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Updated: May 18, 2025
"He carried that secret, whatever it was, with him to the grave," Fetherston said reflectively. "I wonder what it could have been?" "Ah!" sighed the girl, her face yet paler. "I wonder I constantly wonder." "The doctors who made the post-mortem could not account for the death, I believe. I have read the account of the inquest." "Ah! then you know what transpired there," the girl said quickly.
"Doctor Weirmarsh," exclaimed Fetherston seriously, as he stood before him, "I have just examined this house and have ascertained what it contains." "You've told him!" cried the man, turning fiercely upon Enid. "You have betrayed me! Ah! It will be the worse for you and for your family," he added harshly. "You will see!
And so once again he changed his identity from John Maltwood, busy man of business, to Walter Fetherston, novelist and traveller. The seriousness of what was in progress was now plain to him. He had long been filled with strong suspicions, and these suspicions had been confirmed both by Enid's statements and his own observations; therefore he was already alert and watchful.
"I feared the doctor's reprisals. Besides, he might easily have denied the allegation, or he might have used the same means to close my lips if he had suspected that I had learnt the truth." "The dead man's story is no doubt true," declared Fetherston. "He used some deadly poison one of the newly discovered ones which leaves no trace to kill his victim who, in all probability, was not his first.
"Then, after all the inquiries you instituted, you were really unable to point to the actual assassin?" asked Fetherston rather more calmly. "Not exactly unable unwilling, rather." "How do you mean unwilling? You were Bellairs' friend!" "Yes, I was.
"Yes; she was the woman who loved him so passionately," replied Trendall "Enid Orlebar." "Then you really suspect her?" asked Fetherston breathlessly. "Only as far as certain facts are concerned; and that since Harry's death she has been unceasingly interested in the career of the man Barker." "Are you quite certain of this?" gasped Fetherston. "Quite; it is proved beyond the shadow of a doubt."
She rubbed her eyes; the blur defined itself as a man in priestly black. Not Mr. Fetherston, a she had first believed, but Father Sweeny. "A wolf in sheep's clothing!" thought Frederica, using as was her wont, the well-worn phrase with guileless zest.
No trained officer of the Criminal Investigation Department was more ingenious in making secret inquiries, more clever in his subterfuges or in disguising his real objects, than Walter Fetherston.
"You will very soon be seeking me in my surgery." "We shall see," replied Sir Hugh, with a shrug of his shoulders, as the other strode out of his room. WHAT Walter Fetherston had feared had happened. The two men had quarrelled! Throughout the whole of that evening he watched the doctor's movements.
It was quite true that she had come in before ten o'clock, and soon afterwards had received a note by boy-messenger. In view of these facts it appeared quite certain to Fetherston that Enid and Harry Bellairs had taken dinner tête-
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