Originally published in The Red, White & Blue 'old series' issue 1, Christmas 2007.

"Introducing Mr Sexton Blake" "Thank you Radford, that will be all for now" said Edward Rylcombe as his butler admitted the great detective. Edward motioned for Blake to sit down as the butler left the drawing room of Rycombe manor, closing the door behind him. Rylcombe, not a man to waste time, got straight to business- "I need help Mr Blake, and I beleive you are the only one who can provide it."

"yes, I read over your telegram several times on the way here" said Blake "you claim part of your inheritance has been stolen, but how is that possible? As I understand your father’s will was only read this morning."

"That’s just it!" said the heir to the Rylcombe fortune as he sat forward in his seat, motioning Blake closer and lowering his voice. "The exact amount of my father’s fortune has, I understand, been the matter of no small amount of speculation since his untimely death. I am willing to reveal to you that it was almost exactly three million pounds. However at the reading of the will today it was announced that my father had only left a total of two million to me, other family members and several charitable causes- a million pounds has vanished into thin air!"

Blake took a puff on his pipe as he considered what had been said, he had many questions, the first of which was simply "you’re sure the money could not have been spent by your father before his death?"

"Certainly not! Whilst the value of his estate was not common knowledge to other people he himself certainly kept track of it to the penny. I have various financial records kept by him right up until his death, which show the value of his fortune. The first time I was aware of the missing million was at the reading of the will this morning, and I'm certain of foul play!"

"Yes it does seem that way" said Blake "but where you not informed by the bank that such a large amount of money was being taken?"

"Oh, father didn’t believe in banks" Rylcombe stated "half his fortune was kept around the house, or in securities and other investments. It would be perfectly possible for a skilled thief with inside knowledge to steal that much money in cash without it being immediately obvious. However the matter of the will is highly suspicious, evidently an attempt by the thief to cover his tracks."

"Yes" murmured Blake, deep in thought. It was an intriguing set of circumstances, and the only person able to easily shed light upon them was at that moment awaiting a trip to the embalmers. Blake knew the thief would have to have doctored the will somehow, which placed the family solicitors in the frame. However Sexton Blake was not a man to jump to conclusions, and considered a further possibility; "what of the manner of your father’s death?" he asked.

"It was quite sudden really, he was taken ill on the Saturday, and had regular visits from the doctor, but by Friday he was dead, sudden heart failure the doctor said."

"No possibility of foul play?" asked Blake "none whatsoever!" was Rylcombe’s immediate reply.

"Nevertheless, I should like to examine the body" Blake continued "I must be sure of all details of a case."

Rylcombe relented and, reaching over for a pad of writing paper from a nearby desk, gave Blake the address of the hospital. "Very well" said Blake, rising, "I shall travel there immediately, after making a short stop at my offices for some necessary equipment." Rylcombe stood up too and shook Blake’s hand, and they parted.

The butler, an elderly greying man, insisted on showing Blake to the front door and he stepped out into the warm air of the spring of 1925. Within moments he was speeding through the deserted country lanes in his powerful Rolls-Royce, the Grey Panther.

At around three o' clock he pulled up outside his Baker Street offices. As he walked in he was greeted by his youthful assistant, Tinker. A man who appeared to be in his early twenties, with tousled blonde hair and a bright, cheery face. "Allo guv’nor, just had a telegram from the yard saying our old friend Larry the Viper is back behind bars" where the words he greeted the great detective with.

"Ah good, I shall have to thank the Inspector for his quick action next time I see him, but first, could you fetch my poison detecting set from the laboratory please? And then get the Panther started, we have an appointment with a dead man and I’d hate to keep him."

As tinker went off to fetch the bulky case Blake pulled a hefty, worn book from a shelf in the consulting room and flipped to a page. He murmured a little and finally gave a sharp "aha!" before holding the door open for Tinker as he carried the large case down the steps to the Rolls. Tinker now took the wheel and set off for the address Blake pulled from his pocket. "This the Rylcombe case guv? Think he was poisoned?" asked Tinker as he steered between a tram and a bus, the drivers of which were engaged in a fierce argument about right-of-way.

"Indeed" said Blake, still deep in thought. "Young Edward gave me a quick description of the manner of his death, but it was enough to make me suspect a rare type of poison, I dare say only a handful of people in the country are even aware of it. But the possibility is still there and the test for it is relatively simple, if one knows what to look for. I think it best to keep all our options open don’t you?"

Tinker thought for a second and nodded "well, from what I saw in that telegram it’d take perfect timing to pull of a heist like that, doctor the will and have the old man die before he could notice any mistakes would take miraculous timing. If I was that way inclined I’d help him along a bit."

"Exactly!" Blake agreed.

By now they had reached the hospital, which was only a short distance from Baker street. Tinker pulled the great car up smartly and Blake stepped out and was quickly opening the boot and pulling out the hefty case of scientific instruments. Tinker locked the car and then held the door as Blake carried the large case through and showed his card to the receptionist, seated at a tiny desk in the grand, imposing entrance hall.

The two detectives where shown to the mortuary and entered. They where met there by Dr Travers, the private physician employed by the Rylcombe family. He was a large, stocky man with thinning hair and keen, brown eyes. He stood with his arms crossed and his gaze fixed upon Sexton Blake, blurting out "there’s no need for you to do any form of test, I assure you my diagnosis was quite accurate" even before he introduced himself.

Blake, remaining as calm and authoritative as ever simply stated that he wanted to make sure of all the facts, before instructing Tinker to hand him a scalpel and the small phial marked with the number six. Working carefully Blake removed the lid and poured a quantity of colourless liquid onto the bench. Then, holding the dead man’s arm over the drop, he made a tiny incision and a drop of blood fell into the puddle. Immediately the liquid turned light blue. Blake detected a slight gasp from the doctor behind him as he stood up straight.

"As I thought" he announced, "the venom of the black skull anaconda."

"Never heard of it" the doctor sniffed "you must be mistaken."

"I assure you, there is no mistake" continued Blake, in a steady, calm tone. "In my time I have studied medicine, criminology and chemistry, and I assure you that the venom is present. It is known very little outside of it’s native south America, where it is used to tip blow-darts by the Namuyuma tribe. I know this because I was once very nearly on the receiving end of one of those darts myself!."

The doctor shuffled uneasily and blurted out "I say, do you mind bringing this charade to a close, this body is due at the funeral directors soon."

"I’m afraid that appointment will have to be cancelled for the time being" answered Blake "for I am in no doubt, this is now a murder investigation."

"Murder?" gasped the doctor.

"Yes, murder, murder by a cruel and ruthless hand, whoever did this must have administered tiny doses of the poison every day, allowing it to build up, and every day looking his victim in the eye, conversing with him as the deed was done."

"Want me to 'phone through to Inspector Coutts, guv?" asked Tinker from near the door,

"At once, lad" answered Blake. "And give him full particulars of the case so far, he may be able to add some of his own conclusions to the evidence we have. Once you have done that tell him to meet us at Baker street and then get the car ready, we must return immediately to Rylcombe manor and conduct a search."

"Right away" said Tinker as he left the room, leaving Blake alone with the doctor.

"Poisoned!" he murmured, the colour drained from his face, "Mr Blake, if... if my misdiagnosis becomes known it could ruin me!"

"Your reputation is safe with me" said Blake, "Very few people in the country know of the existence of the poison in question, so misdiagnosing it would be an easy mistake to make."

With that he left, taking his case of equipment with him and placing it in the car, before Tinker drove him to Baker Steet where they picked up Detective Inspector Coutts, a seasoned police detective and a close friend of Blake's. He climbed into the back of the great limosuine as Tinker turned her towards the countryside and Rylcombe manor.

"Tinker gave me the basic facts over the phone, but I could scarcely believe my ears; Arthur Rylcombe poisoned?" asked the Inspector as they sped through the busy London streets. Policemen directing traffic recognised Blake's great silver motor, and the distinguished officer in the back, and gave it right-of-way.

"I’m sad to say it is the truth, Inspector" said Blake "I performed the test myself just minutes ago, we must reach Rylcombe manor before the place is cleaned and tidied too much, which could destroy possible clues. Speed should always be of the essence in a murder inquiry."

The inspector nodded agreement as the car once again plunged through the countryside.

"Murder?" gasped Edward Rylcombe, as the unfortunate news was broken to him by a sympathetic Coutts, he collapsed into a nearby chair in the drawing room and stared into space.

"You realise, of course, that we shall need to inspect the house for possible clues" stated Blake, after an appropriate pause to allow the young heir to take in the terrible news.

"Yes, yes of course" he said, waving the three detectives away. Blake met the family butler outside and told him that all cleaning of the house was to cease immediately, to minimise the disruption of clues and evidence. Though it was likely important things such as fingerprints had already been washed away. A fact the killer was no doubt counting upon, mused Blake as he took to the main staircase, heading for the lord’s bedroom.

He found it the typical room of a minor aristocrat, with a large antique four-poster bed, a fine table stood next to it with an ornate electric lamp and a clean dish, presumably for cigars. The detective’s keen sense of smell picked up faint traces of cigar smoke on the drapes hanging from the top of the bed. He moved to the window and checked it, it was locked tight, and the lock was of good quality, it would present a hardy challenge to the most skilled cracksmen, especially if somebody was in the room. Blake opened it with a key he had obtained from the butler and looked down. There was no ivy growing up to the window, nor any sufficient hand-holds on the wall, ruling out the possibility of somebody sneaking into the bedroom and administering the poison. The murder was evidently an ‘inside job’.

Blake continued to inspect the bedroom as inspector Coutts looked in the library and Tinker examined the servant’s quarters and interviewed the staff, suddenly Blake heard shouts from downstairs and rushed down to see what the trouble was, he found the butler in a struggle with the other two detectives. "What is the meaning of this?" demanded the butler, and Blake had to agree.

DI coutts waved a substantial amount of banknotes in front of blake- "Five thousand pounds, in cash, found in the butlers’ room, Blake. We have our man"

"One must never jump to conclusions, Coutts. Tinker, let go of him."

The detective's assistant complied, the Butler stood, defiant against Blake’s piercing grey eyes. "It’s an outrage!" he cried, momentarily losing the stoicism of the butler’s character, "I have never seen that money in my life!"

"I don’t doubt that you have" said Blake, "but-" Coutts cut in,

"But nothing, inspector, allow me to inspect the butler’s room before I make my own decision."

"I shall lead you there myself, sir" said the butler, calmed but shaken.

"Want me to fetch the poison detection equipment from the car, sir?" asked Tinker, Blake nodded as he and Coutts followed the butler to his room. It was rather spartan compared to the splendour Blake had just left, though not uncomfortable. There was a small window at ground level looking towards the front door of the house, white walls with a neatly-made bed on one side of the room, and a wardrobe and cabinets on the other. The ticking of two large alarm clocks penetrated the silence.

Tinker returned with the case for detecting poisons and pointed to a tiny gap in between the wardrobe and the cabinets- "I found the money there, guv."

"Hmm, a good place to conceal it from a glance at the room, but if somebody wanted it to be found during a thorough search they could have scarcely chosen a better place. Besides, five thousand is money well spent for a murderer who has stolen a million to buy his freedom."

"Are you suggesting somebody has attempted to ‘frame’ the butler?" Coutts asked

"Absolutely" replied Blake, "but the test for poison shall prove decisive." There was silence as Blake brushed a tiny quantity of the same liquid he used in the hospital across the tops of the butler’s cabinets, he also tried the various surfaces in the servant’s kitchen with the same, negative, result.

"It is clear then" he said, "that none of the staff can have handled the poison, nor can it have been present in their rooms. This test picks up the tiniest traces of the substance and it would be very difficult for them all to have been washed away."

"Well, on that evidence I will have to agree with you, Blake" said Coutts, before turning to the butler and telling him he was free to go.

"Not so soon" said Blake, "with Mr Rylcombe’s agreement, I should like to temporarily have the butler taken into custody. It may give the real killer a false sense of security."

With agreement of Edward Rylcombe and the butler, this is exactly what happened, with the fact reported in several evening newspapers.

"Now then, my lad" said Blake after taking tea back at Baker street. "Whoever has that money may try to place it into a bank, most likely opening a new account at one where they and their affairs are not known. I need you to visit the major banks in the city before they close, many should be open late today, and ask for anybody depositing a sum of around £995,000. It’s a bit of an outside chance as any experienced crook would split it up between several different accounts, but something strikes me about this case which suggests we are dealing with more of an opportunist, one who may make a rash mistake."

"And when that mistake comes, we’ll pounce on ‘em, guv!" Tinker enthused, "I’ll order a cab to take me into the city now" he walked out onto the landing. The telephone was downstairs in the hall.

Sexton Blake himself finished smoking his pipe, which he was accustomed to doing after tea, before going out to the Grey Panther and driving to Scotland Yard. There he met Coutts and the butler for a more detailed interview, which they conducted in the former’s comfortable office rather than the cold, bare cell that detectives normally conducted interviews relating to murder cases in.

"Now then" began Coutts, for this was an official police interview. "We have been over basic details of the case, but you as the butler will have had more contact with the dying man than anybody, and any detail –even the smallest- may lead us to catching those responsible for his death."

"Well" he began "I can’t think of anything more than the basics, he fell ill with a sore throat on Saturday and sent for the doctor to be on the safe side. On the Sunday he seemed to be improving somewhat but then he seemed to get worse constantly. The doctor kept coming every day and saying he was trying new treatments, but nothing seemed to work. Eventually Mr Rylcombe passed on… he was a good man, sirs. If he has been murdered I hope you catch the man who did it!"

"That’s it!" exclaimed Blake suddenly, bursting from thought.

"That's what?" asked Coutts, confused.

"Think about it" suggested the great detective. "There was no evidence of outside entry to the house, a clumsy attempt to frame the butler supported by no other evidence, and the rest of the household staff are above suspicion, as is the son of the victim. He is after all the victim of the robbery and came to me in the first place."

"I don’t see where you are going" said Coutts, feeling very confused. "It's simple" stated Blake, "everybody else who could have had contact with the dead man during his illness cannot have committed the crime, therefore logic suggests the only remaining one did- his doctor!"

"Preposterous!" gasped Coutts and the butler as one

"Under normal circumstances I would heartily agree, gentlemen. However his manner seemed highly suspicious to me as I examined the body, yet I had to be absolutely certain. Now all we need is proof, and I suggest we pay a visit to the doctor’s house to obtain it."

On the word of Sexton Blake, obtaining the necessary documents giving permission for a house to be searched was a mere formality, and soon Blake and Coutts where speeding through London in the Grey Panther. Finding the correct address Blake pulled up the great car some distance down the road and the pair stalked to the front door in darkness, finding no lights on in the house Blake resorted to picking the lock to gain entrance.

Inside a careful search of the rooms commenced, a tidy living room and pantry yielded no obvious clue to any misdeed, though Blake noticed an amateur painting of an Aztec temple on the wall above the fireplace. Moving upstairs the detectives listened for any tell-tale signs of the house being occupied, but finding none pressed on, flashing beams from their small electric torches around.

"I don’t know about this, Blake" muttered coutts as the bedroom and drawing room failed to yield any clues.

"I shall be satisfied after a complete search" said Blake, dismissing all concerns, for he was only interested in absolute proof or disproof. Then they had an interesting stroke of luck. A locked room required further lock-picking, the lock strangely of a superior quality to the one on the front door, but it provided little obstacle for Sexton Blake. Beyond was a small laboratory of sorts, with stacked boxes and a small workbench, alongside glass-fronted cabinets filled with glass bottles.

"Aah" said Blake, quickly removing a bottle of his own from a small case in his pocket, a bottle labelled with the number six. With a small brush he made a series of diagonal streaks across the work bench, large portions of which turned light blue almost immediately in the beam of the electric lights.

Coutts gasped. "A killer doctor? This is scandal!"

"Presence of the poison is not presence of guilt, old boy" uttered Blake, "he may have obtained a sample of the poison to test since my diagnosis, but we shall continue our search."

They wiped away traces of the poison detecting fluid and moved into the last room at the back of the house. There lay further proof, Blake noticing a skilfully weaved shield of vine and bamboo, decorated with the unmistakable imagery of the Namuyuma tribe. A glass cabinet contained a blow-pipe and primitive darts painted with the same imagery, alongside a photograph showing the doctor with Namuyuma tribesmen in the remote village Blake had himself visited. Underneath the frame was a card- "Doctor Roger Travers & Namuyuma chieftain, May 23rd 1919."

 "So!" announced Blake "he knew of this poison all along, there is your proof inspector, a warrant for his arrest must be issued immediately! Very few white men have ever encountered this tribe, even fewer allowed into the inner sanctum to discover the secrets of what they call their magic. Doctor Travers is evidently among them, and seeing his opportunity in the frail old lord who was careless where he left his money, used this knowledge to deadly effect!"

As Blake finished there came a hammering at the front door. The eyes of the two men met, and they immediately sprung into action. Blake headed for the window in the back room and began to pick the lock, whilst Coutts moved to the front of the house to look down into the street and check who was at the door. Presently he called back to Blake that it was a constable at the door, so the two stepped out onto the street to talk to him.

"Telephone message for mister Blake" he announced, adding, "the yard said I’d probably find you and the Inspector here, sir."

He gave his startling message and at once found himself hauled to the Grey Panther and bundled in, before long the three men where heading out of the city at great speed.

Tinker, after paying his cab driver upon arrival in the City of London, commenced to visit the various large banks in the area before they closed for the day. Several had already closed but their managers remained on the premises for some time afterwards, Tinker easily gained access to them upon showing his master’s card. Often having to give managers a friendly reminder about some gap in their security arrangements which his keen eyes had spotted whilst he was led to their offices.

The question in each was the same, had a new account been opened recently with a deposit of £995,000, or some other suspiciously large amount? Several had but those people that had opened the accounts could not possibly have been connected with the case, however Tinker made notes of all of them, just in case any other robberies should come to light for which the information could be a clue. The young detective’s last stop was the notable firm of Woolfe & Bartrams, a major international banking syndicate. They remained open much later than other establishments nearby, due to the time differences experienced by their globetrotting customers. For this reason Tinker had left them until last.

He had no more luck there than any of the other buildings, however as he walked out of the vast entrance hall he recognised a familiar face amongst a small group of people talking next to one of the grand marble pillars.

"Doctor Travers!" he exclaimed, causing the doctor to swing around "I must say doctor, your face is a picture" he laughed at the man’s evident surprise, for the young detective was as yet unaware that he was face-to-face with lord Rylcombe’s killer.

The doctor quickly recovered his composure "er, Tinker, isn’t it? The detective’s assistant? What brings you here?"

"Oh, just checking if anybody suspicious has been opening a new account with the stolen money, it was a bit of gamble and it doesn’t seem to have paid off. I was just on my way home, actually."

"Well you must allow me to give you a lift then, dear boy" the doctor said, Tinker attempted to object but found himself being all but carried out of the door.

"Well, ok then, I suppose it’ll save a cab fare... if you fellows don’t mind?" "The pleasure is ours, old chap" said the doctor as Tinker was led to a large closed saloon car. He found himself in the back seat in between the doctor and another man, whom he assumed to be one of the rich banking set.

"Er, I live on Baker street, if it’s not too far out of your way" Tinker blustered, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. The large car set off down the broad, well-lit street before turning off into a smaller, gloomy side street, suddenly the doctor shouted "NOW!" and Tinker found himself bundled to the floor of the big car. He hit out at one of his assailants, hearing a cry of pain, however in the next instant a rag was being held onto his face, and an overpowering odour hit him. "Chloroform!" was his desperate thought, before he slipped into oblivion.

Tinker awakened with cold air on his face, he groggily tried to sit up and rub his head, but realised his arms and legs where bound tightly. His vision slowly returned to him and he found himself in a dilapidated barn, propped up against a half-rotten haystack. Various rusting tools surrounded him and a gloomy glow from a small oil lantern, coupled with moonlight shining in through several holes in the wall, provided little illumination.

A shuffling, rustling noise came from the shadows as the young detective’s eyes were still adjusting to the light. The rich-looking, suited man he had been sitting next to in the car suddenly walked into the glare of the light, however he was now dressed in rough overalls and cheap patterned shirt. It was a dramatic change, and clearly intended as a rudimentary disguise.

"See you’re up" he grunted, plonking down a small metal cup filled with water. "Drink if you wonnit" he stood and stepped back, quashing Tinker’s hopes that he might be untied to drink, the bulky man addressed him again, in his gruff, curt manner. "Boss don’t want you hurt. We’re just keeping you out the way ‘til we can get out the country, just sit out the night and you’ll have nothing to worry ‘bout tomorrow."

Tinker didn’t reply, and the guard moved away to a roughly-built door at one end of the barn. He opened it and stepped outside, affording tinker a glimpse of a farmhouse beyond with several of its rooms lit up. A brief burst of light, and a creaking from just outside the barn door told Tinker his guard had sat down for a smoke. Wasting no time the young detective slid himself over to a rusting hoe propped up against a few bales of hay. By careful positioning of his arms he was able to begin working the ropes binding his hands against the blade, it was dulled through possibly years of neglect, but slowly the ropes began to give way. Suddenly Tinker saw a flash of orange light and a spray of embers from the ground, showing the guard had tossed away his cigarette and was coming back in.

He was able to shuffle himself into roughly the position he was in before as the guard once again appeared in the dull glow of the lamp. He advanced on Tinker slowly "didn’t want a drink then, no?" he chuckled as he reached for the metal mug.

In a flash both of Tinker’s feet shot up, catching the man in the chin, he dropped to one side with a choking wheeze as the youth rolled over. One mighty tug of his hands snapped the worn ropes and he landed a firm right on the recovering man’s jaw, knocking him senseless. Quickly, Tinker untied himself and used the ropes to securely bind his would-be captor, before placing the hoe he had used for escape on a hook high on the wall, and furtively creeping out of the door.

The glow of electric light came from within the farmhouse, and he could see figures moving about, but his escape didn’t seem to have been noticed. He slipped into a field and hurried across it, gradually speeding up as he got further from the farm and more confident. It was only at this point that Tinker noticed the thickening fog which was rolling in over the fields in the area, He could still make out a large glow in the distance and estimated he was approximately fifteen miles from London. He began to jog along the lane in the distance of the great city, knowing that once escape was discovered the crooks would quickly pack the money and head for a port or aerodrome to escape the country.

Suddenly the young detective became aware of a faint glow on the road ahead of him, slowly getting closer. The fog was now quite thick and sounds were dulled and distant. As the light came closer it resolved into a single point, the light of a bicycle being pushed along. Tuneless whistling accompanied the rattling wheels, and so did an unmistakable steady tread and the silhouette of a tall helmet - a policeman!

As he came almost alongside Tinker saw he was a chubby, but muscular looking man, with short, greying hair visible under his helmet, and a grey, bushy moustache. Feint lines of age crept across his face, but his eyes looked grey and keen, not unlike those of Sexton Blake himself, Tinker mused. Sure that he was safe from recapture, Tinker leapt up, startling the constable.

"’oo goes there? Poachers?" he barked out, turning his handlebars, and the beam of the lamp, towards Tinker.

"Sorry officer, I didn’t mean to startle you" he gasped "My name is Tinker, assistant to the detective Sexton Blake, I must get to a telephone immediately!"

The constable eyed him through the gloom, then suddenly burst into life. "Crikey! It is you, assistant to the great detective ‘imself! Come this way sir, and you can use the ‘phone at the station."

The constable lead Tinker over a stile which he had completely missed whilst jogging in the fog, and which proved to be a short cut to the police station of Brandford, a small hamlet of no more than ten squat, thatched houses. The police station itself was scarcely any larger, Tinker guessed it to have once been a village hall of sorts.

Being shown to the telephone, Sexton Blake’s assistant asked to be put through to Scotland Yard as a matter of urgency, and delivered the fateful message which was rushed to the great detective himself as he investigated the home of Dr Travers.

"What now, master Tinker?" asked the policeman, who had introduced himself as Constable Farndale during the walk.

"We should return to the farm, if I can find my way in the blasted fog at any rate, and keep watch on it from behind. Those scoundrels are bound to discover my escape sooner or later and clear out!"

"Come this way" said the constable, "Oi got another bicycle in the shed out back, and oi know a shortcut we can take."

Soon Tinker and the fastidious PC where bouncing over a muddy track between fields, which was scarcely wider than the wheels of their bikes. The fog was beginning to lift as the two took up watch on the farm, from what Tinker could work out, his escape had not yet been discovered, however the glow from the oil lamp was almost entirely extinguished. After being under cover for five minutes constable Farndale gripped the young detective's arm and pointed across the farmyard.

Dr Travers himself had emerged from the house and sauntered across to the barn to check on his captive. Tinker’s mind raced as to some way he could possibly stall the doctor, but he knew him and the constable where outnumbered at least two to one at this point, and attempting to subdue the villains by force would have been foolish. The Doctor reached the barn and almost immediately realised what had happened, a cry came from his lips as he dashed back to the house, the electric lights where extinguished and a flurry of shouting and activity could he heard. The constable whispered to Tinker, "what are we gone’ do now? We cant let ‘em get away."

"Wait a minute" replied the young detective, "I'm sure help will arrive soon...."

His hopes, however, began to slowly fade as the limping guard was hauled out of the barn and reprimanded severely, while another henchman, Tinker counted five in total, opened a large door built into the house and began throwing sacks into a motor-car Tinker glimpsed within. The car was started and driven out of the garage, and all the crooks began to climb in, however even as they did so the sound of a powerful motor began to echo around the fields. Tinker recognised it at once, the engine of the Grey Panther! He silently praised his master for leaving the headlamps switched off as he approached the farm, navigating the lanes entirely by moonlight, which was now quite bright as the brief spell of fog had passed.

The sound of the powerful engine, rebounding off nearby hills and small woods, could not be easily placed, and in the absence of car headlights the criminals in the farmyard gazed to the sky in confusion, perhaps expecting to see an aeroplane or Zeppelin nearby.

Suddenly however the Grey Panther skidded to a halt outside the farm gates, and Sexton Blake, Inspector Coutts and another constable burst from the great car. Tinker heard the doctor bellow an order and almost throw his four henchmen at the lawmen as he turned and ran in the opposite direction, towards Tinker and PC Farndale.

"This is our part" Tinker declared, launching himself from the foliage in which he was crouched.

"Evening doctor" he said, grinning jovially, "twice in a night eh? What are the chances?"

YOU- screamed Travers, his face contorted in rage. Tinker drew back his fist for a right, but the killer doctor lashed out a blow which was stunning with it’s speed and ferocity, knocking tinker to the ground. As the young detective gasped for air, Travers produced a razor-sharp dagger from a pocket concealed in his jacket.

"I should have dealt with you permanently" he snarled, and made a step towards the winded youth. That was as far as he got, for in the next instant a huge fist connected with his jaw and he dropped to the ground, knocked cold.

"Did oi mention oi where regimental boxin’ champion in the war?", constable Farndale drawled. Tinker burst into laugher out of relief at his near escape. The four henchmen Travers had sent at Sexton Blake and the two policemen had committed comparatively minor crimes compared to the doctor so put up little fight before being subdued.

Sexton Blake ran to Tinker as PC Farndale helped him up.

"Are you ok, my lad?" he asked, "never better, guv, Travers was your killer, but I suppose you gathered that."

"Yes, quite" said the great detective, checking that his quarry was still unconscious. At the farm gate a long length of tow-rope from the boot of the Grey Panther was being used to bind the grumbling crooks. Blake shook hands with PC Farndale and told him to hurry back to his station and telephone for a motor-van to pick up the captured criminals.

Doctor Travers, however, was going to be travelling all the way back to Scotland Yard, first class. He would be tried, convicted and hung within the week.

Edward Rylcombe sat up startled as several rough farm sacks thudded onto his drawing room table, at which he had been sat, despondent. He looked up to see Sexton Blake standing over him, an amused grin on his face.

"What is this?" growled Rylcombe "have you decided to deliver my vegetables yourself, as you insisted on arresting my butler?"

"I think you will like these vegetables, sir" Blake blandly stated in imitation of a butler. "However they do appear to have markings in the shape of the king's head on them".

The transformation of the young lord’s mood was instantaneous, he leapt up and fairly danced around the room with delight, before pulling wads of banknotes out of the sack and settling down to count them. Blake pulled the remaining £5000 found in the Butler’s room out of his pocket.

"This is the money that was found in your butler’s room, in a clumsy attempt to frame him. Altogether the missing million is here, to the penny."

"Ahh, let old Radford keep that" sighed Rylcombe, "compensation for this dreadful business he has had to go through."

The newspapers, as Blake expected, latched onto the "killer doctor" story with uncanny energy. Many sensationalised articles appeared during and for a long time after the trial.

At Baker street Tinker mused upon the circumstances himself. "Wonder what made Travers do what he did?" he thought aloud.

Sexton Blake was under no illusions: "Greed, my lad, pure and simple. It will turn the mind of the most unlikely people to evil."

"Hmm, terrible business altogether" murmured Tinker, "but then again, its that evil that keeps us in business, without greed we’d have to retire."

"If only" was Blake’s reply.

The End