Ranson's Folly (Fiscle Part 3) by Richard Harding Davis (dar e dil novel online reading TXT) 📕

But A Master,  And See Where That Leads Us. For This House Has A

Master,  A Mysterious,  Absentee Landlord,  Who Lives In St. Petersburg,

The Unknown Russian Who Came Between Chetney And Zichy,  And Because

Of Whom Chetney Left Her. He Is The Man Who Bought This House For

Madame Zichy,  Who Sent These Rugs And Curtains From St. Petersburg To

Furnish It For Her After His Own Tastes,  And,  I Believe,  It Was He

Also Who Placed The Russian Servant Here,  Ostensibly To Serve The

Princess,  But In Reality To Spy Upon Her. At Scotland Yard We Do Not

Know Who This Gentleman Is; The Russian Police Confess To Equal

Ignorance Concerning Him. When Lord Chetney Went To Africa,  Madame

Zichy Lived In St. Petersburg; But There Her Receptions And Dinners

Were So Crowded With Members Of The Nobility And Of The Army And

Diplomats,  That,  Among So Many Visitors,  The Police Could Not Learn

Which Was The One For Whom She Most Greatly Cared.'

"Lyle Pointed At The Modern French Paintings And The Heavy,  Silk Rugs

Which Hung Upon The Walls.

"'The Unknown Is A Man Of Taste And Of Some Fortune,' He Said,  'Not

The Sort Of Man To Send A Stupid Peasant To Guard The Woman He Loves.

So I Am Not Content To Believe,  With Mr. Sears,  That The Servant Is A

Boor. I Believe Him,  Instead,  To Be A Very Clever Ruffian. I Believe

Him To Be The Protector Of His Master's Honor,  Or,  Let Us Say,  Of His

Master's Property,  Whether That Property Be Silver Plate Or The Woman

His Master Loves. Last Night,  After Lord Arthur Had Gone Away,  The

Servant Was Left Alone In This House With Lord Chetney And Madame

Zichy. From Where He Sat In The Hall,  He Could Hear Lord Chetney

Bidding Her Farewell; For,  If My Idea Of Him Is Correct,  He

Understands English Quite As Well As You Or I. Let Us Imagine That He

Heard Her Entreating Chetney Not To Leave Her,  Reminding Him Of His

Former Wish To Marry Her,  And Let Us Suppose That He Hears Chetney

Denounce Her,  And Tell Her That At Cairo He Has Learned Of This

Russian Admirer--The Servant's Master. He Hears The Woman Declare

That She Has Had No Admirer But Himself,  That This Unknown Russian

Was,  And Is,  Nothing To Her,  That There Is No Man She Loves But Him,

And That She Cannot Live,  Knowing That He Is Alive,  Without His Love.

Suppose Chetney Believed Her,  Suppose His Former Infatuation For Her

Returned,  And That,  In A Moment Of Weakness,  He Forgave Her And Took

Her In His Arms. That Is The Moment The Russian Master Has Feared. It

Is To Guard Against It That He Has Placed His Watch-Dog Over The

Princess,  And How Do We Know But That,  When The Moment Came,  The

Watch-Dog Served His Master,  As He Saw His Duty,  And Killed Them

Both? What Do You Think?' Lyle Demanded. 'Would Not That Explain Both

Murders?'

"I Was Only Too Willing To Hear Any Theory Which Pointed To Anyone

Else As The Criminal Than Arthur,  But Lyle's Explanation Was Too

Utterly Fantastic. I Told Him That He Certainly Showed Imagination,

But That He Could Not Hang A Man For What He Imagined He Had Done.

"'No,' Lyle Answered,  'But I Can Frighten Him By Telling Him What I

Think He Has Done,  And Now When I Again Question The Russian Servant

I Will Make It Quite Clear To Him That I Believe He Is The Murderer.

I Think That Will Open His Mouth. A Man Will At Least Talk To Defend

Himself. Come,' He Said,  'We Must Return At Once To Scotland Yard And

See Him. There Is Nothing More To Do Here.'

"He Arose,  And I Followed Him Into The Hall,  And In Another Minute We

Would Have Been On Our Way To Scotland Yard. But Just As He Opened

The Street-Door A Postman Halted At The Gate Of The Garden,  And Began

Fumbling With The Latch.

"Lyle Stopped,  With An Exclamation Of Chagrin.

"'How Stupid Of Me!' He Exclaimed. He Turned Quickly And Pointed To A

Narrow Slit Cut In The Brass Plate Of The Front Door. 'The House Has

A Private Letter-Box,' He Said,  'And I Had Not Thought To Look In It!

If We Had Gone Out As We Came In,  By The Window,  I Would Never Have

Seen It. The Moment I Entered The House I Should Have Thought Of

Securing The Letters Which Came This Morning. I Have Been Grossly

Careless.' He Stepped Back Into The Hall And Pulled At The Lid Of The

Letter-Box,  Which Hung On The Inside Of The Door,  But It Was Tightly

Locked. At The Same Moment The Postman Came Up The Steps Holding A

Letter. Without A Word,  Lyle Took It From His Hand And Began To

Examine It. It Was Addressed To The Princess Zichy,  And On The Back

Of The Envelope Was The Name Of A West End Dressmaker.

"'That Is Of No Use To Me,' Lyle Said. He Took Out His Card And

Showed It To The Postman. 'I Am Inspector Lyle From Scotland Yard,'

He Said. 'The People In This House Are Under Arrest. Everything It

Contains Is Now In My Keeping. Did You Deliver Any Other Letters Here

This Morning?'

"The Man Looked Frightened,  But Answered,  Promptly,  That He Was Now

Upon His Third Round. He Had Made One Postal Delivery At Seven That

Morning And Another At Eleven.

"'How Many Letters Did You Leave Here?' Lyle Asked.

"'About Six Altogether,' The Man Answered.

"'Did You Put Them Through The Door Into The Letter-Box?'

"The Postman Said,  'Yes,  I Always Slip Them Into The Box,  And Ring

And Go Away. The Servants Collect Them From The Inside.'

"'Have You Noticed If Any Of The Letters You Leave Here Bear A

Russian Postage-Stamp?' Lyle Asked.

"'The Man Answered,  'Oh,  Yes,  Sir,  A Great Many.'

"'From The Same Person,  Would You Say?'

"'The Writing Seems To Be The Same,' The Man Answered. 'They Come

Regularly About Once A Week--One Of Those I Delivered This Morning

Had A Russian Postmark.'

"'That Will Do,' Said Lyle,  Eagerly. 'Thank You,  Thank You Very

Much.'

"He Ran Back Into The Hall,  And,  Pulling Out His Penknife,  Began To

Pick At The Lock Of The Letter-Box.

"'I Have Been Supremely Careless,' He Said,  In Great Excitement.

'Twice Before When People I Wanted Had Flown From A House I Have Been

Able To Follow Them By Putting A Guard Over Their Mailbox. These

Letters,  Which Arrive Regularly Every Week From Russia In The Same

Handwriting,  They Can Come But From One Person. At Least,  We Shall

Now Know The Name Of The Master Of This House. Undoubtedly,  It Is One

Of His Letters That The Man Placed Here This Morning. We May Make A

Most Important Discovery.'

"As He Was Talking He Was Picking At The Lock With His Knife,  But He

Was So Impatient To Reach The Letters That He Pressed Too Heavily On

The Blade And It Broke In His Hand. I Took A Step Backward And Drove

My Heel Into The Lock,  And Burst It Open. The Lid Flew Back,  And We

Pressed Forward,  And Each Ran His Hand Down Into The Letter-Box. For

A Moment We Were Both Too Startled To Move. The Box Was Empty.

"I Do Not Know How Long We Stood,  Staring Stupidly At Each Other,  But

It Was Lyle Who Was The First To Recover. He Seized Me By The Arm And

Pointed Excitedly Into The Empty Box.

"'Do You Appreciate What That Means?' He Cried. 'It Means That

Someone Has Been Here Ahead Of Us. Someone Has Entered This House Not

Three Hours Before We Came,  Since Eleven O'clock This Morning.'

"'It Was The Russian Servant!' I Exclaimed.

"'The Russian Servant Has Been Under Arrest At Scotland Yard,' Lyle

Cried. 'He Could Not Have Taken The Letters. Lord Arthur Has Been In

His Cot At The Hospital. That Is His Alibi. There Is Someone Else,

Someone We Do Not Suspect. And That Someone Is The Murderer. He Came

Back Here Either To Obtain Those Letters Because He Knew They Would

Convict Him,  Or To Remove Something He Had Left Here At The Time Of

The Murder,  Something Incriminating--The Weapon,  Perhaps,  Or Some

Personal Article; A Cigarette-Case,  A Handkerchief With His Name Upon

It,  Or A Pair Of Gloves. Whatever It Was,  It Must Have Been Damning

Evidence Against Him To Have Made Him Take So Desperate A Chance.'

"'How Do We Know,' I Whispered,  'That He Is Not Hidden Here Now?'

"'No,  I'll Swear He Is Not,' Lyle Answered. 'I May Have Bungled In

Some Things,  But I Have Searched This House Thoroughly.

Nevertheless,' He Added,  'We Must Go Over It Again,  From The Cellar

To The Roof. We Have The Real Clew Now,  And We Must Forget The Others

And Work Only It.' As He Spoke He Began Again To Search The Drawing-

Room,  Turning Over Even The Books On The Tables And The Music On The

Piano.

"'Whoever The Man Is,' He Said,  Over His Shoulder,  'We Know That He

Has A Key To The Front Door And A Key To The Letter-Box. That Shows

Us He Is Either An Inmate Of The House Or That He Comes Here When He

Wishes. The Russian Says That He Was The Only Servant In The House.

Certainly,  We Have Found No Evidence To Show That Any Other Servant

Slept Here. There Could Be But One Other Person Who Would Possess A

Key To The House And The Letter-Box--And He Lives In St. Petersburg.

At The Time Of The Murder He Was Two Thousand Miles Away.' Lyle

Interrupted Himself,  Suddenly,  With A Sharp Cry,  And Turned Upon Me,

With His Eyes Flashing. 'But Was He?' He Cried. 'Was He? How Do We

Know That Last Night He Was Not In London,  In This Very House When

Zichy And Chetney Met?'

"He Stood,  Staring At Me Without Seeing Me,  Muttering,  And Arguing

With Himself.

"'Don't Speak To Me,' He Cried,  As I Ventured To Interrupt Him. 'I

Can See It Now. It Is All Plain. It Was Not The Servant,  But His

Master,  The Russian Himself,  And It Was He Who Came Back For The

Letters! He Came Back For Them Because He Knew They Would Convict

Him. We Must Find