Malcolm Sage, Detective. Jenkins Herbert George

actually doing?"

      "I think he was checking his bankbook, sir."

      "Did you notice anything strange about his manner?"

      "No, sir."

      "When you found that his bed had not been slept in were you surprised?"

      "Not greatly, sir," was the response. "Once before a similar thing happened, and I heard from the other servants that on several occasions Mr. Challoner had spent the night in the library, having fallen asleep there."

      "When you told Mr. Dane that his uncle had not slept in his room, and that the library door was locked on the inside, what did he say?"

      "He said, 'Good Lord! Peters, something must have happened.'"

      "Mr. Dane knew that on previous occasions his uncle had spent the night in his study?" enquired Malcolm Sage, smoothing out the design upon which he had been engaged and beginning another.

      "I think so, sir," was the response.

      "The pistol was the one he used at target-practice?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Where did he keep it?"

      "In the third right-hand drawer of his table, sir."

      "He was a good shot, I think you said?" Malcolm Sage turned to Sir James.

      "Magnificent," he said warmly. "I have often shot with him."

      "Do you know of any reason why Mr. Challoner should commit suicide?" Malcolm Sage enquired of Peters.

      "None whatever, sir; he always seemed very happy."

      "He had no domestic worries?"

      Peters hesitated for a moment.

      "He never mentioned any to me, sir."

      "You have in mind certain events that occurred during the last few days, I take it?" said Malcolm Sage.

      "That was in my mind, sir," was the response.

      "You know of no way by which anyone could have got into the library and then out again, other than through the door or the window?"

      Malcolm Sage had relinquished the salt-spoon and was now meditatively twirling a wineglass by its stem between his thumb and first finger.

      "There is no other way, sir."

      "Who has access to the library in the ordinary way? Tell me the names of everybody who is likely to go in at any time."

      "Outside Mr. Challoner and Mr. Dane, there is myself, Mrs. Trennett, the housekeeper, and Meston, the housemaid."

      "No one else?"

      "No one, sir, except, of course, the guests who might be staying in the house."

      "I shall want the finger-prints of all those you have named, including yours, Sir James." Malcolm Sage looked across at Sir James Walton. "I can then identify those of any stranger that I may find." Sir James nodded.

      "It would be quite easy for Mr. Challoner to let anyone in through the French-windows?" enquired Malcolm Sage, turning once more to Peters.

      "Quite, sir."

      "What time did Mr. Dane return last evening?"

      "I think about a quarter to eleven, sir. He went straight to his room."

      "That will be all now. Tell Mr. Dane I should like to see him."

      Peters noiselessly withdrew.

      A few minutes later Dane entered the room. Malcolm Sage gave him a keen, appraising look, then dropped his eyes. Dane was still acutely nervous. His fingers moved jerkily and the corners of his mouth twitched.

      "Will you tell me what took place yesterday between you and your uncle?" said Malcolm Sage.

      Dane looked about him nervously, as an animal might who has been trapped and seeks some means of escape.

      "We had a row," he began, then paused; "a terrible row," he added, as if to emphasise the nature of the quarrel.

      "So I understand," said Malcolm Sage. "I know what it was about. Just tell me what actually took place. In as few words as possible, please."

      "A week ago I told my uncle of my engagement, and he was very angry when he knew that my fiancée was—was——"

      "A secretary," suggested Malcolm Sage, without looking up.

      "Yes. He ordered me to break off the engagement at once, no matter what it might cost."

      "He referred to his pocket rather than to your feelings, I take it?" said Malcolm Sage.

      "Yes." There was a world of bitterness in the tone in which the word was uttered. "I refused. Four days ago Sir James came and, I think, talked things over with my uncle, who said he would see Enid, that is, my fiancée. She came yesterday afternoon. My uncle insisted on seeing her alone. She stayed only a few minutes."

      His voice broke. He swallowed rapidly several times in succession, struggling to regain control of himself.

      "You walked back to the station with her," remarked Malcolm Sage, "and she told you what had taken place. Your uncle had offered to buy her off. You were furious. You said many wild and extravagant things. Then you came back and went immediately into the library. What took place there?"

      "I don't remember what I said. I think for the time I was insane. He had actually offered her money, notes. He had drawn them out of the bank on purpose." Again he stopped, as if the memory of the insult were too much for him.

      "And you said?" suggested Malcolm Sage, twirling the wineglass slowly between his thumb and finger.

      "I probably said what any other man would have said under similar circumstances." There was a quiet dignity about the way in which he uttered these words, although his fingers still continued to twitch.

      "Did he threaten you, or you him?"

      "I don't remember what I said; but my uncle told me that, unless I wrote to Enid to-day giving her up and apologised to him, he would telephone for his lawyer and make a fresh will, cutting me out of it entirely. I was to have until the next morning to decide, that is, to-day."

      Malcolm Sage still kept his eyes averted. He contended that to look fixedly into the eyes of anyone undergoing interrogation was calculated to confuse him and render the replies less helpful.

      "And what would your decision have been?" he asked.

      "I told him that if he gave me ten years it would be the same."

      "That you would not do as he wished?"

      "Certainly not."

      "Until this episode you were on good terms with each other?" Malcolm Sage had got a dessert spoon and fork to balance on the blade of a knife.

      "Yes."

      "You know of no reason why your uncle should take his life?"

      "None whatever."

      "This episode in itself would not be sufficient to cause him to commit suicide?"

      "Certainly not. Sir James will tell you that he was a man of strong character."

      "Do you believe he shot himself?" Malcolm Sage seemed absorbed in the rise and fall of the balancing silver.

      "But for the locked door I should have said 'no.'"

      "What were you proposing to do in the light of your refusal to break the engagement?"

      "I had everything packed up ready. I meant to go away this morning."

      "By the way, where did your uncle bank?" enquired Malcolm Sage casually.

      "At the Southern Counties and Brown's Bank, Lewes," was the reply.

      "Thank