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"He must then put the letters in a place where no one can possiblyobtain access to them. One thing more," continued Malcolm Sage,"will you ask Miss Crayne to write out the full story of the lettersas far as she personally is acquainted with it?"

"Very well, Mr. Sage," said the inspector, with the air of onehumouring a child. "Now I'll be going." He walked towards the door, then suddenly stopped and turned.

"I suppose you think I'm wrong about the curate?"

"I'll tell you later," was the reply.

"When you find the master-key?" laughed the inspector, as he openedthe door.

"Yes, when I find the master-key," said Malcolm Sage quietly and, asthe door closed behind Inspector Murdy, he continued to finger thecopper ashtray as if that were the master-key.

CHAPTER XIV MALCOLM SAGE PLAYS PATIENCE

I

Malcolm Sage was seated at a small green-covered table playingsolitaire. A velvet smoking-jacket and a pair of wine-colouredmorocco slippers suggested that the day's work was done.

Patience, chess, and the cinema were his unfailing sources ofinspiration when engaged upon a more than usually difficult case. Hehad once told Sir James Walton that they clarified his brain andcoordinated his thoughts, the cinema in particular. The fact that inthe surrounding darkness were hundreds of other brains, vital andactive, appeared to stimulate his own imagination.

Puffing steadily at a gigantic meerschaum, he moved the cards with adeliberation which suggested that his attention rather than histhoughts was absorbed in the game.

Nearly a month had elapsed since he had agreed to take up theenquiry into the authorship of the series of anonymous letters withwhich Gylston and the neighbourhood had been flooded; yet still thematter remained a mystery.

A celebrated writer of detective stories had interested himself inthe affair, with the result that the Press throughout the countryhad "stunted" Gylston as if it had been a heavy-weight championship,or a train murder.

For a fortnight Malcolm Sage had been on the Continent in connectionwith the theft of the Adair Diamonds. Two days previously, afterhaving restored the famous jewels to Lady Adair, he had returned toLondon, to find that the Gylston affair had developed a new anddramatic phase. The curate had been arrested for an attemptedassault upon Miss Crayne and, pleading "not guilty," had beencommitted for trial.

The incident that led up to this had taken place on the day thatMalcolm Sage left London. Late that afternoon Miss Crayne hadarrived at the vicarage in a state bordering on collapse. Onbecoming more collected, she stated that on returning from paying acall, and when half-way through a copse, known locally as "GipsiesWood," Blade had sprung out upon her and violently protested hispassion. He had gripped hold of her wrists, the mark of his fingerswas to be seen on the delicate skin, and threatened to kill her andhimself. She had been terrified, thinking he meant to kill her. Theapproach of a farm labourer had saved her, and the curate haddisappeared through the copse.

This story was borne out by Joseph Higgins, the farm labourer inquestion. He had arrived to find Miss Crayne in a state of greatalarm and agitation, and he had walked with her as far as thevicarage gate. He did not, however, actually see the curate.

On the strength of this statement the police had applied for awarrant, and had subsequently arrested the curate. Later he appearedbefore the magistrates, had been remanded, and finally committed fortrial, bail being allowed.

Blade protested his innocence alike of the assault and the writingof the letters; but two hand-writing experts had testified to thesimilarity of the handwriting of the anonymous letters with that ofthe curate. Furthermore, they were all written upon "OlympicScript," the paper that Blade used for his sermons.

Malcolm Sage had just started a new deal when the door opened, andRogers showed in Robert Freynes. With a nod, Malcolm Sage indicatedthe chair opposite. His visitor dropped into it and, taking a pipefrom his pocket, proceeded to fill and light it.

Placing his meerschaum on the mantelpiece, Malcolm Sage produced awell-worn briar from his pocket, which, having got into commission,he proceeded once more with the game.

"It's looking pretty ugly for Blade," remarked Freynes, recognisingby the substitution of the briar for the meerschaum that MalcolmSage was ready for conversation.

"Tell me."

"It's those damned handwriting experts," growled Freynes. "They'rethe greatest anomaly of our legal system. The judge always warns thejury of the danger of accepting their evidence; yet each sidecontinues to produce them. It's an insult to intelligence andjustice."

"To hang a man because his 's' resembles that of an implicatingdocument," remarked Malcolm Sage, as he placed a red queen on ablack knave, "is about as sensible as to imprison him because he hasthe same accent as a foot-pad."

"Then there's Blade's astonishing apathy," continued Freynes. "Heseems quite indifferent to the gravity of his position. Refuses tosay a word. Anyone might think he knew the real culprit and wastrying to shield him," and he sucked moodily at his pipe.

"The handwriting expert," continued Malcolm Sage imperturbably, "istoo concerned with the crossing of a 't,' the dotting of an 'i,' orthe tail of a 'g,' to give time and thought to the way in which thewriter uses, for instance, the compound tenses of verbs. Blade wasno more capable of writing those letters than our friend Murdy is oftransliterating the Rosetta Stone."

"Yes; but can we prove it?" asked Freynes gloomily, as with theblade of a penknife he loosened the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe."Can we prove it?" he repeated and, snapping the knife to, hereplaced it in his pocket.

"Blade's sermons," Malcolm Sage continued, "and such letters of hisas you have been able to collect, show that he adopted a verydefinite and precise system of punctuation. He frequently uses thecolon and the semicolon, and always in the right place. In aparenthetical clause preceded by the conjunction 'and,' he uses acomma after the 'and,' not before it as most people do. Beforesuch words as 'yet' and 'but,' he without exception uses a semicolon.The word 'only,' he always puts in its correct place. In short, heis so academic as to savour somewhat of the pomposity of theeighteenth century."

"Go on," said Freynes, as Malcolm Sage paused, as if to give theother a chance of questioning his reasoning.

"Turning to the anonymous letters," continued Malcolm Sage, "it mustbe admitted that the handwriting is very similar; but there alllikeness to Blade's sermons and correspondence ends. Murdy has shownme nearly all the anonymous letters, and in the whole series thereis not one instance of the colon or the semicolon being used. Thepunctuation is of the vaguest, consisting largely of the dash, whichafter all is a literary evasion.

"In these letters the word 'but' frequently appears without anypunctuation mark before it. At other times it has a comma, a dash,or a full stop."

He paused and for the next two minutes devoted himself to the gamebefore him. Then he continued:

"Such phrases as 'If only you knew,' 'I should have loved to havebeen,' 'different than,' which appear in these letters, would havebeen absolutely impossible to a man of Blade's meticulous literarytemperament."

As Malcolm Sage spoke, Robert Freynes's brain had been workingrapidly. Presently he brought his hand down with a smack upon hisknee.

"By heavens, Sage!" he cried, "this is a new pill for thehandwriting expert. I'll put you in the box. We've got a fightingchance after all."

"The most curious factor in the whole case," continued Malcolm Sage,"is the way in which the letters were delivered. One was thrown intoa fly on to Miss Crayne's lap, she tells us, when she and her fatherwere driving home after dining at the Hall. Another was discoveredin the vicarage garden. A third was thrown through Miss Crayne'sbedroom window. A few of the earlier group were posted in theneighbouring town of Whitchurch, some on days that Blade wascertainly not there."

"That was going to be one of my strongest points," remarked Freynes.

"The letters always imply that there is some obstacle existingbetween the writer and the girl he desires. What possible objectcould Blade have in writing letters to various people suggesting anintrigue between his vicar's daughter and himself; yet these letterswere clearly written by the same hand that addressed those to thegirl, her father and her mother."

Freynes nodded his head comprehendingly.

"If Blade were in love with the girl," continued Malcolm Sage, "whatwas there to prevent him from pressing his suit along legitimate andaccepted lines. Murdy frankly acknowledges that there has beennothing in Blade's outward demeanour to suggest that Miss Crayne wasto him anything more than the daughter of his vicar."

"What do you make of the story of the assault?"

"As evidence it is worthless," replied Malcolm Sage, "being withoutcorroboration. The farmhand did not actually see Blade."

Freynes nodded his agreement.

"Having convinced myself that Blade had nothing to do with thewriting of the letters, I next tried to discover if there wereanything throwing suspicion on others in the neighbourhood, who wereknown to use 'Olympic Script' as note-paper.

"The schoolmaster, John Gray, was one. He is an admirer of MissCrayne, according to local gossip; but it was obvious from the firstthat he had nothing to do with the affair. One by one I eliminatedall the others, until I came back once more to Blade.

"It was clear that the letters were written with a fountain-pen, andBlade always uses one. That, however, is not evidence, as millionsof people use fountain-pens. By the way, what is your line ofdefence?" he enquired.

"Smashing the handwriting experts," was the reply. "I was callingfour myself, on the principle that God is on the side of the bigbattalions; but now I shall depend entirely on your evidence."

"The assault?" queried Malcolm Sage.

"There I'm done," said Freynes, "for although Miss Crayne's evidenceis not proof, it will be sufficient for a jury. Besides, she's avery pretty and charming girl. I suppose," he added, "Blade musthave made some sort of declaration, which she, in the light of theanonymous letters, entirely misunderstood."

"What does he say?"

"Denies it absolutely, although he admits being in the neighbourhoodof the 'Gipsies Wood,' and actually catching sight of Miss Crayne inthe distance; but he says he did not speak to her."

"Is he going into the witness-box?"

"Certainly"; then after a pause he added, "Kelton is prosecuting, and he's as moral as a swan. He'll appeal to the jury as fathers ofdaughters, and brothers of sisters."

Malcolm Sage made no comment; but continued smoking mechanically, his attention apparently absorbed in the cards before him.

"If you can smash the handwriting experts," continued the K.C., "Imay be able to manage the girl's testimony."

"It will not be necessary," said Malcolm Sage, carefully placing anine of clubs upon an eight of diamonds.

"Not necessary?"

"I have asked Murdy to come round," continued Malcolm Sage, stillintent upon his game. "I think that was his ring."

A minute later the door opened to admit the burly inspector, moreblue-eyed and genial than ever, and obviously in the best of spirits.

"Good evening, Mr. Sage," he cried cheerfully. "Congratulations onthe Adair business. Good evening, sir," he added, as he shook handswith Freynes.

He dropped heavily into a seat, and taking a cigar from the box onthe table, which Malcolm Sage had indicated with a nod, he proceededto light it. No man enjoyed a good cigar more than Inspector Murdy.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he enquired, looking from MalcolmSage to Freynes. "It's a clear case now, I think." He slightlystressed the word "now."

"You mean it's Blade?" enquired Malcolm Sage, as he proceeded togather up the cards.

"Who else?" enquired the inspector, through a cloud of smoke.

"That is the question which involves your being here now, Murdy,"said Malcolm Sage dryly.

"We've got three handwriting experts behind us," said the inspectorcomplacently.

"That is precisely where they should be," retorted Malcolm Sagequietly. "In the biblical sense," he added.

Freynes laughed, whilst Inspector Murdy looked from one to the other.

He did not quite catch the allusion.

"You have done as I suggested?" enquired Malcolm Sage, when he hadplaced the cards in their box and removed the card-table.

"Here are all the letters received up to a fortnight ago," said theinspector, holding out a bulky packet. "Those received since haveeach been sealed up separately by the vicar, who is keeping half ofthem, whilst I have the other half; but really, Mr. Sage, I don'tunderstand – "

"Thank you, Murdy," said Malcolm Sage, as he took the packet. "It isalways a pleasure to work with Scotland Yard, It is so thorough."

The inspector beamed; for he knew the compliment was sincere.

Without a word Malcolm Sage left the room, taking the packet withhim.

"A bit quaint at times, ain't he, sir?" remarked Inspector Murdy to

Freynes; "but one of the best. I'd trust him with anything."

Freynes nodded encouragingly.

"There are some of them down at the Yard that don't like him," hecontinued. "They call him 'Sage and Onions'; but most of us who haveworked with him swear by Mr. Sage. He's never out for the limelighthimself, and he's always willing to give another fellow a leg-up.After all, it's our living," he added, a little inconsequently.

Freynes appreciated the inspector's delicacy in refraining from anymention of the Gylston case during Malcolm Sage's absence. After all, they represented respectively the prosecution and the defence. Fornearly half an hour the two talked together upon unprofessionalsubjects. When Malcolm Sage returned, he found them discussing theprospects of Dempsey against Carpentier.

Handing back the packet of letters to Inspector Murdy, Malcolm Sageresumed his seat, and proceeded to re-light his pipe.

"Spotted the culprit, Mr. Sage?" enquired the inspector, withsomething that was very much like a wink in the direction of Freynes.

"I think so," was the quiet reply. "You might meet me at Gylston

Vicarage to-morrow at three. I'll telegraph to Blade to be there too.

You had better bring the schoolmaster also."

"You mean – " began the inspector, rising.

"Exactly," said Malcolm Sage. "It's past eleven, and we all require sleep."

II

The next afternoon the study of the vicar of Gylston presented astrange appearance.

Seated at Mr. Crayne's writing-table was Malcolm Sage, a smallattaché-case at his side, whilst before him were several piles ofsealed packets. Grouped about the room were Inspector Murdy, RobertFreynes, Mr. Gray, and the vicar.

All had their eyes fixed upon Malcolm Sage; but with varyingexpressions. Those of the schoolmaster were frankly cynical. Theinspector and Freynes looked as if they expected to see producedfrom the attaché-case a guinea-pig or a white rabbit, pink-eyed andkicking; whilst the vicar had obviously not yet recovered from hissurprise at discovering that the stranger, who had shown such aremarkable knowledge of monumental brasses and Norman architecture, was none other than the famous investigator about whom he had readso much in the newspapers.

With quiet deliberation Malcolm Sage opened the attaché-case andproduced a spirit lamp, which he lighted. He then placed a metalplate upon a rest above the flame. On this he imposed a thickerplate of a similar metal that looked like steel; but it had a handleacross the middle, rather resembling that of a tool used byplasterers.

He then glanced up, apparently unconscious of the almost feverishinterest with which his every movement was being watched.

"I should like Miss Crayne to be present," he said.

As he spoke the door opened and the curate entered, his dark, handsome face lined and careworn. It was obvious that he hadsuffered. He bowed, and then looked about him, without anysuggestion of embarrassment.

Malcolm Sage rose and held out his hand; Freynes followed suit.

"Ask Miss Muriel to come here," said the vicar to the maid as shewas closing the door.

The curate took the seat that Malcolm Sage indicated beside him.

Silently the six men waited.

A few minutes later Miss Crayne entered, pale but self-possessed.She closed the door behind her. Suddenly she caught sight of thecurate. Her eyes widened, and her paleness seemed to becomeaccentuated. A moment later it was followed by a crimson flush. Shehesitated, her hands clenched at her side, then with a manifesteffort she appeared to control herself and, with a slight smile andinclination of her head, took the chair the schoolmaster movedtowards her. Instinctively she turned her eyes toward Malcolm Sage.

"Inspector Murdy," he said, without raising his eyes, "will youplease open two of those packets?" He indicated the pile upon hisleft. "I should explain," he continued, "that each of these containsone of the most recent of the series of letters with which we areconcerned. Each was sealed up by Mr. Crayne immediately it reachedhim, in accordance with Inspector Murdy's request. Therefore, onlythe writer, the recipient and the vicar have had access to theseletters."

Malcolm Sage turned his eyes interrogatingly upon Mr. Crayne, whobowed.

Meanwhile the inspector had cut open the two top envelopes, unfoldedthe sheets of paper they contained, and handed them to Malcolm Sage.

All eyes were fixed upon his long, shapely fingers as he smoothedout one of the sheets of paper upon the vicar's blotting-pad. Then, lifting the steel plate by the handle, he placed it upon theupturned sheet of paper.

The tension was almost unendurable. The heavy breathing of InspectorMurdy seemed like the blowing of a grampus. Mr. Gray glanced acrossat him irritably. The vicar coughed slightly, then looked startledthat he had made so much noise.

Everyone bent forward, eagerly expecting something; yet withoutquite knowing what. Malcolm Sage lifted the metal plate from theletter. There in the centre of the page, in bluish-coloured letters, which had not been there when the paper was smoothed out upon theblotting-pad, appeared the words: —

Malcolm Sage,

August 12th, 1919.

No. 138.

For some moments they all gazed at the paper as if the mysteriousblue letters exercised upon them some hypnotic influence.

"Secret ink!"

It was Robert Freynes who spoke. Accustomed as he was to dramaticmoments, he was conscious of a strange dryness at the back of histhroat, and a consequent huskiness of voice.

His remark seemed to break the spell. Instinctively everyone turnedto him. The significance of the bluish-coloured characters wasslowly dawning upon the inspector; but the others still seemedpuzzled to account for their presence.

Immediately he had lifted the plate from the letter, Malcolm Sagehad drawn a sheet of plain sermon paper from the rack before him.This he subjected to the same treatment as the letter. When a fewseconds later he exposed it, there in the centre appeared the samewords: —

Malcolm Sage,

August 12th, 1919.

but on this sheet the number was 203.

Then the true significance of the two sheets of paper seemed to dawnupon the onlookers.

Suddenly there was a scream, and Muriel Crayne fell forward on tothe floor.

"Oh! father, father, forgive me!" she cried, and the next moment shewas beating the floor with her hands in violent hysterics.

III

"From the first I suspected the truth," remarked Malcolm Sage, as he,Robert Freynes and Inspector Murdy sat smoking in the car that Timswas taking back to London at its best pace. "Eighty-five years ago asomewhat similar case occurred in France, that of Marie de Morel, when an innocent man was sentenced to ten years' imprisonment, andactually served eight before the truth was discovered."

The inspector whistled under his breath.

"This suspicion was strengthened by the lengthy account of theaffair written by Miss Crayne, which Murdy obtained from her. Thepunctuation, the phrasing, the inaccurate use of auxiliary verbs, were identical with that of the anonymous letters.

"Another point was that the similarity of the handwriting of theanonymous letters to Blade's became more pronounced as the lettersthemselves multiplied. The writer was becoming more expert as animitator."

Freynes nodded his head several times.

"The difficulty, however, was to prove it," continued Malcolm Sage."There was only one way; to substitute secretly marked paper forthat in use at the vicarage.

"I accordingly went down to Gylston, and the vicar found me keenlyinterested in monumental brasses, his pet subject, and Normanarchitecture. He invited me to the vicarage. In his absence from hisstudy I substituted a supply of marked Olympic Script in place ofthat in his letter-rack, and also in the drawer of his writing-table.As a further precaution, I arranged for my fountain-pen to run outof ink. He kindly supplied me with a bottle, obviously belonging tohis daughter. I replenished my pen, which was full of a chemicalthat would enable me, if necessary, to identify any letter in thewriting of which it had been used. When I placed my pen, which is aself-filler, in the ink, I forced this liquid into the bottle."

The inspector merely stared. Words had forsaken him for the moment.

"It was then necessary to wait until the ink in Miss Crayne's penhad become exhausted, and she had to replenish her supply of paperfrom her father's study. After that discovery was inevitable."

"But suppose she had denied it?" questioned the inspector.

"There was the ink which she alone used, and which I couldidentify," was the reply.

"Why did you ask Gray to be present?" enquired Freynes.

"As his name had been associated with the scandal it seemed onlyfair," remarked Malcolm Sage, then turning to Inspector Murdy hesaid, "I shall leave it to you, Murdy, to see that a properconfession is obtained. The case has had such publicity that Mr.Blade's innocence must be made equally public."

"You may trust me, Mr. Sage," said the inspector. "But why did thecurate refuse to say anything?"

"Because he is a high-minded and chivalrous gentleman," was thequiet reply.

"He knew?" cried Freynes.

"Obviously," said Malcolm Sage. "It is the only explanation of hissilence. I taxed him with it after the girl had been taken away, andhe acknowledged that his suspicions amounted almost to certainty."

"Yet he stayed behind," murmured the inspector with the air of a manwho does not understand. "I wonder why?"

"To minister to the afflicted, Murdy," said Malcolm Sage. "That isthe mission of the Church."

"I suppose you meant that French case when you referred to the'master-key,'" remarked the inspector, as if to change the subject.

Malcolm Sage nodded.

"But how do you account for Miss Crayne writing such letters aboutherself?" enquired the inspector, with a puzzled expression in hiseyes. "Pretty funny letters some of them for a parson's daughter."

"I'm not a pathologist, Murdy," remarked Malcolm Sage drily, "butwhen you try to suppress hysteria in a young girl by sternness, it'sabout as effectual as putting ointment on a plague-spot."

"Sex-repression?" queried Freynes.

Malcolm Sage shrugged his shoulders; then after a pause, duringwhich he lighted the pipe he had just re-filled, he added:

"When you are next in Great Russell Street, drop in at the BritishMuseum and look at the bust of Faustina. You will see that her chinis similar in modelling to that of Miss Crayne. The girl wasapparently very much attracted to Blade, and proceeded to weave whatwas no doubt to her a romance, later it became an obsession. It allgoes to show the necessity for pathological consideration of certaincrimes."

"But who was Faustina?" enquired the inspector, unable to follow thedrift of the conversation.

"Faustina," remarked Malcolm Sage, "was the domestic fly in thephilosophical ointment of an emperor," and Inspector Murdy laughed; for, knowing nothing of the marriage or the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, it seemed to him the only thing to do.