Inspector Stoddart's Most Famous Cases. Annie Haynes
gentleman and Miss Iris Houlton, as she then was, had nursed him devotedly. The pair, so far as the maid saw, were on the best of terms, and Mr. Wilton's disappearance was a complete mystery to her. From their conversation she had gathered that they were old friends as they were often alluding to events that had occurred in the past.
That was all. Hilary put down the paper and stared at her aunt.
"It—it can't be true!" she gasped, her eyes wide with horror.
"It looks remarkably as if it was," Miss Priestley said, her face beginning to resume its ordinary hue. "In fact of course it is true enough. But I never thought—" She did not finish her sentence.
Hilary took up the paper again and stared at it unseeingly. She felt too dazed yet to take in all that the paragraph implied. At last she spoke slowly:
"Aunt Lavinia, what can have become of Basil?"
"It rather strikes me from that paragraph that a good many people, the police included, would like to know that," Miss Lavinia said grimly. "Heavens, Hilary! What does it matter to you where the man has got to? Though I am sure I should be glad to know he was out of the country. I have had enough in this past year of horrors to last me all my lifetime."
"Aunt Lavinia! Do you know that you are speaking as if you thought that Basil did it—murdered his wife?" Hilary said in a tone of smouldering wrath.
Miss Priestley stretched out her hand and took the "Daily Wire" from her niece.
"Well, it is no use trying to evade the truth, child. It is easy enough to see what the paper means, reading between the lines."
"I don't want to read between the lines, and I don't care what that wretched rag means," Hilary said indignantly. "It is always attacking somebody. I know Basil Wilton never murdered anybody—Iris Houlton or anyone else."
"Well, it strikes me it will be a good thing if you can convince the world of that," Miss Lavinia said dryly. "Where has he gone to, anyway?"
"Gone! I expect he has been murdered too," Hilary cried wildly.
"Then where is his body?" Miss Lavinia inquired wisely.
Hilary threw out her hands.
"I don't know. How should I know? The murderer has disposed of his body somehow."
"Not so easy as you think to dispose of the body of a strong young man of Basil Wilton's height and weight," Miss Lavinia argued shrewdly.
"They always do," Hilary contradicted, twisting her shaking fingers together. "The murderers, I mean. They cut them up and put them in trunks or—or suitcases or anything. I dare say Basil is lying all mutilated in a trunk at Waterloo or—or—or Victoria."
Miss Lavinia was not going to be worsted. "It will be a large trunk that holds Basil Wilton. Use your common sense, Hilary. Of course he got tired of the girl, whom he probably only married for her money, and no doubt she was aggravating—those sly-faced women that never look you in the face always are—and in a quarrel he must have shot her, the pistol might have been lying about handy, and then, frightened at what he had done, he ran away."
"No!" Hilary said with a sudden accession of energy, "Basil would never have run away. I don't believe that he would have shot anybody, even in a rage. But if he had he would not have run away."
"Well, who do you suppose did shoot the woman, then?"
"I don't know. I haven't the slightest idea who Iris Houlton's associates may have been," Hilary returned impatiently. "I dare say it was some burglar. She seems to have had a lot of money."
"Yes. And now I hope it will come out where she got it from," Miss Lavinia retorted significantly.
Hilary made no rejoinder; she sat on, the "Daily Wire" spread out on the table before her, either absorbed in its perusal, or meditating over the crime that had been committed.
Miss Lavinia got up and after a compassionate glance at Hilary's brown head went out to talk to Fee on the lawn.
He had not seen the paper or heard of the crime and was as usual absorbed in his own ailments, and the prospects of a cure held out by Dr. Blathwayte. He found his aunt an unusually sympathetic listener, for Miss Lavinia was too much occupied with her own thoughts to do more than reply at suitable intervals.
It seemed a terribly long morning to Miss Lavinia; more than once she went back to the house, but Hilary had locked herself in her own room and refused to see her aunt.
At last the gong sounded for lunch and Miss Lavinia rose as their man came out to wheel Fee in.
At the same moment the garden gate clicked and, looking round, Miss Lavinia beheld the tall figure of Sir Felix Skrine. He came quickly across to her.
"Where is Hilary?"
"Upstairs. I haven't seen her since breakfast."
"She knows?"
Miss Lavinia nodded. "All there is to know I expect. I take in the 'Daily Wire,' and it would not miss a line of such a happening."
"Poor child! It is a terrible thing for her," Sir Felix said sympathetically.
"Oh, well, I don't know. As far as Hilary is concerned it may all be for the best. Put an end to all the nonsense she has been brooding over once and for all. If only the unfortunate young man is not caught."
"Then you haven't heard?" Sir Felix turned and looked at her.
"Just what was in the first edition of the paper," Miss Lavinia glanced at him inquiringly. "You do not mean—?"
"Basil Wilton was taken to a police station at a late hour last night. He was recognized by a constable a couple of streets from Hawksview Mansions." Sir Felix said gravely. "In all probability he will be brought before the magistrates today."
"What is that you say, Sir Felix?"
Unheard by them Hilary had come across the grass. She was wearing her hat and outdoor dress. Her face was very white, but her eyes were bright and keen as she glanced from her aunt to Sir Felix.
"Well, what were you telling Aunt Lavinia, Sir Felix?" she questioned sharply.
For a moment the lawyer hesitated. Then a glance at the girl's face told him that the truth would be the most merciful thing.
"Basil Wilton was taken to the police station last night and detained. He will be charged with the murder of his wife today in all probability."
"He did not do it!" Hilary snapped.
Sir Felix bowed. "I hope he did not. But at the present time the whole case is shrouded in mystery."
"But you say they have arrested him—Basil!"
"Not exactly arrested—taken to the police station and detained on suspicion. Look!" Sir Felix spread out a thin sheet of paper.
"The 'Daily Wire'—racing edition," Hilary read. "I don't see."
Sir Felix pointed to the stop press news at the side.
Hawksview Mansions mystery—Murdered Bride. Arrest of the husband. We understand that Basil Wilton, the husband of the young woman found dead in Hawksview Mansions, was taken to the police station at a late hour last night, that valuable clues are in the hands of the police. It is rumoured that another arrest is imminent.
Hilary's eyes and voice were alike steady as she looked up.
"And this is true?"
"I believe so. I think there can be no doubt that it is."
"What is the difference between being taken to the police station on suspicion and being arrested?" Hilary demanded.
Sir Felix frowned. "Not much. Still, a man only detained on suspicion is more likely to be released than one who is formally arrested."
Hilary pointed to the end of the paragraph.
"And the other clues in the hands of the police?"
Sir