.
that it strikes you as queer that both Faber and Draycott, his successor, should suffer from a malady that drives them into complete retirement for some days every six weeks?”
“That is what puzzles me!” Alice said. “I may go further, and say that it frightens me. There are so many points of similarity. Occasionally there is the same tone of voice, and there are even the same gestures. I have mentioned how familiar Mr. Draycott is with details of local history. It is as if the spirit of Martin Faber had found its way into Raymond Draycott’s body.”
“Let us admit that there is some amazingly ingenious fraud here.”
“Well, of that I am absolutely convinced,” Alice observed. “But how is it possible? Mr. Faber is dead. Before he died he told me more than once who should have his money. He confided in me when he was in good health before his accident. I know he had a high opinion of his friend in the Argentine. The will leaving everything to Draycott was made long ago. Now, beyond question Mr. Faber is dead; I saw his body brought into the house, I am prepared to swear to the man, to his hair, his face—what was left of it—the hard, brown hand with the peculiar warts he could never cure. I forget what they call them, but they are described as a species of blood poisoning. My impression is that Mr. Draycott is a relative of Mr. Faber’s in disgrace; perhaps he got into trouble and changed his name.”
Clench had followed Alice’s views with flattering attention.
“You are quite correct,” he said. “My inquiries have satisfied me that there is a very close relationship between Faber and Draycott. There are reasons why this must not be mentioned—we don’t want to spoil our game at the start. And now, as to the German, Carl Moler. What is his part in the drama?”
Alice shrugged her shoulders carelessly, but there was a tinge of color on her cheeks.
“I can’t say exactly,” she murmured. “He turned up unexpectedly one day and made himself at home. He professed great pleasure at meeting Mr. Draycott again. I was present at the time, and if there was any pleasure it was all on one side. Mr. Draycott’s face was positively ghastly, even malignant, for the moment. It was terrible. Mr. Moler has been here ever since. He has some hold on Mr. Draycott.”
“Blackmail,” Clench said, thoughtfully. “I expected this. It tends to confirm the conclusions I have formed. He is an impudent scamp, too, and has a strong sense of his own importance. My dear young lady, I shall know how to get rid of Moler when the time comes. Meanwhile I have baited a nice trap for him. The man is undoubtedly a clever surgeon and scientist, and his fame has travelled. So has his reputation. Certain people in South America would like to meet him again. You heard him call me Russell Bassett, and I shall be obliged if you will keep up the deception. I may be supposed to come from South America, and am greatly interested in scientific pursuits. I am very well off, and Moler hopes to secure my money. He asked me to meet him here. I fancy I am going to be a guest at Rawmouth.”
“That will be a great comfort to me,” Alice exclaimed. “But your meeting was not very propitious.”
“Don’t be too sure of that. In a way I played up for it and luck gave me a magnificent chance. I told you that little bit of smeared canvas you saw me put aside so carefully will go a long way to help us when the time comes. You have heard of fingerprint evidence. Well, I have got that. I won’t spoil the dramatic side of my plot by saying anything more at present. Now let us discuss Hugh Grenfell and his future. I want to hear what his plan is and whether it is practicable or not.”
Alice unfolded the outline of Grenfell’s suggestion. Clench shook his head.
“Not much good, I fear,” he said. “Too many loose ends and too many ‘ifs’ in it. We can do something better than that, Miss Kearns. It would be far better if Hugh knew nothing of it till the critical moment arrives.”
“That is my own opinion,” Alice answered eagerly. “I have a scheme and feel sure it will be successful. By good chance one of the warders of Dartdale—but here comes Mr. Moler. I must postpone my explanation till a more favorable opportunity.”
Moler came up, looking worried and anxious.
“I have had some trouble with my patient,” he explained. “Quite ridiculous things upset him, even the trifling incident that happened here just now. But I have given him some soothing medicine, and he will be at dinner tonight. I have sent for your traps, Mr. Bassett, and I hope you will stay for a few days. I see you have made Miss Kearns’ acquaintance.”
“That has been my privilege,” Clench said, politely. “It is really very good of you. If I won’t be in the way, I shall be delighted to accept your invitation.”
“I am sure it will be a pleasure to me,” Alice smiled. “I hope Mr. Draycott will be well enough to have a chat with a gentleman who knows his part of the world.”
Alice turned away, leaving Moler with a startled countenance. She saw nothing of Clench till dinner-time, when Draycott came into the room pale and shaky, but with a pleased expression and a somnolent look about his eyes that attracted Clench’s attention.
“Morphia,” he said, sotto voce. “Morphia, or I am greatly mistaken. Not that it very much matters at present. Still, it is significant.”
Draycott sat at the head of the table smiling pleasantly. His appetite was good, but Clench noticed that he passed the decanter with a suggestion of dislike. He spoke in a sleepy voice and his wits appeared to be constantly wandering. Clench was watching discreetly, and veiling his keen eyes behind the plants on the table. It struck Alice, listening demurely, that Clench talked both agreeably and well. He spoke of places on the other side of the globe. Suddenly he appealed to his host for confirmation on some point.
“Haven’t the least idea,” Draycott said, abruptly, “I’ve never been there.”
Moler exploded into loud laughter. He bent over and laid his hand on Draycott’s shoulder. The grip was that of a vice, forefingers and thumb meeting in a cruel pinch.
“You’re chaffing Mr. Bassett,” he said. “He’s speaking about your own country in the back of the Argentine, Carados, you know. Wake up, Draycott.”
“I was half asleep,” Draycott apologised. “I have had such bad nights lately. If Mr. Bassett has no objection I shall retire early. Carados, of course. I thought you were discussing some place in Australia. Sometimes I wish I was back there.”
Clench did not labor the point. He had found out all he needed. He began to speak presently of a mine in which he was interested. He illustrated the plan by the help of wineglasses and a few nuts. The cigarettes had been passed round, and the servants had vanished. It was an interesting story, and even Draycott was listening closely. He stood by Clench’s side with his hand on the table.
“This is where the gold lies,” Clench went on. He took his cigarette from his mouth and waved his hand with an excited gesture. “This spur of rock runs up the valley as far as the place where the stream enters. If you draw a line from north to south and—really I beg pardon, Draycott—I hope I haven’t burnt you.”
Draycott dashed a little pile of ashes from the back of his hand on which the hot cigarette had come down in the excitement of the moment. He shook his head.
“Oh, dear, no,” he said. “I assure you I felt nothing, the merest touch. Go on! As an old prospector, your story interests me.”
The story came to an end at length, and the talk became desultory again. Draycott sat with his head buried in his breast, half asleep.
“Really, I’ll ask you to excuse me,” he said. “I can hardly keep my eyes open. I could do with a good night’s rest. Come and see me to bed, Moler.”
Moler and his host vanished. Alice saw Clench’s eyes gleam.
“I hope you will find your gold,” she said. “At any rate, I gather from the expression of your face that you have found something.”
“The gold is fairy gold,” Clench laughed. “But I have found