The Experiences of Loveday Brooke, Lady Detective | Page 3

he owned a temper so irritable that a child with a
chance word might ruffle it.
The genial smile vanished as he took the newspaper cutting from
Loveday's hand.
"I would have you to remember, Miss Brooke," he said severely, "that
although I am in the habit of using dispatch in my business, I am never
known to be in a hurry; hurry in affairs I take to be the especial mark of
the slovenly and unpunctual."
Then, as if still further to give contradiction to her words, he very
deliberately unfolded her slip of newspaper and slowly, accentuating
each word and syllable, read as follows:--
"Singular Discovery.
"A black leather bag, or portmanteau, was found early yesterday
morning by one of Smith's newspaper boys on the doorstep of a house
in the road running between Easterbrook and Wreford, and inhabited by
an elderly spinster lady. The contents of the bag include a clerical collar
and necktie, a Church Service, a book of sermons, a copy of the works
of Virgil, a facsimile of Magna Charta, with translations, a pair of black
kid gloves, a brush and comb, some newspapers, and several small
articles suggesting clerical ownership. On the top of the bag the
following extraordinary letter, written in pencil on a long slip of paper,
was found:
'The fatal day has arrived. I can exist no longer. I go hence and shall be
no more seen. But I would have Coroner and Jury know that I am a
sane man, and a verdict of temporary insanity in my case would be an
error most gross after this intimation. I care not if it is felo de se, as I

shall have passed all suffering. Search diligently for my poor lifeless
body in the immediate neighbourhood--on the cold heath, the rail, or
the river by yonder bridge--a few moments will decide how I shall
depart. If I had walked aright I might have been a power in the Church
of which I am now an unworthy member and priest; but the damnable
sin of gambling got hold on me, and betting has been my ruin, as it has
been the ruin of thousands who have preceded me. Young man, shun
the bookmaker and the race-course as you would shun the devil and
hell. Farewell, chums of Magdalen. Farewell, and take warning.
Though I can claim relationship with a Duke, a Marquess, and a Bishop,
and though I am the son of a noble woman, yet am I a tramp and an
outcast, verily and indeed. Sweet death, I greet thee. I dare not sign my
name. To one and all, farewell. O, my poor Marchioness mother, a
dying kiss to thee. R.I.P.'
"The police and some of the railway officials have made a 'diligent
search' in the neighbourhood of the railway station, but no 'poor lifeless
body' has been found. The police authorities are inclined to the belief
that the letter is a hoax, though they are still investigating the matter."
In the same deliberate fashion as he had opened and read the cutting,
Mr. Dyer folded and returned it to Loveday.
"May I ask," he said sarcastically, "what you see in that silly hoax to
waste your and my valuable time over?"
"I wanted to know," said Loveday, in the same level tones as before, "if
you saw anything in it that might in some way connect this discovery
with the robbery at Craigen Court?"
Mr. Dyer stared at her in utter, blank astonishment.
"When I was a boy," he said sarcastically as before, "I used to play at a
game called 'what is my thought like?' Someone would think of
something absurd--say the top of the monument--and someone else
would hazard a guess that his thought might be--say the toe of his left
boot, and that unfortunate individual would have to show the
connection between the toe of his left boot and the top of the

monument. Miss Brooke, I have no wish to repeat the silly game this
evening for your benefit and mine."
"Oh, very well," said Loveday, calmly; "I fancied you might like to talk
it over, that was all. Give me my 'sailing orders,' as you call them, and
I'll endeavour to concentrate my attention on the little French maid and
her various lovers."
Mr. Dyer grew amiable again.
"That's the point on which I wish you to fix your thoughts," he said;
"you had better start for Craigen Court by the first train to-morrow--it's
about sixty miles down the Great Eastern line. Huxwell is the station
you must land at. There one of the grooms from the Court will meet
you, and drive you to the house. I have arranged with the housekeeper
there--Mrs. Williams, a very worthy and discreet person--that you shall
pass in