The de Bercy Affair

There he found him, kneeling by the side of that one little mound of earth, after having walked in solitude through the long hours till the gates were opened for the day's digging of graves. Winter said nothing. He led his friend away, and had him cared for.

Slowly the cloud lifted. At last, when a heedless public had forgotten the crime and its dramatic sequel, there came a day when Furneaux appeared at Scotland Yard.

"Hello, Winter," he said, coming in as though the world had grown young again.

"Hello, Furneaux, glad to see you," said Winter, pushing the cigar-box across the table.

"Had my letter?"

"Yes."

"Who has taken my place – Clarke?"

"No, not Clarke."

"Who, then?"

"Nobody, yet. The fact is, Furneaux – "

"I've resigned – that is the material fact."

"Yes, I know. But you don't mind giving me your advice."

"No, of course not – just for the sake of old times."

"Well, there is this affair of Lady Harringay's disappearance. It is a ticklish business. Seen anything about it in the paper?"

"A line or two."

"I'm at my wits' end to find time myself to deal with it. And I've not a man I can give it to – "

"Look here, Winter, I'm out of the force."

"But, to oblige me."

"I would do a great deal on that score."

"Get after her, then, without a moment's delay."

"But there's my resignation."

Winter picked a letter from a bundle, struck a match, set fire to the paper, and lighted a cigar with it.

"There goes your resignation!" he said.

During the following summer Rosalind Marsh and Rupert Osborne were married at Tormouth. It was a quiet wedding, and since that day they have led quiet lives, so it is to be presumed that they have settled satisfactorily the problem of how to be happy though rich.

THE END