But Ainsleigh waited but for a moment. The speech was so surprising, that he determined to learn more. At once he ran after the Chinaman but could not see him. In spite of his noticeable clothes, he was swallowed up in the crowd and Rupert plunged into the gay throng determined to find the man who could solve the mystery of Markham Ainsleigh's death.

The night wore on and the fun became fast and furious. Towards twelve the guests began to depart, but many choice spirits declared they would keep the ball rolling till dawn. One of these was Chris Walker, who had imbibed more champagne than was good for him. While he talked excitedly Miss Pewsey came to him hastily. "Where is my dear Sophia?" she asked, "I can't find her, and with her delicate health it is time she was home in bed."

"I have not seen her. Have you, Dr. Forge?"

The lean doctor shook his head, "I have been in the card room for the last hour," he said, "and as Miss Wharf's doctor I a.s.suredly say, she should go home, there's midnight," and as he spoke the strokes boomed from a tall clock in the hall.

"Clarence, have you seen her?" asked Miss Pewsey of the buccaneer who had Olivia on his arm.

"No! I've just been waltzing with Miss Rayner."

"Then you Mr. Ainsleigh?"

"I have been smoking on the balcony," said Rupert, who looked tired.

"Oh, dear me," said Miss Pewsey wringing her hands, "I wonder if dear Sophia has gone to see Major Tidman. She is so kind-hearted and he is ill--at least he says he is. Did he tell you Clarence?"

"I saw him only for a minute and he went back to his room I guess."

"Then Sophia must have gone there," cried Miss Pewsey and hurried away.

Olivia followed with Forge as she thought also, that her aunt ought to go home, and Clarence's attentions were becoming so embarra.s.sing that she feared there would be trouble with Rupert. But soon, Miss Pewsey appeared again and said that Miss Wharf was not in the Major's room, nor was the Major there. Taking Olivia and Clarence and Forge, she went to search for the missing lady. Rupert lingered behind as he did not wish to come into contact with the buccaneer.

The hunt proceeded for some time, and every room in the hotel was searched. But Miss Wharf could not be found. Finally everyone--for many of the guests were hunting by this time--, went out on the balcony. Miss Wharf was not there. "Oh, dear me," cried Miss Pewsey, "wherever can she be."

The balcony was searched from end to end. Then one of the guests more venturesome, descended the steps. He gave a cry of horror. "Bring a light," he cried. Lights were brought and everyone rushed after them.

Half way down the steps lay Miss Wharf--dead--strangled, and round her throat tightly bound was a yellow and red silk tie.

CHAPTER X

A MYSTERIOUS CASE

The murder of Miss Sophia Wharf at the Bristol Hotel ball made a great sensation. She had been well-known in Marport, and her many friends were enormously excited that each and everyone of them had been acquainted with a person who had been--as one of them put it--done to death. Also the circ.u.mstances of the murder were most extraordinary. It seemed almost incredible that a popular lady should be murdered in so public a place; though many said, that the safety of the a.s.sa.s.sin lay in the very fact that he had chosen to commit his crime a few yards away from a spot where many people were congregated. But who had killed Miss Wharf and why she was killed in so brutal a manner, no one could understand.

When the local police heard of the a.s.sa.s.sination, an Inspector with two subordinates took possession of the hotel, and obtained from the manager a list of the guests present at the ball. As these amounted to something like two hundred, it seemed like looking for a needle in a haystack to search for the criminal amongst them. And many of them did not know Miss Wharf even by sight, so it was certain that the task of identifying the a.s.sa.s.sin would be one of enormous difficulty. And the question was asked on all hands. "What had taken the deceased lady down the little-frequented steps?" The fan was missing--Miss Pewsey noticed that, when she bent over the dead, but the story of the fan was not yet public property.

According to custom the local police communicated with the Treasury, who placed the case in the hands of the Criminal Investigation Department, and thus it came about, that a plain clothes officer--in other words a detective--was sent down to Marport. This individual was called Rogers, and after paying a visit to the Superintendent of the Marport Police Office, he went to Ivy Lodge. Here, everything was gloomy and silent.

The body of the unfortunate woman had been brought home, and was laid out for burial. Dr. Forge, who with others had been on the spot at the time of the discovery, examined the corpse, and a.s.serted that the miserable woman must have been murdered just an hour, or half an hour previous. As midnight was chiming shortly before the discovery of the crime, it can be safely declared--and Dr. Forge did declare this--that Miss Wharf was strangled between eleven and twelve. When the corpse was found it was yet warm. Clarence haunted the Lodge and talked with his aunt, but Olivia kept to her own room.

"Tung-yu did it of course," said Mr. Burgh decisively. "I reckon he came down to get that fan, and grudged giving so much cash for it. I surmise that he lured the old girl to those steps, and then slipped the silk string round her neck."

"The silk tie," said Miss Pewsey whose eyes were very black and glittering, though red round the rims, from weeping.

"How do you know it's a tie?" asked Clarence with a start.

"I know," replied his aunt tightening her thin lips, "and I know to whom the tie belongs. But you say that Tung-yu?--"

"Who else could have scragged the old girl aunt Lavinia. The fan's gone--leastways I didn't see it when we spotted the deader."

Miss Pewsey nodded. "Yes, the fan is gone," she a.s.sented, "but if Tung-yu murdered dearest Sophia, he can easily be arrested."

"Oh, I guess not," replied Mr. Burgh easily. "Tung-yu's no slouch, you bet, and didn't intend to lose his prize--"

"The fan?" inquired Miss Pewsey.

"Just so, the fan," replied Clarence imperturbably, "and he's on his way to China by this time."

"Clarence?" Miss Pewsey rose, much excited; then calmed down. "I do not agree with you," said she firmly. "Tung-yu is innocent."

"I'll lay a couple of dollars he isn't, Aunt Lavinia. Do you remember that yacht I pointed out to you last night. Well, t'was a steam deep-sea barky, two hundred tons, Lloyd's measurement I reckon--quite heavy enough to cut round the Cape into Chinese waters. Well, she arrived in the afternoon yesterday and after midnight she lighted out."

"But how do you know Tung-yu was on board?"

"Well, I only size that up," said Clarence musingly, "but it looks to me as though he'd engineered the job. 'Twould be easy I guess for him to have had a boat waiting for him. After he'd killed the old girl and annexed the fan, he could dance down those steps like a two year old and pick up the boat on the beach. Course it's all my fancy," added Burgh modestly, "but I guess I'm right."

"I guess you're not," snapped Miss Pewsey in rather an unlady-like manner, and she rose to shake out her skirts. "I know who killed dearest Sophia," she added, wagging a lean finger at her nephew. "I know who possessed the tie, and I shall hand that man--"

"Who the d.i.c.kens is he anyhow?"

"Rupert Ainsleigh," replied Miss Pewsey with a grim smile, and left the room, while the buccaneer stared, and then smiled. It was pleasant to think that his rival--as he considered Rupert,--should be in such straits and should be pursued by the vindictive hatred of Miss Pewsey, who would leave no stone unturned to bring about the conviction of young Ainsleigh.

"Well," said the buccaneer with his hands in his pockets. "I guess I'm not taking a hand in this biznai, and it ain't lively round these quarters. I'll git."

And this Mr. Burgh did. When he pa.s.sed out of the front door, he brushed against a plainly dressed rubicund man with sharp grey eyes who glanced at him inquisitively. However, the stranger said nothing but proceeded to ring the bell. The maid-servant who appeared took him into the drawing-room and carried a card to Miss Pewsey. The name thereon was, Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.

With this in her hand Miss Pewsey sailed into the drawing-room and looked at the comfortable creature who rose to greet her. "Mr. Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.?" queried the little old lady.

"Criminal Investigation Department," said the man in a cool voice, and with a sharp glance at the dry drab woman, "I'm in charge of the Wharf Murder Case, and have been sent down by the Treasury. As I have seen the Superintendent and can learn nothing likely to throw light on the subject, I have come to you--a relative?"

"No," answered Miss Pewsey sitting down, in a rigid way. "I am the companion of the late Miss Wharf. Her only relative, down here at all events, is Miss Olivia Rayner."

"Can I see her?"

"I think not--at present. She is in her room weeping. Though why she should display such grief I can't understand," added Miss Pewsey spitefully.

"It's natural in a relative, miss," said the detective looking hard at the withered little face.

Miss Pewsey laughed in a shrill manner, and spoke between her teeth more than ever, emphasising every word as usual. "Oh, dear me, no," said she.

"Miss Wharf and Olivia never got on well. The girl hated her aunt, though dearest Sophia--Miss Wharf, you know, sir--brought her up, when she hadn't a shilling or a friend in the world."

"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" asked Rodgers wondering how much of this spiteful speech was true, and seeing plainly enough that the speaker was no friend to the niece.

"I am Lavinia Pewsey," said that lady, "and for years I have been the cherished friend and dearest companion of Sophia. We were at school together, and were--as I may say--like two cherries on one stalk.

Anything I can do to avenge her death will be done."