CHAPTER XVI
FURNEAUX MAKES A SUCCESSFUL BID
The lawn front of The Hollies was not visible from the upper story of theHare and Hounds owing to a clump of pines which had found foothold on thecliff, but, through the gap formed by the end of the post office garden,the entrance to the house from the Knoleworth road was discernible.
Furneaux's dramatic announcement brought the other two to the window. Bythis time Peters, gifted with a nose for news like a well-trainedsetter's for partridges, had begun to associate the quiet-mannered,gentle-spoken chemist with the inner circle of the crime, so waited andwatched with the detectives for Siddle's reappearance.
At any rate the visitor must have been admitted, because a long quarterof an hour elapsed before he came in sight again. He walked out slowlyinto the roadway, thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, and glancedto right and left. Then, turning abruptly, he stared at the dwelling hehad just quitted. What this slight but peculiar action signified was nothard to guess. Furneaux, indeed, put it into words.
"Having warned Grant off Miss Doris Martin, and been cursed for hispains, the foreman of the jury does not trouble to await furtherevidence, but arrives at a true and lawful verdict straight off,"announced the little man.
"We ought to hear things to-night," said Peters.
"We?" inquired Winter.
"Yes. Didn't I make it clear that I shared in the dinner invitation?"
"No, and I'm--"
"Don't say it!" pleaded the journalist. "If I fell from grace to-day,remember my unswerving loyalty since the hour we met on the platform atKnoleworth! Haven't I kept close as an oyster? And would anyconsideration on earth move me to publish an accurate and entertainingaccount of the roasting of Chief Inspector Winter by Wally Hart? Thinkwhat I'm sacrificing--a column of the best."
Winter bent a weighing look on the speaker. There was treason in thethought, as King James remarked to the barber who tried to prove hisloyalty by pointing out how easily he might cut his majesty's throat anymorning. But Peters maintained the expression of a sphinx, and the bigman relaxed.
"The conditions are that not a word about this business appears inprint, either now or in the future until we have a criminal in thedock," he said.
"Accepted," said Peters.
Furneaux laughed shrilly, even derisively, but him his colleague treatedwith majestic disdain. Then, the chemist having reentered the village,the group broke up, Peters to search his brains for "copy" which shouldbe readable yet contain no hint of the new trail, Winter to take train toKnoleworth, and Furneaux to tackle Fred Elkin, who, he had ascertainedearlier, would drive home from a neighboring hamlet about five o'clock.
Elkin had returned when the detective reached the house, a somewhatpretentious place, half farm, half villa, and altogether horsey. Theentrance hall bristled with fox masks and brushes. A useful collection ofburnished bits and snaffles hung on a side wall. A couple of stuffedbadgers held two wicker stands for sticks and umbrellas, and whips andhunting-crops were ranged on hooks beneath a 12-bore and a rook rifle.
A pert maid-servant took Furneaux's card, blanched when she read it, andforgot to close the door of the dining-room. Hence, the detective heardElkin's gruff comments:
"What? _That_ chap? Wants to see me? Not more than I want to see him.Show him in."
Furneaux, looking very meek and mild, entered an apartment of thecarpet-bag upholstery period. A set of six exceedingly good and raresporting prints caught his eye.
"Good day," he said, finding Elkin drinking tea, and eating a boiledegg. "You're feeling better, I'm glad to see."
Now, no matter how ungracious a man may be, a courteous solicitude as tohis health demands a certain note of civility in return.
"Yes," he said. "Sit down. Will you join me?"
"I'll have a cup of tea, with pleasure," said Furneaux.
"Right-o! Just touch that bell, will you?"
The other obeyed, and took a closer look at one of the prints. Yes, thedate was right, 1841, and the stippling admirable.
"Nice lot of pictures, those," he said cheerfully, when the frightenedmaid, much to her relief, had been told to bring another cup and a freshsupply of toast.
"Are they?" Elkin had taken them and some kitchen furniture for a baddebt.
"Yes. Will you sell them?"
"Well, I haven't thought about it. What'll you give?"
Furneaux hesitated.
"I can't resist anything in the art line that takes my fancy," he said,after a pause of indecision. "What do you say to ten bob each?"
Elkin valued the lot at that figure, but Furneaux was a fool, and shouldbe treated as such.
"Oh, come now!" he cried roguishly. "They're worth more than that."
Furneaux reflected again.
"Three pounds is a good deal for six prints," he murmured, "but, to getit off my mind, I'll spring to guineas."
"Make it three-ten and they're yours."
"Three guineas is my absolute limit," said Furneaux.
"Done!" cried Elkin. The original debt was under two pounds, so he hadcleared more than fifty per cent. on the transaction, and was plus anumber of chairs and a table.
Furneaux counted out the money, wrote a receipt on a leaf torn from hispocket-book, and stamped it.
"Sign that," he said, "pocket the cash, send the set to the Hare andHounds for me in a dog-cart now, and the deal is through."
Leaving the table, he went and lifted down each picture carefully.Somewhat wonderingly, Elkin rang the bell once more, gave the necessaryinstructions, and the room was cleared of its art. He was quite sure nowthat Furneaux was, as he put it, "dotty." The latter, however, sat andenjoyed his tea as though well pleased with his bargain.
"And how are things going in the murder at The Hollies?" inquired thehorse-dealer, by way of a polite leading up to the visitor'sunexplained business.
"Fairly well," said the detective. "My chief difficulty was to convincecertain important people that you didn't kill Miss Melhuish. Once I--"
"Me!" roared Elkin, his pale blue eyes assuming a fiery tint. "_Me!_"
"Once I established that fact," went on the other severely, "a realstumbling-block was removed. You see, Elkin, you have behaved throughoutlike a perfect fool, and thus lent a sort of credibility to an otherwiseabsurd notion. Your furious hatred of Mr. Grant, for instance, born of anequally fatuous--or, shall I say? fat-headed--belief that Miss Martinwould marry you for the mere asking, led you into deep waters. It was amistake, too, when you lied to P.C. Robinson as to the time you came homeon that Monday night. You told him you walked straight here from the Hareand Hounds at ten o 'clock. You know you didn't--that it was nearer halfpast eleven when you reached this house. Consider what that discrepancyalone might have meant if Scotland Yard failed to take your measurecorrectly. Then add the fact that the murderer wore the hat, wig, andwhiskers in which you made a guy of yourself while filling the role ofSvengali last winter. Now, I ask you, Elkin, where would you have stoodwith the average British jury when the prosecution established thosethree things: Motive, your jealousy of Grant; time, your unaccounted-fordisappearance during the hour when the crime was committed; and disguise,a clumsy suggestion of Owd Ben's ghost? Really, I have known men broughtto the scaffold on circumstantial evidence little stronger than that.Instead of glaring at me like a cornered rat you ought to drop on yourknees and thank providence, as manifested through the intelligence of the'Yard,' that you are not now in a cell at Knoleworth, ruminating on yourown stupidity, and in no small jeopardy of your life."
Many emotions chased each other across Fred Elkin's somewhat mean andcruel face while Furneaux rated him in this extraordinary manner.Surprise, wrath, even fear, had their phases. But, dominating all othersensations, was an overpowering indignation at the implied hopelessnessof his pursuit of Doris Martin.
He literally howled an oath at his torturer. Furneaux was shocked.
"No, no," he protested in a horrified tone. "Don't swear at yourbest friend
."
"Friend! By--, I'll make you pay for what you've said. There's a lawto stop that sort of thing."
"But the law requires witnesses. A slander isn't a slander unless it'suttered to your detriment before a third party. How different would beMr. Grant's action against you! Your well-wishers simply couldn't muzzleyou. Whether before your pot-house cronies or mere strangers, you chargedhim openly with being a murderer. I'm sorry for you, Elkin, if ever youcome before a judge. He'll rattle more than my three guineas out of you.Even now, you don't grasp the extent of your folly. Instead of telling mehow you spent that hour and a half on the night of the crime you have theincredible audacity to threaten me, _me_, the man who has saved you fromjail. One more word, you miserable swab, and I'll let Robinson arrestyou. You'll be set free, of course, when I stage the actual villain, buta few remands of a week each in custody will thin your hot blood. Youwere with Peggy Smith after leaving the Hare and Hounds, making a fool ofan honest girl who thinks you mean to wed her. Yet you blather aboutbeing 'practically engaged' to Doris Martin, a girl who wouldn't let youtie her shoe-lace. You're an impudent pup, Fred, and you know it. But youstock decent tea, so I'll take another cup. If you're wise, you'll take asecond one yourself. It's better for you than whiskey."
Elkin, despite all his faults, was endowed with the shrewdnessinseparable from his business, because no man devoid of brains ever yetthrove as a horse-dealer. He smothered his rage, thinking he might learnmore from this strange-mannered detective by seeming complaisance.
"You're a bit rough on a fellow," he growled sulkily, pouring out thetea.
"For your good, my boy, solely for your good. Now, own up about Peggy."
"Yes. That's right. She'd prove an alibi, so your torn-fool case breaksdown when the flag falls."
"Does it? A girl may say anything to save her supposed lover. How willthe twelve good men and true view Doris Martin's evidence on Wednesday?What did _you_ mean, for instance, by your question to the coroner at thefirst hearing?"
"I thought Grant was guilty, and I think so still," came thesavage retort.
"A nice juryman you are, I must say! May I trouble you to pass thesugar?"
"Look here! What are you gettin' at? Damme if I can see through yourgame. What is it?"
"I didn't want to worry poor Peggy. And her father might set about you ifhe knew the facts, so I'm probably saving you a hiding as well as aperiod in jail. The only reliable witness we had as to events in Tomlin'splace was a commercial traveler, and he is positive that the house closedat ten o'clock. However, that's all right. How do you account for themarvelous improvement in your health? Dr. Foxton cannot understand yourillness. He says you are wiry, and have a strong constitution."
"Dr. Foxton jolly near knocked me up," said Elkin. "I took his medicinetill I was sick as a cat."
"But you took spirits, too."
"That's nothing fresh. Anyhow, I've dropped both, and am picking upevery hour."
"Since when?"
"Since yesterday morning, if you want to know."
"I do. I'm most interested. Dr. Foxton doesn't compound his ownprescriptions, does he?"
"No. I get 'em made up at Siddle's."
"Ah. These country chemists often keep drugs in stock till theydeteriorate, or even set up chemical changes. Have you the bottles?"
"Yes. But what the--"
"Anything left in them?"
"The last two are half full. Still--"
"What a cross-grained chap you are? I buy your pictures, drink your tea,rescue you from a positively dangerous position, warn you againstcarrying any farther a most serious libel, yet you won't let me help youin a matter affecting your health!"
"Help me? How?"
"Even you, I suppose, realize that Scotland Yard employs skilledanalysts. Give me your bottles, in strict confidence, of course, and I'lltell you what they really contain. Then you can compare the analyses withthe doctor's prescriptions. The knowledge should be useful, to say theleast. Siddle's reputation needn't suffer, but, unless I am greatlymistaken, you will have the whip hand of him in future."
The prospect was alluring. Elkin would enjoy showing up the chemist, whohad treated him rather as a precocious infant of late.
"By jing!" he cried, "I'm on that. Bet you a quid--But, no. You'dhardly lay against your own opinion. Just wait a tick. I'll bring 'em."
Furneaux stared fixedly at the table while his host was absent. Hisconscience was not pricking him with regard to an unmerited slur on thecountry chemists of Great Britain. All is fair in love and the detectionof crime, and he simply had to get hold of those bottles by some daringyet plausible ruse.
"Now--I wonder!" he muttered, as Elkin's step sounded on the stairs.
"There you are!" grinned the horse-dealer. "Take a dose of the last one.It'll stir your liver to some tune."
Furneaux drew the corks out of both bottles, and sniffed the contents.Then he tasted, with much tongue-smacking.
"Um!" he said. "Stale laudanum, for a start. I expected as much. Boughtby the gallon and sold by the drop. Is that the dogcart with mypictures?"
"Yes."
"Hail your man. He can give me a lift."
"But there's lots of things I want to ask you--"
"Probably. I'm here to put questions, not to give information. I've gonea long way beyond the official tether already. If you've a grain ofsense, and I think you're not altogether lacking in that respect, you'llkeep a close tongue, and act on the tips thrown out. You'll find pearlsof price among the rubbish-heap of my remarks generally. Good-by. See youon Wednesday."
And Furneaux climbed into the cart, holding the pictures so that theywould not rattle, and perhaps loosen the old gilded frames.
"Drive me to the chemist's" he said to the groom; within fiveminutes, he was explaining his purchase to Siddle, and requesting, asa favor, that the latter should wrap the set of prints in brownpaper, making two parcels, and tying each securely, so that theymight be dispatched by train.
Siddle examined one, the first of the series, which depicted theAylesbury Steeplechase.
"Rather good," he said. "Where did you pick them up?"
"At Elkin's."
"Indeed. What an unexpected place!"
"That's the only way a poor man can get hold of a decent thing nowadays.The dealers grab everything, and sell them as collections."
"Art is not in my line, though anyone can see that these are excellent."
"Yes. But you're looking at 'The Start.' Have a peep at this one,'The Finish.' The artist _would_ have his joke. You see that the darkhorse wins."
"How did you persuade Elkin to part with them?"
"By paying him a tempting price, of course. I'm a weak-minded ass insuch matters."
The chemist busied himself to oblige the detective, wrapping and tyingthe packages neatly. Furneaux insisted on paying sixpence for the paper,string, and labor. There was quite a friendly argument, but he carriedhis point.
The dog-cart then brought him to the station, where he tipped anddismissed the man; a little later, he caught a London-bound train.
At half past seven precisely, Winter turned in through theKnoleworth-side gate of The Hollies (there were two, the approach tothe house being semi-circular) and pushed the door open, as it wasstanding ajar.
Grant was waiting in the hall, and greeted him pleasantly.
"Here's a telegram which is meant for you, I fancy," he said.
Winter read:
"Sorry to spoil your party. Compelled to travel to London. Returningearly to-morrow. F."
"That's pretty Fanny's way," smiled the Chief Inspector. "But there'ssomething in the wind, or he would never have hurried off in thisfashion. He tells me that the only pleasant evening he spent inSteynholme was under your roof, Mr. Grant."
"Come along in, Don Jaime!" drawled Hart's voice from the "den," whichhad been cleared of its litter, the lawn being deemed somewhat unsuitablefor the purposes of a drawing-room on that occasion. It was overlookedfrom too many quarte
rs.
"Ah, we meet now under less uneven conditions, Mr. Hart," said Winter."Do you know that Enrico Suarez is in London?"
Hart, startled for once in his life, gazed at the detective fixedly.
"Since when?" he cried.
"He crossed from Lisbon last week."
Hart took a revolver from his hip pocket, and opened it, apparentlymaking sure that it was properly loaded.
"What's the law in England?" he inquired. "Can I shoot first, or must Iwait till the other fellow has had a pop?"
Winter laughed.
"It's all right," he said. "Suarez is in Holloway, awaiting extradition.But I owed you one for the rise you took out of me to-day."
A bell sounded, and Peters came in. He glanced around.
"Where's Furneaux?" he demanded.
"Gone to London. Why this keen interest?" said Winter.
"There's something up. Elkin dropped in at the Hare and Hounds. He wassimply bursting with curiosity, and had to talk to somebody. So hechose me."
"He would," was the dry comment.
"Fact, 'pon me honor. I didn't lead him on an inch. It seems thatFurneaux bought some prints which caught his eye in Elkin's house, andTomlin says that that hexplains hit."
"Explains what?"
"Furneaux's visit to Siddle, and certain bulky parcels brought in andbrought out again."
"Queer little duck, Furneaux," said Hart. "Now that my mind is at easeabout the immediate future of the biggest rascal in Venezuela I can takean active part in Steynholme affairs once more. When it's all throughI'll make a novel of it, dashed if I don't, with the postmaster'sdaughter in the three-color process as a frontispiece."
"But who will be the villain?" said Peters.
Hart waved the negro-head pipe at the other three.
"Draw lots. I am indifferent," he said.