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Page 28
"Do try to eat more, Walter," urged Ernest Travers. "Much lies
before you. Indeed, the worst has yet to come. You must keep up
for all our sakes. How thankfully I would share your load if I
could!"
"I hope you are going to make this an official matter, Sir Walter,
and communicate with the Society for Psychical Research," urged
Felix Fayre-Michell. "It is just a case for them. In fact, when
this gets known widely, as it must, of course, a great many skilled
inquirers will wish to visit Chadlands and spend a night in the
room."
"The police will have to be considered first," declared Colonel
Vane. "This is, of course, a police affair. I should think they
will so regard it. There is the Service, too. The Admiralty will
be sure to do something."
"Is he to be buried at Chadlands? I suppose so, poor fellow,"
murmured Ernest Travers. "I think your family graves so
distinguished, Walter--so simple and fine and modest--just
perfectly kept, grassy mounds, and simple inscriptions. I was
looking at them after service to-day. The vicar made a very
tactful allusion to the great grief that had overtaken the lord of
the manor at the end of his sermon."
Henry assisted his uncle to the best of his power. It was he who
went into the question of the Sunday service from the neighboring
market town, and proved, to the relief of Colonel Vane and Mr.
Miles Handford, that they might leave in comfort before nightfall
and catch a train to London.
"A car is going in later, to meet poor Tom's father," he said,
"and if it's any convenience, it would take you both."
The pair thankfully agreed.
Then Colonel Vane interested Sir Walter in spite of himself. The
latter had spoken of an inquiry, and Vane urged a distinguished
name upon him.
"Do get Peter Hardcastle if you can," he said. "He's absolutely
top hole at this sort of thing at present--an amazing beggar."
"I seem to have heard the name."
"Who hasn't? It was he who got to the bottom of that weird murder
in Yorkshire."
"It was weird," said Handford. "I knew intimate friends of the
murdered man."
"A crime for which no logical reason existed," continued the
colonel. "It puzzled everybody, till Hardcastle succeeded where
his superior officers at Scotland Yard had failed. I believe he's
still young. But that was less amazing than the German spy--you
remember now, Sir Walter? The spy had been too clever for England
and France--thanks to a woman who helped him. Peter Hardcastle
got to know her; then he actually disguised himself as the woman--
of course without her knowledge--arrested her, and kept an
appointment that she had made with the spy. What was the spy
called? I forget."
"Wundt," said Felix Fayre-Michell.
"No, I don't think so. Hardt or Hardfelt, or something like that."
"Anyway, a jolly wonderful thing. He's the first man at this
business, and I hope you'll be able to secure him."
"If he comes, Sir Walter, don't let it be known that he is here.
Keep it a secret. If Hardcastle could come down as your guest,
and nobody know he was here, it might help him to succeed."
"And if he fails, then I hope you'll invite the Psychical Research
Society."
Sir Walter let the chatter flow past him; but he concentrated on
the name of Peter Hardcastle. He remembered the story of the spy,
and the sensation it had aroused.
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