear 
 he did not want us to use the path by which the dead man 
 had presumably entered the wood, though the ground looked 
 to me too hard to show much in the way of footprints, and 
 I'm not unused to trails, myself. 
 
 We reached the stationary police-sergeant I had seen 
 from the road, and my father got another salute; the Trents 
 may have fallen a little from their high estate, but the head 
 of the family still counts for something, at any rate on his 
 own ground. Close by, in a patch of withered bracken, lay 
 Linke, as though he had fallen asleep. 
 
 He was stretched almost at full length, the knees slightly 
 bent, the body partially on its side, with one shoulder raised, 
 the lower arm extended. The face was not visible, for the 
 sergeant had laid his waterproof cape over the head and 
 shoulders. 
 
 There lay the man who had attempted to blackmail me, 
 thirteen hours ago. It came home to me, the position I should 
 be in if anyone knew that. Till now I had only felt con- 
 cerned lest anybody should know what Linke knew. The 
 fact that he had held me up for money on the strength of 
 that knowledge was quite another item. And though I hold
 
 BLACKSPINNEY 87 
 
 that crime to be the vilest a man can commit, I no longer 
 bore even Linke any malice; the account was closed. 
 
 Inspector Begbie bent down and lifted the cape. 
 
 The dead man's face lay in profile, clear to the view of all 
 of us. The hair at the back of the head was matted with a dark 
 stain, but not very noticeably except to a close observer. 
 
 Linke looked more attractive in death than ever he had in 
 life; he had not been a bad-looking fellow. Now that his eyes 
 were closed, the waxen-white features looked extraordinarily 
 quiet and peaceful. I have seen many dead men, but however 
 lightly and callously a man may hold absent death, he must 
 become changed in its presence. 
 
 Inspector Begbie turned to Elaine. She looked steadily 
 and gravely at the quiet face for what seemed to me an un- 
 necessary length of time. Then she shook her head. 
 
 "No," she said decisively. "I have never seen this man 
 before in my life." 
 
 Jenny had held back, unable to bring herself to face it. 
 But Begbie waited, and it was Elaine who went to her, said 
 something to her in an undertone and insisted on her coming 
 forward, guiding her gently by the arm. I was inclined to 
 hate her for it; the thing might be needful but I couldn't see 
 why. Jenny looked, her face nearly as white as that of the 
 dead man; it was as though she could hardly bring herself to 
 look at all. 
 
 I heard her catch her breath slightly, and saw her eyes 
 dilate; a look of doubt, and then of relief came into them as 
 she scanned the dead face with the intentness of one who 
 wants to make quite sure of something. Finally she drew 
 back with a little shiver, and turned away. 
 
 "No," she said half audibly. "I don't know him never 
 seen him before." 
 
 "Are you sure?" said Begbie. He had noticed her hesita- 
 tion. Again she paused.
 
 88 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "Quite sure. But he reminds me a little, of a man I have 
 seen somewhere ' ' 
 
 "Who, and where?" 
 
 "I don't know somewhere out West, I think." She seemed 
 distressed. "It's hard to recall; it's so long ago that I've for- 
 gotten. There's a sort of likeness resemblance. But I've 
 never seen this man till now." 
 
 The Inspector shrugged his shoulders slightly. But for the 
 trying situation to which he had brought the girl, he would 
 probably have been impatient with her. 
 
 "If you're sure you don't know the man himself, it doesn't 
 much matter who he's like, miss. Well, ladies, that's all. 
 Neither of you can identify him. I thank you, and I'm sorry 
 to have troubled you." 
 
 He turned away from the dead man and led us back to the 
 car. Elaine and my father followed behind, slowly. I saw them 
 talking together, and I guessed he would have plenty to say 
 to her. It was evident that Begbie wanted to get us away from 
 the place as soon as possible. 
 
 "If you'll run me back to the house I can bring my car out 
 here and carry on," he said. "Finished? No, this business 
 isn't finished; it's beginning."
 
 XVI 
 BEGBIE'S CHALLENGE 
 
 DURING the brief journey back, Begbie remained silent. 
 I couldn't tell from his manner whether he was disappointed, 
 or on the other hand particularly pleased with himself. 
 Even my father had nothing on Begbie in the matter of 
 concealing his thoughts. 
 
 "I should like to have a few words with you, Lord Trent, 
 before I leave," he said to Dad as we got out of the car, and 
 my father and I accompanied him to the library. He did not 
 seem to want the girls, who departed together. 
 
 "You may as well let me have any agency papers and 
 references you got when you engaged Linke not that they're 
 likely to be of much use," he said briefly. 
 
 "I fear you haven't found me very helpful, Begbie," said 
 my father, handing him a paper from his desk. "One does 
 one's best; it is such a pleasure to give any possible aid to the 
 police." 
 
 Begbie turned a grim eye on him. 
 
 "That is very good of you." 
 
 "Certainly," said Dad pleasantly. "1 gather from the 
 press that the police find the going rather heavy at present; 
 a good deal of criticism of their methods but for my part I 
 am entirely for them. Once let public confidence in our 
 guardians and protectors be shaken, and where are we?" 
 
 The Inspector's heavy eyes narrowed a little. 
 
 "Do you believe in hunches, Lord Trent?" 
 
 "An American phrase, isn't it? You mean premonitions. 
 Sometimes I do." 
 
 "I have a hunch that it won't be very long before I lay 
 my hands on the person who killed your servant, Linke." 
 
 "My ex-servant, Linke," said Dad. "I think you've a
 
 90 BLOODMONEY 
 
 difficult job before you, but I sincerely hope you will; the 
 shooting on the Stan ways estate is strictly preserved. Good 
 morning, Begbie, remember I shall be always at your 
 disposition, and my staff will have orders to give you any help 
 they can and supply all possible information. You have my 
 best wishes." 
 
 "Thank you, Lord Trent," said Begbie, and went out, 
 closing the door behind him. He could hardly have had time 
 to cross the hall before it opened again and Elaine appeared. 
 Dad's face was grave and solicitous as he turned to her. 
 
 "I don't know how I'm to apologise for all this distressing 
 business," he said anxiously. "Anything more unpardon- 
 able " 
 
 "I don't know that you need apologise," said Elaine 
 quietly, her eyes on his face. "I'm not a child, to complain of 
 what can't be helped." 
 
 "It's enough to drive the most patient of guests away. It 
 distresses me even more than it does you. I feared well, 
 you couldn't be blamed for wishing to leave us." 
 
 "No; I don't know that I want to go unless you wish to 
 get rid of me. I shall probably be as secure at Stan ways as 
 anywhere; besides, I don't see that I can very well go, as 
 things are. And all my arrangements were made here, from 
 the first." 
 
 "Now this is splendid of you, Elaine," said my father 
 warmly. "You're not one of those women who hesitate and 
 wobble; you can make a decision and stick to it. And now that 
 
 this disturbing business is over " 
 
 "Your Inspector Begbie doesn't seem to think that it's 
 over." 
 
 "Oh, Begbie; I don't think he knows much about it." 
 "Don't you?" said Elaine, her eyes twinkling oddly. "I 
 agree with you, I don't think he does either yet. ... But 
 he's a persevering type."
 
 BEGBIES CHALLENGE QI 
 
 "I shall leave it in his hands with perfect confidence that 
 he will unravel it satisfactorily; it's really no business of mine," 
 said Dad. "It's perfectly absurd, of course, that Begbie 
 should have supposed you or Miss Craddock could know 
 anything of this man Linke, who I regret should ever have 
 entered my house, and is probably mixed up with other 
 rascals of his own type. It's the devil of a job to get satisfactory 
 servants nowadays; you never know where you are with 
 them. But you'll excuse me a minute; I've been so much 
 interrupted and there are orders I have to give." 
 
 He went out, leaving me alone with Elaine. There was 
 a difficult silence; she seemed to be waiting for me to 
 speak. 
 
 "So you're not going?" I said. 
 
 "Do you want me to go?" 
 
 "It's the very last thing on earth I want!" 
 
 Her eyes softened, and that defiant, challenging look died 
 out of them. She came a little nearer, and looked at me 
 rather oddly. 
 
 "Well, I suppose that's true in a way," she said, "and it's 
 real nice of you. You've been very good all through this 
 thing, and reliable. You're certainly loyal, and that's a 
 quality worth while in a man. It's a comfort to find somebody 
 who's got a backbone to them. Is there anything you want to 
 say to me?" 
 
 "What can I say? Do you realise what we shall be up 
 against if they bring this Cranwell wreck home to us, after 
 Begbie announcing it before the whole company?" 
 
 "Oh, that. I think we can leave it to the people who are 
 dealing with it; it's their job, not ours. And I agree with 
 what your Inspector Begbie said 'one thing at a time.' 
 After all, Mr. Rolfe," she said quietly, "neither you nor I 
 committed any crime." 
 
 "All right," I said resignedly, "and suppose Begbie asks
 
 92 BLOODMONEY 
 
 me point blank if it was my car that drove up to the Cranwell 
 chalk-pit last night, do you suggest I should deny it?" 
 
 "No. But I don't think he will. If he does, you can stick 
 out your chest and say: 'I cannot tell a lie, Inspector, I 
 did it with my little Chrysler,' and refer him to me. I'll 
 explain and clear you." 
 
 "I'm dashed if you do," I said angrily, "the consequences 
 aren't worrying me. I've no notion of hiding behind any girl's 
 skirts." 
 
 "That's all right. Skirts are too skimpy to hide anything, 
 these days. I quite understand you're thinking of me first, 
 I particularly don't want it known, for the present, that I 
 was mixed up with that car chase and the wreck till I know 
 more about it and perhaps not then. And I'm willing to 
 take all chances." 
 
 "That's all to the good. You're taking plenty." 
 
 "I shall have quite a lot to tell you very soon, Mr. Rolfe, 
 things are moving pretty fast. But I can't stay now, I'll have 
 to get back to Jenny." 
 
 She moved to the door. 
 
 "It's rather strange I should need to look after her, when 
 she's supposed to be looking after me. The girl's all broken 
 up." 
 
 "This sort of thing is rough on her," I said. 
 
 Elaine stopped and turned round, looking at me queerly. 
 
 "You think so? Well maybe. She doesn't want to go, any 
 more than I do," said Elaine with a touch of acid in her voice 
 as she went out. 
 
 I dropped into a chair, feeling for my pipe the only 
 comfort I'd got left and thought things over rapidly as I 
 struck a match and felt the bite of the tobacco. 
 
 Who had fired the shot that silenced Linke? Every man is 
 entitled to live, but for the mere fact of his death I could 
 certainly feel no regret. Even if very hard driven, I don't
 
 BEGBIE'SCHALLENGE 93 
 
 believe I could take a man's life in cold blood. Who knew 
 whether it was done in cold blood? How had he come by his 
 end, and in whose interest, down there in the dark spinney? 
 
 It was a question I hardly dared answer, even to myself. 
 But whatever the solution, somehow it didn't rouse anything 
 like the revolt and resentment in my mind that for instance 
 the squaring of Crieff had done. It was no use tormenting 
 myself by thinking about it. I couldn't tackle it; it was not 
 for me to hunt out the truth quite the contrary. My lips 
 were sealed and my hands were tied. 
 
 It did occur to me that the knowledge Linke had acquired, 
 and his initiative in attempting to use it against me, didn't 
 seem quite motive enough for anybody to take the risk of 
 killing him unless there were a great deal more to be gained 
 by it. 
 
 Just then my father came in, and tossed his hat on to a 
 chair. 
 
 "Elaine gone?" he said. "Well, Ken, what do you think of 
 it all?" 
 
 "I think we're gliding over uncommonly thin ice," I said 
 grimly. 
 
 "We seem to be gliding over the solid efficient Begbie, 
 and he bears very well, I think." Dad selected a cigar from 
 the box and lit it carefully. "I wish he were at the devil. 
 Altogether an annoying business, Ken. It looked like distur- 
 bing my arrangements. And I strongly dislike having my 
 arrangements disturbed by outsiders. What's the matter with 
 you, my boy? You surely need not let your peace of mind be 
 upset over the matter of a dead blackmailer?" 
 
 I'm not very impressionable, but I leaked at him with a 
 touch of awe. 
 
 "Well sir," I said. "I think you'll prefer I should say 
 nothing. I believed myself to be a pretty cool hand, but 
 you've got me beaten into the back seats."
 
 94 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "You were cool enough, Ken. I was pleased with you. 
 And I may tell you that Elaine is very pleased with you too, 
 and with reason. You are what you would call solid with 
 Elaine." 
 
 "I don't care whether I am or not!" 
 
 "Perhaps not, at the moment. But you will. And inciden- 
 tally Miss Craddock Jenny," he said thoughtfully. "She's 
 rather a nice little girl, that. I was noticing her a good deal 
 to-day; there is more to her than one would have thought. 
 Though it was a little unwise of Elaine to bring her ' 
 
 "I don't want to discuss either of them!" I said savagely. 
 
 "Very well, my boy, let it be. By the way," he added, 
 "what's this about a car disaster on the Cranwell road last 
 night?" 
 
 "You heard what Begbie said. A crash and a fire; somebody 
 killed." 
 
 "Well, I hope there'll be no more of it or at this rate the 
 county of Herts, will be strewn with corpses; I had always 
 considered ours such a peaceful district. Still, it gives the 
 police something to do and keeps them busy. I've been a 
 little worried, but tight places are nothing new to me." 
 
 "I suppose you know," I said slowly, "that I'd stand by 
 you whatever happened." 
 
 "That's good hearing, Ken. We've always stood by each 
 other, you and I. And you may want a little support yourself," 
 said my father cheerfully. "I daresay you hardly realise what 
 trouble I'm taking to do the right thing by you. Don't you 
 think I've managed rather well under difficult conditions?" 
 
 "If you call it managing well to cover us all with a net of 
 lies that the police may blow a hole through any time. 
 In these cases the truth pays best, even if it's tough." 
 
 "My dear boy, don't say solemn and stupid things. Which 
 of us can afford the truth? We're rid of Linke; let's be thank- 
 ful. You'll be declaring next that murder will out, or something
 
 BEGBIE'SCHALLENGE 95 
 
 equally trite and untrue. Would you blame the man who 
 killed such a ferret as that?" 
 
 "Who's talking of blame? I'm not the stone-throwing 
 variety of animal. I live in a glass-house myself," I said a 
 trifle bitterly. My father smiled. 
 
 "Yes, yes. Noblesse oblige ... no smoke without fire . . . 
 Once a gentleman always a gentleman, and an honest man's 
 the noblest work of God. And we should remember we 
 haven't only ourselves to think of when we harp on the truth. 
 You recollect the Irish sportsman who would 'Rather die 
 than tell a lie, except to save a lady' ?" 
 
 This was more than I could stand. 
 
 "I wouldn't harp on that either if I were you," I said 
 sourly. "Self-preservation's the first law of nature." 
 
 Dad nodded. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I always keep that in mind."
 
 XVII 
 THE 33 BULLET 
 
 AFTER the visit and inquisition by Begbie, the household 
 was delightfully quiet for the rest of the day. One could 
 hardly believe these devastating things had happened at all. 
 For my part the place was stifling me. I went for a long 
 walk before lunch was announced, not returning till nearly 
 dinner-time, thinking things over. Later I found there had 
 been no news whatever, not so much as a telephone ring. 
 The two girls joined us at dinner; they were very quiet and 
 little was said. They retired soon afterwards. I avoided my 
 father and went up to bed; I was feeling dead beat. 
 
 Though Linke was out of the way, as soon as I was back 
 in the house and darkness fell, that strange sense of un- 
 easiness and disquiet came back to me, haunting feeling 
 that we were being overlooked; that some intangible in- 
 fluence was still at work. One can't account for these things, 
 unless they merely arise from overstrained nerves. There 
 was plenty of real cause for anxiety without that. This time 
 I refused to give way to it, turned in, and slept like the dead. 
 In the morning I came down late and breakfasted alone. 
 
 The first person I ran into was Tilden, the Wheatb ridge 
 doctor, rung for by the housekeeper to attend a parlourmaid 
 who had collapsed during the night with fits of hysteria and 
 to come down to duty. He had just seen his patient 
 he called out to me from the foot of the stairs. 
 Hullo, Rolfe! Most extraordinary case, this footman of 
 bad business." 
 
 about it?" I asked. 
 
 *X?s called out to examine the body, and afterwards 
 removed to Hertford. I was in Black Spinney 
 - yester
 
 THE33 BULLET 97 
 
 I got Tilden into the morning-room; he was willing 
 enough to talk about it, though he pretended to be in a hurry. 
 Such excitements are rare in our neighbourhood. 
 
 "I can only tell you such facts as a doctor can swear to," 
 he said, "the police are keeping very close, and giving 
 nothing away it's my belief they're at sea as to who killed 
 him and why, though old Begbie plays the sleuth-hound to 
 the life. To me, this much is certain. Murder. No possible 
 way out of that." 
 
 "Was he armed?" 
 
 Tilden looked at me in surprise. 
 
 "What makes you ask that? Queer thing, for a man- 
 servant to be armed. Oh, I see Begbie's told you. I didn't 
 think he got on to that till later." 
 
 I had made a slip. I knew Linke was armed when he left 
 the house, for my foot told me that when it dismissed him 
 from Stan ways. 
 
 "Begbie did not tell me. I asked because, if the man did 
 happen to be armed, it could be a case of self-defence and 
 not murder. Or manslaughter at the worst." 
 
 Tilden shook his head. 
 
 "You can forget that, Rolfe. He was shot from behind. 
 The bullet struck him in the occiput, passed through skull 
 and brain. The man who did it meant making sure of him, 
 he just dropped in his tracks. And yet you've put your 
 finger on the spot Linke was armed. Begbie's convinced 
 about that." 
 
 "The odd thing is that no weapon was found on him. 
 He'd a hip pocket, the button was open, and they found 
 unmistakably that he'd carried a gun in it I could see that 
 much myself. There was the outline of it marked in the cloth, 
 the bulge where a revolver drum had stretched it. Not 
 enough to swear by, you'd think but there were a couple of 
 cartridges in one of his vest pockets. I saw them; short 44
 
 98 BLOODMONEY 
 
 revolver shells. The gun itself gone. They've searched the 
 wood for it; no result." 
 
 "Do they suppose the killer shot Linke with his own 
 gun?" 
 
 "That certainly isn't so. The bullet that killed Linke 
 wasn't fired at particularly close quarters 
 
 "Even though he was shot in the dark?" 
 
 "Yes. There was a fairly bright moon last night, if you 
 remember though it must have been pretty dark in the 
 Spinney. Anyway, not close enough for the powder grains to 
 lodge in his skin or his back hair there's no trace of that, 
 and these little pistols spit like cats. The main point is that 
 the bullet passed clean through Linke 's skull and lodged in an 
 old tree trunk in front of him. It's a nickel-capped 33 bullet, 
 the type that's used in a small Wesson automatic. That, or 
 something very similar, was the weapon the murderer 
 used." 
 
 Begbie had told me nothing of this. Had he, I wondered, 
 known it when he took us to the Spinney? 
 
 "Used and then, apparently, took Linke 's gun away with 
 him, but I don't see why he should do that," I said. "What's 
 your theory about it all, Doctor?" 
 
 "Me? I don't deal in theories; I'm a scientist and work on 
 facts. In any case sleuthing is not my job: I have a crowd of 
 patients on my hands who need my attention more than 
 this dead man, even if he had been worth saving," said 
 Dr. Tilden as he collected his bag and moved to the door. 
 Then he halted and looked back at me. "A strange business, 
 Rolfe. It looks as if you or rather your father has been 
 entertaining a crook unawares, whose activities have been 
 cut short by some more efficient crook with a very strong 
 motive for putting him out of the way. As it's generally 
 accepted that dead men don't tell tales, that motive for the 
 present is dark."
 
 THE33 BULLET 99 
 
 "It will stay in the dark till they find the man who killed 
 him," said I, "if they ever do." 
 
 "Oh, they'll get him all right," said Tilden. "They always 
 do in these queer, sensational cases that look so mysterious 
 at first. I'll give you any odds that they rope the murderer in. 
 There's only one crime in law that calls for the death penalty; 
 one may hang a citizen by the neck with due formality and 
 public approval, but one mustn't shoot a man through the 
 head for one's own advantage. Well, I must be going they 
 may want me again." 
 
 Dr. Tilden looked at me searchingly; a habit of his 
 derived doubtless from his practice, though I have never 
 been one of his patients and drove away. When he had gone 
 I crossed the hall and went down the passage into the gun- 
 room. 
 
 I looked at the three locked, glass-fronted cabinets. This 
 was one of the best equipped rooms in the house. Nothing 
 that a shooting man could want was lacking, except that a 
 pair of Purdey ejectors were not in their place; they would 
 pawn for a hundred pounds and must have cost over three 
 times that. There were several other pieces, and two deer- 
 stalking rifles, besides smaller arms. I am a fairly good shot 
 myself, but I was never in Dad's class. I saw him once shoot 
 against Winans the American, and draw the match about 
 the only man who could have done it. 
 
 I scarcely know what I expected to do in the gun-room, 
 but I got the key and went through the first of the two cabinets, 
 rummaging in the little drawers beneath the gun-rack. 
 There was an untidy rafHe of stuff in one of them; wire 
 brushes, old, mixed-up shot gun and revolver cartridges, 
 evidently long forgotten, and a couple of tarnished nickel- 
 cased 33 shells. I slipped those at once into my pocket, and 
 was hunting for more when I felt a hand laid on my shoulder 
 and started as I turned round and faced the old man. He was
 
 100 BLOODMONEY 
 
 smiling affectionately, the cigar between his teeth, but his 
 eyes were as hard as a gun barrel. 
 
 "Anything you want, Ken?" he said, and added rather 
 mockingly, "Feel like a little shooting to take your mind 
 off things? Take your choice except the Purdeys." 
 
 "There isn't a 33 automatic in stock, is there?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "A 33? Why?" 
 
 "It was a 33 bullet that killed Linkc so Tilden tells me. 
 They've just found it." 
 
 "Indeed? How interesting, Ken. The next thing they will 
 find, no doubt, is the gun that fired it; though that may take 
 some doing. I wouldn't be seen dead with such an outlandish 
 toy. I have never owned one." 
 
 "Look here, Dad " I said under my breath. 
 
 "My dear boy," he replied very gently, "I want you to 
 keep outside all this; it is not your affair. Get out of here. 
 Go and look after your guest; or if that doesn't appeal at 
 the moment, take a gun into the park and try to look as if 
 you were on good terms with yourself. I'm afraid there isn't 
 much to shoot on the place except vermin and I always 
 recommend small calibres for those far more sporting. 
 There's a nice little Reilly double 2O-bore over there." 
 
 "And Ken," he added, as I turned away. "Do stop worry- 
 ing about the man Linke. It's so futile, and no concern of 
 yours; nobody can possibly suspect you of having fired that 
 shot." 
 
 "I'm beginning to wish they did," said I, and went out, 
 closing the door silently. I went down to the garage to over- 
 haul the car, and on the way I dropped the two nickel shells 
 through a clink into the old covered well behind the yew 
 fence; it is sixty feet deep, and I liked the little tinkling 
 splash they made as they disappeared. There would be no 
 getting them out of that. Quite impossible to drain the well
 
 THE 33 BULLET IOI 
 
 for it had once been tried; and there was a deep deposit of 
 silt under the water. 
 
 I spent some time in the garage, and coming back past 
 the well I rounded the corner of the yew hedge and suddenly 
 became aware of Elaine, standing in the entrance of a little 
 summer-house close by, on the edge of a patch of neglected 
 rose garden. She beckoned to me.
 
 XVIII 
 SPIKE O'DOWD 
 
 "I'VE been looking for you," said Elaine, "and I think 
 it's time we got together. Come in here and sit down. That 
 policeman hasn't shown up again yet?" 
 
 "No. There's no news except what I got from the doctor." 
 
 She asked what it was, and I told her. There was no point 
 in keeping a thing like that from her; it would become common 
 knowledge very soon anyhow; besides, I wanted to see how 
 she reacted to it. Elaine listened attentively, and made no 
 comment. She did not seem to want to discuss Linke. 
 
 "Did you tell the Inspector about that message you got at 
 Euston warning you fo steer clear of me?" she asked. 
 
 "Of course I didn't. You've got the letter. If you didn't 
 see fit to tell him about it, how could I?" 
 
 "That's all right. If I hadn't taken it from you, would you 
 have told him?" 
 
 "No," I said, a little irritably, "the letter was about you 
 and had your name in it. You don't suppose I would hand 
 over the correspondence of my friends to the police not 
 even," I added, remembering how she had dragged Jenny 
 off to see the body, "in the interests of justice." 
 
 "You mean by justice, the discovery of the man who killed 
 Linke," she said, with an odd inflexion in her voice. "Are 
 there any circumstances in which you would put them on to 
 that letter if you found yourself driven to it?" 
 
 "I might," I said slowly. "It would depend. I don't know 
 yet that the letter had anything to do with Linke." 
 
 She looked at me with the trace of a smile. 
 
 "No, we don't know that. I'm not thinking so much about 
 Linke just now. See here, Ken by the way you don't mind 
 being on the list as Ken, do you? Your father calls me Elaine,
 
 SPIKE ODOWD 103 
 
 anything else seems a little stiff after what we've hustled 
 through together this last two days. I feel like one of the 
 family." 
 
 "Do! It sounds much more comforting." 
 
 Elaine's eyes twinkled. 
 
 "You're certainly comforting, Ken. But let's get on. The 
 point is, not whether there's a connection between Linke 
 and that letter, but whether there's any between him and 
 the crash in the chalk-pit which I owe to you. Who's that 
 yonder?" she exclaimed, as a figure came in view, wheel- 
 ing a cycle up to the back entrance. Her nerves seemed less 
 steady than usual. 
 
 "It's the boy with the papers." 
 
 "Papers? Get them, quick!" 
 
 I was just as anxious to see them as she was. The papers 
 arrive late in these backwoods of ours. My father never looks 
 at anything but The Times; I let that go indoors and brought 
 the Mail and our local Hertford sheet out to the summer- 
 house, where we both searched them rapidly. To my surprise 
 there was only the briefest reference to the Linke case. It 
 was headed "Man-servant Found Shot," and the few details 
 given were as bald as the heading. The report must have 
 reached Fleet Street too late for any elaboration, the night 
 before. 
 
 It looked to me as if Begbie were holding the thing back 
 from the papers. I guessed that the journalists would be 
 flocking down quick enough if they winded the scent of this 
 case. . . . Lord Trent's footman murdered in a wayside 
 spinney, and apparently not a clue to show why or how the 
 crime was committed. There would be no keeping them away 
 from it. But the police often ride off their allies of the Press 
 until they are ready. Once they decide to ring the bell, the 
 music starts. 
 
 On the other hand, plenty of publicity was given to the
 
 IO4 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 death on the Cranwell Road ... so much so that it over- 
 shadowed the Linke affair. Here it was in large headlines. 
 I began to suspect Begbie of more subtlety than we had 
 given him credit for. 
 
 MYSTERIOUS CAR WRECK 
 
 UNIDENTIFIED BODY 
 
 The burnt-out remnants of a motor-car were found early 
 yesterday morning in a chalk-pit at the angle of a lonely 
 by-road two miles south of Cranwell village, in Hert- 
 fordshire. 
 
 Nearby lay the body of a man, so disfigured as to be 
 unrecognisable. The car was evidently travelling at high 
 speed when it crashed through a fence on the edge of the 
 pit. Investigations show that the driver of the car was not 
 alone and there was almost certainly at least one other 
 occupant at the time. 
 
 If so he or they have apparently vanished in the most 
 mysterious manner, for no other remains have been found, 
 nor was any report of the disaster made to the police nor to 
 other authorities, though the wreck must have occurred a 
 considerable time before the discovery was made. The loneli- 
 ness of the spot accounts for the fact that the flames were 
 not seen. 
 
 The car carried number-plates which are still legible and 
 have been traced. The number is found to be false; the plates 
 were substitutes or "fakes." The car is believed to have been 
 a large six-cylinder Buick which was stolen from a London 
 car-park two days ago. 
 
 Though the dead man is not certainly recognisable there 
 is good reason for the belief that he is one O'Dowd, com- 
 monly known as "Spike" O'Dowd, a dangerous character 
 who has served terms of imprisonment for jewel thefts, and 
 one for robbery with violence. 
 
 If this is correct, what was the errand that took O'Dowd 
 along the Cranwell Road, and how did the crash occur? 
 What has become of his companion, assuming that he had 
 one?
 
 SPIKEO'DOWD 105 
 
 There were two cars at or near the spot, probably at the 
 same time. The tracks of both are intermingled, but visible 
 in the dust of the road. One was shod with new Dunlop 
 tyres, the other had a set of Goodrich's. These latter lead 
 to the brink of the pit. The tyres on the wrecked car are 
 completely consumed by fire. 
 
 The stolen Buick had Goodrich tyres. 
 
 The car with the Dunlops has been tracked to the junction 
 with the Great North Road, where all trace of it is lost. 
 
 Here the account ended. It looked as if further information 
 was withheld. The finish was just a note of interrogation. 
 
 I read it at the same time as Elaine, both our heads close 
 together over the paper. I felt an enormous relief. 
 
 If this account was right, I had baulked a notorious jail- 
 bird who was out to commit a robbery, and had allowed him 
 to crash and break his neck. That was all there was 'to it. 
 They couldn't land me in any serious trouble for that nor 
 the two girls either; even though there might be a kick 
 because we hadn't gone straight to the police about it. Anyway 
 I had committed no offence. Very much the contrary; in fact 
 I thought they ought to present me with an illuminated 
 address and the freedom of Hertford in a golden casket. 
 
 But when I looked at Elaine I found she was not sharing 
 my satisfaction. She looked worried and anxious; I thought 
 she seemed disappointed with the news, such as it was. 
 
 "Spike O'Dowd?" I said. "Ever hear of him?" 
 
 "Never, until now." 
 
 "Well, he's just a commonplace jewel thief, evidently 
 or rather was. We certainly needn't worry about him. The 
 police will soon put that business right." 
 
 "If it were only that!" she said. "But who's the other man 
 the companion who was with him in the car? That's what I 
 want to know. What's become of him who was he is 
 he alive and has he got away with it? I've got to sit tight till
 
 106 BLOODMONEY 
 
 I find out. If I thought it was an ordinary jewel hold-up, I 
 wouldn't worry . . . especially as it's failed." 
 
 "Look here, Elaine," said I, "this isn't any vacation trip 
 to Europe you're taking. There was trouble of some sort for 
 you in the States, and you left to get quit of it; why don't 
 you let me help? Not that they'll start anything, after last 
 night's show!" 
 
 "I'm rather hoping they will," she said quietly. 
 
 "You hope they will!" 
 
 "Yes. I'd be easier in my mind if they did. But I'm giving 
 nothing away." 
 
 "Can't you see there's no getting away from this business 
 now? the police have placed O'Dowd and they '11 be tailing 
 the other man. If you're in any danger there's only one thing 
 to do tell them you were in it," I urged: "Tell them what 
 you know." 
 
 "You mean tell Inspector Begbie?" 
 
 "Of course!" 
 
 She looked at me with a queer little smile. 
 
 "Come now, Ken," she said, "did you tell Begbie all you 
 know about Linke?" 
 
 I was dumb. 
 
 "Dare you?" she continued. "No. And haven't you some- 
 one to consider besides yourself? Well, it's the same with 
 me. I've troubles of my own." 
 
 She rose and left me suddenly, taking the newspaper 
 with her, and disappeared into the house. 
 
 What did she know? What did she guess? And who was the 
 untraced companion of Spike O'Dowd, who had apparently 
 got away from the crashed car. Could Linke have given us the 
 key to the mystery, if he had lived? Was the stolid Begbie 
 likely to straighten all this out? And if he did, who would 
 pay the penalty? 
 
 I pieced it together as well as I was able; my own part
 
 SPIKE ODOWD 107 
 
 in it, my father's silence, the behaviour of Elaine, and the 
 fears of Jenny Craddock. And though I couldn't see my 
 way through it all, one growing conviction focused itself in 
 my mind, to the exclusion of everything else. 
 
 It had occurred to me before; it seemed such an odd idea 
 that I rejected it. But now I couldn't get away from it; it 
 looked to me a certainty. It surprised me that my father 
 hadn't tumbled to it too. 
 
 Ten minutes later I was hunting round for Elaine, deter- 
 mined to put it to her. Instead I came on Jenny Craddock, 
 all alone, in the morning-room. 
 
 She was looking much happier and more like herself; 
 she seemed to have got over the shock of the previous day. 
 She had a prettier frock on, though still a cheap one, and she 
 looked dainty enough to eat. It was the first time for twenty- 
 four hours that I had got her to myself. And I was full of 
 my new discovery.
 
 XIX 
 THE QUESTION 
 
 "WHERE'S Elaine?" I said quickly. 
 She looked at me with a touch of -surprise. 
 
 "Family news," said I, "I'm to call her Elaine we're all 
 friends and fellow-conspirators together; mustn't stand on 
 ceremony. We may be wearing numbers next if we're not 
 careful. I'm going to take the plunge and call you Jenny." 
 
 "Why, of course!" she said laughing. 
 
 "I'm Ken, under-dog of the gang. Try and get Ken by 
 heart, it's easy. Come and sit here on the sofa, I want to ask 
 you something." I made room for her and she sat down. 
 
 "You were asking me about Elaine," she said, though I 
 didn't care any longer where Elaine was. "She's gone out in 
 the Essex, and doesn't want me. She told me to stay in the 
 house, and " 
 
 "And avoid me, and tell me nothing?" I suggested. Jenny 
 flushed. 
 
 "Why do you say that? But you know I have to do what 
 I'm told, anyway." 
 
 "Do I? I'm not so sure. I'm sorry; I I'd hate to say 
 anything that could hurt you." 
 
 "You haven't. We've done more to hurt you, I think. 
 Have you seen this report in the papers?" 
 
 "Yes, and it isn't so bad; it needn't worry you." 
 
 "No, it's not so bad now," she said, but she shrank a 
 little. "I'm glad, because I don't see how it can harm you. 
 Only I wish it could be known, and this secrecy wiped out. 
 Far safer for her." 
 
 "Tell me," I said anxiously. "You must be scared stiff by 
 all this; do you want to get out of Stanways? It's a wonder if 
 you don't."
 
 THE QUESTION 109 
 
 "I can't go, as long as Elaine stays. And no, I don't 
 want to go, now. For one thing, Mr. Rolfe " 
 
 "Ken," I corrected. 
 
 "Ken I don't see I should be better off anywhere else. 
 I'd have nobody to help me at all." 
 
 "You won't want for that here," I said earnestly, "what- 
 ever turns up, your safety is going to be looked to first." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not worrying about myself!" said Jenny. "She 
 is taking more risk than I am. Who can tell how it will end? 
 Instead of clearing it up, we're wading deeper all the time. 
 Ken, can't you straighten it out can you see any light 
 through it at all?" 
 
 "Sure thing, I can." 
 
 "What is it?" she exclaimed, turning to me. 
 
 And then I blurted it out, the thing that had been in my 
 mind for twenty-four hours past. 
 
 " You are Elaine Corbyn. Your friend is Jenny Craddock, 
 if there's any such person as Jenny Craddock. But Elaine 
 Corbyn is sitting right next me on this sofa." 
 
 She stared at me in the blankest amazement; the idea 
 didn't seem to get home to her, she was obviously wondering 
 if I were crazy or intoxicated. I never saw anyone so sur- 
 prised, and when she realised I was serious she sat back and 
 went off into one fit of uncontrollable laughter. And I felt 
 the biggest fool alive. 
 
 I never heard a girl laugh so much or so whole-heartedly. 
 It was like a champagne bottle exploding and gurgling. I have 
 said her laughter was musical; at any other time I might have 
 found it so, but humour depends so much on the point of view. 
 
 "You know, Ken, you've been seeing too many motion- 
 pictures!" she said, drying her eyes with a little wisp of 
 handkerchief, her shoulders still shaking gently. "That's the 
 kind of idea they'd use for the star episode; a real mystery. 
 No, I'm not Elaine Corbyn."
 
 HO BLOOD MONEY 
 
 Then the laughter faded from her lips and eyes. 
 
 "Elaine Corbyn ... I wish to goodness I were," she said 
 under her breath. 
 
 "Why should you wish that?" 
 
 "Why! Ah, things would be different. . . . Life would be 
 easier for me worth living," she said with an earnestness 
 that startled me. The handkerchief was crushed into a ball 
 in her palm. Then she turned and laid a hand on my sleeve 
 with the most charming little gesture of penitence. "Ken, 
 I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to laugh at you. It seemed 
 so funny at the moment. But it really isn't at all. I only 
 wish " 
 
 "For goodness sake don't apologise to me I was just an 
 ass; it's good for a fellow to be laughed at. Somehow that 
 idea got into my head," I said hurriedly, and added with 
 much relief, "I'm frightfully glad you're not, that's all." 
 
 "Are you? Then that's all right, for you need not have 
 any doubts about it whatever," she said. 
 
 "And you needn't have any fears. You say you wish you 
 were Elaine; tell me, if you were, what would you do?" 
 
 "Do?" she said, her brow knitting. "I would find some- 
 body that I felt I could trust, I would tell them all there is 
 to be told and get them to help me through; I wouldn't keep 
 anything back." 
 
 "And very sound too," said I; "you think Elaine ought to 
 do that?" 
 
 "Elaine? It isn't for me to direct her. And life can be 
 very difficult for a woman." 
 
 "Life! What do you know about life; a child like you, 
 just pulled out of your home town and set adrift like this 
 at your age," I said. Her eyes twinkled with laughter. 
 
 "I'm twenty-three," she said quietly, to my surprise, for 
 I would never have placed her at over nineteen, "not quite 
 an infant, and I've had my ups and downs ; a girl matures
 
 THEQUESTION III 
 
 quicker than a man, and she's got her instincts to rely on too. 
 I may not be as wise as Elaine, but I think I know as much 
 of life as you do, Ken; even if I've not had quite your 
 experience." 
 
 "Thank your stars you haven't!" I said. "Would you say 
 I was a person to be trusted?" 
 
 "I haven't known you very long," she said simply. "But 
 I'd trust you to any extent." 
 
 Before I could say anything in reply to that and I don't 
 know what on earth I could have said I saw Elaine herself 
 standing in the open doorway at the far end of the room. 
 How long she had been there I don't know. She couldn't 
 have heard us, but she was staring straight at us; we were 
 innocent enough, but I suppose we must have looked very 
 intimate. There was that gleam of anger and resentment 
 in her that I had seen before, only never so marked as now. 
 
 She made the slightest little beckoning motion with her 
 head as she went out again, and Jenny rose and followed 
 after her as meekly as a dog. 
 
 I felt sick and savage with Elaine; I was fed up with it 
 all. My temper isn't of the best at any time. I saw no more 
 of either of them till dinner-time. Soon afterwards Jenny 
 retired upstairs by herself. In no mood for the company of 
 the others I retreated to the gun-room, and left it later, to 
 wander about the grounds by myself, in the darkness. 
 
 As I came back past the open windows on the terrace I 
 heard my father's voice; he must have been sitting close 
 behind the curtains. 
 
 "But, my dear lady," he said, "if she's in the way, why 
 don't you get rid of her?" 
 
 "Get rid of her!" said Elaine's voice, "I can't get rid of 
 her, I'm fond of her too and I owe a lot to her." 
 
 I hurried on and went to my own room. As I turned in I 
 wondered what it was she owed to Jenny.
 
 XX 
 
 THE INQUEST 
 
 FIVE days have passed since the discovery of Linke's 
 body; days remarkable for their quietude and absence of 
 sensation. It has all been so different to what I expected, I 
 can hardly realise it since it occurred to me to set down a 
 record of the affair in writing. I know this state of calm 
 cannot last, and I feel it is about to break. 
 
 It is strange that we have heard so little of Begbie that 
 confident official. His hunch doesn't seem to have come off; 
 or maybe he is developing it still. He came to the house only 
 once more, and had only a brief interview in the library with 
 my father, who afterwards gave me an account of it which I 
 didn't believe. Begbie did not ask to see me at all. The only 
 notable thing that has occurred during the five days, was the 
 inquest on Linke. 
 
 It was a formal affair, that inquest; from our point of view 
 it went very smoothly. Neither of the girls was required to 
 attend. Apart from the police witnesses, there were only 
 four people summoned. The first thing that transpired in 
 the enquiry was that Linke's references and credentials as a 
 man-servant in search of a place, and which on the face of 
 them seemed perfectly satisfactory, were faked, and cleverly 
 faked at that. 
 
 My father admitted that he had never troubled to verify 
 them. Servants were hard enough to get anyhow. He had 
 taken them at their value from the London agency who had 
 sent him Linke. The agency, it appeared, knew little or 
 nothing of him; agencies seldom do. 
 
 The police themselves admitted that they had not yet 
 been able to trace Linke. He was not known to them, and 
 was not on their records. In fact they were able to tell the
 
 THE INQUEST 113 
 
 Coroner just nothing at all about Linke, previous to the 
 date of his death. The only fact, obvious to everybody was 
 that he had been a shady character. The Coroner remarked 
 dryly that it was likely more would soon be known about 
 him. 
 
 My father testified that he had discharged Linke sum- 
 marily for misconduct. The misconduct was specified; 
 listening clandestinely to conversation between my father 
 and myself instead of attending to his duties. What was the 
 subject of that conversation? Lord Trent's arrangements 
 for the reception of his guests, who were to be met in London 
 by his son. Was there any need for secrecy about these 
 arrangements, and did Lord Trent at the time attach 
 importance to the fact that Linke listened to them? No, 
 none at all; Linke was dismissed for conduct that could not 
 be tolerated in a servant. I succeeded my father in the 
 witness-box, and, on oath, gave similar evidence. 
 
 They let us down very lightly. Not a tithe of those 
 searching queries that Begbie put to me at Stanways were 
 repeated by the Coroner. I had only to answer his questions; 
 they were very brief and direct. I wasn't bully-ragged about 
 the details of the talk I had with my father when Linke 
 listened to us as I had feared I should be. Nobody, not 
 even the jury, seemed to be much intrigued about that side 
 of the case. In fact I didn't have to lie at all. I think I made 
 a pretty good showing. I went into the witness-box inwardly 
 quaking, and came out of it greatly relieved. And yet I had 
 a secret conviction that there was trouble hotting up for us 
 all the time it was only postponed. 
 
 This was the first inquest I had ever attended, and it was 
 a revelation to me. I had expected the case to be threshed 
 out to the very last item. The truth is, there was nothing to 
 thresh out. No arrest had been made. There was no finger 
 to point definitely to anyone as having a motive for the
 
 114 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 crime. The police were careful not to do anything of the sort. 
 Probably they were not ready. Begbie gave his evidence with 
 reserve. 
 
 The jury were there to decide, on the evidence in hand, 
 how Linke had met his death. And that is what they did. 
 My father's movements, and mine, were accounted for. 
 Our housekeeper, a model of respectability, and the last 
 person, so far as was known, to have seen Linke alive, gave 
 her testimony. I could not seem to sense any sort of suspicion 
 that my father or I had dismissed this unidentified footman 
 and then shot him. The medical evidence was given, the 
 33 bullet was produced, the manner of the crime was 
 reconstructed. 
 
 "It appears, gentlemen," said the Coroner quietly, at the 
 conclusion, "that no evidence is yet available as to who was 
 present in Black Spinney with Linke on the night of the 
 1 3th, and fired the shot that killed him. That matter is still 
 under investigation, and may safely be left in the hands of 
 the police." 
 
 He summed up briefly, and gave his directions. The jury, 
 without leaving the benches, returned their verdict. 
 "Murder by a person or persons unknown." 
 As the spectators and witnesses shuffled out of the court 
 and the Pressmen, with an air of disappointment, closed 
 their note-books, I wondered how far there might be an 
 understanding between the Coroner and the police, and I 
 remembered that there is nothing final about an inquest. 
 My father voiced the same thought as I drove him home to 
 Stan ways. 
 
 "The beginning, not the end, my dear Ken. The Coroner 
 reports to Assizes, or the Court of King's Bench, and there 
 they hope eventually to see the benefactor of his country 
 who called the career of Peter Linke, facing the music 
 getting it in the neck, as our American friends would say.
 
 THEINQUEST 115 
 
 Do you know, I doubt if they'll ever lay hands on him," he 
 said, drawing thoughtfully at his cigar. "Poor Begbie! Ken, 
 I thought you behaved very well at the inquest." 
 
 I didn't want to discuss that with him. And my opinion 
 was that Begbie had a good deal more up his sleeve than my 
 father reckoned. Dad has always been an optimist. It is 
 lucky for him that he is also a philosopher. I kept out of his 
 way when we got back to Stanways. 
 
 What relieved me most was that nothing had been said to 
 us about the chalk-pit crash, and the police were still 
 reticent concerning Spike O'Dowd and his companion. 
 It did not look as if that had been joined up with the Linke 
 tragedy. But that there was such a connection I never 
 doubted, and I was waiting anxiously for it to flare up and 
 scorch us. 
 
 For two clear days Elaine has been away from us, entirely 
 on her own. In London, I believe. Dad may have known 
 where she was; probably he did, he was more in her confi- 
 dence than I. 
 
 She missed the inquest altogether. I can't say I missed 
 her. I had Jenny Craddock to myself nearly the whole 
 time, and I made the most of it. That was the happiest 
 forty-eight hours I had spent for many a month, with the 
 most delightful little companion in the world. And during 
 that interlude Stanways was a place of peace. 
 
 Jenny asked me about the inquest, or rather, seeing how 
 anxious she was, I volunteered the information. I gave her 
 a brief account, and told her to forget it for good. After that 
 we paid no more attention to mysteries or worries of any 
 kind. She said nothing about Elaine, and seemed glad to be 
 quit of her. We just had a good time, and threw caution to 
 the winds. 
 
 I drove her round the country in the Chrysler, we lunched
 
 Il6 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 in old wayside inns, where she was as pleased as a child over 
 black oak beams and swinging sign-boards. On the second 
 day I got a couple of rough ponies from a farmer, and we 
 rode over the chalk downs. To my surprise she rode like a 
 cowboy; I never saw a girl go better. She had an awkward, 
 kicking roan mare, and the way she handled it and galloped 
 over ground riddled with rabbit-holes gave me something to 
 think about, for there was no stopping her. I had thought 
 till then that she hadn't much pluck. Pluck! why she had 
 sand for six, when you knew her. And I got to know her 
 well. 
 
 I can't write about that time in detail; it is too delightful a 
 memory. I'm slow with women, but I began to think that 
 Jenny liked me. And if that was so I didn't care what else 
 happened. . . . 
 
 One thing I noticed was that my father had given up 
 trying to head me off from Jenny, though he was certainly 
 abreast of all that was going on, for he never missed any- 
 thing. He was particularly nice to her, she got on really 
 well with him, and she told me how much she liked him. 
 No one can be more charming than Dad when he chooses. 
 More than once I wondered if he had got the same fool 
 notion into his head that I had been caught by ... it looked 
 like it to me. He only tackled me once. 
 
 "Ken, you're an attractive lad," he said, "but it's strange 
 how badly you play your cards." 
 
 "Cards be damned," I said roughly. "I'm not playing 
 poker. What do you mean?" 
 
 "Don't get heated," he answered with that maddening 
 suavity of his. "I'm only calculating how many complete 
 blunders you've made since this business began." 
 
 "I made one pretty bad break anyhow," I said abruptly, 
 and then, feeling rather ashamed of myself and with a 
 return to the old confidence between us or perhaps I
 
 THE INQUEST 11J 
 
 wanted to see how he would take it I made a confession of 
 my challenge to Jenny. 
 
 He listened in silence, his eyes twinkling. 
 
 "Ken, my dear boy, you are rather absurd," he said. 
 "That little girl let you down very light. If you drop any 
 more bricks like that you'll deserve all you get. I see you're 
 off the track altogether; you're wandering in the woods." 
 
 "I'm not cut out for a witch-doctor; smelling out mysteries 
 isn't my line." 
 
 "You would sooner go philandering about the country 
 with a pretty girl. So might I have done at your age. No, 
 mysteries are not in your line. There's a refreshing directness 
 about you, Ken. But it astonishes me that a fellow with as 
 much straightforward horse-sense as you have should get 
 into such a tangle and not see the way out. Still, when the 
 opportunity arrives, I know you'll grab it," he sighed. "I 
 wish Elaine would come back. I don't know why, but I'm 
 uneasy about her." 
 
 "Not about Jenny?" 
 
 "No. She's in no danger." 
 
 That evening Elaine returned, as cool and matter-of-fact 
 as ever. She gave no account of herself, at any rate not to me. 
 She went straight upstairs; I think she had an interview with 
 my father, and I scarcely saw her till she came down to 
 dinner in a most overwhelming new frock that must have 
 cost a striking figure; and it was a striking figure that it 
 covered; I never saw Elaine look so well in anything. It 
 suited her colouring and her dark, expressive eyes to per- 
 fection. 
 
 No one would have guessed that any cloud was hanging 
 over her; she gave us her impressions of London, on a 
 first visit, and was cheerful and witty and cynical. My 
 father is good at that sort of thing, and the meal went gaily 
 enough except for Jenny, who subsided in a sort of timid
 
 Il8 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 reserve. Afterwards Dad retired to his library. Jenny passed 
 out, as if she had had orders to leave Elaine alone with me. 
 Coffee had been sent into the gun-room, which I always 
 consider the only home-like room in the house. Elaine made 
 a signal to me which I obeyed, and we followed in together 
 after the coffee. When we were alone she arranged herself 
 gracefully in the big arm-chair facing the window and turned 
 to me enquiringly.
 
 XXI 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 
 
 "EVERYTHING been quiet here?" asked Elaine. 
 
 "As the tomb," I replied. It was not a very happy way of 
 putting it, for Linke had, I understand, been buried that 
 day at Hertford. 
 
 "Was it as melancholy as all that?" she asked. 
 
 "It hasn't been melancholy at all, "said I, "as far as I'm 
 concerned. If you're thinking of the inquest, I suppose you 
 read the account in the papers; I've nothing to add to it. 
 Have you any news from London?" 
 
 She looked at me and seemed to be thinking hard; I had 
 a feeling that she was about to let me into her confidence at 
 last, yet she hesitated still. 
 
 "I wasn't thinking so much of Linke. I see the police 
 haven't really placed him yet, and you'd think they could do 
 that much, if he's an Englishman. But if he were an American 
 it would be understandable. Did it ever occur to you he was 
 that?" 
 
 It never had, while he was alive; his speech seemed to be 
 that of the average English servant. But looking back, I felt 
 less sure. I remembered too, that he had been here at least 
 a fortnight before the two girls arrived. 
 
 "Was he?" I said bluntly. "You told Begbie you didn't 
 know him. You wouldn't have said that, I suppose, if you 
 had!" 
 
 "No I should not. For it might be proved against me. 
 But like yourself, Ken, I am fighting rather shy of the 
 police," she said quietly. "I think they are beaten just at 
 present by both those cases. Linke is dead ... I should 
 think he was no great loss to honest folk. But I agree his 
 murderer ought to be brought to justice. He seems to
 
 I2O BLOOD MONEY 
 
 concern you, and Stan ways, more than he does me. His 
 mouth is stopped." 
 
 The phrase gave me a sudden, sick qualm. I looked at her, 
 and she met my eye quite calmly, continuing without a 
 break. 
 
 "What is in my mind now is those others the men who 
 chased us on Monday night. The police are stumped there 
 again. That looks very reassuring. Linke is dead; Spike 
 O'Dowd is dead, of that man who was with him there seems 
 to be no trace. And yet, Ken, I'd got a feeling which never 
 left me that I was trailed all the time I was in London. I 
 couldn't prove it, or pin it down in any way . . . yet there it 
 was." 
 
 "Trailed!" I exclaimed. "Well, what did you go alone 
 for? If anyone meant making trouble for you,* especially 
 after what's happened already, they'd be ten times likelier to 
 get it going in London than down here." 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "Of course I do. London for crooks, every time. Trailed! 
 Does it occur to you it may have been the police keeping 
 you under observation?" 
 
 She stared at me; then she gave a strained little laugh. 
 
 "What for? To get between me and trouble? How should 
 they know I need any protection?" 
 
 "Don't you be too sure what the police know, they 
 seldom give themselves away. I wasn't thinking of pro- 
 tection " 
 
 "You mean I'm under suspicion myself? Very likely 
 you're right, but if anybody trailed me in London it wasn't 
 the police. Something quite different. It was " 
 
 She broke off and turned sharply, as the door opened. 
 Her coolness was superficial, she was all on edge; I had never 
 seen her so jumpy. The intruder was Jenny, who stopped 
 short in the doorway, disconcerted as she met Elaine's eye.
 
 THEFACEATTHEWINDOW 121 
 
 "Am I not wanted?" she said, a little defiantly. 
 
 "Oh, come in," said Elaine, "and sit down. Jenny, Ken 
 tells me I made a mistake going to London alone. What do 
 you say?" 
 
 "He's probably right. But who can stop you doing what- 
 ever you've a mind to?" 
 
 "You don't mind, do you dear?" said Elaine with acid 
 sweetness. 
 
 "What's the use of my minding? It's been quiet enough 
 here." 
 
 "Quietness suits you so well." 
 
 I was edging for the door, anxious to make a getaway. I 
 didn't know what was the matter with them, but when girls 
 start scrapping it's no place for me. 
 
 "Don't go, Ken," said Elaine curtly. "I haven't finished 
 with you yet. Nor with you, Jenny." 
 
 "I'd rather you left me out of it," retorted the girl. 
 
 "But I want you to hear it," said Elaine, dropping her 
 voice. She motioned us to follow her to the ingle-nook at the 
 end of the room my room, too, my only private retreat in 
 the house. Jenny went reluctantly; for my part I made no 
 further objection. My temper was roughed up. If there was 
 to be a row I was ready for it. I judged from her manner she 
 had a revelation to make, and I wasn't going to miss it. 
 
 And as I passed by the window, I saw something out of the 
 corner of my eye that brought me up short. It was just the 
 merest glimpse. 
 
 The curtains were drawn, but the two tall casements were 
 open for the night was mild and close. Between the curtain 
 and the window jamb I saw the upper part of a face, a flat, 
 snakey head, so dim in the shadow that it would have been 
 passed unnoticed if the eyes had not moved. It was the 
 eyes that betrayed it, peering at me, bright and dark and 
 threatening.
 
 122 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 I broke into an oath that took no account of the two girls, 
 jumped across the room and went out through the window 
 with one bounce. I was just aching for something that I 
 could get a grip of, and here it was at last. I heard a scream 
 from Jenny, and Elaine's voice crying out excitedly : 
 
 "Get him, Ken. Get him!" 
 
 As I landed on the gravel path I saw the man flitting away 
 like a shadow across the lawn. I sprinted to cut him off from 
 the gate and he turned sharp left and I had got him. There 
 was a high wall with two blind corners beyond the laurel 
 hedge on that side, and no way out. 
 
 He reached the hedge not far ahead of me and plunged 
 through it before he found out his mistake. I was in after him 
 and heard a snarl and a scared oath as I grabbed at him in the 
 gloom and felt my ringers skate over a close-cropped head 
 that ducked out of reach; I just missed clinching with him 
 and for the moment he slipped me. 
 
 It was as dark as Hades in there between the hedge and 
 wall. I stopped dead, listening for the sound of him, heard 
 a crash among the laurels farther along I jumped through 
 and saw him racing back across the lawn for the gate, with a 
 start of half a dozen yards as I whooped and went after him 
 hell for leather. The hunting of Man there is nothing like 
 it on earth. While I ran, judging whether I had the speed of 
 him, I heard a cry. 
 
 Then a splitting crack, the white flash of a pistol-shot from 
 the window, and I was sprawling on my face on the grass.
 
 XXII 
 THE GIRL AND THE GUN 
 
 THE shock of the fall stupefied me for several moments, 
 till I was vaguely conscious of Jenny kneeling beside me on 
 the grass, raising my head, calling to me brokenly: 
 
 "Ken! Ken! . . . he's dying!" 
 
 There was a scuffle, and Elaine came flying out through 
 the window. 
 
 "You've killed him!" cried Jenny wildly. 
 
 "Ken, I haven't hurt you? Ken, speak to me!" 
 
 I hadn't breath to speak to anybody; the wind was knocked 
 out of me and my instep was nearly broken by a croquet 
 hoop I had tripped over I had stuck it there while teaching 
 Jenny the infernal game the day before. My mouth was full 
 of grass, my knee-cap wrung, and my shin bruised. I seemed 
 to be the centre of about seven pairs of female hands searching 
 me, and agonised voices asking where I was-hurt. 
 
 "Oh, for Mike's sake!" I said, staggering up, "I'm not 
 hit. If you were trying to hit me I'd be safe enough!" 
 
 The only thing certain was that the fellow had got right 
 away. I looked round the dark lawn and realised that pursuit 
 was hopeless even if I had been fit for it, and in a black fury 
 I limped back to the window and climbed into the room. 
 
 I turned to help Jenny in; she was trembling violently and 
 speechless with anger; for a moment I thought she was going 
 to fly at Elaine, who followed immediately afterwards, 
 breathing hard and very pale. She glanced at us both, looked 
 hastily round the floor, made a dart for a little black pistol 
 lying by the foot of the sofa, and snatched it up. I made a 
 jump and wrenched it out of her hand. 
 
 "Give me that!" she exclaimed. 
 
 I shoved it into my pocket.
 
 124 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Give it me, I tell you !" She broke off, as a step sounded 
 in the passage. "Ken!" she said under her breath. "Don't 
 give me away!" 
 
 Somebody fumbled with the door handle and my father 
 appeared, blinking at us like a man roused from sleep. 
 
 "Anything wrong?" he said, "I thought I heard " 
 
 "Nothing," said I shortly. 
 
 He peered at me, and then at Elaine and Jenny, and 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Funny thing I could have sworn . . . well, I'd shut that 
 window if I were you. Nasty raw night." 
 
 He backed out again without another word, and as the 
 door closed I heard Elaine draw in her breath. 
 
 "That's all right," she said. "It was about the worst 
 moment of my life, Ken, when I saw you go down on your 
 face. It's a pity that fellow who was watching got away. Gee!" 
 she added softly, "it was a pity!" 
 
 I stared at her stupefied. 
 
 "Who was he?" 
 
 "Who was he! Why I'd give the biggest reward that was 
 ever posted, if I could know that if I could be sure of that! 
 There was a chance to find out, to-night, and I've missed it. 
 My luck wasn't in, Ken. 
 
 "You remember when the Buick crashed in the chalk-pit, 
 and O'Dowd came to grief, there was a second man not 
 accounted for. This might have been he, I don't know. Until 
 I can get him out into the daylight I don't know what I'm up 
 against not for sure. And I've got to be sure." 
 
 "You can't do it with a gun!" 
 
 "Of course I can't. But if you want to know why I used it 
 then, I'll tell you. 
 
 "When you had that mix-up with him in the hedge and 
 came staggering out after him and collapsed, I thought he 
 must have knifed you or something. And so I pulled at him,
 
 THE GIRL AND THE GUN 125 
 
 and wouldn't have grieved if I'd killed him. You may say it 
 was a fool thing to do, but we all do fool things sometimes 
 when we're wrought up." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and gave a little laugh at she 
 turned to Jenny. 
 
 "You see, Ken isn't worrying at all over the chance of 
 getting hurt. What upsets him is finding that I own a gun." 
 
 "Have you had that beastly thing all the time?" said I. 
 
 "Yes. I've lived in places where it's a good thing to have. 
 I'm pretty useful with it by daylight. If you wish to know, 
 I would never use it if there were any way of doing without 
 it. You may say it's dangerous to own one; it may be more 
 dangerous not to." 
 
 "As for that porch-climber he's likely to take the hint and 
 keep running till his knees give out; which isn't what I 
 wanted. I'm afraid you wouldn't have caught him, anyway. 
 If I'd been alone I could have got acquainted with him. Now 
 it's uncertain what the next move will be. I simply daren't 
 give anything away. I'm fixed so that I have to play my own 
 hand, you see." 
 
 "Without putting this up to Begbie as anyone else would 
 do?" 
 
 "Now ask yourself, Ken, how can I? Think it over! And 
 don't suppose for a moment that I'm scared, either of one or 
 the other." 
 
 "It's the last thing I ever supposed of you ! " 
 
 Elaine laughed. 
 
 "For what I had to say to you and Jenny, it will wait till 
 the morning, and then you'll learn it for yourselves. And now 
 my gun, please." 
 
 I took the automatic out and turned it over in my hand. 
 I'm no gunman, and hate the feel of these little death-spitting 
 brutes. The breech was slightly blackened where the shell 
 had ejected itself.
 
 126 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Thirty-three Wesson old model," I said. "It was a 33 
 bullet from a Wesson so they tell me that killed Linke." 
 
 "And it might be this one eh?" she said, "so you see why 
 I can't leave it with you. Give it me, please!" 
 
 "You'll never see this again," I said, thrusting the pistol 
 into my hip pocket. I picked up the spent shell that had 
 rolled under the sofa, and pocketed that too. 
 
 She gave a queer little laugh, and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "I always get my own way in the end," said Elaine. "But 
 I'm tired now, and I'm going to bed. Good night, Ken." 
 
 She went out abruptly. I was left alone with Jenny; her 
 face was so strained and white that I caught her hands in 
 mine. 
 
 "Has this wretched business scared you so?" I said. 
 
 "Scared me? I'm only scared for Elaine and for you!" 
 she said, and gave me a look and a sudden trembling pressure 
 of her hands that set my heart racing; the touch of her was an 
 intoxication. In another moment I should have pulled her 
 to me and held her fast; I wanted her more than I ever 
 wanted anything on earth. But she drew away from me, 
 quick as a flash. 
 
 "Don't stop me now I must go," she said breathlessly, 
 and fled from the room. It seemed to me she was crying. 
 That was what broke me up. I spent a few moments cursing 
 the entire scheme of things, and registered an oath that I 
 would see this business through to the finish whatever came 
 of it. Jenny's troubles were mine. And I thought I saw the 
 way out. 
 
 I fastened the window and shutters, took out the little 
 Wesson, and cleaned it very carefully with a rod and a wad 
 of cotton- waste from the gun cabinet. There is individuality 
 even about a mass-production automatic such as Smith and 
 Wesson turn out by the thousand; I made a note of the 
 number, and noticed a long light scratch along the left side
 
 THE GIRL AND THE GUN 127 
 
 of the butt. The first place that occurred to me was the old 
 well behind the garage. 
 
 But after thinking it over I extracted the charger clip with 
 its row of shells, went out quietly by the back entrance and 
 consigned the clip to the depths of the well. The empty pistol 
 itself I locked in a back drawer in my old roll-top desk in a 
 recess of the gun-room. 
 
 I slipped a couple of duck-shot cartridges into the little 
 double zo-bore, took it upstairs and set it handy against the 
 head of my bed. If there were any shooting to be done I 
 would do it myself. After getting into pyjamas I smoked a 
 final cigarette sitting on the window-sill; the moon was 
 rising over the pines and everything was quiet, save for the 
 night wind stirring along the laurels. 
 
 I dropped into bed and fell asleep. For once my dreams 
 were pleasant; they were concerned entirely with Jenny. I 
 could still feel that quick pressure of her hands in mine. . . .
 
 XXIII 
 THE NEW CHAUFFEUR 
 
 A T eleven next morning I came out on to the drive feeling 
 in good spirits and unusually pleased with myself nearly 
 always a sign of a bad day to come. I stared wonderingly at 
 an immense Rolls-Royce that was drawn up opposite the 
 porch, glittering and brand new. It had a body of the most 
 sumptuous kind, and must have cost anything over three 
 thousand. 
 
 The thing positively smelt of wealth and luxury. At the 
 wheel, looking as if Stan ways meant nothing to him, was a 
 hard-faced man of about forty with small side whiskers, in a 
 subdued sort of uniform that matched the colour of the car 
 body. Even before I spoke to him I had the conviction that 
 he was Scottish ... I don't know why, but he had that air. 
 
 "Who on earth are you?" I said. 
 
 "My name's Andrew McRae, sir, and I'm engaged by Miss 
 Corbyn to drive this car for her; just delivered," he replied, 
 running his eye over it disparagingly. He spoke with a slight 
 Scotch burr. 
 
 "You're in luck to have it to drive," said I. "I take it you 
 despise any other job but this, and any car but a Rolls." 
 
 "Ye're wrong, sir," said the chauffeur calmly. "I'm a 
 man who can turn my hand to any job that comes along.' 
 
 I thought that was luckier still, if it was true. He would 
 probably find plenty, if he stayed at Stanways. But I saw 
 Elaine in the porch, and went to meet her. 
 
 "What do you think of the new flivver, Ken?" she said. 
 "The Essex didn't do me credit, and it's gone." 
 
 "I like your chauffeur," said I, "he says he can turn his 
 hand to any job, and if I were you the first I'd give him is to 
 shave off those whiskers; they don't go with the car. As for
 
 THE NEW CHAUFFEUR I2Q 
 
 the Rolls I should say it will lift Dad's credit sky-high. Are 
 you going to keep the thing here?" 
 
 "Yes but I'm not quite sure for how long. Will you 
 arrange for a place to keep it; so it will be handy if wanted?" 
 
 "I'll see to it now," I said, and went down to the garage 
 feeling depressed. The sight of that fifteen thousand dollar 
 car marked the gulf between myself and Elaine, and I thought 
 she was foolish to buy it and bring it here at such a time 
 as this unless she wanted to advertise herself and her 
 wealth. I shifted the Chrysler into the smaller shed to make 
 room for it. 
 
 The garage was at the far end beyond the old stable yard, 
 a considerable distance from the house, and as I was 
 returning I saw Elaine come out of the porch, closely 
 followed by Jenny. I had hardly a glimpse of them; the whole 
 thing happened so swiftly that it seemed to be done all in one 
 motion, yet without any obvious haste. In a few seconds both 
 girls were in the car, which at once glided away. There was a 
 big trunk strapped on the carrier. 
 
 The speed of a big Rolls is deceptive. It faded noiselessly 
 away down the park road at an incredible pace, and was gone 
 almost before I realised what had occurred. Elaine was 
 always a hustler. For a moment I chuckled, then a chill of 
 consternation struck through me. Was this the last of them? 
 Had Elaine given up and quit? 
 
 I hurried back to the house. It seemed as desolate and 
 empty as the rind of a stripped fruit, now that the two girls 
 were gone. 
 
 I found my father sitting by one of the side windows of 
 the hall which gave a view over the park and approaches. He 
 was frowning slightly, his cigar smouldered in an ash-tray 
 beside him, but when I came in he turned to me and appeared 
 perfectly at ease. 
 
 "She's cleared out!" I exclaimed.
 
 130 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "She'll come back," he said. "Don't look so lost, Ken. 
 You won't be long deprived of your fair lady." 
 
 "What do you mean, my fair lady!" I said furiously. 
 
 "Your dark lady, then," said my father, "don't take things 
 so hardly, my boy. I'm very well pleased, myself. Cultivate 
 philosophy, like me." 
 
 He left me seething with anxiety and resentment; still, I 
 did get some comfort from him he had such a way of being 
 right. But the more I thought it over the more convinced I 
 became that Elaine had taken final leave anybody who 
 could get away from Stan ways would be foolish to stop there, 
 and probably the best thing I could do was to clear out 
 myself; both on their account and mine. Yet I couldn't 
 believe they would both quit and leave me flat like that 
 without a word. But how did I know my movements were 
 not being watched? Some instinct told me not to quit. 
 
 It was one of the worst times I ever spent, till about nine 
 next night I passed by the landing windows and saw the 
 Rolls gliding noiselessly as a ghost along the track to the 
 garage. I hurried down, and there was Elaine coming up 
 the stairs alone. 
 
 "Hullo Ken!" she said. "How nice to be back in the old 
 home I was always a home-lover. Aren't you glad to see 
 me?" 
 
 "Glad! I've felt like mud ever since you went. This is my 
 lucky day. Where's Jenny did you leave her downstairs?" 
 
 She looked at me a moment before answering. Her eyes 
 hardened. 
 
 "No. I did not." 
 
 I had taken it for granted they had returned together. 
 Only now did I realise she had come back alone. She wanted 
 Jenny out of my way. She had always been hostile to me; she 
 had butted in and done her best to separate us every time she 
 got a chance to do it. Why did this woman think she had
 
 THE NEW CHAUFFEUR 13! 
 
 the right to run other people's affairs? A savage resentment 
 took hold of me; I would have given a good deal to tell Elaine 
 exactly what I thought of her, but I could only stare at her 
 speechlessly. 
 
 "No, that's not the reason," she said, quickly, answering 
 the thought that I couldn't put into words. "Try and get 
 yourself out of the picture for a moment. I want a free hand 
 here for the next few days; things are going to be difficult 
 don't you see that Jenny is best cut of it?" 
 
 I was a fool not to have thought of that; the loss of Jenny 
 seemed to blot out everything else. 
 
 "Where is she?" I said. 
 
 "In London. Lost among six millions of other nonentities, 
 and she'll stay there awhile." 
 
 I got the idea. Jenny had been dropped on one of the 
 many routes up to town the best way to lose her at short 
 notice. But I didn't believe for a moment that it was Elaine's 
 real reason for making that sudden getaway in the morning. 
 And it looked none too good to me. 
 
 "Do you suppose you can play hunt the slipper over 
 England in a brand-new Rolls that shows up like a flash- 
 light advertisement? Just because you had the speed of 
 Begbie you don't imagine he couldn't 'phone ahead of you 
 and get you marked down wherever you went?" I said, 
 impatiently. 
 
 Elaine laughed. 
 
 "I managed better than that. Get Begbie out of your head. 
 Now let me go up, and I'll see you when I've changed. I've 
 had a busy day and what I want is a little restfulness and 
 peace." 
 
 She left me feeling far from peaceful, though she always 
 had a gift for smoothing things over. I felt more certain 
 all the time that she had shifted Jenny for some reason of 
 her own, and not from any concern for the girl's safety.
 
 132 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 For when one got down to it, Jenny wasn't in any serious 
 danger. 
 
 There was a power and a driving force in Elaine that one 
 couldn't get away from. There was a wonderful charm and 
 attraction about her too, when she chose to use them. Only 
 one always felt there was some motive behind it which one 
 could not fathom. She had done practically what she liked 
 with me since she came to Stanways, often in the face of my 
 own judgement, and there are few people who have ever 
 done that. All that we had gone through together certainly 
 did bind us close; it was a tie that couldn't be denied or 
 shaken off. 
 
 Elaine had made an extraordinary difference to Stanways 
 already in the few days she had been there. She had got my 
 father to let her re-arrange the shading of the electrics, the 
 lighting and the curtains in the big hall. He was willing 
 enough to let her do whatever she liked. She had taste 
 a magic touch. I don't notice these things much, but I 
 thought I had never seen the old place looking so beautiful 
 as it did when I joined her in the hall later, the lights glowing 
 softly on the pictures and armour, and a fire of cedar logs 
 on the great hearth, scenting it all. She had made the place 
 look like home instead of like a barrack; it had been the home 
 of my race for centuries, and I wondered if the old Rolfes on 
 the canvases round the walls felt it too. Somehow it got right 
 hold of me. 
 
 Elaine was wearing an unusually simple evening frock, 
 and just a single little ruby hanging about her neck by a 
 gossamer gold chain. It's strange what distinction these 
 Western women have. I suppose she came of ordinary 
 work-a-day people, and even this freight of money had not 
 been with her long, but she looked a thoroughbred from 
 head to heel. She fitted Stanways better than I did. 
 
 We sat together in two deep arm-chairs near the fire;
 
 THE NEW CHAUFFEUR 133 
 
 there was something about her to-night that fascinated me; 
 I should have felt it much more if I had never met Jenny. 
 She wouldn't talk about the things I had my mind on, the 
 menaces and mystery that hung over us, and I was glad to 
 forget them for a few moments, though I tried to get started. 
 
 "Tell me about yourself, Ken," she said, leaning back in 
 her chair, the firelight playing on her face, "you're hard- 
 shelled, I never seem to get through your armour. What are 
 you going to do with your life supposing you come through 
 this thing with a whole skin?" 
 
 "Do? What is there for me to do here? If you hadn't 
 come I'd have been half-way back to the West by now. 
 That's where I really belong." 
 
 "And what do you think you'll find in the West? 
 Happiness?" 
 
 "Happiness!" said I, "that's a queer thing for a man to go 
 hunting. It's something that creeps into your heart when 
 you're not even dreaming of it it comes only to the for- 
 tunate. No to hoe a row for myself; follow my luck and 
 catch up with it and hold on. That's all I can hope to do 
 and that's what I'm out for the stuff." 
 
 "The stuff or happiness!" She gave a queer little laugh 
 and stopped with a catch in her voice. "Perhaps you'll find 
 them both." 
 
 "I wonder." 
 
 "Ken," she said, "do you think you need go so far? You 
 might make good, nearer home, maybe. You count for 
 something here, don't you; you've a good start and there's 
 much more to you than you believe." 
 
 "To me!" I said. "Why, what am I? Heir to thirty cents, 
 and a useless title. That counts for nothing these days. Less 
 use than ever, to a rough-neck like me." 
 
 "What makes you luck so hard against Stanways, Ken? 
 There's a great deal to that too. A pity to let it go."
 
 134 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Maybe I wouldn't, if it were what it might be. I've been 
 feeling that, more and more. To you, if it wasn't for the 
 things that have happened here, I should think it would 
 be as dull as death." 
 
 "Places don't mean so much to women, as folks do," she 
 said. "It's strange how blind men are." 
 
 She rose, and I remembered thinking how graceful she 
 was as she moved over to the radio set and opened it. It 
 was long since I'd taken much interest in the thing; my 
 father used it to get the racing news. She turned the switch, 
 and the old hall filled with a flood of ringing music the 
 dance orchestra at the Carlton. 
 
 Horn and saxophone and violin, fine heart-lifting stuff 
 as sweet as a blackbird's pipe and as merry as a nigger 
 whistling a breakdown, with just that note of sentiment in 
 it that gets your pulse going. Some people sneer at that 
 sort of music; it's always good enough for me. It brought 
 all London into Stanways like the touch of a magician, it 
 sang of wealth and yellow wine and laughter and the joy of 
 living. 
 
 And there was Elaine standing in front of me, smiling, 
 her dress shimmering, the ruby red on the cream of her 
 throat and the challenge in her eyes. 
 
 "You said you had no parlour tricks, Ken. Can you 
 dance?" 
 
 Dancing's one of the things I'm not so bad at in a 
 moment I had hold of Elaine and we were at it, in full swing. 
 It was an age since I'd had a girl in my arms, and in all my 
 life I've never had a partner like Elaine. She was wonderful, 
 she danced like thistledown. And she looked up into my 
 eyes and laughed. 
 
 "You're not so bad, Ken, for a rough-neck!" 
 
 It was an intoxication. I don't know how long it lasted, 
 how often we danced, nor what I said or did ... I thought
 
 THE NEW CHAUFFEUR 135 
 
 once I saw my father's face for a moment, at the end of the 
 hall, but it faded out. And at last the music died into silence. 
 
 We stopped, both of us, in the centre of the hall . . . and 
 old Big Ben lifted his midnight voice, boom after boom, 
 solemn and slow, the great bell in the Clock Tower sixty 
 miles away came to us as clear as if we were standing in 
 Westminster under the shadow of the Abbey. That deep 
 bronze voice . . . how the memory of it stirs the heart of the 
 exile. And I felt Elaine's heart beating against mine. 
 
 I was spellbound; till the end came and the last note died 
 away I don't think I realised that I was holding her to me, 
 my arms round her. And she stayed like that, as quietly as 
 a child. . . . 
 
 I went up to bed, my head swimming. . . .
 
 XXIV 
 AGAINST ORDERS 
 
 I CANNOT in this record of events, set down what 
 happened at Stanways during the next three days. A woman 
 might write it, but it's beyond me. 
 
 Begbie never came near us. The mysterious watcher, too, 
 seemed to have quit, perhaps he found Stanways too 
 dangerous. No news reached us at least none reached me. 
 It was the calm before the tempest. And yet for me it was 
 the fullest time I had had since our guests first came, and the 
 most difficult. 
 
 Elaine and I were together nearly all the while. I see now 
 that I never understood her. She compelled admiration, 
 and, in a sense, devotion; quite apart from her bright, quick 
 brain and her courage, there was something great about 
 Elaine. And behind it, as I thought, there was something 
 little; a bitterness or a vindictiveness, though she did not 
 show it to me openly. 
 
 If I were the sort of fool who thinks it natural that a 
 woman should care for him and make him her chief interest 
 in life, I might have had some excuse for thinking it during 
 that time. But always there was the lurking conviction in me 
 that at the bottom of her heart she rather disliked me; that 
 she had it in for me and wouldn't be sorry to lead me on and 
 then let me down with a crash. 
 
 I couldn't get that out of my head. What her reason was 
 I could not fathom unless that she resented the idea that 
 my prospective title and position were a prize, and there was 
 some strain of cruelty in her that led her to get me to her 
 feet and then leave me flat. 
 
 It angered me; I couldn't see why she should think so, 
 and out of sheer perversity I played up to her for all I was
 
 AGAINST ORDERS 
 
 worth; she wasn't Jenny, and I did not care what she might 
 do or not do. It was her treatment of Jenny that galled me. 
 I was willing to do anything to keep on the right side of 
 Elaine rather than risk losing Jenny. 
 
 Lord forgive us! what a poor show we make when we 
 start judging each other, and how little I knew of Elaine. 
 It was Jenny who was in my mind all the time; and I tried 
 to keep it from her not to let her see it. 
 
 The odd thing was that when Elaine was not with me, 
 she was generally with Dad. She would sit with him in the 
 library by the hour together; what they had to say to each 
 other I never knew. On these occasions she didn't want me; 
 I suppose she felt the need of getting next to a superior 
 intelligence to mine. It was on the evening of the second 
 day that Dad remarked to me with unusual seriousness: 
 
 "You seem to be getting on excellent terms with Elaine, 
 Ken." 
 
 "You think so, do you?" I said. 
 
 "Surely it's obvious." 
 
 "Since you see so much," I said, exasperated, "can't you 
 see she intends doing her best to make a fool of me; though 
 why she should take the trouble I don't know." 
 
 "I don't see how she can make a more complete fool of you 
 than you are, my dear Ken. Even Elaine cannot improve on 
 Nature. I mean, of course, a fool where women are concerned. 
 I suppose you were born blind, like a puppy, and have never 
 got your eyes open." 
 
 "Blind to what! Look here," I said hotly, for my nerves 
 were rasped beyond endurance, "it sickens me to be talking 
 of a woman in this way behind her back, but you must be 
 blinder than I if you suppose Elaine is the woman I would 
 ask to marry me. Is that idea still in your mind has it come 
 back to you? If so get it out it's the one thing on this earth 
 that will never happen now."
 
 138 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "Is that final?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "It's completely final. So forget it." 
 
 "Very well," he said. 
 
 He turned away, and paused to look back at me. 
 
 "That being the case take one word of advice from me, Ken, 
 and stop playing with fire . . . the kind of fire that has burned 
 better men than you to a cinder." 
 
 He retreated into the library and closed the door. I was 
 rather taken aback by the quiet way he accepted the situation. 
 I thought we were on the brink of what had never happened 
 between us before; an explosion and a quarrel. I was ready for 
 it, yet it was a relief to know we had escaped it. But I had 
 never been able to fathom my father's mind; to me he was 
 impenetrable as the Sphinx. 
 
 He must have known for some time past that the only 
 woman I cared for was Jenny. That fact was fatal to all his 
 plans, and he knew it yet he didn't seem to object to it any 
 longer. I wondered more than once if he had anything to do 
 with her disappearance from Stan ways. But it was not so. 
 That was Elaine's doing, and Elaine's only. 
 
 Elaine and my father were alone together a long time that 
 afternoon. I cleared out, and took the Chrysler into Hertford. 
 When I got back in the evening they were still there; I saw 
 their shadows on the blind as I came up the drive. They 
 were making a lengthy sitting of it. I knew Elaine would be 
 wanting to see me, but I felt I couldn't stand any more. 
 All I wanted was to be out of her way. I wanted to be quit of 
 the whole business; I was sick of it, sick at heart. 
 
 Somehow I could feel there was fresh trouble coming, just 
 as fish sink to the bottom and lie sullen when they feel there's 
 thunder in the air. How close the crisis was to me I never 
 guessed, nor its nature. If I had, I couldn't have stayed to 
 face it. I should have left that accursed house within the hour.
 
 AGAINST ORDERS 139 
 
 It was close on seven when, coming downstairs, I saw from 
 a landing window one of the Brookfields hiring cars sneaking 
 quietly away from the front door. I went down, wondering 
 who had deserted us. I found instead that it was an arrival. 
 
 It was Jenny! My heart leaped at the sight of her, and all 
 the shadows and doubts that were oppressing me lifted like 
 a mist when the sun breaks. She was standing alone in the 
 porch, muffled in a fur cloak and a hat that concealed pretty 
 well everything but that adorable little nose and mouth of 
 hers. She had opened the door herself and seemed trying to 
 summon up enough courage to enter the house. I hurried 
 down to her, calling her by name, my hands outstretched to 
 take hers. I hardly knew what I said or did. 
 
 "Are you surprised to see me or glad?" she said with a 
 shy little laugh that went to my heart, and she put her hands 
 in mine as impulsively as a child. "I had to come back I 
 simply had to," she added quickly, "how are things going 
 here?" 
 
 "All quiet on the front!" I said, and true or not I didn't 
 care; nothing mattered except that she had come back. 
 If there was any looking after Jenny to be done that was 
 going to be my job, anything was better than not knowing 
 what had become of her. 
 
 "I know I oughtn't to have come, but I'm going to see 
 for myself what's doing here, and what is happening to you," 
 she said as we entered the hall. Elaine was coming down the 
 great stairway in a gorgeous orange and black evening frock, 
 and Jenny stopped dead. "Now there's going to be a row!" 
 
 Elaine halted and gave her a clear, dark stare, which 
 Jenny met with a tilted chin and the quaintest little air of 
 defiance, but said nothing. 
 
 "So here you are in spite of my orders," said Elaine 
 sharply. "Well, come upstairs. I've plenty to say to you, 
 and you may as well hear it now."
 
 140 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "I think now is the best time for it it's what I've come 
 for," said Jenny, and they went up together, Elaine towering 
 over her like as it seemed to me a policeman with a 
 prisoner. It galled me so much to see it that all my old 
 hostility to Elaine returned, but it didn't damp me too much 
 I had a feeling that Elaine was going to get as good as she 
 gave and my spirits were too high for damping. I met my 
 father coming out of the gun-room. 
 
 "Jenny's back!" I said. 
 
 "I saw her arrive," he replied, "and I saw you greet her, 
 Ken. I'm glad she's come back we've all missed Jenny. The 
 old place hasn't been the same without her. I'm not sorry 
 to see you cheering up. But one word of advice my dear boy, 
 take care what you're about with Elaine. She isn't too 
 pleased, and you don't know what you're in for." 
 
 He paused, as if expecting me to ask a question, but I 
 left him and went to my room to change. I neither under- 
 stood him nor cared much what trouble came along, as long 
 as Jenny could be steered wide of it. But when the girls came 
 down to dinner and we all got together, Jenny was keeping 
 her end up better than Elaine. 
 
 If there had been any sort of a row between them, it 
 looked to me as if Jenny had had the best of it. She had 
 thrown off her timidity, she laughed and sparkled and was 
 more delightful even than I had ever seen her; she was 
 wearing a simple but amazingly pretty frock that I suppose 
 she had bought in town, and she talked as though she had 
 been up on a vacation instead of being whisked away at a 
 moment's notice and trailed by the police. I could not take 
 my eyes off her. My father was as charming to her as she was 
 to him. He was evidently delighted with her, and he kept 
 the balance between her and Elaine with a tact I could never 
 have approached. But it wasn't too successful. 
 
 Elaine was unusually silent and reserved, and rather pale.
 
 AGAINST ORDERS 141 
 
 I had a sense of something tense and electric in the situation; 
 there was thunder brewing. Even under Jenny's gaiety was 
 a veiled uneasiness. I had a feeling of danger, outside and 
 around us, enveloping us all. 
 
 As I looked across the table at Jenny a pang of swift, 
 sharp anxiety shot through me. She shouldn't have come 
 back. If anything went wrong here at Stanways, and some 
 unforeseen tragedy drew her into its net, I would never 
 forgive myself as long as life lasted. 
 
 "What's the matter, Ken!" she said to me, laughing, 
 "I've never seen you so quiet." 
 
 "I'm quietest when I'm happy," I said, "when you hear 
 me raising a riot you'll know things are going wrong." 
 
 I got away when the three of them went into the library 
 for coffee, and took a turn round outside the house. It was 
 very dark, and a sprinkle of rain was falling; it had been 
 showery and close all day. I can think better in the open air, 
 the closeness of the dining-room and the sickly scent of 
 arum lilies with which the housekeeper had decorated the 
 table stifled me. Then I came in and made for the gun-room, 
 and my private desk in the recess. The windows and shutters 
 were fastened. 
 
 I unlocked the roll-top and snicked down the concealed 
 catch of the little drawer at the back, where I had deposited 
 the Wesson automatic on the night I took it from Elaine. 
 
 The pistol was gone.
 
 XXV 
 
 THE OPEN DOOR 
 
 ELAINE'S gun, which she ought never to have owned, 
 had disappeared. I had not touched the desk since the 
 moment I put it there, it was double-locked and the key was 
 on my ring. Who had taken the thing? Elaine certainly 
 couldn't have known where it was, much less get at it. I 
 stared at the empty drawer, it seemed to leer back at me, as 
 if to say, 'Now what?' 
 
 I went after Elaine at once. She had got to hear about this 
 without delay, I liked the look of it less than ever. Neither of 
 the girls were in the library, and there was no sign of my 
 father. I guessed what had happened. Elaine had asserted 
 her authority and packed Jenny off to bed, probably on the 
 pretext that she was tired after her journey. That was all to 
 the good; I wanted to get Elaine by herself. 
 
 There was a boudoir next the room and opening out of it 
 it had been fitted up for her as a boudoir anyhow and I 
 suppose that's a good enough name for it; it was the best 
 room on the floor and was Elaine's inviolate sanctuary; 
 she spent most of her time there when she wanted to be 
 alone. But the time for privacy had gone by, she had got 
 to see me. 
 
 I made for the door and was just about to rap, when I 
 stopped short; both the girls were there together, their 
 voices, raised in dispute, came muffled through the panel, 
 rapidly and so mingled that I couldn't sort out one from 
 the other or tell which was speaking. 
 
 "I tell you I can't go on with it! ... it's more than I can 
 stand! . . ." 
 
 "You've got to ... you gave me your word you would see 
 it through . . . you have to stick to that. ..."
 
 THEOPENDOOR 143 
 
 And then in a choking tone, with what sounded like a 
 sob: 
 
 "If anything goes wrong now ... I think I'd kill myself!" 
 
 I quitted on the spot hurried away uneasily down the 
 passage. What it was about I didn't know, but one couldn't 
 lurk behind a door and listen to that sort of thing one 
 member of the household had been shot for eavesdropping, 
 and deserved what he got. 
 
 I had the wind up. I didn't feel I could butt into Elaine's 
 sanctuary and interrupt the two of them at a moment like 
 that. And if they happened to open the door and discover 
 me there, what should I look like? I got out of it and went 
 down into the hall. 
 
 Then I began to rage at myself. What was this new trouble 
 between them? It hadn't anything to do with the pistol, 
 Jenny could not know about that, which was the foremost 
 thing in my mind. I had had a very good reason for stowing 
 the thing away as I did, but now that it had disappeared I 
 felt I had done a mad thing in keeping it; I ought to have 
 buried it or dropped it down the well. 
 
 And Jenny, as if there were not perils enough for her 
 already, was up against it in Elaine's room, probably being 
 bullied out of her senses. On top of that, the thought of 
 what she might have to go through later, maddened me. All 
 because I had been too much of a coward to interfere between 
 the two girls. 
 
 I started back for the stairs, determined to tackle it, and 
 just then I heard the door above open, and one of them 
 coming down. I halted for a moment and drew back a little 
 way to make sure which of them it was. Jenny's slim little 
 form appeared, crossing the hall, walking slowly, her head 
 bowed; she didn't see me, and as the light fell on her face I 
 saw she had been crying. . . . That finished me, I went over 
 to her in three strides and opened the gun-room door.
 
 144 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Jenny," I said, "come in here." She looked up at me, 
 startled, but she seemed glad of any refuge, she went into the 
 room and I faced her. 
 
 "There's something I must say to you; it's this. You're 
 being made miserable here. I can't bear to see it. I'm not 
 going to stand by and look on at it any longer. You were 
 never meant for unhappiness like this." 
 
 "How do you know I'm unhappy, Ken?" 
 
 "How do I know! Do you think I can't see it, and feel it 
 in every nerve do you suppose I'm blind?" 
 
 "Perhaps I'm only frightened." 
 
 "You're not frightened I don't believe you've ever been 
 frightened, so much as wretched and worried, treated the 
 way you are. And all this mystery and danger tangling you 
 and getting hold of you; I'm going to finish it!" 
 
 "Ah, I wish you could!" she said, and then, hurriedly, 
 "but it can't be done; you've been so good to me, Ken to 
 us both but don't you see " she hesitated, "all this, is 
 outside you . . . it it isn't your affair." 
 
 "It is my affair!" I said. 
 
 And then everything went by the board. It was like no 
 declaration I ever heard or read of; I suppose these things 
 oughtn't to happen like an explosion. 
 
 "It's my affair because I love you, there's no one else on 
 earth I care for or ever shall; Jenny, darling ... I want the 
 right to look after you, and I'm going to take it." 
 
 "Ken!" she gasped, "stop . . please . . .!" 
 
 But I saw the look in her eyes that I'd never dared to 
 hope for and I knew I was right at last; it sent me off my 
 head, and though she tried to stop me I caught her like the 
 rough I was and held her close. 
 
 "Jenny, beloved . . . you do care! Say you love me . . . 
 say it! say it! and let everything else go." 
 
 And that is what she did. She clung to me like a child,
 
 THE OPEN DOOR 145 
 
 her arm about my neck, and lifted her face to mine in 
 surrender. 
 
 "Ken!" she whispered, "Ken!" and our lips met. . . . 
 
 The delirious happiness of that moment. I could have 
 blessed every incident, every intruder from Begbie and 
 Linke downwards, that led up to this. Nothing mattered in 
 the world, but the love that was between us two. Certainly 
 not the thing that happened next. 
 
 I saw something that made me lift my head for a second. 
 There was Elaine herself, standing on the threshold. 
 Motionless as a statue for a moment or two; her eyes queer 
 and luminous, the light shining full on her face, her lips 
 smiling oddly; she drew back without a word and was 
 gone. 
 
 Much I cared who saw us, this was our affair, not Elaine's. 
 But Jenny slipped out of my arms and swiftly as a squirrel, 
 backed away from me. Her face had changed. I looked at 
 her in wonder and anxiety. Why should she care now? 
 
 "Ken don't!" she said, as I came after her, "oh, my 
 dear my dear I should never have let you. You don't 
 know what you've done. ..." 
 
 "The best thing in my life," I said, closing the door 
 quickly and coming back to her, "about the only good 
 thing so far. Jenny, dearest little girl on earth, what's the 
 matter! Elaine isn't in this. Nothing more about Elaine 
 Elaine's fine, but we don't want to hear of her now; Ken and 
 Jenny; Jenny and Ken get that by heart, and now come here 
 and tell me again. You've made me just mad with happiness." 
 
 "I was mad to let you . . . not now, Ken . . . not yet! 
 Nothing can come of it!" she said wildly, "it isn't possible. 
 You don't understand. ..." 
 
 "Now stop telling me I don't understand darling; all 
 that's done with," said I, "I'm going to understand this 
 thing down to rock bottom. As for nothing coming of it,
 
 146 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 you've told me you love me and all's said. I'll let nothing on 
 earth stand between us!" 
 
 I had both her hands and was drawing her to me, but her 
 face was turned to the closed door with the strangest look, 
 and I felt her tremble as she held back. 
 
 "You don't know what you're saying!" she whispered 
 "... and Elaine. What is she doing? Ken, I don't think I've 
 been frightened before, but now ... I'm terrified. There's 
 something . . . something happeniiig. . . /' 
 
 "What can be happening?" I said, and tried to laugh. It 
 was not a success. Suddenly the fear that she felt passed to 
 me and got hold of me. I couldn't have put a name to it; 
 an indefinable dread. There was silence for a few moments, 
 silence so complete that without it I don't think either of us 
 would have heard that faint, muffled crack like the distant 
 snap of a whip, somewhere away off down the passage. A 
 single shot, the report of an automatic the silence again. 
 It set every nerve in me jangling, and I saw the terror in 
 Jenny's eyes. 
 
 "Stay here. Don't move don't leave this room!" I said, 
 and ran out, swinging the door to. 
 
 The hall was quiet and empty, the house seemed deserted. 
 
 "Elaine!" I cried. 
 
 Not a sound. The noise had seemed to come from some- 
 where to the right, down the unlit east corridor. I ran 
 along it and flung open the door of the long gallery. The 
 place was in darkness and I clicked on the lights nothing 
 there. Out into the passage and to the left again. ... I saw 
 a gleam of light under the door of the morning-room, 
 opened it and pulled up short on the threshold. 
 
 An acrid smell of powder hung faintly in the close air, 
 yet for a moment the room seemed untenanted. The wall 
 lights on one side were turned on; both windows were 
 closed, the large one and the little casement in the recess by
 
 THE OPEN DOOR 147 
 
 the fireplace. Then, in the shadow cast by the table with its 
 heavy dark covering Elaine lay at full length . . . the glitter 
 of the ring on the little hand that lay outstretched, so white 
 against the carpet, and close by it a small black Wesson 
 pistol her own pistol. The wound in her temple under the 
 wave of bright brown hair . . . the red stain where her head 
 rested. . . . 
 
 I ran to her and kneeled, raising her shoulders, calling her 
 wildly by name; for a moment her eyes opened slightly, 
 half conscious and unseeing, but they met mine, and closed. 
 Her head dropped back, she grew so cold ... so cold, and 
 everything went black around me. 
 
 How could I ever have dreamed of this, or for an instant 
 have thought it possible? How could any man dare let him- 
 self imagine such a thing? The life that she had taken I 
 would have given mine ten times over to have prevented 
 this. 
 
 I could even feel and understand what she had done, for 
 in the agony of that moment of realisation I had a blind 
 impulse to snatch up that accursed little black weapon that 
 lay ready to my hand and turn it on myself and finish every- 
 thing . . . rather than meet all this and answer for it. It was 
 so easy, and so quick. But that wouldn't give her life . . . 
 and it would shield no one but me. 
 
 I rose up unsteadily and saw the door was swung wide; 
 Jenny's hand was holding it open, Jenny stood there looking 
 . . . staring past me at Elaine where she lay in the shadow. 
 I saw her sway blindly and had only time to catch her before 
 she fainted.
 
 XXVI 
 INSPECTOR PALKE 
 
 I LIFTED her out, and the door of that fearful room 
 swung slowly behind me with a click, as if some unseen hand 
 had closed it. Jenny lay unconscious in my arms ... I carried 
 her into the gun-room and laid her on the couch, left her there 
 and darted across to the library, nearly running into the house- 
 keeper, who was just coming in through the service door. 
 
 "My father!" I cried, "where is he?" 
 
 Instead of answering she turned a red, shiny face to me, 
 panting heavily; the fringe under her cap was wet with rain. 
 The woman seemed stupefied. My face and voice might 
 well have frightened her. She was staring at my hands. 
 
 "His lordship, sir? I don't think he's in the house. He " 
 
 "Find him!" I said savagely, and shutting myself in the 
 library, flew to the telephone. The emergency call went 
 through to Tilden instantly, and it must have been less than 
 a minute after I left the morning-room when the reply came 
 through; a woman's voice. 
 
 "Dr. Tilden just leaving in his car, sir if it's urgent 
 I'll try and stop him." 
 
 "You must stop him! It's life and death. Call him back!" 
 
 Tilden's voice reached me. While I waited I noticed for 
 the first time that there was blood on my raised hand and I 
 shifted the receiver quickly into the other. Always, however 
 hopeless one knows it to be, some gleam of hope awakens at 
 the very name of a doctor; it is the healer to whom one flies 
 first, not to the law. I blurted half a dozen words into the 
 'phone, such facts as he needed and as I was able to give him. 
 
 "Get to your car and drive like hell! Yes . . . through the 
 temple ... I don't know ..." I said huskily. "Here Tilden 
 is there anything I should do before you come?"
 
 INSPECTOR PALKE 149 
 
 "No! The less you meddle the better I'll be there right 
 away." 
 
 A click as the line was cut; I jerked the hook and called 
 again, sending the emergency summons through to the 
 police. I knew I should have called them first. What could 
 a doctor say, except that awful, stereotyped phrase they use 
 in reports? The exchange operator seemed asleep. Then a 
 deep bass voice rasped in my ear; the station-sergeant. 
 
 "Stanways a woman shot. Is Begbie there? Get him to 
 the 'phone quick man, quick!" I cried. 
 
 Begbie the last man on earth I had ever wanted to see 
 again. And the summons had to come from me. Everything 
 must come out everything. We had done with conceal- 
 ment, all of us. It seemed an eternity before he reached the 
 'phone. 
 
 "Rolfe speaking . . . that you, Begbie? . . . Come over at 
 once . . . Miss Corbyn . . . shot. . . ." 
 
 The receiver jerked and buzzed in my ear, maddeningly. 
 I couldn't hear Begbie's reply. 
 
 "Don't talk, man get here!" I said, "I can't tell you over 
 the wire. Yes . . . Tilden's on the way." 
 
 "Hold on!" said Begbie, and I heard him calling out a 
 name I didn't know, and muffled sounds of activity at the 
 other end of the wire. In a few moments Begbie's voice 
 snapped back at me. 
 
 "Stand by don't leave the place. Be sure you're there 
 when I come, and touch nothing get me!" 
 
 The receiver clicked like a pistol shot, and I got on to my 
 feet and went unsteadily out of the library. . . . Exerting all 
 the will-power I had got left, I managed to pull myself 
 together; it was no time to be showing weaknesb. 
 
 I heard a door slam somewhere, and a voice calling out 
 I did not know whose. But the hall was empty. I had to get 
 back to that room. Back to the morning-room again. It
 
 150 BLOODMONEY 
 
 seemed darker than ever in the unlit passage. My hand shook 
 as I hurriedly pushed open the door, which resisted, for it 
 had one of those spring cylinder devices fixed on the inner 
 side. It swung to behind me as I entered. 
 
 And there I stopped, stupefied, blinking in the glow of 
 the light. I was alone in that room. It had no other tenant, 
 living or dead. 
 
 The body was gone! 
 
 For a moment or two it seemed to me that the whole 
 dreadful incident was an illusion; that it had never happened 
 at all, that this was a nightmare. Elaine was gone. The damp 
 night wind, blowing in through the open window, roused 
 me. 
 
 But the relief that rouses a man from an evil dream was 
 not mine. For the pile of the carpet was still red and wet 
 where her head had lain; near by, just where it had been left, 
 was the Wesson Elaine's pistol the same that for a week 
 past had been locked in my desk, with the lightish scratch 
 along the dark iron of the butt. 
 
 The window, that had been shut when I first came in, was 
 wide open; the sash was up as high as it would go. A light 
 rain was beating in, the floor was flecked with stains of mud 
 and gravel, I could feel the little stones gritting under my 
 feet as I stood. 
 
 I ran to the window and vaulted out. Whoever had been 
 into that room since I left, I might be hard on their heels yet. 
 What devil's work they were after I couldn't guess, nor was 
 there time for thought. 
 
 I stared through the darkness, listening and peering, and 
 wondered for a moment if I were going insane, so ghastly 
 and unreal did it all seem. There was not a sound but the 
 soft whisper of the rain. 
 
 Then, as my eyes focussed to the gloom, I saw something
 
 INSPECTOR PALKE 151 
 
 like a dim shape, moving slowly and clumsily, out against the 
 sky-line in the park, beyond the garden rails. I made for it 
 as hard as I could pelt, vaulting the fence and running up 
 the slope towards it. Away it went at a quickened pace, and 
 I raised a yell and was after it in full pursuit, crazy to get to 
 grips with something; till I found it out-distancing me, heard 
 a snort and a beating of hoofs I pulled up short, cursing 
 myself for a fool. I had been chasing one of the park ponies. 
 
 Away ahead of me to the left, three hundred yards 
 distant in a line from the morning-room window, was a 
 dark belt of firs on the edge of the park, bordering a narrow 
 lane that led away to the main road. Was it fancy, or did I 
 see a spark of light moving there? Off I went again. It would 
 be just the place for anyone to conceal a car, if they were 
 reconnoitring the east side of Stanways by night and expec- 
 ting to make a getaway in a hurry if necessary. 
 
 If so, they had made it, and probably some time before I 
 quitted the house at all, for when I reached the belt there 
 was nothing. But I had a petrol pipe-lighter with me, and 
 by the dim flare it gave I searched over the ground, and sure 
 enough right beside me on the edge of the belt by the lane 
 were the fresh marks of tyres printed deep, where a heavy 
 car had rested, and the spirts of soil thrown up when she 
 had started away. The tracks led off down the lane, the lighter 
 blew out, and I could not follow them further. 
 
 I ran to the end of the belt and listened. Certainly I could 
 hear a car; a very low, deep, distant hum. But it was some- 
 where away on the other side of Stanways, it was receding 
 and fading, evidently a high-power machine going at speed. 
 
 Straight ahead, in the right direction for a car making 
 away from the place where I stood, the glow of powerful 
 headlights were visible, but fully a mile off and approaching 
 Stanways, not leaving it. Beyond this the distant glare of 
 a second pair of lights; two cars, coming my way as hard
 
 152 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 as they could burn the ground. Tilden and the police, of 
 course. . . . 
 
 Useless, my groping here in the dark. I hurried back to 
 the house to face the thing as best I might, my temples 
 throbbing and my throat dry and constricted. What had the 
 intruder done The Unknown, who had butted into my 
 trouble and why? How would it profit them? No one who 
 was sane would take any such risk, except for reasons that 
 were vital and deadly. 
 
 I reached the open window again, having senses enough 
 left to skirt round it avoiding any tracks there might be, and 
 started to climb in at the side. The Wesson pistol on the 
 carpet was the first thing that caught my eye; an impulse 
 seized me, an overpowering temptation to snatch the thing 
 up and make away with it to be rid of it. I stamped that 
 idea down. No more concealment. The truth 
 
 I had got to leave that room untouched. I dropped back 
 off the sill and went in through the side door to the gun-room. 
 Jenny, white and dishevelled, was on the sofa. Her senses 
 were returning; she looked at me blankly and tried to raise 
 herself. I dropped on my knees beside her and took her by 
 the hands. 
 
 "Just lie there, dear don't move. It's coming right it's 
 not so bad." I hardly knew what I said. "Not near so bad." 
 
 "Ken ... is she ... ?" 
 
 "She's gone gone clear away," I said quickly, "that's all 
 I know." 
 
 I heard her breath catch, and her head sank back. I 
 cursed myself for a fool; I had tried to make things better, 
 to quiet her any way I could, and indeed for a moment I 
 thought I saw relief in her eyes, and hope. Then she 
 shivered and collapsed; the senses went out of her like the 
 puff of a candle . . . she had been through enough to break 
 a man down, let alone a girl. The whiteness of her face
 
 INSPECTOR PALKE 153 
 
 terrified me; I laid her back on the cushions and sprang to 
 my feet as I heard the squeal of brakes outside and the sound 
 of tyres grinding along the gravel as a car pulled up hurriedly. 
 
 I was out through the hall and into the porch as quick as 
 I ever moved yet, and caught Dr. Tilden with his hand 
 on the bell and the other gripping a little black bag. 
 
 "This way," I said, pulling him in, "your patient's Miss 
 Craddock." 
 
 " Craddock?" he exclaimed, "you told me Miss Corbyn." 
 
 I halted him at the gun-room door. 
 
 "Listen, Tilden, before you go in. I found Miss Corbyn . . . 
 shot. Miss Craddock came in she saw what had happened 
 I can't explain to you now, but she's completely collapsed. I 
 carried her into this room and I rang you. When I got back 
 Miss Corbyn was gone . . . someone had been into the room 
 where she lay. Don't interrupt me, man I'm not raving, 
 I'm telling you facts. It was her I called you to see, and she's 
 gone. Now see to Miss Craddock; she's in a fearful state." 
 
 Tilden looked at me sideways as I turned the door handle. 
 
 "A damned queer story, Rolfe," he said, "but I'm here 
 professionally, take me to my patient. Police rung yet?" 
 
 "Expecting them here every moment." 
 
 We found poor little Jenny lying limp as a rag on the sofa; 
 she didn't stir when we entered, her eyes were closed, she 
 scarcely seemed to be breathing. Tilden bent over her, 
 looked at her quickly; his finger was on her pulse. ... I 
 watched his face, and was sorry I had been rough with him. 
 The comfort a doctor is, at such a time. . . . 
 
 "Shock," he said. "She's all in. Yes better later, got to 
 be kept very quiet awhile. Want her out of this at once 
 where 's her room?" 
 
 I lifted her in my arms and ran upstairs with her. Jenny's 
 was the small spare room on the near side of Elaine's. The 
 relief it was, to get her into that little refuge as quickly
 
 154 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 as possible and lay her at length on the eiderdown; her face 
 was whiter than the pillow. 
 
 "Hefty big lout you are, Rolfe," said Tilden, opening his 
 bag, "sooner she's in bed the better- -send a woman up here 
 to attend to her." 
 
 "Tilden, you won't let her talk about things you won't 
 ask her questions to-night?" I said as I made for the door. 
 
 "Of course not, you fool!" replied Tilden. I hurried down- 
 stairs and nearly ran into Mrs. Jessop at the foot, wearing a 
 soaked hat and a steaming raincoat. 
 
 "Go up to Miss Craddock's room," I said, "Dr. Tilden's 
 there take his orders." 
 
 "I was going to tell you, sir," said Mrs. Jessop, who for the 
 first time in my experience of her was looking pallid and 
 flustered, "that his lordship 
 
 "Go!" I said, "upstairs with you," and threw both wings 
 of the front door open. The headlights of a big car were 
 sweeping up the drive; it pulled up with a jerk and "the burly 
 uniformed figjire of Inspector Begbie shot out, followed by a 
 man I had never seen before, in a long tweed overcoat. The 
 pair of them stepped quickly through into the hall. 
 
 " Take us to the room, Rolfe," said Begbie abruptly. 
 "This," he added, "is Inspector Palke, C.I.D. from the 
 Yard." 
 
 "Engaged in the Linke case with the aid of my good 
 friend, Inspector Begbie," said the other, with a little bow 
 to me, and a rather attractive smile. He was a man of about 
 fifty-five, long and gaunt, a head taller than Begbie, with 
 short hair, iron-grey at the temples, and thoughtful pene- 
 trating eyes. His voice was low-pitched and gentle. He 
 looked at me with the air of a collector who finds a rare and 
 unusual specimen that he has long been seeking. His eyes 
 travelled over me and dwelled for a moment on my right hand, 
 flecked with that dry red stain.
 
 XXVII 
 THE BULLET 
 
 I DON'T know whether it was fear that I felt; it was 
 rather a sort of paralysis, that held me dumb before the two 
 men. While I was looking after Jenny and getting her out of 
 the way I could think of nothing else . . . the rest of it had 
 been blotted out and thrust into the background of whatever 
 intelligence I've got; now it all came back like a flood tide 
 the thing I had to face and account for. 
 
 Inspector Palke seemed in no hurry. Begbie's face was 
 grim and impatient, but they both peered at me in silence, 
 waiting for me to speak. I just beckoned to them and led the 
 way to the morning-room. 
 
 "Gone!" I said. "Taken away. She lay there. I was in the 
 gun-room . . . heard a shot ... I thought it was a shot ... it 
 couldn't have been more than a minute or two before I got 
 here. Miss Corbyn lay on the floor, unconscious, wounded 
 in the forehead . . . the right temple. This is where she 
 lay . . . her head here . . . the pistol close to her it hasn't 
 been moved. No one else in the room. The window 
 shutr 
 
 "I believed . . . she was dying, her eyes opened slightly 
 when I raised her, she couldn't speak. I got to the 'phone in 
 the library, rang Dr. Tilden, and the police. I returned here 
 as quickly as I could not ten minutes later, just the time it 
 took to ring you. She was gone . . . and the window wide open, 
 as it is now." 
 
 "Stop a moment, Mr. Rolfe," said Begbie, peering round 
 him in that slow, deliberate way of his, "haven't you left 
 something out? Who else has been in this room, besides you 
 before you got back, I mean?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Craddock, she came in after I did. When she
 
 156 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 saw what had happened she fainted ... I carried her out, and 
 got to the 'phone; Tilden's here, he's with her now. I was 
 telling you when I found the body gone . . . and all that 
 gravel on the carpet, I went out through the window and 
 over the lawn fence I couldn't see or hear a thing, but out 
 in that fir belt by the lane there are fresh tyre marks, a car 
 has stood there and I heard a car moving on the far side of 
 the park " 
 
 "You have been very active, Mr. Rolfe," said Palke. He 
 had a quick, bird-like trick of shifting his gaze from one object 
 to another as he drifted rapidly round the room; at the 
 moment he had his back to me and was facing the mantel- 
 piece; "yes, evidently a man of action. I suppose you can't 
 put a time to all this it didn't occur to you to look at the 
 clock?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "It might have made some difference to you if you had," 
 said Palke, and turning away he dropped on one knee beside 
 the pistol, took a scrap of chalk from his pocket and traced 
 an outline round it on the carpet, draped a silk handkerchief 
 round his hand and picked up the Wesson, holding it 
 gingerly by the barrel, and examined it. I could hardly bring 
 myself to look at him while he did so, the very sight of the 
 little gun sickened me, but he hardly seemed to spend more 
 than a moment over it; he laid it down again within the 
 chalked outline on the floor, stepped over to the door, locked 
 it and put the key in his pocket. 
 
 "Among your many activities, Mr. Rolfe, you hustled in 
 and out again through that window right through the 
 middle and over the top of everything outside, I suppose?" 
 he said to me as he made for the open sash. 
 
 "No I jumped out at the side as it happens and I came 
 back by way of the side door." 
 
 "You have flashes of intelligence after all," said Palke,
 
 THE BULLET 157 
 
 climbing quickly out on to the gravel path. "Just stay right 
 where you are, please. Come on, Begbie." 
 
 I stayed where I was. I saw the rays from a couple of 
 electric torches playing rapidly over the ground and across 
 the sodden lawn. One of the little circles of light stayed close 
 at hand, moving to and fro; searching for footprints, of course 
 the other travelled a long way out, beyond the garden and 
 into the park. Doubtless the pair were reading from the wet 
 ground messages that were hidden from me. 
 
 I was interrupted by the sudden return of Inspector 
 Palke, who swung his gaunt body and long legs in through 
 the window, darted to the door, and unlocked it in a twink- 
 ling. I never saw such a change in a man. Those meditative 
 eyes of his shone like the eyes of a cat that sees the rat's 
 whiskers begin to emerge from the watched hole. He caught 
 me by the arm. 
 
 "Your 'phone get me to it quick!" he said. 
 
 I hurried out with him across the hall and into the library; 
 as we entered the telephone on my father's writing-table 
 began to buzz, as 'phones generally do when you want to 
 send an urgent call yourself. He snatched the receiver. 
 
 "Stanways Hall who's speaking?" he said abruptly. I 
 was standing by, but he lowered the receiver for a moment, 
 covering the mouthpiece with his hand, and turned to me. 
 
 "Get out of here please go back to Begbie. Answer what 
 questions he asks you till I come. And, Mr. Rolfe," he added 
 with a grim smile as I reached the door, "take a word of advice 
 don't keep any more cards up your sleeve it's too late 
 for secrecy." 
 
 I found Begbie in the morning-room, busy about some- 
 thing by the fireplace. He locked the door again as soon as I 
 was inside. 
 
 "We want no interruptions here," he said; "now, Mr. 
 Rolfe about this pistol. Before we start, do you understand
 
 158 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 that it's no use trying to keep anything back, for you'll only 
 waste time?" 
 
 "I'm here to tell you every last thing I know." 
 
 "Have you seen that pistol before?" 
 
 "I've had it in my possession a week. It was locked in my 
 desk; I looked for it this evening, and missed it " 
 
 "Whose is it?" 
 
 "Miss Corbyn's." 
 
 "You're sure of that? Can you recognise it as hers?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How did you come by it?" 
 
 "I took it away from her six days ago. I " 
 
 "All right that's all I want to know about the gun. When 
 did you last see Miss Corbyn, before this thing happened?" 
 
 "In the gun-room, up the passage. Almost immediately 
 before ... a few minutes " 
 
 "Were you alone?" 
 
 "Miss Craddock was with me. Miss Corbyn looked in ... 
 and went out again ..." 
 
 "Went out again? What did she come for? Did she say 
 anything to you?" 
 
 He watched me narrowly as he spoke. 
 
 "She said . . . nothing. Went out, and a minute or two 
 later " 
 
 "Leaving you alone with Miss Craddock?" interrupted 
 Begbie. 
 
 'I felt that if this man went on questioning me I should get 
 my hands on his thick neck and strangle him. I couldn't keep 
 my voice steady as I answered. 
 
 "Yes. I heard a shot ... at least I thought it sounded like 
 a shot . . . traced it to this room, and I found " 
 
 I told him what I found. He didn't spare me anything. 
 
 There is a Chinese torture called the 'death by a thousand 
 cuts.' I would give myself up to the executioner rather than
 
 THE BULLET 159 
 
 go through that time again. And he asked me about the 
 wound. 
 
 "Don't you see how vital this is, Mr. Rolfe," he persisted, 
 "can't you say whether she was dead or living when you left 
 her? You were the first to find her and the last to see her. 
 From what you actually saw, can you form any opinion how, 
 and from what direction, that shot was fired?" 
 
 "Good heavens, man, why ask me that. Can't you see for 
 yourself how it was?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I can, but I deal in facts, not guesses I 
 must have what help I can get from you." 
 
 "You are very upset, which is natural; you have had the 
 shock of a lifetime, but please pull yourself together. You 
 tell me that the body that Miss Corbyn lay here, her right 
 hand outstretched, close by the pistol. But that does not show 
 where she was standing before she fell; she must have been 
 rather more to the left, which would account for the 
 deflexion of the shot. Do you see this?" 
 
 He pointed to the clock on the mantel; it had a heavy 
 marble base and a black dial with luminous figures. Not until 
 now did I realise that it was not going; that it's hearty 
 sonorous tick was silent. Begbie's stubby finger pointed to a 
 small ragged hole at the base of the dial where the figure VI 
 should have been. It was not very noticeable on the black 
 enamel of the face unless one looked close. The hands of the 
 clock were undamaged and marked the time as thirteen 
 minutes past nine. 
 
 "The bullet that did the mischief," said Begbie, "it 
 finished here. These automatics have great penetration at 
 short range." He swung the clock round and opened the 
 back, showing me the wrecked works, where a Distorted 
 little 33 bullet had churned up the brass cog-wheels and 
 lodged in the mainspring. "That's clear enough. Are you 
 clear that you only heard one shot?"
 
 l6o BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Of course one shot." 
 
 "There's no 'of course' about it if it's sure this was the 
 only one, then I've got the direction and can fix where she 
 was standing . . . and that's worth all your evidence put 
 together." 
 
 "Then for pity's sake let me alone!" I said. "How can it 
 matter . . . where she was when she fired " 
 
 Begbie stared at me in that sardonic way of his, with a 
 touch of surprise. His face seemed to be looming at me out 
 of a red mist. 
 
 "When she fired?" he said. "What's the matter with you, 
 Mr. Rolfe? . . . No no," he continued quickly, "I see I 
 see. Natural you should think it was that, the way you found 
 things here, and it may have been intended that you should. 
 But surely you haven't still got that idea in your head see 
 here!" 
 
 He took up the Wesson by its barrel and opened the butt, 
 taking out the metal charger clip. All the nine shells in it 
 were intact, the nickel bullets in an even row, and the light 
 glinted along the clean rifling of the barrel through the open 
 breech. The Wesson Elaine's little gun had not been 
 fired at all. 
 
 An overpowering sense of relief came over me as I looked 
 at the thing. The blood rushed to my face as I realised what a 
 monumental fool I had been and yet what else could I 
 possibly have thought? 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe," said Begbie, "I'd have shown you earlier, but 
 it never occurred to me you weren't on to it. Miss Corbyn, 
 finding herself suddenly in danger, tried to defend herself 
 with this automatic, and was not quick enough. She was shot 
 from outside that window, although you say you found it 
 closed when you came in. Who shot her and how was she 
 removed? those are the questions we're out to solve now." 
 
 "I think we shall get that far," broke in Inspector Palke;
 
 THE BULLET l6l 
 
 his face appeared for a moment at the open window. 
 "Things are a little better than I looked for. Unlock the door 
 Begbie, and I'll come round. I don't want to make this place 
 in a worse mess than it is." 
 
 I was perfectly dazed with conflicting emotions, trying to 
 collect my thoughts and get a grip of things when Palke came 
 in. He glanced at me, laid a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, 
 and pressed me back into a chair. 
 
 "A bad time for you, Mr. Rolfe. Sit there a minute while 
 I talk to Begbie I shall want you again." 
 
 The two of them retired to the other end of the room by 
 the fireplace and conferred in undertones; I suppose Begbie 
 was telling his colleague briefly what I had said, I saw Palke 
 glance back at me once or twice; he said something to Begbie 
 that I couldn't catch, but when he came across to me again 
 my spirits had risen like mercury. The relief and reaction 
 from that black horror that had oppressed me were intense; 
 I could have gripped Begbie by the hand and blessed him. 
 Though I couldn't see a yard further through the cloud of 
 mystery and tragedy that was its climax I felt things were not 
 so bad and there was hope . . . Palke had said so, and the man 
 had got my confidence from the start. 
 
 "Well, we've got things going. And I'll light up this case 
 for you as far as I can and as briefly, for I want you to 
 understand it, Mr. Rolfe, and I shall require your help," he 
 said, "but first you've got to come across with your story, 
 right up to to-night and don't keep anything back. Quick 
 as you can!" 
 
 I was long past keeping anything back. I started to tell him 
 of the drive from Euston and the crash on the Cranwell Road, 
 but he broke in 
 
 "We know as much as we need to about that," he said 
 shortly, "what trouble have you had here since then?" 
 
 I told him of the mysterious skulker who had stalked the
 
 162 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 house and peered in through the gun-room window, and all 
 that followed afterwards. He listened intently, making no 
 comment. 
 
 "Would you know that man again if you saw him?" he 
 asked as I finished. 
 
 "Yes, I would though it was a very brief glimpse I got. 
 Certainly I never saw him before nor since." 
 
 "You mean you think you've never seen him before or 
 since," replied Palke. "All right that'll do for the present. 
 You may see him again I hope. Now please follow this. Come 
 to the window. 
 
 "You found it closed. But it must either have been open 
 when Miss Corbyn first entered the room or very possibly 
 she opened it herself. All that is sure is that the shot was 
 fired at her from outside, and whoever fired it was close 
 up against the open window with pistol hand extending 
 through into the room; you say you noticed the smell of 
 powder smoke still hanging, when you entered. He meant 
 making a certainty of that shot. 
 
 "Miss Corbyn was standing well inside the room. She saw 
 her assailant, but she couldn't have stood much chance of 
 defence or escape. Here is where he stood when he fired." 
 
 Between the window and the gravel path was a flower- 
 border three feet wide, bare winter soil with a few trampled 
 plants and moist with rain. Palke leaned over the sill and 
 flashed his torch on the ground close to our right-hand side 
 of the window. A single footprint was visible there, the mark 
 of a heavy short boot, rather deeply impressed, its outline 
 already melting in the wet, about eighteen inches from the 
 wall. 
 
 "See that?" said Palke, "his left foot forward, his weight 
 thrown upon it pressing the fore part of the boot hard down 
 heel impression slight right foot was back on the gravel. 
 He was crouching slightly when he fired, bullet did its work,
 
 THE BULLET 163 
 
 then deflected angle uncertain and hit the clock. Miss 
 Corbyn fell, and didn't move again. All that took barely a 
 few seconds. From the direction, it's pretty sure that from 
 this side the shot was fired and there stood your gunman." 
 
 "Then he I say 'he,' but that man wasn't alone pulled 
 the window-sash down before quitting. Likely he may have 
 heard you coming; you seem to have been fairly quick on the 
 job. And off with him into the night and the rain." 
 
 "You say there was more than one?" 
 
 "Look," said Palke. "Here was the other." He passed 
 to the opposite side of the window and flashed his torch over 
 the border again. Close to the house, a little back from the 
 window's edge as if someone had crouched there on the 
 watch, was a trample of confused footmarks huddled together, 
 only two of them standing out fairly clear. I peered down at 
 them and uttered an exclamation. They were much smaller 
 than the solitary print on the farther side, they had been 
 made by thickish walking shoes, rounded at the toes; the 
 size couldn't have been more than fives. 
 
 "Those are a woman's footprints!" 
 
 Palke nodded. 
 
 "Strange, isn't it? A woman stood there. And she was 
 there before you arrived. What woman, Mr. Rolfe?"
 
 XXVIII 
 THE THREE TRAILS 
 
 CRUSOE'S discovery of the footprint in the sand couldn't 
 have shaken him more than those oozey shoe-marks affected 
 me. They were not Elaine's, she had worn high-heeled 
 evening shoes, nowhere near that size. 
 
 "Certainly not Miss Corbyn," said Palke. "But who? I see 
 that beats you. It beats Inspector Begbie. But the thing's 
 boiling itself down. There was a woman in Black Spinney on 
 the night your man Linke came by his end. That's news to 
 you? It was news to me till I came into this case recently. 
 Begbie established that fact, and very well he did it. Same 
 woman, Begbie?" 
 
 "Very little to swear by, then or now," returned Begbie 
 gloomily. "Don't know who the woman was." 
 
 "Woman timid , tender woman sometimes she 's tougher 
 than the male, and then she gives a lot of trouble. I've been 
 beaten by women several times in my service, for a while 
 I got them all in the end. I think we might get this 
 one." 
 
 "It's fairly certain she must have been there when the 
 shot was fired. It came from the left side; the direction of it 
 shows us that. She was over here to the right of the window, 
 crouching against the wall. It was the man who did the job. 
 There they were, the pair of them. Number One to the left 
 the man. Number Two to the right the woman. As soon 
 as the shot was fired, and the window pulled down, they 
 made their getaway." 
 
 "The object of the man who fired that shot was of course 
 plain murder; Miss Corbyn was a wealthy woman, there is 
 someone or it may be several who would benefit by her death. 
 Why or how is uncertain, we should know that pretty soon;
 
 THE THREE TRAILS 165 
 
 I think we shall get on to it to-night. They were away, of 
 course, before you arrived." 
 
 "But they came back!" 
 
 Palke shook his head. 
 
 "No. Now we come to Number Three. Neither of that 
 pair ever came into the room. Look here." 
 
 He pointed to the muddy tracks on the carpet; I hadn't 
 paid close attention to them till then. Those closest the win- 
 dow were the most clearly marked, they were quite different 
 to the tracks we had been inspecting outside. Their owner 
 had worn long and rather narrow boots or maybe shoes 
 somewhat pointed. 
 
 "And here," said Palke, flashing his torch outside. 
 
 In the centre of the flower-bed, clear of the other tracks 
 at the sides, one could see where those narrow boots had 
 come in and gone out again, over the window-sill. And on 
 their outward journey they were more deeply printed in the 
 soft soil, the heels jammed down, as if their owner had 
 carried a heavy weight and moved quickly. Strange how 
 easily one read the story when Palke interpreted it; I doubt I 
 should have looked a long time at that jumble of muddy 
 prints before sorting them out, and then probably got it 
 wrong end first. 
 
 "You see? Here came Number Three. While you were 
 away telephoning for you left her there with the pistol 
 lying beside her Number Three got in and was quick 
 about the job, finished it, carried Miss Corbyn out carried 
 her out! And took her where? Got clear away with his 
 burden, before ever you turned up again, or the police 
 arrived. A fairly hefty fellow; for it was done single-handed. 
 Yes, that man was quick!" 
 
 "Then there were three in the gang!" 
 
 "//"he was one of them working with them. But was he? 
 Or was he more likely still playing for his own hand?
 
 l66 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 Someone whose interest it was that nobody should know 
 until he chose, whether Elaine Corbyn was dead or living. 
 And a mighty strong interest it must have been. A man 
 would have to have a powerful motive, to meddle like that 
 in a job that might hang him. Perhaps, Mr. Rolfe, a bigger 
 crook than either of them. Who was he?" 
 
 Palke looked at me with a queer, suggestive gleam in those 
 not unfriendly grey eyes of his, as though he were reckoning 
 me up; judging how much, if anything, I knew or guessed. 
 
 "Why ask me! I can no more see through his motive, nor 
 guess who he was, than the dead." 
 
 "I see that you don't, Mr. Rolfe. Yes, he's an elusive 
 gentleman, this," said Palke quietly, " he's beaten the lot 
 of us!" 
 
 "There's hope then it can't be as bad as we thought or 
 he would never have meddled!" I cried; "that's as plain as 
 sunlight." 
 
 Palke was silent a moment. 
 
 "I wish it were as plain as you think," he said, "just come 
 outside a minute. We'll take one last scout round to see if 
 there's anything I've overlooked." 
 
 I swung myself out through the window and lit clear of 
 the border with my feet on the gravel path; just as I had done 
 before, only that time I must have done it unconsciously 
 with the impetus of haste and a pair of long legs it was 
 lucky I didn't trample over those tell-tale tracks in the 
 flower-bed. Palke turned his torch on them. 
 
 "Now, here go the woman's tracks, beyond the gravel 
 path and across the lawn. You can see where her heels broke 
 down the edge; that was on her outward journey after the job 
 was done and here go the gunman's marks too; they're 
 very faint on the wet grass and getting fainter, but you can 
 pick them up again yonder at the wicket-gate into the park. 
 The woman's go as far as that also. Park turf too rough for
 
 THE THREE TRAILS 167 
 
 tracks and night too wet, but I found the gunman's again in 
 the little fir wood yonder where the tyre marks are you 
 saved me some time on that job, Mr. Rolfe. That car was 
 waiting for him; that's how he quit. Did he take the woman 
 with him? Or did she turn back at the wicket-gate? Beyond 
 that I can't trace her with any certainty, it's possible she 
 did reach the car. You'd expect her to. But you might be 
 wrong. Leave her at that; we'll get her soon or later with 
 luck." 
 
 "Now to Number Three, the gentleman wearing long shoes 
 and bearing a weight no man could carry far ... here are his 
 tracks, muddy on the gravel for a few yards, but what way do 
 they go? Not on to the grass at all. In fact they seem to fade 
 out altogether. Give Mr. Rolfe your torch, Begbie. You know 
 the grounds about your own house, sir, you're young and 
 have keen eyes, though they're not trained. Can you make 
 out the way he went?" 
 
 By the light of Begbie's torch I picked up the long boot 
 marks where they turned to the right on the path. The tracks 
 of mould from the flower-bed soon failed and the drizzle was 
 hardening into a pelting rain. Following the direction quickly 
 along the path by the side of the house I lit on tracks again, 
 nearly getting past before I spotted them, just to the left 
 and deeply stamped into the lawn. 
 
 "He staggered on to the grass here," I said, "three four 
 of his footprints, one of them skidded and three of them 
 sideways. And back on to the path again." 
 
 "Good for you!" said Palke approvingly; "here he stag- 
 gered; even you might have staggered if you carried what he 
 did and were winded with running." 
 
 I could have carried Elaine half a mile without doing any 
 staggering, winded or not; it occurred to me the Unknown 
 was scarcely the hefty fellow Palke suggested, and not in the 
 prime of life at that. I pressed on along the path rapidly; there
 
 l68 BLOODMONEY 
 
 were no more tracks up to the point where it ended in a 
 chained gate, that would have taken some climbing and barred 
 the way that led round to the main drive fronting the house. 
 Impossible that he could have taken that direction; he must 
 have turned somewhere. I tried back to the lawn before the 
 open window where Palke had pointed out the tracks of the 
 retreating gunman. 
 
 I was so bucked with my skill in tracking and the renewal 
 of hope arising out of what had looked like black tragedy, 
 that I gave a cry of triumph on spotting what both of them 
 had missed a trail of long shoe marks leading across the 
 softest part of the lane away in the direction of the park and 
 the fir grove. 
 
 "Here he is! And going the same way as the gunman after 
 all right out to where the car was. That's your man, and 
 
 " I bent and scanned the tracks closer. "He must have 
 
 got rid of his burden too, no heel marks he was moving on 
 tip-toe!" 
 
 The light from the window shone on Palke 's face and it 
 wore a pitying smile, diluted with humour. 
 
 "You're sure he wasn't walking on his hands and waving 
 his feet at the gunman, Mr. Rolfe?" he said; "no, that Smart 
 Alec didn't walk on tip-toe and it wouldn't suit him; he was 
 merely running just as hard as he could pelt, and not doing 
 much thinking. Fit the ball of your shoe into those tracks." 
 
 I didn't need to only too obvious what tracks they were. 
 
 "It was me!" I said, crestfallen. 
 
 "Sure," replied Palke soothingly. 
 
 Evidently reading trails wasn't my long suit, though I've 
 done some of it in my time. I had forgotten that first dash 
 out of mine across the lawn. I turned to Palke in exasperation. 
 
 "What did you bring me out here for! Just to pull my leg?" 
 
 "Far from it, Mr. Rolfe," said Palke imperturbably, "I'm 
 here to collect all the clues I can, you have given me con-
 
 THE THREE TRAILS 169 
 
 siderable help. Damn this rain, it's going to wipe everything 
 out. In another half-hour there'll be nothing left." 
 
 He led the way in through the back door, as if the place 
 belonged to him, and as we entered I saw Mrs. Jessop flit 
 across the end of the passage into the hall. 
 
 "Who's that?" asked Palke quickly. 
 
 "The housekeeper, Mrs. Jessop," replied Begbie. 
 
 "Ah, yes. I want to see her. Not yet though take her 
 into that room where the telephone is the library and wait 
 till I come. Nobody is to go into the morning-room. That 
 doctor's somewhere about, isn't he? I saw him up on the 
 landing when I came out. If you hear him coming downstairs, 
 stop him. I must see him before he leaves. Mr. Rolfe, you 
 stay with me."
 
 XXIX 
 MRS. JESSOP 
 
 P A L K E had the key of the morning-room in his pocket. 
 He led me in and closed the door carefully. He turned to me 
 and paused for a moment. I had thought he was taking the 
 whole thing much too calmly and callously; I suppose the 
 police do get callous. But now that his face was in the light, 
 his eyes belied him. There was a fighting gleam in them, 
 but a worried, apprehensive look about him too. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "it's clear how that first pair made 
 their getaway. There won't be many cars out to-night, and 
 every one that's running within a fifty-mile circle is being 
 stopped and examined they may have been clicked already. 
 I think they will; the cordon will take some getting through." 
 
 "But Elaine!" I said. 
 
 "Yes but they were up against something deeper. Do 
 you see your way through it? Naturally, you don't. And I've 
 been all round the place, but there isn't a sign I can find to 
 show what became of that man with the narrow boots. He 
 may be thirty miles away; he may be within a mile of us 
 he may be here, in this house." 
 
 "Do you believe that?" 
 
 "I believe nothing that I can't prove. I'm just putting 
 the possibilities to you. Mr. Rolfe, you are rather deeply 
 dipped in this case yourself, and I'm taking you into my 
 confidence so far as I can. The Commissioner gives me a 
 free hand; my methods are a little unusual, and I'm going to 
 put an unusual question to you. Are you on my side? Wholly 
 and unreservedly on the side of the law from now on?" 
 
 "Of course I'm on your side! What do you take me for? 
 There's nothing I wouldn't do to get those devils laid by 
 the heels."
 
 MRS. JESSOP 171 
 
 "That's good. I may have to remind you of it. An ugly 
 business. Incidentally your own position is an unpleasant 
 one and may become more so; I feel a certain amount of 
 sympathy for you, more perhaps than you suspect. But you 
 may come out of it with credit yet, Mr. Rolfe." 
 
 "What on earth does my credit matter? Tell me how I can 
 help you." 
 
 "By not breathing one word to anybody of what you know 
 about this case; keep it locked up inside your skull, and your 
 mouth tight shut. You've not told anyone before I arrived?" 
 
 "Only Dr. Tilden." 
 
 "Indeed. What did you say to him?" 
 
 I told him. 
 
 "Not a word more to anyone, Mr. Rolfe; from this moment, 
 not a syllable. Excepting of course Inspector Begbie; answer 
 any question he puts to you. I have your word that you are 
 on my side. And as this case proceeds, should you find your- 
 self unable to go on helping me, you must stand aside and 
 let the law take its course. That is a warning; and I cannot 
 say more* now." 
 
 "So long as you get that man " 
 
 "Oh, we'll get him," said Inspector Palke, "we'll get 
 him." 
 
 His confidence buoyed me up. 
 
 "And Miss Corbyn. Though I thought I'll never believe 
 she is dead. You say she she may come through this 
 safely yet?" 
 
 Palke looked disturbed. He turned away from me without 
 answering, walked slowly across the room and back. Then he 
 faced me and looked at me gravely and questioningly. 
 
 "I said nothing of the kind." 
 
 "Why. What do you believe?" 
 
 Inspector Palke's face was stony. His shoulders gave a 
 scarcely perceptible shrug.
 
 172 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe. I don't want to depress you unduly, but take 
 this from me. In confidence, strictly between ourselves. 
 Better for everyone concerned, if Elaine Corbyn is dead; 
 better for herself. Better certainly for her companion, Miss 
 Craddock. Better, I think, for you." 
 
 I stared at him, incapable of speech. 
 
 "That is all I dare tell you, at this stage. But so much, I 
 must tell you, remember it is in strict confidence between 
 ourselves; when this case is ended, you will understand." 
 
 His eyes became sympathetic as he looked at me. 
 
 "Surely Mr. Rolfe," he said gently, but with obvious 
 surprise, "there was no attachment between you and I 
 mean " 
 
 "No. None at all." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it and forgive the question. I didn't 
 want to give you pain. But Mr. Rolfe," he said, "do you 
 really not understand . . . are you a little dense or is it only 
 that you are upset? You've been with me here an hour, you 
 have lived in the inner circle of this case, so to speak; you 
 have been with Miss Corbyn here for some considerable 
 time, and fairly intimate with her as a guest in your father's 
 house have you not formed some conclusion shall we say 
 a suspicion, concerning her and her affairs?" 
 
 "Intimate with her. She told me nothing about herself, 
 nor of her affairs; she was a paying guest here. I couldn't 
 press her to tell anything that she chose to keep to herself." 
 
 Palke nodded. 
 
 "I don't believe in the face of everything, that she is dead 
 I can't and won't believe it." 
 
 Palke looked at me and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 
 
 "Believe what you will, Mr. Rolfe, by all means, so long as 
 you keep it to yourself. You have believed so many things 
 that turned out not to be so." 
 
 He shut and bolted the window, drew the curtains care-
 
 MRS.JESSOP 173 
 
 fully, and ushered me out of the room, locking the door 
 behind us. 
 
 "Now I'm going to see that housekeeper of yours. Don't 
 go away. I should like you to be with me if you please." 
 
 In the library we found Mrs. Jessop and Begbie. I looked 
 at my father's housekeeper curiously. It would take a land- 
 slide to shake Mrs. Jessop 's heavy Victorian calm, but she 
 was shaken now, though she did her best not to show it. 
 She was very pale and her eyes, usually dull, were watchful 
 and alert.
 
 XXX 
 
 LORD TRENT RETURNS 
 
 "A ROUGH night, Mrs. Jessop," said Palke, "and I see 
 you've had the misfortune to be out in it, and have very 
 wisely changed your shoes. Where did you do so?" 
 
 "My shoes, sir?" she said stupidly. "My shoes I changed 
 them because they were wet." 
 
 "I didn't say why, but where. It will save time if you tell 
 me at once." 
 
 She stared at him, and hesitated. 
 
 "In the lobby next the service passage. What have my 
 shoes got to do with " 
 
 "All right, Mrs. Jessop." Palke nodded to Begbie, who 
 left the room quietly. Mrs. Jessop peered at the visitor from 
 Scotland Yard, her under lip trembling. Palke set a chair for 
 her courteously. 
 
 "Inspector Begbie has told you who I am. Something very 
 serious has happened, Mrs. Jessop. W T ill you tell me what 
 took you out of the house, roughly between a quarter to 
 nine and nine-twenty, and which way you went? I am 
 putting the times to you, to save trouble." 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe told me to find his lordship I was to find 
 him at once. I thought he had gone out somewhere, and I 
 put on my rain-cloak " 
 
 "But before that? You came in at nine-twenty. That was 
 when Mr. Rolfe gave you that order, surely? In what 
 direction did you go when you left the house earlier?" 
 
 "I went down the park road to the west lodge ... to see 
 my son, who is the gatekeeper there." 
 
 "And did you see him?" 
 
 "No, sir. The lodge was dark, and nobody there. So I 
 came back."
 
 LORD TRENT RETURNS 175 
 
 " Straight back?" 
 
 "Yes sir " 
 
 ''About a quarter of a mile, isn't it? And Mr. Rolfe 
 ordered you out again. Did you, either time, make your way 
 to the west side of the house near the morning-room or the 
 gun-room?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "Quite sure of that?" said Palke. "And you were sent to 
 find Lord Trent if you could. Did you find him?' 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 "You had no success at all. Have you any idea where 
 Lord Trent is at present?" 
 
 "None at all, sir." 
 
 "Two fruitless errands?" said Palke. 
 
 She made no answer. There was a suppressed hostility in 
 her manner, and it seemed to me that she was pretty badly 
 frightened, though she gave no outward sign of it. She had 
 replied to his questions coolly enough, but I felt a conviction 
 that she was lying. Palke treated her quite gently, he had 
 nothing of the bully in him. There was a queer little smile at 
 the corners of his mouth, his eyes were hard and penetrating, 
 and never left her face. 
 
 "Thank you, that will do for the present," he said, opening 
 the door for her. 
 
 She stopped in the doorway and turned to him abruptly. 
 
 "What's the meaning of all this!" she cried. "Aren't I to 
 be told what it's about? I " 
 
 "I have too much on my hands at the moment, Mrs. 
 Jessop," he replied. " Unless you can think of anything that 
 might interest me." 
 
 She closed her thin lips and went out, her damp black silk 
 gown rustling as she retreated down the hall. 
 
 "How long has that dame been with you?" said Palke 
 to me.
 
 176 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Ever since we came to Stan ways. Good heavens man, 
 you don't think ?" 
 
 "Never mind what I think. There's one curious point I'd 
 like you to notice; everyone concerned in this case, every- 
 body in any way connected with it has got something to 
 hide." 
 
 He looked at me with a challenging eye. 
 
 "You not least of them, Mr. Rolfe. But I will say, you've 
 been comparatively frank with me. Yes; everyone with a 
 secret of his or her own, vital or trivial, but linking right up 
 with the case. Queer, isn't it? But here's your doctor coming 
 down." 
 
 Tilden crossed the hall and entered the library, carrying 
 his little black bag. He cast a suspicious glance at me. 
 
 "How is Miss Craddock, Doctor?" asked Palke. 
 
 "Shock. Severe mental shock," replied Tilden. "Poor 
 girl . . . don't wonder. Can't make this business out. Had her 
 put to bed better to-morrow if she gets some rest; got to 
 be kept quiet." 
 
 "Much may happen before to-morrow is she well enough 
 to see me now? Only for a minute," said Palke, "I have got 
 to see her." 
 
 Tilden hesitated. 
 
 "If it's so urgent " 
 
 "It is vital, Doctor. Tell her so. Ask her, please, if she will 
 receive Inspector Palke of Scotland Yard." 
 
 Tilden returned upstairs. I was following him, when Palke 
 stopped me and pushed the door to. 
 
 "Where are you going, Mr. Rolfe?" 
 
 "To Miss Craddock; and I will see her first." 
 
 "No, sir. I am going to see her myself before she receives 
 anyone in this household. You can't claim right of precedence 
 of the C.I.D. in a case of murder." 
 
 "Damn the C.I.D.," I said, "and don't talk to me of right;
 
 LORD TRENT RETURNS 177 
 
 I go to the girl I'm going to marry and all Scotland Yard 
 isn't going to stop me." 
 
 "Gently, Mr. Rolfe. You are to marry Miss Craddock 
 then here's another thing you didn't tell me but left me to 
 discover for myself. Now, will you tell me how long this 
 has been fixed?" 
 
 "What the devil is that to you!" I said furiously. Then I 
 checked myself. "No you must know if you've got, to. 
 Why not? Since to-night, and in the gun-room the time 
 about nine o'clock. Does that satisfy you?" 
 
 "Quite," replied Palke with that gentle little smile of his, 
 "we don't deal much with romance at the Yard, our business 
 is mostly rather sordid." He laid a friendly hand on my 
 arm. "Now, take a word of counsel from one who's sorry for 
 a man that's had a very bad time and isn't nearly through 
 it yet. Don't go near Miss Craddock till the morning. Stand 
 down and let me see her in your place; it will be better for 
 her and safer." 
 
 "Very well," I said after a pause. "Have it your own way." 
 
 He nodded, and passed out. I dropped into a chair, only 
 too glad to be alone. I had had just as much as I could 
 stand. After all it was useless to oppose Palke in anything he 
 chose to do foolish perhaps, too. 
 
 I've no idea how long I sat there, trying to overtake 
 events; it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before 
 the door opened I was expecting Palke, but it was Begbie 
 who came in. He said nothing, but stood looking at me 
 silently, and then began to move around the room, examining 
 things that lay on the desk and tables. I thought he was 
 going to question me, and was thankful when he didn't. 
 
 An idea was growing in my mind that hadn't occurred to 
 me before; a suspicion that took hold of me and sealed my 
 lips more effectively than any of Palke 's hints and warnings 
 about keeping silence. I believed that I understood why he
 
 178 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 was sorry for me if a C.I.D. official has time to be sorry for 
 anybody. A moment or two later he returned. 
 
 "I've seen Miss Craddock," he said to me, "I may tell you 
 I haven't upset her at all, didn't have to worry her much. 
 She has answered a few questions I had to put to her, and 
 though of course she's had a sad time of it Dr. Tilden says 
 she'll be better in the morning and you can see her then. 
 She was very anxious to hear about you; I told her that 
 you were under no suspicion of any kind whatever and were 
 quite free from blame which was stretching the truth 
 rather, but I think it did her at least as much good as 
 the sleeping-draught Dr. Tilden's given her. Still, Miss 
 Craddock is out of reach of any trouble whatever else may 
 happen to-night. So try and get that off your mind." 
 
 "You're a good fellow," I said gratefully. "I'm sorry I 
 lost my temper, but I've been through hell I'll see Tilden 
 before he goes. ..." 
 
 "He's gone. That's his car leaving now. I want this house 
 clear of everybody not connected with it." He turned to his 
 colleague. "Well, Begbie?" 
 
 "Got the woman's shoes tried them outside. Just the 
 size, but the rain's made all tracks pretty nearly a wash-out," 
 said Begbie. 
 
 Palke drew him over to the fireplace and they conversed 
 a few moments in an undertone. I was not concerning myself 
 about Mrs. Jessop, my thoughts led elsewhere. Not even 
 Jenny's message if one could call it that comforted me for 
 long. I could see the situation getting more deadly than ever, 
 and the end approaching. Palke came across to me. 
 
 "I suppose, Mr. Rolfe," he said, "you've no idea where 
 Lord Trent is? No? Never mind won't trouble you any 
 further." He moved to the door. 
 
 "Can't say don't know when he'll be back," I said dully. 
 I didn't even know whether he had taken the Chrysler.
 
 LORD TRENT RETURNS 179 
 
 "No? I think he'll turn up the car is in the garage," said 
 Palke, knotting the scarf round his throat. 
 
 "He often goes out at night rather a habit he may have 
 gone to Brookfields," I said. 
 
 "Yes?" returned Palke, as if dismissing the subject! He 
 nodded to his companion. "Begbie, it's time for me to quit; 
 I've got to get the wires working. You stay on you know 
 just what I want done, and there's no man can do it better. 
 Good night, Mr. Rolfe, I shall be seeing you again." 
 
 He went out abruptly; I heard his car buzzing away down 
 the avenue. I was left alone with Begbie. 
 
 "A difficult case, sir; an ugly business," he said quietly. 
 "But Inspector Palke is one of the ablest officers at the Yard, 
 and we're working together we shall straighten this thing 
 out. You will understand, Mr. Rolfe, that in a case as tangled 
 as this the police may have to take rather unusual measures. 
 You'll make allowances, as we're doing for you." 
 
 He looked sorry for me. I could see sympathy even in the 
 face of the sardonic Begbie. 
 
 "Do you want me any longer?" I said. 
 
 "Sorry, sir; just a little while yet." 
 
 I heard a step in the hall, and the library door opened. 
 My father appeared, in a dripping Inverness cloak, his boots 
 mud-stained and his face bleached and wet with the rain. 
 He stopped short as he saw the Inspector standing beside me. 
 
 "You?" he said. "Again the inevitable Begbie. Have you 
 been expecting me?"
 
 XXXI 
 
 THE WESSON PISTOL 
 
 B E G B i E closed the door. 
 
 "Do you know what has happened, Lord Trent?" he said. 
 
 "Something serious, I suppose, to bring you from your 
 desk in such weather; I never saw a man look more worried," 
 said my father coolly. "Your case is progressing?" 
 
 "Will you tell me " 
 
 "Inspector Begbie," said my father. "Will you tell me 
 first just what the trouble is, if any, and then you will find 
 me in the mood to answer questions. Pray sit down." 
 
 Begbie 's eyes narrowed, and he remained standing. 
 
 "I have to tell you, Lord Trent, that Miss Corbyn has been 
 shot; and that she has disappeared out of the house since your 
 son, who found her, went to ring for the police and Dr. 
 Tilden." 
 
 My father stared at him as if turned to stone. 
 
 "And Miss Craddock! Was she " 
 
 "Miss Craddock is upstairs in her room and in no 
 danger. 
 
 "And now Lord Trent," said Begbie, taking the chair that 
 had been offered him, "I will give you the facts as shortly 
 as I can, before I ask you to answer my questions." 
 
 He did so. I sat by while Begbie outlined the story 
 briefly and formally; what he told or how much he left out I 
 scarcely noticed for I was not listening to him; I was watching 
 my father's face. It told me nothing. I never saw a man more 
 completely master of himself. But that was his way in 
 moments of crisis. He waited till Begbie had finished, and 
 sat silent a moment or two. 
 
 "A dreadful business," he said. "And it was my son who 
 summoned you so quickly you were here within ten
 
 THE WESSON PISTOL l8l 
 
 minutes of its occurring. Go on, man! What now ? Is that as 
 far as you have got?" 
 
 "Not quite. I have to account for everybody who was 
 outside to-night," said Begbie. "Immediately after the 
 discovery, Lord Trent, your son sent the housekeeper out to 
 look for you. She says she was unable to find you. You didn't 
 see anything of her?" 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Jessop? Nothing whatever." 
 
 "Then you confirm that she told me the truth?" 
 
 "I have always found Mrs. Jessop as truthful as most 
 people, but I answer only for myself," said my father 
 quietly. "It occurs to you that we might both be lying ?" 
 
 "Please don't put suggestions in my mouth, Lord Trent; 
 I did not say so. I am collecting information to complete my 
 case, and I would like you to tell me when you last saw 
 Miss Corbyn, and what passed between you." 
 
 "When I last saw Miss Corbyn she was sitting in that 
 chair which you occupy at present, and nothing passed 
 between us except a cup of coffee which she poured out for 
 me." 
 
 "What time was this?" 
 
 "About half-past eight. We had finished dinner early, 
 and she was here alone with me. She was unusually silent; 
 not that she was ever a great talker, and she seldom told me 
 anything about her affairs. But to-night she scarcely answered 
 when I spoke to her. A few minutes later she left me, and 
 where she went I don't know." 
 
 "I was left alone, and for some time past I have had a 
 distaste for being alone here in the evening; I got up and 
 walked about the room; I felt restless and uneasy; I hardly 
 know why, I opened the window. I heard the dog barking 
 my son's dog, down in the kennels by the south wing. The 
 night was dark and slightly drizzly, but I got my hat and 
 raincoat and went out."
 
 1 82 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "The dog gave the alarm then, and you thought there was 
 someone about who ought not to be?" 
 
 "He gave no alarm, he's not that kind of dog, he is old 
 and rather deaf. It is my son's business to exercise him and 
 he was barking because he had been shut up all day. It is 
 bad for man or dog to be shut up all day, and I let him out 
 and took him for a walk. I went down the south road through 
 the park and I returned just now to be met with this ghastly 
 news from you, Inspector Begbie, which is enough to upset 
 any man's balance. But I fear that is all I can tell you, and 
 surely you should get on to a line which will give you 
 better results than I can." 
 
 "You changed your shoes, Lord Trent, before going out?" 
 
 "I did," said my father, looking down at his long mud- 
 stained walking-boots. "I could hardly go in pumps, and 
 you have not given me time to change back." 
 
 "I think I've got it now," said Begbie; "you left the house 
 a little before nine and you've been away in a south direction 
 for rather over an hour; your only reason was to take the dog 
 for a walk." 
 
 "My chief reason," said my father, reaching for the cigars 
 and lighting one with care; "you won't mind my smoking? 
 If it doesn't seem heartless it is composing when one has 
 bad news. Yes, that was my reason. Will you have one your- 
 self, Begbie?" 
 
 Begbie shook his head. 
 
 "I want to fix times, Lord Trent. When Mrs. Jessop was 
 sent by your son to look for you it was nine-twenty. Can you 
 tell me where you were at that time?" 
 
 "I can tell you exactly. Do you ever listen to chimes, 
 Begbie? I heard the church bells chime the quarter just as I 
 was passing the south lodge gates and on into the south 
 lane." 
 
 "Did you see anybody there?"
 
 THEWESSONPISTOL 1 83 
 
 "There's nobody to see; the south lodge is empty." 
 
 " I know it is, Lord Trent. You saw nobody, then, and 
 nobody saw you. That is just a mile from here. Nine-fifteen. 
 At nine-thirteen the shot was fired, in the morning-room, as 
 I told you just now as the clock told me. Your son's 'phone 
 call came through to me at nine-twenty-five, and a minute or 
 two later Miss Corbyn, dead or living, had disappeared. 
 You were at the lodge and still walking south along the lane; 
 how far did you go?" 
 
 "Another five minutes, maybe." 
 
 "Then at nine-twenty you must have been hard by Black 
 Spinney." 
 
 "How well you know the Stanways geography, Begbie," 
 said my father admiringly. "You certainly ought to by this 
 time. Yes, at the time you mention I was by the stile at the 
 head cf Black Spinney, and I remained there another five 
 minutes or more." 
 
 "Was no one there beside you?" 
 
 "Possibly the ghost of Linke," said my father, "but if so 
 I didn't see it; I suppose I am not spiritual enough. You are 
 going to ask me what the devil I was doing near Black 
 Spinney on an unpleasant night like this, after a comfortable 
 dinner? Let me assure you I was not drawn there by the 
 impulse which is said to draw murderers back to the scene 
 of their crime. A mystery rather than a crime, which I confess 
 baffles me almost as much as it appears to do you." 
 
 "It may seem somewhat baifling, but it is becoming 
 clearer as we proceed, Lord Trent," said Begbie. 
 
 They eyed each other as they spoke, Begbie grim and 
 purposeful, my father perfectly at ease. 
 
 "I am glad to hear it, Inspector. It is an intense relief to 
 me to know that this case is going to be straightened out by 
 you, the most efficient officer in Hertfordshire, though 
 perhaps the least tactful."
 
 1 84 BLOODMONEY 
 
 "And you were alone during the entire time of your 
 absence from the house, Lord Trent?" pursued Begbie 
 immovably. "Were you armed? And are you armed at the 
 present moment?" 
 
 "Armed!" My father uncrossed his legs, and gazed at him. 
 "Now why my good Inspector, why do you ask me such a 
 question?" 
 
 "Because you seem unable to sit quite comfortably in 
 that chair. That's why I asked the question. Shall I ask it 
 again?" 
 
 "No," said my father, "for I defy anybody to sit comfort- 
 ably in thin evening trousers with one of these things at his 
 back. I congratulate you on your gift of observation, and I 
 am glad to be rid of it." 
 
 He reached behind him deliberately and pulled out a 
 little automatic, which he handed to Begbie.
 
 XXXII 
 THE WILL 
 
 "LoADED. Be careful with the safety-catch," said my 
 father. "Great penetration at short range like yourself 
 Begbie but it couldn't carry a mile and a half." 
 
 "No Wesson would carry a mile and a half," replied 
 Begbie dryly. He examined the gun, unloaded it, and laid it 
 on the table by his side. 
 
 "You had better keep it," said Dad. "I haven't a permit 
 for it and I believe that's an offence against the law, whose 
 protection I've felt rather less confidence in since the death 
 of Linke." His tone altered; he sat up in his chair and 
 stared coldly at Begbie. He might have been a magistrate 
 addressing an unsatisfactory witness. 
 
 "Inspector Begbie," he said, "do you think the police are 
 managing this case well? Is such an outrage as occurred 
 to-night to go unpunished, while you sit at my table 
 asking questions of me, who have no knowledge of it what- 
 ever?" 
 
 "It will not go unpunished, Lord Trent," said Begbie. 
 
 "You said the same the day after Linke was shot. All you 
 could tell me is that he was a crook I could have told you 
 as much as that, and did. Have you traced him?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. We've traced Linke." 
 
 "Traced him!" said my father quickly. "You know his 
 name?" 
 
 "And so do you, Lord Trent; but Linke's death occurred 
 a month ago and I am concerned to-night with the man who 
 killed him. The man who was behind that case is behind 
 this one." 
 
 "And this man when will you make sure of him?" said 
 my father, "or will you let him slip through your fingers, as
 
 1 86 BLOODMONEY 
 
 you did last time? How much rope are you going to give 
 him?" 
 
 "Just enough for a six-foot drop," said Begbie. "We 
 always get our man in the end. It's the jury's hands we have 
 to see he doesn't slip through, not ours." 
 
 "I admire your confidence, too," said my father, "and I 
 notice you say 'we.' Can it be that you are no longer in 
 charge of this case, Begbie?" 
 
 "I am collaborating with Inspector Palke of the Yard," 
 said Begbie, unruffled, "you didn't happen to meet his car 
 leaving?" 
 
 My father sat back, and shook his head. 
 
 "You speak of certainties Begbie, but to me, ignorant 
 layman that I am, the case seems full of doubt. You haven't 
 made it clear yet whether Miss Corbyn, who was found in 
 an empty room, wounded, with a pistol beside her, is actually 
 dead or living. Nor, except for a theory which may be wrong, 
 how she came to be removed so mysteriously. You do not 
 tell me these things, because of course the police have to be 
 discreet, or ... pardon me if I suspect that it is because you 
 don't really know them? But what I fail entirely to under- 
 stand is why Miss Corbyn should have vanished if she 
 was removed. Why? What motive could anyone have for 
 doing such a thing?" 
 
 "The motive. I'll show you that very soon in fact I am 
 close up against it now," said Begbie, rising. "The motive 
 sometimes evades us for a while at first, but it never remains 
 obscure for long." He moved over to the desk by the window, 
 paused, and glanced back. "Of course, all this has been a 
 terrible shock to you, Lord Trent?" 
 
 "Perfectly terrible," said my father slowly. "Linke was 
 no loss to anyone. He was hardly worth hanging a man for. 
 His death, if anything, was a gain to society. But that a 
 young, attractive, courageous girl like Elaine Corbyn it
 
 THE WILL 187 
 
 doesn't bear thinking of. I refuse to believe her dead. Do 
 you expect to recover her dead or living?" 
 
 "It is a little early to answer that," said Begbie, picking 
 up the silver-bound blotting-pad that I had seen him 
 examining before. "One more question did Miss Corbyn 
 ever conduct her affairs, or do any of her writing in this 
 room?" 
 
 "I don't think she did. She had a private room upstairs, 
 which she always used." 
 
 Begbie turned the face of the blotting-pad to a mirror 
 that hung on the wall beside the desk. I could see in the 
 reflection, among a few blotted lines on the white paper, a 
 signature with a large capital E. He laid the pad down again 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "You cannot think of anything else at all, Lord Trent, 
 concerning Miss Corbyn which might help me in this 
 case?" 
 
 "Nothing. I would tell you if I could. She was very 
 secretive about her affairs very." 
 
 Begbie nodded. 
 
 "One more thing I have to do, Lord Trent, before taking 
 any final measures. I have to search Miss Corbyn 's room 
 for any letters or papers that might throw a light on 
 the case." 
 
 "Do so," said my father, "if you must. You know best, 
 and I will not be present; it would be more than I can stand. 
 If you know the room " 
 
 "Next to Miss Craddock's, isn't it?" said Begbie, and went 
 out. 
 
 My father turned to me, his face grey and drawn. 
 
 "I have always loathed that man," he said quietly, "which 
 is unreasonable after all, for he is doing his duty." 
 
 "For heaven's sake, if you know anything, tell me!" I 
 said under my breath.
 
 1 88 BLOODMONEY 
 
 He looked at me for a moment. The mask came back over 
 his face, defensive and slightly mocking, just as when Begbie 
 questioned him. I never saw his eyes so hard. 
 
 "I am in the dark too," he said. "But this man Palke 
 this sleuth from London you've seen him? What did he 
 want of you, Ken?" 
 
 "All he wanted of me was silence." 
 
 "Silence? Wise fellow! Stick to that advice, Ken nothing 
 so safe as silence. Let the police do their job; don't you butt 
 in. What can you hope to do?" 
 
 "Listen, father !" 
 
 "I'm a bad listener," he said, moving to the door, "and a 
 worse talker. I'm sorry for everyone concerned in this thing, 
 Ken, and not least for you. You're my son and I put you 
 first." He paused with his hand on the door knob and looked 
 back at me. 
 
 "You're looking upset, my boy, and it's not to be wondered 
 at. You've no other news, I suppose, apart from this awful 
 business?" 
 
 He might as well have it now as any other time. 
 
 "I asked Jenny to marry me." 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "I needn't ask what she said, Ken she loves you. Good 
 little girl, Jenny. I'm fond of her myself. I couldn't have 
 wished you better fortune. But I suppose this isn't the time 
 to congratulate you." 
 
 He sighed, and went out. 
 
 I stayed a few moments, staring at the closed door. Even 
 now I did not know what to think. When I followed into the 
 hall, he was gone. The house seemed as silent as the tomb. 
 Begbie was somewhere upstairs, as busy as ever. The front 
 doors stood open, I took an electric torch from the box in 
 the hall and passed out into the rain. 
 
 The first place I made for was the kennels where Dan the
 
 THE WI LL 189 
 
 spaniel lived, near the stables, and called to him, rattling 
 the gate. I turned the torch on him as he came blinking out 
 of his straw bed into the kennel yard, his tail wagging 
 amiably; his coat and ears seemed dry. I opened the gate, 
 and the old fellow trotted along behind me in the rain and 
 mud as I went back past the porch. 
 
 Another thought occurred to me. I skirted round to the 
 garage and glanced in through the window. The Chrysler 
 was there. So was Elaine's new Rolls, in the next shed. 
 Both cars were accounted for. As I shut off the torch I 
 heard a sharp voice with a Scotch burr overhead at the open 
 window of the chauffeur's quarters. 
 
 "Who's that stravaigin' round here at this time o' night? 
 Whay d'ye want?" 
 
 "All right get back to bed," I said shortly, and hurried 
 back along the streaming paths. I returned Dan to his 
 kennel, and when I reached the house again Begbie was 
 coming downstairs with a sheaf of papers and valise in his 
 hand. He made for the library, and at the same moment my 
 father came across the hall from the gun-room. 
 
 He looked at Begbie with the same cold resentment that 
 he had shown on the night when I caught Linke spying 
 behind the door. 
 
 "Finished your search, Inspector?" he said. "Am I to 
 hear the result?" 
 
 Begbie looked at him for a moment in silence. 
 
 "I've a telephone call to put through," he said, "but I'll 
 tell you the result right away, Lord Trent, for I've made a 
 discovery of the first importance, and it concerns you and 
 your son." 
 
 He unhooked the receiver on the library table as my 
 father seated himself. 
 
 "Station! . . . Hullo! Begbie speaking. Send the police car 
 to Stan ways House. . . . Inspector Palke there? ..."
 
 190 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Is it your intention to arrest me, Begbie?" said my 
 father with that alluring little smile of his. Begbie hung up 
 the receiver and glanced across at him. 
 
 "Why should you imagine that, Lord Trent?" 
 
 "Because if you do, should you not give me the customary 
 warning? All I know of police methods has been gathered 
 from works of fiction doubtless by people who know 
 nothing about the subject." 
 
 "I don't study fiction; facts are the only things that 
 count in police work," said Begbie, and laid the valise and 
 papers beside him on the table. "I went through Miss 
 Corbyn's belongings; the writing-case and drawers were 
 locked but I opened them, and among various private 
 papers I found two things that justify the search I made, 
 and here they are. 
 
 "One is a letter addressed to Miss Jenny Craddock. 
 The other is this document," said Begbie, drawing a folded 
 paper from a long envelope, "which I'll begin with as it's by 
 far the most important. You don't know what it is, Lord 
 Trent?" 
 
 "I am waiting for your explanation, Inspector," said my 
 father, "the case is in your hands, not mine." 
 
 "I asked because it carries your signature and it is dated 
 five days back," said Begbie. "I will read it out, for it explains 
 itself." 
 
 And in a stolid, unemotional voice, as if he were a broker 
 detailing a bill, Begbie read aloud what was to me the most 
 amazing news I ever heard in my life. 
 
 "This is the last Will and Testament of me Elaine Corbyn 
 Power. I give and bequeath three million dollars in invested 
 stock held in my name in the Guaranty Trust Bank, New 
 York, to my loyal friend and companion Jenny Craddock, 
 and a further sum of three millions to my husband, Michael 
 Power, formerly of Deer Lake, Michigan, if he survives me;
 
 THE WILL IQI 
 
 the remainder of my property of every kind and where- 
 soever situate I bequeath to the aforesaid Jenny Craddock 
 unconditionally and I appoint her Executrix of this my will; 
 as witness my hand this Eighth day of November, 1929." 
 
 "Signed, 
 "ELAINE CORBYN POWER. 
 
 "Witnessed: Trent of Denham; Stanways, Hertfordshire. 
 Martha Jessop; Housekeeper, Stanways."
 
 XXXIII 
 WHO IS MICHAEL POWER? 
 
 I s A T in stunned silence as Begbie finished the reading of 
 the will. I looked at my father who sat very still, watching 
 the Inspector through half-closed eyes. It seemed to me his 
 self-control was shaken at last. 
 
 "A remarkable document, Lord Trent," said Begbie, 
 smoothing it out. "It seems quite in order, so far as one can 
 judge. Miss Craddock inherits three million dollars: roughly 
 600,000; and Michael Power benefits equally." 
 
 "Michael Power!" said my father, reaching for the paper. 
 "And can you tell me, Inspector, who the devil Michael 
 Power is?" 
 
 "It's plain enough from this paper that he is Elaine 
 Power's husband. Her maiden name was Elaine Corbyn and 
 under that name she chose to be known here. This document, 
 which if she is dead is worth a fortune, has evidently been 
 kept a pretty close secret. Now that it's in my hands, do you 
 agree with me that we needn't look any further for a motive?" 
 
 "I should say not! When you find Michael Power you 
 have a man who has something over three hundred thousand 
 pounds to gain by his wife's death," said my father. 
 
 Begbie nodded. 
 
 "That's true," he said, taking back the will and laying it 
 beside him. "But it doesn't go all the way because if 
 anything has happened, or should happen to this Michael 
 Power, then Miss Craddock your lordship's other guest, 
 who is at present asleep upstairs inherits everything. The 
 entire fortune would go to her." 
 
 "You'll notice, too," continued Begbie, "that Elaine 
 Power didn't seem to know herself whether Power is dead 
 or living. She says here 'if he survives me'. . . . Evidently
 
 WHO IS MICHAEL POWER? 193 
 
 she was separated from him, and it looks as if he wasn't a 
 very satisfactory husband yet she would not, or at any rate 
 did not, leave him out of her will. She leaves him half her 
 fortune if he is alive to claim it." 
 
 "And here's another point," said Begbie, "it doesn't seem 
 very likely, does it, that Power could have known the terms 
 of this will, for it's only six days old." 
 
 "My good Begbie!" exclaimed my father, "how can I tell 
 what Michael Power knew or didn't know; I never heard of 
 him till this moment." 
 
 "Never heard of him?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Nor that Elaine Corbyn was a married woman when 
 you signed as witness to this will?" 
 
 "No; and I never even knew that it was a will. Shall I 
 explain?" 
 
 "If you please," said Begbie. 
 
 "Five days ago it was about ten o'clock in the evening 
 Miss Corbyn and I were alone in this room; she asked me 
 to witness her signature to a document. She didn't tell me 
 what it was, and I asked no questions; it's the sort of thing 
 one's often asked to do for people, and for all I knew it was 
 a share certificate or a lease. She had the thing with her, and 
 she signed it sitting at that desk by the window." 
 
 "She called to me, moved her chair a little to one side to 
 make room for me, gave me her fountain-pen, and I signed 
 where she indicated. The top half of the paper was folded 
 over, so far as I remember. Anyway, I never gave the matter 
 two thoughts until now. It didn't occur to me it could have 
 any bearing on this case or I should have told you." 
 
 "But didn't it seem strange to you, Lord Trent, when you 
 wrote your name here opposite hers, that she should sign 
 herself Elaine Corbyn Power?" said Begbie, "since you 
 didn't know her by that name?"
 
 194 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "It certainly would have if I'd noticed it but there was 
 a slip of blotting paper under her hand as she held the paper 
 for me to sign and covered the last word, all I saw was 
 'Elaine Corbyn.' I suppose it's all she intended me to see, 
 and as a second witness was necessary, at Miss Corbyn 's 
 request I sent for my housekeeper who was the only person 
 available, and she signed too. Would you like to see her I've 
 no doubt she'll tell you the same?" 
 
 "I've no doubt she will," agreed Begbie, pressing the bell, 
 "but we'll have her in now, with your permission, and put 
 it on record." 
 
 Mrs. Jessop appeared promptly. She took not the slightest 
 notice of Begbie, until my father requested her to answer his 
 questions. She confirmed everything Dad had said. She was 
 not disconcerted by anything that was asked of her. Begbie 
 kept strictly to the matter of the signature and was very 
 brief with her. She said she had been called in by his lordship 
 to sign something for Miss Corbyn; she had seen Miss 
 Corbyn 's signature, she had noticed nothing unusual about 
 it. She could not remember any details, but she thought 
 most of the paper was kept covered up. She had not 
 attempted to pry into it; it was not her place. She vouched 
 for her own signature. 
 
 "That will do, Mrs. Jessop. You may go," said Begbie. 
 She curtseyed to my father and sailed out, rustling in black 
 silk. I noticed she had changed her dress. 
 
 "That was necessary," said Begbie dryly, "for this paper, 
 if it is valid, is worth 1,200,000. Six million dollars." 
 
 "Is it valid?" I exclaimed, breaking in, "Surely anyone 
 signing a will, must declare it to be his will before the 
 witnesses who sign it or it's a wash-out!" 
 
 "Is that the law, Inspector?" said my father. "I am a child 
 in these matters." 
 
 "No," replied Begbie. "Otherwise, Mr. Rolfe, any two
 
 WHO IS MICHAEL POWER? 195 
 
 witnesses who got together and declared they didn't know 
 what they were signing could upset any will ever made. If 
 you benefited under this will, Lord Trent " 
 
 "But I do not," returned my father. 
 
 "Just so," said Begbie grimly, "if the witnesses to a will 
 are given any benefit under it, then the will's bad." He folded 
 it and buttoned it into his breast pocket. "But you don't 
 benefit." 
 
 "I'm afraid Begbie, you think me a fool for signing a paper 
 without even knowing what it was," said my father. 
 
 "On the contrary, Lord Trent," said Begbie, rising, "if I 
 may say so I consider you one of the most intelligent people 
 I ever met in my life, and I've had some experience. I hear 
 the car outside and I'll wish you good night." 
 
 My father opened the door for him. 
 
 "Good night, Begbie. You have lighted up this case 
 marvellously, in so short a time. Did you say there was a 
 message a letter for Miss Craddock?" 
 
 "I've got it here. It will be delivered to her first thing in 
 the morning," said Begbie as he went out. "Good night, 
 Mr. Rolfe." 
 
 My father drew a deep breath as he heard the car shoot 
 away down the drive. 
 
 "Energetic Begbie. He has taken everything; the will, the 
 letter, even my pistol, and I rather thought he was going to 
 take me. Instead of which he pays me a fulsome compliment, 
 and drives away to consult Scotland Yard. By the way, Ken, 
 which do you consider me to be, a fool, a crook, or merely a 
 very intelligent person?" 
 
 "I was just wondering," said I, "what Begbie meant when 
 he said you knew who Linke was." 
 
 "Did he? So he did; I remember. But Begbie gives me 
 credit for such a lot of knowledge. If the police know who 
 Linke was, they'll declare it when they see fit; but I'm glad
 
 196 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 you asked Jenny to be your wife before you ever heard of this 
 will." 
 
 "I'd rather not discuss Jenny with you." 
 
 "I'll tell you one thing, Ken, though you won't believe me. 
 I would have been just as pleased at you and Jenny getting 
 together, if this cursed business had never happened, and 
 the will had not existed. I'll remind you of that later." His 
 eyes twinkled at me oddly. "But there is one thing that 
 impresses me about this case, and it's just what I expected." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Everybody except yourself of course within and 
 without the circle, crooks, police, women witnesses even, 
 each and every one is playing for his or her own hand, 
 stacking the cards, bluffing, not one of them playing a straight 
 game. It's been so from the first. All, my boy all!" 
 
 "What do you imagine they are after?" 
 
 My father smiled. 
 
 "What are we all after?" he demanded. "Money: or its 
 equivalents, credit promotion safety success. People are 
 like that, when you get up against big elemental motives as in 
 this case." 
 
 "You have a cheerful opinion of your fellow-creatures," 
 said I. 
 
 "I have no opinion of my fellow-creatures," said my 
 father, "and I'm going to bed." 
 
 When he had gone out, I switched off the library lights, 
 
 id stayed for a moment or two reflecting. I remembered 
 
 lat my father had been under heavy obligations to Elaine, 
 tfye affair of Crieff and that 250 cheque. It was so long 
 ago, I HaS almost forgotten it. It would be difficult for him to 
 (T^fuse IjSej anything, if she had chosen to use the pull she had 
 (TjysChihsJ though he was a hard man to drive. But all that 
 seemed trifling in the light of what had happened since. 
 * A greajt deal had been revealed, but one thing remained
 
 WHO IS MICHAEL POWER? 197 
 
 dark as the pit. Where was Elaine, and what had been her 
 fate? No one had answered that. 
 
 And Jenny what would all this money mean to her, 
 coming the way it did? What would she do? 
 
 Utterly weary, I went out into the hall, but braced up sud- 
 denly as I saw Tilden's car outside the porch. Why had he 
 come back? I ran anxiously up the stairs, and met him coming 
 out of Jenny's room. He looked dead beat, but he greeted me 
 much more amiably, his manner had altered completely. 
 
 "My dear chap! Finished my round looked in again, just 
 in case. Knew how you'd be feeling about it " 
 
 "Is she ?" 
 
 "She's all right. Sleeping like a cherub." 
 
 I grabbed hold of him and tried to thank him; suddenly he 
 seemed to spin all round me, everything went black, and I 
 heard his voice as if out of a fog. 
 
 "Hold up, man! I've enough patients on my hands 
 already!" 
 
 I suppose I must have been feeling the strain a bit; never 
 thought I should go under like that. It was humiliating. I 
 don't remember anything more except Tilden giving me a 
 drink that smelled like a hospital, as I sat on my bed. After 
 that a soothing, dreamless oblivion.
 
 XXXIV 
 THE CABLEGRAM 
 
 W HEN! woke the sun was streaming in through my bed- 
 room window. I lay blinking for a few moments, shook 
 off a sort of stuffiness in the head, and got a shock when I 
 glanced at the watch on the table beside me. It was past 
 eleven. 
 
 The events of the night before came crowding back on me 
 in a flood, but my first waking thought was for Jenny, through 
 a mist of semi-consciousness. 
 
 I thrust a leg out of bed and grabbed the bell-push; my 
 thumb had only been on the button a few seconds when 
 there was a tap at the door and Inspector Palke came in, like 
 a man sure of his welcome, as cordially and confidently as 
 if he had known me for years. 
 
 There was a folded newspaper under his arm; he looked 
 at me with that magnetic smile of his and I blinked up at him 
 with dubious eyes. I felt I had a friend in Palke, but a friend 
 with a cutting edge to him. To find a policeman at one's 
 bedside on waking is a disconcerting thing. 
 
 "Had a good night? That's fine!" he said. "Yes? I've seen 
 Miss Craddock; your turn next. I've a message for you. But 
 I want a little talk with you first." 
 
 "How is she? . . . And Elaine, haven't you news of Elaine? 
 made any arrest? What's the message?" 
 
 "No arrest Fish slipped through the net. The mes- 
 sage " he stopped short. "Yes, come in!" 
 
 The maid was at the door with the tea that came auto- 
 matically in response to my ring, part of the routine of 
 Stanways; I believe if the judgement trumpet were sounding 
 they would bring the tea along as soon as one woke. Palke 
 took the tray and set it on my bed.
 
 THE CABLEGRAM 199 
 
 "Get that into you; you're in the want of it," he said. "Not 
 a word till it's down." 
 
 He stepped across and locked the door; to hurry him I 
 reached for the tea and gulped down a cupful and some 
 biscuits; I certainly wanted it. He watched me with curious 
 eyes, and handed me a little grey envelope with my name on it. 
 
 "This is no part of my duty passing messages between 
 Miss Craddock and you. But I was never a purist for duty, as 
 they'll tell you at the Yard. That's for you." 
 
 I tore the note open and read: 
 
 "In the face of all our trouble, I'm sending you this 
 because I love you, Ken. Try not to worry too much, dear. 
 And I would put my hand in the fire for your father. I am 
 being guided by Inspector Palke, and I beg you, do the same. 
 
 "Love, 
 
 "JENNY." 
 
 It set my heart singing. Loyal, loving little Jenny! It 
 was a gleam of light breaking through clouds of tragedy. Not 
 even a message from a C.I.D. Inspector dovetailed into a note 
 like that, could spoil it for me. Indeed old Palke, standing 
 opposite me with a face like a lean bronze idol, was invested 
 with a halo of romance and hope. 
 
 "Cheer up, Rolfe," he said approvingly. I had bounced out 
 of bed as if he had galvanised me. 
 
 "But why, man! Why need she write at all? Where is she?" 
 
 "Come over here." He beckoned to me standing by the 
 window curtains. "You've just time. Thought you might like 
 to signal her good-bye . Lord knows when you '11 see her again . ' ' 
 
 I heard the whirr of a motor as I hurried across to the 
 window. A closed black car was making its exit down the park 
 drive; I had a glimpse of Jenny's head, she was looking up at 
 the window and she waved to me. A pretty figure I must 
 have looked, blinking stupidly there with my pyjama collar
 
 200 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 on end and my hair ruffled. The car swerved round the bend 
 of the avenue and was gone. 
 
 "I want her clear of this place and out of harm's way," said 
 Palke. "She'll be watched and I think you can make your 
 mind easy about her. It isn't necessary you or anyone else 
 should know where Miss Craddock is, for a while. Let it 
 alone, or you'll do more harm than good. We don't want any 
 more fatalities. Tell yourself that all's well, and be content." 
 
 It's easy enough to tell a man to be content. I looked at the 
 empty road, and at the letter again. Then I noticed a P.T.O. 
 at the foot of the note. I turned the page quickly. On the 
 inner leaf were four brief lines more, in Jenny's handwriting. 
 And as I read this second message I gasped as if a pailful of 
 cold water had been flung in my face. I'd thought that this 
 infernal case had prepared me for any shock. 
 
 I put the letter down and stared across at Palke. He was 
 watching me with anxious eyes, and a faint, slow smile. 
 
 "Rolfe, what that letter may contain is your business," he 
 said, "but you'll admit it is mine too. Lock it up in your 
 mind. Absolute secrecy; absolute silence remember. If you 
 breathe a word of it to any living soul, you'll wreck my case 
 and trip up the heels of justice." 
 
 I nodded, folding the note in my ringers. 
 
 "You'd better burn that," said Palke. 
 
 "Sooner burn myself!" said I, "This letter's mine." I 
 locked the note carefully away in a back drawer of the old 
 tall-boys chest by my bedside. "And now Elaine! What can 
 you do?" 
 
 "There's only one thing left to be done," said Palke. "I'll 
 not be content with getting the man who shot her if I ever 
 do. There are four people at least there may be more who 
 planned the murder of Elaine." 
 
 "I can't leave you out of this, Rolfe. You're dipped so deep 
 in the case now, that I've got to carry you along with me.
 
 THECABLEGRAM 2OI 
 
 Will you trust me entirely? I want your help. There'll be 
 some risks but consider the risk that girl took! I'll let you 
 into this case, step by step till we finish it together." 
 
 "That's good enough!" I said, and stopped short, watching 
 the man's keen face and pleasant yet ruthless eyes, "with one 
 reservation, Palke." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "If you are after my father, you'll get no help from me. I'll 
 see you in hell first." 
 
 Palke 's eyes flickered. He looked at me with a dry little smile. 
 
 " Do you really think, Rolfe, that I would ask a man to hunt 
 his own father?" 
 
 "I don't know that I'd put it past you. Begbie is after him." 
 
 Palke smiled. 
 
 "Lord Trent has been a little too deep for Begbie. I'm 
 letting Begbie stand down; the Linke case is plenty to occupy 
 him, and he's handling it quite efficiently. But get that 
 trouble right out of your mind. Your father had no hand in 
 the removal of Elaine that, at least he is clear of." 
 
 I sat up, gasping. 
 
 "Palke!" I said remorsefully, "what a fool I've been!" 
 
 "Not at all," said Palke, "a very natural mistake on your 
 part. In fact, until I got back last night I was none too sure 
 myself. And should I find I've made an error I will own to it; 
 you shall have fair warning. By the way, has it occurred to 
 you who the late Linke is or rather was?" 
 
 "Yes he was Michael Power; Elaine's husband." 
 
 Palke shook his head. 
 
 "A close shot but just misses it. We'll come to that in a 
 minute. Now we're getting our facts, making certainties of 
 them; let us see if we can straighten them out in their right 
 order. I'll give you as shortly as I can the mainspring of the 
 case, which is the story of Elaine's marriage with Michael 
 Power."
 
 XXXV 
 
 ELAINE'S MARRIAGE 
 
 " W HEN Elaine Corbyn was twenty," said Inspector Palke, 
 "she kept a little store in Gallwey, which is a one-cylinder 
 town up-country in Michigan. She had not only to keep 
 herself but her mother, who was a widow, and pretty helpless 
 at that." 
 
 "Michael Power lived a few miles off at Deer Lake; a man 
 of forty-five, an estate-agent in a small way. She was an 
 uncommon pretty girl, and he made her the offer which is 
 said to be the highest compliment a man can pay a woman; 
 there are some compliments dear at any price. She turned 
 him down. Elaine wasn't looking for trouble. But she found 
 it." 
 
 "Her mother fell dangerously ill. She was past any help 
 from the State hospital, and Elaine went to a specialist. But 
 you know what specialists are. It was one of those illnesses 
 poor folks should be careful not to get. She had to have a 
 change of climate; California or Florida, and treatment 
 lasting months. It couldn't be done under a couple of thousand 
 dollars. Elaine couldn't have raised three hundred." 
 
 "Then Power stepped in. If she would marry him right 
 away, he'd put up the two thousand. He wasn't a rich man at 
 all. But it got him like that. Asked her to consider it. She did 
 hoping there'd be some other way out. There wasn't. 
 Power knew that. But he didn't drive her too hard." 
 
 " 'You hate the idea of marrying me,' he said, 'or at any 
 rate of living with me, now. Maybe you think I'm taking an 
 unfair advantage, and you'd never forget it. I'd like you to 
 know me better than that, and I'll make a compact with you." 
 
 "Til let you have the two thousand now, to show I trust 
 you. We'll be married right away, and the marriage will be
 
 ELAINE'S MARRIAGE 203 
 
 quite private; no one's affair but your's and mine. You can 
 leave me, if you wish, as soon as they've made us man and 
 wife. You can keep your own name, tell no one, just keep 
 going on as Elaine Corbyn. And I'll never claim you till you 
 say the word. A man can't ever make his wife live with him, 
 if she doesn't want to." 
 
 " 'Take your mother away, and save her. You've needed her 
 most of your life. Now she needs you. I'll be content to wait.' " 
 
 "That shook Elaine. She felt Power was a great little man." 
 
 " 'Now, I'll tell you your share in the compact,' said 
 Power. 'Since you don't care for me enough yet to live with 
 me, I'll make a will in your favour, leaving all I have to my 
 wife Elaine Power. We'll draw it now, it will be signed and 
 valid as soon as we're on the register." 
 
 " 'You '11 do as much for me. You '11 make a will of your own, 
 leaving anything you have or become possessed of to your 
 husband, Michael Power. You'll stand by that will, as long as 
 I stand by mine. Isn't that fair, as between man and wife?' " 
 
 "She had nothing and was never likely to have. She came 
 of poor folk." 
 
 " 'Put it like this,' he said, 'it's so you shan't feel you are 
 taking something for nothing, say it's an acknowledgement 
 against the settlement I'm giving you. All you're thinking of 
 now is your mother; but there are two sides to a bargain. 
 This two thousand is just the half of all I have. And here's 
 my share for you right now, Elaine.' " 
 
 "He put the money down on the table. Two thousand in 
 hundred dollar bills. The price of her mother's life." 
 
 "She saw she must take it; but she made one condition of 
 her own." 
 
 " 'No one can be sure of what's going to happen,' she said. 
 'If I don't survive my mother I won't take the risk of leaving 
 her with nothing. I'll leave you the half of whatever I have 
 and you can do the same.' "
 
 204 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 " 'That goes,' said Power. 'Fair to both of us. Let's get it 
 done.' " 
 
 "He drew up the two wills. Half whatever he died 
 possessed of, to his wife, Elaine Power. Half hers, to him." 
 
 " 'There's one thing more,' he said. 'Fetch down your 
 mother's Bible." 
 
 " 'Now,' said Power, 'you'll lay your hand on the Book, 
 and swear that so long as I live you will never revoke that 
 will; that you'll stand honestly by those terms whatever 
 happens. And I'll swear the same.' " 
 
 "Two days later they were married away in another 
 town where they weren't known. Their names were set to the 
 wills and witnessed; they separated at the door, according to 
 contract. Elaine went back to Gallwey, sold up what she 
 had . . . told her mother she had raised enough, and took her 
 away to Santa Barbara. She'd plenty to cover the expenses 
 and the treatment. And she found work. Her mother re- 
 covered. At the end of the year she was well." 
 
 "And now it was up to Elaine to meet her contract. Was 
 she to say the word, and become Power's wife in fact as well 
 as in name? She hated the idea, and no doubt hated herself 
 for feeling she couldn't meet it." 
 
 "But why?" I broke in, "wasn't it obvious the man was a 
 damned scoundrel?" 
 
 "Not at all," replied Palke, "certainly not to Elaine. 
 You're being wise after the event, Rolfe. Look at it from 
 her point of view, and the circumstances she was in." 
 
 "She wrote to Power; would he give her time? She put it 
 up to him." 
 
 "Power replied. He seemed as generous and considerate 
 as ever. He said, wait awhile. He would give her a year to 
 consider. He wouldn't wish her to come to him unwillingly." 
 
 "Any kind of respite was welcome to her. She wrote to 
 him gratefully; got no reply. At the end of another ten
 
 ELAINE'SMARRIAGE 205 
 
 months her mother, who had seemed good for a long 
 life, died " 
 
 "Before she died, Elaine told her the story. I suppose her 
 mother saw there was something wrong, and got it out of her. 
 She felt she couldn't keep it to herself any longer; it was a 
 confession. Her mother was a religious woman; an oath taken 
 on the Book was inviolable to her. She couldn't urge her 
 daughter to a life of unhappiness. 'But,' said her mother, 'if 
 you feel you cannot be his wife, at least you must hold to the 
 terms you promised him; as he has kept his bond faithfully 
 and trusted you, you can never break yours.' Elaine agreed 
 with that." 
 
 "She met the loss we all have to face, soon or late, and 
 now she was alone. No one but herself to depend on not 
 that that mattered, she'd the pluck of ten. But where was 
 Power?" 
 
 "For months there had been no word of him. She made 
 enquiries. The folks in his home town knew nothing of him; 
 he had left long ago. There were rumours that he was dead 
 but nothing definite nothing that she could verify. 
 Nobody seemed interested in Michael Power. There was 
 an account of his at the Deer Lake branch bank nearly 
 empty, and not drawn on for a year." 
 
 "If he was dead, and had anything to leave, she could 
 claim under his will. She wouldn't have done that anyway. 
 She told nobody of her relations with Michael Power; she 
 kept her secret. And feeling, evidently with some remorse, 
 that she hadn't treated him over well, she came east to New 
 York leaving her will banked at Gallwey, where it had been 
 since she was married." 
 
 "In New York she met up with Jane Craddock, who'd 
 been a friend of hers in the early days in Michigan; Elaine 
 got a stenographer's job that Jane found for her." 
 
 "Then came that next most amazing event in Elaine's
 
 200 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 life, and by a long way the least expected. She found herself 
 a rich woman. A relative who was believed to have died 
 years ago on the Mexican border, and whom nobody had 
 ever supposed to have a bean, left her a freight of money. 
 His story the story of Benjy Slade is a romance in itself 
 but all that concerns you and me to-day, Rolfe, is that 
 Elaine Corbyn was his only living relative; she inherited six 
 million dollars." 
 
 "The first thing she did when she had the news was to 
 raise money against her legacy all she could get for a start 
 was four thousand before her claim was proved. She wrote 
 again to the Deer Lake Bank at once, for news of Power." 
 
 "She wrote under her own name; Elaine Corbyn. Gave 
 nothing away." 
 
 "The bank acknowledged receipt, but replied they didn't 
 know where Power was, though his account was still open. 
 All enquiries failed." 
 
 "Still no Power! The thing was hanging over her, same as 
 ever. Legally she was a married woman, but actually well, 
 what was she? There were ways out of it, of course, but they 
 couldn't be taken in a hurry, even if she chose those ways. 
 It was much more disquieting to be left in the dark like this, 
 waiting " 
 
 I crashed in again. 
 
 "She still held on to those terms after she knew she'd 
 been cunningly fooled by this crook? She must have wiped 
 the whole thing out; will and all. . . ." 
 
 "Do you think all folks are alike, Rolfe?" said Palke. 
 "You're suggesting now what you'd have done or think 
 you would have ... or what I'd have done. Cut the knot at 
 once, go back on everything she'd sworn, of course; cancel 
 the will before witnesses " 
 
 "She should have burned it!" 
 
 "And having done so, make another one cutting him out
 
 ELAINE'S MARRIAGE 207 
 
 altogether, eh? If she died intestate, leaving no will at all, 
 her husband would inherit everything she'd got, instead of 
 only half? Well, she just felt she couldn't do things that way." 
 
 "There are people who regard a contract and an oath as 
 something inviolable and unbreakable, so long as the other 
 party doesn't break it. She could have had her lawyers 
 break it much the same thing. I suppose you didn't happen to 
 notice, Rolfe, that Elaine Corbyn was a woman with a strong 
 will and plenty of courage; a belief that she could handle 
 her own affairs better than anyone else?" 
 
 "I should think I did notice it! Go on what did she do?" 
 
 "She had already decided to clear out and get away from 
 it all. To leave for Europe and live abroad for a year. But 
 she took certain precautions, for I think she must have 
 sensed danger." 
 
 "In New York she got acquainted with a woman who 
 knew England well, who suggested an introduction to Lord 
 Trent. She could stay with him as a paying guest at Stan ways 
 House." 
 
 "To Elaine it seemed the very thing she wanted. Better 
 than beating around in hotels. The arrangements were made 
 privately, and as soon as probate was through and she had 
 control of her fortune she sailed for England, taking Jenny 
 Craddock with her as attendant. The first time she struck 
 trouble was on the drive from Euston; that job was a raw 
 business but we can leave it for the moment and get on. 
 Then there was the spy you caught sneaking round the house 
 a week ago or rather failed to catch, but nothing really 
 serious happened till that appalling affair of last night." 
 
 "It was quick work, Rolfe, but there's no risk crooks 
 won't take for a prize like that. Doesn't it look very much as 
 if they'd got away with it?" 
 
 "But Power! If he's living ?" 
 
 "Certainly he's living. We've been pretty quick too.
 
 208 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 In fact we're just a shade ahead, and we've already placed 
 Michael." 
 
 "Then you've got him! He's arrested?" 
 
 "Why, no. What should we do with him, if we arrested 
 him? He has a three thousand mile alibi, you see our 
 Michael Power." 
 
 "His work, clearly! The head of the gang." 
 
 "That will take a bit of proving," said Palke, "for Michael 
 Power has been in a Canadian jail eighteen months which 
 goes some way to account for his wife not rinding him. He 
 was only released three days ago. But I shouldn't wonder if 
 we got further news of him." 
 
 There was a gentle tap at the door. A smooth-looking 
 young stranger in grey tweeds opened the door in response 
 to Palke 's answer, and beckoned to him respectfully. 
 
 "Come in, Jim," said Palke. "You don't mind, do you, Mr. 
 Rolfe?" 
 
 "Another DX cable, sir 'phoned through from Wheat- 
 bridge," said the young man, handing him a slip of paper. 
 "Decoded it to save time." 
 
 Palke glanced at the slip, and nodded. 
 
 "All right as far as it goes, "he said. "Thank you, Jim. Get 
 back to the gun-room telephone; you can smoke if you like. 
 Are you comfortable there?" 
 
 "Nice quiet room," said the plain-clothes man as he 
 backed out and closed the door. Palke handed me the slip of 
 paper. 
 
 "15 November. 8.10 a.m." 
 "New York. DX.2. 
 
 "Michael Power sailed Carthusian for Liverpool, 
 5 p.m. yesterday." 
 
 "Collins. JJ 5 ."
 
 XXXVI 
 SHADOWED 
 
 "PowER on his way here?" I exclaimed. 
 
 "Sailed last night. That's from Central Office, New York. 
 JJ5 is Captain Slade Collins, and if you see it on a DX cable, 
 it's so." 
 
 "Strange how things fall out, isn't it Rolfe if Linke 
 hadn't been shot in Black Spinney at the back of your house, 
 we probably shouldn't know that Michael Power is now 
 clear of the Hudson River, and heading east," said Palke 
 filling his pipe. 
 
 "Get on to this, Rolfe. Allowing for the difference in time 
 between here and New York, which is five hours, it looks 
 impossible, doesn't it, that when Michael sailed he could have 
 already known himself to be a widower . . . for he couldn't 
 know what happened at Stan ways last night, London time, 
 and got away from the West River Pier or even from 
 Quarantine down in the bay, at five." 
 
 "If those times are correct he couldn't possibly know!" I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 Palke ejected a thin stream of smoke from his nostrils; his 
 eyes glinted at me through the blue haze. 
 
 "So. It looks on the face of it, as if the right hand of this 
 gang didn't know what its left hand was doing," he said. 
 "But is that likely? No. However, we know where Michael 
 Power is. He is crossing the Atlantic in a halo of innocence." 
 
 "Innocent!" said I, "if he expects to get away with that he 
 must be the king of optimists." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Innocent or guilty, what will his claim on his wife's estate 
 be worth?" 
 
 "Three million dollars, Rolfe. Put yourself in his place;
 
 210 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 you are married, your wife is murdered to-night or dies by 
 her own hand 4,000 miles from here. No power of the law 
 can prevent you inheriting, unless there's some sure proof 
 of guilt brought home to you. Risk? No doubt there'd be 
 some small risk. But three million dollars are a lot of dollars." 
 
 "But now you've got Power taped " 
 
 "I tell you, Power by himself is no use to us. Where we 
 fail up till now, is that we haven't a vestige in the way of 
 evidence to trace those who did the job. Unless we get them 
 before Power arrives, we shall never get them. Who are they? 
 I don't know. And when I don't know a fact I own to it. We 
 have got to do our best." 
 
 "Now leave Michael Power on the S.S. Carthusian for a 
 minute, Rolfe, and just turn your mind back to his relations 
 with Elaine to that first year of his marriage. The terms, 
 the separation, the long delay what strikes you as the most 
 significant feature of all that?" 
 
 "He knew all the while that sooner or later money would 
 be coming her way; he knew what she didn't know and was 
 biding his time." 
 
 "That's obvious," said Palke impatiently, "but why allow 
 himself to be put off so easily, or wait so long? In his place, 
 wouldn't you have made sure of her 1 } The natural thing to 
 do. He could have done it. Why didn't he? Some strong 
 reason. What?" 
 
 I reflected; it didn't take me long. 
 
 "The other woman!" said I. Palke laughed. 
 
 "There's the makings of a detective in you after all," said 
 he. "Yes, in this sort of case that simple rule doesn't often 
 fail. There was another woman, a driving force in Michael 
 Power's life three years ago. What do we know of her? 
 Nothing. But she isn't a deduction, she is no theory. She's 
 flesh and blood." 
 
 "There was a woman, quite certainly, outside the morning-
 
 SHADOWED 211 
 
 room last night; though she had only twenty minutes start of 
 us there's nothing left to swear by but a blurred footmark or 
 two. There's almost as little trace of the gunman. Nothing 
 known of either of them. It's sure they must have come over 
 from the other side, and they were no amateurs. New York 
 always lets us know when anyone comes over who's likely to 
 interest us. But those two got past with it. They were never 
 reported. And they arrived here well ahead of Elaine, they 
 must have been aware that she was coming not only to 
 England, but to Stan ways. Did they travel on the same boat 
 with her? I believe not. It's much more likely that the woman 
 was here all along. And she's as elusive as a ghost. Unless I'm 
 much mistaken, she's the brains of the gang. Unless they're 
 under the skull of Michael. She certainly has the courage. 
 But none of them seem to be wanting in that." 
 
 "And her partner here. The Other Man?" I suggested. 
 
 "Maybe. But perhaps just a hireling a gunman." 
 
 "Why were they both on the spot together? It only 
 doubled the risk." 
 
 "On the contrary. Such a job as that is seldom done single- 
 handed. Moreover, these crooks never trust each other. But 
 I'm not guessing at their motives nor their reasons; and now 
 we come to Linke. 
 
 "Here we're on solid ground. There's an Official Memory 
 sitting in an office overlooking the Thames; it never forgets 
 anything, it indexed Spike O'Dowd in fifteen minutes, 
 although he had no face. But it hadn't any record of Linke. 
 There's another Memory, just as sure, within a gunshot of 
 the Hudson River. And when its sensitive antennae were 
 touched by a message a docket came back quick with 
 contacts from Manhattan, St. Louis, and Los Angeles. There 
 was no longer any mystery about Linke, beyond the matter 
 of his killing. I didn't ask for a new inquest; I kept the curtain 
 drawn. So we get a step farther."
 
 212 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Linke has held several jobs as personal servant or valet; 
 sometimes as a courier. And he has served three terms of 
 imprisonment; in each case for blackmail. He's not an easy 
 person to trace and he has several aliases; but the one that 
 fits him best and he has a right to is Power. Stephen Power, 
 brother, so it seems, to Michael. But rather a different 
 proposition." 
 
 "Why, Palke, you've got the whole case in your hands if 
 you know that!" 
 
 "I'd give two ringers if I had. You overlooked the point 
 that Linke is dead, and whatever knowledge he had died with 
 him. He was installed at Stanways before his allies, the 
 woman and her partner, arrived; he was the man inside, the 
 inner line of communication. A great pity he is dead, one 
 wonders what he might have told us and if it would have 
 been the truth. He knew a great deal. And he held some- 
 thing up his sleeve. It's a way all these sort of people 
 have." 
 
 Palke looked at me shrewdly. 
 
 "Isn't there one little thing you haven't told me, Rolfe? 
 Didn't Linke make some sort of a proposition to you try to 
 get an offer out of you the night he was fired . . . And just 
 before quitting?" 
 
 He was right as usual. I had kept that one thing back on 
 my father's account more than mine; for Linke 's affair hadn't 
 seemed to matter so much lately. And above all things I 
 hated talking about that last fateful interview. Now the dead 
 man had suddenly taken shape again. 
 
 "He did," said I, and forthwith I told him exactly what 
 had taken place between Linke and myself the last time I 
 saw him alive. 
 
 A surprising fellow, Palke. I got the impression I was 
 telling him what he already knew, and when I had finished, 
 he said:
 
 SHADOWED 213 
 
 "Not so bad. There's only one better reply you can make 
 to a blackmailer. Where did Linke get it?" 
 
 "On the seat of his pants." 
 
 "Naturally; but the location of this happy interview 
 wasn't it on the path by the back steps, the far side of the 
 house?" 
 
 "That's the spot," I said uneasily, "how the devil " 
 
 "Close under the side window of the library, eh which 
 is on the floor just above. You had left Lord Trent in the 
 library, and there was nothing to prevent his overhearing 
 this business between you and Linke; in fact he did overhear 
 it." 
 
 "Did he tell you so?" 
 
 "Of course he didn't. But it's a point there's no doubt 
 about." 
 
 "Surely, Palke, you weren't investigating the case at that 
 time?" 
 
 "No, but Begbie was. He did some quite useful work. The 
 morning after Linke 's murder, he had already established 
 that a woman had been present in Black Spinney. The tracks 
 were faint and the clues were slight. He made a further 
 discovery. He found similar footmarks of a woman in the dry 
 soil among the laurel bushes far from the back entrance of 
 Stan ways." 
 
 "Begbie has never been able to trace that woman further 
 nor to find any clue to her. But she had certainly been hiding 
 up there, the night before, and apparently she was alone then. 
 We deduce that she was in touch with the Stanways house- 
 hold, had a pretty close knowledge of it, and she was a clever 
 watcher." 
 
 "Whom was she watching?" 
 
 "Begbie has his theory. Mine is that she was spying on 
 Linke . She didn 't trust him . She overheard that little interview 
 of yours with him, and learned that he was playing for his own
 
 214 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 hand; willing, if he got his price, to go back on his friends and 
 sell his knowledge in a better market. That is a kink you'll 
 always find in the blackmailer. He naturally seldom sticks to 
 an agreement if he finds one that will pay higher; and he 
 dislikes sharing. Danger never appeals to him if he can 
 dodge it and play safety." 
 
 "The woman and her partner were the active agents, the 
 cutting edge of the scheme. Michael Power stood to win a 
 fortune in the event of Elaine Corbyn's death; it was neces- 
 sary that he should be, or appear, entirely innocent of it. If 
 and when it came off, they would have Michael in their 
 pocket." 
 
 "Right next to that scheme, knowing all the facts, an ally 
 that they couldn't shelve or leave out was Linke, otherwise 
 Stephen Power. Their game was up if he went back on them. 
 When the woman, mistrusting him, found that that was just 
 what he was ready to do, she passed the word to the man 
 with the gun. The stake was too big, and they couldn't risk 
 letting Linke baulk them for his own profit. His mouth had 
 to be stopped; and it was stopped that night in Black Spinney." 
 
 "Linke was out of the way. The killers came back that 
 same night with a car. They would have removed Linke if it 
 could have been done with safety. They left little in the way 
 of traces, but enough to show what their intention was. Here 
 we touch certainty again; somebody else intervened, and they 
 had to fade out and leave the body in the wood." 
 
 "So, a dead man was discovered in the Spinney, and 
 Begbie, following up the trail very intelligently his work 
 was really excellent found very little to help him at Stan ways, 
 and nothing to connect Linke with the two unknown women 
 who had just arrived from New York. Elaine Corbyn failed 
 to recognise him declared she knew nothing of him. She 
 wasn't helpful. Neither were you, Rolfe. I don't know that I 
 blame you. You might have cleared yourself of suspicion "
 
 SHADOWED 215 
 
 "This clears my father too! It shows he couldn't have had 
 any part in it at all." 
 
 "Ah, that doesn't by any means follow," said Palke. "What 
 does follow, and interests me very much more it will soon be 
 interesting all the world is that the automatic which showed 
 Linke the way out of it was the gun which that amazingly 
 plucky girl had to face last night, when she paid the price for 
 this damned conspiracy of silence. Unless I get that gunman," 
 said Palke gently, "I don't know that I shall take much more 
 interest in life myself. This isn't the sort of case I can feel 
 cold-blooded about, though I may have seemed so to you. 
 It's unprofessional, to show feeling of this sort. But I shan't 
 count the casualties, nor care who squeals, if I can herd every- 
 one concerned into the dock." 
 
 "You won't hear me squealing. And the man who got 
 away with Elaine what of him? Are you forgetting 
 him?" 
 
 Palke rose. 
 
 "If the others are roped in, I can get that man any time I 
 want him." 
 
 "Can you keep the story out of the papers?" I asked. 
 
 He looked at me sharply. 
 
 "Why on earth?" 
 
 "It's a hunch I've got, Palke, that if this news about Elaine 
 is kept back till the trailing is done, you'll win; and if not 
 you'll be beaten. I may be no detective, but I'm dead sure 
 that publicity and the cold truth will scare the murderer off 
 the map and beyond your reach. Shall I tell you why?" 
 
 "No," said Palke, "and I'm afraid your brain- wave misses 
 it, Rolfe. In any case it's late for this. Why, the news is out 
 now. In the Stop Press column, and postered besides." 
 
 "What! It's impossible." 
 
 "Look here," he said, and handed me the early edition of 
 the Daily Wire.
 
 2l6 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 I took it and stared blankly at the black headline over an 
 announcement packed into the Late News space. 
 
 TRAGEDY AT STANWAYS HOUSE 
 
 Miss Elaine Corbyn, a wealthy American woman, was 
 found shot last night in an empty room at Stanways House, 
 Herts. 
 
 There the report ended. 
 
 "Where the devil did they get this?" I said. 
 
 "From me," replied Palke. "I 'phoned it to the Wire 
 office last night soon after leaving you." 
 
 "Why does it stop at that? Not a word about the disap- 
 pearance " 
 
 "Can't pack an entire murder case into the Stop Press," 
 said Palke. "One must cut it short somewhere." 
 
 He reached for his hat, and laid a hand on my shoulder as 
 he turned to go. 
 
 "Sit tight for twenty-four hours, Rolfe. Dead silence till I 
 give you the word, and I think we've got our birds, I'm 
 taking a chance; it's going to be a pretty dangerous job for 
 everybody. But those who are running the risk have asked for 
 it, and they can't squeal. You'll keep your head shut, any- 
 how. I want you to remain on guard here in the house and 
 not leave it on any account till the morning. After that you 
 can do as you like." 
 
 "Why man, do you think you can keep this thing dark!" 
 I exclaimed as he turned the door handle. "All the household 
 knows more than there is in that paper they're bound to 
 talk." 
 
 "You're mistaken," said Palke, "not a soul knows anything 
 about it except your father, Miss Craddock, and Dr. Tilden. 
 Your father will certainly not open his mouth; and I've 
 ensured that Tilden won't talk. A very sound fellow; I saw 
 him last night."
 
 SHADOWED 217 
 
 "By the way," he added with a twinkle, "that must have 
 been a pretty stiff sleeping dope he gave you when he came 
 back. I knew you'd been having the devil's own time of it 
 with your father and Begbie. I was feeling rather sorry for 
 you, Rolfe and I still am. You're going to need all the 
 sympathy you can get." 
 
 The door closed suddenly behind him, and a few moments 
 later I heard his car driving away.
 
 XXXVII 
 THE LIGHT IN THE LODGE 
 
 I DIDN'T know whether to be furious with the man or to 
 laugh, as I bounced out of bed and took a rapid cold bath. 
 For nerve I never knew Palke's match, but the suggestion 
 that I had been deliberately doped out of the way and put to 
 sleep comfortably because it suited Palke's book, certainly 
 did raise my gall. 
 
 But as I hurried into my clothes my spirits rose every 
 moment. Jenny was out of harm's way, come what might; 
 safeguarded by the police, and clear of the whole horrible 
 business. I owed that to Palke in fact from start to 
 finish it was hard to reckon up how much I was in his debt; 
 though the loss of her left a gap that nothing else could 
 fill. 
 
 When I went down, the house seemed uncannily quiet. 
 Out of doors everything was fresh and bright after a night of 
 heavy rain. I found three maid-servants in the library, 
 talking excitedly in undertones. They seemed embarrassed 
 when I entered, and they hurried out. A parlour-maid looked 
 at me curiously and was evidently bracing herself to ask a 
 question. I suppose I looked more forbidding than usual; 
 she subsided and followed the others. 
 
 Palke had said they knew nothing which mattered. He 
 might be right; a household staff generally knows more than 
 it's given credit for. And somehow in the full light of day, the 
 amazing events of the past night seemed to have faded out 
 like an evil dream; one could hardly realise they had 
 happened. 
 
 I passed into the grounds. Of the faint trails and foot- 
 prints that we had examined overnight there remained no 
 trace; it seemed to me that the flower-bed below the morning-
 
 THE LIGHT IN THE LODGE 2IQ 
 
 room window must have been raked over early in the night, 
 so thoroughly was everything obliterated; the rain had done 
 the rest. 
 
 The morning-room presented a blank front of heavy bolted 
 shutters inside the window; the door in the passage was 
 locked. For a few moments that sinister room drew me like 
 a magnet. Then I left, glad enough to get away from it. 
 Nothing to be done there. 
 
 Palke had asked me to remain in the house. On guard, he 
 had said. What did he mean by that? What did he expect me 
 to do he had given me no instructions. 
 
 Elaine's room I also found was locked; Jenny's too. I made 
 an unobtrusive tour of the house and had soon accounted for 
 all the indoor staff, with the exception of Mrs. Jessop. And of 
 my father there was no sign. 
 
 All through this apparently useless secrecy I was thinking 
 busily, straightening out in my head the amazing story that I 
 had heard, and reaching for the final solution. 
 
 Suddenly, like a flash it came home to me; I believed I saw 
 clearly where Palke was shaping. It was a revelation. I was 
 still outlining it mentally, deciding what my own part in it 
 should be, when I found myself facing my father, who came 
 in unexpectedly by the back door, in a heavy overcoat and 
 carrying a little valise. 
 
 I stopped dead, tongue-tied. I never felt so apologetic and 
 embarrassed in my life; now it was as though he was the 
 accuser, and I the accused. His manner had completely 
 altered. He looked at me with a cynical hostility that made 
 me still more uncomfortable. 
 
 "You are on duty, of course?" he said. "As for me I find 
 the atmosphere of this house so sinister and suspicious that 
 I'm clearing out. I've had enough of it. You'll find it 
 necessary, I suppose, to let Palke know you saw me go, and 
 the time?"
 
 220 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "For Mike's sake don't talk like that, Dad!" I said, for my 
 nerves were on edge. "Look here, I want to tell you " 
 
 "Tell me nothing. Much better for you; and probably for 
 me. Jenny Craddock is now under police protection it seems, 
 and that ought to satisfy you. Quite natural. Palke has you on 
 a string." He turned up the collar of his overcoat. "A devil 
 of a fellow, this Palke," he added. "Perfectly unscrupulous. 
 He's going to land us all in the cart. But I'm past caring. He 
 is intelligent at any rate, and I prefer him to Begbie. Good-bye 
 for the present, my boy. Remember that your unfortunate 
 father wishes you well, though he finds it a duty to take care 
 of himself. Don't talk to the servants, by the way." 
 
 "Where is Mrs. Jessop?" I asked as he turned away. 
 
 "I doubt if you'll ever get over that habit of asking foolish 
 questions," rejoined my father, and disappeared down the 
 garage path. 
 
 It was a relief in a way, but I felt very lonely and apprehen- 
 sive after he had gone. As if it were likely I should talk of this 
 business to the servants! 
 
 One thing I did expect, and dreaded the job of coping with 
 it, was the arrival of the Pressmen from London. 
 
 It seemed to me they were bound to come flocking down 
 on the trail of such a story as this, and all the more because I 
 found to my surprise that there was not a word about it in 
 the Express or The Times we don't take the all-popular 
 Wire at Stanways. I didn't think even Palke would have 
 the nerve to give them an exclusive "scoop" at the risk of 
 having all the other papers calling for his blood; the police 
 usually take care not to upset the Press. 
 
 But not a soul, to my knowledge, came near Stanways that 
 day, and though I was strung up with the expectation of 
 some rough stuff that I could take hold of and deal with, 
 nothing happened. That was what galled me. I wanted action, 
 and it looked as if Palke had switched me on to a side-track
 
 THE LIGHT IN THE LODGE 221 
 
 for his own ends. When night fell, I was raging at the thought 
 that he had sold me a pup. If this was what he called leaving 
 me on guard, I was fed up with it. But I took the little twenty- 
 bore gun up to bed with me. 
 
 At ten o'clock, as I looked out from my window across the 
 park, I saw a distant light glimmering like a tiny star, low 
 down among the trees near the south entrance. It was steady 
 but faint, as though somebody had stood a lantern there.
 
 XXXVIII 
 THE REPORTER 
 
 I J u D G E D it to be nearly a mile away; it was in the 
 opening of the south lane, hard by Black Spinney. There was 
 something queerly suggestive about that spark of light in the 
 gloom. I hadn't imagination enough to picture it as a corpse- 
 candle marking the spot where Linke the blackmailer had 
 met his end. Linke Stephen Power, brother to Michael who 
 was on his way across the Atlantic, claimant to the millions 
 lodged at the Guaranty Trust. I thought it was likely to be 
 something much more material. 
 
 Black Spinney had such a morbid attraction for me that I 
 was all for slipping quietly out to investigate. But I didn't 
 go; Palke's instructions held me to the house, and though I 
 resented them I sat tight, watching the light for an hour, 
 when it was suddenly extinguished. For another half-hour I 
 watched, smoking thoughtfully. Then I turned in, fully 
 dressed; the little spark of light was with me in my 
 dreams. . . . 
 
 When I woke in the morning, with the gun lying beside 
 me and Stan ways just as quiet and peaceful as usual, I felt 
 mad enough to shoot Palke, who turned up on the stroke of 
 eight, just as I came downstairs. 
 
 "Well, who's wearing the handcuffs?" I said. "Have you 
 left me out of it?" 
 
 "You may hear them click if you listen," he replied. "Now 
 don't get sour, Rolfe, I'll put you in the front seat if you'll 
 have a few hours' patience. Seen anything here?" 
 
 I told him about the light. He showed no interest in it. 
 
 "No law against showing a light in peace time," he said, 
 and gave me the Wire, "Here's the latest." 
 
 I flew off the handle.
 
 THE REPORTER 223 
 
 "Damn it all, Palke, what's the Wire to me? I want action, 
 not morning editions!" 
 
 "You'll get all the action you need. And don't speak 
 lightly of the Press. Read that snapshot report, Rolfe. It 
 takes us where we want to go, and it touches you closely." 
 
 I opened the paper. And I got a jar that shook me. The 
 sting wasn't in the big middle-page headlines, but in the tail 
 of the report. 
 
 THE STANWAYS TRAGEDY 
 
 There was a lead-off of personal stuff about Stanways, 
 Elaine, and her wealth, which I skipped hastily. 
 
 ... At twenty-past nine on Friday night, Mr. Kenyon 
 Rolfe, Lord Trent's son, startled by a sound which he 
 believed to be a gunshot, hurried into the morning-room 
 and found Miss Elaine Corbyn apparently fatally injured; 
 a bullet wound in her right temple. 
 
 The windows of the room were closed. She was still 
 conscious but unable to speak, and it seems uncertain whether 
 she was still living when Mr. Rolfe hurried out to summon 
 medical help with all possible speed. That help was never 
 to reach her. 
 
 The most amazing feature of the case is that during that 
 brief absence of Mr. Rolfe's, which is accounted for by his 
 call to the doctor and the police and occupied but a few 
 minutes, Miss Corbyn disappeared. When he returned the 
 window was open and she was gone. 
 
 Here followed a short account of my own futile search 
 and pursuits. 
 
 Police were on the spot within a quarter of an hour. 
 Search soon revealed tracks showing that Miss Corbyn had 
 been removed by a man who had entered by the window; 
 there were other confused footmarks, but owing to heavy 
 rain all trails failed.
 
 224 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 Up to the present the identity of this man, who has 
 thrown so sinister a cloud of mystery over the fate of Miss 
 Corbyn remained unrevealed. 
 
 There is only a small household staff at Stanways, none 
 of whom, it appears, were aware of the tragedy till the 
 police actually arrived. 
 
 Lord Trent was not in the house at the time the shot was 
 fired, and on his return he declared himself not only ignorant 
 of the occurrence, but of any motive that Miss Corbyn 
 could have had, or any reason for the subsequent mysterious 
 removal. 
 
 The pistol found by Miss Corbyn's side remained where 
 it lay and has been identified as her own. Miss Corbyn lay 
 within six feet of the fireplace, at the back of the room. 
 The pistol was close by her right hand. It is a small 33 
 automatic with the usual nine rounds; one shot discharged. 
 
 That finished it. Not a word about the will. But it was that 
 last line which got me. I flung the paper down and turned to 
 Palke. 
 
 "The gun was clean!" I said. 
 
 "And on that point the case turns," replied Palke. " and 
 one other. It was clean, my dear Rolfe, when you found it. 
 But you didn't know that. Begbie gave that fact away to you. 
 The more fool he. A man who is after a murderer has no 
 right to be humane, and even Begbie has a soft side. He knew 
 your hands were clean, and seeing you half off your head 
 because you thought the girl had shot herself, he put you 
 wise and showed you the clean barrel which he'd no busi- 
 ness to do." 
 
 "Do we tell the papers everything we know? Not very 
 often, Rolfe, until we're ready. The pistol and the spent 
 shell are on record to show. Only three people know. Myself, 
 Begbie, and you. Your mouth is closed." 
 
 I looked at him, rather aghast. 
 
 "But man, are you going to let a million people believe 
 that Elaine Corbyn died by her own hand!" I said.
 
 THE REPORTER 225 
 
 Palke drew coolly at his pipe, peering at me through the 
 smoke. 
 
 "My dear Rolfe, it's nothing to me, at this stage, what the 
 public choose to believe or what deductions they make." 
 
 "That news-story there has got all England wondering 
 what really happened to Elaine Corbyn, and by to-night 
 America will be wanting to know as well. But there's not a 
 soul will want to know quite so badly as the man who shot 
 Elaine. He'd give his eyes for that knowledge. And guessing's 
 mighty dangerous for him." 
 
 "You see, don't you, Rolfe? Since you'd learned so much I 
 had to show you all there was to be seen, and secure you on my 
 side. I believe another twenty-four hours will see us home." 
 
 "You're a clever devil, Palke, and you've certainly your 
 nerve with you! Even now I don't see clearly what you're 
 driving at?" 
 
 "You don't? Use your brains. You're the only one that's 
 inside the game. And it's a great game, Rolfe. They'll break 
 me if I lose." 
 
 "But man, you're holding up half creation! What about 
 the Wire man? You won't get away with that!" 
 
 "What, Charlie Flint, the livest little wire in Fleet Street? 
 I wouldn't naturally try to fool Charlie," said Palke reproach- 
 fully. "We've been in too many big cases together, Charlie 
 and I, and though he's for his paper before all things, he has 
 the makings of a great policeman. He's sitting in my car at the 
 moment. He'll ask you nothing this time so you needn't 
 tell him anything." 
 
 "I certainly won't! But you've got to tell me " 
 
 "Later," said Palke, rising, "no telling needed. We're 
 going to get that action you're itching for." 
 
 He opened the library door, and in the hall we found a 
 stocky little man with shrewd, whimsical eyes, inspecting the 
 pictures with the air of a connoisseur.
 
 226 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "This is Mr. Rolfe, Charlie," said Palke, and the little 
 man bowed to me. It was the first time I had met Charles 
 Flint, though his fame reached far beyond Fleet Street. 
 
 "You look younger than I'd have judged from your 
 portrait, Mr. Rolfe we've got it at the office," he said. "I 
 suppose you realise that you are News. Jimmy you're scaring 
 me a little, a thing no man has ever done yet. If you've sold 
 the Wire a pup, it's going to be your finish and mine." 
 
 "Notyour's anyway, "said Palke, "and I give you my word 
 Charlie that you and you only shall be in at the death when 
 this job clicks." He turned to me. "You remember the 
 Deeping case? Without Charles Flint's help, I should never 
 have hanged Deeping." 
 
 The reporter smiled at me, with the suspicion of a wink. 
 "I wish you well clear of Inspector Palke," he said. "The 
 most unscrupulous policeman I ever had to do with, and the 
 cleverest. He has the criminal mind." 
 
 "No detective can get anywhere without it, and all 
 successful crime reporters are born with it," chuckled Palke. 
 "If you understand the criminal's mentality and have 
 sympathy with it, you can forecast very accurately what he 
 will do." 
 
 "I can forecast the hell my colleagues on the other papers 
 will raise on my getting ahead of them," said Mr. Flint, 
 cheerfully. "There's a couple of them at the gates now, I 
 believe, squaring the lodge-keeper!" 
 
 "We can't have that!" said Palke, hurrying to his car. 
 "This place must be kept quiet I'll give them what they 
 want. Go out across the fields, Charles; meet me in the 
 village." 
 
 He called back to me as he started his engine. 
 "You're off guard, Rolfe. See you later. Go anywhere you 
 like except Black Spinney." 
 
 And he was gone. Mr. Flint smiled at me again.
 
 THE REPORTER 227 
 
 "I'll leave you too, Mr. Rolfe. As we're both victims of 
 that plausible policeman, we won't stay together and abuse 
 him. I don't think he'll let us down. You wouldn't, I suppose, 
 care to give me any idea what has become of Miss Jenny 
 Craddock?" 
 
 "I would like to know myself," I said guardedly. "But if 
 I did I wouldn't tell you." 
 
 He nodded, and stared at me thoughtfully. 
 
 "The roses of romance!" he sighed. "I was young myself 
 once. Would you think it impertinent of me, Mr. Rolfe, if I 
 offered you my congratulations?" 
 
 "I rather like you, Mr. Flint," I said, "but understand 
 that if you publish anything about that in your rag, there's 
 going to be another murder." 
 
 "I wouldn't dream of it," he protested, "unless things go 
 so well that you'd ask me to but I'm much afraid they 
 won't. They seldom do when there's a job for the hangman. 
 Well, an revoir." 
 
 He waved his cane to me and walked briskly away across 
 the park, a quaint little figure. As I retreated into the house, 
 cursing Palke's reticence and wondering if it was worth 
 while waiting for him, the postman arrived on his push-bike 
 with the morning mail. 
 
 There was a sheaf of missives for my father, all of which 
 looked like bills, and a single letter for me, which I took into 
 the gun-room and tore open hurriedly. I never learned till 
 then how a woman's handwriting carl set one's heart beating. 
 When love is starved it feeds on crumbs. 
 
 "Ken dear, I'm beginning to hope. Things are going to 
 come right, and I want to tell you so in case you're feeling 
 lonely. Forgive me if I daren't say more, and I oughtn't to 
 be writing at all. Life can't always be cruel." 
 
 "JENNY."
 
 228 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 That was all. It was little enough. But I washed out Palke 
 and everything else, and in five minutes I was in the car, 
 speeding for London though there wasn't even an address 
 on the letter. 
 
 I felt I couldn't stand Stanways and its silence another 
 day, and as I know Galton Park the postmark on the 
 letter well-to-do suburb with a police-station and a 
 residential hotel, I got the idea that I could locate Jenny on 
 my own. Of course this was all against orders. I didn't care, 
 if I could get next her. But briefly, my day was a complete 
 frost though one or two odd things happened and I got 
 back to Stanways in the evening as wise as when I started. 
 
 A suspicion reached me that Palke had somehow worked 
 it to get me out of the way. He was uncanny in his sure 
 judgement of the people he dealt with. But there was no sign 
 of him, and Stanways was like a tomb for quietness. Patience 
 is not one of my vices, and I was through with Palke. He had 
 promised me action, and he was a four-flusher. 
 
 Then I saw that little spark of light again, among the 
 trees, like an old friend.
 
 XXXIX 
 THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE 
 
 THE light showed itself a little earlier than the night before, 
 and being interested, for there was nothing else to do, I 
 slipped quietly out into the park, and placed it definitely this 
 time. It was not in the Spinney, as I had thought; it came 
 from a window in the south lodge, near by. 
 
 This was curious, because the south lodge was empty, 
 and hadn't been occupied for months. It was derelict, and 
 no one had any business to be there. 
 
 Well, it was my business if it was anybody's. What was 
 the light, and why was it there? Palke's prohibition was 
 lifted, and it would have made no difference to me if it hadn't 
 been. I stalked the spot cautiously, keeping under cover of 
 the long belt of timber that skirted the park, and halted in 
 the gloom, a gunshot away from the lodge. The light came 
 from a small square window on the side nearest Stanways. 
 
 I waited for a minute or so, and it seemed as though a 
 shadow flitted between me and the light. Was someone else 
 abroad, doing a little scouting? I began to wish I had brought 
 the twenty-bore along. But on second thoughts, better not. 
 There had been too much shooting in Hertfordshire for 
 comfort; I had a feeling that this was no occasion for lethal 
 weapons, though the sense of a lurking danger was strong in 
 me. The light became visible again, the shadow passed, and 
 I crept forward till I was beneath the open casement window, 
 rising cautiously till I could get a view of the room. It was 
 rather like the opening scene in a play. 
 
 I don't think I was particularly surprised at the sight of 
 my honoured parent. He was sitting comfortably at a little 
 table in the centre, the picture of imperturbability, a writing- 
 block before him. His pen was moving as if he were balancing
 
 230 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 up accounts, emitting an occasional whiff from an admirable 
 cigar whose scent drifted to me at the window. 
 
 The lodge parlour was bare save a couple of chairs and 
 the table, on which stood a kerosene lamp; a fire burned in 
 the open grate, and the place had a cosiness of its own in 
 contrast to the muggy darkness outside. 
 
 My father laid his pen down and glanced over what he 
 had written. I heard him laugh gently, as if at a thought that 
 tickled him. 
 
 I would have betted anything I possessed that he was not 
 within two hundred miles of Stanways, and I peered at him 
 wonderingly. Why had he retreated to the lodge? What was 
 the idea? He must have been here the night before, when I 
 first saw the light, and likely enough he had never left the 
 place. Nor was it my job to stalk him. 
 
 Why should he keep out of my way? I was on the point of 
 going straight in to have it out with him, but for a conviction 
 that it would end in my own discomfiture. And while I 
 hesitated, I heard a movement outside, on the gravel path 
 by the gate. 
 
 I saw my father shift slightly in his seat, and as he looked 
 up I withdrew, that he might not see me there. The last 
 thing I wanted was any sort of recognition. When I took 
 another look through the curtains he had resumed his 
 writing and seemed to have noticed nothing. His hearing was 
 never as quick as mine. 
 
 A moment later there was the sound of a boot gritting on 
 the step of the door on the farther side, the door opened 
 quietly, and a stranger entered the little parlour. 
 
 "Lord Trent, I think?" he said. His voice marked him at 
 once; from the Middle Western States. 
 
 My father looked up with a stare of surprise and annoyance. 
 I paid little heed to him; all my attention was focussed on 
 the stranger. I had a clear enough view of him as he stood
 
 THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE 231 
 
 in the glow of the lamp, having closed the door quietly 
 behind him. 
 
 He had a pair of keen, piercing black eyes, that did not 
 falter or blink in the sudden change from darkness to the 
 light of the room. Otherwise his appearance was rather 
 commonplace. He was of middle height, stockily built, 
 and wore a soft grey hat low over his forehead and a thick 
 grey overcoat. A comfortable-looking fellow with an amiable 
 air. But one look at him was enough for me. The danger 
 signal was up. 
 
 "What on earth do you want?" 
 
 "I had to run you to ground, Lord Trent," said the visitor 
 with a smile, and laid a card on the table. "But I guess you'll 
 forgive me. I'm James Wernicke, of the Chicago Globe- 
 Courier" 
 
 "I came here to be out of the way of Pressmen!" said my 
 father. "You are wasting your time." 
 
 "But I'm not wasting yours," said Mr. Wernicke. 
 "Listen! I am on the trail of the Corbyn case, I'm deeper 
 into it than anyone else, not excluding the police, and I know 
 there's only one man can give me the truth about it. Of 
 course, you wouldn't give it away. A point of honour. That's 
 understood." 
 
 "But one thing I've got to have the facts about this 
 unfortunate woman, Elaine Corbyn. That's what I'm here 
 for. Mind you, it's bound to come out soon or late! I want it 
 soon quick! Now, can I induce you to come across with 
 that story? It's worth " he paused a moment "it's worth 
 just a quarter of a million to me and my syndicate." 
 
 He gave the figure in a voice so gentle that it scarcely 
 reached me; I would have doubted my own ears, if my father 
 after a slight pause of amazement had not repeated it. 
 
 "A quarter of a million? Pounds?" 
 
 "Dollars. Say fifty thousand sterling."
 
 232 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 My father's eyes gleamed for a moment. His lips relaxed 
 in a slow smile. 
 
 "Yours must be a remarkably wealthy paper, Mr. 
 Wernicke!" 
 
 "Sure! The Courier Syndicate is one of the biggest 
 financial corporations in the world, and it can deliver the 
 price if it gets the goods. You have to realise, sir, that the 
 sensation raised by this case is already world-wide. Elaine 
 Corbyn was a Michigan woman and the Courier is the 
 principal paper in the Middle West. She was also a lady with 
 wide financial interests as you know," said the visitor 
 rapidly. "In short, Lord Trent, the sky is the limit as far as 
 my paper is concerned provided we get the story about 
 Elaine Corbyn and what happened to her. I have full powers, 
 as the Syndicate's representative, to deal with you." 
 
 "Mr. Wernicke," said my father, "do you take me for a 
 damned fool?" 
 
 Wernicke raised his hands, as if with a gesture of surrender, 
 dropped them again, and laughed. 
 
 "Nothing like it. I know you for a man of uncommon 
 perception and intelligence, Lord Trent. Let me assure 
 you of it." 
 
 "In that case, suppose you drop this camouflage about a 
 paper that's offering a fortune for a mere news-story, and 
 come to bed-rock?" 
 
 Wernicke shrugged a shoulder. His manner was calm 
 enough, but one could see that inwardly he was tense with 
 excitement and anxiety and determination. He was like a 
 man strung on taut wires. 
 
 "Thought you might prefer it the other way. To bed-rock 
 then," he said, "I want a quick yes or no does a quarter of 
 a million interest you?" 
 
 "It does. You interest me enormously, Mr. ".Vernicke," 
 said my father, just as cool in manner, but with the same
 
 THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE 233 
 
 suppressed eagerness. "When you first came in I took you 
 for a journalist. You have evidently heard I am a poor man. 
 It is against every principle I have to let a sum like that go 
 past me, if there is any means of my securing it. But how 
 am I to know " 
 
 "I can convince you, Lord Trent," said the visitor. "And 
 speed's everything, with me. I'm a business man we've got 
 to move quick. Just one moment first." 
 
 He moved to the entrance door and turned the key in it, 
 took a swift searching glance round the room, tried the two 
 narrow cupboards on either side of the fireplace; one was 
 locked and the other stood open he passed into the inner 
 room which was the lodge kitchen, returning immediately. 
 After this rapid survey he stepped across to my window and 
 closed it.
 
 XL 
 
 THE GUNMAN 
 
 I H A D drawn back and flattened myself against the wall, 
 my heart thumping fast, for I wanted to see more of this 
 gentleman before he became aware of me. So far, the luck 
 had held. But my spirits sank as the casement swung to. 
 
 When I took a cautious look, a minute later, no sound 
 reached me. The two men were seated, my father at the 
 table and Wernicke opposite him, looking decidedly wary 
 some six feet away, facing him. They were deep in earnest 
 conversation that was completely cut off from me. 
 
 I knew my father so well. I had a clear view of his face in 
 the lamp-light; I could read in it that resolute look, faint yet 
 unmistakable, which I had often seen before, when there 
 happened to be a big stake upon the board. Wernicke was the 
 cooler of the two, outwardly at any rate; he had the poker 
 face, one could not guess what sort of a hand he held. The 
 situation looked so dangerous to me that my nerves were 
 taut strung; something decisive was about to happen. 
 
 It was maddening to be shut out of it like this, behind a 
 latched window. I tried the edge of the casement; it seemed 
 rather a futile thing to do, but to my surprise for I could 
 have sworn I'd heard the bolt click home when Wernicke 
 closed it the window swung gently towards me and was 
 once more open. I stopped it when there was a gap of a few 
 inches, and again I was able to hear. 
 
 "That seems clear enough, Mr. Wernicke," said my father. 
 "Tell me exactly what it is you want of me." 
 
 "Two vital facts," said Wernicke. "I wish to know and 
 to have proofs what became of Elaine Corbyn, three 
 nights back when she disappeared out of the morning-room 
 at Stanways. Is she dead or living?"
 
 THE GUNMAN 335 
 
 My father was silent a moment. 
 
 "Now supposing, Mr. Wernicke, that I can supply those 
 facts " 
 
 "Cut it out," said Wernicke impatiently. "I know you can 
 put me wise to them. I know you're the only person living 
 who can. I'm not a guesser, I'm a man who works on 
 certainties. So don't let's waste time." 
 
 "This fifty thousand when do I receive it," asked my 
 father. 
 
 "Directly Elaine's will is proved. You may have to wait a 
 little but not long. As a guarantee that we shall play 
 straight, I'm offering you two thousand pounds down, on that 
 table. You'll get the balance when it comes in. You know 
 that we wouldn't go back on you. We wouldn't dare to. Any 
 more than you'd dare go back on us." 
 
 "Quite so, Mr. Wernicke. And two thousand pounds 
 down. You are willing to take my word for it? That I'm 
 delivering the goods." 
 
 "Certainly. It isn't to your interest to give me anything 
 but the sure facts. You would lose out of the deal if you did." 
 
 My father nodded. 
 
 "Mr. Wernicke, you're dealing very fairly with me. I am 
 to give you, privately and between ourselves, this very 
 dangerous secret on which such vast interests depend; it 
 affects you as much as it does me. Yet I pause and ask my- 
 self why should I? Even for such a prize as you offer? Why?" 
 
 "Wait, Lord Trent!" Wernicke leaned his elbows on his 
 knees and stared at him. "I know what you're thinking. You 
 believe you're safe. . . . You figure your son is going to get 
 half a million along with Jenny Craddock . . . half share of 
 the Power estate! If he counts on that, let me tell you you're 
 both out! You're dead wrong." 
 
 My father sat back in his chair, and drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Mr. Wernicke, you've told me you're a quick man, and 
 Q
 
 236 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 you certainly are," he said. "So you know all about the 
 Elaine Power will?" 
 
 "I know all about that will," said Wernicke quietly. "The 
 part of it that benefits Jenny Craddock isn't worth much; 
 she will never get it. And get on to this too, Lord Trent. 
 Even if it did benefit her and your son what in the name 
 of Mike would be the good of that to you! What would you 
 ever get out of it? Why not divide the safe half of the legacy, 
 and make sure of that? I'm offering you the cast down, and 
 a big fortune which is a cold certainty!" 
 
 "In other words, splitting the remainder of Elaine's legacy 
 with you?" 
 
 "Sure! We've a big hand to play, and you hold one of the 
 aces against us. We can't spread our cards till we know we 
 have a sure thing. We've got to have the news confirmed. 
 Answer quick now do you accept my offer?" 
 
 "That's easily answered," said my father. "Let me be 
 quite sure I've got it right. I receive fifty thousand, from the 
 sum inherited under Elaine's will, which your representatives 
 can't claim without definite proofs of her death. If her death 
 is not proved the will wouldn't have the slightest value for 
 any of us?" 
 
 "Sure! And you come across! Now then?" 
 
 "Mr. Wernicke, I don't accept any offer that you can 
 make. The answer is, no! I'll tell you further " 
 
 Wernicke leaned forward, surprise and anger in his eyes. 
 His manner had completely altered. 
 
 "I don't accept your refusal, Lord Trent," he said. 
 
 "You want it in plain language?" said my father coolly. 
 "I'll see you damned first, you thief and murderer." 
 
 Wernicke's face was congested with fury. For a moment 
 the two men faced each other, each seated in his chair. Then 
 with a movement quick as a striking snake, a black automatic 
 shone in the stranger's hand, pointing at my father's stomach.
 
 THE GUNMAN 237 
 
 I gripped the window-sill, ready to spring, realising with 
 dismay that there was no getting through that narrow 
 entrance in time, for a moment uncertain whether to dash 
 for the door. I knew that my father's refusal was final. And 
 Wernicke knew it too. 
 
 "Listen, you big stiff! You're dealing with a cornered man, 
 and I'm not leaving you to squeal on me give up or you get 
 yours now, this shuts your mouth!" 
 
 "There's no reason why you shouldn't shoot me," said my 
 father. "It will save me a lot of trouble. I had a Wesson which 
 the police collected, or you wouldn't have been sitting there 
 quite so long, Wernicke. You'll certainly hang soon or late, 
 whether it's on my account or Elaine's." 
 
 I gave a yell, and launched myself through the window. I 
 am big made, and it was a scramble rather than a spring 
 my shoulder hit the side of the frame and I sprawled on to 
 the floor of the room with the wind knocked out of me. 
 Before I hit the boards I heard an astonished cry, a smash 
 and the report of a pistol. It was like one of those confused 
 crashes of sound you hear in a Wagner orchestra. 
 
 I staggered to my feet in a rush of cold air, the front door 
 stood wide, Inspector Palke was standing by me regarding 
 with mild interest the scene on the floor, where two figures 
 sprawled in a brief but impressive mix-up. 
 
 The one on top was Begbie. Miraculously, from the 
 unknown, he had somehow descended like an avalanche 
 upon Wernicke, who for a few seconds fought furiously. My 
 father was standing up beside his chair. I never saw anything 
 more professional than the way the bulky Begbie mastered 
 his man. A couple of quick heaves, the click of a pair of hand- 
 cuffs, and Wernicke was immobilised. The Wesson pistol lay 
 on the boards a yard out of his reach. Palke picked it up. 
 
 "That's all right," said Inspector Palke with a sigh of 
 satisfaction.
 
 XLI 
 JAKE MAGUIRE 
 
 I NEVER before saw my father so thoroughly taken aback. 
 He paid no attention to the handcuffed prisoner; he was 
 staring at Inspector Begbie. 
 
 "Where the devil did you spring from?" he said with cold 
 disapproval. 
 
 "From the cupboard, sir," said the panting Begbie. He 
 picked up the Wesson automatic. "Never counted on his using 
 this thing for a moment I really thought he'd got you." 
 
 "I really thought he had too," said my father, "it seemed 
 to me I was to be the third casualty. I did have an idea that 
 Palke might be somewhere within call, but never that I'd 
 find myself indebted to Begbie, the human avalanche. Thank 
 you, Begbie!" 
 
 "It did look a close call," said Palke, "but I've a couple of 
 watchers outside, and I had him covered myself from the 
 porch window; there wasn't all that risk. Of all things I hate 
 using a gun; they're fussy about it at the Yard even in murder 
 cases, and it's unprofessional. Begbie has done such useful 
 work in this case that I thought it only fair he should finish 
 it with full credit." 
 
 He took the prisoner by his overcoat collar and heaved 
 him into a chair where the lamp shone on his face. The man 
 got his breath back, and was wrenching at his wrists and 
 glaring at us venomously. I don't think I ever saw a more 
 dangerous looking animal; now that his hat was off and I 
 saw his low flat forehead with its knobbed temples, it came 
 home to me that we had trapped our man at last. 
 
 "Ken," said my father reproachfully, "I suppose nothing 
 will cure you of this habit of butting into delicate situations 
 when you're not wanted."
 
 JAKE MAGUIRE 239 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe was naturally a bit anxious about you, sir," 
 said Palke, "and after all his being here saves us time. Have 
 you ever seen this fellow before?" 
 
 He turned to me. 
 
 "I can swear to one thing, it's the man who was spying in 
 at the gun-room window ten days ago, and that was the time 
 Elaine saw him," said I, and added quickly, "it's a thousand 
 pities he didn't stop a bullet that night." 
 
 "That's a lie anyway!" snapped the man. "I was never 
 near this place till now." 
 
 "I'd advise you to save your breath till you're in the dock," 
 said Palke, "you'll have your chance then, Jake Maguire. It 
 is Maguire, isn't it?" 
 
 "He introduced himself to me as Wernicke," said my 
 father mildly. "But we understood each other from the first, 
 and I never knew even a Pressman so greedy for information 
 or offering such a price for it." 
 
 "It was now or never, Jake, wasn't it," said Palke. "Sad 
 to see three millions going west when there was only one 
 man who could put you wise in time even at fifty-fifty. 
 Take him away, Begbie." 
 
 The prisoner turned to my father, his face livid with fury. 
 
 "You damned stool-pigeon!" he snarled. 
 
 "Mr. Wernicke," said Dad, "or Maguire, or whatever 
 your trade name is, I'm not a purist. I think Inspector Palke 
 is justified in using any means he pleases, rather than let you 
 slip through his fingers. I could have forgiven you and even 
 commended you for killing Linke," added my father, "but 
 I had the greatest admiration for Elaine Power. The fact that 
 you tried to shoot me doesn't weigh with me for a moment, 
 but I hope they hang you on her account." 
 
 "I'd sooner swing for youl" retorted the gunman, "and 
 none of you have anything on me, except that\" he nodded 
 to the broken pane where the Wesson's bullet had crashed
 
 240 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 through the glass. Palke made a sign to his colleague, who 
 led the captive out. 
 
 "I'd like to shake hands with you before you go, Begbie," 
 said my father. "It must have been very uncomfortable in 
 that cupboard. Any little soreness that there was between us 
 is forgotten." 
 
 Begbie reddened and rather awkwardly took the hand that 
 my father held out, before he disappeared with his charge. 
 
 "I'll shake too if you don't mind, sir," I said a little 
 huskily. "I'd be proud if I had your nerve, and if I ever I 
 mean if you ever felt sore with me, remembering what a fool 
 I've been " 
 
 "My dear boy!" said Dad, giving me a pleasant grip, 
 "you've inherited the nerve of the family, if not its brains, 
 and I've never felt sore with you. But if there's a diploma 
 for nerve," he added, "let me hand it to this skilful angler, 
 Palke, who has not only the credit for one of the cleverest 
 captures on record, but didn't hesitate to use me as live- 
 bait. No doubt he thinks me rather a queer fish, and he's 
 probably right." 
 
 Inspector Palke smiled, and turned to me. 
 
 "Mr. Rolfe, your father acquits me. This murder gang 
 found they had been double-crossed by somebody who was 
 evidently playing for his own hand. They were steered to 
 the conclusion that the man who was holding them up is 
 Lord Trent. They couldn't abandon a prize that so much had 
 been risked for, and that was still within their grasp at the 
 cost of one quick bid for success. I didn't tell your father 
 just what he was up against; but I made my own arrange- 
 ments for his protection." 
 
 " I've seen timber- wolves trapped in Idaho," said I, 
 "but never anything quite like that. He was right when he 
 said he was a cornered man. Still, I don't see why he had 
 to
 
 JAKEMAGUIRE 241 
 
 "And now," said Palke, "I'm taking you along for a little 
 run with me now. My car's waiting the other side of Black 
 Spinney." 
 
 "If you're going to take Ken away," said my father, 
 "I'll get back to the house; it's devilish uncomfortable 
 here. Tell me Palke, will that man hang? Can you bring it 
 home to him? He seemed very confident." 
 
 "Confidence is a natural habit in crooks," said Palke. 
 "Yes, Jake is fixed." 
 
 My father nodded. He thrust the papers from the table 
 into his pocket, and went out without looking at me. Palke 
 was wrapping a silk handkerchief carefully round the 
 Wesson pistol. 
 
 "You're a sceptic about guns, Rolfe," he said, picking 
 up the empty shell from the floor, "but you'll hardly disagree 
 that this one has been fired." 
 
 He stopped for a moment outside the lodge to say a word 
 to a shadowy figure that emerged from the bushes. Then 
 we both went away together down the south lane, stepping 
 briskly. He took my arm, and I heard him laughing quietly 
 to himself; he did not answer when I questioned him but 
 hurried me on. Past Black Spinney and down the cart 
 road beyond, we came upon a car tucked snugly back 
 among the bushes. 
 
 "Get in," said Palke, and in a few minutes we were clear 
 of the lane and whizzing south along the main road to 
 London. 
 
 "Gad, what a night!" I said, drawing a free breath for 
 the first time. "You took a most infernal risk, Palke!" 
 
 "I told you I shouldn't stick at a risk," he replied. "You 
 must remember that you people have been taking chances 
 from the first, and neither of you can complain." 
 "Did you know I was at that window?" 
 "Yes, and decided to leave you there. You had a place
 
 242 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 intended for somebody else. Did you notice it wouldn't 
 shut?" 
 
 "Yes, Maguire tried to shut it, and I got it open again 
 all right." 
 
 "I fixed it that way," said Palke. "It's lucky you showed 
 some sense, you gave me an anxious time. But so long as 
 we've got our man " 
 
 "You called him Maguire. Palke, who is Maguire?" 
 
 "The gunman? Now we've got him I think we shall find 
 he answers to the name of Maguire, as the lost dog advertise- 
 ments say. Getting him was the rub. If you want a certainty, 
 label him the man who killed Linke. Number One." 
 
 The speedometer touched fifty-three. We were on the 
 main route; the glow of London tinged the sky, away in the 
 south. 
 
 "You're something of a speeder yourself, Rolfe. But we're 
 a little farther ahead than on the night when you ran a 
 Chrysler with a pricked tyre out of Euston down the Great 
 North Road and gave the Hertfordshire Constabulary a 
 derelict corpse to trail, when their hands were too full 
 already." 
 
 "That seems like ten years ago," said I. "Do you mean 
 I've got to account for Spike O'Dowd? It was Spike, wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 Palke chuckled reassuringly in the gloom. 
 
 "Headquarters won't trouble you with Spike O'Dowd. 
 Nor his mate, whom we found nearly two weeks ago." 
 
 "His mate! The other man in the Buick car? I always 
 thought " 
 
 "You were right. He got away on his two feet as far as 
 the high road, and managed to get a lift to Wexford 
 Infirmary. By the time we traced him there he was dying. 
 His story was that he'd been run into by a lorry in the dark. 
 He gave nothing away; a dying man hasn't anything to
 
 JAKE MAGUIRE 243 
 
 gain by squealing. No loss to society. Jason Krupp three 
 convictions for robbery with violence; an old associate of 
 Spike's and one of the same breed a killer." 
 
 "Was he Maguire's man?" 
 
 "By arrangement. No doubt at all Maguire put those two 
 London thugs, Spike and Jason, on to Elaine with the 
 jewel-case for a bait, and the warning to leave no evidence 
 behind. If you hadn't crashed their car they'd have shot 
 up the three of you. Of course, I can't prove that now; and 
 I don't need to." 
 
 "Compared with Michael Power, none of these people 
 matter vitally to us; they are pawns in the game. I make one 
 exception, Jake's partner the Silent Woman, who walks in 
 the dark as all felines do. And it's my belief we ought to 
 have allowed her to walk free a little longer. But there it is; 
 now we've got her we can only make the best of her." 
 
 "Jake's partner!" I said. "The woman? You mean to say 
 you've got her?" 
 
 "Arrested this morning. The French have a proverb, 
 'By night all cats are black.' But however difficult to pick 
 out against a dark background, they become conspicuous 
 when they venture out in broad daylight. Yes, we've got 
 her, but another difficulty is that she remains as silent as 
 ever. And in this country the Third Degree is officially 
 forbidden. You won't agree with me, but I hold that in 
 murder cases it shouldn't be barred." 
 
 "Palke!" I said, anxiously, "is she " 
 
 "I haven't seen her myself yet," said Palke, "but I suggest 
 we call her Kathleen, and I want you to meet her. Meanwhile 
 Rolfe, imitate her gift of silence until we reach Vintner 
 Street police station."
 
 XLII 
 KATHLEEN 
 
 W HEN Palke is in that sort of mood there's no coping 
 with him. The lights of London were rapidly drawing nearer; 
 he was silent till we got into the traffic stream. 
 
 "We'll be there in a few minutes, and I may as well tell 
 you how we got her," he said. "The data that were strung 
 together at Stanways, so far as they could be connected with 
 this woman, were broadcasted to all stations and led to the 
 arrest in London this morning by a C Division policeman 
 on ordinary patrol duty. He knows nothing about the 
 Stanways case beyond the ten-line order that I sent out." 
 
 "His Inspector 'phoned me and got instructions. The 
 woman refused to give any account of herself. I was busy 
 getting Jake, and she'd have been very little use to us if we 
 hadn't pulled Jake in." 
 
 "Now here's another point, Rolfe, touching this woman. 
 Michael Power has been tailed up ever since he left jail. He 
 was convicted under a purser's name, which, as there was 
 no earlier record of him, made him difficult to trace. But 
 all correspondence directed to that name has been tapped 
 by the New York D.C.I. Michael's mail was waiting for 
 him at an address to which he went soon after his release 
 all this is elementary police organisation." 
 
 "Among three letters for Michael was one in a woman's 
 hand. Its contents were quite innocuous; except that it 
 contained a 5OO-dollar bill." 
 
 "Now that might mean anything. The sender must have 
 known when Michael was due out of the jug, and a curious 
 thing about it is that it had been mailed from this side and 
 bore a London postmark. Sam Collins flashed a telephoto 
 of it back to me three days ago."
 
 KATHLEEN 245 
 
 "All this letter says is: 'Await instructions. Market 
 rising.' That's for Michael. It was written on the note-paper 
 of the Liverpool Street Hotel, with a pen-stroke drawn 
 through the address heading. Anyone who drifts into the 
 writing-room there can use that paper. It's signed 'John 
 Evans.' And not a doubt about it; 'John Evans' is female." 
 
 "That looks promising, doesn't it, Rolfe? But to fasten it 
 on to the sender, unless we get something more that will 
 clinch it, is going to be a puzzler. It may be a blind trail; 
 in fact it looks like one. I have a hunch," said Palke thought- 
 fully, "that this woman is going to beat me on one of the 
 most vital points of the case. However, I'll introduce you 
 to the lady at once." 
 
 We turned out of the West End traffic into the quiet 
 backwater of Vintner Street. A Divisional Inspector at the 
 police-station received us in his office. He greeted Palke 
 cordially, and was very reserved towards me. 
 
 "Nothing through from New York about No. 2 yet?" said 
 Palke. "You cabled Sam?" 
 
 "We had this through at eight o'clock," said the Inspector, 
 handing him a sheet of buff paper. "There isn't much to it." 
 
 Palke glanced over it. 
 
 "Not so bad," he said, "and now lead us to the lady; 
 don't bring her out. I'll see her where she is. Hasn't said 
 anything?" 
 
 "Nothing," said the Inspector, and a minute later a 
 warder led us down an echoing stone corridor and unlocked 
 a door with a little grating at the height of the eye, and swung 
 it open. Palke said a word to the Inspector and the warder, 
 who both retired. 
 
 "Step out, madam," said Palke, civilly. 
 
 The vague figure in black sitting on the bench in that 
 steel and concrete box rose and came slowly forward. It 
 was a moment I had been dreading. Then came a feeling of
 
 246 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 relief, as the light fell on her face. I didn't know this woman. 
 And yet, when I looked at her closely, I wasn't so sure. 
 
 Palke glanced from her face to mine. She stood before us 
 without a word; a woman of apparently about forty, though 
 she might have been much younger. Her face was weather- 
 beaten and ravaged; a pair of fierce dark eyes stared at me 
 contemptuously. Her forehead was low and broad, and her 
 figure slim, her lips a thin, hard line. But she must have been 
 an uncommonly good-looking woman once. 
 
 She turned to Palke with a menacing stare. I've seldom 
 seen anyone who impressed me more. The dim light 
 suited her; she looked a creature of darkness. Evidently she 
 was not in the least afraid of us; she looked as courageous 
 as a cornered cat, and as vicious. The sight of her made me 
 feel creepy. 
 
 "What am I here for!" she said harshly. "What am I 
 charged with?" 
 
 "Not charged with anything, yet; detained. Just detained, 
 madam," said Palke. 
 
 "It's some fool mistake!" 
 
 "It was a bigger mistake to send that message, Katty," 
 said Palke gently. "Mike sailed on Tuesday." 
 
 She looked at him steadily. 
 
 "I've sent no message to anyone. Who is Mike? I guess 
 you're a fool." 
 
 "Exactly what Jake says. We got Jake to-night. By the 
 way, this is young Mr. Rolfe, Lord Trent's son. I see he 
 doesn't know you. But you know him." 
 
 Then the woman's eyes blazed red at him. 
 
 "To hell with you!" she said, "you've got nothing on me!" 
 
 "Just what they all say," sighed Palke. He beckoned to the 
 warder, who re-locked the cell. 
 
 "That's all for the present," said Palke to the Inspector, 
 as we went out. "Don't let a word leak out concerning that
 
 KATHLEEN 247 
 
 woman. Detain her. If she makes trouble which she won't 
 charge her with being a suspected person and ask for a 
 remand." 
 
 He got into the car and turned north once more. 
 
 "I've a fairly good nerve, Rolfe," he said, "but I wouldn't 
 be shut up in the cell with that woman if you offered me the 
 Chief Commissionership. What did you make of her? 
 Notice anything?" 
 
 "Her eyes; and that queer way she has of turning on you 
 when she's roused. She reminded me of Maguire." 
 
 "She is Katty Maguire, Jake's sister. The woman whose 
 flat shoes you saw the prints of outside the morning-room 
 the night Elaine was shot. But she's something more than 
 that, Rolfe. Just what she is I wonder if we shall prove that 
 before the curtain drops." 
 
 He relapsed into gloom. I couldn't conceal my own 
 relief. 
 
 "I thought it was Mrs. Jessop you'd got! Of course, I was 
 a fool " 
 
 "Not at all," said Palke. "That smooth black-silk house- 
 keeper of yours was within an inch of finding herself in the 
 cells at Wheatbridge three nights ago, and if it had been 
 left to Begbie that's where she'd have landed. She lied to me, 
 when I questioned her no doubt you noticed it. 
 
 "Her reasons for being out that night wouldn't bear 
 examination, but they're no business of yours or mine, we'll 
 pass them. She knew your father was suspected of having a 
 hand in the killing of Linke, and she'd say nothing that 
 might give him away. With all her failings, she's a good 
 servant, and she's loyal. She would have lied better if she 
 had been sober; maybe you noticed that too. I don't want 
 to be tactless, but Stanways is really rather a queer house- 
 hold." 
 
 "I'll run you back home, but you'll have to get out
 
 248 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 of it in the morning. The toughest part is still to come, and 
 I shall want you." 
 
 "There are rocks ahead for you, Rolfe; and for me. The 
 Stanways case isn't solved, and I'm taking a big chance 
 myself. What is the link between Michael and the Maguires? 
 Jake killed Stephen, Michael's brother. For that I can warrant 
 that Jake will hang. It's the only certainty. I can prove that 
 Katty Maguire was in Black Spinney at the time of the 
 killing; I can show that she was at Stanways on the night of 
 the 1 4th. None of this is evidence against Michael Power 
 the three-million-dollar claimant." 
 
 "He'll never claim, Palke!" said I. 
 
 "Won't he?" said Palke, quietly. "I would consider my- 
 self badly left if he doesn't claim." He paused, and trod 
 hard on the accelerator. "This is the last case I shall ever 
 handle. It's not going as well as I could wish. Still, I'm glad 
 to see you looking so cheerful. Is it because you suppose 
 all this brings you any nearer to Jenny Craddock?" 
 
 "It's got to be soon. I've had all I can stand!" 
 
 "Look here, Rolfe," he said, seriously. "I know you don't 
 care what happens to me; but if you really want a disaster 
 to Jenny Craddock, just butt in again and you'll get one. I 
 can't issue orders to you. But I want your word of honour 
 as a well, as a member of the Stanways household to 
 stand clear till I give you the signal." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "When the Carthusian is docked, and Elaine Power's 
 widower comes along. It's going to be a day of trouble." 
 
 "For Michael! I'll bet it will." 
 
 "For all of us, maybe. He's due Friday. Trouble's coming 
 for somebody. That's the only certainty in the Stanways 
 case!"
 
 XLIII 
 MICHAEL 
 
 I L E F T Stanways next morning. One or two things had 
 to be settled up first. But I was never more pleased at 
 anything than getting away from that happy English home. 
 It was a choice between that and being interviewed to death. 
 
 The place was besieged by journalists from seven o'clock 
 onwards. Those early press reports had been so meagre 
 that the papers and the public didn't seem to have got on to 
 the full sensational value of the case for the first forty-eight 
 hours. All that was changed now, and reporters kept popping 
 up whichever way one went. The lodge-keeper couldn't cope 
 with them; I shouldn't have been surprised to find one in 
 my bath. 
 
 It occurred to me that Mr. Charles Flint of the Wire 
 had found a way with Palke's help of keeping his colleagues 
 off the territory on that first morning; he was evidently 
 content with that for he didn't come near Stanways again. 
 By this time one might as well have tried to keep out a pack 
 of hounds in full cry. And I was the last person who had 
 seen Elaine alive. 
 
 I like newspaper men and find them the best of company, 
 but the thing was getting on my nerves and at eight o'clock 
 I threw a few necessaries into a grip and effected a quiet 
 sneak down to the garage. There I was confronted by McRae 
 the chauffeur, busy over the Rolls-Royce. 
 
 I thought he had left long ago. He looked at me sombrely 
 and sympathetically. 
 
 "I have her ready, if you're for gettin' outo' this, sir," he 
 said. "Unless ye've any prejudice against ridin' in a dead 
 woman's car." 
 
 "I'll take the Chrysler," I said, "and see here, McRae,
 
 250 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 don't tell the newspaper men anything; best answer no 
 questions." 
 
 "Them fellys. They'll not get a word out o' me," he 
 growled. "Forbye I know nothing but what I've read in the 
 papers. A black business. I never liked this job I couldn't 
 tell ye why." 
 
 "Who is paying your wages?" I asked, pausing a moment. 
 
 "His lordship. On behalf o' Miss Craddock," he said 
 sourly, and turned his back on me, fumbling under the 
 bonnet of the Rolls. 
 
 The man's manner was repellent. Till then I had rather 
 liked McRae. I wasted no more words on him, got out the 
 Chrysler, and streaked out of Stanways Park by the south 
 road. As I passed Black Spinney I noticed a bevy of people 
 trampling about in it, and as far as I could see there were no 
 police about the place at all. 
 
 I left the car at a crowded garage in Barnet, with the idea 
 of shelving all chance of being traced, and reached London 
 via the Tube from Colder 's Green. Palke had given me a hint 
 where to go if things got too lively at Stanways, so that I 
 could keep in touch with him. 
 
 I finished my journey at an obscure little hotel near 
 Victoria Station, which turned out to be very comfortable, 
 and committed an offence against the statutes at once by 
 signing the register as J. Ralph, which is close enough to my 
 own name to bring me to the telephone if Palke rang me 
 up. I hadn't been there half an hour when I found my 
 father was already an inmate. We met in a little smoking- 
 room on an upper floor. 
 
 "My title has gone west like my reputation, if I ever had 
 such a thing," he said. "And remember, my dear boy, that 
 while here we are not connected with each other in any way. 
 But that's no reason why we shouldn't be friends, until 
 Fate rings the bell and hands out the reckoning."
 
 MICHAEL 251 
 
 That was his way. He didn't rub it in; didn't tell me I 
 had dropped the biggest brick on record, or remind me of 
 anything that was past. Dad was always generous to me. 
 There was not a father and son in creation who were better 
 friends than he and I from that time on. But we didn't 
 advertise it. And nobody concerned themselves with us. 
 Unless you go out of your way to attract attention, London 
 is a great city for minding its own business; we were a 
 couple of obscure boarders in a respectable back-street 
 hotel and we welcomed obscurity. But we had some intimate 
 talks in that little smoking-room, and I look back to it now 
 as a time of revelation. 
 
 I had little to do for the next few days but watch the 
 papers. There was not a word about the detention of Jake 
 and Katty Maguire. The Stanways Case seemed to have 
 sunk into the journalistic backwaters, as cases do when the 
 sources dry up, and a sensational political scandal intervened 
 and captured the public imagination, shelving for awhile 
 Elaine Corbyn's mystery. 
 
 Suddenly, on the fifth day, it blazed out again like a 
 comet. And this time it was not exclusive to the Daily Wire. 
 All the papers had got it, and gave it the big headlines that 
 always mark a case of the first interest. 
 
 THE STANWAYS MYSTERY 
 WHERE is MICHAEL POWER? 
 6,000,000 DOLLAR WILL 
 
 . . . An even more sensational feature of this case than 
 the disappearance of Elaine Corbyn's body from Stanways 
 House, is the discovery of a will, unquestionably made and 
 signed by her, dated nineteen days ago. It was dated 
 November 8th. On the night of the i4th occurred the tragic 
 and still unexplained event, the shooting, and the mysterious
 
 252 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 removal of the testator's body by some person unknown, 
 leaving behind nothing but a discharged pistol, which it is 
 already established was her own property. 
 
 Here followed the text of Elaine's will, accurate to the 
 last comma. 
 
 This document, it is declared, is legally attested by 
 witnesses and was undoubtedly drawn up by the missing 
 woman, and bears her signature. , 
 
 Not less interesting is the fact which now comes to light, 
 that a sum of 20,000 stands to Miss Craddock's credit at 
 Lloyds Bank, deposited by Elaine Power's instructions to 
 the bank on November 3rd. 
 
 What light does this throw on the mystery? It suggests 
 on the face of it that Elaine Corbyn had a premonition that 
 led her to set her affairs in order. But why? Apart from the 
 will, she made this provision for Jane Craddock. 20,000. 
 A trifle, compared to twelve hundred thousand sterling, yet 
 a substantial sum. 
 
 What value has the will? None, unless or until the death 
 of the testatrix is proved. Then indeed it becomes of immense 
 value to the two beneficiaries. 
 
 Where is Michael Power? He is not, it is stated, at present 
 in England, nor is it known that he has ever visited this 
 country. Miss Jane Craddock, on the other hand, is now in 
 London, and was at Stanways House on the night of the 
 I4th. . . . 
 
 The following statement is issued to the Press Associa- 
 tion on behalf of Miss Craddock by Messrs. Stanhope and 
 Strachey, Attorneys, Lincolns Inn Fields. 
 
 "We are instructed by our client, Miss Jane Craddock, 
 to issue this declaration: 
 
 'I, Jane Craddock, wish to state that I never wished or 
 expected to be named as a legatee in Elaine Power's will. 
 
 'But should I be required to act as her executor, I wish 
 to say definitely that I shall not oppose any claim to which 
 Michael Power is entitled by the terms of her will, for I 
 know it was always her wish that his right to inherit should 
 be recognised, and in her testament she has made this clear.
 
 MICHAEL 253 
 
 Until the truth is known there can be no claim either by 
 Michael Power or myself. 
 
 'In the meantime I shall not in any case accept or retain 
 the 20,000 which has been credited to me by no wish of 
 mine. Since I have the right to dispose of it, I shall surrender 
 this sum to Elaine Power's husband, if he is living." 
 
 The paper rustled in my hand as I read that clause; and 
 I heard my father's voice close behind me. 
 
 "Isn't that like Jenny!" he said. 
 
 He was reading the paper over my shoulder, smiling 
 with a queer twinkle in his eyes. We looked at each other 
 for a moment, and he gave a shrug. 
 
 "Stanhope and Strachey shrewd people, I should think. 
 A woman takes some stopping when she makes up her mind 
 to anything," said my father. 
 
 "What does Palke mean by it!" 
 
 "It's ill work guessing what Palke means," said Dad, "but 
 for my part I've generally found he means just what he says." 
 
 "Do you suppose Power will face Jenny and her lawyers?" 
 
 "What else can he do? If he delays doing so, now that the 
 affair is in the Wire immediate suspicion will fall on him. 
 Innocence is the only card left him to play. And it's a 
 devilish difficult card to lead." 
 
 There was a knock at the door, the hotel waiter appeared. 
 
 "Wanted on the telephone, sir," he said. 
 
 I slipped into the booth across the passage. A buzz or 
 two from the receiver, and Palke's smooth, friendly voice 
 caressed my ear. 
 
 "That you, Rolfe? . . . Michael landed this morning. 
 Now in London." 
 
 Queer, the effect that message had on me, though I was 
 expecting it. The telephone booth seemed blotted out and I 
 could see Black Spinney, and the morning-room at Stanways 
 . . . Elaine stretched on the red-stained carpet . . . Jenny
 
 254 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 lying in my arms like a dead woman half a dozen scenes 
 flashing at me in the fraction of a second. Then I got hold 
 of myself. 
 
 "Yes!" I said, "... what are you doing?" 
 
 "Me?" said Palke. "Nothing. Michael has made an 
 appointment with Strachey's eleven to-morrow. I'll call 
 for you at ten." 
 
 "Palke," I said, "will there be ?" 
 
 "Hell to pay," said Palke, and rang off. 
 
 I slept badly that night; scenes that I most wanted to 
 forget haunted me till the dawn broke, and I wondered what 
 the day would bring with it. 
 
 We are entering upon an age of prejudice against even 
 legal killing; but let the abstract humanitarian consider 
 whether his views might change if murder crept into his 
 house on silent feet. There are crimes I can easily condone. 
 But I'm old-fashioned enough to believe that the gallows 
 and the electric chair are instruments of social value. 
 
 It was long after ten when I got away next morning. 
 Palke was late, and unusually silent. Not a word could I 
 get out of him till we had parked the car on the west side of 
 the Square and walked across to the rendezvous. By that 
 time I had lost all faith that anything would come of it. 
 
 There are more fashionable squares in London, but 
 none more imposingly respectable than Lincoln's Inn 
 Fields, that stronghold of family lawyers. Number 400 was 
 a sober old Georgian house, its doorposts ranged with 
 brass plates all bearing the name of the clan Strachey. 
 We were received in a small side office by Mr. Pitt Strachey, 
 an alert, youngish man with keen eyes and a persuasive 
 manner; not at all like the grave elderly chief I had expected 
 to see. Palke presented me and the lawyer shook hands 
 warmly.
 
 MICHAEL 255 
 
 "Delighted, Mr. Rolfe! I would have liked to have met you 
 earlier, but the Inspector was against it, and we've half an 
 hour before us. You'll find some friends upstairs; Lord 
 Trent is here already. And of course my client, Miss 
 Craddock. This way." 
 
 The only hint Palke had given me was that I should meet 
 Jenny, and I wished it could have been in any place but that. 
 Of course I knew she had to be in it. When I was shown into 
 a wide-panelled room upstairs with windows overlooking 
 the Square, at first sight I thought it was empty. A vacant 
 desk and a typewriter on one side; a long table with seats 
 round it as if for a board meeting, and five deep leather easy 
 chairs. In one of them, so small and silent that I had over- 
 looked him altogether, was Charles Flint of the Wire . 
 
 He lounged there dreaming, a pipe between his teeth; 
 the first I should think that had ever been smoked in that 
 sedate business-like room. He didn't rise, but extended a 
 hand and gave mine the friendliest pressure. 
 
 "You have been in hiding, Mr. Rolfe? I hope this is your 
 lucky day! And mine." He shook his head mournfully. 
 " Palke has made use of me shamelessly now it is my turn. 
 Can he deliver the goods? If not the Wire will break him. 
 I get five hours start with the scoop." 
 
 The lawyer smiled, a shade uneasily? 
 
 "I am confident Mr. Flint will be discreet," he said, and 
 opened a door at the far end of the room. "If you'll step 
 through here, Mr. Rolfe, the Inspector and I will have a word 
 with you before we proceed." 
 
 I stepped through. 
 
 I had thought I understood the case; that I saw all the 
 way through it. I had been let deep enough into it farther 
 than anyone except Palke himself. But when I returned to 
 the front office ten minutes later I felt very much as a man
 
 256 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 does who puts his horse at a fence and finds a twenty-foot 
 ditch gaping on the other side. . . . 
 
 I found everybody very silent in that gloomy panelled 
 room. My father sat at the table, watching me thoughtfully. 
 Palke's face was utterly expressionless. Little Charles Flint 
 was scribbling on a sketch-block that rested on his knee. 
 Pitt Strachey fiddled with a paper-knife and couldn't keep 
 his hands still. 
 
 For my part I was certain that Michael Power wouldn't 
 come at all. 
 
 The black marble clock over the hearth was striking 
 eleven, and the sound of it jarred my nerves. Before it had 
 finished an electric bell clinged below stairs. A clerk brought 
 up a note which he handed to Strachey, who nodded to us 
 and went down. 
 
 Palke was sniffing at the carnation in his button-hole, his 
 eyes half closed in appreciation. A shuffling of feet and a 
 sound of voices on the landing. . . . Strachey opened the door, 
 and with a rather strained smile that didn't sit well on him, 
 announced his visitor: 
 
 "Mr. Michael Power."
 
 XLIV 
 
 THE MAN WHO KNEW 
 
 S o we had him at last. 
 
 I had been dreading that moment for a week. Many a 
 time I had felt that what one really wanted was to get a 
 good tight hold on Power's throat and save all this police 
 stuff. And now, I was not sure. I didn't know what to make 
 of this big bareheaded man in the heavy black overcoat, 
 who faced us all with steady eyes and a firm mouth. 
 
 I had expected either a brazen crook of the Maguire 
 kind, or some mean little wriggler whose greed was greater 
 than his fears. But I had never in my life seen anybody more 
 convincingly respectable than Michael Power. 
 
 He had blue-grey, kindly eyes, with wrinkled crow's-feet 
 at the corners; the eyes of a man who had seen trouble; his 
 hair iron-grey, at the temples white. Except for the width 
 across his temples he seemed to me totally unlike Linke in 
 every way, and I began to wonder if some basic mistake 
 hadn't been made. He was evidently suppressing deep 
 emotion and anxiety, and no wonder. With simple dignity 
 he turned to Strachey, who was noiselessly closing the door. 
 
 "Say, Mr. Strachey I understood this interview was to 
 be private. Who are these gentlemen?" 
 
 "Lord Trent at whose house this tragic affair which we 
 all deplore occurred," said Strachey, "Mr. Kenyon Rolfe, 
 his son " 
 
 "And mighty glad I am you're both here!" said Michael 
 Power. "When I say privacy, I don't mean secrecy. What I 
 want is the truth." 
 
 "The truth, I hope, is within the four walls of this room 
 Mike," said Palke. "It's been long in coming." 
 
 "The truth! I look for it every day, like Diogenes with his
 
 258 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 lantern," said little Flint sympathetically, "and it's hard to 
 come by, Mr. Power. I am a waif of Fleet Street, a nobody; 
 Charles Flint of the Wire. Just an amicus curies a friend 
 of the Court." 
 
 "And Mr. Palke," interrupted Strachey, but Power, 
 paying no attention to him, had fixed Palke with his eye 
 from the first, and walked up to him. 
 
 'Say, what's your grade? Captain?" 
 
 "Inspector we call it, this side," said Palke. "You knew 
 I was a policeman, Michael?" 
 
 "Did I know!" said Power. "What are the police for, 
 Cap'en Palke? The protection of the innocent, and the 
 punishment of evil-doers some such bunk as that I learned 
 when I was a kid! That's the theory of police work, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Will they own to it, if they make a mistake! Take a look 
 at me! I come of an unlucky family had to do with rotten 
 folk most of my life; steered wide of them and went straight. 
 Do you know where I've been for a year past? Could you 
 tell what I was? Can you see the prison look in a man's 
 eyes? They say it's a thing he never gets rid of. Do you 
 police believe that? " 
 
 "Look at me, all of you! Eighteen months of hell, shut 
 out of the world put away. And as innocent as you are 
 Captain Inspector, whatever you call yourself. Just put 
 away!" 
 
 Palke nodded. 
 
 "I've known such things happen. I've put away such a lot 
 of people myself," he said. "So you were put away, Michael. 
 That's tough luck on any man. I'm in charge of this case, 
 and when you have dealt with Mr. Strachey, who is acting 
 for his client, Miss Jane Craddock I'll have one or two 
 questions to ask you." 
 
 "You can begin with them!" said Power.
 
 THE MAN WHO KNEW 259 
 
 "You are Michael Power; have you any evidence of 
 identity?" 
 
 The visitor laid a passport on the table. 
 
 "Correct. Your own name; and photo," said Palke. "I've 
 nothing to do with your conviction in Canada; you were 
 released November loth, and you sailed from New York, 
 November I4th, at 4 p.m. Five hours without counting the 
 difference between New York and Greenwich time 
 before Elaine Power was found shot at Stanways. So you 
 could have known nothing of it, unless it appeared in the 
 ship's radio bulletins, until you reached England?" 
 
 "Do you think I haven't told myself that a hundred times 
 since I landed?" said Power, bitterly. "Is that all the police 
 know; or are they as dumb here as in Quebec?" 
 
 "The police seldom know as much as they'd like to about 
 any case. You should be able to help them. You are Elaine 
 Power's husband; you married her in '27 at Dupont, 
 Michigan. Did you know at that time that she was likely 
 to inherit Benjamin Slade's money?" 
 
 "You've got it all wrong-end first as the police mostly 
 do," said Power quietly. "Now listen. When I asked Ellen 
 to marry me I'd have taken her without a cent. I'd never 
 heard of Benjy Slade. She was the only woman I ever 
 wanted; but I was an oldish fellow for a girl like her." 
 
 "But get this, and get it good! When I came back at her 
 a year later and asked her again, then I knew about Benjy, 
 and believed he was dead as everybody did. I heard he'd 
 owned some land in the oil country, and who he'd left it 
 to I didn't know but I guessed some day she might come 
 into a bit of money. That's for you I'm owning to it! A man 
 needn't be crazy because he's in love, an' that last time I 
 offered myself and agreed to wait till she could come to me 
 handing her all I'd got because she needed help why, I 
 had to safeguard myself to see I didn't lose everything!
 
 260 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 We made a contract between us and it was fair ask the 
 world if it wasn't fair! That anybody should believe Benjy 
 had had millions to leave why, even the police would never 
 have credited it! No one on earth as much as guessed it 
 till it happened. I never learned of it till I came out, ten 
 days back." 
 
 "News! There was never any news of her . . . nothing but 
 a scrap in a paper weeks old, that Elaine Corbyn was gone 
 to England, or going. See that!" He gave a faded news- 
 clipping to Palke, crumpled and soiled. "Guess what I'd 
 have had for tearin' that out of a sheet in the jail library 
 that's where I got it, and the first I'd heard of her in years 
 even that had to come to me in jail. Tried the office where 
 that was published they'd tell me nothing, and all I found 
 in two days search was her name in a liner's passenger 
 list." He thrust it before Palke. "Elaine Corbyn we used 
 to laugh over that dago name she was christened. . . . She 
 was always Ellen to me." 
 
 His voice was husky and broken; I couldn't get my gaze 
 away from those haunted eyes of his. The man fascinated 
 me. Despite his emotion, his manner was amazingly re- 
 strained and convincing. I caught a glance from Charlie 
 Flint, puzzled and anxious. 
 
 "Nothing about me there!" said Power, pointing to the 
 crumpled paragraph in Palke's hand. "Corbyn . . . she never 
 used my name. That was right enough that was in the 
 contract. I was just a dead-beat, lost in a Canuke jail 
 she couldn't know that; I was dead for all she could tell." 
 The Adam's apple worked in his throat; he turned away for 
 a moment and was silent, then faced us again. "Honest to 
 God, I believe she tried to find me. ... I believe she did her 
 best!" 
 
 "So it was up to me, and I'm a man that's hard to stop, 
 as you'll know before you've done with me. I sailed by the
 
 THEMANWHOKNEW 261 
 
 first boat, an' when the papers were put aboard at Queens- 
 town I got this news this awful news. And yesterday 
 this!" He flung a tattered copy of the Wire on Palke's 
 desk, his lip quivering.". . . Stanhope and Strachey, Lincoln's 
 Inn . . . and a statement from a girl I never heard of who 
 figures in poor Ellen's will offering me money! Damn you 
 and your money, and Slade's too, that brought her to this! 
 And here am I, of my own free will, facing you, asking you 
 for the truth, and played for a liar by all of you!" 
 
 "Steady, Michael," said Palke gently. 
 
 "Steady! It's easy to say steady to a man who's up against 
 it like this. Ellen would have treated me white . . . she always 
 played fair, and now she's gone can any of you give her 
 back to me? You, or your tame lawyer, or this Lord What-is-it 
 who sneers at me because he thinks I came here for money!" 
 
 "Mr. Power, I know my own weaknesses too well to 
 sneer at any man," said my father. "I have an unfortunate 
 belief," he added, "that nine hundred and ninety-nine men 
 out of a thousand find money dangerously attractive, but I 
 am quite prepared to believe you are the thousandth man." 
 
 "Mr. Power, let me make our position clear," said 
 Strachey. "If yours is as impregnable as it appears to be, you 
 have nothing to fear. Mine is a simple one; I am to offer 
 the sum of 20,000 to the husband of Elaine Power, pro- 
 viding legal proof of his identity is forthcoming; on behalf 
 of my client. I don't say I approve of this, but I shall carry 
 out my instructions. It is open to him, of course, to decline 
 it if he wishes. Do you accept or decline?" 
 
 For a fraction of a moment Michael Power hesitated. 
 
 That moment placed Power among the discards. 
 
 I think it was the expression of his face more than any- 
 thing else. Till then a growing doubt had crept into me; a 
 fear that after all we were arraigning an innocent man.
 
 262 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 And I don't believe I was the only one in the room who 
 thought so. 
 
 But now I understood the vital difference there is 
 between reading a trial in the paper, and seeing the witness 
 in the box. 
 
 Power turned his back on Palke, and facing Strachey, 
 seemed to grow an inch or two taller. 
 
 "Was that Ellen's money?" he said. 
 
 " It was." 
 
 "Then this girl, who's giving it up, feels she has no right 
 to it? That's queer. Does she give up her half share, of what 
 poor Ellen could leave do I give up mine, for this 20,000? 
 Is that it?" 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 "Listen now!" Power struck his hand on the desk. "I'd 
 fling that money in your face and hers, only that there's one 
 thing on this earth I need it for to find Ellen! To find her, 
 dead or living, an' if there's anyone drove her to her death 
 if there's been foul play to put them that's guilty where 
 they belong. Let me see this girl and I'll say the same to 
 her in front of you all. I'll try whether I can do what you 
 and your sleuths have failed on!" 
 
 "You may not realise how the Law ties our hands," said 
 Palke. "Of course, Michael, you would rather have found 
 your wife living, than twenty thousand pounds or even 
 three millions?" 
 
 "Would I what?" said Power hotly. "It's only one of 
 your trade would dare say a thing like that to a man. Would 
 you like it said to you?" He clenched his hands, and let them 
 fall despairingly to his sides. "My Ellen! Look here look 
 at that . . . my marriage certificate . . . Michael Power . . . 
 Elaine Corbyn . . . And me that's come three thousand 
 miles seekin' her. ... Is that enough?" 
 
 "Plenty," said Palke, and rose. "Now we can get to it.
 
 THE MAN WHO KNEW 263 
 
 Michael, if I've failed I can at least refer you to somebody 
 who has succeeded, and to whom the credit of this case is 
 due. This seems a good time to do it." 
 
 He pressed the bell, and drew out the chair from before 
 the typing desk. 
 
 The door at the end of the room opened, and Elaine 
 Corbyn walked in; her own cool, authoritative self. . . . 
 
 I never saw her look more attractive, nor more uncon- 
 cerned. It was a wonderful moment. She glanced at us all 
 with a little nod, and just that faint smile which always 
 meant trouble for somebody. 
 
 My father rose courteously; so did Charles Flint. As she 
 came forward every man in the room was on his feet. 
 None of us spoke. 
 
 Michael, his flood of eloquence dried up, looked at her 
 for a moment or two and turned inquiringly to Palke. 
 
 "Who is this lady?" 
 
 "This," said Palke, "is Jane Craddock Carthew, of the 
 Records Office, Department of Criminal Investigation, New 
 York, that city from which you sailed in such a hurry. 
 Your heart's desire is achieved, Michael she has put this 
 gang of crooks where they belong. And if I could wish that 
 she had remained in the safety of the Records Office, it is 
 not because she has beaten me on my own ground." 
 
 Elaine smiled. 
 
 "If you've finished dropping bouquets, Jimmy, we'll wind 
 this case up," she said, and seating herself calmly at the 
 typewriter she began to tap out a heading without taking 
 the slightest notice of any of us. 
 
 Palke turned to Power with an eye as hard as flint. 
 
 "I have bad news for you, Michael," he said. "Such 
 things seldom come singly. You lose three millions, which 
 it is quite possible that you might have got away with. You
 
 264 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 also lose 20,000. We find you fail to qualify for either 
 claim." 
 
 "Here's the original will that Elaine Corbyn signed on 
 the day of your marriage with her." He laid on the desk a 
 folded document, torn across in four pieces. "The will 
 made at Stanways has balanced accounts by bringing you 
 and your ingenious friends to justice." 
 
 "Lastly, one or two facts which you have missed by being 
 so far out of range; Stephen Power is dead. Your brother- 
 in-law, Jake Maguire, is at Hertford Station on a charge of 
 murder. Kathleen Maguire is under arrest in London, 
 accessory to the same charge. As for you, Michael, with 
 the alibi, we have been waiting for you since you sailed."
 
 XLV 
 THE FINAL WITNESS 
 
 POWER stared at him, swaying slightly on his feet. The 
 man's face was grey and mottled; for the first time there was 
 unmistakable terror in his eyes. 
 
 "One more witness you have to meet," said Palke, and 
 opened the farther door again. 
 
 Jenny walked in; rather timid, rather pale, but her self- 
 possession came back to her as she faced Michael Power. 
 He stared at her as if turned to stone. 
 
 "Ellen! . . ." he said huskily. "Ellen! . . ." 
 
 It was Jane Carthew who rose from the typewriter, put an 
 affectionate arm round Jenny, and pulled out the arm-chair 
 for her. 
 
 "Sit right there, dear," she said. "We won't be a minute 
 with him." 
 
 "Didn't expect this, Ellen. . . ." said Power, huskily. "I 
 always played straight with you." 
 
 "But you didn't," said Jenny quietly. "That's just the 
 trouble, Michael." 
 
 Suddenly he collapsed into a chair, covered his face with 
 his hands, and blubbered like a child. 
 
 "Captain, you've got nothing on me ! Honest to mercy 
 you haven't. There she is what harm have I done her? 
 What harm has anyone done her?" 
 
 The lawyer was watching him with cold, inexorable eyes, 
 as if he were waiting for Palke to move. But it was Jenny 
 neither then nor afterwards could I think of her by any name 
 but that who spoke. 
 
 "I want to ask you one question, Michael." 
 
 He looked up eagerly, ignoring us all and turning to her.
 
 266 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Yes?" he said. 
 
 "Did you know, when you went through that form of 
 marriage with me, that your wife was living?" said Jenny. 
 
 Power gasped. 
 
 "How could I know? I never knew till till " 
 
 For a moment he checked himself. 
 
 "... till just before I was arrested in Quebec and went 
 down for eighteen months. An' that's God's truth!" 
 
 Jane Carthew stripped the sheet of paper from the 
 typewriter. 
 
 "Sure of that, Michael?" she said. "Put your name to 
 this 'I, Michael Power of Deer Lake, Michigan, declare 
 that when I went through a form of marriage with Elaine 
 
 Corbyn in 1927, at , fill in the place and date here 
 
 I believed that there was no legal impediment to the 
 marriage, and that my wife, Kathleen Power, whom I 
 
 married at , place and date again, fill them in with 
 
 your own hand was dead.' ' 
 
 Power looked up at her as she stood over him, and at 
 Palke's stony, expressionless face. 
 
 "Think it over. Give you one minute," said Jane Carthew. 
 
 He picked up the pen mechanically, and wrote. It was as 
 much as he could do to control the shaking of his fingers. 
 She watched his hand as he filled in the dates, and taking 
 the paper from him handed it to Palke, who glanced at it and 
 passed it to Strachey. Power sat staring before him dully. 
 
 "Steve gone? Thought he was done, long ago. Katty . . . 
 there's nothing I'd put past her. Nor that devil Jake. I didn't 
 know. . . ." 
 
 "You didn't know! What brought you here seeking 
 Elaine Corbyn?" said Palke. "Michael, you paid your 
 passage with a hundred-dollar bill one of five sent to you 
 from London." 
 
 Power swayed blindly in his chair.
 
 THE FINAL WITNESS 267 
 
 "Came to find her . . . warn her. Came on my own . . . 
 can't you understand? And there she is! Lord, you're tearin' 
 the heart out of me!" 
 
 He droppejj his arms on the desk and buried his face in 
 them, crying brokenly. A moment's pause and Jenny rose, 
 her face flushed and her eyes shining. 
 
 "Stop bullying him, all of you!" she said. 
 
 She went to Michael's side, touched him lightly on the 
 shoulder. He looked up, his face pulpy and tear-stained. He 
 stared dumbly at a sheaf of rustling notes that she laid before 
 him. 
 
 "A debt, Michael," she said, and turned to Charles Flint. 
 "The door! Please! Let him go." 
 
 She looked at Palke. Not a muscle of his lean grim face 
 moved. He said nothing when Flint, after a glance at him, 
 softly opened the door. Power peered at us all for a second, 
 dazed, his hand closing nervously on the sheaf of notes. 
 
 Then he faded out of the room like a black shadow. I 
 heard a rustle on the stairway and he was gone. 
 
 Charlie Flint closed the door with a thrust of his foot and 
 turned to us, his eyes dancing. 
 
 "The perfect ending. Miss Corbyn, I congratulate you. 
 And you, Mr. Rolfe. And Jimmy! But most of all, our lady 
 of the Records." 
 
 He seized his hat. 
 
 "Thescoopof a century! Give me an hour'sstart, Jimmy 
 I'll be as discreet as I can." 
 
 "Good-bye Charlie. You've been a firm ally; you and the 
 Wire," said Palke. A whirlwind on the stairs, and Charlie 
 Flint had left us. 
 
 My father was laughing softly. Jenny came to my side, 
 her hand stole into mine. Palke alone wore a face of un- 
 diminished gloom. 
 
 "I was afraid of this; right from the beginning. What
 
 268 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 did I tell you, Rolfe? But after all there's nothing we can 
 hold him for except bigamy not an extraditable offence." 
 
 "We can always get him if we want him," said Jane 
 Carthew, picking up the typed sheet that Power had signed. 
 
 "Are you accepting that confession as fact, Palke?" said 
 Strachey. 
 
 "Fact!" said Palke, "the only fact I wanted unless I 
 could hang him was the admission that the woman in the 
 cell at Vintner Street is his wife. I never even suspected it." 
 
 "What hold had Kathleen over Michael Power? It must 
 have been a pretty strong one. Jane Carthew's belief an 
 inspiration if you like was that it was marriage." 
 
 "That question to Michael, prompted by Jane Carthew 
 and timed at the exact moment, was a stroke of genius. 
 There was only one answer to it, and having given it he 
 had to stand by it, or condemn himself out of his own 
 mouth." 
 
 "Central Office has records of Kathleen Maguire, sister 
 to Jake, but none connecting her in any way with Power, 
 and it's exceedingly unlikely we'd ever have got on to that 
 marriage. Very little was known about her; for six years 
 past she's been lost sight of entirely. And if we hadn't 
 got her at Vintner Street we might have believed as Michael 
 says he believed that she was dead." 
 
 "That broken crook who has just gone out would, I 
 think, have been content to compromise with Elaine Corbyn 
 any time for whatever he could get. Though I do not 
 credit his story, I don't believe now that murder was ever 
 in his mind. The Maguires would have put that scheme 
 through, but for Jane Carthew and let me add, Lord 
 Trent they might well have got away with it." 
 
 "So exit Michael, and he leaves us something of the first 
 value to Miss Corbyn and I suppose I may say, to you, 
 Mr. Rolfe."
 
 THE FINAL WITNESS 269 
 
 His ill-humour was forgotten, he turned to us both, his 
 eyes laughing and alight with friendliness. 
 
 " No need for the machinery of the law and it's delays. 
 No compulsion to sue for the cutting of any thread that 
 binds you to Powers or Maguires, Sing-Sing or the Old 
 Bailey. That marriage was no marriage, and Miss Corbyn 
 is free right there where she stands." 
 
 I felt Jenny's hand tighten on mine. And if I were a 
 king and had a brace of peerages to bestow, I would have 
 given them to Palke and Jane Carthew at that moment. 
 Strachey paid his tribute too; he turned to the Inspector, 
 laughing. 
 
 "It's not the first time I've heard a policeman cursing 
 the machinery of the law, Palke!" he said, "and I've never 
 done such violence to my professional code as in this case. 
 But without a regret. I haven't the amateur's tenderness 
 for murderers. My sympathy was all for Miss Corbyn. And 
 now I think you'd like to have this room to yourselves." 
 
 He bowed to Jenny and my father, and left us. 
 
 "Cheer up, Jim!" said Jane Carthew. "See how pleased 
 everybody's looking! And this room's damp enough, the way 
 Michael wept all over the floor." 
 
 She turned to my father. 
 
 "Does it shock you, Lord Trent, to hear me call the 
 Inspector Jimmy? We all do it at D.C.I, headquarters, 
 we're a friendly crowd there they call me Jane. He often 
 comes over to us on extradition cases; I've been his colleague 
 before. You needn't believe him when he throws all that 
 credit of the case over to me it's his way. I've a great 
 respect for Jimmy." 
 
 "It's nothing to the respect, mingled with awe, that I've 
 had for you ever since you came to Stanways, Jane," said my 
 father. "Years ago during the War many women wore 
 breeches, and they don't seem to have got over the habit;
 
 270 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 I've even seen policewomen on the streets in blue tunics 
 and helmets. Our betters, since they shortened their hair 
 and skirts, are breaking records daily on land, sea and in the 
 air. But I didn't know " 
 
 "That there were women detectives?" laughed Jane 
 Carthew, "and you were right. Mine was a sheltered berth 
 in the Records Office. On every police headquarters staff 
 there are women on women's jobs; D.C.I., Yard, Paris 
 Surete officially none of them are sleuths, but now and 
 then they are turned loose on an executive case not often, 
 because there's a rule that they don't go into the witness 
 stand. I've had the luck to make a hit in one or two big 
 shows, and my Chief trusts me. I guess I've given him a 
 shock this time." 
 
 "You've certainly shocked Power and the Maguires. 
 If I had suspected ' 
 
 "Come now, Lord Trent!" said Jane, "you may not have 
 guessed you were entertaining a policeman, but as between 
 Jenny and me I've been calling her Jenny for two months 
 and I've got the habit you knew within a dozen hours 
 that I was the fake and she was the real thing. You're just 
 about the quickest man I know." 
 
 "True Jane. I did have that suspicion. If I'd been really 
 quick I should have known it at first sight." 
 
 "Yes! But then I'd have known you were the crook I 
 was looking for, and your troubles would soon have been 
 over. Any man or woman who could pick Jenny out from 
 the pair of us on sight, would have been taped, right away." 
 
 "That's why I changed jobs with Jenny before we started 
 for England. A change which took some getting away with, 
 and which I wouldn't have touched under any other 
 conditions; nobody who knew Jenny could mistake me for 
 her. For that very reason particularly over here three 
 thousand miles from home it was sound."
 
 THE FINAL WITNESS 271 
 
 "It was sound; and it was horribly dangerous," said 
 Jenny. "I'll never forgive myself to the end of time for 
 letting you do it." 
 
 Jane laughed. 
 
 "You couldn't help yourself, dear child. Neither of us 
 knew what we were up against. And now, who's going to 
 clear up the Stanways mystery, while the Court sits? Tell 
 them, Jenny!" 
 
 Jenny shook her head. 
 
 " I leave it to you, partner please!" said she. 
 
 "Very well, then," said Jane Carthew. "Members of the 
 Jury, there'll be no recommendation to mercy."
 
 XLVI 
 THE TRAP 
 
 "JENNY would never have spilled me the story if she 
 hadn't been all wrought up, one night in my flat in New 
 York, and had to tell somebody; I was the only friend she'd 
 got. That was nearly a month after the Slade inheritance 
 fell in." 
 
 "We were raised in the same home town, but I'd never 
 heard of Power, he was since my time. I'd found her a 
 job when she came east in the summer, and I'd no idea 
 she'd come into all that money till I got home after a 
 vacation and found her in worse trouble than when she 
 was poor". 
 
 "Of course I gave her the only advice anyone could give. 
 But would she have it? You know how obstinate Jenny can 
 be. She couldn't go back on Power. She was his wife, she 
 had taken his money, he'd always played fair, there was 
 nothing to show he wasn't straight in fact all the stuff you 
 heard just now from Michael." 
 
 "One could see her point of view. But directly I got that 
 story I took it privately to D.C.I, headquarters and got our 
 Records Office to tracing Michael Power." 
 
 "My Chief didn't think there was much to it. 'This man 
 Power is dead,' said he, 'or he'd have claimed long before 
 now. We've nothing on him, but dead or alive we'll tail 
 him up.'" 
 
 " 'There's a Power on our register with a bunch of names 
 and three convictions for blackmail,' said I. 'Can I have the 
 job of looking after this girl and watching the case from her 
 end while they're tailing Michael? There are six millions 
 behind it and it's worth watching; it won't cost the Office 
 anything.' "
 
 THE TRAP 273 
 
 "And the chief said: 'Go to it, Jane, it's your job. Get 
 in touch with us and we'll keep you posted.'" 
 
 "I never believed Power was dead. I was out to get him, 
 and anybody who might be in this crook game with him. 
 But I didn't put that up to Jenny. There was a chance that 
 he'd gone out; there was a smaller chance that, if living, he 
 was straight. And though Jenny put as brave a face on it 
 as she could, she'd have given anything to be quit of it. 
 What was her life going to be, with this thing hanging over 
 her?" 
 
 "I told her I would see her safe and clear of it all, if I had 
 her word to obey my instructions and never go back on them 
 or let me down. I knew I could rely on Jenny; she knew she 
 could rely on me." 
 
 "She'd had sense enough to lie quiet and insisted on 
 Slade's lawyers giving no information. There was a dame 
 called Alice Vanneck, who got on to the story of the Corbyn 
 money through the lawyers' office. She specialised in business 
 and social introductions; one of those touts even body knows 
 who are always nosing out a percentage for themselves. 
 Jenny asked her to keep the thing quiet, said she wanted no 
 publicity and was leaving for Europe as soon as the estate 
 was settled." 
 
 "Mrs. Vanneck proposed an introduction to Lord Trent, 
 who had a country house in England and took guests; she 
 could be as quiet as she liked there, and do as she pleased. 
 Jenny was all for it. It would keep Mrs. Vanneck quiet too; 
 naturally there'd be a good rake-off for her." 
 
 "It sounded all right well out of harm's way. But when 
 I went into this Stanways proposition, it looked to me like 
 a frame-up." 
 
 "My unfortunate reputation!" sighed Dad. Jane laughed. 
 
 "I don't know that it was your reputation, Lord Trent, 
 so much as Ken's."
 
 274 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "Don't mind my feelings " said I. "Am I taped in the 
 Records office, too?" 
 
 "You were lucky," said Jane. "You were mixed in some 
 queer doings on our side, and got clear of them. You're a 
 nice big tough, and I rather took to you at Stanways. I 
 tried you out, and if the acid made you sore sometimes, 
 remember I was watch-dog to Jenny, who hasn't forgiven 
 me some of the things I did to you." 
 
 "If I was in the dark, so was the opposition. It looked 
 all right from their end. The Linke inquest had led nowhere; 
 the police evidently at a loss. The watchers were holding off 
 to see if the going was still good; they weren't quitters, those 
 sort of crooks seldom are. They needed a certainty. And I 
 determined they should have it." 
 
 "Directly Jenny was shifted safely out of Stanways, I 
 laid my trap for them, and a dandy one it was, though I had 
 to turn the plan round later. How else are you to get a 
 crook, in a dark game like that, unless you trap him? Any- 
 thing's better than letting it hang over you indefinitely." 
 
 "I drew up that will, and had it properly signed and 
 witnessed. It had no value except that it put the Power 
 gang where I wanted them. Of course I never intended 
 being the bait myself; I'm not so heroic as all that." 
 
 "Jim Palke had only a misty idea what I was doing at 
 Stanways, and didn't like my being there at all. I was mad 
 with him when he posted his tame policeman to look after 
 me, and drive Jenny's car." 
 
 "The shover!" I exclaimed. "Was he ?" 
 
 "Yes the dumb McRae. He's a C Division policeman 
 and an old soldier; he just hung round and kept the car nice." 
 
 "I gave the Watcher on Stanways his chance to get into 
 my room and find out all he wanted; the trap was set for 
 the monkey's paw. I'll own right now, I didn't realise 
 it was a tiger rather than a monkey that I was up against.
 
 THE TRAP 275 
 
 But I'm always for taking a chance; safety first gets you no- 
 where in police work. And of course I didn't know I was 
 dealing with Maguire, I thought it was some spy of Michael's 
 nosing out information for his chief. There were plenty of 
 ways of holding up Elaine for a slice of the Slade legacy, 
 and I didn't believe Michael would go the whole hog and risk 
 the gallows." 
 
 "Now I was ready for Jim Palke's help. I couldn't chance 
 a failure by trying to finish the job, single-handed; I knew 
 there was more than one in it. Jim was over at Wheatb ridge 
 with Begbie. The night of the I4th. And that same night 
 Jenny stalled me by coming back to Stanways flat against 
 my orders!" 
 
 "She'd been good enough till then. Now she tore every- 
 thing loose. Said we'd got to cut it out . . . she wouldn't have 
 me running risks on her account had never realised the 
 way it was going wouldn't stand for it another hour. 
 And she wanted to know what I was doing to you, Ken!" 
 
 "I was furious with Jenny. We had our first big row up 
 in my room. When she left me I was shaken up ; and it 
 takes something to shake me. I started overhauling my 
 baggage and that's when I found that the Watcher had got 
 on to it! Somebody had climbed into my room while we were 
 at dinner and gone through my bureau and papers with a 
 fine-tooth comb; done it very neatly and professionally too. 
 
 "Nothing would have pleased me better if only Jenny 
 were away. I hurried down to dig her out . . . and I found her 
 in the gun-room with you, Ken! I butted into a scene that 
 was never meant for me. ..." 
 
 "I knew that would happen sooner or later. And by this 
 time you'd got me on your side. I dodged out again; it would 
 have been too heartless to interrupt you like that." 
 
 "I was feeling wrought up and excited slipped away to 
 the morning-room, where I knew I'd be alone, to think
 
 276 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 things out. Standing by the old marble clock on the mantel, 
 I said to myself: 'We'll give those two babies five minutes; 
 Ken shall drive her back to town for me I'll be quit of 
 them both.'" 
 
 "Then ... I was off my guard and I'd switched the lights 
 on; a fool thing to do, no doubt . . . the window-sash was 
 snapped up behind me and I whipped round, reaching for 
 my little gun. ..."
 
 XLVII 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 "You were right, Ken. A woman shouldn't depend on a 
 gun; she may think she's sound but she'll never be in the 
 Maguire class. The gun wasn't part of my plan anyway. 
 But plan trap everything went west and I was down and 
 out, feeling as if my head was blown off. Have a bullet cut 
 the veins over your temple, and you'll know. Just a bad 
 graze; but the mess it makes of you!" 
 
 "I never knew what hit me; it was all a blurred dream 
 till Ken came and picked me up. I tried to speak to him, 
 and then everything sort of blacked out and I don't remember 
 anything more till I found myself sitting up, feeling mighty 
 weak, alone in that room. And then ... it didn't take thirty 
 seconds to get me fairly awake. One thing I learned that 
 night if you get knocked out it's wonderful how a little 
 bleeding clears your brain! I don't believe I ever thought 
 quicker in my life." 
 
 "I guessed what Ken was doing . . . and there was the 
 window tight shut, and the gun lying close by. Then up 
 slid the window and in tumbled old McRae with a face on 
 him like doom. He'd heard the shot and came chasing round 
 to see what was doing. He was babbling about a doctor. I 
 got it into his head that I wasn't hurt and that his job was to 
 get me into the car and away to Wheatbridge police-station." 
 
 "Mac jumped to it. He ran me down the drive like a 
 mother carrying her nursling, and as soon as the Rolls was 
 started ' Now!' I said, 'whizz me along to Jim Palke as fast 
 as you can burn the ground keep your lights dowsed and 
 your head shut! We're going to round up a murder gang, 
 you and I Mac the thug that shot at me is fixed to fall for 
 it with both feet! Let the doc wait.' "
 
 2jS BLOOD MONEY 
 
 "I bound up my head with a scarf and hardly knew I was 
 hurt. I'd been hunted long enough; now I was the hunter, 
 and it was better even than I'd figured on ... the plan was 
 flashing up in front of me all the way." 
 
 "Jim and Begbie were already at Stan ways before we made 
 the station house. The duty sergeant nearly threw a fit 
 when I blew in with my head tied up like a pudding and 
 blood on my dress . . . but he got me to the 'phone and I had 
 Jim at the end of the wire and wised him." 
 
 "It was a game Jim Palke could play out better than any 
 man on earth. 'Elaine Corbyn's shot broadcast that and 
 let it stand till to-morrow,' I said. 'String the gang along . . . 
 let 'em find out who got away with her and why. Wait for 
 them to make the next move, and you'll have them. You'll 
 find Elaine's will and all her papers in the bureau, and I'm 
 here when you want me.' " 
 
 "You don't have to spell out the book of words for Jim. 
 That's all I had time to tell him except that I wasn't hurt. 
 But I could feel myself skidding, and I hung up the receiver 
 and flopped. Silly of me. The station matron put me to bed, 
 Tilden came round presently and mended up Jake's work 
 with a couple of stitches. Jake must have been mad when he 
 knew what he'd missed . . . just as mad with me as Jim 
 Palke was because I'd exceeded instructions. Gee! If the 
 police didn't exceed instructions in a difficult case, murder 
 would be cheaper than it is." 
 
 "That's cold truth," said Palke. "Our business is securing 
 the malefactor for the protection of the citizen and I care 
 very little how it's done; but no woman has the right to put 
 herself in the way of a bullet." 
 
 Jane laughed. "A scratch like that?" she said, and lifted 
 the brown-gold hair that was waved lower over her forehead 
 than when I saw her last. A ragged red wheal, newly cica- 
 trised, ran back along the white of her temple and lost itself
 
 CONCLUSION 279 
 
 in her hair. I felt Jenny tremble beside me, and saw Palke's 
 jaw set tight. As for me, if the job of hanging Maguire had 
 been on offer just then, I would have bid for it. 
 
 "I was a trifle mad about it myself," said Jane, "but it 
 doesn't show and they tell me I can get it skin-grafted. Jake 
 wasn't so good after all; I guess he's better at a sitting shot. 
 But nobody knew that Elaine Corbyn was living except 
 the police and Tilden, who holds appointment as police 
 surgeon to the Wheatbridge station. And now you have my 
 report on the Stanways mystery. Jim came round to see me 
 half an hour later. He can tell you the rest." 
 
 Palke thrust back his chair. 
 
 "There's very little for me to add," he said, "except this 
 warning. If ever you feel the urge to go gunning, Rolfe, 
 don't shoot a policeman. The others will never stop till 
 they get you." 
 
 "I left Begbie to hunt out the will. Begbie had it in his 
 head from the start that Lord Trent was the man behind 
 all this trouble. Begbie never guessed that the man who saw 
 farther through the case than anyone up to then was Lord 
 Trent. Two days later, with his help and Charlie Flint's, 
 we pulled Maguire in." 
 
 "The information from New York D.C.I, only began 
 to come through on the i4th. It enabled us to place 
 Kathleen." 
 
 " 'Linke' was the key to it all. He knew about the Slade 
 inheritance and his brother Michael's marriage and he 
 was undoubtedly the man who originally put the Maguires 
 wise to it. He was in England when Slade died. The Maguires 
 passed the news to him when they learned that Elaine Corbyn 
 was coming to Stanways, for of course that had leaked out. 
 I should say they got it out of the Vanneck woman. I know 
 nothing against her, but these little social touts will sell 
 anything that's saleable. She certainly passed a paragraph
 
 280 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 about it into one of the society columns that she contributes 
 to, spite of her promise to Miss Corbyn." 
 
 "Linke's speciality was blackmail, not murder; and when 
 the Maguires shot him to prevent his selling them, they 
 killed the man who could have kept them on the right 
 track. They don't know to this hour that they went after 
 the hawk instead of the pigeon, but if Linke had been at 
 Stan ways when the guests arrived I've no doubt he would 
 have spotted the change-over as soon as he saw them. 
 And Jane would have known it, and marked him for the 
 man she wanted." 
 
 "I wonder she didn't mark me!" said I, "the way I fell 
 for Jenny on the platform at Euston." 
 
 Jane Carthew laughed. 
 
 "I saw what your trouble was, you big tough!" she said. 
 "I suspected you of a good many things, but a child could 
 size you up. You did a little suspecting yourself, Ken. 
 You were never cut out for a sleuth, but after being mixed 
 up in our troubles for three days you started asking yourself 
 which of us was the sure-enough Corbyn. Under the 
 circumstances I don't see how you could have missed it. 
 But you didn't try and hide it up; you sprung the idea on 
 Jenny, you big simp! She was bound not to give herself 
 away, and of course she easily pulled you straight again." 
 
 " I hated lying to you, Ken," said Jenny. "Did I do it 
 well?" 
 
 "Perfectly!" said I. "The prettiest bluff I've ever seen. 
 The way you laughed, before melting into tears, when you 
 said you only wished you were Elaine Corbyn " 
 
 "Well, I thought I was Elaine Power." 
 
 "And if that isn't enough to melt anybody to tears, ring 
 me up and tell me what is," said Jane. "A girl's tongue is a 
 better defence to her than a Wesson automatic, and if your 
 wife doesn't smooth you down with an occasional lie you'll
 
 CONCLUSION 28l 
 
 have a thin time of it, Ken. Jimmy needn't think he'll always 
 get the truth out of me when we're married." 
 
 I turned to her with a gasp of astonishment. My father 
 smiled at me, and shook his head mournfully. 
 
 "This was obvious to everybody but Ken!" he said. 
 "My congratulations, Palke. She is a girl in a thousand. I ve 
 been hoping, Jane, that you would marry me." 
 
 Jane laughed. 
 
 "You always say the right thing. It would be quite attrac- 
 tive to be Lady Trent of Denham. And lucky for you that I'd 
 rather be Mrs. Inspector Palke." 
 
 "Mrs. Ex-Inspector Palke," said Jimmy. "I am retiring 
 when the Linke case is through the courts. Jane is handing 
 in her checks at the D.C.I. We're both a little tired of 
 discipline; we are going to run a private agency in Manhattan." 
 
 "Jenny is staking us. We might find you a job, Lord Trent, 
 there are the makings of a very sound private detective in 
 you," said Jane. "We've nothing to offer Ken; he couldn't 
 detect a bass drum in a telephone booth. Well, that's my 
 report. All clear?" 
 
 "There's one black piece of work nobody has solved yet," 
 said I. "I'd like a settlement with the man that did it. Who 
 sent me that note at Euston warning me off Elaine Corbyn 
 under penalty of death? Neither Power nor the Maguires 
 would have done a thing like that, surely?" 
 
 Jane paused. I saw her eye gleam with amusement as she 
 glanced at my father. 
 
 "Lord Trent, I believe." 
 
 "She's right, as usual," said Dad, and shook with 
 laughter. 
 
 "You?" I said, staring at him. 
 
 "Guilty, Ken. Before you got to Euston, I 'phoned a 
 friend in town to scribble that message and get it passed to 
 you on the arrival platform I won't tell you who he was
 
 282 BLOOD MONEY 
 
 as I don't want him beaten up. He thought I was pulling 
 your leg. I was in deadly earnest and so were you after 
 you got that note." 
 
 "I've known you twenty-seven years Ken; your obstinacy 
 and pig-headedness. It only needed a threat of trouble if you 
 meddled with the mysterious Miss Corbyn, to start you 
 looking for it. You resented her coming to Stanways and 
 were determined to have nothing to do with her you were 
 within an ace of bolting. After that threat nobody could have 
 beaten you away from her with a club. It worked like a charm." 
 
 "It was well done, Dad!" said Jenny, laughing, and kissed 
 him. He stroked her hair affectionately, and nodding to 
 Jane and Palke, shepherded them out. 
 
 "You two will have something more attractive to talk 
 about than crime," he said to me as he closed the door; "if 
 you want us you'll find us at the Savoy" 
 
 "Didn't Palke tell you once," said Jenny as I drew her 
 down into the arm-chair, "that you'd need all the sympathy 
 you could get? You're going to get it now, Ken. . . ." 
 
 I have had it ever since. 
 
 THE END
 
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