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It was found that she, and not Harold Transome, was the rightful owner of the Transome estates. For Esther's real name was Bycliffe and not Lyon, and she was the step-daughter only of the minister. Mr. Lyon had found Esther's mother, a French woman of great beauty, in destitution her husband, an Englishman, lying in some unknown prison.
Young Kelly, it appeared, had lived with his uncle until a little less than three years ago. Then suddenly he had disappeared. He had vanished, as a brilliant writer for the New York Press framed it, as if the earth had swallowed him up. Transome Kent, however, was not a man to be baffled by initial defeat. A week later, the Investigator called in at the office of Inspector Edwards.
And the old man sat down at a window with his back to them, writing with his head bent close to the paper. Felix had heard of Esther's change of fortune and felt sure she would marry Harold Transome. It was only when the time for parting came that he could bring himself to say: "I had a horrible struggle, Esther. But you see I was right. There was a fitting lot in reserve for you."
Lyon and Harold Transome both gave evidence in favour of Felix, stating that the prisoner had often expressed his hatred of rioting, and had protested with indignation against the treating that went on during the election by some of the Radical agents.
"So do I," said the other. The Chief Inspector of the Detective Department, a large, heavy-looking man, was standing beside a gate-post. He nodded gloomily to Transome Kent. "Are you baffled, Edwards?" asked Kent. "Baffled again, Mr. Kent," said the Inspector, with a sob in his voice. "I thought I could have solved this one, but I can't." He passed a handkerchief across his eyes.
They were deeply engrossed in a discussion on the reigning sovereign of the Baron’s native land, a monarch of whose enlightened policy that nobleman spoke with pardonable pride, when two elderly gentlemen entered the room. “Who are these?” Mr Bunker whispered to Transome. “I know them very well, but I am always bad at names.” “Lord Fabrigas and General M’Dermott,” replied Transome.
His instinct was to act. "You may go," he said to the messenger. "Hullo, operator! Put me through to two, two, two, two, two. Is that two, two, two, two, two? Hullo, two, two, two, two, two; I want Transome Kent. Kent speaking? Kent, this is Throgton speaking. Kent, a murder has been committed at the Kelly residence, Riverside Drive. I want you to go and cover it. Get it all. Don't spare expense.
The tracery of the chief windows too is not unlike that of the lantern windows of the founder's chapel except that there is a well-marked transome half-way up a feature which has been attributed to English influence while the single windows of the tomb chambers are completely filled with geometric tracery.
None followed him to the grave except a few morbid curiosity-seekers, who rode on top of the hearse. The great city turned again to its usual avocations. The unfathomable mystery was dismissed from the public mind. Meantime Transome Kent was on the trail. Sleepless, almost foodless, and absolutely drinkless, he was everywhere. He was looking for Peter Kelly.
Transome intimately, and he was, without the slightest doubt, a rare judge of old furniture. I wouldn't mind following him anywhere, or accepting his judgment about anything. He was very set upon not having anything in his house that was not genuine. Now under any other circumstances, mind you, I should have had my doubts about that suite, but if you can assure me that it came from Dr.
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