Douglas, alias Donnell, was, it appeared, still in his cabin, and the two went thither. He was in bed, and rose to open the door. When he saw Tanner his eyes started from his head with amazement, then his jaw dropped and his face went grey. Stepping quickly back, he collapsed on to the cabin sofa and sat staring helplessly.
“William Douglas or Walter Donnell,” Tanner said solemnly, “I arrest you on a charge of being concerned in the death of the late Sir William Ponson, of Luce Manor, Halford. I have to warn you that anything you say will be used against you.”
The man made a desperate effort to pull himself together.
“My God!” he gasped. “How did you trace me?” Then, Tanner not replying, he went on with pitiable earnestness:
“But you’ve made a mistake. I am innocent. I know the circumstances look bad, but I’m innocent, I swear it in God’s name.”
“That will do,” said Tanner not unkindly. “You’ll have every chance to put yourself right if you can do it. But you’ll have to come back to London with me. And for your own sake, the less you say the better.”
For a moment the idea of making a desperate resistance seemed to cross the prisoner’s mind. Then, apparently realising his hopeless position, he said quietly, “I’ll go with you. Let me pack my things.”
Tanner nodded, keeping a keen eye on the other’s movements for fear he would attempt suicide. But such an idea did not seem to occur to him. He dressed and packed expeditiously enough, and then said he was ready to go.
The launch was waiting, and in a few minutes they stood on the deck of the Chrysostom, homeward bound. Presently the anchor was hoisted and the vessel, swinging round, commenced her 1,200 mile trip to Liverpool.
Having explained his business to the captain and seen Douglas securely locked in a cabin, Tanner stood leaning on the rail of the upper deck, watching the pleasantly situated town slip slowly astern. He could see the Cathedral of Belem standing, damaged, just as it was left by the earthquake of . Then out of the mouth of the river and past the picturesque pleasure resort of Mont Estoril, with, just beyond it, the sleepy, old-world village of Cascaes till, rolling easily in the Atlantic swell, they turned northwards. The Burlings Islands, which they passed later in the day, were the last land they saw until, on the , they awoke to find themselves lying in the Mersey. By Tanner and his prisoner were in London.
XIII
Blackmail?
When Inspector Tanner reached his office in New Scotland Yard, he found an instruction from Chief Inspector Edgar, informing him that Mr. James Daunt, of Lincoln’s Inn, had important evidence to give him relative to the Ponson case. Accordingly, after he had made a formal report on his Portuguese expedition, he called up Jimmy and arranged a meeting. A few hours later he was seated in the solicitor’s office, smoking one of the latter’s best cigars.
“My Chief says you have something to tell me?” he began, after mutual greetings.
“Why yes,” Jimmy replied. “Did your Chief tell you what it was?”
“Didn’t see him. He’s in Manchester.”
“I fancy you’ll be surprised. You recollect you told me you had suspected Cosgrove Ponson, but that he had established an alibi and so must be innocent?”
Tanner nodded as he drew at his cigar.
“That’s right,” he agreed.
“You were satisfied the alibi was sound?”
“Absolutely.”
“It’s a fake,” said Jimmy quietly.
Tanner took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at the other.
“Get along now, Mr. Daunt,” he answered. “You’re trying to pull my leg.”
“No. The thing’s a fake right enough. Cosgrove was at the boathouse that night.”
Tanner stared incredulously.
“You seem in earnest,” he said slowly. “But you’ve made a mistake. I went into it carefully. There’s no doubt it’s sound.”
“It’s you that have made the mistake,” Daunt answered pleasantly, and he went on to tell the Inspector what he and Lois had done, and all they had discovered.
To say that Tanner was amazed and disappointed would be to understate the case. He was woefully chagrined.
“God bless my soul!” he cried, “but that sort of takes a chap down. Here was I looking down on you and that splendid girl as a pair of meddling nuisances, and I’m blowed if you haven’t had it over on me all the time.”
“Well,” said Jimmy, “tit for tat.”
The Inspector eyed him almost aggressively.
“And what now?” he demanded.
“Why this. I’ve told you what we did about Cosgrove. Now you tell me what took you to Portugal.”
“Oh, that,” answered Tanner looking relieved. “It’s irregular, but I’m blessed if I care.” He re-lit his cigar, which in his agitation he had allowed to go out, and beginning with the day of the adjourned inquest, he recounted his adventures in London and in Devon, the midnight run to Southampton, the flight to Paris, the journey to Lisbon, and finally the arrest of William Douglas. When he had finished, James Daunt was nearly as surprised and mystified as the Inspector had been a few minutes earlier.
“ ’Pon my soul, a most extraordinary business,” he commented. “There’s Austin, first suspected, then cleared, then suspected again and arrested, and now cleared again. Then there’s Cosgrove, first suspected, then cleared, and now suspected again. And now, here’s a third man mixed up in the thing. I suppose the next thing that comes out will clear Douglas!”
“I don’t think,” Tanner answered. “But what do you mean by saying Austin is now cleared again? It’s the first I’ve heard of that.”
“Why, Cosgrove was clearly impersonating him.”
“Not on your life,” said Tanner with decision. “Mark my words, Mr. Daunt, they were all there—Sir William and Austin and Cosgrove and Douglas. Every blooming one of them was there. See here,” he continued as the other showed signs of dissent, “there’s evidence against every one of them. Sir William was seen there. Austin was seen too, and there’s no doubt
