Chapter XXIV.A Fresh Start“Well, where do we stand now?” said Superintendent Wilson, as he turned back into the room after showing his visitors out.“Nowhere at all, sir, I should say,” was the inspector’s discontented reply. “You have let the bird in the hand go, and all the other birds are safer than ever in the bush. Are you so sure there’s no doubt about thatalibi?”“Still harping on that, are you, inspector? Come, put the idea of Walter Brooklyn’s guilt out of your head. It’s not often I take much stock inalibis; but this one is absolutely convincing.”“I’m not so sure, sir, all the same. At least, I’d have kept hold of the man we had got till we could lay some one else by the heels.”The superintendent shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “That’s the worst of you, inspector,” he said, “you are impervious to evidence. You never will give up an idea when you’ve once been at the trouble of forming it. And therefore you don’t see how this morning’s business really helps us.”“Helps us? No, I’m jiggered if I see that. If you’re in the right we are in a worse hole than ever.”“No, my dear inspector, it does help us.” And the superintendent rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He smiled to himself as he reflected that he could see further than most people through a brick wall.“How do you mean?” asked the inspector.“Well, if Walter Brooklyn was not in the house, it is clear that he did not send that telephone message. But some one did send it. Who was that some one? Find him, and you find the murderer. It was clearly sent with the deliberate intention of throwing suspicion on Walter Brooklyn.”“Yes, if you’re right about thealibi, I see that. But I don’t see that we’re any nearer to finding out who did send it.”“Well, at least,” said the superintendent, “there are certain things to go upon. First, there is no doubt at all that the message was sent, and sent from Liskeard House. The inquiries at the Exchange prove that.”The inspector nodded.“That being so, is it not safe to conclude that it was sent by one of the inmates, or by the murderer, before making his escape? If the murderer was an inmate of the house, the two possibilities are reduced to one. Probably he was at any rate some one familiar with the house and the family.”“I see,” said the inspector, and his face brightened up for the first time. “That is certainly a point. You mean that Winter could without difficulty have sent the message?”“Doubtless he could; and so could others. Don’t jump to conclusions. I agree that it would fit in with the theory your mind is now forming that Winter is guilty. But remember that we have really nothing against him. Even if the story about the quarrel and his engagement turns out to be true, that doesn’t carry us very far. It is not enough to prove motive. If everybody who had a motive for murder killed his man there would be nobody left alive. Direct evidence is what counts.”“But direct evidence isn’t easy to get.”“Nothing that is worth while is easy to get. Our job is to do things that are difficult.”“That’s all very well, but——”“But me no buts, inspector. So far from being depressed by this morning’s events, I am greatly encouraged. They fit in exactly with my own view.”“But, if you don’t believe Winter did it, who do you think did?”“Come now, inspector. That is a question for the end of the argument, not the beginning. I had at least fully made up my mind, before I knew anything at all of thisalibi, that Walter Brooklyn did not do it.”“What on earth made you think that? Had you some fresh evidence?”“No, inspector, merely some fresh use of the old evidence. The more I thought about it, the plainer it became that both those sets of clues were deliberately laid by the same person—I mean the murderer. Don’t you see my point?”“But why did the murderer lay two inconsistent sets of false clues?”“That, my dear inspector,isthe point. He laid them both in the hope that we should see through the one set, and not through the other. Which is just what you have done. He is a clever scoundrel. He meant us to hang Walter Brooklyn.”“He’s too clever for me, if that’s so. But, supposing you’re right, I don’t see that we are much nearer to finding out who he is.”The superintendent assumed the air of one instructing a little child, and, as he spoke, ticked off the points on his fingers. “My dear Blaikie, we have to trace the murderer through the false clues which he left. Point number one. Walter Brooklyn’s stick was found in Prinsep’s room. If Walter Brooklyn did not put it there, who did?”“Dashed if I know,” said the inspector.“Who could have put it there? Some one must have got it from Walter Brooklyn.”“He said he left it in a taxi, didn’t he?”“No, he said he didn’t know where he had left it. It might have been in a taxi, or it might have been in any of the places he visited that afternoon—in Woodman’s office, for example, or in the Piccadilly Theatre. You must find out again exactly where he went, and, if possible, where he did leave the stick. There is just the chance that Prinsep found it and took it up to his room. But I don’t think so. I think it was clearly left on the floor of Prinsep’s room in order that it might serve as a clue to mislead us.”“I see your point. I’ll find out what I can.”“Then there’s the telephone message. It is not very difficult to imitate a man’s voice over the telephone; but I doubt if the murderer would have risked it unless he had known the man he was imitating pretty well. He may even have been something of a mimic. The idea of imitating the voice would have occurred to such a man. Find out if there is any one connected with the Brooklyns who is much of a mimic.”“Why, old Sir Vernon Brooklyn used to be the finest impersonator in England in his younger days, before he took to serious acting.”“I was not thinking of him. There may be others. That sort of talent often runs in families.”“I’ll make inquiries.”“Now I come to a much more important point. When one man takes elaborate measures to get another hanged, it usually means he has either some violent grudge, or some strong reason for securing the removal of that particular person. If the murderer tried to get Walter Brooklyn hanged, when he might apparently have got away without leaving any clue at all, he must have had either a violent hatred, or, more probably, a very strong motive for wishing Walter Brooklyn out of the way. We have to find out who had such a motive.”“Motive seems a dangerous line to go on. You remember that Walter Brooklyn had the strongest financial motive for killing his nephews. He gets a pot of the money when Sir Vernon dies.”“I know he does; but what I want you to find out is who would get the money if Walter Brooklyn were removed. When you found out about the will, did you discover that?”“No. It seemed quite enough to find out that Brooklyn stood to get it by killing his nephews. So far as I remember, there was nothing in the will to say who would get the money if they all died.”“That’s a point you must make quite sure of—not merely what is in the will, but who is the next of kin after Walter Brooklyn. It may be the decisive clue.”“I believe you have some definite suspicion in your mind.”“My dear inspector, if I have I’m not going to say any more about it just now. You go and find out what I have asked; and then we can talk.”“I’m to do nothing, then, about Winter?”“I certainly did not say that. That man Thomas seems to have found out something you had missed. It is your turn to pick up something that has escaped him. Watch the servants at Liskeard House—the maids as well as Winter and Morgan. Keep an eye on the whole household. And meanwhile I will find out all about that girl at Fittleworth. I can have inquiries made locally on the spot.”“Then you’re inclined to think Winter may have done it?”“Not at all. There you are jumping to conclusions again. I’m not at all disposed to say anything definite just at present. What we need is further information, and all we can do for the present is to follow up every hint we get.”“I’ll do my best, sir. But it doesn’t look to me very hopeful.”“Oh, never say die. Even if we could not find out the whole truth for ourselves—and I believe we can—there is plenty of chance still for the murderer to give himself away. In my experience that is how ninety-nine out of a hundred murderers get caught—I mean of those who do get caught at all. You watch Winter carefully, but don’t jump to the conclusion that he’s guilty. Watch them all: keep your eyes and your mind wide open. We’ll pull it through yet.”“But,” said the inspector, unable any longer to keep back the question, “if you think neither Walter Brooklyn nor Winter did it, who do you think did?”“If I knew that, my dear inspector, I shouldn’t be giving you these instructions. The real criminal may be some one quite outside our previous range of suspicion. Indeed, I shan’t be at all surprised if he is.”“But you mean that the immediate thing is to go fully into these new aspects of the case?”“Quite so. Do that, and report progress. And remember to keep your eyes wide open for anything that may turn up. We must trust largely to luck.”As Inspector Blaikie left Superintendent Wilson’s room, he was in a curiously divided state of mind. At one moment he still said to himself that all his good labour could not have been wasted, and that Walter Brooklyn must really be guilty after all. The next he found himself assuming, with greater assurance, that Winter was the murderer. He was one of those men who can only keep their minds open by entertaining two contrary opinions at the same time. He shook his head over what seemed to him the weakness of his superior in letting Walter Brooklyn go without arresting some one else.Meanwhile, in the lounge at Liskeard House, Joan and Ellery were sitting very close to each other on a sofa making their plans for the discovery of the criminal.“How had we better begin?” he asked, running his hand despairingly through his hair.“I can see only one way,” Joan replied. “We have nothing to go upon—nothing, I mean, that would make us suspect any particular person. So the only thing to do is to suspect everybody—to find out exactly where everybody was when the crime was committed, and what they were doing that evening.”“That’s something of an undertaking.”“I don’t mean all the world. I mean everybody who was, or was likely to have been, in this house. Of course, it may have been some one quite different; but I think that’s the best way to start. And we mustn’t rule out anybody—even ourselves—however sure we are they had nothing to do with it. Even if that doesn’t find the criminal, it may help us to light on a clue.”“But it is still a tall order. We don’t even know at what time the murders were committed.”“Isn’t that a good point to begin upon? Let me see. When were George and John last seen alive?”“Both at some time after eleven. George was seen leaving the house at half-past, and Prinsep was seen rather before that time in the garden. Isn’t that so?”“Then that,” said Joan, “definitely fixes the time of both the murders as being later than say 11.15, and one of them definitely after 11.30. That is something to go upon.”“Ah, but stop a minute. May not either the people who thought they saw George, or the others who thought they saw John, have been mistaken? Neither of them was seen close to.”“It doesn’t seem very likely. Winter would hardly have mistaken some one else for George when he saw him going out by the front door.”“Still, my dear, it’s possible. Winter was at the other end of the hall and only noticed him by accident. He probably caught no more than a glimpse.”“Yes, Bob; but the other man saw him from quite close. You remember he said he went to open the door for him; but George slipped out before he could get there.”“Yes, I know; but did the other man know George by sight? He was only a hired waiter, in for the evening. Winter probably told him afterwards it was George, and he took it for granted.”“I think you’re romancing, my dear. If it wasn’t George, who was it?”“Surely, Joan, in that case it was the murderer, whoever he may have been.”Joan sighed. “Follow up that idea of yours by all means,” she said, “but it doesn’t sound to me very hopeful. The people who said they saw John are much more likely to have been mistaken. They only saw him from a window some way off; and it was half dark.”“Do you know, Joan, I’m half inclined to believe that neither of them was really seen then at all. What I mean is, they may both have been dead by half-past eleven. Suppose they were neither of them seen. Yes, and by Jove, that would get rid of one difficulty. I’ve never been able to see how George got back into the grounds after the place was all locked up. But suppose he didn’t have to get back at all, because he never went out. Then the man who went out, and was mistaken for George, would be the murderer. Joan, aren’t you listening?”“Yes, Bob, I heard what you said, and I half think you’re right. I was thinking of that telephone message.”“Why, what about it?”“What I mean is, if that message was sent with the object of shifting the suspicion on to some one else, isn’t it more likely to have been sent after, than before, the murders?”“You’re right. At least, it was probably sent after one of them. There’s no necessary reason to suppose that they were both done at the same time. We don’t even know that the same man did them.”“Oh, I don’t know about that. Two murders in one night is bad enough; but to ask me to believe in two different murderers is too much of a strain on my credulity.”“Then you don’t think Prinsep killed George?” Ellery asked.“No, I’m nearly sure he didn’t. It isn’t, I’m afraid, dear, that I don’t think he was morally capable of it. I simply feel sure he wouldn’t have been such a fool.”“Not even if George had told what he thought of him about Charis Lang? They’d both probably have lost their tempers pretty badly.”“No, Bob, not even then. At least I’m nearly sure. I’m convinced there was only one murderer. Remember they were both killed the same way.”“Well, let’s assume you’re right. Then if what you said about the ’phone message was right, it was probably sent after one of the murders—I mean immediately after. The murderer wouldn’t have wasted time on the premises.”“Yes, that means that 11.30, or thereabouts, is the critical time. Then half-past ten is the earliest possible. Winter went up to get John’s letters then, and everything was all right.”“Oh, but George was seen long after that. Winter let him in by the front door at a quarter to eleven.”“Yes, it was certainly George he let in. They spoke, and he couldn’t have made a mistake. That narrows it a bit.”“Then probably it all happened after a quarter to eleven—unless George found Prinsep dead when he got upstairs, and chased the murderer down the private stairs into the garden, and got killed by him out there. How does that strike you, Joan?”“It’s possible, Bob; but it looks as if we couldn’t fix the time very nearly. It was somewhere between a quarter to eleven and half-past; but that’s as near as we can get.”“Let it stand there: and now let’s follow out our original plan, and see what we know about everybody who might have been mixed up in it. Let’s write it down. I’ll write.”Losing no time, they got to work. First, they made a list of every one who had been present at the dinner on the evening of the tragedy—Sir Vernon. John Prinsep, George Brooklyn and his wife, Carter and Mrs. Woodman, Lucas, Mary Woodman—and themselves. Next came the servants—Winter, Morgan, Agnes Dutch, the two other maids, the hired waiters. These were the only persons who, as far as they knew, had been in the house that night. Next, they wrote down exactly what they knew of the doings of every one of these people, leaving spaces in which they could fill in further particulars as they discovered more. When it was finished the list and comments took this form:—PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsSir VernonWent to bed 10.15Joan, MaryRemained in roomWoodmanJoanWith Sir Vernon 10.15 to 10.30Sir VernonWith Mary Woodman, 10.30 to 10.40Mary WoodmanThen bedSelf“That ‘self’ looks very suspicious,” said Joan, as Ellery wrote it down.“Yes, we are suspecting ourselves as well as others. I strongly suspect you.”“And I you. But get on.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsMary WoodmanIn landing-lounge till after 11Joan to 10.40Then bedSelf“Another suspect,” said Ellery.“Poor Mary,” said Joan. “She couldn’t hurt a fly.”“Then I suspect her all the more.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsWinterDownstairs with servants till after 11.30Other servantsLets in Morgan soon after 11.30MorganThen bedSelf“He went to bed. But did he stay there? That’s the point.”“Put down ‘Did he stay there? No clear evidence.’ After all, Morgan says he did.”“Yes, but Morgan isn’t sure.”“We come to him next.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsMorganAt Hammersmith till 11Unconfirmed, but may be capable of confirmationArrived at Liskeard House soon after 11.30WinterWent to bedWinterStayed thereWinter“I say, there wouldn’t be much evidence of what Morgan did, if it wasn’t for Winter. Suppose they were both in it. Winter’s story depends on Morgan’s almost as much as Morgan’s on his.”“We suspect them both. At least I don’t, but I mean to pretend to do so. Who’s next?”“Agnes Dutch.”“Put her down.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsAgnes DutchDismissed by Joan for night 10.30JoanWent to bed“Next, please.”“The maid-servants.”“They’re all in the same position. Put them down.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsMaid-servantsDownstairs till after 11Winter and waitersOne anotherThen bed“More collusion.”“Don’t be silly. Now we come to the people who weren’t sleeping in the house.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsMarian BrooklynBack to hotel 10.20Carter and Helen WoodmanTalked with Helen till 11.30 in Helen’s roomHelen WoodmanThen bedNo confirmation“But she’s out of it anyway.”“Yes, poor Marian.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsCarter WoodmanBack to hotel 10.20Marian and HelenIn hotel writing-room till 11.45Told above had letters to writeGave letters to porter to post 11.45Porter and liftman“That seems all right.”“Yes. Helen’s next.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsHelen WoodmanBack to hotel 10.20Marian and CarterWith Marian till 11.30MarianThen bedCarter Woodman after 11.45“And now we come to you, Bob.”“Oh, I’m no use. I have a provedalibialready. I’m in the same position as your revered stepfather.”“Put yourself down all the same.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsElleryWalking about 10.15 to about midnightGloucesterHome and bedLandlady“But did you stay in bed?”“And slept like a top.”“That only leaves Uncle Harry.”“Oh, he left in his car at 10.15, and went straight back to Hampstead. He told me the police had made inquiries, and confirmed that he got back at 10.45, and did not go out again.”“Put him down.”PersonsMovementsEvidence for MovementsLucasLeft Liskeard House by car 10.15All of usArrived home 10.45 and stayed therePolice satisfied“And that’s everybody.”“Yes, and I don’t know that we’re much further. There is no one on this list you can possibly suspect, except perhaps Morgan, and he can hardly have done it unless Winter was in it too.”“I don’t know about that.”“Then whom do you suspect.”“No one and every one. I want time to think that list over. Leave it with me, and I’ll put on my considering cap, and tell you to-morrow.”“Don’t you go suspecting poor Winter, like the police.”“My dear Joan, this is most undetective-like advice. You ought to make a point of suspecting everybody.”“I make an exception of Winter.”“I’m afraid you want to make an exception of everybody. I have a far more suspicious nature.”“Is there anything I can do while you’re thinking it over?”“Yes. Go and see Carter Woodman and find out all you can about John’s circumstances at the time of the murder. Carter may know something about this Winter story, or be able at any rate to tell you something useful we don’t know. Then come here to-morrow morning, and I’ll tell you if I’ve had a brain-wave.”Then at last Ellery said good-bye, and Joan went to get the sleep she badly needed.
“Well, where do we stand now?” said Superintendent Wilson, as he turned back into the room after showing his visitors out.
“Nowhere at all, sir, I should say,” was the inspector’s discontented reply. “You have let the bird in the hand go, and all the other birds are safer than ever in the bush. Are you so sure there’s no doubt about thatalibi?”
“Still harping on that, are you, inspector? Come, put the idea of Walter Brooklyn’s guilt out of your head. It’s not often I take much stock inalibis; but this one is absolutely convincing.”
“I’m not so sure, sir, all the same. At least, I’d have kept hold of the man we had got till we could lay some one else by the heels.”
The superintendent shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “That’s the worst of you, inspector,” he said, “you are impervious to evidence. You never will give up an idea when you’ve once been at the trouble of forming it. And therefore you don’t see how this morning’s business really helps us.”
“Helps us? No, I’m jiggered if I see that. If you’re in the right we are in a worse hole than ever.”
“No, my dear inspector, it does help us.” And the superintendent rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He smiled to himself as he reflected that he could see further than most people through a brick wall.
“How do you mean?” asked the inspector.
“Well, if Walter Brooklyn was not in the house, it is clear that he did not send that telephone message. But some one did send it. Who was that some one? Find him, and you find the murderer. It was clearly sent with the deliberate intention of throwing suspicion on Walter Brooklyn.”
“Yes, if you’re right about thealibi, I see that. But I don’t see that we’re any nearer to finding out who did send it.”
“Well, at least,” said the superintendent, “there are certain things to go upon. First, there is no doubt at all that the message was sent, and sent from Liskeard House. The inquiries at the Exchange prove that.”
The inspector nodded.
“That being so, is it not safe to conclude that it was sent by one of the inmates, or by the murderer, before making his escape? If the murderer was an inmate of the house, the two possibilities are reduced to one. Probably he was at any rate some one familiar with the house and the family.”
“I see,” said the inspector, and his face brightened up for the first time. “That is certainly a point. You mean that Winter could without difficulty have sent the message?”
“Doubtless he could; and so could others. Don’t jump to conclusions. I agree that it would fit in with the theory your mind is now forming that Winter is guilty. But remember that we have really nothing against him. Even if the story about the quarrel and his engagement turns out to be true, that doesn’t carry us very far. It is not enough to prove motive. If everybody who had a motive for murder killed his man there would be nobody left alive. Direct evidence is what counts.”
“But direct evidence isn’t easy to get.”
“Nothing that is worth while is easy to get. Our job is to do things that are difficult.”
“That’s all very well, but——”
“But me no buts, inspector. So far from being depressed by this morning’s events, I am greatly encouraged. They fit in exactly with my own view.”
“But, if you don’t believe Winter did it, who do you think did?”
“Come now, inspector. That is a question for the end of the argument, not the beginning. I had at least fully made up my mind, before I knew anything at all of thisalibi, that Walter Brooklyn did not do it.”
“What on earth made you think that? Had you some fresh evidence?”
“No, inspector, merely some fresh use of the old evidence. The more I thought about it, the plainer it became that both those sets of clues were deliberately laid by the same person—I mean the murderer. Don’t you see my point?”
“But why did the murderer lay two inconsistent sets of false clues?”
“That, my dear inspector,isthe point. He laid them both in the hope that we should see through the one set, and not through the other. Which is just what you have done. He is a clever scoundrel. He meant us to hang Walter Brooklyn.”
“He’s too clever for me, if that’s so. But, supposing you’re right, I don’t see that we are much nearer to finding out who he is.”
The superintendent assumed the air of one instructing a little child, and, as he spoke, ticked off the points on his fingers. “My dear Blaikie, we have to trace the murderer through the false clues which he left. Point number one. Walter Brooklyn’s stick was found in Prinsep’s room. If Walter Brooklyn did not put it there, who did?”
“Dashed if I know,” said the inspector.
“Who could have put it there? Some one must have got it from Walter Brooklyn.”
“He said he left it in a taxi, didn’t he?”
“No, he said he didn’t know where he had left it. It might have been in a taxi, or it might have been in any of the places he visited that afternoon—in Woodman’s office, for example, or in the Piccadilly Theatre. You must find out again exactly where he went, and, if possible, where he did leave the stick. There is just the chance that Prinsep found it and took it up to his room. But I don’t think so. I think it was clearly left on the floor of Prinsep’s room in order that it might serve as a clue to mislead us.”
“I see your point. I’ll find out what I can.”
“Then there’s the telephone message. It is not very difficult to imitate a man’s voice over the telephone; but I doubt if the murderer would have risked it unless he had known the man he was imitating pretty well. He may even have been something of a mimic. The idea of imitating the voice would have occurred to such a man. Find out if there is any one connected with the Brooklyns who is much of a mimic.”
“Why, old Sir Vernon Brooklyn used to be the finest impersonator in England in his younger days, before he took to serious acting.”
“I was not thinking of him. There may be others. That sort of talent often runs in families.”
“I’ll make inquiries.”
“Now I come to a much more important point. When one man takes elaborate measures to get another hanged, it usually means he has either some violent grudge, or some strong reason for securing the removal of that particular person. If the murderer tried to get Walter Brooklyn hanged, when he might apparently have got away without leaving any clue at all, he must have had either a violent hatred, or, more probably, a very strong motive for wishing Walter Brooklyn out of the way. We have to find out who had such a motive.”
“Motive seems a dangerous line to go on. You remember that Walter Brooklyn had the strongest financial motive for killing his nephews. He gets a pot of the money when Sir Vernon dies.”
“I know he does; but what I want you to find out is who would get the money if Walter Brooklyn were removed. When you found out about the will, did you discover that?”
“No. It seemed quite enough to find out that Brooklyn stood to get it by killing his nephews. So far as I remember, there was nothing in the will to say who would get the money if they all died.”
“That’s a point you must make quite sure of—not merely what is in the will, but who is the next of kin after Walter Brooklyn. It may be the decisive clue.”
“I believe you have some definite suspicion in your mind.”
“My dear inspector, if I have I’m not going to say any more about it just now. You go and find out what I have asked; and then we can talk.”
“I’m to do nothing, then, about Winter?”
“I certainly did not say that. That man Thomas seems to have found out something you had missed. It is your turn to pick up something that has escaped him. Watch the servants at Liskeard House—the maids as well as Winter and Morgan. Keep an eye on the whole household. And meanwhile I will find out all about that girl at Fittleworth. I can have inquiries made locally on the spot.”
“Then you’re inclined to think Winter may have done it?”
“Not at all. There you are jumping to conclusions again. I’m not at all disposed to say anything definite just at present. What we need is further information, and all we can do for the present is to follow up every hint we get.”
“I’ll do my best, sir. But it doesn’t look to me very hopeful.”
“Oh, never say die. Even if we could not find out the whole truth for ourselves—and I believe we can—there is plenty of chance still for the murderer to give himself away. In my experience that is how ninety-nine out of a hundred murderers get caught—I mean of those who do get caught at all. You watch Winter carefully, but don’t jump to the conclusion that he’s guilty. Watch them all: keep your eyes and your mind wide open. We’ll pull it through yet.”
“But,” said the inspector, unable any longer to keep back the question, “if you think neither Walter Brooklyn nor Winter did it, who do you think did?”
“If I knew that, my dear inspector, I shouldn’t be giving you these instructions. The real criminal may be some one quite outside our previous range of suspicion. Indeed, I shan’t be at all surprised if he is.”
“But you mean that the immediate thing is to go fully into these new aspects of the case?”
“Quite so. Do that, and report progress. And remember to keep your eyes wide open for anything that may turn up. We must trust largely to luck.”
As Inspector Blaikie left Superintendent Wilson’s room, he was in a curiously divided state of mind. At one moment he still said to himself that all his good labour could not have been wasted, and that Walter Brooklyn must really be guilty after all. The next he found himself assuming, with greater assurance, that Winter was the murderer. He was one of those men who can only keep their minds open by entertaining two contrary opinions at the same time. He shook his head over what seemed to him the weakness of his superior in letting Walter Brooklyn go without arresting some one else.
Meanwhile, in the lounge at Liskeard House, Joan and Ellery were sitting very close to each other on a sofa making their plans for the discovery of the criminal.
“How had we better begin?” he asked, running his hand despairingly through his hair.
“I can see only one way,” Joan replied. “We have nothing to go upon—nothing, I mean, that would make us suspect any particular person. So the only thing to do is to suspect everybody—to find out exactly where everybody was when the crime was committed, and what they were doing that evening.”
“That’s something of an undertaking.”
“I don’t mean all the world. I mean everybody who was, or was likely to have been, in this house. Of course, it may have been some one quite different; but I think that’s the best way to start. And we mustn’t rule out anybody—even ourselves—however sure we are they had nothing to do with it. Even if that doesn’t find the criminal, it may help us to light on a clue.”
“But it is still a tall order. We don’t even know at what time the murders were committed.”
“Isn’t that a good point to begin upon? Let me see. When were George and John last seen alive?”
“Both at some time after eleven. George was seen leaving the house at half-past, and Prinsep was seen rather before that time in the garden. Isn’t that so?”
“Then that,” said Joan, “definitely fixes the time of both the murders as being later than say 11.15, and one of them definitely after 11.30. That is something to go upon.”
“Ah, but stop a minute. May not either the people who thought they saw George, or the others who thought they saw John, have been mistaken? Neither of them was seen close to.”
“It doesn’t seem very likely. Winter would hardly have mistaken some one else for George when he saw him going out by the front door.”
“Still, my dear, it’s possible. Winter was at the other end of the hall and only noticed him by accident. He probably caught no more than a glimpse.”
“Yes, Bob; but the other man saw him from quite close. You remember he said he went to open the door for him; but George slipped out before he could get there.”
“Yes, I know; but did the other man know George by sight? He was only a hired waiter, in for the evening. Winter probably told him afterwards it was George, and he took it for granted.”
“I think you’re romancing, my dear. If it wasn’t George, who was it?”
“Surely, Joan, in that case it was the murderer, whoever he may have been.”
Joan sighed. “Follow up that idea of yours by all means,” she said, “but it doesn’t sound to me very hopeful. The people who said they saw John are much more likely to have been mistaken. They only saw him from a window some way off; and it was half dark.”
“Do you know, Joan, I’m half inclined to believe that neither of them was really seen then at all. What I mean is, they may both have been dead by half-past eleven. Suppose they were neither of them seen. Yes, and by Jove, that would get rid of one difficulty. I’ve never been able to see how George got back into the grounds after the place was all locked up. But suppose he didn’t have to get back at all, because he never went out. Then the man who went out, and was mistaken for George, would be the murderer. Joan, aren’t you listening?”
“Yes, Bob, I heard what you said, and I half think you’re right. I was thinking of that telephone message.”
“Why, what about it?”
“What I mean is, if that message was sent with the object of shifting the suspicion on to some one else, isn’t it more likely to have been sent after, than before, the murders?”
“You’re right. At least, it was probably sent after one of them. There’s no necessary reason to suppose that they were both done at the same time. We don’t even know that the same man did them.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Two murders in one night is bad enough; but to ask me to believe in two different murderers is too much of a strain on my credulity.”
“Then you don’t think Prinsep killed George?” Ellery asked.
“No, I’m nearly sure he didn’t. It isn’t, I’m afraid, dear, that I don’t think he was morally capable of it. I simply feel sure he wouldn’t have been such a fool.”
“Not even if George had told what he thought of him about Charis Lang? They’d both probably have lost their tempers pretty badly.”
“No, Bob, not even then. At least I’m nearly sure. I’m convinced there was only one murderer. Remember they were both killed the same way.”
“Well, let’s assume you’re right. Then if what you said about the ’phone message was right, it was probably sent after one of the murders—I mean immediately after. The murderer wouldn’t have wasted time on the premises.”
“Yes, that means that 11.30, or thereabouts, is the critical time. Then half-past ten is the earliest possible. Winter went up to get John’s letters then, and everything was all right.”
“Oh, but George was seen long after that. Winter let him in by the front door at a quarter to eleven.”
“Yes, it was certainly George he let in. They spoke, and he couldn’t have made a mistake. That narrows it a bit.”
“Then probably it all happened after a quarter to eleven—unless George found Prinsep dead when he got upstairs, and chased the murderer down the private stairs into the garden, and got killed by him out there. How does that strike you, Joan?”
“It’s possible, Bob; but it looks as if we couldn’t fix the time very nearly. It was somewhere between a quarter to eleven and half-past; but that’s as near as we can get.”
“Let it stand there: and now let’s follow out our original plan, and see what we know about everybody who might have been mixed up in it. Let’s write it down. I’ll write.”
Losing no time, they got to work. First, they made a list of every one who had been present at the dinner on the evening of the tragedy—Sir Vernon. John Prinsep, George Brooklyn and his wife, Carter and Mrs. Woodman, Lucas, Mary Woodman—and themselves. Next came the servants—Winter, Morgan, Agnes Dutch, the two other maids, the hired waiters. These were the only persons who, as far as they knew, had been in the house that night. Next, they wrote down exactly what they knew of the doings of every one of these people, leaving spaces in which they could fill in further particulars as they discovered more. When it was finished the list and comments took this form:—
“That ‘self’ looks very suspicious,” said Joan, as Ellery wrote it down.
“Yes, we are suspecting ourselves as well as others. I strongly suspect you.”
“And I you. But get on.”
“Another suspect,” said Ellery.
“Poor Mary,” said Joan. “She couldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Then I suspect her all the more.”
“He went to bed. But did he stay there? That’s the point.”
“Put down ‘Did he stay there? No clear evidence.’ After all, Morgan says he did.”
“Yes, but Morgan isn’t sure.”
“We come to him next.”
“I say, there wouldn’t be much evidence of what Morgan did, if it wasn’t for Winter. Suppose they were both in it. Winter’s story depends on Morgan’s almost as much as Morgan’s on his.”
“We suspect them both. At least I don’t, but I mean to pretend to do so. Who’s next?”
“Agnes Dutch.”
“Put her down.”
“Next, please.”
“The maid-servants.”
“They’re all in the same position. Put them down.”
“More collusion.”
“Don’t be silly. Now we come to the people who weren’t sleeping in the house.”
“But she’s out of it anyway.”
“Yes, poor Marian.”
“That seems all right.”
“Yes. Helen’s next.”
“And now we come to you, Bob.”
“Oh, I’m no use. I have a provedalibialready. I’m in the same position as your revered stepfather.”
“Put yourself down all the same.”
“But did you stay in bed?”
“And slept like a top.”
“That only leaves Uncle Harry.”
“Oh, he left in his car at 10.15, and went straight back to Hampstead. He told me the police had made inquiries, and confirmed that he got back at 10.45, and did not go out again.”
“Put him down.”
“And that’s everybody.”
“Yes, and I don’t know that we’re much further. There is no one on this list you can possibly suspect, except perhaps Morgan, and he can hardly have done it unless Winter was in it too.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Then whom do you suspect.”
“No one and every one. I want time to think that list over. Leave it with me, and I’ll put on my considering cap, and tell you to-morrow.”
“Don’t you go suspecting poor Winter, like the police.”
“My dear Joan, this is most undetective-like advice. You ought to make a point of suspecting everybody.”
“I make an exception of Winter.”
“I’m afraid you want to make an exception of everybody. I have a far more suspicious nature.”
“Is there anything I can do while you’re thinking it over?”
“Yes. Go and see Carter Woodman and find out all you can about John’s circumstances at the time of the murder. Carter may know something about this Winter story, or be able at any rate to tell you something useful we don’t know. Then come here to-morrow morning, and I’ll tell you if I’ve had a brain-wave.”
Then at last Ellery said good-bye, and Joan went to get the sleep she badly needed.