It was a delicate matter broaching the subject of police espionage
to Carver. In the first place, he did not want to give the inspector
the slightest hint that Ursula Ardfern expected to be watched. He
compromised by telling that gloomy man, at the first opportunity,
that he had seen Miss Ardfern. And then he mentioned casually and
by-the-way, the story of her watcher.
“Of course it isn’t a thief,” said Carver promptly. “Thieves do not
advertise their presence by alarming the people they hope to rob. Has
she complained to the local police?”
Tab did not know, but he guessed that she had not.
“It may be a coincidence,” said Carver, “and the man in black may
really have nothing whatever to do with the murder of Trasmere, but I
am intrigued. You are going down, you say? I wonder if Miss Ardfern
would mind my coming too?”
Tab was in a dilemma here. To hesitate would be to give the police
officer a wholly wrong impression. To accept was to eclipse the happy
evening he had in prospect. For to be alone with Ursula Ardfern,
to stand to her in the nature of a protector, would be a wonderful
experience, which he had no desire to share.
“I am sure Miss Ardfern would be delighted,” he said.
“If I can get away I will come,” said Carver.
Tab fervently hoped that urgent business would keep his friend in town.
He sent a note round to Ursula putting forward Carver’s suggestion and
received a reply by return, extending her invitation.
After mature thought, Tab decided that it was not at all a bad idea to
have Carver with him. It would give the girl an opportunity of making
friends with one who might, in certain circumstances, be a difficult
man to satisfy. She could not have too many friends, he thought, and
was almost relieved when Carver hurried into the station a few minutes
before the last train to Hertford left.
It was dark when they arrived and by prearrangement they did not speak
in the long walk which separated them from Stone Cottage, but in single
file, keeping to the shadow of the road, they marched forward without
meeting with a soul.
When at last they came to the highway in which Stone Cottage was
situated, they proceeded with greater caution. But there was nobody in
sight and they reached the garden unobserved.
Ursula was standing in the doorway to welcome them.
“I’ve had all the blinds pulled down,” she said, “and Inspector
Carver’s coming is rather providential, for my woman has had to go
home--her mother has been taken ill. I hope you don’t mind appearing in
the role of a chaperone,” she smiled at Carver.
“Even that is not an unusual one,” he replied unsmiling. “Where does
she live, the mother of your servant?”
“At Felborough. Poor Margaret only had time to catch the last train.”
“How did Margaret know her mother was ill?” asked the inspector. “Did
she have a telegram?”
Ursula nodded.
“Late this afternoon?”
“Yes,” said the girl in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“She got the telegram in time to catch the train to town; in time, too,
to catch a train for Felborough. That was why I asked. You did not see
the man last night?”
“I didn’t come down until this morning,” she answered troubled. “Do you
think that Margaret has been sent for by--somebody--that it was a ruse
to get her away?”
“I don’t know,” said Carver. “In my profession we always apply the
worst construction and we are generally right. What time do you usually
go to bed?”
“At ten o’clock in the country,” she said.
“Then at ten o’clock you will go up to your room, put on your lights,
and after a reasonable time, put them out again. You may, if you wish,
come down, but you must be prepared to sit in the dark, and if you
want to talk, you must carry on your conversation in whispers.” A rare
smile softened his face. “We shall probably all be feeling a little
foolish in the morning, but I would rather feel foolish than miss the
opportunity of meeting the man in black.”
She gave them supper, and after the men had helped clear away the
remains of the meal, Tab, at her request, filled his pipe. Carver said
he did not wish to smoke.
Conversation, for some reason, seemed to flag. They sat silently about
the table, each busy with his own thoughts. Suddenly Ursula said:
“I am almost inclined to make a restricted confession to you, Mr.
Carver. I don’t think I should never have dreamt of doing so if I had
ever met you.”
“Restricted confessions are irritating things,” said Carver, “so I
don’t think I should confess if I were you, Miss Ardfern, especially as
I know what the restricted confession is all about.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You know,” she said.
He nodded.
“You would tell me,” he said, “that you were in the habit of going to
Trasmere’s house every night, to leave your jewels with him, though
that wasn’t the object of your visit. You went there,” he said slowly
and not looking at her, “to act as his secretary. All the letters that
were sent away by Jesse Trasmere were typewritten by you on a portable
machine, the make of the machine is a Cortona, its number is 29754,
it has one key-cap missing, and the letter ‘r’ is a little out of
alignment.”
He enjoyed her consternation for a second and then went on:
“Perhaps you weren’t going to tell me that you and Yeh Ling, the
proprietor of the Golden Roof, paid a visit to Mayfield the night I
nearly caught you? No, I see that you weren’t. So we’ll restrict the
confession to your peculiar occupation.”
Tab was speechless.
Ursula Ardfern the old man’s secretary! One of the most successful
actresses in London acting as amanuensis to that crabbed misanthrope;
it was unbelievable. Yet a glance at the girl’s face told him that
Carver had only spoken the truth.
“How do you know?” she gasped.
Carver smiled again.
“We have very clever people in the police,” he said drily. “You would
never imagine it to read the newspapers. Clever old sixty-nine inch
brains, eh, Tab?”
“I never said that you had a sixty-nine inch brain,” avowed Tab stoutly.
“But--” interrupted the girl, and her voice was agitated, “do you
know--do you know anything else? Why we went that night?”
“You went to show Yeh Ling where the old man kept some of his secret
documents, in the fake brick in the fireplace. You went hoping that
in that box there were some papers which related to you and you were
disappointed. The only thing I am in doubt about is this--was Yeh Ling
disappointed too?”
She shook her head.
“I wondered,” mused Carver. “Of course, I guessed that it was in the
little lacquer box, and guessed also that the little lacquer box had a
false bottom. Am I right?”
She shook her head again.
“No--Yeh Ling thought it was there; the document he sought was in the
brick-box.”
“You have the key of Mayfield,” said Carver. “I think you had better
give it to me. Otherwise, you may be getting into serious trouble.”
She went out of the room without a word, came back and handed him the
small yale key, which he glanced at and dropped into his pocket.
“If I were a writing man, which, thank heavens, I am not,” he said,
“I should carry this story of the Trasmere murder, the ‘Mystery of the
Three Keys.’ Here is one solved, and it wasn’t much of a mystery. There
are two others. The third is the most difficult of all.”
“You mean the key that was found on the table in the vault?”
He nodded.
“Yes,” he said, and said no more.
In her discretion, Ursula asked no further questions.
Tab was looking at Carver with a new respect.
“Every day, Carver,” he said seriously, “you are getting nearer the
fictional ideal of a real detective!”
Carver’s down-turned lips took an upward curve, and then he looked at
his watch.
“Ten o’clock, Miss Ardfern,” he said with mock severity, and Ursula
made a move to the door. “We must turn these lights out before you
leave the room. Everything must be done in order, remembering that
somewhere the Black Man is watching.”
She shivered.
It was Tab who blew out the light in the drawing-room.
“I think we may draw the curtains,” said Carver softly, and pulled back
the heavy velvet hangings from the window.
It was a starlight night and there was just sufficient light in the sky
to outline the gateway.
“This will do admirably,” he said, settling himself in the window-seat.
“If you must smoke, Tab, don’t bring your pipe within sight of that
gate.”
Tab groaned and laid his pipe upon the fender.
Ten minutes later Ursula came into the room.
“May I stay?” she whispered. “I have put out my bedroom light most
artistically.”
They conversed in whispers for an hour, and Tab was beginning to feel
sleepy when a hiss from Carver stopped him in the middle of a sentence.
Looking out of the window he saw a dark figure by the gate. It was
impossible to distinguish more than the outlines. It appeared to be a
man of considerable height, but this might have been and probably was
an illusion. It wore a broad-brimmed hat, presumably dark; more than
this they could not see. They waited in silence as the gate opened and
the figure stole noiselessly into the garden.
It was half-way to the door when another figure appeared. It came from
nowhere, seeming to rise up from the ground; and then before the man in
the wide-awake hat could draw back, the second man had flung himself
upon him. The watchers sat paralyzed until Carter, jumping to his feet,
ran out of the room, Tab close behind him.
When they flung open the door, both figures had disappeared. Carver
sprang toward the gate and stumbled. His foot had struck a soft bulk
which stretched across the garden path, he turned back, flashing an
electric lamp upon the object. It was a man, and for a moment they did
not see his face.
“Who are you?” Carver pulled the man over on his back. “Well, I’m--”
The man at his feet was Yeh Ling!