Missing or Murdered by Robin Forsythe Page A

Vereker met Inspector Heather, who was returning to Bygrave Hall.
    â€œWell, Mr. Vereker,” asked the detective, “what do you think of Mr. Sidney Smale for a glib liar?”
    â€œH’m, I’m not quite certain yet, Heather, whether he’s a natural or an artificial liar. A natural liar lies because he can’t help it, or because he wishes to be interesting; an artificial liar lies to deceive. He’s a pretty smart young man, Heather, you must be doubly on the alert.”
    â€œI’ll see to that, Mr. Vereker. I shall probably join you at Hartwood to-night or to-morrow before lunch. Au revoir.”
    At the station Walter was waiting on the down platform with Vereker’s bag.
    â€œI shall be all right now, Walter, thank you. You won’t forget,” said Vereker, handing the footman some money.
    â€œI shall not forget, sir,” replied Walter, “as soon as I know, I’ll wire.”

Chapter Eight
    As Vereker sat in the corner of a comfortable first-class carriage on the way to Hartwood he swiftly recapitulated in his mind the net results of his labours at Bygrave Hall. Briefly they could be summarized under three heads.
    In the first place, Farnish, the trusted servant of the family, was inclined to be secretive and was, according to Walter, behaving in an unwontedly mysterious manner. It was quite possible that it was he who had broken open the drawer in Lord Bygrave’s writing-bureau, for some purpose which might or might not be connected with Lord Bygrave’s disappearance, Vereker felt uneasy about this matter. In spite of his being able to give no reason for his belief he was, somehow or other, convinced that this incident of the rifled bureau was connected with the whole mystery of Lord Bygrave. He felt that it would eventually fall into its place in the chain of events when their sequence became clear.
    Secondly, ten thousand pounds worth of bearer bonds had been given by Lord Bygrave to a mysterious woman, by the name of Muriel Cathcart, who at that time was living at 10 Glendon Street, W. This again might have nothing to do with subsequent events. On the way to the station he had wired to his trusted friend, Ricardo, to make full inquiries about Mrs. Cathcart at Glendon Street and reply to the White Bear Inn at Hartwood as soon as possible.
    Thirdly, he had discovered that Smale, Lord Bygrave’s secretary, was a gambler, drank, and frequented night clubs. Putting it as baldly as this, it was not a wholesome reputation for a man in a position of trust. Smale, on his own confession, had lied to Heather under the excuse that it was out of loyalty to his employer. He had ostensibly been frank with him, but could any credence be placed in his words? It might be an astute way of misleading both the inspector and himself. Vereker felt that he didn’t like Smale, but again this was a prejudice he had entertained long before the disappearance of Lord Bygrave. Smale might, at the worst, only be a young fool. Many good men had passed through a similar phase of sowing wild oats. There was in life such a thing as reaching an age of discretion in which previous experience of the world led to a tolerant attitude towards everyday humanity. Tout comprendre—
    Taking it all round, the results had been neither very definite nor very encouraging. Still, there had been results. The difficulty of the problem ought not, he felt, to be allowed to dishearten him. He must continue the task with some of the massive imperturbability of Inspector Heather.
    On arriving at Hartwood Station he found old Dick, George Lawless’s handy man, awaiting him with the pony and trap. The day was gloriously fine, as days in early October can be. Chestnut and oak had strewn the road with russet leaves and shining fruit; the elms had gowned themselves in pale gold, and every gust of wind blew from them some of their autumn drapery. In the hedgerows, where the sun’s direct beams