The Hog’s Back Mystery E-Book

Freeman Wills Crofts

• Herausgeber: Reading Essentials
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The Hog's Back is a ridge in Surrey and the setting for the disappearance of several locals. A doctor vanishes, followed by a nurse with whom he was acquainted, then a third person. Inspector French deduces murder, but there are no bodies. 

Leseprobe

The Hog's Back

by Freeman Wills Crofts

First published in 1933

This edition published by Reading Essentials

Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

The Hog’s Back Mystery

by

CONTENTS

I

St. Kilda

II

The Red Cottage

III

Missing from his Home

IV

Inspector French Takes Hold

V

The Problem

VI

Enquiries

VII

Slade

VIII

The London Lady

IX

Farnham Again

X

Polperro

XI

What Sheaf Thought

XII

Ursula Stone

XIII

The Two Depressions

XIV

Slade’s Sunday

XV

Oak Panelling

XVI

French arranges an Experiment

XVII

And Carries it Out

XVIII

The Case Twists

XIX

Chemical Analysis

XX

Disappointment

XXI

Action at Last

XXII

French Propounds a Theory

XXIII

And Establishes It

CHAPTER IST. KILDA

“Ursula! I am glad to see you!” Julia Earle moved forward to the carriage door to greet the tall, well-dressed woman who stepped down on the platform of the tiny station of Ash in Surrey.

“Julia! This is nice!” They kissed affectionately, then the new arrival swung round to a second woman who had followed in the wake of the first.

“And Marjorie! My goodness, Marjorie,”—they also kissed—“when I remember the last time I saw you! I declare we haven’t met since Bolsover. How many years ago is that?”

“Don’t let’s think. You’re not much altered, Ursula. I should have known you easily.”

“Nor are you; wonderfully little.” She turned back to the first woman. “And how’s the world, Julia?”

The interchange of reunion was interrupted in order to superintend the removal by a porter of Ursula Stone’s two suitcases from the carriage and their conveyance by the same agency to a waiting car.

“Where will you sit?” went on Julia: “in front with me or behind with Marjorie?”

“Oh, in front. I always like this drive. A lovely country, isn’t it, Marjorie?”

“In its way, yes. Of course where I’m living is much finer, but this Surrey landscape is more restful.”

“I forget your headquarters now, Marjorie. San Remo, isn’t it?

“Rocquebrune; close to Rocquebrune, that is. You know it perhaps; just beyond Monte Carlo?”

“I’ve passed it in the train. I love all that coast.”

Meanwhile Julia had started up the Morris saloon and they were soon bowling along towards the ridge of the Hog’s Back, which presently came into view as their southern horizon. Julia Earle and her husband, a retired doctor, had settled down in the heart of wild Surrey, though, as they were only some four miles from Farnham, and little more from Guildford and Godalming, they could not be said to be entirely divorced from civilisation. Though she had made many friends in the neighbourhood, Julia found the life lonely, and to have two visitors simultaneously was a pleasure she had not enjoyed for a long time.

Of these two, Marjorie Lawes, her unmarried sister, was the greater stranger. Marjorie liked heat and sunshine and she ordered her goings to the vagaries of Nature in this respect. She was a migrant. Winter drew her to Egypt; spring and autumn she spent on the Riviera, while in summer she penetrated as far north as Switzerland or the Dolomites. She lived by her pen. “Not serious stuff, you know, my dear,” she would truly say. Sentiment, splashed lavishly on in huge purple patches, was her standby. Her simple tales of the loves of earls and typists, turned out in bulk, paid well enough for her needs and a little over, and formed just the interest required to keep her mind keen and fit.

Ursula Stone was no relation of the sisters, but at school the three had been inseparable and they had kept up their intimacy. Ursula had not married and now she lived a placid life at Bath, where she was popular enough in the local society. An occasional letter had prevented her getting entirely out of touch with the sisters, and after the Earles had moved to their present house Julia had asked her to pay them a visit. That was four years ago. This time she had been invited specially to meet Marjorie, who was spending a few weeks in England.

Julia, reaching the top of the hill up which they had been climbing, cautiously nosed the car out on to the high-speed Guildford-Farnham road which here runs along the spine of that curious narrow ridge known as the Hog’s Back. The others instinctively paused to watch for approaching traffic; then as they turned west, their voices broke out again.

“Tell me about yourself, Ursula,” Marjorie went on. “You’re living at Bath?”

“Yes, I’ve got a cottage perched up on Bathwick Hill. It’s a nice position. The town lies in the valley and you see across it to the hills beyond.”

“And what do you do with yourself?”

Ursula smiled. “My hospital! I call it mine because I like working for it so much. It’s a children’s hospital and I’m honorary secretary. It’s fascinating work, though it would make you weep tears of blood to see some of the little mites that are in it.”

Marjorie shrugged. “More useful than my job. But then I couldn’t afford it. Tell me, have you ever come across the Bantings?” And the talk went back to school days.

Except from the point of view of age—none of them would see thirty-five again—the three women contrasted both in appearance and manner. Ursula Stone was tall and slight with a facial angle approaching the vertical. All her lines indeed were vertical. Her narrow forehead was high, and instead of retreating seemed to project further forward as it rose, her nose was thin and aquiline, and her pointed chin was set well forward. Good features, all of them. With her very erect carriage and well-cut clothes she was an interesting, indeed a striking figure. Her manners were old-fashioned, courteous and unworldly, and she had the air of living in an age that has gone.

Julia Earle was also a handsome woman, tall, fair, with a commanding presence, and extremely well dressed. She was the sort of woman whom men turn to look at in the street. She did not look her age, not by a dozen years. A kind of competence radiated from her. One felt instinctively that she would hold her own in any company and deal efficiently with any situation that might arise. There was indeed too marked a hardness in her face, a hardness notably absent from Ursula’s.

Her sister, Marjorie Lawes, while neither so good-looking nor so well dressed, gave an impression of greater kindliness. Marjorie was smaller and thinner and had grown slightly wizened. Her skin was darkened from southern suns, showing up more prominently her greying hair. She was the only one of the three to wear glasses, through which gazed out upon the world a pair of extremely intelligent greenish-grey eyes.

They had turned south from the Hog’s Back through the quaint old-world village of Seale, and now were passing through the dense pine woods of Hampton Common. At a cross-roads they turned to the left through a still thicker wood of oak, beech and ash, with plenty of birch and nut trees; an almost impenetrable thicket. Presently Julia slowed down.

“Here we are,” she said, turning the car into a narrow gateway which bore on a plate the name “St. Kilda.”

A short curving drive brought them to the house, a typical modern South of England cottage, with lower walls of purple brick, upper storey and roof of “antique” red tiles and steel-framed casement windows. In front and at both sides the trees had been cleared back to leave room for a small garden. All round was the wood. The place had struck Ursula on her one former visit as small but fascinating, and immediately she felt once again its restful charm.

But what had most impressed her then, and now impressed her more than ever, was the isolation of the house. As far as appearances went it might be the only dwelling in the world.

“Oh no,” Julia said when she commented on this; “Colonel Dagger lives just down the road and the Forresters are close to him. There are plenty of houses about, but you don’t see them because of the trees.”

Ursula was tired from her journey. It had been good up to Reading, where she had changed. But the local train through Farnborough took a leisurely interest in the surrounding country, stopping whenever possible and being in no hurry to restart.

Not till she came down dressed for dinner did Ursula see her host. Dr. Earle was a small, rather insignificant-looking man of about sixty with a round face of that high colour so often associated with heart affections. He had lived and practised in Godalming until some six years earlier. Then he had come into a little money, and hating general practice and loving research, he had obtained a partner, a Dr. Campion, to take over the heavy end of the work. He had bought St. Kilda for himself, intending to devote himself to writing a book on some abstruse theory he had formed on the culture of germs. Before, however, he had moved out, he had met with an accident and gone to Brighton to recuperate. There he had met and married Julia Lawes. Now he greeted Ursula with a shy cordiality which somehow convinced her that he was really pleased that she had come.

“So glad to see you again, Miss Stone,” he said with a smile. “I hope you had a comfortable journey?”

Ursula reassured him and they began to chat. On her previous visit she had liked James Earle. She had found him unassuming and retiring and anxious to do what he could to make her visit pleasant. Also though surprisingly ignorant of books other than scientific treatises, he was fond of light reading, and she had enjoyed the appreciation he had shown when introduced to some of her favourites.

“What have you been doing with yourself lately, Dr. Earle?” she asked.

“Nothing very much, I’m afraid,” the little man smiled. “A little golf, a little writing, some work in the garden, still unhappily a few patients—I’ve tried to get rid of them without success—some books: particularly some books. Have you read——?” And they seemed quite naturally to slip into their relations of four years earlier. But it didn’t last long. Julia and Marjorie soon came in and they moved to the dining-room.

During dinner Ursula realised with some small feeling of regret that what she had anticipated during her previous visit had come to pass. Then the Earles had not long settled down at St. Kilda: it was just a couple of years since their marriage. Though both were advanced in age, they had been very much Mr. and Mrs. Newly-Wed: Julia was evidently newfangled and amused with her unwonted position and was fond in a maternal sort of way of her elderly boy, for James Earle was just a grownup boy. As for him, he obviously doted on her. Now things were changed. Earle clearly had not stood up to his wife, with the result that she had taken command and now appeared to give him but little consideration. Inevitable, Ursula thought, from their respective temperaments, but rather distressing. Not that Julia was at all unpleasant to her husband; simply she did not appear to consider him of any account in her scheme of things. But Earle did not seem at all unhappy. It was just that Ursula thought they had missed a companionship which they might so easily have had.

The evening passed uneventfully in bridge, and when Ursula went to bed it was with feelings of satisfaction that she had come. She had enjoyed her previous visit to this charming country and she believed she was going to enjoy the coming fortnight. Marjorie’s presence was an added pleasure. Ursula had always liked Marjorie better than Julia. Julia she had found a little bit too conscious of the side on which her bread was buttered, but Marjorie would have shared her last crust with a stranger.

The next day the weather seemed to confirm Ursula’s optimism. It was one of those charming autumn days which are not uncommon in south-eastern England. The sun shone placidly with a comfortable warmth, reflecting mellow lights from the rich colouring of the turning leaves and drawing delightful aromatic scents from the woods. The twittering of birds cut sharp across the soft cooing of distant pigeons. Stretched lazily on its side on the grass lay the Earles’ big black cat, the epitome of luxurious ease, yet with a wary eye on the birds and an occasional thump of its tail on the ground as a protest against their presence. No wonder Ursula felt optimistic. Yet had she been able to foresee the future she would have recoiled with horror and without a moment’s delay would have fled from St. Kilda and all connected with it.

It was indeed on that very day that the first of those small incidents occurred which were to lead up to the awful culmination which spelled tragedy for the party and gave a thrill to the entire country. The occupants of St. Kilda had dispersed on their lawful occasions. Earle had gone to play golf, walking: the clubhouse was only some half-mile back along the road to the station. Marjorie had disappeared to her room to write, while Julia was busy with household chores. Ursula, finding a deck-chair in the hall, had fixed it in a shady corner of the garden and opened a new novel. But she didn’t read with diligence. The sun and air were soporific and with closed eyes she lay in dreamy content.

Presently she became faintly conscious of a movement behind her. Julia, she supposed, and she prepared to congratulate her on the perfect setting of her home. But the movement ceased and Ursula sleepily imagined she had been mistaken. Then suddenly she felt a presence and opened her eyes.

A startled-looking young man was bending over her. His face was nearly on a level with her own and Ursula realised that he had been about to kiss her, in fact that she had missed the salute by a fraction of a second. He was a tall young man, tall and thin and rabbit-faced, with protruding mouth and retreating forehead and chin. He was obviously very much perturbed.

“Beg pardon, I’m sure,” he muttered, drawing hastily back. “I thought it was”—he checked himself quickly, adding, “someone else.”

“Oh,” said Ursula frigidly.

“Yes,” he went on, regaining confidence; “only saw your feet, you know; your face was hidden by the back of the chair. And that red dress”—again he broke off in confusion. “I mean—it was an accident. Sorry and all that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Ursula said very distinctly.

“No, no, of course not,” he agreed. Ursula could have boxed his ears. “But I waked you up, you know. Shouldn’t have done that. By the way, my name’s Slade, Reggie Slade. Live next door, you know.” He pointed vaguely to the trees ahead. “D’you happen to know if Mrs. Earle’s about?”

“I don’t know where Mrs. Earle is,” Ursula answered unhelpfully.

He took out his cigarette-case, selected a cigarette and slowly lit it.

“No?” he said. “I expect she’s indoors. Have a message for her, you know.” He paused, hung about undecidedly on one leg, then went on: “You’re Miss Stone, I suppose? Heard you were coming. Julia—I mean, Mrs. Earle—has been looking forward to your visit.”

Ursula wondered who this young man could be who seemed on such familiar terms with Julia Earle, for she had just grasped the significance of the reference to her dress. Julia had a dress of much the same colour; she had seen it in her wardrobe when in her room on the previous afternoon. Slade was certainly on very familiar terms; there was no doubt he had been going to kiss Julia, and what was more intriguing, Ursula was satisfied he would never have dared to do so unless he knew Julia would be a consenting party.

“I expect you’ll find Mrs. Earle in the house,” she said coldly, opening her book in a marked way.

But the young man showed no signs of taking the hint.

“Oh, come now, Miss Stone,” he said, looking round as if for a seat; “don’t be mad with me for a mistake, specially when I’ve apologised. Couldn’t have known it was you, you know.”

“I’m not in the least annoyed. Kindly allow me to get on with my book.”

“That means you are annoyed,” he grumbled. “It wasn’t as if——” He broke off and his face and tones grew suddenly eager as he added, “Here’s Julia!”

Ursula felt a little shocked as she looked at him. There was no mistaking the expression in his eyes. They had the adoring, worshipping look of a dog which fawns on its master. Whoever or whatever Reggie Slade might be, one thing about him was certain: he was utterly, overwhelmingly in love with Julia Earle.

Julia took no notice of him at first. She spoke cheerily to Ursula, asking her if she was cold and saying that if so there were rugs in the hall. Then she glanced at her other visitor frowningly.

“What on earth do you want?” she asked unpleasantly. “If it’s my husband, he’s gone out.”

The rabbit-faced young man looked so crestfallen that soft-hearted Ursula was sorry for him in spite of herself.

“It was only,” he stammered, “that I’ve—er—got the Bentley back. Just been into Farnham for her. She’s—er—going better than ever. I wondered if perhaps——”

“Oh, you were going to take James to play golf?” Julia mocked. “Well, he’s gone already.”

“Then there was that book,” the young fellow pleaded desperately.

“Oh yes, the financial book for Colonel Dagger. Yes, I’ll get it for you if you come in. Sure you’re all right, Ursula?”

“In heaven,” Ursula declared dreamily, and the others disappeared.

Ursula felt more than a little distressed at this development, though not wholly surprised. She was not taken in by Julia’s manner. That Julia had encouraged and was encouraging the young man she hadn’t the least doubt. Probably, thought Ursula, not at all cynically, but with the humorous toleration with which she had trained herself to look on life, Reggie Slade was bestowing that selfsame kiss at the present moment. Probably also he was receiving value for it. Julia had always been like that, ever since Ursula knew her. She couldn’t live without male admiration. Admittedly wherever she went she received it. And yet, until James Earle appeared, no one, so far as Ursula knew, had wished to marry her. Men were ready enough for a flirtation, but when things began to grow serious a bar to matrimony invariably appeared. Sometimes it was an existing wife, but usually that they suddenly found they had no money. For all of them knew that a poor man’s love was no good to Julia.

Ursula had indeed been surprised to hear of her friend’s marriage. She wondered, as she had wondered before, if it was Earle’s money which had proved the attraction. Earle was by no means rich, but he was comfortably off. Or was it that Julia thought she could so dominate a man of Earle’s temperament that she would be left free for any deviations from the narrow path to which she felt a drawing?

Suddenly Ursula felt ashamed of herself. This was no way to be thinking of her hostess, of her friend indeed, for during those years at school, and since, Julia had proved herself a real friend. Besides, though Julia had these little weaknesses, she was in other ways a real good sort. She was attractive socially, a pleasant companion, and good-natured—at least, so long as her good nature did not inconvenience herself.

All the same Ursula could not help feeling extremely sorry for James Earle. At his age and after his life of uncongenial work, he must have wanted to settle down and have a home. It looked as if he was scarcely getting all he had bargained for.

With a little sigh and a mental note to mind her own business instead of her neighbours’, Ursula resumed her book. But she had not read many pages before she was again interrupted. This time it was Marjorie.

“I saw you out here,” Marjorie announced, “and I felt I must come out and enjoy the day with you. There’s something mild and soothing about this English sun that you don’t get abroad. At home, or what I call home for this time of year, the light’s harder; there’s more glare.”

Marjorie had brought her writing-pad, but she did not seem in any hurry to resume work. The two women dropped into a desultory conversation. It was many years since they had met and there were multitudinous confidences to be exchanged.

The talk was at first about their various experiences during that long period of separation, then at last it turned to the present.

“You know, Ursula,” Marjorie said, staring before her into the distance and speaking more confidentially, “I’m not very happy about Julia and James. I’m afraid things are not going as well as one would have liked.”

“In what way, Marjorie?”

Marjorie moved uneasily. “I don’t exactly know,” she answered. “There seems to be a strain between them that shouldn’t be there. You haven’t noticed anything?”

“I think Julia’s a little bit too high-handed with Dr. Earle,” Ursula declared. “You remember last night at dinner. He wanted to go up to Town to some meeting, but no, he couldn’t do so. She wanted him to go with us to East Grinstead so that he could drive to that nursery for the shrubs while we were seeing the Leathems. It seemed a pity to me. There was no hurry about the shrubs, and why couldn’t he have gone to his meeting if he had wanted to?”

“It isn’t that; James didn’t mind about that. As a matter of fact I happen to know he wasn’t really particular whether he went to the meeting or not. Besides,”—she paused and glanced sideways at Ursula—“James is not so meek and mild as you think. He can be quite nasty to her if he wants to. I’ve heard him: quite nasty. I was surprised.”

Ursula smiled. “You don’t say so? I shouldn’t have believed it.”

“Well, it’s quite true. But she deserved it.” She paused again, then drew closer and sank her voice confidentially. “It’s Julia’s fault. I daren’t say anything: she wouldn’t take it from me. But you’re different. She’s always had an immense opinion of you and she’d listen to what you said. It’s just what you’d expect from Julia, it’s what she’s always done. She—well, she has men hanging about. That’s what annoys James so much.”

“Dear Marjorie, what could I say? It’s not my business. I suppose you mean Reggie Slade?”

Marjorie stared. “Goodness, Ursula! You almost frighten me. How could you possibly have known that?”

“I’ve become a detective in my old age,” Ursula smiled. “I’ve met the gentleman. He came up and introduced himself. He thought I was Julia. Then Julia came out and I could see from his face.”

“Did she encourage him?”

Ursula laughed outright. “Encourage is not exactly the word I should have used,” and she repeated Julia’s greeting.

Marjorie grunted. “She shouldn’t do it,” she protested. “James is the mildest of men, but even a worm will turn. I sometimes imagine that only for his patients he’d go away.”

“I thought he’d given up his practice?”

“So he has really, but some old patients insist on having him still. Besides, Dr. Campion—that’s the partner, you know—calls him in occasionally in consultation. Just after I came old Mr. Frazer died, and Dr. Campion had called him in there two or three times. I heard them talking about it. You know who I mean? Old Mr. Frazer of Frazer’s, the theatrical booking people?”

“That was the owner of that fine place near Compton?”

“Yes, a lovely place and a lovely house. They say he left pots of money; most of it to his wife, but a big chunk to his nephew, Mr. Gates, who lives there. I don’t care for them much.”

“Oh, then you know them?”

“Slightly. They were over here to see James the other day and I met them. She’s a rather polite icicle and he’s a rough diamond, with the emphasis on the adjective. Julia said he’s been a labourer in Australia, and he just sounds like it.”

“Seen life?”

“Perhaps, in its less civilised manifestations. People are talking about them already, staying on alone there in that big house. However, that’s their own business. We were talking of James and Julia. I wish, Ursula, you’d give Julia a hint. I believe she’d take it from you.”

Ursula didn’t think she would be given an opportunity, but agreed to do what she could, and the subject dropped.

“Funny that Dr. Campion should have come as assistant to James,” Ursula said presently. “You know they used to live at Bath; Howard—that’s Dr. Campion—and Alice and Flo, his sisters. I knew them well, or at least the girls.”

Marjorie nodded. “So Julia told me. I heard her speaking of Miss Campion. She was talking of asking her over. She said you would be sure to want to see her.”

“That’s good of Julia; I should like to.”

“I like Miss Campion.”

“Yes, Alice is a good sort. Tell me, Marjorie——” and the talk reverted once again to old acquaintances.

The day passed uneventfully. Earle did not appear at lunch, but he was home for dinner. Things seemed to go quite smoothly, and afterwards there was another game of rather mediocre bridge. They retired early, and next morning Ursula felt that she had quite settled down and that she was going to enjoy her fortnight with her old friends.

She little knew what the next few days would bring forth.

CHAPTER IITHE RED COTTAGE

It happened that Alice Campion was unable to come to the Earle’s on the afternoon on which Julia had asked her, and a couple of days later Ursula took advantage of a visit of Julia and Marjorie to Dorking to go over and lunch with her old friend. The Red Cottage was situated in the little village of Binscombe, some two miles from Godalming and five from St. Kilda. There was no direct railway, but the bus which passed St. Kilda ran within half a mile of the Red Cottage. In little more than half an hour after starting Ursula rang at the door.

Alice Campion was unfeignedly glad to see her visitor. “I was so sorry I couldn’t go over to St. Kilda,” she explained. “Some people were coming here whom I couldn’t very well put off. But I’m all the better pleased now, for I have you to myself.”

Miss Campion was small, stout, round-faced and jolly; good-tempered, a great talker and a staunch friend. When Ursula could get in a word she asked after Dr. Campion.

“Howard will be sorry to miss you,” his sister answered. “He’s out on his rounds and always lunches at Godalming. But all the better for me again. Now tell me what you have been doing with yourself since I saw you. Let’s see, how long ago is that? Why, it must be four years since you were here. The Earles went to St. Kilda six years ago—that’s two years before we came out here—and you paid your visit to them the year we arrived.”

Dr. Campion had, in fact, followed Dr. Earle’s example in taking a partner to live over the surgery in Godalming, while he moved out into the country at Binscombe.

Alice rattled on, not waiting for a reply. Ursula, who was really attached to her, sat smiling and putting in a word now and then, not to stem, but to direct the torrent. Listening indeed with somewhat wandering attention to the flow, Ursula presently became aware that she was being asked a question.

“How long am I staying?” she repeated. “Till Monday week, I think.”

“A pity it’s not longer. Flo’s coming on Saturday; I mean Saturday week, the Saturday before that Monday. You must wait and see her.”

Flo was the third member of the Campion family. She had lived with the others in Bath, and she and Ursula had been close friends.

“Flo! Is she really? Oh, I certainly must see her. I don’t like to think how many years it is since we met. But I’m afraid I couldn’t stay longer. I have to be home on Tuesday.”

“Put it off, whatever it is,” Alice urged. “It can get on quite well without you.”

“No, I really think I ought to go home. What about Sunday? Suppose I were to come over in the afternoon?”

“Come and spend the day on Sunday. That would be better than nothing.”

“Oh I couldn’t, Alice. I couldn’t leave Julia for the whole of my last day. But I’ll come in the afternoon.”

After some grumbling on the part of Alice Campion it was arranged that Ursula should go over in time for tea and stay for the evening, when Dr. Campion would run her back to St. Kilda.

“You must see the house,” Alice declared. “I don’t think we were settled in last time you were here.”

They went through all the rooms, of which Alice was evidently extremely proud. Ursula duly admired everything she saw, though to herself she admitted that the furniture was all very ordinary. Indeed, she was surprised that Alice had not shown better taste. However, she told herself that if it pleased Alice, it was efficiently serving its purpose.

One new and elaborate piece of furniture formed an exception to the rule, an inlaid and beautifully carved radio gramophone; really an ornament to any room. Ursula cried out with genuine delight when she saw it.

“Say that to Howard,” Alice answered. “He’s just finished making it and it’s the apple of his eye at present. If you praise it he’ll take you to his heart at once.”

“Making it?” Ursula repeated in astonishment. “You don’t mean that he made that case?”

“He made everything you see and fitted in all its works. And it has a very good tone too. Listen.” She turned a switch and the room was filled with the sickly pulsating throbs of a cinema organ.

“You must see his workshop,” Alice went on; “only he’d like to show it to you himself. He really can do anything with his hands. But of course he’s got good tools. I don’t know what that place hasn’t cost him,” and she produced further samples of Campion’s skill. Ursula was fond of anything mechanical and she took a mental note to remember to see the workshop on her next visit.

In discussing old times the day slipped quickly away, and evening had come and Alice had driven her guest to the St. Kilda bus before they had finished half what they wanted to say.

Ursula was enjoying her visit to the Earles. She had quite settled down into their ways, and she had the freedom to amuse herself that she so much liked. In the forenoon she lay about and read, while Marjorie added page after page to the latest tale of love and longing and Julia busied herself about the house. In the afternoon they usually went exploring, either in the car or on foot. James Earle spent a good deal of his time on the golf links, but sometimes he stayed working in his study or amusing himself in the most leisurely way with odd jobs about the place. After dinner they usually played bridge.

No discord had so far marred the visit. On several other occasions Reggie Slade had put in an appearance, after which he and Julia generally somewhat mysteriously vanished. In spite of Marjorie’s request Ursula had not spoken to Julia on the subject of Slade. She felt it would be a useless impertinence. It was not as if Julia were a girl. She was a woman of very nearly Ursula’s own age, and she knew what she was doing and how far she intended to go without advice from any other person. Ursula indeed felt that her interference would cost her her friend, and she did not see why she should pay this price for no adequate return.

Then one day a trifling but unpleasant incident took place which worried Ursula and made her fear that affairs at St. Kilda were in a more parlous state than she had supposed.

It occurred towards the end of her visit—on a Thursday, and she was leaving the following Monday. That morning Dr. Earle had said he was going to play on the Merrow links, near Guildford, and that he would stay afterwards for bridge, returning only in time for dinner. This had happened twice before since Ursula’s arrival and the intimation was received without comment. Shortly after breakfast he set off in the car.

He had scarcely gone when Ursula was called to the telephone. A great friend of hers, whom she had not seen for years, was passing through London that day on her way from South Africa to Yorkshire. Would Ursula come up and lunch with her?

Ursula would. Nothing special had been arranged for that afternoon. Julia, however, was overwhelmed with regrets. If only the message had come ten minutes earlier James could have taken her to Guildford. Now Ursula would have to walk to the Shackleford road for the bus. She could, of course, get the train at Godalming and she would be in plenty of time. But it was too unfortunate that the car had gone. ...

Ursula really did not mind in the least. She reassured Julia, said she would be back to dinner, and started off.

Again it was a lovely day and she enjoyed her journey. At Waterloo her friend met her, and as it was early for lunch, they decided to carry out one or two small commissions first. One of these took them to Marylebone Station, and it was when they were returning to the Marble Arch that the incident happened.

They were walking along the east side of Seymour Place, when near the crossing of Upper George Street a car overtook them, travelling at a very slow speed. Ursula glanced at it casually and instantly became rigid.

The car was Dr. Earle’s and in it sat Earle himself. For a moment Ursula could not believe her eyes and almost stopped, staring. But she had not been mistaken. It was James Earle beyond any shadow of doubt.

In a dream she watched the car. It pulled in to the pavement a few steps beyond where she and her companion were walking, and came to a stand. As it did so a lady whom she had vaguely noticed waiting on the footpath, stepped forward. Earle opened the door, the lady entered, and the car drove off, turning westwards at Upper Berkeley Street. It must have been held up at the Edgeware Road crossing, for when Ursula reached Upper Berkeley Street she glimpsed the car disappearing westwards into Connaught Street.

The little incident had taken place not more than a dozen feet from Ursula, and she had a good look at the woman. It was someone she had never seen before. She was young and rather plainly dressed in grey and was good-looking after the classical Grecian fashion. She seemed to know Earle well.

Scarcely hearing the “Someone you know?” of her friend, Ursula gazed after the retreating vehicle. James Earle! That quiet meek little man, with his uncomplaining acceptance of his wife’s vagaries, his shy friendship with herself and his unobtrusive interest in books! Here was another side to his character! She could not have imagined his taking the law into his own hands like this.

There was, of course, no earthly reason why her host should not come up in his car to Town, meet a lady, and drive her wherever she wanted to go. If that were all neither Julia nor anyone else could have had the least objection. But the fact that Earle should have thought it necessary to hide his action made all the difference. He had said that he was going to spend the day playing golf at Merrow. That statement changed an innocent meeting into a guilty one. He would have had no need to tell that story unless he had something to hide.

For Julia Ursula had no sympathy whatever. Julia had only got what she very richly deserved. At the same time, Ursula was sorry. She had no special moral scruples on these subjects, but her experience told her that such a state of affairs could lead only to unhappiness. Ursula wanted everyone to be happy, and it hurt her when she saw possible happiness being missed.

However, the affair was no business of hers. Dismissing it from her mind, she lunched with her friend, saw her off to the north and returned to Waterloo. But in the train the matter recurred to her. Gradually she began to wonder could she not have been mistaken. There really was something in that theory of doubles. She remembered how on one occasion at a musical festival at Cheltenham several people had come up and spoken to her, calling her Miss Oliphant. A strange and disconcerting experience! Probably this was a similar case. The man was exceedingly like Earle, but he was not Earle. Of course, on the other hand, there was the car. ...

Then Ursula thought that she was merely making a fool of herself; building up this vast edifice of distrust and suspicion on no real foundation whatever. Why should not the same thing have happened to Earle as had happened to herself? Why should not he too have received an unexpected message requiring his presence in Town?

This, she felt, was the explanation of the mystery. She was now curious to meet Earle, to hear him tell of this unexpected change in his plans.

When, however, they met for dinner Earle made no reference to his day. Ursula, however, watching him covertly, thought he seemed restless, as if trying to hide some repressed excitement. She could not control her interest in the affair, and in spite of her decision that it was not her business, she felt she must obtain some information.

“Did you have a good day’s golf, Dr. Earle?” she asked at the next pause in the conversation.

He started, unmistakably; started and paused before replying. Then with an evident effort he said: “Quite good. In fact, though I say it who shouldn’t, I covered myself with glory in going round in three less than I had done before. I don’t suppose I shall ever do such a thing again.”

Ursula was unhappily satisfied. Earle had spoken in a self-conscious way that left no doubt that he was lying. Indeed, it was his usually straightforward character which had prevented him from hiding it.

It was not then an unexpected call to Town. Ursula’s common sense warned her to let the thing alone, but her curiosity would not allow of this.

“I had an unexpected journey to-day,” she went on conversationally. “I was in Town. I lunched there.”

Earle was evidently suspicious, and though he achieved a creditable reply, it had no conviction. Disappointed, Ursula with an effort turned the conversation to the views visible from the train, and they began to discuss the country.

Sunday came without further incident, and after lunch Ursula took the Godalming bus and walked up from the Shackleford road to the Red Cottage. It was another splendid day, warm and summery as early September. Ursula was looking forward with a good deal of eagerness to seeing Flo Campion. Flo had been her special pal and for a dozen years they had not met. Flo was companion to a wealthy old lady, a great traveller. With her she had been twice round the world, and had spent months in China, Japan, the South Sea Islands, and other places out of the beaten tourist track.

The meeting proved as satisfying as Ursula had anticipated. Flo Campion was but little changed. No reserve had grown up which required to be thawed, and the two women were able to pick up their friendship at the point at which they had laid it down. Flo had seen much during her travels, and as she had the gift of putting her experiences in an interesting way, time passed quickly and pleasantly.

Shortly before dinner Howard Campion came in. He was a tall man, of rather slight build, though evidently healthy and muscular. His manners were quiet and direct, and though he was retiring rather than pushing, in his personality there seemed to Ursula latent force. She felt that he would be a good man in a tight place.

When they had chatted for some time Ursula turned the conversation to the radio gramophone. “Alice tells me you made it, Dr. Campion. I do think it’s a wonderful piece of work. I’ve never seen one which was a greater ornament to a room.”

Campion was obviously delighted. “Won’t you come and see my workshop, Miss Stone? I have a rather good lathe which might interest you, if you care for such things.”

The workshop was outside, a wooden shed, an extension of the garage. It was not large, but the most had been made of the space and it was scrupulously clean and tidy. There were several machine tools, all small, but all polished till they shone. In the centre was a tiny circular saw and planing machine. A mortising machine and a vertical drill stood against one wall, while against another was the lathe. Ursula did not understand all the gadgets of the latter, though the doctor explained them patiently. But she could see that it was a beautiful piece of work and admired it accordingly. Beside the circular saw was a well equipped bench with above it rows and rows of shining tools.

As they moved round Campion picked up a brown paper parcel from one of the shelves.

“Ah,” he said, “I had forgotten all about this. It just occurs to me that you might like it.”

“I, Dr. Campion? What is it?”

He unwrapped the paper. Within were some strangely shaped bits of three-ply wood, tiny hinges and other small metal objects, together with coloured and patterned papers.

“It’s a dolls’ house,” he explained. “One of those packets that the Handicrafts people put out. You know, the Weedington Street people, N.W.3. You have nothing to do but stick the pieces together. Here are the parts of the house, the windows, doors and so on, and this is brick paper for the walls and tile paper for the roof. I got it for a patient, a little girl of six, but before I could put it together the poor little mite died. Now it occurs to me that you might like it for your hospital.”

Ursula was genuinely grateful. “Oh, Dr. Campion, how good of you!” she said warmly. “I’d be just delighted. But can you send it after me? I’m afraid I’m going home to-morrow.”

“No need to do that. I’ll slip it together after dinner.”

“Can you really? In so short a time?”

Campion smiled. “Bless you, yes; it’s nothing of a job. I use a cold glue that sets very quickly. I’ll do it after dinner and you can take it with you.” He put down the bits of wood and pointed to a half-finished frame. “Here’s something that may interest you also. It’s supposed to be a combined tea-table and cake-stand. The tea will be here”; and he went on to describe the affair, which folded, and which was evidently an idea of his own of which he was very proud.

Ursula was interested and she talked about the scheme till Alice came out to say that dinner was ready.

Campion had not much to say at meals. Indeed, neither he nor either of the visitors had much chance to say anything. Alice’s tongue seldom ceased. Ursula indeed wondered how she was able to eat anything and keep the flow of conversation going. But all that she said was both interesting and kindly. Ursula enjoyed listening to her, though how long she would continue to do so she would not have prophesied.

After dinner the women returned to the drawing-room, while Campion went to his workshop to assemble the dolls’ house. Ursula got into an argument with Alice as to how she should go back to St. Kilda.

“I will not have Dr. Campion take out the car,” Ursula insisted. “There is a bus about nine and I’ll go by it. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Indeed, you’ll do nothing of the kind. You mustn’t go so early for one thing. Of course Howard will run you over. That was the arrangement from the beginning.”

Ursula gave in and they settled down to chat. Flo was full of a new tour her old lady was about to undertake. She was certainly a wonderful old woman, nearly seventy, and with the wanderlust of a girl of twenty. She wanted, it appeared, to cross the Andes before she died. It had been a dream with her for many years and now she was going to do it. She would go direct to Buenos Aires, then cross the continent to Valparaiso, and so up the coast, returning via the Panama Canal and New York.

Presently the doctor came in. He was carrying the assembled body of the dolls’ house, but without windows, fittings and decorative papers.

“This’ll give you an idea of what it’s going to look like, Miss Stone,” he said. “I wondered if you would like a brick house and a red roof, or a stone house with slates. I’ve got papers for both. Personally I like the brighter colours, but I think in Bath the others are the rule. What do you say?”

Ursula was delighted with the tiny structure. “Oh how splendid!” she cried enthusiastically. “The children will simply love it. It is good of you, Dr. Campion.” She turned to the others. “See what I’m getting for the hospital. What do you both think: bright colours or dull? Bright, I suggest.”

“You should have a red cottage,” said Flo, “to remind you of where it came from,” a suggestion which was unanimously agreed on.

“I’m running you over in the car of course,” Campion said, pausing as he reached the door. “Don’t forget that and try and slip off by the bus.”

“She was trying,” Alice put in; “in fact, she wanted right or wrong to go. But I wouldn’t let her. I told her you’d run her across.”

“Of course. It won’t take any time.”

“Very good of you all, I’m sure,” Ursula declared as Campion disappeared.

“There now,” said Alice, who never missed an opportunity of proving herself in the right, “you see you couldn’t have caught the bus even if you’d wanted to. You’d have had to leave now—without your dolls’ house.”

Ursula admitted it and took advantage of the change of subject to urge Alice and Flo to visit her at Bath. “Run over in the car,” she begged, “even if you only stay the night. Let’s have a walk over some of the old places.”

They both said that they would love it. Alice promised she would try to do it in the summer and Flo when, if ever, she got back from South America. This restarted the matter of the tour, and they discussed routes and ports of call and shore excursions till Campion again entered, this time with the completed house.

When the little building had been duly admired, Ursula said she must go.

“We’ll all go,” Alice declared. “It’s not a very big car, but we’ll manage it. Come on, Flo; you needn’t put on a hat. Bring round the car, Howard. Have you got your things, Ursula?”

That was Alice all over, arranging everything and everybody. But no one minded, and presently they all packed into the doctor’s small Standard and started on the five-mile run to St. Kilda.

CHAPTER IIIMISSING FROM HIS HOME

It was fine but cold as the party set out. The sky was clear and a brilliant three-quarter moon blotted out all but the brightest stars and threw the shadows of the trees black as ink across the road. There was no wind and save for the purr of the car everything was still. A fitting night to follow so splendid a day.

Campion drove quickly and in a few minutes they turned into the gate of St. Kilda. Then while Ursula slowly disentangled herself from her seat, Campion got out and rang the bell. Julia opened the door.

“Oh, is it you, Dr. Campion?” she greeted him, and her voice was sharp as if from anxiety. “Is James there?”

“No, Mrs. Earle, I’ve not seen him. I was just running Miss Stone back, and Alice and Flo came for the drive. What about Earle?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “He’s gone out, or I think he must have. But he didn’t say he was going out and all his hats are in the hall.”

“Oh,” Campion returned, “he’s gone to see Dagger or the Forresters. When did this happen?”

A shadow cut across the light from the hall and Marjorie appeared.

“Is it James?” she asked.

“No,” said Julia. “It’s the Campions bringing back Ursula.”

By this time, hearing the discussion, all three women had got out of the car.

“What is it, Mrs. Earle?” asked Alice. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Earle’s gone out and they don’t know where he is,” Campion explained. “When did this happen, Mrs. Earle?”

“An hour and a half ago: at twenty minutes to nine. Marjorie and I were able to fix the exact time.”

“And what exactly happened? Tell us the details.”

Julia stepped back into the hall. “Won’t you come in?” she invited. “Come into the sitting-room, Miss Campion. Come in”—she turned to Flo. “It’s cold out here at the door.”

The party moved slowly in and stood grouped about Mrs. Earle.

“He said nothing? Just walked out?” the doctor questioned.

“We didn’t hear him go out,” Julia went on. “I’ll tell you. We were alone, he and Marjorie and I. On Sunday evening Lucy goes out and I get supper. Well, we had supper as usual and then Marjorie helped me to wash up: I never like to leave the dirty things for the maid. Supper was about eight and I suppose was over about half-past eight.”

“Just half-past eight,” Marjorie interposed.

“Yes. Then we washed up and Marjorie went into the sitting-room. Tell them, Marjorie.”