The Poisoned Goblet

Chapter I.—The Warning-2

The great investigator leant back in his chair. “It was all over in three minutes, and in six the men had disappeared in their car and the motor yacht was heading back to sea.” He rubbed his hands together. “Quite a little epic in its way.”

“Very dramatic, Mr. Jones,” said the detective, “and you told it very nicely, too. Really, you are a born teller of stories!” He frowned. “But it doesn't end there! Surely, they made some attempt to arrest the men?”

“What for?” asked Jones blandly. “There was no evidence about anything against them, for the nurses hadn't even set eyes upon them until all the danger was passed. They had been too occupied in watching the motor yacht and thinking how pretty it looked with its wake of foam.” He frowned now in his turn. “No, that's the trouble. There was not a shred of evidence against anyone, and the only suspicion”—he nodded solemnly—“what the chauffeur saw.”

“Well, what happened next?” asked Larose.

“The chauffeur very rightly insisted upon returning at once to the Abbey, and as a precaution went back in a roundabout way and took two of the armed riflemen along with him.”

“And that's all,” asked Larose, because Jones had stopped speaking, “that finishes everything!”

“That begins everything,” replied Jones testily, “for that same night I was called down.” He tapped impatiently upon the desk. “Yes, sir, her ladyship is no sluggard, and awakening from her dreams of fancied security, and realising that trans-Atlantic methods were being brought over here, with no hesitation she proceeded to form her own bodyguard and to obtain the best services that she could.” His voice hardened. “And she is neglecting no precautions, I can assure you, for she knows the ghastly toll of little lives that has been taken in her own country. She remembers the dead body of the Lindberg baby and has no intention that her child shall be put under the ground in the same way.” He nodded solemnly again. “So, today, Carmel Abbey is an armed camp.”

“But why does she not leave the Abbey for a few months?” asked Larose sharply, “for so near to that lonely stretch of coast, she must see there is always the possibility of being raided from the sea.”

Naughton Jones smiled disdainfully. “You don't know Lady Helen Ardane yet, but when you have had speech with her you will not repeat the question. She is a woman of spirit with that red head of hers, and not only is she refusing to leave Carmel Abbey but she is carrying on her social duties as if nothing had happened, and she has even made no alterations for the house party that will begin assembling tomorrow for the opening of the pheasant shooting on the first, although she has been warned by a second letter that among her guests,” his voice hardened sternly, “will be another traitor in league with the kidnappers.”

“Then with a confederate inside the Abbey, as you say,” commented Larose, “the kidnappers must be quite aware that she is being warned and therefore I cannot understand how—”

“They are not quite aware,” interrupted Jones sharply, “and that is the only pull we have over them. They have heard nothing of either letter, for Lady Ardane's widowhood has developed considerable powers of self-reliance in her, and she has not taken every one into her confidence.”

“She has told no one!” exclaimed Larose, very surprised.

“Only her father, Senator Harvey, who is upon a visit to her,” replied Jones, “and not even her aunt who lives with her. The first letter she immediately threw into the fire, not considering it worth mentioning to anybody. Then when the affair upon the sands took place, she grasped instantly the supreme importance of not letting it be known that she had a friend in the enemy's camp and she held her tongue.” He nodded emphatically. “Yes, we are fortunate there.”

“Then the kidnappers, not being aware that she had any warning,” said Larose, “cannot be positive that it is definitely realised what was intended to happen that afternoon upon the sands.”

“Well, they must be very dull witted,” scoffed Jones, “if they did not at once become positive of that fact when they saw the precautions that were taken at the Abbey immediately afterwards.” He thumped upon the desk. “Not positive! Why man, they knew I had been called in, and I was shot at upon the third day, following upon my arrival, the very first time that I set foot outside the Abbey walls, and then the day before yesterday a second attempt was made upon my life by a wretch endeavoring to run me down in a big car. I was upon my bicycle and just outside the castle grounds. Also the two Alsatian hounds that upon my suggestion were procured to keep guard outside the Abbey, were promptly poisoned before they had been on the place for even four and twenty hours.” He laughed sardonically. “You take it, it is not a picnic that I am sending you down to, and they may be playing the 'Dead March' over you in much less than a week.” He spoke carelessly. “Her ladyship is most generous and is certain to pay for a choral service.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Larose at once looking very pleased, “then I see I shall relish the whole business, for I am sick of going after people who commit only one crime, and then hide away like rabbits until I dig them out.” He nodded. “I admire this red-haired woman of yours for sticking to her guns.”

“It is the only thing she can do.” said Jones with a shrug, “unless she prefers to go on being haunted every day of her life.” He looked very stern. “She must carry on the fight to a finish now, and not only must she break up the kidnapping gang, but she must unmask, too, the traitors in her own household and among her own friends.” He put his finger to his lips. “Ah! that's the trouble, for as I tell you, she can make no move in any direction to protect the child, without its becoming known at once to the people who are after him. We have definite proof that they leave instantly, and I cannot, for the life of me, find out how it is done.” He appeared very disturbed. “Just as they got to know that the child was going on the morrow to the Brancaster sands, so they got to know that I was in the Abbey, and so”—he threw out his hands—“I have no doubt they will know who you are the very moment you arrive.”

“You have been staying there a fortnight, then, Mr. Jones?” said the detective thoughtfully.

“A fortnight to-day,” growled the great man, “and I have never spent two more unprofitable weeks in my life.” He spoke sharply. “You know my reputation and my methods, Mr. Larose, and if I tell you I have discovered nothing, then you will realise that the secret is well hidden.”

He spread out the map upon the table. “But now for chapter and verse, for I am going into a nursing home tonight, and have a lot of things to arrange. See, this is Burnham Norton and there is the Abbey, and as you have remarked, their comparatively isolated position leaves them open to attack. Well, the affair upon the sands took place on the afternoon of Wednesday, and at 11.30 that night Lady Ardane rang me up. She impressed upon me the extreme urgency of the matter, but I was not able to go at once, for I had an appointment with a Cabinet Minister at midnight. Still, at 8.30 the next morning I was breakfasting in the Abbey.”

He sighed heavily. “And I at once found I had a most difficult task before me. For the moment I was not concerned so much with the kidnappers outside, realising that the vital thing was to discover at once who was the confederate inside the Abbey. That was what was terrifying Lady Ardane, and I agreed with her that there must be a confederate.” He nodded emphatically. “You, too, can be perfectly assured on that point, and you can be assured also that whoever he or she may be, or perhaps there are two or three of them there, they are not only able to learn all that is going on inside the Abbey, but, as I tell you, they are in a position to pass on that information in the most expeditious manner possible to those who are waiting to operate outside.”

“But why are you so certain there?” asked Larose.

“Firstly,” replied Jones, “because the fact that the child was going to the Brancaster Sands on the Wednesday was not mentioned or even thought of until the Tuesday evening about half-past six when he was bidding goodnight to his mother, and yet by two o'clock on the following afternoon the kidnappers had been able to perfect most elaborate arrangements for abducting him there. Not only were some of them gathered in readiness among the sandhills to prevent all chances of the Abbey party getting back to their car, but others were approaching from far out to sea in a motor yacht which must have been waiting a long way away, because neither before nor after can we light upon any traces of it anywhere along the coast. Everything, then, pointed to preparations that could not possibly have been carried out on the spur of the moment.”

“Go on,” said Larose, because Jones had stopped speaking.

“Secondly,” said Jones, “because the third night after I arrived, I happened to mention at dinner that I had thoughts of cycling into Wells to obtain a favorite tobacco, and Lady Ardane suggested that if I wanted to extend my excursion for exercise, I should proceed there by way of Overy Marshes and return through Holkhum Park. I did so.” He spoke very slowly. “Well, with no resource to the telephone, plans were made instantly by someone to waylay me, for I was fired upon, both going and returning, which proves conclusively that within a few minutes of my decision, the miscreants had been informed in which particular directions I should be proceeding upon both parts of my journey.”

“But perhaps you were followed from the moment you left the Abbey,” suggested Larose.

“Impossible!” exclaimed Jones sharply, “for it was bright moonlight and I was keeping far too good a look out. No, I was ambushed both times, and from the crack of the rifles—I am an old rifleman myself—I was fired at with two different rifles. On the marshes an old Mauser was used, but in the park I don't know what was fired.”

“Anything else?” asked Larose.

“Yes, a third happening,” replied Jones, “and it is in every way as significant as the other two. To hark back to the morning following the attempt at Brancaster Sands, Lady Ardane had requisitioned five young fellows of the Hunstanton Rifle Club to come and stay at the Abbey as a temporary bodyguard, and it was arranged they should be picked up at The Drake Hotel in Hunstanton at 3 o'clock. She sent a car from the Abbey to fetch them, and until they were all ready it was run into the hotel yard. Then, when a quarter of an hour later it was proceeding at a good pace along the Burnham Norton road, one of the front wheels came off and a terrible accident was narrowly averted. It was then found that the hub caps of all the wheels had been unscrewed and the safety pins pulled out.” He shook his head gloomily. “There could not be more conclusive evidence that there is a confederate inside the Abbey, for someone had at once passed on the information that these men were coming out.”