THE CROW'S INN TRAGEDY (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes
shrugging his shoulders. "The League of Nations means nothing to him. He is one of the regular fire-eating, jingo-shouting Britons that plunged us all into that horrible carnage of 1914. But his type is becoming scarcer every day as the world grows nearer the Christian ideal, thank Heaven!"
"Sometimes it seems to me to be growing farther from the Christian ideal instead of nearer." The clergyman sighed. "I am going through a terrible experience now, Aubrey. I must confess it is a great trial to my faith."
Instantly Todmarsh's face assumed its most sympathetic expression.
"I am so sorry to hear it, Uncle James. Do tell me about it, if it would be any relief to you. Sit down"--as they entered the refectory--"what is it? Tony?"
But the rector put aside the proffered chair.
"No, no. I must see all I can of the Settlement. No, it has nothing to do with Tony, I am thankful to say. He is to the full as much bewildered as I am myself. It is the emeralds--the cross!"
"The Collyer cross?" Aubrey exclaimed. "What of that?"
"Well--er, circumstances arose that made it--er--desirable that I should ascertain its value. I took it to your Uncle Luke, thinking that he might be able to help me, and he discovered that the stones were paste."
"Impossible!" Aubrey stared at his uncle. "I cannot believe it. But, pardon me, Uncle James, I don't think that either you or Uncle Luke are very learned with regard to precious stones. I expect it is all a mistake. The Collyer emeralds are genuine enough!"
"Oh, there is no mistake," Mr. Collyer said positively. "I had them examined by a well-known expert this morning. They are paste--not particularly good paste, either. If I had known rather more about such things, I might have discovered the substitution sooner. Not that it would have made much difference! You are wrong about your Uncle Luke, though, Aubrey. He has an immense fund of information about precious stones. He told me that he was about to dispose of--"
"Hush! Don't mention it!" Aubrey interrupted sharply. "I beg your pardon, Uncle James, but it is so much safer not to mention names, especially in a place like this. But what in the world can have become of the emeralds? One would have been inclined to think it was the work of the Yellow Gang. But they seem to confine their activities to London. And how could it have been effected in peaceful little Wexbridge? Now--what is that?" as a loud knock and ring resounded simultaneously through the house. "Tony, I declare!" as after a pause they heard voices in the hall outside.
A moment later Hopkins opened the door and announced "Mr. Anthony Collyer."
"Hello, dad, I guessed I should find you here," the new-comer began genially. "Aubrey, old chap, is the gentleman who announced me one of your hopefuls? Because if so I can't congratulate you on his phiz. Sort of thing the late Madame Tussaud would have loved for her Chamber of Horrors, don't you know!"
"Hopkins is a most worthy fellow," Aubrey returned impressively. "One of the most absolutely trustworthy men I have. There is nothing more unsafe than taking a prejudice at first sight, Tony. If you would only--"
"Dare say there isn't," Tony returned nonchalantly. "You needn't pull up your socks over the chap, Aubrey. I'll take your word for it that he possesses all the virtues under the sun. I only say, he don't look it! Come along, dad, I have ordered a morsel of lunch at a little pub I know of, and while you are eating it I will a scheme unfold that I know will meet with your approval."
The rector did not look as if he shared this conviction.
"Well, my boy, I have been telling my troubles to Aubrey. The emeralds--"
"Oh, bother the emeralds, dad! It is the business of the police to find them, not yours and mine or Aubrey's."
Anthony Collyer was just a very ordinary type of the young Englishman of to-day, well-groomed, well set up. There was little likeness to his father about his clear-cut features, his merry, blue eyes or his lithe, active form. The pity of it was that the last few years of idleness had blurred the clearness of his skin, had dulled his eyes and added just a suspicion of heaviness to the figure which ought to have been in the very pink of condition. Tony Collyer had let himself run to seed of late and looked it and knew it. To-day, however, there was a new look of purpose about his face. His mouth was set in fresh, strong lines, and his eyes met his father's firmly.
"I hoped you would both lunch with me," Aubrey interposed hastily. "I am sure if you could throw your trouble aside you would enjoy one of our Community meals, Uncle James. The fare is plain, but abundant, and the spirit that prevails seems to bless it all. You would find it truly interesting."
"I am sure I should, my boy. I really think, Tony--"
"That is all very well, Aubrey," Tony interrupted, "I'm jolly well sure your meals are interesting. But it isn't exactly the sort of feast I mean to set the Dad down to when he does get a few days off from his little old parish. No, I think we will stick to my pub--thank you all the same, Aubrey."
"Oh, well, if you put it that way--" Todmarsh shook hands with his visitors.
The rector's expression was rather wistful as they went out. He would have liked to share the simple meal Aubrey had spoken of. But Tony wanted him and Tony came first.
At the front door they paused a minute. Tony looked at his cousin with a wicked snigger.
"I'm really taking the Dad away out of kindness, Aubrey. There is a car standing a little way down the road, and a certain bewitching widow is leaning out talking to a couple of interesting-looking gentlemen. Converts of yours, recent ones, I should say by the cut of them."
"Mrs. Phillimore!" Aubrey came to the door and looked out. "It is her day for visiting our laundry just down the road."
Mr. Collyer smiled.
"Well, she is a good woman, Aubrey. We are dining with your Uncle Luke to-night. Shall we meet you there?"
"Oh, dear, no! My time for dining out is strictly limited," Aubrey responded. "Besides, I do not think that Uncle Luke and I are in much sympathy. It is months since I saw him."
Chapter III
For a wonder the clerks in Messrs. Bechcombe and Turner's offices were all hard at work. The articled clerks were in a smaller office to the right of the large one with a partition partly glass between. Through it their heads could be seen bent over their work, their pens flying over their paper with commendable celerity.
The managing clerk had left his desk and was standing in the gangway in the larger office opposite the door leading into the ante-room. Beyond that again was the door opening into the principal's particular sanctum. Most unusually his door stood open this morning. Through the doorway the principal could plainly be seen bending over his letters and papers on the writing-table, while a little farther back stood his secretary, apparently waiting his instructions. Presently he spoke a few words to her in an undertone, pushed his papers all away together and came into the outer office.
"I find it is as I thought, Thompson. I have only two appointments this morning--Mr. Geary and Mr. Pound. The last is for 11.45. After Mr. Pound has been shown out you will admit no one until I ring, which will probably be about one o'clock. Then, hold yourself in readiness to accompany me to the Bank."
"Yes, sir."
The managing clerk at Messrs. Bechcombe and Turner's glanced keenly at his chief as he spoke.
"It is quite possible that a special messenger from the Bank may be sent here in the course of the morning," Mr. Bechcombe pursued. "Unless he comes before twelve he will have to wait until one o'clock as no one--no one is to disturb me until then. You understand this, Thompson?" He turned back sharply to his office.
"Quite so, sir."
The managing clerk had a curious, puzzled look as he glanced after the principal. Amos Thompson had been many years with Messrs. Bechcombe and Turner, and it