"We may get some information from the servants presently," I answered.

"I doubt it. In all these burglaries, Wigan, we have considered the possibility of the servants being implicated, and in no case has it led us anywhere. More than once there have been clues which pointed to such a conclusion, merely clever ruses on the thieves' part. No, our clue is the dead man."

Quarles questioned Constable Poulton closely. The constable had not heard the shots. About half an hour earlier in the evening he had passed Clarence Lodge. There was no light in the house then. Just before one o'clock he had met Mr. Smithers who lived in the next house to Clarence Lodge; he was coming from the direction of the station and said good night. Since then he had seen no one upon his beat. Poulton described the position of the dead man graphically and minutely. He had no doubt he had been shot a few minutes before he saw him.

"I searched the house with Griffiths, the officer who came when I blew my whistle; we saw no sign of the others."

"How did they get in?" I asked.

"A window in the passage there was open," said Poulton. "That's the only way they could have come unless they fastened some window or door again when they had entered."

I examined this window carefully. There was no sign that any one had entered this way, no mark upon the catch. Outside the window was a flower bed, and I pointed out to Quarles that if any one had left the house in a hurry, as they would do at the sound of firearms, they would inevitably have left marks upon the flower bed.

Quarles had nothing to say against my argument.

"I don't believe either exit or entrance was made by this window," I declared.

"Have you still got servants in your mind, Wigan?"

"I have, to tell the truth I always have had."

"The body is our best clue, Wigan. If we can identify that we shall be nearing the end." And then Quarles turned to Poulton. "Isn't there a nephew in the house? We haven't seen him."

"I'm told he is abroad, sir," the constable answered.

"Do you happen to know him?"

"Quite well by sight, sir."

Quarles nodded, but the nephew was evidently not disposed of to his Satisfaction.

I interviewed the servants closely, including the chauffeur who had heard nothing of the affair until aroused by the police. Hollis was certain that all the doors and windows were securely fastened. Quarles rather annoyed me by suggesting that the thieves might have entered by an upstairs window or even by the front door.

"If you look at the upstairs windows I think you will find that impossible," said Hollis.

"We will look, and also at the front door."

The professor made a pretense of examining the front door rather carefully.

"You're sure this was locked and bolted last night?"

"Quite, sir."

"It looks substantial and innocent."

The only window which interested Quarles upstairs was that of a small room in the front of the house overlooking the drive, but, as the butler pointed out, no one could have got in there without a ladder.

"No, no, I suppose not," and Quarles did not say another word until we saw Mr. Crosland again. Then he immediately inquired about the nephew.

"George is in Paris, at least he was three days ago," and Crosland produced a picture postcard sent to his mother. "We are expecting him back at the end of the week."

"I suppose, Mr. Crosland, you have no suspicions regarding this affair?"

"I don't quite understand what you mean."

"Let me put it in another way," said the professor, "and please do not think that I am suggesting you fired too hastily. Immediately you heard the noise, you remembered the burglars who have caused a sensation in Grange Park recently. It was quite natural, but it seems to me rather strange that so astute a gang should commence operations in the same neighborhood again. For the sake of argument, let us suppose this gang had nothing to do with the affair. Now can you think of any one who might have something to gain by breaking into Clarence Lodge?"

"No, I cannot; and yet—"

"Well," said Quarles.

"I can think of no one; I recall no family skeleton, but there is one curious fact. This gang seemed to know exactly where to go for their spoil—jewels mostly, and there is nothing of that kind worth taking at Clarence Lodge."

"That goes to support my argument, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"That is the reason I asked particularly about your cousin."

"George Radley is like a brother," laughed Crosland, "our interests are identical."

"Oh, it was only a point that occurred to me as an outsider," Quarles returned. "We can leave him out of the argument and yet not be convinced there is no family skeleton. You might perhaps question your mother without explaining the reason, although I suppose she will have to know about this affair presently."

"I hope not."

"Acute rheumatism, isn't it? I wonder if she has ever heard of a quack who made a new man of me. What was his name now?"

"Was it Bush?" Crosland asked.

"No, but it was a commonplace name."

"As a matter of fact a man named Bush has been to see my mother. I dare not tell Dr. Heathcote; at one time I fancy Bush did her good, or she got better naturally, but she believes in him. He hasn't been for some time now, but she was speaking of him the other day."

"I'll look up my man's card and send it on to you," said Quarles. "You get Mrs. Crosland to see him, never mind Dr. Heathcote."

"I didn't know you had suffered from rheumatism," I said to Quarles as we left the house.

"Didn't you! Have it now sometimes. Well, Wigan, what do you make of this affair? Do you think the burglars are responsible?"

"I want time to think."

"We'll just call in and see Dr. Heathcote," said Quarles.

The doctor was a young man rather overburdened with his own importance. He was inclined to think that Crosland had done Grange Park a service by shooting one of the burglar gang.

"I only hope the authorities won't get sentimental and make it needlessly unpleasant for him."

"I shouldn't think so," I returned. "I may take it, doctor, that the man had been dead only a short time when you saw him?"

"Quite. Death must have been practically instantaneous."

"Oh, there is no doubt about Crosland's narrative, it is quite straightforward," said Quarles, "but I shouldn't be surprised if he found the inquiry awkward. I think his mother ought to know the truth."

"Why not?" asked Heathcote.

"He seems to think it would be bad for her in her state of health."

"I'll talk to him," said the doctor. "The old lady is not so bad as he supposes. To tell you the truth I think the nurse is rather a fool and frightens her. I tried to get them to change her, but she seems to be a sort of relation."

"That's the worst of relations, they're so constantly in the way," said Quarles.

We left the doctor not much wiser than when we went, it seemed to me, but Quarles appeared to find considerable food for reflection. He was silent until we were in the train.

"Wigan, you must see that a watch is kept upon Clarence Lodge day and night. Have half a dozen men drafted into the neighborhood. You want to know who goes to the house, and any one leaving it must be followed. Poulton's a good man, I should keep him there, and let him be inquisitive about callers. Then telegraph at once to the Paris police. Ask if George Radley is still at the Vendome Hotel. If he is tell them to keep an eye on him. Now, here's my card. Take it to Schuster, 12 Grant Street, Pimlico, and ask him if he knows anything of a man named Bush, a quack specialist in rheumatism. Find out all you can about Bush. To-morrow morning you must go to Grange Park again, and see young Crosland. He may complain about the watch which is being kept over the house. If he does, spin him the official jargon about information received, etc., intimate your fear that the gang may attempt reprisals, and tell him you are bound to take precautions. After that come on to Chelsea. We ought to be able to arrive at some decision then. Oh, and one other thing, you might see if you have any one resembling the dead man in your criminal portrait gallery at the Yard."

"A fairly full day's work," I said with a smile.

"I am going to be busy, too, with a theory I have got. To-morrow we will see if your facts fit in with it."

To avoid repetition I shall come to the results of my inquiries as I related them to Quarles next day. I got back from Grange Park soon after two o'clock, had a couple of sandwiches and a glass of wine in the Euston Road, and then took a taxi to Chelsea. Zena and the professor were already in the private room, Zena doing nothing. Quarles engaged in some proposition of Euclid, apparently. On the writing table were a revolver and some cartridges.

"I have told Zena the whole affair as far as we know it," said Quarles, putting his papers on the table, "and she asks me a foolish question, Wigan. 'Why didn't the butler run for the police instead of Miss Crosland?' Have you got any information which will help to answer it?"

"It doesn't seem to me very strange that she went," I returned. "I have been busy, but there is not very much to tell. I have got the house watched as you suggested. The Paris police telegraph that an Englishman named George Radley is at the Hotel Vendome, a harmless tourist apparently, going about Paris seeing the sights. Schuster was able to give me Bush's address, and I called upon him, but did not see him. He had gone to a case in Yorkshire, but may be back any time. He lives in Hampstead, in quite a pleasant flat overlooking the Heath."

"Is he married?"

"No, he has a housekeeper, rather a deaf old lady who speaks of him as the doctor."

"You didn't chance to see a portrait of him?"

"No, there were no photographs about of any kind. His hobby seems to be old prints, of which he has some good specimens. I should say his temperament is artistic."

"That is an interesting conclusion," said the professor. "You didn't get any idea of his age?"

"No. This morning I went to Clarence Lodge and find you are by no means liked there."

"Indeed."

"An old gentleman called there yesterday afternoon saying you had asked him to go and see Mrs. Crosland about her rheumatism—a Mr. Morrison."

"The silly old ass!" exclaimed the professor. "He is the man I told Crosland of, the man who cured rheumatism so marvelously. I suppose Morrison misread my letter and went at once instead of waiting to be sent for."

"Crosland appears to have given him a piece of his mind," I laughed, "and called you a meddlesome fool."

"Poor old Morrison, but it serves him right."

"He managed to see Mrs. Crosland," I said. "When the old lady heard he was there she would see him. As the son was anxious his mother shouldn't know of the tragedy, it was arranged that she should be told that Morrison's visit was the outcome of a casual remark Crosland had dropped to a friend concerning Mrs. Crosland's suffering. The old lady appears to have put the old man through his paces, but ended by being convinced that Morrison knew what he was talking about. He has been asked to call again."

"Then I appear to have done the old lady a good turn after all," said Quarles. "Did you see Mrs. Crosland, Wigan?"

"No. The butler opened the door, and I only saw young Crosland besides. I explained to him the necessity of having the house watched, and I think he believes I am afraid he will attempt to run away. He is a little nervous about his position in the affair. I reassured him."

"It's a pity you didn't manage to see the old lady. Don't you think it would be interesting to know what she is like?"

"I can't say I am very interested on that point."

"Well, we can ask old Morrison," said Quarles. "I daresay his quackery has made him a close observer. You don't succeed as a quack unless you have a keen appreciation of the foibles and weaknesses of human nature."

"You have my facts, Professor; now, have you progressed with your theory; has revolver practise had something to do with it?"

And I pointed to the writing table.

"Let's go back to the Grange Park burglaries for a moment," Quarles began slowly. "We have investigated them under the impression that they were the work of a gang, but it is possible they were worked by one man. The gang may have attacked Clarence Lodge, Crosland's chance though excellent marksmanship accounting for one of the members while the rest escaped; but on the whole the evidence seems to suggest that this man was alone, and we might conclude that the burglaries were the work of one man."

"I shall never believe that," I said.

"Still, you cannot disprove it by direct evidence. You may show it to be unlikely, but you cannot prove it impossible. Indirectly we can go a little further. There were several features about these burglaries to make them remarkable. The right house was chosen, the thieves were never heard or seen, there were always plenty of misleading clues left about, there was no bungling, In the case of Clarence Lodge the wrong house was chosen—Crosland himself told us that it contained no jewelry or particular valuables. The thieves, or rather thief, was heard, the sound must have been considerable to arouse both Crosland and his sister; the thief makes no attempt to conceal himself and fires the moment he is spoken to; in short, there was a considerable amount of bungling, quite unlike the experts we have been thinking of. We are safe, therefore, I fancy, in considering that the Clarence Lodge affair is not to be reckoned as one of the Grange Park burglaries."

I shook my head doubtfully.

"Since experts may at times make mistakes, I grant that my negative evidence is not as convincing as it might be," said Quarles, "but I want the point conceded. I want, as it were, a base line upon which to build my theoretical plan. I want to forget the burglaries, in fact, and come to the Clarence Lodge case by itself. So we have a dead man and we first ask who shot him. Crosland says he did, and tells us the circumstances, his sister confirms his statement, and the butler, the woman servant and the nurse, who are quickly upon the stage in this tragedy, see no reason to disbelieve the statement. We burrow a little deeper into the evidence, and we discover one or two interesting facts. The man was shot on the left side of the head, a clean wound above the left ear. Crosland says he fired after he had been fired at, so the man, directly he had fired, must deliberately have turned his head to the right, which at least is remarkable. Further, to hit the wall of the landing in the place he did the man must have stood in the very center of the stairs to fire. His body was found some feet away from this central position, and a bullet so fired and striking where it did could not have missed two people standing on that landing. I have made a rough plan here," and Quarles took up the papers from the table, "giving the position of the dead man, the position of the walls and stairs. The lines show where the bullet would have hit if fired from a spot nearer where the dead man was found."

I examined his diagram closely.

"A man shot through the brain might fall several feet away from where he was standing," I said.

"Yes, behind where he was standing, or perhaps forward, but hardly to one side. However, we burrow again, and we try and answer Zena's question why it was Helen Crosland who ran for the police. Why not? we may ask. Her close association with her brother in the affair, her anxiety on his account, make it natural that she should dash out not only for help but to make it certain that they had nothing to hide. Her words to Poulton, 'The burglars, and I am afraid my brother has shot one of them,' are significant. They tell the whole story in a nutshell. Crosland's statement merely elaborates it, over-elaborates it, in fact. The bolts on the front door, Wigan, were very stiff; I tried them. Helen Crosland would certainly have had difficulty in drawing them back, and it is an absurdity for her brother to declare that she had gone before he knew what she was doing."

I had no comment to make, and Zena leaned forward in her chair, evidently excited.

"It is a point to remember that she ran out exactly at the moment Poulton was passing, which may have been chance, of course, but from that room over the hall one can see down the drive and, by the light of a street lamp, some way down the road. Had any one watched there he could have prompted the girl when to start."

"You seem to be overloading the theory too much," I said, "and I do not see many real facts yet."

"I am coming to some facts presently," said Quarles. "I am showing you my working. Now, having done away with the gang of burglars, we ask how did the man get into the house. Your argument that no one could have escaped through that window in the passage was sound, I think, Wigan, and considering the immaculate condition of the latch and the lack of signs on the sill and the flower bed, I doubt if any one got in that way, either. On the whole, I am inclined to think he came through the front door, which was opened for him by Hollis the butler or by one of the servants."

"Still no facts," I said.

"Still theory," admitted Quarles. "By my theory it follows that the dead man was known to the Croslands. We will assume that in some family quarrel he was killed that night. The death—the murder—had to be concealed, so they pitched on the idea of the burglars, put the body in the hall, fired a shot into the landing wall, and threw open the passage window. It was smartly conceived, but, of course, took some little time, which had to be accounted for. Crosland could only say that he could not tell how long a time elapsed between the firing and the arrival of Poulton. Everything had to be thought of before Helen Crosland rushed out for the police."

"You assume that the whole household was in the conspiracy?" I asked.

"Yes, and that they are exceedingly clever. What do you think of the theory?"

"As a theory rather interesting, but I am still waiting for a fact or two."

"Here's one," said Quarles, taking up the revolver. "This is Crosland's; I purloined it. It is a very good weapon by a small maker. Curiously enough the thief's weapon was exactly like it."

"That may be a coincidence," said Zena.

"It may be, but I prefer to think it a significant fact," the professor returned; "but we'll go back to the theory again for the moment. I was very interested in Crosland and his sister, they were not exceedingly unlike each other. There was no portrait of Mrs. Crosland about, so I could not tell which of them took after the mother. Had you told me that Helen Crosland was the butler's daughter I should have believed you. Did you notice the likeness, Wigan?"

"No," I said with a smile. It seemed to me that the theory had got altogether out of hand.

"Well, it made me curious about the nephew," Quarles went on. "I wondered whether the dead man was the nephew and so I asked Crosland about a family skeleton, showed him that I had no belief in the burglar theory, and he quickly responded by saying there was nothing in the house worth stealing. I helped him out of a difficulty, and it was easy to talk about his mother and her rheumatism. So we got to the specialist Bush. You see the chief point was to find out the identity of the dead man. Now we get to two facts. He isn't the nephew who is still in Paris, and Bush is supposed to be in Yorkshire."

"Do you mean—"

"I am still theorizing," said Quarles. "There are no portraits at Clarence Lodge; you noticed a lack of portraits in Bush's flat, and you conclude by external evidence that his temperament is artistic. The dead man's hands were curiously capable and artistic. It struck me the moment I looked at them."

"I am not convinced, Professor."

"Nor was I," said Quarles, "so I mentioned the rheumatic specialist who had cured me."

"You, grandfather!" Zena exclaimed.

"Ah, you have evidently forgotten how I used to suffer," was the smiling answer. "I allowed Morrison to make a mistake on purpose and go to Clarence Lodge, his one idea to get an interview with Mrs. Crosland."

"And you have seen him since?" I asked.

"Came home with him from Grange Park," answered Quarles. "He was roundly abused to begin with, but, as you were told, he saw Mrs. Crosland. It was an interesting interview. The first thing that struck him was that the old lady was totally unlike her children, a different type altogether. She is a hard, masculine kind of woman, not at all of the nervous temperament he had been led to expect; and he was convinced that she had only consented to see him to make sure that he was no more than he had proclaimed himself—a specialist in rheumatism. My friend Morrison came to the conclusion that the nurse, as a nurse, was incompetent, and that the room he entered would not have been the one constantly occupied by the invalid. He was exceedingly interested in Mrs. Crosland, seeing in her a woman of extraordinary force of character and intellectual capacity, and he came to the conclusion that there was nothing whatever the matter with her."

"No rheumatism?" said Zena.

"About as much as I suffer from," said Quarles. "In short, Morrison was rather glad to get safely out of the house. He was certain that the old lady had a revolver under her pillow, and would certainly have shot him had she suspected that he was any one else but a specialist in rheumatism."

I was looking at Quarles as he turned to me.

"What do you make of my theory now, Wigan?"

"Were you Morrison?" I asked.

"Of course, and it was a trying ordeal. Do you think we have enough facts to go on?"

"Not facts, exactly, but evidence," I admitted.

"I think we shall find that the dead man is Bush," said the professor. "Inquiry will probably show that he has a record for quackery and has probably sailed fairly close to the wind at times. His connection with the Crosland family was not professional, but had other aims, and his profession was used merely as a reason for not having a doctor for Mrs. Crosland, who found it convenient to pose as an invalid. A quarrel resulted in Bush's being shot that night. I hazard a guess that it was the old lady who shot him, and that it was her brain which conceived the way out of the difficulty."

"That is guessing with a vengeance," I said.

"Yes, but not without some reason," Quarles went on. "Let's go back to the Grange Park burglaries for a moment, and suppose that a gang of expert thieves under the name of Crosland took Clarence Lodge. An invalid mother, son and daughter so called, butler, servants—a most respectable family apparently, in the midst of people worth plundering, able by friendly intercourse to collect the necessary information and plan their raids. Bush is the outside representative of the firm, so to speak, and the nephew who travels abroad occasionally sees to the selling of the spoil. It was the plot of a master mind—the old lady's, which has entirely beaten us until they quarrel between themselves. Now what do you think of my theory?"

"It takes me back to Grange Park without unnecessary delay," I said, getting up quickly.

"I thought it would. You have got the men waiting for you there, and I should raid the house forthwith. But caution, Wigan. I don't think they have any suspicion of Morrison, but the moment they tumble to your intentions they'll show fight, and probably put up a hot one. And don't forget the nephew in Paris. Take him, too."

The raid upon Clarence Lodge took place that evening, and was so managed that the servants and the chauffeur were taken before Crosland and his sister, who proved to be no relation as Quarles had surmised, were aware of the fact. Faced with the inevitable they made no fight at all, but the old lady was made of entirely different metal. She barricaded herself in her room, and swore to shoot the first man who forced the door. She had the satisfaction of wounding me slightly in the shoulder, and then before we could stop her she had turned the weapon upon herself and shot herself through the head.

The nephew was taken in Paris, and with the rest of the gang was sent to penal servitude. The evidence at the trial proved Quarles's theory to be very much as the tragedy had happened. The dead man was Bush, and it was his threat to give the burglaries away unless he had a larger share of the spoil than had been assigned to him which made the old lady shoot him in an ungovernable fit of rage.

"A master mind, Wigan," Quarles remarked, "and it is just as well not to have her as a neighbor. Your wound is not likely to put off your wedding?"

"No."

"A little better aim and she would have put it off altogether."

"Don't be so horrible," said Zena.

"A fact, my dear. Murray has been very keen about getting: hold of facts in this case, so I mention one. The Grange Park burglaries beat me because there was no clue to build on, but with a dead body—well, it really wasn't very difficult, was it?"

"Quite easy," I answered as if I really meant it, and then turned to discuss carpets with Zena.

It was not always wise to let the old man know you thought him clever.

THE END