Golden Stories | Page 7

Marquis.
At two o'clock the following morning the Marquis was entertaining a
select party in the smoking-room. The ladies had all vanished by this
time. The Marquis was speaking of his adventures. He really had quite
a talent in that direction. Naturally, a man of his wealth was certain to
be the mark for swindlers. Merrick listened with an approving smile.
He knew that most of these stories were true, for they had all been
recorded from time to time at Scotland Yard.
"You would have made an excellent detective, Marquis," he said. "You
have made it quite clear where the police blundered over that Glasgow
tragedy. I suppose you read all about the Grand Coast Railway
murder."
The Marquis started ever so slightly. There was a questioning look in
his eyes.
"Did you?" he said. "Naturally one would, Colonel. But a matter the
most inexplicable. I gave him up. From the very first I gave him up. If
the guard Catesby was not the guilty person, then I admit I have no
theory."
One by one, the smoking-room company faded away. Presently only
Merrick and the Marquis remained, save one guest who had fallen
asleep in his chair. A sleepy waiter looked in and vanished again. The
hotel was absolutely quiet now. Merrick, however, was wide awake
enough; so, apparently, was the Marquis. All the same, he yawned
ostentatiously.
"Let us to bed," he said. "To-morrow, perhaps----"
"No," Merrick said somewhat curtly. "I prefer to-night. Sit down."
The last two words came crisply and with a ring of command in them.
The Marquis bowed as he dropped into a chair and lighted a fresh

cigarette. A little red spot glowed on either of his brown cheeks, his
eyes glittered.
"You want to speak to me, Colonel?" he said.
"Very much indeed. Now, you are an exceedingly clever man, Marquis,
and you may be able to help me. It happens that I am deeply interested
in the Grand Coast Express murder; in fact, I have devoted the last two
months to its solution."
"With no success whatever, my dear Colonel?" the Marquis murmured.
"On the contrary, my dear Marquis, with absolute satisfaction. I am
quite sure that you will be interested in my story."
The Marquis raised his cigarette graciously.
"You are very good to give me your confidence," he said. "Pray
proceed."
"Thank you. I will not bore you with any preliminary details, for they
are too recent to have faded from your memory. Sufficient that we have
a murder committed in an express train; we have the disappearance of
eight thousand pounds in gold, without any trace of the criminal. That
he was on the train at the start is obvious. That he was not in any of the
carriages conveying ordinary passengers is equally obvious. It is also
certain that he left the train after the commission of the crime.
Doubtless you read the evidence of the guard to prove that nobody left
the train after the viaduct leading to Lydmouth station was reached.
Therefore, the murderer contrived to make his escape when the express
was traveling at sixty miles per hour."
"Is not all this superfluous?" the Marquis asked.
"Well, not quite. I am going to tell you how the murderer joined the
train and how he left it after the murder and the robbery."
"You are going to tell me that! Is it possible?"

"I think so," Merrick said modestly. "Now, Mr. Skidmore had a
compartment to himself. He was locked in the very last thing, and
nobody joined the train afterward. Naturally a--well--an amateur
detective like myself wanted to know who was in the adjoining
compartments. Three of these could be dismissed at once. But in the
fourth there was a corpse----"
"A corpse! But there was no mention of that at the inquest."
"No, but the fact remains. A corpse in a coffin. In a dark compartment
with the blinds down. And, strangely enough, the firm of undertakers
who consigned, or were supposed to consign, the body to Lydmouth
denied the whole business. Therefore, it is only fair to suppose that the
whole thing was a put-up job to get a compartment in the coach that Mr.
Skidmore traveled by. I am going to assume that in that coffin the
murderer lay concealed. But let me give you a light--your cigarette is
out."
"I smoke no more," the Marquis said. "My throat, he is dry. And
then----"
"Well, then, the first part is easy. The man gets out of the coffin and
proceeds to fill it with some heavy substance which has been smuggled
into the carriage under the pall. He screws the lid down and presently
makes his way along the footboard to the next compartment. An athlete
in good condition could do that;