The Golden Rose by Fred M. White — Read

Murshee faced the mob of rioters coolly. He had been in too many tight places to know much about personal fear when armed. But Vava's caravan contained a surprise which appealed to his imagination and set him thinking. He had been guilty of crime, and but for the accident of circumstances the black list would have been increased with another. A lawless scamp might pursue criminal courses in a foreign country where the arm of the law is weak, but these things were infinitely hazardous in England, as none knew better than Murshee. He had counted the risk over and over again and callously reckoned what he was going to gain before he complied with Sir Montagu Goshe's wishes. He was satisfied that the secret of the Golden Rose was too closely kept to find its way into the hands of the police and give them any clue.

He was cunning enough to know that the first thing the police would look for in the death of Jasper Payn was a motive. But they would find no motive so far as he was concerned; they would know nothing of the cause of the trouble and would ascribe the crime to some wandering tramp detected in a clumsy burglary. Nobody knew of the existence of the Golden Rose except Jasper Payn himself. And that wonderful flower had been safely transferred to the seclusion of one of Sir Montagu Goshe's conservatories. Therefore, so far as Murshee could see, it was plain sailing, and after a little while the nursery murder would help to swell the list of undiscovered crimes.