CHAPTER X
THE WOMAN IN THE CASE?
There was no call during the long watches of the night, no untowardhappenings of any sort. Cleek, sleeping with one eye open, rose now andagain and crept silent-footed out into the passage, doing a little bitof listening in upon his own account. But nothing of any momenthappened. And so when at length the house was astir, and the sound ofservants with their brushes and brooms began to make their usualearly-morning clamour, he shook himself awake, got to his feet, and wentoff into the bathroom, where Ross Duggan's safety-razor worked wonderswith his over-night beard, and a wash under the cold-water tap stillmore.
Returning, he stopped at the door of that chamber of tragedy where theone-time master of all this vast inheritance of stone and moorland lay,Death wiping from his aged face every line and leaving it as smooth as achild's.
"I want to have a little poke round for myself," he told the constableon duty outside the door, who instantly let him in, as became arepresentative of Scotland Yard. "You might send someone up to the Innof the Three Fishers with this note, and see that it gets deliveredimmediately into the hands of a chap named Dollops. It's important."
"Very good, sir."
"And in the meantime, I'll see that no one enters this room, I promiseyou. Inspector Petrie himself will be around presently. AndSuperintendent Narkom should be with us at twelve o'clock orthereabouts."
Left alone, therefore, in the early morning sunlight of that perfectJune day, Cleek made his way into the still room, closed the door behindhim, and then, glancing up, caught sight of the stolid back of theconstable on duty outside of the courtyard window, and not being wishfulto enter into conversation with him, began to poke about of his ownaccord.
But the room held little or no clues for him to go upon. Not in thefirst rough glance, at any rate. Over by the window, where it had stoodupon the previous day, when Maud Duggan had shown it to him, stood thespinning wheel, innocently incongruous indeed in this room of Death. Hegave it a casual glance, and then turned to the desk-top where a pile ofpapers lay scattered in some disarray upon its leather surface.
Cleek ran his fingers quickly through these, glancing at each of them inturn.
"He was just about to alter the will, was he? Well, if that were so, thewill should be here now--and it isn't," he said to himself, withsuddenly upflung brows. "Queer thing! Unless someone put it away. I'lltry the drawers. There should be no secrets from a detective, my poormisguided friend, and if the drawers don't answer to my fingers, I'mgoing to search your pockets for the key--though to steal from the deadis a ghoulish business at the best of times.... Hello, hello! Locked, ofcourse! Brrrh! I don't fancy the task at all, but I mean to have mylittle look-in before any of the other members of the family getdownstairs for their breakfast. So here goes."
Still mentally talking to himself, Cleek went over to the Thing that hadonce been Sir Andrew Duggan, and plunged his hands in the trousers'pockets without more ado. A bunch of keys rewarded the search. He ranthem over adroitly in his fingers; chose one which he thought would fitthe lock of the drawers, found it didn't fit, chose another, and thistime was more successful. For the top left-hand drawer of thathandsomely carved desk slid noiselessly open for him, stoppedautomatically, and gave a funny little click. In a moment he had sliddown on his knees beside that gruesome figure which so impeded hisprogress, and slipped his fingers up under the drawer (which was halffull of papers and so allowed him to do so), touched something whichfelt like a button, and _was_ a button. Then the drawer came forward inhis hand, and revealed at back of it another one, which at a touch ofthat button had dropped its front panel so that it formed a pigeon-hole.As he peered into the recesses of this, he saw a bundle of yellowedpapers tied about with a faded piece of pink ribbon, and immediatelydrew them forth into the light.
"Whew! What a beastly dust! Well, I've met this kind of a desk before,so fortunately you're no closed book to me, my friend," he apostrophizedit, as a powder of dust flew over his fingers as he touched the packet."Here's something which wants looking into, so I'll appropriate it now,and have a squint at it later. Secretive old chap he was, then! With hissecret drawers and all! Looks like a bundle of old love-letters to allintents and purposes, but written on paper that one would hardly havecalled suitable for such tender epistles. Commonest kind ofnote-paper--village note-paper." He drew a sheet from the packet andheld it up to the light. "And with a water-mark of a crown andanchor.... Hello! bit of an illiterate lady, wasn't she, who pennedthese lines! For the spelling's pretty shaky. And signed _Jeannette_....H'm. Some pretty little amour which has held such savour as to bepreserved in this form until after death--poor old fellow! Well, I'lllook into it later. Couldn't have been from the first Lady Duggan, for_her_ name was Edith. Miss Duggan herself told me that. And ...Jeannette! Now, I wonder...."
But what he wondered was never recorded at that time, for just then camethe sound of a soft footstep upon the hall without, the rattle of adoor-handle and the gentle opening of the door itself; and Cleek hadjust time to whisk away the packet, and assume an appearance of stolidnonchalance, when someone came into the room on silently shod feet,stepped a few paces forward, and then, seeing him, gave out a littleshriek and shut her two hands over her breast spasmodically.
"Oh!--_how_ you startled me!" gave out Lady Paula breathlessly, as sherecognized who the intruder was. "What can you be doing here, Mr.Deland? The police ... this awful tragedy."
Cleek bowed and came toward her with outstretched hand.
"My dear Lady Paula," he said suavely, "I represent the police myself.I happen to have taken up criminology many years ago, and came up hereto Scotland upon a little holiday. This terrible thing that has happenedbrought me immediately here to do my duty and to give what little helpI could to you all in your bereavement. And so here I am. I beg ofyou, don't stay in this apartment now. It is no place for alady--particularly a lady so highly strung and nervous as yourself."
"But how--did you ever--come to hear about it?" she demanded, steppingback a pace or two, with her eyes carefully avoiding that Thing whichlay huddled there before them--mute reminder of all the terrors that hadhappened the night before. "How could you have known, Mr. Deland----"
"I mentioned the fact of my profession to your stepdaughter yesterday,and she immediately summoned me here. And, of course, I came. Anythingwhich I can do...."
"Thank you. But there is nothing--nothing! I came in now because lastnight I--dropped my handkerchief, and it was one which I very muchvalue, because my dear husband gave it to me upon the anniversary of ourwedding-day. Duchesse lace, Mr. Deland, and with my name embroideredacross the corner. And I knew, if the police found it, that I--I shouldnever get it back again. Everything, you see, becomes a clue, doesn'tit? But it seems not to be here."
Her agitation was very apparent, and Cleek mentally registered the factthat the excuse was a tame one, and utterly untrue.
"No," he said, "it isn't here, Lady Paula. And, as you say, if it were,I could not give it to you. Go back to your room, I beg, and lie down.You look ghastly pale; and after breakfast I shall have need of yourhelp, believe me. So go, please. And leave me to this gruesome vigilalone.... Oh, by the way, do you happen to remember, during lastnight's many and terrible happenings, whether the will which Sir Andrewwas about to alter (I have the facts of the case, you see, from MissDuggan herself) was put away by any member of the family? Because itisn't here, you know."
He swept his hand out across the desk-top in an expressive gesture. Herface flushed rosily, and something like a startled light, half ofgladness, half of fear, showed in her wide, velvety eyes. But she shookher head.
"It was never touched--to my knowledge," she said emphatically. "And Ihappen to remember that fact, for in the confusion of everything thatfollowed, when we were looking at my poor, poor husband, it fell to theground, and Maud picked it up again and laid it over there, under thoseother things that my husband had been looking into. I noted the fact,even in my despair, a
s one does note these little trivial things in themidst of a great trouble, Mr. Deland. But it _was_ there-- I ampositive. And you can't find it now?"
"No, Lady Paula."
"Oh! Then undoubtedly Maud has hidden it away somewhere, in case I might_steal_ it, I suppose, and so do her precious brother out of hisinheritance, if such a thing were possible."
The venom in her voice was like the bite of a serpent--positivelypoisonous, and Cleek gave her a quick, keen look.
"Hardly that, Lady Paula. And--well, I don't happen to be well up onthese matters at all, the law, y'know, and all that--only the law ofcriminals, and that's an altogether different thing. No doubt one of thefamily has put it away. It will turn up in time. Now, please go awaybefore the rest of the constables arrive. You will want every atom ofyour strength to see this appalling thing through, believe me, andtherefore I insist that you harbour it."
She smiled up at him sadly, and turned upon her heel, her trailing pinknegligee whisking across the thickly carpeted floor like the tail ofsome sinuous snake, weighted as it was with one heavy beaded tassel.
"Very well--if you wish," she said quietly, with an arch glance at him;but as she went something white fluttered to the ground in the wake ofher, and Cleek, waiting until she had gone, closed the door softly, andthen bent down and whisked it up.
It was a handkerchief--a mere wisp of gossamer, with Duchesse lace edge,and the name _Paula_ written in embroidery across one corner of itsfragile square.
A little twisted smile flitted across his face as he looked at it, andthen suddenly his mouth went grim. This was obviously the handkerchiefin question--and she had had it upon her person every moment of thetime! So _that_ excuse was a false one, from the start-out. Then, too,a woman who could look archly at another man over her own husband's deadbody was surely no woman at all, but a harpy in woman's guise. It wasghoulish, horrible!... And if the excuse were false, what did she comefor--in the early hours of the morning, when servants were only justastir in the other wing of the house, and she knew that there was thatdead Thing who had been her husband to be confronted? Would a woman facea murdered man for a mere handkerchief?... She would lose a thousandsuch sooner, from what _he_ knew of the feminine sex.
No, there was some other reason, and that a secret one. Was it the will?But that was already gone. Was it to remove some distinguishing cluewhich she feared might be found to connect _her_ with this crime?
What was it?