"HITHERTO UNPUBLISHED"
(_Being the report which was not sent to the Record._)
_Marlstone, June 16th._
My Dear Molloy: This is in case I don't find you at your office. I
have found out who killed Manderson, as this despatch will show.
That was my problem; yours is to decide what use to make of it. It
definitely charges an unsuspected person with having a hand in the
crime, and practically accuses him of being the murderer, so I
don't suppose you will publish it before his arrest, and I believe
it is illegal to do so afterwards until he has been tried and found
guilty. You may decide to publish it then; and you may find it
possible to make some use or other before then of the facts I have
given. That is your affair. Meanwhile, will you communicate with
Scotland Yard, and let them see what I have written? I have done
with the Manderson mystery, and I wish to God I had never touched
it. Here follows my despatch.
P. T.
I begin this, my third and probably my final despatch to the _Record_
upon the Manderson murder, with conflicting feelings. I have a strong
sense of relief, because in my two previous despatches I was obliged, in
the interests of justice, to withhold facts ascertained by me which
would, if published then, have put a certain person upon his guard and
possibly have led to his escape; for he is a man of no common boldness
and resource. Those facts I shall now set forth. But I have, I confess,
no liking for the story of treachery and perverted cleverness which I
have to tell. It leaves an evil taste in the mouth, a savor of something
revolting in the deeper puzzle of motive underlying the puzzle of the
crime itself, which I believe I have solved.
It will be remembered that in my first despatch I described the
situation as I found it on reaching this place early on Tuesday morning.
I told how the body was found, and in what state; dwelt upon the
complete mystery surrounding the crime and mentioned one or two local
theories about it; gave some account of the dead man's domestic
surroundings; and furnished a somewhat detailed description of his
movements on the evening before his death. I gave, too, a little fact
which may or may not have seemed irrelevant: that a quantity of whisky
much larger than Manderson habitually drank at night had disappeared
from his private decanter since the last time he was seen alive. On the
following day, the day of the inquest, I wired little more than an
abstract of the proceedings in the coroner's court, of which a verbatim
report was made at my request by other representatives of the _Record_;
and it will be remembered that the police evidence showed that two
revolvers, with either of which the crime might have been committed, had
been found--one in Manderson's bureau and the other in the room of the
secretary, Marlowe; but that no importance could be attached to this, as
the weapons were of an extremely popular make. I write these lines in
the last hours of the same day; and I have now completed an
investigation which has led me directly to the man who must be called
upon to clear himself of the guilt of the death of Manderson.
Apart from the central mystery of Manderson's having arisen long before
his usual hour to go out and meet his death, there were two minor points
of oddity about this affair which, I suppose, must have occurred to
thousands of those who have read the accounts in the newspapers; points
apparent from the very beginning. The first of these was that, whereas
the body was found at a spot not thirty yards from the house, all the
people of the house declared that they had heard no cry or other noise
in the night. Manderson had not been gagged; the marks on his wrists
pointed to a struggle with his assailant; and there had been at least
one pistol-shot. (I say at least one, because it is the fact that in
murders with firearms, especially if there has been a struggle, the
criminal commonly misses his victim at least once.) This odd fact seemed
all the more odd to me when I learned that Martin, the butler, was a bad
sleeper, very keen of hearing, and that his bedroom, with the window
open, faced almost directly toward the shed by which the body was found.
The second odd little fact that was apparent from the outset was
Manderson's leaving his dental plate by the bedside. It appeared that he
had risen and dressed himself fully, down to his necktie and watch and
chain, and had gone out-of-doors without remembering to put in this
plate, which he had carried in his mouth every day for years, and which
contained all the visible teeth of the upper jaw. It had evidently not
been a case of frantic hurry; and even if it had been, he would have
been more likely to forget almost anything than this denture. Any one
who wears such a removable plate will agree that the putting it in on
rising is a matter of second nature. Speaking as well as eating, to say
nothing of appearances, depend upon it.
Neither of these queer details, however, seemed to lead to anything at
the moment. They only awakened in me a suspicion of something lurking in
the shadows, something that lent more mystery to the already mysterious
question how and why and through whom Manderson met his end.
With this much of preamble I come at once to the discovery which, in the
first few hours of my investigation, set me upon the path which so much
ingenuity had been directed to concealing.
I have already described Manderson's bedroom, the rigorous simplicity of
its furnishings, contrasted so strangely with the multitude of clothes
and shoes, and the manner of its communication with Mrs. Manderson's
room. On the upper of the two long shelves on which the shoes were
ranged I found, where I had been told I should find them, the pair of
patent leather shoes which Manderson had worn on the evening before his
death. I had glanced over the row, not with any idea of their giving me
a clue, but merely because it happens that I am a judge of shoes, and
all these shoes were of the very best workmanship.
But my attention was at once caught by a little peculiarity in this
particular pair. They were the lightest kind of lace-up dress shoes,
very thin in the sole, without toe-caps, and beautifully made, like all
the rest. These shoes were old and well-worn; but being carefully
polished and fitted, as all the shoes were, upon their trees, they
looked neat enough. What caught my eye was a slight splitting of the
leather in that part of the upper known as the vamp, a splitting at the
point where the two laced parts of the shoe rise from the upper. It is
at this point that the strain comes when a tight shoe of this sort is
forced upon the foot, and it is usually guarded with a strong stitching
across the bottom of the opening. In both the shoes I was examining this
stitching had parted, and the leather below had given way. The splitting
was a tiny affair in each case, not an eighth of an inch long, and the
torn edges having come together again on the removal of the strain,
there was nothing that a person who was not something of a connoisseur
of shoe-leather would have noticed. Even less noticeable, and indeed not
to be seen at all unless one were looking for it, was a slight straining
of the stitches uniting the upper to the sole. At the toe and on the
outer side of each shoe this stitching had been dragged until it was
visible on a close inspection of the joining.
These indications, of course, could mean only one thing. The shoes had
been worn by someone for whom they were too small.
Now it was clear at a glance that Manderson was always thoroughly well
shod and careful, perhaps a little vain, of his small and narrow feet.
Not one of the other shoes in the collection, as I soon ascertained,
bore similar marks; they had not belonged to a man who squeezed himself
into tight shoe-leather. Someone who was not Manderson had worn these
shoes, and worn them recently; the edges of the tears were quite fresh.
The possibility of someone having worn them since Manderson's death was
not worth considering; the body had only been found about twenty-six
hours when I was examining the shoes; besides, why should any one wear
them? The possibility of someone having borrowed Manderson's shoes and
spoiled them for him, while he was alive, seemed about as negligible.
With others to choose from he would not have worn these. Besides, the
only men in the place were the butler and the two secretaries. But I do
not say that I gave those possibilities even as much consideration as
they deserved; for my thoughts were running away with me; and I have
always found it good policy, in cases of this sort, to let them have
their heads. Ever since I had got out of the train at Marlstone early
that morning I had been steeped in details of the Manderson affair; the
thing had not once been out of my head. Suddenly the moment had come
when the dæmon wakes and begins to range.
Let me put it less fancifully. After all, it is a detail of psychology
familiar enough to all whose business or inclination brings them in
contact with difficult affairs of any sort. Swiftly and spontaneously,
when chance or effort puts one in possession of the key-fact in any
system of baffling circumstances, one's ideas seem to rush to group
themselves anew in relation to that fact, so that they are suddenly
rearranged almost before one has consciously grasped the significance of
the key-fact itself. In the present instance, my brain had scarcely
formulated within itself the thought, 'Somebody who was not Manderson
has been wearing those shoes,' when there flew into my mind a flock of
ideas, all of the same character and all bearing upon this new notion.
It was unheard-of for Manderson to drink much whisky at night. It was
very unlike him to be untidily dressed, as the body was when found--the
cuffs dragged up inside the sleeves, the shoes unevenly laced; very
unlike him not to wash, when he rose, and to put on last night's evening
shirt and collar and underclothing; very unlike him to have his watch in
the waistcoat pocket that was not lined with leather for its reception.
(In my first despatch I mentioned all these points, but neither I nor
any one else saw anything significant in them, when examining the body.)
It was very strange, in the existing domestic situation, that Manderson
should be communicative to his wife about his doings, especially at the
time of his going to bed, when he seldom spoke to her at all. It was
extraordinary that Manderson should leave his bedroom without his false
teeth.
All these thoughts, as I say, came flocking into my mind together, drawn
from various parts of my memory of the morning's inquiries and
observations. They had all presented themselves, in far less time than
it takes to read them as set down here, as I was turning over the shoes,
confirming my own certainty on the main point. And yet when I confronted
the definite idea that had sprung up suddenly and unsupported before
me,--_It was not Manderson who was in the house that night_--it seemed a
stark absurdity at the first formulating. It was certainly Manderson who
had dined at the house and gone out with Marlowe in the car. People had
seen him at close quarters. But was it he who returned at ten? That
question too seemed absurd enough. But I could not set it aside. It
seemed to me as if a faint light was beginning to creep over the whole
expanse of my mind, as it does over land at dawn, and that presently the
sun would be rising. I set myself to think over, one by one, the points
that had just occurred to me, so as to make out, if possible, why any
man masquerading as Manderson should have done these things that
Manderson would not have done.
I had not to cast about very long for the motive a man might have in
forcing his feet into Manderson's narrow shoes. The examination of
footmarks is very well understood by the police. But not only was the
man concerned to leave no footmarks of his own. He was concerned to
leave Manderson's, if any; his whole plan, if my guess was right, must
have been directed to producing the belief that Manderson was in the
place that night. Moreover, his plan did not turn upon leaving
footmarks. He meant to leave the shoes themselves, and he did so. The
maidservant had found them outside the bedroom door, as Manderson always
left his shoes, and had polished them, replacing them on the
shoe-shelves later in the morning, after the body had been found.
When I came to consider in this new light the leaving of the false
teeth, an explanation of what had seemed the maddest part of the affair
broke upon me at once. A dental plate is not inseparable from its owner.
If my guess was right, the unknown had brought the denture to the house
with him, and left it in the bedroom, with the same object as he had in
leaving the shoes; to make it impossible that any one should doubt that
Manderson had been in the house and had gone to bed there. This, of
course, led me to the inference that _Manderson was dead before the
false Manderson came to the house_; and other things confirmed this.
For instance, the clothing, to which I now turned in my review of the
position: if my guess was right, the unknown in Manderson's shoes had
certainly had possession of Manderson's trousers, waistcoat and shooting
jacket. They were there before my eyes in the bedroom; and Martin had
seen the jacket--which nobody could have mistaken--upon the man who sat
at the telephone in the library. It was now quite plain (if my guess was
right) that this unmistakable garment was a cardinal feature of the
unknown's plan. He knew that Martin would take him for Manderson at the
first glance.
And there my thinking was interrupted by the realization of a thing that
had escaped me before. So strong had been the influence of the
unquestioned assumption that it was Manderson who was present that
night, that neither I nor, so far as I know, any one else had noted the
point. _Martin had not seen the man's face; nor had Mrs. Manderson._
Mrs. Manderson (judging by her evidence at the inquest, of which, as I
have said, I had a full report made by the _Record_ stenographers in
court) had not seen the man at all. She hardly could have done, as I
shall show presently. She had merely spoken with him as she lay half
asleep, resuming a conversation which she had had with her living
husband about an hour before. Martin, I perceived, could only have seen
the man's back, as he sat crouching over the telephone; no doubt a
characteristic pose was imitated there. And the man had worn his hat,
Manderson's broad-brimmed hat! There is too much character in the back
of a head and neck. The unknown, in fact, supposing him to have been of
about Manderson's build, had had no need for any disguise, apart from
the jacket and the hat and his powers of mimicry.
I paused there to contemplate the coolness and ingenuity of the man. The
thing, I now began to see, was so safe and easy, provided that his
mimicry was good enough, and that his nerve held. Those two points
assured, only some wholly unlikely accident could unmask him.
To come back to my puzzling out of the matter as I sat in the dead man's
bedroom with the tell-tale shoes before me:--the reason for the entrance
by the window instead of by the front-door will already have occurred to
any one reading this. Entering by the door, the man would almost
certainly have been heard by the sharp-eared Martin in his pantry just
across the hall; he might have met him face to face.
Then there was the problem of the whisky. I had not attached much
importance to it; whisky will sometimes vanish in very queer ways in a
household of eight or nine persons; but it had seemed strange that it
should go in that way on that evening. Martin had been plainly quite
dumfounded by the fact. It seemed to me now that many a man--fresh, as
this man in all likelihood was, from a bloody business, from the
unclothing of a corpse, and with a desperate part still to play--would
turn to that decanter as to a friend. No doubt he had a drink before
sending for Martin; after making that trick with ease and success, he
probably drank more.
But he had known when to stop. The worst part of the enterprise was
before him, the business--clearly of such vital importance to him, for
whatever reason--of shutting himself in Manderson's room and preparing a
mass of convincing evidence of its having been occupied by Manderson;
and this with the risk--very slight, as no doubt he understood, but how
unnerving!--of the woman on the other side of the half-open door awaking
and somehow discovering him. True, if he kept out of her limited field
of vision from the bed, she could only see him by getting up and going
to the door. I found that to a person lying in her bed, which stood with
its head to the wall a little beyond the door, nothing was visible
through the doorway but one of the cupboards by Manderson's bed-head.
Moreover, since this man knew the ways of the household, he would think
it most likely that Mrs. Manderson was asleep. Another point with him, I
guessed, might have been the estrangement between the husband and wife,
which they had tried to cloak by keeping up, among other things, their
usual practice of sleeping in connected rooms, but which was well known
to all who had anything to do with them. He would hope from this that if
Mrs. Manderson heard him, she would take no notice of the supposed
presence of her husband.
So, pursuing my hypothesis, I followed the unknown up to the bedroom,
and saw him setting about his work. And it was with a catch in my own
breath that I thought of the hideous shock with which he must have heard
the sound of all others he was dreading most: the drowsy voice from the
adjoining room.
What Mrs. Manderson actually said, she was unable to recollect at the
inquest. She thinks she asked her supposed husband whether he had had a
good run in the car. And now what does the unknown do? Here, I think, we
come to a supremely significant point. Not only does he--standing rigid
there, as I picture him, before the dressing-table, listening to the
sound of his own leaping heart--not only does he answer the lady in the
voice of Manderson; he volunteers an explanatory statement. He tells her
that he has, on a sudden inspiration, sent Marlowe in the car to
Southampton; that he has sent him to bring back some important
information from a man leaving for Paris by the steamboat that morning.
Why these details from a man who had long been uncommunicative to his
wife, and that upon a point scarcely likely to interest her? Why these
details _about Marlowe_?
Having taken my story so far, I now put forward the following definite
propositions: that between a time somewhere about ten, when the car
started, and a time somewhere about eleven, Manderson was shot--probably
at a considerable distance from the house, as no shot was heard; that
the body was brought back, left by the shed, and stripped of its outer
clothing, while the car was left in hiding somewhere at hand; that at
some time round about eleven o'clock a man who was not Manderson,
wearing Manderson's shoes, hat and jacket, entered the library by the
garden-window; that he had with him Manderson's black trousers,
waistcoat and motor-coat, the denture taken from Manderson's mouth, and
the weapon with which he had been murdered; that he concealed these,
rang the bell for the butler, and sat down at the telephone with his hat
on and his back to the door; that he was occupied with the telephone all
the time Martin was in the room; that on going up to the bedroom-floor
he quietly entered Marlowe's room and placed the revolver with which the
crime had been committed--Marlowe's revolver--in the case on the
mantel-piece from which it had been taken; and that he then went to
Manderson's room, placed Manderson's shoes outside the door, threw
Manderson's garments on a chair, placed the denture in the bowl by the
bedside, and selected a suit of clothes, a pair of shoes and a tie from
those in the bedroom.
Here I will pause in my statement of this man's proceedings to go into a
question for which the way is now sufficiently prepared.
_Who was the false Manderson?_
Reviewing what was known to me, or might almost with certainty be
surmised, about that person, I set down the following five conclusions:
(1) He had been in close relations with the dead man. In his acting
before Martin and his speaking to Mrs. Manderson he had made no mistake.
(2) He was of a build not unlike Manderson's, especially as to height
and breadth of shoulder, which mainly determine the character of the
back of a seated figure when the head is concealed and the body loosely
clothed. But his feet were larger, though not greatly larger, than
Manderson's.
(3) He had considerable aptitude for mimicry and acting--probably some
experience too.
(4) He had a minute acquaintance with the ways of the Manderson
household.
(5) He was under a vital necessity of creating the belief that Manderson
was alive and in that house until some time after midnight on the Sunday
night.
So much I took as either certain or next door to it. It was as far as I
could see. And it was far enough.
I proceed to give, in an order corresponding with the numbered
paragraphs above, such relevant facts as I was able to obtain about Mr.
John Marlowe, from himself and other sources.
(1) He had been Manderson's private secretary, upon a footing of great
intimacy, for nearly three years.
(2) The two men were nearly of the same height, about five feet, eleven
inches; both were powerfully built and heavy in the shoulder; Marlowe,
who was the younger by some twenty years, was slighter about the body,
though Manderson was a man in good physical condition. Marlowe's shoes
(of which I examined several pairs) were roughly about one shoemaker's
size longer and broader than Manderson's.
(3) In the afternoon of the first day of my investigation, after
arriving at the results already detailed, I sent a telegram to a
personal friend, a fellow of a college at Oxford, whom I knew to be
interested in theatrical matters, in these terms:
Please wire John Marlowe's record in connection with acting at
Oxford some time past decade very urgent and confidential.
My friend replied in the following telegram, which reached me next
morning (the morning of the inquest):
Marlowe was member O.U.D.S. for three years and president 19--
played Bardolph Cleon and Mercutio excelled in character acting and
imitations in great demand at smokers was hero of some historic
hoaxes.
I had been led to send the telegram which brought this very helpful
answer by seeing on the mantel-shelf in Marlowe's bedroom a photograph
of himself and two others in the costume of Falstaff's three followers,
with an inscription from _The Merry Wives_, and by noting that it bore
the imprint of an Oxford firm of photographers.
(4) During his connection with Manderson, Marlowe had lived as one of
the family. No other person, apart from the servants, had his
opportunities for knowing the domestic life of the Mandersons in detail.
(5) I ascertained beyond doubt that Marlowe arrived at a hotel in
Southampton on the Monday morning at six-thirty, and there proceeded to
carry out the commission which, according to his story, and to the
statement made to Mrs. Manderson in the bedroom by the false Manderson,
had been entrusted to him by his employer. He had then returned in the
car to Marlstone, where he had shown great amazement and horror at the
news of the murder.
* * * * *
These, I say, are the relevant facts about Marlowe. We must now examine
fact number _five_ (as set out above) in connection with conclusion
number _five_ about the false Manderson.
I would first draw attention to one important fact. _The only person who
professed to have heard Manderson mention Southampton at all before he
started in the car was Marlowe._ His story--confirmed to some extent by
what the butler overheard--was that the journey was all arranged in a
private talk before they set out, and he could not say, when I put the
question to him, why Manderson should have concealed his intentions by
giving out that he was going with Marlowe for a moonlight drive. This
point, however, attracted no attention. Marlowe had an absolutely
air-tight alibi in his presence at Southampton by six-thirty; nobody
thought of him in connection with a murder which must have been
committed after twelve-thirty--the hour at which Martin, the butler, had
gone to bed. But it was the Manderson who came back from the drive who
went out of his way to mention Southampton openly to two persons. _He
even went so far as to ring up a hotel at Southampton and ask questions
which bore out Marlowe's story of his errand._ This was the call he was
busy with when Martin was in the library.
Now let us consider the alibi. If Manderson was in the house that night,
and if he did not leave it until some time after twelve-thirty, Marlowe
could not by any possibility have had a direct hand in the murder. It is
a question of the distance between Marlstone and Southampton. If he had
left Marlstone in the car at the hour when he is supposed to have done
so--between ten and ten-thirty--with a message from Manderson, the run
would be quite an easy one to do in the time. But it would be physically
impossible for the car--a fifteen horse-power four-cylinder
Northumberland, an average medium-power car--to get to Southampton by
half-past six unless it left Marlstone by midnight at latest. Motorists
who will examine the road-map and make the calculations required, as I
did in Manderson's library that day, will agree that on the facts as
they appeared there was absolutely no case against Marlowe.
But even if they were not as they appeared; if Manderson was dead by
eleven o'clock, and if at about that time Marlowe impersonated him at
White Gables; if Marlowe retired to Manderson's bedroom--how can all
this be reconciled with his appearance next morning at Southampton? _He
had to get out of the house, unseen and unheard, and away in the car by
midnight._ And Martin, the sharp-eared Martin, was sitting up until
twelve-thirty in his pantry, with the door open, listening for the
telephone bell. Practically he was standing sentry over the foot of the
staircase, the only staircase leading down from the bedroom floor.
With this difficulty we arrive at the last and crucial phase of my
investigation. Having the foregoing points clearly in mind, I spent the
rest of the day before the inquest in talking to various persons and in
going over my story, testing it link by link. I could only find the one
weakness which seemed to be involved in Martin's sitting up until
twelve-thirty; and since his having been instructed to do so was
certainly a part of the plan, meant to clinch the alibi for Marlowe, I
knew there must be an explanation somewhere. If I could not find that
explanation my theory was valueless. I must be able to show that at the
time Martin went up to bed, the man who had shut himself in Manderson's
bedroom might have been many miles away on the road to Southampton.
I had, however, a pretty good idea already--as perhaps the reader of
these lines has by this time, if I have made myself clear--of how the
escape of the false Manderson before midnight had been contrived. But I
did not want what I was now about to do to be known. If I had chanced to
be discovered at work, there would have been no concealing the direction
of my suspicions. I resolved not to test them on this point until the
next day, during the opening proceedings at the inquest. This was to be
held, I knew, at the hotel, and I reckoned upon having White Gables to
myself so far as the principal inmates were concerned.
So in fact it happened. By the time the proceedings at the hotel had
begun, I was hard at work at White Gables. I had a camera with me. I
made search, on principles well known to and commonly practised by the
police, and often enough by myself, for certain indications. Without
describing my search, I may say at once that I found and was able to
photograph two fresh finger-prints, very large and distinct, on the
polished front of the right-hand top drawer of the chest of drawers in
Manderson's bedroom; five more (among a number of smaller and less
recent impressions made by other hands) on the glasses of the French
window in Mrs. Manderson's room, a window which always stood open at
night with a curtain before it; and three more upon the glass bowl in
which Manderson's dental plate had been found lying.
I took the bowl with me from White Gables. I took also a few articles
which I selected from Marlowe's bedroom, as bearing the most distinct of
the innumerable finger-prints which are always to be found upon
toilet-articles in daily use. I already had in my possession, made upon
leaves cut from my pocket diary, some excellent finger-prints of
Marlowe's, which he had made in my presence without knowing it. I had
shown him the leaves, asking if he recognized them; and the few seconds
during which he had held them in his fingers had sufficed to leave
impressions which I was afterward able to bring out.
By six o'clock in the evening, two hours after the jury had brought in
their verdict against a person or persons unknown, I had completed my
work, and was in a position to state that two of the five large prints
made on the window-glasses, and the three on the bowl, were made by the
left hand of Marlowe; that the remaining three on the window and the two
on the drawer were made by his right hand.
By eight o'clock I had made at the establishment of Mr. H. T. Copper,
photographer, of Bishopsbridge, and with his assistance, a dozen
enlarged prints of the finger-marks of Marlowe, clearly showing the
identity of those which he unknowingly made in my presence and those
left upon articles in his bedroom, with those found by me as I have
described, and thus establishing the facts that Marlowe was recently in
Manderson's bedroom, where he had in the ordinary way no business, and
in Mrs. Manderson's room, where he had still less. I hope it may be
possible to reproduce these prints for publication with this despatch.
At nine o'clock I was back in my room at the hotel and sitting down to
begin this manuscript. I had my story complete.
I bring it to a close by advancing these further propositions: that on
the night of the murder the impersonator of Manderson, being in
Manderson's bedroom, told Mrs. Manderson, as he had already told Martin,
that Marlowe was at that moment on his way to Southampton; that having
made his dispositions in the room, he switched off the light, and lay in
the bed in his clothes; that he waited until he was assured that Mrs.
Manderson was asleep; that he then arose and stealthily crossed Mrs.
Manderson's bedroom in his stocking feet, having under his arm the
bundle of clothing and shoes for the body; that he stepped behind the
curtain, pushing the doors of the window a little further open with his
hands, strode over the iron railing of the balcony, and let himself down
until only a drop of a few feet separated him from the soft turf of the
lawn.
All this might very well have been accomplished within half an hour of
his entering Manderson's bedroom, which according to Martin he did at
about half-past eleven.
What followed your readers and the authorities may conjecture for
themselves. The corpse was found next morning clothed--rather untidily.
Marlowe in the car appeared at Southampton by half-past six.
* * * * *
I bring this manuscript to an end in my sitting-room at the hotel at
Marlstone. It is four o'clock in the morning. I leave for London by the
noon train from Bishopsbridge. By this evening these pages will be in
your hands, and I ask you to communicate the substance of them to the
Criminal Investigation Department.
PHILIP TRENT.