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We walked down to the barn, and Hewitt, assuming the largest possible air, addressed the policeman. "Constable," he said, "I am here officially here is my card. Of course you will know the name if you have had any wide experience London experience especially. I am looking into this case on behalf of Miss Peytral co-operating with the police, of course. Where is your inspector?"
"We are on the track, I think," I answered, "and I have just come across this, which I am taking to Hewitt," and with that I showed him my translation of the cypher, and gave him its history in half a dozen sentences. "That's good," Peytral answered. "I don't know Channel Marsh, do you? But probably Mr. Hewitt does. I won't keep you any longer I see you're hurrying.
We reached them in a dozen strides, and turned them over, limp, oozing, and lifeless. And then we saw that one was Mayes, and the other Victor Peytral! We kept no silence now, but Plummer blew his whistle loud and long, and I fired my revolver into the air, chamber after chamber. Styles started off at a run along the path towards the town lights, to fetch what aid he might.
Potswood, that he had never dabbled in the strange devilries of Myatt or Mayes, as we were now learning to call him. "At any rate," Peytral resumed, "you will understand that the conjunction of the tourniquet with the Red Triangle in the two cases you know of caused me some excitement.
My wrist seemed broken, though it was free, there was oil and blood on my clothes, and in my left hand I still gripped a piece of Mayes's coat. "Stop him!" I cried. "He's gone by the stable! Have they got him?" "No good, Brett," Hewitt answered soberly. "You did your best, but he's gone, and Peytral after him!" "Peytral?" "Yes. He brought his own message to town. But see if you can stand up."
Victor Peytral, for, as may be imagined, I was as eager to penetrate the mystery of the Triangle as Hewitt himself perhaps more so, since Hewitt was a man inured to mysteries. I had hardly had time to learn that Peytral had not yet made up his mind so far as to write, when Plummer pushed hurriedly into the room. "Excuse my rushing in like this," he said, "but your lad told me that it was Mr.
Peytral's sudden appearance, when we had time to reflect on it, gave us a suspicion as to some at least of the espionage to which Hewitt had been subjected a suspicion confirmed, later, by Peytral himself after his recovery from the shock of the fall.
Who is the dead man, and where is Peytral, and why has he gone? Don't you see the possibilities of the case now?" Light broke upon me suddenly. I saw what Hewitt meant. Here was a possible explanation of the whole thing Peytral's recent change of temper, his evening prowlings, his driving away of Bowmore, and lastly, of his disappearance his flight, as it now seemed probable it was.
It had been despatched from Throckham, in Middlesex, and it was simply a very urgently worded request to Hewitt to come at once, signed "Claire Peytral." The second telegram, which came even as Hewitt was reading the first, on his arrival at his office, ran thus: /# "Did you receive telegram? See newspapers. Matter life or death. Would come personally but cannot leave mother.
And so I hurried off, with the happy though delicate mission to restore both father and lover to Miss Claire Peytral. Miss Peytral had to be put to bed under care of a nurse, for the revulsion was very great, and so was her physical prostration.
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