On the other hand, Mrs. Hoing would know if there were any drugs kept in the house. The only question was, would she speak!

  Chapter VIII

  NANCY rose very early next morning, and hurried to Mrs. Hoing at a quarter-past nine. If she was not back at ten, Ned could wait. But if Mrs. Hoing was willing to give her the information, she could hear all she wanted to know in five minutes, and rush back.

  As she went she was thinking deeply. The part of Bloomsbury where Mr. Habershon lived had grown fashionable in the last few years. His house was rather a fine one, and expensively furnished. He had a staff of servants, and it must cost him something to live there.

  He had been training for the law, but had given it up when he came into twenty thousand pounds from his sisters. Her arithmetical faculty was not great, but she knew that that sum, at five per cent, would provide a thousand a year. She would have to ask Ned if a thousand a year went very far, living in that style.

  She reached the house just in time to catch Mrs. Hoing. The house-keeper, in black, was setting out shopping. Nancy felt that it was rather daring, and perhaps indiscreet, to hold the woman up in this way just to get some information about Mr. Habershon. But it was now or never.

  She was relieved to find that Mrs. Hoing did not resent her questions.

  “I said, you know, miss, that I was willing to tell you what I could,” she remarked, as Nancy volunteered to walk towards the shops with her.

  “I wondered if Mr. Rainy could have got the drug in Mr. Habershon’s house,” Nancy said to the amiable elderly woman, as they set out, “I mean Mr. Habershon may have kept some, and forgot to lock them up.”

  Mrs. Hoing started, “Well now, of course there was some—sleeping stuff, anyway. Mordinal it was. Mr. Habershon’s doctor recommended it to him a year or two ago, when he couldn’t sleep.”

  Nancy felt excited now, “But I thought Mr. Habershon was a very healthy man for his age. Didn’t the doctor say so at the inquest?”

  “He did, Miss. But insomnia isn’t always a sign of disease. Mr. Habershon was as strong as a horse, only he was a bit of the worrying kind. If he couldn’t sleep for three or four hours, he would think there was something wrong. His doctor could tell you that. Insomnia’s like ’flu, dearie. Some people call it ’flu when they have a cold, and some talk of suffering from insomnia when they miss an hour or two’s sleep.”

  “Did he keep the stuff locked up?” asked Nancy.

  “No, Miss. He had it in a cupboard in his bedroom. You see, as his doctor tells me when I asked him about it, Mordinal isn’t a very strong drug, and not dangerous if you keep to the dose. He said he recommended it more to make Mr. Habershon’s mind easy.”

  They had now reached Oxford Street, and Nancy held out her hand, “Thank you so much for telling me. You have been a great help to us, Mrs. Hoing. I hope the police haven’t worried you any more.”

  “No, Miss. The one I had here worked late last night and hasn’t come back since. He took a lot of papers away.”

  When she left the house-keeper, Nancy flagged a taxi and drove back quickly to Guy Mansions. Ned was already there in his two-seater, and had a fine hamper in the dickey.

  “We’ll picnic somewhere,” he told her. “I have expenses for this stunt, and I thought we ought to do ourselves well for once. Hop in, and I’ll tell you about my visit to Jimmy Huston as we drive.”

  The day was fine. The sun shining. It was difficult for either of them while in the other’s company to see the tragedy in quite as grisly an aspect as it had first presented itself to them.

  “I don’t think I care much for Jimmy,” began Ned, as they drove out of the street and turned a corner, “he’s a bit of a weed, and conceited enough to think himself a fine flower. He swears Miss Rowe was in love with him, and not Ivor. He says Ivor was a swat, and a highbrow.”

  “Nasty little man,” murmured Nancy.

  “So I thought, but this is his yarn. He says Habershon liked him and encouraged him, but somehow Ivor had managed to dominate the girl. The day this happened, he rang up Miss Rowe, and asked her would she come to tea at his flat. He paints a bit, and he wanted to show her some of his stuff. I saw it. Great Snakes, Nancy! Cubism is dying out, but he doesn’t know it. He’s a perfect ass. But that hasn’t anything to do with what I am telling you. It was this: the girl said she wouldn’t come without Ivor. He said to bring Ivor. Better to see her even with the other fellow than not at all.”

  Nancy nodded. “Yes. Did Rainy go?”

  “Absolutely, only it turned out that Ivor was busy blowing some eggs, or mounting them, or something, and that kept them late. Jimmy said he was in a bate about it, but he showed them his stuff, and they had a hefty tea at half-past five—they hadn’t arrived till half-past four, and Jimmy was keen for them to see his stuff first.”

  “That’s why they weren’t hungry later.”

  “Seems so. Well, to Jimmy’s further disgust, Mr. Habershon rang up about a quarter-past six. He was going to call for his nephew and niece in half to three-quarters of an hour. Rainy didn’t say why. I expect between ourselves that he had had enough of Jimmy’s brag, and Jimmy’s art, and wanted to get away. Habershon turned up with the car. I gather that something Jimmy said to Ivor about taking Miss Rowe away so soon (he practically suggested that Ivor had got old Habershon to come) made a row between them. Anyway Jimmy was huffy and didn’t go down with them to the car. He saw them drive off out of the window—looking out I mean.”

  Nancy smiled. “I can imagine him doing that.”

  Ned turned his head towards her, “Now what is your theory?”

  Nancy told him of her talk with Mrs. Hoing that morning, “You see, that shows us Mr. Habershon could have doped the coffee in the flask. The only question is, was it the same dope—mordinal?”

  “There’s another question, too,” replied Ned, quickly. “Was it the same coffee? I’ve seen the Brazilian beans, and they don’t look the same as the others. I expect an expert could tell us that—I mean the difference.”

  “You mean the analyst who examined the dregs left in the flask?”

  “That’s right. Now, unless old Brews has this information, it is something we can swop. I can’t see him confiding much more in us. But, if he’ll tell us at what time Mr. Habershon’s watch stopped, we’ll put him on to this coffee business.”

  There was a short silence, then Nancy spoke again, “Ned, if Mr. Habershon had an income of about a thousand a year, do you think he could keep up the establishment he did?”

  He knitted his brows, “Jimmy Huston said it was pretty luxurious. I should hardly say he could, unless he had other resources. But we mustn’t forget that the two were living with him, old thing. It is quite on the cards that he was allowed to use the income, less allowances to the nephew and niece until they came of age. But I can’t see it likely that the two women who died would mention him as succeeding to the fortunes if Rainy and Miss Rowe died.”

  “He would be too old, wouldn’t he?”

  “Well, they would naturally assume that their children would outlive Habershon, and they had already left him twenty thousand. But we’ll know all about that when we hear what the will said.”

  The sun was well up, and the weather extraordinarily mild, when they reached a spot about two miles from Upperton. Ned stopped the car, backed it into a lane, and suggested an early lunch.

  “Then when we get to Fen Court we can carry out without any further breaks until it’s time to go back,” he said.

  “What can you do there after you have seen Brews?” she asked, as she began to unpack the hamper.

  “Have a look round the garden,” he said. “It’s my place after all, and the police only object to tramping about before they have examined the ground. They must have got it all measured and taped out by now.”

  Lunch over, they started again, and reached Fen Court in half an hour.

  A policeman was still on duty at the end of the laneway leading to the house, but when they reached the gate, and entered the grounds, the garden was empty, the sinister ponds gleamed in the sunlight.

  “Perhaps we ought to have looked for Brews in Upperton,” murmured Ned, as he went along the terrace.

  There was a tap on a window behind them as he spoke, and they both wheeled about, to see Inspector Brews beckoning from the drawing-room window.

  “B’ Jove! He’s got Hench with him,” said Ned, in a whisper, as they turned towards the door, “I wonder what’s that for?”

  Brews welcomed them heartily, “I hear you’ve turned journalist, Mr. Hope,” he said, smiling. “Don’t know if I ought to talk to you at all now, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  Ned glanced at him in surprise. He had spent the early hours of that morning writing his first press article on the case, but how did Brews know of his new job? Hench had been bobbing at him, and then at Nancy. He burst out suddenly.

  “Then you’ve heard about Mr. Habershon and the money, Mr. Hope!”

  “Hush!” said Brews. “I didn’t tell you, sir, to shout it all over the place.”

  Ned stared at the little man, “Money? what money?”

  Brews studied Ned’s face thoughtfully, while he made a gesture enjoining silence on the little man, “I may take it, sir, that this will not go into your paper?”

  Ned nodded, “You may always take it, Inspector, that I shan’t publish anything prematurely that will obstruct you in your work. Now may I hear what exactly is up.”

  Brews stroked his chin, while Nancy bit her lip, and waited excitedly for his revelation.

  “Well, sir, our inquiries in London disclose a rather serious state of affairs. As far as we can learn, Mr. Habershon was not hampered by any restriction to trust funds. He was not a trustee in the technical sense of the word. The fortunes he was managing for Mr. Rainy and Miss Rowe were invested in house and flat property. A great deal of this property was sold two or three years ago. The proceeds were invested in various shares. There were subsequent sales and reinvestments. But within the last three months a sum of sixty thousand went into Bearer Bonds.”

  Ned had a faint idea of what was coming, “Not dud stuff?”

  “No, sir, quite excellent in their way, but, being what they were, as negotiable as bank notes, and no questions asked.”

  “The kind of thing a man can get away with, and sell at any time,” cried Hench excitedly. “I can hardly believe it, Mr. Hope.”

  Brews silenced him again, “Allow me, sir. But that in itself would be all right if the bonds were to hand. But they aren’t.”

  Hench was irrepressible, “But, I told you, inspector, that that is nonsense. If Mr. Habershon meant to kill them and bolt, he would have had the bonds with him.”

  Brews shrugged impatiently, “Not if it was to appear like suicide, sir. Suppose that to have been the lay, and Mr. Habershon got away with it. He must have hoped a verdict of suicide would be brought in. Then he would only have to settle down until such time as he judged it safe to get away with the booty. But this is all speculation, Mr. Hench, and you may get into trouble if you let it go any further. That also applies to Mr. Hope here. The affair is still, in a sense, sub judice . All we know is that the Bearer Bonds are missing.”

  “I can’t believe it of Mr. Habershon,” said Hench stubbornly.

  Nancy suddenly found her voice, “I say, Mr. Hench, did you invite him to bring his nephew down to see your book illustrations that evening?”

  Hench shook his head, “No. I wouldn’t have gone out if I had invited guests. But I certainly did tell him I should be glad to see his nephew at any time.”

  Why?” asked Brews.

  “Because he was a great collector of birds’ eggs,” replied Hench. “He had great luck and skill in finding, and then he had a good allowance from his uncle, and bought specimens. If you look at my illustrations you will see that some of them represent the gems of Mr. Ivor’s collection. But Mr. Ivor didn’t know that I was going to mention them. We kept that dark. His uncle wanted to give him a surprise.”

  Nancy smiled. This bore out what Mrs. Hoing had said to her, “But they might have come down on chance that night. Mr. Habershon may have told Mr. Rainy.”

  “Oh, that is quite possible. It explains the fact that the car came this way. But it seems a pity Mr Habershon didn’t let me know.”

  “It may have been a sudden impulse,” said Nancy.

  Brews broke in, impatiently, “Or an excuse to get his nephew down here. Well, Mr. Hench, I am obliged to you for your information. It helps us quite a lot. But I won’t keep you any longer.”

  Hench raised his hat to Nancy, and was about to go, when he turned back to speak to Ned.

  “I wish you would come over to see the illustrations, Mr. Hope. When you have had a talk with Mr. Brews, perhaps.”

  “I may if I can manage it,” said Ned.

  “Now, sir,” began Brews, when Hench had disappeared, “I can see you’ve got some fresh ideas, probably better ones than that little gas-bag. Something that Mr. Huston told you perhaps.”

  Ned would have felt inclined to dub the inspector a gas-bag, superior even to Hench, if it had not been for the sting in the last sentence. It certainly looked as if his visit by night to Fen Court might have unpleasant repercussions. Unless Brews had had him shadowed, how did he know that he had seen Jimmy Huston?”

  “I only heard from Huston what Hench has been telling us,” he said, after a moment’s reflection, “that Rainy was fond of ornithology.”

  “Then perhaps it was something that Miss Johnson here heard from Mrs. Hoing?” said Brews beaming on Nancy, “Was that it?”

  Nancy bit her lip, but smiled a moment later, “Fair do’s, inspector! You want to know something and we want to know something.”

  Brews laughed, What’s yours, Miss?”

  Ned glanced at Nancy. It was unlikely that she had been shadowed too, but quite possible that the detective who had examined Mr. Habershon’s papers had asked who was the house-keeper’s visitor.

  “We want to know at what time Mr. Habershon’s watch stopped,” he said, frankly. “That can’t do any harm.”

  Brews nodded, thoughtfully, “And what do I get for this pretty thing?”

  “A little information about the dope used,” said Ned.

  “Mordinal, wasn’t it?” said Brews, quietly. “Mr. Habershon’s doctor prescribed it for him a while back.”

  “Then it was in the dregs of the flask too,” said Ned, quickly.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Brews.

  “And—” went on Ned. He suddenly recollected that Brews was leading him on without giving anything in exchange, “—well, is it a swop?”

  Brews smiled gently, “I haven’t heard anything new yet, sir. You needn’t tell me that Mr. Habershon had the thermos filled at his house, and took it with him in the car, or that there are ten tablets missing from the mordinal bottle in his bed-room.”

  “You haven’t heard anything new, but I have,” said Ned. “You’ve just told me that mordinal was not only used by Mr. Habershon, but also found in the flask. Now what about the watch?”

  Brews grinned, “You’re up on balance so far, sir, not me! A swop’s an exchange, not a gift.”

  Ned looked at Nancy. She nodded. Both felt that Brews would play the game with them, and at the back of both their minds was the idea that the inspector, if he turned rusty, might be able to demand as a right any information they had which bore on the case.

  “Well, Inspector, I give it to you for what it is worth,” said Ned. “Mr. Habershon used nothing but Brazilian coffee. If Brazilian coffee was in that flask you may take it that the thermos was doped between Gale Street and here.”

  Brews stared steadily at Ned, and then broke out, “What did I say, sir, about a fresh eye. You thought you had a lot of information that we had overlooked. But that was all routine work. We do that sort of thing on our heads, so to speak. You collected a lot of chaff, but you saw a grain of corn, too, that we missed.”

  “Or a bean of coffee,” said Ned.

  “Or a bean of coffee, sir,” replied Brews. “Now that tip goes to the analyst at once. He’ll tell us what kind of coffee was in the flask. Good! I’m much obliged to you.”

  Nancy beamed at Ned, and he at her, “But now you might tell us about the watches, Inspector,” she said.

  Brews went over to a chair where he had left his hat, “Oh, I don’t mind telling you that, Miss. Mr. Rainy’s wrist-watch stopped at four minutes after—no, Mr. Habershon’s you were asking about, wasn’t it? Well, his stopped four minutes after Mr. Rainy’s. And now, sir, I must hurry away to see our analyst.”

  When he had gone, Ned stared at Nancy. She shrugged.

  “I wonder why Brews tells us so much,” he murmured, doubtfully.

  Nancy bit her lip, “I wonder if he tells us the truth. That’s more to the point!” she said.

  Chapter IX

  NED sat down and began to smoke. Nancy took her place beside him on the wide window ledge, and speculated in silence for a little, her brows drawn down. It was beginning to dawn on her that Ned had been right when he told Bell detective-story writers were not necessarily good at actual detection. Why, any of them could have made a worldwide reputation long ago if they had come forward to solve a single real mystery. But they always waited until the police had made a capture before they rushed in with theories that were anywhere near the mark.