“Eleven-ten.”
“Gad! I thought I’d been here at least five hours. Only eleven-ten! And I’m sitting here!” Anthony made for the door.
Lucas grabbed at his arm. “Here, what’s to do?”
“Got to go and pay a call.” Anthony wrenched himself free and got to the door, paused to say over his shoulder: “Don’t tell Deacon to come to my pub. Just let him go. He’ll get where I want him,” and was gone.
Lucas stared after him. “Fool ought to be in bed,” he muttered. “Clever devil, though, but queer!” He turned to the business on hand.
Sir Arthur still sat on the floor, playing his game. His fingers wandered ceaselessly over the carpet. His head, bald save for a sand-coloured tonsure, was sunk between his square shoulders. Every now and then he laughed that high-pitched laugh.
Chapter XVII.
By “The Owl’s” Commissioner
The letter which Anthony had written in the early hours of that morning and despatched by District Messenger, the letter which had brought so important a person as Mr. Egbert Lucas down to Abbotshall, had run as follows:—
“My Dear Lucas,—As you know, I have been playing at detectives down at Marling. I have finished my game; the rest is up to you.
“What I have found, how I have found it, and my opinion of the meaning of what I have found you will discover set out in the enclosed document, typed by my very own fingers. You may—I cannot tell—think my conclusions wrong, and say that in real life, even as in fairy tales, a set of circumstances, a collection of clues, may equally lead to the innocent as to the guilty. For me, however, I am convinced. To put it in my own diffident way: I know that I am right!
“So please read the enclosed. If you agree with me, as I think you will, you will yet find that the evidence is insufficient: and you will be right. I will, therefore, endeavour to arrange for a confession by the guilty person to be given in the (unsuspected) presence of officers of your able department. In order for this to be done, will you give orders for some of your men—three, including a shorthand writer, would be enough—to meet me at the cross-roads on the London side of Marling at about nine to-night? I will then get them covertly into Abbotshall and dispose them in advantageous but secret positions. This may, I know, be irregular, but you can take it that I can manage things without any one in the house knowing until the business is over. Once your men are where I shall put them, I shall enter the house by a more orthodox way. The rest will follow.
“This is asking a lot of you, but, after all, you know me well enough to be reasonably certain that I am less of a fool than most. So, if you agree with my conclusions as set out in the report, please arrange this. Whether you agree or not, ring me up, before seven to-night, at my pub in Marling (Greyne 29). If I am not there leave a message: ‘All right’ or ‘Nothing doing,’ as the case may be. Whichever your answer is, I will ring you up when I have received it.
“My main reason—or one of my main reasons—for doing all this work was to do Hastings’s little paper, The Owl, a good turn. The report is really for them, though I don’t know when and to what extent you will allow them to publish it. But I rely on you to see that The Owl gets as much journalistic fat as it can digest. No other paper must hear a whisper until you’ve allowed Hastings to make a scoop out of the ‘Dramatic New Developments.’
“Yours,
“A. R. Gethryn.”
“P.S.—Don’t forget that if you decide to let me try to arrange this confession, I may fail. I don’t think I will; but I might. I shall rely to a great extent upon the fact that I am something of an actor.”
Coming to the end of this letter, Mr. Egbert Lucas had whistled beneath his breath, instructed his secretary that on no account was he to be disturbed, and had settled down—he has the most comfortable chair in the Yard—to read the typewritten report.