LITMIR.BIZ

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slept at the extreme back of the house, and could not possibly have heard anything.

      So far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examination save lamentations and expressions of amazement.

      Cecil Barker succeeded Mrs. Allen as a witness. As to the occurrences of the night before, he had very little to add to what he had already told the police. Personally, he was convinced that the murderer had escaped by the window. The bloodstain was conclusive, in his opinion, on that point. Besides, as the bridge was up, there was no other possible way of escaping. He could not explain what had become of the assassin or why he had not taken his bicycle, if it were indeed his. He could not possibly have been drowned in the moat, which was at no place more than three feet deep.

      In his own mind he had a very definite theory about the murder. Douglas was a reticent man, and there were some chapters in his life of which he never spoke. He had emigrated to America when he was a very young man. He had prospered well, and Barker had first met him in California, where they had become partners in a successful mining claim at a place called Benito Canyon. They had done very well; but Douglas had suddenly sold out and started for England. He was a widower at that time. Barker had afterwards realized his money and come to live in London. Thus they had renewed their friendship.

      Douglas had given him the impression that some danger was hanging over his head, and he had always looked upon his sudden departure from California, and also his renting a house in so quiet a place in England, as being connected with this peril. He imagined that some secret society, some implacable organization, was on Douglas's track, which would never rest until it killed him. Some remarks of his had given him this idea; though he had never told him what the society was, nor how he had come to offend it. He could only suppose that the legend upon the placard had some reference to this secret society.

      "How long were you with Douglas in California?" asked Inspector MacDonald.

      "Five years altogether."

      "He was a bachelor, you say?"

      "A widower."

      "Have you ever heard where his first wife came from?"

      "No, I remember his saying that she was of German extraction, and I have seen her portrait. She was a very beautiful woman. She died of typhoid the year before I met him."

      "You don't associate his past with any particular part of America?"

      "I have heard him talk of Chicago. He knew that city well and had worked there. I have heard him talk of the coal and iron districts. He had travelled a good deal in his time."

      "Was he a politician? Had this secret society to do with politics?"

      "No, he cared nothing about politics."

      "You have no reason to think it was criminal?"

      "On the contrary, I never met a straighter man in my life."

      "Was there anything curious about his life in California?"

      "He liked best to stay and to work at our claim in the mountains. He would never go where other men were if he could help it. That's why I first thought that someone was after him. Then when he left so suddenly for Europe I made sure that it was so. I believe that he had a warning of some sort. Within a week of his leaving half a dozen men were inquiring for him."

      "What sort of men?"

      "Well, they were a mighty hard-looking crowd. They came up to the claim and wanted to know where he was. I told them that he was gone to Europe and that I did not know where to find him. They meant him no good—it was easy to see that."

      "Were these men Americans—Californians?"

      "Well, I don't know about Californians. They were Americans, all right. But they were not miners. I don't know what they were, and was very glad to see their backs."

      "That was six years ago?"

      "Nearer seven."

      "And then you were together five years in California, so that this business dates back not less than eleven years at the least?"

      "That is so."

      "It must be a very serious feud that would be kept up with such earnestness for as long as that. It would be no light thing that would give rise to it."

      "I think it shadowed his whole life. It was never quite out of his mind."

      "But if a man had a danger hanging over him, and knew what it was, don't you think he would turn to the police for protection?"

      "Maybe it was some danger that he could not be protected against. There's one thing you should know. He always went about armed. His revolver was never out of his pocket. But, by bad luck, he was in his dressing gown and had left it in the bedroom last night. Once the bridge was up, I guess he thought he was safe."

      "I should like these dates a little clearer," said MacDonald. "It is quite six years since Douglas left California. You followed him next year, did you not?"

      "That is so."

      "And he had been married five years. You must have returned about the time of his marriage."

      "About a month before. I was his best man."

      "Did you know Mrs. Douglas before her marriage?"

      "No, I did not. I had been away from England for ten years."

      "But you have seen a good deal of her since."

      Barker looked sternly at the detective. "I have seen a good deal of him since," he answered. "If I have seen her, it is because you cannot visit a man without knowing his wife. If you imagine there is any connection—"

      "I imagine nothing, Mr. Barker. I am bound to make every inquiry which can bear upon the case. But I mean no offense."

      "Some inquiries are offensive," Barker answered angrily.

      "It's only the facts that we want. It is in your interest and everyone's interest that they should be cleared up. Did Mr. Douglas entirely approve your friendship with his wife?"

      Barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were clasped convulsively together. "You have no right to ask such questions!" he cried. "What has this to do with the matter you are investigating?"

      "I must repeat the question."

      "Well, I refuse to answer."

      "You can refuse to answer; but you must be aware that your refusal is in itself an answer, for you would not refuse if you had not something to conceal."

      Barker stood for a moment with his face set grimly and his strong black eyebrows drawn low in intense thought. Then he looked up with a smile. "Well, I guess you gentlemen are only doing your clear duty after all, and I have no right to stand in the way of it. I'd only ask you not to worry Mrs. Douglas over this matter; for she has enough upon her just now. I may tell you that poor Douglas had just one fault in the world, and that was his jealousy. He was fond of me—no man could be fonder of a friend. And he was devoted to his wife. He loved me to come here, and was forever sending for me. And yet if his wife and I talked together or there seemed any sympathy between us, a kind of wave of jealousy would pass over him, and he would be off the handle and saying the wildest things in a moment. More than once I've sworn off coming for that reason, and then he would write me such penitent, imploring letters that I just had to. But you can take it from me, gentlemen, if it was my last word, that no man ever had a more loving, faithful wife—and I can say also no friend could be more loyal than I!"

      It was spoken with fervour and feeling, and yet Inspector MacDonald could not dismiss the subject.

      "You are aware," said he, "that the dead man's wedding ring has been taken from his finger?"

      "So it appears," said Barker.

      "What do you mean by 'appears'? You know it as a fact."

      The man seemed confused and undecided. "When I said 'appears' I meant that it was conceivable that he had himself taken off the ring."

      "The

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