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Updated: May 24, 2025
The two entered the dining-room study, where the table was now laid for dinner. Furneaux was seated on the edge of a chair in the darkest corner. His eyes gleamed at them strangely. "Can you trust Bates?" he said to Grant. It was a wholly unexpected question, and Grant answered sharply: "Of course, I can." "Tell him to make sure that no one trespasses on your lawn between now and ten o'clock.
Tomorrow, or next day, there might have been a doubt in our minds. Luckily there is none. The man who shot Mr. Fenley this morning " he paused; Furneaux alone appreciated his difficulty "could not possibly have left those marks today." It was a lame ending, but it sufficed.
This field was followed along to the south-east for some days, but no opening was found, so being in constant danger from detached pieces, Cook reluctantly gave orders to change the course to the northward. Furneaux reported at this time that he had cured two very bad cases with the Rob.
"I'll be dumb enough after this night's work," said Furneaux, in a tone of such utter dejection that Winter began to take him seriously. "If you fail me now, Charles," he said, and his utterance was thick with anger at the crassness of things, "I'll consider the advisability of sending in my own papers. Dash it!"
A copy of these orders was given to Captain Furneaux, and in case of separation the following rendezvous were named: Madeira, Port Praya in the island of St. Iago, the Cape of Good Hope, and New Zealand. The Forsters evidently were far from pleasant travelling companions, and at one time or another seem to have quarrelled with every one on board the ship.
For the rest, he is alone, shut off from the world. Without knowing it, he's going to fall into deep waters to-day, and he'll emit sparks, or I'm a Chinaman.... I'll leave you here. Good-by! See you on Tuesday, after lunch." The superintendent drove on alone. He pondered the Steynholme affair in all its bearings, but mostly did he weigh up Winter and Furneaux. At last, he sighed.
"I told you why, you will remember," piped Furneaux. But Robert Fenley said no word. He was stunned. He began to feel ill again, and made for his room. Sylvia had not been seen since she heard of Mrs. Fenley's death.
Birds fluttered uneasily on the upper branches of the trees indeed, Furneaux was lucky in that the occasional gleam of the torch had not sent a pheasant hurtling off with frantic clamor ere ever the rendezvous was reached and some winged creature, probably an owl, swept over the rock in stealthy flight.
He sprang into the car, the chauffeur having already started the engine in obedience to a word from the Superintendent. "Stop at the Brondesbury police station," was the order, and Furneaux was left alone. He reëntered the house and crooked a finger at the butler, who had not summoned up courage to retire to his own sanctum, though a midday meal was awaiting him.
At any rate, it served, so what more need be said? Certain rills of evidence accumulated into a fair-sized stream before night fell. P.C. Robinson, for instance, scored a point by ascertaining that Peggy Smith had seen Furneaux dropping from the bedroom window of the chemist's shop.
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