 CHAPTER XXII. All that remained of the once stately, if restricted, premises—Mrs. Dashwood and Solomon was a gaunt-looking front wall, blackened by the fire. Tarling interviewed the chief of the fire brigade. "'It'll be days before we can get inside,' said that worthy, and I very much doubt if there's anything left intact. The whole of the building has been burnt out. You can see for yourself the roof has gone in, and there's very little chance of recovering anything of an inflammable nature unless it happens to be in a safe.' Solomon caught sight of the brusque Sir Felix Solomon gazing without any visible evidence of distress upon the wreckage of his office. "'We are covered by insurance,' said Sir Felix philosophically, and there is nothing of any great importance, except, of course, those documents and books from Lyon's store. They weren't in the fireproof vault,' asked Tarling, and Sir Felix shook his head. "'No,' he said, they were in a strong room, and curiously enough it was in that strong room where the fire originated. The room itself was not fireproof, and it would have been precious little use of it had been as the fire started inside. The first news we received was when a clerk, going down to the basement, saw flames leaping out between the steel bars which constitute the door of number four vault.' Tarling nodded. "'I need not ask you whether the books which Mr. Milberg brought this morning had been placed in that safe, Sir Felix,' he said, and the night looked surprised. "'Of course not. They were placed there whilst you were in the office,' he said. "'Why do you ask?' Because in my judgment those books were not books at all in the usually understood sense. Unless I am at fault the parcel contained three big ledgers glued together, the contents being hollowed out and that hollow filled with thermite, a clockwork detonator, or the necessary electric apparatus to start a spark at a given moment. The accountant stared at him. "'You're joking,' he said, but Tarling shook his head. I was never more serious in my life. But who would commit such an infernal act as that? Why, one of my clerks was nearly burnt to death. The man who would commit such an infernal act as that, repeated Tarling slowly, is the man who has every reason for wishing to avoid an examination of Lyne's accounts. You don't mean. I'll mention no names for the moment, and if I inadvertently have conveyed the identity of the gentleman of whom I have been speaking, I hope you will be good enough to regard it as confidential,' said Tarling, and went back to his crestfallen subordinate. No wonder Milberg was satisfied with the forthcoming examination, he said bitterly. The devil had planted that parcel, and had timed it probably to the minute. Well, there's nothing more to be done to-night, with Milberg. He looked at his watch. "'I'm going back to my flat, and afterwards to Hartford,' he said. He had made no definite plan as to what line he should pursue after he reached Hartford. He had a dim notion that his investigation hereabouts might, if properly directed, lead him nearer to the heart of the mystery. This pretty, faded woman who lived in such style, and whose husband was so seldom visible, might give him a key—somewhere it was in existence, that key, by which he could decipher the jumbled code of the daffodil murder, and it might as well be at Hartford as nearer at hand. It was dark when he came to the home of Mrs. Ryder, for this time he had dispensed with a cab and had walked the long distance between the station and the house, desiring to avoid attention. The dwelling stood on the main road. It had a high wall frontage of about three hundred and fifty feet. The wall was continued down the side of a lane, and at the other end marked the boundary of a big paddock. The entrance to the grounds was through a wrought iron gate of strength, the design of which recalled something which he had seen before. On his previous visit the gate had been unfastened, and he had had no difficulty in reaching the house. Now, however, it was locked. He put his flashlight over the gate and the supporting piers, and discovered a bell evidently brand new and recently fixed. He made no attempt to press the little white button, but continued his reconnaissance. About half a dozen yards inside the gateway was a small cottage, from which a light showed, and apparently the bell communicated with this dwelling. Whilst he was waiting he heard a whistle and a quick footstep coming up the road and drew into the shadow. Somebody came to the gate. He heard the faint tinkle of a bell and a door opened. The newcomer was a newspaper boy, who pushed a bundle of evening papers through the iron bars and went off again. Tarling waited until he heard the door of the cottage or lodge close. Then he made a circuit of the house, hoping to find another entrance. There was evidently a servant's entrance at the back, leading from the lane, but this too was closed. Throwing his light up he saw that there was no broken glass on top of the wall, as there had been in the front of the house, and making a jump he caught the stone coping and drew himself up and astride. He dropped into the darkness on the other side without any discomfort to himself, and made his cautious way towards the house. Dogs were the danger, but apparently Mrs. Rider did not keep dogs, and his progress was unchallenged. He saw no light either in the upper or lower windows until he got to the back. There was a pillared porch, above which had been built what appeared to be a conservatory. Beneath the porch was a door and a barred window, but it was from the conservatory above that a faint light emanated. He looked round for a ladder without success, but the portico presented no more difficulties than the wall had done. By stepping on to the windowsill and steadying himself against one of the pillars he could reach an iron stanchion, which had evidently been placed to support the framework of the superstructure. From here to the parapet of the conservatory itself was but a swing. This glass house had casement windows, one of which was open, and he leaned on his elbows and cautiously intruded his head. The place was empty. The light came from an inner room opening into the glass-sheltered balcony. Quickly he slipped through the windows and crouched under the shadow of a big oleander. The atmosphere of the conservatory was close and the smell was earthy. He judged from the hot water pipes which his groping hands felt, that it was a tiny winter garden erected by the owner of the house for her enjoyment in the dark, cold days. French windows admitted into the inner room, and peering through the casement windows which covered them, Tarling saw Mrs. Rider. She was sitting at a desk, a pen in her hand, her chin on her fingertips. She was not writing, but staring blankly at the wall, as though she were at a loss for what to say. The light came from a big alabaster bowl hanging a foot below the ceiling-level, and it gave the detective an opportunity of making a swift examination. The room was furnished simply if in perfect taste, and had the appearance of a study. Beside her desk was a green safe, half let into the wall and half exposed. There were a few prints hanging on the walls, a chair or two, a couch half hidden from the detective's view, and that was all. He had expected to see Odette Rider with her mother, and was disappointed. Not only was Mrs. Rider alone, but she conveyed the impression that she was practically alone in the house. Tarling knelt, watching her for ten minutes, until he heard a sound outside. He crept softly back and looked over the edge of the portico in time to see a figure moving swiftly along the path. It was riding a bicycle which did not carry a light. Though he strained his eyes he could not tell whether the rider was man or woman. It disappeared under the portico and he heard the grating of the machine as it was lent against one of the pillars, the click of a key in the lock, and the sound of a door opening. Then he crept back to his observation post overlooking the study. Mrs. Rider had evidently not heard the sound of the door opening below and sat without movement still staring at the wall before her. Presently she started and looked around towards the door. Tarling noted the door, noted to the electric switch just in view. Then the door opened slowly. He saw Mrs. Rider's face light up with pleasure, then somebody asked a question in a whisper and she answered, he could just hear the words, No, darling, nobody. Tarling held his breath and waited. Then of a sudden the light in the room was extinguished. Whoever had entered had turned out the light. He heard a soft footfall coming towards the window looking into the conservatory and the rattle of the blinds as they were lowered. Then the light went up again, but he could see nothing or hear nothing. Who was Mrs. Rider's mysterious visitor? There was only one way to discover but he waited a little longer, waited, in fact, until he heard the soft slam of a safe door closing before he slipped again through the window and dropped to the ground. The bicycle was, as he had expected, leaning against one of the pillars. He could see nothing and did not dare flash his lamp, but his sensitive fingers ran over its lines and he barely checked an exclamation of surprise. It was a lady's bicycle. He waited a little while, then withdrew to a shrubbery opposite the door on the other side of the drive up which the cyclist had come. He had not longed to wait before the door under the portico opened again and closed. Somebody jumped onto the bicycle as Tarling leaped from his place of concealment. He pressed the key of his electric lamp, but for some reason it did not act. He felt rather than heard a shiver of surprise from the person on the machine. I want you, said Tarling, and put out his hands. He missed the rider by the fraction of an inch, but saw the machine swerve and heard the soft thud of something falling. A second later the machine and rider had disappeared into the pitch darkness. He refixed his lamp. Pursuit he knew was useless without his lantern, and cursing the maker thereof he adjusted another battery and put the light on the ground to see what it was that the fugitive had dropped. He thought he heard a smothered exclamation behind him and turned swiftly. But nobody came within the radius of his lamp. He must be getting nervy, he thought, and he continued his inspection of the wallet. It was a long leather portfolio about ten inches in length and five inches in depth, and it was strangely heavy. He picked it up, felt for the clasp, and found instead two tiny locks. He made another examination by the light of his lantern, an examination which was interrupted by a challenge from above. Who are you? It was Mrs. Rider's voice, and just then it was inconvenient for him to reveal himself. Without a word and answer he switched off his light and slipped into the bushes, and, more as the result of instinct than judgment, regained the wall almost at the exact spot he had crossed it. The road was empty and there was no sign of the cyclist. There was only one thing to do, and that was to get back to town as quickly as possible and examine the contents of the wallet at his leisure. It was extraordinarily heavy for its size. He was reminded of that fact by his sagging pocket. The road back to Hartford seemed interminable and the clocks were chiming a quarter of eleven when he entered the station yard. "'Train to London, sir,' said the porter, "'You've missed the last train to London by five minutes.' End of Chapter 22 Chapter 23 of the Daffodil Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Coming by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis, Indiana. The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace Chapter 23 The Night Visitor Tarling was less in a dilemma than in that condition of uncertainty, which is produced by having no definite plans one way or the other. There was no immediate necessity for his to return to town, and his annoyance at finding the last train gone was due rather to a natural desire to sleep in his own bed than to any other cause. He might have got a car from a local garage and motored to London if there had been any particular urgency, but he told himself he might as well spend the night in Hartford as in Bond Street. If he had any leanings toward staying at Hartford it was because he was anxious to examine the contents of the wallet at his leisure. If he had any called to town it might be discovered in his anxiety as to what happened to Odette Ryder. Whether she had returned to her hotel or was still marked missing by the police, he could at any rate get into communication with Scotland Yard and satisfy his mind on that point. He turned back from the station in search of lodgings. He was defined that it was not so easy to get rooms as he had imagined. The best hotel in the place was crowded out as a result of an agricultural convention which was being held in the town. He was sent on to another hotel only to find that the same state of congestion existed and finally after half an hour search he found accommodations at a small commercial hotel which was surprisingly empty. His first step was to get into communications with London and this was established without delay. Nothing had been heard of Odette Ryder and the only news of importance was that the ex-convict Sam Stey had escaped from the County Lunatic Asylum to which he had been removed. Tarling went up to the Commodia sitting room. He was mildly interested in the news about Stey for the man had been a disappointment. This criminal whose love for Thornton Line had, as Tarling suspected rightly, been responsible for his mental collapse, might have supplied a great deal of information as to the events which led to the day of the murder and his dramatic breakdown had removed a witness who might have offered material assistance to the police. Tarling closed the door of his sitting room behind him, pulled the wallet from his pocket and laid it on the table. He tried first with his own keys to unfasten the flap, but the locks defied him. The heaviness of the wallet surprised and peaked him, but he was soon to find an explanation for its extraordinary weight. He opened his pocket knife and began to cut away the leather about the locks and uttered an exclamation. So that was the reason for the heaviness of the pouch. It was only leather covered. Beneath this cover was aligning a fine steel mail. The wallet was really a steel-chain bag, the locks being welded to the chain and absolutely immovable. He threw the wallet back on the table with a laugh. He must restrain his curiosity until he got back to the yard, where the experts would make short work of the best locks which were ever invented. Whilst he sat watching the thing upon the table and turning over in his mind the possibility of its contents, he heard footsteps pass his door and mount the stairway opposite which his sitting room was situated. The characters in the same plight as himself, he thought. Somehow, being in a strange room amidst unfamiliar surroundings gave the case a new aspect. It was an aspect of unreality. They were also unreal, the characters in this strange drama. Thornton line seemed fantastic, and fantastic indeed was his end. Milbur, with his perpetual smirk, his little stoop, his broad, fat face and half-balled head, Mrs. Ryder, a pale ghost of a woman who flitted in and out of the story, or rather, hovered about it, never seeming to intrude, yet never wholly separated from its tragic process. Ling Chu, imperturbable, bringing with him the atmosphere of that land of intrigue and mystery and motive, China. Odette Ryder alone was real. She was life, warm, palpitating, wonderful. Carling frowned and rose stiffly from his chair. He despised himself a little for this weakness of his. Odette Ryder, a woman still under suspicion of murder, a woman whom it was his duty, if she were guilty, to bring to the scaffold, and the thought of her, turned him hot and cold. He passed through to his bedroom, which had joined the sitting room, put the wallet on a table by the side of his bed, locked the bedroom door, opened the windows, and prepared himself as best he could for the night. There was a train leaving Hertford at five in the morning, and he had arranged to be called in time to catch it. He took off his boots, coat, vest, collar, and tie, unbuckled his belt. He was one of those eccentrics to whom the braces of civilization were anathema, and lay down on the outside of the bed, pulling the idler down over him. Sleep did not come to him readily. He turned from side to side, thinking, thinking, thinking. Suppose there had been some mistake in the time of the accident at Ashford. Suppose the doctors were wrong, and Thornton line was murdered at an earlier hour. Suppose Odette Ryder was in reality a cold blooded, he growled away the thought. He heard the church clock strike the hour of two, and waited impatiently for the quarter to chime. He had heard every quarter since he had retired to bed, but he did not hear that quarter. He must have fallen into an uneasy sleep, for he began to dream. He dreamt he was in China again, and had fallen into the hands of that baneful society, the cheerful hearts. He was in a temple, lying on a great black slab of stone. Bound hand and foot, and above him he saw the leader of the gang, knife in hand, peering down into his face with a malicious grin. And it was the face of Odette Ryder. He saw the knife raised and woke sweating. The church clock was booming three, and a deep silence lay on the world. But there was somebody in his room. He knew that, and lay motionless, peering out of half-closed eyes from one corner to the other. There was nobody to be seen, nothing to be heard, but his sixth sense told him that somebody was present. He reached out his hand carefully, and silently to the table, and searched for the wallet. It was gone. Then he heard the creak of a board, and it came from the direction of the door, leading to the sitting room. With one bound he was out of bed in time to see the door flung open, and a figure slipped through. He was after it in a second. The burglar might have escaped, but unexpectedly there was a crash and a cry. He had fallen over a chair, and before he could rise, Tarling was on him, and had flung him back. He leapt to the door. It was open. He banged it closed, and turned the key. Now, let's have a look at you, said Tarling grimly, and switched on the light. He fell back against the door. His mouth opened in amazement, for the intruder was Odette Ryder. In her hand she held the stolen wallet. End of chapter 23. Reading by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis, Indiana. Chapter 24 of the Daffodil Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis, Indiana. The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace. Chapter 24. The confession of Odette Ryder. He could only gaze in stupefied silence. You, he said, wonderingly. The girl was pale, and her eyes never left his face. She nodded. Yes, it is I, she said, in a low voice. You, he said again, and walked towards her. He held out his hand, and she gave him the wallet without a word. Sit down, he said kindly. He thought she was going to faint. I hope I didn't hurt you. I had in the slightest idea, she shook her head. Oh, I'm not hurt, she said wearily. Not in the way you mean. She drew a chair to the table, and dropped her face upon her hands, and he stood by, embarrassed, almost terrified by this unexpected development. So you were the visitor on the bicycle, he said at last. I didn't suspect. It struck him at that moment, that it was not an offense for Odette Ryder to go up to her mother's house on a bicycle, or even to take away a wallet which was probably hers. If there was any crime at all, he committed it in retaining something to which she had no right. She looked up at his words. I? On the bicycle? She asked. No. It was not I. Not you? She shook her head. I was in the grounds. I saw you using your lamp, and I was quite close to you when you picked up the wallet, she said listlessly. But I was not on the bicycle. Who was it? He asked. She shook her head. May I have that, please? She held out her hand, and he hesitated. After all, he had no right or title to this curious purse. He compromised by putting it on the table, and she did not attempt to take it. Oh, dead, he said gently, and walked round to her, laying his hand on her shoulder. Why don't you tell me? Tell you what, she asked without looking up. Tell me all there is to be told, he said. I could help you. I want to help you. She looked up at him. Why do you want to help me? She asked simply. He was tongue-tied for a second. Because I love you. He said, and his voice shook. It did not seem to him that he was talking. The words came of their own volition. He had no more intention of telling her he loved her. Indeed, he had no more idea that he did love her than Whiteside would have had. Yet he knew he spoke the truth, and that a power greater than he had framed the words and put them on his lips. The effect on the girl seemed extraordinary to him. She did not shrink back. She did not look surprised. She showed no astonishment whatever. She brought her eyes back to the table and said, Oh! That calm, almost uncannily calm acceptance of a fact which Tarling had dared not breathe to himself was the second shock of the evening. It was as though she had known it all along. He was on his knees by her side, and his arm was about her shoulders, even before his brain had willed the act. My girl, my girl, he said gently, won't you please tell me? Her head was still bent, and her voice was so low as to be almost inaudible. Tell you what, she asked. What you know of this business, he said, don't you realize how every new development brings you more and more under suspicion? What business do you mean? He hesitated. The murder of Thornton Lyne? I know nothing of that. She made no response to that tender arm of his, but sat rigid. Everything in her attitude chilled him, and he dropped her hand and rose. When she looked up, she saw that his face was white and set. He walked to the door and unlocked it. I'm not going to ask you any more, he said quietly. You know best why you came to me tonight. I supposed you followed me and took a room. I heard somebody going upstairs soon after I arrived. She nodded. Do you want this? She asked and pointed to the wallet on the table. Take it away with you. She got up to her feet unsteady and swayed toward him. In the second he was by her side, his arms about her. She made no resistance, but rather he felt a yielding toward him which he had missed before. Her pale face was upturned to his, and he stooped and kissed her. O debt! O debt! He whispered. Don't you realize that I love you and would give my life to save you from unhappiness? Won't you tell me everything, please? No. No. No. She murmured, with a little catch in her voice. Don't ask me. I'm afraid. Oh, I'm afraid. He crushed her in his arms, his cheek against hers, his lips tingling with the caress of her hair. But there's nothing to be afraid of. Nothing, he said eagerly. If you were as guilty as hell I would save you. If you were shielding somebody I would shield them because I love you, O debt. No. No, she cried and pushed him back, both her little hands pressing against his chest. Don't ask me. Don't ask me. Don't ask me. Tarling swung round. There was a man standing in the doorway in the act of closing the door behind him. Milbur, he said between his teeth. Milbur smiled the other mockingly. I'm sorry to interrupt this beautiful scene, but the occasion is a desperate one and I cannot afford to stand on ceremony, Mr. Tarling. Tarling put the girl from him and looked at the smirking manager. One comprehensive glance the detective gave him noted the cycling clips and the splashes of mud on his trousers and understood. So you were the cyclist, ah? He said. That's right, said Milbur. It is an exercise to which I am very partial. What do you want, asked Tarling, alert and watchful. I want you to carry out your promise, Mr. Tarling, said Milbur smoothly. Tarling stared at him. My promise? He said. What promise? To protect not only the evildoer, but those who have compromised themselves in an effort to shield the evildoer from his or her own wicked acts. Tarling started. Do you mean to say, he said hoarsely, do you mean to accuse? I accuse nobody, said Milbur, with a wide sweep of his hands. I merely suggest that both Miss Ryder and myself are in very serious trouble and that you have it in your power to get us safely out of this country to one where extradition laws cannot follow. Tarling took one step towards him and Milbur shrank back. Do you accuse Miss Ryder of complicity in this murder, he demanded? Milbur smiled, but it was an uneasy smile. I make no accusation, he said, and as to murder, he shrugged his shoulders. You will understand better when you read the contents of that wallet which I was endeavoring to remove to a place of safety. Tarling picked up the wallet from the table and looked at it. I shall see the contents of this wallet tomorrow, he said. Box will present very little difficulty. You can see the contents tonight, said Milbur smoothly, and pulled from his pocket a chain at the end of which dangled a small bunch of keys. Here is the key, he said, unlock and read tonight. Tarling took the key in his hand, inserted it in first one tiny lock and then in the other. The catch snapped open and he threw back the flap. Then a hand snatched the portfolio from him and he turned to see the girl's quivering face and read the terror in her eyes. No, no, she cried, almost beside herself. No, for God's sake, no! Tarling stepped back. He saw the malicious little smile on Milbur's face and could have struck him down. Miss Ryder does not wish me to see what is in this case, he said. And for excellent reason sneered Milbur here. It was the girl's voice, surprisingly clear and steady. Milbur shaking hands held the paper she had taken from the wallet and she thrust it towards the detective. There is a reason, she said in a low voice, but it's not the reason you suggest. Milbur had gone too far, Tarling saw his face lengthened and the look of apprehension in his cold blue eyes. Then without further hesitation he opened the paper in red. The first line took away his breath. The confession of Odette Ryder. Good God, he muttered in red on. There were only half a dozen lines and they were in the firm calligraphy of the girl. I, Odette Ryder, hereby confess that for three years I have been robbing the firm of line stores limited and during that period have taken the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds. Tarling dropped the paper and caught the girl as she fainted. of chapter twenty-four. Reading by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis, Indiana. Chapter twenty-five of the Daffodil Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please go to LibriVox.org. Reading by Belinda Brown of Indianapolis, Indiana. The Daffodil Mystery. By Edgar Wallace. Chapter twenty-five. Milbur's Last Bluff. Milbur had gone too far. He had hoped to carry through his scene without the actual disclosure of the confession. In his shrewd, clever way he had realized before Tarling himself that the detective from Shanghai, this heir to the lion's millions, had fallen under the spell of the girl's beauty, and all his conjectures had been confirmed by the scene he had witnessed no less than by the conversation he had overheard before the door was opened. He was seeking immunity and safety. The man was in a panic, though this Tarling did not realize, and was making his last desperate throw for the life that he loved, that life of ease and comfort to secure which he had risked so much. Milbur had lived in terror that Odette Ryder would betray him, and because of his panicky fear that she had told all to the detective that night he brought her back to London from Ashford, he had dared to attempt to silence the man whom he believed was the recipient of the girl's confidence. Those shots in the foggy night which had nearly ended the career of Jack Tarling had their explanation in Milbur's terror of exposure. One person in the world, one living person, could place him in the felon's dock, and if she betrayed him, Tarling had carried the girl to a couch and had laid her down. He went quickly into his bedroom, switching on the light to get a glass of water. It was Milbur's opportunity. A little fire was burning in the sitting room. Swiftly, he picked the confession from the floor and thrust it into his pocket. On a little table stood a writing cabinet. From this he took a sheet of the hotel paper, crumpled it up, and thrust it into the fire. It was blazing when Tarling returned. What are you doing? he asked, halting by the side of the couch. I am burning the young lady's confession, said Milbur Comley. I do not think it is desirable in the interest— Wait! said Tarling Comley. He lowered the girl's head and sprinkled some of the water on her face, and she opened her eyes with a little shutter. Tarling left her for a second and walked to the fire. The paper was burnt, save a scrap of the edge that had not caught, and as he lifted gingerly, looked at it for a moment, then cast his eyes around the room. He saw that the stationary cabinet had been disturbed and laughed. It was neither a pleasant nor an amused laugh. That's the idea, eh? He said and walked to the door, closed it, and stood with his back to it. Now, Milbur, you can give me that confession you've got in your pocket. I've burned it, Mr. Tarling. You're a liar, said Tarling Comley. You knew very well I wouldn't let you go out of this room with that confession in your pocket, and you tried to bluff me by burning a sheet of writing paper. I want that confession. I assure you, began Milbur, I want that confession, said Tarling, and with a sickly smile. Milbur put his hand in his pocket and drew out the crumpled sheet. Now, if you are anxious to see it burn, said Tarling, you will have an opportunity. He read the statement again and put it into the fire. Touched it until it was reduced to ashes, then beat the ashes down with a poker. That's that, said Tarling cheerfully. I suppose you know what you've done, said Milbur. You've destroyed evidence which you, as an officer of the law, cut that out, replied Tarling shortly. For the second time that night he unlocked the door and flung it wide open. Milbur, you can go. I know where I can find you when I want you, he said. You'll be sorry for this, said Milbur. But half as sorry as you'll be by the time I'm through with you, retorted Tarling. I shall go straight to Scotland Yards, fumed the man, white with passion. Do, by all means, said the detective Cooley, and be good enough to ask them to detain you until I come. With this shot he closed the door upon the retreating man. The girl was sitting now on the edge of the sofa, her brave eyes surveying the man who loved her. What have you done, she asked. I've destroyed that precious confession of yours, said Tarling cheerfully. It occurred to me in the space of time it took to get from you to my washstand that that confession may have been made under pressure. I am right, aren't I? She nodded. Now, you wait there a little while I make myself presentable, and then I'll take you home. Take me home, said the startled girl. Not to mother. No. No. She must never know. On the contrary, she must know. I don't know what it is she mustn't know, said Tarling, with a little smile, but there has been a great deal too much mystery already, and it is not going to continue. She rose and walked to the fireplace, her elbows on the mantelpiece, and her head back. I'll tell you all I can. Perhaps you're right, she said. There has been too much mystery. You asked me once, who was Milbur? She turned and half-faced him. I won't ask you that question any more, he said quietly. I know. You know? Yes. Milbur is your mother's second husband. Her eyes opened. How did you find out that? I guessed that, he smiled, and she keeps her name righter at Milbur's request. He asked her not to reveal the fact that she was married again. Isn't that so? She nodded. Mother met him about seven years ago. We were at Harrogate at the time. You see, mother had a little money, and I think Mr. Milbur thought it was much more than it actually was. He was a very agreeable man, and told mother that he had a big business in the city. Mother believes that he is very well off. Tarling whistled. I see, he said. Milbur has been robbing his employers and spending the money on your mother. She shook her head. That is partly true, and partly untruth, she said. Mother has been an innocent participant. He bought this house in Hertford and furnished it lavishly. He kept two cars until a year ago, when I made him give them up and live more simply. You don't know what these years have met, Mr. Tarling, since I discovered how deeply mother would be dragged down by the exposure of his villainy. How did you find it out? It was soon after the marriage, said the girl. I went into line store one day, and one of the employees was rude to me. I shouldn't have taken much notice, but an officious shop-walker dismissed the girl on the spot, and when I pleaded for her reinstatement, he insisted that I should see the manager. I was ushered into a private office, and there I saw Mr. Milbur, and realized the kind of double life he was living. He made me keep his secret, painted a dreadful picture of what would happen, and said he could put everything right if I would come into the business and help him. He told me he had large investments, which were bringing in big sums, and that he would apply this money to make good his defalcations. That was why I went into line store, but he broke his word from the very beginning. Why did he put you there, asked Tarling, because, if there had been another person, said the girl, he might have been detected. He knew that any inquiries into irregularities of accounts would come first to my department, and he wanted to have somebody there who would let him know. He did not portray this thought, said the girl, but I guess that was the idea at the back of his mind. She went on to tell him something of the life she had lived. The humiliation she suffered in her knowledge of the despicable part she was playing. From the first I was an accessory, she said. It was true that I did not steal, but my reason for accepting the post was in order to enable him, as I thought to right a grievous wrong and to save my mother from the shame and misery which would follow the exposure of Milbur's real character. She looked at him with a sad little smile. I hardly realized that I am speaking to a detective, she said, and all that I have suffered during these past years has been in vain. But the truth must come now, whatever be the consequences. She paused. And now I'm going to tell you what happened on the night of the murder. End of CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXVI There was a deep silence. Tarling could feel his heart thumping, almost noisily. After I had left Lynn's door, she said, I had decided to go to mother to spend two or three days with her before I began looking for work. Mr Milbur only went to Hartford for the weekends, and I couldn't stay in the same house with him, knowing all that I knew. I left my flat at about half past six that evening, but I am not quite sure at the exact time. It must have been somewhere near then, because I was going to catch the seven o'clock train to Hartford. I arrived at the station and had taken my ticket, and were stooping to pick up my bag when I felt a hand on my arm, and turning saw Mr Milbur. He was in a state of great agitation and distress, and asked me to take a later train and accompany him to the Florentine restaurant, where he had taken a private room. He told me he had very bad news and that I must know. I put my bag in the cloakroom and went off with him, and over the dinner I only had a cup of tea, as a matter of fact. He told me that he was on the verge of ruin. He said that Mr Lin had sent for a detective, which was you, and had the intention of exposing him. Only Mr Lin's rage against me was so great, that for the moment he was diverted from his purpose. Only you can save me, said Milbur. I said in astonishment, how can I save you? Take the responsibility for the theft upon yourself. He said, your mother is involved in this heavily. Does she know? He nodded. I found afterwards that he was lying to me, and was praying upon my love for mother. I was dazed and horrified, said the girl, at the thought that poor dear mother might be involved in this horrible scandal. And when he suggested that I should write a confession at his dictation and should leave by the first train for the continent until the matter blew over, I fell in with his scheme with our protest, and that is all. Why did you come to Hartford tonight? Asked Tarling. Again she smiled. To get the confession, she said simply, I knew Milbur would keep it in the safe. I saw him when I left the hotel. He had telephoned to me and made the appointment at the shop where I slipped the detectives, and it was there that he told me. He stopped suddenly and went red. He told you I was fond of you, said Tarling quietly, and she nodded. He threatened to take advantage of that fact and wanted to show you the confession. I see, said Tarling, and heaved a deep sigh of relief. Thank God, he said fervently. For what, she asked, looking at him in astonishment, that everything is clear. Tomorrow I will arrest the murderer, a thought in Linn. No, no, not that, she said, and laid a hand on his shoulder, her distressed face looking into his. Surely not that. Mr Milbur could not have done it. He could not be so great a scoundrel. Who sent the wire to your mother, saying you were not coming down? Milbur replied the girl, did he send two wires, do you remember? Said Tarling. She hesitated. Yes, he did, she said. I don't know who the other was too. It was the same writing anyway, he said. But, dear, he said, you must not worry any more about it. There is a trying time ahead of you, but you must be brave, both for your own sake and for your mother's and for mine, he added. Despite her unhappiness, she smiled faintly. You take something for granted, don't you, she asked. Am I doing that? He said, in surprise. You mean, she went redder than ever, that I care enough for you, that I would make an effort for your sake. I suppose I do, said Tarling slowly. It's vanity, I suppose. Perhaps it is instinct, she said, and squeezed his arm. I must take you back to your mother's place, he said. The walk from the house to the station had been a long and tedious one. The way back was surprisingly short, even though they walked at snail's pace. There never was a courting, such as Tarling's, and it seemed unreal as a dream. The girl had a key at the outer gate, and they passed through together. Does your mother know that you are in Hartford? Asked Tarling suddenly. Yes, replied the girl. I saw her before I came after you. Does she know? He did not care to finish the sentence. No, said the girl. She does not know. Poor woman, it will break her heart. She is very fond of Milbur. Sometimes he is most kind to mother. She loves him so much that she accepted his mysterious comings and goings, and all the explanations which he offered without suspicion. They had reached the place where he had picked up the wallet, and above him gloomed the dark bulk of the cortico with its glass house atop. The house was in darkness. No light shone anywhere. I will take you in through the door under the cortico. It is the way Mr Milbur always comes. Have you a light? He had his electric lamp in his pocket, and he put a beam upon the keyhole. She inserted the key and uttered a note of exclamation, for the door yielded under her pressure and opened. It is unlocked, she said. I am sure I fastened it. Tarling put his lamp upon the lock and made a little grimace. The catch had been wedged back into the lock, so that it could not spring out again. How long were you in the house? He asked quickly. Only a few minutes, said the girl. I went in just to tell Mala, and I came out immediately. Did you close the door behind you when you went in? The girl thought a moment. Perhaps I didn't, she said. No, of course not. I didn't come back this way. Mother let me out by the front door. Tarling put his light into the hall and saw the carpet at stairs half a dozen feet away. He guessed what had happened. Somebody had seen the door ajar, and guessing from the fact that she had left it open, that she was returning immediately, had slipped a piece of wood, which looked to be, and was, in fact, the stalk of a match between the catch of the spring lock and its sheath. What has happened? Asked the girl in a troubled voice. Nothing, said Tarling eerily. It was probably your disreputable stepfather did this. He had lost his key. He could have gone in the front door, said the girl uneasily. Well I'll go first, said Tarling, with the cheerfulness which he was far from feeling. He went upstairs, his lamp in one hand, an automatic pistol in the other. The stairs ended in a belly shrouded landing from which two doors opened. That is mother's room, said Tarling, pointing to the nearest. A sense of impending trouble made her shiver. Tarling put his arms about her encouragingly. He walked to the door of the room, turned the handle and opened it. There was something behind the door which held a close. And exerting only strength, he pushed the door open sufficiently far to allow of his squeezing through. The table lamp was burning, the light of which was hidden from the outside by the heavily curtained windows, but it was neither at the window nor at the desk that he was looking. Mrs. Rider lay behind the door, a little smile on her face, the half of a dagger standing out with hideous distinctness beneath her heart. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of the Daffodil Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org This reading by Lucy Burgoyne The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace Chapter 27 The Laugh In The Night Tarling gave one glance before he turned to the girl who was endeavouring to push past him and catching her by the arm gently thrust her back into the passage. What is wrong? What is wrong? she asked in a terrified whisper. Oh, let me go to mother. She struggled to escape from his grip that he held her firmly. You must be brave for your own sake, for everybody's treated her. Still holding her arm, he forced her to the door of the second inner room. His hand felt for the electric switch and found it. He was in what appeared to be a spare bedroom, plainly furnished, and from this a door led apparently into the main building. Where does that door lead? He asked, but she did not mother. She was moaning. What has happened to my mother? Where does that door lead? He asked again, and for answer she slipped her trembling hand into her pocket and produced a key. He opened the door and found himself in a rectangular gallery overlooking the hall. She slipped past him, that he called her and pushed her back. I tell you, you must be calm, Odette. He said firmly, you must not give way. Everything depends upon your courage. Where are the servants? Then unexpectedly she broke away from him and rose back through the door into the wing they had left. He followed in swift pursuit. For God's sake, Odette, don't, don't he cried, as she flung herself against the door and placed into her mother's room. One glance she gave, then she fell on the floor by the side of her dead mother and flinging her arms about the form, kissed the cold lips. Tarling pulled her gently away and half carried, half supported her back to the gallery. A dishevelled man in shirt and trousers whom Tarling thought might be the butler of the corridor. Arouse any woman who are in the house, said Tarling in a low voice. Mrs. Ryder has been murdered. Murdered, sir, said the startled man. You don't mean that. Quick, said Tarling sharply, Mrs. Ryder has fainted again. They carried her into the drawing room and later on the couch. And Tarling did not leave her to women servants. He went back with the butler to the room where the body lay. He turned on all the lights and made a careful scrutiny of the room. The window leading onto the glass-covered balcony where he had been concealed a few hours before was latched, locked and bolted. The curtains which had been drawn presumably by Milver when he came for the wallet were undisturbed. From the position in which the dead woman lay and the calm on her face he thought death must have come instantly and unexpectedly. Probably the murderer stole behind her wafts she was standing at the foot of the sofa which he had partly seen through the window. It was likely that, to beguile the time awaiting for her daughter's return the book from a little cabinet immediately behind the door and support for this theory came in the shape of a book which had evidently fallen out of her hand between the position in which she was found and the book case. Together the two men lifted the body onto the sofa. You had better go down into the town and inform the police, said Tarling is there a telephone here? Yes, sir, replied the butler. Good, that will save you a journey, said the detective. He notified the local police officials and then got on to Scotland Yard and sent a messenger to arouse white sight. The faint pallor of dawn was in the sky when he looked out of the window but the pale light merely served to emphasise the pitch darkness of the world. He examined the knife which had the appearance of being a very ordinary butcher's knife. There were some faint initials burnt upon the hilt but these had been so worn by constant handling that there was only the faintest trace of what they had originally been. He could see an M and two other letters that looked like C and A M, C, A A He puzzled his brain to interpret the initials presently the butler came back The young lady is in a terrible state, sir and I have sent the doctor Thomas Tarling nodded You have done very wisely he said, poor girl she has had a terrible shock. Again he went to the telephone and this time he got into connection with the nursing home in London and arranged for an ambulance to pick up the girl without further delay. When he had telephoned to Scotland Yard he had asked as an afterthought that a messenger should be sent to Ling Chu instructing him to come without delay. He had the greatest faith in the Chinaman particularly in a case like this where the trail was fresh but Ling Chu was possessed of superhuman gifts which only the bloodhound could rival. Nobody must go upstairs he instructed the butler when the doctor and the coroners offers come they must be admitted by the principal entrance and if I am not here you must understand that under no circumstances are those stairs leading to the portico to be used. He himself went out of the main entrance to make a tour of the grounds he had little hope that that search would lead to anything Clues there might be in plenty when the daylight revealed them but the likelihood of the murderer remaining in the vicinity of the scene of this crime was a remote one. The grounds were extensive and well wooded numerous winding paths met and forked aimlessly looking out from the broad gravel paths about the house to the high walls which encircle the little estate. In one corner of the grounds was a fairly large patch innocent of bush and offering no cover at all he made a casual survey of this sweeping his light across the ordered rows of growing vegetables and was going away from the dark bulk which had the appearance even in the darkness at the gardener's house he swept this possible cover with his lamp was his imagination playing him a trick or had he caught the briefest glimpse of a white face peering round the corner he put on his light again there was nothing visible he walked to the building and rounded at night he thought he saw a dark form under the shadow of the building moving towards the belt of pines which surrounded the house on the three sides he put on his lamp again but the light was not powerful enough to carry the distance required and he went forward at a jog trot in the direction he had seen the figure disappear he reached the pines and went softly every now and again he stopped and once he could have spawn he heard the cracking of a twig ahead of him he started off at a run in pursuit and now there was no mistaking the fact that somebody was still in the wood he heard the quick steps of his quarry and then there was silence he ran on but must have overshot the mark suddenly he heard a stealthy noise behind him in a flash he turned back who were you? he said stand out or I'll fire there was no answer and he waited he heard the scraping of a boot against a brick work and he knew that the intruder was climbing the wall he turned in the direction of the sound but again found nothing came such a trill of demonical laughter as chilled his blood the top of the wall was concealed by the overhanging branch of a tree and his light was valueless come down he shouted I've got you covered again came that terrible laugh half fear half derisen and a voice shrill and harsh came down to him murderer, murderer Newton Lynn, damn you I've kept this for you take it something came crushing through the trees something small and round a splashing drop as of water fell on the back of Tarling's hand and he shook it off with a cry for it burnt like fire he heard the mysterious stranger drop from the coping of the wall and the sound of his swift feet he stooped and picked up the article which had been thrown at him it was a small bottle bearing a stained chemist's label and the word vitriol End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 of the Daffodil Mystery This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Mary Anderson The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace Chapter 28 The Thumb Print It was ten o'clock in the morning and Whiteside and Tarling were sitting on a sofa in their shirt sleeves sipping their coffee Tarling was haggard and weary in contrast to the dapper inspector of police Though the latter had been aroused from his bed in the early hours of the morning he at least had enjoyed a good night's sleep They sat in the room in which Mrs. Rider had been murdered and the rusty brown stains on the floor where Tarling had found her were eloquent of the tragedy They sat sipping their coffee neither man talking and they maintained this silence for several minutes Each man following his own train of thought Tarling, for reasons of his own had not revealed his own adventure and he had told the other nothing of the mysterious individual who he was he pretty well guessed whom he had chased through the grounds Presently Whiteside lit a cigarette and threw the match in the grate and Tarling roused himself from his reverie with a jerk What do you make of it? he asked Whiteside shook his head If there had been property taken it would have had a simple explanation but nothing has gone poor girl Tarling nodded Terrible, he said The doctor had to drug her before he could get her to go Where is she? asked Whiteside I sent her on an ambulance to a nursing home in London, said Tarling shortly This is awful Whiteside It's pretty bad, said the detective inspector scratching his chin The young lady could supply no information Nothing Absolutely nothing She had gone up to see her mother and had left the door ajar intending to return by the same way after she had interviewed Mrs. Ryder As a matter of fact she was let out by the front door Somebody was watching and apparently thought that she was coming out by the way she went in waited for a time and then as she did not reappear followed her into the building And that somebody was Milbur, said Whiteside Tarling made no reply He had his own views and for the moment was not prepared to argue It was obviously Milbur, said Whiteside He comes to you in the night We know that he is in Hertford We know too that he tried to assassinate you because he thought the girl had betrayed him and you had unearthed his secret He must have killed his wife who probably knows much more about the murders than the daughter Tarling looked at his watch Ling Chu should be here by now he said Oh, you sent for Ling Chu, did you said Whiteside in surprise I thought that you would have given up that idea I phoned him again a couple of hours ago said Tarling Hmm, said Whiteside Do you think that he knows anything about this? Tarling shook his head I believe the story he told me Of course, when I made the report to Scotland Yard I did not expect that you people would be as credulous as I am but I know the man he has never lied to me Murder is a pretty serious business at Whiteside If a man didn't lie to save his neck he wouldn't lie at all There was the sound of a motor below and Tarling walked to the window Here is Ling Chu, he said and a few minutes later the Chinaman came noiselessly into the room Tarling greeted him with a curt nod and without any preliminary told the story of the crime in English he had not employed Chinese since he discovered that Ling Chu understood English quite as well as he understood Cantonese and Whiteside was able from time to time to interject a word or correct some little slip on Tarling's part the Chinaman listened without comment and when Tarling had finished he made one of his queer jerky bows and went out on the room Here are the letters said Whiteside Two neat piles of letters were arranged on Mrs. Writers desk and Tarling drew up a chair This is the lot, he said Yes, at Whiteside I've been searching this house since 8 o'clock and I can find no others Those on the right are all from Milbur You'll find they're simply signed with an initial a characteristic of his but they bear his town address You've looked through them Asked Tarling Read them all replied the other There's nothing at all incriminating in any of them They're what I would call bread and butter letters dealing with the little investments which Milbur had made in his wife's name or rather in the name of Mrs. Writers It's easy to see from these how deeply the poor woman was involved without her knowing that she was mixing herself up in a great conspiracy Tarling assented One by one he took the letters from their envelopes read them and replaced them He was half way through the pile when he stopped and carried a letter to the window Listen to this, he said Forgive the smudge but I am in an awful hurry and I have got my fingers inky through the overturning of an ink bottle Nothing startling in that said Whiteside with a smile Nothing at all admitted Tarling but it happens that our friend has left a very good and useful thumb print at least it looks too big for a fingerprint Let me see it said Whiteside springing up He went to the other side and looked over his shoulder at the letter in his hand and whistled He turned a glowing face upon Tarling and gripped his chief by the shoulder We've got him he said exultantly We've got him as surely as if we had him in the pen What do you mean? asked Tarling I'll swear to that thumb print replied Whiteside It's identical with the blood mark which was left on Miss Writers Bureau on the night of the murder Are you sure? Absolutely said Whiteside speaking quickly Do you see that whirl? Look at those lineations They're the same I have the original photograph in my pocket somewhere He searched his pocketbook and brought out a photograph of a thumb print considerably enlarged Compare them, cried Whiteside in triumph Line for line Ridge for ridge and furrow for furrow It is Milbur's thumb print and Milbur is my man He took up his coat and slipped it on Where are you going? Back to London said Whiteside grimly To secure a warrant for the arrest Milbur The man who killed Thornton Lynn The man who murdered his wife The blackest villain at large in the world today End of Chapter 28 Chapter 29 of the Daffodil Mystery This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace Chapter 29 The Theory of Ling Chu Upon this scene came Ling Chu impetuble, expressionless bringing with him his own atmosphere of mystery Well, said Tarling, what have you discovered and even Whiteside checked his enthusiasm to listen Two people came up the stairs last night said Ling Chu, also the master He looked at Tarling and the latter nodded Your feet are clear, he said also the feet of the small peace woman, also the naked feet The naked feet, said Tarling and Ling Chu assented What was the naked foot, man or woman, asked Whiteside It may have been man or woman, replied the Chinaman, but the feet were cut and were bleeding. There is mark of blood on the gravel outside Nonsense, said Whiteside sharply Let him go on, warn't, Tarling A woman came out and went in, continued Ling Chu That was Miss Rider, said Tarling Then a woman and a man came Then the bare-footed one came because the blood is over the first woman's foot marks How do you know which was the first woman and which was the second, asked Whiteside interested in spite of himself The first woman's foot was wet said Ling Chu But there had been no rain, said the detective in triumph. She was standing on the grass said Ling Chu and Tarling nodded his head remembering that the girl had stood on the grass in the shadow of the bushes watching his adventure with Milberg But there is one thing I do not understand Master, said Ling Chu There is the mark of another woman's foot which I cannot find on the stair in the hall This woman walked all round the house I think she walked round twice Then she walked into the garden and through the trees Tarling stared at him Miss Rider came straight from the house onto the road, he said and into Hartford after me There was the mark of a woman who was walked round the house insisted Ling Chu and therefore I think it was a woman whose feet were bare Are there any marks of a man besides us three? I was coming to that, said Ling Chu There is a very faint trace of a man who came early because the wet footsteps are over his also he left but there is no sign of him on the gravel only the mark of a wheel track That was Milberg, said Tarling If a foot has not touched the ground explained Ling Chu it would leave little trace That is why the woman's foot about the house is so hard for me for I cannot find it on the stair yet I know it came from the house because I can see it leading from the door Come, Master, I will show you He led the way down the stairs into the garden and then for the first time white side noticed that the Chinaman was barefooted You haven't mixed your own foot marks up with somebody else's, he asked jocularly Ling Chu shook his head I left my shoes outside the door because it is easier for me to work so he said calmly slipping his feet into his small shoes He led the way to the side of the house and there pointed out the footprints they were unmistakably feminine where the heel was there was a deep crescent shaped hole which recurred in intervals all round the house Curiously enough they were to be found in front of almost every window though the mysterious visitor had walked over the garden border as if seeking to find an entrance They look more like slippers than shoes to me they're undoubtedly a woman's said white side, examining one of the impressions What do you think, Tarling? Tarling nodded and led the way back to the room What is your theory, Ling Chu? Somebody came into the house said the Chinaman squeezed through the door below and up the stairs first that somebody killed and then went to search the house but could not get through the door That's right, said white side you mean the door that shuts off this little wing from the rest of the house That was locked, was it not, Tarling, when you made the discovery? Yes, said Tarling, it was locked When they found they could not get into the house Ling Chu went on they tried to get through one of the windows They, they, said Tarling impatiently Who are they? Do you mean the woman? The new theory was disturbing He had pierced the second actor in the tragedy A brown, vitriol burn on the back of his hand reminded him of his existence But who was the third? I mean the woman, replied Ling Chu quietly But who, in God's name, wanted to get into the house after murdering Mrs. Ryder? asked white side, irritably Your theory is against all reason, Ling Chu When a person has committed a murder they want to put as much distance between themselves and the scene of the crime as they can in the shortest possible space of time Ling Chu did not reply How many people are concerned in this murder? said Tarling A bare-footed man or woman came in and killed Mrs. Ryder A second person made the round of the house trying to get in through one of the windows Whether it was one person or two I cannot tell, replied Ling Chu Tarling made a further inspection of the little wing It was, as Ling Chu had said and as he had explained to the Chinaman cut off from the rest of the house and had evidently been arranged to give Mr. Milberg the necessary privacy upon his visits to Hartford The wing consisted of three rooms a bedroom leading from the sitting room evidently used by Mrs. Ryder for her clothes were hanging in the wardrobe the sitting room in which the murder was committed and the spare room through which he had passed with Odette to the gallery over the hall It was through the door in this room that admission was secured to the house There's nothing to be done but to leave the local police in charge and get back to London, said Tarling when the inspection was concluded and a rest Milberg suggested white side Do you accept Ling Chu's theory? Tarling shook his head I am loath to reject it, he said because he is the most amazingly clever tracker He could trace foot marks which are absolutely invisible to the eye and he has a Bushman's instinct which in the old days in China led to some extraordinary results They returned to town by car Ling Chu riding beside the chauffeur smoking an intraminable chain of cigarettes Tarling spoke very little during the journey his mind being fully occupied with the latest development of a mystery the solution of which still evaded him The route through London to Scotland Yard carried him through Cavendish Place where the nursing home was situated in which Odette Ryder lay He stopped the car to make inquiries and found that the girl had recovered from the frenzy of grief into which the terrible discovery of the morning had thrown her and had fallen into a quiet sleep That's good news anyway, he said rejoining his companion I was half beside myself with anxiety You take a tremendous interest in Miss Ryder, don't you? asked white side, dryly Tarling brindled then laughed Oh yes, I take an interest, he admitted but it is very natural Why natural? asked white side Because, replied Tarling deliberately Miss Ryder is going to be my wife Oh! said white side in blank amazement and had nothing more to say The warrant for Milberg's arrest was waiting for them and placed in the hands of white side for execution We'll give him no time, said the officer I'm afraid he's had a little too much grace and we shall be very lucky if we find him at home As he suspected the house in Camdentown was empty and the woman who came daily to do the cleaning of the house was waiting patiently by the iron gate Mr. Milberg, she told him, usually admitted her at half past eight even if he was in the country he was back at the house before her arrival White side fitted a skeleton-gee into the lock of the gate opened it, the charwoman protesting in the interests of her employer and went up the flagged path The door of the cottage was a more difficult proposition being fitted with a patent lock Tarling did not stand on ceremony but smashed one of the windows and grinned as he did so Listen to that The shrill tinkle of a bell came to their ears Burglar alarm, said Tarling leconically and pushed back the catch, threw up the window and stepped into the little room where he had interviewed Mr. Milberg The house was empty From room to room, searching the bureaus and cupboards In one of these, Tarling made a discovery It was no more than a few glittering specks which he swept from a shelf into the palm of his hand If that isn't thermite, I'm a Dutchman, he said At any rate, we'll be able to convict Mr. Milberg of Arson if we can't get him for murder We'll send this to the government analyst right away, White side If Milberg did not kill Thornton line, he certainly burnt down the premises of Dashwood and Solomon to destroy the evidence of his theft It was White side who made the second discovery Mr. Milberg slept on a large wooden fore-poster He's a luxurious devil, said White side Look at the thickness of those box springs He tapped the side of that piece of furniture and looked round with a startled expression A bit solid for a box spring, isn't it? he asked and continued his investigation, tearing down the bed valence Presently he was rewarded by finding a small eyelet hole in the side of the mattress He took out his knife, opened the pipe cleaner, and pressed the narrow blade into the aperture There was a click, and two doors, ludicrously like the doors which deaden the volume of gramophone music, flew open White side put in his hand and pulled something out Books, he said, disappointedly, then brightening up They're diaries, I wonder if the beggar kept a diary He piled the little volumes on the bed, and Tarling took one and turned the leaves Thornton Lyons' diary, he said, this may be useful One of the volumes was locked up It was the newest of the books, and evidently an attempt had been made to force the lock, for the hasp was badly wrenched Mr. Milberg had, in fact, made such an attempt, but as he was engaged in a systematic study of the diaries from the beginning He had eventually put aside the last volume after an unsuccessful effort to break the fastening Is there nothing else? asked Tarling Nothing, said the disappointed inspector, looking into the interior There may be other little cupboards of this kind, he added, but a long search revealed no further hiding place Nothing more is to be done here, said Tarling Keep one of your men in the house in case Milberg turns up Personally, I doubt very much whether he will put in an appearance Do you think the girl has frightened him? I think it is extremely likely, said Tarling, I will make an inquiry at the stores, but I don't suppose he will be there either This surmise proved to be correct Nobody at Lyons' store had seen the manager or received word as to his whereabouts Milberg had disappeared as though the ground had opened and swallowed him No time was lost by Scotland Yard in communicating particulars of the wanted man to every police station in England Within twenty-four hours his description and photograph were in the hands of every chief constable And if he had not succeeded in leaving the country, which was unlikely, during the time between the issue of the warrant and his leaving Tarling's room in Hartford, his arrest was inevitable At five o'clock in the afternoon came a new clue A pair of ladies' shoes, mud-stained and worn, had been discovered in a ditch on the Hartford Road, four miles from the house where the latest murder had been committed This news came by telephone from the chief of the Hartford Constabulary, with the further information that the shoes had been dispatched to Scotland Yard by special messenger It was half-past seven when the little parcel was deposited on Tarling's table He stripped the package of its paper, opened the lid of the cardboard box, and took out a distorted-looking slipper which had seen better days A woman's undoubtedly, he said, do you note the crescent-shaped heel? Look! said Whiteside, pointing to some stains on the whitey-brown inner sock That supports Luching's theory, the feet of the person who wore these were bleeding Tarling examined the slippers and nodded. He turned up the tongue in search of the maker's name and the shoe dropped from his hand What on earths the matter? asked Whiteside and picked it up He looked and laughed helplessly, for on the inside of the tongue was a tiny label bearing the name of a London shoemaker, and beneath, written an ink, Miss O. Ryder End of Chapter 29 Chapter 30 of the Daffodil Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Mary Anderson The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace Chapter 30 Who Killed Mrs. Ryder? The matron of the nursing home received Tarling The debt, she said, had regained her normal calm, but would require a few days' rest. She suggested she should be sent to the country I hope you're not going to ask her a lot of questions, Mr. Tarling, said the matron, because she really isn't fit to stand any further strain There's only one question I'm going to ask, said Tarling grimly He found the girl in a prettily furnished room, and she held out her hand to him in greeting He stooped and kissed her, and without further ado produced the shoe from his pocket O debt, dear, he said gently, is this yours? She looked at it and nodded Why yes, where did you find it? Are you sure it is yours? I'm perfectly certain it's mine, she smiled. It's an old slipper I used to wear. Why do you ask? Where did you see it last? The girl closed her eyes and shivered In mother's room she said Oh mother, mother! She turned her head to the cushion of the chair and wept, and Tarling soothed her It was some time before she was calm, but then she could give no further information It was a shoe that mother liked because it fitted her. We both took the same size Her voice broke again, and Tarling hastened to change the conversation More and more he was becoming converted to Ling Chu's theory He could not apply to that theory the facts which had come into his possession On his way back from the nursing home to police headquarters he reviewed the Hurtford crime Somebody had come into the house barefooted with bleeding feet And having committed the murder had looked about for shoes The old slippers had been the only kind which the murderer could wear And he or she had put them on and had gone out again after making the circuit of the house Why had this mysterious person tried to get into the house again And for whom or what were they searching? If Ling Chu was correct, obviously the murderer could not be Milbur If he could believe the evidence of his senses The man with the small feet had been he who had shrieked defiance in the dark And had hurled the vitriol at his feet He put his views before his subordinate and found Whiteside willing to agree with him But it does not follow, said Whiteside, that the barefooted person who was apparently in Mrs. Rider's house committed the murder Milbur did that right enough, don't worry There is less doubt that he committed the daffodil murder Tarling swung round in his chair He was sitting on the opposite side of the big table that the two men used in common I think I know who committed the daffodil murder, he said steadily I have been working things out and I have a theory which you will probably describe as fantastic What is it? asked Whiteside But the other shook his head He was not for the moment prepared to reveal his theory Whiteside leaned back in his chair and for a moment cogitated The case from the very beginning is full of contradictions, he said Thornton Lynn was a rich man, by the way You're a rich man now, Tarling, and I must treat you with respect Tarling smiled Go on, he said He had queer tastes A bad poet, as is evidenced by his one slim volume of verse He was a poser, proof of which is to be found in his patronage of Sam Stey Who, by the way, has escaped from the lunatic asylum I suppose you know that? I know that, said Tarling, go on Lynn falls in love with the pretty girl and his employee, continued Whiteside Used to having his way when he lifted his finger All women that in earth do dwell must bow their necks to the oak He is repulsed by the girl And in his humiliation immediately conceives for her A hatred beyond the understanding of any sane mortal So far your account doesn't challenge contradictions, said Tarling With a little twinkle in his eye That is item number one, continued Whiteside, ticking the item off on his fingers Item number two is Mr. Milbur An olegious gentleman who has been robbing the firm for years And has been living in his style in the country on his ill-earned gains From what he hears or knows he gathers that the jig is up He is in despair when he realizes that Thornton Lynn is desperately in love with his stepdaughter What is more likely than that he should use his stepdaughter in order to influence Thornton Lynn to take the favorable view of his delinquencies? Or what is more likely, interrupted Tarling, than that he would put the blame for the robberies upon the girl And trust to her paying a price to Thornton Lynn to escape punishment Right again, I'll accept that possibility, said Whiteside Milbur's plan is to get a private interview under exceptionally favorable circumstances with Thornton Lynn He wires to that gentleman to meet him at Miss Writers Flat, relying upon the magic of the name And Thornton Lynn comes enlist slippers, said Tarling sarcastically That doesn't wash Whiteside No, it doesn't, admitted the other, but I'm getting at the broad aspects of the case Lynn comes, he is met by Milbur, who plays his trump card of confession And endeavors to switch the young man on the solution which Milbur has prepared Lynn refuses, there is a row, and in desperation Milbur shoots Thornton Lynn Tarling shook his head, he mused a while then It's queer, he said The door opened and a police officer came in Here are the particulars you want, he said, and handed Whiteside a typewritten sheet of paper What is this, said Whiteside, when the man had gone Oh, here is our old friend, Sam Stey, a police description He read on Height, five foot four, sallow complexion, wearing a gray suit and underclothing bearing the markings of the county asylum Hello What is it, said Tarling This is remarkable, said Whiteside and Red When the patient escaped, he had bare feet He takes a very small size in shoes, probably four or five A kitchen knife is missing, and the patient may be armed Bootmakers should be warned Bare feet? Tarling rose from the table with a frown on his face Sam Stey hated Odette Ryder The two men exchanged glances Now do you see who killed Mrs. Ryder, asked Tarling She was killed by one who saw Odette Ryder go into the house And did not see her come out Who went in after her to avenge, as he thought, his dead patron He killed this unhappy woman The initials on the knife, MCA, stands for Middlesex County Asylum And he brought the knife with him And discovered his mistake, then having searched for a pair of shoes to cover his bleeding feet And having failed to get into the house by any other way Made a circuit of the building, looking for Odette Ryder And seeking an entrance at every window Whiteside looked at him in astonishment It's a pity you've got money, said admiringly When you retire from this business there'll be a great detective lost End of Chapter 30 Chapter number 31 of The Daffodil Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Katie Gibbany The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace Chapter 31 Sam Stey Turns Up I have seen you somewhere before, ain't I? The stout clergyman in the immaculate white collar beamed benevolently at the questioner And shook his head with a gentle smile No, my dear friend, I do not think I have ever seen you before It was a little man, shabbily dressed and looking ill His face was drawn in line He had not shaved for days And the thin black stubble of hair gave him a sinister look The clergyman had just walked out of Temple Gardens And was at the end of Villiers Street leading up to the Strand when he was accosted He was a happy-looking clergyman and something of a student too If the stout and serious volume under his arm had any significance I've seen you before, said the little man, I've dreamt about you If you'll excuse me, said the clergyman I am afraid I cannot stay I have an important engagement Hold hard, said the little man, in so fierce a tone that the other stopped I tell you I've dreamt about you I've seen you dancing with four black devils with no clothes on And you were all fat and ugly He lowered his voice and was speaking in a fierce earnest monotone As though he was reciting some lesson he had been taught The clergyman took a pace back in alarm Now my good man, he said severely You ought not to stop gentlemen in the street and talk that kind of nonsense I have never met you before in my life My name is Reverend Josiah Jennings Your name is Milberg, said the other Yes, that's it, Milberg He used to talk about you That lovely man, here He clutched the clergyman's sleeve and Milberg's face went a shade paler There was a concentrated fury in the grip on his arm And a strange wildness in the man's speech Do you know where he is? In a boat of old built like an house in Highgate Cemetery There's two little doors that open up like the door of a church And you go down some steps to it Who are you? asked Milberg, his teeth chattering Don't you know me? The little man peered at him You've heard him talk about me Sam, stay I worked for two days in your stores, I did And you, you've only got what he's given you Every penny you earned he gave you, Mr. Lyne did He was a friend to everybody, to the poor, even to a hook like me His eyes filled with tears and Mr. Milberg looked round to see if he was being observed Now, don't talk nonsense, he said, under his breath And listen, my man, if anybody asks you whether you have seen Mr. Milberg You haven't, you understand? Oh, I understand, said the man But I knew you, there's nobody connected with him that I don't remember He lifted me up out of the gutter, he did He's my idea of God They had reached a quiet corner of the gardens And Milberg motioned the man to sit beside him on a garden seat For the first time that day he experienced a sense of confidence In the wisdom of his choice of disguise The sight of a clergyman, speaking with a seedy-looking man Might excite comment, but not suspicion After all, it was the business of clergymen to talk to seedy-looking men And they might be seen engaged in the most earnest and confidential conversation And he would suffer no loss of cast Sam Stey looked at the black coat and the white collar in doubt How long have you been a clergyman, Mr. Milberg, he asked Oh, err, for a little while, said Mr. Milberg glidly Trying to remember what he had heard about Sam Stey But the little man saved him the labour of remembering They took me away to a place in the country, he said But you know I wasn't mad, Mr. Milberg He wouldn't have had a fellow hanging round him who was mad, would he? You're a clergyman, eh? He nodded his head wisely, then asked, with a sudden eagerness Did he make you a clergyman? He could do wonderful things Could Mr. Lyne, couldn't he? Did you preach over him when they buried him in that little vault in Eyegate? I've seen it, I go there every day, Mr. Milberg, said Sam I only found it by accident, also, Thornton Lyne, his son There's two little doors that open like church doors Mr. Milberg drew a long sigh Of course he remembered now Sam Stey had been removed to a lunatic asylum And he was dimly conscious of the fact that the man had escaped It was not a pleasant experience talking with an escaped lunatic It might, however, be a profitable one Mr. Milberg was a man who let very few opportunities slip What could he make out of this, he wondered Again Sam Stey supplied the clue I'm going to settle with that girl He stopped and closed his lips tightly And looked with a cunning little smile at Milberg I didn't say anything, did I? He asked, with a queer little chuckle I didn't say anything that would give me away, did I? No, my friend, said Mr. Milberg Still in the character of the benevolent pastor To what girl do you refer? The face of Sam Stey twisted into a malignant smile There's only one girl, he said, between his teeth And I'll get her, I'll settle with her I've got something here He felt in his pocket in a vague, aimless way I thought I had it, I've carried it about so long But I've got it somewhere, I know I have So you hate Miss Ryder, do you? asked Milberg Hate her The little fellow almost shouted the words His face purple, his eyes starting from his head His two hands twisted convulsively I thought I'd finished her last night He began and stopped The words had no significance to Mr. Milberg Since he had seen no newspapers that day Listen, Sam went on, have you ever loved anybody? Mr. Milberg was silent To him Odette Ryder was nothing But about the woman Odette Ryder had called her mother And the woman he called his wife Circled the one precious sentiment in his life Yes, I think I have, he said, after a pause Well, you know how I feel, don't you? said Sam Stay huskily, you know how I want to get the better Of this party who brought him down She lured him on, lured him on, oh my God He buried his face in his hands and swayed from side to side Mr. Milberg looked round in some apprehension No one was in sight Odette would be the principal witness against him And this man hated her He had small cause for loving her She was the one witness that the crown could produce Now that he had destroyed the documentary evidence of his crime What case would they have against him If they stood him in the dock at the Old Bailey If Odette Ryder were not forthcoming to testify against him He thought the matter over cold bloodedly As a merchant might consider some commercial proposition Which is put before him He had learned that Odette Ryder was in London In a nursing home as a result of a set of curious circumstances He had called up line store that morning on the telephone To discover whether there had been any inquiries for him And had heard from his chief assistant that a number of articles Of clothing had been ordered to be sent to this address For Miss Ryder's use He had wondered what had caused her collapse And concluded that it was the result of the strain To which the girl had been subjected in that remarkable interview Which she and he had had with Tarling at Hertford On the night before Suppose you met Miss Ryder, he said What could you do? Sam Stays showed his teeth in a grin Well, anyway, you're not likely to meet her for some time She is in a nursing home, said Milberg And the nursing home, he went on deliberately Is it 304 Cavendish Place? 304 Cavendish Place, repeated Sam That's near Regent Street, isn't it? I don't know where it is, said Mr. Milberg She is at 304 Cavendish Place So that is very unlikely that you will meet her for some time He rose to his feet And he saw the man was shaking from head to foot Like a man in the grip of Og 304 Cavendish Place, he repeated And without another word turned his back on Mr. Milberg And slunk away That worthy gentleman looked after him and shook his head And then, rising, turned and walked in the other direction It was just as easy to take a ticket for the continent Waterloo Station, as it was at Sharing Cross In many ways it was safer End of Chapter 31 Chapter 32 of the Daffodil Mystery This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Katie Gibbany The Daffodil Mystery by Edgar Wallace Chapter 32 The Diary of Thornton Line Tarling should have been sleeping Every bone and sinew in him ached for rest His head was sunk over a table in his flat Line's diaries stood in two piles on the table The bigger pile, that which he had read The lesser being those which Tarling had yet to examine The diaries had been blank books containing no printed date lines In some cases one book would cover a period of two or three years In other cases, three or four books would be taken up by the record of a few months The pile on the left grew and the pile on the right became smaller Until there was only one book, a diary newer than the others Which had been fastened by two brass locks But had been opened by the Scotland Yard experts Tarling took up this volume and turned the leaves As he had expected it was the current diary That on which Thornton Line had been engaged at the time of his murder Tarling opened the book in a spirit of disappointment The earlier books had yielded nothing save a revelation of the writer's egotism He had read Line's account of the happenings in Shanghai But after all, that was nothing fresh And added little to the sum of the detective's knowledge He did not anticipate that the last volume would yield any more promising return for his study Nevertheless, he read it carefully and presently, drawing a writing pad toward him He began to note down excerpts from the diary There was the story, told in temperate language and with surprising mildness Of Odette Writers' rejection of Thornton Line's advances It was a curiously uninteresting record Until he came to a date following the release of Sam Stey from jail And here Thornton Line enlarged upon the subject of his humiliation Stay is out of prison, the entry ran It is pathetic to see how this man adores me I almost wish sometimes that I could keep him out of jail But if I did so and converted him into a dull, respectable person I should miss these delicious experiences which his worship affords It is good to bask in the bright sunlight of his adoration I talked to him of Odette A strange matter to discuss with a lout But he was so wonderful a listener I exaggerated the temptation was great How he loathed her by the time I was through He actually put forward a plan to spoil her looks as he put it He had been working in the same prison gang as a man who was undergoing a term of penal servitude for doing in his girl that way Vitriol was used and Sam suggested that he should do the work I was horrified but it gave me an idea He says he can give me a key that will open any door Suppose I went in the dark and I could leave a clue behind What clue? Here is a thought Suppose I left something unmistakably Chinese Tarling had evidently been friendly with the girl Something Chinese might place him under suspicion The diary ended with the word suspicion and appropriate ending Tarling read the passages again and again until he almost had them by heart Then he closed the book and locked it away in his drawer He sat with his chin on his hand for half an hour He was piecing together the puzzle which Thornton Lyne had made so much more simple The mystery was clearing up Thornton Lyne had gone to that flat not in response to the telegram But with the object of compromising and possibly ruining the girl He had gone with the little slip of paper inscribed with Chinese characters Intending to leave the Hong in a conspicuous place That somebody else might be blamed for his infamy Milberg had been in the flat for another purpose The two men had met, there had been a quarrel, and Milberg had fired the fatal shot That part of the story solved the mystery of Thornton Lyne's list slippers and his Chinese characters His very presence there was cleared up, he thought of Sam Stey's offer It came in a flash to Tarling that the man who had thrown the bottle of vitriol at him Who had said he had kept it for years was Sam Stey With his scheme for blasting the woman who, he believed, had humiliated his beloved patron And now for Milberg, the last link in the chain Tarling had arranged for the superintendent in charge of the Cannon Row police station To notify him if any news came through The inspector's message did not arrive And Tarling went down through Whitehall to hear the latest intelligence at first hand That was to be precious little As he was talking there arrived on the scene an agitated driver The proprietor of a taxi cab which had been lost An ordinary case such as come the way of the London police almost every day The cabin had taken a man and a woman to one of the West End theatres And had been engaged to wait during the evening and pick them up when the performance was through After setting down his fares he had gone to a small eating-house for a bit of supper When he came out the cab had disappeared I know who done it, he said vehemently And if I had him here I'd... How do you know? He looked in at the coffee shop while I was eating my bit of food What did he look like? asked the station inspector He was a man with a white face, said the victim I could pick him out of a thousand And what's more he had a brand new pair of boots on Tarling had strolled away from the officer's desk whilst this conversation was in progress But now he returned Did he speak at all? he asked Yes, sir, said the cabman I happened to ask him if he was looking for anybody And he said no And then went on to talk a lot of rubbish about a man who had been the best friend any poor chap could have had My seat happened to be nearest the door That's how I got into conversation with him I thought he was off his nut Yes, yes, go on, said Tarling impatiently What happened then? Well, he went out, said the cabman And presently I heard a cab being cranked up I thought it was one of the other drivers There were several cabs outside The eating-house is a place which cabmen use And I didn't take very much notice until I came out and found my cab gone And the old devil I'd left in charge in a public house drinking beer with the money this fellow had given him Sounds like your man, sir, said the inspector, looking at Tarling That Sam stay all right, he said But it's news to me that he could drive a taxi The inspector nodded Oh, I know Sam stay all right, sir We've had him in here two or three times He used to be a taxi driver Didn't you know that? Tarling did not know that He had intended looking up Sam's record that day But something had occurred to put the matter out of his mind Well, he can't go far, he said You'll circulate the description of the cab, I suppose He may be easier to find He can't have the cab as well as he can hide himself And if he imagines that the possession of a car is going to help him to escape He's making a mistake Tarling was going back to Hertford that night And had informed Ling Chu of his intention He left Cannon Row police station Walked across the road to Scotland Yard To confer with Whiteside, who had promised to meet him He was pursuing independent inquiries And collecting details of evidence regarding the Hertford crime Whiteside was not in when Tarling called And the sergeant on duty in the little office By the main door hurried forward This came for you two hours ago, sir, he said We thought you were in Hertford This was a letter addressed in pencil And Mr. Milberg had made no attempt to disguise his handwriting Tarling tore open the envelope and read the contents Dear Mr. Tarling, it began I have just read in the evening press With the deepest sorrow and despair The news that my dearly beloved wife, Catherine Ryder Has been foully murdered How terrible to think that a few hours ago I was conversing with her assassin As I believe Sam's stay to be And had inadvertently given him information As to where Miss Ryder was to be found I beg of you that you will lose no time In saving her from the hands of this cruel madman Who seems to have only one idea And that to avenge the death Of the late Mr. Thornton line When this reaches you I shall be beyond The power of human vengeance For I have determined to end a life Which has held so much sorrow and disappointment M He was satisfied that Mr. Milberg Would not commit suicide And the information was superfluous That Sam's stay had murdered Mrs. Ryder It was the knowledge that this vengeful lunatic Knew where Odette Ryder was staying Which made Tarling sweat Where is Mr. Whiteside, he asked He has gone to Camber's restaurant To meet somebody, sir, said the sergeant The somebody was one of Milberg's Satellites at Lyne's store Tarling must see him without delay The inspector had control of all the Official arrangements connected with the case And it would be necessary to consult him Before he could place detectives To watch the nursing home in Cavendish Place He found a cabin drove to Camber's Which was in Soho And was fortunate enough to discover Whiteside in the act of leaving I didn't get much from that fellow Whiteside began When Tarling handed him the letter The Scotland yard man read it through Without comment and handed it back Of course he hasn't committed suicide It's the last thing in the world That men of the Milberg type Ever think about seriously He is a cold-blooded villain Imagine him sitting down to write calmly About his wife's murderer What do you think of the other matter The threat against Odette Whiteside nodded There may be something in it, he said Certainly we cannot take risks Has anything been heard of stay Tarling told the story of the stolen Taxicab We'll have him, said Whiteside confidently He'll have no pals And without pals in the motor business It is practically impossible to get a car away He got into Tarling's cab And a few minutes later They were at the nursing home The matron came to them A sedate motherly lady I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour Of the night, said Tarling, sensing her disapproval But information has come to me this evening Which renders it necessary That Miss Ryder should be guarded Guarded, said the matron In surprise, I don't quite understand You, Mr. Tarling I had come down to give you rather A blowing up about Miss Ryder You know she is absolutely unfit to go out I thought I made that clear to you When you were here this morning Go out, said the puzzled Tarling What do you mean, she is not going out But it was the matron's turn to be Surprised But you sent for her half an hour ago, she said I sent for her, said Tarling Turning pale Tell me please, what has happened? About half an hour ago Or it may be a little longer, said the Matron She came to the door and told me That he had been sent by the authorities To fetch Miss Ryder at once She was wanted in connection with her mother's murder Something in Tarling's face Betrayed his emotion Did you not send for her, she asked in alarm Tarling shook his head What was the man like, who called, he asked A very ordinary looking man Rather undersized And ill looking It was the taxi driver You have no idea which way they went No, replied the matron I very much objected to Miss Ryder going out At all, but when I gave her the message Which apparently had come from you She insisted upon going Tarling groaned Odette Ryder was in the power Of a maniac who hated her Who had killed her mother and had cherished A plan for disfiguring the beauty Of the girl, whom he believed Had betrayed his beloved master Without any further words