In any case he had the satisfaction of having regained possession of his precious diagram which in the night had been filched from his dispatch-box.
He was shown the Treasury notes found in the dead man’s wallet, and also the letters—four of them—all in a woman’s hand. They were in French, dated simply from Marlotte, a little village on the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau, cold, purely formal letters, but signed “Gabrielle.”
Geoffrey Falconer knew that signature! He possessed letters in the same handwriting. The writer was the pretty decoy of thieves, the girl who was now in love with his brother-officer, Hugh Carew.
The whole situation became intensely puzzling. The man, whoever he was, had evidently stolen the diagrams, but on making his way to Romford station had been waylaid and shot by an unknown hand. That was the theory held by Geoffrey, and also by the police. The motive of the theft was, no doubt, in order to sell the invention abroad to some rival radio company in Germany, or in America, for new wireless devices have always a ready market to the rich corporations who—after the Marconi Company—attempt to control the world’s communications through space.
Very naturally Geoffrey did his level best to keep out of the papers what really had been stolen from his father’s house. There were several interests at stake. Hence, in the newspapers, the world read that the thief had abstracted certain “papers” from the Professor’s house, and these were found upon the dead man by the police, and returned to their owner.
Those who read these lines will, no doubt, recollect having read a bald and very unconvincing report of the affair. They certainly never dreamed of the drama and romance which lay behind it all.
At the inquest Geoffrey Falconer, who was called to identify his “property,” and tell the court of his meeting with the deceased at Hastings, was very guarded in his evidence. He, of course, said nothing of the pretty young girl whom he had met in Paris as an Italian, and who was now in London under another name and posing as French. The letters signed “Gabrielle” were shown to the jury, but to them they conveyed nothing. The twelve worthy tradesmen of Romford had no suspicion whatever that “Gabrielle” was a decoy of a clever thief, the man into the circumstances of whose death they were called upon to inquire.
Who had killed the thief there was no evidence whatever to show. As far as Geoffrey was concerned he had little interest in the matter. The man had taken a great risk, but had failed to dispose of the diagrams, and thus filch from him a very considerable sum. That the stranger’s death was due to vengeance seemed quite feasible, and the jury could only arrive at one conclusion in face of the fact that no weapon had been found near the spot—namely, that wilful murder had been “committed by some person or persons unknown.”
Next day the diagrams of the improved amplifier were placed in the bank, and the body of the deceased was buried at the expense of the county of Essex.
The affair, however, filled Geoffrey’s mind mainly because of the pretty Gabrielle’s association with his friend Carew.