CHAPTER II
THE SIGN OF THE CAT
When Coates brought in my tea, newspapers and letters in the morning,I awakened with a start, and:
"Has there been any rain during the night, Coates?" I asked.
Coates, whose unruffled calm at all times provided an excellentsedative, replied:
"Not since a little before midnight, sir."
"Ah!" said I, "and have you been in the garden this morning, Coates?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, "for raspberries for breakfast, sir."
"But not on this side of the cottage?"
"Not on this side."
"Then will you step out, Coates, keeping carefully to the paths, andproceed as far as the tool-shed? Particularly note if the beds havebeen disturbed between the hedge and the path, but don't make anymarks yourself. You are looking for _spoor_, you understand?"
"Spoor? Very good, sir. Of big game?"
"Of big game, yes, Coates."
Unmoved by the strangeness of his instructions, Coates, anobject-lesson for those who decry the excellence of British Armydisciplinary methods, departed.
It was with not a little curiosity and interest that I awaited hisreport. As I sat sipping my tea I could hear his regular tread as hepassed along the garden path outside the window. Then it ceased andwas followed by a vague muttering. He had found something. All tracesof the storm had disappeared and there was every indication of arenewal of the heat-wave; but I knew that the wet soil would havepreserved a perfect impression of any imprint made upon it on theprevious night. Nevertheless, with the early morning sun streaminginto my window out of a sky as near to turquoise as I had ever seen itin England, I found it impossible to recapture that uncanny thrillwhich had come to me in the dark hours when out of the shadows underthe hedge the great cat's eyes had looked up at me.
And now, becoming more fully awake, I remembered something else whichhitherto I had not associated with the latter phenomenon. I rememberedthat lithe and evasive pursuing shape which I had detected behind meon the road. Even now, however, it was difficult to associate one withthe other; for whereas the dimly-seen figure had resembled that of aman (or, more closely, that of a woman) the eyes had looked out uponme from a point low down near the ground, like those of some crouchingfeline.
Coates' footsteps sounded again upon the path and I heard him walkinground the cottage and through the kitchen. Finally he reentered thebedroom and stood just within the doorway in that attitude ofattention which was part and parcel of the man. His appearance woulddoubtless have violated the proprieties of the Albany, for in my ruralretreat he was called upon to perform other and more importantservices than those of a valet. His neatly shaved chin, stolid redcountenance and perfectly brushed hair were unexceptionable of course,but because his duties would presently take him into the garden hewore, not the regulation black, but an ancient shooting-jacket, khakibreeches and brown gaiters, looking every inch of him the old soldierthat he was.
"Well, Coates?" said I.
He cleared his throat.
"There are footprints in the radish-beds, sir," he reported.
"Footprints?"
"Yes, sir. Very deep. As though some one had jumped over the hedge andlanded there."
"Jumped over the hedge!" I exclaimed. "That would be a considerablejump, Coates, from the road."
"It would, sir. Maybe she scrambled up."
"She?"
Coates cleared his throat again.
"There are three sets of prints in all. First a very deep one wherethe party had landed, then another broken up like, where she hadturned round, and the third set with the heel-marks very deep whereshe had sprung back over the hedge."
_"She?"_ I shouted.
"The prints, sir," resumed Coates, unmoved, "are those of a lady'shigh-heeled shoes."
I sat bolt upright in bed, staring at the man and scarcely able tocredit my senses. Words failed me. Whereupon:
"Will you have tea or coffee for breakfast?" inquired Coates.
"Tea or coffee be damned, Coates!" I cried. "I'm going out to look atthose footprints! If you had seen what I saw last night, even your oldmahogany countenance would relax for once, I assure you."
"Indeed, sir," said Coates; "did you see the lady, then?"
"Lady!" I exclaimed, tumbling out of bed. "If the eyes that looked atme last night belonged to a 'lady' either I am mad or the 'lady' is ofanother world."
I pulled on a bath-robe and hurried out into the garden, Coatesshowing me the spot where he had found the mysterious foot-prints. Avery brief examination sufficed to convince me that his account hadbeen correct. Some one wearing high-heeled shoes clearly enough hadstood there at some time whilst the soil was quite wet; and as notrack led to or from the marks, Coates' conclusion that the person whohad made them must have come over the hedge was the only feasible one.I turned to him in amazement, but recognizing in time the wildlyfantastic nature of the sight which I had seen in the night, Irefrained from speaking of the blazing eyes and made my way to thebathroom wondering if some chance reflection might not have deceivedme and the presence of a woman's footmarks at the same spot be nomore than a singular coincidence. Even so the mystery of theirpresence there remained unexplained.
My thoughts were diverted from a trend of profitless conjecture whenshortly after breakfast time my 'phone bell rang. It was the editor ofthe _Planet_, to whom I had been indebted for a number of specialcommissions--including my fascinating quest of the Giant Gnu, which,generally supposed to be extinct, was reported by certain natives andothers to survive in a remote corner of the Dark Continent.
Readers of the _Planet_ will remember that although I failed todiscover the Gnu I came upon a number of notable things on my journeythrough the almost unexplored country about the head-waters of theNiger.
"A most extraordinary case has cropped up," he said, "quite in yourline, I think, Addison. Evidently a murder, and the circumstances seemto be most dramatic and unusual. I should be glad if you would take itup."
I inquired without much enthusiasm for details. Criminology was one ofmy hobbies, and in several instances I had traced cases of allegedhaunting and other supposedly supernatural happenings to a criminalsource; but the ordinary sordid murder did not interest me.
"The body of Sir Marcus Coverly has been found in a crate!" explainedmy friend. "The crate was being lowered into the hold of the S.S._Oritoga_ at the West India Docks. It had been delivered by aconveyance specially hired for the purpose apparently, as the_Oritoga_ is due to sail in an hour. There are all sorts of curiousdetails but these you can learn for yourself. Don't trouble to call atthe office; proceed straight to the dock."
"Right!" I said shortly. "I'll start immediately."
And this sudden decision had been brought about by the mention of thevictim's name. Indeed, as I replaced the receiver on the hook Iobserved that my hand was shaking and I have little doubt that I hadgrown pale.
In the first place, then, let me confess that my retirement to the oddlittle retreat which at this time was my home, and my absorption inthe obscure studies to which I have referred were not so much due toany natural liking for the life of a recluse as to the shattering ofcertain matrimonial designs. I had learned of the wreck of my hopesupon reading a press paragraph which announced the engagement ofIsobel Merlin to Eric Coverly. And it was as much to conceal mydisappointment from the world as for any better reason that I hadslunk into retirement; for if I am slow to come to a decision in sucha matter, once come to, it is of no light moment.
Yet although I had breathed no word of my lost dreams to Isobel buthad congratulated her with the rest, often and bitterly I had cursedmyself for a sluggard. Too late I had learned that she had but awaiteda word from me; and I had gone off to Mesopotamia, leaving that wordunspoken. During my absence Coverly had won the prize which I hadthrown away. He was heir to the title, for his cousin, Sir Marcus,was unmarried. Now here, a bolt from the blue, came the news of hiscousin's death!
It can
well be imagined with what intense excitement I hurried to thedocks. All other plans abandoned, Coates, arrayed in his neat blueuniform, ran the Rover round from the garage, and ere long we werejolting along the hideously uneven Commercial Road, East, dodgingtraction-engines drawing strings of lorries, and continually meetingdelay in the form of those breakdowns which are of hourly occurrencein this congested but rugged highway.
In the West India Dock Road the way became slightly more open, butwhen at last I alighted and entered the dock gates I recognized thatevery newspaper and news agency in the kingdom was apparentlyrepresented. Jones, of the _Gleaner_, was coming out as I went in,and:
"Hello, Addison!" he cried, "this is quite in your line! It's as madas 'Alice in Wonderland.'"
I did not delay, however, but hurried on in the direction of a dockbuilding, at the door of which was gathered a heterogeneous groupcomprising newspaper men, dock officials, police and others who wereunclassifiable. Half a dozen acquaintances greeted me as I came up,and I saw that the door was closed and that a constable stood on dutybefore it.
"I call it damned impudence, Addison!" exclaimed one pressman. "Thedock people are refusing everybody information until InspectorSomebody-or-Other arrives from New Scotland Yard. I should think hehas stopped on the way to get his lunch."
The speaker glanced impatiently at his watch and I went to speak tothe man on duty.
"You have orders to admit no one, constable?" I asked.
"That's so, sir," he replied. "We're waiting for Detective-InspectorGatton, who has been put in charge of the case."
"Ah! Gatton," I muttered, and, stepping aside from the expectantgroup, I filled and lighted my pipe, convinced that anything to belearned I should learn from Inspector Gatton, for he and I were oldfriends, having been mutually concerned in several interesting cases.
A few minutes later the Inspector arrived--a thick-set, clean-shaven,very bronzed man, his dark hair streaked with gray, and with all theappearance of a retired naval officer, in his well-cut blue serge suitand soft felt hat; a very reserved man whose innocent-looking blueeyes gave him that frank and open expression which is more oftenassociated with a seaman than with a detective. He nodded to severalacquaintances in the group, and then, observing me where I stood, cameover and shook hands.
"Open the door, constable," he ordered quietly.
The constable produced a key and unlocked the door of the small stonebuilding. Immediately there was a forward movement of the wholewaiting group, but:
"If you please, gentlemen," said Gatton, raising his hand. "I mustmake my examination first; and Mr. Addison," he added, seeing theresentment written upon the faces of my disappointed confreres, "hasspecial information which I am going to ask him to place at mydisposal."
The constable stood aside and I followed Inspector Gatton into thestone shed.
"Lock the door again, constable," he ordered; "no one is to beadmitted."
Thereupon I looked about me, and the scene which I beheld was sostrange and gruesome that its every detail remains imprinted upon mymemory.
The building then was lighted by four barred windows set so high inthe walls that no one could look in from the outside. Blazing sunlightpoured in at the two southerly windows and drew a sharp black patternof the bars across the paved floor. Kneeling beside a stretcher, fullyin this path of light, so that he presented a curious stripedappearance, was a man who presently proved to be the divisionalsurgeon, and two paces beyond stood a police inspector who was engagedat the moment of our entrance in making entries in his note-book.
On the stretcher, so covered up that only his face was visible, layone whom at first I failed to recognize, for the horribly contortedfeatures presented a kind of mottled green appearance utterlyindescribable.
Stifling an exclamation of horror, I stared and stared at that ghastlyface, then:
"My God!" I muttered. "Yes! it _is_ Sir Marcus!"
The surgeon stood up and the inspector advanced to meet Gatton, but myhorrified gaze had strayed from the stretcher to a badly damaged andsplintered packing-case, which was the only other object in theotherwise empty shed. At this I stared as much aghast as I had staredat the dead man.
The iron bands were broken and twisted and the whole of one side layin fragments on the floor; but upon a board which had formed part ofthe top I perceived the figure of a cat roughly traced in green paint.
Beyond any shadow of doubt this crate was the same which on the nightbefore had lain in the garage of the Red House!