CHAPTER XIII
The girl who entered the room a moment later was tall and graceful, witha yearning expression in her soft dark eyes, as though in search of ahappiness which had been denied her by Fate. Her appearance was one ofunusual refinement. She had not a trace of the coarsened blowzy look socommon in English country girls; there was nothing of rustic lumpishnessin her slim figure, and there was more than mere prettiness in herexquisite small features, her thick dark hair, her clear white skin witha tracery of blue veins in the temples. Her high-bridged nose and firmchin suggested some force of character, but that suggestion wascounteracted by her wistful tender mouth, with drooping underlip. Theface, on the whole, was a paradoxical one, containing elements ofstrength and weakness, and the eyes were the index to a strangepassionate nature.
She advanced into the room quietly, with a swift glance, immediatelyveiled by drooped lids, at the faces of the police officials who wereawaiting her. When she reached the far end of the table at which theywere seated she stopped and stood with her hands clasped loosely infront of her, as though waiting to be questioned.
"Please sit down, Miss Rath," said Captain Stanhill politely. "We wishto ask you a few questions."
The girl seated herself in a chair some distance away from her mother,and this time she surveyed the men before her with an air ofindifference which was obviously simulated.
But again she quickly dropped her eyes, for Merrington was staring ather with a look of amazement, as though confronted with a familiarpresence whose identity he could not recall. He glanced from Hazel toher mother, and his eyes fastened themselves fiercely on the housekeeperwith the satisfaction of a man who had solved an elusive puzzle.
"So we _have_ met before, Mrs. Rath," he said. "You are--"
"No, no! Please keep silent in front of my daughter," broke in thehousekeeper hurriedly.
"I was not mistaken. I remembered this woman's face this morning, but Icould not then recall where I had seen her before," pursued Merrington,turning to Captain Stanhill and speaking with a sort of reflectivecruelty. "Her daughter's face supplies the clue. She is the image of hermother as I remember her when she stood her trial at Old Bailey fifteenyears ago. She was tried for--"
"I beg of you not to say it!" Mrs. Rath started from her seat, andlooked wildly around as though seeking some avenue of escape from athreatened disaster.
"Is it necessary to go into this, Merrington?" asked Captain Stanhill inhis mild tones, glancing from the excited woman to his colleague withthe troubled consciousness that he was assisting in a scene which wasdistasteful to him.
"Of course it is necessary if we want to get at the truth of this case,"retorted Merrington. "You needn't be concerned on Mrs. Rath's account,"he went on, with a kind of savage, disdainful irony. "A woman who hasbeen tried as an accessory to murder is not likely to be squeamish. Hername is not Rath. It is Theberton--Mary Theberton. She and her husbandwere tried at Old Bailey fifteen years ago for the murder of a man namedBridges. The trial made a great stir at the time. It was known as 'TheDeath Signal Case'."
Caldew looked at the housekeeper with a new interest. He readilyrecalled the notorious case mentioned by Merrington. Theberton was anEssex miller, who, having discovered that his young wife was in thehabit of signalling his absence to Bridges by means of a candle placedin her window, had compelled her to entice him to the cottage by thesignal, and was then supposed to have murdered him by throwing him intothe mill dam. But though Bridges was seen entering the cottage and wasnot seen afterwards, the charge of murder failed because the detectiveswere unable to find his body. Theberton protested his innocence; MaryTheberton said her husband locked her in her room before admittingBridges, and she knew nothing of what took place between the two men.
There was much popular sympathy with her during the trial as the beliefgained ground that the relations between her and Bridges were innocent,though indiscreet; the outcome of a craving for sympathy which had ledan unhappy young wife to confide her troubles to a former schoolfellow.She was the daughter of an architect, and had been reared in refinementand educated well, but she had been disowned by her father for marryingbeneath her. Her husband ill-used her, and her story was that she hadsought the assistance of an old schoolfellow in order to go to London toearn a living for herself and her little daughter. When the trial wasover Theberton emigrated, and his wife disappeared, although there wassome talk of putting on foot a public subscription for her. This was theend of "The Death Signal Case," for the mystery of the disappearance ofBridges was never solved.
Caldew wondered by what strange turn of Fortune's wheel the woman beforehim had come to be housekeeper at the moat-house. It was certain thatMiss Heredith knew nothing of the black page in her past, because MissHeredith, in spite of her kind heart and rigid church principles, wasthe last person to appoint anybody with a tainted name to a position oftrust in her household. She was too proud of the family name to do sucha thing. The fact that the housekeeper had held the post so long withoutdiscovery was proof of the ease with which identity could be safelyconcealed from everything except chance. Although her nervous demeanoursuggested that she had been walking on a razor edge of perpetualsuspense in her quiet haven, ever dreading detection, it seemed toCaldew that she might have gone undiscovered to her grave but for atrick of Fate in selecting Superintendent Merrington to investigate themoat-house murder. Fate, after its cruel fashion, had left her on herrazor edge for quite a long while before toppling her over, and Caldewreflected that he had been made the instrument of her fall.
But what lay beyond the exposure of the housekeeper's identity? Why hadshe deceived Merrington about her daughter's presence in the house? Wasit only the fear that Merrington would recognize her in her earlylikeness to her daughter, or were her falsehoods intended to deceive thedetectives about Hazel's movements at the time of the murder? What wouldthe girl say? The situation was full of strange possibilities.
While these reflections were passing through Caldew's head there wassilence in the room, broken only by the clock on the mantelpiece tickingloudly, with pert indifference to human affairs. Merrington, afterdragging the hidden and forgotten tragedy to light, remained quiet,watchfully noting the effect on mother and daughter. The mother stoodwithout a word or gesture, her hand stiffened in arrested protest, likea woman frozen into silence. The girl's look was directed towards hermother with the fixity of gaze of a sleeper awakened in the horror of abad dream. At least in their stillness they were both in accord. ThenHazel glanced wonderingly at the faces of the others in the room, withthe fatigued indifference of a returning consciousness seeking to regainits bearings. This phase passed, and in the sudden wild burst of tearswhich followed was the belated realization of the meaning of hermother's exposure; the shame, the agony, the disgrace which it implied.With a quick movement she rose from her seat, walked across to hermother, and caught hold of her hand.
"Mother!" she said.
But her mother turned away from her, and, sinking in her chair, coveredher face in her hands with a shamed gesture, like a woman cast forthnaked in the light of day.
"Never mind your mother just now," said Merrington, as the girl bentover as though to sooth her. "Please return to your seat and answer myquestions."
Hazel turned round at the sound of his voice, but stood where she was,regarding him anxiously.
"You stayed here last night with your mother, I understand?" Merringtoncontinued.
"Yes."
"When did you arrive here?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
"Where from?"
"From Stading, by train. I had an afternoon off, and I came to see mymother."
"How long is it since you visited her previously?"
"It must be about three months," said Hazel, after a short reflection.
"Do you always allow three months to elapse between your visits?"
"No." There was a trace of hesitation in the response.
"You used to come oftener?"
"Y
es."
"How often?"
"Nearly every week." This time the hesitation before the reply wasplainly apparent.
"Why did you allow so long a time to elapse between this visit and thelast one when you had previously been in the habit of seeing your mothernearly every week?"
Hazel again hesitated, as though at a loss for a reply.
"I have been so busy," she murmured at length.
"Is this your first visit to the moat-house since Mrs. Heredith camehere to live?"
"Yes." The response was so low as to be almost inaudible.
Caldew, who was the only person in the room with the deeper knowledge todivine the drift of these questions, realized with something of a shockthat Merrington, with fewer facts to guide him, had reached his absoluteconclusion about the events of the last half-hour while he had wanderedperplexedly in a cloud of suspicions. The mental jump had been too greatfor him, but Merrington had not hesitated to take it. Caldew waitedeagerly for the next question. It was some time in coming, and when itdid come it was not what Caldew expected. As though satisfied with theprevious answers he had received, Merrington branched off on anothertrack.
"How did you spend last night?" he asked abruptly.
"I do not understand you." There was the shadow of fear in the girl'sdark eyes as she answered.
"I will put it more plainly then. How did you occupy the time betweenyour arrival at the moat-house and bedtime?"
"I spent it with my mother in her rooms."
"Were you there all the time?"
It seemed to Caldew that the elder woman's attitude was that of alistener. Though she still kept her face buried in her hands, her frameslightly moved, as though she were listening to catch the reply.
"Yes." The word was spoken hurriedly, almost defiantly, but the girl'seyes wavered and fell under Merrington's direct glance.
"May I take it, then, that you were in your mother's room at the timeMrs. Heredith was murdered?"
This time Hazel did not reply audibly, but a faint movement of her headindicated an affirmative.
"What would you say if your mother admits that you left her room beforethe murder was committed, and that she did not see you untilafterwards?"
It was a clever trap, Caldew reluctantly conceded, this idea of playingoff the mother and daughter against each other, but one that he wouldhave hesitated to use. The effect was instantaneous. Before the girlcould frame her frightened lips in reply, her mother lifted her headsharply.
"I didn't say so! Don't answer him, Hazel, don't tell him. Oh!" Too latethe wretched woman realized that she had betrayed her daughter, and shesank into a stupefied silence.
"Your mother has let the cat out of the bag," said Merrington to thegirl, in a bantering tone. "Come, now," he added, changing swiftly intohis most truculent mood. "We may as well have the truth, first as last.You were seen last night going up the hall in the direction of the leftwing just before the murder was committed. Do you admit it?"
"I do." The admission was made in a low but calm tone.
"Then your last answer was untrue. What were you doing in the hall atthat time?"
Hazel, staring straight in front of her, did not reply, but her quicklymoving breast betrayed her agitation.
"Did you hear me? I asked what were you doing in the hall last night."
"I shall not tell you."
"Did you go upstairs?"
"I shall not tell you."
These replies were given with a firm readiness which was in strikingcontrast to her previous hesitation. She was like a person who had beenforced on to a dangerous path she feared to tread, and had summonedfortitude to walk it bravely to the end.
"Of course you realize the position in which you place yourself by yoursilence?" The quiet gravity with which Merrington put this question was,similarly, in the strangest contrast to his former hectoring style. "Itis my duty to warn you that you are placing yourself in a gravesituation. Once more, will you answer my questions?"
"I will not." The answer was accompanied by a gesture which containedsomething of the carelessness of despair.
"Then you must abide the consequences." He turned to Captain Stanhilland Caldew. "It will be necessary to search the housekeeper's rooms.Lumbe, you remain here and take charge of these two women. Do not alloweither of them to leave the room on any pretext. You had better keep thedoor locked until we return."
He strode out of the room followed by Captain Stanhill and Caldew, tothe manifest trepidation of two maidservants outside, who had plainly nobusiness there. It was apparent that Milly Saker had been talking, andthat strange rumours were agitating the moat-house underworld.
"Where are the housekeeper's rooms?" said Merrington, abruptly accostingone of the fluttered girls. "Come now, don't stand gaping at me like afool, but take us there directly."
The terrified girl went quickly ahead along a corridor leading from themain hall. Turning down a narrower passage near the end she pausedoutside a closed door and said:
"This is the housekeeper's room, sir."
"Stop a minute," said Merrington. "Does the housekeeper occupy only oneroom?"
"No, sir, there are two. A sitting-room, with a bedroom opening off it."
"She has no other room in any other part of the house?"
"Oh, no, sir."
"That will do. You may go."
The maid needed no second bidding, but scuttled back towards thecorridor like a scared hen making for cover. Merrington flung open thedoor in front of him and entered.
The room was well and simply furnished in the style of the house, butthe personal belongings and the bindings of some books suggested a mindnot out of harmony with the refinement of its surroundings. Merrington,with a swift and comprehensive glance around him, began to upset theneat arrangement and feminine order of the apartment with a thorough andsystematic search.
Caldew watched him for a moment, and then walked across to the door ofthe inner room and entered it. The bedroom was large and airy, and theappointments struck the note of dainty simplicity. Caldew was quick tonotice a girl's hat, with a veil attached, cast carelessly on thetoilet-table.
He made a circuit round the bed and approached the table to look at thehat. A tight knot and a slight tear in the gossamer indicated that ithad been discarded very hastily, and Caldew wondered whether Hazel hadit on, waiting for an opportunity to slip away from the moat-house, whenhe had knocked at the door to summon her to the library.
As he put the hat down his eye fell on a pincushion by the mirror, andhe gave a start of surprise. In the midst of hatpins at various angleshe saw the little brooch which had disappeared from the death-chamber.The stone with the greenish reflection shone clearly against the blueand gold shot-silk of the pincushion; the portion of the clasp which wasvisible revealed the beginning of the scratched inscription of "SemperFidelis." The absence of any attempt to conceal the brooch was proofthat its owner was under the delusion that nobody had seen it lying inthe death-chamber. Caldew felt a thrill of professional vanity at thesuccess of his ruse.
His own name uttered in a peremptory shout from the next room caused himto pick up the brooch and hasten thither. The first sight that met hiseye was the flushed triumphant face of Merrington bending over somearticles on the table. Caldew's view of the objects was obscured byCaptain Stanhill, who was also examining them, but he guessed by theattitude of both men that a valuable find had been made. He advancedeagerly to the table and saw, lying between them, a small revolver and ahandkerchief. The white cambric of the handkerchief was stained crimsonwith blood.
The room was in great disorder. Superintendent Merrington, in theimpetuosity of his search, had reduced the previous order to chaos inthe course of a few minutes. Drawers had been opened and their contentsstrewn about the floor, rugs and cushions had been flung into a cornerof the room, and the doors of a cabinet had been forced. Even thepictures on the wall had been disarranged, and some of the chairs wereknocked over.
"Where did you find
these things?" asked Caldew, picking up the revolverand examining it.
"In that gimcrack thing over there." Merrington pointed to a slight,elegant writing-table standing in a corner of the room. "Isn't it atypical female hiding-place? About as safe as burying your head in thesand. The drawer had been locked and the key taken away, but it wasquite easy to open. The lock is a trumpery kind of thing, with the boltshooting into the soft wood."
"I see that the revolver is still loaded in five chambers," said Caldew,as he put down the weapon.
"Yes, and the sixth has been recently discharged. We don't require muchclearer evidence than that. And look at this handkerchief. The blood onit is hardly dry yet."
Caldew took the handkerchief in his hand. As Merrington remarked, theblood on it was hardly dry. It was a small linen square, destitute offeminine adornment except for a dainty "H R" worked in silk in onecorner. The letters were barely visible in the blood with which thewhole handkerchief was saturated.
"I wonder how she got the blood on the handkerchief?" said Caldew. "Didshe try to stop the bleeding after shooting Mrs. Heredith?"
"It would be just like a woman to do so," grunted Merrington. "Women arefond of crying over spilt milk--especially when they have spilt itthemselves. However, that's neither here nor there. The point is thatthis is the girl's handkerchief, and this is the revolver with which sheshot Mrs. Heredith."
"But what was her motive for committing such an atrocious crime?" askedCaptain Stanhill in bewilderment.
"Jealousy," responded Merrington promptly. "I saw the possibility ofthat motive as soon as I heard Milly Saker's story, and learnt thatHazel Rath had lived for some years in the moat-house. Young Heredithand she must have been thrown together a lot before the war, and therewas doubtless a flirtation between them which probably developed into anintrigue. There are all the materials at hand for it--a well-born idleyoung man, a girl educated above her station, a lonely country-house,and plenty of opportunity. I know the type of girl well. Thesehalf-educated protegees of great ladies grow up with all the whims andcaprices of fine females, and their silly little heads are easilyturned. Probably this girl imagined that young Heredith was socaptivated by her pretty face that he would marry her. When she learntthat she had been dropped for somebody else she brooded in secret untilher unbalanced nature led her to commit this terrible crime. Moreover,she is the daughter of a woman with a queer past, who has been livingunder an assumed name for the past fifteen years."
"Do you think mother and daughter have acted in collusion in thismurder?" Caldew asked.
"That is a question I would not care to answer offhand," respondedMerrington thoughtfully. "Undoubtedly the mother shielded the daughterand lied to save her, and she obviously knew that the girl was absentfrom her room at the time the murder was committed. How far this impliesguilty knowledge, or the acts of an accomplice, we are not yet in aposition to say. We will arrest the daughter, and detain the mother--forthe present, at all events. Whether we charge the mother as well as thedaughter will depend on our subsequent investigations. It will be nonovelty for the mother to be charged as accessory in a murder case,"concluded Merrington, with a grim smile.
"We have no direct evidence that the girl went upstairs last night,"said Caldew, with a reflective air. "Milly Saker did not see her goingupstairs, and apparently nobody saw her coming away."
"No direct evidence, it is true. But the presumptive evidence is sostrong that it is hardly needed. In the first place, Milly Saker saw hergoing down the hall in the direction of the left wing just before themurder was committed. Next day--this morning--the housekeeper sent MillySaker out of the way before she could be questioned by the police. Thatact suggests two inferences. First, Mrs. Rath, as she calls herself, hadsome inkling that Milly Saker saw her daughter in the hall on theprevious night, and secondly, that Mrs. Rath feared, in the light ofsubsequent events, to let it be known that her daughter was seen walkingdown the hall before the murder was committed. From these inferences wemay conclude that, even if the mother had no actual knowledge of thecrime, she believed that her daughter was guilty. Her subsequent actionsto-day confirm that theory in every respect. And, of course, therecovery of this revolver and the girl's handkerchief in her mother'srooms, where she slept last night, is the strongest possible proof thatthe girl shot Mrs. Heredith."
"Of course there can be no doubt of that. It would be impossible to finda stronger case of circumstantial evidence," said Caldew earnestly. "Buthere is a piece of direct evidence. Look here!" He produced the littlebrooch from his pocket and placed it on the table beside the revolverand the handkerchief. "This is the brooch I told you about. It is thebrooch I saw in Mrs. Heredith's room which disappeared while I wasdownstairs. I found it stuck in a pincushion in the next room, besidethe girl's hat. She must have realized that she dropped it in themurdered woman's bedroom, and seized the opportunity to return for itwhile I was out of the room. That is a piece of direct evidence that shewas in Mrs. Heredith's bedroom."
"So you were right about the brooch. I owe you an apology for that,Caldew," said Merrington. He placed the little trinket in his big hand,and turned it over with his finger. The inscription on the back caughthis eye, and he held it closer to read it. "Semper Fidelis!" heexclaimed. "The words are typical of the girl. The wishy-washy sentimentwould appeal to her, and she's of that partly educated type which thinksa Latin tag imposing. I wonder who gave it to her? Oh, I have it! It wasprobably a gift from young Heredith, and she added the inscription onher own account so as to enhance the value of the gift and keep her'Faithful Always.'"
Once more Caldew reluctantly admitted to himself that Merrington'sdeductions were more swift and vigorous than his own, but he wassecretly annoyed to think that the other had gained partly by guessworkthe solution of a clue which had caused him so much thought andperplexity.
"The brooch is no more direct evidence than the revolver andhandkerchief," continued Merrington. "The girl, unless she is a bornfool, is not likely to admit ownership of any one of them. She would beputting the rope round her own neck to do so."
"I realize that," replied Caldew. "But I think that she might be trappedinto giving away that she owns the brooch. Women are very impulsivewhere the loss of ornaments is concerned, and then their actions areinstinctive. I have frequently noticed it."
"And how do you propose to find out?" asked Merrington.
"By asking her."
"You'll get nothing out of this girl for the asking," repliedMerrington. "She runs deeper than that, or I am very much mistaken.However, ask your own questions, by all means, after I have questionedher about the revolver and the handkerchief. Let us get back to thelibrary."
They returned to the library. Sergeant Lumbe opened the door in responseto their knock, his face furrowed with the responsibilities of office.Mother and daughter were sitting where they had left them, but the elderwoman had regained some measure of composure, and was staring drearilyin front of her. She did not look at the police officials as theyentered, but Hazel glanced towards them, and her eyes fell on therevolver and handkerchief which Merrington carried in his hand. Itseemed to Caldew that her face remained unmoved. Merrington walked overto her.
"You must consider yourself under arrest on a charge of murdering Mrs.Heredith," he said, in quiet, almost conversational tones. "Thisrevolver and this handkerchief were found in your mother's sitting-room.If you have any explanation to make you may do so, but it is my duty towarn you that any statement you make now may be used in evidence againstyou later on."
"I have nothing to say," replied the girl simply.
"You decline to say how this revolver came into your possession, or makeany explanation about the bloodstains on this handkerchief?"
"Yes."
"Do you also refuse to tell us what you have done with the brooch youwere wearing last night?" added Caldew.
The girl, with an impulsive instinctive gesture, hastily put her hand tothe neck of her blouse, then, realizing that she had unconsciou
slybetrayed herself, she let it fall slowly to her side.