“The obvious thing to do would have been to warn her. But that would have meant giving my case away to the Fleetwoods; and I don’t feel inclined to chuck confidences around if it can be avoided, as I’ve pointed out before. Further, the police were not altogether in good odour with the Fleetwoods; and I wasn’t sure if I’d make much impression on them by a mere warning, with nothing to back it. So I hit on the notion of putting a man on to watch Mrs. Fleetwood; and, as a further precaution, I fixed up that code-wire so that if I wanted it I could have her arrested at a moment’s notice, and then she’d be safe in police hands and out of reach of the gang.
“I went up to London and found, as I’d expected, that friend Paul had been playing ducks and drakes with all the securities he could handle without exciting too much suspicion. He seems to have been speculating right and left, most unsuccessfully. So I’d been right about his motives, anyhow.
“But I couldn’t get out of my mind the risk I was letting that girl run; and at last—I suppose Miss Fordingbridge would say it was telepathy or something—I got the wind up completely, and wired to have her arrested. After that I felt safer.
“As you know, they’d been too quick for me. They fished out the note that Paul Fordingbridge wrote to the claimant and they sent it to her as if it came from Paul himself, after altering the hour on it. She thought her uncle was in trouble; went to help him; dodged the constable; and fell straight into the trap they’d set for her. You know all the rest. And probably by now you understand why I was quite content to let Mr. Aird have his full dose in the funnel of the souffleur. There’s nothing like a confession for convincing a jury, and I meant him to hang if it could be managed. I didn’t want to run any risk of his getting off merely because it was all circumstantial evidence.”
“Thanks,” said Wendover, seeing that the chief constable had finished his outline. “To quote from that favourite detective story of yours:
In one moment I’ve seen what has hitherto been
Enveloped in absolute mystery.
There’s just one point I’d like to hear you on. What about Staveley’s resuscitation after his being killed in the war? Did you get to the bottom of that by any chance?”
Sir Clinton hesitated a little before answering.
“I don’t much care about pure guesswork, squire; but, if you’ll take it as that, then I don’t mind saying what I think. Suppose that is what happened. Staveley and Derek Fordingbridge went into action together; and Staveley was under a cloud at the time. He’d probably had enough of the war, and was looking for a way out. Derek Fordingbridge gets killed in that battle, and is probably badly damaged in the process—made unrecognisable we may suppose. Staveley sees him killed, and grasps at the chance offered. He takes Derek’s identity disc off the body and leaves his own instead. Probably he takes the contents of the pockets too, and puts his own papers into the dead man’s pockets. They were friends; and, if anyone saw him at work, he’d have his excuse ready. No one would think he was robbing the dead. Then he goes on—and simply hands himself over to the enemy. He’s a prisoner of war—under Derek’s name.
“He manages to escape, and the escape is put down to Derek’s credit. But, of course, Derek never turns up again; and naturally people suppose that he must have died of exposure in his last attempt, or been shot at the frontier, or something of that sort. Meanwhile Staveley, once out of Germany, drops his borrowed identity, probably changes his name, and disappears. I suspect he was in very hot water with the military authorities, and was only too glad of the chance to vanish for good.
“After the war, he evidently got in amongst a queer gang, and lived as best he could. Billingford’s evidence points to that. And somewhere among this shoal of queer fish he swam up against our friend Cargill. My reading of the thing is that somehow Staveley gave away—perhaps in his cups—something of what I’ve given you as my guess; and Cargill, remembering his disfigured brother, saw a grand scheme to be worked by putting forward his brother as claimant to the Foxhills property.
“It wasn’t half so wild a plan as the Tichborne business, and you know how that panned out at the start. So the three of them set to work to see the thing through. Staveley, I suspect, got hold of Aird, who had invaluable information about all the affairs at Foxhills in the old days. Then they went to work systematically with their card-index and noted down everything that Aird and Staveley could remember which would bear on the case.
“That accounts for the delay in the claimant turning up. It probably was quite recently that Staveley fell in with Cargill. And evidently the delay points to the fact that Staveley wasn’t the originator of the notion, else he’d have got to work much earlier. It was only when he fell in with Cargill, who had a brother suitable to play the part of the claimant, that anything could be done. Then they must have spent some time in unearthing Aird.
“Well, at last they’re ready. They come down to Lynden Sands with their card-index handy. Now, the claimant doesn’t want to appear in public more than he can help, for every stranger is a possible danger to him. He might fail to recognise some old friend, and the fat might be in the fire. Nor does Staveley want to show himself; for his presence might suggest the source of the claimant’s information. Aird’s in the same position. And when they learn that
