CHAPTER II
THE KIDNAPING OF EVA WILKINSON
The Queen's Square affair seemed to have exhausted Quarles's enthusiasm. I tried to interest him in several cases without success, and I began to think we really had done our last work together, when on his own initiative he mentioned Ewart Wilkinson to me. He had a personal interest in the man; I had only just heard his name.
The multi-millionaire is not such a figure in this country as he is in America, but Ewart Wilkinson was undoubtedly on the American scale. He had made his money abroad, how or exactly where remained matters of uncertainty, and if one were inclined to believe the stories told in irresponsible journals, there must have been much in the past which he found it wiser not to talk about. With such tales I have nothing to do. I never met the millionaire, was, in fact, quite uninterested in him until his wealth was concerned in a case which came into my hands.
With Christopher Quarles it was different. For a few days on one occasion he had stayed in the same house with the millionaire in Scotland, and had been impressed with him. Wilkinson was rough, but a diamond under the rough, according to Quarles. He may have had his own ideas of what constituted legitimate business, but whatever his shortcomings, the professor found in him a vein of sentiment which was attractive. He had a passion for his only daughter which appealed to Quarles, partly, no doubt, because it made him think of Zena, and there was a strain of melancholy in him which made him apprehensive that his wealth would not be altogether for his daughter's good. He had talked in this way to Quarles. For all we knew to the contrary, conscience may have been pricking him, but the fact remained that he was prophetic.
Wherever and in whatever way Ewart Wilkinson made his money, he undoubtedly had it. He rented a house in Mayfair, and purchased Whiteladies in Berkshire. The Elizabethan house, built on to the partial ruins of an old castle, has no doubt attracted many of you when motoring through South Berkshire. Having bought a beautiful home, he looked for a beautiful wife to put in it. Perhaps she was in the nature of a purchase, too, for he married Miss Lavory, the only daughter of Sir Miles Lavory, Bart., who put his pride in his pocket when he consented to an alliance with mere millions. It was said that Miss Lavory was driven into the match, but however this may be, Ewart Wilkinson proved a devoted husband, and his wife had ten years of a happy married life in the midst of luxury. She died when her daughter was eight.
For ten years after her mother's death Eva Wilkinson and her father were hardly ever separated, and then Ewart Wilkinson died suddenly. He left practically the whole of his vast fortune to his daughter; and her uncle, Mrs. Wilkinson's brother Michael, who had recently succeeded his father in the baronetcy, was left her guardian. There was a curious clause in the will. Wilkinson, possibly because one or two cases had happened in America at the time the will was made—half a dozen years before his death—seemed particularly afraid that the heiress might be kidnaped, and her guardian was enjoined to watch over her in this respect especially. Within six months of his death the very thing he feared happened. Eva Wilkinson was at Whiteladies at the time with her companion, Mrs. Reville. After dinner one evening she went alone on to the terrace, and from that moment had entirely disappeared. A telegram was sent that night to Sir Michael, who was in London, Scotland Yard was informed, and the mystery was given me to solve.
I had commenced my inquiries when on going to Chelsea in the evening Quarles told me he had met Ewart Wilkinson about three years before, and under the circumstances he was very interested in the mystery.
"The fact that he was afraid of something happening to his daughter suggests that he had some reason for his fear," I said.
"It does, Wigan—it does! He mentioned this very thing to me three years ago, and I thought then there was some one in his past of whom he was afraid."
"And his past seems to be a closed book," I returned.
"Eva Wilkinson must be between eighteen and nineteen," Zena remarked. "Kidnaping a girl of that age is a different thing from kidnaping a child."
"True!" said Quarles.
"Isn't it more probable that she went away willingly?" said Zena.
"You don't help me, my dear," said the professor with a frown, and the suggestion seemed to irritate him. It stuck in his mind, however, for when we went to see Sir Michael the idea was evidently behind his first question.
"Is there any love affair?" asked Quarles. "Any reason which might possibly induce the girl to go away of her own accord?"
The suggestion seemed to bring a ray of hope into Sir Michael's despair.
"I think she is too sensible a girl to do anything of the kind, but there was a little affair, not very serious on her side, I fancy, and there was probably a desire for money on the man's part. Young Cayley has seen Eva at intervals since they were children, but in her father's lifetime there was no question of love. Directly after Wilkinson's death, however, Edward Cayley came prominently on the scene. I talked to Eva about him, and although she was inclined to be angry, I think it was rather with herself than at my interference."
"Cayley is quite a poor man, I presume?" said Quarles.
"Yes; but that did not influence me. He is not the kind of man I should like my niece to marry. Oh! I have nothing definite against him."
"May I ask whether, as guardian, you have control over your niece's choice?" I asked.
"Until she is twenty-one, after that none at all," he answered. "If she marries without my consent before she is of age, I am empowered to distribute a million of money to certain specified hospitals and charities. She has only to wait until she is twenty-one to do exactly as she likes. It was my brother-in-law's way of ensuring that his daughter should not act with undue haste. Perhaps, for my own sake, I ought to explain that in no way, nor under any circumstances, can I benefit under the will. When my sister married Mr. Wilkinson, he behaved very generously to my father, paying off the mortgages on our estate; in short, delivered us from a very difficult position. Naturally, we never expected any place in the will, but I hear the omission has caused some people to speculate, and now that this has happened there may be people who will speculate about me personally."
"You certainly have a very complete answer," I returned. "What is your own opinion of your niece's disappearance?"
"I think she has been kidnaped, possibly for the sake of ransom, possibly because—" and then he paused for a moment. "You know Mr. Wilkinson was afraid of this very thing?"
"Three years ago he mentioned it to me," said Quarles.
"You knew him, then?"
"I was staying in the same house with him in Scotland; his daughter was not there. Such a fear, Sir Michael, suggests something in the past, something Mr. Wilkinson kept to himself."
"I do not know of anything," was the answer. "Of course, I have seen paragraphs in scandalous journals concerning his wealth, but I knew Ewart Wilkinson extremely well. He was, and always has been, I am convinced, a perfectly straightforward man."
This conversation took place early on the morning following the night of Eva Wilkinson's disappearance, and afterwards Sir Michael journeyed down with us to Whiteladies. The local police were already scouring the country, and under intelligent supervision had accomplished a great deal of the spade work. I may just state the facts as far as they were known.
Mrs. Reville, who was in the drawing-room when the girl went out on the terrace, had heard nothing. A quarter of an hour or twenty minutes later she went out herself with the intention of telling Eva that she ought to put on a wrap. The girl was nowhere to be seen, and calling brought no answer. Becoming alarmed, Mrs. Reville summoned the servants, and their search proving fruitless, she had a telegram sent to Sir Michael. When I questioned her with regard to Cayley, she was sure there was nothing serious in the affair. He certainly could have had nothing to do with Eva's disappearance, she declared, for he had gone to Paris two days before. Since Sir Michael had spoken to Eva about him he had hardly visited Whiteladies at all.
The servants had searched everywhere—in the house, in the grounds, and in the ruins, and later the police had gone over the same ground, and had searched everywhere on the estate; not a sign of the missing girl had been found. A footman, however, said he had heard a motor-car in the road about the time of the disappearance. He had listened, wondering who was coming to Whiteladies at that hour. The house stood in one corner of the estate, and there was a public road quite close to it, but it was a road little frequented. The marks of a car, which had stopped and turned at a point near the house, were plainly visible, and so far this was the only clue forthcoming. It proved an important one, because a tramp was found by the police who had seen a closed car traveling at a great speed toward the London road. The time, which he was able to fix very definitely, was about a quarter of an hour after Eva Wilkinson had gone on to the terrace.
"Has the tramp been detained?" Quarles asked, and being answered in the negative, said he ought to have been.
The professor examined the marks of the car minutely. There were two cars at Whiteladies, but neither of the tire markings were those of the car which had turned in the road.
It is only natural, I suppose, that when a number of persons are brought in contact with a mystery their behavior should tend to become unnatural. It is one of a detective's chief difficulties to determine between innocent and suspicious actions, the latter being often the result of temperament or of a desire to emphasize innocence. I never found a decision more difficult than in the case of Eva Wilkinson's maid, a girl named Joan Perry; and because I could not decide in her case I was also suspicious of her young man Saunders, a gamekeeper on the estate. Joan Perry, a little later in the day, claimed to have made a remarkable discovery. A coat and skirt and a pair of walking shoes had been removed from her mistress's wardrobe.
"What made you inspect her wardrobe?" I asked.
The question seemed to confuse her, but she finally said it was because she wondered whether Miss Eva had gone away on purpose. According to Perry the affair with Edward Cayley was a serious one. To some extent her young mistress had confided in her, she declared.
"Then she would hardly have gone away without letting you into the secret," I said.
"That is what I cannot understand," she answered.
Quarles agreed with me that this lent color to the idea that Eva
Wilkinson had gone of her own accord.
"It is possible—even probable," he said, "but if she did, I take it she has been deceived and walked into a trap. If we can find that car we shall be on the right road."
When we set out on this quest in one of the motors at Whiteladies we had considerable success. The car had taken the direct road to London. We heard of it at an inn on the outskirts of Beading. It had stopped there, and a man had had his flask filled with brandy. A lady who was with him was not very well, he said. Chance helped us farther. The car had stopped by a roadside cottage. A man had come to the door full of apologies, but seeing a light in the window he ventured to ask if they could oblige him with a box of matches. He was quite a gentleman—young, dark, and very merry—the woman told us. He had led her to suppose that he and a lady were making a runaway match of it, because he had declared that there would certainly be a chase after them, but they had got a good start. The car had been drawn up on the side of the road at a little distance from the cottage, and it was undoubtedly the car we were after. The tire markings were quite distinct in the damp ground. At Hounslow we found the car itself. There had been an accident. Two men had walked into a garage, saying they had left the car on the roadside. Would the garage people have it brought in and repaired? The car should be sent for in a day or two. One man made a payment on account, and gave his name as Julius Hoffman, staying at the Langham Hotel.
The car was of an old type, but the man at the garage said the engines were in good condition. The tires were burst, otherwise there was nothing much the matter with the car beyond its age.
"Was anything found in the car?" I asked.
"An old glove and a handkerchief," and the man took them out of a drawer.
The glove told us nothing, but the handkerchief was a lady's, and had "E.
W." embroidered on it.
"This is a police matter," I told the man. "A watch will be kept on the premises in case the car is claimed, which is very unlikely, I fancy."
Quarles was perplexed.
"I don't understand it, Wigan. That car looks to me as if it had been purposely abandoned. Had they another car waiting, or was Hounslow their destination? Of course you must warn the police here, but—well, I do not understand it. I am going straight back to Chelsea."
"I will see the Hounslow police, and then go on to the Langham," I returned.
"Of course, that's just ordinary detective work, and out of my line," Quarles said somewhat curtly, "but I don't suppose your inquiries will lead anywhere."
In this surmise he was perfectly correct. No one of the name of Julius Hoffman was known at the Langham. The Hounslow police made no discovery, and the car was not claimed.
Later, the press circulated a description of Eva Wilkinson, with the result that scores of letters were received, most of them obviously written by amateur detectives, or by those peculiar kind of imbeciles whose imagination is so vivid that any person seems to fit the description of the person missing. The information in a few of these letters seemed definite enough to follow up, but in every case I drew blank. I gave my chief attention to learning the recent movements of known gangs who might be concerned in an enterprise of this sort, and at the end of two days this persistency brought a result. I received a letter posted in the West-central district, written, or rather scrawled, in printed letters. It was as follows:
"You may be on the right scent or you may not, but take warning. If you got to know anything, it would be the worse for E.W. We are in earnest, and our advice is, leave the job alone. No harm will come to the old devil's daughter, if you mind your own business. She'll turn up again all right. If you don't mind your own business you'll probably find her presently, and can bury her. You'll find her dead,—THE LEAGUE."
With this letter I went to Chelsea, and the professor met me with a letter in his hand. He had received a like communication—word for word the same.
"An exact copy shows a barrenness of ideas," said I.
"But they have begun to move, Wigan. That is a great thing, and what I have been waiting for. Come and talk it over. For once Zena is no help. All she says is that this is not an ordinary case of kidnaping. Well, it certainly is a little out of the ordinary. That car, Wigan, the tramp who saw it, the stoppages it made, the handkerchief in it—does anything strike you?"
"Since we picked up the trail so easily to begin with, I do not quite understand the subsequent difficulty," I said. "From Hounslow a much more astute person must have taken charge of the enterprise."
"A booby trap, Wigan. It was prepared for us, and we walked into it, I am a trifle sick at having done so, but perhaps it will serve us a good turn in the end. The tramp no doubt was in the business. His definite information to the police started us. If that car had wanted to escape notice, do you suppose it would have pulled up outside Reading, or at a cottage, where it obligingly left its imprint on the roadside? Why should the man explain the filling of a flask at a public house? Why should he talk of a runaway match to the woman at that cottage? He was laying a trail. Miss Wilkinson's handkerchief was found in that car, but I wager she was never in the car herself."
"I think you are right, but it doesn't help us to the truth, does it?"
"Every possibility proved impossible helps us," Quarles answered. "This is a case for negative argument, so we next ask whether Eva Wilkinson left the terrace willingly. I think we must say 'no.'"
"Do not forget the missing coat and skirt," I said.
"That is one of the reasons why I say 'no,'" he returned. "If she had intended to go away she would have arranged to take more than a coat and skirt. Besides, Eva Wilkinson is evidently not a fool. The only person one can imagine her going away with is Cayley, and why should she go away with him? If she married him before she was twenty-one, she forfeited a million of money; well, she knew the penalty. Even if she would not wait until she was of age, there is still no conceivable reason why she should run away. We are forced, therefore, to the assumption that she was kidnaped."
"I have never doubted it," I answered.
"I confess to some uncertainty," said Quarles, "but these letters put a new complexion on the affair, I admit. Some one is out for money, Wigan, and that fact is—"
He stopped short as a servant entered the room saying that I was wanted on the telephone. I had left word that I was going to Chelsea. I was informed that Sir Michael Lavory had telephoned for me to go and see him at once. He said he had received a letter which was of the gravest importance.
"Similar to ours, no doubt," said the professor when I repeated the message to him. "We will go at once, Wigan, but I do not think there is anything to be done until the scoundrels have made a further move. It won't be many hours before they do so."
In the taxi he did not continue his negative arguments, and he was not restless, as he usually was when upon a keen scent. No doubt he had a theory, but I was convinced he was not satisfied with it himself.
Sir Michael, who had a flat in Kensington, was not alone. A young man was with him, and Sir Michael introduced Mr. Edward Cayley.
"He has just arrived—came in ten minutes after I had received this letter."
Cayley's presence there was rather a surprise, but I noted that his appearance did not correspond with the woman's description of the young man who had asked for a box of matches.
"I came as soon as I heard the news about Miss Wilkinson," Cayley said in explanation.
"How did you hear it?" Quarles asked.
"There was a paragraph in Le Gaulois. I left Paris at once and came to Sir Michael, thinking it a time when any little disagreement between us would be easily forgotten."
"You can quite understand that I agree with Mr. Cayley," Sir Michael said, "especially in the face of this letter."
"I can guess the contents of it," I said. "We have had letters too."
But I was mistaken. This communication was scrawled in the same printed letters, was signed in the same way, but its purport was entirely different.
"Sir,—Your niece is in our hands, and you may be sure that she is securely hidden. Every move you take on her behalf increases her danger. There is only one means of rescue—ransom. Within forty-eight hours you shall pay to the credit of James Franklin with the Credit Lyonnais, Paris, the sum of a quarter of a million sterling, a small sum when Wilkinson's wealth is considered, and the means he used to amass it. The moment the money is in our hands, and you may be sure we have left open no possibility of your tricking us, your niece shall be set at liberty. Delay or refuse, and your niece dies. In case you should deceive yourself and think this is not genuine, that we are powerless to carry out our threat, your niece herself has endorsed this letter."
Quarles looked at the endorsement.
"Is that Miss Wilkinson's signature?" he asked.
"It is," Sir Michael answered.
"I could swear to it anywhere," said Cayley. "The money is a small matter when Eva has to be considered. We may succeed in tricking the scoundrels later, but the money must be paid."
"If it is, you may depend they will get clear off," said Quarles. "They have made their arrangements cleverly enough for that."
"But you forget—"
"I forget nothing, Mr. Cayley."
"I feel that it must be paid," said Sir Michael. "If you can devise any way of tripping up the villains, do, but Eva's signature—"
"Look at it, Sir Michael," said Quarles. "I do not doubt that it is her signature, but I think it was scribbled on that piece of paper before the letter was written, and certainly a different ink was used."
Sir Michael took the letter and looked at it carefully.
"Yes—yes, I think you are right," he said after a pause. "What do you advise?"
"Delay," said the professor promptly. "They are out for money, for a quarter of a million. They will not hurt Miss Wilkinson while there is any chance of their getting the money."
"How long would you make the delay?" Cayley asked.
"At least until after Mr. Wigan and I have visited Whiteladies again. We propose to go there to-morrow."
"I was going down to-morrow after seeing the solicitors about this money," said Sir Michael.
"That will be excellent," said Quarles. "You will be able to assist us in a little investigation we want to make at Whiteladies. May I suggest that you should arrange preliminaries with the solicitors so as not to waste time, but tell them to await your instructions before taking final steps? There may be nothing in our idea, but there may be a great deal in it."
"You do not wish to tell me what it is?"
"Not until to-morrow evening."
I was watching Cayley. I saw the ghost of a smile on his lips for a moment. He evidently saw through Quarles's reticence, and knew that the professor would not speak before him.
"It will be evening before we reach Whiteladies," Quarles went on, "because there is an important inquiry we must make in London first."
"Very well," said Sir Michael. "I will delay until to-morrow night."
"There can be no harm in that," Cayley said. "We are given forty-eight hours. I should like to do the scoundrels, but I cannot forget that revenge may be as much a motive as money."
"I am not losing sight of that fact," said Quarles, "but I have little doubt it is the money."
As we drove back to Chelsea the professor was silent, but when we were in the empty room he began to talk quickly.
"I am puzzled, Wigan. Before we went out I was saying some one was out for money, and the letter Sir Michael has received proves it. We were engaged upon a negative argument, and I should have gone on to show why it was unlikely Cayley had had anything to do with the affair. I confess that his sudden appearance to-night tends to knock holes in the argument I should have used. He comes from Paris, the money is to be paid to the Credit Lyonnais, Paris. He is keen that the money should be paid, had evidently been persuading Sir Michael that it ought to be paid. This tends to confuse me, and I cannot forget Zena's remark about the girl's age and that this is not an ordinary kidnaping case. If Cayley had met her on the terrace she would naturally stroll away with him if he asked her to do so. At a safe distance from the house he, and a confederate, perhaps, may have secured her."
"But why?" I asked.
"He may want a quarter of a million of money and yet have no desire to marry. It is a theory, but unsatisfactory, I admit. One thing, however, we may take as certain. Eva Wilkinson was not driven away in that car. We have no news of any suspicious car being seen in any other direction, nor of any suspicious people being seen about, and it seems obvious that a false trail was laid for us. Wigan, it is quite possible that the girl never left Whiteladies at all, that she is hidden there now, in fact. Doesn't the disappearance of that coat and skirt tend to corroborate this? She was in evening dress at the time. It would be natural to get her another dress."
"That would mean confederates in the house," I said.
"Exactly. This girl Perry, perhaps, in league with her lover, the gamekeeper; or it may be Mrs. Reville herself. We are going down to Whiteladies to-morrow to try and find out, and we are going circumspectly to work, Wigan. You shall go to the house in the ordinary way, while I stroll across to the ruins. They are a likely hiding place. It will be dark, and I may chance upon some one keeping watch. In a few words you can explain our idea to Sir Michael, and then, without letting the servants know, you can come and find me in the ruins."
It was nearly dark when we arrived at Whiteladies on the following day, and as arranged, I left Quarles before we reached the lodge gates—in fact, helped him over a fence into the park before I went on to the house alone. Near the front door I found Mrs. Reville giving a couple of pug dogs a run. She told me Sir Michael was expecting me, and led the way into the hall.
"I think he is in the library," she said, and opened a door. "Oh, I am sorry, I thought you were alone, Sir Michael. It is Mr. Wigan."
He called out for me to enter. He was standing by a writing table, talking to a young farmer, apparently a tenant on the estate because Sir Michael was dismissing him with a promise to consider certain repairs to some outbuildings. As the farmer passed me on his way to the door Sir Michael held out his hand.
"You are later than I expected, and I thought Mr. Quarles—"
Then he laughed. I had been seized from behind, a rope was round me, binding my arms to my side, a sudden jerk had me on my back. In that instant Sir Michael was upon me, and I was gagged and trussed almost before I realized what had happened. Never did the veriest tyro walk more innocently into a trap.
"That's well done," said Sir Michael to the farmer. "You had better go and see that the other has been taken as successfully."
Alone with me, he removed the revolver from my hip pocket and placed it in a drawer, which he locked.
"Rather a surprise for you, Mr. Wigan. I am afraid Scotland Yard is likely to lose an officer, and your friend Quarles is an old man who has had a very good inning. I do not know exactly where he is at the present moment, but somewhere about the grounds he has been caught and is in a similar condition to yourself. You have both been very carefully shadowed to-day. The quarter of a million will be paid, Mr. Wigan, and my niece will reappear. She will be none the worse for her adventure—will thank me for all the trouble I have taken to rescue her from the kidnapers her father dreaded so much—and she will never suspect that the bulk of the ransom money has gone into my pocket. It is money sorely needed, I can assure you. I shall probably give my consent to her marriage with Cayley; her marriage will make my guardianship less irksome. He will be as unsuspicious of me as Eva. I prevailed upon him not to come to Whiteladies until to-morrow by suggesting that you were foolish enough to suspect him. I think it has all been rather cleverly managed. The only regrettable thing will be the death of two—two brilliant detectives. It may interest you to know that you will be found dead—shot—which will account for my having waited for you in vain at Whiteladies to-night. You have helped me greatly by being secretive to-day and not arriving here until after dark. Your death will be a nine days' wonder, but it will be a mystery which will not be solved, I fancy."
His cold-blooded manner left no doubt of his sinister intention, and I felt convinced that Quarles had been trapped just as I had been. Sir Michael laughed again as he bent over me to make sure that my bonds were secure. Then he stood erect suddenly.
"Don't move," said a voice, "or I shall fire."
He did move, and a bullet ripped into a picture just behind him. With an oath he stood perfectly still. A door had opened across the room and a girl stood there. It was Joan Perry.
"I missed you on purpose," she said. "I shall not miss a second time. Cut those ropes."
For a moment he stood still, then he moved again, but not with the intention of setting me free; the next instant he stumbled, as if his leg had suddenly given way, and he let out a savage oath.
"To show you I do not miss," said the girl. "Cut those ropes, or the third bullet finds your heart."
Sir Michael took a knife from his pocket, and the girl came a little closer, but not near enough to give him a chance of grabbing at her. Her calm deliberation was wonderful.
"Do more than cut the ropes and you are a dead man," she said.
The instant my arms were free I had the gag from my mouth and could do something in my own defense. I was quickly on my feet.
"Keep him covered," I said to Perry. "I think we change places,
Sir Michael."
Physically he was not a powerful man, and with Joan Perry near him he seemed to have lost his nerve. Her courage had shaken him badly, and he made no resistance. I was not long in having him bound and handcuffed.
"I have to thank you," I said, turning to the girl.
"Not yet. There is more to do. Mrs. Reville is in it, and Mr. Quarles has no doubt been caught in the grounds, as he said. I will ring. The servants are honest, and I expect Mr. Saunders is in the house by now. He usually comes up in the evening."
Fortunately Mrs. Reville had not heard the revolver shots, or she might have given the alarm to the two men who had secured the professor in the ruins, and they would very probably have killed him. I took the lady by strategy. I sent a servant to tell her that Sir Michael wished to speak to her, a summons which she had evidently been expecting, and I secured her as she came down the stairs. Then, leaving her and Sir Michael in charge of Perry and Saunders and a footman, I went with other servants to rescue Quarles. We took the confederates in the ruins by surprise, but in my anxiety that no harm should come to the professor, who was bound just as I had been, they managed to get away.
Now that he was captured, Sir Michael Lavory's pluck entirely deserted him, and he told us where to find his niece. She was in a secret chamber under a tower in the ruins. She had been caught that night at the end of the terrace by Sir Michael's accomplices, had been rendered unconscious by chloroform, and taken to the tower.
Quarles's deductions so far as they went were right, but they had not gone nearly far enough. Neither of us had thought of Sir Michael as the criminal, and had it not been for the maid Perry I have little doubt that this would have been our last case. Perry herself had not suspected Sir Michael until that day, but she had always been suspicious of Mrs. Reville. That morning, however, when Sir Michael arrived at Whiteladies, she had chanced to overhear a conversation. She heard Sir Michael tell Mrs. Reville there would be visitors that evening, and suggested that she should be near the front door at the time to admit them, as it would be well if they were not seen by the servants. Perry did not understand who the visitors were to be, but she thought such secrecy might be connected with her young mistress, and she had hidden herself earlier in the evening in the small room adjoining the library.
"It is fortunate Saunders taught me how to use a revolver," she said, when Quarles thanked and complimented her.
"A narrow escape, Wigan," the professor said to me. "One of our failures, eh? The fear expressed in the will, the fact that Sir Michael could not benefit by the death of his niece, confused me. He is a very clever scoundrel, making no mistake, making no attempt to implicate any one. His treatment of Cayley on his sudden return from Paris was a masterpiece of diplomacy; so was his handling of us from the first. He concocted no complicated story, so ran no risk of contradicting himself. He was simple and straightforward, and when a villain is that a detective is practically helpless. I was thoroughly deceived, Wigan, I admit it, and it is certain that had it not been for Joan Perry I should not be alive to say so, and you would not be here to listen. Do you know, I should not be surprised if it was the fear expressed in the will which gave Sir Michael the idea of kidnaping his niece and putting the ransom into his own pocket."
At his trial Sir Michael confessed that the will had given him the idea.
Personally I think he got far too light a sentence.
As I hear that Cayley and Miss Wilkinson are to be married shortly, I suppose her guardian's consent to her marriage has been obtained; at any rate, it will be a good thing for her to have a husband to protect her from such a guardian. I hear, too, that Saunders and Perry are to be married on the same day as their mistress, and I am quite sure of one thing, two of the handsomest wedding presents Joan Perry receives will come from Christopher Quarles and myself.