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the third time you’ve shaken hands with me tonight,” she interjected.
“Don’t let us have any unpleasantness at the last,” he pleaded, “and remember.”
“I have promised,” she replied.
“And one day,” he went on, “you will tell me all that happened in that cellar.”
“I have told you,” she said in a low voice.
“You have not told me everything, child.”
He handed her into the cab. He shut the door behind her and leant through the open window.
“Victoria or Marble Arch?” he asked politely.
“Charing Cross,” she replied, with a little laugh.
He watched the cab drive away and then suddenly it stopped and a figure lent out from the window beckoning him frantically. He ran up to her.
“Suppose I want you,” she asked.
“Advertise,” he said promptly, “beginning your advertisement ‘Dear Tommy.”’
“I shall put ‘T.X.,’ “ she said indignantly.
“Then I shall take no notice of your advertisement,” he replied and stood in the middle of the street, his hat in his hand, to the intense annoyance of a taxicab driver who literally all but ran him down and in a figurative sense did so until T.X. was out of earshot.
Chapter XVII
Thomas Xavier Meredith was a shrewd young man. It was said of him by Signor Paulo Coselli, the eminent criminologist, that he had a gift of intuition which was abnormal. Probably the mystery of the twisted candle was solved by him long before any other person in the world had the dimmest idea that it was capable of solution.
The house in Cadogan Square was still in the hands of the police. To this house and particularly to Kara’s bedroom T.X. from time to time repaired, and reproduced as far as possible the conditions which obtained on the night of the murder. He had the same stifling fire, the same locked door. The latch was dropped in its socket, whilst T.X., with a stop watch in his hand, made elaborate calculations and acted certain parts which he did not reveal to a soul.
Three times, accompanied by Mansus, he went to the house, three times went to the death chamber and was alone on one occasion for an hour and a half whilst the patient Mansus waited outside. Three times he emerged looking graver on each occasion, and after the third visit he called into consultation John Lexman.
Lexman had been spending some time in the country, having deferred his trip to the United States.
“This case puzzles me more and more, John,” said T.X., troubled out of his usual boisterous self, “and thank heaven it worries other people besides me. De Mainau came over from France the other day and brought all his best sleuths, whilst O’Grady of the New York central office paid a flying visit just to get hold of the facts. Not one of them has given me the real solution, though they’ve all been rather ingenious. Gathercole has vanished and is probably on his way to some undiscoverable region, and our people have not yet traced the valet.”
“He should be the easiest for you,” said John Lexman, reflectively.
“Why Gathercole should go off I can’t understand,” T.X. continued. “According to the story which was told me by Fisher, his last words to Kara were to the effect that he was expecting a cheque or that he had received a cheque. No cheque has been presented or drawn and apparently Gathercole has gone off without waiting for any payment. An examination of Kara’s books show nothing against the Gathercole account save the sum of 600 pounds which was originally advanced, and now to upset all my calculations, look at this.”
He took from his pocketbook a newspaper cutting and pushed it across the table, for they were dining together at the Carlton. John Lexman picked up the slip and read. It was evidently from a New York paper:
“Further news has now come to hand by the Antarctic Trading Company’s steamer, Cyprus, concerning the wreck of the City of the Argentine. It is believed that this illfated vessel, which called at South American ports, lost her propellor and drifted south out of the track of shipping. This theory is now confirmed. Apparently the ship struck an iceberg on December 23rd and foundered with all aboard save a few men who were able to launch a boat and who were picked up by the Cyprus. The following is the passenger list.”
John Lexman ran down the list until he came upon the name which was evidently underlined in ink by T.X. That name was George Gathercole and after it in brackets (Explorer).
“If that were true, then, Gathercole could not have come to London.”
“He may have taken another boat,” said T.X., “and I cabled to the Steamship Company without any great success. Apparently Gathercole was an eccentric sort of man and lived in terror of being overcrowded. It was a habit of his to make provisional bookings by every available steamer. The company can tell me no more than that he had booked, but whether he shipped on the City of the Argentine or not, they do not know.”
“I can tell you this about Gathercole,” said John slowly and thoughtfully, “that he was a man who would not hurt a fly. He was incapable of killing any man, being constitutionally averse to taking life in any shape. For this reason he never made collections of butterflies or of bees, and I believe has never shot an animal in his life. He carried his principles to such an extent that he was a vegetarian — poor old Gathercole!” he said, with the first smile which T.X. had seen on his face since he came back.
“If you want to sympathize with anybody,” said T.X. gloomily, “sympathize with me.”
On the following day T.X. was summoned to the Home Office and went steeled for a most unholy row. The Home Secretary, a large and worthy gentleman, given to the making of speeches on every excuse, received him, however, with unusual kindness.
“I’ve sent for you, Mr. Meredith,” he said, “about this unfortunate Greek. I’ve had all his private papers looked into and translated and in some cases decoded, because as you are probably aware his diaries and a great deal of his correspondence were in a code which called for the attention of experts.”
T.X. had not troubled himself greatly about Kara’s private papers but had handed them over, in accordance with instructions, to the proper authorities.
“Of course, Mr. Meredith,” the Home Secretary went on, beaming across his big table, “we expect you to continue your search for the murderer, but I must confess that your prisoner when you secure him will have a very excellent case to put to a jury.”
“That I can well believe, sir,” said T.X.
“Seldom in my long career at the bar,” began the Home Secretary in his best oratorical manner, “have I examined a record so utterly discreditable as that of the deceased man.”
Here he advanced a few instances which surprised even T.X.
“The men was a lunatic,” continued the Home Secretary, “a vicious, evil man who loved cruelty for cruelty’s sake. We have in this diary alone sufficient evidence to convict him of three separate murders, one of which was committed in this country.”
T.X. looked his astonishment.
“You will remember, Mr. Meredith, as I saw in one of your reports, that he had a chauffeur, a Greek named Poropulos.”
T.X. nodded.
“He went to Greece on the day following the shooting of Vassalaro,” he said.
The Home Secretary shook his head.
“He was killed on the same night,” said the Minister, “and you will have no difficulty