Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 25, No. 2, August 13, 1927

“The only safe place for me, the one place where I could handle the situation, was Dunkillin. And so, according to arrangement, Andy installed me as the butler Gillespie. I took a chance, there, of course. If my son recognized me, I’d have to own up and take him into my confidence.

“That would mean exploding the mine immediately — sooner than was desirable. I wanted the opposition firm to carry on till I had them nailed down tight. It’s the same in your own profession, inspector. You don’t make an arrest till you’ve a sure case. But all went very well. Tom didn’t know me.

“Any elaborate disguise, of course, would have been foolish; but white hair clipped and dyed iron-gray, with darkened eyebrows, were as far as I cared to go, and lifted a few years off my shoulders.

“I didn’t, as Miss Allister would say, entirely get away with it. Events moved so quickly that it was impossible not to arouse suspicion that I was something more than a butler. And the family likeness was perhaps suggestive. It never entered Tom’s head — how should it? — that I could be his late father.

“But he did make a mistake and place me as my brother Paradine, to whom, I am ashamed to say, Tom owes more than he ever has owed to me. Paradine and I both have the McKellar face, and doubtless the McKellar character. We were so alike in many ways that, perhaps for that very reason, I fear we never got on very well together.

“I think, inspector, that is all I need tell you; the rest must be obvious. You don’t want an account of everything I’ve done since I have been at Dunkillin. I have given a fairly full explanation because it is due to you. But there is no law that I know, which forbids a man to allow his empty coffin to be interred in the family vault — if he thinks fit to do so and has no dishonest motive.”

Maffet had long recovered from his stupefaction and his resentment. As he listened to the tale, he eyed the old man searchingly.

“In all my experience, Mr. McKellar,” he said, “I never heard such an amazing admission as this. But do you really imagine that you were justified in doing what you’ve done?”

“Surely,” said McKellar, “my justification is clear. If I were now lying in my coffin, instead of sitting before you in the flesh — my son would have been cheated of his inheritance, and his mother’s name dishonored.”

“I don’t see my way to deny that,” said Maffet slowly. “And it seems he might have lost not his inheritance, sir, but his life.”

“Yes,” replied John McKellar. “But that, you probably know more about than I do, inspector. I don’t see my way through it. It does look to me as if there were two direct attempts to meddle with Tom — and in both cases his adversary got very much the worst of it.

“You may think it strange, but I never took that so seriously as I did the other thing. I would like you to tell me something, inspector. Have you evidence in your hands which will bring that home — to my wife?”

Maffet did not answer. He looked hard at McKellar. It was exactly that evidence which he had not got.

“Whose ever work it was, it’s a bit of luck for them now that it didn’t come off,” growled Inspector Maffet. “They would be up against it worse than they are already.”

The squeal of a car’s brake was heard below. Tommy stepped quickly to the window and looked down. His father joined him.

“That appointment of yours, Maffet,” said Tommy, “is kept punctually. Here they are.”

An open four-seater was standing on the gravel, Laurence Drumont sat at the wheel. Renée McKellar stepped down and entered the porch.

“It’s my wife,” said John McKellar, leaving the window. “You have an appointment with her, inspector? Very well. As everybody concerned is present here, we cannot do better than receive her now.”

“I’m with you there, sir,” said Maffet grimly. “Do you wish to be present?”

“Yes,” said John McKellar. “After all, she is my wife. There is no getting away from that.”

“Quite so. And I think you’ve said everything there is to say.”

Chapter LII The End of Her Reign

“There is just one thing more, inspector. You have come to a certain conclusion; a perfectly natural conclusion, on strong circumstantial evidence; a case that I admit seems very well supported. But circumstantial evidence often breaks down when put to the test.

“I use the drug nux vomica myself; a fad of mine, possibly a dangerous medicine, but not in the small doses to which I am accustomed. I know few people use it nowadays, but I find it excellent for nervous headaches.

“And I have frequently got Renée to procure it for me. Whatever else my wife has done, I do not think she has ever attempted to poison me. And if she had, she certainly would not have succeeded. I am going to be reasonably fair to her. She has enough to answer for without that.”

Maffet rose from his chair. Before he could answer, the young footman appeared.

“Mrs. McKellar, sir,” he said to Tommy.

John McKellar looked at his son.