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In a sudden recognition of the futility of trying to gather anything from that clouded brain, Barrant turned abruptly away without another word. And the black gaze of Thalassa followed him through the door and out into the darkness of the night. The bell in the darkened chambers rang with the insistent clamour of mechanism responding with blind obedience to a human hand, but Mr.
Barrant walked over to the clock and regarded it attentively. What a rascally fat face that moon had! It must have seen some queer sights in old houses during its two hundred years of life. Strange that those old clockmakers could make clocks to last so long, but couldn't keep their own life-springs running half the time! The moral verse was curious enough.
Barrant shook his head in a way which was more noncommittal than negative. He wanted to ascertain what the lawyer thought, but he was not prepared to reveal all his own thoughts in return. "Do you think that Robert Turold invented this story about his marriage?" he asked suddenly. "For what purpose?" "He did not want his daughter to succeed him in the title.
It was some time before Pengowan arrived, and Thalassa and he removed the body a little later." Barrant looked disappointed at his reply. "Would it be possible to make marks on a corpse after that length of time?" he asked. "What sort of marks?" asked the doctor. "There was a mark of five fingers on the left arm, made by a left hand." "Then you have finger-prints to help you?" "Unfortunately no.
"There are other proofs," Charles earnestly continued. "There were the marks on my uncle's arm, and the letter he wrote to his lawyer under the influence of the terror in which Thalassa found him the fear caused by overhearing Remington's footsteps. Thalassa posted that letter." "Did he tell you so?" asked Barrant quickly. Then, as Charles remained silent, he went on
Barrant, and I must not waste your time. You have come here for a specific purpose to turn me inside out. What can I tell you?" "I want to know all that you can tell me about your brother's death," said the other, with emphasis. "But what can I tell you that you do not already know?" exclaimed Austin, raising his eyebrows with a helpless look.
His eyes, straying incuriously over the outstretched panorama of sea and cliffs beneath the window, fell upon a man's outline scaling the cliff path near the Moon Rock. Disturbed in his meditations, Barrant watched the climber. He reached the top and appeared in full view on the bare summit of the cliffs. Barrant stared down upon him, amazed beyond measure. The advancing figure was Charles Turold.
"Oh yes, I'm modern enough," said Austin Turold, balancing his cigarette in his white fingers, and glancing at Barrant with a reflective air "that is to say, I believe in America and the League of Nations, but not in God. It's not the fashion to believe in God or have a conscience nowadays. They both went out with the war. After all, what's a conscience to a liver?
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.
I will get the warrant for her arrest backed at Bow Street, and put a couple of good men on the search before returning here. You had better have the inquest adjourned until I come back. This is no suicide, Dawfield, but a deep and skilfully planned murder." "I should think the flight of the girl makes that pretty clear," said Dawfield, as he made a note on his office pad. Barrant shook his head.
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