CHAPTER XI
Inspector Chippenfield's first words were a warning.
"You know what you are saying, Hill?" he asked. "You know what thismeans? Any statement you make may be used in evidence against you atyour trial."
"I'll tell you everything," faltered Hill. The impassive mask of thewell-trained English servant had dropped from him, and he stood revealedas a trembling elderly man with furtive eyes, and a painfully shakenmanner. "I'll be glad to tell you everything," he declared, laying atwitching hand on the inspector's coat. "I've not had a minute's peace orrest since--since it happened."
The dry official manner in which Inspector Chippenfield produced anote-book was in striking contrast to the trapped man's attitude.
"Go ahead," he commanded, wetting his pencil between his lips.
Before Hill could respond a small boy entered the shop--a ragged,shock-headed dirty urchin, bareheaded and barefooted. He tapped loudly onthe counter with a halfpenny.
"What do you want, boy?" roughly asked the inspector.
"A 'a'porth of blackboys," responded the child, in the confident tone ofa regular customer.
"If you'll permit me, sir, I'll serve him," said Hill and he glidedbehind the little counter, took some black sticky sweetmeats from one ofthe glass jars on the shelf and gave them to the boy, who popped one inhis mouth and scurried off.
"I think we had better go inside and hear what Hill has to say,Inspector, while Mrs. Hill minds the shop," said Rolfe. He had caught aglimpse of Mrs. Hill's white frightened face peering through the dirtylittle glass pane in the parlour door.
Inspector Chippenfield approved of the idea.
"We don't want to spoil your wife's business, Hill--she's likely to needit," he said, with cruel official banter. "Come here, Mrs. Hill," hesaid, raising his voice.
The faded little woman appeared in response to the summons, bringing thechild with her. She shot a frightened glance at her husband, whichInspector Chippenfield intercepted.
"Never mind looking at your husband, Mrs. Hill," he said roughly."You've done your best for him, and the only thing to be told now is thetruth. Now you and your daughter can stay in the shop. We want yourhusband inside."
Mrs. Hill clasped her hands quickly.
"Oh, what is it, Henry?" she said. "Tell me what has happened? What havethey found out?"
"Keep your mouth shut," commanded her husband harshly. "This way, sir, ifyou please."
Inspector Chippenfield and Rolfe followed him into the parlour.
"Now, Hill," impatiently said Inspector Chippenfield.
The butler raised his head wearily.
"I suppose I may as well begin at the beginning and tell youeverything," he said.
"Yes," replied the inspector, "it's not much use keeping anythingback now."
"Oh, it's not a case of keeping anything back," replied Hill. "You're tooclever for me, and I've made up my mind to tell you everything, but Ithought I might be able to cut the first part short, so as to save yourtime. But so that you'll understand everything I've got to go a long wayback--shortly after I entered Sir Horace Fewbanks's service. In fact, Ihadn't been long with him before I began to see he was leading a strangelife--a double life, if I may say so. A servant in a gentleman'shouse--particularly one in my position--sees a good deal he is not meantto see; in fact, he couldn't close his eyes to it if he wanted to, as nodoubt you, from your experience, sir, know very well. A confidentialservant sees and hears a lot of things, sir."
Inspector Chippenfield nodded his head sharply, but he did not speak.
"I think Sir Horace trusted me, too," continued Hill humbly, "more thanhe would have trusted most servants, on account of my--my past. I fancy,if I may say so, that he counted on my gratitude because he had given mea fresh start in life. And he was quite right--at first." Hill droppedhis voice and looked down as he uttered the last two words. "I'd havedone anything for him. But as I was saying, sir, I hadn't been long inhis house before I found out that he had a--a weakness--" Hill timidlybowed his head as though apologising to the dead judge for assailing hischaracter--"a weakness for--for the ladies. Sometimes Sir Horace wentoff for the week-end without saying where he was going and sometimes hewent out late at night and didn't return till after breakfast. Then hehad ladies visiting him at Riversbrook--not real ladies, if youunderstand, sir. Sometimes there was a small party of them, and then theymade a noise singing music-hall songs and drinking wine, but generallythey came alone. Towards the end there was one who came a lot oftenerthan the others. I found out afterwards that her name was Fanning--DorisFanning. She was a very pretty young woman, and Sir Horace seemed veryfond of her. I knew that because I've heard him talking to her in thelibrary. Sir Horace had rather a loud voice, and I couldn't helpoverhearing him sometimes, when I took things to his rooms.
"One night,--it was before Sir Horace left for Scotland--a rainy gustynight, this young woman came. I forgot to mention that when Sir Horaceexpected visitors he used to tell me to send the servants to bed early.He told me to do so this night, saying as usual, 'You understand, Hill?'and I replied, 'Yes, Sir Horace,' The young woman came about half-pastten o'clock, and I let her in the side door and showed her up to thelibrary on the first floor, where he used to sit and work and read. Halfan hour afterwards I took up some refreshments--some sandwiches and asmall bottle of champagne for the young lady--and then went backdownstairs till Sir Horace rang for me to let the lady out, which wasgenerally about midnight. But this night, I'd hardly been downstairs morethan a quarter of an hour, when I heard a loud crash, followed by a sortof scream. Before I could get out of my chair to go upstairs I heard thestudy door open, and Sir Horace called out, 'Hill, come here!'
"I went upstairs as quick as I could, and the door of the study beingwide open, I could see inside. Sir Horace and the young lady hadevidently been having a quarrel. They were standing up facing each other,and the table at which they had been sitting was knocked over, and therefreshments I had taken up had been scattered all about. The young womanhad been crying--I could see that at a glance--but Sir Horace lookeddignified and the perfect gentleman--like he always was. He turned to mewhen he saw me, and said, 'Hill, kindly show this young lady out,' Ibowed and waited for her to follow me, which she did, after giving SirHorace an angry look. I let her out the same way as I let her in, andtook her through the plantation to the front gate, which I locked afterher. When I got inside the house again, and was beginning to bolt upthings for the night Sir Horace called me again and I went upstairs.'Hill,' he said, in the same calm and collected voice, 'if that younglady calls again you're to deny her admittance. That is all, Hill,' Andhe turned back into his room again.
"I didn't see her again until the morning after Sir Horace left forScotland. I had arranged for the female servants to go to Sir Horace'sestate in the country during his absence, as he instructed before hisdeparture, and they and I were very busy on this morning getting thehouse in order to be closed up--putting covers on the furniture andlocking up the valuables.
"It was Sir Horace's custom to have this done when he was away everyyear instead of keeping the servants idling about the house on boardwages, and the house was then left in my charge, as I told you, sir, andafter the servants went to the country it was my custom to live at hometill Sir Horace returned, coming over two or three times a week to lookover the place and make sure that everything was all right. On thismorning, sir, after superintending the servants clearing up things, Iwent outside the house to have a final look round, and to see that thelocks of the front and back gates were in good working order. I was goingto the back first, sir, but happening to glance about me as I walkedround the house, I saw the young woman that Sir Horace had ordered me toshow out of the house the night before he went to Scotland, peering outfrom behind one of the fir trees of the plantation in front of the house.As soon as she saw that I saw her she beckoned to me.
"I would not have taken any notice of her, only I didn't want the womenservants to see her. Sir Horace,
I knew, would not have liked that. So Iwent across to her. I asked her what she wanted, and I told her it was nouse her wanting to see Sir Horace, for he had gone to Scotland. 'I don'twant to see him,' she said, as impudent as brass. 'It's you I want tosee, Field or Hill or whatever you call yourself now.' It gave me quite aturn, I assure you, to find that this young woman knew my secret, and Iturned round apprehensive-like, to make sure that none of the servantshad heard her. She noticed me and she laughed. 'It's all right, Hill,'she said. 'I'm not going to tell on you. I've just brought you a messagefrom an old friend--Fred Birchill--he wants to see you to-night at thisaddress.' And with that she put a bit of paper into my hand. I was soupset and excited that I said I'd be there, and she went away.
"This Fred Birchill was a man I'd met in prison, and he was in the cellnext to me. How he'd got on my tracks I had no idea, but I seemed to seeall my new life falling to pieces now he knew. I'd tried to run straightsince I served my sentence, and I knew Sir Horace would stand to me, buthe couldn't afford to have any scandal about it, and I knew that if therewas any possibility of my past becoming known I should have to leave hisemploy. And then there was my poor wife and child, and this littlebusiness, sir. Nothing was known about my past here. So I determined togo and see this Birchill, sir. The address she had given me was inWestminster, and, as my time was practically my own when Sir Horacewasn't home, I went down that same evening, and when I got up the flightof stairs and knocked at the door it was a woman's voice that said 'Comein,' I thought I recognised the voice. When I opened the door, you canimagine my surprise when I saw the young woman to be Doris Fanning, whohad had the quarrel with Sir Horace that night and had brought me thenote that morning. Birchill was sitting in a corner of the room, with hisfeet on another chair, smoking a pipe. 'Come in, No. 21,' he says, withan unpleasant smile, 'come in and see an old friend. Put a chair for him,Doris, and leave the room.'
"The girl did so, and as soon as the door was closed behind her Birchillturned round to me and burst out, 'Hill, that damned employer of yourshas served me a nasty trick, but I'm going to get even with him, andyou're going to help me!' I was taken back at his words, but I wanted tohear more before I spoke. Then he told me that the young woman I had seenhad been brutally treated by Sir Horace. She had been living in a littleflat in Westminster on a monthly allowance which Sir Horace made her, buthe'd suddenly cut off her allowance and she'd have to be turned out inthe street to starve because she couldn't pay her rent. 'A nice thing,'said Birchill fiercely, 'for this high-placed loose liver to carry onlike this with a poor innocent girl whose only fault was that she lovedhim too well. If I could show him up and pull him down, I would. But I'vedone time, like you, Hill. He was the judge who sentenced me, and if Itried to injure him that way my word would carry no weight; but I'll putup a job on him that'll make him sorry the longest day he lives, andyou'll help me. Sir Horace is in Scotland, Hill, and you're in charge ofhis place. Get rid of the servants, Hill, and we'll burgle his house. Wecan easily do it between us.'"
At this stage of his narrative, Hill stopped and looked anxiously at hisaudience as though to gather some idea of their feelings before heproceeded further. But Inspector Chippenfield, with a fierce stare,merely remarked:
"And you consented?"
"I didn't at first," Hill retorted earnestly, "but when I refused hethreatened me--threatened that he'd expose me and drag me and my wife andchild down to poverty. I pleaded with him, but it was of no use, and atlast I had to consent. I had some hope that in doing so I might find anopportunity to warn Sir Horace, but Birchill did not give me a chance. Heinsisted that the burglary should take place without delay. All I was todo was to give him a plan of the house, explain where to find the mostvaluable articles that had been left there, and wait for him at the flatwhile he committed the burglary. His idea in making me wait for him atthe flat was to make sure that I didn't play him false--put the double onhim, as he called it--and he told the girl not to let me out of her sighttill he came back, if anything went wrong I should have to pay for itwhen he came back.
"In accordance with Sir Horace's instructions, I sent the servants off tohis country estate. It had been arranged that Birchill was to wait for meto come over to the flat on the 18th of August, the night fixed for theburglary. But about 7 o'clock, while I was at Riversbrook, I heard thenoise of wheels outside, and looking out, I saw to my dismay Sir Horacegetting out of a taxi-cab with a suit-case in his hand. My first impulsewas to tell him everything--indeed, I think that if I had had a chance Iwould have--but he came in looking very severe, and without saying a wordabout why he had returned from Scotland, said very sharply, 'Hill, havethe servants been sent down to the country, as I directed?' I told himthat they had. 'Very good,' he said, 'then you go away at once, I won'twant you any more. I want the house to myself to-night.' 'Sir Horace,' Ibegan, trembling a little, but he stopped me. 'Go immediately,' he said;'don't stand there,' And he said it in such a tone that I was glad to go.There was something in his look that frightened me that night. I gotacross to Birchill's place and found him and the girl waiting for me. Itold him what had happened, and begged him to give up the idea of theburglary. But he'd been drinking heavily, and was in a nasty mood. Firsthe said I'd been playing him false and had warned Sir Horace, but when Iassured him that I hadn't he insisted on going to commit the burglaryjust the same. With that he pulled out a revolver from his pocket, andswore with an oath that he'd put a bullet through me when he came back ifI'd played him false and put Sir Horace on his guard, and that he'd put abullet in the old scoundrel--meaning Sir Horace--if he interrupted himwhile he was robbing the house.
"He sat there, cursing and drinking, till he fell asleep with his head onthe table, snoring. I sat there not daring to breathe, hoping he'd sleeptill morning, but Miss Fanning woke him up about nine, and he staggeredto his feet to get out, with his revolver stuck in his coat pocket. Hewas away over three hours and the girl and I sat there without saying aword, just looking at each other and waiting for a clock on themantelpiece to chime the quarters. It was a cuckoo clock, and it had justchimed twelve when we heard a quick step coming upstairs to the flat. Thegirl fixed her big dark eyes inquiringly on me, and then we heard ahoarse whisper through the keyhole telling us to open the door.
"The girl ran to the door and let him in, but she shrieked at the sightof him when she saw him in the light. For he looked ghastly, and therewas a spot of blood on his face, and his hands were smeared with it. Hewas shaking all over, and he went to the whisky bottle and drained thedrop of spirit he'd left in it. Then he turned to us and said, 'SirHorace Fewbanks is dead--murdered!' I suppose he read what he saw in oureyes, for he burst out angrily, 'Don't stand staring at me like a pair ofdamned fools. You don't think I did it? As God's my judge, I never didit. He was dead and stiff when I got there.'
"Then he told us his story of what had happened. He said that when he gotto Riversbrook there was a light in the library and he got over the fenceand hid himself in the garden. Then he noticed that there was a light inthe hall and that the hall door was open. He thought Sir Horace had leftit open by mistake, and he was going to creep into the house and hidehimself there till after Sir Horace went to bed. But suddenly the lightin the library went out and Birchill again hid behind a tree, for hethought Sir Horace was retiring for the night. Then the light in the hallwent out and immediately after Birchill heard the hall door being closed.Then he heard a step on the gravel path and saw a woman walking quicklydown the path to the gate. She was a well-dressed woman, and Birchillnaturally thought that she was one of Sir Horace's lady friends. But hethought it odd that Sir Horace, who was always a very polite gentleman tothe ladies, should not have shown her off the premises. He waited in thegarden about half an hour, and as everything in the house seemed quitestill, he made his way to a side window and forced it open. He had anelectric torch with him, and he used this to find his way about thehouse. First of all, he wanted to find out in which room Sir Horace wassleeping, and he knew from the pla
n he'd made me draw for him which wasSir Horace's bedroom, so he went there and opened the door quietly andlistened. But he could not hear anyone breathing. Then he tried some ofthe other rooms and turned on his torch, but could see no one. He thoughtthat perhaps Sir Horace had fallen asleep in a chair in the library, andhe went there. He listened at the door but could hear no sound. Then heturned on his torch and by its light he saw a dreadful sight. Sir Horacewas lying huddled up near the desk--dead--just dead, he thought, becausethere were little bubbles of blood on his lips as if they had been blownthere when breathing his last. He didn't wait to see any more, but heturned and ran out of the house.
"I didn't believe his story, though Miss Fanning did, but he stuck to itand seemed so frightened that I thought there might be something in ittill he brought out that he'd lost his revolver somewhere. Then Iremembered the horrid threats he'd used against Sir Horace, and I wasconvinced that he had committed the murder. But of course I dared not lethim think I suspected him, and I pretended to console him. But thefeeling that kept running through my head was that both of us would besuspected of the murder.
"I told this to Birchill, and that frightened him still more. 'What arewe to do?' he kept saying. 'We shall both be hanged.' Then, after awhile, we recovered ourselves a bit and began to look at it from a morecommon-sense point of view. Nobody knew about Birchill's visit to thehouse except our two selves and the girl, and there was no reason whyanybody should suspect us as long as we kept that knowledge to ourselves.Birchill's idea, after we'd talked this over, was that I should goquietly home to bed, and pay a visit to Riversbrook on Friday as usual,discover Sir Horace Fewbanks's body, and then tell the police. But Ididn't like to do that for two reasons. I didn't think that my nerveswould be in a fit state to tell the police how I found the body withoutbetraying to them that I knew something about it; and I couldn't bear tothink of Sir Horace's body lying neglected all alone in that empty housetill the following day--though I kept that reason to myself.
"It was the girl who hit on the idea of sending a letter to the police.She said that it would be the best thing to do, because if they wereinformed and went to the house and discovered the body it wouldn't be sodifficult for me to face them afterwards. I agreed to that, and so didBirchill, who was very frightened in case I might give anything away, andconsented on that account. The girl showed us how to write the letter,too--she said she'd often heard of anonymous letters being written thatway--and she brought out three different pens and a bottle of ink and awriting pad. After we'd agreed what to write, she showed us how to do it,each one printing a letter on the paper in turn, and using a differentpen each time."
"You took care to leave no finger-prints," said Inspector Chippenfield.
"We used a handkerchief to wrap our hands in," said Hill. "Birchill gottired of passing the paper from one to another and wrote all his letters,leaving spaces for the girl and me to write in ours. When the letter waswritten we wrote the address on the envelope the same way, and stampedit. Then I went out and posted the letter in a pillar-box."
"At Covent Garden?" suggested Inspector Chippenfield.
"Yes, at Covent Garden," said Hill.
"When I got home my wife was awake and in a terrible fright. She wantedto know where I'd been, but I didn't tell her. I told her, though, thatmy very life depended on nobody knowing I'd been out of my own home thatnight, and I made her swear that no matter who questioned her she'd stickto the story that I'd been at home all night, and in bed. She begged meto tell her why, and as I knew that she'd have to be told the next day, Itold her that Sir Horace Fewbanks had been murdered. She buried her facein her pillow with a moan, but when I took an oath that I had had no handin it she recovered, and promised not to tell a living soul that I hadbeen out of the house and I knew I could depend on her.
"Next morning, as soon as I got up, I hurried off to a little wine tavernand asked to see the morning papers. It was a foolish thing to do,because I might have known that nothing could have been discovered intime to get into the morning papers, for I hadn't posted the letter untilnearly four o'clock. But I was all nervous and upset, and as I couldn'tface my wife or settle to anything until I knew the police had got theletter and found the body, I--though a strictly temperate man in theordinary course of life, sir--sat down in one of the little compartmentsof the place and ordered a glass of wine to pass the time till the firsteditions of the evening papers came out--they are usually out here aboutnoon. But there was no news in the first editions, and so I stayed there,drinking port wine and buying the papers as fast as they came out. But itwas not till the 6.30 editions came out, late in the afternoon, that thepapers had the news. I hurried home and then went up to Riversbrook andreported myself to you, sir."
As Hill finished his story he buried his face in his hands, and bowed hishead on the table in an attitude of utter dejection. Rolfe, looking athim, wondered if he were acting a part, or if he had really told thetruth. He looked at Inspector Chippenfield to see how he regarded theconfession, but his superior officer was busily writing in his note-book.In a few moments, however, he put the pocket-book down on the table andturned to the butler.
"Sit up, man," he commanded sternly. "I want to ask you some questions."
Hill raised a haggard face.
"Yes, sir," he said, with what seemed to be a painful effort.
"What is this girl Fanning like?"
"Rather a showy piece of goods, if I may say so, sir. She has big blackeyes, and black hair and small, regular teeth."
"And Sir Horace had been keeping her?"
"I think so, sir."
"And a fortnight before Sir Horace left for Scotland there was aquarrel--Sir Horace cast her off?"
"That is what it looked like to me," said the butler.
"What was the cause of the quarrel?"
"That I don't know, sir."
"Didn't Birchill tell you?"
"Well, not in so many words. But I gathered from things he dropped thatSir Horace had found out that he was a friend of Miss Fanning's anddidn't like it."
"Naturally," said the philosophic police official. "Is Birchill still atthis flat and is the girl still there?"
"The last I heard of them they were, sir. Of course they had been talkingof moving after Sir Horace stopped the allowance."
"Well, Hill, I'll investigate this story of yours," said the inspector,as he rose to his feet and placed his note-book in his pocket. "If it istrue--if you have given us all the assistance in your power and have keptnothing back, I'll do my best for you. Of course you realise that you arein a very serious position. I don't want to arrest you unless I have to,but I must detain you while I investigate what you have told us. You willcome up with us to the Camden Town Station and then your statement willbe taken down fully. I'll give you three minutes in which to explainthings to your wife."