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CONTENTS:
1. THE INVALID
2. BARBARA MONKHOUSE COMES HOME
3. A SHOCK FOR THE MOURNERS
4. "HOW, WHEN AND WHERE—"
5. MADELINE'S ORDEAL
6. THE VERDICT
7. THE SEARCH WARRANT
8. THORNDYKE SPEAKS BLUNTLY
9. SUPERINTENDENT MILLER IS PUZZLED
10. A GREEK GIFT
11. THE RIVALS
12. THORNDYKE CHALLENGES THE EVIDENCE
13. RUPERT MAKES SOME DISCOVERIES
14. RUPERT CONFIDES IN THORNDYKE
15. A PURSUIT AND A DISCOVERY
16. BARBARA'S MESSAGE
17. THORNDYKE RETRACES THE TRAIL
18. THE FINAL PROOF
***
a selection from the first chapter: THE INVALID
Looking back on events by the light of experience I perceive clearly that the thunder-cloud which burst on me and on those who were dear to me had not gathered unseen. It is true that it had rolled up swiftly; that the premonitory mutterings, now so distinct but then so faint and insignificant, gave but a brief warning. But that was of little consequence, since whatever warnings there were passed unheeded, as warnings commonly do, being susceptible of interpretation only by means of the subsequent events which they foreshadowed.
The opening scene of the tragedy—if I had but realized it—was the arrival of the Reverend Amos Monkhouse from his far-away Yorkshire parish at the house of his brother Harold. I happened to be there at the time; and though it was not my concern, since Harold had a secretary, I received the clergyman when he was announced. We knew one another well enough by name though we had never met, and it was with some interest and curiosity that I looked at the keen-faced, sturdy, energetic-looking parson and contrasted him with his physically frail and rather characterless brother. He looked at me, too, curiously and with a certain appearance of surprise, which did not diminish when I told him who I was.
"Ha!" said he, "yes, Mr Mayfield. I am glad to have the opportunity of making your acquaintance. I have heard a good deal about you from Harold and Barbara. Now I can fit you with a visible personality. By the way, the maid tells me that Barbara is not at home."
"No, she is away on her travels in Kent."
"In Kent!" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, on one of her political expeditions; organizing some sort of women's emancipation movement. I dare say you have heard about it."
He nodded a little impatiently. "Yes. Then I assume that Harold is not so ill as I had supposed?"
I was inclined to be evasive; for, to be quite candid, I had thought more than once that Barbara might properly have given a little less attention to her political hobbies and a little more to her sick husband. So I replied cautiously:
"I really don't quite know what his condition is. You see, when a man has chronically bad health, one rather loses count. Harold has his ups and downs, but he always looks pretty poorly. Just now, I should say he is rather below his average."
"Ha! Well, perhaps I had better go up and have a look at him. The maid has told him that I am here. I wonder if you would be so kind as to show me the way to his room. I have not been in this house before."
I conducted him up to the door of the bedroom and then returned to the library to wait for him and hear what he thought of the invalid. And now that the question had been raised, I was not without a certain uneasiness. What I had said was true enough. When a man is always ailing one gets to take his ill-health for granted and to assume that it will go on without any significant change. One repeats the old saying of "the creaking gate" and perhaps makes unduly light of habitual illness. Might it be that Harold was being a little neglected? He had certainly looked bad enough when I had called on him that morning. Was it possible that he was really seriously ill? Perhaps in actual danger?
