"Yes—and, by James! Mr. Narkom. And that's the actual truth, too. I discovered it first of all. A little looking on the part of Dollops and me brought the thing to light, through a susceptible maid-servant at present in your employ, Sir Ross. She fell for my Cockney lad's 'ginger 'air.' And he made use of his opportunity. And it was then—even as late as last night—that my suspicions were finally pinned upon James Tavish as the murderer of your father. For I saw him, in company with the Dago, wearing your tweed coat, which I noted hanging on a hook in the passage earlier in the day, and had even seen you wearing during the morning, before you changed into that dark suit yesterday afternoon—and if it hadn't been for me that same tweed coat might have led you into some rather unfortunate feminine revelations from one of the ladies who are at present in your house. But let that pass.... Mr. Narkom, we must go. There's a gang to be rounded up, and unfortunately, through a foolish woman, some inkling of our presence here has become known, and it will take us all our time to trace the rest of the participants in this pleasant affair before they have had time to show nothing more than a very clean pair of heels for our benefit. We must be making tracks. Sir Ross, take an older fellow's advice and fight for that boy's rights to go to a decent English school. I've no doubt that the house will be divided now, since these revelations have been made. One could hardly go on living with a woman for a stepmother who—who had even contemplated such things, although she did it for the benefit of her own boy. But—fight for him. And get him away from—unfortunate influence if you can. Or you'll be losing for the Empire an otherwise good little citizen. There's no doubt about the presence of the uncle now—with that whisky-still business on hand, and that's what brought the two men together, no doubt. But get this boy clear of it all. Try a public school where his moral outlook will be as well cared for as his physical, and—get him there quick.
"Good-bye, Cyril—shake hands, won't you? And you might write a line to me now and then, to let me know how you're getting on. I'd have had a boy of your age myself, no doubt, if—if I hadn't made a fool of myself earlier in life, and I've got to make up for it now. But it makes me rather soft for youngsters. Good-bye, Sir Ross, and good luck. Clear out of this ill-fated inheritance for a time, until things blow over. You'll find there'll be a different aspect of affairs when you come back with your vision cleared. Mr. Narkom, come along. At least we've beaten the Coroner at his own business, and that's always a feather in a policeman's cap, eh, old friend?"
And, so speaking, he passed out of that house of discord, which, however, he was to visit later, many times, as friend and confidant of the new owner of it, out into the clear sunshine of an early noon, and the paths that lay ahead.
THE END
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