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"Barthorpe Herapath turned into the carriageway and went into the office," continued Burchill. "Now, as I've already said, I knew Jacob Herapath's methods; I hadn't served him for nothing. He was the sort of man who makes no distinction between day and night it was quite a common thing for him to fix up business appointments with people at midnight.
Of course, he said to himself, of course he knew Burchill. Burchill had been Jacob Herapath's private secretary for rather more than a year, and it was now about six months since Jacob had got rid of him. He, Barthorpe, remembered very well why Jacob had quietly dismissed Burchill. One day Jacob had said to him, with a dry chuckle: "I'm getting rid of that secretary of mine it won't do."
"I have a power of attorney from Miss Wynne, for that matter," answered Mr. Halfpenny. "Everything of that sort's in my hands." "I'll tell you what, then," said the bank manager, laying his hand on a bell at his side. "You'd better see Jacob Herapath's pass-book. I recently had it posted up to the day of his death, and of course we've retained it until you demanded it.
"I did, sir," he replied. "What time was that?" "Just eight o'clock, sir that's my usual time for opening the office." "Tell us exactly how you found him, Hancock." "I opened the door of Mr. Herapath's private room, sir, to pull up the blinds and open the window. When I walked in I saw him lying across the hearth-rug. Then I noticed the the revolver." "And of course that gave you a turn.
Burchill had witnessed a will of Jacob Herapath's, which, if good and valid and the only will in existence, would leave him, Barthorpe, a ruined man. Burchill had written a letter to Jacob Herapath asking for some favour, reward, compensation, as the price of his silence about a secret. What secret?
Go straight home, Robson," she went on, turning to the chauffeur. Selwood turned slowly and unwillingly back to the office door as the car moved off. And as he set his foot on the first step a young man came running up the entry not hurrying but running and caught him up and hailed him. "Mr. Selwood?" he said, pantingly. "You'll excuse me you're Mr. Herapath's secretary, aren't you?
After all, thought Selwood, as he went to Portman Square to tell Peggie of the afternoon's doings, whatever he did was being done for Peggie; moreover, he was by that time certain that however mean and base Barthorpe Herapath's conduct had been about the will, he was certainly not the murderer of his uncle.
The butler was away at Kensington; the other servants were busily discussing the mystery of their master in their own regions. No one was aware that Mr. Tertius had returned, for he let himself into the house with his own latch-key, and went straight into Herapath's study.
Herapath's particular orders that it never should be fastened any other way at night, because he sometimes came in at night, with his latch-key." "Just so. Now these offices are quite apart and distinct from the rest of the building mark that, inspector! There's no way out of them into the building, nor any way out of the building into them.
The two men who formed what one may call the alien and impartial audience at that table were mutually and similarly impressed by a certain feature of Barthorpe Herapath's speech its exceeding malevolence. As he went on from sentence to sentence, his eyes continually turned to Mr.
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