“A word with you,” replies the stranger. Mr Le Cheminant seemed to hesitate for a moment. He lights a cigar, whilst the stranger stands there glaring at him with a look in his eye I certainly didn’t like.

“‘Mind you,’ added Thomas Sawyer, ‘the stranger was a gentleman in evening dress, and all that. Presently Mr Le Cheminant says to him: “This way, then,” and takes him along into one of the club rooms. Half an hour later the stranger comes out again. He looked flushed and excited. Soon after Mr Le Cheminant comes out too; but he was quite calm and smoking a cigar. He asks for a cab, and tells the driver to take him to the Lyric Theatre.’

“This was all that the hall porter had to say, but his evidence was corroborated by one of the waiters of the club who saw Mr Le Cheminant and the stranger subsequently enter the dining-room, which was quite deserted at the time.

“‘They ’adn’t been in the room a minute,’ said the waiter, ‘when I ’eard loud voices, as if they was quarrelling frightful. I couldn’t ’ear what they said, though I tried, but they was shouting so, and drowning each other’s voices. Presently there’s a ring at my bell, and I goes into the room. Mr Le Cheminant was sitting beside one of the tables, quietly lighting a cigar. “Show this – er – gentleman out of the club,” ’e says to me. The stranger looked as if ’e would strike ’im. “You’ll pay for this,” ’e says, then ’e picks up ’is ’at, and dashes out of the club helter-skelter. “One is always pestered by these beggars,” says Mr Le Cheminant to me, as ’e stalks out of the room.’

“Later on it was arranged that both Thomas Sawyer and the waiter should catch sight of Harold Le Cheminant, as he went out of his house in Exhibition Road. Neither of them had the slightest hesitation in recognizing in him the stranger who had called at the club that night.

“Now that they held this definite clue, the detectives continued their work with a will. They made enquiries at the Lyric Theatre, but there they only obtained very vague testimony; one point, however, was of great value, the commissionaire outside one of the neighbouring theatres stated that, some time after the performance had begun, he noticed a gentleman in evening dress walking rapidly past him.

“He seemed strangely excited, for as he went by he muttered quite audibly to himself: ‘I can stand it no longer, it must be he or I.’ Then he disappeared in the fog, walking away towards Shaftesbury Avenue. Unfortunately the commissionaire, just like the cabman, was not prepared to swear to the identity of this man, whom he had only seen momentarily through the fog.

“But add to all this testimony the very strong motive there was for the crime, and you will not wonder that, within twenty-four hours of the murder, the strongest suspicions had already fastened on Harold Le Cheminant, and it was generally understood that, even before the inquest, the police already had in readiness a warrant for his arrest on the capital charge.”

4

“It would be difficult, I think, for anyone who was not present at that memorable inquest to have the least idea of the sensation which its varied and dramatic incidents caused among the crowd of spectators there.

“At first the proceedings were of the usual kind. The medical officer gave his testimony as to the cause of death; this was, of course, not in dispute. The stiletto was produced; it was of an antique and foreign pattern, probably of Eastern or else Spanish origin. In England, it could only have been purchased at some bric-à-brac shop.

“Then it was the turn of the servants at Grosvenor Square, of the cabman, and of the commissionaire. Lord Tremarn’s evidence, which he had sworn to on his sickbed, was also read. It added nothing to the known facts of the case, for he had last seen his favourite nephew alive in the course of the afternoon preceding the latter’s tragic end.

“After that the employés of the Junior Grosvenor Club retold their story, and they were the first to strike the note of sensation which was afterwards raised to its highest possible pitch.

“Both of them, namely, were asked each in their turn to look round the court and see if they could recognize the stranger who had called at the club that memorable evening. Without the slightest hesitation, both the hall porter and the waiter pointed to Harold Le Cheminant, who sat with his solicitor in the body of the court.

“But already an inkling of what was to come had gradually spread through that crowded court – instinctively everyone felt that behind the apparent simplicity of this tragic case there lurked another mystery, more strange even than that murder in the hansom cab.

“Evidence was being taken as to the previous history of the deceased, his first appearance in London, his relationship with his uncle, and subsequently his enmity with his cousin Harold. At this point a man was brought forward as a witness, who it was understood had communicated with the police at the very last moment, offering to make a statement which he thought would throw considerable light upon the mysterious affair.

“He was a man of about fifty years of age, who looked like a very seedy, superannuated clerk of some insurance office.

“He gave his name as Charles Collins, and said that he resided in Caxton Road, Clapham.

“In a perfectly level tone of voice, he then explained that some three years ago, his son William, who had always been idle and good for nothing, had suddenly disappeared from home.

“‘We heard nothing of him for over two years,’ continued Charles Collins, in that same cheerless and even voice which spoke of a monotonous existence of ceaseless, patient grind, ‘but some few weeks ago my daughter went up to the West End to see about an engagement – she plays dance music at parties sometimes – when, in Regent Street, she came face to face with her brother William. He was no longer wretched, as we all are,’ added the old man pathetically, ‘he was dressed like a swell, and when his sister spoke to him, he pretended not to know her. But she’s a sharp girl, and guessed at once that there was something strange there which William wished to hide. She followed him from a distance, and never lost sight of him that day, until she saw him about six o’clock in the evening go into one of the fine houses in Grosvenor Square. Then she came home and told her mother and me all about it.’

“I can assure you,” continued the man in the corner, “that you might have heard a pin drop in that crowded court whilst the old man spoke. That he was stating the truth no one doubted for a moment.