269

XXI THE FIGHT 281

XXII PIECING THE PUZZLE 292

THE ALBERT GATE MYSTERY

CHAPTER I

A MYSTERIOUS CRIME

Reginald Brett, barrister-at-law and amateur detective, had seldom been
more at peace with the world and his own conscience than when he entered
the dining-room of his cosy flat this bright October morning.

Since the famous affair of Lady Delia Lyle's disappearance and death, he
had not been busy, and the joy of healthy idleness is only known to the
hard worker. Again, while dressing, he had received a letter inviting
him to a quiet shoot at a delightful place in the country.

All these things blended with happy inconsequence to render Brett
contented in mind and affable in manner.

"It's a fine morning, Smith," he said cheerily, as he settled himself at
the table where his "man" was already pouring out the coffee.

"Bee-utiful, sir," said Smith.

"Smith!"

"Yessir."

"Not even the best English autumn weather can stand being called
'bee-utiful.' Don't do it. You will open the flood-gates of Heaven."

Smith laughed decorously. He had not the slightest idea what his master
meant, but if it pleased Mr. Brett to be jocose, it was the duty of a
servant who knew his place to be responsive.

The barrister fully understood Smith's delicate appreciation--and its
limits. He instantly noticed that the morning paper, instead of reposing
next to his folded napkin, was placed out of reach on a sideboard, and
that the eggs and bacon made their appearance half a minute too soon.

As an expert swordsman delights to execute a pass _en tierce_ with an
umbrella, so did the cleverest analytical detective of the age resolve
to amaze his servitor.

"Smith," he said suddenly, composing his features to their most severe
cross-examination aspect, "I think the arrangement is an excellent one."

"What arrangement, sir."

"That Mrs. Smith and yourself should have a few days' holiday, while
Mrs. Smith's brother takes your place during my forthcoming visit to
Lord Northallerton's--why, man, what is the matter? Is it too hot?"--for
the cover Smith had lifted off the bacon and eggs clattered violently on
the table.

"'Ot, sir. 'Ot isn't the word. You're a fair licker, that's what you
are."

Smith invariably dropped his h's when he became excited.

"Smith, I insist that you shall not call me names. Pass the paper."

"B