“Good for her!” said Anthony.
“And I suppose my precious cousin's anxiety about Hopkins was lest the beggar should give him away to save his own skin, and not out of love for the gentleman at all. I should always distrust a chap that keeps on opening and shutting his mouth and chewing up his tongue,” Tony added sapiently. “Mrs. Phillimore, too. Carnthwacke told me he was sure he had seen her walking about with his wife's maid.”
The inspector nodded.
“Sometimes she was mistress, sometimes maid, and part of the week she was Fédora, the great fortune-teller, and this way she was able to pick up information for Todmarsh. If she had been spotted—well, it was her taste for philanthropy.”
Tony got up and walked about the room. “But it is an awful thing, whichever way you look at it. We shall have to keep it from my poor mother. She never cared for Aubrey, but he was her half-sister's son, after all. I don't think he meant to kill Uncle Luke, you know, Furnival. I think it was done in a scuffle.”
The inspector shrugged his shoulders. “Didn't care whether he did or not, if you ask me. According to Hopkins, he went disguised, taking chloroform with him to render Mr. Bechcombe unconscious, and wearing rubber gloves, so that his finger-prints should not be recognized. Then, while Mr. Bechcombe was unconscious, he meant to impersonate him and get Mrs. Carnthwacke's diamonds. But Mr. Bechcombe had struggled much more than he expected, and in the struggle recognized him. Then the game was up as far as Todmarsh was concerned and Mr. Bechcombe's death followed instantly. The rest of the programme was carried out as arranged, only that Mr. Bechcombe lay behind the screen dead, not unconscious!”
“Brute!” Tony muttered between his teeth; “deserves all he'll get, and more! Poor old Uncle Luke——” blowing his nose. “He was always good to us when we were boys. It won't bear thinking of!”
Anthony Collyer was sitting in the library at Bechcombe House. A letter from his father lay open on the table. To him entered Cecily Hoyle, looking as attractive as ever in her short black frock, low enough at the neck to show her pretty rounded throat, short enough in the arms to allow a glimpse of the dainty dimpled elbows, and in the skirt to reveal black silk stockings nearly to the knees, and suède-clad feet.
“Tony, you have heard?”