Whether this latter was strictly true or not, ten minutes later saw him starting out with a stick in his hand and a packet of sandwiches in his pocket. He turned in the Starvel direction, and climbing up the side of the valley, came out on the wide expanse of the moor. Ahead of him it lay, stretching away in irregular undulating waves into the gray-blue distance, with here and there a rounded hill rising above the general level. For miles he could see the ribbon of the road showing white against the browns and greens of the grass where it wound up over shoulders and ridges and mounted the far sides of hollows. Extraordinarily deserted was the countryside, a solitude quite astonishing in so densely populated a land as this of England.
For a time French tramped on, his mind occupied with his surroundings, but gradually it turned back to his case and he began reckoning up his progress, and considering how he could best attack what still remained to be done. And the more he thought of it, the less rosy the outlook seemed. Ruefully he had to admit that in point of fact he was practically no further on than when he started. He had done a good deal of work, no doubt, but unfortunately it had brought him only a negative result. His researches into the movements of Whymper and Philpot had been unavoidable, but these had proved side lines and he did not believe that either would help him with the main issue.
He let his mind rest once again on Philpot’s statement. If it were true, Roper showed up very badly. From every point of view he seemed a thorough-paced blackguard. Though this had come out more particularly from the doctor’s story it was fairly well-confirmed by what French had been told at Kintilloch. Neither Sergeant MacGregor nor Dr. Ferguson had a good word to say about the man. No one appeared to like him, and in the end he had been dismissed from the Institute for a fault of a particularly serious nature.
But he was a clever rascal also. French was amazed when he considered how he had succeeded in worming himself into old Averill’s confidence. Even making allowances for the old man’s weak-minded senility, it was almost incredible that this shifty scoundrel should have been trusted with a secret which Whymper would risk a murder charge rather than reveal.
French tramped on, pondering over the matter in his careful, painstaking way. Yes, that was the point. Misers were proverbially suspicious, and Averill’s knowledge of Roper’s break at the Ransome would not tend to increase his trust in him. His confidence was certainly rather wonderful.
And then French suddenly stood stock still as an idea flashed into his mind. Was his confidence not too wonderful to be true? Had Roper really wormed his way thus far into old Averill’s confidence? He had not hesitated to blackmail Philpot; had he played some similar trick on Whymper?
As French considered the suggestion, a point which had before seemed immaterial now took on a sinister significance. Though Averill was represented as the moving spirit of the affair, his connection with it had never been directly proved. Roper, and Roper alone, had appeared. It was true that a note purporting to come from Averill had been produced, but in the light of Philpot’s revelation of Roper’s skill as a forger, who had written it? Was there any reason why Roper should not have engineered the whole thing?
French reviewed the circumstances in detail. The first move was Roper’s. He had met Whymper outside the church gate and told him that Mr. Averill wished to see him, asking him to go out there that evening. Secretly, mind you; no one was to know of the visit. Whymper had accordingly gone out. But he had not seen Averill. He had seen Roper, and Roper only. It was true that he was presented with a note purporting to be from Averill, but had Averill written it? French remembered that the handwriting was extremely like Averill’s, but in the absence of any reason for suspecting its authenticity he had not given it the careful scrutiny which he might have done. That was an error he must repair at once, and if the shadow of a doubt was aroused in his mind he must send the papers to the Yard for expert opinion.
Altogether it undoubtedly looked as if the whole of the Whymper episode might have been Roper’s work. But if so, what about the £500? Surely in this case Roper must have stolen it? And if he had stolen it—French grew almost excited as step after step revealed itself—if Roper had stolen it, did it not follow that he had murdered Averill, rifled the safe, taken out the notes and replaced them with burnt newspapers?
And then French saw a step farther. If he were right so far, Roper’s motive in the Whymper incident became clear as day. If Roper had stolen thousands of pounds’ worth of notes he must find out whether it was safe to pass them. Were the numbers of the notes known? This was a matter of vital importance, and it was one on which he could not possibly ask for information. If suspicion became aroused, to have made inquiries on the point would be fatal. He must therefore arrange for someone else to pass a number of the notes, and preferably a number of those most recently acquired by Averill. Moreover, this person must not, if suspected, be able to account satisfactorily for their possession. Given the knowledge of Whymper’s
