The Complete Works of Arthur Morrison (Illustrated). Arthur Morrison

      “Shocking, shocking, of course,” Hewitt said, since she seemed to expect a reply. “And he called you an unbeliever, too. But what happened after that?”

      “After that he took care not to bother me personally again; but these wretched anonymous demands came in, with all sorts of darkly hinted threats as to the sin I was committing in keeping my own property. They didn’t trouble me much. I put ‘em in the fire as fast as they came, until I began to find I was being watched and followed, and then I kept them.”

      “Very sensible,” Hewitt observed, “very sensible indeed to do that. But tell me as to these papers. Those you have here are nearly all in one handwriting, but some, as I have already said, are in another. Now before all this business, did you ever see Reuben Penner’s handwriting?”

      “No, never.”

      “Then you are not by any means sure that he has written any of these things?”

      “But then who else could?”

      “That of course is a thing to be found out. At present, at any rate, we know this: that if Penner has anything to do with these letters he is not alone, because of the second handwriting. Also we must not bind ourselves past other conviction that he wrote any one of them. By the way, I am assuming that they all arrived by post?”

      “Yes, they did.”

      “But the envelopes are not here. Have you kept any of them?”

      “I hardly know; there may be some at home. Is it important?”

      “It may be; but those I can see at another time. Please go on.”

      “These things continued to arrive, as I have said, and I continued to burn them till I began to find myself watched and followed, and then I kept them. That was two or three months ago. It is a most unpleasant sensation, that of feeling that some unknown person is dogging your footsteps from corner to corner and observing all your movements for a purpose you are doubtful of. Once or twice I turned suddenly back, but I never could catch the creatures, of whom I am sure Penner was one.”

      “You saw these people, of course?”

      “Well, yes, in a way—with the corner of my eye, you know. But it was mostly in the evening. It was a woman once, but several times I feel certain it was Penner. And once I saw a man come into my garden at the back in the night, and I feel quite sure that was Penner.”

      “Was that after you had this request to put the article demanded on the stone seat in the garden?”

      “The same night. I sat up and watched from the bath-room window, expecting someone would come. It was a dark night, and the trees made it darker, but I could plainly see someone come quietly over the wall and go up to the seat.”

      “Could you distinguish his face?”

      “No, it was too dark. But I feel sure it was Penner.”

      “Has Penner any decided peculiarity of form or gait?”

      “No, he’s just a big common sort of man. But I tell you I feel certain it was Penner.”

      “For any particular reason?”

      “No, perhaps not. But who else could it have been? No, I’m very sure it must have been Penner.”

      Hewitt repressed a smile and went on. “Just so,” he said. “And what happened then?”

      “He went up to the seat, as I said, and looked at it, passing his hand over the top. Then I called out to him. I said if I found him on my premises again by day or night I’d give him in charge of the police. I assure you he got over the wall the second time a good deal quicker than the first. And then I went to bed, though I got a shocking cold in the head sitting at that open bath-room window. Nobody came about the place after that till last night. A few days ago my only sister was taken ill. I saw her each day, and she got worse. Yesterday she was so bad that I wouldn’t leave her. I sent home for some things and stopped in her house for the night. To-day I got an urgent message to come home, and when I went I found that an entrance had been made by a kitchen window and the whole house had been ransacked, but not a thing was missing.”

      “Were drawers and boxes opened?”

      “Everywhere. Most seemed to have been opened with keys, but some were broken. The place was turned upside down, but, as I said before, not a thing was missing. A very old woman, very deaf, who used to be my housekeeper, but who does nothing now, was in the house, and so was my general servant. They slept in rooms at the top and were not disturbed. Of course the old woman is too deaf to have heard anything, and the maid is a very heavy sleeper. The girl was very frightened, but I pacified her before I came away. As it happened, I took the snuff-box with me. I had got very suspicious of late, of course, and something seemed to suggest that I had better so I took it. It’s pretty strong evidence that they have been watching me closely, isn’t it, that they should break in the very first night I left the place?”

      “And are you quite sure that nothing has been taken?”

      “Quite certain. I have spent a long time in a very careful search.”

      “And you want me, I presume, to find out definitely who these people are, and get such evidence as may ensure their being punished?”

      “That is the case. Of course I know Reuben Penner is the moving spirit—I’m quite certain of that. But still I can see plainly enough that as yet there’s no legal evidence of it. Mind, I’m not afraid of him—not a bit. That is not my character. I’m not afraid of all the madmen in England; but I’m not going to have them steal my property—this snuff-box especially.”

      “Precisely. I hope you have left the disturbance in your house exactly as you found it?”

      “Oh, of course, and I have given strict orders that nothing is to be touched. To-morrow morning I should like you to