The Yellow Face

by Fred M. White

"That is very ingenious," Rigby said, "and I shan't forget it. If facts like those were more widely known, I fancy you would get more assistance from the Press."

Bates emphatically repudiated the suggestion.

"I have often heard you say, in fact it is rather a fruitful source of complaint to the police, that the newspapers do them more harm than good," Jack said reflectively; "but I think I can see a way whereby the Press could give you a good leg-up in the case of this Belgrave Gardens mystery. Dick, is it too late to get a paragraph inserted in to-morrow's Planet?"

"Oh, dear, no," Rigby explained. "Probably no paper in London goes to bed later than we do. We make it a point of keeping open till the last possible minute, and we have a good hour before us yet. But what are you driving at?"

"Well, it is this way. It is pretty clear that one of the thieves was wearing that embroidered scarf which was also claimed by Mrs. Montague. Probably there were two such mufflers, but that does not affect my argument. Of course, a description of this affair will appear in to-morrow's Planet,but I should like to embroider on it a bit. Suppose we add to the report a paragraph to the effect that the thief left a marvelous wrap behind him. We could say that it was absolutely unique, and all that sort of thing, just the sort of silly gossip that your readers are so fond of. We could hint that the scarf still remains at Belgrave Gardens for identification. Now it is a thousand to one this paragraph reaches the eye of the thief, or is brought to his notice. This being so, he will lose no opportunity of getting the wrap back again. All you have to do is to keep the house carefully under observation, and your man falls into your hands like a ripe blackberry. What does the inspector think of our little scheme?"

Bates pondered the matter a moment or two, and then cautiously remarked that at any rate there could be no harm in it. Whereupon the two friends went away together, and half-an-hour later a spicy paragraph had been constructed for the delectation of the Planet's
readers to-morrow. Rigby threw the paragraph aside, and whistled up-stairs to the composing room.

"You look as if you had something at the back of your mind," he said, passing the cigarettes across to his companion. "Jack, you have found something out?"

"Upon my word, I believe I have," Jack replied. "It is rather soothing to one's vanity to get on the inside track so far as a detective is concerned. But it would not have been at all fair on my part to have said anything to Bates, seeing that you are investigating this Nostalgo business on your own account. Not that I am absolutely certain of my facts now, but I shall be after I have seen Miss Helmsley in the morning. Now, is there anything else we can do to-night? I suppose even an indefatigable journalist like yourself goes to bed sometimes."

Anstruther was fortunately out when Jack called at Panton Square the next morning. He smiled to himself as he noticed a copy of the Planet on the hall table. It had evidently been carefully read, and on page 5, where the account of the Belgrave Gardens burglary appeared, somebody had ticked the paragraph with a pencil. Miss Helmsley was in the drawing-room, the housemaid said, and would see Mr. Masefield if he would go up-stairs. Claire was looking a little pale and distracted, Jack thought; her eyes bore evidence of the fact that she had passed a restless night. But her face lighted up, and the old charm of feature reasserted itself as Jack entered.

"Come, come, this won't do," he said, half tenderly, half playfully. "Positively I shall have to kiss the color back to those pallid lips of yours. What is worrying you so much, dearest?"