The Opal Serpent Part 23

"I still don't understand," said Paul, hopelessly puzzled.

"Well," said the detective, rising and putting on his smart hat, "it's rather a muddle, I confess. I have no reason to suspect Mrs. Krill--"

"Good heavens, Hurd, you don't think she killed her husband?"

"No. I said that I have no reason to suspect her. But I don't like the woman at all. Norman left his wife for some unpleasant reason, and that reason, as I verily believe, has something to do with his death. I don't say that Mrs. Krill killed him, but I do believe that she knows of circ.u.mstances which may lead to the detection of the criminal."

"In that case she would save her thousand pounds."

"That's just where it is. If she does know, why does she double the reward? A straightforward woman would speak out, but she's a crooked sort of creature; I shouldn't like to have her for my enemy."

"It seems to me that you do suspect her," said Paul dryly, but puzzled.

Hurd shrugged his shoulders. "No, but I'm in a fix, that's a truth,"

said he, and sauntered towards the door. "I can't see my way. There's the clue of Mrs. Krill's past to be followed up, and the hint contained in this sc.r.a.p of paper. The old man may have left a doc.u.ment behind likely to solve the whole business. He hints as much here."

"True enough, but nothing was found."

"Then again," went on Hurd, "the request for the jewels to be delivered to that sailor chap was in Norman's handwriting and signed with his name."

"A forgery."

"No. Pash, who knows his writing better than any other man, says the doc.u.ment is genuine. Now then, Mr. Beecot, what made Aaron Norman write and sign those lines giving up his property--or a part of it--just before his death?"

"It may have been done in good faith."

"No. If so, the messenger would not have cleared out when Pash started for Gwynne Street. That nautical gent knew what the lawyer would find at the house, and so made himself scarce after trying to get the jewels.

This sc.r.a.p of paper," Hurd touched his breast, "and that request for the jewels in Pash's possession. Those are my clues."

"And the opal serpent?" asked Paul.

Hurd shook his head gloomily. "It's connection with the matter is beyond me," he confessed.

CHAPTER XIV

MR. HAY'S LITTLE DINNER

The detective was as good as his word. In a few days Paul was introduced to the editor of a weekly publication and obtained a commission for a story to be written in collaboration with Mr. Hurd. It seemed that the editor was an old acquaintance of Hurd's and had been extricated by him from some trouble connected with cards. The editor, to show his grat.i.tude, and because that Hurd's experiences, thrown into the form of a story, could not fail to interest the public, was only too willing to make a liberal arrangement. Also Paul was permanently engaged to supply short stories, to read those that were submitted to the editor, and, in fact, he permanently became that gentleman's right hand. He was a kind, beery Bohemian of an editor, Scott by name, and took quite a fancy to Paul.

"I'll give you three pounds a week," said Scott, beaming through his large spectacles and raking his long gray beard with tobacco-stained fingers, "you can live on that, and to earn it you can give me your opinion on the stories. Then between whiles you can talk to Hurd and write this yarn which I am sure will be interesting. Hurd has had some queer experiences."

This was quite true. Hurd had ventured on strange waters, but the strangest he ever sailed on were those connected with the Gwynne Street case. These latter experiences he did not tell to Scott, who was incapable of holding his tongue, and secrecy, as the detective impressed on Paul, was absolutely necessary to the conduct of the case. "If we keep matters quiet," argued Hurd, "and let those concerned in the matter fancy the case has been dropped, we'll be able to throw them off their guard, and then they may betray themselves."

"I wish you would say if you think there is one person or two," said Paul, irritably, for his nerves were wearing thin under the strain. "You first talk of the a.s.sa.s.sin and then of the a.s.sa.s.sins."

"Well," drawled Hurd, smiling, "I'm in the dark, you see, and being only a flesh and blood human being, instead of a creation of one of you authors, I can only grope in the dark and look in every direction for the light. One person, two persons, three, even four may be engaged in this affair for all I know. Don't you be in a hurry, Mr. Beecot. I believe in that foreign chap's saying, 'Without haste without rest.'"

"Goethe said that."

"Then Goethe is a sensible man, and must have read his Bible. 'Make no haste in time of trouble,' says the Scriptures."

"Very good," a.s.sented Beecot; "take your own time."

"I intend to," said Hurd, coolly. "Bless you, slow and sure is my motto.

There's no hurry. You are fixed up with enough to live on, and a prospect of making more. Your young lady is happy enough with that grenadier of a woman in spite of the humbleness of the home. Mrs. Krill and her daughter are enjoying the five thousand a year, and Mr. Grexon Hay is fleecing that young a.s.s, Lord George Sandal, as easily as possible. I stand by and watch everything. When the time comes I'll pounce down on--"

"Ah," said Paul, "that's the question. On whom?"

"On one or two or a baker's dozen," rejoined Hurd, calmly. "My chickens ain't hatched yet, so I don't count 'em. By the way, is your old school-fellow as friendly as ever?"

"Yes. Why, I can't understand; as he certainly will make no money out of me. He's giving a small dinner to-morrow night at his rooms and has asked me."

"You go," said the detective, emphatically; "and don't let on you have anything to do with me."

"See here, Hurd, I won't play the spy, if you mean that."

"I don't mean anything of the sort," replied Hurd, earnestly, "but if you do chance to meet Mrs. Krill at this dinner, and if she does chance to drop a few words about her past, you might let me know."

"Oh, I don't mind doing that," said Beecot, with relief. "I am as anxious to find out the truth about this murder as you are, if not more so. The truth, I take it, is to be found in Krill's past, before he took the name of Norman. Mrs. Krill will know of that past, and I'll try and learn all I can from her. But Hay has nothing to do with the crime, and I won't spy on him."

"Very good. Do what you like. But as to Hay, having nothing to do with the matter, I still think Hay stole that opal brooch from you when you were knocked down."

"In that case Hay must know who killed Norman," cried Paul, excited.

"He just does," rejoined Hurd, calmly; "and now you can understand another reason why I take such an interest in that gentleman."

"But you can't be certain?"

"Quite so. I am in the dark, as I said before. But Hay is a dangerous man and would do anything to rake in the dollars. He has something to do with the disappearance of that brooch I am sure, and if so, he knows more than he says. Besides"--here Hurd hesitated--"No! I'll tell you that later."

"Tell me what?"

"Something about Hay that will astonish you and make you think he has something to do with the crime. Meanwhile, learn all you can from Mrs.

Krill."

"If I meet her," said Paul, with a shrug.

Undoubtedly Hurd knew more than he was prepared to admit, and not even to Paul, staunch as he knew him to be, would he speak confidentially.

When the time came the detective would speak out. At present he held his tongue and moved in clouds like a Homeric deity. But his eyes were on all those connected with the late Aaron Norman, indirectly or directly, although each and every one of them were unaware of the scrutiny.

Paul had no scruples in learning all he could from Mrs. Krill. He did not think that she had killed her husband, and probably might be ignorant of the person or persons who had slain the poor wretch in so cruel a manner. But the motive of the crime was to be found in Norman's past, and Mrs. Krill knew all about this. Therefore, Paul was very pleased when he found that Mrs. Krill and her daughter were the guests at the little dinner.

Hay's rooms were large and luxuriously furnished. In effect, he occupied a small flat in the house of an ex-butler, and had furnished the place himself in a Sybarite fashion. The ex-butler and his wife and servants looked after Hay, and in addition, that languid gentleman possessed a slim valet, with a sly face, who looked as though he knew more than was good for him. Indeed, the whole atmosphere of the rooms was shady and fast, and Paul, simple young fellow as he was, felt the bad influence the moment he stepped into the tiny drawing-room.