The Return Of Bulldog Drummond by Sapper

after ten that we finally got back to the house. The first thing we found was that the whole of our supper had been eaten, and we were just blaming Mr Penton, as being the only possible person who could have taken it, when a man dashed down the stairs, rushed through the hall and vanished into the night. We stood dumbfounded, and a moment or two later we saw three gentlemen standing on the top of the stairs. And they told us what had happened in our absence.”
    He paused again, and sighed deeply.
    “I blame myself bitterly, Mr Coroner, for having gone out and left that sick boy alone in the house. I knew about this escaped convict, but frankly the thought of such a ghastly tragedy never entered my head. Had it done so, I need hardly state that nothing would have induced me to leave the house.”
    He sat down, and a murmur of sympathy came from the jury.
    “Thank you, Mr Hardcastle,” said the Coroner. “I speak for the jury as well as myself when I say that your feelings are only natural. But I can assure you that no vestige of blame can be attached to you for what you did. There is, however, one question I would like to ask you. Did the murdered man say anything to you about his father’s death?”
    “No, sir: not a word. The first I heard of it was from this gentleman, Captain Drummond.”
    “Thank you. Then I think we may safely conclude that Robert Marton was in ignorance of the fact. And now, to keep things in their correct order, I will call Captain Drummond. My first question, sir, is to ask what brought you here at all?”
    “My friends and I, believing the house to be empty, decided that we would come along and see if the rumour of its being haunted was true,” answered Drummond.
    “And did you see a ghost?” asked the Coroner with ponderous sarcasm.
    “Other things occupied our attention, sir,” murmured Drummond.
    “Kindly tell us what happened?”
    “The first thing was that a strong reek of cigarette smoke proved the house was not empty. And we traced it to the room in which we found Morris.”
    “Did you know it was Morris as soon as you saw him?”
    “Yes,” said Drummond. “A warder had given me a description of him earlier in the day, and I spotted him by the red scar on his face.”
    “And then?”
    “I recognised the clothes he was wearing as belonging to a young man called Marton who had lost his way during the afternoon and come to Merridale Hall.”
    Briefly Drummond outlined the events of the afternoon, and Darrell watched Hardcastle covertly. But his face was as expressionless as the Sphinx.
    “You, too, say that he seemed nervy,” said the Coroner when Drummond had finished.
    “He did.”
    “Did he give you any reason?”
    “I think the unexpected appearance of the two warders looming out of the fog and the discharge of a rifle had shaken him considerably.”
    “Were you not surprised when you returned with your friends to find him gone?”
    “Very. And my assumption was that he was a little ashamed of the condition of fright he had been in and had left.”
    “Did he say he was going to Glensham House?”
    “He never mentioned Glensham House.”
    “Now, Mr Hardcastle stated that it was you who told him of the death of Mr Marton, senior. How did you know?”
    Once again Darrell glanced at Hardcastle, whose eyes were now fixed on Drummond.
    “Marton told me his name and the name of his firm,” said Drummond. “And when I happened to see the account of the accident in the paper, I assumed it was either his father or his uncle who was dead.”
    Almost imperceptibly Hardcastle relaxed.
    “I see,” said the Coroner. “Now, Captain Drummond, will you please continue from the point where you found Morris hiding in the room here?”
    “I first of all asked him where he got his clothes from.”
    “What did he say?”
    “He told me that an old woman had given them to him and that they belonged to a son of hers who was dead.”
    “But since you knew they belonged to Marton