“Things were beginning to take shape. I must confess I had suspicions of Lewis at first, but I soon dismissed that, and kept it up on purpose.”
He paused and helped himself to coffee.
“You must understand,” he continued, “that I had not a shred of evidence. If I had told my suspicions I should have been laughed at, and probably lost my job. Then there came the complication of Boyce and Jackson. I saw he was dead set on getting this man proved guilty, as he was sure we should never get the real man.”
“Do you mean to say he was going to get an innocent man convicted?” said Mabel, in horror.
“Not convicted. He would merely be put back in an asylum, and I can assure you it happens far oftener than the public know, that an innocent man has to suffer. The police argue that they have got hold of a man with a terrible past, and that even if he is not the actual culprit he deserves to be put away. You will find, in these cases where murder is the crime, he is always sent to penal servitude for life.”
“How dreadful,” said Mabel, “I thought our justice was so good in England.”
“I am afraid what Mr. Sinclair says is true,” said Allery. “I have never been mixed up with criminal cases, but I have heard a good deal. Please go on.”
“I saw,” said Sinclair, “that the real clue lay in the letter I had received, and it was disquieting that Collins had read it according to my supposition. The key to the situation lay in finding Sir Ronald Watson.
“I kept in touch with Collins’ movements, and soon learnt of his visits here. I thought he was here for another reason,” and he glanced awkwardly at Mabel, “but the mystery he made of it, led me to think he might have a double motive. I did not in the least suspect the truth, but thought he was trying to find the missing man from this end, if you understand me?”
Allery nodded. “That’s all quite clear,” he said.
“He turned up at my office the other day. I could see he had something in the wind. Even with his iron nerve the delay must have been fretting him, for there was always the possibility that we should get the man, and then the secret, whatever it was, would be out.
“I tried a bluff. I asked him where Wilton-on-Sea was, and said I wanted to go there. All I knew was that it was close to this place. He would not let me go alone, for he did not know how much I knew, and so we came down, and watched for those wretched days which have put years on to my life.
“I had to pretend to take to drink to throw dust in his eyes.
“When he found Sir Ronald in such a dramatic fashion, I realised that things had come to a crisis. There was danger, real and personal, in the air. With supreme bluff he introduced me, and I must confess he took me completely by surprise. When I saw Lewis coming, for a moment all my ideas crumpled like a pack of cards, and I thought I had made a colossal fool of myself; but when I realised who it was, I saw the whole game. He would not let him out of his sight, nor allow me a word with him.
“He saw his one chance was to get the document out of him before I had a chance.
“But he was one too good for me at the end. When he slipped out I never thought he would make a bolt for it like that.”
He finished his story, and looked at the others.
Allery was scrutinising the end of his cigar. Mabel was deeply distressed.
“You’ve been working pretty hard lately, I suppose,” said the former.
Sinclair started: “I am always pretty hard at work,” he said.
“You’ve been letting this thing prey on your mind, I expect, a good deal?”
Sinclair stiffened. “Do you mean that I have been imagining things?” he said.
“It is a most entertaining exhibition of deduction,” said Allery.
“Of course, I have not had time to tell you all,” said Sinclair, “and it may never come out.”
“It is a wicked lie,” said Mabel. “I will never believe it.” Her eyes were blazing.
“I am sorry, Miss Watson,” stammered Sinclair.
“I am going to lie down, Mr. Allery,” said she, and walked from the room ignoring Sinclair.
XVII
The Wrong Letter
In the stillness of the night the sound of a car was heard. Sinclair went to the door and waited.
Out of the blackness the car emerged, and came to rest at the door. From the inside issued Sanders. His face was set and grim. Without a word he walked into the house, and into the dining-room. Allery was sitting where he had sat immovable all the evening. Sanders took off his great coat, and took out his revolver and tossed it on the table.
“Let me have a drink,” he said. “I’m done up.”
“Tell us all about it,” said Sinclair, pouring out a drink and handing it to him.
“Where’s Mabel?” said Sanders to Allery.
“She went to lie down, but said she wanted to be called directly there was any news. I sent for her when I heard the car.”
Mabel came in looking woefully drawn and pale. She was in negligee costume.
“Well?” she said in a dull voice.
“It’s all over. I chased the car, but we had no chance of catching it. By a sheer fluke at the little village of Paxton, we saw men standing about which seemed strange at this hour, and happened to ask whether anything had happened. It appeared that a car had smashed up at the bend. A bad smash.”
“And Mr. Collins?” said the girl.
“I should have thought your first thought would have
