William Ponson, though he had acted throughout in a strictly honourable manner, had never ceased to love Ethel. He bided his time for over two years, then, calling on the widow, he told her of his love and boldly pressed his suit. She then realised that she had loved him all along, and though at first she refused to consider his proposal, his steady insistence wore down her opposition and in , five years after he had first loved her, he obtained his desire, and they were married. The trouble through which she had passed had profoundly modified her character, sobering her and bringing out all that was best in her, and her life with William Ponson, though quiet, had been truly happy. Two children were born, Austin and Enid.
“And you said the other Dale went to the States, I think?” asked Tanner, when he had learnt the above facts.
“Edward? Yes, he got into difficulties too. He was a born gambler. He was owing money everywhere, and the place got too hot for him. He went to the States shortly after Tom was married.”
Tanner felt he had done well. Almost first shot he had found this Mr. Clayton and obtained information which must prove of the utmost value. But he had stayed chatting to and pumping the old man for an unconscionable time, and he began to express his thanks, preparatory to taking his leave. And then an idea flashed into his mind, and he sat motionless for some moments, thinking.
“What was the Dale brother, Edward, like in appearance?” he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
“Like enough to his brother Tom, but not so good looking, nor with such good manners by a long chalk. But passably well looking for all that.”
“But was he a small man?”
“Small? Ay, that he was—like Tom. Both were small men.”
Could it be? Edward Dale, a little man with small hands and feet, knowing all about William Ponson’s youth—knowing probably a good deal more than Mr. Clayton had told or perhaps knew—Edward Dale, a clerk, had gone to America and disappeared. William Douglas, a little man with small hands and feet, and apparently knowing intimate facts about Sir William Ponson—William Douglas, a clerk, had come from America, his youthful history being unknown. Could they be one and the same?
The more Tanner thought over this theory, the more likely it seemed. As he sat smoking with Mr. Clayton in the pleasant garden, he went over in his mind all that he had learnt of each man, and was unable to recall anything inconsistent with the hypothesis.
But how could he test it? He must make sure. But how?
There was of course one obvious possibility. Mr. Clayton, if confronted with Douglas, might recognise him as Edward Dale. Or Douglas might recognise Mr. Clayton, and so give himself away. It was not a certainty, but it would be worth trying. The Inspector turned to his host.
“I believe, sir,” he said, “that if I told you just what was troubling me, you might be able to help me out, if you would. I was asking you about Edward Dale, but I did not tell you much about the man we arrested. In the first place, Douglas, as he says his name is, came to England from New York, where he was employed as a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway for several years. We have traced his movements back to , previous to which we can discover nothing whatever about him. Now, you tell me Edward Dale left for the States about the year , and has since been lost sight of. That is coincidence Number One.”
Mr. Clayton nodded without speaking. He was listening with eager attention.
“Next,” continued Tanner, “I did not tell you whose murder the man Douglas was suspected of. It was that of Sir William Ponson.”
“God bless my soul!” cried the other, “you don’t say so? A terrible affair that. And you think you’ve got the man, do you? All I can say is, I’d like to see him hanged.”
“It seems clear from various things,” Tanner went on, “that the trouble originated before Douglas went to America. Now Edward Dale knew Sir William in those days. That is coincidence Number Two.”
“You said, I think, that Douglas’s history could not be traced before he became a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway? How then do you know he left England prior to that?”
“We don’t absolutely know, but we think it for two reasons: first, he can speak with a North of England accent, and secondly, that in an old book of his we found the photograph of the Dales’ grave.”
The other nodded.
“That photograph,” continued Tanner, “is coincidence Number Three. Few men would have such a photograph unless it represented something connected with their own families. And coincidence Number Four, Mr. Clayton, is this. Douglas is a very short man with very small hands and feet.”
“God bless my soul!” Mr. Clayton exclaimed again. “But this is most interesting. Go on, Mr. Tanner.”
“Well, sir, that leads me up to a very obvious question. You must have guessed it. You have known Dale intimately in the past; could you identify him now?”
Tanner sat back in his chair and drew at his cigar. The other did not answer for a moment. Then as he slowly refilled his pipe, he said hesitatingly:
“I hardly like to say. Thirty-eight years is a long time, and a man might change a lot during it. I think I would recognise Edward if I saw him, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“Then, sir, my second question follows naturally. Will you come up to London and try?”
The other smiled.
“It’s a long journey for a man of my years,” he said, “but I imagine
