The Monk of Hambleton Part 14

The matter of Copley by itself--! He did not know yet just what was back of the boy's angry declaration that his father was "finished" with him. Was he planning to leave home? A nice row there'd be with a wounded mother! And Copley--Simon judged others by himself--would be sure to make the most of his grievance with her over a parental stratagem that had miscued!

The thought of that nasty few minutes in the study reminded him of Graham. Another coil. Jason Bolt would have some bitter comment on the wisdom of firing a useful man with no subst.i.tute in sight; Jason had a rough tongue at times for all his good-nature. That would be still another quarrel--and he couldn't fire Jason!

And this blasted Monk, with his anonymous letters and talk of thunderbolts! He must be taken seriously after this night's work.

True, there was no definite proof to connect him with the fire but it was too probable a hypothesis to be lightly dismissed. What had he better do to cut that fellow's claws? There was hope, of course, that he had worked off his spleen in firing the tannery, and also that a wholesome fear of being caught and convicted of arson might cool his spirit! Unless he was mad--!

He left his car in the garage and locked the sliding-door behind him with a feeling of relief that the balance of the night was likely to pa.s.s without further incident. As he walked from the garage to the house, he remembered the decanter and gla.s.s still standing on the study table and welcomed the idea of another bracer before bed. He had earned it.

The darkened house, as he approached it, provided him with a new grievance. Every one asleep! What did they care if the tannery went up in smoke? More than likely they'd be _glad_!

It was not in him to feel a sense of shame when he presently learned that his a.s.sumption of their indifference was unjustified. As he let himself in with his key, a slippered step shuffled from the rear to greet him. It was Bates, sleepy but inquisitive.

"The fire's out. Yes, it was the work of an incendiary. The actual damage is immaterial." Varr's answers were curt. "Every one asleep, I suppose?"

"I expect so, sir. Miss Ocky went down to the fire, but she came home long ago and told us it was under control. Miss Lucy came downstairs and waited until she heard that, then she went to bed. She wanted you to wake her when you came in and tell her all that happened."

"Humph. I'll go up in a few minutes. And--my son?"

"He's not in, sir. I haven't seen him all evening."

"Very well. Go to bed. Leave the door unlatched."

The old butler wished him good night and padded softly up the front stairs. Simon struck a match and went along the darkened hall to his study, where he struck another and lighted the wall-lamp near his desk.

It was then he noticed something that caused him to fall back a pace and utter a sharp exclamation. The roll-top cover had been thrust up to its fullest extent--and the same glance showed him that his red-leather notebook, which he distinctly remembered tossing on to the desk, was gone! With a cry of pure rage, he darted to the door of the study.

"Bates!" he shouted. "Bates! Come down here! At once!"

The butler heard, and hurried to obey the urgency in Simon's voice. He found the tanner standing before his desk and examining its rather inadequate lock.

"We've been burgled," announced the victim grimly. "It just needed that to round the night off nicely."

"Burgled! Robbed! Surely not, sir!"

"Don't talk like an idiot! Get your torch. We'd best have a look around, though there's no doubt the dirty devil got what he came for!

Where were you while--"

"What is it _now_?" interrupted a plaintive and sleepy voice from the doorway. "Another fire?"

Varr wheeled toward the speaker and saw Miss Ocky regarding him with wondering eyes. She had slipped on a vivid negligee, a trophy from some Eastern bazaar, and she made a most attractive picture in the soft, kindly light from the lamp as she stood there looking her inquiry at one and the other of the two men. Simon was somehow glad to see her, for much as he disliked her, he admitted her level-headed shrewdness and welcomed the help of another brain in coping with a situation that was rapidly getting beyond him.

"Some one has broken open my desk and taken the notebook in which I keep memoranda of formulas and experiments," he explained gruffly. "I don't miss anything else. It must have been done within the last few hours."

"I see. I thought I detected a note of tragedy in the way you hollered for Bates just now." She eyed the butler reflectively as she drew a silver case from a pocket of the negligee and lighted a cigarette.

"Bates--I see you are still dressed! Where have you been for the past few hours?"

"Right in the pantry, Miss Ocky, except when I came out to let you in a while back. I heard nothing, nor no one."

She turned, as if to measure distances with her eye. "Right in the pantry," she repeated. "Fifteen yards--and two closed doors--away.

Still, it's queer you heard nothing."

"I was reading a paper, Miss Ocky, and I dozed once or twice."

"Ah. That probably accounts for it. Have you found out yet how he got into the house?" She moved her shoulders slightly as she put the question. "I can feel a draught on the back of my neck, now.

Something is open--in the living-room, perhaps. Did you lock up as carefully as usual this evening, Bates? Things were rather upset!"

"That didn't make any difference, Miss Ocky," he protested eagerly. "I had closed everything as usual--I had even started for bed--before the siren blew and I heard Mr. Varr hurrying out to the garage. Nothing was left unlocked."

At the first mention of the living-room, Simon had secured a small torch from a nearby stand. Together, they trooped through the door leading to the parlor, where he flashed the light on the two sets of tall French windows that gave on to a side veranda. They exclaimed in chorus at the sight of one pair ajar.

"That's that," said Miss Ocky. She took the flash from Simon, opened the window wide and turned the light on the planking of the piazza.

"Nothing to be seen by this light!" She directed the beam at the fastenings of the window. "Huh! Didn't take much to force this affair! Your defenses are pretty flimsy, Simon!"

"You're not in the heart of Asia, Ocky. We don't go in much for fortifications in this country."

"Well, I could wish you did. I don't want to wake up some night and find a burglar going off with my treasures. What did you say this one took--a notebook?"

"Yes."

"What's the idea? Who wants an old notebook?"

"Exactly what I'm asking myself, Ocky." Simon sent a sideways look at the old butler as if reluctant to speak too openly. "It was full of important data relative to tanning processes. Not much of a loss to me, for I know 'em all by heart--but it might be extremely useful to any one else in the business or--or to any one who might be expecting to go into it--" His voice trailed off as if he were lost in some thought that had just struck him. "Humph!" he grunted.

"What is it?" demanded Ocky alertly.

"Nothing--nothing to be discussed now, anyway. Bates!"

"Sir?" The butler had just finished lighting the lamp on the center table and he glanced at Varr with expressionless face. "Yes, sir?"

"Stop fiddling with that lamp. There's nothing to be done to-night.

And look here--I don't want this business mentioned to the other servants or any one else until I have decided just what action I shall take. Understand? Go to bed, then,--and I hope you stay there this time!"

"One moment, Bates." Miss Ocky had moved over to the table and was contemplating it with thoughtful gaze. "Simon--what sort of an implement would have forced that desk of yours? A knife, for instance?"

"Yes, that would have done the trick. It could have been slipped under the top near the lock; a slight pressure would have done the rest."

"I like a lock that is a lock," sniffed Miss Ocky.

"A matter of taste, I suppose. Bates, you know that Persian dagger of mine I've been using here lately for a paper-cutter? When did you see it last?"

"This evening, Miss Ocky."

"Sure?"

"Yes, Miss Ocky. I was straightening up in here just after you went to your room the first time, and I knocked the book you had been reading on to the floor. When I picked it up, the dagger fell out. I knew I'd lost your place and was sorry, but I couldn't do anything to find it again so I just laid the dagger down beside the book--right here." He indicated a perfectly blank spot on the table and looked mystified.

"I came down for the book just before one o'clock--couldn't seem to get to sleep," explained Miss Ocky musingly. "The dagger was not here then--but it didn't occur to me to raise the house about it. I took it for granted there was some simple reason for its being gone, and I didn't stop to look for it, as I was only striking matches to find what I wanted." She made a face. "For all I know, the burglar was right in this room at that very minute!"

"Pity you didn't run on to him," grunted Simon. "What are you suggesting, anyway?"