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Updated: May 29, 2025
"What is it, madame?" asked Michel. Sylvia did not answer, but stared in bewilderment at the open page. Chayne saw the book which she was reading and knew that his care lest she should come across her father's portrait was of no avail. He crossed round behind her chair and looked over her shoulder. There on the page in her father's handwriting was the signature: "Gabriel Strood."
This, no doubt, was the disorder which Marion had always foreseen; to prevent which she had practised her insane tidiness. He held the attention much less than one had thought a dead man could. "God," said Poppy, "this is a copper's business. I'm off before they come. They think I know something about a thing that happened down in Strood last Easter, though God help me I don't.
How was it above the Downs of Dorsetshire, he wondered. He walked along the street very slowly. Garratt Skinner was Gabriel Strood. There was clearly a dark reason for the metamorphosis. It remained for Chayne to discover that reason. But he did not ponder any more upon that problem to-night. He was merely thinking as he walked along the street that Michel Revailloud was a very wise man.
At last Chayne came to that very narrative which Sylvia had been reading on her way to Chamonix and there the truth was bluntly told for the first time. Chayne started up in that dim and quiet room, thrilled. He had the proof now, under his finger the indisputable proof. Gabriel Strood suffered from an affection of the muscles in his right thigh, and yet managed to out-distance all his rivals.
And as the party drew nearer, he saw and understood. But he did not change from his attitude. He waited until they were close. Then he and Hilary Chayne exchanged a look. "You?" said Garratt Skinner. "Yes " Chayne paused. "Yes, Mr. Strood," he said. And in those words all was said. Garratt Skinner knew that his plan was not merely foiled, but also understood.
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