“To be strictly truthful,” he answered, “I admit he did give me the impression that he was holding something back. But of course it was only an impression, and I may have been wrong.”
She nodded slowly and then said, “I think, Jimmy, I must see him myself.”
This was what her cousin had feared, and he felt he must exert all his powers of diplomacy to prevent it.
“Well, you know, Lois,” he answered truthfully, “I had that in my mind. I hardly liked to suggest it. But undoubtedly if he does know anything, he would tell you when he mightn’t tell me.”
She looked at him in unveiled surprise, but only said:
“Can you arrange an interview for ?”
“I would try if you thought that would be best. But I was going to suggest waiting until Tanner has investigated the affairs of Douglas. He believes, and I agree with him, that there was some private business between Douglas and Sir William, which, if we knew it, would clear up the whole affair.”
“Ah,” said Lois comprehendingly.
“If Austin,” Jimmy went on desperately, “is really holding anything back, we may take it he has a good reason for doing so. Unless it becomes really necessary—and it has not, so far—it would be better not to try to force his confidence. He will tell us when he thinks it right.”
“Really, Jimmy,” Lois smiled faintly, “you are quite coming on. I don’t say you have persuaded me, but I will agree to postpone my visit—shall we say for a week?”
“When Tanner returns from Devonshire I shall see him, and let you know his report immediately,” returned the relieved but suspicious Daunt.
They continued discussing the affair for some time. Jimmy could see that in spite of the brave face Lois put on things, she was deeply worried and despondent. Never had he admired her more. He marvelled at her belief in Austin, her assurance that he, Jimmy, was doing the utmost possible, her fairness to Tanner, and her utter and absolute forgetfulness of herself. As he saw her to the train he felt his resolution strengthened, to spare himself neither time nor money to bring about the result she desired.
When Tanner left Daunt’s office on , he returned at once to the Yard. First he arranged for Cosgrove to be shadowed, in case that gentleman, learning of Douglas’s arrest, might consider discretion the better part of valour and disappear. Then he busied himself in reexamining the witnesses of Cosgrove’s movements on the night of the murder, which the efforts of Lois and Daunt had unearthed. When he had heard their statements he had to admit himself convinced of the cousin’s duplicity.
After a consultation with his chief a warrant was issued, and Tanner went to the flat in Knightsbridge and executed it. When cautioned, Cosgrove made no statement beyond earnestly and emphatically protesting his innocence, and declaring that a terrible mistake had been made.
A detailed search of the flat revealed one or two things which Tanner had not already known. As he had suspected on the occasion of his first visit, Cosgrove had a second desk for his more private papers. In the dressing-room was an old Sheraton escritoire, and there the Inspector found complete information about his prisoner’s finances. The latter appeared even more involved than Tanner had suspected, which of course strengthened the motive for the murder, and therefore the case against the accused.
But this was not all. The motive had been stronger than any merely financial embarrassment could have made it. In the same desk was a bundle of letters from the actress at the Follies, Miss Betty Belcher. These showed that Cosgrove’s relations with her had been extremely intimate. For a considerable time he had evidently been pressing her to marry him, and in one letter, dated about three weeks before Sir William’s death, she had openly admitted she loved him and would marry him if only he were rich. “You know, Cos.,” the rather cynical letter went on, “it would be absurd for me to think of marrying a poor man. I have been too long accustomed to all that money gives to contemplate any other kind of life. If you had a fortune—well, I might consider it, but as things are you must see it would be out of the question.”
“He must have been far gone to want to marry her after that,” mused Tanner, “but he evidently did, for here a week later is another letter in the same strain.”
He filed the papers in the Cosgrove dossier, from which they duly found their way into the hands of the public prosecutor.
The next item on Tanner’s list was a similar search in Douglas’s cottage, and on this business the detective found himself once more seated in the from Paddington, on his second journey to Devonshire.
He thought he was beginning to get some kind of grasp of the case. It was evident that Austin and Cosgrove, separately and individually, had each the two strongest motives known to weak humanity for desiring Sir William Ponson’s death. In each case there was the direct want of money. But in each case also, to this crude desire was added the more subtle and infinitely more powerful consideration that the money was for the loved one. Neither man could accomplish the marriage upon which he had set his heart, and live afterwards in the way he wished, without more money, and by Sir William’s death this money could alone be obtained.
So much was obvious, but the facts seemed to permit a further conclusion. Suppose these two, knowing of each other’s position, had conspired together to commit the crime which would relieve the necessities of both? In some way not yet clear they had lured Sir William to the boathouse, met him there, committed the murder, and arranged the matter of the boat to create the impression of accident. In case suspicion should be aroused, each had worked out a false but
