graveside, as the workmen silently went to work on the screws. The
screws were rusted in their sockets; they grated as the men slowly
worked them out. It seemed to Spargo that each man grew slower and
slower in his movements; he felt that he himself was getting fidgety.
Then he heard a voice of authority.

"Lift the lid off!"

A man at the head of the coffin, a man at the foot suddenly and swiftly
raised the lid: the men gathered round craned their necks with a quick
movement.

Sawdust!

The coffin was packed to the brim with sawdust, tightly pressed down.
The surface lay smooth, undisturbed, levelled as some hand had levelled
it long years before. They were not in the presence of death, but of
deceit.

Somebody laughed faintly. The sound of the laughter broke the spell.
The chief official present looked round him with a smile.

"It is evident that there were good grounds for suspicion," he
remarked. "Here is no dead body, gentlemen. See if anything lies
beneath the sawdust," he added, turning to the workmen. "Turn it out!"

The workmen began to scoop out the sawdust with their hands; one of
them, evidently desirous of making sure that no body was in the coffin,
thrust down his fingers at various places along its length. He, too,
laughed.

"The coffin's weighted with lead!" he remarked. "See!"

And tearing the sawdust aside, he showed those around him that at three
intervals bars of lead had been tightly wedged into the coffin where
the head, the middle, and the feet of a corpse would have rested.

"Done it cleverly," he remarked, looking round. "You see how these
weights have been adjusted. When a body's laid out in a coffin, you
know, all the weight's in the end where the head and trunk rest. Here
you see the heaviest bar of lead is in the middle; the lightest at the
feet. Clever!"

"Clear out all the sawdust," said some one. "Let's see if there's
anything else."

There was something else. At the bottom of the coffin two bundles of
papers, tied up with pink tape. The legal gentlemen present immediately
manifested great interest in these. So did Spargo, who, pulling Breton
along with him, forced his way to where the officials from the Home
Office and the solicitor sent by the _Watchman_ were hastily examining
their discoveries.

The first bundle of papers opened evidently related to transactions at
Market Milcaster: Spargo caught glimpses of names that were familiar to
him, Mr. Quarterpage's amongst them. He was not at all astonished to
see these things. But he was something more than astonished when, on
the second parcel being opened, a quantity of papers relating to
Cloudhampton and the Hearth and Home Mutual Benefit Society were
revealed. He gave a hasty glance at these and drew Breton aside.

"It strikes me we've found a good deal more than we ever bargained
for!" he exclaimed. "Didn't Aylmore say that the real culprit at
Cloudhampton was another man--his clerk or something of that sort?"

"He did," agreed Breton. "He insists on it."

"Then this fellow Chamberlayne must have been the man," said Spargo.
"He came to Market Milcaster from the north. What'll be done with those
papers?" he asked, turning to the officials.

"We are going to seal them up at once, and take them to London,"
replied the principal person in authority. "They will be quite safe,
Mr. Spargo; have no fear. We don't know what they may reveal."

"You don't, indeed!" said Spargo. "But I may as well tell you that I
have a strong belief that they'll reveal a good deal that nobody dreams
of, so take the greatest care of them."

Then, without waiting for further talk with any one, Spargo hurried
Breton out of the cemetery. At the gate, he seized him by the arm.

"Now, then, Breton!" he commanded. "Out with it!"

"With what?"

"You promised to tell me something--a great deal, you said--if we found
that coffin empty. It is empty. Come on--quick!"

"All right. I believe I know where Elphick and Cardlestone can be
found. That's all."

"All! It's enough. Where, then, in heaven's name?"

"Elphick has a queer little place where he and Cardlestone sometimes go
fishing--right away up in one of the wildest parts of the Yorkshire
moors. I expect they've gone there. Nobody knows even their names
there--they could go and lie quiet there for--ages."

"Do you know the way to it?"

"I do--I've been there."

Spargo motioned him to hurry.

"Come on, then," he said. "We're going there by the very first train
out of this. I know the train, too--we've just time to snatch a
mouthful of breakfast and to send a wire to the _Watchman_, and then
we'll be off. Yorkshire!--Gad, Breton, that's over three hundred miles
away!"




CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

FORESTALLED


Travelling all that long summer day, first from the south-west of
England to the Midlands, then from the Midlands to the north, Spargo
and Breton came late at night to Hawes' Junction, on the border of
Yorkshire and Westmoreland, and saw rising all around them in the
half-darkness the mighty bulks of the great fells which rise amongst
that wild and lonely stretch of land. At that hour of the night and
amidst that weird silence, broken only by the murmur of some adjacent
waterfall the scene was impressive and suggestive; it seemed to Spargo
as if London were a million miles away, and the rush and bustle of
human life a thing of another planet. Here and there in the valleys he
saw a light, but such lights were few and far between; even as he
looked some of them twinkled and went out. It was evident that he and
Breton were presently to be alone with the night.

"How far?" he asked Breton as they walked away from the station.

"We'd better discuss matters," answered Breton. "The place is in a
narrow valley called Fossdale, some six or seven miles away across
these fells, and as wild a walk as any lover of such things could wish
for. It's half-past nine now, Spargo: I reckon it will take us a good
two and a half hours, if not more, to do it. Now, the question is--Do
we go straight there, or do we put up for the night? There's an inn
here at this junction: there's the Moor Cock Inn a mile or so along the
road which we must take before we turn off to the moorland and the
fells. It's going to be a black night--look at those masses of black
cloud gathering there!--and possibly a wet one, and we've no
waterproofs. But it's for you to say--I'm game for whatever you like."

"Do you know the way?" asked Spargo.

"I've been the way. In the daytime I could go straight ahead. I
remember all the landmarks. Even in the darkness I believe I can find
my way. But it's rough walking."

"We'll go straight there," said Spargo. "Every minute's precious.
But--can we get a mouthful of bread and cheese and a glass of ale
first?"

"Good idea! We'll call in at the 'Moor Cock.' Now then, while we're on
this firm road, step it out lively."

The "Moor Cock" was almost deserted at that hour: there was scarcely a
soul in it when the two travellers turned in to its dimly-lighted
parlour. The landlord, bringing the desired refreshment, looked hard at
Breton.

"Come our way again then, sir?" he remarked with a sudden grin of
recognition.

"Ah, you remember me?" said Breton.

"I call in mind when you came here with the two old gents last year,"
replied the landlord. "I hear they're here again--Tom Summers was
coming across that way this morning, and said he'd seen 'em at the
little cottage. Going to join 'em, I reckon, sir?"

Breton kicked Spargo under the table.

"Yes, we're going to have a day or two with them," he answered. "Just
to get a breath of your moorland air."

"Well, you'll have a roughish walk over there tonight, gentlemen," said
the landlord. "There's going to be a storm. And it's a stiffish way to
make out at this time o'night."

"Oh, we'll manage," said Breton, nonchalantly. "I know the way, and
we're not afraid of a wet skin."

The landlord laughed, and sitting down on his long settle folded his
arms and scratched his elbows.

"There was a gentleman--London gentleman by his tongue--came in here
this afternoon, and asked the way to Fossdale," he observed. "He'll be
there long since--he'd have daylight for his walk. Happen he's one of
your party?--he asked where the old gentlemen's little cottage was."

Again Spargo felt his shin kicked and made no sign. "One of their
friends, perhaps," answered Breton. "What was he like?"

The landlord ruminated. He was not good at description and was
conscious of the fact.

"Well, a darkish, serious-faced gentleman," he said. "Stranger
hereabouts, at all events. Wore a grey suit--something like your
friend's there. Yes--he took some bread and cheese with him when he
heard what a long way it was."

"Wise man," remarked Breton. He hastily finished his own bread and
cheese, and drank off the rest of his pint of ale. "Come on," he said,
"let's be stepping."

Outside, in the almost tangible darkness, Breton clutched Spargo's arm.
"Who's the man?" he said. "Can you think, Spargo?"

"Can't" answered Spargo. "I was trying to, while that chap was talking.
But--it's somebody that's got in before us. Not Rathbury, anyhow--he's
not serious-faced. Heavens, Breton, however are you going to find your
way in this darkness?"

"You'll see presently. We follow the road a little. Then we turn up the
fell side there. On the top, if the night clears a bit, we ought to see
Great Shunnor Fell and Lovely Seat--they're both well over two thousand
feet, and they stand up well. We want to make for a point clear between
them. But I warn you, Spargo, it's stiff going!"

"Go ahead!" said Spargo. "It's the first time in my life I ever did
anything of this sort, but we're going on if it takes us all night. I
couldn't sleep in any bed now that I've heard there's somebody ahead of
us. Go first, old chap, and I'll follow."

Breton went steadily forward along the road. That was easy work, but
when he turned off and began to thread his way up the fell-side by what
was obviously no more than a sheep-track, Spargo's troubles began. It
seemed to him that he was walking as in a nightmare; all that he saw
was magnified and heightened; the darkening sky above; the faint
outlines of the towering hills; the gaunt spectres of fir and pine; the
figure of Breton forging stolidly and surely ahead. Now the ground was
soft and spongy under his feet; now it was stony and rugged; more than
once he caught an ankle in the wire-like heather and tripped, bruising
his knees. And in the end he resigned himself to keeping his eye on
Breton, outlined against the sky, and following doggedly in his
footsteps.

"Was there no other way than this?" he asked after a long interval of
silence. "Do you mean to say those two--Elphick and Cardlestone--would
take this way?"

"There is another way--down the valley, by Thwaite Bridge and Hardraw,"
answered Breton, "but it's miles and miles round. This is a straight
cut across country, and in daylight it's a delightful walk. But at
night--Gad!--here's the rain, Spargo!"

The rain came down as it does in that part of the world, with a
suddenness that was as fierce as it was heavy. The whole of the grey
night was blotted out; Spargo was only conscious that he stood in a
vast solitude and was being gradually drowned. But Breton, whose sight
was keener, and who had more knowledge of the situation dragged his
companion into the shelter of a group of rocks. He laughed a little as
they huddled closely together.

"This is a different sort of thing to pursuing detective work in Fleet
Street, Spargo," he said. "You would come on, you know."

"I'm going on if we go through cataracts and floods," answered Spargo.
"I might have been induced to stop at the 'Moor Cock' overnight if we
hadn't heard of that chap in front. If he's after those two he's
somebody who knows something. What I can't make out is--who he can be."

"Nor I," said Breton. "I can't think of anybody who knows of this
retreat. But--has it ever struck you, Spargo, that somebody beside
yourself may have been investigating?"

"Possible," replied Spargo. "One never knows. I only wish we'd been a
few hours earlier. For I wanted to have the first word with those two."

The rain ceased as suddenly as it had come. Just as suddenly the
heavens cleared. And going forward to the top of the ridge which they
were then crossing, Breton pointed an arm to something shining far away
below them.

"You see that?" he said. "That's a sheet of water lying between us and
Cotterdale. We leave that on our right hand, climb the fell beyond it,
drop down into Cotterdale, cross two more ranges of fell, and come down
into Fossdale under Lovely Seat. There's a good two hours and a half
stiff pull yet, Spargo. Think you can stick it?"

Spargo set his teeth.

"Go on!" he said.

Up hill, down dale, now up to his ankles in peaty ground, now tearing
his shins, now bruising his knees, Spargo, yearning for the London
lights, the well-paved London streets, the convenient taxi-cab, even
the humble omnibus, plodded forward after his guide. It seemed to him
that they had walked for ages and had traversed a whole continent of
mountains and valley when at last Breton, halting on the summit of a
wind-swept ridge, laid one hand on his companion's shoulder and pointed
downward with the other.

"There!" he said. "There!"

Spargo looked ahead into the night. Far away, at what seemed to him to
be a considerable distance, he saw the faint, very faint glimmer of a
light--a mere spark of a light.

"That's the cottage," said Breton, "Late as it is, you see, they're up.
And here's the roughest bit of the journey. It'll take me all my time
to find the track across this moor, Spargo, so step carefully after
me--there are bogs and holes hereabouts."

Another hour had gone by ere the two came to the cottage. Sometimes the
guiding light had vanished, blotted out by intervening rises in the
ground; always, when they saw it again, they were slowly drawing nearer
to it. And now when they were at last close to it, Spargo realized that
he found himself in one of the loneliest places he had ever been
capable of imagining--so lonely and desolate a spot he had certainly
never seen. In the dim light he could see a narrow, crawling stream,
making its way down over rocks and stones from the high ground of Great
Shunnor Fell. Opposite to the place at which they stood, on the edge of
the moorland, a horseshoe like formation of ground was backed by a ring
of fir and pine; beneath this protecting fringe of trees stood a small
building of grey stone which looked as if it had been originally built
by some shepherd as a pen for the moorland sheep. It was of no more
than one storey in height, but of some length; a considerable part of
it was hidden by shrubs and brushwood. And from one uncurtained,
blindless window the light of a lamp shone boldly into the fading
darkness without.

Breton pulled up on the edge of the crawling stream.

"We've got to get across there, Spargo," he said. "But as we're already
soaked to the knee it doesn't matter about getting another wetting.
Have you any idea how long we've been walking?"

"Hours--days--years!" replied Spargo.

"I should say quite four hours," said Breton. "In that case, it's well
past two o'clock, and the light will be breaking in another hour or so.
Now, once across this stream, what shall we do?"

"What have we come to do? Go to the cottage, of course!"

"Wait a bit. No need to startle them. By the fact they've got a light,
I take it that they're up. Look there!"

As he spoke, a figure crossed the window passing between it and the
light.

"That's not Elphick, nor yet Cardlestone," said Spargo. "They're
medium-heighted men. That's a tallish man."

"Then it's the man the landlord of the 'Moor Cock' told us about," said
Breton. "Now, look here--I know every inch of this place. When we're
across let me go up to the cottage, and I'll take an observation
through that window and see who's inside. Come on."

He led Spargo across the stream at a place where a succession of
boulders made a natural bridge, and bidding him keep quiet, went up the
bank to the cottage. Spargo, watching him, saw him make his way past
the shrubs and undergrowth until he came to a great bush which stood
between the lighted window and the projecting porch of the cottage. He
lingered in the shadow of this bush but for a short moment; then came
swiftly and noiselessly back to his companion. His hand fell on
Spargo's arm with a clutch of nervous excitement.

"Spargo!" he whispered. "Who on earth do you think the other man is?"




CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

THE WHIP HAND


Spargo, almost irritable from desire to get at close grips with the
objects of his long journey, shook off Breton's hand with a growl of
resentment.

"And how on earth can I waste time guessing?" he exclaimed. "Who is
he?"

Breton laughed softly.

"Steady, Spargo, steady!" he said. "It's Myerst--the Safe Deposit man.
Myerst!"

Spargo started as if something had bitten him.

"Myerst!" he almost shouted. "Myerst! Good Lord!--why did I never think
of him? Myerst! Then----"

"I don't know why you should have thought of him," said Breton.
"But--he's there."

Spargo took a step towards the cottage: Breton pulled him back.

"Wait!" he said. "We've got to discuss this. I'd better tell you what
they're doing."

"What are they doing, then?" demanded Spargo impatiently.

"Well," answered Breton. "They're going through a quantity of papers.
The two old gentlemen look very ill and very miserable. Myerst is
evidently laying down the law to them in some fashion or other. I've
formed a notion, Spargo."

"What notion?"

"Myerst is in possession of whatever secret they have, and he's
followed them down here to blackmail them. That's my notion."

Spargo thought awhile, pacing up and down the river bank.

"I daresay you're right," he said. "Now, what's to be done?"

Breton, too, considered matters.

"I wish," he said at last, "I wish we could get in there and overhear
what's going on. But that's impossible--I know that cottage. The only
thing we can do is this--we must catch Myerst unawares. He's here for
no good. Look here!"

And reaching round to his hip-pocket Breton drew out a Browning
revolver and wagged it in his hand with a smile.

"That's a useful thing to have, Spargo," he remarked. "I slipped it
into my pocket the other day, wondering why on earth I did it. Now
it'll come in handy. For anything we know Myerst may be armed."

"Well?" said Spargo.

"Come up to the cottage. If things turn out as I think they will,
Myerst, when he's got what he wants, will be off. Now, you shall get
where I did just now, behind that bush, and I'll station myself in the
doorway. You can report to me, and when Myerst comes out I'll cover
him. Come on, Spargo; it's beginning to get light already."

Breton cautiously led the way along the river bank, making use of such
cover as the willows and alders afforded. Together, he and Spargo made
their way to the front of the cottage. Arrived at the door, Breton
posted himself in the porch, motioning to Spargo to creep in behind the
bushes and to look through the window. And Spargo noiselessly followed
his directions and slightly parting the branches which concealed him
looked in through the uncurtained glass.

The interior into which he looked was rough and comfortless in the
extreme. There were the bare accessories of a moorland cottage; rough
chairs and tables, plastered walls, a fishing rod or two piled in a
corner; some food set out on a side table. At the table in the middle
of the floor the three men sat. Cardlestone's face was in the shadow;
Myerst had his back to the window; old Elphick bending over the table
was laboriously writing with shaking fingers. And Spargo twisted his
head round to his companion.

"Elphick," he said, "is writing a cheque. Myerst has another cheque in
his hand. Be ready!--when he gets that second cheque I guess he'll be
off."

Breton smiled grimly and nodded. A moment later Spargo whispered again.

"Look out, Breton! He's coming."

Breton drew back into the angle of the porch; Spargo quitted his
protecting bush and took the other angle. The door opened. And they
heard Myerst's voice, threatening, commanding in tone.

"Now, remember all I've said! And don't you forget--I've the whip hand
of both of you--the whip hand!"

Then Myerst turned and stepped out into the grey light--to find himself
confronted by an athletic young man who held the muzzle of an ugly
revolver within two inches of the bridge of his nose and in a
remarkably firm and steady grip. Another glance showed him the figure
of a second business-like looking young man at his side, whose attitude
showed a desire to grapple with him.

"Good-morning, Mr. Myerst," said Breton with cold and ironic
politeness. "We are glad to meet you so unexpectedly. And--I must
trouble you to put up your hands. Quick!"

Myerst made one hurried movement of his right hand towards his hip, but
a sudden growl from Breton made him shift it just as quickly above his
head, whither the left followed it. Breton laughed softly.

"That's wise, Mr. Myerst," he said, keeping his revolver steadily
pointed at his prisoner's nose. "Discretion will certainly be the
better part of your valour on this occasion. Spargo--may I trouble you
to see what Mr. Myerst carries in his pockets? Go through them
carefully. Not for papers or documents--just now. We can leave that
matter--we've plenty of time. See if he's got a weapon of any sort on
him, Spargo--that's the important thing."

Considering that Spargo had never gone through the experience of
searching a man before, he made sharp and creditable work of seeing
what the prisoner carried. And he forthwith drew out and exhibited a
revolver, while Myerst, finding his tongue, cursed them both, heartily
and with profusion.

"Excellent!" said Breton, laughing again. "Sure he's got nothing else
on him that's dangerous, Spargo? All right. Now, Mr. Myerst, right
about face! Walk into the cottage, hands up, and remember there are two
revolvers behind your back. March!"

Myerst obeyed this peremptory order with more curses. The three walked
into the cottage. Breton kept his eye on his captive; Spargo gave a
glance at the two old men. Cardlestone, white and shaking, was lying
back in his chair; Elphick, scarcely less alarmed, had risen, and was
coming forward with trembling limbs.

"Wait a moment," said Breton, soothingly. "Don't alarm yourself. We'll
deal with Mr. Myerst here first. Now, Myerst, my man, sit down in that
chair--it's the heaviest the place affords. Into it, now! Spargo, you
see that coil of rope there. Tie Myerst up--hand and foot--to that
chair. And tie him well. All the knots to be double, Spargo, and behind
him."

Myerst suddenly laughed. "You damned young bully!" he exclaimed. "If
you put a rope round me, you're only putting ropes round the necks of
these two old villains. Mark that, my fine fellows!"

"We'll see about that later," answered Breton. He kept Myerst covered
while Spargo made play with the rope. "Don't be afraid of hurting him,
Spargo," he said. "Tie him well and strong. He won't shift that chair
in a hurry."

Spargo spliced his man to the chair in a fashion that would have done
credit to a sailor. He left Myerst literally unable to move either hand
or foot, and Myerst cursed him from crown to heel for his pains.
"That'll do," said Breton at last. He dropped his revolver into his
pocket and turned to the two old men. Elphick averted his eyes and sank
into a chair in the darkest corner of the room: old Cardlestone shook
as with palsy and muttered words which the two young men could not
catch. "Guardian," continued Breton, "don't be frightened! And don't
you be frightened, either, Mr. Cardlestone. There's nothing to be
afraid of, just yet, whatever there may be later on. It seems to me
that Mr. Spargo and I came just in time. Now, guardian, what was this
fellow after?"

Old Elphick lifted his head and shook it; he was plainly on the verge
of tears; as for Cardlestone, it was evident that his nerve was
completely gone. And Breton pointed Spargo to an old corner cupboard.

"Spargo," he said, "I'm pretty sure you'll find whisky in there. Give
them both a stiff dose: they've broken up. Now, guardian," he
continued, when Spargo had carried out this order, "what was he after?
Shall I suggest it? Was it--blackmail?"

Cardlestone began to whimper; Elphick nodded his head. "Yes, yes!" he
muttered. "Blackmail! That was it--blackmail. He--he got
money--papers--from us. They're on him."

Breton turned on the captive with a look of contempt.

"I thought as much, Mr. Myerst," he said. "Spargo, let's see what he
has on him."

Spargo began to search the prisoner's pockets. He laid out everything
on the table as he found it. It was plain that Myerst had contemplated
some sort of flight or a long, long journey. There was a quantity of
loose gold; a number of bank-notes of the more easily negotiated
denominations; various foreign securities, realizable in Paris. And
there was an open cheque, signed by Cardlestone for ten thousand
pounds, and another, with Elphick's name at the foot, also open, for
half that amount. Breton examined all these matters as Spargo handed
them out. He turned to old Elphick.

"Guardian," he said, "why have you or Mr. Cardlestone given this man
these cheques and securities? What hold has he on you?"

Old Cardlestone began to whimper afresh; Elphick turned a troubled face
on his ward.

"He--he threatened to accuse us of the murder of Marbury!" he faltered.
"We--we didn't see that we had a chance."

"What does he know of the murder of Marbury and of you in connection
with it?" demanded Breton. "Come--tell me the truth now."

"He's been investigating--so he says," answered Elphick. "He lives in
that house in Middle Temple Lane, you know, in the top-floor rooms
above Cardlestone's. And--and he says he's the fullest evidence against
Cardlestone--and against me as an accessory after the fact."

"And--it's a lie?" asked Breton.

"A lie!" answered Elphick. "Of course, it's a lie. But--he's so clever
that--that----"

"That you don't know how you could prove it otherwise," said Breton.
"Ah! And so this fellow lives over Mr. Cardlestone there, does he? That
may account for a good many things. Now we must have the police here."
He sat down at the table and drew the writing materials to him. "Look
here, Spargo," he continued. "I'm going to write a note to the
superintendent of police at Hawes--there's a farm half a mile from here
where I can get a man to ride down to Hawes with the note. Now, if you
want to send a wire to the _Watchman_, draft it out, and he'll take it
with him."

Elphick began to move in his corner.

"Must the police come?" he said. "Must----"

"The police must come," answered Breton firmly. "Go ahead with your
wire, Spargo, while I write this note."

Three quarters of an hour later, when Breton came back from the farm,
he sat down at Elphick's side and laid his hand on the old man's.

"Now, guardian," he said, quietly, "you've got to tell us the truth."




CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

MYERST EXPLAINS


It had been apparent to Spargo, from the moment of his entering the
cottage, that the two old men were suffering badly from shock and
fright: Cardlestone still sat in his corner shivering and trembling; he
looked incapable of explaining anything; Elphick was scarcely more
fitted to speak. And when Breton issued his peremptory invitation to
his guardian to tell the truth, Spargo intervened.

"Far better leave him alone, Breton," he said in a low voice. "Don't
you see the old chap's done up? They're both done up. We don't know
what they've gone through with this fellow before we came, and it's
certain they've had no sleep. Leave it all till later--after all, we've
found them and we've found him." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder
in Myerst's direction, and Breton involuntarily followed the movement.
He caught the prisoner's eye, and Myerst laughed.

"I daresay you two young men think yourselves very clever," he said
sneeringly. "Don't you, now?"

"We've been clever enough to catch you, anyway," retorted Breton. "And
now we've got you we'll keep you till the police can relieve us of