Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (247 page)

"No,"
he
said
at
length,
and,
running
down
to
the
stream
at
the back
of
the
house,
he
tossed
the
key
into
the
water.
"No,"
he
repeated sharply;
"let
the
house
rot
empty
as
it
stands.
The
rats
shall
have
their will
of
it,
and
the
sooner
the
better."

He
walked
quickly
to
the
gate,
with
Mr.
Twiss
at
his
heels,
and
as they
covered
the
six
miles
to
the
railway
station,
very
little
was
said between
them.

Time
ran
on,
and
Mr.
Twiss
was
a
busy
man.
The
old
house
by
the Stour
began
to
vanish
from
his
memory
amongst
the
mists
and
the veils
of
rain
which
so
often
enshrouded
it.
Even
the
enigma
of
Captain
Brayton's
death
was
ceasing
to
perplex
him,
when
the
whole
affair was
revived
in
the
most
startling
fashion.
A
labourer,
making
a
short cut
to
his
work
one
summer
morning,
passed
through
the
grounds
of Cranfield's
closed
and
shuttered
house.
His
way
led
him
round
the back
of
the
building,
and
as
he
came
to
that
corner
where
the
great brick
buttresses
kept
the
house
from
slipping
down
into
the
river,
he saw
below
him,
at
the
edge
of
the
water,
a
man
sleeping.
The
man's back
was
turned
towards
him;
he
was
lying
half
upon
his
side,
half upon
his
face.
The
labourer,
wondering
who
it
was,
went
down
to
the river
bank,
and
the
first
thing
he
noticed
was
a
revolver
lying
upon
the grass,
its
black
barrel
and
handle
shining
in
the
morning
sunlight.
The labourer
turned
the
sleeper
over
on
his
back.
There
was
some
blood upon
the
left
breast
of
his
waistcoat.
The
sleeper
was
dead,
and
from the
rigidity
of
the
body
had
been
dead
for
some
hours.
The
labourer ran
back
to
the
village
with
the
astounding
news
that
he
had
found Mr.
Cranfield
shot
through
the
heart
at
the
back
of
his
own
empty house.
People
at
first
jumped
naturally
to
the
belief
that
murder
had been
done.
The
more
judicious,
however,
shook
their
heads.
Not
a door
nor
a
window
was
open
in
the
house.
When
the
locks
were forced,
it
was
seen
that
the
dust
lay
deep
on
floor
and
chair
and
table, and
nowhere
was
there
any
mark
of
a
hand
or
a
foot.
Outside
the house,
too,
in
the
long
neglected
grass,
there
were
but
two
sets
of footsteps
visible,
one
set
leading
round
the
house—the
marks
made
by the
labourer
on
his
way
to
his
work—the
other
set
leading
directly
to the
spot
where
Archie
Cranfield's
body
was
found
lying.
Rumours, each
contradicting
the
other,
flew
from
cottage
to
cottage,
and
the men
gathered
about
the
police
station
and
in
the
street
waiting
for
the next.
In
an
hour
or
two,
however,
the
mystery
was
at
an
end.
It
leaked out
that
upon
Archie
Cranfield's
body
a
paper
had
been
discovered, signed
in
his
hand
and
by
his
name,
with
these
words: