The legend of Parson Rudall and the Botathen Ghost will be recognised by many Cornish people as a local remembrance of their boyhood. It appears from the diary of this learned master of the grammar-school--for such was his office, as ... Read more of The Botathen Ghost at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
Privacy
HOME  -  STORIES  -  CATEGORIES

A Child Of The Rain
A Difficult Problem
A Grammatical Ghost
A Memorable Night
A Mysterious Case
A Mystery With A Moral
A Spectral Collie
A Terribly Strange Bed
American Horses
An Astral Onion
An Intangible Clue
As Told By Mr Gryce
Bourgonef
From The Loom Of The Dead
His Last Bow
Hunted Down
Introduction To A Mystery With A Moral
Introduction To Melmoth The Wanderer
Melmoth The Wanderer
Missing: Page Thirteen
My Fascinating Friend
No 1 Branch Line: The Signal-man
On Being Found Out
On The Northern Ice
Problem Ix Violet's Own
Satire Of The Sea
Shall He Wed Her?
Story Of An Obstinate Corpse
Story Of The Vanishing Patient
The Adventure Of Black Peter
The Adventure Of Charles Augustus Milverton
The Adventure Of The Abbey Grange
The Adventure Of The Bruce-partington Plans
The Adventure Of The Cardboard Box
The Adventure Of The Dancing Men
The Adventure Of The Devil's Foot
The Adventure Of The Dying Detective
The Adventure Of The Empty House
The Adventure Of The Golden Pince-nez
The Adventure Of The Missing Three-quarter
The Adventure Of The Norwood Builder
The Adventure Of The Priory School
The Adventure Of The Red Circle
The Adventure Of The Six Napoleons
The Adventure Of The Solitary Cyclist
The Adventure Of The Three Students
The Adventure Of Wisteria Lodge
The Affair Of The Tortoise
The Avenger
The Birth-mark
The Black Cross
The Box With The Iron Clamps
The Bronze Hand
The Cambered Foot
The Case Of He Golden Bullet
The Case Of Mr Foggatt
The Case Of The Dixon Torpedo
The Case Of The Pocket Diary Found In The Snow
The Case Of The Pool Of Blood In The Pastor's Study
The Case Of The Registered Letter
The Closed Cabinet
The Coin Of Dionysius
The Disappearance Of Lady Frances Carfax
The Doctor His Wife And The Clock
The Dreaming Lady
The End Of The Road
The Fortune Teller
The Golden Slipper
The Gray Madam
The Great Valdez Sapphire
The Grotto Spectre
The Haunted And The Haunters Or The House And The Brain
The Hermit Of Street
The Hole In The Mahogany Panel
The House By The Loch
The House Of Clocks
The House That Was Not
The Incantation
The Jew's Breastplate
The Knight's Cross Signal Problem
The Last Adventure
The Last Exploit Of Harry The Actor
The Lenton Croft Robberies
The Loss Of Sammy Crockett
The Lost Lady
The Lost Room
The Man In The Green Hat
The Mortals In The House
The Mysterious Card
The Notch On The Ax - A Story A La Mode
The Oblong Box
The Old Stone House
The Piano Next Door
The Pumpkin Coach
The Quinton Jewel Affair
The Reward
The Room Of The Evil Thought
The Second Bullet
The Shape Of Fear
The Spread Rails
The Stanway Cameo Mystery
The Thing On The Hearth
The Torture By Hope
The Tragedy At Brookbend Cottage
The Wrong Sign
The Yellow Flower
Their Dear Little Ghost

The Sleuth Of St. James's Square

American Horses
Satire Of The Sea
The Cambered Foot
The End Of The Road
The Fortune Teller
The Hole In The Mahogany Panel
The House By The Loch
The Last Adventure
The Lost Lady
The Man In The Green Hat
The Pumpkin Coach
The Reward
The Spread Rails
The Thing On The Hearth
The Wrong Sign
The Yellow Flower



The Cambered Foot








I shall not pretend that I knew the man in America or that he was
a friend of my family or that some one had written to me about
him. The plain truth is that I never laid eyes on him until Sir
Henry Marquis pointed him out to me the day after I went down
from here to London. It was in Piccadilly Circus.

"There's your American," said Sir Henry.

The girl paused for a few moments. There was profound silence.

"And that isn't all of it. Nobody presented him to me. I
deliberately picked him up!"

Three persons were in the drawing-room. An old woman with high
cheekbones, a bowed nose and a firm, thin-lipped mouth was the
central figure. She sat very straight in her chair, her head up
and her hands in her lap. An aged man, in the khaki uniform of a
major of yeomanry, stood at a window looking out, his hands
behind his back, his chin lifted as though he were endeavoring to
see something far away over the English country - something
beyond the little groups of Highland cattle and the great oak
trees.

Beside the old woman, on a dark wood frame, there was a fire
screen made of the pennant of a Highland regiment. Beyond her
was a table with a glass top. Under this cover, in a sort of
drawer lined with purple velvet, there were medals, trophies and
decorations visible below the sheet of glass. And on the table,
in a heavy metal frame, was the portrait of a young man in the
uniform of a captain of Highland infantry.

The girl who had been speaking sat in a big armchair by this
table. One knew instantly that she was an American. The liberty
of manner, the independence of expression, could not be mistaken
in a country of established forms. She had abundant brown hair
skillfully arranged under a smart French hat. Her eyes were
blue; not the blue of any painted color; it was the blue of
remote spaces in the tropic sky.

The old woman spoke without looking at the girl.

"Then," she said, "it's all quite as" - she hesitated for a word
- "extraordinary as we have been led to believe."

There was the slow accent of Southern blood in the girl's voice
as she went on.

"Lady Mary," she said, "it's all far more extraordinary than you
have been led to believe - than any one could ever have led you
to believe. I deliberately picked the man up. I waited for him
outside the Savoy, and pretended to be uncertain about an
address. He volunteered to take me in his motor and I went with
him. I told him I was alone in London, at the Ritz. It was
Blackwell's bank I pretended to be looking for. Then we had
tea."

The girl paused.

Presently she continued: "That's how it began: You're mistaken to
imagine that Sir Henry Marquis presented me to this American. It
was the other way about; I presented Sir Henry. I had the run of
the Ritz," she went on. "We all do if we scatter money. Sir
Henry came in to tea the next afternoon. That's how he met Mr.
Meadows. And that's the only place he ever did meet him. Mr.
Meadows came every day, and Sir Henry formed the habit of
dropping in. We got to be a very friendly party."

The motionless old woman, a figure in plaster until now, kneaded
her fingers as under some moving pressure. "At this time," she
said, "you were engaged to Tony and expected to be his wife!"

The girl's voice did not change. It was slow and even. "Yes,"
she said.

"Tony, of course, knew nothing about this?"

"He knows nothing whatever about it unless you have written him."

Again the old woman moved slightly. "I have waited," she said,
"for the benefit of your explanation. It seems as - as bad as I
feared."

"Lady Mary," said the girl in her slow voice, "it's worse than
you feared. I don't undertake to smooth it over. Everything
that you have heard is quite true. I did go out with the man in
his motor, in the evening. Sometimes it was quite dark before we
returned. Mr. Meadows preferred to drive at night because he was
not accustomed to the English rule of taking the left on the
road, when one always takes the right in America. He was afraid
he couldn't remember the rule, so it was safer at night and there
was less traffic.

"I shall not try to make the thing appear better than it was. We
sometimes took long runs. Mr. Meadows liked the high roads along
the east coast, where one got a view of the sea and the cold salt
air. We ran prodigious distances. He had the finest motor in
England, the very latest American model. I didn't think so much
about night coming on, the lights on the car were so wonderful.
Mr. Meadows was an amazing driver. We made express-train time.
The roads were usually clear at night and the motor was a perfect
wonder. The only trouble we ever had was with the lights.
Sometimes one, of them would go out. I think it was bad wiring.
But there was always the sweep of the sea under the stars to look
at while Mr. Meadows got the thing adjusted."

This long, detailed, shameless speech affected the aged soldier
at the window. It seemed to him immodest bravado. And he
suffered in his heart, as a man old and full of memories can
suffer for the damaged honor of a son he loves.

Continuing, the girl said: "Of course it isn't true that we spent
the nights touring the east coast of England in a racer. It was
dark sometimes when we got in - occasionally after trouble with
the lights - quite dark. We did go thundering distances."

"With this person, alone?" The old woman spoke slowly, like one
delicately probing at a wound.

"Yes," the girl admitted. "You see, the car was a roadster; only
two could go; and, besides, there was no one else. Mr. Meadows
said he was alone in London, and of course I was alone. When Sir
Henry asked me to go down from here I went straight off to the
Ritz."

The old woman made a slight, shivering gesture. "You should have
gone to my sister in Grosvenor Square. Monte would have put you
up - and looked after you."

"The Ritz put me up very well," the girl continued. "And I am
accustomed to looking after myself. Sir Henry thought it was
quite all right."

The old woman spoke suddenly with energy and directness. "I
don't understand Henry in the least," she said. "I was quite
willing for you to go to London when he asked me for permission.
But I thought he would take you to Monte's, and certainly I had
the right to believe that he would not have lent himself to - to
this escapade."

"He seemed to be very nice about it," the girl went on. "He came
in to tea with us - Mr. Meadows and me - almost every evening.
And he always had something amusing to relate, some blunder of
Scotland Yard or some ripping mystery. I think he found it
immense fun to be Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department.
I loved the talk: Mr. Meadows was always interested and Sir Henry
likes people to be interested."

The old woman continued to regard the girl as one hesitatingly
touches an exquisite creature frightfully mangled.

"This person - was he a gentleman?" she inquired. The girl
answered immediately. "I thought about that a good deal," she
said. "He had perfect manners, quite Continental manners; but,
as you say over here, Americans are so imitative one never can
tell. He was not young - near fifty, I would say; very well
dressed. He was from St. Paul; a London agent for some flouring
mills in the Northwest. I don't know precisely. He explained it
all to Sir Henry. I think he would have been glad of a little
influence - some way to meet the purchasing agents for the
government. He seemed to have the American notion that he could
come to London and go ahead without knowing anybody. Anyway, he
was immensely interesting - and he had a ripping motor."

The old man at the window did not move. He remained looking out
over the English country with his big, veined hands clasped
behind his back. He had left this interview to Lady Mary, as he
had left most of the crucial affairs of life to her dominant
nature. But the thing touched him far deeper than it touched the
aged dowager. He had a man's faith in the fidelity of a loved
woman.

He knew how his son, somewhere in France, trusted this girl,
believed in her, as long ago in a like youth he had believed in
another. He knew also how the charm of the girl was in the young
soldier's blood, and how potent were these inscrutable mysteries.
Every man who loved a woman wished to believe that she came to
him out of the garden of a convent - out of a roc's egg, like the
princess in the Arabian story.

All these things he had experienced in himself, in a shattered
romance, in a disillusioned youth, when he was young like the lad
somewhere in France. Lady Mary would see only broken
conventions; but he saw immortal things, infinitely beyond
conventions, awfully broken. He did not move. He remained like
a painted picture.

The girl went on in her soft, slow voice. "You would have
disliked Mr. Meadows, Lady Mary," she said. "You would dislike
any American who came without letters and could not be precisely
placed." The girl's voice grew suddenly firmer. "I don't mean
to make it appear better," she said. "The worst would be nearer
the truth. He was just an unknown American bagman, with a motor
car, and a lot of time on his hands - and I picked him up. But
Sir Henry Marquis took a fancy to him."

"I cannot understand Henry," the old woman repeated. "It's
extraordinary."

"It doesn't seem extraordinary to me," said the girl. "Mr.
Meadows was immensely clever, and Sir Henry was like a man with a
new toy. The Home Secretary had just put him in as Chief of the
Criminal Investigation Department. He was full of a lot of new
ideas - dactyloscopic bureaus, photographie mitrique, and
scientific methods of crime detection. He talked about it all
the time. I didn't understand half the talk. But Mr. Meadows
was very clever. Sir Henry said he was a charming person.
Anybody who could discuss the whorls of the Galton finger-print
tests was just then a charming person to Sir Henry."

The girl paused a moment, then she went on

"I suppose things had gone so for about a fortnight when your
sister, Lady Monteith, wrote that she had seen Sir Henry with us
- Mr. Meadows and me - in the motor. I have to shatter a
pleasant fancy about that chaperonage! That was the only time
Sir Henry was ever with us.

"It came about like this: It was Thursday morning about nine
o'clock, I think, when Sir Henry, popped in at the Ritz. He was
full of some amazing mystery that had turned up at Benton Court,
a country house belonging to the Duke of Dorset, up the Thames
beyond Richmond. He wanted to go there at once. He was fuming
because an under secretary had his motor, and he couldn't catch
up with him.

"I told him he could have `our' motor. He laughed. And I
telephoned Mr. Meadows to come over and take him up. Sir Henry
asked me to go along. So that's how Lady Monteith happened to
see the three of us crowded into the seat of the big roadster."

The girl went on in her deliberate, even voice

"Sir Henry was boiling full of the mystery. He got us all
excited by the time we arrived at Benton Court. I think Mr.
Meadows was as keen about the thing as Sir Henry. They were both
immensely worked up. It was an amazing thing!"

"You see, Benton Court is a little house of the Georgian period.
It has been closed up for ages, and now, all at once, the most
mysterious things began to happen in it.

"A local inspector, a very reliable man named Millson, passing
that way on his bicycle, saw a man lying on the doorstep. He
also saw some one running away. It was early in the morning,
just before daybreak.

"Millson saw only the man's back, but he could distinguish the
color of his clothes. He was wearing a blue coat and
reddish-brown trousers. Millson said he could hardly make out
the blue coat in the darkness, but he could distinctly see the
reddish brown color of the man's trousers. He was very positive
about this. Mr. Meadows and Sir Henry pressed him pretty hard,
but he was firm about it. He could make out that the coat was
blue, and he could see very distinctly that the trousers were
reddish-brown.

"But the extraordinary thing came a little later. Millson
hurried to a telephone to get Scotland Yard, then he returned to
Benton Court; but when he got back the dead man had disappeared.

"He insists that he was not away beyond five minutes, but within
that time the dead man had vanished. Millson could find no trace
of him. That's the mystery that sent us tearing up there with
Mr. Meadows and Sir Henry transformed into eager sleuths.

"We found the approaches to the house under a patrol from
Scotland Yard. But nobody had gone in. The inspector was
waiting for Sir Henry."

The old man stood like an image, and the aged woman sat in her
chair like a figure in basalt.

But the girl ran on with a sort of eager unconcern: "Sir Henry
and Mr. Meadows took the whole thing in charge. The door had
been broken open. They examined the marks about the fractures
very carefully; then they went inside. There were some naked
footprints. They were small, as of a little, cramped foot, and
they seemed to be tracked in blood on the hard oak floor. There
was a wax candle partly burned on the table. And that's all
there was.

"There were some tracks in the dust of the floor, but they were
not very clearly outlined, and Sir Henry thought nothing could be
made of them.

"It was awfully exciting. I went about behind the two men. Sir
Henry talked all the time. Mr. Meadows was quite as much
interested, but he didn't say anything. He seemed to say less as
the thing went on.

"They went over everything - the ground outside and every inch of
the house. Then they put everybody out and sat down by a table
in the room where the footprints were.

"Sir Henry had been awfully careful. He had a big lens with
which to examine the marks of the bloody footprints. He was like
a man on the trail of a buried treasure. He shouted over
everything, thrust his glass into Mr. Meadows' hand and bade him
verify what he had seen. His ardor was infectious. I caught it
myself.

"Mr. Meadows, in his quiet manner, was just as much concerned in
unraveling the thing as Sir Henry. I never had so wild a time in
all my life. Finally, when Sir Henry put everybody else out and
closed the door, and the three of us sat down at the table to try
to untangle the thing, I very nearly screamed with excitement.
Mr. Meadows sat with his arms folded, not saying a word; but Sir
Henry went ahead with his explanation."

The girl looked like a vivid portrait, the soft colors of her
gown and all the cool, vivid extravagancies of youth
distinguished in her. Her words indicated fervor and excited
energy; but they were not evidenced in her face or manner. She
was cool and lovely. One would have thought that she recounted
the inanities of a curate's tea party.

The aged man, in the khaki uniform of a major of yeomanry,
remained in his position at the window. The old woman sat with
her implacable face, unchanging like a thing insensible and
inorganic.

This unsympathetic aspect about the girl did not seem to disturb
her. She went on:

"The thing was thrilling. It was better than any theater - the
three of us at the old mahogany table in the room, and the
Scotland Yard patrol outside.

"Sir Henry was bubbling over with his theory. `I read this
riddle like a printed page,' he said. `It will be the work of a
little band of expert cracksmen that the Continent has kindly
sent us. We have had some samples of their work in Brompton
Road. They are professional crooks of a high order - very clever
at breaking in a door, and, like all the criminal groups that we
get without an invitation from over the Channel, these crooks
have absolutely no regard for human life.'

"That's the way Sir Henry led off with his explanation. Of
course he had all that Scotland Yard knew about criminal groups
to start him right. It was a good deal to have the identity of
the criminal agents selected out; but I didn't see how he was
going to manage to explain the mystery from the evidence. I was
wild to hear him. Mr. Meadows was quite as interested, I
thought, although he didn't say a word.

"Sir Henry nodded, as though he took the American's confirmation
as a thing that followed. `We are at the scene,' he said, `of
one of the most treacherous acts of all criminal drama. I mean
the "doing in," as our criminals call it, of the unprofessional
accomplice. It's a regulation piece of business with the
hard-and-fast criminal organizations of the Continent, like the
Nervi of Marseilles, or the Lecca of Paris.

"`They take in a house servant, a shopkeeper's watchman, or a
bank guard to help them in some big haul. Then they lure him
into some abandoned house, under a pretense of dividing up the
booty, and there put him out of the way. That's what's happened
here. It's a common plan with these criminal groups, and clever
of them. The picked-up accomplice would be sure to let the thing
out. For safety the professionals must "do him in" at once,
straight away after the big job, as a part of what the barrister
chaps call the res gestae.'

"Sir Henry went on nodding at us and drumming the palm of his
hand on the edge of the table.

"`This thing happens all the time,' he said, `all about, where
professional criminals are at work. It accounts for a lot of
mysteries that the police cannot make head or tail of, like this
one, for example. Without our knowledge of this sinister custom,
one could not begin or end with an affair like this.

"`But it's simple when one has the cue - it's immensely simple.
We know exactly what happened and the sort of crooks that were
about the business. The barefoot prints show the Continental
group. That's the trick of Southern Europe to go in barefoot
behind a man to kill him.'

"Sir Henry jarred the whole table with his big hand. The surface
of the table was covered with powdered chalk that the baronet had
dusted over it in the hope of developing criminal finger prints.
Now under the drumming of his palm the particles of white dust
whirled like microscopic elfin dancers.

"`The thing's clear as daylight,' he went on: `One of the
professional group brought the accomplice down here to divide the
booty. He broke the door in. They sat down here at this table
with the lighted candle as you see it. And while the stuff was
being sorted out, another of the band slipped in behind the man
and killed him.

"`They started to carry the body out. Millson chanced by. They
got in a funk and rushed the thing. Of course they had a motor
down the road, and equally of course it was no trick to whisk the
body out of the neighborhood.'

"Sir Henry got half up on his feet with his energy in the
solution of the thing. He thrust his spread-out fingers down.
on the table like a man, by that gesture, pressing in an
inevitable, conclusive summing up."

The girl paused. "It was splendid, I thought. I applauded like
an entranced pit!

"But Mr. Meadows didn't say a word. He took up the big glass we
had used about the inspection of the place, and passed it over
the prints Sir Henry was unconsciously making in the dust on the
polished surface of the table. Then he put the glass down and
looked the excited baronet calmly in the face.

"`There,' cried Sir Henry, `the thing's no mystery.'

"For the first time Mr. Meadows opened his mouth. `It's the
profoundest mystery I ever heard of,' he said.

"Sir Henry was astonished. He sat down and looked across the
table at the man. He wasn't able to speak for a moment, then he
got it out: `Why exactly do you say that?'

"Mr. Meadows put his elbows on the table. He twiddled the big
reading glass in his fingers. His face got firm and decided.

"`To begin with,' he said, `the door to this house was never
broken by a professional cracksman. It's the work of a bungling
amateur. A professional never undertakes to break a door at the
lock. Naturally that's the firmest place about a door. The
implement he intends to use as a lever on the door he puts in at
the top or bottom. By that means he has half of the door as a
lever against the resistance of the lock. Besides, a
professional of any criminal group is a skilled workman. He
doesn't waste effort. He doesn't fracture a door around the
lock. This door's all mangled, splintered and broken around the
lock.'"

"He stopped and looked about the room, and out through the window
at the Scotland Yard patrol. The features of his face were
contracted with the problem. One could imagine one saw the man's
mind laboring at the mystery. `And that's not all,' he said.
`Your man Millson is not telling the truth. He didn't see a dead
body lying on the steps of this house; and he didn't see a man
running away.'

"Sir Henry broke in at that. `Impossible,' he said; 'Millson's a
first-class inspector, absolutely reliable. Why do you say that
he didn't see the dead man on the steps or the assassin running
away?'

"Mr. Meadows answered in the same even voice. `Because there was
never any dead man here,' he said, `for anybody to see. And
because Millson's 'description of the man he saw is
scientifically an impossible feat of vision.'

"Impossible?' cried Sir Henry.

"`Quite impossible,' Mr. Meadows insisted. 'Millson tells us
that the man he saw running away in the night wore a blue coat
and reddish-brown trousers. He says he was barely able to
distinguish the blue coat, but that he could see the
reddish-brown trousers very clearly. Now, as a matter of fact,
it has been very accurately determined that red is the hardest
color to distinguish at night, and blue the very easiest. A blue
coat would be clearly visible long after reddish-brown trousers
had become indistinguishable in the darkness.'

"Sir Henry's under jaw sagged a little. `Why, yes,' he said,
`that's true; that's precisely true. Gross, at the University of
Gratz, determined that by experiment in 1912. I never thought
about it!'

"`There are some other things here that you have not, perhaps,
precisely thought about,' Mr. Meadows went on.

"`For example, the things that happened in this room did not
happen in the night. They happened in the day.'

"He pointed to the half-burned wax candle on the table. `There's
a headless joiner's nail driven into the table,' he said, `and
this candle is set down over the nail. That means that the
person who placed it there wished it to remain there - to remain
there firmly. He didn't put it down there for the brief
requirements of a passing tragedy, he put it there to remain;
that's one thing.

"`Another thing is that this candle thus firmly fastened on the
table was never alight there. If it had ever been burning in its
position on the table, some of the drops of melted wax would have
fallen about it.

"`You will observe that, while the candle is firmly fixed, it
does not set straight; it is inclined at least ten degrees out of
perpendicular. In that position it couldn't have burned for a
moment without dripping melted wax on the table. And there's
none on the table; there has never been any on it. Your glass
shows not the slightest evidence of a wax stain.' He added:
`Therefore the candle is a blind; false evidence to give us the
impression of a night affair.'

"Sir Henry's jaw sagged; now his mouth gaped. `True,' he said.
`True, true.' He seemed to get some relief to his damaged
deductions out of the repeated word.

"The irony in Mr. Meadows' voice increased a little. `Nor is
that all,' he said. `The smear on the floor, and the stains in
which the naked foot tracked, are not human blood. They're not
any sort of blood. It was clearly evident when you had your lens
over them. They show no coagulated fiber. They show only the
evidences of dye - weak dye - watered red ink, I'd say.'

"I thought Sir Henry was going to crumple up in his chair. He
seemed to get loose and baggy in some extraordinary fashion, and
his gaping jaw worked. `But the footprints,' he said, `the naked
footprints?' His voice was a sort of stutter-the sort of shaken
stutter of a man who has come a' tumbling cropper.

"The American actually laughed: he laughed as we sometimes laugh
at a mental defective.

"`They're not footprints!' he said. `Nobody ever had a foot
cambered like that, or with a heel like it, or with toes like it.
Somebody made those prints with his hand - the edge of his palm
for the heel and the balls of his fingers for the toes. The
wide, unstained distances between these heelprints and the prints
of the ball of the toes show the impossible arch.'

"Sir Henry was like a man gone to pieces. `But who - who made
them?' he faltered.

"The American leaned forward and put the big glass over the
prints that Sir Henry had made with his fingers in the white dust
on the mahogany table. `I think you know the answer to your
question,' he said. `The whorls of these prints are identical
with those of the toe tracks.'

"Then he laid the glass carefully down, sat back in his chair,
folded his arms and looked at Sir Henry.

"`Now,' he said, `will you kindly tell me why you have gone to
the trouble of manufacturing all these false evidences of a
crime?"'

The girl paused. There was intense silence in the drawing-room.
The aged man at the window had turned and was looking at her.
The face of the old woman seemed vague and uncertain.

The girl smiled.

"Then," she said, "the real, amazing miracle happened. Sir Henry
got on his feet, his big body tense, his face like iron, his
voice ringing.

"`I went to that trouble,' he said, `because I wished to
demonstrate - I wished to demonstrate beyond the possibility of
any error - that Mr. Arthur Meadows, the pretended American from
St. Paul, was in fact the celebrated criminologist, Karl Holweg
Leibnich, of Bonn, giving us the favor of his learned presence
while he signaled the German submarines off the east coast roads
with his high-powered motor lights.'"

Now there was utter silence in the drawing-room but for the low
of the Highland cattle and the singing of the birds outside

For the first time there came a little tremor in the girl's
voice.

"When Sir Henry doubted this American and asked me to go down and
make sure before he set a trap for him, I thought - I thought, if
Tony could risk his life for England, I could do that much."

At this moment a maid appeared in the doorway, the trim,
immaculate, typical English maid. "Tea is served, my lady," she
said.

The tall, fine old man crossed the room and offered his arm to
the girl with the exquisite, gracious manner with which once upon
a time he had offered it to a girlish queen at Windsor.

The ancient woman rose as if she would go out before them. Then
suddenly, at the door, she stepped aside for the girl to pass,
making the long, stooping, backward curtsy of the passed
Victorian era.

"After you, my dear," she said, "always!"





Next: The Man In The Green Hat

Previous: The Lost Lady



Add to del.icio.us Add to Reddit Add to Digg Add to Del.icio.us Add to Google Add to Twitter Add to Stumble Upon
Add to Informational Site Network
Report
Privacy
SHAREADD TO EBOOK


Viewed 1878