Edgar Wallace

“ It was empty.
"The rum thing about this house, sir," said Gray as they went downstairs together, "is that one always seems on the point of making an important discovery and it always turns out to be a dud."
Reeder did not reply; he was too preoccupied with his growing distress. After a while, he spoke.
"There are many queer things about this house——" he began.
And then there came a sound which froze the marrow of his bones. It was a shrill shriek; the scream of a human soul in agony.
"Help! ... Help, Reeder!"
It came from the direction of the room he had left, and he recognised Daver's voice. ”

“ Reeder went on:
"Before Flack went to prison he entrusted to his daughter his famous encyclopædia of crime. She was the only person he trusted; his wife was a weak slave whom he had always despised. Mr. Daver, the secretary, got possession of those books a year after Flack was committed to Broadmoor. He organised his own little gang at Flack's old headquarters, which were nominally bought by you. Ever since you knew John Flack was planning an escape—an escape in which you had to assist him—you've been living in terror that he would discover how you had double-crossed him. ”

“ Reeder's hasty exit, came running into the vestibule as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Nobody came out, sir," he said, when Reeder explained the object of his search.
"How many men are there in the grounds?" asked Reeder shortly. "Four? Bring them into the house. Lock every door, and bring back a crowbar with you. I am going to do a little investigation that may cost me a lot of money. No sign of Brill?"
"No, sir," said the detective, shaking his head sadly. "Poor old Brill! I'm afraid they've done him. The young lady get to town all right, sir?"
Mr. Reeder scowled at him. ”