The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"Well, you can do as you please," Rigby said. "I don't know that I particularly desire your services at present. My notion is to go back to Panton Square, and hang about on the off-chance of seeing something."

"And spend half the night in dodging the police," Jack laughed. "That's a very primitive idea of yours; I flatter myself I have a much better idea than that. Anstruther will never betray himself; we haven't the slightest chance of trapping him. Now, unless I am altogether out of it, Padini is the man we want to get hold of. He is exceedingly vain; like most artists, there is nothing secretive about him, and I am told that he is particularly fond of a glass of champagne. Depend upon it, that fellow will talk fast enough when the time comes. If he doesn't, we can make him."

"But we must have something to go upon," Rigby observed thoughtfully. "I think we are justified in assuming that the fellow is a wrong 'un; anyway, our hands will be greatly strengthened if we can find something to his discredit."

"That's exactly what I mean to do," Jack said. "Now Bates is quite as much interested in this matter as we are, and though you have backed yourself against the police in this case, there is no reason why you shouldn't make use of them. Besides, we are not bound to tell Bates too much. If there is anything to be found out to the discredit of Padini, Bates is the very man for our purpose."

But, as it transpired subsequently, Bates was not available. He had just gone off, so the sergeant said, having been called in to investigate a burglary quite recently discovered in Belgrave Gardens. It was something exceedingly neat in the way of a burglary, the sergeant explained, with the air of a connoisseur in such matters; in fact, the place had been routed during the progress of a big reception. No ladders had been used, no wedges or commonplace implements of that kind; indeed, it was more than suspected that the burglary was the work of two of the guests.

An unfortunate footman, being where he ought not to have been, had had his suspicions aroused by the movements of two distinguished-looking men in evening dress. He had come quite unexpectedly upon them in one of the corridors, and had so far forgotten himself as to want to know what they were doing there. Immediately one of them had felled him with some blunt, heavy instrument, and he had only just time to yell a note of warning before he fainted. The cry was taken up at once, and immediately the corridor was filled with men guests. In the confusion, and owing to the fact that the thieves themselves were in evening dress, it was impossible to lay hands on the culprits. All this the sergeant told his visitors with an air of great enjoyment.

"If you give us the number we will walk round there," Rigby said. "Thank you very much."

The big house in Belgrave Gardens had lost most of its air of simmering excitement by the time the two friends reached there. They were informed that Bates had nearly finished his investigations, and, indeed, the inspector came into the hall at that moment, accompanied by Lord Longworth. He held in his hand a beautifully embroidered silk muffler--one of those choice affairs which are large enough to cover a dinner table, and yet small enough to go into a waistcoat pocket.

"Very strange indeed, your lordship," Bates was saying; "I can't understand it at all. Here is your injured footman prepared to swear that one of his assailants was wearing that muffler when he came into the house, that is, on his arrival. And here we have Mrs. Montague ready to swear that the muffler belongs to her. Whether she likes it or not, I really must insist upon my right to take this wrap away with me. If it proves to belong to Mrs. Montague, why, of course----"

And the detective shrugged his shoulders. A moment later, and he was in the street with Masefield and Rigby. He listened carefully enough to the dramatic version of the story they had to tell him, and professed himself ready to do anything required of him.