CHAPTER VII.
THE MAN SHORT AND HIS STORY.
A light footstep sounded behind me, and scarcely had I time to thrustthe little object hastily back into my pocket when my well-belovedentered in search of me.
"What do the police think, Ralph?" she asked eagerly. "Have they anyclue? Do tell me."
"They have no clue," I answered, in a voice which I fear sounded hardand somewhat abrupt.
Then I turned from her, as though fully occupied with theinvestigations at which I was assisting, and went past her, leavingher standing alone.
The police were busy examining the doors and windows of the backpremises, kitchens, scullery, and pantry, but could find no evidenceof any lock or fastening having been tampered with. The house, I mustexplain, was a large detached red brick one, standing in a lawn thatwas quite spacious for a suburban house, and around it ran an asphaltepath which diverged from the right hand corner of the building and ranin two parts to the road, one a semi-circular drive which came up tothe portico from the road, and the other, a tradesmen's path, that ranto the opposite extremity of the property.
From the back kitchen a door led out upon this asphalted tradesmen'spath, and as I rejoined the searchers some discussion was inprogress as to whether the door in question had been secured. Thedetective-sergeant had found it unbolted and unlocked, but the cookmost positively asserted that she had both locked and bolted it athalf-past ten, when the under housemaid had come in from her "eveningout." None of the servants, however, recollected having undone thedoor either before the alarm or after. Perhaps Short had done so, buthe was absent, in search of the dead man's widow.
The police certainly spared no pains in their search. They turned thewhole place upside down. One man on his hands and knees, and carryinga candle, carefully examined the blue stair-carpet to see if he couldfind the marks of unusual feet. It was wet outside, and if an intruderhad been there, there would probably remain marks of muddy feet. Hefound many, but they were those of the constable and detectives. Hencethe point was beyond solution.
The drawing-room, the dining-room, the morning-room, and the bigconservatory were all closely inspected, but without any satisfactoryresult. My love followed us everywhere, white-faced and nervous, withthe cream chenille shawl still over her shoulders. She had hastily putup her wealth of dark hair, and now wore the shawl wrapped lightlyabout her.
That shawl attracted me. I managed to speak with her alone for amoment, asking her quite an unimportant question, but neverthelesswith a distinct object. As we stood there I placed my hand upon hershoulder--and upon the shawl. It was for that very reason--in orderto feel the texture of the silk--that I returned to her.
The contact of my hand with the silk was convincing. I turned from heronce again, and rejoined the shrewd men whose object it was to fastenthe guilt upon the assassin.
Presently we heard the welcome sound of cab wheels outside, and a fewminutes later young Mrs. Courtenay, wild eyed and breathless, rushedinto the hall and dashed headlong up the stairs. I, however, barredher passage.
"Let me pass!" she cried wildly. "Short has told me he is worse andhas asked for me. Let me pass!"
"No, Mary, not so quickly. Let me tell you something," I answeredgravely, placing my hand firmly upon her arm. The police were againre-examining the back premises below, and only Ethelwynn was presentat the top of the stairs, where I arrested her progress to the deadman's room.
"But is there danger?" she demanded anxiously. "Tell me."
"The crisis is over," I responded ambiguously. "But is not yourabsence to-night rather unusual?"
"It was entirely my own fault," she admitted. "I shall never forgivemyself for this neglect. After the theatre we had supper at the Savoy,and I lost my last train. Dolly Henniker, of course, asked me to stay,and I could not refuse." Then glancing from my face to that of hersister she asked: "Why do you both look so strange? Tell me," sheshrieked. "Tell me the worst. Is he--is he _dead_?"
I nodded in the affirmative.
For a second she stood dumb, then gave vent to a long wail, and wouldhave fallen senseless if I had not caught her in my arms and laid herback upon the long settee placed in an alcove on the landing. She,like all the others, had dressed hurriedly. Her hair was dishevelledbeneath her hat, but her disordered dress was concealed by her longulster heavily lined with silver fox, a magnificent garment which herdoting husband had purchased through a friend at Moscow, and presentedto her as a birthday gift.
From her manner it was only too plain that she was filled withremorse. I really pitied her, for she was a light-hearted, flighty,little woman who loved gaiety, and, without an evil thought, had nodoubt allowed her friends to draw her into that round of amusement.They sympathised with her--as every woman who marries an old man issympathised with--and they gave her what pleasures they could. Alas!that such a clanship between women so often proves fatal to domestichappiness. Judged from a logical point of view it was merely naturalthat young Mrs. Courtenay should, after a year or two with an invalidhusband, aged and eccentric, beat her wings against the bars. She wasa pretty woman, almost as pretty as her sister, but two years older,with fair hair, blue eyes, and a pink and white, almost doll-likecomplexion. Indeed, I knew quite well that she had long had a host ofadmirers, and that just prior to her marriage with Courtenay it hadbeen rumoured that she was to marry the heir to an earldom, a ratherrakish young cavalry officer up at York.
To restore her to consciousness was not a difficult matter, but aftershe had requested me to tell her the whole of the ghastly truth shesat speechless, as though turned to stone.
Her manner was unaccountable. She spoke at last, and to me it seemedas though the fainting fit had caused her an utter loss of memory. Sheuttered words at random, allowing her tongue to ramble on in strangedisjointed sentences, of which I could make nothing.
"My head! Oh! my head!" she kept on exclaiming, passing her handacross her brow as though to clear her brain.
"Does it pain you?" I inquired.
"It seems as though a band of iron were round it. I can't think. I--Ican't remember!" And she glanced about her helplessly, her eyes with awild strange look in them, her face so haggard and drawn that it gaveher a look of premature age.
"Oh! Mary, dear!" cried Ethelwynn, taking both her cold hands. "Why,what's the matter? Calm yourself, dear." Then turning to me she asked,"Can nothing be done, Ralph? See--she's not herself. The shock hasunbalanced her brain."
"Ralph! Ethelwynn!" gasped the unfortunate woman, looking at us withan expression of sudden wonder. "What has happened? Did I understandyou aright? Poor Henry is dead?"
"Unfortunately that is the truth." I was compelled to reply. "It is asad affair, Mary, and you have all our sympathy. But recollect he wasan invalid, and for a long time his life has been despaired of."
I dared not yet tell her the terrible truth that he had been thevictim of foul play.
"It is my fault!" she cried. "My place was here--at home. But--but whywas I not here?" she added with a blank look. "Where did I go?"
"Don't you remember that you went to London with the Hennikers?" Isaid.
"Ah! of course!" she exclaimed. "How very stupid of me to forget. Butdo you know, I've never experienced such a strange sensation before.My memory is a perfect blank. How did I return here?"
"Short fetched you in a cab."
"Short? I--I don't recollect seeing him. Somebody knocked at my doorand said I was wanted, because my husband had been taken worse, so Idressed and went down. But after that I don't recollect anything."
"Her mind is a trifle affected by the shock," I whispered to my love."Best take her downstairs into one of the rooms and lock the door.Don't let her see the police. She didn't notice the constable at thedoor. She'll be better presently."
I uttered these words mechanically, but, truth to tell, theseextraordinary symptoms alarmed and puzzled me. She had fainted athearing of the death of her husband, just as many other wives mighthave fainted; but to me there see
med no reason whatsoever why theswoon should be followed by that curious lapse of memory. The questionshe had put to me showed her mind to be a blank. I could discernnothing to account for the symptoms, and the only remedy I couldsuggest was perfect quiet. I intended that, as soon as daylight came,both women should be removed to the house of some friend in thevicinity.
The scene of the tragedy was no place for two delicate women.
Notwithstanding Mrs. Courtenay's determination to enter her husband'sroom I managed at last to get them both into the morning-room andcalled the nurse and cook to go in and assist in calming her, for herlapse of memory had suddenly been followed by a fit of violence.
"I must see him!" she shrieked. "I will see him! You can't prevent me.I am his wife. My place is at his side!"
My love exchanged looks with me. Her sister's extraordinary mannerutterly confounded us.
"You shall see him later," I promised, endeavouring to calm her. "Atpresent remain quiet. No good can possibly be done by this wildconduct."
"Where is Sir Bernard?" she inquired suddenly. "Have you telegraphedfor him? I must see him."
"As soon as the office is open I shall wire."
"Yes, telegraph at the earliest moment. Tell him of the awful blowthat has fallen upon us."
Presently, by dint of much persuasion, we managed to quiet her. Thenurse removed her hat, helped her out of her fur-lined coat, and shesat huddled up in a big "grandfather" chair, her handsome evening gowncrushed and tumbled, the flowers she had worn in her corsage on theprevious night drooping and withered.
For some time she sat motionless, her chin sunk upon her breast, thepicture of dejection, until, of a sudden, she roused herself, andbefore we were aware of her intention she had torn off her marriagering and cast it across the room, crying wildly:
"It is finished. He is dead--dead!"
And she sank back again, among the cushions, as though exhausted bythe effort.
What was passing through her brain at that moment I wondered. Whyshould a repulsion of the marriage bond seize her so suddenly, andcause her to tear off the golden fetter under which she had so longchafed? There was some reason, without a doubt; but at present all wasan enigma--all save one single point.
When I returned to the police to urge them not to disturb Mrs.Courtenay, I found them assembled in the conservatory discussing anopen window, by which anyone might easily have entered and left. Themystery of the kitchen door had been cleared up by Short, who admittedthat after the discovery he had unlocked and unbolted it, in order togo round the outside of the house and see whether anyone was lurkingin the garden.
When I was told this story I remarked that he had displayed somebravery in acting in such a manner. No man cares to face an assassinunarmed.
The man looked across at me with a curious apprehensive glance, andreplied:
"I was armed, sir. I took down one of the old Indian daggers from thehall."
"Where is it now?" inquired the inspector, quickly, for at such amoment the admission that he had had a knife in his possession wassufficient to arouse a strong suspicion.
"I hung it up again, sir, before going out to call the doctor," hereplied quite calmly.
"Show me which it was," I said; and he accompanied me out to the halland pointed to a long thin knife which formed part of a trophy ofantique Indian weapons.
In an instant I saw that such a knife had undoubtedly inflicted thewound in the dead man's breast.
"So you armed yourself with this?" I remarked, taking down the knifewith affected carelessness, and examining it.
"Yes, doctor. It was the first thing that came to hand. It's sharp,for I cut myself once when cleaning it."
I tried its edge, and found it almost as keen as a razor. It was aboutten inches long, and not more than half an inch broad, with a hilt ofcarved ivory, yellow with age, and inlaid with fine lines of silver.Certainly a very dangerous weapon. The sheath was of purple velvet,very worn and faded.
I walked back to where the detectives were standing, and examined theblade beneath the light. It was bright, and had apparently beenrecently cleaned. It might have been cleaned and oil smeared upon itafter the commission of the crime. Yet as far as I could discern withthe naked eye there was no evidence that it had recently been used.
It was the man's curious apprehensive glance that had first aroused mysuspicion, and the admissions that he had opened the back door, andthat he had been armed, both increased my mistrust. The detectives,too, were interested in the weapon, but were soon satisfied that,although a dangerous knife, it bore no stain of blood.
So I put it back in its case and replaced it. But I experienced somedifficulty in getting the loop of wire back upon the brass-headed nailfrom which it was suspended; and it then occurred to me that Short, inthe excitement of the discovery, and ordered by Ethelwynn to go atonce in search of me, would not without some motive remain there,striving to return the knife to its place. Such action was unnatural.He would probably have cast it aside and dashed out in search of acab. Indeed, the constable on the beat had seen him rush forthhurriedly and, urged by Ethelwynn, run in the direction of Kew Bridge.
No. Somehow I could not rid myself of the suspicion that the man waslying. To my professional eye the weapon with which the wound had beeninflicted was the one which he admitted had been in his possession.
The story that he had unlocked the door and gone in search of theassassin struck the inspector, as it did myself, as a distinctly lametale.
I longed for the opening of the telegraph office, so that I mightsummon my friend Jevons to my aid. He revelled in mysteries, and ifthe present one admitted of solution I felt confident that he wouldsolve it.