CHAPTER VII
It was the morning after the murder, and five men were seated in themoat-house library. One of them attracted instant attention by reason ofhis overpowering personality. He was a giant in stature and build, witha massive head, a large red face from which a pair of little bloodshoteyes stared out truculently, and a bull neck which was several shadesdeeper in colour than his face. He was Superintendent Merrington, anoted executive officer of New Scotland Yard, whose handling of the mostimportant spy case tried in London during the war had brought forth froma gracious sovereign the inevitable Order of the British Empire.Merrington was known as a detective in every capital in Europe, andbecause of his wide knowledge of European criminals had more than onceacted as the bodyguard of Royalty on continental tours, and had receivedfrom Royal hands the diamond pin which now adorned the spotted silk tieencircling his fat purple neck.
The famous detective's outlook on life was cynical and coarse. Thecynicism was the natural outcome of his profession; the coarseness washis heritage by birth, as his sensual mouth, blubber lips, thick nose,and bull-neck attested. It was a strange freak of Fate which had madehim the guardian of the morals of society and the upholder of law andorder in a modern civilized community. By temperament and disposition hebelonged to the full-blooded type of humanity which found its bestexemplars in the early Muscovite Czars, and, if Fate had so willed it,would have revelled in similar pursuits of vice, oppression, andtorture. As Fate had ironically made a police official of him, he had tocontent himself with letting off the superfluous steam of his tremendoustemperament by oppressing the criminal classes, and he had performedthat duty so thoroughly that before he became the travelling companionof kings his name had been a terror to the underworld of London, whofeared and detested his ferocity, his unscrupulous methods of dealingwith them, and his wide knowledge of their class.
He was a recognized hero of the British public, which on one occasionhad presented him with a testimonial for his capture of a desperado whohad been terrorizing the East End of London. But Merrington disdainedsuch tokens of popular approval. He regarded the public, which he waspaid to protect, as a pack of fools. For him, there were only twoclasses of humanity--fools and rogues. The respectable portion of thepopulation constituted the former, and criminals the latter. He had thelowest possible opinion of humanity as a whole, and his favouriteexpression, in professional conversation, was: "human nature being whatit is...." He was still a mighty force in Scotland Yard, although he hadpassed his usefulness and reached the ornamental stage of his career,rarely condescending to investigate a case personally.
His present visit to the moat-house was one of those rare occasions, andwas due to the action of Captain Stanhill, the Chief Constable ofSussex, who was seated near him. Captain Stanhill was a short stout man,with a round, fresh-coloured face, and short sturdy legs and arms. Hewore a tweed coat of the kind known to tailors as "a sporting lounge,"and his little legs were encased in knickerbockers and leather gaiters,which were spattered with mud, as though he had ridden some distancethat morning. He was a very different type from SuperintendentMerrington--a gentleman by birth and education, a churchman, and acounty magnate. He never did anything so dangerous as to think, butaccepted the traditions and rules of his race and class as his safeguide through life. Like most Englishmen of his station of life, he wasendowed with just sufficient intelligence to permit him to slide alonghis little groove of life with some measure of satisfaction to himselfand pleasure to his neighbours. He was a sound judge of cattle andhorses, but of human nature he knew nothing whatever, and his first act,on being informed of the murder at the moat-house, was to ring upScotland Yard and request it to send down one of its most trustedofficials to investigate the circumstances. In reply to this call forassistance, Superintendent Merrington, not unmindful of the countystanding and influence of the Herediths, had decided to investigate thecase himself, and had brought with him two satellites--a finger-printexpert who was at that moment paring his own finger-nails with apocket-knife as he stared vacantly out of the library window, and anofficial photographer, who was upstairs taking photographs in the deathchamber.
Seated near the finger-print expert was a police official of middle-age,Inspector Weyling, of the Sussex County Police. He was a saturnine sortof man, with a hooked nose, a skin like parchment, and a perfectly baldsugar-loaf head, surmounted at the top by a wen as large as a duck-egg.His deferential attitude and obsequious tone whenever SuperintendentMerrington chose to address a remark to him indicated that he had aproper official respect for the rank and standing of that gentleman.Inspector Weyling was merely a police official. He had no personalcharacteristics whatever, unless a hobby for breeding Belgian rabbits,and a profound belief that Mr. Lloyd George was the greatest statesmanthe world had ever seen, could be said to constitute a temperament.
The fifth man was Detective Caldew, who had just completed a narrativeof the events of the previous night for the benefit of his colleagues,but more especially for Superintendent Merrington, in whose hands laythe power of directing the investigations of the crime. It was by nowish of Detective Caldew that Superintendent Merrington had been broughtinto the case. Caldew thought when the county inspector arrived andfound a Scotland Yard man at work he would be only too glad to allow himto go on with the case, and he anticipated no difficulty in obtainingthe consent of his official superiors at Scotland Yard to continuing theinvestigations he had commenced. But Inspector Weyling, when notified ofthe crime by Sergeant Lumbe, had telephoned to the Chief Constable forinstructions. The latter, distrustful of the ability of the countypolice to bring such an atrocious murderer to Justice, had begged thehelp of Scotland Yard, with the result that Superintendent Merringtonand his assistants appeared at the moat-house in the early morningbefore the astonished eyes of Caldew, who was taking a walk in themoat-house garden after a night of fruitless investigations.
In the arrival of Merrington, Caldew saw all his fine hopes of promotiondashed to the ground. He was by no means confident that Merrington wouldpermit him to take any further share in the investigations, but he wasquite certain that if he did, and the murderer was captured throughtheir joint efforts, very little of the credit would fall to his sharewhen such a famous detective as Merrington was connected with the case.Merrington would see to that.
Caldew, in his narration of the facts of the murder, laid emphasis onthe mysterious nature of the crime, in the hope that Merrington mightdeem it wiser to return to London and leave him in charge of the case,rather than risk a failure which would greatly damage his ownreputation. Merrington listened to him gloomily. He fully realized thedifficult task ahead of the police, and his temper was not improved inconsequence.
"Apparently the murderer has got clean away without leaving a tracebehind him?" he said.
"Yes."
"No sign of any weapon?"
"No."
"Anything taken?"
"No. Miss Heredith says nothing was taken from the room, and nothing ismissing from the house."
"The motive was not robbery then," remarked Captain Stanhill.
"It may have been," responded Merrington. "Caldew says the firstintimation of the crime was the murdered woman screaming. The scream wasfollowed in a few seconds by the revolver shot. If she screamed when shesaw the murderer enter her room, he may well have feared interruptionand capture, and bolted without stealing anything."
"Why did he murder her, then, in that case?" asked Captain Stanhill.
"To prevent subsequent identification. Many burglars proceed to murderfor that reason. I know plenty of old hands who would commit half adozen murders rather than face the prospect of five years' imprisonment.I do not say that burglary was the motive in this case, but we must notlose sight of the possibility."
"It seems a strange case," murmured Inspector Weyling absently. He wasthinking, as he spoke, of his rabbits, and wondering whether his wifewould remember to give the lop-eared doe with the litter a little milkin the course of the morning.
"It's a very sad case," said Captain Stanhill. "Poor young thing!" TheChief Constable was a human being before he was a police official, andhis face showed plainly that he was stricken with horror by the story ofthe crime.
"It's a damned remarkable case," exclaimed Merrington, in his boomingvoice. "I do not remember its parallel. An English lady is murdered inher home, with a crowd of people sitting at dinner in the roomunderneath, and the murderer gets clean away, without leaving a trace.No weapon, no finger-prints or footprints, and no clue of any kind."
Caldew had been hoping to get an opportunity of telling Merringtonprivately about the missing trinket, but he realized that he was notdoing his duty by delaying the explanation.
"There was something which might have helped us as a clue," he said."Last night, while I was examining Mrs. Heredith's bedroom, I saw asmall trinket lying on the floor near the bedside."
"What sort of a trinket?" asked Merrington.
"A small bar brooch."
"Where is it?"
"I do not know," replied Caldew awkwardly. "I left it where I saw it,hidden in the carpet, thinking it possible that the person who had lostit might return in search of it, but while I was downstairs itdisappeared."
"It is rather strange," said Merrington thoughtfully. "I am not inclinedto think there is anything in it to help us," he added, after a moment'sconsideration. "Still, I will look into it later. Why did you leave thetrinket in the room, Caldew?"
"I thought it possible that if the owner had anything to do with thecrime he--or she--might return for it," said Caldew. "So I left it whereI found it, and watched the room from the end of the passage."
"A murderer doesn't go about wearing a cheap trinket, and, if he did, hewouldn't risk his neck coming back to look for it. The brooch was morelikely dropped by one of the maidservants, who picked it up again."
"Would a girl go into a room where there was a dead body?"
"A country wench would. English countrywomen have pretty strong nerves.You ought to know that. But why did you leave the room if you expectedthe owner of the trinket to return in search of it?"
"I was called downstairs to see Mr. Musard. An unused outside door whichis generally kept locked was discovered unlocked by the butler beforethe murder was committed. As the door opens on a staircase leading tothe left wing, Mr. Musard thought the butler's discovery had somebearing on the crime."
"He thought the murderer may have entered the house that way? Such atheory would suggest that one of the servants is implicated."
"Yes; but I do not agree with Mr. Musard."
"What is your own opinion?"
"I think the key must have been left in the door by one of theservants--perhaps some days ago. The fact that the butler locked thedoor when he found it unfastened did not prevent the murder beingcommitted, or the murderer escaping afterwards."
"The murderer may have entered by the door before the butler discoveredthat it had been unlocked, and then concealed himself inside the houseawaiting an opportunity to commit the crime."
"In that case, he would have tried to escape the same way, but it isquite certain that he did not do so. Mr. Musard says that the staircasewas the first place to be searched when the guests rushed upstairs. Ifthe murderer had gone that way he would have found the door at thebottom locked, and the key removed, and he must have been caught beforehe could get back upstairs."
"There's something in that," said Merrington. "But how do you accountfor the door being unlocked in the first instance?"
"The servants know where the key is kept. One of the maids may havetaken it to steal out of the house that way to keep an appointment witha sweetheart, and forgotten all about it when she returned. The backstaircase and entrance are never used by the members of the household,and the key, which was inside the door, may have been there for dayswithout being noticed. Tufnell admits that it was only by chance hetried the door yesterday. He had not tried it for weeks before."
"I'll have a look at this door later. And now, we had better get towork. We have got to catch this murderer pretty quickly, or the pressand the public will be up in arms. He's had too long a start already.You must make up your mind for considerable public indignation aboutthat, Caldew."
"I do not see how I can be held responsible for the murderer gettingaway," said Caldew, in an aggrieved tone. "He had his start before Iarrived. I did everything that I could. I searched the house inside andout, and Sergeant Lumbe has been scouring the country-side sincedaybreak looking for suspicious characters."
"I am not blaming you, Caldew," responded Merrington, but his voicesuggested the reverse of his words. "I am merely pointing out to you theway the British public will look at it. They will say, 'Here is a youngwife murdered in the bosom of her home and family, and the murderer getsright away. What do we pay the detective force for? To let murderersescape?' Mark my words, if we don't lay our hands on this chap quickly,we'll have the whole of the London press howling at our heels like apack of wolves. Half a dozen special reporters travelled down in thetrain with me and pestered me with questions all the way. They arecoming along here later for a statement for the evening editions. Butnever mind the journalists--let us get to work without further loss oftime. Have you made a list of all the guests who have been stopping inthe house?"
"Not yet. Here is a sketch plan of the moat-house interior and thegrounds which you may find useful."
"Thanks. You had better prepare a list of the guests before they leave.They are sure to get away as fast as possible, and we may want tointerview some of them later on. Now we had better have a look at thebody."
They went upstairs to the bedroom. There they found a young man, with afreckled face and a snub nose, packing up a photographic apparatus. Hewas the photographer, and he had been taking photographs of the deadbody.
"Finished?" inquired Merrington. "That's right. Then you and Freelinghad better return to London by the next train--you'll be wanted in thatPutney case."
The photographer and the finger-print expert left the room together, andMerrington walked across to the bed. He drew away the sheet whichcovered the dead girl, and bent over the body, examining it closely, butwithout touching it.
"The corpse has not been moved, I suppose?" he remarked to Caldew, whowas standing beside him.
"Not since I arrived. But she may not have been shot in that position.She lived some minutes afterwards, and may have moved slightly--notmuch, I should say, for there are no marks of bloodstains on any otherpart of the bed."
Merrington nodded. He was looking at the bullet wound, which was plainlyvisible through a burnt orifice in the rest-gown which the dead girl waswearing. The wound was a circular punctured hole in the left breast,less than the size of a sixpenny piece.
"The wound has been washed," he observed. "Was that done by the policesurgeon?"
"The police surgeon has not been here. The corpse was examined by thevillage medical man, Dr. Holmes."
"I should like to see him. Where is he to be found?"
"He will be here in the course of the morning. He is attending youngHeredith, who is suffering from the shock. The doctor fears brainfever."
"When he comes I want to see him. It is idle speculating about the causeof death in the absence of a doctor. Death in this case appears to havebeen due to haemorrhage. Apparently the murderer aimed at the heart andmissed it, and the shot went through the lungs. The shot was fired atvery close range too--look how the wrapper is burnt! Any sign of thebullet, Caldew?"
"I found none."
"Well, we shall have to wait for the doctor to clear up these points."
His trained eyes swept round the bedroom, taking stock of every articlein it. He next carefully examined the door, and the lock on it.
"The door was open when the others came upstairs, you said, Caldew?"
"Yes--about half open."
"That accounts for the scream and the shot being heard so plainlydownstairs. It also suggests that the murderer fled very hurriedly,
leaving the door open behind him."
"It seems to me more likely that he escaped by the window, even if hedid not enter that way. Miss Heredith, who was the last inmate of thehousehold to see Mrs. Heredith alive, thinks that the window was closedwhen she was in the room before dinner."
Merrington walked over to the window and examined it, testing the lockand looking at the sill.
"Does Miss Heredith say that the window was locked, or merely closed,when she was in the room?" he asked.
"She cannot say definitely. She thinks it was closed because the air washeavy, and she knew that Mrs. Heredith disliked having her bedroomwindow open."
Merrington shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"A woman's fancies are not much to build a theory upon," he said. "Haveyou any other reason for thinking that the murderer may have escaped bythis window?"
"Yes. After the shot was fired the guests rushed upstairs immediately,and the murderer would have run into them if he had attempted to escapedownstairs."
"Is there no other means of escape from the wing except by thestaircase?"
"There is the back staircase I told you of, at the end of the corridor.That staircase is never used. The door is kept locked, and the key hangsin a room downstairs. It was the door at the bottom of this staircasewhich was found unlocked by the butler yesterday evening."
"I'll have a look at it, and then we'll go downstairs. I want to seethis bedroom window from outside."
They left the bedroom and proceeded to the end of the corridor, whereCaldew pointed out the door at the top of the staircase. Merringtonopened it, and went down the stairs. He reappeared after the lapse of afew minutes with dusty hands and cobwebs on his clothes.
"The murderer didn't get in that way," he said. "On the face of it, itseems a plausible theory to suggest that he entered by the locked doorand hid himself somewhere in this wing, and escaped after committing themurder by jumping through the bedroom window. But it is impossible toget over your point that if he had entered by the door he would havetried to escape by the same means, not knowing that the door had beenlocked in the meantime. To do that he must have traversed the corridortwice and gone down and up these back stairs while the guests werecoming up the other stairs. He couldn't have done it in the time. Hewould have been caught--cut off before he could get back. Look at thissteep flight of stairs and the length of the corridor! That disposes ofthe incident of the door. Whoever unlocked it was not the murderer."
Merrington retraced his steps along the corridor. As he walked, his eyesroved restlessly over the tapestry hangings and velvet curtains, andtook in the dark nooks and corners which abound in old Englishcountry-houses.
"Plenty of places here where a man might hide," he muttered, in adissatisfied voice.
At the head of the front staircase he paused, and looked over thebalusters, as though calculating the distance to the hall beneath. Thenhe descended the stairs.
It still wanted half an hour to breakfast time. There was no sign ofanybody stirring downstairs except a fresh-faced maidservant, who wasdusting the furniture in the great hall. She glanced nervously at thegroups of police officials, and then resumed her dusting. Merringtonstrode across to her.
"What is your name, my dear?" he asked, in his great voice.
"Milly Saker, sir."
"Very well, Milly. I'll come and have a talk with you presently--justour two selves."
The girl, far from looking delighted at this prospect, backed away witha frightened face. Merrington strode on through the open front door, andturned towards the left wing.
It was a crisp autumn morning. The early sunshine fell on the hecticflush of decay in the foliage of the woods, but a thin wisp of vapourstill lingered across the moat-house garden and the quiet fields beyond.Merrington kept on until he reached the large windows of thedining-room, which opened on to the terraced garden.
"That's Mrs. Heredith's window," he said, pointing up to it. "Herbedroom is directly over the dining-room. If the murderer escaped by thewindow he must have dropped on to this gravel path."
"It is a pretty stiff drop," said Captain Stanhill, measuring thedistance with his eye.
"Oh, I don't know," replied Merrington. "He'd let himself down eightfeet with extended arms, and that would leave a drop of only ten feet orthereabouts--not much for an athletic man. But if he dropped he musthave left footprints."
"There are none. I have looked," said Caldew.
The information did not deter Merrington from examining the path anew.He got down on his hands and knees to scrutinize the gravel and thegrass plot more thoroughly.
"Nothing doing here either," he said as he scrambled to his feet. "Thereare neither footprints nor marks such as one would expect to find if aman had dropped out of the window. What are you looking at, Weyling?"
In reply Inspector Weyling made his first and only contribution towardsthe elucidation of the crime.
"Could not the murderer have climbed up to the bedroom by that creeper?"he asked, pointing to a thin trail of Virginia creeper which stretchedup the wall almost as high as the window.
Merrington tested the frail creeper with his great hand. His sharp tugdetached a mass of the plant from the brickwork.
"Not likely," he replied. "It might bear the weight of a boy or aslender girl, but not of a man. What do you think, Caldew?"
Caldew nodded without speaking. Weyling's remark had started a train ofthought in his mind, but he had no intention of revealing it to a manwho plainly did not intend to confer with him on equal terms, ordisclose his own theory of the murder--if he had formed one.
"Let us get inside again," said Merrington, in his masterful way.
He turned back towards the house, and the others followed.