Peggie gave him another look, more enigmatic than the other.
Thats nonsense! she said sharply. Of course, youll come. Do whatever it is that Barthorpe wants just now, but come on to Portman Square as soon as youve done itI want you. Go straight home, Robson, she went on, turning to the chauffeur.
Selwood turned slowly and unwillingly back to the office door as the car moved off. And as he set his foot on the first step a young man came running up the entrynot hurrying but runningand caught him up and hailed him.
Mr. Selwood? he said, pantingly. Youll excuse meyoure Mr. Herapaths secretary, arent you?Ive seen you with him. Im Mr. Triffitt, of the ArgusI happened to call in at the police-station just now, and they told me of what had happened here, so I rushed along. Will you tell me all about it, Mr. Selwood?itll be a real scoop for meIll hustle down to the office with it at once, and well have a special out in no time. And whether you know it or not, thatll help the police. Give me the facts, Mr. Selwood!
Selwood stared at the ardent collector of news; then he motioned him to follow, and led him into the hall to where Barthorpe Herapath was standing with the police-inspector.
This is a newspaper man, he said laconically, looking at Barthorpe. Mr. Triffitt, of the Argus. He wants the facts of this affair.
Barthorpe turned and looked the new-comer up and down. Triffitt, who had almost recovered his breath, pulled out a card and presented it with a bow. And Barthorpe suddenly seemed to form a conclusion.
All right! he said. Mr. Selwood, you know all the facts. Take Mr. Triffitt into that room weve just left, and give him a résumé of them. Andlisten! we can make use of the press. Mention two matters, which seem to me to be of importance. Tell of the man who came out of the House of Commons with my uncle last nightask him if hell come forward. And, as my uncle must have returned to this office after hed been home, and as he certainly wouldnt walk here, ask for information as to who drove him down to Kensington from Portman Square. Dont tell this man too muchgive him the bare outlines on how matters stand.
The reporter wrote at lightning speed while Selwood, who had some experience of condensation, gave him the news he wanted. Finding that he was getting a first-class story, Triffitt asked no questions and made no interruptions. But when Selwood was through with the account, he looked across the table with a queer glance of the eye.
I say! he said. This is a strange case!
Why so strange? asked Selwood.
Why? Great Scott!I reckon its an uncommonly strange case, exclaimed Triffitt. Its about a dead certainty that Herapath was in his own house at Portman Square at one oclock, isnt it?
Well? said Selwood.
And yet according to the doctor who examined him at eight oclock hed been dead quite eight hours! said Triffitt. That means he died at twelve oclockan hour before hes supposed to have been at his house! Queer! But all the queerer, all the betterfor me! Now Im offfor the present. Thisll be on the streets in an hour, Mr. Selwood. Nothing like the press, sir!
Therewith he fled, and the secretary suddenly found himself confronting a new idea. If the doctor was right and Jacob Herapath had been shot dead at midnight, how on earth could he possibly have been in Portman Square at one oclock, an hour later?
CHAPTER V
THE GLASS AND THE SANDWICH
Mr. Tertius, dismissed in such cavalier fashion by Barthorpe Herapath, walked out of the estate office with downcast heada superficial observer might have said that he was thoroughly crestfallen and brow-beaten. But by the time he had reached the road outside, the two faint spots of colour which had flushed his cheeks when Barthorpe turned him away had vanished, and he was calm and collected enough when, seeing a disengaged taxi-cab passing by, he put up his hand and hailed it. The voice which bade the driver go to Portman Square was calm enough, tooMr. Tertius had too much serious work immediately in prospect to allow himself to be disturbed by a rudeness.
He thought deeply about that work as the taxi-cab whirled him along; he was still thinking about it when he walked into the big house in Portman Square. In there everything was very quiet. The butler was away at Kensington; the other servants were busily discussing the mystery of their master in their own regions. No one was aware that Mr. Tertius had returned, for he let himself into the house with his own latch-key, and went straight into Herapaths study. There, if possible, everything was still quieterthe gloom of the dull November morning seemed to be doubly accentuated in the nooks and corners; there was a sense of solitude which was well in keeping with Mr. Tertiuss knowledge of what had happened. He looked at the vacant chair in which he had so often seen Jacob Herapath sitting, hard at work, active, bustling, intent on getting all he could out of every minute of his working day, and he sighed deeply.
But in the moment of sighing Mr. Tertius reflected that there was no time for regret. It was a timehis timefor action; there was a thing to do which he wanted to do while he had the room to himself. Therefore he went to work, carefully and methodically. For a second or two he stood reflectively looking at the supper tray which still stood on the little table near the desk. With a light, delicate touch he picked up the glass which had been used and held it up to the light. He put it down again presently, went quietly out of the study to the dining-room across the hall, and returned at once with another glass precisely similar in make and pattern to the one which he had placed aside. Into that clear glass he poured some whisky, afterwards mixing with it some soda-water from the syphonthis mixture he poured away into the soil of a flower-pot which stood in the window. And that done he placed the second glass on the tray in the place where the first had stood, and picking up the first, in the same light, gingerly fashion, he went upstairs to his own rooms at the top of the house.
Five minutes later Mr. Tertius emerged from his rooms. He then carried in his hand a small, square bag, and he took great care to handle it very carefully as he went downstairs and into the square. At the corner of Orchard Street he got another taxi-cab and bade the driver go to Endsleigh Gardens. And during the drive he took the greatest pains to nurse the little bag on his knee, thereby preserving the equilibrium of the glass inside it.
Ringing the bell of one of the houses in Endsleigh Gardens, Mr. Tertius was presently confronted by a trim parlourmaid, whose smile was ample proof that the caller was well-known to her.
Is the Professor in, Mary? asked Mr. Tertius. And if he is, is he engaged?
The trim parlourmaid replied that the Professor was in, and that she hadnt heard that he was particularly engaged, and she immediately preceded the visitor up a flight or two of stairs to a door, which in addition to being thickly covered with green felt, was set in flanges of rubberthese precautions being taken, of course, to ensure silence in the apartment within. An electric bell was set in the door; a moment or two elapsed before any response was made to the parlourmaids ring. Then the door automatically opened, the parlourmaid smiled at Mr. Tertius and retired; Mr. Tertius walked in; the door closed softly behind him.
The room in which the visitor found himself was a large and lofty one, lighted from the roof, from which it was also ventilated by a patent arrangement of electric fans. Everything that met the view betokened science, order, and method. The walls, destitute of picture or ornament, were of a smooth neutral tinted plaster; where they met the floor the corners were all carefully rounded off so that no dust could gather in cracks and crevices; the floor, too, was of smooth cement; there was no spot in which a speck of dust could settle in improper peace. A series of benches ran round the room, and gave harbourings to a collection of scientific instruments of strange appearance and shape; two large tables, one at either end of the room, were similarly equipped. And at a desk placed between them, and just then occupied in writing in a note-book, sat a large man, whose big muscular body was enveloped in a brown holland blouse or overall, fashioned something like a smock-frock of the old-fashioned rural labourer. He lifted a colossal, mop-like head and a huge hand as Mr. Tertius stepped across the threshold, and his spectacled eyes twinkled as their glance fell on the bag which the visitor carried so gingerly.