Winter and Holden were invaluable during the trying hours that followed.  Acting in conjunction with the local police, they caused a search to be made for Capella’s body.  It was found easily enough.  Only once did the line cross such a place as that described by Ooma, and a bruised and battered corpse was taken out of the boulder-strewn stream beneath the viaduct.

Meanwhile Winter, writing from Brett’s dictation, drew up a complete statement of all the facts retailed by the Japanese in relation to the murders of Sir Alan Hume-Frazer and the unfortunate Italian.

This they signed, and went to obtain the signatures of the two cousins, Holden, and the man-servant, for whom a special short statement had been prepared.

“This is for use at the coroner’s inquest, I suppose?” inquired David.

“Yes,” said Brett.  “We must seize that opportunity to publish all the evidence needed to thoroughly acquit you of suspicion in relation to your cousin’s death.  By prior consultation with the coroner we can, if you think fit, keep out of the inquiry all allusions to Mrs. Capella.”

“It would certainly be the best thing to do,” agreed David, “especially in view of the fact that Robert and I have burnt those beastly papers.”

He pointed to some shivering ashes in the grate of the drawing-room, for Ooma occupied the library in the last solemn stateliness of his final appearance on earth.

“What!” cried Brett.  “Do you mean to say that you have destroyed the documents deposited by the Japanese on the writing-desk?”

“Not exactly all,” was the cool reply.  “We picked out those referring to Margaret, and made an end of them.  We hope to be able to do the same with regard to papers discovered on Capella’s body or among his belongings.  Those bearing on Ooma himself are here” and he pointed to a small packet, neatly tied up, reposing on the mantelpiece.

“You have done a somewhat serious thing.”

“We don’t care a cent about that.  Robert and I have both agreed that what Margaret has she keeps.  There may, in course of time, be very good reason for this action.  Anyhow, I have acted to please myself, and my father will, I am sure, approve of what I have done.”

Brett shook his head.  No lawyer could approve of these rough-and-ready settlements of important family affairs.

“Has anyone telegraphed to Mrs. Capella?” he inquired.

“Yes,” said Robert, “I did.  I just said ’Ooma dead; Capella reported seriously ill.  Remain in Whitby.  I will join you to-morrow evening.’  That, I thought, was enough for a start.”

It certainly was.

Soon there came excited messages from both Margaret and Helen demanding more details, whereupon Brett, who knew that suspense was more unbearable than full knowledge, sent a fairly complete account of occurrences.

During the next few days there was the usual commotion in the Press that follows the opening up of the secret records of a great and mysterious crime.

It came as a tremendous surprise to David Hume-Frazer to learn how many people were convinced of his innocence “all the time.”  Being the central figure in the affair, he was compelled to remain at Beechcroft until Capella and Ooma were interred, and the coroner’s jury, at a deferred inquest, had recorded their verdict that the wretched Japanese descendant of the Scottish Jacobite was not only doubly a murderer, but guilty of the heinous crime of felo de se.

Brett, in the interim, saw to the despatch of the Italian witnesses back to Naples.  These good people did not know why they had been brought to England, but they returned to their sunny land fully persuaded that the English were both very rich and very foolish.

Winter, in accordance with Brett’s promise, secured a fresh holiday towards the close of August, and had the supreme joy of shooting over a well-stocked Scotch moor.

At last, one day in September, Brett was summoned to Whitby to assist at a family conclave.

He found that Margaret was firm in her resolve never again to live at Beechcroft.  She and Robert intended to get married early in the New Year and sail forthwith for the Argentine, where, with the help of his wife’s money, Robert Hume-Frazer could develop his magnificent estate.

Beechroft would pass into the possession of David, and Helen and he, who were to be married in October, would settle down in the house after their honeymoon.

But on one point they were all very emphatic.  That ill-fated library window should pass into the limbo of things that have been.  Already builders were converting the library into an entrance hall, and the main door would occupy its natural place in the front of the house.

Let us hope that the return of the young couple after their marriage marked a new era for an abode hitherto singled out for tragedy.  Their start was auspicious enough, for true love, in their case, neither ran smoothly nor yielded to the pressure of terrible events.

Mr. and Mrs. Jiro went to Japan.  With them they took the girl, Rose Dew, and the last heard of them was that the trio were running a boarding-house in Yeddo, where Mrs. Jiro advertised the excellence of the food she supplied, and Miss Dew sternly repressed any attempt on the part of the lodgers to obtain credit.

The last entry in Brett’s note-book, under the heading of the “Stowmarket Mystery,” is dated six months after the departure of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Hume-Frazer for the Argentine.  It reads: 

“To-day is the anniversary of David Hume’s first visit to my chambers.  This morning I discovered in a corner, dusty and forlorn, Ooma’s walking-stick.  It reminded me of a snake that was hibernating, so I gave it to Smith, and told him to light the kitchen fire with it.  Then I telegraphed to old Sir David Hume-Frazer, saying that I gladly accepted his invitation for the 12th.  His son, it seems, cannot go North, as he does not wish to leave his wife during the next couple of months.  I suppose I shall be a godfather at an early date.”