B. Fletcher Robinson

“ It was a hard time for every one, a time verging upon panic, and at such times Silas J. Ford was not an idle man.
At eight o'clock he had dined. His one recreation was music, and after the meal he had played the organ in the picture-gallery for an hour. At a quarter past eleven he retired to his bedroom, dismissing Jackson, his body servant, for the night. Three-quarters of an hour later, however, Harbord, his secretary, had been called to the private telephone, for Mr. Ford had brought an extension wire from the neighbouring town of Camdon. ”

“ On the powdery surface was the half footprint of a man.
The flour did not extend more than a couple of feet from the walls, so that it was only here and there that we caught up the trail. We had passed the bedroom on the left—yet the footprints still went on; we were at the store-room door, yet they still were visible before us. There was no other egress from the corridor. The tall window at the end was, as I knew, a good twenty feet from the ground. Had this man also vanished off the earth like Silas Ford?
Suddenly the inspector stopped, grasping my arm. ”

“ You have rather more than your fair share of the rug, Mr. Phillips, if you will excuse my mentioning it.”
A man was standing on the steps of the entrance porch when we drove up. As we unrolled ourselves he stepped forward to help us. He was a thin, pale-faced fellow, with fair hair and indeterminate eyes.
“My name is Harbord,” he said. “You are Inspector Addington Peace, I believe.”
His hand shook as he stretched it out in a tremulous greeting. Plainly the secretary was afraid, visibly and anxiously afraid.
“Mr. Ransom, the manager of Mr. Ford's London office, is here,” he continued. ”

“ Upon a little drift of snow that lay in the shallow ditch beneath were more footprints. But they were not those of Ford. They were the marks of long and narrow boots, and led into the road, where they were lost in the track of a flock of sheep that had been driven over it the day before.
“I took a careful measurement of those footprints. They might, of course, belong to some private investigator; but they gave me an idea. Could some man have walked across the lawn in Ford's boots, changed them to his own on the top of the wall, and so departed? ”

“ We walked forward, following the broad trail until we came to a circular patch of trodden snow. Evidently the searchers had stopped and stood talking together. On the further side I saw the footprints of a man plainly defined. There were some half-dozen clear impressions and they ended at the base of the old wall, which was some six feet in height.
“I am glad to see that you and your friends have left me something, Mr. Harbord,” said the inspector.
He stepped forward and, kneeling down, examined the nearest footprint.
“Mr. Ford dressed for dinner?” he inquired, glancing up at the secretary. ”

“ The little detective heard the news of it in my voice, for he gave me a reassuring pat upon the back.
“Have you never heard of a 'priest's hole?'” he whispered. “In the days when Meudon Hall was built, no country-house was without its hiding-place. Protestants and priests, Royalists and Republicans, they all used the secret burrow at one time or another.”
“How did he get in?”
“That is what we are here to discover; and as I have no wish to destroy Mr. Ford's old oak panels I think our simplest plan will be to wait until he comes back again.” ”

“ First Peace, with the candle, then Ransom, with the valet following, while I and Harbord brought up the rear. We descended some thirty steps, formed in the thickness of the wall, opened a heavy door, and so found ourselves in a narrow chamber, some twelve feet long by seven broad. Upon a mattress at the further end lay a man, gagged and bound. ”

“ My measurements corresponded with those that Jackson, the valet, wore. Was he acting for himself, or was Harbord, or even Ransom, in the secret? That, too, it was necessary to discover before I showed my hand.
“Your story of Harbord's midnight excursion supplied a clue. The secretary had evidently followed some man who had disappeared mysteriously. Could there be the entrance to a secret chamber in that corridor? That would explain the mystification of Harbord as well as the disappearance of Silas Ford. If so Harbord was not involved.
“If Ford were held a prisoner he must be fed. ”

“ If you wish to amuse yourself by discussing possibilities, I would suggest your consideration of the reason why, if he wanted to disappear quietly, he should leave so obvious a track through the snow of his own lawn. For myself, as I am leaving for Camdon viâ Waterloo Station in twenty-three minutes, I shall hope for more definite data before night. ”

“ His face grew darker as he read, and once he thumped his hand upon the table with a crash that set the china jingling.
“Well, Inspector?” he said at last.
The little detective's head shook out a negative.
“Perhaps you require an incentive,” he sneered. “Is it a matter of a reward?” ”

“ They hold off when gaol is the certain punishment.”
“Was this financial crisis in his own affairs generally known?”
“Certainly not.”
“Who would know of it?”
“There might be a dozen men on both sides of the Atlantic who would suspect the truth. But I don't suppose that more than four people were actually in possession of the facts.” ”