In the night Zena went and examined it, and destroyed the current by rendering the switch ineffective. Every day since Zena had been at Lantern House Quarles had met her in the grounds. Of course she had not gone to London that day, but had met her grandfather, and they had entered the house together, unseen. They would have been in time to prevent my going through that horrible ordeal had I not arrived an hour before I was expected.

"You had no right to let Zena ran such a risk," I said to Quarles.

"You ought not to have sent her to Lantern House to test your theories."

"She ran no risk," was his answer. "It was only against man Mrs.

Barrymore fought. I am sorry you had such an experience, Wigan. I never supposed she would attempt your life, did not imagine she would know who you were. Indeed, I was doubtful of my theory altogether.

When the first cyclist was found, I suspected electrocution in some form, and the other two cases went to confirm the suspicion. I knew something of Barrymore, a hateful brute but a genius, and I knew his wonderful knowledge of electricity. His death must have been a relief to his wife, and the manner of it made me suspicious of her. He was found on a lonely road miles away from his home in Washington, and no one could tell how he died. Was it remarkable I should wonder if Mrs.

Barrymore were responsible for the crimes here? And I would have saved her if I could, for the sake of her mother. If I could have done that, Wigan, you would have got no theory out of me in this case, and your friend Baines might have gone on hunting for his mad motorist for the rest of his days."

So I had touched the professor's romance, and now had one of my own. I had pretended to be a lover, and I had found a moment to tell Zena that it was no pretense with me. The color deepened in her cheeks as it had done when I kissed her, but she did not stop my confession.

"My grandfather----"

"He can still remain with us," I said eagerly, seeing no difficulties.

"Say yes, Zena."

"It must not be yet."

"But some day?"

"Perhaps--some day."

And I was content.

CHAPTER VIII

THE MYSTERY OF CROSS ROADS FARM

We said nothing to the professor about the understanding we had come to. In his presence--and I had little opportunity of seeing Zena at any other time--we behaved toward each other as we had always done, and I did not think he had any idea of our secret. Personally, I felt the effects of my horrible experience in the Tudor room for some time, which I think accounts for my not doing myself justice in the next case I was called upon to undertake.

Let me recount the facts of this complex affair, which I take from the evidence given at the trial of Richard Coleman.

Cross Roads Farm, lying about a mile outside the village of Hanley, in Suss.e.x, was owned by two brothers, Peter and Simon Judd.

They were twins, middle-aged, devoted to each other, and somewhat eccentric. Peter was well known to everybody. He went to market, paid the bills, and interviewed people when necessary. Simon seldom left the farm, and was little known in the neighborhood. They lived simply, had no servants in the house, and the villagers declared they must have been saving money for years. Mrs. Gilson, a widow in the village, went up to the farm daily, but was never there after eight o'clock.

At night the Judds were alone in the house. They never had visitors, they retired early, and their only known recreation was a game of chess before going to bed. No one, except Mrs. Gilson, and, on occasion, her son Jim, who was an "innocent," had been known to take a meal in their house. For Jim Gilson both brothers showed a pitying affection, and he came and went much as he liked, earning a few shillings by doing any odd job of which he was capable.

One evening in November Mrs. Gilson was returning from the farm considerably earlier than usual, when she met a man, a stranger, an unusual occurrence in a neighborhood where she knew everybody.

Next morning, on going to the farm, the blinds in the upper windows were not drawn as usual, a thing she had never known to happen before.

The back door was generally standing open when she arrived; to-day it was shut, but was on the latch, and she entered, to come face to face with a tragedy.

In front of the fireplace in the sitting-room Peter Judd, clothed only in his pajamas, was lying face downward--dead! A small table on which the chessboard had stood was overturned, and the chessmen were scattered about the floor. There was no sign of his brother, but, wherever he was, it appeared that he too must be in his pajamas, for his bed had been slept in and his clothes were on a chair.

The doctor said that during the night Peter Judd had been strangled, marks of fingers being visible on his throat. Probably he had been seized from behind, and the shock of the attack had possibly accelerated his death, for he had apparently made little struggle to defend himself.

Police investigation, however, soon proved that a struggle had taken place in the house. On an upper landing the furniture was in disorder, and a piece of torn material, which Mrs. Gilson identified as belonging to pajamas which Simon Judd wore, was found. Another torn shred was found in the kitchen, where the table had been pushed out of its place. In the yard outside was a well-house. The door of this, which was always locked, had been forced, and caught by a splinter of wood was a third shred of the pajamas. On the floor of the shed was an old slipper, also belonging to Simon Judd, Mrs. Gilson said.

The well was dragged, with no result, which hardly astonished the neighborhood, for it was of immense depth, and tapped an underground pit of water, according to common report.

Then came Mrs. Gilson's story of the man she had met on the previous evening, and her description was so definite that within a few days a ne'er-do-well, Richard Coleman, was traced, and subsequently arrested.

It was proved by more than one witness that he had been in Hanley that day, apparently on the tramp, and with no money, yet two days after the murder he was spending money freely in Guildford.

At first Coleman denied all knowledge of Cross Roads Farm, but afterward admitted that he had been there. The Judds were his uncles.

He had not seen them for years, and had gone to ask for help. He wasn't in the house an hour, he declared, and said that his uncles had given him twenty pounds, for their dead sister's sake. They had also given him a lecture on idleness, and sent him about his business.

There had been no quarrel, and he knew nothing about the tragedy.

That he was the Judds' nephew was true, but for the rest of his story, no one believed it. The fact that he had denied all knowledge of Cross Roads Farm was strong evidence against him. He was brought to trial, and found guilty. His record was a bad one, yet the counsel's eloquence so impressed the jury that he was recommended to mercy, with the result that the death penalty was commuted to penal servitude for life.

Of this tragedy I knew nothing when Cross Roads Farm became the scene of a second mystery.

For five years--that is, since the death of the Judds--the house had been shut up. Neither of the brothers had made a will apparently; they had no solicitor, no banker. Either their wealth had been stolen by Coleman, and safely concealed by him before his arrest, or it existed only in the village imagination, or it remained hidden on the premises. The last, being the most romantic idea, found the greatest favor; but the possibility of treasure trove had not induced anyone to take the farm. The gardens grew into a tangle, through which the upper part of the house began to show signs of ruin. It was an uncanny spot, which people pa.s.sed with apprehension at night, and looked askance at even in the daytime.

The only person who appeared to have no dread of the place was Jim Gilson. During the last five years he had grown rather more incapable.

Physically he was a powerful man, mentally he was a baby; and whenever he could elude his mother's watchfulness he ran off eagerly to the farm and sat just inside the gate. Pa.s.sers-by often saw him there, but whether he ever penetrated further over the uncanny ground was not known.

Sudden and unusual excitement on Jim's part led to the discovery of the second tragedy. There was another dead man at Cross Roads Farm, Jim declared, first to his mother and then to everyone he met. The constable, with others, went there, and it was found that Gilson had spoken the truth.

A tramp, dirty and unshaven, clothed in rags, lay face downward on the sitting-room floor. The doctor who had been called to Peter Judd came again. The tramp was lying in exactly the same position as Peter Judd had lain, the limbs stretched almost identically as his had been, and on his throat were similar finger-marks. The only difference the doctor could suggest was that the tramp seemed to have been seized from the front, whereas, he believed, Judd had been attacked from behind. It was a suggestion more than a conviction.

It was natural, perhaps, that in Hanley people began to attribute both deaths to supernatural agency. Certainly there were curious points in the case, but it seemed to me that I had had harder problems to solve.

First, I made myself acquainted with the evidence which had been given at Richard Coleman's trial. I know that to read evidence is not the same thing as hearing it, but one or two points struck me forcibly.

Why had Coleman been recommended to mercy? True, his counsel's address had been an eloquent one, but if the prisoner were guilty surely there could be no extenuating circ.u.mstances in such a dastardly crime. The evidence was strongly against Coleman, yet in spite of this the jury had recommended him to mercy. Was there a doubt in their minds? Do we not all know that subtle doubt which comes even hand in hand with what we believe is conviction? There have been times with us all when we have given judgment and immediately began to doubt that judgment.

Unless something of this sort had happened to this jury, I could not understand the recommendation to mercy.

Again, I was not satisfied with the a.s.sumption that Simon Judd's dead body had been thrown into the well. The well was certainly of immense depth, and possibly tapped an underground cave full of water, which might account for the futility of dragging operations; but the shred of pajamas and the slipper found in the shed were not of themselves sufficient evidence that the body had been got rid of in this way.

Even with the other signs of struggle in the house the evidence was not conclusive. Simon Judd might be alive, in which case he might be the murderer.

Such an hypothesis was, however, unlikely. The brothers were devoted to each other, as twins often are; the overturned chessboard proved that normal relations had existed between them that evening, that they had played their usual game before retiring. If Simon Judd was dead, and his body was not in the well, where was it? Hidden securely, at any rate, and therefore, presumably, by someone who knew the farm well, which Richard Coleman did not.

Again, why had the murderer troubled to hide only one body?

Another point which struck me as curious was the wonderful accuracy of Mrs. Gilson's description of Richard Coleman. It was nearly dark when she met him; in pa.s.sing she could have little opportunity to examine him closely, yet her description was sufficient to lead to his arrest.

These considerations set me speculating and, with more excitement than was usual with me, I set to work to see how far my speculations were supported by facts. To begin with, I had an interview with Richard Coleman in prison. I did not tell him of the new tragedy at the farm; I merely said that some new facts had come to light, and that if he answered my questions it might be to his ultimate benefit.

"A man unjustly imprisoned does not easily believe that," he returned.

However, he told me his version of the story, exactly as he had told it at his trial.

"Do you remember meeting Mrs. Gilson?" I asked.