The Daffodil Mystery

  THE DAFFODIL MYSTERY

  by

  EDGAR WALLACE

  Ward, Lock & Co., LimitedLondon and MelbourneMade and Printed in Great Britain

  CONTENTS

  I. AN OFFER REJECTED

  II. THE HUNTER DECLINES HIS QUARRY

  III. THE MAN WHO LOVED LYNE

  IV. MURDER

  V. FOUND IN LYNE'S POCKET

  VI. THE MOTHER OF ODETTE RIDER

  VII. THE WOMAN IN THE CASE

  VIII. THE SILENCING OF SAM STAY

  IX. WHERE THE FLOWERS CAME FROM

  X. THE WOMAN AT ASHFORD

  XI. "THORNTON LYNE IS DEAD"

  XII. THE HOSPITAL BOOK

  XIII. TWO SHOTS IN THE NIGHT

  XIV. THE SEARCH OF MILBURGH'S COTTAGE

  XV. THE OWNER OF THE PISTOL

  XVI. THE HEIR

  XVII. THE MISSING REVOLVER

  XVIII. THE FINGER PRINTS

  XIX. LING CHU TELLS THE TRUTH

  XX. MR. MILBURGH SEES IT THROUGH

  XXI. COVERING THE TRAIL

  XXII. THE HEAVY WALLET

  XXIII. THE NIGHT VISITOR

  XXIV. THE CONFESSION OF ODETTE RIDER

  XXV. MILBURGH'S LAST BLUFF

  XXVI. IN MRS. RIDER'S ROOM

  XXVII. THE LAUGH IN THE NIGHT

  XXVIII. THE THUMB-PRINT

  XXIX. THE THEORY OF LING CHU

  XXX. WHO KILLED MRS. RIDER

  XXXI. SAM STAY TURNS UP

  XXXII. THE DIARY OF THORNTON LYNE

  XXXIII. LING CHU--TORTURER

  XXXIV. THE ARREST

  XXXV. MILBURGH'S STORY

  XXXVI. AT HIGHGATE CEMETERY

  XXXVII. LING CHU RETURNS

  CHAPTER THE LAST. THE STATEMENT OF SAM STAY

  THE DAFFODIL MYSTERY

  CHAPTER I

  AN OFFER REJECTED

  "I am afraid I don't understand you, Mr. Lyne."

  Odette Rider looked gravely at the young man who lolled against his opendesk. Her clear skin was tinted with the faintest pink, and there was inthe sober depths of those grey eyes of hers a light which would havewarned a man less satisfied with his own genius and power of persuasionthan Thornton Lyne.

  He was not looking at her face. His eyes were running approvingly overher perfect figure, noting the straightness of the back, the fine poiseof the head, the shapeliness of the slender hands.

  He pushed back his long black hair from his forehead and smiled. Itpleased him to believe that his face was cast in an intellectual mould,and that the somewhat unhealthy pastiness of his skin might be describedas the "pallor of thought."

  Presently he looked away from her through the big bay window whichoverlooked the crowded floor of Lyne's Stores.

  He had had this office built in the entresol and the big windows had beenput in so that he might at any time overlook the most importantdepartment which it was his good fortune to control.

  Now and again, as he saw, a head would be turned in his direction, and heknew that the attention of all the girls was concentrated upon the littlescene, plainly visible from the floor below, in which an unwillingemployee was engaged.

  She, too, was conscious of the fact, and her discomfort and dismayincreased. She made a little movement as if to go, but he stopped her.

  "You don't understand, Odette," he said. His voice was soft andmelodious, and held the hint of a caress. "Did you read my little book?"he asked suddenly.

  She nodded.

  "Yes, I read--some of it," she said, and the colour deepened on her face.

  He chuckled.

  "I suppose you thought it rather curious that a man in my position shouldbother his head to write poetry, eh?" he asked. "Most of it was writtenbefore I came into this beastly shop, my dear--before I developed into atradesman!"

  She made no reply, and he looked at her curiously.

  "What did you think of them?" he asked.

  Her lips were trembling, and again he mistook the symptoms.

  "I thought they were perfectly horrible," she said in a low voice."Horrible!"

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "How very middle-class you are, Miss Rider!" he scoffed. "Those verseshave been acclaimed by some of the best critics in the country asreproducing all the beauties of the old Hellenic poetry."

  She went to speak, but stopped herself and stood with lips compressed.

  Thornton Lyne shrugged his shoulders and strode to the other end of hisluxuriously equipped office.

  "Poetry, like cucumbers, is an acquired taste," he said after a while."You have to be educated up to some kind of literature. I daresay therewill come a time when you will be grateful that I have given you anopportunity of meeting beautiful thoughts dressed in beautiful language."

  She looked up at this.

  "May I go now, Mr. Lyne?" she asked.

  "Not yet," he replied coolly. "You said just now you didn't understandwhat I was talking about. I'll put it plainer this time. You're a verybeautiful girl, as you probably know, and you are destined, in allprobability, to be the mate of a very average suburban-minded person, whowill give you a life tantamount to slavery. That is the life of themiddle-class woman, as you probably know. And why would you submit tothis bondage? Simply because a person in a black coat and a white collarhas mumbled certain passages over you--passages which have neithermeaning nor, to an intelligent person, significance. I would not takethe trouble of going through such a foolish ceremony, but I would take agreat deal of trouble to make you happy."

  He walked towards her slowly and laid one hand upon her shoulder.Instinctively she shrank back and he laughed.

  "What do you say?"

  She swung round on him, her eyes blazing but her voice under control.

  "I happen to be one of those foolish, suburban-minded people," she said,"who give significance to those mumbled words you were speaking about.Yet I am broad-minded enough to believe that the marriage ceremony wouldnot make you any happier or more unhappy whether it was performed oromitted. But, whether it were marriage or any other kind of union, Ishould at least require a man."

  He frowned at her.

  "What do you mean?" he asked, and the soft quality of his voice underwenta change.

  Her voice was full of angry tears when she answered him.

  "I should not want an erratic creature who puts horrid sentiments intoindifferent verse. I repeat, I should want a man."

  His face went livid.

  "Do you know whom you are talking to?" he asked, raising his voice.

  "I am talking to Thornton Lyne," said she, breathing quickly, "theproprietor of Lyne's Stores, the employer of Odette Rider who draws threepounds every week from him."

  He was breathless with anger.

  "Be careful!" he gasped. "Be careful!"

  "I am speaking to a man whose whole life is a reproach to the very nameof man!" she went on speaking rapidly. "A man who is sincere in nothing,who is living on the brains and reputation of his father, and the moneythat has come through the hard work of better men.

  "You can't scare me," she cried scornfully, as he took a step towardsher. "Oh, yes, I know I'm going to leave your employment, and I'm leavingto-night!"

  The man was hurt, humiliated, almost crushed by her scorn. This shesuddenly realised and her quick woman's sympathy checked all furtherbitterness.

  "I'm sorry I've been so unkind," she said in a more gentle tone. "But yourather provoked me, Mr. Lyne."

  He was incapable of speech and could only shake his head and point withunsteady finger to the door.

  "Get out," he whispered.

&nbs
p; Odette Rider walked out of the room, but the man did not move. Presently,however, he crossed to the window and, looking down upon the floor, sawher trim figure move slowly through the crowd of customers and assistantsand mount the three steps which led to the chief cashier's office.

  "You shall pay for this, my girl!" he muttered.

  He was wounded beyond forgiveness. He was a rich man's son and had livedin a sense a sheltered life. He had been denied the advantage which apublic school would have brought to him and had gone to collegesurrounded by sycophants and poseurs as blatant as himself, and neveronce had the cold breath of criticism been directed at him, except inwhat he was wont to describe as the "reptile Press."

  He licked his dry lips, and, walking to his desk, pressed a bell. After ashort wait--for he had purposely sent his secretary away--a girl came in.

  "Has Mr. Tarling come?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir, he's in the board-room. He has been waiting a quarter of anhour."

  He nodded.

  "Thank you," he said.

  "Shall I tell him----"

  "I will go to him myself," said Lyne.

  He took a cigarette out of his gold case, struck a match and lit it. Hisnerves were shaken, his hands were trembling, but the storm in his heartwas soothing down under the influence of this great thought. Tarling!What an inspiration! Tarling, with his reputation for ingenuity, hisalmost sublime uncanny cleverness. What could be more wonderful than thiscoincidence?

  He passed with quick steps along the corridor which connected his privateden with the board-room, and came into that spacious apartment withoutstretched hand.

  The man who turned to greet him may have been twenty-seven orthirty-seven. He was tall, but lithe rather than broad. His face was thecolour of mahogany, and the blue eyes turned to Lyne were unwinking andexpressionless. That was the first impression which Lyne received.

  He took Lyne's hand in his--it was as soft as a woman's. As they shookhands Lyne noticed a third figure in the room. He was below middle heightand sat in the shadow thrown by a wall pillar. He too rose, but bowed hishead.

  "A Chinaman, eh?" said Lyne, looking at this unexpected apparition withcuriosity. "Oh, of course, Mr. Tarling, I had almost forgotten thatyou've almost come straight from China. Won't you sit down?"

  He followed the other's example, threw himself into a chair and offeredhis cigarette case.

  "The work I am going to ask you to do I will discuss later," he said."But I must explain, that I was partly attracted to you by thedescription I read in one of the newspapers of how you had recovered theDuchess of Henley's jewels and partly by the stories I heard of you whenI was in China. You're not attached to Scotland Yard, I understand?"

  Tarling shook his head.

  "No," he said quietly. "I was regularly attached to the police inShanghai, and I had intended joining up with Scotland Yard; in fact, Icame over for that purpose. But several things happened which made meopen my own detective agency, the most important of which happenings, wasthat Scotland Yard refused to give me the free hand I require!"

  The other nodded quickly.

  China rang with the achievements of Jack Oliver Tarling, or, as theChinese criminal world had named him in parody of his name, "Lieh Jen,""The Hunter of Men."

  Lyne judged all people by his own standard, and saw in this unemotionalman a possible tool, and in all probability a likely accomplice.

  The detective force in Shanghai did curious things by all accounts, andwere not too scrupulous as to whether they kept within the strict letterof the law. There were even rumours that "The Hunter of Men" was notabove torturing his prisoners, if by so doing he could elicit confessionswhich could implicate some greater criminal. Lyne did not and could notknow all the legends which had grown around the name of "The Hunter" norcould he be expected in reason to differentiate between the truth and thefalse.

  "I pretty well know why you've sent for me," Tarling went on. He spokeslowly and had a decided drawl. "You gave me a rough outline in yourletter. You suspect a member of your staff of having consistently robbedthe firm for many years. A Mr. Milburgh, your chief departmentalmanager."

  Lyne stopped him with a gesture and lowered his voice.

  "I want you to forget that for a little while, Mr. Tarling," he said. "Infact, I am going to introduce you to Milburgh, and maybe, Milburgh canhelp us in my scheme. I do not say that Milburgh is honest, or that mysuspicions were unfounded. But for the moment I have a much greaterbusiness on hand, and you will oblige me if you forget all the thingsI have said about Milburgh. I will ring for him now."

  He walked to a long table which ran half the length of the room, took upa telephone which stood at one end, and spoke to the operator.

  "Tell Mr. Milburgh to come to me in the board-room, please," he said.

  Then he went back to his visitor.

  "That matter of Milburgh can wait," he said. "I'm not so sure that Ishall proceed any farther with it. Did you make inquiries at all? If so,you had better tell me the gist of them before Milburgh comes."

  Tarling took a small white card from his pocket and glanced at it.

  "What salary are you paying Milburgh?"

  "Nine hundred a year," replied Lyne.

  "He is living at the rate of five thousand," said Tarling. "I may evendiscover that he's living at a much larger rate. He has a house up theriver, entertains very lavishly----"

  But the other brushed aside the report impatiently.

  "No, let that wait," he cried. "I tell you I have much more importantbusiness. Milburgh may be a thief----"

  "Did you send for me, sir?"

  He turned round quickly. The door had opened without noise, and a manstood on the threshold of the room, an ingratiating smile on his face,his hands twining and intertwining ceaselessly as though he was washingthem with invisible soap.