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Updated: May 10, 2025
Narkom and Sir Nigel went off to the smoking room for a quiet cigarette before setting to the real business of the day, and Cleek was left to follow them at his leisure. Borkins was pottering about the table as the two men left the breakfast room, and Cleek stood in the doorway. "Peaceful night, last night, eh, Borkins?" he said with a slight laugh.
The door swung open a trifle and the pale face of Borkins appeared around it. His eyes were wide with fright, his mouth hung open. "Sir Nigel, sir. I 'eard a dreadful noise like a pistol shot it was, comin' from this room! Anythink the matter, sir?" "Nothing, you ass!" broke out Merriton, fretfully, as the butler began to show other parts of his anatomy round the corner of the door.
His hopes, however, in this direction were not to be realized, for as the afternoon wore itself slowly away in a ramble round the old place, and through the stables which in their day had been famous the big, harsh-throated doorbell rang, and Merriton, in the very act of telling Borkins that he was officially "not in," happened to catch a glimpse of something light and fluffy through the stained-glass of the door, and suddenly kept his counsel.
And in the morning well, it's gone, and there isn't a thing to be seen for the lookin'!" "Merciful powers! What a peculiar thing!" Despite his mockery of the supernatural, Merriton could not help but feel a sort of awe steal over him, at the tale as told by Borkins in the eeriest hour of the whole twenty-four that which hangs between darkness and dawn. Should he go or shouldn't he?
He writhed his features for a moment, slipped his hand into his pocket, and producing the black moustache that had been Dollops's envy and admiration, stuck it upon his upper lip, pulled out a check cap from the other pocket, drew that upon his head, and peered at Borkins under the peak of it. "What-o, matey!" he remarked in a harsh cockney voice.
If anythin' were to 'appen to you I I'd go along and commit that there 'harum-scarum' wot the Japanese are so fond o' doin' on the spot!" Cleek could barely restrain a laugh. The whispered conversation had taken the merest fraction of a minute and, during it, he had had full view of the green baize door which led down to the servants' quarters. Borkins had gone through it some time before.
Borkins, on hearing this, turned suddenly gray, and the perspiration broke out on his forehead. "Gone, sir? Mr. Wynne gone out there?" he said in a stifled voice. "Oh my Gawd, sir. It's it's suicide, that's what it is! And Mr. Wynne's gone!... 'E'll never come back, I swear." Merriton laughed easily.
He came up again still the same, quiet, dignified Borkins of yore. Not a gleam of anything but the most obsequious interest in the task before him marred the tranquillity of his features. If the man knew anything, then he was a fine actor. But did he? That was the question that interested Cleek during the remainder of the meal. After it was over, Mr.
"Yes see, dear," he said, patiently, "they do not believe me. They say I killed him, and Borkins lying devil that he is has told them a story of how the thing was done; sworn, in fact, that he saw it all from the kitchen window, saw Wynne lying in the garden path, dying, after I fired at him. Of course the thing's an outrageous lie, but they're acting upon it." "Nigel! How dared he?" "Who?
His opinion of that worthy went up considerably. "You say you heard the man Wynne groaning and moaning on the garden pathway after he was shot, and then practically saw him die?" "I did, sir." "And yet, a man killed in that fashion, hit in that particular portion of the temple, always dies instantaneously. Isn't that rather strange?" Borkins went red. "I have nothing to say, sir.
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