The Vintage Mysteries for the Holidays. Эдгар Аллан По

      “That’s so,” said Julius with a nod. “Therefore I reckon some one put them wise—and not earlier than Sunday afternoon.”

      “Yes, but who?”

      “That almighty omniscient Mr. Brown, of course!”

      There was a faint note of derision in the American’s voice which made Sir James look up sharply.

      “You don’t believe in Mr. Brown, Mr. Hersheimmer?”

      “No, sir, I do not,” returned the young American with emphasis. “Not as such, that is to say. I reckon it out that he’s a figurehead—just a bogy name to frighten the children with. The real head of this business is that Russian chap Kramenin. I guess he’s quite capable of running revolutions in three countries at once if he chose! The man Whittington is probably the head of the English branch.”

      “I disagree with you,” said Sir James shortly. “Mr. Brown exists.” He turned to Tommy. “Did you happen to notice where that wire was handed in?”

      “No, sir, I’m afraid I didn’t.”

      “H’m. Got it with you?”

      “It’s upstairs, sir, in my kit.”

      “I’d like to have a look at it sometime. No hurry. You’ve wasted a week”—Tommy hung his head—“a day or so more is immaterial. We’ll deal with Miss Jane Finn first. Afterwards, we’ll set to work to rescue Miss Tuppence from bondage. I don’t think she’s in any immediate danger. That is, so long as they don’t know that we’ve got Jane Finn, and that her memory has returned. We must keep that dark at all costs. You understand?”

      The other two assented, and, after making arrangements for meeting on the morrow, the great lawyer took his leave.

      At ten o’clock, the two young men were at the appointed spot. Sir James had joined them on the doorstep. He alone appeared unexcited. He introduced them to the doctor.

      “Mr. Hersheimmer—Mr. Beresford—Dr. Roylance. How’s the patient?”

      “Going on well. Evidently no idea of the flight of time. Asked this morning how many had been saved from the Lusitania. Was it in the papers yet? That, of course, was only what was to be expected. She seems to have something on her mind, though.”

      “I think we can relieve her anxiety. May we go up?”

      “Certainly.”

      Tommy’s heart beat sensibly faster as they followed the doctor upstairs. Jane Finn at last! The long-sought, the mysterious, the elusive Jane Finn! How wildly improbable success had seemed! And here in this house, her memory almost miraculously restored, lay the girl who held the future of England in her hands. A half groan broke from Tommy’s lips. If only Tuppence could have been at his side to share in the triumphant conclusion of their joint venture! Then he put the thought of Tuppence resolutely aside. His confidence in Sir James was growing. There was a man who would unerringly ferret out Tuppence’s whereabouts. In the meantime Jane Finn! And suddenly a dread clutched at his heart. It seemed too easy… . Suppose they should find her dead … stricken down by the hand of Mr. Brown?

      In another minute he was laughing at these melodramatic fancies. The doctor held open the door of a room and they passed in. On the white bed, bandages round her head, lay the girl. Somehow the whole scene seemed unreal. It was so exactly what one expected that it gave the effect of being beautifully staged.

      The girl looked from one to the other of them with large wondering eyes. Sir James spoke first.

      “Miss Finn,” he said, “this is your cousin, Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer.”

      A faint flush flitted over the girl’s face, as Julius stepped forward and took her hand.

      “How do, Cousin Jane?” he said lightly.

      But Tommy caught the tremor in his voice.

      “Are you really Uncle Hiram’s son?” she asked wonderingly.

      Her voice, with the slight warmth of the Western accent, had an almost thrilling quality. It seemed vaguely familiar to Tommy, but he thrust the impression aside as impossible.

      “Sure thing.”

      “We used to read about Uncle Hiram in the papers,” continued the girl, in her low soft tones. “But I never thought I’d meet you one day. Mother figured it out that Uncle Hiram would never get over being mad with her.”

      “The old man was like that,” admitted Julius. “But I guess the new generation’s sort of different. Got no use for the family feud business. First thing I thought about, soon as the war was over, was to come along and hunt you up.”

      A shadow passed over the girl’s face.

      “They’ve been telling me things—dreadful things—that my memory went, and that there are years I shall never know about—years lost out of my life.”

      “You didn’t realize that yourself?”

      The girl’s eyes opened wide.

      “Why, no. It seems to me as though it were no time since we were being hustled into those boats. I can see it all now.” She closed her eyes with a shudder.

      Julius looked across at Sir James, who nodded.

      “Don’t worry any. It isn’t worth it. Now, see here, Jane, there’s something we want to know about. There was a man aboard that boat with some mighty important papers on him, and the big guns in this country have got a notion that he passed on the goods to you. Is that so?”

      The girl hesitated, her glance shifting to the other two. Julius understood.

      “Mr. Beresford is commissioned by the British Government to get those papers back. Sir James Peel Edgerton is an English Member of Parliament, and might be a big gun in the Cabinet if he liked. It’s owing to him that we’ve ferreted you out at last. So you can go right ahead and tell us the whole story. Did Danvers give you the papers?”

      “Yes. He said they’d have a better chance with me, because they would save the women and children first.”

      “Just as we thought,” said Sir James.

      “He said they were very important—that they might make all the difference to the Allies. But, if it’s all so long ago, and the war’s over, what does it matter now?”

      “I guess history repeats itself, Jane. First there was a great hue and cry over those papers, then it all died down, and now the whole caboodle’s started all over again—for rather different reasons. Then you can hand them over to us right away?”

      “But I can’t.”

      “What?”

      “I haven’t got them.”

      “You—haven’t—got them?” Julius punctuated the words with little pauses.

      “No—I hid them.”

      “You hid them?”

      “Yes. I got uneasy. People seemed to be watching me. It scared me—badly.” She put her hand to her head. “It’s almost the last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital… .”

      “Go on,” said Sir James, in his quiet penetrating tones. “What do you remember?”

      She turned to him obediently.

      “It was at Holyhead. I came that way—I don’t remember why… .”

      “That doesn’t matter. Go on.”

      “In the confusion on the quay I slipped away. Nobody saw me. I took a car. Told the man to drive me out of the town. I watched when we got on the open road. No other car was following us. I saw a path at the side of the road. I told the man to wait.”

      She paused, then went on. “The path led to the cliff, and down to the