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Brimsdown was no gallant, nor had he sufficient imagination to prompt him to wonder what dead girl's dainty fingers had once held up the bright fragile circle to the sun to see if Love's tryst was to be kept. His joy in the sun-dial was the pride of the collector in the possession of a rare thing. But that night it failed to interest him.
He glanced at his watch and rose to his feet. "I'll be off now to catch the train. If anything important occurs during my absence you'd better send me a wire to Scotland Yard." It was from Mrs. Pendleton that Mr. Brimsdown gained his first real knowledge of the drama of strange events surrounding Robert Turold's death.
If you know anything of the events of that night you may be injuring Miss Turold by your silence." For a moment Mr. Brimsdown thought his appeal was going to succeed. He could have sworn that a flicker of hesitation of irresolution crossed the old man's stern countenance. But the mood passed immediately, and it was in an indifferent voice that Thalassa, turning to go, replied
The trouble was that no conceivable theory covered the facts of the case, so far as they were known. So far as they were known! That was the difficulty. Any line of thought stopped short of the real solution, because the facts themselves were inconclusive. There was much that was still concealed Mr. Brimsdown felt sure of that.
Brimsdown had a reverence for titles inherited titles, not mere knighthoods, or Orders of the British Empire. For those he felt nothing but contempt. He drew the sharpest distinction between, such titled vulgarians and those who were born into the world with the blood running blue in their veins. He regarded Robert Turold as belonging to this latter class.
Brimsdown had conceived the impression that he was keeping something back. What did Charles Turold know? Did his father share his secret knowledge? Mr. Brimsdown could not answer these questions, and he was greatly perturbed at the way in which they brought a host of other thoughts and doubts in their train.
Brimsdown was not quite sure which that the question of money was introduced. The lawyer had pointed out to his client that the search for the title was likely to be prolonged and expensive, and Robert Turold had indifferently assured him that he had money at his command for that purpose lying on deposit at a London bank. The amount, when he did mention it, was much greater than Mr.
Brimsdown reached the last stair, a door immediately opposite opened, and a lady came out. Mr. Brimsdown glanced at her casually in passing, and encountered her glance in return. In that brief look he observed the dawn of swift surprise in her eyes. Her careworn face flushed, and she made an eager step forward, as though about to speak. Somewhat surprised at this action on her part, Mr.
Barrant produced the letter and took the single sheet from the grey envelope. "That is the reason of my presence in Cornwall," said Mr. Brimsdown. "So I imagined. What can you tell me about it?" "Very little, except that I received it by the last post at my chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields the night after Robert Turold's death." "But why did he send for you?" "That I cannot even guess."
She extracted a silver coin from her purse, and proffered it timidly to the porter. The porter showed no timidity in accepting it. "Luggage, miss, in the van?" he asked. "Just you wait 'ere." "I have no luggage," Mr. Brimsdown heard her say. Her eyes wandered downward to the little handbag she carried. "I wanted to ask you I am a stranger to London.
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