Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 180: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

1126 in the same line as at ‘A’. But they aren’t —they go off at ‘C’ from the edge of the cut turf at right angles. So, unless the horse turned in the air—which is unlikely—Major Stark did not jump the patch. And if he didn’t jump it, the patch wasn’t there. You follow that.” We nodded. ‘“‘Now at ‘A’ the horse was cantering. At _ 1? ‘C’ he was galloping like the —— “What!” I think we spoke together. The detective smiled and wagged his head. ‘“‘Any farmer’s boy could see that from the hoof-marks. And that’s another thing I want to know. Why did Major Stark canter up to Mark ‘A,’ turn suddenly at ‘B,’ and gallop off hell-for-leather at ‘C’? And did any time elapse between the change from cantering to galloping? That’s it, gentlemen—What happened at ‘B’? Was anything spilt on the turf that made it necessary to remove it—blood, for in- stance? Or was anything buried at that spot and the turf cut to hide the traces of digging?”’ Waynill paused again, brooding. Men- tally, I unreservedly withdrew the whole of my opinion as to the Inspector’s in- telligence. “Well,” he roused himself once more, “‘whatever happened, the horse galloped away either with or without his rider. So I followed his tracks—they were the only fresh tracks about the place—I had a thorough look round for them. But I only found your cigar-case, Mr. Torrance.”’ “Yes, it would be somewhere about there that I lost it,’ said Torrance com- posedly. “Oh, it was a good three hundred yards farther on,” corrected Waynill. “It was quite tarnished and discolored. Lying in the middle of a kind of rough cattle-track. Considering that we’ve had no rain for the last week you must have lost it at least ten days ago for it tohave becomeso discolored.”’ There was a queer dryness in his tone and Torrance stared. ‘‘I see,” he said. “If it had been less tarnished and nearer the patch of cut turf, you would have z “Asked you a question or two which are not necessary now.” Torrance shrugged. “See how nearly I have approached a new experience, Hera- path,” he said, smiling across at me. Adventure THE detective slowly helped him- Fe, self to another whisky and soda. ‘The cigar-case was not the only thing I found before.I followed up the tracks of the horse,” he said, and dipped two fing- ers into a waistcoat pocket and brought out a tiny gold locket. We craned forward. “It was under a little clump of heather near the edge of the cut turf,’ he said. “And it has not tarnished at all. That is another thing I want to know. Who is the owner of this locket?”’ He touched a spring and the little ornament opened. ‘And,’ he continued. his heavy face suddenly grim, “and just who these two young people are. You don’t happen to know them, Mr. Tor- rance, I suppose?” Torrance took the locket and looked at- tentively at the two people. Then he shook his head and passed it to me. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Waynill,”’ he said. “They look very young—but you have probably noticed that for yourself,” half satirically. “I haven’t the remotest idea as to who they may be.” I looked at the two faces. They were those of a young man of about twenty-five —handsome enough but arrogant looking, and of a girl, thin, dark-eyed, with wild hair. She looked to be about eighteen years old. The photographs were somewhat faded and seemed to have been cut from a rough snap- shot and fitted to the locket. Curiously enough, there was something vaguely fa- miliar to me in the face of the girl. It was as though I had seen a picture of her, in one of the illustrated wecklies, for instance, a week or so before. But I could not repro- duce that picture quite perfectlyin my mind. “Tt is rather a queer thing,” I said, ‘‘ but I seem to know that girl’s face. I haven’t the least notion where or when or under what circumstances. It is more than likely that she remotely resembles some one I have interviewed, or whose picture I have seen in a periodical.”’ Waynill turned to me with a quick interest. “That is exactly how I feel about it,’”’ he sald. I turned the locket over. There was no monogram, but round the upper rim was engraved, “To Mary from Jack.” I read it aloud and returned the locket to the de- tective. Torrance had risen and was play- ing with the things on the mantelpiece. I chanced to look at the mantel, when pres- CO MICLOOKS C©