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Updated: May 29, 2025
"The passage at Merriton Towers, and also at Withersby Hall so conveniently placed near that particular part of the Fens, and therefore chosen by Brellier for his work are both of ancient origin, dating back, I should say, to the time of the civil war.
But a still further search brought to light another passage, which ran straight into the study of Withersby Hall, occupied by the Brelliers, and was hidden under the square rug in front of the fireplace. A nice convenient little spot for our friend here to carry on his good work.
He took to going regularly to Withersby Hall, and became an expected guest, dropping in at all hours to wile away an hour or two in 'Toinette's company, or else to have a quiet game of billiards with Brellier, or a cigar in company with both of them, in the garden, while the sun was still up. He never mentioned the flames to them again. But he never investigated them either.
He got out at Fetchworth station three hours later, hailed the only hack that stood there for he had forgotten to apprise any one at the Towers of his quick return and drove straightway to Withersby Hall. 'Toinette was at the window as he swung open the great gate. When she saw him she darted away and came flying down the drive to meet him.
But it is so, even since I myself have been in residence at Withersby Hall something like three and a half years there have been several mysterious disappearances, Sir Nigel, and all directly traceable to a foolhardy desire to investigate these phenomena. For myself, I leave well enough alone. I trust you are going to do likewise?" His eyes searched Merriton's face anxiously.
Even Withersby Hall and its environs had had the same close intensive study, and everything that was to be learnt from guide-books, tourists' enquiry offices and the like, was hidden away in the innermost recesses of his remarkable brain.
To which guard he told his tale I do not know, but, since we have taken the whole crowd we'll find out later. Anyway, he must have told someone else of his desire for private vengeance. And the thing worked. When poor Wynne met his death, it was at the point of a pistol which had lain unused in the secrétaire at Withersby Hall for some little time.
"From the top drawer of the secrétaire in the little boudoir at Withersby Hall," she said calmly, "where it has always lain. You will find a shot missing. Everything the same, Mr. Coroner; everything the same!" "It belongs to some member of your household, Miss Brellier?" She took a step backward and drew a sharp breath. Then her eyes were fixed upon Merriton's face. "It belongs to me," she said.
Funny for 'im to be prowlin' round at this hour of the day night's more to 'is likin'. I could hardly contain myself when I saw who it was even though I had already discovered the passage to Withersby Hall. I had not yet realized that 'Jonathan Brent' and Brellier were one and the same, though I discovered that the former had a perfectly legitimate office in London in Leadenhall Street.
Not a sign of habitation anywhere, not a vestige of it, save at the far edge of the Fens where a clump of trees and thick shrubs told him that behind lay Withersby Hall. This, intuition told him, was the home of Antoinette Brellier, the girl of the train, of the wreck, and now of his dreams. Then his thoughts turned to her.
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