Missing or Murdered by Robin Forsythe Page B

letters.
    â€œWhat do you make of it, Heather?” he asked. “You’ve had a run through the correspondence. Have you discovered anything?”
    â€œNo; there was nothing of importance in the correspondence at all. So I thought it a good plan to ask Farnish to tie up all the bundles for me. You see the point now?”
    â€œExcellent, Mr. Vereker, excellent!” exclaimed the inspector. “He has tied up every bundle with a granny-knot.”
    â€œIt could be argued that Lord Bygrave might have done so in a hurry,” remarked Vereker, “but it’s almost impossible with such a confirmed tier of reef-knots. The tying of knots is like the tying of a bow tie. Once you have acquired the skill to do it unconsciously, you never deviate even in a hurry from that method. The one occasion on which you might deviate is the one on which you have suddenly become conscious of the actual process or method of tying.”
    â€œThere’s a lot of truth in that,” remarked the inspector in a pensive way.
    At this moment the telephone bell in the study rang a shrill appeal. Inspector Heather went over to the instrument and put the phone to his ear.
    â€œYes—yes—all right. I’ll tell Farnish. Who am I? A visitor, good-bye.”
    â€œOf course,” continued Vereker, “this little experiment about knots only tends to prove that Lord Bygrave did not tamper with that one bundle of correspondence. I should say about seventy-five per cent of ordinary people invariably tie with a granny-knot. By the way, who the dickens has rung us up at this time of night?”
    â€œMr. Sidney Smale, Lord Bygrave’s secretary. He’s staying in town overnight—will be here for breakfast to-morrow morning.”
    â€œThe Lord has delivered the Philistine into your hands, Heather. I hope you’ll put him through it in your most inspectorial manner. Good night.”
    â€œGood night, Mr. Vereker,” replied the inspector. “As soon as I have written up some of my notes I shall turn in too.”

Chapter Seven
    When Inspector Heather and Vereker came down almost simultaneously to breakfast next morning they found Mr. Sidney Smale, Lord Bygrave’s secretary, helping himself to a liberal portion of Cambridge eggs from the hot-plate on the buffet. He at once placed his plate on the breakfast table and shook hands with Vereker, whom he had met before.
    â€œIt’s a perfect morning,” he remarked. “I walked over from the station; the nip in the air has given me an enormous appetite.”
    â€œDetective-Inspector Heather of Scotland Yard,” said Vereker.
    â€œGood morning, inspector—an unexpected meeting I can assure you. I’ve a crow to pick with you for cutting short my holiday in Paris.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” replied the inspector quietly, “the situation here demanded your immediate presence,” and began to help himself to food.
    Little was said during the meal. Mr. Sidney Smale ate avidly, his whole attention centred on appeasing his excellent appetite. His round head covered with fair curls was bent over his plate; his blue eyes, distorted by the lenses in large tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, might have been looking anywhere so indeterminate seemed the direction of his glance. His little mouth, though bent in a perfect Cupid’s bow, seemed excellently adapted for eating rapidly. Heather, every now and then scrutinizing him furtively, noticed that neither lip nor chin could boast any virile adornment in the shape of hair. He also noticed that Mr. Sidney Smale’s hands were diminutive and as chubby as an infant’s.
    Vereker, who was secretly observing Heather, smiled quietly to himself. He could see that the inspector had taken an immediate dislike to Lord Bygrave’s secretary. It was the same feeling of repulsion that he himself had experienced on his first encounter with the man and which had prompted