Free House in Charlton Crescent by Annie Haynes

be strictly in confidence, doctor. Mr. Bruce Cardyn, a member of one of the best-known firms of private detectives, is here at Lady Anne’s own request, acting as her secretary, in order to discover, if possible, her secret enemy in the house.”
    The doctor stared at him.
    â€œBut what—I don’t understand—Do you mean that Lady Anne—?”
    â€œFeared that what happened this afternoon might happen?” the inspector finished. “Exactly! But you must understand that this must go no further, doctor. Mr. Cardyn must remain the secretary to the rest of the world. Now, what have you to tell us?”
    â€œNothing you do not know already,” the doctor said slowly. “Leaving technicalities to the inquest, Lady Anne died of the wound caused by the dagger which was still in it when I came. It penetrated to the heart and death must have taken place within a few minutes. The blow must have been one of great force and should say struck by a person who knew just where to strike. That is all can tell you, inspector, and it will not help you much, fear.”
    â€œOne never knows,” the inspector said enigmatically. “One question, Dr. Spencer—you say ‘a powerful blow.’ Could it have been struck by a woman?”
    â€œIt depends upon the woman,” the doctor said after a pause. “But, yes—I should say that in these days of athletic women most of them are as capable of striking hard as a man. But you surely do not think that—that a woman—”
    â€œI am not thinking anything at present,” Inspector Furnival interrupted. “I am trying to find out the truth, doctor.”
    â€œQuite so, I understand that. But there is one thing that has struck me might be a means of ascertaining the truth.” The doctor laid his hat and stick on the table. “I am a bit of a criminologist myself, and in reading both real and imaginary accounts of crime it has struck me how very often finger-prints have been the means of tracking down the criminal. Now in this case, surely the dagger—the handle I mean, must bear the marks of—”
    Something like a faint smile flitted momentarily over the inspector’s face.
    â€œI have not neglected what certainly does look like an obvious clue, doctor. But unfortunately so many people have handled the dagger, incidentally, Lady Anne herself, that I am afraid that it will not carry us much further.”
    â€œAh, well! It is your job not mine.” The doctor took up his hat. “I am more grieved than I can say that such a thing should have occurred. Lady Anne was one of my oldest patients and I shall miss her more than I can realize at present. And I trust that so cruel a crime will not long go unavenged. Well, if there is nothing more that I can tell you, inspector—we shall meet at the inquest to-morrow.”
    When the door had closed behind him the inspector made a rapid note in his book.
    â€œNot very enlightening, that gentleman, now for Mr. John Daventry!”
    John Daventry kept them waiting for some little time. The inspector occupied himself in studying his notes and adding a few words, his face gloomy and abstracted. Bruce Cardyn did not move. He was going over and over again the tragedy of this afternoon. Who could be guilty? Was it one of the four people in the room with him, or could it possibly have been, as the inspector suggested, some outsider? The face at the window too! Rack his brains as he would he could think of no explanation of this, to him the most inexplicable feature of the whole affair. With all the precautions he had taken it would have seemed an actual impossibility that anyone should have got up to the window of Lady Anne’s room without being discovered at once. Yet the thing had happened.
    John Daventry’s face still bore evident marks of disturbance when at last he appeared.
    â€œYou asked for me, inspector?”
    The inspector pointed to a