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Updated: June 25, 2025
"If that's what you're reckoning on, I'd better go and pack my traps." "Oh, I don't make that a condition," replied the lawyer, acknowledging his defeat in a sporting spirit. "You can remain here and look after the house until you decide what to do. As Robert Turold's old servant you are entitled to consideration. I will help you afterwards, if you will let me know your plans.
Barrant produced the letter and took the single sheet from the grey envelope. "That is the reason of my presence in Cornwall," said Mr. Brimsdown. "So I imagined. What can you tell me about it?" "Very little, except that I received it by the last post at my chambers in Lincoln's Inn Fields the night after Robert Turold's death." "But why did he send for you?" "That I cannot even guess."
Barrant returned the look with a keen observation which took in the externals of the man who was the object of Mrs. Pendleton's suspicions. "You are the late Mr. Turold's servant?" he said. "Put it that way if you like," was the response. "Who might you be?" Barrant did not deign to reply to this inquiry. "Take us upstairs," he said.
It was all of a piece, sombre, yet of a sharp-edged vividness: the desolation of the moors, the sting of the rain, the clamour of the sea, the seabirds soaring slowly with harsh cries. Then they stood, the pair of them, in Robert Turold's bedroom, looking down on the dead man, swathed in his graveclothes, with a wreath of flowers from Mrs. Pendleton on his breast.
"I do not see that it throws any light on Miss Turold's disappearance. Can you explain that?" "How can I explain what I do not know?" Charles was silent for a moment, then added bitterly. "It may be because of her father's inhuman conduct." "Robert Turold is dead do not use that tone in speaking of him," the lawyer counselled. Charles turned on him a peculiar look.
Barrant, listening to this with the air of a man who was not to be deceived, could not see that the narration threw any illumination on the letter or the other circumstances of Robert Turold's death.
He reflected that he really knew very little of Robert Turold's private life in spite of the long association between them. He must have had other interests at one time or other beside the eternal question of the title. Mr.
He glanced at his watch and rose to his feet. "I'll be off now to catch the train. If anything important occurs during my absence you'd better send me a wire to Scotland Yard." It was from Mrs. Pendleton that Mr. Brimsdown gained his first real knowledge of the drama of strange events surrounding Robert Turold's death.
But his private opinion was that the letter was the outcome of some secret of the dead man's which he had imparted to his lawyer. He changed his mood with supple swiftness, in order to extract the information. "This letter suggests certain things," he said, "some secret, perhaps, in Robert Turold's life, of which you may have some inkling.
It was only a brief notification of the facts of a death which, in the words of the newspaper's local correspondent, "pointed to suicide." Suicide! The letter on which the ink was still bluish and fresh, seemed to convey Robert Turold's denial of the suggestion that he had taken his life. It was the cry of a man who had looked into the dark place of fear and seen Death lurking within.
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