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"I'm more than ever convinced that Jacob Herapath was robbed as well as murdered, and that robbery and murder or, rather, murder and robbery, for the murder would go first took place just before Barthorpe entered the offices to keep that appointment. Selwood! we must find this Dimambro man!" "Who's most likely left the country," remarked Selwood.
Selwood hurried out of that restaurant as soon as he had paid his bill, but it was with small hopes of finding the man whose face had appeared at the glass panel for the fraction of a second.
"Mr. Barthorpe Herapath wants both of you," he said curtly. "I suppose he will ask for you presently." Kitteridge let out an anxious inquiry. "The master, sir?" he exclaimed. "Is " "Good heavens!" muttered Selwood. "I of course, you don't know. Mr. Herapath is dead." The two servants started and stared at each other.
But Selwood shook his head and uttered a dismal groan. "Another of my late employer's peculiarities," he answered, "was that he never gave or took receipts in what one may call word-of-mouth transactions! He had a rooted almost savage objection to anybody asking him for a receipt for cash; he absolutely refused to take one if he paid cash.
And when the smiling patron presently came round, and, seeing a new customer, asked politely if he was being served to his satisfaction, Selwood determined to settle matters at once. "The proprietor, I presume?" he asked. "Manager, sir," answered the other. "The proprietor, he is an old gentleman practically retired." "Perhaps I can ask you a question," Selwood. "Have you got a Mr.
The doctor must have made a mistake and yet, Selwood remembered, he had spoken very positively. But if he had not made a mistake? what then? How could Jacob Herapath be lying dead in his office at Kensington and nibbling at a sandwich in Portman Square at one and the same hour? Clearly there was something wrong, something deeply mysterious, something
"Tonight at an hour to be fixed after your agreement to their terms." Selwood felt himself in a difficult position. Mr. Tertius was out of town for the day, gone to visit an antiquarian friend in Berkshire: Mr. Halfpenny lived away down amongst the Surrey hills. Still, there was Cox-Raythwaite to turn to. But it seemed as if the lady desired an immediate answer. "You know these men?" he asked.
"What! to look for Dimambro?" exclaimed Selwood. "Why not? Remember that Burchill was Jacob Herapath's secretary before you were," answered the Professor. "He was with Jacob some time, wasn't he? Well, he knew a good deal about Jacob's doings. Jacob may have had dealings with this Dimambro person in Burchill's days. You don't remember that Jacob had any such dealings in your time?"
Tertius, bowed to Selwood, took off his spectacles and proceeded to polish them with a highly-coloured bandana handkerchief which he produced from the tail of his overcoat. This operation concluded, he restored the spectacles to his nose, sat down, placed his hands, palm downwards, on his plump knees and solemnly inspected everybody. "My dear friends!" he said in a hushed, deep voice.
But I don't know what this is all about. Some new departure. Hullo! here's the secretary and the Professor." Cox-Raythwaite and Selwood just then appeared at the entrance door and began to descend the steps. Davidge, who had stopped on the steps to speak to a man, hailed and drew them aside. "What has gone on up there?" asked Carver. "Anything really "
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