The Listening Eye

Chapter 6

ARTHUR HUGHES came down the steps of the County Bank at Ledlington, a goodlooking young man and very well aware of the fact. If Lucius Bellingdon was dispensing with his service as assistant secretary after a comparatively short trial, it did not occur to him for a moment that there could be any reason for this beyond the carping disapproval with which Lucius was practically bound to regard a pe

Arthur frowned as he walked in the direction of the Market Square, where he had parked the car. He had known Olly Herne, and he hadn’t liked him at all. He had actually been at his wedding when he married Moira Bellingdon. He hadn’t minded then because he wasn’t in love with Moira at that time. There had been a girl called Kitty. She had married someone else, and he could hardly remember what she looked like. And after her there was Mary, and Judy, and A

All the time he was walking down to the car and getting into it and starting up he went on thinking about Moira Herne. It pleased him immensely to be taking her the Queen’s Necklace. A bit of luck that old Garratt should have had one of his attacks and not have been able to go for it. He had a pleasant picture of himself throwing the sealed packet into Moira’s lap and saying, “There you are!” After which she would open the packet and take out the necklace and put it on and he would kiss her. The fact that this pleasant daydream deviated in every possible particular from what was in the very least bit likely to happen had no power to detract from the pleasure it gave him.

He extricated himself from the crowded marketplace as skilfully as if his mind had really been on what he was doing, threaded one of the two narrow passages which co

Cranberry Lane has the twists and turns which are a common feature of the English by-way. When it twisted, the car that followed him would be out of sight. After one such turn the driver accelerated and came up with him. Before he realized that anything was going to happen the two cars were abreast and he was being forced off the road. His near front wheel bumped down into the ditch. He braked, ran scraping along the hedge, and came to a stop. As he turned, between fear and anger, he saw the other car at a standstill too and the driver already out.

He had time to curse, to stop halfway, to say “You!” and to see the revolver in the gloved hand. After that there was no more time. He may have heard the shot which killed him, or he may not. Evidence on this point is not available.

Chapter 7

OF the two newspapers to which Miss Silver subscribed she was in the habit of glancing through the one addicted to headlines and pictures at the breakfast-table, whilst reserving the perusal of The Times for a more leisured hour. On the morning following her visit to Blackheath she had no more than sat down and reached for the former than there stared at her from the front page a heading which instantly fixed her attention. It ran:

daring jewel robbery

the bellingdon necklace stolen

secretary found shot

Like Sally Foster, Miss Silver had heard of the Bellingdon necklace. She had even read the same article about it and its conjectured history that Sally had. She was aware of the intention ascribed to Lucius Bellingdon of presenting it to his daughter in order that she might wear it at the fancy dress ball he was proposing to give. Her eye travelled over a repetition of these particulars and came back to all that seemed to be known about the robbery. It was not much. The necklace had been in safe keeping at the County Bank in Ledlington. Mr. Bellingdon, who had a large account there, had written to say that his secretary, Hubert Garratt, would call for it at 12 noon on the 14th instant. The secretary, duly provided with a written authorization, arrived punctually, signed for the valuable package, and left again by car, driving himself. That was the last time he was seen alive. The car was found twenty minutes later on the grass verge of a turning off the London road with the secretary dead at the wheel and the necklace gone. The turning, an unfrequented one, would be a short cut to Merefields, Lucius Bellingdon’s country home.

There were photographs of Merefields, of Mr. Bellingdon, a gentleman of dominating appearance with a jutting chin, his daughter Mrs. Herne, and the unfortunate secretary.

Miss Silver read all that there was to read, and had no more than come to the end of it, when the telephone bell rang. It was not with any great surprise that she recognized the voice of Detective Inspector Frank Abbott.

Since he a

“Miss Silver speaking.”

His voice came back with a touch of formality quite noticeably absent from their private relationship. There was between them a strong tie of affection, and on his side a high degree of respect which did not prevent him from regarding her idiosyncrasies with appreciation and enjoyment. She was, he considered, a period piece, from her Edwardian hair style with its controlling net to her beaded shoes of a smaller size than is usual today, and from her admiration for the late Lord Te

“I suppose you have seen the paper?”

The gravity of her reply informed him that he need not particularize any special item of news. He said,

“The Chief would be glad if you could make it convenient to come round to the Yard. It is with reference to the conversation you had with him the day before yesterday. He would be glad to have a talk with you.” About three-quarters of an hour later she was being ushered into the Chief Inspector’s room. It was by no means the first conversation she had had with him there, but as he rose from behind his desk to greet her, she thought he appeared to be vexed and burdened beyond his wont. With the briefest preliminaries he sat down again, filling his chair squarely-a big man of country stock with a florid face and strong dark hair which only the most rigorous cut prevented from curling.