The Green Eyes of Bâst | Page 8

As a pressman you will probably disagree with me, but I
propose to suppress these two pieces of evidence. Premature
publication of clews too often handicaps us. Now, what is that figure
exactly?"
"It is a votive offering of a kind used in Ancient Egypt by pilgrims to
Bubastis. It is a genuine antique, and if you think the history of such
relics is likely to assist the investigation I can give you some further
particulars this evening if you have time to call at my place."
"I think," said Gatton, taking the figure from me and looking at it with
a singular expression on his face, "that the history of the thing is very
important. The fact that a rough reproduction of a somewhat similar
figure is painted upon the case cannot possibly be a coincidence."
I stared at him silently for a moment, then:

"You mean that the crate was specially designed to contain the body?" I
asked.
"I am certainly of that opinion," declared Inspector Heath, the local
officer. "It is of just the right size and shape for the purpose."
Once more I began to examine the fragments stacked upon the floor,
and then I looked again at the several objects which lay beside the crate.
They were the personal belongings of the dead baronet and the police
had carefully noted in which of his pockets each object had been found.
He was in evening dress and a light top-coat had been packed into the
crate beside him. In this had been found a cigar-case and a pair of
gloves; a wallet containing £20 in Treasury notes and a number of
cards and personal papers had fallen out of the crate together with the
cat statuette. The face of his watch was broken. It had been in his
waistcoat pocket but it still ticked steadily on where it lay there beside
its dead owner. A gold-mounted malacca cane also figured amongst the
relics of the gruesome crime; so that whatever had been the object of
the murderer, that of robbery was out of the question.
"The next thing to do," said Gatton, "is to trace Sir Marcus's
movements from the time that he left home last night to the time that he
met his death. I am going out now to 'phone to the Yard. We ought to
have succeeded in tracing the carter who brought the crate here before
the evening. I personally shall proceed to Sir Marcus's rooms and then
to this Red House around which it seems to me that the mystery
centers."
He put the enamel figure into his pocket and taking up the broken
board which bore the painted cat:
"You are carrying a top-coat," he said. "Hide this under it!"
He turned to Inspector Heath, nodding shortly.
"All right," he said, with a grim smile, "go out now and talk to the
crowd!"

Having issued certain telephonic instructions touching the carter who
had delivered the crate to the docks, and then imparting to the
representatives of the press a guarded statement for publication,
Inspector Gatton succeeded in wedging himself into my little
two-seater and ere long we were lurching and bumping along the
ill-paved East-end streets.
The late Sir Marcus's London address, which had been unknown to me,
we had learned from his cards, and it was with the keenest anticipation
of a notable discovery that I presently found myself with Gatton
mounting the stairs to the chambers of the murdered baronet.
At the very moment of our arrival the door was opened and a
man--quite obviously a constable in plain clothes--came out. Behind
him I observed one whom I took to be the late Sir Marcus's servant, a
pathetic and somewhat disheveled figure.
"Hello, Blythe!" said Gatton, "who instructed you to come here?"
"Sir Marcus's man--Morris--telephoned the Yard," was the reply, "as he
couldn't understand what had become of his master and I was sent
along to see him."
"Oh," said Gatton, "very good. Report to me in due course."
Blythe departed, and Gatton and I entered the hall. The man, Morris,
closed the door, and led us into a small library. Beside the telephone
stood a tray bearing decanter and glasses, and there was evidence that
Morris had partaken of a hurried breakfast consisting only of biscuits
and whisky and soda.
"I haven't been to bed all night, gentlemen," he began the moment that
we entered the room. "Sir Marcus was a good master and if he was
sleeping away from home he never failed to advise me, so that I knew
even before the dreadful news reached me that something was amiss."
He was quite unstrung and his voice was unsteady. The reputation of
the late baronet had been one which I personally did not envy him, but

whatever his