THE CRYSTAL BEADS MURDER (Murder Mystery for Inspector Stoddart). Annie Haynes

This, the last of twelve mystery stories written by the late Annie Haynes--who died last year--was left unfinished. One of Miss Haynes's friends, also a popular writer of this type of fiction, offered to undertake the work of completion, and it says much for her skill that she has independently arrived at Miss Haynes's own solution of the mystery, which was known only to myself.

It is not generally known that for the last fifteen years of her life Miss Haynes was in constant pain and writing itself was a considerable effort. Her courage in facing her illness was remarkable, and the fact that she was handicapped not only by the pain but also by the helplessness of her malady greatly enhances the merit of her achievements. It was impossible for her to go out into the world for fresh material for her books, her only journeys being from her bedroom to her study. The enforced inaction was the harder to bear in her case, as before her illness she was extremely energetic. Her intense interest in crime and criminal psychology led her into the most varied activities, such as cycling miles to visit the scene of the Luard Murder, pushing her way into the cellar of 39 Hilldrop Crescent, where the remains of Belle Elmore were discovered, and attending the Crippen trial.

It would be a dark and sombre picture if it were not mentioned how this struggle with cruel circumstances was materially lightened by the warmth of friendships existing between Miss Haynes and her fellow authors and by the sympathetic and friendly relations between her and her publishers.

Ada Heather-Bigg, 1930

Chapter I

Table of Contents

"My hat! Nan, I tell you it is the chance of a lifetime. Battledore is a dead cert. Old Tim Ranger says he is the best colt he ever had in his stable. Masterman gave a thousand guineas for him as a yearling. He'd have won the Derby in a canter if he had been entered."

"It is easy to say that when he wasn't, isn't it?" Anne Courtenay smiled. "Don't put too much on, Harold. You can't afford to lose, you know."

"Lose! I tell you I can't lose," her brother returned hotly. His face was flushed, the hand that held his card was trembling. "Battledore must win. My bottom dollar's on him. Minnie Medchester has mortgaged her dress allowance for a year to back him. Oh, Battledore's a wonder colt."

"What is a wonder colt--Battledore, I suppose?" a suave voice interposed at this juncture. "Mind what you are doing, Harold. Best hedge a bit. I hear Goldfoot is expected. Anyway, the stable is on him for all it's worth."

"So is Ranger's on Battledore. Old Tim Ranger says it is all over bar the shouting. Oh, Battledore's a cert. I have been telling Anne to put every penny she can scrape together on him."

"I hope Miss Courtenay has not obeyed you," Robert Saunderson said, his eyes, a little bloodshot though the day was still young, fixed on Anne Courtenay's fair face. "It's all very well, young man, but I have known so many of these hotpots come unstuck to put much faith in even Tim Ranger's prophecies. I'd rather take a good outsider. Backing a long shot generally pays in the long run."

"It won't when Battledore is favourite," Harold Courtenay returned obstinately. "He ran away with the Gold Cup. It will be the same."

"H'm! Well, you are too young to remember Lawgiver. He was just such a Derby cert that he was guarded night and day and brought to the tapes with detectives before and behind, but he sauntered in a bad fifteenth."

"Battledore won't," young Courtenay said

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