Okewood of the Secret Service [88]
Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood. When he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, the dancer raised her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews. But she said nothing and when Matthews turned from the telephone to go back to the tap-room she had resumed her former listless attitude.
Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen and back premises without finding anything of note. They had just finished when the sound of a car outside attracted their attention. On the road beyond the little bridge outside the inn Francis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman to alight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel, while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head, looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come home on leave only a week or so before.
Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman--a brisk-looking person-as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that it was shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn.
The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with the brown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francis picked it up, turned it over and land it down again.
Where did you find it?" he asked Matthews. The latter informed him of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sending the searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body on the floor.
"Let's have a look at that!" he said.
Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the set face of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the right temple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body and exchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There is something about the presence of death which impels respect whatever the circumstances.
Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In her hands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a small gold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tiny handkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articles down on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis.
"This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir," she said.
Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half a dozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely he unfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheet than he turned to the next and the next until he had run through the whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round hand and knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code.
The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldier came in quickly.
He stopped irresolute on seeing the group.
"Well, Bates," said Matthews.
"There's a woman lying dead in the cellar back yonder," said the man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
"The cellar?" cried Matthews.
"Yes, sir... I think you must ha' overlooked it."
Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A name was on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it. Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, the three men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room.
CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED
0n opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they saw before them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight of wooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed with his foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side.
"That was covering the trap," he said, "I wouldn't ha' noticed nothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, and kicked this bit o' ilecloth away and there was the ring of the trap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a light here, Gordon!"
Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down the stair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clothes huddled up at the foot of the ladder.
"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I've never seen her, you know!"
"I can't tell,"