timewhen your sister made that mistake. Is it likely anybody will comeforward now? Some poor derelict, weary of life I suppose, without kithor kin to claim him at the end. There are scores of suicides in theyear, Mr Davis, who are buried unidentified."
He added, after a moment's pause: "Of course, before taking any suchsteps, we must formally prove, from unimpeachable testimony, that notonly are you Reginald Davis, but the particular Reginald Davis who wasfalsely accused of murder."
"I quite understand," answered Davis a little stiffly. "Before I leavethis room, I will indicate the quarters where you can obtain theinformation you want."
"Then, when I have verified that, I will ask you to come and see meagain." Bryant's manner as he said these words, indicated that theinterview was at an end.
But Davis kept his seat, he had not finished yet.
"May I take the liberty of detaining you for a few moments longer, sir,to impress upon you the importance of having that body exhumed? You maybe correct in your theory it is that of some poor derelict, but I have adifferent theory altogether."
The Inspector looked sharply at him, and drew a deep breath. "Ah, then,you have some knowledge of something: your visit to me has been leadingup to this, eh?"
"No actual knowledge, sir, but a surmise that has, I venture to think,some foundation. I have two sisters. The elder one I have alreadyspoken of to you."
There was a slight note of sarcasm in the Inspector's voice as hereplied, "Yes, Mrs Masters, whose fortunate mistake was of suchexcellent service to you, during the time you were waiting for the realcriminal's confession." Davis did not suffer himself to resent this.Of course, a man of the world like Bryant did not believe in thiscamouflaged story. Mrs Masters was a clever young woman, and had takenadvantage of an accidental resemblance to get her brother out ofjeopardy.
"My other sister, Iris Deane, is in the chorus of the Frivolity Theatre.I don't suppose you have ever heard of her?"
Mr Bryant shook his head. He knew a great deal about all classes ofcriminals, but young ladies in the chorus of the Frivolity, or any othertheatre, were not in his line.
"She was at Mrs Masters's house last night. She came over especiallyto welcome me, on my re-introduction to the world which I was supposedto have quitted. She made to us a very startling confession, and thatconfession is intimately associated with the events at Cathcart Square."
And this time, Bryant was genuinely surprised, and was at no pains toconceal it. Reginald Davis--he was beginning to believe in the man'sidentity now--was evidently a member of a very remarkable family.
"You astound me, Mr Davis. Yourself and both your sisters mixed upwith what happened there! It sounds like a romance. Pray proceed!"
Davis told the story as Iris had told him, carefully concealing thenames of the two men concerned in it for the moment. He was careful topoint out that on the night of the suicide she could establish acomplete and unquestioned alibi.
Bryant turned on him sharply. "It occurs to me that you don't think itwas a suicide, Mr Davis."
"I don't, sir, and at present I can't quite tell you why."
"But you must have some reason for thinking that," said Bryant in thesame sharp tone.
"My only reason is this--if the man who was buried under the name ofReginald Davis is the man I believe him to be, there was no earthlyreason why he should commit suicide. To the best of my belief, he wasmurdered for some motive that I cannot guess, and the murderer, aftercutting his throat, put the razor in his stiffening hand."
"It is a theory worth thinking about," said Bryant, who was beginning toappreciate his visitor very much. "And now, Mr Davis, the name of theman whom your sister met in the empty house?"
"I have kept that to the last, to surprise you. You will know the name,but I don't suppose you ever came across the man. It was Major HughMurchison."
At this startling announcement, the Inspector literally jumped from hischair.
"But I do know Major Hugh Murchison," he cried. "He was in my officenot so very long ago. Let me see, when was it?"
He turned to his diary and verified the date, and gave it to ReginaldDavis. It was longer back than he thought.
"And you have not seen him since that day?"
"No," answered the Inspector. "Wait a moment till I ring up my friendParkinson. I couldn't undertake the job he called on, as it was quite aprivate matter. I handed it over to Parkinson."
He rang up his old friend and former colleague. Davis could gatherenough from the conversation on Bryant's side to be sure that aconsiderable interval had elapsed since Parkinson had seen his client.
Bryant sat down in his chair. "Mr Davis, I cannot say how much obligedI am to you for your visit, and the information you have given me. Now,I know a great deal more than you do about the proceedings and movementsof Major Murchison, I know on what business he was engaged, in additionto that little matter of your sister's. I will go into the inquiriesconcerning yourself, and please hold yourself at my disposal, give me anaddress where I can communicate with you readily."
Davis did so, and said good-bye to the Inspector.
After he had left, Bryant gave instructions he was not to be disturbedfor an hour. And during that hour he did the hardest bit of thinking hehad ever done in his life.
And now that Davis had mentioned it, the man did bear a superficialresemblance to Hugh Murchison.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
It was a very hard nut he had to crack. Thanks to his peculiarposition, he was in possession of reliable and exclusive informationfrom more than one quarter. He held several threads in his capablehands, but would he be able to weave them into a net wide enough for hispurpose?
His recent interview with Davis had established the fact that fourpersons were connected with the mystery of Cathcart Square--Davishimself, Caroline Masters (the elder sister), Iris Deane (the youngersister), and, most important of all, Hugh Murchison.
He dismissed, for the moment, the first three from his mind. But HughMurchison, with his resemblance to Reginald Davis, was the connectinglink between them and another set of actors.
Murchison had consulted him with the view of identifying Mrs Spencerand George Dutton with the Norah and George Burton of those far-off daysat Blankfield, and he had identified them as the same persons. He hadthen handed over the Major to the astute Parkinson, who would find outas much as he could with regard to the present relations between theprecious pair.
Bryant had been very busy of late, and he had almost dismissed theMurchison episode from his mind. But when the Major had completed hisinvestigations he would undoubtedly take steps to turn such a schemingand unscrupulous adventuress out of her husband's house. As to the wayin which he would proceed to accomplish that purpose, Bryant, of course,had no knowledge. Neither did he know which Murchison would approachfirst, the husband or the wife. Perhaps both together.
One thing stood out pretty clearly, from the evidence of Iris Deane,that she had met Murchison alone at the house in Cathcart Square a fewdays before the discovery of the dead body.
Another thing also stood out equally clearly, that the dead man bore aremarkable likeness to Reginald Davis. If not, Caroline Masters wouldnot have dared to perjure herself as she had done. And he himself hadrecognised the superficial resemblance between the two men.
Assuming that it was a murder, and not a suicide, and Bryant wasbeginning to incline, like Davis, to the former theory, why had themurderer fixed upon the name of Reginald Davis, and forged a letter tothe Coroner? He must have been somebody who had known Davis at sometime, and was acquainted with his handwriting. Like Caroline Masters,he must have been inclined to do the hunted fugitive a good turn, andhave trusted to his gratitude to keep a silent tongue.
An hour's steady thinking had cleared his brain. The conclusions hearrived at were as follows: Hugh Murchison had been murdered bysomebody, and buried as a suicide under the name of Reginald Davis. Thenext question was who was the murderer, and what w
as the motive forcommitting the murder? Here he could make a pretty shrewd guess. IfMurchison had gone about his mission in a straightforward, but ratherblundering, fashion the motive was clear enough.
With Bryant to think was to act. Davis was having a week's holiday inLondon, staying with his sister, Mrs Masters. That same afternoon theyoung man was again in the Inspector's room, in response to an urgentsummons on the telephone.
"Now, Mr Davis, I have been thinking deeply over this rathercomplicated affair of Cathcart Square, and I am beginning to see astreak or two of daylight. I told you this morning I know a bit moreabout Major Murchison than you do, and there is just a chance you mighthelp me. I take it you have had a somewhat adventurous career, yoursister admitted as much at the inquest. She said in fact that you hadbeen the black sheep of the