CHAPTER VII
THE RIDDLE OF THE 5.28
It was exactly thirty-two minutes past five o'clock on the evening ofFriday, December 9th, when the station-master at Anerley received thefollowing communication by wire from the signal box at Forest Hill:
5.28 down from London Bridge just passed. One first-class compartment in total darkness. Investigate.
As two stations, Sydenham and Penge, lie between Forest Hill andAnerley, in the ordinary course of events this signal-box message wouldhave been despatched to one or the other of these; but it so happensthat the 5.28 from London Bridge to Croydon is a special train, whichmakes no stop short of Anerley station on the way down, consequently thesignalman had no choice but to act as he did.
"Wire fused, I reckon, or filament burnt out. That's the worst ofelectric light," commented the station-master when he received thecommunication. "Get a light of some sort from the lamp-room, Webb.They'll have to put up with that as far as Croydon. Move sharp. She'llbe along presently." Then he took up a lantern (for, in addition to fog,a slight, sifting snow had come on about an hour previously, renderingthe evening one of darkness and extreme discomfort) and crossed by wayof the tunnel over to the down platform to be ready for the train'sarrival, having some little difficulty in progressing easily, for it sohappened that a local celebrity had been entertaining the newly electedLord Mayor that day, and in consequence both the up and the downplatforms were unusually crowded for the season and the hour.
Promptly at 5.42, the scheduled time for its arrival, the train camepelting up the snow-covered metals from Penge, and made its first stopsince starting. It was packed to the point of suffocation, as it alwaysis, and in an instant the station was in a state of congestion. Far downthe uncovered portion of the platform Webb, the porter, who had nowjoined the station-master, spied a gap in the long line of brightlylighted windows, and the pair bore down upon it forthwith, each with aglowing lantern in his hand.
"Here she is. Now, then, let's see what's the difficulty," said thestation-master, as they came abreast of the lightless compartment,where, much to his surprise, he found nobody leaning out and making a"to-do" over the matter. "Looks as if the blessed thing was empty,though that's by no means likely in a packed train like the 5.28. Hallo!Door's locked. And here's an 'Engaged' label on the window. What thedickens did I do with my key? Oh, here it is. Now, then, let's seewhat's amiss."
A great deal was amiss, as he saw the instant he unlocked the door andpulled it open, for the first lifting of the lantern made the cause ofthe darkness startlingly plain. The shallow glass globe which shouldhave been in the centre of the ceiling had been smashed, raggedfragments of it still clinging to their fastenings, and the threeelectric bulbs had been removed bodily. A downward glance showed himthat both these and the fragments of the broken globe lay on one seat,partly wrapped in a wet cloth, and on the other---- He gave a jump and ahowl, and retreated a step or two in a state of absolute panic. Forthere in a corner, with his face toward the engine, half sat, halfleaned, the figure of a dead man, with a bullet-hole between his eyes,and a small, nickel-plated revolver loosely clasped in the bent fingersof one limp and lifeless hand.
The body was that of a man whose age could not, at the most, haveexceeded eight-and-thirty, a man who must, in life, have been more thanordinarily handsome. His hair and moustache were fair, his clothing wasof extreme elegance in both material and fashioning, he wore nojewellery of any description, unless one excepts a plain gold ring onthe fourth finger of the left hand, his feet were shod in patent-leatherboots, in the rack overhead rested a shining silk hat of the newestfashion, an orange-wood walking-stick, and a pair of gray suede gloves.An evening paper lay between his feet, open, as though it had been read,and in his buttonhole there was a single mauve orchid of exquisitebeauty and delicacy. The body was quite alone in the compartment, andthere was not a scrap of luggage of any description.
"Suicide," gulped the startled station-master as soon as he could findstrength to say anything; then he hastily slammed and relocked the door,set Webb on guard before it, and flew to notify the engine driver and tosend word to the local police.
The news of the tragedy spread like wildfire, but the station-master,who had his wits about him, would allow nobody to leave the stationuntil the authorities had arrived, and suffered no man or woman to comewithin a yard of the compartment where the dead man lay.
Some one has said that "nothing comes by chance," but whether that istrue or not, it happened that Mr. Maverick Narkom was among those whohad attended the lunch in honour of the Lord Mayor that day, and that,at the very moment when this ghastly discovery was made on the downplatform at Anerley station, he was standing with the crowd on the upone, waiting for the train to Victoria. This train was to convey Cleek,whom he had promised to join at Anerley, returning from a day spentwith Captain Morrison and his daughter in the beautiful home they hadbought when the law decided that the captain was the legitimate heir ofGeorge Carboys and lawful successor to Abdul ben Meerza's money.
As soon as the news of the tragedy reached him Mr. Narkom crossed to thescene of action and made known his identity, and by the time the localpolice reached the theatre of events he was in full possession of thecase, and had already taken certain steps with regard to the matter.
It was he who first thought of looking to see if any name was attached,as is often the case, to the "Engaged" label secured to the window ofthe compartment occupied by the dead man. There was. Written in pencilunder the blue-printed "Engaged" were the three words, "For LordStavornell."
"By George!" he exclaimed, as he read the name which was one that halfEngland had heard of at one time or another, and knew to belong to a manwhose wild, dissipated life and violent temper had passed into proverb."Come to the end at last, has he! Give me your lantern, porter, and openthe door. Let's have a look and see if there's any mistake or----" Thewhistle of the arriving train for Victoria cut in upon his words, and,putting the local police in charge he ran for the tunnel, made for theup platform, and caught Cleek. He remained in conversation with him fortwo or three minutes after the Victoria train had gone on its way, andwas still talking with him in undertones when, a brief time later, theyappeared from the tunnel and bore down on the spot where the localpolice were on guard over the dark compartment.
"Mr. George Headland, one of my best men," he explained to the localinspector, who had just arrived. "Let us have all the light you can,please. Mr. Headland wishes to view the body. Crowd round, the rest ofyou, and keep the passengers back. Pull down the blinds of thecompartment before you turn on your bull's-eyes. All right, porter. Tellthe engine driver he'll get his orders in a minute. Now then,Cl--Headland, decide; it rests with you."
Cleek opened the door of the compartment, stepped in, gave one glance atthe dead man, and then spoke.
"Murder!" he said. "Look how the pistol lies in his hand. Wait a moment,however, and let me make sure." Then he took the revolver from theyielding fingers, smelt it, smiled, then "broke" it, and looked at thecylinder. "Just as I supposed," he added, turning to Narkom. "Onechamber has been fouled by a shot and one cartridge has been exploded.But not to-day, not even yesterday. That sour smell tells its own story,Mr. Narkom. This revolver was discharged two or three days ago. Theassassin had everything prepared for this little event; but he was afool, for all his cleverness, for you will observe that in his haste,when he put the revolver in the dead hand to make it appear a case ofsuicide, he laid it down just as he himself took it from his pocket,with the butt toward the victim's body and the muzzle pointing outwardbetween the thumb and forefinger, and with the bottom of the cylinder,instead of the top of the trigger, touching the ball of the thumb! It isa clear case of murder, Mr. Narkom."
"But, sir," interposed the station-master, overhearing this assertion,and looking at Cleek with eyes of blank bewilderment, "if somebodykilled him, where has that 'somebody' gone? This train has made no stopuntil now since it started from London Bridge; so, even if
the party wasin it at the start, how in the world could he get out?"
"Maybe he chucked hisself out of the window, guv'ner," suggested Webb;"or maybe he slipped out and hung on to the footboard until the trainslowed down, and then dropped off just before it come into the stationhere."
"Don't talk rubbish, Webb. Both doors were locked and both windowsclosed when we discovered the body. You saw that as plainly as I."
"Lummy, sir, so I did. Then where could he a-went to--and how?"
"Station-master," struck in Cleek, turning from examining the body, "getyour men to examine all tickets, both in the train and out of it, and ifthere's one that's not clipped as it passed the barrier at LondonBridge, look out for it, and detain the holder. I'll take the gate here,and examine all local tickets. Meantime, wire all up the road to everystation from here to London Bridge, and find out if any other signalmanthan the one at Forest Hill noticed this dark compartment when the trainwent past."
Both suggestions were acted upon immediately. But every ticket, save, ofcourse, the season ones--and the holders of these were in every caseidentified--was found to be properly clipped; and, in the end, everysignal-box from New Cross on wired back: "All compartments lighted whentrain passed here."
"That narrows the search, Mr. Narkom," said Cleek, when he heard this."The lights were put out somewhere between Honor Oak Park and ForestHill, and it was between Honor Oak Park and Anerley the murderer madehis escape. Inspector"--he turned to the officer in command of the localpolice--"do me a favour. Put your men in charge of this carriage, andlet the train proceed. Norwood Junction is the next station, I believe,and there's a side track there. Have the carriage shunted, and keepclose guard over it until Mr. Narkom and I arrive."
"Right you are, sir. Anything else?"
"Yes. Have the station-master at the junction equip a hand-car with asearchlight, and send it here as expeditiously as possible. If anybodyor anything has left this train between this point and Honor Oak Park,Mr. Narkom, this thin coating of snow will betray the fact beyond thequestion of a doubt."
Twenty minutes later the hand-car put in an appearance, manned by acouple of linemen from the junction, and, word having been wired up theline to hold back all trains for a period of half an hour in theinterests of Scotland Yard, Cleek and Narkom boarded the vehicle, andwent whizzing up the metals in the direction of Honor Oak Park, theshifting searchlight sweeping the path from left to right and glaringbrilliantly on the surface of the fallen snow.
Four lines of tracks gleamed steel-bright against its spotlesslevel--the two outer ones being those employed by the local trains goingto and fro between London and the suburbs, the two inner ones belongingto the main line--but not one footstep indented the thin surface of thatbroad expanse of snow from one end of the journey to the other.
"The murderer, whoever he is or wherever he went, never set foot upon somuch as one inch of this ground, that's certain," said Narkom, as hegave the order to reverse the car and return. "You feel satisfied ofthat, do you not, my dear fellow?"
"Thoroughly, Mr. Narkom; there can't be two opinions upon that point.But, at the same time, he _did_ leave the train, otherwise we shouldhave found him in it."
"Granted. But the question is, _when_ did he get in and _how_ did he getout? We know from the evidence of the passengers that the train neverstopped for one instant between London Bridge station and Anerley; thatall compartments were alight up to the time it passed Honor Oak Park;that nobody abroad of it heard a sound of a pistol-shot; that theassassin could not have crept along the footboard and got into someother compartment, for _all_ were so densely crowded that half a dozenpeople were standing in each, so he could not have entered withoutsomebody making room for him to open the door and get in. No such thinghappened, no such thing could happen, without a dozen or more peoplebeing aware of it; so the idea of a confederate may be dismissed withouta thought. The unmarked surface of the snow shows that nobody alighted,was thrown out, or fell out between the two points where the tragedymust have occurred; both windows were shut and both doors of thecompartment locked when the train made its first stop; yet the fellowwas gone. My dear chap, are you sure, are you really _sure_, that itisn't a case of suicide after all?"
Cleek gave his shoulders a lurch and smiled indulgently.
"My dear Mr. Narkom," he said, "the position of the revolver in the deadman's hand ought, as I pointed out to you, to settle that question, evenif there were no other discrepancies. In the natural order of things, aman who had just put a bullet into his own brain would, if he weresitting erect, as Lord Stavornell was, drop the revolver in thespasmodic opening and shutting of the hands in the final convulsion;but, if he retained any sort of a hold upon it, be sure his forefingerwould be in the loop of the trigger. He wouldn't be holding the weaponbackward, so to speak, with the cylinder against the ball of his thumband the hammer against the base of the middle finger. If he had held itthat way he simply couldn't have shot himself if he had tried. Then, ifyou didn't remark it, there was no scorch of powder upon the face, foranother thing; and, for a third, the bullet-hole was between the eyes, amost unlikely target for a man bent upon blowing out his own brains; thetemple or the roof of the mouth are the points to which naturalimpulse----" He stopped and laid a sharp, quick-shutting hand on theshoulder of one of the two men who were operating the car. "Turn back!"he exclaimed. "Reverse the action, and go back a dozen yards or so."
The impetus of the car would not permit of this at once, but afterrunning on for a little time longer it answered to the brake, sloweddown, stopped, and then began to back, scudding along the rail untilCleek again called it to a halt. They were within gunshot of the stationat Sydenham when this occurred; the glaring searchlight was stillplaying on the metals and the thin layer of snow between, and Cleek'sface seemed all eyes as he bent over and studied the ground over whichthey were gliding. Of a sudden, however, he gave a little satisfiedgrunt, jumped down, and picked up a shining metal object, about two anda half inches long, which lay in the space between the tracks of themain and the local lines. It was a guard's key for the locking andunlocking of compartment doors, one of the small T-shaped kind that youcan buy of almost any iron-monger for sixpence or a shilling any day. Itwas wet from contact with the snow, but quite unrusted, showing that ithad not been lying there long, and it needed but a glance to reveal thefact that it was brand new and of recent purchase.
Cleek held it out on his palm as he climbed back upon the car andrejoined Narkom.
"Wherever he got on, Mr. Narkom, here is where the murderer got off, yousee, and either dropped or flung away this key when he had relocked thecompartment after him," he said. "And yet, as you see, there is not afootstep, beyond those I have myself just made, to be discoveredanywhere. From the position in which this key was lying, one thing iscertain, however: our man got out on the opposite side from the platformtoward which the train was hastening and in the middle of the right ofway."
"What a mad idea! If there had been a main line express passing at thetime the fellow ran the risk of being cut to pieces. None of them slowdown before they prepare to make their first stop at East Croydon, andabout this spot they would be going like the wind."
"Yes," said Cleek, looking fixedly at the shining bit of metal on hispalm; "going like the wind. And the suction would be enormous betweentwo speeding trains. A step outside, and he'd have been under the wheelsin a wink. Yes, it would have been certain death, instant death, ifthere had been a main line train passing at the time; and that he wasnot sucked down and ground under the wheels proves that there _wasn't_."Then he puckered up his brows in that manner which Narkom had come tounderstand meant a thoughtfulness it was impolitic to disturb, and stoodsilent for a long, long time.
"Mr. Narkom," he said suddenly, "I think we have discovered all thatthere is to be discovered in this direction. Let us get on to NorwoodJunction as speedily as possible. I want to examine that compartment andthat dead body a little more closely. Besides, our half hour is aboutup, and t
he trains will be running again shortly, so we'd better get outof the way."
"Any ideas, old chap?"
"Yes, bushels of them. But they all may be exploded in another halfhour. Still, these are the days of scientific marvels. Water does runuphill and men do fly, and both are in defiance of the laws ofgravitation."
"Which means?"
"That I shall leave the hand-car at Sydenham, Mr. Narkom, and 'phone upto London Bridge station; there are one or two points I wish to ask somequestions about. Afterward I'll hire a motor from some local garage andjoin you at Norwood Junction in an hour's time. Let no one see the bodyor enter the compartment where it lies until I come. One question,however: is my memory at fault, or was it not Lord Stavornell who wasmixed up in that little affair with the French dancer, MademoiselleFifi de Lesparre, who was such a rage in town about a year ago?"
"Yes; that's the chap," said Narkom in reply. "And a rare bad lot he hasbeen all his life, I can tell you. I dare say that Fifi herself was nobetter than she ought to have been, chucking over her country-bredhusband as soon as she came into popularity, and having men of theStavornell class tagging after her; but whether she was or was not,Stavornell broke up that home. And if that French husband had done theright thing, he would have thrashed him within an inch of his lifeinstead of acting like a fool in a play and challenging him. Stavornelllaughed at the challenge, of course; and if all that is said of him istrue, he was at the bottom of the shabby trick which finally forced thepoor devil to get out of the country. When his wife, Fifi, left him, thepoor wretch nearly went off his head; and, as he hadn't fifty shillingsin the world, he was in a dickens of a pickle when _somebody_ induced alot of milliners, dressmakers, and the like, to whom it was said thatFifi owed bills, to put their accounts into the hands of a collectingagency and to proceed against him for settlement of his wife's accounts.That was why he got out of the country post-haste. The case made a greatstir at the time, and the scandal of it was so great that, although thefact never got into the papers, Stavornell's wife left him, refusing tolive another hour with such a man."
"Oh, he had a wife, then?"
"Yes; one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom. They had beenmarried only a year when the scandal of the Fifi affair arose. That wasanother of his dirty tricks forcing that poor creature to marry him."
"She did so against her will?"
"Yes. She was engaged to another fellow at the time, an army chap whowas out in India. Her father, too, was an army man, a ColonelSomething-or-other, poor as the proverbial church mouse, addicted tohard drinking, card-playing, horse-racing, and about as selfish an oldbrute as they make 'em. The girl took a deep dislike to Lord Stavornellthe minute she saw him; knew his reputation, and refused to receive him.That's the very reason he determined to marry her, humble her pride, asit were, and repay her for her scorn of him.
"He got her father into his clutches, deliberately, of course, lent himmoney, took his I O U's for card debts and all that sort of thing, untilthe old brute was up to his ears in debt and with no prospect of payingit off. Of course, when he'd got him to that point, Stavornell demandedthe money, but finally agreed to wipe the debt out entirely if thedaughter married him. They went at her, poor creature, those two, withall the mercilessness of a couple of wolves. Her father would bedisgraced, kicked out of the army, barred from all the clubs, reduced tobeggary, and all that, if she did not yield; and in the end they soplayed upon her feelings, that to save him she gave in; Stavornell tookout a special license, and they were married. Of course, the man nevercared for her; he only wanted his revenge on her, and they say he ledher a dog's life from the hour they came back to England from theirhoneymoon."
"Poor creature!" said Cleek sympathetically. "And what became of theother chap, the lover she wanted to marry and who was out in India atthe time all this happened?"
"Oh, they say he went on like a madman when he heard it. Swore he'd killStavornell, and all that, but quieted down after a time, and acceptedthe inevitable with the best grace possible. Crawford is his name. Hewas a lieutenant at the time, but he's got his captaincy since, and Ibelieve is on leave and in England at present--as madly and ashopelessly in love with the girl of his heart as ever."
"Why 'hopelessly,' Mr. Narkom? Such a man as Stavornell must have givenhis wife grounds for divorce a dozen times over."
"Not a doubt of it. There isn't a judge in England who wouldn't have sether free from the scoundrel long ago if she had cared to bring the caseinto the courts. But Lady Stavornell is a strong Church-woman, my dearfellow; she doesn't believe in divorce, and nothing on earth couldpersuade her to marry Captain Crawford so long as her first husbandstill remained alive."
"Oho!" said Cleek. "Then Fifi's husband isn't the only man with agrievance and a cause? There's another, eh?"
"Another? I expect there must be a dozen, if the truth were known.There's only one creature in the world I ever heard of as having a goodword to say for the man."
"And who might that be?"
"The Hon. Mrs. Brinkworth, widow of his younger brother. You'd think theman was an angel to hear her sing his praises. Her husband, too, was awild sort. Left her up to her ears in debt, without a penny to blessherself, and with a boy of five to rear and educate. Stavornell seemsalways to have liked her. At any rate, he came to the rescue, paid offthe debts, settled an annuity upon her, and arranged to have the boysent to Eton as soon as he was old enough. I expect the boy is at thebottom of this good streak in him if all is told; for, having nochildren of his own---- I say! By George, old chap! Why, that nipper,being the heir in the direct line, is Lord Stavornell now that the uncleis dead! A lucky stroke for him, by Jupiter!"
"Yes," agreed Cleek. "Lucky for him; lucky for Lady Stavornell; luckyfor Captain Crawford; and _unlucky_ for the Hon. Mrs. Brinkworth andMademoiselle Fifi de Lesparre. So, of course---- Sydenham at last.Good-bye for a little time, Mr. Narkom. Join you at Norwood Junction assoon as possible, and---- I say!"
"Yes, old chap?"
"Wire through to the Low Level station at Crystal Palace, will you? andinquire if anybody has mislaid an ironing-board or lost an Indian canoe.See you later. So long."
Then he stepped up on to the station platform, and went in quest of atelephone booth.
II
It was after nine o'clock when he turned up at Norwood Junction, ascalm, serene, and imperturbable as ever, and found Narkom awaiting himin a small private room which the station clerk had placed at hisdisposal.
"My dear fellow, I never was so glad!" exclaimed the superintendent,jumping up excitedly as Cleek entered. "What kept you so long? I've beenon thorns. Got bushels to tell you. First off, as Stavornell's identityis established beyond doubt, and no time has been lost in wiring thenews of the murder to his relatives, both Lady Stavornell and Mrs.Brinkworth have wired back that they are coming on. I expect them at anyminute now. And here's a piece of news for you. Fifi's husband is inEngland. The Hon. Mrs. Brinkworth has wired me to that effect. Says shehas means of knowing that he came over from France the other day; andthat she herself saw him in London this morning when she was up thereshopping."
"Oho!" commented Cleek. "Got her wits about her, that lady, evidently.Find anything at the Crystal Palace Low Level, Mr. Narkom?"
"Yes. My dear Cleek, I don't know whether you are a wizard or what, andI can't conceive what reason you can have for making such an inquiry,but----"
"Which was it? Canoe or ironing-board?"
"Neither, as it happens. But they've got a lady's folding cutting table;you know the sort, one of those that women use for dressmakingoperations; and possible to be folded up flat, so they can be tuckedaway. Nobody knows who left it; but it's there awaiting an owner; and itwas found----"
"Oh, I can guess that," interposed Cleek nonchalantly. "It was in afirst-class compartment of the 5.18 from London Bridge, which reachedthe Low Level at 5.43. No, never mind questions for a few minutes,please. Let's go and have a look at the body. I want to satisfy myselfregarding the po
int of what in the world Stavornell was doing on asuburban train at a time when he ought, properly, to be on his way hometo his rooms at the Ritz, preparing to dress for dinner; and I want tofind out, if possible, what means that chap with the little darkmoustache used to get him to go out of town in his ordinary afternoondress and by that particular train."
"Chap with the small dark moustache? Who do you mean by that?"
"Party that killed him. My 'phone to London Bridge station has clearedthe way a bit. It seems that Lord Stavornell engaged that compartment inthat particular train by telephone at three o'clock this afternoon. Hearrived all alone, and was in no end of a temper because the carriagewas dirty; had it swept out, and stood waiting while it was being done.After that the porter says he found him laughing and talking with adark-moustached little man, apparently of continental origin, dressed ina Norfolk suit and carrying a brown leather portmanteau. Of course, asthe platform was crowded, nobody seems to have taken any notice of thedark-moustached little man; and the porter doesn't know where he wentnor when--only that he never saw him again. But I know where he went,Mr. Narkom, and I know, too, what was in that portmanteau. An airpistol, for one thing; also a mallet or hammer and that wet cloth wefound, both of which were for the purpose of smashing the electric lightglobe without sound. And he went into that compartment with his victim!"
"Yes; but, man alive, how did he get out? Where did he go after that,and what became of the brown leather portmanteau?"
"I hope to be able to answer both questions before this night is over,Mr. Narkom. Meantime, let us go and have a look at the body, and settleone of the little points that bother me."
The superintendent led the way to the siding where the shunted carriagestood, closely guarded by the police; and, lanterns having been procuredfrom the lamp-room, Cleek was soon deep in the business of examining thecompartment and its silent occupant.
Aided by the better light, he now perceived something which, in thefirst hurried examination, had escaped him, or, if it had not--which is,perhaps, open to question--he had made no comment upon. It was a spotabout the size of an ordinary dinner plate on the crimson carpet whichcovered the floor of the compartment. It was slightly darker than therest of the surface, and was at the foot of the corner seat directlyfacing the dead man.
"I think we can fairly decide, Mr. Narkom, on the evidence of that,"said Cleek, pointing to it, "that Lord Stavornell did have a companionin this compartment, and that it was the little dark man with the smallmoustache. Put your hand on the spot. Damp, you see; the effect of someone who had walked through the snow sitting down with his feet on thisparticular seat. Now look here." He passed his handkerchief over thestain, and held it out for Narkom's inspection. It was slightly brownedby the operation. "Just the amount of dirt the soles of one's bootswould be likely to collect if one came with wet feet along the muddyplatform of the station."
"Yes; but, my dear chap, that might easily have happened--particularlyon such a day as this has been--before Lord Stavornell's arrival. Hecan't have been the only person to enter this compartment sincemorning."
"Granted. But he is supposed to have been the only person who entered itafter it was swept, Mr. Narkom; and that, as I told you, was done by hisorders immediately before the train started. We've got past the point of'guesswork' now. We've established the presence of the second partybeyond all question. We also know that he was a person with whomStavornell felt at ease, and was intimate enough with to feel nonecessity for putting himself out by entertaining with those littlecourtesies one is naturally obliged to show a guest."
"How do you make that out?"
"This newspaper. He was reading at the time he was shot. You can see foryourself where the bullet went through--this hole here close to the topof the paper. When a man invites another man to occupy with him acompartment which he has engaged for his own exclusive use--and thisStavornell must have done, otherwise the man couldn't have beentravelling with him--and then proceeds to read the news instead oftroubling himself to treat his companion as a guest, it is pretty safeto say that they are acquaintances of long standing, and upon such termsof intimacy that the social amenities may be dispensed withinoffensively. Now look at the position of this newspaper lying betweenthe dead man's feet. Curved round the ankle and the lower part of thecalf of the left leg. If we hadn't found the key we still should haveknown that the murderer got out on that side of the carriage."
"How should we have known?"
"Because a paper which has simply been dropped could not have assumedthat position without the aid of a strong current of air. The opening ofthat door on the right-hand side of the body supplied that current, andsupplied it with such strength and violence that the paper was, as onemight say, absolutely sucked round the man's leg. That is a positiveproof that the train was moving at the time it happened, for the day, asyou know, has been windless.
"Now look! No powder on the face, no smell of it in the compartment; andyet the pistol found in his hand is an ordinary American-madethirty-eight calibre revolver. We have an amateur assassin to deal with,Mr. Narkom, not a hardened criminal; and the witlessness of the fellowis enough to bring the case to an end before this night is over. Whydidn't he discharge that revolver to-day, and have enough sense to bringa thimbleful of powder to burn in this compartment after the work wasdone? One knows in an instant that the weapon used was an air-pistol,and that the fellow's only thought was how to do the thing withoutsound, not how to do it with sense. I don't suppose that there are threeplaces in all London that stock air-pistols, and I don't suppose thatthey sell so many as two in a whole year's time. But if one has beensold or repaired at any of the shops in the past six months--well,Dollops will know that in less than no time. I 'phoned him to makeinquiries. His task's an easy one, and I've no doubt he will bring backthe word I want in short order. And now, Mr. Narkom, as our friend theassassin is such a blundering, short-sighted individual, it's justpossible that, forgetting so many other important things, he may haveneglected to search the body of his victim. Let us do it for him."
As he spoke he bent over the dead man and commenced to search theclothing. He slid his hand into the inner pocket of the creaselessmorning coat and drew out a note-book and two or three letters. All wereaddressed in the handwriting of women, but only one seemed to possessany interest for Cleek. It was written on pink notepaper, enclosed in apink envelope, and was postmarked "Croydon, December 9, 2.30 P.M.," andbore those outward marks which betokened its delivery, not in course ofpost, but by express messenger. One instant after Cleek had looked at ithe knew he need seek no further for the information he desired. It read:
Piggy! Stupid boy! The ball of the dress fancy is not for to-morrow, but to-night. I have make sudden discoverment. Come quick, by the train that shall leave London Bridge at the time of twenty-eight minute after the hour of five. You shall not fail of this, or it shall make much difficulties for me, as I come to meet it on arrival. Do not bother of the costume; I will have one ready for you. I have one large joke of the somebody else that is coming, which will make you scream of the laughter. Burn this--FIFI.
And at the bottom of the sheet:
Do burn this. I have hurt the hand, and must use the writing of my maid; and I do not want you to treasure that.
"There's the explanation, Mr. Narkom," said Cleek as he held the letterout. "That's why he came by this particular train. There's the snare.That's how he was lured."
"By Fifi!" said Narkom. "By Jove! I rather fancied from the first thatwe should find that she or her husband had something to do with it."
"Did you?" said Cleek with a smile. "I didn't, then; and I don't evenyet!"
Narkom opened his lips to make some comment upon this, but closed themsuddenly and said nothing. For at that moment one of the constables putin an appearance with news that, "Two ladies and two gentlemen havearrived, sir, and are asking permission to view the body for purposes ofidentification. Here are the names, sir, o
n this slip of paper."
"Lady Stavornell; Colonel Murchison; Hon. Mrs. Brinkworth; Captain JamesCrawford," Narkom read aloud; then looked up inquiringly at Cleek.
"Yes," he said. "Let them come. And--Mr. Narkom?"
"Yes?"
"Do you happen to know where they come from?"
"Yes. I learned that when I sent word of Stavornell's death to them thisevening. Lady Stavornell and her father have for the past week beenstopping at Cleethorp Hydro, to which they went for the purpose ofremaining over the Christmas holidays; and, oddly enough, both Mrs.Brinkworth and Captain Crawford turned up at the same place for the samepurpose the day before yesterday. It can't be very pleasant for them, Ishould imagine, for I believe the two ladies are not very friendly."
"Naturally not," said Cleek, half abstractedly. "The one loathing theman, the other loving him. I want to see those two ladies; and Iparticularly want to see those two men. After that----" Here his voicedropped off. Then he stood looking up at the shattered globe, andrubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger and wrinkling up hisbrows after the manner of a man who is trying to solve a problem inmental arithmetic. And Narkom, unwise in that direction for once, choseto interrupt his thoughts, for no greater reason than that he had thriceheard him mutter, "Suction--displacement--resistance."
"Working out a problem, old chap?" he ventured. "Can I help you? I usedto be rather good at that sort of thing."
"Were you?" said Cleek, a trifle testily. "Then tell me something.Combating a suction power of about two pounds to the square inch, howmuch wind does it take to make a cutting-table fly, with an unknownweight upon it, from the Sydenham switch to the Low Level station? Whenyou've worked that out, you've got the murderer. And when you do get himhe won't be any man you ever saw or ever heard of in all the days ofyour life! But he will be light enough to hop like a bird, heavy enoughto pull up a wire rope with about three hundred pounds on the end of it,and there will be two holes of about an inch in diameter and a footapart in one end of the table that flew."
"My dear chap!" began Narkom in tones of blank bewilderment, thenstopped suddenly and screwed round on his heel. For a familiar voice hadsung out suddenly a yard or two distant: "Ah! keep yer 'air on! Don'tget to thinkin' you're Niagara Falls jist because yer got water on thebrain!" And there, struggling in the grip of a constable, who had laidstrong hands upon him, stood Dollops with a kit-bag in one hand and ahalf-devoured bath bun in the other.
"All right there, constable; let the boy pass. He's one of us!" rappedout Cleek; and in an instant the detaining hand fell, and Dollops' chestwent out like a pouter pigeon's.
"Catch on to that, Suburbs?" said he, giving the constable a look ofblighting scorn; and, swaggering by like a mighty conqueror, joinedCleek at the compartment door. "Nailed it at the second rap, guv'ner,"he said in an undertone. "Fell down on Gamage's, picked myself up onLoader, Tottenham Court Road; 14127 A, manufactured Stockholm. Valvetightened--old customer--day before yesterday in the afternoon."
"Good boy! good boy!" said Cleek, patting him approvingly. "Keep yourtongue between your teeth. Scuttle off, and find out where there's agarage, and then wait outside the station till I come."
"Right you are, sir," responded Dollops, bolting the remainder of thebun. Then he ducked down and slipped away. And Cleek, stepping back intothe shadow, where his features might not be too clearly seen until hewas ready that they should be, stood and narrowly watched the smallprocession which was being piloted to the scene of the tragedy. A momentlater the four persons already announced passed under Cleek's watchfuleye, and stood in the dead man's presence. Lady Stavornell, tall,graceful, beautiful, looking as one might look whose lifelong martyrdomhad come at last to a glorious end; Captain Crawford, bronzed, agitated,a trifle nervous, short of stature, slight of build, with a rathercynical mouth and a small dark moustache; the Hon. Mrs. Brinkworth, atimid, dove-eyed, little wisp of a woman, with a clinging, pathetic,almost childish manner, her soft eyes red with grief, her mobile moutha-quiver with pain, the marks of tears on her lovely little face; and,last of all, Colonel Murchison, heavy, bull-necked, ponderous of body,and purple of visage a living, breathing monument of Self.
"Hum-m-m!" muttered Cleek to himself, as this unattractive person passedby. "Not he--not by his hand. He never struck the blow--too cowardly,too careful. And yet---- Poor little woman! poor little woman!" And hissympathetic eyes went past the others--past Mrs. Brinkworth, sobbing andwringing her hands and calling piteously on the dead to speak--and dweltlong and tenderly upon Lady Stavornell.
A moment he stood there silent, watching, listening, making neithermovement nor sound; then of a sudden he put forth his hand and tappedNarkom's arm.
"Detain this party, every member of it, by any means, on any pretext,for another forty-five minutes," he whispered. "I said the assassin wasa fool; I said the blunders made it possible for the case to beconcluded to-night, did I not? Wait for me. In three-quarters of an hourthe murderer will be here on this spot with me!" Then he screwed roundon his heel, and before Narkom could speak was gone, soundlessly andcompletely gone, just as he used to go in his Vanishing Cracksman'sdays, leaving just that promise behind him.
III
It wanted but thirteen minutes of being midnight when the gatheringabout the siding where the shunted carriage containing the body of themurdered man still stood received something in the nature of a shockwhen, on glancing round as a sharp whistle shrilled a warning note, theysaw an engine, attached to one solitary carriage, backing along themetals and bearing down upon them.
"I say, Mr. Knockem, or Narkhim, or whatever your name is," blurted outColonel Murchison, as he hastily caught the Hon. Mrs. Brinkworth by thearm and whisked her back from the metals, leaving his daughter to belooked after by Captain Crawford, "look out for your blessed bobbies.Somebody's shunting another coach in on top of us; and if the assdoesn't look what he's doing----There! I told you!" as the coach inquestion settled with a slight jar against that containing the body ofLord Stavornell. "Of all the blundering, pig-headed fools! Might havekilled some of us. What next, I wonder?"
What next, as a matter of fact, gave him cause for even greater wonder;for as the two carriages met, the door of the last compartment in theone which had just arrived opened briskly, and out of it stepped first acouple of uniformed policemen, next a ginger-haired youth with a kit-bagin one hand and a saveloy in the other, then the trim figure of thelady who had so long and popularly been known in the music-hall world asMademoiselle Fifi de Lesparre, and last of all----"Cleek!" blurted outNarkom, overcome with amazement, as he saw the serenely alightingfigure. And "Cleek!" went in a little rippling murmur throughout theentire gathering, civilians and local police alike.
"All right, Mr. Narkom," said Cleek himself, with a slight shrug of theshoulders. "Even the best of us slip up sometimes; and since everybodyknows now, we'll have to make the best of it. Gentlemen, ladies, you,too, my colleagues, my best respects. Now to business." Then he steppedout of the shadow in which he had alighted into the full glow of thelanterns and the flare which had been lit close to the door of the deadman's carriage, conscious that every eye was fixed upon his face andthat the members of the local force were silently and breathlessly"spotting" him. But in that moment the weird birth-gift had been putinto practice, and Narkom fetched a sort of sigh of relief as he sawthat a sagging eyelid, a twisted lip, a queer, blurred _something_ aboutall the features, had set upon that face a living mask that hideffectually the face he knew so well.
"To business?" he repeated. "Ah, yes, quite so, my dear Cleek. Shall Itell the ladies and gentlemen of your promise? Well, listen. Mr. Cleekis more than a quarter of an hour beyond the time he set, but he gave mehis word that this riddle would be solved to-night, to-night, ladies andgentlemen, and that when I saw him here the murderer would be with him."
"Oh, bless him! bless him!" burst forth Mrs. Brinkworth impulsively."And he brings her! That wicked woman! Oh, I knew that she had somethingto do with it."
> "Your pardon, Mrs. Brinkworth, but for once your woman's intuition is atfault," said Cleek quietly. "Mademoiselle Fifi is not here as aprisoner, but as a witness for the Crown. She has had nothing even inthe remotest to do with the crime. Her name was used to trap LordStavornell to his death. But the lady is here to prove that she neverheard of the note which was found on Lord Stavornell's body; to provealso that, although it is true she did expect to go to a fancy-dressball with his lordship, that fancy-dress ball does not occur until nextFriday, the sixteenth inst., not the ninth, and that she never evenheard of any alteration in the date."
"Ah, non! non! non! nevaire! I do swear!" chimed in Fifi herself, almosthysterical with fright. "I know nossing--nossing!"
"That is true," said Cleek quietly. "There is not any question ofMademoiselle Fifi's complete innocence of any connection with thismurder."
"Then her husband?" ventured Captain Crawford agitatedly. "Surely youhave heard what Mrs. Brinkworth has said about seeing him in townto-day?"
"Yes, I have heard, Captain. But it so happens that I know for acertainty M. Philippe de Lesparre had no more to do with it than had hiswife."
"But, my dear sir," interposed the colonel; "the--er--foreign person atthe station, the little slim man in the Norfolk suit, the fellow withthe little dark moustache? What of him?"
"A great deal of him. But there are other men who are slight, other menwho have little dark moustaches, Colonel. That description would answerfor Captain Crawford here; and if he, too, were in town to-day----"
"I was in town!" blurted out the captain, a sudden tremor in his voice,a sudden pallor showing through his tan. "But, good God, man! you--youcan't possibly insinuate----"
"No, I do not," interposed Cleek. "Set your mind at rest upon thatpoint, Captain; for the simple reason that the little dark man is alittle dark fiction; in other words, he does not and never did exist!"
"What's that?" fairly gasped Narkom. "Never existed? But, my dear Cleek,you told me that the porter at London Bridge saw him and----"
"I told you what the porter told me; what the porter thought he saw, andwhat we shall, no doubt, find out in time at least fifty other peoplethought they saw, and what was, doubtless, the 'good joke' alluded to inthe forged note. The only man against whom we need direct our attention,the only man who had any hand in this murder, is a big, burly,strong-armed one like Colonel Murchison here."
"What's that?" roared out the colonel furiously. "By the Lord Harry, doyou dare to assert that I--I sir--killed the man?"
"No, I do not. And for the best of reasons. The assassin was shut up inthat compartment with Lord Stavornell from the moment he left LondonBridge; and I happen to know, Colonel, that although you were in townto-day, you never put foot aboard the 5.28 from the moment it started tothe one in which it stopped. And at that final moment, Colonel," hereached round, took something from his pocket, and then held it out onthe palm of his hand, "at that final moment, Colonel, you were passingthe barrier at the Crystal Palace Low Level with a lady, whose ticketfrom London Bridge had never been clipped, and with this air-pistol,which she had restored to you, in your coat pocket!"
"W-w-what crazy nonsense is this, sir? I never saw the blessed thing inall my life."
"Oh, yes, Colonel. Loader, of Tottenham Court Road, repaired the valvefor you the day before yesterday, and I found it in your room just----Quick! nab him, Petrie! Well played! After the king, the trump; afterthe confederate, the assassin! And so----" He sprang suddenly, like ajumping cat, and there was a click of steel, a shrill, despairing cry,then the rustle of something falling. When Captain Crawford and LadyStavornell turned and looked, he was standing with both hands on hiships, looking frowningly down on the spot where the Hon. Mrs. Brinkworthlay, curled up in a limp, unconscious heap, with a pair of handcuffslocked on her folded wrists.
"I said that when the murderer was found, Mr. Narkom," he said as thesuperintendent moved toward him, "it would be no man you ever saw orever heard of in all your life. I knew it was a woman from the bungling,unmanlike way that pistol was laid in the dead hand; the only question Ihad to answer was _which_ woman--Fifi, Lady Stavornell, or this wretchedlittle hypocrite. Here's your 'little dark man', here's the assassin.The Norfolk suit and the false moustache are in her room at the hydro.She made Stavornell think that she, too, was going to the fancy ball,and that the surprise Fifi had planned was for her to meet him as shedid and travel with him. When the train was under way she shot him. Why?Easily explained, my dear chap. His death made her little son heir tothe estates. During his minority she would have the handling of thefunds; with them she and her precious husband would have a gay life ofit in their own selfish little way!"
"Her what? Lord, man, do you mean to say that she and the colonel----"
"Were privately married seven weeks ago, Mr. Narkom. The certificate oftheir union was tucked away in Colonel Murchison's private effects,where it was found this evening."
* * * * *
"How was the escape from the compartment managed after the murder wasaccomplished?" said Cleek, answering Narkom's query, as they whizzedhome through the darkness together by the last up train that night."Simplest thing in the world. As you know, the 5.28 from London Bridgeruns without stop to Anerley. Well, the 5.18 from the samestarting-point runs to the Crystal Palace Low Level, taking the mainline tracks as far as Sydenham, where it branches off at the switch andcurves away in an opposite direction. That is to say, for a considerabledistance they run parallel, but eventually diverge.
"Now, as the 5.18 is a train with several stops, the 5.28, being athrough one, overtakes her, and several times between Brockley andSydenham they run side by side, at so steady a pace and on such narrowgauge that the footboard running along the side of the one train is notmore than two and a half feet separated from the other. Their pace is soregular, their progress so even, that one could with ease step from thefootboard of the one to the footboard of the other but for the horriblesuction which would inevitably draw the person attempting it down underthe wheels.
"Well, something had to be devised to overcome the danger of thatsuction. But what? I asked myself, for I guessed from the first how theescape had occurred, and I knew that such a thing absolutely requiredthe assistance of a confederate. That meant that the confederate wouldhave to do, on the 5.18, exactly what they had trapped Stavornell intodoing on the other train: that is, secure a private compartment, so thatwhen the time came for the escape to be accomplished he could remove theelectric bulbs from the roof of his compartment, open the door, and,when the two came abreast, the assassin could do the same on the othertrain, and presto! the dead man would be alone. But what to use toovercome the danger of that horrible suction?"
"Ah, I see now what you were driving at when you inquired about theironing-board or the Indian canoe. The necessary sections to construct asort of bridge could be packed in either?"
"Yes. But they chose a simple plan, the cutting-table. A good move that.Its breadth minimised the peril of the suction; only, of course, itwould have to be pulled up afterward, to leave no clue, and the addedspace would call for enormous strength to overcome the power of thatsuction; and enormous strength meant a powerful man. The rest you canput together without being told, Mr. Narkom. When that little vixenfinished her man, she put out the lights, opened the door (deliberatelylocking it after her to make the thing more baffling), crossed over onthat table, was helped into the other compartment by Murchison, and thenas expeditiously as possible slipped on the loose feminine outergarments she carried with her in the brown portmanteau, the table washauled up and taken in--nothing but wire rope for that, sir--and thething was done.
"Murchison, of course, purchased two tickets, so that they might passthe barrier at the Low Level unquestioned when they left, but he wasn'table to get the extra ticket clipped at London Bridge because there wasno passenger for it. That's how I got on to the little game! For therest, they planned well. Those two trains being always packed, nobo
dycould see the escape from the one to the other, because people would bestanding up in every compartment, and the windows completely blocked.But if---- Hullo! Victoria at last, thank goodness, 'and so to bed,' asPepys says. The riddle's solved, Mr. Narkom. Good-night!"