CHAPTER V
THE EVIDENCE OF THE CIGARETTE-END
I suppose I have my fair share of self-confidence, but there have beenoccasions when I have felt intuitively that the only chance of successwas to have Quarles with me from the beginning. The Kew mystery was acase in point.
It was half-past nine when the telephone bell rang. At first theinspector on duty at the station could only hear a buzzing sound,followed by a murmur of voices, which might have come from theexchange; then came the single word, "Police!" As soon as he hadanswered in the affirmative the message came in quick gasps in awoman's voice:
"Hambledon Road--fourteen--come--it's murder! Quick, I'm being----"
There was a faint cry, as though the woman had been suddenly draggedfrom the instrument.
The inspector at once sent off a constable, who, with Constable Baker,the man on the Hambledon Road beat at the time, went to No. 14. Theirknock was not answered very promptly. A servant came to the door,still fidgeting with her cap and apron, as though she had put them onhastily, and she gave a start when she saw the policeman. She said hermistress--a Mrs. Fitzroy--was at home, but she seemed a littlereluctant to let the officers walk into the dining-room without apreliminary announcement, which was only natural, perhaps. Theyentered to find the room empty. Mrs. Fitzroy was not in the house. Theservant knew nothing about the telephone call. She said it was hernight out, that she had come in by the back door, as usual, and wasupstairs taking off her hat and jacket when the policeman knocked.
This was the outline of the mystery which I gave to ChristopherQuarles as we walked from Kew Gardens Railway Station to HambledonRoad. The investigation had only been placed in my hands that morning,and I knew no details myself.
"Shall we find Constable Baker at the house?" he asked presently.
"Yes; I have arranged that," I answered.
The house was a fair size, semi-detached, with half a dozen steps upto the front door, and it had a basement. There was a small window onthe right of the door which gave light to a wide passage hall, and onthe other side was the large window of the dining-room.
Baker opened the door for us.
"No news of Mrs. Fitzroy?" I asked.
"None, sir." He was a smart man. I had worked with him before.
"What time was it when you entered the house last night?" askedQuarles.
"Ten o'clock, sir. A clock struck while we were standing on thesteps."
"Was the light burning in the hall and in the dining-room?"
"Yes, sir; full on."
"And the dining-room door was shut?"
"Yes, sir."
"You searched the house for Mrs. Fitzroy?"
"We did. Have you just come from the police station?"
"No."
"I have reported one or two points," said Baker. "The gardens of thesehouses all have a door opening onto a footpath, on the other side ofwhich there is a tennis club ground.
"The path ends in a blank wall at one end; the other end comes outinto Melbury Avenue, a road running at right angles to Hambledon Road.I found the garden gate here unbolted, and the servant, Emma Lewis,says she has never known it to be unfastened before. Also in MelburyAvenue last evening I saw a taxi waiting. I saw it first at abouteight o'clock, and it was still there at a quarter past nine, when Ispoke to the driver. He said he had brought a gentleman down, who hadtold him to wait there, and had then walked up Melbury Avenue. It wasnot the first time he had driven him to the avenue, and the driversupposed it was a clandestine love affair. After we found that Mrs.Fitzroy was missing, I went to look for the taxi. It had gone. I hadnoticed the number, however, and they are making inquiries at thepolice station."
"Good," said Quarles. "Now let us look at the dining-room. Nothing hasbeen moved, I suppose."
"It's just as we found it last night," Baker returned.
It was a well-furnished room. An easy chair was close to the hearth,and an ordinary chair was turned sideways to the table. A swivel-chairwas pushed back from the writing-table, which was in the window, andthe telephone, which evidently stood on this table as a rule, washanging over it, suspended by the cord, the receiver being upon itshook. The telephone directory lay open on the blotting-pad. For sometime Quarles was interested in the telephone, the directory, and thepad, then he turned to take in the general aspect of the room.
"Some man was here, evidently," I said, pointing to the ashes on thetiled hearth, "and was smoking. It looks as if he had smoked at hisease for some time."
"Seated in one of those chairs probably," said Quarles. "Some ash ison the writing-table, too."
He took up a sheet of paper and scooped up a little of the ash fromthe hearth and examined it under his lens; and, having done this, heraked about in the cinders, but found nothing to interest him.
"I want a cigarette-end," he said, looking first in the coal-box, thenalong the mantelpiece and in the little ornaments there, and, finally,in the paper basket. "Ah, here is one. Thrown here, it suggests thatthe smoker might have been seated at the table, doesn't it? Weprogress, Wigan; we progress."
It was always impossible to tell whether the professor's remarksexpressed his real opinion, or whether they were merely careless wordsspoken while his mind was busy in an altogether different direction. Ihardly saw where our progression came in. I examined the carpet. Ifanyone had entered in a hurry to kidnap Mrs. Fitzroy he would not havespent much time in wiping his boots. I found a little soil on thehearthrug and by the writing-table. I pointed it out to the professor,who was still looking at the cigarette which lay in the palm of hishand.
"Yes, very interesting," said Quarles. "I expect the man came by wayof the garden and brought a little earth from that pathway with him.What do you make of this cigarette?"
"A cheap kind. Perhaps the lady smokes."
"We'll ask the servant. By the way, Baker, do you happen to know Mrs.Fitzroy?"
"I've seen a lady come out of this house on one or two occasions,"answered the constable. "I described her to the servant, and have nodoubt it was Mrs. Fitzroy. She is rather good-looking, fifty orthereabouts, but takes some pains to appear younger, I fancy."
"You are observant," Quarles remarked. "Shall we have the servant in,Wigan?"
Emma Lewin told us that she had been with Mrs. Fitzroy for over threeyears. Last night she had gone out as usual about six o'clock. She hadleft by the back door and had taken the key with her. She always didso. She returned just before ten, and had gone straight upstairs totake off her hat and jacket. She always did this before going in tosee whether her mistress required anything.
"Was the dining-room door shut when you went upstairs?" I asked.
"Yes."
"You did not go by the garden gate last night?"
"No. I never go that way. The gate is never used."
"Did Mrs. Fitzroy have many visitors?"
"None to speak of. Not half a dozen people have called upon her sinceI have been here. I believe she had no relations. Once or twice a weekshe would be out all day, and occasionally she has been away for anight or two."
"Where has she gone on these occasions?" I asked.
"I do not know."
"And her correspondence--was it large?"
"She received very few letters," the servant answered; "whether shewrote many, I cannot say. I certainly didn't post them."
"Did she use the telephone much?"
"She gave orders to the tradesmen sometimes, and I have heard the bellringing occasionally. You see, the kitchen is a basement one, and thebell might often ring without my hearing it."
"Did your mistress smoke?" Quarles asked suddenly.
"No, sir."
"How do you know she didn't?"
"I have heard her say she didn't agree with women smoking. Besides,when doing the rooms I should have found cigarette-ends."
"That seems conclusive," said Quarles. "Yesterday was Wednesday, yournight out?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is Wednesday always your night out?"
/>
"It is."
"From six to ten?"
"Yes; it is a standing arrangement; nothing ever interferes with it."
"Very interesting," said the professor. "Now, of course you know whatyour mistress was wearing when you left her alone in the house lastnight?"
"A brown dress with----"
"I don't want to know," Quarles interrupted. "But I want you to go toyour mistress's room and find out what hat and coat and what kind ofboots she put on last night. She wouldn't be likely to go out dressedas you left her. You had better go with the young woman, Baker."
He spoke in rather a severe tone, and, when the girl had left the roomwith the constable, I asked him if he suspected her of complicity inthe affair.
"My dear Wigan, as yet I am only gathering facts," he answered, "factsto fit theories. We may take the following items as facts: Mrs.Fitzroy did not smoke. She had few visitors. She received few letters.Once or twice a week she was out all day. The servant's night out isWednesday. Yesterday, being Wednesday, a taxi waited for aconsiderable time in Melbury Avenue. The driver has brought his fareto Melbury Avenue on previous occasions."
"And the theory?" I asked.
"Theories," he corrected; "there are many. If the taxi came onWednesdays on the other occasions, the fare may have smoked this kindof cigarette. If so, he may be the man who kidnapped Mrs. Fitzroy. Hemay have been hurrying the lady down the narrow path while Baker andhis companion were standing on the front door step. Out of suchtheories a score of others come naturally."
"By this time they may have heard of the driver at the police station.Shall I telephone?"
"Not yet," said Quarles. "We will try and discover how Mrs. Fitzroywas dressed first."
"And meanwhile we are giving our quarry time to escape," I said.
"We must risk something, and we haven't got enough facts to supportany theory yet. I wonder whether Mrs. Fitzroy did use the telephonemuch?"
The speculation threw him into a reverie until Emma Lewin returnedwith the information that her mistress must have gone out dressed justas she had left her. No hat nor jacket nor wrap of any kind wasmissing, and she had not changed her indoor shoes.
"Thank you; that helps us very much. I don't think you can help us anymore at present." And then, when the girl had gone, Quarles turned toBaker. "I understand you searched the house last night for Mrs.Fitzroy?"
"We did."
"Was it a thorough search--I mean did you look into every corner,every drawer, every cupboard for some sign of her? Did you explore thecellars, which, I expect, are large?"
"It was not quite as thorough as that," said Baker, trying to suppressa smile at the idea of finding Mrs. Fitzroy in a drawer, I suppose.
"You expected to find the lady lying on the carpet here?"
"Well, sir, I thought it likely at first; but, with the garden gateunfastened and the taxi in Melbury Avenue, I don't doubt the lady wentthat way."
"After telephoning to the police that she was being murdered?" saidQuarles.
"I don't suggest that she went willingly," said Baker.
"But you do suggest that, being convinced she had gone, your search ofthe house was not very thorough?"
"I didn't mean to suggest that, either, sir," answered Baker, someresentment in his tone.
"We want Zena here, Wigan, to ask one of her absurd questions,"Quarles went on. "I'll ask one in her place. Why was the policestation rung up at all?"
"The woman rushed to the 'phone for help, and----"
"My dear Wigan, the directory is open at the page giving the number ofthe police station. What was her assailant doing while she turned upthe number and rang up the exchange?"
"Probably he wasn't in the room, and her woman's wit----"
"Ah, you've been reading sensational fiction," he interrupted. "Let usstick to facts. The call must have been a deliberate one and wouldtake time. There was evidently no desperate struggle in this room lastnight. The position of the two chairs by the hearth suggests that twopersons at some time during the evening were sitting heretogether--one of them a man, since the hearth shows that he smoked.The time would be somewhere between six o'clock, when the servant wentout, and nine-thirty, when the telephone message was received. IfBaker can fix the time of the taxi's arrival in Melbury Avenue,perhaps we can be even more accurate."
"The taxi wasn't there at half-past seven," said the constable.
"Then we may say between seven-thirty and nine-thirty," said Quarles."Now the only thing which suggests violence of any kind is theinstrument hanging over the table. Had the person using it beenforcibly dragged away, the instrument might have fallen in thatposition, but it would have been a stupendous miracle if the receiverhad swung to its place on the hook. No, Wigan, the receiver wasreplaced carefully to cut the connection, and the instrument wasprobably hung as it is deliberately to attract attention. I come backto my question, then: Why was the police station rung up at all?"
I did not answer, and Baker shook his head in sympathy.
"I do not attempt to suggest what occurred while the two sat here bythe fire," said Quarles, "but whatever it was, somebody wished it tobe known that something had happened. That is my answer to thequestion. The message suggests murder. As the house has not yet beenthoroughly searched, murder may actually have taken place."
Baker started, and I looked at the professor in astonishment.
"You think Mrs. Fitzroy is lying dead somewhere in this house?" Isaid.
"I have a theory which we may put to the test at once," returnedQuarles.
"In the cellars, I suppose?"
"No, Wigan; we'll look everywhere else first. I expect to find a body,and not very securely hidden either; there wouldn't be much time; and,besides, I believe it is meant to be found. Still I do not expect tofind Mrs. Fitzroy's body. I expect to find a dead man. Shall we go andlook?"
A man in my profession perforce gets used to coming in contact withdeath in various forms, but there is always a certain thrill in doingso, and in the present search there was something uncanny. The questwas not a long one. In a small bedroom on the first floor, sparselyfurnished and evidently used chiefly as a box-room, we found the bodyof a man under the bed. A cord had been thrown round his neck and hehad been strangled fiercely and with powerful hands at the work.
"Not a woman's doing," said Quarles as he knelt down to examine thecorpse.
There were no papers of any kind in the pockets, but there was moneyand a cigar case.
"Time is precious now, Wigan," said the professor. "You mighttelephone to the station and ask if they have found the driver of thetaxi. I want to know if this poor fellow is the man he drove toMelbury Avenue last evening, also whether it has always been aWednesday when he has brought him into this neighborhood; and, ofcourse, you must ask him any questions which may lead to theidentification of the dead man. I don't suppose he will be able tohelp you much in that direction. You will find, I fancy, that thedriver got tired of waiting for his fare last night and drove away."
"Or took another fare--the murderer," I suggested.
"I don't think so," said Quarles. "You might also ask the inspector atthe station whether he is prepared to swear that the first voice heheard over the 'phone--the voice which said 'police'--was a woman's.What time does it grow dark now, constable?"
"Early--half-past four, sir."
"I'll go, Wigan. I want to think the matter out before dark. Seveno'clock to-night--meet me at the top of the road at that time, andsomewhere close have half a dozen plain clothes men ready for a raid.Now that we know murder has been done, you couldn't suggest a house toraid, I suppose, constable."
"I couldn't, sir."
"Nor can I at present. Seven o'clock to-night, Wigan."
The professor's manner, short, peremptory, self-sufficient, was attimes calculated to disturb the serenity of an archangel. I had beenon the point of quarreling with him more than once that morning, butthe sudden demonstration of what seemed to be the wildest theory leftme with not
hing to say. Constable Baker had an idea of putting thecase adequately, I think, when he remarked: "He ain't human, that'swhat he is."
The taxi driver had been found, and, when taken to Hambledon Road,recognized the dead man as his fare. He had driven him to MelburyAvenue on four occasions, and each time it had been a Wednesday. Ofcourse, the gentleman might have come more than four times, and onother days besides Wednesdays for all he knew. On each occasion he hadbeen called off a rank in Trafalgar Square. His fare had paid him forthe down journey before walking up the avenue, and had never kept himwaiting so long before, so he gave up the job and went back to town.He had not picked up another fare until he got to Kensington.
The inspector at the station was certain the message he had receivedwas in a woman's voice, but he was not sure that the word "police" wasin the same voice, or that it was a woman who spoke it.
At seven o'clock I was waiting for Quarles at the top of HambledonRoad. He was punctual to the minute.
"You've got the men, Wigan?"
"They are hanging about in Melbury Avenue."
"It may be there is hot work in front of us," said Quarles, "and thefirst move is yours. No. 6 Hambledon Road is the house we want, andyou will go to the front door and ask to see the master. I fancy amaidservant will answer the door, but I am not sure. Whoever it is,prevent an alarm being given, and get into the house with the two menwho will accompany you. That done, get the door into the garden open,and I will join you with the rest of the men. If there is any attemptat escape it will be by the garden, and we shall be waiting for them.Utter silence; that is imperative. Of course, they may be prepared,but probably they are not. If it is necessary to shoot, you must, andwe will force our way in as best we can and take our part in thestruggle. Come along, let's get the men together."
A few minutes later I had knocked at the door of No. 6; an elderlywoman-servant came to the door, and I saw suspicion in her eyes. Evenas I inquired for her master I seized her, and so successfully thatshe hadn't an opportunity to utter a sound. I asked her no question,certain that she would mislead me, and, leaving one of the men withher in the hall, I hastened with the other two to the door leadinginto the garden, fully expecting to be attacked. We saw no one, heardno movement; either the professor had made a mistake or theconspirators considered themselves secure.
Quarles and the men came in like shadows, so silent were they, and itwas evident that the professor had given his companions instructions,for two of them quickly went toward the hall.
"The cellars, Wigan," he whispered. "I think it will be the cellars."
The house was a basement one, similar to No. 14, and from a stonepassage we found a door giving on to a dozen steep steps. It was pitchdark below.
"Don't show a light," said Quarles as he pushed me gently to goforward. I didn't know it at the time, but only one man came down withus.
At the foot of the stairs a passage ran to right and left, and to theleft, which was toward the garden side of the house, a thin line oflight showed below a door. On tiptoe, ready for emergencies, andhardly daring to breathe, we approached it, and with one accord theprofessor and I put our ears to the door. For a while no sound came,then a paper rustled and a foot scraped lightly on the stone floor. Wehad chanced to arrive during a pause in the conversation, forpresently a voice, pitched low and monotonous in its tone, went onwith an argument:
"I can find no excuse for you in that, Bertha Capracci. It is notadmitted that your husband found death at the hands of his associates,but, were it so, it is no more than just. There are papers hereproving beyond all doubt that he betrayed his friends."
"I have already said that is untrue," came the answer in a woman'svoice.
"There is no doubt," said another man.
"None," said a third.
Three men at least were sitting in judgment upon this woman, and itwas evident they were not English.
"Besides, I am not one of you," said the woman.
"In name, no; in reality, yes; since your husband must have let youinto many secrets," returned the first speaker. "Your woman's wit hasoutplayed our spies until recently, but, once discovered, you havebeen constantly watched. We cannot prove that the failure of some ofour plans, costing the lives of good comrades, has been due to yourinterference, but we suspect it. We found you in constantcommunication with this English Jew, Jacob Morrison, who is in the payof the Continental police. He is dead, a warning to others, killed inyour house, and busy eyes are now looking for you as his murderess.You have hidden your identity so entirely that all inquiry mustspeedily be baffled, and so you have played into our hands. Yourdisappearance will hardly reach to a nine days' wonder, and who willthink to look for your body under the flags of this cellar? Death isthe sentence of the Society, and forthwith."
I waited to hear a cry of terror, but it did not come. Nor was there amovement to suggest that the men had risen at once to the work, or,in spite of the restraining hand the professor laid on my arm, Ishould have been beating at the door to break it down.
"I offer you one chance of life," the man's voice droned on after apause. "Confess everything. Give me the names of all those to whom youhave given information concerning us, and you shall have yourmiserable life."
"You have killed the only man who knew anything from me," sheanswered.
"It's a lie," came the hissing reply. "Your cursed husband told you somuch about us, he may have explained some of the means we employ tomake unwilling tongues speak. I'll have the truth out of you."
One of the men must have sat close to her, for her sudden cry of fearwas instantly smothered, and there was the sound of struggle and roughusage.
"Now--quickly," whispered Quarles; and the man who had followed us tothe cellars had struck with a stout piece of iron between the door andits framework. The wood splintered immediately, and, almost before Iwas prepared, we were facing our enemies, and Quarles was shouting forthe other men in the house to come to us.
"Hands up!" I cried.
They were unprepared, that was our salvation. Not one of the three hadany intention of surrender, that was evident in a moment, but they hadto get their hands on their weapons, and, fortunately, only one ofthem had a revolver. The other two rushed upon us with knives.
I think Quarles was the first to fire, and he was not a thought toosoon. He said afterward that he meant to maim and not to kill, but hisbullet passed through the man's brain, and he dropped like a stone.He was the one with the revolver, and, regardless of his own safety,he meant to silence the woman for ever.
The weapon was at her head when the villain dropped, and I havesometimes thought that, whatever his intention the moment before, inthe act of pressing the trigger the professor realized that only theman's death could save the woman.
It was hot work for a moment. The man who had burst open the door gota nasty knife thrust, and I had been obliged to fire at my assailantbefore our comrades rushed to our aid. There is no enemy moredangerous than a man armed with a knife when he knows how to use it,and when the space to fight in is so confined that to use firearms isto endanger your friends. Indeed, I thought the woman had been shot,but she had only fainted, although it was quite impossible to questionher fully until next day.
"Those papers may be useful," said Quarles, when our captives had beentaken to the police station, pointing to the documents which hadfallen from a little table pushed aside in the struggle. "The ends ofa big affair are in our hands, I fancy, and, with the help of Mrs.Fitzroy, we may get several more dangerous fanatics under lock andkey."
Late that night I was with the professor in Chelsea. He had gonestraight home from Hambledon Road, and, after a visit to the policestation and a long consultation with Scotland Yard over the 'phone, Ifollowed him. There were several questions I wanted to ask, for hishandling of this affair seemed to me so near to the marvelous that Iwondered whether he had had some knowledge of this gang before we hadheard of the house in Kew.
"No, Wigan, no," he said, in reply to my question.
"I did not evenknow there was such a place as Hambledon Road."
"I am altogether astonished."
"And not for the first time, eh, Wigan? Yet this case has been workedupon facts chiefly. It was clear that the idea of the woman goingsuddenly to the telephone to call for help was absurd, and, therefore,it was at least possible that she had spoken that message undercompulsion. When the revolver was held to her head in the cellarto-night, it was probably not for the first time. As I said thismorning, there was a desire to put the authorities on the scent. Thissuggested a conspiracy. So much for theory, now for facts."
"But we did not know murder had been committed then," I said.
"Mrs. Fitzroy said so in her message," Quarles answered, "and it wasunlikely the police would have been called unless they were meant todiscover something. But we had facts to go upon. It was evident thattwo persons had sat by the fire, the position of the chairs, the cigarash on the hearth----"
"Cigarette, you mean."
"It was a cigar ash on the hearth, and I looked for a cigar end amongthe cinders and could not find one. It was cigarette ash on thewriting-table, and I found the cigarette end, you will remember. Itwas possible, of course, that the same man had smoked a cigarette aswell as a cigar, but the different position of the ash wassignificant. I concluded there were two men, one who had sat smoking acigar by the fire, one who, in leaning over to ring up the police, haddropped ash from a cigarette on to the writing-table. I concludedthat the cigar smoker was the murdered man, and you will rememberthere was a cigar case in the pocket of the man we found. I think weshall discover that it was the cigarette smoker who killed him, andthen compelled Mrs. Fitzroy to send that message. No doubt he had acompanion with him, perhaps more than one, and I believe they havebeen living at No. 6 for some time watching Mrs. Fitzroy. We haveheard to-night who Jacob Morrison was, and it was on Wednesdayevenings that he came to No. 14. Possibly the watchers had not becomeaware of his visits until that evening; they may have kept watch inthe Hambledon Road, whereas Mrs. Fitzroy unbolted the gate at thebottom of the garden for him as soon as the servant went out. Youremember the cigarette end?"
"Yes, it was a cheap kind."
"And foreign," said Quarles; "Spagnolette Nationale. You can buy themdone up in a gray paper case at any shop which sells tobacco in Italy,trenta centesimi for ten, I believe, and you can get them at certainplaces in Soho. You heard me ask Baker what time it grew dark. I hadsomething to do then, but much to do first. To begin with, I had tofind out what days the dust was collected, then to make judiciousinquiries about foreigners living in the neighborhood. You see, sinceMrs. Fitzroy had been taken away just as she was, and since Baker hadonly seen that one taxi waiting, I concluded the lady had not beentaken far. The only house containing foreigners which seemed to suitmy purpose was No. 6, and, when it was dark, I went to examine thedust-bin. There I found two or three of these cases of gray paper. Yousee, Wigan, the case was comparatively an easy one."
"It is a marvel to me that Mrs. Fitzroy was not murdered before wefound her," I said.
"I knew there was a risk, but we were helpless," Quarles answered. "Ihad heard of No. 6 and its inhabitants soon after one o'clock, but ifwe had gone to the house in daylight we should only have hurried atragedy probably. Besides, I had a theory. These villainous societiesalmost invariably have methods and rules. If a member is dispatched,some semblance of justice is given to his sentence. I thought the menwho had done the kidnapping were not of the first importance, and thatMrs. Fitzroy would not be done away with before she had beenconfronted with some chief member of the gang. It was very necessarythey should wring a confession from her if they could."
Early next morning two houses in Soho were raided and a number ofarrests made; but, except for the two men we had taken in HambledonRoad, I do not think we got hold of anybody of importance. The raid,at any rate, did something to disturb a nest of anarchists, and, withthe information in the hands of the Continental police through JacobMorrison, and with what Mrs. Fitzroy could tell us, the society wasscattered, and their efforts are likely to be moribund for some time.Mrs. Fitzroy was an Englishwoman married to an Italian, who had been amember of the society and had been done to death by his associatessome four years ago. She said he was innocent and was determined toavenge him. The man who had killed Morrison had been shot by Quarles.He was the cigarette smoker. His two companions whom we had capturedgot terms of imprisonment, and will be deported on their release. Ican only trust that Mrs. Fitzroy will keep out of their way then.