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 The Alphabet of Galen.
Pharmacy from Antiquity to the Middle Ages

The Alphabet of Galen is a critical edition and English translation of a

text describing, in alphabetical order, nearly three hundred natural prod-
ucts – including metals, aromatics, animal materials, and herbs – and their
medicinal uses. A Latin translation of earlier Greek writings on pharmacy
that have not survived, it circulated among collections of ‘authorities’ on
medicine, including Hippocrates, Galen of Pergamun, Soranus, and Ps.
Apuleius.
This work presents interesting linguistic features, including otherwise
unattested Greek and Latin technical terms and unique pharmacologi-
cal descriptions. Nicholas Everett provides a window onto the medieval
translation of ancient science and medieval conceptions of pharmacy. With
a comprehensive scholarly apparatus and a contextual introduction, The
Alphabet of Galen is a major resource for understanding the richness and
diversity of medical history.

nicholas everett is an associate professor in the Department of History

at the University of Toronto.
This page intentionally left blank
 The Alphabet of Galen.
Pharmacy from Antiquity to
the Middle Ages
A Critical Edition of the Latin Text
with English Translation and
Commentary by

Nicholas Everett

University of Toronto Press

Toronto Buffalo London
 © University of Toronto Press 2012
Toronto Buffalo London
www.utppublishing.com
Printed in Canada

ISBN 978-0-8020-9812-2 (cloth)

ISBN 978-0-8020-9550-3 (paper)

Printed on acid-free, 100% post-consumer recycled paper with

vegetable-based inks.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Everett, Nicholas
The Alphabet of Galen : pharmacy from antiquity to the Middle Ages : a critical
edition of the Latin text with English translation and commentary / by Nicholas Everett.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8020-9812-2 (bound). – ISBN 978-0-8020-9550-3 (pbk.)

1. Materia medica – Early works to 1800. 2. Medicine, Greek and Roman – Early works
to 1800. 3. Pharmacy – Early works to 1800. 4. Alfabetum Galieni – Criticism and
interpretation. 5. Alfabetum Galieni – Translations into Latin. 6. Alfabetum
Galieni – Translations into English. I. Title.

RS79.E94 2012   615.1  C2011-908386-8

This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian
Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Aid to Scholarly
Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and
Humanities Research Council of Canada.

University of Toronto Press gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of the Centre
for Medieval Studies, University of Toronto in the publication of this book.

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program
of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council.

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of

Canada through the Canada Book Fund for its publishing activities.
For Anna-Sophia and Elias
This page intentionally left blank
 Contents

List of Plates xi
Acknowledgments xiii
Signs, Symbols, and Abbreviations xvii
The Identification of Plants xix
Warning xxi

1 Introduction to the Alphabet of Galen 3

A Introduction 3
B Character of the AG and Its Date of Composition 5
C The History of the AG 9
D The Prologue and Epilogue 12
E The Liber de dynamidiis 18
F A Road through Ravenna? 21
G Self-Medicating in Late Antiquity 26
H Evaluating the AG’s Pharmacy 28
I Evaluating the AG’s Botany 31
J Conclusion 32

2 Pharmacology 36
A Introduction 36
B Natural Products and Pharmacy 36
C Sensory Perception 40
D Drug ‘Properties’ 45
E Four Main Properties, Implicit Theory, and Greek Cosmology 48
F Uis vs uirtus 52
G Humour, Bile, and Phlegm 55
 viii Contents

H Explicit Theorizing in the AG 57

I The ‘Doctrine of Signatures’ and the Absence of Magic in the AG 59
J Non-Medical Uses 61
K Conclusion 62

3 Sources Compared and Lost 64

A Introduction 64
B Dioscorides 64
C Pliny 69
D Sextius Niger: The Possibility 70
E Other Lost Sources BC to AD 74
F Two Linguistic Echoes: The Diaeta Theodori and Ps. Apuleius 78
G Conclusion 81
H The Comparanda: An apparatus comparationum 82

4 Language, Latinity, and Translation 84

A Introduction: Language and Dating the AG 84
B Grammar 85
C Vocabulary 88
D Uiscidus and uiscide 92
E The -aster / -astrum Suffix 96
F Greek in the AG 103
G Conclusion 106
H Difficulties of Terminology and Translation 107
I Neologisms and Rare Words 112

5 Manuscripts 116
A Overview and Editorial Principles 116
B Variants 119
C Manuscripts 120
D The Editio princeps 134

Alphabetum Galieni (Latin Text) / The Alphabet of Galen

(English translation) 137

Bibliography 383
Index 419
A Plants and Plant Products 419
B Minerals and Mineral Products 427
 Contents ix

C Animals and Animal Products 430

D Places and Place-Names 431
E Medical 433
F General 438
G Interesting or Rare Words (see also ch. 4.I) 440
H Materia medica (General) 442
This page intentionally left blank
 List of Plates

1. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Med. gr.1 fol. 3v.

2. Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Pal. lat. 187, fol. 54.

3. Accuracy in the AG. a) Dittany of Crete AG #88 (Origanum dictamnus

L.); b) Water parsnip #158 (Sium angustifolium L., Sium erectum Huds.,
Coville).

4. Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale, Gr. 1, fol. 90.

5. Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale, Gr. 1, fol. 48.

6. Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale, Gr. 1, fol. 31.

7. Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale, Gr. 1, fol. 44.

8. Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale, Gr. 1, fol. 87.

This page intentionally left blank
 Acknowledgments

The history of medicine presents many challenges for the historian study-
ing scripts and lay-out of early medieval books who discovered a rough
little manuscript in the Vatican library with an intriguing alphabetized for-
mat, and who became fascinated with its contents. Challenges to historical
periodization quickly surface: the separation of ‘ancient’ and ‘early medi-
eval’ medicine easily falters (as the Alphabet demonstrates), distinctions
between ancient and medieval are often problematic, and from a modern
medical viewpoint, ancient/medieval medicine and pharmacy continued
into the nineteenth century and beyond. The challenges to understand
the natural world described in the Alphabet require knowledge of disci-
plines not usually part of a medievalist’s training, and their study contin-
ued the discovery.
Reliance on the work of scholars more experienced in the history of
ancient and medieval medicine will be apparent in the notes, but I have
been particularly inspired by the combination of insight and scholarly
rigour in the work of Carmelia Opsomer, John Riddle, John Scarbor-
ough, and Jerry Stannard on ancient and early medieval pharmacy. John
Scarborough has served as an e-mentor on pre-modern pharmacy, gener-
ously sharing his expertise in exemplary scholarly spirit. Cloudy Fischer
encouraged this project at an early stage and like many others I have ben-
efited greatly from his numerous publications on medical texts and their
manuscript traditions. Contact and subsequent discussions with Eliza
Glaze and Monica Green revived levels of energy needed to complete the
manuscript; Eliza Glaze generously read chapter 5 and suggested many
improvements. My thanks to the two anonymous readers selected by the
University of Toronto Press, whose advice and comments improved the
manuscript.
 xiv Acknowledgments

Colleagues at the University of Toronto, in the Department of History,

the Centre for Medieval Studies, the Department of Pharmacology, and
Trinity College, inspire by word as much as example, and I have benefited
enormously from their help and advice so generously given when sought.
This book was written amid the teaching and administrative responsibili-
ties of a large public university, and I thank the many undergraduate and
postgraduate students who have patiently endured my distracted musings
on the history of medicine. Teaching with the Alphabet reaffirmed the
text’s uniqueness, and its worthiness of a proper edition with translation.
But teaching also served to control inversely the amount of commentary
given here: the myriad comparisons with other texts, possible influences,
issues of Greek-Latin translation, its manuscript tradition, and so on –
these are best left for the classroom and for specialist articles. The Univer-
sity of Toronto Press is to be justly commended for publishing a critical
edition of a Latin text, and I thank Suzanne Rancourt for her encourage-
ment and patience, even when process worked against us.
The bibliography mostly stops at 2008: a first sabbatical in 2007 pro-
vided teaching relief necessary to make completion possible, and the final
book manuscript was submitted in 2009. I tried to include recent material
that came to my attention, even if it was not fully incorporated into the
discussion (e.g., Ferraces Rodrígez 2009, Petit 2009, Totelin 2009): it is
reassuring to realize that the research behind this book is part of larger
process of discovery by scholars re-examining ancient and medieval medi-
cal texts.
For the permission to reproduce images, I thank the Biblioteca Nazi-
onale of Naples (front cover, plates 4–8), the Biblioteca Apostolica Vati-
cana (plate 2), the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek of Vienna (plate
1), Georges Fontès of Instants de Saisons (http://isaisons.free.fr/index.
htm), and those at the (now defunct) site www.szak-kert.hu (plate 3).
The interlibrary loan service at Robarts Library was superbly efficient,
and special thanks to Renata Holder, of the Gerstein Science Library, for
many kindnesses in accommodating a medievalist. Colleagues near and
far who have kindly answered inquiries or helped with bibliography
for their respective fields are thanked in the notes where appropriate,
but deserve listing here: as well as to the previously mentioned schol-
ars, thanks to Julien Barthe (Chartres), Virginia Brown† (Toronto), Paul
Cohen (Toronto), Gerard Duursma (ThLL), Ernst Gamillscheg (Vienna),
Maria Teresa Gigliozzi (Rome), Dorothea Kullmann (Toronto), Rebecca
Laposa (Toronto), Michael McVaugh (Chapel Hill, NC), Francis New-
ton (Duke), Roel Sterckx (Cambridge), Cindy Woodland (Toronto), and
 Acknowledgments xv

Roger Wright (Liverpool). Sincere thanks to the colourful characters and

staff at the Remarkable Bean, in The Beach, for providing a much-needed
second office.
Familial support from Eumundi, Maroochydore, and New Orleans
never wavers and defeats the distance. This book is dedicated to Anna-
Sophia and Elias, because we learned our alphabets together. The greatest
debt of all is to Dita, my A to Z.
This page intentionally left blank
 Signs, Symbols, and Abbreviations

~ ‘possibly,’ used for tentative plant identifications (see

below)
# entry number in the AG
ch. chapters 1–5 in the present book
Alex. Tral. Alexander of Tralles Therapeutica, ed. Puschmann.
(Latin), Practica Alexandrri Yatros (1504)
Cael. Acut. Caelius Aurelianus, De morbis acutis, ed. Bendz
Cael. Chron. Caelius Aurelianus, De morbis chronicis, ed. Bendz
Cael. Gyn. Caelius Aurelianus, Gynaecia, ed. M.F. Drabkin and
I.E. Drabkin
Cass. Fel. Cassius Felix, De medicina, ed. Fraisse
Celsus Aulus Cornelius Celsus, De Medicina, ed. Marx,
trans. Spencer
CLA Codices Latini Antiquiores, ed. Lowe
CMG Corpus Medicorum Graecorum
CML Corpus Medicorum Latinorum
De observ. De observantia ciborum, ed. Mazzini
Diosc. Dioscorides, De materia medica, ed. Wellmann
Diosc. Lat. Dioscorides, Materia Medica, ed. Stadler (books
II–V), ed. Mihaescu (book I)
DTh. Diaeta Theodori, ed. Sudhoff
Dyn.Vat./SGall. (Ps. Hippocratic) Dynamidia, ed. Mai (ex MSS Vat.
Pal. lat. 1088, Vat. Reg. lat 1004) and ed. Rose (ex MS
St Gall 762)
Ex herb. fem. (Ps. Dioscorides) Ex herbis femininis, ed. Kästner
Galen Simp. Galen, De simplicium medicamentorum tempera-
mentis et facultatibus, ed. K[ühn] 11, 379–892; 12,
1–377
 xviii Signs, Symbols, and Abbreviations

Garg. Med. Gargilius Martialis, Medicina ex oleribus et pomis,

ed. Maire
Isidore Isidore of Seville, Etymologiarum siue Originum
libri XX, ed. Lindsay
K. Galen, Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia, ed. Kühn
LSJ Liddell and Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, rev.
Jones
Marc. Med. Marcellus (Empiricus) of Bordeaux, De medicamen-
tis, ed. Niedermann
Med. Plin. Plinii secundi iunioris qui feruntur de medicina libri
tres, ed. Önnerfors
MGH Monumenta Germaniae Historica
MGH AA Auctores Antiquissimi
MS, MSS manuscript(s)
Orib. Syn. Oribasius, Synopsis. I–II ed. Mørland, III–IX ed.
Bussemaker et al.
Orib. Eup. Oribasius, Euporista, ed. Molinier
n. note
Paul Aeg. Paul of Aegina, Practica (Lib. III), ed. Heiberg
Phys. Plin. Physica Plinii Bambergensis (Plinius Valerianus), ed.
Önnerfors
Pelagonius Pelagonius, Ars veterinaria, ed. Fischer
Pliny Pliny the Elder, Natural History, ed. Jones, Rack-
ham, and Eichholz
Ps. Pseudo-
Ps. Apul. Pseudo-Apuleius, Herbarius, ed. Howald and
Sigerist
Scrib. Scribonius Largus, Compositiones, ed. Sconocchia
saec. saeculum, century (used for dating, especially
manuscripts)
sp. species
Theod. Eup. Theodorus Priscianus, Euporiston libri III, ed. Rose
Theophrastus HP Theophrastus Enquiry into Plants, ed. Wimmer,
trans. Hort
ThLL Thesaurus Linguae Latinae 1900–
TLG Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (database), University of
California, Irvine
Varro Marco Terentius Varro, De re rustica, ed. Davis
Hooper
Vitruvius Vitrivius Pollio, De architectura, ed. Granger
 The Identification of Plants

The identification of plants in ancient and medieval sources is fraught with

problems, and the Alphabet of Galen is no exception. Descriptions are
brief, generic, and in cases so rudimentary that we can never be sure we
have the right species or even genus, and it is always possible that the
AG is describing a species that is now extinct or has evolved. The bino-
mial botanical identifications given in each entry are primarily taken from
consultation of André 1985, Beck 2005, and Halleux-Opsomer 1982 –
disagreement among these or uncertainty is recorded in the notes to that
entry – and also from scholarly literature where relevant, particularly the
work of Alfred C. Andrews, John Riddle, John Scarborough, and Jerry
Stannard. The symbol ~ is used in cases of considerable uncertainty (e.g.,
#90–2). A concise guide to the problems of pre-Linnaean identification
is Reveal 1996, which contains many helpful references to encyclopedias,
dictionaries, and guides to plant identification. Deciding on one common
English name among many also common is often an arbitrary act. I have
registered two English names where the literature seems to be evenly split
in using one or the other, and have consulted Grigson 1974, the polyglot
dictionaries of Perdok, ed. 1968, and Váczy 1980, and the information
given in reliable databases on the web such as www.naturalstandard.com,
and the International Plant Names Index, www.ipni.org.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 For some minutes they searched diligently in silence. Then Alec
scrambled up from his knees beside the little typist’s table and
inspected his hands ruefully.
“No sign of it,” he said, “and I’m in a filthy mess. I don’t think it
can be in here, do you?”
Roger was investigating the cushions of the big settee.
“Afraid not,” he replied. “I hardly expected it, but—— Hullo,
what’s this?”
He drew out a small piece of white material from between two of
the loose cushions and inspected it with interest.
Alec strolled across the room and joined him. “It looks like a
woman’s handkerchief,” he said carefully.
“More than that, Alexander; it is a woman’s handkerchief. Now
what on earth is a woman’s handkerchief doing in Stanworth’s
library?”
“I expect she left it here,” Alec remarked wisely.
“Alec, this is positive genius! I see it all now. She must have left
it here. And there was I thinking that she’d sent it by post, with
special instructions for it to be placed between those cushions in
case she ever wanted to find it there!”
“You are funny, aren’t you?” Alec growled wearily.
“Occasionally,” Roger admitted modestly, “quite. But reverting to
the handkerchief, I wonder whether this is going to prove rather
important. What do you think?”
“How could it?”
“I’m not quite sure yet, but I have a sort of feeling. It all depends
on several things. Whose handkerchief it is, for instance, and when
this settee was tidied up last, and when the owner of the
handkerchief admits she was in here last, and—— Oh, quite a large
number of things.” He sniffed at the handkerchief delicately. “H’m! I
seem to know that scent, at all events.”
“You do?” Alec asked eagerly. “Who uses it?”
“That unfortunately I don’t appear to remember for the moment,”
Roger confessed reluctantly. “Still, we ought to be able to find that
out with a few discreet inquiries.”
 He put the handkerchief carefully in his breast pocket, crumpling
it into a small ball so as to retain as much of the scent as possible.
“But I think the first thing to do,” he continued, when it was
safely bestowed, “is to examine this settee rather more minutely.
You never know what you’re going to find, apparently.”
Without disturbing the cushions further, he began a careful
scrutiny of the back and arms. It was not long before he found
himself rewarded.
“Look!” he exclaimed suddenly, pointing at a place on the left
arm. “Powder! See? Face powder, for a sovereign. Now I wonder
what on earth that’s got to tell us, if we only know how to read it.”
Alec bent and examined the place. A very faint smudge of white
powder stood out upon the black surface of the cloth.
“You’re sure that’s face powder?” he asked, a little incredulously.
“How can you tell?”
“I can’t,” Roger admitted cheerfully. “It might be French chalk.
But I’m sure it is face powder. Let me see, face powder just on the
inner curve of the arm; what does that mean? Or talking about
arms, perhaps it’s arm powder. They do powder their arms, don’t
they?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Well, you ought to,” Roger said severely. “You’re engaged, aren’t
you?”
“No,” Alec replied mournfully. After all, Roger would have to know
some time that the engagement had been broken off.
Roger stared at him in amazement. “No? But you got engaged to
Barbara yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” said Alec, still more mournfully. “But we broke it off to-day.
Or postponed it, rather, It may be on again in a month or so, I
hope.”
“But why, in the name of goodness?”
“Oh, for—for certain reasons,” Alec said lamely. “We decided it
was the best thing to do. Er—private reasons, you know.”
“Good Lord, I’m awfully sorry to hear it, old man,” said Roger
genuinely. “I hope things will come all right for you in the end; and if
there’s anything in the world that I can do, you know you’ve only got
to say the word. There isn’t a couple anywhere that I’d sooner see
fixed up than you and Barbara. You’re quite the nicest two people I
know.” Roger was in the habit of disregarding the convention that a
man should never under any circumstances display emotion in the
presence of another man, just as heartily as he violated all other
conventions.
Alec flushed with pleasure. “Thanks awfully, old chap,” he said
gruffly. “I knew I could rely on you. But really, there isn’t anything
you could possibly do. And things will come out all right, I feel sure.”
“Well, I sincerely hope so, or I’ll wring young Barbara’s neck for
her,” said Roger; and both men knew that the topic was closed, until
or unless Alec himself chose to reopen it.
“And about this powder?” Alec prompted.
“Ah, yes. I hadn’t finished with the settee, had I? Well, let’s see if
there’s anything more to be found first.”
He bent over the couch again, only to look up the next instant.
“See this?” he said, indicating a long fair hair in the angle
between the arm and the back. “There has been a woman sitting
here recently. This confirms the face powder. What an extraordinarily
lucky thing that we thought of searching the place for that cartridge
case. It would never have done to have missed this. I have an idea
that this woman is going to be more useful to us than fifty cartridge
cases.” And taking a letter out of his pocket he drew out the sheet of
paper and carefully placed the hair in the envelope. “They always do
this in books,” he explained, observing Alec’s interested gaze, “so I
suppose it’s the right thing to do.”
“And what are you going to do next?” Alec asked, as the
envelope followed the handkerchief into Roger’s breast pocket.
“You’ve only got about half an hour before dinner time, you know.”
“Yes. I’m going to try and find out if I can when this settee was
last tidied up; that seems to me the point on which everything
depends. After that I’ve got to spot the owner of the handkerchief.”
“By the scent? There are no initials on it.”
“By the scent. This is the sort of occasion when being a dog must
come in so useful,” Roger added reflectively.
 CHAPTER XIX.
Mr. Sheringham Loses and Wins the
Same Bet
At the top of the stairs the two parted, Alec going to his own
room and Roger to his. Arrived there, the latter did not proceed
immediately with his changing; for some moments he leaned, deep
in thought, on the window-sill overlooking the garden. Then, as if he
had come to a decision, he crossed the room briskly and rang the
bell.
A cheerful, plump young person answered it and smiled
questioningly. Roger was always a favourite with servants; if not
always with gardeners.
“Oh, hullo, Alice. I say, I seem to have lost my fountain pen. You
haven’t seen it about anywhere, have you?”
The girl shook her head. “No, sir, that I haven’t. It wasn’t in here
when I did the room this morning, I’m sure.”
“H’m! That’s a nuisance. I’ve missed it since last night. The last
time I remember having it was in the library a short time before
dinner. I wonder if I can have left it in there. Do you do the library?”
“Oh, no, sir. I only do the bedrooms. Mary does the downstairs
rooms.”
“I see. Well, do you think I could have a word with Mary, if she’s
not too busy? Perhaps you could send her up here?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell her at once.”
“Thank you, Alice.”
In due course Mary made her appearance.
“I say, Mary,” Roger remarked confidentially, “I’ve lost my
fountain pen, and Alice tells me that she hasn’t come across it in
here. Now the last time I had it was in the library yesterday, some
time between tea and dinner; I’ve been looking round for it in there,
but I can’t see it. I suppose you haven’t tidied up the library since
then, or seen anything of it?”
“Yes, sir, I tidied up the library last night while they were in at
dinner. And little did I think when I was doing it that——”
“Yes, quite so,” Roger put in soothingly. “Shocking business! But
what did the tidying up consist of, Mary? I mean, if it was only
cursory you might not have noticed the pen. What did you do
exactly?”
“Well, sir, I put the chairs straight and tidied up the cigarette
ends in the hearth and emptied the ashtrays.”
“What about the settee? I remember sitting on the settee with
the pen in my hand.”
“It wasn’t there then, sir,” Mary said with decision. “I took up all
the cushions and shook them, and there wasn’t anything there. I
should have noticed it if there had been.”
“I see. You did the settee quite thoroughly, in fact? Brushed it,
and all that sort of thing?”
“Yes, sir. I always run a brush over the settee and the armchairs
of an evening. They get so terribly dusty with all those windows, and
that black rep shows the dust up something awful.”
“Well, thank you, Mary. I suppose I must have left it somewhere
else, after all. By the way, you haven’t done the library at all to-day,
have you?”
“No, sir,” Mary replied with a little shiver. “Nor wouldn’t like to;
not alone, at all events. Creepy, I should call it, sir, with that poor
gentleman sitting there all night like a——”
“Yes, yes,” said Roger with mechanical haste. “Shocking! Well,
I’m sorry to have brought you all this way for nothing, Mary; but if
you ever come across it, you might let me know.”
“Yes, sir,” Mary said with a pleasant smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“And that is that!” Roger murmured confidentially to the closing
door.
He completed his changing as rapidly as possible and, hurrying
along to Alec’s room, recounted the facts he had just learnt.
 “So you see,” he concluded, “that woman must have been in the
library some time after dinner. Now who was it? Barbara was with
you in the garden, of course; so she’s out of the running. That
leaves Mrs. Shannon, Mrs. Plant, and Lady Stanworth—if it was
somebody in the house, by the way,” he added thoughtfully. “I never
thought of that.”
Alec paused in the act of tying his black tie to look round
interrogatively.
“But what’s all this getting at?” he asked. “Is there any particular
reason why one of those three shouldn’t have been in the library
yesterday evening?”
“No, not exactly. But it rather depends on who it is. If it was Lady
Stanworth, for instance, I shouldn’t say there was anything in it;
unless she specifically denied that she went into the library at all. On
the other hand, if it was someone from outside the household it
might be decidedly important. Oh, it’s too vague to explain, but what
I feel is that this is the emergence of a new fact—the presence of a
woman in the library yesterday evening. And a woman sitting down
at that, not just passing through. Therefore, like every other fact in
the case, it has got to be investigated. It may turn out to be
absolutely in order. On the other hand, it may not. That’s all.”
“It’s certainly vague, as you say,” Alec commented, fastening his
waistcoat. “And when do you expect to spot the woman?”
“Possibly the end of dinner. I shall sniff delicately and
unobtrusively at Lady Stanworth and Mrs. Plant, and if it isn’t either
of them, it may be Mrs. Shannon. If that’s the case, of course there’s
no importance to be attached to it at all; but if it isn’t any of them, I
don’t know what I shall do. I can’t go dashing all over the county,
sniffing at strange women, can I? It might lead to all sorts of
awkward complications. Hurry up, Alexander, the bell went at least
five minutes ago.”
“I’m ready,” Alec said, glancing at his well-flattened hair in the
mirror with approval. “Lead on.”
The others were already waiting for them when they arrived in
the drawing room, and the party went in to dinner at once. Lady
Stanworth was present, to all appearances unmoved, but even more
silent than usual; and her presence laid an added constraint on the
little gathering.
Roger tried hard to keep the ball rolling, and both Mrs. Plant and
Jefferson did their best in their respective ways to second him, but
Alec for some reason was almost as quiet as his hostess. Glancing
now and again at his preoccupied face, Roger concluded that the
rôle of amateur detective was proving highly uncongenial to that
uncompromisingly straightforward young man. Probably the
introduction of this new feminine question regarding the ownership
of the handkerchief was upsetting him again.
“Did you notice,” Roger remarked casually, addressing himself to
Jefferson, “when the inspector was questioning us this morning, how
very difficult it is to remember the things that have occurred, even
only twenty-four hours before, if they were not sufficiently important
to impress one in any way?”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” Jefferson agreed. “Noticed it often
myself.”
Roger glanced at him curiously. It was a strange position, this
sort of armed and forced friendliness between Jefferson and himself.
If the former had heard much of that conversation by the lattice
window, he must know Roger for his enemy; and in any case the
disappearance of the footprint showed that he was thoroughly on his
guard. Yet not the faintest trace of this appeared in his manner. He
behaved towards both of them exactly as he always had done; no
more and no less. Roger could not help admiring the man’s nerve.
“Especially as regards movements,” he resumed conversationally.
“I often have the very greatest trouble in remembering exactly
where I was at a certain time. Last night wasn’t so difficult, because
I was in the garden from the end of dinner till I went up to bed. But
take your case, for instance, Lady Stanworth. I’m prepared to bet
quite a reasonable sum that you couldn’t say, without stopping to
think, exactly what rooms you visited yesterday evening between the
end of dinner and going up to bed.”
Out of the tail of his eye Roger noticed a quick look flash
between Lady Stanworth and Jefferson. It was as if the latter had
warned her of the possibility of a trap.
 “Then I am afraid you would lose your bet, Mr. Sheringham,” she
replied calmly, after a momentary pause. “I remember perfectly.
From the dining room I went into the drawing room, where I sat for
about half an hour. Then I went into the morning room to discuss
certain of the accounts with Major Jefferson, and after that I went
upstairs.”
“Oh, that’s altogether too easy,” Roger laughed. “It’s not playing
fair. You ought to have visited far more rooms than that to make the
game a success. What about you, then, Mrs. Plant? Shall I transfer
the bet to you?”
“You’d lose again if you did,” Mrs. Plant smiled. “I was only in one
room, worse still. I stayed in the drawing room the whole time till I
met you in the hall on my way upstairs. There! What was the bet, by
the way?”
“I shall have to think of that. A handkerchief, I think, don’t you?
Yes, I owe you a handkerchief.”
“What a poor little bet!” Mrs. Plant laughed. “I wouldn’t have
taken it if I’d known it was going to be so unremunerative.”
“Well, I’ll throw in a bottle of scent to go with it, shall I?”
“That would be better, certainly.”
“Better stop there, Sheringham,” Jefferson put in. “She’ll have got
on to gloves before you know where you are.”
“Oh, I’m drawing the line at scent. What’s your favourite brand,
by the way, Mrs. Plant?”
“Amour des Fleurs,” Mrs. Plant replied promptly. “A guinea a
bottle!”
“Oh! Remember, I’m only a poor author.”
“Well, you asked for my favourite, so I told you. But that isn’t the
one I generally use.”
“Ah, now we’re getting warmer. Something about elevenpence a
bottle is more like my mark.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to pay just a little more than that. Parfum
Jasmine; nine and sixpence. And it will serve you right.”
“I shan’t bet with you again, Mrs. Plant,” Roger retorted with
mock severity. “I hate people who win bets against me. It isn’t fair.”
For the rest of dinner Roger seemed to be a little preoccupied.
 As soon as the ladies had left the room, he strolled over to the
open French windows which, like those of the library on the other
side, led out on to the lawn.
“I think a smoke in the open air is indicated,” he observed
carelessly. “Coming, Alec? What about you, Jefferson?”
“No rest for me, I’m afraid,” Jefferson replied with a smile. “I’m
up to the eyes in it.”
“Straightening things up?”
“Trying to; they’re in a dreadful muddle.”
“Finances, you mean?”
“Yes, that and everything. He always managed his own affairs
and this is the first time I’ve seen his passbooks and the rest. As he
appeared to have accounts at no less than five different banks, you
can understand something of what I’ve got to wade through.”
Jefferson’s manner was perfectly friendly and open, almost frank.
“That’s funny. I wonder why he did that. And have you found any
reason for his killing himself?”
“None,” said Jefferson candidly. “In fact, the whole thing
absolutely beats me. It’s the last thing you’d have expected of old
Stanworth, if you’d known him as well as I did.”
“You knew him pretty well, of course?” Roger asked, applying a
match to his cigarette.
“I should say so. I was with him longer than I like to remember,”
Jefferson replied with a little laugh that sounded somewhat bitter to
Roger’s suspicious ears.
“What sort of a man was he really? I thought him quite a good
sort; but then I’d probably only seen one side of him.”
“Oh, everyone has their different sides, don’t they?” Jefferson
parried. “I don’t suppose Stanworth was very unlike anyone else.”
“Why did he employ an ex-prize-fighter as a butler?” Roger asked
suddenly, looking the other straight in the face.
But Jefferson was not to be caught off his guard.
“Oh, a whim I should think,” he said easily. “He had plenty of
whims like that.”
“It seems funny to meet with a butler called Graves in real life,”
Roger said with a little smile. “They’re always called Graves on the
stage, aren’t they?”
“Oh, that isn’t his real name. He’s really called Bill Higgins, I
believe. Mr. Stanworth couldn’t face the name of Higgins, so he
called him Graves instead.”
“It’s a pity. Higgins is an admirably original name for a butler.
Besides, it harmonises much more with the gentleman’s general air
of ruggedness, doesn’t it? Well, what about this breath of air we
promised ourselves, Alec? See you later no doubt, Jefferson.”
Jefferson nodded amicably, and the two strolled out on to the
lawn. It was only just beginning to get dusk, and the light was still
strong.
“I’ve found out who the handkerchief belongs to, Alec,” Roger
said in a low voice.
“Have you? Who?”
“Mrs. Plant. I was almost certain before we sat down to dinner,
but what she said clinched it. That scent is jasmine right enough.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Roger hesitated. “Well, you heard what she said,” he replied,
almost apologetically. “She didn’t actually deny it, because I never
asked her; but she wouldn’t admit to being in the library at all
yesterday evening.”
“But surely it’s a perfectly innocent thing to be in the library?”
Alec protested. “Why, Stanworth wasn’t even there. He was out in
the garden with you. Why shouldn’t she have been in the library?”
“And, equally, why shouldn’t she acknowledge it?” Roger retorted
quickly.
“It may have slipped her memory. That’s nothing. You were
saying yourself how difficult it is to remember exactly where one’s
been.”
“It’s no use, Alec,” Roger said gently. “We’ve got to clear this up.
It may be innocent enough; I only hope it is! On the other hand, it
may be exceedingly important for us to find out just exactly why
Mrs. Plant was in that library, and what she was doing there. You
must see that we can’t leave it as it is.”
“But what do you propose to do? Tackle her about it?”
 “Yes. I’m going to ask her point-blank if she was in the library
last night or not, and see what she says.”
“And if she denies it?”
Roger shrugged his shoulders. “That remains to be seen,” he said
shortly.
“I don’t like it,” Alec frowned. “In fact, I hate it. It’s a beastly
position. Look here, Roger,” he said with sudden earnestness, “let’s
chuck the whole thing! Let’s assume, as the police are doing, that
old Stanworth committed suicide and leave it at that. Shall we?”
“You bet we won’t!” Roger said grimly. “I’m not going to leave a
thing half threshed out like that; especially not such an interesting
thing as this. You can back out if you like; there’s no reason for you
to be mixed up with it if you don’t want. But I’m most decidedly
going on with it.”
“Oh, if you do, I shall, too,” Alec replied gloomily. “But I’d much
rather we both chucked it.”
“That’s out of the question,” Roger said briskly. “Couldn’t dream
of it. Well, if you’re going to stick to it with me, you’d better be
present at my chat with Mrs. Plant. Let’s stroll round to the drawing
room and see if we can find an excuse to speak with her alone.”
“All right, then,” Alec agreed unhappily. “If we must.”
Luck was on their side. Mrs. Plant was alone in the drawing
room. Roger drew a chair up so as to face her squarely and
commented casually on Lady Stanworth’s absence. Alec turned his
back on them and gazed moodily out of the window, as if washing
his hands of the whole affair.
“Lady Stanworth?” Mrs. Plant repeated. “Oh, she’s gone in to
help Major Jefferson, I think. In the morning room.”
Roger looked at her steadily. “Mrs. Plant,” he said in a low voice,
“you’re quite certain you won that bet of ours at dinner, aren’t you?”
“Certain?” asked Mrs. Plant uneasily. “Of course I am. Why?”
“You didn’t forget any room that you went into yesterday evening
by any chance?” Roger pursued firmly. “The morning room, the
storeroom, or—the library, for instance?”
Mrs. Plant stared at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean, Mr.
Sheringham?” she asked in somewhat heightened tones. “Of course
I didn’t forget.”
“You went into none of those rooms, then?”
“Certainly not!”
“H’m! The bet was a bottle of scent and a handkerchief, wasn’t
it?” Roger remarked musingly, feeling in his pocket. “Well, here’s the
handkerchief. I found it where you left it—on the couch in the
library!”
 CHAPTER XX.
Mrs. Plant Proves Disappointing
For a moment Mrs. Plant sat perfectly rigid. Then she put out her
hand and mechanically took the handkerchief that Roger was still
holding out to her. Her face had gone quite white and her eyes were
wide with terror.
“Please don’t be alarmed,” said Roger gently, touching her hand
reassuringly. “I don’t want to frighten you, or anything like that; but
don’t you think it would be better if you told me the truth? You
might get into very serious trouble with the police, you know, if it
came out that you had been concealing any important fact. Really, I
only want to help you, Mrs. Plant.”
The colour drained back into her face at that, though her breath
still came in gasps and she continued to stare at him fearfully.
“But—but it wasn’t anything—important,” she said jerkily. “It was
only——” She paused again.
“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not, of course,” Roger said quickly.
“But I can’t help feeling that I might be able to advise you. It’s a
serious matter to mislead the police, even in the most trivial details.
Take your time and think it over.” He rose to his feet and joined Alec
at the window.
When Mrs. Plant spoke again, her composure was largely
restored.
“Really,” she said, with a nervous little laugh, “it’s absurd for me
to make such a fuss over a trifle, but I have got a horror of giving
evidence—morbid, if you like, but none the less genuine. So I tried
to minimise my last conversation with Mr. Stanworth as much as
possible, in the hope that the police would attach so little importance
to it that they wouldn’t call on me to give evidence.”
 Roger seated himself on the arm of a chair and swung his leg
carelessly.
“But you’ll be called in any case, so why not tell exactly what
happened?”
“Yes, but—but I didn’t know that then, you see; not when I made
my statement. I didn’t think they’d call me at all then. Or I hoped
they wouldn’t.”
“I see. Still, I think it would be better not to conceal anything as
things are, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I quite see that now. Quite. It’s very good of you to
help me like this, Mr. Sheringham. When—when did you find my
handkerchief?”
“Just before I went up to change for dinner. It was between two
of those loose cushions on the couch.”
“So you knew I must have been in the library? But how did you
know what time I was there?”
“I didn’t. In fact, I don’t know,” Roger smiled. “All I know is that
it must have been after dinner, because the maid always tidies the
room at that time.”
Mrs. Plant nodded slowly. “I see. Yes, that was clever of you. I
didn’t leave anything else there, did I?” she added, again with that
nervous little laugh.
“No, nothing else,” Roger replied smoothly. “Well, have you
thought it over?”
“Oh, of course I’ll tell you, Mr. Sheringham. It’s really too
ridiculous. You remember when you passed us in the hall? Well, Mr.
Stanworth was speaking to me about some roses he’d had sent up
to my room. And then I asked him if he’d put my jewels in his safe
for me, as I——”
“But I thought you said this morning that you asked him that the
other day?” Roger interrupted.
Mrs. Plant laughed lightly. She was quite herself again.
“Yes, I did; and I told the inspector it was yesterday morning.
Wasn’t it dreadful of me? That’s why I was so upset when you told
me this afternoon that I should have to give evidence. I was so
afraid they’d ask me a lot of questions and find out that I was in the
library, after all, when I hadn’t said anything about it, and that I had
told the inspector a lie about the jewels. In fact, you frightened me
terribly, Mr. Sheringham. I had dreadful visions of passing the rest of
my days in prison for telling fibs to the police.”
“I’m very sorry,” Roger smiled. “But I didn’t know, did I?”
“Of course you didn’t. It was my own fault. Well, anyhow, Mr.
Stanworth very kindly said he’d be delighted to put them away safely
for me, so I ran upstairs to get them and brought them down into
the library. Then I sat on the couch and watched him put them in
the safe. That’s all that happened really, and I quite see now how
absurd it was of me to conceal it.”
“H’m!” said Roger thoughtfully. “Well, it certainly isn’t vastly
important in any case, is it? And that’s all?”
“Every bit!” Mrs. Plant replied firmly. “Now what do you advise
me to do? Admit that I made a mistake when I was with the
inspector and tell the truth? Or just say nothing about it? It may be
very silly of me, but I really can’t see that it makes the least
difference either way. The incident is of no importance at all.”
“Still, it’s best to be on the safe side, I think. If I were you I
should take the inspector aside before the proceedings open to-
morrow and tell him frankly that you made a mistake, and that you
took your jewels in to Mr. Stanworth in the library last night before
saying good-night to him.”
Mrs. Plant made a wry face. “Very well,” she said reluctantly, “I
will. It’s horrid to have to admit that one was wrong; but you’re
probably right. Anyhow, I’ll do that.”
“I think you’re wise,” Roger replied, getting to his feet again.
“Well, Alec, what about that stroll of ours? I’m afraid it will have to
be a moonlit one now.” He paused in the doorway and turned back.
“Good-night, Mrs. Plant, if I don’t see you again; I expect you will be
turning in fairly early. Sleep well, and don’t let things worry you,
whatever you do.”
“I’ll try not to,” she smiled back. “Good-night, Mr. Sheringham,
and thank you very much indeed.” And she heaved a heartfelt sigh
of relief as she watched his disappearing back.
The two made their way out on to the lawn in silence.
 “Hullo,” Roger remarked, as they reached the big cedar, “they’ve
left the chairs out here. Let’s take advantage of them.”
“Well?” Alec demanded gruffly when they were seated,
disapproval written large in every line of him. “Well? I hope you’re
satisfied now.”
Roger pulled his pipe out of his pocket and filled it methodically,
gazing thoughtfully into the soft darkness as he did so.
“Satisfied?” he repeated at last. “Well, hardly. What do you
think?”
“I think you scared that wretched woman out of her wits for
absolutely nothing at all. I told you ages ago you were making a
mistake about her.”
“You’re a very simple-minded young man I’m afraid, Alec,” Roger
said, quite regretfully.
“Why, you surely don’t mean to say you disbelieve her?” Alec
asked in astonishment.
“H’m! I wouldn’t necessarily say that. She may have been
speaking the truth.”
“That’s awfully good of you,” Alec commented sarcastically.
“But the trouble is that she certainly wasn’t speaking the whole
of it. She’s got something up her sleeve, has that lady, whatever you
choose to think, Alec. Didn’t you notice how she tried to pump me?
How did I know what time she’d been in there? Had she left
anything else there? When did I find the handkerchief? No, her
explanation sounds perfectly reasonable, I admit, as far as it goes.
But it doesn’t go nearly far enough. It doesn’t explain the powder on
the arm of the couch, for instance; and I noticed at dinner that she
doesn’t powder her arms. But there’s one thing above all that it
leaves entirely out of the reckoning.”
“Oh?” Alec asked ironically. “And what may that be?”
“The fact that she was crying when she was in the library,” Roger
replied simply.
“How on earth do you know that?” said the dumbfounded Alec.
“Because the handkerchief was just slightly damp when I found
it. Also it was rolled up in a tight little ball, as women do when they
cry.”
 “Oh!” said Alec blankly.
“So you see there is still a lot for which Mrs. Plant did most
certainly not account, isn’t there? As to what she did say, it may be
true or it may be not. In gist I should say that it was. There’s only
one thing that I’m really doubtful about, and that’s the time when
she said she was in the library.”
“What makes you doubt that?”
“Well, in the first place I didn’t hear her come upstairs
immediately to fetch her jewels, as I almost certainly should have
done. And, secondly, didn’t you notice that she carefully asked me if
I knew what time she was there, before she gave a time at all? In
other words, after I had let out like an idiot that I didn’t know what
time she was there, she realised that she could say what time she
liked, and as long as it didn’t clash with any of the known facts (such
as Stanworth being out in the garden with me) it would be all right.”
“Splitting hairs?” Alec murmured laconically.
“Possibly; but nice, thick, easily splittable ones.”
For a time they smoked in silence, each engaged with his own
thoughts. Then:
“Who would you say was the older, Alec,” Roger asked suddenly,
“Lady Stanworth or Mrs. Shannon?”
“Mrs. Shannon,” Alec replied without hesitation. “Why?”
“I was just wondering. But Lady Stanworth looks older; her hair
is getting quite gray. Mrs. Shannon’s is still brown.”
“Yes, I know Mrs. Shannon looks the younger of the two; but I’m
sure she’s not, for all that.”
“Well, what age would you put Jefferson at?”
“Lord, I don’t know. He might be any age. About the same as
Lady Stanworth, I should imagine. What on earth are you asking all
this for?”
“Oh, just something that was passing through my mind. Nothing
very important.”
They relapsed into silence once more.
Suddenly Roger slapped his knee. “By Jove!” he ejaculated. “I
wonder if we dare!”
“What’s up now?”
 “I’ve just had a brain wave. Look here, Alexander Watson, it
seems to me that we’ve been tackling this little affair from the wrong
end.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, we’ve been concentrating all our energies on working
backwards from suspicious circumstances and people. What we
ought to have done is to start farther back and work forwards.”
“Don’t quite get you.”
“Well, put it another way. The big clue to any murder must after
all be supplied by the victim himself. People don’t get murdered for
nothing—except by a chance burglar, of course, or a homicidal
maniac; and I think we can dismiss both of those possibilities here.
What I mean is, find out all you can about the victim and the
information ought to give you a lead towards his murderer. You see?
We’ve been neglecting that side of it altogether. What we ought to
have been doing is to collect every possible scrap of information we
can about old Stanworth. Find out exactly what sort of a character
he had and all his activities, and then work forwards from that. Get
me?”
“That seems reasonable enough,” Alec said cautiously. “But how
could we find out anything? It’s no good asking Jefferson or Lady
Stanworth. We should never get any information out of them.”
“No, but we’ve got the very chance lying close to our hand to
find out pretty nearly as much as Jefferson knows,” Roger said
excitedly. “Didn’t he say that he was going through all Stanworth’s
papers and accounts and things in the morning room? What’s to
prevent us having a look at them, too?”
“You mean, nip in when nobody’s about and go through them?”
“Exactly. Are you game?”
Alec was silent for a moment.
“Hardly done, is it?” he said at last. “Fellow’s private papers and
all that, I mean, what?”
“Alec, you sponge-headed parrot!” Roger exclaimed, in tones of
the liveliest exasperation. “Really, you are a most maddening person!
Here’s a chap murdered under your very nose, and you’re prepared
to let the murderer walk away scot-free because you think it isn’t
‘done’ to look through the wretched victim’s private papers. How
remarkably pleased Stanworth would be to hear you, wouldn’t he?”
“Of course if you put it like that,” Alec said doubtfully.
“But I do put it like that, you goop! It’s the only way there is of
putting it. Come, Alec, do try and be sensible for once in your life.”
“All right then,” Alec said, though not with any vast degree of
enthusiasm. “I’m game.”
“That’s more like it. Now look here, my bedroom window is in the
front of the house and I can see the morning-room window from it.
You go to bed in the ordinary way, and sleep, too, if you like (all the
better, in case Jefferson should take it into his head to have a look in
at you); and I’ll sit up and watch for the morning-room light to go
out. I’m safe enough in any case, as I can always pretend to be
working; I’ll put my things out, in fact. Then I’ll wait for an hour
after it’s out, to give Jefferson plenty of time to get to sleep; and
then I’ll come along and rouse you, and we’ll creep down at our
leisure. How about that?”
“Sounds all right,” Alec admitted.
“Then that’s settled,” Roger said briskly. “Well, I think the best
thing for you to do is to go to bed at once, yawning loudly and
ostentatiously. It will show that you have gone, for one thing; and
also it will show that we’re not pow-wowing together out here.
We’ve got to remember that those three, in spite of their fair words
and friendliness, are bound to be regarding us with the greatest
suspicion. They don’t know how much we know, and of course they
daren’t give themselves away by trying to find out. But you can be
sure that Jefferson has warned the others about that footprint; and I
expect that as soon as our backs were turned just now, Mrs. Plant
ran into the morning room and recounted our conversation to them.
That’s why I pretended to be taken in by her explanation.”
The bowl of Alec’s pipe glowed red in the darkness.
“You’re still convinced, then, in spite of what she said, that those
three are in league together?” he asked after a moment’s pause.
“Run along to bed, little Alexander,” said Roger kindly, “and don’t
be childish.”
 CHAPTER XXI.
Mr. Sheringham is Dramatic
Long after Alec’s not altogether willing departure, Roger sat
smoking and thinking. On the whole, he was not sorry to be alone.
Alec was proving a somewhat discouraging companion in this
business. Evidently his heart was not in it; and for one so situated
the ferreting out of facts and the general atmosphere of suspicion
and distrust that is inevitably attendant on such a task, must be
singularly distasteful. Roger could not blame Alec for his undisguised
reluctance to see the thing through, but he also could not help
thinking somewhat wistfully of the enthusiastic and worshipping
prototypes whose mantle Alec was at first supposed to have
inherited. Roger felt that he could have welcomed a little enthusiasm
and worshipping at the end of this eventful and very strenuous day.
He began to try to arrange methodically in his mind the data they
had collected. First with regard to the murderer. He had made an
effective escape from the house only, in all probability as it seemed,
to enter it again by another way. Why? Either because he lived
there, or because he wished to communicate with somebody who
did. Which of these? Heaven only knew!
He tried another line of attack. Which of the minor puzzles still
remained unsolved? Chiefly, without doubt, the sudden change of
attitude on the part of Mrs. Plant and Jefferson before lunch. But
why need they have been apprehensive at all, if the murderer had
been able to communicate with them after the crime had been
committed? Perhaps the interview had been a hurried one, and he
had forgotten to reassure them on some particularly vital point. Yet
he had been able to do so in the course of the next morning. This
meant that, up till lunch time at any rate, he had still been in the
neighbourhood. More than that, actually on the premises, as it
seemed. Did this point more definitely to the probability of his being
one of the household? It seemed feasible; but who? Jefferson?
Possibly, though there were several difficult points to get over if this
were the case. The women were obviously out of the question. The
butler? Again possibly; but why on earth should the man want to
murder his master?
Yet the butler was a strange figure, there was no getting away
from that. And as far as Roger could judge, there had been no love
lost between him and Stanworth. Yes, there was undoubtedly a
mystery of some kind connected with that butler. Jefferson’s
explanation of why Mr. Stanworth should have employed a prize-
fighting butler did not strike one as quite satisfactory.
Then why had Mrs. Plant been crying in the library? Roger strove
to remember some scenes in which she and Stanworth had been
thrown into contact. How had they behaved towards each other?
Had they seemed friendly, or the reverse? As far as he could
recollect, Stanworth had treated her with the same casual good-
fellowship which he showed to everybody; while she—— Yes, now
he came to think of it, she had never appeared to be on particularly
good terms with him. She had been quiet and reserved when he was
in the room. Not that she was really ever anything else but quiet and
reserved under any circumstances; but yes, there had been a subtle
change in her manner when he was about. Obviously she had
disliked him.
Clearly there was only one hope for finding the answer to these
riddles, and that was to investigate Stanworth’s affairs. In all
probability even that would prove futile; but as far as Roger could
see there was no other way to try with even a moderate chance of
success. And while he was racking his brains out here, Jefferson was
sitting in the morning room surrounded by documents which Roger
would give anything to see.
A sudden idea occurred to him. Why not beard the lion in his den
and offer to give Jefferson a hand with his task? In any case, that
would form a direct challenge, the answer to which could not fail to
be interesting.
 With Roger to think was, in nine cases out of ten, to leap into
precipitate action. Almost before the thought had completed its
passage through his mind, he was on his feet and striding eagerly
towards the house.
Without troubling to knock he burst open the door of the
morning room and walked in. Jefferson was seated in front of the
table in the centre of the room, surrounded, as Roger’s mind’s eye
had seen him, with papers and documents. Lady Stanworth was not
present.
He glanced up as Roger entered.
“Hullo, Sheringham,” he said in some surprise. “Anything I can do
for you?”
“Well, I was smoking out there in the garden with nothing to do,”
Roger remarked with a friendly smile, “when it occurred to me that
instead of wasting my time like that I might be giving you a hand
here; you said you were up to the eyes in it. Is there anything I can
do to help?”
“Damned good of you,” Jefferson replied, a little awkwardly, “but
I don’t really think there’s anything. I’m trying to tabulate a
statement of his financial position. Something like that is sure to be
wanted when the will’s proved, or whatever the rigmarole is.”
“Well, surely there’s something I can do to help you out, isn’t
there?” Roger asked, sitting on a corner of the table. “Add up
tremendous columns of figures, or something like that?”
Jefferson hesitated and glanced round at the papers in front of
him. “Well,” he said slowly.
“Of course if there’s anything particularly private in Stanworth’s
affairs——!” Roger remarked airily.
Jefferson looked up quickly. “Private? There’s nothing particularly
private about them. Why should there be?”
“Then make use of me by all means, my dear chap. I’m at a
loose end, and only too glad to give you a hand.”
“Of course if you put it like that, I should be only too pleased,”
Jefferson replied, though not without a certain reluctance. “H’m! I
was just wondering what would be the best job for you to tackle.”
“Oh, anything that comes along, you know.”
 “Well, look here, I tell you what you might do,” Jefferson said
suddenly. “I want a statement made out showing his holdings in the
various companies of which he was a director, with the approximate
value of the shares, their yield for the last financial year, his
director’s fees, and all the rest of it. Manage that, could you?”
“Like a shot,” said Roger with great cheerfulness, concealing his
disappointment at the comparative unimportance of the task allotted
to him. Such details as these could be obtained from any work of
reference on the subject; he had hoped for a little insight into
something that was rather less public property.
Still, half a bun was better than no cake, and he settled down at
the opposite side of the table and set to work willingly enough on
the data with which Jefferson supplied him. From time to time he
tried to peep surreptitiously at some of the documents in which the
latter was immersed, but Jefferson was guarding them too jealously
and Roger could obtain no clear idea of their contents.
An hour later he sat back in his chair with a sigh of relief.
“There you are! And a very charming and comprehensive
statement, too.”
“Thanks very much,” Jefferson said, taking the statement which
Roger was holding out to him. “Damned good of you, Sheringham.
Saved me a lot of trouble. And you’ve done it in about a quarter of
the time I should have taken. Not my sort of line, this game.”
“So I should imagine,” Roger observed with studied carelessness.
“In fact, it’s always surprised me that you should have taken a job
like this secretaryship on at all. I should have put you down as a
typical open-air man, if you’ll allow me to say so. The type of
Englishman that won our colonies for us, you know.”
“No option,” Jefferson said, with a return to his usual curt
manner. “Not my choice, I assure you. Had to take what I could jolly
well get.”
“Rotten, I know,” Roger replied sympathetically, watching the
other curiously. In spite of himself and what he felt he knew he
could not help a mild liking for this abrupt, taciturn person; a typical
soldier of the wordless, unsocial school. It struck Roger at that
moment that Jefferson, whom he had been inclined to regard at first
as something of a sinister figure, was in reality nothing of the sort.
The man was shy, exceedingly shy, and he endeavoured to hide this
shyness behind a brusque, almost rude manner; and as always in
such a case, this had produced an entirely mistaken first impression
of the man himself behind the manner. Jefferson was downright; but
it was the downrightness of honesty, Roger felt, not of villainy.
Roger began, half unconsciously, to rearrange some of his ideas.
If Jefferson was concerned in Stanworth’s death, then it would be
because there was a very excellent reason for that death. All the
more reason to probe into Stanworth’s affairs.
“Going to stay down here long, Jefferson?” he asked, with an
obvious yawn.
“Not very. Just got to finish off this job I’m on now. You turn in.
Must be getting pretty late.”
Roger glanced at his watch. “Close on twelve. Right, I think I will,
if you’re sure there’s nothing else I can do?”
“Nothing, thanks. I shall have a go at it before breakfast myself.
Got to get cleared up in here by eleven. Well, good-night,
Sheringham, and many thanks.”
Roger sought his room in a state of some perplexity. This new
conclusion of his with regard to Jefferson was going to make things
very much more complicated instead of more simple. He felt a
strong sympathy with Jefferson all of a sudden. He was not a clever
man; certainly he was not the brains of the conspiracy. What must
his feelings be when he knew, as indeed he must know, that Roger
was tracking out things that would, in ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred and with only very ordinary luck, have remained
undiscovered for ever? How must he regard the net which he could
see spread to catch him, and with him—whom?
Roger dragged a chair up to the open window, and sat down with
his feet on the sill. He felt he was getting maudlin. This had every
appearance of a thoroughly cold-blooded crime, and here he was
feeling sorry already for one of its chief participants. Yet it was
because Jefferson, as he saw now that the scales had suddenly
fallen from his eyes, was such a fine type of man—the tall, thin,
small-headed type that is the real pioneer of our race—and because
he himself genuinely liked all three members of that suspicious trio,
that Roger, without necessarily giving way to maudlin sentiment, was
yet unable to stifle his very real regret that everything should point
so decisively to their guilt.
Still, it was too late to back out now. He owed it to himself, if not
even to them, to see the thing through. Roger could sympathise
more fully now with Alec’s feelings on the matter. Curious that he
should after all have come round in the end to that much-derided
point of view of Alec’s!
He began to review the personal element in the light of this new
revelation. How did it help? If Jefferson was an honest man and
would only kill because nothing short of killing would meet some
unknown case, then what was most likely to have produced such a
state of affairs? What is the mainspring that actuates three quarters
of such drastic deeds? Well, the answer to that was obvious enough.
A woman.
How did that apply in this case? Could Jefferson be in love with
some woman, whose happiness or peace had been threatened in
some mysterious way by Stanworth himself, and if so, who was the
woman? Lady Stanworth? Mrs. Plant? Roger uttered an involuntary
exclamation. Mrs. Plant!
That, at any rate, would fit in with some of the puzzling facts.
The powder on the arm of the couch, for instance, and the wet
handkerchief.
Roger’s imagination began to ride free. Mrs. Plant was in the
library with Stanworth; he was bullying her, or something. Perhaps
he was trying to force some course of action upon her which was
repugnant to her. In any case, she weeps and implores him. He is
adamant. She hides her face against the arm of the couch and goes
on weeping. Jefferson enters, sees at a glance what is happening
and kills Stanworth in the madness of his passion with as little
compunction as one would feel towards a rat. Mrs. Plant looks on in
horror; tries to interfere, perhaps, but without effect. As soon as the
thing is done she becomes as cool as ice and sets the stage for
suicide.
Roger jumped to his feet and leaned out over the sill.
 “It fits!” he murmured excitedly. “It all fits in!”
Glancing downwards, he noticed that the morning-room light had
been extinguished and made a note of the time. It was past one. He
sank back in his chair and began to consider whether the other
pieces of the puzzle would slip as neatly into this general scene—the
safe incident, the change of attitude, Lady Stanworth, and so on.
No, this was not going to be quite so easy.
At the end of the hour he was still uncertain. The main outline
still seemed convincing enough, but all the details appeared hardly
so glib.
“I’m getting addled,” he murmured aloud, as he rose from the
chair. “Better give this side of it a rest for a little.”
He made his way softly out of the room and crept along the
passage to Alec’s bedroom.
Alec sat abruptly up in bed as the door opened.
“That you, Roger?” he demanded.
“No, this is Jefferson,” Roger said, hastily shutting the door
behind him. “And very nicely you’d have given things away if it had
been, Alexander Watson. And you might try and moderate your
voice a bit. The sound of a foghorn in the middle of the night is
bound to make people wonder. Ready?”
Alec got out of bed and put on his dressing-gown.
“Right-ho.”
As quietly as possible they stole downstairs and into the morning
room. Roger drew the thick curtains together carefully before
switching on the light.
“Now for it!” he breathed excitedly, eyeing the crowded table
with eagerness. “That little pile there I’ve already been through, so
you needn’t bother about those.”
“Already?” Alec asked in surprise.
“Yes, in company with my excellent friend, Major Jefferson,”
Roger grinned, and proceeded to explain what he had been doing.
“You’ve got some cheek,” Alec commented with a smile.
“Yes, and I’ve got something more than that,” Roger retorted.
“I’ve got a thoroughly sound working idea as to who killed
Stanworth and under what circumstances. I can tell you, friend Alec,
I’ve been uncommonly busy these last two hours or so.”
“You have?” said Alec eagerly. “Tell me.”
Roger shook his head. “Not at the moment,” he said, sitting down
in Jefferson’s chair. “Let’s get this little job safely done first. Now
look here, you go through these miscellaneous documents, will you?
I want to study the passbooks first of all. And I’ll tell you one thing
I’ve discovered. The income from those various businesses of his
didn’t amount to a quarter of what he must have been spending. He
cleared just over two thousand out of all five of them last year, and I
should say that he’s been living at the rate of at least ten thousand a
year. And besides all that, he’s been investing heavily as well. Where
does all the extra cash come from? That’s what I want to find out.”
Alec began to wade obediently through the sheaf of papers that
Roger had indicated, while the latter picked out the passbooks and
glanced at them.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Two of these accounts are in his
own name, and the other three appear to be in three different
names. Jefferson never said anything about that. Now I wonder
what the devil that means?”
He began to pore over them methodically, and for some time
there was silence in the room. Then Roger looked up with a frown.
“I don’t understand these at all,” he said slowly. “The dividends
are all shown in his own two passbooks, and various checks and so
on; but the other three seem to be made up entirely of cash
payments, on the credit side at any rate. Listen to this: Feb. 9th,
£100; Feb. 17th, £500; Mar. 12th, £200; Mar. 28th, £350; and then
April 9th, £1,000. What on earth do you make of that? All in cash,
and such nice round sums. Why a thousand pounds in cash?”
“Seems funny, certainly,” Alec agreed.
Roger picked up another of the books, and flicked the pages
through carefully.
“This is just the same sort of thing. Hullo, here’s an entry of
£5,000 paid in cash. £5,000 in cash! Now why? What does it mean?
Does your pile throw any light on it?”
 “No, these are only business letters. There doesn’t appear to be
anything out of the ordinary here at all.”
Roger still held the book mechanically in his hand, but he was
staring blankly at the wall.
“Nothing but cash,” he murmured softly; “all sorts of sums
between £10 and £5,000; each sum a multiple of ten, or some other
round figure; no shillings or pence; and cash! That’s what worries
me. Why cash? I can’t find a single check marked on the credit side
of these three books. And where in the name of goodness did all this
cash come from? There’s absolutely nothing to account for it, as far
as I can make out. It’s not the proceeds of any sort of business,
apparently. Besides, the debit side shows nothing but checks drawn
to self. He paid it in as cash and he drew it out himself. Now what on
earth does all this mean?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Alec helplessly.
Roger stared at the wall in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly,
his mouth opened, and he whistled softly.
“By—Jove!” he exclaimed, transferring his gaze to Alec. “I believe
I’ve got it. And doesn’t it simplify things, too? Yes, it must be right.
It makes everything as clear as daylight. Good lord! Well, I’m
damned!”
“Out with it, then!”
Roger paused impressively. This was the most dramatic moment
he had yet encountered, and he was not going to spoil it by any
undue precipitation.
He smote the table softly with his fist by way of preparation.
Then:
“Old Stanworth was a professional blackmailer!” he said in vibrant
tones.
 CHAPTER XXII.
Mr. Sheringham Solves the Mystery
It was past ten o’clock on the following morning, and Roger and
Alec were engaged in taking a constitutional in the rose garden after
breakfast before the inquest proceedings opened. Roger had refused
to say anything further on the previous evening—or, rather, in the
small hours of the same morning. All he had done was to remark
that it was quite time they were in bed, and that he wanted a clear
head before discussing the affair in the light of this new revelation of
Stanworth’s character. He remarked this not once, but many times;
and Alec had perforce to be contented with it.
Now, with pipes in full blast, they were preparing to go further
into the matter.
Roger himself was complacently triumphant.
“Mystery?” he repeated, in answer to a question of Alec’s. “There
isn’t any mystery now. I’ve solved it.”
“Oh, I know the mystery about Stanworth is cleared up,” said
Alec impatiently; to tell the truth, Roger in this mood irritated him
not a little. “That is, if your explanation is the right one, which I’m
not disputing at the moment.”
“Thank you very much.”
“But what about the mystery of his death? You can’t have solved
that.”
“On the contrary, Alexander,” Roger rejoined, with a satisfied
smile; “that is exactly what I have done.”
“Oh? Then who killed him?”
“If you want it in a single word,” Roger said, not without a certain
reluctance, “Jefferson.”
“Jefferson?” Alec exclaimed. “Oh, rot!”
 Roger glanced at him curiously. “Now that’s interesting,” he
commented. “Why do you say ‘rot’ like that?”
“Because——” Alec hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems such
rot to think of Jefferson committing a murder, I suppose. Why?”
“You mean, you don’t think it’s the sort of thing he would do?”
“I certainly don’t!” Alec returned with emphasis.
“Do you know, Alec, I’m beginning to think you’re a better judge
of character than I am. It’s a humiliating confession, but there you
are. Tell me, have you always thought that about Jefferson, or only
just recently?”
Alec considered. “Ever since this business cropped up, I think. It
always seemed fantastic to me that Jefferson could be mixed up
with it. And the two women as well, for that matter. No, Roger, if
you’re trying to fix it on Jefferson, I’m quite sure you’re making a
bad mistake.”
Roger’s complacency was unshaken.
“If the case were an ordinary one, no doubt,” he replied. “But
you’ve got to remember that this isn’t. Stanworth was a blackmailer,
and that alters everything. You may murder an ordinary man, but
you execute a blackmailer. That is, if you don’t kill him on the spur of
the moment, carried away by madness or exasperation. You’d do
that sort of thing on your own account, wouldn’t you? Well, how
much more so are you going to do it on behalf of a woman, and that
a woman with whom you’re in love? I tell you, Alec, the whole thing
is as plain as a pikestaff.”
“Meaning that Jefferson is in love?”
“Precisely.”
“Who with?”
“Mrs. Plant.”
Alec gasped. “Good Lord, how on earth do you know that?” he
asked incredulously.
“I don’t,” Roger replied with a pleased air. “But he must be. It’s
the only explanation. I deduced it.”
“The devil you did!”
“Yes, I’d arrived at that conclusion even before we discovered the
secret of Stanworth’s hidden life. That clears up absolutely