"Where are you going?" grunted the fat man.
"I'm off to ask Mr. Alder to let me search in Kirkstone Hall for that confession of Miss Gilmar's. Then I'm going down there to look it up."
"That won't do any good towards finding out who killed her," said Parge, shaking his head.
"I don't know so much about that, Simon," replied Gebb, coolly. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find as the person who killed Kirkstone was some one quite different from those we suspect."
"It must be either Miss G. or Miss K.," said Parge, "and knowing the truth about them won't help you to spot the assassin. You look for Dean first, Absalom, and leave the confession alone for a while."
"No!" replied Gebb, obstinately. "I'll look for the confession, and fly round afterwards for Dean. You let me negotiate the job in my own way, Simon."
With this determination, of which Parge by no means approved, but was unable to hinder, Gebb went off to make his last venture in solving the mystery. By this time he was in a furious rage at his many failures, and swore under his breath that come what might he would hunt down and punish the unknown assassin of the wretched old woman who had been strangled in Paradise Row. He had three designs in his head, one of which he hoped might serve to attain the much-desired end. Firstly, he intended to search for the confession of Miss Gilmar, in the belief that it might throw some light on the later case. Secondly, he resolved to follow the clue of the railway ticket, and learn who had come up from Norminster on that fatal night to visit Miss Gilmar, since such person--on the evidence of the ticket found in the Yellow Boudoir--was undoubtedly her murderer. Thirdly, he was bent upon making another search round the pawnshops to see if any of the other jewels taken from the body had been turned into money. The appearance of the necklace was accounted for by Edith, as she had received it from the old woman before the assassin had arrived; but the rings, bracelets, and hair ornaments were still missing. Sooner or later, in order to benefit by his crime, the murderer would seek to turn them into cash when he thought the storm had blown over. Then was the time to trace and capture him.
The French have a proverb which runs in English, "that nothing is certain but the unforeseen," and certainly Gebb proved the truth of this when he arrived at Alder's lodgings. As yet the barrister, pending the administration of the estate, had not moved from his rooms in the Temple; but he intended to do so shortly, and already had engaged handsome chambers in Half-moon Street. These, however, he was never destined to occupy, for on the very day Gebb called to see him he met with an accident which seemed likely to result in his death. As one pleasure to be gained from his riches, Alder had purchased a horse, shortly after coming into his fortune, and every morning went riding in the Row. He was a good rider, but not having indulged in the exercise for some years, by reason of his impecuniosity, he had lost a portion of his skill, with the result that the horse, a fiery animal with tricks of which Alder was ignorant, bolted unexpectedly, and threw his rider against the rails. Alder fell across them with such force that he had injured his spine, and now was lying in his rooms in a crippled condition.
"Do you think he'll get over it?" asked Gebb, when Alder's servant was relating the occurrence.
"No, sir," answered the man, shaking his head. "The doctor says he's bound to die sooner or later. The spine is injured, and my poor master can't feel anything below his waist. It's death in life already, and the end is sure to come."