A Mystery of Campden Hill BY VICTOR BRIDGES GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1924 COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. First Edition TO MARGARET BOOKS BY VICTOR BRIDGES Another Man's Shoes Greensea Island: A Mystery of the Essex Coast Mr. Lyndon at Liberty Rogue by Compulsion The Cruise of the Scandal and Other Stories The Lady from Long Acre The Man from Nowhere

A dark green Rolls-Royce limousine slid round the corner of Sydney Place and, proceeding a few hundred yards along the Fulham Road, drew up in front of St. Christopher's Hospital. It had scarcely stopped before the door opened and its solitary occupant—a tall, well-dressed man of about fifty—stepped out on to the pavement. "You can wait here, Simmons," he said, addressing the chauffeur. "I shan't be more than a few minutes." The porter on duty, who was talking to a friend in the hall, touched hi

However underpaid it may be, the training of a house surgeon at a London hospital induces a certain readiness of action. Before any of the other passers-by had ceased to gape helplessly at this unusual spectacle Colin was halfway across the street. Quick as he was, however, the situation had already developed. A big, burly man, clutching another by the collar, had staggered back against the wall of the pub, where, with his disengaged arm, he was endeavouring to defend himself as best he could ag

In the days when a young and promising draper, called Mr. John Barker, had recently opened a small shop in the High Street, Kensington, Campden Hill was a singularly attractive place to live in. The favourite resort of affluent artists, retired judges, and other persons of culture and dignity, it still managed to retain a semi-rural tranquillity unknown to any other part of central London. Time, however, which has dealt nobly with Mr. Barker, has unfortunately robbed the district of most of its

Colin finished his coffee and looked inquiringly across the table. "Have you any special plans for this afternoon?" he asked. "If not, I thought I'd get on with that new parcel of stuff from Paris. The sooner it's sorted out and classified the better." The Professor, who was engaged in selecting a cigar, stopped in the middle of the operation. "Let me see, Gray," he observed, "how long have you been with me?" Colin reflected for a moment. "I came on a Wednesday," he said. "That will be three wee

At the sight of that hideous injury, all Colin's professional training instinctively asserted itself. Letting go the switch, he sprang forward, and, heedless of the blood and broken glass, dropped down on one knee beside the prostrate body. It needed no medical knowledge to see that the case was hopeless. A terrific blow from some blunt instrument had smashed the whole front of the skull, and portions of the crushed and bleeding brain were even now protruding from the wound. Death must have come

"We find that Professor Carter was wilfully murdered by some person or persons unknown." The foreman of the jury, a stout, pompous little man who was evidently pleased with his temporary importance, announced the verdict in a loud and impressive voice. A moment's silence followed as the Coroner wrote down the words, and then, amid a general murmur of voices and shuffling of papers, the crowded court commenced to break up. Colin, who was sitting on one of the back benches, remained in his place w

With an inward sigh of relief Colin opened the door of the surgery, and beckoned to the solitary old woman who was still sitting grimly in the corner of the waiting room. She was the thirty-fourth patient he had interviewed that morning, and the prospect of a well-earned lunch with Nancy was beginning to dangle pleasantly in front of his exhausted spirits. The old woman entered the surgery, and, after placing a bulky string bag upon his consulting table, deposited herself in an armchair alongsid

The study clock chimed out the hour of seven, and, laying aside the paper she had been looking at, Nancy got up from her chair and walked to the window. She drew back the blind, and stood there for a minute gazing down at, the lighted pavements, where the usual throng of poorly dressed women were drifting to and fro, intent upon their evening shopping. Then with a puzzled and rather anxious expression in her face she turned toward the door, and, descending the staircase, made her way along the p

"Colin, Colin dear! It's all over. You're safe up here with us." He opened his eyes, to find his head resting upon Nancy's shoulder, and the dripping figure of Joe just emerging through the trap. For a moment he made no attempt to move, then, as the truth of the statement became increasingly clear to him, a contented sigh escaped his lips. Nancy drew him still closer, her soft cheek pressing against his. "Are you much hurt?" she whispered. Though feeling curiously disinclined for conversation, C

"More coffee?" suggested Mark. Colin pushed over his cup, and, having taken possession of the last slice of toast, proceeded to scrape out the remainder of the marmalade. "I seem to be eating rather a lot," he observed apologetically. "I suppose it's the result of being in love." Mark laughed and glanced at the clock. "It seems to have affected Nancy in the same way. Anyhow, this is the first time I've ever known her late." "You mustn't be brutal to her," said Colin; "it's all my fault. I took h

Albert Terrace appeared even more peaceful and respectable than usual as Colin turned in at the farther end and came to a standstill in front of Mr. Medwin's house. "This is the place, Joe," he said quietly. "Now you're quite clear in your own mind about what we've arranged?" Joe nodded. "I got it, guv'nor. You ask whether 'e's at 'ome, an' if 'e is, in we goes. Then it'll be my job to shove it across the butler." "That's right," said Colin. "I'm trusting you to look after the two servants until

"That's done it," remarked the Inspector bitterly. He was standing in the car which Colin had just pulled up, staring down over a heap of stones at the black mass of broken wreckage which reared itself fantastically amongst the grass. "I should think it was about the finish," said Colin quietly. "What on earth made them skid in that extraordinary way?" "I suppose I hit Fenton by mistake," said the Inspector. "Just like my cursed luck. He must have driven straight into it and gone clean over the