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Updated: May 19, 2025
He was haunted by the look which Mary Trevert had given him as she had stood for an instant at the library door, a look of fear, of suspicion. And it made his heart ache. The great drawing-room of Harkings was ablaze with light.
The butler replied that Miss Trevert was no longer at Harkings. She had gone to the Continent for a few days. This plain statement, retailed in the fortissimo voice which Bude reserved for use on the telephone, produced a remarkable effect on the detective. He grew red in the face. "What's that?" he cried assertively. "Gone to the Continent? I should have been told about this.
The grounds at Harkings must be searched for this second bullet, if second bullet there is, the mark on the tree examined by an expert. And since two bullets argue two pistols in this case, let us see what result we get from our enquiries as to where Mr. Parrish bought his pistol. He may have had two pistols ..."
Collingwood, leaning shoulder to shoulder, read the message that came to Hartley Parrish in the library at Harkings.... ROTTERDAM Rotterdam 25th Nov. Codes A.B.C. Liebler's Personal Dear Mr. Parrish, Your favour of even date to hand and contents noted.
When, about six months before, Mary and her mother had begun to be regular visitors at Harkings, Hartley Parrish had insisted on giving Mary a boudoir to herself. This, in response to a chance remark of Mary's in admiration of a Chinese room she had seen at a friend's house, Parrish had had decorated in the Chinese style with black walls and black-and-gold lacquer furniture.
When not on duty, either at St. James's Square, Harkings, or Hartley Parrish's palatial offices in Broad Street, he was to be found at one of those immense and gloomy clubs of indiscriminate membership which are dotted about the parish of St. James's, S.W., and to which Mr. Jeekes was in the habit of referring in Early-Victorian accents of respect.
Mary Trevert had gone to Rotterdam for a few days in company with her cousin, Major Euan MacTavish. Mr. Manderton had received this astonishing information by telephone from Harkings a few minutes before. "It bothers me properly, Mr. Greve, sir," the detective had added. "There's only one thing for it, Manderton," Robin had said; "I'll have to go after her ..."
In wind and rain the master of Harkings had been laid to rest in the quiet little churchyard of Stevenish. The ceremony had been arranged in haste, as soon as the coroner's jury had viewed the body. Robin Greve, that morning arrived from Rotterdam, Bude, and Mr. Bardy the solicitor, had been the only mourners.
Jeekes took his pince-nez from his nose, gave the glasses a hasty rub with his pocket-handkerchief, and replaced them. He slanted a long narrow look at the young man. Then, "What letter do you mean?" he asked composedly. "A letter which lay on H.P.'s desk in the library at Harkings when they found the body ..." "There was a letter there then ...?" "Haven't you got it?" Jeekes shook his head.
It was situated in beautiful country and was within easy reach by car of his town-house in St. James's Square where he lived for the greater part of the week. Last but not least Harkings was the casket enshrining a treasure, the realization of a lifelong wish. This was the library, Parrish's own room, designed by himself and furnished to his own individual taste.
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