Salt gave us a few breaths to absorb the shock of this overpowering disclosure. I was almost clean stupefied, but I confess that a feeling of despondency came over me at that moment. It was not, of course, that I grudged Paula Lebetwood the fortune for herself. But I had supposed, in what brief moments I had thought of it, that Cosgrove’s money would have gone to fight Cosgrove’s good fight, even though a losing one. The lines of that fine poem recurred to me:
“They went forth to battle but they always fell:
Their eyes were set above the sullen shields.”
No, that had not been this Irishman’s philosophy; the great cause must wait now for the next great man.
The women had instantly begun to crowd about Miss Lebetwood with exclamations of surprise and pleasure, a flutter of congratulation which must have been an ordeal for the American girl.
Salt extracted from a side pocket an envelope whose flap he loosened with a pencil. He made the round of the room so that each of us could see what was inside. “Paper-ash, this is sure to be. It was all there was in Mr. Cosgrove’s grate. Not a word legible, but one or two blank bits didn’t get burned, as you see. . . . Now, there’s no paper like that anywhere in the house; Mr. Pendleton will go surety for it. It’s different paper from the ‘Lochinvar’ bit. I was wonderin’ if any of you ladies and gentlemen had some like it—could explain the note, perhaps.”
But not even Eve Bartholomew could help the Superintendent now.
Salt turned to Crofts. “It couldn’t have been in the post, you say?”
Crofts answered doggedly, “Cosgrove never got any mail.”
“For a man who never got any mail, he had a tidy bit of mysterious correspondence. Well, I see I shall have to wait a bit before I find what little secret was here.” He looked at his large silver watch. “Thank you very much, all. I don’t think I’ll need to trouble any of you again soon; so I’ll just take this opportunity to give you a suggestion, and maybe a bit o’ reassurance. There are a good many folks we haven’t located that must have somethin’ to do with this case. You all know about Sir Brooke—Mortimer, I think it is; well, I’m telegraphin’ for full particulars of him from wherever he came from, and havin’ a look-out made for him. There are two men Mr. Bannerlee ran across the night he came that I want to find, and also it seems that those Frenchwomen, the Delambres, aren’t on their patch of land. Through one of these outside channels, we’ll come upon a solution. And that means simply routine police work. However, if I were you, I’d not go about separately very far from the House, and just for precaution’s sake you might lock your doors and windows. No alarm, you understand—only you’ll feel safer. Doctor Niblett will hold the inquest as soon as possible. I shall probably be here a good bit for the next few days, and I trust, with the kind permission of Mr. Pendleton, that you will not end your visits until I am certain-sure you can’t assist me.”
“Only too glad, Superintendent to have them all stay until you’ve cornered the brute,” said Crofts between his teeth. Then, becoming expansive, he looked about with a satisfied air. “Well, I’m beginning to think this won’t be a Scotland Yard case after all. And it’s one of those outsiders surely. Crazy to think it could be any of us.”