It may have been that the Squire recognized
Bassett Oliver, and knew that he'd met Marston Greyle; it may have been
that he didn't know him and didn't know anything until Bassett Oliver
enlightened him. But--either way--I firmly believe that Bassett Oliver
came to his death by violence--that he was murdered. So--there's the case
in a nutshell! Murdered!--to keep his tongue still."
"What's to be done, then?" asked Sir Cresswell as Petherton tapped the
cablegram.
"The first thing," he answered, "is to make use of this. We now know that
the real Marston Greyle--who certainly did live in St. Louis, where his
father had settled--left New York for England to take up his inheritance,
on September 28th, 1912, and booked a passage to Falmouth. He would land
at Falmouth from the _Araconda_ about October 5th. Probably there is
some trace of him at Falmouth. He no doubt stayed a night there. Anyway,
somebody must go to Falmouth and make inquiries. You'd better go,
Gilling, and at once. While you're away your partner had better resume
his search for the man we know as the Squire. You've two good clues--the
fact that he visited the Fragonard Club and that particular tobacconist's
shop. Urge Swallow to do his best--the man must be kept in sight. See to
both these things immediately."
"Swallow is at work already," replied Gilling. "He's got good help, too,
and his failure yesterday has put him on his mettle.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160