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There is a very dangerous gang of people about who try to get money from rich men, and, if they don't succeed, use violence. I have already come into contact with something of the sort myself. Your salary what do you get at present?" "Twenty-eight shillings a week, sir." "Double it," Mr. Weatherley ordered promptly. "Three pounds a week I will make it.
On that first walk was born an impulse which remained with him for many weeks afterwards. He found himself always scanning the faces of the streams of people whom he was continually passing, on foot and in vehicles, half expecting that somewhere among them he would catch a glimpse of the features of the lost Mr. Weatherley.
Naturally, therefore, I did not see him. The servants, however, noticed nothing unusual. Last night Mr. Chetwode here was with us, and he can tell you what was apparent to all of us. Mr. Weatherley seemed then in excellent health and spirits." Mr. Jarvis had the air of a man hopelessly bewildered.
"I cannot imagine what it all means, but I believe that Mr. Weatherley has disappeared." For several moments Fenella sat quite still. She was suddenly an altered woman. All the natural gayety and vivacity seemed to have faded from her features. There were suggestions of another self, zealously kept concealed. It was a curious revelation. Even her tone, when she spoke, was altered.
"It sounds like a good deal," Arnold admitted, "but I expect he had saved it." "Of course he had saved it," Mr. Jarvis admitted; "but what has that to do with it? One doesn't save money for the pleasure of spending it. Never since my connection with the firm has Mr. Weatherley attempted to spend anything like one half of his income."
"I don't know what to think, sir," he admitted, "except that the murderer up till now has been extraordinarily lucky." "Either that or he was fiendishly clever," Mr. Weatherley agreed, pulling nervously at his little patch of gray sidewhiskers. "I wonder, now you've read the case, Chetwode?" "Every word of it," Arnold admitted. "Have you formed any idea yourself as to the motive?" Mr.
Weatherley seems to have lost all interest in it." "I wonder he doesn't retire," Arnold suggested. Mr. Jarvis looked at him in amazement. "Retire!" he exclaimed. "Why should he retire? What would he do? Isn't it as comfortable for him to read his newspaper over the fire in the office here as at home?
Do not be like those silly boys who only plague one. With you and me, things are more serious." The car came to a standstill before the portals of Pelham Lodge. Arnold held her fingers for a moment or two after he had rung the bell. Then he turned away. She called him back. "Come in with me for a moment," she murmured. "To-night I am afraid. Mr. Weatherley will be in bed.
Anyway, she's not nearly so good-looking close to." Mr. Jarvis proceeded to inform the inquirer through the telephone that Mr. Weatherley was unfortunately not to be found at the moment. Arnold, with Mr. Weatherley's cheque book in his hand, knocked at the door of the private office and closed the door carefully behind him. As he stood upon the threshold, his heart gave a sudden leap. Mr.
The taxicab driver has been detained, and a full description of the murdered man's companions has been issued to the police. It is understood that nothing was found upon the deceased likely to help towards his identification. Arnold looked up as he finished. Mr. Weatherley was still smoking. He seemed, indeed, very little disturbed. "A sensational story, that, Chetwode," he remarked.
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