CHAPTER XVI
It was so late that Ludgate Circus was deserted except for a ramshacklecab with a drunken driver pouring forth a hoarse story of a mean fare toa sleepy policeman leaning against a lamp post. The sight of twogentlemen on foot when all 'buses had stopped running for the nightraised fleeting hopes in the cabman's pessimistic breast, and changedthe flow of his narrative into a strident appeal for hire, based on theplea, which he called on the policeman to support, that he hadn't turneda wheel that night, and amplified with a profanity which only thefriendliest understanding with the policeman could have permitted him topour forth without fear of consequences.
He intimated his readiness to drive them anywhere between the _Angel_on one side of London and the _Elephant_ on the other for three bob, or,being a bit of a sport, would toss them to make it five bob or nothing.The boundaries, he explained in a husky parenthesis, were fixed not somuch by his own refusal to travel farther afield as by his horse'sunwillingness to go into the blasted suburbs. As his importunitiespassed unregarded he damned them both with the terrible earnestness ofhis class, and rumbled back into his dislocated story with the languidpoliceman.
Colwyn kept his car in a garage off the Bridge Street archway. Thitherthey proceeded, and waited while the car was got ready for the roads bya shock-headed man who broke the stillness of the night with prodigiousyawns, and then stood blinking like an owl as he leaned against the yardgates watching the detective backing the car down the declivity of thepassage into Bridge Street. Before they had reached it, he banged thegates behind him with another tremendous yawn, and went back to hisinterrupted slumber in the interior of a limousine.
It was a fine night for motoring. There was a late moon, and the earlierrain had laid the dust and left the roads in good condition. Colwyncautiously threaded the crooked tangle of narrow streets and sharpcorners between Blackfriars and Victoria, but as the narrow streetsopened into broader ways he increased the speed of his high-powered car,and by the time London was left behind for the quiet meadows andautumn-scented woods they were racing along the white country roads at apace which caused the roadside avenues of trees to slide past them liketwin files of soldiers on the double.
Mile after mile slipped away in silence. Beyond an occasional directionof route by Phil there was no conversation between the two men in thecar. Phil sat back looking straight in front of him, apparently absorbedin thought, and the car occupied Colwyn's attention. When they reachedthe heights above Heredith, Phil pointed to the green flats beneath andthe old house in a shroud of mist.
"That is the moat-house," he said. "The carriage drive is from thevillage side." And with that brief indication that they were nearingtheir journey's end he once more settled back into silence.
Colwyn brought the car down from the rise into the sleeping village, anda few minutes later he was driving up the winding carriage way betweenthe rows of drooping trees. On the other side of the woods themoat-house came into view. The moonlight gleamed on the high-pitched redroof, and drenched the garden in whiteness, but the mist which rose fromthe waters of the moat swathed the walls of the house like a cerement.The moon, crouching behind the umbrageous trees of the park, cast aheavy shadow on the lawn, like a giant's hand menacing the home ofmurder.
Late as the hour was, Tufnell was up awaiting their arrival, with alight supper and wine set ready in a small room off the library. Philhad telephoned from Colwyn's rooms to say that he was returning with thedetective, and the butler, as he helped them off with their coats, saidthat rumours of a railway accident had reached the moat-house, causingMiss Heredith much anxiety until she received the telephone message.
Colwyn and Phil sat down to supper, with the butler in assiduousattendance. The meal was a slight and silent one. Phil kept a host'scourteous eye on his guest's needs, but showed no inclination forconversation, and Colwyn was not the man to talk for talking's sake.When they had finished Phil asked the butler which room Mr. Colwyn wasto occupy.
"Miss Heredith has had the room next to Sir Philip's prepared, sir."
"No doubt you are tired, Mr. Colwyn, and would like to retire," Philsaid.
"Thank you, I should. I travelled from Scotland last night, and had verylittle sleep."
"In that case you will be glad to go to bed at once. I will show you toyour room," said the young man, rising from the table.
"Please do not bother," replied Colwyn, noting the worn air and whiteface of the other. "You look done up yourself."
"Miss Heredith was anxious that you should retire as soon as you could,sir, so as to get as much rest as possible after your journey," put inthe butler, with the officious solicitude of an old servant.
"Then I shall leave you in Tufnell's care," said Phil, holding out hishand as he said good night.
He went out of the room, and Colwyn was left with the old butler.
"Is it your wish to retire now?" the latter inquired.
"I shall be glad to do so, if you will show me to my bedroom."
The butler bowed gravely, and escorted Colwyn upstairs to his bedroom.
"This is your room, sir. I hope you will be comfortable."
"I feel sure that I shall," replied Colwyn, with a glance round thelarge handsome apartment.
"Your dressing-room opens off it, sir."
"Thank you. Good night."
"Good night, sir." The butler turned hesitatingly towards the door, asthough he wished for some excuse to linger, but could think of nothingto justify such a course. He walked out of the room into the passage,and then turned suddenly, the light through the open doorway falling onhis sharpened old features and watchful eyes.
"What is it? Do you wish to speak to me?" said Colwyn, with his pleasantsmile.
A look of perplexity and doubt passed over the butler's face as hepaused irresolutely in the doorway.
"I merely wished to ask, sir, if there is anything else I can get foryou before I go."
His face had resumed its wonted impassivity, and the words camepromptly, but Colwyn knew it was not the answer he had intended to make.
"I want nothing further," he said.
The butler bowed, and hurried away. Colwyn stood for a few momentspondering over the incident. Then he went to bed and slept soundly.
He was awakened in the morning by the twittering of birds in the ivyoutside his window. The mist from the moat crept up the glasslike steam,but through it he caught glimpses of a dappled autumn sky, and in thedistance a bright green hill, with a trail of white clouds floating overthe feathery trees on the summit. As he watched the rapid play of lightand shade on the hill, he wondered why the moat-house had been built onthe damp unwholesome flat lands instead of on the breezy height.
When he descended later, he found Tufnell awaiting him in the hall toconduct him to the breakfast table. In the breakfast-room Sir Philip,Miss Heredith, and Vincent Musard were assembled. The baronet greetedColwyn with his gentle unfailing courtesy, and Musard shook hands withhim heartily. The fact that Phil had brought him to the moat-house wasin itself sufficient to ensure a gracious reception from Miss Heredith,but as soon as she saw Colwyn she felt impelled to like him on his ownaccount. It was not the repose and simplicity of his manners, or hisfreedom from the professional airs of ostentatious notoriety whichattracted her, though these things had their weight with a woman likeMiss Heredith, by conveying the comforting assurance that her guest wasat least a gentleman. There was more than that. She was immediatelyconscious of that charm of personality which drew the liking of mostpeople who came in contact with Colwyn. In the strong clear-cut face ofthe great criminologist, there was the abiding quality of sympathy withthe sufferings which spring from human passions and the tragedy of life.But, if his serenity of expression suggested that he had not allowed hisown disillusionment with life to embitter his outlook or narrow hisvision, his glance also suggested a clear penetration of human motiveswhich it would be unwise to try to blind. Miss Heredith instinctivelyrealized that Colwyn was one of those rare human beings w
ho are to beboth feared and trusted.
"You will not see my nephew until later," she explained to him as theysat down to breakfast. "He is far from strong yet, and he has had solittle sleep since his illness that I am always glad when he is able torest quietly. I looked in his room a few minutes ago and he was sleepingsoundly, so I darkened the room and left him to sleep on."
Colwyn expressed his sympathy. His quick intelligence, gauging his newsurroundings and the members of the household, had instantly divined thesterling qualities, the oddities, and class prejudices which made up thestrong individuality of the mistress of the moat-house. He saw, for allher dignified front, that she was suffering from a shock which hadshaken her to her inmost being, and he respected her for bearing herselfso bravely under it.
The breakfast progressed in the leisurely way of the English morningmeal. The tragedy which had darkened the peaceful life of the householdnearly a fortnight before was not mentioned. Colwyn appreciated the tactof his hostess in keeping the conversation to conventional channels,leaving it for him to introduce the object of his visit in his own time.Only at the conclusion of the meal, as Miss Heredith was leaving theapartment, did she tell him that she hoped he would let her know ifthere was anything he required or wished her to do. He thanked her, andsaid there was nothing just then. Later, it would be necessary for himto go over the house, under her guidance, if she could spare the time.She replied that she could do so after lunch if that would be suitable,and went away. Sir Philip followed her, and Colwyn and Musard were leftalone.
"Shall we have a cigar in the garden?" said Musard. He wished to knowmore of the man of whom he had heard so much by repute, and he believedthat tobacco promoted sociability. He also desired to find out whetherColwyn's presence at the moat-house meant that Phil had succeeded inimpressing him with his own belief in the innocence of Hazel Rath.
Colwyn willingly agreed. He realized the difficulties of the task aheadof him, and he welcomed the opportunity of hearing all he could aboutthe murder from somebody who knew all the circumstances. Phil's personalknowledge of the facts did not extend beyond the point where he hadfallen unconscious in the bedroom, and a talk with Musard offered thebest available substitute for his own lack of first-hand impressions.
The garden basked in the warmth of a mellow autumn sunshine which haddispersed the morning mist. In the air was the scent of late flowers andthe murmurs of bees; the bright eyes of blackbirds and robins peeped outfrom the ornamental yews, and the peacocks trailed their plumes over thesparkling emerald lawns. But Colwyn and Musard had no thought of thebeauty of the morning or the charm of the old-world garden as they pacedacross the lawn. It was Musard who broached the subject which wasengrossing their minds.
"It was very good of you to come down here, Mr. Colwyn. Your visit is agreat relief to Miss Heredith."
"Does Miss Heredith share her nephew's belief in Miss Rath's innocence?"
"I would not go so far as to say that, though I think his ownearnestness has impressed her with the hope that some mistake has beenmade. But her chief concern is her nephew's health, and she is anxious,above all things, to remove his mental worry and unrest. The mere factthat you have undertaken to make further inquiries into the case will domuch to ease his mind."
"I will do what I can. My principal difficulty is to pick up the threadsof the case. It is some time since the murder was committed, and theattendant circumstances which might have helped me in the beginning nolonger exist. It is like groping for the entrance to a maze which hasbeen covered over by the growths of time."
"Do you yourself believe it possible that Hazel Rath is innocent?"
"I have come here to investigate the case. The police account for thegirl's possession of Captain Nepcote's revolver, with which Mrs.Heredith was shot, by the theory that she obtained it from the gun-roomof the moat-house shortly before the murder. There is work for me to doboth here and in London, in clearing up this point. It is so importantthat I cannot understand the attitude of Detective Caldew in dismissingit as a matter of no consequence. If Hazel Rath were convicted with thatquestion unsettled, she would be condemned on insufficient evidence. Itis for this reason I have taken her interests into my hands. But, apartfrom this point, I am bound to say that the case against her strikes meas a very strong one."
"Yet it is quite certain that Phil Heredith believes her innocent,"remarked Musard thoughtfully.
"Belief is an intangible thing. In any case, his belief is not shared byyou."
"How do you know that?"
"You would have said so."
"Well, I will go so far as to say that Hazel Rath is a most unlikelyperson to commit murder."
"Murder is an unlikely crime. There is no brand of Cain to reveal themodern murderer. Finger-prints are a surer means of identification. Thisunhappy girl may be the victim of one of those combinations of sinisterevents which sometimes occur in crime, but I do not intend to form anopinion about that until I know more about the case. For that reason Ishall be glad if you will give me your account of everything thathappened on the night of the murder. Philip Heredith's story isincomplete, and I wish to hear all the facts."
Musard nodded, and related the particulars with an attention to detailwhich left little to be desired. His version filled in the gaps ofPhil's imperfect narrative, and enabled the detective to visualize themurder with greater mental distinctness. The two stories agreed in theiressential particulars, but they varied in some degree in detail. Colwyn,however, was well aware that different witnesses never exactly agree intheir impressions of the same event. Phil had made only an incidentalreference to the dinner-table conversation about jewels, and Colwyn wasnot previously aware that the story of the ruby ring had occupied twentyminutes in the telling.
"How did you come to tell the story?" he asked.
"Some of the ladies were admiring my ring, and Phil suggested that theyshould hear the story of its discovery. I had just finished when thescream rang out from upstairs, followed by the shot."
"How long was the interval between the scream and the shot?"
"Only a few seconds," replied Musard. "Some of us started to go upstairsas soon as we heard it, but the shot followed before we reached the doorof the dining-room."
Colwyn reflected that this estimate differed from Phil Heredith's, whohad thought that nearly half a minute elapsed between the scream and theshot. But he knew that a correct estimate of the lapse of time is evenrarer than an accurate computation of distance.
Musard knew nothing about two aspects of the case on which Colwyndesired to gain light. He had seen nothing of the target shooting in thegun-room the day before the murder, but he thought it quite possiblethat Captain Nepcote's revolver might have lain there unnoticed untilthe following night, because the men of the house party were a poorshooting lot who were not likely to use the gun-room much. He had heardthe head gamekeeper say that there had been no shooting parties, andTufnell had told him that only one or two of the men had brought gunswith them. Neither was Musard aware whether there existed the motive ofwronged virtue or slighted affection to arouse a girl like Hazel Rath tocommit such a terrible crime. He had always thought her a sweet andmodest girl, but he had seen too much of the world to place muchreliance on externals, and he had had very few opportunities ofobserving whether there had been anything in the nature of a love affairbetween her and Philip. His own view was that whatever feeling existedwas on the girl's side only.
"If there had been love passages between them, Phil's conscience wouldnot have allowed him to be quite so certain of her innocence," addedMusard. "I told him of her arrest, and there can be no doubt that hethinks the police have made a hideous mistake in arresting her.Detective Caldew refused to admit the possibility of mistake, but Philshuts his eyes to everything that tells against the girl, including hermother's unpleasant past."
"Did Miss Heredith know anything of her housekeeper's past?"
"No. Mrs. Rath, as she calls herself, came to Heredith many years ago,took a small
cottage, and tried to support her daughter and herself bygiving lessons in music and French. She would have starved if it had notbeen for Miss Heredith, who helped her and her little girl, tried to getthe mother some pupils, and finally took her into the moat-house ashousekeeper. Mrs. Rath disappeared from the place after her daughter'sarrest, when the police had decided that it was not necessary to detainher, leaving a note behind her for Miss Heredith to say that shecouldn't face her after all that had happened."
Colwyn did not speak immediately. He was examining the row of upperwindows which looked down on the garden in which they were standing.
"Is that the window of the room in which Mrs. Heredith was murdered?" heasked, pointing to the first one.
"Yes. It is high for a first-floor window, but there is a fall in theground on this side of the house."
Colwyn tested the strength of the Virginia creeper which grew up thewall almost to the window, and then bent down to examine the grass andearth underneath.
"Caldew thought at first that the murderer escaped from the window, butMerrington did not agree with him," said Musard.
If the remark was intended to extract an expression of opinion fromColwyn it failed in effect, for he remained silent. He had regained hisfeet, and was looking up at the window again.
"Where is the door which opens on the back staircase of this wing?" hesaid, at length.
"At the extreme end. You cannot see it from here. It opens on the backof the house."
"According to the newspaper reports of the case, the door is always keptlocked. Is that correct?"
"As a general rule it is. But it was found unlocked before dinner on thenight the murder was committed."
"I was not informed of this before."
"Phil was not aware of it, and Detective Caldew attached so littleimportance to it when I told him after the murder that I should not havethought it worth mentioning if you had not asked me. Caldew's point ofview was that the door had been left unlocked, accidentally, by one ofthe servants, which is quite possible. I understand both detectivesagree that it had nothing to do with the murder, because the door waslocked by the butler, who discovered it unlocked, fully an hour beforethe murder was committed. If Hazel Rath had attempted to escape that wayshe would have been caught in a _cul-de-sac_, for we rushed upstairsfrom the dining-room immediately we heard the scream."
"Did you search the back staircase?"
"Almost immediately. It was empty."
"And there is no doubt that the door at the bottom was locked?"
"None whatever--one of the young men tried it."
"What time did the butler make his discovery?"
"Shortly before dinner. I do not know the exact time."
"Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to see the roomMrs. Heredith occupied. Is it empty?"
"Yes. The wing has been unoccupied since the night of the murder. ShallI show you the way up?"
"It will not be necessary. I know the way, and I shall be there sometime."
"In that case I will leave you till lunch-time," responded Musard, as hewalked away.
Colwyn did not go upstairs immediately. He took a solitary walk in thewoods, thinking over everything that Musard had told him. Then hereturned to the house and mounted the staircase to the left wing. Hisfirst act was to make a thorough examination of the unused backstaircase at the end of the corridor. Then he entered the bedroom Mrs.Heredith had occupied.
The room had the forlorn appearance of disuse. The bed had been partlystripped, and the tall-backed chairs, in prim linen covers, looked likeseated ghosts with arms a-kimbo. Colwyn's first act was to draw theheavy window curtains and open the window. He then commenced anexamination of the room in the morning sunlight.
His examination was long and thorough, but it brought nothing to lightwhich added to his knowledge of the events of the murder. The time wenton, and he was still engrossed in his scrutiny when the door opened andPhil entered the room.