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Updated: June 20, 2025
"I imagined you were so busy throwing dust in our eyes that you wouldn't have noticed such fine shades of perception on Winter's part." But Theydon was now able to measure this strange little man with some degree of accuracy; he only smiled. "As a thrower of dust I was a most abject failure," he said. Furneaux smiled and turned to the millionaire. "Pardon the interruption," he said.
Furneaux spoke softly, and with no trace of his wonted irony, but Theydon was aware that once more the little detective had peered into his very soul. "Yes," he said, and there was a new gravity in his tone. "I do wish that. I have never before been brought in contact with a crime of this magnitude. It conveys a sort of personal responsibility.
It was he who asked me to invite you to come here. I'm exceedingly sorry that our acquaintance, begun so happily, should involve you in personal risk " "As for that," broke in Theydon, "I would not change places with any man in England at this moment." He feared instantly that he might have said too much, and added with a laugh: "Don't forget, Mr.
Lester's aunt, wishes to see you." Theydon was immensely surprised, as well he might be. But there was only one thing to be done. "Show her in," he said. Miss Beale entered. She was slight of figure, middle-aged and gray-haired. The wanness of her thin features was accentuated by an attire of deep mourning, but the pallor in her cheeks fled for an instant when she set eyes on Theydon.
In itself the fact that he had gone in the direction of Innesmore Mansions rather than toward the Constitutional Club was in nowise remarkable. Nevertheless, he had deceived his daughter deceived her intentionally, and the knowledge came as a shock to his unsuspected critic in Theydon. He did not look the sort of man who would stoop to petty evasion of the truth.
"I do wish you wouldn't talk nonsense, Charles," said Winter, frowning heavily. "Am I talking nonsense, Mr. Theydon?" demanded Furneaux. "Didn't your flesh creep when that queer perfume assailed your nostrils, which are not yet altogether atrophied by the reek of thousands of rank cigars?" "Stop it!" commanded Winter, throwing open a door.
"I wonder," he breathed. Then, turning quickly on Theydon, he repeats the question. "Are you quite sure they did not mention the discovery in this room of any object which could be regarded, even remotely, as a sign or symbol left by the murderer to show that his crime was an act of vengeance, or retaliation?" Theydon hesitated. Unquestionably he was in a position of no ordinary difficulty.
Theydon was about to unlock the door of his flat when it opened in his face, and his sister nearly collided with him. She screamed slightly, a certain quality of alarm in her exclamation merging instantly into joyful recognition. "So you have come home!" she cried. "My goodness! What a fright you've given me!" "Why?" he said, with a reassuring and brotherly hug. "I've had horrid dreams.
These negative indications conveyed absolutely nothing to Theydon, who for the second time in their brief acquaintance found himself in the ridiculous position of one explaining a fault rather than, as he imagined, arraigning a man under suspicion. "So we had better dispense with ambiguities, Mr. Forbes," he went on, speaking with a precision that sounded oddly in his own ears.
Theydon ate a hearty breakfast, thus proving that the marvels and portents of the previous day had not begun to undermine his constitution. Finding he had time, after attending to his correspondence, to walk to Handyside's hotel in the Strand, he did so. The American was awaiting him at the end of a long, thin cigar. "Any noos?" said the Chicagoan, after a cheerful greeting. "Yes.
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