CHAPTER VI
THE VOICE
"This is where the mystery centers," said Gatton.
I made no reply, for I had not yet recovered from the shock of thatdiscovery in the deserted supper room. It was so wholly unexpected andyet it so cruelly confirmed the Inspector's undisguised suspicionsthat it seemed to me to have created a sort of impalpable barrierbetween us. Of this Gatton was evidently conscious. He endeavored toarouse my interest in the inquiries which he was conducting in thegarage, but for long enough I saw nothing of the place in which westood; I could only see that photograph smiling at me inquiringlythrough a haze of doubt, and my companion's words reached me in amuffled fashion. Finally, however, I succeeded in rousing myself fromthis dazed condition, and confident as ever that Isobel was innocentof all complicity in the matter:
"The presence of the photograph," I said, "takes us a step further.Don't you see, Inspector, that this is a deeply and cunningly laidtrap? What I had taken for a series of unfortunate coincidences Iperceive now to be the workings of an elaborate scheme involvingperfectly innocent people in the crime."
"H'm," said Gatton doubtfully; "it may be as you suggest; at any rateit is a new point of view and one which I confess had not occurred tome. There is one witness who can clear up any doubt on the subject."
"You mean Marie?"
"Exactly. She will lie, beyond doubt, but we shall find means to reachthe truth."
"Would it not be advisable, Inspector," I asked excitedly, "to makesure of her at once?"
Gatton smiled grimly, and:
"Marie would have to make herself invisible to evade Scotland Yardnow," he replied. "She is being watched closely. But," he continued,"what do you make of these marks on the door?"
We had reclosed the garage door and now were standing immediatelyinside. The marks to which my companion had drawn my attention weresituated high up near the roof.
"This may account for the statement of Bolton that the door seemedmore difficult to open last night than to-day," he said. "Unless I amgreatly mistaken, some sort of attachment existed here until quiterecently."
"Possibly a contrivance for reclosing the door?" I suggested.
The marks in fact roughly corresponded to those which would be made bythe presence of such a contrivance and there seemed to have been someattempt where it had been removed to disguise the holes left by thescrews.
"But the purpose of it?" muttered Gatton helplessly.
"God knows," I said; "the purpose of the whole thing is a mysterybeyond me entirely."
"Assuming that such a piece of mechanism as you suggest had beenattached to the door," mused Gatton, "you would have noticed itsoperation last night, unless one of you held the door open."
"Neither of us held the door!" I interrupted excitedly. "I rememberthat we stood just outside looking in. I was behind the constable andhe was directing the rays of his lantern into the place."
"H'm," muttered Gatton. "Then it wasn't a contrivance for closing thedoor; it was something else. Suppose we investigate the other door?"
We proceeded to the other door and I became aware of an intensecuriosity respecting what we should find, and of a conviction too thatthere would be evidence here of another attachment. In this I wasquite correct. Some piece of mechanism had evidently been fastened tothis door also. Together we stood staring up at these tell-talescrew-holes and then rather blankly we stared at one another.
"We only lack one thing," said Gatton; "the scheme upon which allthese contrivances and apparently isolated episodes were hungtogether. Nothing, as we have already assumed, was accident, andnothing coincidence. It was with some deliberate purpose that theconstable was instructed to walk through this garage, opening andshutting the doors behind him."
"From whom did these instructions come?"
"That is one of the minor points which I have already cleared up," hereplied. "On my way here I called at the house agent's, as you know,since I have the keys; I also called at the station. The sergeant whowas on duty last night I could not see, unfortunately, but Ilearned--that it was a woman who rang up."
My heart sank lower and lower. It seemed to me as we stood in thatempty garage that an invisible hand was drawing a net closer andcloser about Isobel and my ideas became increasingly chaotic, for thepurpose of it all eluded me, try how I would to conceive of a schemeby which any one could profit which necessitated the imprisonment, orworse, of Isobel.
"And the agent?" I asked in a rather toneless voice.
Gatton shook his head.
"I have no reason to doubt the word of this man of business," hereplied, "because at the time when I saw him he could not possiblyhave learned of the crime, but nevertheless his account is almostunbelievable. It appears then, he, too, received his instructionsthroughout by telephone."
"What?" I exclaimed.
"By telephone," repeated Gatton. "He was rung up about ten days ago bysome one who made a verbal offer to lease the Red House for a periodof twelve months. A foreigner, who in lieu of the usual references,was prepared to pay the annual rent in advance. As the Red House, touse an Irishism, was regarded as something of a white elephant, theagent was interested, apparently; and when on the following day thesum agreed upon arrived by post, he did not demur about delivering thekeys to the prospective lessee, who desired to take certainmeasurements in regard to carpets and so forth."
"Wait a moment," I interrupted; "to whom did he deliver these keys?"
"To a district messenger who called for them, as the agent had beenadvised that one would do."
"Very well. What then?"
"That is all that the agent had to say."
"What, that is all?"
"Substantially there is nothing more. It is quite evident that thesole intention of this unknown lessee was to secure possession of thehouse for the purpose of the crime only."
"Do you mean that from first to last no one but the district messengerappeared in the matter?"
"No one," Gatton assured me, "and the rent, payment of which quitedisarmed the agent of course, was sent in the form of Treasury notesand not by check."
"But surely some name, some address, must have been given?"
"A name was given," replied Gatton, "and a hotel address, butconfirmation of their accuracy was never sought, after the receipt ofthe money."
"And the voice on the telephone?"
Again I saw that odd expression creep over Gatton's face, and:
"It was a woman's voice," he answered.
"Great heavens!" I muttered--"what does it all mean?"
That the evidence of the cabman when he was discovered and of thecarter who had taken the box from the garage to the docks, and (for itwas possibly the same man) who had first delivered it at the RedHouse, would but tighten the net about Isobel, whom I knew to beinnocent, I felt assured.
"Gatton," I said, "this case appears to me to resolve itself into adeliberate conspiracy of which the end was not the assassination ofSir Marcus, but the conviction of Miss Merlin!"
Gatton looked at me with evident complexity written all over him.
"I begin to think the same," he confessed. "This business was neverplanned and carried out by a woman, I'll swear to that. There is awoman concerned in it, for at every point we come upon evidence of hervoice issuing the mysterious instructions; but she is not alone in thematter. Already the intricacy of the thing points to a criminal ofgenius. When we know the whole truth, if we ever do, that the crimewas planned by a man of amazing, if perverted, intellect, will be putbeyond dispute, I think."
"What is puzzling me, Gatton," I said, "is the connection existingbetween the incidents which took place in this garage and those,unknown at present, which took place in the furnished room in the RedHouse."
"Obviously," replied Gatton, "a supper for two had been prepared, andthat one of those two was the late Sir Marcus is perfectly obvious.That he expected the other to be Miss Merlin is at least suggested bythe presence of her photograph in the room; for you will h
ave noticedthat it is the _only_ photograph there."
"Nevertheless," I said firmly, "I am positive that no one would bemore surprised than herself to learn of its presence."
"And as I have already said," replied Gatton, "I am rapidly cominground to your way of thinking. But even if I were quite sure of it theevidence at the moment is all the other way, you will admit. As to theconnection between this garage and the interrupted supper party (forobviously it was interrupted) this it must be my business to findout."
"Don't you think," I said, "that we are attaching perhaps undueimportance to the fact that some kind of fittings have been removedfrom the doors? They may have been removed by the late occupier, andthe call to the police depot may have been made with the idea ofsecuring a witness, and a credible one, to the presence of the cratehere on the night of the murder."
"At the moment," replied Gatton, musingly, "I cannot see that thiswould have served any useful purpose; but nevertheless you may beright. I am going to assume, however, that you are wrong, and that theobject of sending Bolton here last night was to open and shut thesedoors. I propose now to return again to the scene of the interruptedsupper."
Leaving the garage not very much wiser than when we had entered it,we paced once more up the drive in the shade of the big trees andwere greeted again by the malarious smell of rotting leaves. Enteringthe Red House, Gatton and I proceeded first to that incredible oasisin the desert of empty rooms and my companion made a detailedexamination of everything in the place, even sounding the walls,examining the fittings of the door, and finally proceeding through thehall in the direction of the south wing of the house--that nearest tothe garage.
What he expected to find I had no idea, but his attention seemed to bemore particularly directed towards the wainscot and the picture-railsof the empty and uncarpeted rooms which we entered. Whatever he hadsought he failed to find, and at last we stood in a desolate apartmentlooking out into the tangled shrubbery before the windows. The back ofthe garage was visible from there and I viewed it dully, wonderingwhat evil secret it held, and marveling at the trick of fate which hadmade me witness of an act in this gruesome drama.
"Of course, Gatton," I said, "we are all along assuming that SirMarcus actually met his death in this house. We must remember that hemay merely have been brought here after the crime."
"Such a short period elapsed," replied the Inspector, "between hisleaving the New Avenue Theater and the approximate time of his deaththat it seems unlikely that he visited any intermediate spot."
"But he may not have been in the crate when Bolton and I saw it."
"I don't believe he was in the crate then," replied Gatton, "but Ithink he was at the Red House nevertheless."
I stared at him with curiosity.
"You mean that he was in the house at the time that the constable andI opened the garage?"
"I do. I think he was in that room where supper was laid for two."
"Good God!" I exclaimed; for there was something horrible in the ideaof the man who now lay murdered having been in the house presumablyalive, whilst Bolton and I had stood within forty yards of him; in theidea that it had lain in our power, except for those human limitationswhich rendered us ignorant of his presence, to have averted his fate,perhaps to have checked the remorseless movement of this elaboratemurder machine which seemingly had been set up in the Red House.
"Some one was here last night," declared Gatton suddenly, as we turnedto leave the deserted room, "after you and Bolton had gone. Everythingincriminating the assassin has been removed. Looking at the matterjudicially, it becomes quite evident that any one clever enough tohave planned this crime could not possibly have been guilty of an actof such glaring stupidity as that of accidentally leaving a photographplanted upon the mantelpiece."
That this fact had presented itself to the Inspector with such a forceof conviction raised a great load from my mind. It had all along beenevident to me, but I had feared that to the official outlook of mycompanion, and the official outlook is always peculiar, it might haveseemed otherwise.
"The clever and cunning villain who planned this thing," I said, "hasoverstepped himself, as you say, Gatton. If the murder was plannedartistically, in his attempt to throw the onus of the crime uponinnocent shoulders he has been guilty of a piece of very mediocrework. It would not deceive a child."
"No, I agree with you there. The discovery of that photograph has donemore to convince me of the innocence of Miss Merlin than any amount oftestimonials to her good character could ever have done. You see," headded, smiling whimsically, "all sorts of people hitherto unsuspectedby their closest friends of criminal tendency, develop that taint, sothat I am never surprised to find a convicted thief or assassinpossessed of credentials which would do justice to an Archbishop. Butwhen I see an obviously artificial clew I recognize it a mile off.Real clews never stare you in the face like that."
Coming out of the front door, we walked down the leaf-strewn drive tofind that the constable on duty at the gate had been joined by aplain-clothes man who was evidently waiting to speak to the Inspector.
"Yes?" said Gatton eagerly, at sight of the newcomer.
"We have her, sir," he reported tersely.
"Does he refer to Marie?" I asked.
Gatton nodded.
"I think, Mr. Addison," he said, "I will proceed immediately to BowStreet, where she has been taken to be interrogated. Will you comewith me or are you otherwise engaged?"
I hesitated ere I replied:
"I do not particularly want to confront this woman, but I should bemuch indebted if you could let me know the result of yourexamination."
"I shall do that without fail," said Gatton, "and some time to-day Ishould be obliged if you could provide me with the facts concerningthe little cat-images which you said you had in your possession."
"Certainly," I agreed. "You are still of the opinion that the markupon the crate and the image of the cat-woman have an importantbearing upon the crime?"
"I don't doubt it," was the reply. "If the photograph clew is a falseone, the cat clew is a true one and one to be followed up. Perhaps,"he added, "it would be as well if you returned now and looked out thepoints which you think would be of interest, as when I come I may nothave long to stay."
"I will do so," I said, "although I think I can lay my hands upon thematerial almost immediately."
Accordingly Gatton set off with the detective who had brought the newsof Marie's arrest and I, turning in the opposite direction, proceededtowards my cottage in such a state of mental tumult respecting whatthe end of all this would be and what it might mean for Isobel, that Ifound myself unable to think connectedly; and needless to say I failedto conjure up by any stretch of the imagination a theory which couldcover this amazing and terrible sequence of events.