Christopher Quarles: College Professor and Master Detective Read online

  CHAPTER XV

  THE STRANGE AFFAIR OF THE FLORENTINE CHEST

  Only the other day, in a turning off Finsbury Pavement, there wasdemolished one of those anachronisms which used to be met with morefrequently in London, an old house sandwiched in between immenseblocks of buildings, a relic of the past holding its own against thecommercial necessities and rush of modern civilization. It wasconnected with a very strange case Quarles and I had to deal with notlong after the Seligmann affair.

  The house looked absurdly small in the midst of its surroundings, buthad once been a desirable residence, probably standing in its owngardens. Now it was almost flush with the street, dingy to look at,yet substantial. The door, set back in a porch, had two windows oneither side of it, and there were four windows in the story above it.A brass plate on the door had engraved upon it "Mr. Portman," and itwould appear that the bare fact of such a gentleman's existence wasconsidered sufficient information to give to the world, since therewas nothing to show what was his calling in life, nor what hours hewas prepared to transact business.

  As a matter of fact, he not only did his business in the old house,but lived there.

  The room on the right of the hall was the living room. On the left wasa small apartment, with windows of frosted glass, which was occupiedduring certain hours of the day by his only clerk, a cadaverous andunintellectual looking youth, whose chief work in life seemed to bethe cutting of his initials into various parts of the cheap furniturewhich the room contained. Behind this office, but not connected withit, was Mr. Portman's business room, to which no one penetrated unlessconducted thither by the cadaverous youth. Behind the living room,down a passage, was the kitchen, where Mrs. Eccles, the housekeeper,passed her days. A girl occasionally came in to help her, otherwiseshe was solely responsible for her master's comfort.

  One November afternoon Mr. Portman returned to his house shortly afterfour o'clock. He stood in the doorway of the small room for a fewmoments, giving instructions to his clerk, and then went to his ownroom, closing the door after him. A little later Mrs. Eccles took himsome tea on a tray, which she did every afternoon when he was at home.He talked to her for some minutes about a friend who was coming todinner with him on the following evening, giving her such particularorders that he evidently wished to entertain this friend particularlywell. Soon after five Mrs. Eccles returned to fetch the tray. The doorwas locked then, and Mr. Portman called out to her that he was busy,but was going out shortly, when she could have the tray.

  It was nearly six when she went to the room again. Mr. Portman hadgone out, but evidently did not expect to be long, as he had left thegas burning, only turning it low. She had not heard him go, but theclerk said Mr. Portman had come out of his room at a quarter to six,had paused in the passage outside to say, "I shall not be long, butyou needn't wait, good night," and had then gone out, closing thefront door quietly behind him.

  He did not return that night. For five days Mrs. Eccles waited, andthen, growing alarmed, gave information to the police.

  These were the bare facts of the case when it came into my hands, butI was told that my investigations might possibly throw some light ontwo or three cases which had puzzled the authorities in recent years.

  Mr. Portman was a money-lender, and had so long called himself Portmanfor business purposes that possibly he had almost forgotten his realname himself. Since for years he had transacted his businessunmolested, it was probable that the evil reports which had beencirculated concerning him from time to time were grossly exaggerated;but the fact remained that the police authorities had takenconsiderable trouble to collect items concerning Portman's career, andhad kept an eye upon him. Complaints about him had reached them, butthose who borrow money are easily critical of those who lend, andthere had never been sufficient warrant for taking any action. If, ashappened at intervals, Portman had to appear in the witness-box, hecame through the ordeal fairly well. He might show that he was bent ongetting his pound of flesh, but he was always careful to have the lawon his side. He was legally honest--that was his attitude; he couldnot afford to be generous when a large percentage of his clients wouldcertainly cheat him if they had the chance.

  Portman's business room at the back of the house was large, but darkand depressing, its two windows, which were heavily barred, looking onto the blank wall of a warehouse. A large desk and a safe gave it abusiness aspect, but the room was crowded with costly furniture whichfancy might suppose had once belonged to some unfortunate debtor whohad been unable to satisfy Mr. Portman's demands. Some good pictureshung upon the walls, and in a recess opposite the door stood an oldchest heavily clamped with iron. The key, which might have hung at thewaist of a medieval jailer, so huge was it, was in the lock, which wasevidently out of order. When I turned the key the lid would not open.Looking through the drawers in the desk, I found several letters whichshowed that Mr. Portman's business was often with well-knownpeople--men one would not expect to find associated with him in anyway--and the sums involved were often so large that only a rich mancould deal with them.

  Mrs. Eccles answered my questions without any hesitation. Whatever theworld might think of Mr. Portman, she appeared to have a genuineaffection for him. She had noticed no change in him recently; he hadappeared to her to be in his usual health and spirits.

  "When you went for the tray and found the door locked, did you thinkhe had anyone with him?" I asked.

  "I didn't hear anyone, but I can't say I listened. It was not thefirst time I had found the door locked and been told to go backpresently for the tray."

  "A friend was to dine with him on the following night. Did the friendcome?"

  "No."

  "What was his name?"

  "Mr. Portman did not mention it."

  "Did you prepare the dinner?"

  "No."

  "Why not?" I asked. "You did not communicate with the police untilfive days later, so you must have been expecting your master toreturn."

  "It's difficult to say exactly what I expected," Mrs. Eccles answered,"but I never thought about preparing the dinner. When he didn't returnI began to think something was wrong, because I've never known him tobe away even for a night without letting me know."

  "Why didn't you give information sooner?"

  "Sooner? Why, I keep on asking myself whether I've done right ingiving it at all. The master might walk in at any moment, and I don'tknow what he'd say if he did."

  The clerk seemed to think that Mr. Portman had been worried recently.He had had several pieces of business which the youth said had notprogressed too smoothly. He knew practically nothing about thesevarious items of business, but he gave me the names of half a dozenpeople who had called upon Mr. Portman during the past week or two.

  "He was close, you know," the youth went on; "didn't give much awayabout his doings."

  "Then why do you think he has been worried recently?" I asked.

  "He's been snappy with me," was the answer; "but by the way he spokethe other night when he went out I thought everything must have comeright."

  A further investigation of Mr. Portman's room resulted in a curiousfind. Under a bookcase, which was raised a few inches from the floor,I discovered a key--the key of the safe. How it had come there,whether it was a duplicate or the one Mr. Portman carried, it wasimpossible to decide.

  Apparently the safe had not been opened, for a drawer thereincontained a large sum in gold and notes, and there was not theslightest indication that any of the papers had been touched. It wasquite evident, however, that a number of people would profit byPortman's death, especially if he should die suddenly and leave no oneto carry on his business; and this was precisely what had happened.Not a relative or friend had come forward to lay claim to anything,and many of his debtors were likely to go free. Among these was LordStanford, one of the names the clerk had given me as recent visitors,and I went to see him, only to find that he had left England the dayafter Portman's disappearance. He had gone to Africa, and that was allI could discov
er.

  Another man who had called upon Portman recently, and whom I went tosee, was a Mr. Isaacson. From him I obtained an interesting piece ofinformation. He had seen Portman in Finsbury Pavement on the eveningof his disappearance. He must have met him some ten minutes after hehad left his house.

  "I stopped to speak to him, but he was in a hurry, and did not stop,"said Isaacson.

  "I suppose you were not due to dine with him on the followingevening?" I said.

  "Dine with him? No, I have never had that honor. I do not think youquite appreciate Mr. Portman's position. I lend money in a small way,there are many like me, and if, as occasionally happens, businesscomes to us which is too large for us to deal with, we go to Mr.Portman. The business is carried through in our names, but Mr. Portmanis the real creditor."

  In his own way Mr. Portman was a man of importance, and a man ofmystery. There was nothing to suggest he was dead, and it was quitepossible that some crooked business had kept him from homeunexpectedly.

  I chanced to go and see Christopher Quarles one evening when I got tothis point in my investigations, and he at once began to ask questionsabout the Finsbury affair. I had not intended to enlist his help. Iwas quite satisfied with the progress I had made, but he was so keenabout the mystery that I told the whole story to him and Zena.

  "You seem very interested," I said, when I had finished.

  "I am. Mr. Portman has been talked about before now, and I remember Ionce had a theory about him."

  "Does the present affair help to confirm that theory?" I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "It might be interesting to know why Lord Stanford has gone abroad,"he said.

  "That is exactly the line I am following," I returned.

  "I should like to know something about the man who was coming todinner and did not come," said Zena. "It is curious that he shouldhave heard so quickly of Mr. Portman's death, and more curious stillthat he should make no inquiries."

  "Lord Stanford may be able to tell us something about him," I said.

  "Zena makes a point, Wigan," said Quarles. "It is rather a complicatedpuzzle. Of course, Portman may not be dead, but if he is alive whyshould he run the risk of a police search among his papers? He wouldknow that such an investigation would be likely to do him harm. Hewould hardly run such a risk. Since Mr. Isaacson saw him in FinsburyPavement he has vanished completely. He left the gas burning in hisroom, therefore he did not expect to be out long. He was hurrying,according to Mr. Isaacson, presumably to keep an appointment. Now, ifhe is dead, it looks like a premeditated thing, because there is nobody. It is easy enough to murder; it is the most difficult thing inthe world to hide the victim successfully. If a sudden crime iscommitted, and the murderer has his wits about him, the body willprobably be found under circumstances likely to throw suspicion onanyone but the right man; but a premeditated crime usually means thedisappearance of the body if in any way it can be managed. So we get akind of theory which may carry us a long way, and the further we go weshall be the more convinced, I fancy, that many other theories arejust as likely to be right."

  "Portman may not be dead," I said.

  "For the reasons I have given I think we may presume that he is,"Quarles answered. "The difficulty of the case arises from the factthat so many people stand to profit by his death."

  "Stanford, for instance," said I.

  "And Isaacson, perhaps," he returned, "and a score of others. As faras Stanford is concerned, he is a young man with expectations, butwith little money at present. He is probably in the hands of othermoney-lenders besides Portman; he is a fool no doubt, but one wouldnot expect him to be a murderer."

  "Given certain conditions, you cannot tell what a man will do."

  "True, Wigan, but I do not find the required conditions. Don't let meinfluence you. Something may be learned from Stanford, but that wouldnot be my line of attack."

  "What would yours be?"

  "I should like to talk to Mrs. Eccles and the clerk."

  When Quarles solved a case his explanation was usually so clear thatone could only marvel that the salient points had not been apparent toeverybody from the first; when he was considering the difficulties itseemed impossible that the mystery could ever be solved. As I listenedto him I felt that his help was necessary in this affair.

  "Why not come with me to Finsbury?" I said.

  "I will to-morrow," he answered. "By the way, Wigan, wasn't it foggyon the night of Portman's disappearance?"

  "It was, dear," said Zena. "Don't you remember, I went to see somepeople at Highgate that day and was late for dinner?"

  Quarles nodded and changed the conversation; he had done with theaffair until to-morrow.

  When I met him next morning, wrapped in a heavy cloak, for it wascold, I could not help thinking that he looked the very last man inthe world to solve an intricate mystery. He was the kind of oldgentleman who would annoy everybody by asking foolish questions andtelling stories which had grown hoary with age.

  "I'm a simple old fool, Wigan, that's my character," he said, guessingmy thoughts; "and, if you can look annoyed with me and showirritability, so much the better. Where does Isaacson live? I shouldlike to see him first."

  I found it quite easy to be irritable. When we called on Isaacson,Quarles asked him the most ridiculous questions which certainly hadnothing whatever to do with Portman, but in a vague way concerned thetheory and honesty of money-lending.

  "Was Mr. Portman a Jew?" he asked suddenly.

  "Yes."

  "I seem to remember seeing him without glasses," said Quarles. "Ithought Jews always wore glasses."

  "We are usually short-sighted," said Isaacson, touching hisspectacles, "I am myself. Mr. Portman worked in glasses always, but ifyou met him in the street you would probably see him without them."

  "Ah, you are remembering that he did not wear them the night you methim in Finsbury Pavement," said Quarles, "that is probably why he didnot see you."

  "He happened to be wearing them that night," Isaacson returned. "Ibelieve he did see me, but was in too much of a hurry to stop."

  "Rude, very rude," remarked Quarles.

  "Small men have to put up with many things from big ones," saidIsaacson humbly.

  The professor treated him to a short dissertation on the equality ofman, and then we left.

  "Honest, I think, so far as he goes," said Quarles, "but he isdesperately afraid of being drawn too deeply into this affair. Hecouldn't afford to be questioned too closely about his business,Wigan."

  It had been thought advisable to keep the clerk at his post for thepresent, and he was quite ignorant of the fact that he was watchedboth during his business and leisure hours. His own importance ratherimpressed him at this time, and Quarles soon succeeded in making himtalkative, but, as far as I could see, very little of what he said wasworth particular note.

  "I think Mr. Portman would have been wise if he had confided more inyou," said Quarles, after talking to him for some time.

  "I think so, too," the youth answered.

  "He never did, I suppose?"

  "No--no, I cannot say he ever did."

  "When he came in that afternoon he stood in the doorway there andtalked to you?"

  "He was telling me about some papers he would want in the morning.Very snappy he was, I can tell you."

  "The weather, possibly. It was foggy and unpleasant."

  "He was usually unpleasant, no matter what the weather was. He paid mefairly well, or I shouldn't have stayed with him as I have done."

  "Yet, when he went out later that evening, he stopped in the doorwayto say good night."

  "He did, and you might have knocked me down with a feather," said theyouth. "I don't remember his ever doing such a thing before. I'd putsome letters which had come during the afternoon on his table, and thenews in them must have been good. He'd had some worrying business onhand, I know."

  "That would certainly account for his cordiality," said Quarles."Really, I sympat
hize with you. Practically, I suppose, you havelittle to do but answer the door when the bell rings."

  "If the office bell rings I pull this catch," the youth said, "and theclient walks in. The front door has a spring on it and closes itself.Sometimes a fool will ring the office bell when it's Mrs. Eccles hewants, and that's annoying."

  "Very," laughed the professor. "Did any clients call that day?"

  "No. A chap wanting to sell some patent office files came and wastedmy time for a quarter of an hour; swore that the governor had seen himtwo or three months ago and told him to call. A rotten patent it was,too."

  "He showed them to you?"

  "Had a bag full of them. Wanted me to buy the beastly things. I had tobe rude to him to get rid of him."

  "Did you go to the door with him?"

  "Not much!" the youth answered. "I just pulled this catch and told himhe would find the door open, and the sooner he got out of it thebetter. He would have liked to borrow a bob or two, I fancy, but Iwasn't parting."

  "Did you tell Mr. Portman he had called?"

  "I never worried him with callers of that sort."

  Then Quarles became impressive.

  "I suppose you have no idea where Mr. Portman is? To your knowledgenothing has happened which would account for his absence?"

  "Nothing. If you want my opinion--I should say he's dead, had anaccident, most likely, and no papers on him to say who he was."

  "One more question," said Quarles, "in strict confidence, mind. IsMrs. Eccles honest?"

  "As daylight," was the prompt reply. "Would she have put the police onthis business if she hadn't been?"

  "I never thought of that," said Quarles humbly. "Your brain is youngand mine is old."

  "Makes a difference, no doubt," said the youth.

  "And my memory is like a sieve," the professor went on. "I've alreadyforgotten whether this file seller was a clean-shaven chap or wore abeard."

  "Don't worry about that," said the youth, "because I didn't describehim. He was an old chap with a gray beard, and had lost most of histeeth, I should think, by the way he talked."

  "Poor fellow. Poor fellow! I expect I should have been fool enough togive him a bob."

  "I expect you would," laughed the youth, in his superior wisdom.

  With Mrs. Eccles Quarles's method was still foolish. For some time hedid not mention Mr. Portman, and so silly was he that I should nothave been surprised had the woman been less respectful in her manner.But he set her talking as he had set the clerk talking, and she waspresently explaining that the guest her master was expecting to dinewith him must have been of considerable importance, because thepreparations were elaborate.

  "He's never given such a dinner before," said Mrs. Eccles, "and Isuggested that with such preparation he might have asked otherguests."

  "And the wine?" asked Quarles.

  "He said he would look after that himself."

  "Very natural," answered the professor. "You've been with Mr. Portmanmany years, haven't you?"

  "Fourteen or more."

  "So long! I wonder if you remember a young friend of mine who used tocome here, I think. Ten or eleven years ago it must be. He squintedand had red hair."

  "I do remember him," said Mrs. Eccles. "He came here to dine once, Irecollect. I believe Mr. Portman said he was going abroad. I know hedined here, and I do not think I saw him again."

  Quarles nodded.

  "I believe he did leave the country; some said in disgrace. I wonderwho it was that was going to dine with Mr. Portman that night."

  "The master didn't say. All he said was an old friend."

  "A young man might be called an old friend," said Quarles.

  "Oh, he couldn't be young," said Mrs. Eccles, "because the master saidhe had known him when he was a young man."

  "That is interesting," said Quarles. "Shall we go and look at Mr.Portman's room, Wigan?"

  When we closed the door Quarles stood in the center of the room andlooked slowly round it.

  "Was that screen standing there when you first entered the room,Wigan?"

  "Yes."

  "Where did you find the safe key?"

  "Under that bookshelf."

  He went to the safe and walked slowly from it to the door, flickinghis hand as he went. Then he looked out of the windows.

  "No exit or entrance that way," he said. "There is only the door. Isthat the chest that won't open?"

  He turned the key and tried the lid. He could not lift it. He lockedthe chest, then unlocked it again, and hammered upon the lid with hisfist.

  "The bolts sound as if they worked properly," he said. "I think it'sonly that the lid has caught somehow."

  We tackled it together, and, after several efforts, we succeeded inraising the lid. The chest was empty. Quarles examined it very closelywithout and within. We could not move it, it was too heavy, but theprofessor produced a magnifying glass and studied the marks on thewood. He measured the length and depth of the chest, and shut it andopened it several times.

  "Opens quite easily now, Wigan," he remarked.

  Very carefully he had put two newspapers into it, and some odd bits ofpaper, which he took from his pocket.

  "You see how I have placed them, Wigan, which way up the newspapersare, and the scraps of writing on this piece of paper? We'll set atrap," and he closed the chest and locked it. "This is an old house,and there may be a way into this room which we know nothing about. Weshall see."

  We left the room, but Quarles told me not to lock the door. Hebeckoned me to follow him to the kitchen.

  "Mrs. Eccles, how long has your master had that oaken chest in hisroom?" he asked the housekeeper.

  "It's been there all my time, sir."

  "Well, I shouldn't be surprised if it is connected with your master'sdisappearance."

  Mrs. Eccles's mouth slowly opened in astonishment.

  "We shall be back in two hours, and then--then we shall know."

  We left her and went to the office. The youth was cutting an initialon the corner of the table.

  "Busy, I see," said Quarles. "I fancy Mr. Portman's disappearance hassomething to do with that old chest in his room."

  "How can that be?"

  "I don't know yet. We are going to make an important inquiry and shallbe back in a couple of hours. We'll be careful to ring the officebell, not the house one."

  As we turned to the front door Quarles caught my arm. He opened thedoor, letting it go so that it would close itself. For a few momentswe remained motionless, then, creeping toward the office door,watched until the clerk's back was turned, and went quickly toPortman's room.

  "It is very easy, Wigan," whispered the professor; "if for us, thenalso for others. You see why I did not want you to lock the door ofthis room? Now we are in, we will lock it on the inside, and thatscreen will hide us."

  "There is no question that Mr. Portman left the house," I said.

  "Oh, no. Isaacson was quite definite, but I am trying to fit facts tomy theory. I said we should be back in two hours, so we have about twohours to wait."

  There was plenty of room behind the screen, but those two hours wentslowly. I could not decide what theory the professor had got in hismind, but concluded that he was not so satisfied with the honesty ofMrs. Eccles and the cadaverous youth as I was. He had looked at hiswatch when we went behind the screen, and he allowed a full two hoursto elapse before he would leave our hiding-place.

  He walked straight to the chest and opened it. It was empty. All thepapers had gone.

  "Well, Wigan?"

  I stared into the chest and did not answer.

  "It looks like another way into this room, doesn't it"--and then hestarted--"or out of it. I hadn't thought of that. Wait."

  He took an old envelope from his pocket, dropped it into the chest,and locked it. He waited a moment, then opened the chest again. Theenvelope had gone.

  "I confess, Wigan, that this is a surprise," said Quarles. "I must gohome and think. I believe--yes, I believe
we have the clew. You mustsearch Portman's papers for some reference to a businessacquaintance, probably a foreigner. Perhaps Portman knowsItaly--Florence. It might very likely be Florence. I fancy this chesthad its home there. If you find any reference to a friend who is aFlorentine, and can lay hands on him, you might question him closelyabout his movements on the day of Portman's disappearance."

  "The first thing is to get this chest moved," I said.

  "Let that wait for forty-eight hours," said Quarles. "We may have amore complete story by then. Give me until to-morrow night, then comeand see me."

  When I went to Chelsea the following night I was taken at once to theempty room. Zena was there. Quarles was standing by his table, onwhich was a rough plan, evidently a production of his own, and quiteunintelligible without an explanation.

  "Of course you have not discovered anything yet, Wigan?"

  "There has not been time," I answered.

  "No, quite so," he said, motioning me to a seat. "But we have a fairlyclear story, I think. Zena said, you remember, that she would like toknow something about the man who was coming to dine with Portman thatnight. It was an important point, particularly so since the guest didnot put in an appearance. You saw the importance of it, Wigan, becauseyou asked Isaacson whether he was the expected guest. Now, Isaacsonhad seen Portman after he had left his house that night, but had notspoken to him. This fact suggested a question to my mind: was Isaacsontelling the truth? There were two possibilities. Isaacson might haveseen him, gone with him, and be responsible for his disappearance; orhe might have been mistaken. The man he saw might not have beenPortman. The second possibility was the one which appealed to me. Thefact remained, however, that Isaacson knew him well, therefore the manhe took to be Portman must have wished to be taken for Portman, Iargued. This would account for his hurrying on without speaking, sincea closer investigation might have betrayed him. I looked for some factto support this theory. I found it in Isaacson's statement thatPortman wore glasses in the street on this occasion, which wasunusual, so unusual, mark you, that Isaacson noticed it. Now, if mytheory were right, it seemed possible that after Mr. Portman enteredhis room that afternoon he never left it. That he was there when Mrs.Eccles took in the tea-tray there could be no doubt; but that it wasMr. Portman who answered through the locked door was another matter.

  "Such a fantastic theory required strong support," the professor wenton. "The clerk helped me. When he came into the house that afternoonand gave his clerk instructions about certain papers Mr. Portman wassnappy, his usual self, in fact, and, incidentally, he proved that hehad no intention of being away from the office on the following day;when he left the house he was quite different, genially wishing theclerk good night. Wigan, a man slightly overplaying his part would belikely to do that, especially as he wanted the clerk to be in aposition to say that his master had gone out at a certain hour. He wasbound to draw the clerk's attention to himself, so he did it with acordial good night. Knowing that Mr. Portman wore glasses, he wouldalso wear them, even in the street."

  "But the clerk would have seen it was not Mr. Portman," I objected.

  "That was a difficulty," said Quarles. "It was a foggy afternoon, weknow, and would be dark in the passage, but hardly dark enough todeceive the clerk. Another difficulty was how a stranger could getinto the house without being seen. Both difficulties vanished when theclerk told us of the man who called selling patent files. He had abag, Wigan, containing more than samples of files, I warrant--means ofdisguise as well. We know how easy it is to let the front door slamand remain in the house. I think the file seller practiced the sametrick we did. Even to going to Portman's room and hiding behind thescreen. You see, the office windows are frosted, so the clerk cannotsee whether anyone leaving the office passes into the street or not.If there is something fantastic in this theory, let me pursue it tothe end. If I am right, one thing is certain: this file seller knewPortman well. He must have come prepared to make himself up like him.He was able to answer Mrs. Eccles when she knocked at the door anddeceive her. Granted that he knew Mr. Portman well, we may assume thathe was in some way associated with him in business. Only one man leftthat room, therefore, as things stand, we may assume that these twomen were enemies who had once been friends. Here let me be imaginativefor a moment. Mr. Portman was expecting a friend to dine with him onthe following night, an important person, since the feast to beprepared was, according to Mrs. Eccles, somewhat elaborate. Thesumptuousness of a feast may mean great friendship, but it may be usedto hide intense enmity. You read such things in the history of theMedici of Florence. I believe, Wigan, that the feast was prepared forthis same file seller, that the wine, which Mr. Portman was lookingafter himself, remember, would have proved unwholesome for the guest,who, distrusting Portman, came a day earlier and removed his enemy."

  "A little imaginative," I said.

  "Imagination bridges the intervals between facts," Quarles answered."We get again to a fact--the iron-bound chest. It links the two mentogether. I have no doubt the file seller knew of its peculiarmechanism as well as Portman did. You could not open it, and, sincethe key was in the lock, no mystery about it, you naturally did notthink it of much importance. When together we succeeded in opening itI found on the floor of it a tiny stain. I thought it was a bloodstain, but I was not sure. At any rate, the measurements of the chestwere such that a body might be pressed in it. Frankly, I admit Iexpected to see Portman's body when we raised the lid. For the sake ofsome documents--it is impossible to say what they were--I believedthis file seller had murdered Portman, taken his key, opened the safe,taken the papers he wanted, thrust the body into the chest, and hadthen departed in the character of his victim, flinging the safe keyunder the bookcase as he went. As there was no body I wondered whetherMrs. Eccles or the clerk, or both, were accomplices of the murderer;whether that chest might not conceal a secret entrance to the room.The idea did not fit my theory very well, but I laid a trap, and youknow the result, Wigan. The action of shutting that chest opens thebottom of it, so that whatever is placed in it falls out as soon asthe lid is closed and locked. I believe the body of Portman was in itand had got caught somehow--that was why you could not open it, why wecould not open it until we had hammered it about, and by constantworking upon the lid had released the body. I feel certain that chesthad its home in Florence; that is why I suggest an Italian may be thecriminal. He may have been long resident in England, of course;certainly he is a man who speaks English perfectly, or the clerk wouldhave described him as a foreigner."

  "But the body--where is it?" I asked.

  "I've been to the British Museum to-day," said Quarles, taking up therough sketch from his desk. "This is a copy of an old map of theFinsbury district, and here I find was one of the old plague pits. Ibelieve Portman's house stands on this plot."

  It was a very rough sketch, but, as I compared the place the professorhad indicated with the old landmarks and their modern equivalentswhich he had marked, there could be little doubt that Quarles wasright.

  "I do not suppose that Portman's is the first body that has passedthrough that chest and slid down into some hole which was once a partof this pit," he went on. "I asked Mrs. Eccles about a squintingyouth. He was a young fool with expectations, just such another asLord Stanford. He was robbed right and left, and it is quite certainPortman, among others, made money out of him. He disappeared suddenly.It is possible Lord Stanford might have disappeared in a similar wayhad not his friends got him out of the country. Portman didn't havethat chest fixed to the floor of his room for nothing. You may findthe solution to more than one mystery, Wigan, when you move thatchest."

  Portman's body and the remains of at least three other bodies werefound in the deep hole under the old house in Finsbury. How the holehad come there, or how Portman had discovered it, it was impossibleto guess, but there could be little doubt that he had only beentreated as he had treated others. And some six months afterward a mannamed Postini was knifed in Milan, and the inquiry into his
murderbrought to light the fact that he had been closely connected withPortman. They had worked together in London, in Paris, and in Rome. Atthe time of Portman's death they had quarreled, and at that timePostini was in London. Among Portman's papers I found none relating toPostini; no doubt the Italian had taken them, for Portman's letter,asking him to dine and to become true friends again, was found amongthe Italian's papers.

  There can be little doubt, I think, that Quarles was right. Portmanintended to rid himself of the Italian after giving him a sumptuousfeast, but Postini, wholly distrusting his former comrade, had come aday before his time, and been the murderer instead of the victim.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE SEARCH FOR THE MISSING FORTUNE

  Whenever he had solved a case, if not to the world's satisfaction, tohis own, Quarles seldom mentioned it again. He professed to thinklittle of his achievement, a pose which I have no doubt concealed aconsiderable amount of satisfaction and self-complacency. Of thecurious case connected with the Bryants, he was, however, ratherproud; and, since it resulted in making things easier for Zena and me,I have every reason to be satisfied.

  It began in a strange way. A simple looking old man, his clothes asize too large for him, walked into a large pawnbroker's one day, and,handing him a scarf-pin, asked how much could be given for it. The pinwas no use to him. He didn't want to pawn it, but to sell it. Thecustomer was requested to put a price upon his property, and, aftersome hesitation, he asked whether twenty pounds would be too much. Theman in the shop went into a back room ostensibly to consult hissuperior, in reality to send for the police. It happened that aquantity of jewelry had been stolen from a well-known society lady afew weeks before, and pawnbrokers had had special notice of the fact;hence the firm's precaution. The simple old man had offered for twentypounds a diamond that was worth at least twenty times that amount.

  Being interested in the jewel robbery, I was naturally keen to knowall that could be discovered about this simple old man, and I willgive the story as I told it to Christopher Quarles after I had madethe most minute inquiries.

  The old man's name was Sims--James Sims--and for the last year he hadresided with a niece, who was married and living at Fulham. Untiltwelve months ago he had been manservant to an old gentleman namedOttershaw, living at Norbiton, who he said had given him the pin. Mr.Ottershaw was a retired Indian servant, who chose to live a lonelylife, and was evidently an erratic individual.

  Although there was no direct evidence on the point, nothing to showthat he had any income beyond his pension, nor any property beyond theold house at Norbiton which he had bought, the idea got abroad that hewas an exceedingly wealthy man. Sims declared that he had never seenany evidence of great wealth. His master was aware of what was said,and used to chuckle about it, but he never in any way endorsed thestory. At the same time he didn't deny it, and, indeed, fostered theidea to some extent by saying that he hoped to keep his anxiousrelatives waiting until he was a hundred.

  These relatives consisted of two nephews and a niece, the children ofMr. Ottershaw's sister, who had been some years his senior. Both thenephews--George and Charles Bryant--were married; the niece was aspinster whose sole interest in life was foreign missions. The Bryantshad money, just sufficient to obviate the necessity to work, and, sofar as the two brothers were concerned, they were undoubtedly chieflyconcerned in waiting for a dead man's shoes. Miss Bryant hoped tobecome rich for the sake of her missionary work. All of them wereconvinced of their uncle's wealth.

  The old gentleman did not attain his century. He caught a chill,pneumonia set in, and in three days he was dead. Sims declared thatabout a month before his death his master had given him the pin withthe remark: "You've been a good servant, Sims. This is a little giftin recognition of the fact. It's worth a few pounds, and should yououtlive me and find yourself hard up, you can turn it into money."Sims had not found himself hard up, he had saved enough to livequietly upon, but his great-niece, of whom he was very fond, was goingto be married, and he thought he would turn the pin into money as anest egg for her.

  Mr. Ottershaw's will was a curiosity. It began with a verystraightforward statement that the testator was aware that hisrelatives had for long past been hoping for his death. No doubt theywould have come to live with him had he allowed it, to see that hismoney did not go to strangers. "They have their reward," the will wenton. "I leave all I am possessed of to George, Charles, and Mary Bryantin equal shares, without any restrictions whatever. But, since duringmy lifetime my nephews and niece have undoubtedly speculatedconcerning my wealth, I feel it would be a pity if my death were torob them suddenly of so pleasant an occupation. Frankly, I would takewhat wealth I have with me if I could. This being impossible, Isuppose, I have placed it in a safe place, so that, in order to findit, my relatives will still be able to speculate and exercise theiringenuity. For their guidance I may say that I deposited it in thisplace while alone in one of the rooms of my house at Norbiton, that Idid not send it out of the house, yet if the house is burnt down, orpulled down brick by brick, it will not be found."

  The will then went on to provide that the house should not be sold forfive years, nor anything taken out of it. During this period hisnephews and niece were to have free access to it whenever they wished,or any person they might appoint could visit it. If they chose theycould let it furnished for five years. They could burn it or pull itdown if they liked, but if it were intact at the end of five years, itwas to be sold, and the proceeds equally divided.

  "These are the only conditions," the will concluded; "but, as I amdoing so much for my relatives, I may just mention two things which Ishould like done, but they are in no way commands. On the finding ofmy wealth, if it is found, I should like ten per cent. of it given toa society or societies for the feeble-minded. And, as I have explainedto my relatives more than once, I should like to be cremated, but Ileave the decision to them. If cremation is considered too expensive,I must be buried in the usual way."

  Although the house at Norbiton was still intact, I was told by GeorgeBryant that during the last twelve months every nook and cranny hadbeen searched without avail. He still believed that the wealth washidden somewhere, but he had begun to doubt whether it would ever befound. Naturally, when he heard of Sims's attempt to sell a diamondpin, his hopes revived. His brother Charles had always thought thatSims knew something, but he himself had not thought so. Now the affairwas on an entirely different footing.

  When I had told my story in the empty room at Chelsea I think we wereall three convinced that this was the toughest problem we had evertackled.

  "Did the relatives respect the old man's wish and have the bodycremated?" Zena asked.

  "No; he was buried in a cemetery at Kingston."

  "Then they don't deserve to find the money, and I hope they won't."

  "I do not like the relatives," I returned; "but in this matter thereis something to be said for them. They have always been opposed tocremation, a fact which Mr. Ottershaw knew quite well, and,recognizing the contemptuous tone of the will, not unreasonably, Ithink, they decided that the wish was expressed only to annoy them,and that their uncle had no real desire to be cremated."

  "One of your absurd questions," said Quarles.

  "It seems to me I have never asked a more natural or a more sensibleone," said Zena.

  "I won't argue, my dear," Quarles returned. "I presume that paper youhave there, Wigan, is a copy of the wording of the will?"

  "Yes," and I handed it to him.

  "Of course, you do not think Sims has any connection with this jewelrobbery you have been engaged upon?"

  "No; he would not be selling so valuable a stone for twenty pounds."

  "And you have come to the conclusion that his story is a plainstatement of facts?"

  "I think so."

  "You are not sure?"

  "Well, one cannot close one's eyes to the possibility that he maydislike the Bryants as much as his master did, and may be keeping hismaster's secret," I answered.
>
  "Or he may have learned the secret by chance," said Zena.

  "He may," said the professor. "You questioned him upon that point,Wigan?"

  "He says he knows nothing."

  "What has become of the pin?"

  "It is in the hands of the police at present, but will be handed backto him. There is no evidence whatever that he is not the rightfulowner. The Bryants wanted to have him arrested."

  Quarles spread out the paper, and began reading parts of the will in aslow, thoughtful manner.

  "'Frankly I would take what wealth I have with me if I could.'" AndQuarles repeated the sentence twice. "That might imply that there wasno wealth to speak of; and, following this idea for a moment, thepermission to burn the house or pull it down might suggest a hope inthe old man's mind that the frantic search for what did not existwould result in the destruction of even that which did--the house andfurniture. The fact that he desires ten per cent. of the wealth, if itis found, to go to imbeciles rather favors this notion; and his wishto be cremated may be an attempt to make his relatives spend moneyupon him from whom they were destined to receive nothing."

  "It would be a grim joke," I said.

  "A madman's humor, perhaps," said Zena.

  "He goes on: 'This being impossible, I suppose,' and then says he hashidden his wealth. He did not seem quite certain that he could nottake it with him, did he?"

  "You think----"

  "No, no," said Quarles, "I haven't got as far as thinking anythingdefinite yet. The will then explains in a riddle where the treasureis hidden. He was alone in a room. He didn't send the treasure out ofthe house. The statements are so deliberate that I am inclined tobelieve in a treasure of some sort."

  "So am I," I answered, "because of the valuable pin he gave to hisman."

  "When was this will made?" asked Quarles.

  "Nine years ago."

  "Living as he did, he would hardly spend his pension," the professorwent on. "Money would accumulate in nine years, and, since there is noevidence that he did anything else with it, we may assume that thehoard was periodically added to, and, therefore, he must have placedit where he could get at it without much difficulty."

  For a moment Quarles studied the paper.

  "I think we may take his statements literally," he went on; "so unlessthe treasure was very small, small enough to be concealed inside abrick, it seems obvious that it was not hidden in the walls of thehouse, or it would have been found in the process of pulling down."

  "If we are to be quite literal, we must remember that he says brick bybrick," I pointed out. "It might therefore be hidden in a brick."

  "I have thought of that," Quarles returned; "but in pulling downbricks would get broken, especially a hollow brick, as this would be.I think we may take the words to mean only total demolition, and thatthere is no special significance in the expression 'brick by brick.'Burning does away with the idea that the treasure may be hidden inwoodwork."

  "If he put it under a ground floor room or under a cellar neitherpulling down nor a fire would disclose it," said Zena.

  "Every flag in the cellars has been taken up," I answered; "and allthe ground underneath the house has been dug up."

  "Is there a well?" she asked.

  "No; that was the first thing I looked for when I came there."

  "He says in a room," Quarles went on. "I don't think that means acellar."

  "Do you think the treasure was small in bulk and placed in hiscoffin?" said Zena eagerly, leaning forward in her chair as she askedthe question.

  "Certainly in that case he would be perfectly justified in saying thathe didn't send it out of the house," said Quarles.

  "It is most improbable," I said. "To begin with, Mr. Ottershaw wishedto be cremated, so would hardly leave any such instructions. And,further, Sims saw him placed in his coffin, and says nothing wasburied with the body."

  "It is an interesting problem," said the professor; "but one does notfeel very much inclined to help the Bryants."

  "Then you have a theory?" I asked.

  "I haven't got so far as theory; I am only rather keen to try my wits.There is a shadowy idea at the back of my brain which may be gone bymorning. If it hasn't, we'll go and see Sims."

  Next morning when I went to Chelsea, as I had arranged to do, I foundQuarles waiting for me, and we went to Fulham together. Sims had tworooms in his niece's house, but took his meals with the family. Wewent into his sitting room and he was quite ready to talk about Mr.Ottershaw. I told him that Quarles was a gentleman who thought hecould find the hidden money.

  "I shall be very glad if he does," said Sims. "The Bryants will knowthen that I had nothing to do with it. Mr. Charles has been the worst;but since I tried to sell that pin Mr. George has been as bad."

  "I take it you don't like the Bryants," said Quarles.

  "I don't dislike them, only when they bother me."

  "Your master didn't like them?"

  "Didn't he? I never heard him say. He wasn't in the habit of sayingmuch to anybody, not even to me."

  "You were fond of him?"

  "Loved him. He wasn't what you would call a lovable character, but Iloved him, and he liked me. You see, him and me were born in the sameneighborhood, five miles out of Worcester; and when he came back fromIndia he came down there to see an old friend, since dead, and Ihappened to be there at the time out of a job. That's how we cametogether fifteen years ago."

  "You didn't go at once to Norbiton?"

  "Not until three years afterward."

  "Where were you during those three years?"

  "In several places, part of the time in Switzerland, and in Germany."

  "Now about this treasure, Mr. Sims?"

  "Bless you, sir, I don't believe in it."

  "The will very distinctly mentions it."

  "I know. I've heard such a lot about that will from the Bryants that Iknow it almost by heart. It was a joke, that's what I think. Why, Mr.Charles has asked me more than once whether I didn't slip it into hiscoffin."

  "Mr. Ottershaw gave you no such instructions, I suppose," saidQuarles.

  "The only instructions he gave was that I was to lay him out, and tosee him put into his coffin if he was buried, and, whatever happened,to see him decently carried out of the house. There was some talk ofhis being cremated, and I suppose the master didn't know how theywould take him away then. No doubt he thought the Bryants would have awoman to lay him out, so he left a letter for me to show them. Themaster always did hate women."

  "And you did this for him?"

  "Gladly, and I helped the undertaker lift him into the coffin. I wasthere when he was screwed down, so were Mr. George and Mr. Charles.There was nothing but the body buried, nothing."

  "The Bryants wouldn't have him cremated, I understand," said Quarles.

  "And quite right, too," said Sims. "It's a heathenish custom, that'swhat I think."

  "And you don't believe there was any large sum of money?"

  "No, I don't. I should have seen some sign of it."

  "Your master gave you a very valuable pin," said Quarles; "I don'tsuppose you had seen that before."

  "It's true, I hadn't."

  "There may have been other valuables where that came from."

  "I don't think it," said Sims. "I don't believe the master himselfknew it was so valuable."

  As we walked up the Fulham Road I asked the professor what he thoughtof Sims.

  "Simple--and honest, I fancy."

  "You're not quite sure?"

  "Not quite, but then I am not sure of anything in this affair yet. Isuggest we go and see Mr. George Bryant. I want his permission to goover the house at Norbiton."

  George Bryant lived at Wimbledon, and we found him at home. Much ofour conversation went over old ground, and need not be repeated here;but the professor was evidently not very favorably impressed withBryant. Nor did Bryant appear to think much of Quarles. He smiledcontemptuously at some of his questions, and, when asked forpermission to visit the ho
use at Norbiton, he said he must consult hisbrother and sister.

  "Except that I am keenly interested in the affair as a puzzle, I don'tcare one way or the other," said Quarles. "Whether you handle themoney or not is immaterial to me, but I have a strong impression thatI can find it."

  "In that case, of course----"

  "There are conditions," said Quarles, "and one or two more questions."

  "I am willing to answer any questions."

  "Did you often visit your uncle?"

  "Only twice in ten years, and on each occasion he was not very well--atouch of gout, which was what made him so ill-tempered, I imagine. Mybrother Charles was with me on one occasion; my sister, I believe,never went there."

  "Yet you all expected to profit by his death?"

  "His letters certainly gave us to understand that we should, and sofar the will was no surprise to us."

  "Has the clause in the will which forbids the removal of anything fromthe house been observed?" Quarles asked.

  "Most certainly."

  "I mean with regard to trifling things."

  "Nothing has been taken. Of course the will has been complied with."

  "It wasn't with regard to Mr. Ottershaw's cremation."

  "We did what we considered to be right, and I refuse to discuss thatquestion. For my own part, I believe if James Sims could be forced tospeak the mystery would be at an end. I cannot help feeling that thepolice have failed in their duty by not having him arrested."

  "I daresay that is a question my friend Detective Wigan will refuse todiscuss," said the professor. "Do you care to hear my conditions? Youcan talk them over with your brother and sister when you considerwhether I shall be allowed to go over the house or not."

  "I shall be glad to know your fee," said Bryant.

  For a moment I thought that Quarles was going to lose his temper.

  "I charge no fee," he said quietly, after a momentary pause; "but ifthe money is found through me, you must give ten per cent. for thebenefit of imbeciles according to the wish of the deceased, and youmust pay me ten per cent. That will leave eighty per cent. for you todivide."

  "Preposterous!" Bryant exclaimed.

  "As you like. Those are my conditions, and I must receive with thepermission to visit the house a properly witnessed document, showingthat the three of you agree to my terms."

  "I am afraid you will wait in vain."

  "It is your affair," said Quarles, with a shrug of his shoulders."Remember I can find the money, and I believe I am the only man whocan."

  On our way back to town I asked Quarles whether he expected to get thepermission.

  "Certainly I do. George Bryant is too greedy for money to miss such achance."

  "And do you really mean that you can find the money?"

  "At any rate, I mean the Bryants to pay heavily for it if I do."

  Quarles was right. Three days later the permit and the requireddocument arrived, and we went to Norbiton.

  As I had visited the house already, I was prepared to act as guide tothe professor, but he showed only a feeble interest in the houseitself. The only room he examined with any minuteness was the bedroomMr. Ottershaw had used, and he seemed mainly to be proving to his ownsatisfaction that certain possibilities which had occurred to him werenot probabilities.

  "There's a ten per cent. reward hanging to this, Wigan," he chuckled."We're out to make money on this occasion. Bryant seems to have spokenthe truth. The place appears to be much as Mr. Ottershaw left it."

  He had opened a cupboard in the bedroom, and took up two or threepairs of boots to look at.

  "Large feet, hadn't he? Went in for comfort rather than elegance. Inever saw uglier boots. But they are well made, nothing cheap aboutthem."

  "You don't expect to find the money in his boots, do you?"

  "Never heard of hollow heels, Wigan?" he asked.

  "You couldn't hide much money if every boot in the house had a hollowheel."

  "No, true. I wasn't thinking of hollow heels particularly."

  Then he took up a stout walking-stick which was standing in the cornerof the cupboard, felt its weight, and walked across the room with itto try it.

  "Nothing hollow about this, at any rate," he said, after examining theferrule closely.

  When we returned to the hall he was interested in the sticks in thestand.

  "He was fond of stout ones, Wigan," laughed Quarles. "Well, I don'tthink there is much to interest us here."

  Our inspection of the house had been of the most casual kind. Wehadn't even looked into some of the rooms, and the odd corners andfireplaces to which I had given considerable attention on my formervisit hardly received a passing glance from Quarles.

  "Have you looked at everything you want to see?" I asked inastonishment.

  "I think so. You said the cellars had been dug up, so they are of nointerest, and I warrant the Bryants have already searched in everylikely and unlikely place. What is the use of going over the sameground, or in examining cabinets and drawers for false backs and falsebottoms, when others have done it for us?"

  "What is your next move, then?"

  "I think we may as well go back to Chelsea and talk about it."

  I must admit that, in spite of my knowledge of Quarles, I thought hewas beaten this time, and that he was using bluff to hide hisdisappointment. I thought he had gone to Norbiton with a fixed idea inhis mind, only to discover that he had made a mistake. He would notdiscuss the affair on our way back to Chelsea; but when we reached thehouse, he called for Zena, and the three of us retired to the emptyroom.

  "Well, dear, is the ten per cent. reward to make us rich beyond thedreams of avarice?" asked Zena.

  "It is impossible to say."

  "Then you haven't found the money?"

  "We haven't counted it yet," was the answer. "Let as consider thepoints. The first is this: Nine years before his death Mr. Ottershawmade his will, frankly expressing a wish that he could take his moneywith him. Therefore, I think we may assume that he was not in lovewith his relatives, and was not delighted that his death should profitthem. The next sentence in the will seems to express a doubt as towhether the treasure could be taken or not, and I suggest thatsomething occurred about that time to make it appear feasible. So weget a riddle, and if it is to be read literally, as I believe it ismeant to be, there can apparently be only one possiblehiding-place--somewhere in the ground underneath the house. This is soobvious that one would hardly expect it to be the solution, and sothere is particular significance in his statement that he didn't sendit out of the house. He hid it, he says, when he was alone in one ofthe rooms. Let us suppose it was his bedroom. From there he certainlycould not bury his treasure in the ground. We have decided that thehiding-place could not be in any part of the brickwork or in thewoodwork, therefore we are driven to the conclusion that it was placedin some piece of furniture or some receptacle made for the purpose.Since I believe he thought it possible to take his wealth with him,the latter supposition seems to me the more probable."

  "In banknotes a large sum would only occupy a small space," I said.

  "I don't think the treasure was in money," said Quarles. "The factthat a diamond was given to Sims and not money suggests that thetreasure was in precious stones. If he spent everything he could inthis way, giving hard cash for a gem, and thus doing away with thenecessity for inquiry and references, the lack of evidence regardinghis wealth is partly explained. Great wealth can be sunk in a verysmall parcel of gems, and if he hoped to take his wealth with him itmust be small in bulk."

  "So that it could be placed in his coffin, you mean," said Zena.

  "Sims declares nothing was placed in his coffin," said Quarles; "he ismost definite upon the point."

  "And I have already pointed out that since he wished to be crematedMr. Ottershaw would hardly make any such arrangement," I said.

  "He may have wished to be cremated, but he may not have expected tobe," said Quarles. "As a matter of fact, he left certain instructio
nswhich point to a doubt. Sims was to lay him out and see that he wasdecently cared for. So anxious was Mr. Ottershaw about this that heleft a letter for Sims to show to the Bryants. This is a mostsignificant fact."

  "Then you suspect the man Sims," said Zena.

  "We will go a step further before I answer that question. To-day,Wigan, we have made a curious discovery. All Mr. Ottershaw'swalking-sticks were very stout ones, and that he really used them, notmerely carried them, the condition of the ferrules proves. Moreover,there was a curious fact about his boots. They were large, the rightone being a little larger than the other, and the right boot in everypair was the least trodden down--indeed, showed little wear eitherinside or out. I wonder if Sims could explain this?"

  Zena was leaning forward, her eyes fixed upon the professor, and I wasthinking of a boot with a hollow heel.

  "Let's go back to the will for a moment," said Quarles. "Although Mr.Ottershaw desired to be cremated, he did not put it in the form of acondition, as he might reasonably have done. He even mentions theexpense, and, in fact, gives his relatives quite a good excuse for notdoing as he desires. It seems to me he didn't care much one way or theother, and that his object was to make the relatives suffer for theirgreed, and suffer all the more because he didn't actually leave themoney away from them. It was Zena's absurd question, Wigan, and heranger that the Bryants had not carried out the old man's wish, whichgave me the germ of a theory. I believe if they had had him crematedthey would have found the treasure. He gave them a chance which theylost by burying him."

  "Then you believe Sims carried out his master's wishes?" I said.

  "I do."

  "And managed to have the treasure buried with him?"

  "I do not believe Sims knows anything about a treasure," said Quarles;"and I think he speaks the truth when he says that nothing but thebody was buried. But Sims knew more about his master than anyone else.He could tell us something about their doings in Switzerland andGermany, for instance. He was very fond of his master, and was trustedby him."

  "We want to know what happened just after Mr. Ottershaw's death," Isaid. "To know what occurred abroad will not help us much."

  "I think it will," Quarles returned. "Supposing Mr. Ottershaw had anaccident abroad which necessitated the amputation of his right leg,and supposing, in Germany perhaps, he got the very best artificiallimb money could purchase?"

  "A wooden leg!" I exclaimed.

  "Yes, not of the old sort, but the very best the instrument makerscould devise. Mr. Ottershaw became proud of that leg and told no oneabout it. Only his man knew. His right boot showed less sign of wear,because he helped that leg with a stout stick. The wooden foot wouldnot stain the inside of a boot with moisture as a real foot does. Whenthe Bryants went to see him he complained of gout, an excuse for notwalking, and so giving them a chance of discovering the leg. Then camethe idea of secreting the treasure, and I suggest that it consists ofgems concealed in that wooden leg. He didn't want the leg removedafter his death, so Sims laid him out. Probably the leg is fitted witha steel, fire-resisting receptacle which would have been found amongthe debris had the body been cremated."

  "Then the treasure is buried with him," said Zena. "Will they open thegrave?"

  "I am not sure whether the old man succeeded in carrying his wealthwith him after all," said Quarles. "Sims was fond of and sentimentalabout his master, and as we talked to him, Wigan, it seemed to methere was something he had no intention of telling us. He wasparticularly insistent that nothing but the body had been buried, andappeared almost morbidly anxious to tell nothing but the exact truth.To-morrow we will go to Fulham and ask him whether he removed thewooden leg before the coffin was screwed down."

  Quarles's conjecture proved to be right. Sims had been sentimentalabout the leg because his master was so proud of it, and the nightbefore the coffin was fastened down had crept silently into the roomand taken it off, placing a thick shawl rolled up under the shroud, sothat the corpse would appear as it was before. It had not occurred tohim at the time that his master was so anxious that the leg should beburied with him, but since that night he had wondered whether he haddone wrong. The wooden leg was hidden in his bedroom. When he was toldthat it probably contained the treasure, his fear and amazement werealmost painful to witness. He was evidently quite innocent of any ideaof robbery.

  Ingeniously concealed in the top part of the leg we found a steelcylinder, full of gems. Mr. Ottershaw must have made a lot of moneywhile he was in India, for Quarles's ten per cent. of the valueobtained for the jewels came to over twelve thousand pounds.

  "Half of it goes to Zena as a wedding present," he said on the day hebanked the money. "I shouldn't wait long if I were you, Wigan."

  "But, grandfather, I----"

  "My dear, I'm not always thinking only of myself. You have your lifebefore you and I want you to be happy. My only condition is that thereshall always be a place at your fireside for me."

  The tears were in Zena's eyes as she kissed him, but she looked at meand I knew my waiting time was nearly over.

  "Now I shall rest on my laurels, Wigan, and trouble no more aboutmysteries," said Quarles.

  He meant it, but I very much doubt whether a ruling passion is soeasily controlled. We shall see.

  THE END

  Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in theoriginal edition have been corrected.

  In Chapter I, "It is obvivious that a man who possessed such stones"was changed to "It is obvious that a man who possessed such stones",and a period was changed to a comma after "several boarding-houses inOssery Road".

  In Chapter VI, quotation marks were deleted after "far more of a loverthan a detective" and "I could swear to it".

  In Chapter VII, a quotation mark was removed after "so much thebetter".

  In Chapter XII, "a disposition to suspect Couldson" was changed to "adisposition to suspect Coulsdon".

  In Chapter XIII, a quotation mark was added after "whether he was inBoston, Wigan", and "I had seen Oglethorp move his" was changed to "Ihad seen Oglethorpe move his".

  In Chapter XIV, a period was added after "little significance inthat".

  In Chapter XVI, a single quote (') was changed to a double quote (")before "Well, one cannot close one's eyes", and "I haven't got as foras thinking anything definite yet" was changed to "I haven't got asfar as thinking anything definite yet".