A TELEGRAM was brought to Mr. Fortune. It announced that the woman whom his ingenuity convicted of the Winstanton murder had confessed it in prison just after the Home Secretary decided not to hang her. Mr. Fortune sighed satisfaction and took his hostess in to dinner.

He was staying in a Devonshire country house for mental repairs. This is not much like him, for save on visits of duty country houses seldom receive him. The conversation of the county, he complains, is too great a strain upon his intellect. Also, he has no interest in killing creatures, except professionally. But the output of crime had been large that winter and the task of keeping Scotland Yard straight, laborious; and he sought relief with Colonel Beach at Cranston Regis. For Tom Beach, once in the first flight of hunting men, having married a young wife, put central heat and electric light into a remote Tudor manor house, and retired there to grow iris and poultry. Neither poultry nor young wives allured Reggie Fortune, but gardens he loves, and his own iris were not satisfying him.

So he sat by Alice Beach at her table, and while her talk flowed on like the brook in the poem, while he wondered why men marry, since their bachelor dinners are better eating, surveyed with mild eyes her and her guests. Tom Beach had probably been unable to help marrying her, she was so pink and white and round, her eyes so shy and innocent. She was one of those women who make it instantly clear to men that they exist to be married, and Tom Beach has always done his duty. “But she’s not such a fool as she looks,” Reggie had pronounced.

With pity if not sympathy he glanced down the table at Tom Beach, that large, red, honest man who sat doing his best between dignity and impudence, dignity in the awful person of Mrs. Faulks and the mighty pretty impudence of his wife’s sister, Sally Winslow. Mrs. Faulks has been described as one who could never be caught bending, or a model of the art of the corset. She is spare, she is straight; and few have seen her exhibit interest in anything but other people’s incomes, which she always distrusts. A correct woman, but for a habit of wearing too many jewels.

What she was doing in Tom Beach’s genial house was plain enough. Her son had brought her to inspect Sally Winslow, as a man brings a vet to the horse he fancies. But it was not plain why Alexander Faulks fancied Sally Winslow. Imagine a bulldog after a butterfly. But bulldogs have a sense of humour. Sally Winslow is a wisp of a creature who has no respect for anyone, even herself. Under her bright bobbed hair, indeed, is the daintiest colour; but when some fellow said she had the face of a fairy, a woman suggested the face of a fairy’s maid. She listened to Alexander’s heavy talk and watched him in a fearful fascination, but sometimes she shot a glance across the table where a little man with a curly head and a roguish eye was eating his dinner demurely. His worst enemies never said that Captain Bunny Cosdon’s manners were bad.

Now you know them all. When they made up a four for bridge, upon which Mrs. Faulks always insists, it was inevitable that Reggie Fortune should stand out, for his simple mind declines to grasp the principles of cards. Alexander Faulks in his masterful way directed Sally to the table; and scared, but submissive, she sat down and giggled nervously. Reggie found himself left to his hostess and Captain Cosdon. They seemed determined to entertain him and he sighed and listened.

So he says. He is emphatic that he did not go to sleep. But the study of the events of that evening which afterwards became necessary, makes it clear that a long time passed before Alice Beach was saying the first thing that he remembers. “Did you ever know a perfect crime, Mr. Fortune?”

Mr. Fortune then sat up, as he records, and took notice.

Captain Cosdon burst out laughing, and departed, humming a stave of “Meet me to-night in Dreamland.”

Mr. Fortune gazed at his hostess. He had not supposed that she could say anything so sensible. “Most crimes are perfect,” he said.

“But how horrible! I should hate to be murdered and know there wasn’t a clue who did it.”

“Oh, there’ll be a clue all right,” Reggie assured her.

“Are you sure? And will you promise to catch my murderer, Mr. Fortune?”

“Well, you know,” he considered her round amiable face, “if you were murdered it would be a case of art for art’s sake. That’s very rare. I was speakin’ scientifically. A perfect crime is a complete series of cause and effect. Where you have that, there’s always a clue, there is always evidence, and when you get to work on it the unknown quantities come out. Yes. Most crimes are perfect. But you must allow for chance. Sometimes the criminal is an idiot. That’s a nuisance. Sometimes he has a streak of luck and the crime is damaged before we find it, something has been washed out, a bit of it has been lost. It’s the imperfect crimes that give trouble.”

“But how fascinating!”

“Oh, Lord, no,” said Mr. Fortune.

The bridge-players were getting up. Sally Winslow was announcing that she had lost all but honour. Mrs. Faulks wore a ruthless smile. Sally went off to bed.

“Oh, Mrs. Faulks,” her sister cried, “do come! Mr. Fortune is lecturing on crime.”

“Really. How very interesting,” said Mrs. Faulks, and transfixed Reggie with an icy stare.

“The perfect criminal in one lesson,” Alice Beach laughed. “I feel a frightful character already. All you want is luck, you know. Or else Mr. Fortune catches you every time.”

“I say, you know, Alice,” her husband protested.

A scream rang out. Alice stopped laughing. The little company looked at each other. “Where was that?” Tom Beach muttered.

“Not in the house, Colonel,” Faulks said. “Certainly not in the house.”

Tom Beach was making for the window when all the lights went out.

Alice gave a cry. The shrill voice of Mrs. Faulks arose to say, “Really!” Colonel Beach could be heard swearing. “Don’t let us get excited,” said Faulks. Reggie Fortune struck a match.

“Excited be damned,” said Tom Beach, and rang the bell.

Reggie Fortune, holding his match aloft, made for the door and opened it. The hall was dark, too.

“Oh, Lord, it’s the main fuse blown out!” Tom Beach groaned.

“Or something has happened in your little power station,” said Reggie Fortune cheerfully, and his host snorted. For the electricity at Cranston Regis comes from turbines on the stream which used to fill the Tudor fish-ponds, and Colonel Beach loves his machinery like a mother.

He shouted to the butler to bring candles, and out of the dark the voice of the butler was heard apologizing. He roared to the chauffeur, who was his engineer, to put in a new fuse. “It’s not the fuse, Colonel,” came a startled voice, “there’s no juice.”

Colonel Beach swore the more. “Run down to the powerhouse, confound you. Where the devil are those candles?”

The butler was very sorry, sir, the butler was coming, sir.

“Really!” said Mrs. Faulks in the dark, for Reggie had grown tired of striking matches. “Most inconvenient.” So in the dark they waited. . .

And again they heard a scream. It was certainly in the house this time, it came from upstairs, it was in the voice of Sally Winslow. Reggie Fortune felt some one bump against him, and knew by the weight it was Faulks. Reggie struck another match, and saw him vanish into the darkness above as he called, “Miss Winslow, Miss Winslow!”

There was the sound of a scuffle and a thud. Colonel Beach stormed upstairs. A placid voice spoke out of the dark at Reggie’s ear, “I say, what’s up with the jolly old house?” The butler arrived quivering with a candle in each hand and a bodyguard of candle-bearing satellites, and showed him the smiling face of Captain Cosdon.

From above Colonel Beach roared for lights. “The C.O. sounds peeved,” said Captain Cosdon. “Someone’s for it, what?”

They took the butler’s candles and ran up, discovering with the light Mr. Faulks holding his face together. “Hallo, hallo! Dirty work at the crossroads, what? Why—— Sally! Good God!”

On the floor of the passage Sally Winslow lay like a child asleep, one frail bare arm flung up above her head.

“Look at that. Fortune,” Tom Beach cried. “Damned scoundrels!”

“Hold the candle,” said Reggie Fortune; but as he knelt beside her the electric light came on again.

“Great Jimmy!” Captain Cosdon exclaimed. “Who did that?”

“Don’t play the fool, Bunny,” Tom Beach growled. “What have they done to her, Fortune?”

Reggie’s plump, capable hands were moving upon the girl delicately. “Knocked her out,” he said, and stared down at her, and rubbed his chin.

“Who? What? How?” Cosdon cried. “Hallo, Faulks, what’s your trouble? Who hit you?”

“How on earth should I know,” Faulks mumbled, still feeling his face as he peered at the girl. “When Miss Winslow screamed, I ran up. It was dark, of course. Some men caught hold of me. I struck out and they set on me. I was knocked down. I wish you would look at my eye, Fortune.”

Reggie was looking at Sally, whose face had begun to twitch.

“Your eye will be a merry colour to-morrow,” Cosdon assured him. “But who hit Sally?”

“It was the fellows who set upon me, I suppose, of course; they were attacking her when I rescued her.”

“Stout fellow,” said Cosdon. “How many were there?”

“Quite a number. Quite. How can I possibly tell? It was dark. Quite a number.”

Sally tried to sneeze and failed, opened her eyes and murmured, “The light, the light.” She saw the men about her and began to laugh hysterically.

“Good God, the scoundrels may be in the house still,” cried Tom Beach. “Come on, Cosdon.”

“I should say so,” said Captain Cosdon, but he lingered over Sally. “All right now?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh, Bunny,” she choked in her laughter. “Yes, yes, I’m all right. Oh, Mr. Fortune, what is it? Oh, poor Mr. Faulks, what has happened?”

“Just so,” said Reggie. He picked her up and walked off with her to her bedroom.

“Oh, you are strong,” she said, not coquetting, but in honest surprise, like a child.

Reggie laughed. “There’s nothing of you,” and he laid her down on her bed. “Well, what about it?”

“I feel all muzzy.”

“That’ll pass off,” said Reggie cheerfully. “Do you know what hit you?”

“No. Isn’t it horrid? It was all dark, you know. There’s no end of a bruise,” she felt behind her ear and made a face.

“I know, I know,” Reggie murmured sympathetically. “And how did it all begin?”

“Why, I came up to bed, Mr. Fortune—heavens, there may be a man in here now!” she raised herself.

“Yes, we’d better clear that up,” said Reggie, and looked under the bed and opened the wardrobe and thrust into her dresses and turned back to her. “No luck, Miss Winslow.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she sank down again. “You see, I came up and put the light on, of course, and there was a man at the window there. Then I screamed.”

“The first scream,” Reggie murmured.

“And then the lights went out. I ran away and tumbled over that chair and then out into the passage. I kept bumping into things and it was horrid. And then—oh, somebody caught hold of me and I screamed——”

“The second scream,” Reggie murmured.

“I was sort of flung about. There were men there fighting in the dark. Horrid. Hitting all round me, you know. And then—oh, well, I suppose I stopped one, didn’t I?”

There was a tap at the door. “May I come in, doctor?” said Alice Beach.

“Oh, Alice, have they caught anyone?”

“Not a creature. Isn’t it awful? Oh, Sally, you poor darling,” her sister embraced her. “What a shame! Is it bad?”

“I’m all muddled. And jolly sore.”

“My dear! It is too bad it should be you. Oh, Mr. Fortune, what did happen?”

“Some fellow knocked her out. She’ll be all right in the morning. But keep her quiet and get her off to sleep.” He went to the window. It was open and the curtains blowing in the wind. He looked out. A ladder stood against the wall. “And that’s that. Yes. Put her to bed, Mrs. Beach.”

Outside in the passage he found Captain Cosdon waiting. “I say, Fortune, is she much hurt?”

“She’s taken a good hard knock. She’s not made for it. But she’ll be all right.”

“Sally! Oh damn,” said Cosdon.

“Did you catch anybody?”

“Napoo. All clear. The Colonel’s going round to see if they got away with anything. And Faulks wants you to look at his poor eye.”

“Nothing of yours gone?”

Cosdon laughed. “No. But I’m not exactly the burglar’s friend, don’t you know? My family jewels wouldn’t please the haughty crook. I say, it’s a queer stunt. Ever been in one like it?”

“I don’t think it went according to plan,” said Reggie Fortune.

He came down and found Faulks with an eye dwindling behind a bruise of many colours, arguing with an agitated butler that the house must contain arnica. Before he could give the attention which Mr. Faulks imperiously demanded, the parade voice of the Colonel rang through the house. “Fortune, come up here!”

Tom Beach stood in the study where he writes the biographies of his poultry and his iris. There also are kept the cups, medals and other silver with which shows reward their beauty. “Look at that!” he cried, with a tragic gesture. The black pedestals of the cups, the velvet cases of the medals stood empty.

“Great Jimmy!” said Captain Cosdon in awe.

“Well, that’s very thorough,” said Reggie. “And the next thing, please.”

Colonel Beach said it was a damned outrage. He also supposed that the fellows had stripped the whole place. And he bounced out.

Reggie went to his own room. He had nothing which could be stolen but his brushes, and they were not gone. He looked out of the window. In the cold March moonlight he saw two men moving hither and thither, and recognized one for his chauffeur and factotum Sam, and shouted.

“Nothing doing, sir,” Sam called back. “Clean getaway.”

Reggie went downstairs to the smoking-room. He was stretched in a chair consuming soda-water and a large cigar when there broke upon him in a wave of chattering Tom Beach and Alice and Captain Cosdon.

“Oh, Mr. Fortune, is this a perfect crime?” Alice laughed.

Reggie shook his head. “I’m afraid it had an accident in its youth. The crime that took the wrong turning.”

“How do you mean, Fortune?” Tom Beach frowned. “It’s deuced awkward.”

“Awkward is the word,” Reggie agreed. “What’s gone, Colonel?”

“Well, there’s my pots, you know. And Alice has lost a set of cameos she had in her dressing-room.”

“Pigs!” said Alice with conviction.

“And Mrs. Faulks says they’ve taken that big ruby brooch she was wearing before dinner. You know it.”

“It’s one of the things I could bear not to know,” Reggie murmured. “Nothing else?”

“She says she doesn’t know, she’s too upset to be sure. I say, Fortune, this is a jolly business for me.”

“My dear chap!”

“She’s gone to bed fuming. Faulks is in a sweet state too.”

“What’s he lost?”

“Only his eye,” Cosdon chuckled.

“That’s the lot, then? Nice little bag, but rather on the small side. Yes, it didn’t go according to plan.”

“Oh, Mr. Fortune, what are you going to do?”

“Do?” said Reggie reproachfully. “I? Where’s the nearest policeman?”

“Why, here,” Alice pointed at him.

“Cranston Abbas,” said Tom Beach, “and he’s only a yokel. Village constable, don’t you know.”

“Yes, you are rather remote, Colonel. What is there about you that brings the wily cracksman down here?”

“Mrs. Faulks!” Alice cried. “That woman must travel with a jeweller’s shop. There’s a chance for you, Mr. Fortune. Get her rubies back and you’ll win her heart.”

“Jewelled in fifteen holes. I’d be afraid of burglars. Mrs. Beach, you’re frivolous, and the Colonel’s going to burst into tears. Will anyone tell me what did happen? We were all in the drawing-room—no. Where were you, Cosdon?”

“Writing letters here, old thing.”

“Quite so. And the servants?”

“All in the servants’ hall at supper!” Colonel Beach said. “They are all right.”

“Quite. Miss Winslow went upstairs and saw a man at her window. There’s a ladder at it. She screamed and the lights went out. Why?”

“The rascals got at the powerhouse. Baker found the main switch off.”

“Then they knew their way about here. Have you sacked any servant lately? Had any strange workman in the place? No? Yet the intelligence work was very sound. Well, in the darkness Miss Winslow tumbled out into the passage and was grabbed and screamed, and the brave Faulks ran upstairs and took a black eye, and Miss Winslow took the count, and when we arrived there wasn’t a burglar in sight. Yes, there was some luck about.”

“Not for Sally,” said her sister.

“No,” said Reggie thoughtfully. “No, but there was a lot of luck going.” He surveyed them through his cigar smoke with a bland smile.

“What do you think I ought to do, Fortune?” said Tom Beach.

“Go to bed,” said Reggie. “What’s the time? Time runs on, doesn’t it? Yes, go to bed.”

“Oh, but, Mr. Fortune, you are disappointing,” Alice Beach cried.

“I am. I notice it every day. It’s my only vice.”

“I do think you might be interested!”

“A poor crime, but her own,” Captain Cosdon chuckled. “It’s no good, Mrs. Beach. It don’t appeal to the master mind.”

“You know, Fortune, it’s devilish awkward,” the Colonel protested.

“I’m sorry. But what can we do? You might call up your village policeman. He’s four miles off, and I dare say he needs exercise. You might telephone to Thorton and say you have been burgled, and will they please watch some road or other for some one or other with a bag of silver and a set of cameos and a ruby brooch. It doesn’t sound helpful, does it?”

“It sounds damned silly.”

“But I thought you’d find clues, Mr. Fortune,” Alice Beach cried, “all sorts of clues, finger-prints and foot-prints and——”

“And tell us the crime was done by a retired sergeant-cook with pink hair and a cast in the eye,” Cosdon grinned.

“You see, I’ve no imagination,” said Reggie, sadly.

“Confound you, Cosdon, it isn’t a joke,” Colonel Beach cried.

“No, I don’t think it’s a joke,” Reggie agreed.

“One of your perfect crimes, Mr. Fortune?”

“Well, I was sayin’—you have to allow for chance. There was a lot of luck about.”

“What are you thinking of?”

“The time, Mrs. Beach. Yes, the flight of time. We’d better go to bed.”

But he did not go to bed. He stirred the fire in his bedroom and composed himself by it. The affair annoyed him. He did not want to be bothered by work and his mind insisted on working. Something like this. “Philosophically time is an illusion. ‘Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.’ Highly divers, yes. Time is the trouble, Colonel. Why was there such a long time between the first scream and the second scream? Sally tumbled down. Sally was fumbling in the dark: but it don’t take many minutes to get from her room to the stairs. She took as long as it took the chauffeur to run to the powerhouse. He started some while after the first scream, he had found what was wrong and put the light on again within a minute of the second. Too much time for Sally—and too little. How did Sally’s burglars get off so quick? Faulks ran up at the second scream. The rest of us were there next minute. They were there to hit Faulks. When we came, we saw no one, heard no one and found no one.” He shook his head at the firelight. “And yet Sally’s rather a dear. I wonder. No, it didn’t go according to plan. But I don’t like it, my child. It don’t look pretty.”

He sat up. Somebody was moving in the corridor. He went to his table for an electric torch, slid silently across the room, flung open the door and flashed on the light. He caught a glimpse of legs vanishing round a corner, legs which were crawling, a man’s legs. A door was closed stealthily.

Reggie swept the light along the floor. It fell at last on some spots of candle grease dropped where the fallen Sally was examined. Thereabouts the legs had been. He moved the light to and fro. Close by stood an old oak settle. He swept the light about it, saw something beneath it flash and picked up Mrs. Faulks’s big ruby brooch.

The early morning, which he does not love, found him in the garden. There under Sally’s window the ladder still stood. “That came from the potting sheds, sir,” his factotum Sam told him. “Matter of a hundred yards.” Together they went over the path and away to the little powerhouse by the stream. The ground was still hard from the night frost.

“Not a trace,” Reggie murmured. “Well, well. Seen anybody about this morning, Sam?”

“This morning, sir?” Sam stared. “Not a soul.”

“Have a look,” said Reggie and went in shivering.

He was met by the butler who said nervously that Colonel Beach had been asking for him and would like to see him in the study. There he found not only Colonel Beach but Mrs. Beach and Sally and Captain Cosdon, a distressful company. It was plain that Mrs. Beach had been crying. Sally was on the brink. Cosdon looked like a naughty boy uncertain of his doom. But the Colonel was tragic, the Colonel was taking things very hard.

Reggie Fortune beamed upon them. “Morning, morning. Up already, Miss Winslow? How’s the head?”

Sally tried to say something and gulped. Tom Beach broke out: “Sorry to trouble you, Fortune. It’s an infernal shame dragging you into this business.” He glared at his wife, and she wilted.

“My dear Colonel, it’s my job,” Reggie protested cheerfully, and edged towards the fire which the Colonel screened.

“I’m awfully sorry, Colonel. I’m the one to blame,” Cosdon said. “It’s all my fault, don’t you know.”

“I don’t know whose fault it isn’t. I know it’s a most ghastly mess.”

“It’s just like a snowball,” Alice laughed hysterically. “Our snowball burglary.”

“Snowball?” the Colonel roared at her.

“Oh, Tom, you know. When you want subscriptions and have a snowball where every one has to get some one else to subscribe. I thought of it and I brought in Sally and Sally brought in Bunny and then Mr. Faulks came in—poor Mr. Faulks—and then Mrs. Faulks got into it and her rubies.”

“And now we’re all in it, up to the neck.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s very lucid,” said Reggie. “But a little confusing to an outsider. My brain’s rather torpid, you know. I only want to get on the fire.” He obtained the central position and sighed happily. “Well now, the workin’ hypothesis is that there were no burglars. Somebody thought it would be interesting to put up a perfect crime. For the benefit of the guileless expert.”

They were stricken by a new spasm of dismay. They stared at him. “Yes, you always knew it was a fake,” Cosdon cried. “I guessed that last night when you kept talking about the time.”

“Well, I thought a little anxiety would be good for you. Even the expert has his feelings.”

“It was horrid of us, Mr. Fortune,” Sally cried. “But it wasn’t only meant for you.”

“Oh, don’t discourage me.”

“It was all my fault, Mr. Fortune.” Alice put in her claim and looked at him ruefully and then began to laugh. “But you did seem so bored——”

“Oh, no, no, no. Only my placid nature. Well now, to begin at the beginning. Somebody thought it would be a merry jest to have me on. That was you, Mrs. Beach. For your kindly interest, I thank you.”

Mrs. Beach again showed signs of weeping.

“Please don’t be horrid, Mr. Fortune,” said Sally, fervently.

“I’m trying to be fascinating. But you see I’m so respectable. You unnerve me.”

“I thought of a burglary,” said Mrs. Beach, choking sobs. “And I asked Sally to do it.”

“And she did—all for my sake. Well, one never knows,” Reggie sighed, and looked sentimental.

“It wasn’t you,” said Sally. “I wanted to shock Mr. Faulks.”

“Dear, dear. I shouldn’t wonder if you have.”

“Oh!” Sally shuddered. “That man is on my nerves. He simply follows me about. He scares me. When I found he’d got Tom to ask him here I——”

“Yes, of course, it’s my fault,” Tom Beach cried. “I knew it would come round to that.”

“You didn’t know, dear, how could you?” Sally soothed him. “He doesn’t make love to you. Well, he was here and his mamma and—oh, Mr. Fortune, you’ve seen them. They want shocking. So I talked to Bunny and——”

“And I came in with both feet,” said Captain Cosdon. “My scheme really, Fortune, all my scheme.”

“All?” Reggie asked with some emphasis.

“Good Lord, not what’s happened.”

“I thought we should come to that some day. What did happen?”

And they all began to talk at once. From which tumult emerged the clear little voice of Sally. “Bunny slipped out early and put a garden ladder up at my window and then went off to the powerhouse. When I went to bed, I collected Tom’s pots from the study—that was because he is so vain of them—and Alice’s cameos—that’s because they’re so dowdy—and locked them in my trunk. Then I screamed at the window. That was the signal for Bunny and he switched the lights out and came back. All that was what we planned.” She looked pathetically at Reggie. “It was a good crime, wasn’t it, Mr. Fortune?”

“You have a turn for the profession, Miss Winslow. You will try to be too clever. It’s the mark of the criminal mind.”

“I say, hang it all, Fortune——” Cosdon flushed.

“I know I spoilt it,” said Sally meekly. “I just stood there, you know, hearing Tom roar downstairs and you all fussing——”

“And you underrate the policeman. Do I fuss?” Reggie was annoyed.

“You’re fussing over my morals now. Well, I stood there and it came over me the burglars just had to have something of Mrs. Faulks’s.” She gurgled. “That would make it quite perfect. So I ran into her room and struck a match and there was her awful old ruby brooch. I took that and went out into the passage and screamed again. That was the plan. Then I bumped into somebody——”

“That was me,” said Captain Cosdon. “She was such a jolly long time with the second scream I went up to see if anything was wrong——”

“Yes. The criminal will do too much,” Reggie sighed.

“Then Faulks came. He tumbled into us and hit out, silly ass. I heard Sally go down and I let him have it. Confound him.”

Sally smiled at him affectionately.

“Oh yes, it’s devilish funny, isn’t it?” cried Tom Beach. “Good God, Cosdon, you’re not fit to be at large. A nice thing you’ve let me in for.”

“Well, you’ve all been very ingenious,” said Reggie. “Thanks for a very jolly evening. May I have some breakfast?” There was a silence which could be felt.

“Mr. Fortune,” said Sally, “that awful brooch is gone.”

“Yes, that’s where we slipped up,” said Cosdon. “Sally must have dropped it when that fool knocked her out. I went out last night to hunt for it and it wasn’t there.”

“Really?”

Reggie’s tone was sardonic and Cosdon flushed at it. “What do you mean?”

“Well, somebody found it, I suppose. That’s the working hypothesis.”

He reduced them to the dismal condition in which he found them. “There you are!” Colonel Beach cried. “Some one of the servants saw the beastly thing and thought there was a chance to steal it. It’s a ghastly business. I’ll have to go through them for it and catch some poor devil who would have gone straight enough if you hadn’t played the fool. It’s not fair, confound it.”

There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Faulks was asking if the Colonel would speak to her. The Colonel groaned and went out.

“Do you mind if I have some breakfast, Mrs. Beach?” said Reggie plaintively.

They seemed to think him heartless but offered no impediment. A dejected company slunk downstairs. It occurred to Reggie, always a just man, that Sam also might be hungry and he ran out to take him off guard.

When he came back to the breakfast-room, he found that Faulks had joined the party. It was clear that no one had dared to tell him the truth. They were gazing in fascinated horror at the many colours which swelled about his right eye, and his scowl was terrible.

“Hallo, Faulks! Stout fellow,” said Reggie, brightly. “How’s the head?”

Mr. Faulks turned the scowl on him. Mr. Faulks found his head very painful. He had had practically no sleep. He feared some serious injury to the nerves. He must see a doctor. And his tone implied that as a doctor and a man Reggie was contemptible.

Reggie served himself generously with bacon and mushrooms and began to eat. No one else was eating but Mr. Faulks. He, in a domineering manner, smote boiled eggs. The others played with food like passengers in a rolling ship.

The door was opened. The austere shape of Mrs. Faulks stalked in and behind her Tom Beach slunk to his place. Mrs. Faulks’s compressed face wore a look of triumph.

Sally half rose from her chair. “Oh, Mrs. Faulks,” she cried, “have you found your rubies?”

“Really!” said Mrs. Faulks with a freezing smile. “No, Miss Winslow, I have not found my rubies.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Mrs. Faulks stared at her. “I imagine there is only one thing to be done. I have desired Colonel Beach to send for the police. I should have thought that was obvious.”

“Oh, Tom, you mustn’t!” Sally cried.

“Really! My dear, you don’t realize what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do. You don’t understand, Mrs. Faulks; you see it was like this——” and out it all came with the Colonel trying to stop it in confused exclamations, and Mrs. Faulks and her heavy son sinking deeper and deeper into stupefaction.

“The whole affair was a practical joke?” said Faulks thickly.

“That’s the idea, old thing,” Cosdon assured him.

“Yes, yes, don’t you see it?” Sally giggled.

“I never heard anything so disgraceful,” Faulks pronounced.

“I say, go easy,” Cosdon cried.

Mrs. Faulks had become pale. “Am I expected to believe this?” she looked from Tom to Alice.

“Oh, Mrs. Faulks, I am so sorry,” Alice Beach said. “It was too bad. And it’s really all my fault.”

“I—I—you say you stole my rubies?” Mrs. Faulks turned upon Sally.

“Come, come, the child took them for a joke,” Colonel Beach protested.

“I took them, yes—and then I lost them. I’m most awfully sorry about that.”

“Are you indeed. Am I to believe this tale, Colonel Beach? Then pray who stole my diamond necklace?”

She produced an awful silence. She seemed proud of it, and in a fascination of horror the conspirators stared at her.

“Diamond necklace!” Sally cried. “I never saw it.”

“My necklace is gone. I don’t profess to understand the ideas of joking in this house. But my necklace is gone.”

“Oh, my lord,” said Cosdon. “That’s torn it.”

“The snowball!” Alice gasped. “It is a snowball. Everything gets in something else.”

“Really!” said Mrs. Faulks (her one expletive). “I do not understand you.”

Reggie arose and cut himself a large portion of cold beef.

“If this was a practical joke,” said the solemn voice of Faulks, “who struck me?”

“That was me, old thing,” Cosdon smiled upon him.

“But strictly speakin’,” said Reggie as he came back and took more toast, “that’s irrelevant.”

“Colonel Beach!” Mrs. Faulks commanded the wretched man’s attention, “what do you propose to do?”

“We shall have to have the police,” he groaned.

“Oh, yes, it’s a case for the police,” said Reggie cheerfully. “Have you a telegraph form, Colonel?”

“It’s all right, Fortune, thanks. I’ll telephone.”

“Yes, encourage local talent. But I would like to send a wire to Scotland Yard.”

“Scotland Yard!” Mrs. Faulks was impressed. Mrs. Faulks smiled on him.

“Well, you know, there are points about your case, Mrs. Faulks. I think they would be interested.”

Like one handing his own death warrant, Colonel Beach put down some telegraph forms. Reggie pulled out his pencil, laid it down again and took some marmalade. “Valuable necklace, of course, Mrs. Faulks?” he said blandly. “Quite so. The one you wore the night before last? I remember. I remember.” He described it. Mrs. Faulks approved and elaborated his description. “That’s very clear. Are your jewels insured? Yes, well that is a certain consolation.” He adjusted his pencil and wrote. “I think this will meet the case.” He gave the telegram to Mrs. Faulks.

Mrs. Faulks read it, Mrs. Faulks seemed unable to understand. She continued to gaze at it, and the wondering company saw her grow red to the frozen coils of her hair.

Reggie was making notes on another telegraph form. He read out slowly a precise description of the lost necklace. “That’s it, then,” he said. “By the way, who are you insured with?”

Mrs. Faulks glared at him. “I suppose this is another joke.”

“No,” Reggie shook his head. “This has gone beyond a joke.”

“Where is my brooch, then? Who has my brooch?”

“I have,” said Reggie. He pulled it out of his pocket and laid it on her plate. “I found the brooch in the passage. I didn’t find the necklace, Mrs. Faulks. So I should like to send that telegram.”

“You will do nothing of the kind. I won’t have anything done. The whole affair is disgraceful, perfectly disgraceful. I forbid you to interfere. Do you understand, I forbid it? Colonel Beach! It is impossible for me to stay in your house after the way in which you have allowed me to be treated. Please order the car.”

She stalked out of the room.

“Fortune!” said Faulks thunderously. “Will you kindly explain yourself?”

“I don’t think I need explaining. But you might ask your mother. She kept the telegram.” And to his mother Mr. Faulks fled.

“Good God, Fortune, what have you done?” Tom Beach groaned.

“Not a nice woman,” said Reggie sadly. “Not really a nice woman.” He stood up and sought the fire and lit a cigar and sighed relief.

“Mr. Fortune, what was in that telegram?” Sally cried.

Reggie sat down on the cushioned fender. “I don’t think you’re really a good little girl, you know,” he shook his head at her and surveyed the company. “Broadly speakin’ you ought all to be ashamed of yourselves. Except the Colonel.”

“Please, Mr. Fortune, I’ll never do it again,” said Alice plaintively. “Tom——” she sat on the arm of her husband’s chair and caressed him.

“All right, all right,” he submitted. “But I say, Fortune, what am I to do about Mrs. Faulks?”

“She’s done all there is to do. No, not a nice woman.”

Sally held out her small hands. “Please! What did you say in that telegram?”

“‘Lomas, Scotland Yard. Jewel robbery Colonel Beach’s house curious features tell post office stop delivery registered packet posted Cranston this morning nine examine contents Reginald Fortune Cranston Regis.’”

“I don’t understand.”

“She did. Sorry to meddle with anyone in your house. Colonel, but she would have it. You won’t have any trouble.”

“But what’s the woman done?” the Colonel cried.

“Well, you know, she’s been led into temptation. When she thought burglars had taken her brooch it seemed to her that she might as well recover from the insurance people for something else too. That’s the worst of playing at crime, Mrs. Beach. You never know who won’t take it seriously. What made me cast an eye at Mrs. Faulks was her saying last night that she wasn’t sure whether she had lost anything else. I can’t imagine Mrs. Faulks not sure about anything. She’s sure she’s an injured woman now. And I’ll swear she always has an inventory of all her jeweller’s shop in her head.”

“She has,” said Alice Beach pathetically. “You should hear her talk of her jewels.”

“Heaven forbid. But you see, Miss Winslow, it’s the old story, you criminals always try to be too clever. She thought it wouldn’t be enough to say she’d lost her diamonds. She wanted them well out of the way so that the police could search and not find them. So she scurried off to the post office and sent them away in a registered packet. Thus, as you criminals will, underratin’ the intelligence of the simple policeman. My man Sam was looking out to see if anyone did anything unusual this morning and he observed Mrs. Faulks’s manoeuvres at the post office——”

“And you had her cold!” Cosdon cried.

“Yes. Yes, a sad story.”

“She didn’t really mean any harm,” said Sally. “Did she, Mr. Fortune?”

Reggie looked at her sadly. “You’re not a moral little girl, you know,” he said.

CASE VI