The Herapath Property Part 17

"I don't want anything to fill me up," grunted Triffitt. "I want something cheering--at present. I've been listening with all my ears for something new in that blessed Herapath case all the morning, and, as you know, there's been nothing!"

"Think so?" said Carver. "Um--I should have said there was a good deal, now."

"Nothing that I didn't know, anyway," remarked Triffitt. "I got all that first thing; I was on the spot first."

"Oh, it was you, was it?" said Carver, with professional indifference.

"Lucky man! So you've only been hearing----"

"A repet.i.tion of what I'd heard before," answered Triffitt. "I knew all that evidence before I went into court. Caretaker--police--folks from Portman Square--doctor--all the lot! And I guess there'll be nothing this afternoon--the thing'll be adjourned."

"Oh, that's of course," a.s.sented Carver, attacking his m.u.f.fin sandwich.

"There'll be more than one adjournment of this particular inquest, Triffitt. But aren't you struck by one or two points?"

"I'm struck by this," replied Triffitt. "If what the police-surgeon says--and you noticed how positive he was about it--if what he says is true, that old Herapath was shot, and died, at, or just before (certainly not after, he positively a.s.serted), twelve o'clock midnight, it was not he who went to Portman Square!"

"That, of course, is obvious," said Carver. "And it's just as obvious that whoever went to Portman Square returned from Portman Square to that office. Eh?"

"That hasn't quite struck me," replied Triffitt. "How is it just as obvious?"

"Because whoever went to Portman Square went in old Herapath's fur-trimmed coat and his slouch hat, and the fur trimmed coat and slouch hat were found in the office," answered Carver. "It's absolutely plain, that. I put it like this. The murderer, having settled his man, put on his victim's coat and hat, took his keys, went to Portman Square, did something there, went back to the office, left the coat and hat, and hooked it. That, my son, is a dead certainty. There's been little--if anything--made of all that before the Coroner, and it's my impression, Triffitt, that somebody--somebody official, mind you--is keeping something back. Now," continued Carver, dropping his voice to a confidential whisper, "I'm only doing a plain report of this affair for our organ of light and leading, but I've read it up pretty well, and there are two things I want to know, and I'll tell you what, Triffitt, if you like to go in with me at finding them out--two can always work better than one--I'm game!"

"What are the two things?" asked Triffitt, cautiously. "Perhaps I've got 'em in mind also."

"The first's this," replied Carver. "Somebody--some taxi-cab driver or somebody of that sort--must have brought the man who personated old Jacob Herapath back to, or to the neighborhood of, the office that morning. How is it that somebody hasn't been discovered? You made a point of asking for him in the _Argus_. Do you know what I think? I think he has been discovered, and he's being kept out of the way. That's point one."

"Good!" muttered Triffitt. "And point two?"

"Point two is--where is the man who came out of the House of Commons with Jacob Herapath that night, the man that the coachman Mountain described? In my opinion," a.s.serted Carver, "I believe that man's been found, too, and he's being kept back."

"Good again!" said Triffitt. "It's likely. Well, I've a point. You heard the evidence about old Herapath's keys? Yes--well, where's the key of that safe that he rented at the Safe Deposit place. That young secretary, Selwood, swore that it was on the little bunch the day of the murder, that he saw it at three o'clock in the afternoon. What did Jacob Herapath do with it between then and the time of the murder?"

"Yes--that's a great point," a.s.serted Carver. "We may hear something of that this afternoon--perhaps of all these points."

But when they went back to the densely crowded court it was only to find that they--and an expectant public--were going to hear nothing more for that time. As soon as the court re-a.s.sembled, there was some putting together of heads on the part of the legal gentlemen and the Coroner; there were whisperings and consultations and noddings and veiled hints, palpable enough to everybody with half an eye; then the Coroner announced that no further evidence would be taken that day, and adjourned the inquest for a fortnight. Such of the public as had contrived to squeeze into the court went out murmuring, and Triffitt and Carver went out too and exchanged meaning glances.

"Just what I expected!" said Carver. "I reckon the police are at the bottom of all that. A fortnight today we'll be hearing something good--something sensational."

"I don't want to wait until a fortnight today," growled Triffitt. "I want some good, hot stuff--now!"

"Then you'll have to find it for yourself, very soon," remarked Carver.

"Take my tip--you'll get nothing from the police."

Triffitt was well aware of that. He had talked to two or three police officials and detectives that morning, and had found them singularly elusive and uncommunicative. One of them was the police-inspector who had been called to the Herapath Estate Office on the discovery of the murder; another was the detective who had accompanied him. Since the murder Triffitt had kept in touch with these two, and had found them affable and ready to talk; now, however, they had suddenly curled up into a dry taciturnity, and there was nothing to be got out of them.

"Tell you what it is," he said suddenly. "We'll have to go for the police!"

"How go for the police?" asked Carver doubtfully.

"Throw out some careful hints that the police know more than they'll tell at present," answered Triffitt, importantly. "That's what I shall do, anyhow--I've got _carte blanche_ on our rag, and I'll make the public ear itch and twitch by breakfast-time tomorrow morning! And after that, my boy, you and I'll put our heads together, as you suggest, and see if we can't do a bit of detective work of our own. See you tomorrow at the usual in Fleet Street."

Then Triffitt went along to the _Argus_ office, and spent the rest of the afternoon in writing up a breezy and brilliant column about the scene at the inquest, intended to preface the ordinary detailed report.

He wound it up with an artfully concocted paragraph in which he threw out many thinly veiled hints and innuendoes to the effect that the police were in possession of strange and sensational information and that ere long such a dramatic turn would be given to this Herapath Mystery that the whole town would seethe with excitement. He preened his feathers gaily over this accomplishment, and woke earlier than usual next morning on purpose to go out before breakfast and buy the _Argus_.

But when he opened that enterprising journal he found that his column had been woefully cut down, and that the paragraph over which he had so exercised his brains was omitted altogether. Triffitt had small appet.i.te for breakfast that morning, and he went early to the office and made haste to put himself in the way of the news editor, who grinned at sight of him.

"Look here, Master Triffitt," said the news editor, "there's such a thing as being too smart--and too previous. I was a bit doubtful about your prognostications last night, and I rang up the C.I.D. about 'em.

Don't do it again, my son!--you mean well, but the police know their job better than you do. If they want to keep quiet for a while in this matter, they've good reasons for it. So--no more hints. See?"

"So they do know something?" muttered Triffitt sourly. "Then I was right, after all!"

"You'll be wrong, after all, if you stick your nose where it isn't wanted," said the news editor. "Just chuck the inspired prophet game for a while, will you? Keep to mere facts; you'll be alarming the wrong people, if you don't. Off you go now! and do old Herapath's funeral--it's at noon, at Kensal Green. There'll be some of his fellow M.P.'s there, and so on.

Get their names--make a nice, respectable thing of it on conventional lines. And no fireworks! This thing's to lie low at present."

Triffitt went off to Kensal Green, scowling and cogitating. Of course the police knew something! But--what? What they knew would doubtless come out in time, but Triffitt had a strong desire to be beforehand with them. In spite of the douche of cold water which the news editor had just administered, Triffitt knew his _Argus_. If he could fathom the Herapath Mystery in such a fas.h.i.+on as to make a real great, smas.h.i.+ng, all-absorbing feature of a sensational discovery, the _Argus_ would throw police precaution and official entreaties to the first wind that swept down Fleet Street. No!--he, Triffitt, was not to be balked. He would do his duty--he would go and see Jacob Herapath buried, but he would also continue his attempt to find out how it was that that burial came to be. And as he turned into the cemetery and stared at its weird collection of Christian and pagan monuments he breathed a fervent prayer to the G.o.ddesses of Chance and Fortune to give him what he called "another look-in."

CHAPTER XIV

THE SCOTTISH VERDICT

If Triffitt had only known it, the G.o.ddesses of Chance and Fortune were already close at hand, hovering lovingly and benignly above the crown of his own Trilby hat. Triffitt, of course, did not see them, nor dream that they were near; he was too busily occupied in taking stock of the black-garmented men who paid the last tribute of respect (a conventional phrase which he felt obliged to use) to Jacob Herapath. These men were many in number; some of them were known to Triffitt, some were not. He knew Mr. Fox-Crawford, an Under-Secretary of State, who represented the Government; he knew Mr. Dayweather and Mr. Encilmore, and Mr. Camford and Mr. Wallburn; they were all well-known members of Parliament. Also, he knew Mr. Barthorpe Herapath, walking at the head of the procession of mourners. Very soon he had quite a lengthy list of names; some others, if necessary, he could get from Selwood, whom he recognized as the cortege pa.s.sed him by. So for the time being he closed his note-book and drew back beneath the shade of a cypress-tree, respectfully watching. In the tail-end of the procession he knew n.o.body; it was made up, he guessed, of Jacob Herapath's numerous clerks from the estate offices, and----

But suddenly Triffitt saw a face in that procession. The owner of that face was not looking at Triffitt; he was staring quietly ahead, with the blank, grave demeanour which people affect when they go to funerals. And it was as well that he was not looking at Triffitt, for Triffitt, seeing that face, literally started and even jumped a little, feeling as if the earth beneath him suddenly quaked.

"Gad!" exclaimed Triffitt under his breath. "It is! It can't be! Gad, but I'm certain it is! Can't be mistaken--not likely I should ever forget him!"

Then he took off the Trilby hat, which he had resumed after the coffin had pa.s.sed, and he rubbed his head as men do when they are exceedingly bewildered or puzzled. After which he un.o.btrusively followed the procession, hovered about its fringes around the grave until the last rites were over, and eventually edged himself up to Selwood as the gathering was dispersing. He quietly touched Selwood's sleeve.

"Mr. Selwood!" he whispered. "Just a word. I know a lot of these gentlemen--the M.P.'s and so on--but there are some I don't know. Will you oblige me, now?--I want to get a full list. Who are the two elderly gentlemen with Mr. Barthorpe Herapath--relatives, eh?"

"No--old personal friends," answered Selwood, good-naturedly turning aside with the little reporter. "One is Mr. Tertius--Mr. J. C.

Tertius--a very old friend of the late Mr. Herapath's; the other is Mr.

Benjamin Halfpenny, the solicitor, also an old friend."

"Oh, I know of his firm," said Triffitt, busily scribbling. "Halfpenny and Farthing, of course--odd combination, isn't it? And that burly gentleman behind them, now--who's he?"

"That's Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite, the famous scientist," answered Selwood. "He's also an old friend. The gentleman he's speaking to is Sir Cornelius Debenham, chairman of the World Alliance a.s.sociation, with which Mr. Herapath was connected, you know."

"I know--I know," answered Triffitt, still busy. "Those two behind him, now--middle-aged parties?"

"One's Mr. Frankton, the manager, and the other's Mr. Charlwood, the cas.h.i.+er, at the estate office," replied Selwood.

"They'll go down in staff and employees," said Triffitt. "Um--I've got a good list. By the by, who's the gentleman across there--just going up to the grave--the gentleman who looks like an actor? Is he an actor?"

"That? Oh!" answered Selwood. "No--that's Mr. Frank Burchill, who used to be Mr. Herapath's secretary--my predecessor."