The Herapath Property Part 8

"Ah!" he said, turning again to the driver, "you think you drove either Mr. Herapath or a gentleman of his appearance this morning. You did not know Mr. Herapath by sight, then?"

"No, sir. I've only just come into this part--came for the first time yesterday. But I'm as certain----"

"Just tell us all about it," said Mr. Tertius, interrupting him. "Tell us in your own way. Everything, you know."

"Ain't so much to tell, sir," responded the driver. "All the same, soon's I'd seen this piece in the paper just now I said to myself, 'I'd best go round to Portman Square and tell what I do know,' I says. And it's like this, sir--I come on this part yesterday--last night it was.

My taxi belongs to a man as keeps half a dozen, and he put me on to night work, this end of Oxford Street. Well, it 'ud be just about a quarter to two this morning when a tall, well-built gentleman comes out of Orchard Street and made for my cab. I jumps down and opens the door for him. 'You know St. Mary Abbot's Church, Kensington?' he says as he got in. 'Drive me down there and pull up at the gate.' So, of course, I ran him down, and there he got out, give me five bob, and off he went.

That's it, sir."

"And when he got out, which way did he go?" asked Mr. Tertius.

"West, sir--along the High Street, past the Town Hall," promptly answered the driver. "And there he crossed the road. I see him cross, because I stopped there a minute or two after he'd got out, tinkering at my engine."

"Can you tell us what this gentleman was like in appearance?" asked Mr.

Tertius.

"Well, sir, not so much as regards his face," answered the driver. "I didn't look at him, not particular, in that way--besides, he was wearing one of them overcoats with a big fur collar to it, and he'd the collar turned high up about his neck and cheeks, and his hat--one of them slouched, soft hats, like so many gentlemen wears nowadays sir--was well pulled down. But from what bit I see of him, sir, I should say he was a fresh-coloured gentleman."

"Tall and well built, you say?" observed Mr. Tertius.

"Yes, sir--fine-made gentleman--pretty near six feet, I should have called him," replied the driver. "Little bit inclined to stoutness, like."

Mr. Tertius turned to Peggie.

"I believe you have some recent photographs of Mr. Herapath," he said.

"You might fetch them and let me see if our friend here can recognize them. You didn't notice anything else about your fare?" he went on, after Peggie had left the room. "Anything that excited your attention, eh?"

The driver, after examining the pattern of the carpet for one minute and studying the ceiling for another, slowly shook his head. But he then suddenly started into something like activity.

"Yes, there was, sir, now I come to think of it!" he exclaimed. "I hadn't thought of it until now, but now you mention it, there was. I noticed he'd a particularly handsome diamond ring on his left hand--an extra fine one, too, it was."

"Ah!" said Mr. Tertius. "A very fine diamond ring on his left hand? Now, how did you come to see that?"

"He rested that hand on the side of the door as he was getting in, sir, and I noticed how it flashed," answered the driver. "There was a lamp right against us, you see, sir."

"I see," said Mr. Tertius. "He wasn't wearing gloves, then?"

"He hadn't a glove on that hand, sir. He was carrying some papers in it--a sort of little roll of papers."

"Ah!" murmured Mr. Tertius. "A diamond ring--and a little roll of papers." He got up from his chair and put a hand in his pocket. "Now, my friend," he went on, c.h.i.n.king some coins as he withdrew it, "you haven't told this to any one else, I suppose?"

"No, sir," answered the driver. "Came straight here, sir."

"There's a couple of sovereigns for your trouble," said Mr. Tertius, "and there'll be more for you if you do what I tell you to do. At present--that is, until I give you leave--don't say a word of this to a soul. Not even to the police--yet. In fact, not a word to them until I say you may. Keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it--I shall know where to find you. If you want me, keep an eye open for me in the square outside, or in the street. When the young lady comes back with the photographs, don't mention the ring to her. This is a very queer business, and I don't want too much said just yet. Do as I tell you, and I'll see you're all right. Understand?"

The driver pocketed his sovereigns, and touched his forehead with a knowing look.

"All right, sir," he said. "I understand. Depend on me, sir--I shan't say a word without your leave."

Peggie came in just then with a half a dozen cabinet photographs in her hand. One by one she exhibited them to the driver.

"Do you recognize any of these?" she asked.

The driver shook his head doubtingly until Peggie showed him a half-length of her uncle in outdoor costume. Then his eyes lighted up.

"Couldn't swear as to the features, miss," he exclaimed. "But I'd take my 'davy about the coat and the hat! That's what the gentleman was wearing as I drove this morning--take my Gospel oath on it."

"He recognizes the furred overcoat and the soft hat," murmured Mr.

Tertius. "Very good--very good! All right, my man--we are much obliged to you."

He went out into the hall with the driver, and had another word in secret with him before the footman opened the door. As the door closed Mr. Tertius turned slowly back to the study. And as he turned he muttered a word or two and smiled cynically.

"A diamond ring!" he said. "Jacob Herapath never wore a diamond ring in his life!"

CHAPTER VII

IS THERE A WILL?

When Triffitt hurried off with his precious budget of news Selwood lingered on the step of the office watching his retreating figure, and wondering about the new idea which the reporter had put into his mind.

It was one of those ideas which instantly arouse all sorts of vague, sinister possibilities, but Selwood found himself unable to formulate anything definite out of any of them. Certainly, if Mr. Herapath died at, or before, twelve o'clock midnight, he could not have been in Portman Square at one o'clock in the morning! Yet, according to all the evidence, he had been there, in his own house, in his own study. His coachman had seen him in the act of entering the house; there was proof that he had eaten food and drunk liquor in the house. The doctor must have made a mistake--and yet, Selwood remembered, he had spoken very positively. But if he had not made a mistake?--what then? How could Jacob Herapath be lying dead in his office at Kensington and nibbling at a sandwich in Portman Square at one and the same hour? Clearly there was something wrong, something deeply mysterious, something----

At that point of his surmisings and questionings Selwood heard himself called by Barthorpe Herapath, and he turned to see that gentleman standing in the hall dangling a bunch of keys, which Selwood instantly recognized.

"We have just found these keys," said Barthorpe. "You remember the inspector said he found no keys in my uncle's pockets? We found these pushed away under some loose papers on the desk. It looks as if he'd put them on the desk when he sat down, and had displaced them when he fell out of his chair. Of course, they're his--perhaps you recognize them?"

"Yes," answered Selwood, abruptly. "They're his."

"I want you to come with me while I open his private safe," continued Barthorpe. "At junctures like these there are always things that have got to be done. Now, did you ever hear my uncle speak of his will--whether he'd made one, and, if so, where he'd put it? Hear anything?"

"Nothing," replied Selwood. "I never heard him mention such a thing."

"Well, between ourselves," said Barthorpe, "neither did I. I've done all his legal work for him for a great many years--ever since I began to practice, in fact--and so far as I know, he never made a will. More than once I've suggested that he should make one, but like most men who are in good health and spirits, he always put it off. However, we must look over his papers both here and at Portman Square."

Selwood made no comment. He silently followed Barthorpe into the private room in which his late employer had so strangely met his death.

The body had been removed by that time, and everything bore its usual aspect, save for the presence of the police inspector and the detective, who were peering about them in the mysterious fas.h.i.+on a.s.sociated with their calling. The inspector was looking narrowly at the fastenings of the two windows and apparently debating the chances of entrance and exit from them; the detective, armed with a magnifying gla.s.s, was examining the edges of the door, the smooth backs of chairs, even the surface of the desk, presumably for finger-marks.

"I shan't disturb you," said Barthorpe, genially. "Mr. Selwood and I merely wish to investigate the contents of this safe. There's no likelihood of finding what I'm particularly looking for in any of his drawers in that desk," he continued, turning to Selwood. "I knew enough of his habits to know that anything that's in there will be of a purely business nature--referring to the estate. If he did keep anything that's personal here, it'll be in that safe. Now, which is the key? Do you know?"

He handed the bunch of keys to Selwood. And Selwood, who was feeling strangely apathetic about the present proceedings, took them mechanically and glanced carelessly at them. Then he started.

"There's a key missing!" he exclaimed, suddenly waking into interest. "I know these keys well enough--Mr. Herapath was constantly handing them to me. There ought to be six keys here--the key of this safe, the key of the safe at Portman Square, the latch-key for this office, the key of this room, the latch-key of the house, and a key of a safe at the Alpha Safe Deposit place. That one--the Safe Deposit key--is missing."

Barthorpe knitted his forehead, and the two police officials paused in their tasks and drew near the desk at which Selwood was standing.

"Are you certain of that?" asked Barthorpe.