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CHAPTER 1

Introduction
1.1
/*
Exercise 1.1
Selection of integers with k = N/2
select1 => sorting and selecting
select2 => keeping top k
*/

#include <iostream>
#include <ctime>
#include <cmath>
#include <vector>
#include <algorithm>
using namespace std;

void sort(vector<int> & vec)

{ // bubble sort ascending
bool sorted = false;
while (!sorted)
{
sorted = true;
for (auto i = 1; i < vec.size(); i++)
{
if (vec[i-1]> vec[i])
{
swap(vec[i],vec[i-1]);
sorted = false;
}
}
}
}
void sortDec(vector<int> & vec)
{ // bubble sort descending
bool sorted = false;
while (!sorted)
{
sorted = true;
for (auto i = 1; i < vec.size(); i++)
{
if (vec[i-1]< vec[i])
{
swap(vec[i],vec[i-1]);
sorted = false;
}
}
}
}

int select1(vector<int> nums)

{
int k = (nums.size()+1)/2;
sort(nums);
return nums[k];
}

int select2(const vector<int> &nums)

{
int k = nums.size()/2;
vector<int> topK(nums.begin(), nums.begin() + k);

sortDec(topK);
for (auto i = k; i < nums.size(); i++)
{
if (nums[i] > topK[k-1])
{
for (auto j = k-2; j >=0 ; j--)
if (nums[i] < topK[j])
{topK[j+1] = nums[i]; break;}
else
topK[j+1] = topK[j];
if (topK[0] < nums[i])
topK[0] = nums[i];
}
}
return topK[k-1];
}

int main()
{
vector<int> nums;
int selected;
time_t start, end;

srand(time(NULL));
for (auto numInts = 1000; numInts<=10000; numInts+=1000)
// sizes 1,000, 2,000, 3,000, ...10,000
{
nums.resize(numInts);
 start = time(NULL);
for (auto i = 0; i < 10; i++) // run 10 times
{
for (auto j = 0; j < numInts; j++)
nums[j] = rand()%(2*numInts);
selected = select1(nums); // or selected = select2(nums);
}
end = time(NULL);
cout<<numInts<<"\t"<<difftime(end,start)<<endl;
}
return 0;
}

180

160

140

120

100
Time of Select1
80
Time of Select2
60

40

20

0
0 2000 4000 6000 8000 10000 12000

2. /*
Word Puzzle problem
from the example in figure 1.1
*/

#include<iostream>
#include<fstream>
#include<string>
#include<vector>
#include "matrix.h"
#include<algorithm>

using namespace std;

const int MAXROWS = 4;

const int MAXCOLS = 4;

struct Orientation
{
Orientation() : delRow(0), delCol(0) {}
Orientation operator() (int direction)
{
 switch (direction)
{
case 0 : delRow = -1; delCol = -1; break;
case 1 : delRow = -1; delCol = 0; break;
case 2 : delRow = -1; delCol = 1; break;
case 3 : delRow = 0; delCol = -1; break;
case 4 : delRow = 0; delCol = 1; break;
case 5 : delRow = 1; delCol = -1; break;
case 6 : delRow = 1; delCol = 0; break;
case 7 : delRow = 1; delCol = 1; break;
}
return *this;
}
int delRow;
int delCol;
};

class Puzzle
{
public:
Puzzle(int numRows, int numCols )
{
matrix<char> temp(numRows,numCols);
puzzle= temp;
initPuzzle();
}
Puzzle(int numRows , int numCols , vector<string> wordList) : dictionary(wordList)
{
matrix<char> temp(numRows,numCols);
puzzle= temp;
initPuzzle();
}
void solvePuzzle();
void findWords(int startRow, int startCol, Orientation orient);
private:
void initPuzzle();
matrix<char> puzzle;
vector<string> dictionary;
};

void Puzzle::initPuzzle()
{
puzzle[0][0] = 't';
puzzle[0][1] = 'h';
puzzle[0][2] = 'i';
puzzle[0][3] = 's';
puzzle[1][0] = 'w';
puzzle[1][1] = 'a';
puzzle[1][2] = 't';
puzzle[1][3] = 's';
puzzle[2][0] = 'o';
puzzle[2][1] = 'a';
puzzle[2][2] = 'h';
puzzle[2][3] = 'g';
puzzle[3][0] = 'f';
puzzle[3][1] = 'g';
puzzle[3][2] = 'd';
puzzle[3][3] = 't';
}

void Puzzle::solvePuzzle()
{
Orientation orient;
for ( auto startRow = 0; startRow < puzzle.numrows(); startRow++)
for ( auto startCol=0; startCol < puzzle.numcols(); startCol++)
for (auto i = 0; i < 8 ; i++)
findWords(startRow,startCol,orient(i));
}

void Puzzle::findWords(int startRow, int startCol, Orientation orient)

{
string word ="";
int row = startRow;
int col = startCol;
do
{
word = word + puzzle[row][col];
if (find(dictionary.begin(), dictionary.end(), word) != dictionary.end())
cout<<word<<" found starting at ("<<startRow<<","<<startCol<<")\n";
row += orient.delRow;
col += orient.delCol;
} while (row > -1 && col > -1 && row < puzzle.numrows() && col <
puzzle.numcols());
}

int main()
{
string diction[] = {"this", "two", "fat", "fats", "at", "wad", "ad", "hat", "that",
"his","is","it","ah"} ;
vector<string> dictionary(diction,diction+ 12);
Puzzle puzzle(MAXROWS, MAXCOLS, dictionary);

puzzle.solvePuzzle();

return 0;
}

1.3

void printDouble(double x)
{
if (x < 0)
{
cout<<"-";
x = -x;
}
int intPart = floor(x);
double fract = x - intPart;

printOut(intPart);
cout<<".";
while (fract<1 && fract > 0.0000000001)// 0.0000000001 is machine accuracy.
{
 fract *= 10;
printDigit(floor(fract));
fract = fract - floor(fract);
}
}

1.4

The general way to do this is to write a procedure with heading

void processFile( String fileName );

which opens f il eNa me, does whatever processing is needed, and then closes it. If a line of the form

#include SomeFile

is detected, then the call

processFile( SomeFile );

is made recursively. Self-referential includes can be detected by keeping a list of files for which a call to

p ro ce s sF ile has not yet terminated, and checking this list before making a new call to p ro ce s sF ile .

1.5

int ones( int n )

{
if( n < 2 )
return n;
return n % 2 + ones( n / 2 );
}

1.6
void permute(const string & str, int low, int high)
{
char letter;
string tmp = str;
if (low >= high)
cout<<str<<endl;
else
{
for (auto i= low; i < str.size(); i++)
{
swap(tmp[0], tmp[i]);
permute(tmp, low+1, high);
}
}
}

void permute(const string & str)

{
permute(str, 0, str.size());
}

1.7 (a) The proof is by induction. The theorem is clearly true for 0 < X  1, since it is true for X = 1, and for X

< 1, log X is negative. It is also easy to see that the theorem holds for 1 < X  2, since it is true for X = 2,

and for X < 2, log X is at most 1. Suppose the theorem is true for p < X  2 p (where p is a positive integer),

and consider any 2p < Y  4p (p  1). Then log Y = 1 + log( Y /2 ) < 1 + Y/2 < Y/2 + Y/2  Y, where the

first inequality follows by the inductive hypothesis.

(b) Let 2X = A. Then A B = ( 2 X ) B = 2 X B . Thus log A B = XB. Since X = log A, the theorem is proved.

1.8 (a) The sum is 4/3 and follows directly from the formula.

S  14  2
 3
 L . 4S  1  2
 3
L .
(b) 42 43 4 42 Subtracting the first equation from the second gives

3S  1  1
 2
L .
4 42 By part (a), 3S = 4/3 so S = 4/9.

S  14  4
 9
 L . 4S  1  4
 9
 163  L .
(c) 42 43 4 42 4 Subtracting the first equation from the second gives

 
3S  2  i
  1i .
3S  1  3
 5
 7
L . 4i 4
4 42 43 Rewriting, we get i 0 i 0 Thus 3S = 2(4/9) + 4/3 = 20/9. Thus S =

20/27.


 i4 .
N
i

(d) Let S N = i 0 Follow the same method as in parts (a) – (c) to obtain a formula for S N in terms of SN–1,

SN–2,..., S0 and solve the recurrence. Solving the recurrence is very difficult.

N N  N / 2 1
 1
i
  1i   1
i
 ln N  ln N /2  ln 2.
i   N / 2  i 1 i 1
1.9

1.10 24 = 16  1 (mod 5). (24)25  125 (mod 5). Thus 2100  1 (mod 5).

1.11 (a) Proof is by induction. The statement is clearly true for N = 1 and N = 2. Assume true for N = 1, 2, ... , k.

k 1 k
 Fi   Fi  Fk  1.
Then i 1 i 1 By the induction hypothesis, the value of the sum on the right is Fk+2 – 2 + Fk+1 =

Fk+3 – 2, where the latter equality follows from the definition of the Fibonacci numbers. This proves the claim

for N = k + 1, and hence for all N.

 (b) As in the text, the proof is by induction. Observe that  + 1 = 2. This implies that  –1 +  –2 = 1. For N = 1

and N = 2, the statement is true. Assume the claim is true for N = 1, 2, ... , k.

Fk 1  Fk  Fk 1

by the definition, and we can use the inductive hypothesis on the right-hand side, obtaining

Fk 1   k   k  1
  1 k 1   2 k 1
Fk 1  ( 1   2 ) k 1   k 1

and proving the theorem.

(c) See any of the advanced math references at the end of the chapter. The derivation involves the use of

generating functions.

N N N
 (2i  1)  2 i  1
1.12 (a) i 1 i 1 i 1 = N( N + 1) – N = N2.

(b) The easiest way to prove this is by induction. The case N = 1 is trivial. Otherwise,

N 1 N
 i3  ( N  1)3   i3
i 1 i 1

N 2 ( N  1) 2
 ( N  1)3 
4
N2 
 ( N  1) 2   ( N  1) 
 4 
 N  4N  4 
2
 ( N  1) 2  
 4 
( N  1) 2 ( N  2) 2

22
2
 ( N  1) ( N  2) 
 
 2 
2
 N 1 
   i
 i 1 

1.15
class EmployeeLastNameCompare
{
public:
bool operator () (const Employee & lhs, const Employee & rhs) const
{ return getLast(lhs.getName())< getLast(rhs.getName());}
};

string getLast( const string & name)

{
 string last;
int blankPosition = name.find(" ");
last = name.substr(blankPosition+1, name.size());
return last;
}
int main()
{
vector<Employee> v(3);
v[0].setValue("George Bush", 400000.00);
v[1].setValue("Bill Gates", 2000000000.00);
v[2].setValue("Dr. Phil", 13000000.00);
cout<<findMax(v, EmployeeLastNameCompare())<<endl;
return 0;
}

1.16

matrix() : array(10)
{for( auto & thisRow : array )
thisRow.resize( 10 );
}

void resize(int rows, int cols)

{
array.resize(rows);
for ( auto & thisRow : array)
thisRow.resize(cols);
}
Other documents randomly have
different content
 Freddie’s beady eyes were fixed on the carpet. He refused to be
drawn. At a gesture from Mrs. Brent, Eileen continued the narrative.
“I waited until I thought everyone was out of the way. Then I
took my bedroom candle, slipped on my dressing-gown, and made
my way to Mrs. Brent’s room. That was where I was going when
Mrs. Caistor Scorton saw me.”
The girl had got over the worst of her story; she reached a point
where no blame could attach to her, and her voice showed the
difference. At last she was able to shake herself free from
suspicions. Westenhanger noticed that she did not even look in
Freddie’s direction. He had ceased to be of any importance.
“I went down the staircase and along the corridor to Mrs. Brent’s
room. She had been sitting up waiting for me. I’d like to tell you how
kind . . .”
“No comments, please, Eileen,” interjected Mrs. Brent again. “Let
us have the facts.”
The girl’s eyes met Mrs. Brent’s, resisted for a moment, and then
dropped.
“Very well,” she assented. “It’s for you to say. They’ll know how I
feel without my putting it into words. I’ll go on. Mrs. Brent told me
she would pay my debt. She gave me some advice. And she made
me promise two things. The first was that I wouldn’t play bridge
again for stakes higher than I could afford. I promised that. I’d had
my lesson. The second promise was that I wouldn’t mention to
anyone anything that had happened that night. I promised that, too.
It seemed little enough to promise, after her kindness. She laid a
good deal of stress on it. She said she hated to have anything of the
kind known.”
“I do,” confirmed Mrs. Brent. “I’ve no desire to publish things of
that sort. It’s a private affair. Of course, I’d no idea then that privacy
was a back number. I’ve learned.”
Eileen took up her narrative again.
“Mrs. Brent hadn’t £200 in notes with her. She gave me a cheque
and told me to go up to London first thing in the morning and pay it
into my account, so as to meet the cheque I had given Mrs. Scorton,
in case it was paid in immediately. Meanwhile, the thunderstorm
began.”
Mrs. Brent interposed once more.
“I found the storm was getting rather too much for my nerves
after the first peal or two. Having someone in the room with me
helped to steady things a little; so I asked Miss Cressage to stay with
me until the thunder passed off. She waited with me till some time in
the small hours. Then I let her go; for she had to get some sleep,
and she had to be up in order to catch the first train.”
She broke off and invited Eileen to continue.
“I left Mrs. Brent’s room and went back to my own. Just as I got
out of Mrs. Brent’s room, Helga passed me . . .”
Helga Dangerfield’s face showed complete amazement.
“You saw me?” she demanded. “You must have made a mistake.
It was someone else, surely. Why, I fell asleep at the tail-end of the
storm and didn’t wake up again till morning.”
Eileen looked puzzled.
“You were going towards the Corinthian’s Room, Helga. I thought
perhaps you were looking for a book to read, if the storm had kept
you awake. You were past before you noticed me, I thought; and I
was quite glad you hadn’t seen me, since Mrs. Brent didn’t want
anyone to know I’d been down to see her. You had your blue
dressing-gown on. Don’t you remember?”
Helga Dangerfield shook her head definitely.
“You must have been dreaming, Eileen.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Eileen, “I’ll go on with the story. I
went up to my room, blew out my candle, switched on my light, and
crept into bed. I didn’t sleep for quite a long time. I was rather
shaken up, you know, between the storm and the things that had
happened. But I dropped off at last, and just wakened in time to
catch the first train.”
She looked round the circle till her eye fell on Eric.
“You remember we went up to town together?”
Eric nodded, but said nothing. Eileen took up the thread again.
“In town, I went straight to my bank and paid in Mrs. Brent’s
cheque. After that I did some shopping. Then I suddenly
remembered something. I never wear jewellery, but I have some
things. It struck me that I might raise something on them and so be
able to repay Mrs. Brent part of her cheque at once. It would be a
kind of relief to my mind. She’d know I was taking things seriously.
So I went back to my bank, where I kept them; took them out; went
to Starbecks with them. I’ve dealt with Starbecks for years. They
know me quite well, and they made no difficulty about it. I didn’t get
enough to repay Mrs. Brent entirely, but I felt it was always
something done. As I was coming out of Starbecks’ door I met Mr.
Westenhanger, and we had just time to get to the station and catch
the train.”
Mrs. Brent made a gesture to stop the girl at this point.
“I think that covers the whole question,” she said. “Now I’ve just
a word or two to say. If I had imagined what was going to happen,
of course I’d never have asked Miss Cressage to give me that
promise. But I hardly suppose that any sane person could have
foreseen what was coming. It passes all reasonable bounds. I’ve
nothing to say about Miss Cressage’s views on the matter.
Apparently she believed in keeping private affairs confidential even
under very great strain. She’d given her promise, and she kept it.”
“What I felt,” explained Eileen, “was that I’d given you two
promises together. If I broke one of them straight away, what
reliance could you have placed on my word in the second affair? I
had to keep both. And, of course, I had only to wait for you to come
back. Then you’d let me off my promise, and I could explain
everything. It only meant waiting, I thought. But I hadn’t quite
counted on the construction that would be put on things.”
Her eyes flashed indignantly as she turned to Freddie Stickney.
“I haven’t enjoyed giving these explanations. Probably most of
you haven’t enjoyed listening to them; but I’m sure you’ll
understand why you had to hear them.”
There was an almost inaudible murmur of sympathetic assent
from most of the circle. As it died down, Mrs. Brent closed the
incident in a phrase or two.
“That’s all. Miss Cressage had one serious fault, apparently. She
was over-straight. I shouldn’t have blamed her in the slightest if
she’d told the whole story when she was asked. She preferred to
keep the very letter of her promise. I don’t envy some people their
feelings just now. But perhaps they haven’t any. Toads and so forth
are said to be very insensitive creatures, and the reptiles generally
feel little discomfort. So I am told.”
She took Eileen’s arm gently, and they left the room together.
Undoubtedly, as a creator of discomfort, Mrs. Brent ran Freddie
close. Westenhanger caught Douglas’s eye, and they followed Mrs.
Brent.
“Let’s try the garden?” suggested Douglas. “Air in there seems a
bit sultry for my taste. That last whang of Mrs. Brent’s wasn’t
perhaps tactful; but it was nothing to what she might have said if
she’d really let herself go. I’ve never seen her even peeved before;
and to-night she was boiling underneath the surface. Even the
trained observer, Freddie, can hardly have failed to notice the
weather signs.”
“Well, I suppose we’ll be rid of some of them by the first train to-
morrow.”
“No we shan’t! Nobody can leave Friocksheim till this Talisman
business is cleared up. Your ways are not ours, Conway. All the rest
of us are still under suspicion and we’ve got to hang on until the ‘All
Clear’ signal goes. Pleasant prospect, isn’t it? Well, we needn’t talk
to ’em more than’s needful.”
Westenhanger looked gloomy.
“There’s only one way out of it, then. We’ve got to find the thief,
if we can, and as quick as we can.”
“Right you are, but easier said than done.” Douglas’s voice did
not sound very hopeful. “Another canter in the Elimination Stakes to
begin with?”
“All right. We’ll be rigid this time. To start with, we can put aside
as completely cleared: ourselves, Mr. and Mrs. Dangerfield, Mrs.
Brent, Nina, Cynthia, and Eileen Cressage. Do you O.K. that?”
Douglas acquiesced with a nod.
“No doubt in these cases. I’m going on character as much as
alibis and so forth. Let’s sit down.”
They found a garden seat which was dry and seated themselves.
 “Mrs. Scorton? No motive that I can see. I think she drops out
also.”
“Agreed.”
“Then there’s Morchard.” An angry tone came into
Westenhanger’s voice. “He’s out of it too. You see why? Well,
naturally he was the man Mrs. Brent was getting at. Didn’t you see
he offered to give Eileen the money if she’d come to his room? He’d
be waiting there for her, not roaming about the house picking up the
Talisman. Obvious, I think. Unless . . . Could he have taken it and
meant to throw suspicion on her? No, he wouldn’t know she had
been out of her room at all that night. No, that’s wrong. We can
leave Morchard out of it.”
Douglas kicked angrily at the ground.
“The infernal thing is that one can do nothing to Morchard. The
least row would lead to the devil of a scandal, and Eileen would
suffer. It’s Freddie’s case over again, only fifty times worse. Our
hands are tied.”
“That’s so,” said Westenhanger, shortly. “Let’s go on.”
Quite evidently he disliked the whole subject.
“That leaves still in the net,” he continued, “Wraxall for one. I’m
prejudiced in favour of Wraxall; but if he’d planned that theft
beforehand, he’d have fixed up some very neat, circumstantial story
to account for all his night’s doings, you may be sure. And he
undoubtedly had the most complete tale of the lot. I’m morally sure
he didn’t do it; but there’s a loop-hole all the same. Besides, we
can’t afford to ignore possible motives, and there’s no question that
he came here for one purpose only—to get the Talisman. Leave
Wraxall in, eh? We’re trying to be inclusive, remember.”
“Wraxall’s a good sort,” was Douglas’s verdict. “I can’t think he’s
the man we’re after. But leave him in, since we can’t count him as
definitely cleared.”
“Freddie?”
“I’m all for keeping Freddie under observation. I don’t say he
took the thing, of course. Can’t go that length. But the line he’s
followed all along has been just the sort of thing he might have been
expected to do, if he were the man we want. Who would suspect
him, when he volunteered as a sleuth from Sleuth Town? Good bit of
camouflage for a criminal, I think. And he had a very poor account
to give of himself when it came to the pinch, very thin. Freddie stays
in, so far as I’m concerned.”
“My feeling too. Well, that leaves only two more, both
Dangerfields: Eric and Helga. I’m not an enthusiast for Eric. Rather a
rotter, it seems to me. But there’s nothing very definite against him;
we agreed on that before.”
“Leave him in, then,” Douglas decided. “We can’t say more than
‘not proven’ for him, can we?”
“That brings us to Helga. I say, Douglas, did you make anything
of that affair to-night? The girl wasn’t lying. Neither was Eileen.”
“That was what I felt,” concurred Douglas. “Neither of ’em was
lying, to my mind. And yet the thing seems flatly impossible unless
one of them was giving the truth a pretty wide miss.”
“It might have been someone else in a similar dressing-gown,”
suggested Westenhanger, half-heartedly.
“No good, Conway. The only other women available are Mrs.
Dangerfield and Mrs. Scorton. They’re both rather under middle
height. Helga’s a well-built girl, taller than the average. There could
be no mistake about it.”
Westenhanger cogitated for a time.
“I’ve got it!” he said, at last. “It’s self-evident. Eileen was wide
awake, obviously. But suppose Helga walks in her sleep? She
wouldn’t know she’d been there at all, if she got back to bed
eventually without waking up. That would account for the affair,
wouldn’t it? It’s the only simple solution. It might even explain other
things as well.”
He ruminated for a few more seconds before continuing.
“I’ll ask Eileen about it to-morrow. She was excited at that time,
or she’d probably have spotted it as somnambulism at once. Perhaps
she’ll remember something if she thinks over it. This may turn out to
be the key to the whole damned thing.”
 Chapter X
Mrs. Brent’s intervention did nothing to relax the tension in the
social atmosphere of Friocksheim; on the contrary, it increased the
general discomfort of the situation. Up to the moment of her
reappearance, some attempt had been made, by common consent,
to smooth over the awkwardness of things; but after her revelations
it was inevitable that the guests should separate into inimical camps.
On the surface a casual observer might have detected nothing
amiss, since any display of open animosity would have made
inevitable the scandal which all of them wished to avoid. Freddie
Stickney and Morchard were treated with a distant and rigid courtesy
which in itself emphasised the existence of new conditions. Beyond
that, they were ignored by almost all the others. Mrs. Caistor
Scorton alone seemed to keep them on the old footing, and she thus
served as a link between the two parties.
How much Rollo Dangerfield knew—or suspected—Westenhanger
was unable to conjecture. Mrs. Brent, Helga, or Eric might have
opened the old man’s eyes. Whether they had done so or not, his
old-fashioned courtesy seemed to make no distinctions among his
guests; and Westenhanger was left in doubt as to whether Rollo was
still in complete ignorance or else, knowing the facts, he put his
duties as a host before his private feelings as regarded Morchard
and Freddie.
On the morning after the Kestrel’s arrival, Westenhanger
attached himself to Eileen and persuaded her to go with him to a
quiet part of the gardens, where they were unlikely to be
interrupted. He was anxious to secure what information he could
about the appearance of Helga Dangerfield on the night of the
storm, and he lost very little time in coming to the point.
 “I was rather puzzled by that incident you mentioned last night,”
he said, as they picked out a secluded seat. “Your meeting Helga in
the corridor, I mean. Anyone could see that you were both telling
the truth, and yet it sounds a bit impossible, doesn’t it?”
“I was puzzled, too. I saw her quite plainly, hardly much farther
off than you are just now.”
“Had you both got candles?”
“No, she had none; but I saw her quite distinctly by the light of
my own.”
“The electric lights weren’t on?”
“No. But I could see perfectly plainly, except that a draught made
my candle flicker. I recognised her dressing-gown. And no one could
mistake her height and her walk—you know that way she carries
herself, quite unmistakable, so graceful. Oh, it was she,
undoubtedly.”
“Did you see her face, by any chance? Did she look towards
you?”
“No. She passed by as if she hadn’t noticed me. I thought she
hadn’t.”
“With your light in your hand? Curious, isn’t it?”
Eileen considered the matter for some seconds without replying.
Then her face lighted up.
“Oh, now I see what you mean! Of course! It was stupid of me
not to think of that immediately. She was walking in her sleep?”
“It would account for the affair, if she were? I mean, that idea fits
with what you remember, does it?”
“Of course it does! I ought to have thought of it for myself, at
once. But I never knew anyone who walked in their sleep. It’s always
been outside my experience, and I rather disbelieved most of the
tales I’ve heard about it. So it didn’t suggest itself to me until you
mentioned the candle in my hand. Of course, then I saw at once
that she couldn’t help seeing me if she had been awake.”
“Suppose we assume she’s a somnambulist. She doesn’t know
she walks in her sleep. That’s evident. For if she knows she’s subject
to it, she’d have seen the explanation for herself at once; whereas
she was just as puzzled as you were over the thing. Now doesn’t
that suggest something further to you?”
Eileen knitted her brows for a moment or two before she saw his
meaning.
“The Talisman?” she asked finally.
“Yes. Suppose she took it away that night. She may have
concealed it somewhere and clean forgotten—or never known,
rather—that she had ever touched it.”
The girl’s face showed her surprise at this suggestion.
“Do you know, that’s wonderfully clever! I really believe you’ve
come very near the mark. And wouldn’t it be a relief if it turned out
to be true? There’d be no thief after all.”
“If some of them turned out to be thieves, I don’t know that it
would lower them much in my opinion now,” Westenhanger
observed, elliptically.
Eileen avoided a direct reply.
“What I meant was that this cloud of suspicion would be swept
away and most of us could get back to normal again. It’s no use
pretending that we’re enjoying Friocksheim just now.”
Before Westenhanger could say anything further, Nina Lindale
appeared, crossing the lawn before them. Eileen beckoned to her.
“Nina, did you borrow my mirror by any chance?”
Nina Lindale shook her head.
“No, never saw it. You mean your silver one with your initials on
the back? It was on your dressing-table a couple of days ago.”
“Perhaps Cynthia’s got it,” Eileen conjectured.
“She’s just behind me,” Nina told her. “You can ask her when she
comes along. Tell her I’ve gone down to the cove, if she asks. We’re
going to bathe.”
She nodded her thanks and took the path leading to the bathing-
place. A few minutes after she had gone, Cynthia appeared in her
turn; but she also failed to throw any light on the matter of the
mirror.
“Sorry I can’t help, but I never set my eyes on the thing. Most
annoying to have it go amissing, Eileen. Take mine any time you
want it.”
 “Thanks. I can’t imagine what’s become of my own, though. It’s
not the sort of thing one mislays.”
“Oh, it’ll turn up all right. I shouldn’t worry. Won’t you people
come down and bathe? It’s just the morning for it.”
They allowed themselves to be persuaded.
Westenhanger paid little attention to the incident of the mirror.
His mind was busy with a scheme which had been concerted
between himself and Douglas on the previous night. The list of
suspects had now been reduced to four; and it only remained to
discover the left-handed person in this limited group.
A midday change in the weather favoured their plans. During
lunch a thin rain began, and it soon became evident that the
afternoon would be wet. With a little tactful management, the two
men succeeded in carrying off Wraxall and Eric Dangerfield to the
billiard-room.
“What about it?” inquired Douglas, indicating the cue-rack.
Eric shook his head with a smile.
“Leave me out,” he said, indicating his lame ankle. “I can’t stand
on two feet with any comfort yet, much less lean over the table.”
“You, then, Wraxall?” Douglas suggested.
But the American declined his offer.
“I’ve seen you play. I’m not in your class.”
“Give you a reasonable number of points to make a game of it.”
It was quite obvious that Wraxall did not care to play, and
Douglas refrained from pressing him. Westenhanger looked out of
the window.
“A soaker of a day! We’ll have to put in the time somehow. Come
along, Douglas. We’re bored stiff. Trot out some of your parlour
tricks and keep us amused. Anything’s better than nothing.”
“I don’t quite like the way you put it, Conway,” protested
Douglas, with a grin. “You haven’t just got the knack of the felicitous
phrase, as it were. You mean well, and all that; but somehow you
don’t just bring it off.”
“Produce you’re latest, anyhow. The only stipulation I make is
that you don’t try to interest us in Find the Lady or the Elusive Pea.
These are barred. But if you can make any money off me by other
methods, you’re welcome to it.”
He sat down and the others followed his example. Douglas
considered for a moment and then took a Swan vesta box from his
pocket.
“My sleight of hand’s a bit rusty, I’m afraid,” he apologised. “But
perhaps I might manage to pull off this one if you haven’t seen it
before. Got a florin by any chance, Wraxall?”
The American searched his pockets.
“A florin,” he inquired, “that’s what you call a two-shilling piece,
isn’t it? This coinage of yours always makes me want to think before
I can be sure about it.”
He found his florin and handed it across to Douglas, who refused
it.
“No,” he explained, “I don’t want you to say I palmed the thing.
Observe carefully.”
He slid the match-box half open and, holding the box so that
they could all see plainly, he placed a florin of his own among the
matches.
“My coin’s under the picture of the Swan, you see?”
He closed the box and handed it over to Wraxall.
“Now put your florin in at the other end of the box. You can mark
your coin, if you like.”
Wraxall contented himself with noting the date of the florin
before putting it in.
“Now shut the box,” directed Douglas, “and hand it over to me.
Just chuck it across.”
Wraxall did so. Douglas caught it and held it out so that it was
well away from his sleeve.
“This is the sticky bit,” he announced. “Are you all sure that both
coins are in the box? Quite sure? Well, seeing’s believing. Have a
look.”
Holding the box in one hand, he slid the inner case forward with
his finger until one coin showed. Then, without using his left hand,
he reversed the box and showed the other end open, so that they
could satisfy themselves that the two coins were still there.
 “All content? Four bob in the box? I’ll just show you them again.”
He did so. As he closed the box for the last time, his voice
changed as though he were trying to suppress his satisfaction at
having got through his sleight of hand without detection.
“Now, Wraxall. I’ll sell you the box as it stands for three bob.
Take the offer?”
Wraxall pondered for an instant.
“It’s this coinage bother,” he explained. “Three bob? That’s three
shillings, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m offering to self you the thing for three shillings. You
think it contains four shillings—two florins. I don’t guarantee that. I
simply sell the box, matches included with the other contents.
Going . . . going . . .”
“I take you!” snapped Wraxall, certain that he would have
detected any legerdemain.
“Right-o!” agreed Douglas, pleasantly. “You win. Here’s the box.
I’ll just go through the formality of collecting your three bob,
though.”
He tossed the box over to Wraxall, who caught it and paid
Douglas three shillings. The conjurer grinned mockingly.
“Quite satisfied with your bargain? Have a look inside the box.
Both florins present and correct? You’ll be glad to see your own one
again!”
Wraxall saw the point almost immediately.
“Confound you, Fairmile! You’ve had the nerve to sell me my own
florin! So I’ve paid three shillings for your florin. Is that it? And you
muddled me up with all this talk about sleight of hand. That’s neat.
That’s very neat indeed.”
“Well, here’s your three shillings,” said Douglas tossing them
across one by one. “Now I’ll take my florin and we’re back at the
start again. I’d be ashamed to rob anyone by that trick.”
“You mean you’d hate to take advantage of the weak-minded?”
corrected the American, accepting his discomfiture with a smile.
“No. That trick’s really an obstinacy corrector. You’d be
astonished to see how often it comes off—five times out of six at the
lowest, I’ve found. Well, here’s another.”
 He turned to Eric Dangerfield.
“Got four pennies by any chance.”
Eric searched his pockets and found the required coins.
“Now to avoid disputes later,” Douglas explained, “you’ll count
’em out one by one on to the table beside you.”
Eric carefully counted out the four coins, putting them down one
at a time.
“Four, I make it,” he stated.
Douglas held out his hand with the fingers outspread.
“See it? Quite empty? No trap-doors or magic cabinets concealed
anywhere? See the back too? Well, put your pennies into my
palm. . . . I now close my hand. I take out my handkerchief. I shake
it, showing that no coin is concealed in it. I cover my hand. Now, I
say I’ve got five pennies in my hand. You can take off the
handkerchief, if you like. Five pennies. Give me a bob if I’m wrong?”
Eric Dangerfield had been watching closely.
“All right,” he agreed.
“Well, then. I am wrong, and you owe me a bob. I didn’t bet I
was right. I said, ‘Give me a bob if I’m wrong.’ ”
Eric Dangerfield fished out a shilling but Douglas refused to take
it. He was about to continue the prearranged series of tests when, to
his surprise, Westenhanger introduced a variation in the programme.
“Before I forget, Douglas, you might give me the name of the
place where you got that new racket. I want to make a note of it.”
He felt in his pockets, then applied to Eric.
“Got a fountain pen, by any chance, Dangerfield?”
Eric took one from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to
Westenhanger, who had pulled out a piece of paper. Westenhanger
put out his hand and then withdrew it again.
“I hate using anyone else’s pen for fear of spoiling the nib. I
write heavier than most people. Would you mind jotting the address
down?”
Eric wrote down the address which Douglas gave, and both men
noted that he used his pen in the normal way. Westenhanger put the
paper in his pocket and again surprised Douglas by going to the
window and looking out.
 “It’s clearing up a bit. What about some fresh air, Douglas?”
This was the prearranged signal for breaking off operations; but
Douglas was puzzled by its coming so early.
“Oh, all right,” he agreed. “If you want to get soaked, I don’t
mind.”
Eric could not be expected to join them, and Wraxall, for the sake
of politeness, had to stay behind to keep the lame man company. As
soon as they were well away from the house, Douglas showed his
surprise.
“You broke that off a bit soon, Conway. Of course, I’m quite
satisfied. They’re both right-handed. Wraxall handed the box and
grabbed at the shillings quite according to plan; and Dangerfield
counted his lot of coins in the normal way. But I’d liked to have
worked a few more stunts on them, just for certainty’s sake.”
“Not worth while,” Westenhanger said. “I’ve got something
absolutely certain to go on. As it happens, you’re wrong, Douglas.
Wraxall is right-handed. But the other fellow is ambidextrous. He
uses his right hand for hand-movements; but when his arm comes
in, he’s left-handed.”
“How do you make that out?” demanded Douglas in surprise.
“Just an accidental observation. He carries his fountain pen in his
right-hand waistcoat pocket. You and I carry ours in the left pocket,
so as to get at it easily with our right hands. He uses his left hand to
take it from his pocket, and then he passes the pen to his right hand
before he uses it. You see he uses his arm in taking it out, and he’s
left-armed. That’s absolutely conclusive to my mind, and I didn’t
want to run any chance of arousing suspicion by going through the
whole programme. I think we’ve got our man.”
“That was pretty cute. I was watching him, but I didn’t spot the
thing, although I was on the look-out for it.”
“It was just a bit of luck. Nothing to boast about.”
Douglas considered for a time.
“Well, where do we stand? Motive? He’s hard up and lost a lot at
cards. Opportunity? He was wandering about the house late that
night. Besides, his room is close to the one the Talisman was in. He’s
left-armed—the type we’re looking for. He went up to town next
morning—possibly to get the thing out of the house for fear of a
search, even if he didn’t dispose of it in some way then—pawning or
some such business. And, by the way, he’s got lamed in some way. I
wonder if there is a man-trap after all, and he got mixed up in it
slightly.”
Westenhanger listened to this catalogue with a gloomy face.
“There isn’t an atom of real proof in the whole lot. We could
never satisfy anyone on the strength of that stuff alone. I’d never
mention a word to anyone about it, Douglas; because we must have
definite proof. And I don’t quite see our next move.”
“Watch him, and keep on watching, on the chance of something
turning up, I suppose.”
“It’s a poor chance,” said Westenhanger.
That idea remained with him for the rest of the day. The step-by-
step process of elimination had been carried through with complete
success; but it was useless to pretend to himself that the result was
conclusive evidence. At the best it became a case of “Not Proven”: a
moral certainty, perhaps, but nothing more. Something further was
needed to establish the identity of the culprit beyond doubt. And the
more he puzzled over the problem, the less chance could he see of
bringing the thing home. One might devise a scheme for trapping a
fellow-guest; but how could one out-manœuvre a man working on
his own ground with complete knowledge of all the possibilities of
the environment?
Even when he went to bed, Westenhanger lay awake seeking
some solution of the problem. At last he realised that he was unlikely
to get any further forward; but by that time he had fretted himself
into a state of complete wakefulness.
“No use going on like this,” he reflected at last. “I must get
something to take my mind off the thing. It’s infernally tantalising to
be so near it and yet not to hit on the right track. I’ll go down to the
library and get a book. I can read myself to sleep all right—push the
affair out of my thoughts. If I lie here I’ll simply worry at it till
morning.”
He got up and put on his dressing-gown. His watch showed him
that it was in the small hours; and all the house was quiet. He
opened his door cautiously, took his candle with him, and went down
the stairs.
When he reached the hall below, he was surprised to find a light
shining from the open door of old Dangerfield’s study; and as he
came opposite the room he looked in. Rollo was sitting, fully
dressed, beside the fire; and at the sound of Westenhanger’s
approach he glanced up. Westenhanger, feeling that his midnight
perambulations demanded some explanation, turned into the study.
Rollo showed no surprise but invited him to sit down on the opposite
side of the hearth.
“Got a touch of insomnia, to-night,” explained Westenhanger, “so
I thought I’d come down for a book and see if I could read myself to
sleep. I was just on the way to the library when I saw the light in
here.”
Rollo’s face expressed some concern.
“I hope you aren’t subject to it,” he said. “Anything going wrong
with one’s sleep is a terrible thing.”
Westenhanger detected more feeling in the comment than he
had expected; and for a moment he was surprised. Then it flashed
across his mind that Rollo probably knew of Helga’s somnambulism
and had thus a keener interest in such matters than most people. He
hastened to reassure the old man.
“No; it’s not chronic. Just a touch of it one gets at times.”
A fleeting expression changed Rollo Dangerfield’s face for an
instant; but it was gone before Westenhanger could identify it.
“I sometimes get it myself when I’m worried,” said old
Dangerfield. “It’s a bad business if it gets a firm hold on one. You’re
not worried about anything, I hope?” he added, sympathetically.
Westenhanger hardly cared to tell a downright lie.
“Oh, nothing in particular, nothing to do with my own affairs,” he
said, trying to pass the matter off lightly.
But Rollo fastened upon the tacit admission.
“You are worried, then? I’m very sorry. Nothing serious, I trust?”
Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he demanded:
“It’s not this Talisman affair, is it?”
 Taken by surprise, Westenhanger’s face betrayed him. Rollo’s
eyes missed nothing.
“You really mustn’t worry over that. The Talisman is all right, I
assure you. If that were the only worry I had, I should count myself
fortunate.”
He broke off in order to listen for something; and Westenhanger
could see that his ears were strained to catch some faint sound,
which he evidently expected. After a few seconds the old man’s
vigilance seemed to relax; his eyes still turned to the open door, but
apparently he was satisfied that nothing was coming. Westenhanger
had little difficulty in reading the situation. Rollo was on guard to
watch over his daughter if she found her way downstairs during her
sleep-walking. Then, suddenly, it occurred to him that Rollo’s post
lay on the road to the Corinthian’s Room. Could it be that the old
man had some idea that Helga’s somnambulism was connected with
the loss of the Talisman? She might have taken it during her sleep,
and he might be watching her to discover, if possible, where she had
concealed it. He resolved to push his inquiries, even at the cost of
some failure in courtesy.
“I believe, Mr. Dangerfield, that you know all the time what has
become of the Talisman. Is that why its disappearance doesn’t worry
you?”
Rollo’s eyes grew suddenly stern.
“Do you suggest that I am shielding anyone?” he demanded,
bluntly. “That’s rather a grave charge.”
“It wasn’t brought by me,” Westenhanger exclaimed. Put in that
precise form, the matter took on an aspect which he had not
considered at all. “Certainly I never suggested such a thing! I never
so much as thought of it.”
Rollo acknowledged this with a slight inclination of his head.
Then, after a time, he spoke again.
“I could hardly complain if some such idea came into your mind.
But no matter how strong the motive, I doubt if I would yield to it in
this case. I would never dream of letting a guest of mine lie under
suspicion when a word from me would clear up the matter. Never.
Besides, whom could I shield?”
 He met Westenhanger’s eye frankly.
“There are only two possible people: Eric and Helga. You might
suspect either of them; but what does it amount to? Eric could have
taken the thing, undoubtedly. He may have reasons for taking it.
He’s left-handed, like the thief. . . .”
“You knew the thief was left-handed?” asked Westenhanger in
surprise.
“So did you, evidently,” the old man retorted, unmoved. “It was
obvious to anyone who saw how the cabinet was opened.”
“Yes,” admitted Westenhanger, rather crestfallen to find that
another person had arrived at the same conclusion by the same line
of reasoning.
“But Eric didn’t take the Talisman,” the old man continued. “You
will have to take my word for that. I can’t, of course, prove it to you.
It’s a difficult business, proving a negative. But I give you my word
of honour that Eric didn’t take it. Eric knows what he knows. He
wouldn’t take it.”
“You mean the Dangerfield Secret?” demanded Westenhanger,
astonished to find that matter cropping up in this connection.
“If you choose to call it so,” said old Rollo, dismissing the matter
by his tone. “But if I am not supposed to be shielding Eric—and I am
not shielding him, as I told you—then it must be . . .”
He broke off sharply and held up his hand in caution.
Westenhanger, listening with all his ears, heard the faint sound of a
step on the staircase. Rollo rose silently to his feet with another
gesture of warning and stepped lightly over to the door. Almost as
he reached it, Helga’s figure appeared in the corridor. She passed
without a look aside, though the glare of the lighted room fell full on
her face as she went by.
Old Rollo softly switched on the corridor lights and fell in behind
her. Westenhanger, picking his steps with caution, followed. Helga,
unconscious of their presence, led them down to the door of the
Corinthian’s Room, which she entered. Westenhanger had a hope
that possibly her movements might throw light upon the mystery;
but when he reached the door, Rollo had switched on the lights, and
it soon grew clear that she had no interest in the cabinet. She
wandered aimlessly about the room for a time, then returned to the
door and came out again, the two men standing aside to let her
pass.
Rollo waited until she had gone some distance down the corridor,
then he whispered to Westenhanger.
“Please put out the lights; I must see her safely back to her
room.”
Their figures retreated down the stretch, turned at the staircase
and disappeared. Westenhanger waited for a time. Then,
remembering the original object of his journey, he passed into the
library, selected a book, and went upstairs to his room, after
extinguishing the lights. But his book helped him very little.
“Old Rollo was speaking the truth, I’m sure. He doesn’t believe
Eric’s mixed up in the thing at all,” he mused. “But that doesn’t
necessarily prove that Eric didn’t take it after all. We’ve eliminated
everyone except Eric. He’s the only one who fits the facts. And yet
old Dangerfield spoke as if he had absolute certainty. What was it he
said? ‘He knows what he knows.’ But what does he know? This
Dangerfield Secret? Is there some deadly business connected with
the guarding of the Talisman, so dangerous that no one would risk
touching it ‘if he knows what he knows’? The old man, if I read him
right, isn’t a mystery-monger for the sheer love of it. There never
was a less theatrical person; he’s natural all through, and absolutely
straight.”
His thoughts turned to the scene he had just witnessed.
“No wonder the poor old chap’s worried. A sleep-walking
daughter is enough to worry anyone. There’s no saying what
mischief she might get into.”
A fresh line opened up his mind.
“He said he wasn’t shielding anyone. Did he mean merely that he
wasn’t covering up a theft? If Helga took the thing while she was
asleep, there would be no question of ‘shielding’ at all. I wish that
girl hadn’t arrived just when she did. She interrupted him just at the
critical moment. Perhaps he knows she took it and is simply waiting
to get it back eventually. That would account for all this coolness
under a huge loss. It wouldn’t be a real loss at all. The thing’s bound
to be somewhere near by; it’s only a case of laying hands on it
eventually. She’d be sure to give it away sooner or later if she goes
on sleep-walking. And that’s one of the reasons why he was
watching for her to-night, perhaps.”
 Chapter XI
On the following day, Westenhanger took the earliest opportunity
of informing Douglas about the developments in the night. He had
been strongly impressed by old Dangerfield’s denial of Eric’s
responsibility, and he felt that it would be unfair to suppress this
information and so leave suspicion afloat in his friend’s mind.
“Well, we can take the old man’s word for it,” was Douglas’s
verdict, when he had heard the whole story. “He wouldn’t tell a lie,
I’m sure of that. And, apparently, from what you say, he thought he
had good enough grounds, though he didn’t throw much light on
them.”
“He convinced me. I’m quite satisfied, now, we’re on the wrong
track.”
“Then the great elimination stunt has been a wash-out?”
Westenhanger gloomily accepted this estimate.
“It’s landed us with the wrong man. I can’t help feeling that,” he
said. “By the way, Douglas, is Helga left-handed by any chance?”
“No. I’ve played golf and tennis with her, and she’s as right-
handed as anyone, as far as I can see.”
“Then we can exclude her.”
“So it’s a case of the Ten Little Nigger Boys—‘and then there was
none’?”
“It looks like it. Elimination’s a sound enough system; but we’ve
gone off the track somewhere, evidently. We started with three
tests, didn’t we? Left-handedness—Motive—and Opportunity. I still
believe in the left-handedness. It’s the only definite thing we’ve got,
even if it has proved a wash-out in this Eric affair.”
Douglas nodded assent to this.
“Then there must be something wrong with the others, evidently.
Suppose we drop the opportunity factor. Really, anyone might have
been abroad that night and no one would know about it except by
chance.”
“Right.”
“That leaves motive. I don’t see how we’re going to get beyond
our earlier notions on that point.”
“Slipped a cog, somewhere, then? Just what I was thinking. And
I think I know where it slipped. I’ve seen something that made me
sit up somewhat. Let’s stick to left-handedness as a sure winner, for
a change, and see if I can’t throw some light on things.”
“What did you see?”
Douglas lit a cigarette before replying.
“Last night,” he went on, “while you and Eileen were wandering
around outside, admiring the moon after dinner, our three pariahs—
Freddie, Morchard, and Mrs. Scorton—got up a little game of cut-
throat. I expect they felt a bit chary of asking any of the rest of us to
make up a four. At any rate, they were playing three-handed, and I
happened to be sitting across the room. I wasn’t so engrossed in
Cynthia’s conversation that I couldn’t keep one eye on their table
now and again.”
“Get on with it,” advised Westenhanger.
“Now this is what I saw,” continued Douglas, seriously. “Freddie
and Morchard are normal, beyond a doubt. I watched ’em very
carefully, and that’s a cert. But the fair lady deals with her left hand.
Strange I never noticed it before; but one seldom looks at a dealer,
except casually, I suppose. However, there it is.”
Westenhanger considered the matter for a time without
comment.
“There’s no motive,” he concluded. Then his memory
spontaneously threw up the incident of Eileen Cressage’s mirror. “But
perhaps that’s where we went wrong. We’ve been on the hunt for a
motive the whole time, Douglas. What about scrapping that notion
and trying kleptomania for a change?”
“I was just working up to that point myself.”
“Well, Eileen’s silver mirror was taken from her room the other
day. That’s another motiveless affair—even more so than the
Talisman.”
 “Ah, that puts a new face on things. I didn’t know about that.
And I can put something else in the kitty, judging from that. Mrs.
Brent’s gold wrist-watch has gone astray. She’s been hunting for it all
over the place. Of course I never thought of it having been taken.
But this mirror-affair connects ’em up nicely. It’s just the pointless
sort of snatching that one might expect, if your notion’s right.”
“Well, don’t let’s be in too much of a hurry this time,” cautioned
Westenhanger. “We made average asses of ourselves with our last
dip in the lucky-bag. It looks as if we might be nearer the centre this
time; but we’re up against the same old bother. How’re we going to
prove anything?”
Douglas moved uneasily in his seat.
“I’m not over-keen on the job, Conway, and that’s a fact. The
only way of clearing the thing up is to watch her. And I don’t quite
fancy the job of spy.”
“No more do I. But if her hands are clean, watching won’t do any
harm so long as nobody else knows about it. And if she’s the thief,
she deserves all she gets. She did all she could to put the blame at
Eileen’s door—don’t forget that, Douglas. And if you do, I’m not
likely to let it slip my memory. That was outside the rules of the
game, as Mrs. Brent says.”
Somewhat ruefully, Douglas admitted the justice of this view.
“I suppose you’re right, Conway. I see your case all right. But,”
he added firmly, “not even the best of causes is going to make me
put on false whiskers or reach-me-downs. Worming one’s way into
people’s confidence is also barred. Likewise overhearing
conversations. Anything in the way of measuring foot-prints or
hanging around pubs, will be cheerfully carried out; but nothing of
an ungenteel nature will be handled by this firm. That’s that!”
“Don’t worry, Douglas. It won’t even run to a false nose. All I
propose to do is to keep my eyes open.”
“Dashed moderate, I call it. Trade Union hours, then. You can
have the night shift if you like. I feel generous this morning.”
Westenhanger guessed what was at the back of Douglas’s
reluctance.
 “Get one thing clearly into your mind, Douglas. You’re not spying
on a woman—you’re watching for a thief. Give chivalry a miss. It’s
quite out of place after what’s happened.”
“Very well,” Douglas conceded, “if you put it that way I suppose
it can be done. I’ll regard it partly as a medical case: Kleptomania—
its Cause, Detection, and Cure. That makes it seem a bit more
respectable. Frankly, Conway, it’s not a job I like very much.”
“I don’t revel in it,” Westenhanger admitted, gruffly. “But I’m
going to see it through, if I can. Somebody ought to pay for the
trouble they’ve caused.”
Douglas looked away.
“Well,” he said, at last, “I suppose if it had been Cynthia instead
of Eileen I’d be inclined to go in with both feet. I see your point,
Conway. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Westenhanger made no reply.
When he considered the matter later on, Conway Westenhanger
had to admit to himself that he had embarked upon a forlorn hope.
Nothing but pure luck was likely to bring the thing to success. And
the chances against any result seemed tremendous. He could not
dog his quarry continuously for any length of time, since that would
inevitably lead to a disclosure of his intentions. For a large part of
the day and during most of the night Mrs. Caistor Scorton would be
outside his sphere of observation, and that left him very little chance
of success. The possibility of enlisting assistance he rejected
immediately. None of the party was likely to be useful. Eileen was
the only one whom he might have approached in the matter and the
relations between her and Mrs. Caistor Scorton made her worse than
useless for that particular purpose, apart from all other objections to
the idea. Westenhanger resigned himself to waiting for the help of
chance, with a full appreciation of the odds against success.
That night he and Douglas sat up later than usual. All the other
guests had gone earlier to bed and the house was dark. As the two
men came out into the corridor they found the door of Rollo
Dangerfield’s study wide open, and a beam of light shone from it
across the floor.
 “The old man’s on guard again,” Westenhanger hazarded to
Douglas in a low voice. “He’s having a worrying time, I’m afraid.
Hard lines having a thing like that on one’s shoulders.”
But when they passed the open door they found Eric on the
watch instead of his uncle. He wished them good-night as they went
by, but showed no desire for their company.
“They’re taking it in turns, evidently,” Douglas guessed as they
went up the stairs. “Ah! perhaps that accounts for Eric being about
in the small hours, that night of the storm. It may have been his
turn for duty. We don’t know how long this affair has been going
on.”
“That’s probably it,” Westenhanger agreed. “But if he were sitting
up how did the thief get into the Corinthian’s Room undetected?”
“Oh, I expect Helga only walks about once in the night; and once
they’ve seen her safe back to her room they can go to bed
themselves. After that, the coast would be clear. You remember I
saw the Talisman in its place about one in the morning?”
Westenhanger went to bed that night with the consciousness
that he had accomplished absolutely nothing during the day. He had
trusted to luck, but luck had not served. His hopes were gradually
lessening as time went on.
“Something may turn up,” he reflected, without optimism, as he
undressed.
Something did “turn up”; but it was the last thing that he could
have foreseen. On coming down to breakfast next morning he found
Freddie Stickney busily spreading the news to Nina, Cynthia and
Douglas.
“Heard the latest?” Freddie demanded as Westenhanger entered
the room. “The Talisman’s turned up again—safe in its cabinet once
more, just as old Dangerfield prophesied.”
“Who told you that?”
Westenhanger was completely taken aback by the news.
“Oh, it’s all right,” Freddie assured him. “You don’t catch me
swallowing things on mere hearsay. I’ve been along to the
Corinthian’s Room myself and had a look. And there it is, as large as
life. Stuck under the glass bell, just as it used to be.”
 Westenhanger took his seat at the table without comment. This
latest episode in the chain of events seemed beyond understanding.
Given that a thief had taken the Talisman, why had the thing come
back at all? All that the thief had to do was to leave it in its original
place of concealment, if he feared detection. To put it back in the
cabinet was to run a second risk of being discovered, especially now
that one of the Dangerfields was on guard over Helga each night.
And if it was not a case of theft, why remove the thing at all? Before
he could continue his line of thought he was interrupted.
“What do you make of it?” Freddie was taking up his rôle of
general inquisitor once more. “It seems a bit rum, doesn’t it? And
old Dangerfield’s had the laugh, after all. He swore it would turn up
again—and here it is! Queer, eh?”
“Very strange,” Westenhanger agreed coldly.
Freddie was outside the scope of suspicion now, but
Westenhanger had other reasons for disliking him. And what infernal
impudence of the little brute to start this kind of thing again after
the fiasco of his last effort in the business. Freddie, however, was
not to be discouraged by coldness. His bright little eyes flickered
from face to face, and he continued his remarks quite unperturbed
by the obviously hostile atmosphere.
“What’s that old tag about the man who finds a thing being the
one who knows where to look for it?” he went on. “I begin to think
it’s a practical joke after all. The old man’s been pulling our legs! He
laid off all that stuff about the Talisman being able to look after
itself. Then he took it away himself that night, eh? And now he
brings it back again, and he laughs in his sleeve at us. How’s that,
umpire?”
He glanced round the table for applause, but received none.
“If you ask me, Freddie,” Douglas pronounced bluntly, “it proves
two things up to the hilt. One is that you have the nerve to sit down
at breakfast and criticise your host behind his back. The other is that
you don’t know Mr. Dangerfield. He’s the last man who’d play a silly
game of that sort. Anyone with two ounces of grey matter in his
skull would see that.”
 Douglas’s rebuke would have silenced most people, but Freddie’s
skin was proof against even this attack.
“Think so?” he asked blandly. “Well, what better theory have you
got yourself?”
Douglas took no notice of the query.
“Well, I’m very glad Mr. Dangerfield has got it back,” Nina said,
ignoring Freddie’s remark. “It’s been so uncomfortable all the time to
feel that he’d lost a thing like that—a thing he cared for so much.”
“He didn’t seem to worry over it,” Freddie reminded her.
“Mr. Dangerfield’s a thoroughbred,” Cynthia commented. “No
matter how he felt about it he’d never show it to us.”
“You think not? No? Well, perhaps not,” the irrepressible Freddie
conceded graciously. “That’s one way of looking at it, certainly.”
Westenhanger took no part in the talk. His mind was busy with
the task of fitting this new evidence to the earlier events. If a thief
had taken the thing, why had the Talisman come back? The only
possible explanation was that the thief had taken fright. But why
should he take fright? So far as Westenhanger knew, nothing had
come out which made the solution of the problem any clearer, and
only imminent exposure could have forced the culprit to disgorge.
Days had passed since the loss of the Talisman. There had been
plenty of time to get it into a place of safe concealment. Why take
the risk of replacing it in the cabinet? There seemed to be no
plausible answer to that question.
But if it wasn’t a thief, then it must have been one of the
Dangerfields. One could leave old Rollo out of the business. He was
the last man to play a practical joke on his guests—especially a
practical joke which carried a tang as nasty as this affair did. Helga
was another possible agent, and an innocent agent if it did turn out
that she had a hand in the thing. Westenhanger began to incline
towards this solution. But then Helga, according to Douglas, was
right-handed, while the Talisman had been removed by someone
who was obviously left-handed. Perhaps one turned left-handed in
one’s sleep. But on recalling fragments of his dreams, Westenhanger
had to admit that he remembered himself as right-handed during his
sleep. That seemed to exclude Helga.
 Then it flashed across his mind that Eric had been on the watch
on both nights, on the date of the Talisman’s vanishing and—last
night—when it returned. He had the place to himself on both
occasions, and could do as he chose. He was left-handed, too. But
against this, there was old Rollo’s statement, evidently made in good
faith.
Eileen Cressage came into the room as he reached this point in
his cogitation. She sat down beside him, and he hastened to clear up
an item which had occurred to him.
“Had young Dangerfield sprained his ankle before he left here
with you that morning?”
“No. He was all right. He sprained it in London, somehow—
getting out of the way of a taxi, I think he said.”
“Funny thing to happen, surely?”
“Oh, he slipped on the kerb-stone, or something like that.”
Westenhanger’s half-formulated idea broke down. It was quite
evident that Eric had not got his injury in connection with the theft
of the Talisman. It was not a case of his having been half-caught in
the man-trap. Probably there was no man-trap at all. Rollo had
denied its existence, and one could take Rollo’s word for things. At
any rate, Westenhanger felt he had given every possibility a fair
examination.
Mrs. Caistor Scorton came into the room, and Westenhanger
glanced up as she entered. Freddie broke out at once.
“Heard the latest, Mrs. Caistor Scorton? The Talisman’s come
back!”
Westenhanger had his eyes on Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s face as
Freddie spoke; and he was amazed to see the effect of the words.
Incredulity, stupefaction, and fear, swept in succession over her
features almost in an instant. Then she regained command of
herself, her thin lips tightened, and she walked to her place without
showing any further sign of emotion. Only Westenhanger and
Freddie seemed to have noticed anything abnormal, so quickly had
she recovered her self-control. The other members of the party had
not looked up as she came into the room.
 “Now we’ve got something,” Westenhanger commented inwardly.
“That shot took her absolutely off her guard. She knows something
about the business—anyone can see that. She was absolutely taken
aback by Freddie. She’ll want to know all about it, and then perhaps
she’ll have to do something. If we can only keep an eye on her
through to-day we may get to the bottom of the business at last.”
He dawdled through his breakfast, lending an ear to Freddie’s
repetition of the tale of the Talisman’s return. Mrs. Caistor Scorton
listened eagerly, he could see, and her breakfast remained almost
untouched. Westenhanger learned nothing further. When Eileen rose
from the table he accompanied her out of the room.
“You’re not doing anything important this morning, are you?” he
questioned in a low voice, as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Nothing in particular.”
“I want you to put yourself in my hands, then. Don’t ask
questions, please. I wish you to be an absolutely unbiassed witness,
if anything turns up. But keep your eyes open. I want you to pay
special attention to Mrs. Caistor Scorton to-day. It’s most important.
Watch everything she does closely, and we’ll compare notes
afterwards.”
He led her to some seats near the main entrance, from which
they had a view of the corridor, and when they had ensconced
themselves he began to talk of indifferent matters, so as to give a
semblance of naturalness to their attitude. Very soon Mrs. Caistor
Scorton, accompanied by Freddie, came out of the breakfast room
and passed along the corridor towards the Corinthian’s Room.
“Quick! I want to overtake them,” ordered Westenhanger.
He and Eileen came up with the others just before reaching the
end of the passage. Westenhanger stepped forward and opened the
door, so that he could see Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s face as she entered,
but he learned very little. She seemed to have regained complete
control of herself.
All four crossed the chess-board and approached the cabinet.
Freddie had made no mistake. There on its velvet bed lay the
Talisman, protected by the bell of tinted glass which had been
moved back to its old position. Both doors of the cabinet were
closed. Everything seemed to have returned to its normal state.
Westenhanger, covertly scrutinising Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s face,
saw a flash of expression which took him by surprise. She seemed to
be witnessing some incredible happening—something beyond the
bounds of the possible. It almost suggested that she had disbelieved
Freddie and had been staggered by the actual sight of the Talisman.
In an instant the signs of bewilderment vanished and she again had
herself under control. Freddie had evidently noticed her amazement.
“Oh, it’s come home again, all right,” he said, triumphantly. “Old
Dangerfield was sound enough, after all. But how it got here is a
mystery, isn’t it, Mrs. Caistor Scorton?”
“I don’t understand it,” she admitted, dully, and as she spoke she
allowed her face to reveal the stupefaction which was evidently still
her dominant feeling.
“Well I’m very glad to see it again,” said Eileen. “It’s a relief to
find that it wasn’t stolen after all.”
Her glance made Mrs. Caistor Scorton wince. Neither of them
had forgotten Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s evidence against Eileen; and the
older woman evidently had little difficulty in reading the girl’s
feelings—she avoided any recognition of the underlying meaning in
Eileen’s last remark by turning to Freddie Stickney.
“I really hardly believed your story at first, Mr. Stickney; but one
can’t disbelieve one’s eyes. It seems incredible that it has come back
again. I feel almost inclined to doubt it even now.”
“We can soon settle that for you,” said Freddie. “I’ll take it out of
the case and you can handle it.”
Westenhanger broke in with a violence which surprised them all.
“Paws off, Freddie! Don’t lay a finger on it!”
He laid a rough hand on Freddie’s shoulder and drew him back
from the cabinet. Then, noticing their surprise, he went on in a
milder tone.
“Mr. Dangerfield refused to allow any of us to touch it, the night
he showed it to us. He objects to it being handled. That’s enough for
me. We can’t go against his wishes behind his back. Understand?”
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