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

“Show Mrs. McKellar in here,” said the old man, and the footman withdrew. A minute later Renée McKellar walked into the library. The door closed behind her.

Renée, always admirably dressed, was now in half mourning, which suited her soft yet vivid type of beauty still better than the deep black which she had worn when she left Dunkillin. And even Delia could not help envying the quiet self-possession with which she faced the three men who had risen to their feet to receive her.

She looked first at Tommy, with just the trace of a bow. To Maffet she gave scarcely a glance. Then her eyes turned inquiringly upon the unobtrusive figure of the butler, standing by the table; intensely respectable in his sober dress clothes and little black tie.

Renée looked at him, and slowly, very slowly, the color faded from her face till it was chalky white. But she did not move, nor speak; a little sigh escaped her lips, and that was all. She remained perfectly motionless, facing her husband, looking him in the eyes.

Tommy, watching her, felt, at that moment a tinge of pity for Renée, and perhaps a touch of admiration. Whatever qualities Renée McKellar might lack, she certainly had courage.

Mr. McKellar broke the silence.

“You were suspected of having made away with me, Renée,” he said mildly. “Inspector Maffet — the gentleman on your left — had what seemed to be a very strong case against you, and I am glad to declare your innocence. I am rather trying to live with, but I feel sure you would not go so far as that. It would have been so dangerous, and so obvious.”

Renée stared at him, speechless.

“But considering how short the time of your bereavement has been,” continued Mr. McKellar gently, “I may say that I think you have left off your full, mourning rather early. Was that your idea, or Laurence Drumont’s?”

Renée McKellar found her tongue. And her voice, at the outset, was amazingly calm and steady:

“You were always very ingenious, John,” she said slowly. “How you’ve arranged all this, I don’t know. I only see that — you have laid a very clever trap for me.”

“A trap? For you?”

“Yes, and a vindictive, and foolish one. You thought I might marry Laurence, and then — and then you could expose and disgrace me, if you chose! Do you see how foolish it was? For I never had any such intention — the idea never entered my head!”

“I am glad to hear that, for it never entered my head either,” said John McKellar. “At least, it never entered it very far. I should not have permitted such a thing, Renée; I should have taken most effective steps.

“The moment Laurence attempted to marry you — supposing it entered his head — you would have had my protection at once. Or rather, the protection of the authorities. I think you understand me.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door, and the conversation paused. Mr. Laurence Drumont protruded a sleek and well-groomed head into the room. He was anxious and even eager to join the party, but in spite of the invitation he had received and his natural assurance, he seemed a little doubtful. His eye lit upon Tommy and he paused.

“Come in, Mr. Drumont,” said Tommy, “we were expecting you.”

Encouraged by Tommy’s tone, which was not at all hostile, Mr. Drumont stepped inside, recovering a good deal of the confident swagger habitual to him. It declined a little as his glance rested on Inspector Maffet, and he paused again. But when he turned his eyes upon the impassive countenance of John McKellar, Mr. Drumont stopped with a jerk, as though some invisible hand had seized him.

His neck elongated and he took a half step forward, still staring. His mouth gaped wide open, his face turned a sickly green, and his eyes bulged like the eyes of a rabbit. For one silent moment that seemed to the others like an eternity, Mr. Drumont continued to drink in John McKellar Then he made a sudden plunge through the open doorway and was gone.

Maffet started up, but McKellar interposed.

“No, no!” he said. “It’s of no importance, inspector. He is really not worth while. This is one of those simple problems that settle themselves.”

There was a noise on the staircase as of a sack of coal descending, and a sort of scurry in the porch. Tommy, standing by the window, saw Mr. Drumont leap into the car — Renée’s car — and getting it going in record time, swung round for the exit.

In motion picture plays Tommy had often seen motor cars dashing about and making rings at incredible and unnatural speeds. He had never expected to witness anything of the kind in everyday life.

But this came very near it. The car flung itself in a curve like a capital S into the main drive, whizzed through the park gates, and, shooting on to the southward road over the moor, disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Mr. McKellar smiled.