"Why not? I am feeling quite fit again. If there is anything to be done I am quite capable of doing it."
"Dress, Wigan, while I talk. Since you broke down at a crucial point I have been helping Percival. I daresay he will get the kudos in this case, but you mustn't grudge him that."
"I don't."
"We have progressed," Quarles went on. "I will give you my line of argument and the result so far. We start with Squires. He led us into a trap, but the gang with which he was formerly connected has practically ceased to exist. His old companions have seen nothing of him; he is supposed to have turned good, and I find he has been a member of that hooligan club for over a year with an irreproachable record during that time. Two conclusions seem to arise; either Squires is connected with another gang, or some compulsion was put upon him to betray us. I incline to the second idea, and if I am correct there must have been a strong incentive to persuade Squires to do what he did. Perhaps he wished to protect some one."
"What did Percival say to that?" I asked as I put the links into my shirt.
"He jeered at it, of course, as you are inclined to do; indeed, it was quite a long time before Percival awoke to the fact that I was not quite a fool. Now the machinery of Scotland Yard seems to have proved that these robberies are not the work of a known gang; we may therefore assume that persons unknown to the police are at work. The methods adopted are clever. The property is stolen, yet no one has disappeared from the hotel, neither guest nor servant, and in no case has any of the property been found in the possession of any one in the hotel. Shall we suppose that it has been carefully lowered from a bedroom window to an accomplice without? None of this property has been traced, which leads us to two hypotheses; either it has been got out of the country and disposed of abroad, or the thieves can afford to bide their time. When you consider the worth of the jewels stolen, it seems remarkable that nothing should have been traced in the known markets abroad, and I am inclined to think the thieves can afford to wait. Having arrived at this point—"
"Without a scrap of evidence," I put in.
"Without any evidence," said Quarles imperturbably. "I began to suspect that my arch villain, for of course there is a leading spirit, must be in command of wealth; and, remembering the short period during which the robberies have happened, I ventured a guess that, once a sufficient fortune were acquired, he would disappear, that his great coup being accomplished he would retire from business, and become a respectable citizen of this or some other country—a gentleman who had acquired wealth by speculation."
"Once a man has known the excitement of crime he does not give it up," I said. "That's the result of experience, Professor, not guesswork."
"Quite so, but I had visualized an extraordinary personality. Where was I to find such a man and the efficient confederates who were helping him in his schemes? One or more of them must have been present at each robbery, and would no doubt be amongst those who had lost property. Theory, of course, but we now come to something practical—the house at Hampstead. If my theory of crossed trails were correct, if you were thought to be engaged on this investigation, then that house was in some way linked with the robberies. I may mention incidentally the value of having such a place of retreat; the spoil could be deposited there until it could safely be removed to a better hiding place.
"This, of course, would inculpate the caretaker Mason. He has been carefully watched; he has done nothing to give himself away, the result of careful training, I fancy. Through this house we get another link—the owner, Mr. Wibley. He has been a sufferer in these robberies, losing a necklace he had just purchased for his daughter. Certainly a man to know under the circumstances. As you are aware, he lives in Hampshire, and I had a sudden desire to see that part of the country. I didn't call upon Mr. Wibley, although he was at home.
"His daughter was away—it was quite true he has a daughter. I took rather elaborate precautions not to encounter Mr. Wibley; he might be curious about a stranger in the country, but he would have been astonished to know how much I saw of him. No, there was nothing suspicious about him, except that on two occasions a man met him on a lonely road, evidently with important business to transact. On the day after the second meeting Mr. Wibley departed and came to Hythe. No later than this morning he was playing golf there with this same man he met in Hampshire. The golf was poor, but they talked a lot."
"Still, I do not see—"
"One moment, Wigan. The other man is staying in your hotel."
"You think—"
"I think it was intended to rob this hotel, but I believe the idea has been abandoned," said Quarles. "However, I have put the manager on his guard."
"And pointed out the man you suspect!"
"Yes."
"That was foolish. If the thief is as clever as you imagine, he will probably notice the manager's interest in him. I should say you have warned him most effectually."
"I don't think so. You see, it was you I pointed out to the manager."
I paused with one arm in my waistcoat to stare at him.
"I have arranged that he shall not interfere with you," said Quarles. "You will be able to go yachting to-morrow. I was obliged to fix matters so that I could come and go as I chose, and it was safer to draw the manager's attention to one man rather than allow him to suspect others, amongst them the very man we want to hoodwink, perhaps. The fact is, Wigan, I believe the gang know you are here, and think you are here on business. Plans will have been made accordingly, and it is therefore absolutely necessary that you should go on just as you have been doing. I don't think the hotel will be robbed now, but I am not sure. Sunshine or storm, go with Mrs. Selborne to-morrow. Exactly what is going to happen I do not know, but at the end of your cruise to-morrow you may want all your wits about you."
"Are you staying in the hotel?" I asked.
"No, at Hythe, and I spend some of my time on Romney Marsh. I am interested in a lonely house there. You must go; there is the gong. I must tell you about the house another time."
"When shall I see you again?"
"To-morrow night. Leave me here. I will sneak out after you have gone."
It was natural my eyes should wander round the dining-room that night, trying to discover by intuition which was the man who might engineer a robbery at the hotel.
Once the manager entered the room, and, knowing what I did, I could not doubt he wanted to satisfy himself that I was there. It did not worry me that Quarles had made use of me in this way; I was quite prepared to be arrested if the robbery did take place, but I was annoyed that the professor had told me so little.
It was his way; I had had experience of it before, but it was treatment I had never been able to get used to.
After dinner Mrs. Selborne joined me in the lounge for a little while, and talked about our sail next day, and then I was asked to make up a bridge table.
Remembering Zena's attitude, according to Quarles, I was rather glad to get away from Mrs. Selborne. She played bridge, too, but not at my table.
There was no burglary that night, and the following morning was as good for yachting as one could desire. However, we could not start at our usual time. The crew consisted of the skipper and two hands, and one of the hands came up to say that it was necessary to replace some gear, which would take until midday. Mrs. Selborne was very angry.
"We shall have to kill time until twelve o 'clock," she said, turning to me. "It is a pity, but we'll get our sail somehow if all the gear goes wrong. It is very likely only an excuse to get a short day's work, but I am not expert enough to challenge my skipper."
When we got aboard soon after noon, however, she had a great deal to say to the skipper; would have him point out exactly what had gone wrong, and showed him quite plainly she did not believe there need have been so long a delay; but she soon recovered her temper when she took the helm, and her good spirits became infectious.
I was on holiday, and was not inclined to bother my head with problems. If for a moment I wondered what Quarles was doing, I quickly forgot all about him.
I repeat, when you have got a pretty woman on a yacht, and she is inclined to be exceedingly gracious, nothing else matters much for the time being.
We had lunch, and Mrs. Selborne smoked a cigarette before we returned to the deck. The skipper was at the tiller, but she did not relieve him. She was in a lazy mood, and I arranged some cushions to make her comfortable. We were standing well out from Dungeness.
Mrs. Selborne seemed a little surprised at our position.
"We must get back to dinner," she said to the skipper.
"That'll be all right, ma'am," he answered.
"We must pay some attention to the conventions," she laughed, speaking to me in an undertone. "We couldn't plead foul weather as an excuse for being late, could we?"
"We started late, and it is our last sail," I said.
The skipper did not alter his course, and Mrs. Selborne lapsed into silence.
The comfort and laziness made her drowsy, I expect. I know they did me. I caught myself nodding more and more.
Suddenly there was a jerk, effectually rousing me from my nodding condition. I thought we had struck something. The next instant I rolled on my back. A rope was round my arms and legs. The skipper was still at the helm, and he smiled as one of the hands tied me up. The other hand was doing the same to Mrs. Selborne.
There was fear in her face; she tried to speak, but could not.
"What the devil is—"
"A shut mouth, mister, is your best plan," said the skipper. "Get her down below, Jim. Chuck her on one of the bunks; she'll be out of the way there."
"Help me! Save me!" she said as they lifted her up and carried her down.
"Now see here," said the skipper, slipping a hand into his pocket and showing me a revolver, "if you feel inclined to do any shouting, you suppress it, or this is going to drill a hole in your head. It's a detail that you might shout yourself hoarse and no one would pay any attention."
"What's the game?" I said. "For the sake of the lady I might come to terms."
"That's not the game, anyway, and I don't want any conversation."
Quarles! I thought of him now. The hotel gang was at work, and this was one of the moves. How it was going to serve their ends I did not see, unless—unless I was presently dropped overboard.
It was an unpleasant contemplation, and I am afraid I cursed Quarles. If he had only told me a little more I might at least have been prepared and made a fight for it. What about Mrs. Selborne? Would they drown her, too? They might put her ashore somewhere.
The coast about Dungeness is desolate enough. It would be easy to slip in after dark and leave her. Not a sound came from the cabin, and the two hands returned to the deck. By the skipper's orders they lashed me in a sitting position to a skylight.
We were still standing out to sea, and one of the hands took the tiller; the other received instructions to kick the wind out of me if I shouted or began asking questions. Then the skipper went below.
I listened, but I could not hear him speak to Mrs. Selborne.
It was fine sunset that evening. When we presently came round and stood in towards shore I got a feast of color over Romney Marsh. Watching the ever-changing colors as the night crept out of the sea, I remembered that Quarles was interested in Romney Marsh, in a lonely house there about which he had had no time to tell me last night; had this lonely house an interest for me? I tried to work out the plot in a dozen ways, endeavoring to understand how the thieves could secure themselves if I were allowed to live.
That gorgeous sunset was depressing. The coming night might be so full of ominous meaning for me.
It was dark by the time we drew in towards the shore. A light or two marked Dymchurch to our left, to our right were the lights of Hythe.
By what landmark the skipper chose his position I do not know, but presently the anchor was let go and we swung round. The tide must have been nearly at the full. A few minutes later the dinghy was got into the water, and the steps let down.
Everything was accomplished as neatly and deliberately as I had seen it done each time I had gone sailing in the yacht.
Then the skipper came over to me and tried my bonds to make sure I had not worked them loose under cover of the darkness.
"All right," he said. "You can get her up."
Evidently they were going to take Mrs. Selborne ashore.
She came up on deck, she was not brought up. She was not bound in any way.
"Half past ten," said the skipper. "Sure you will be all right alone?"
I could not tell to which of the hands he spoke; at any rate, he got no answer except by a nod, perhaps. Half past ten; that was the time Mrs. Selborne's husband was to arrive.
Then came a surprise. The three men got into the dinghy and pulled towards the shore.
I was left alone with Mrs. Selborne.
"Caught, Mr. Murray—Wigan."
She laughed as she paused between my two names, and seated herself on a corner of the skylight with a revolver in her lap.
"We can talk," she went on, "but a shout would be dangerous. I am used to handling firearms. Our last sail together, a notable one, and not yet over. You're a more pleasant companion than I expected to find you, but you are not such a great detective as I had been led to suppose."
I was too astonished to make any kind of answer. She was quite right. I had never detected a criminal in her. All her kindness was an elaborate scheme to get me in her power. Did Quarles know? Surely not, or he would have put me on my guard.
"Posing as an invalid was an excellent notion," she went on, "and you arenot altogether a failure. You have prevented a haul being made at theFolkestone Hotel because we could not discover what men you had at work.I wonder how you got on my track?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I hadn't, to say that my being there was chance, that I really was an invalid, but I kept the confession back. I remembered Quarles saying I might want all my wits about me at the end of this cruise. This seemed to be the end as far as I was concerned.
"I don't suppose you are going to tell me how these robberies have been managed," I said, "so you cannot expect me to give away my secrets."
"I will tell you one thing," she answered; "there will be no more robberies by us. From to-night we begin to enjoy the proceeds."
"That is interesting."
"And you will quite appreciate that, although you are not so clever as people imagine, you are a difficulty."
"It is no use my petitioning you to let me go for the sake of—of our friendship?"
"I am afraid not."
"What then?"
"Dead men tell no tales," she said.
It was an uncomfortable answer. It was the only way out of the difficulty I had been able to conceive.
"Pardon me, they do," I returned quietly. "In watching me so carefully, and beating me at the game, you have advertised your interest in me to scores of people. You have forged a link between us. My death will mean a quick search for you and your confederates. I am likely to be more dangerous to you dead than alive."
"Do you suppose that has not been considered and arranged for?"
"And do you suppose a detective values his life if by his death he can bring notorious criminals to justice?" I asked.
"What exactly do you mean?"
We might have been discussing some commonplace question across a tea table.
"For the sake of argument, let us suppose one or two of your confederates have not hoodwinked me so completely as you have done. You can understand the possibility and appreciate the probable result."
"Do I look like a woman to be frightened by such a thin story?" she asked.
"Certainly not. You are so reckless a person you have, no doubt, courage to face any unpleasant consequence which may arise."
"I have wit enough to know that prevention is better than cure," she returned. "Within an hour, Mr. Wigan, my confederates and all who could possibly witness against me will be on board this yacht. How long some of them will remain on board I have not yet decided."
She was evidently not afraid. Her plans must be very complete.
"As I cannot be allowed to live, a sketch of your career would interest me. It would serve to pass the time."
"The past does not concern me, the future does," she answered. "You may appreciate my general idea of making things safe. I fancy this yacht will be cast away on a lonely spot on the French coast. I know the spot, and I expect one or two persons will be drowned. That will be quite natural, won't it? Should the accident chance to be heard of at Folkestone, it will be surmised that I am drowned. Bodies do not always come ashore, you know. One thing is quite certain; Mrs. Selborne and all trace of her will have disappeared."
"It is rather a diabolical scheme," I said.
"I regret the necessity. I daresay you have sometimes done the same when a victim of your cleverness has come to the gallows."
She got up and walked away from me, but she did not cease to watch me. I wondered if she would fire should I venture to shout.
It was a long hour, but presently there came the distinct dip of oars. In spite of my unenviable position I felt excited. I thought there were two boats. Naturally there would be. The dinghy was small; crew and confederates could not have got into it.
There was the rattle of oars in the rowlocks, then a man climbed on deck, others coming quickly after him, and in that moment Mrs. Selborne swung round and fired. The bullet struck the woodwork of the skylight close to my head. I doubt if I shall ever be so near death again until my hour actually sounds.
Her arm was struck up before she could fire again, and a familiar voice was shouting:
"It's all right, Wigan. The lady completes the business. We have got the lot."
Christopher Quarles had come aboard with the police, those in the dinghy wearing the coats and caps the crew had worn, so that any one watching on the yacht for their return might be deceived.
The prisoners were left in the hands of the police, and a motor took Quarles and myself back to Folkestone. He told me the whole story before we slept that night.
The lonely house on Romney Marsh had been bought by Wibley some months ago in the name of Reynolds. He had let it be known that, after certain alterations had been made, he was coming to live there, so it was natural that a couple of men, looking like painters, should presently arrive and be constantly about the place. If three or four men were seen there on occasion no one was likely to be curious.
Watching Wibley when he came down to Hythe, Quarles found he had a liking for motoring on the Dymchurch Road. He saw him pull up one morning to speak to a man on the roadside. He did the same thing on the following morning, but it was a different man, and Quarles recognized young Squires.
Squires afterwards went to this empty house, and Quarles speedily had men on the Marsh watching it night and day. It looked as if the house were the gang's meeting-place. Either another coup was being prepared, or an escape was being arranged.
During a hurried visit to town the professor had seen my letter to Zena, and this had given him a clue.
"It was the name Selborne," Quarles explained. "I told you, Wigan, that Wibley's daughter—or supposed daughter—was not with him in Hampshire. Her whereabouts worried me. I could not forget that a woman had taken part in our capture during the chalice case. While I was in Hampshire I spent half a day in Gilbert White's village. His 'Natural History of Selborne' has always delighted me. Selborne. If you were going to take a false name, Wigan, and your godfathers had not called you Murray, only James, what would you do? As likely as not you would take the name of some place with which you were familiar. In itself the idea was not convincing, but it brought me to your hotel at Folkestone, and then I was certain. Do you remember the woman Squires spoke to on the night he led us into that trap?"
"It was too dark to see her face," I said.
"I mean the way she stood," said Quarles, "with her arms akimbo; so did the masked woman in the cellar, and when I saw Mrs. Selborne on the lawn she did the same. The pose is peculiar. When a woman falls into this attitude you will find she either rests her knuckles on her hips, or grasps her waist with open hands, the thumbs behind the four finger in front. This woman doesn't. She grasps her waist with the thumbs in front, a man's way rather than a woman's. Her presence there suggested, another hotel robbery; the yacht suggested a means of escape for the gang, apparently gathering at the empty house. Since Mrs. Selborne had paid you so much attention, I guessed she knew who you were, and thought you were on duty, posing as an invalid. I thought it likely your presence would prevent the robbery, but she took every precaution that you should go with her to-day, storm or shine, eh, Wigan? We have had the glasses on the yacht all day, and when the crew landed to-night we caught them. Then we went to the house, Wigan. Got them all, and I believe the whole of the six months' spoil."
"Why didn't you put me on my guard?" I asked.
"Well, Wigan, I think you would have scouted the idea. You were fascinated, you know. In any case, you could not have helped watching her for confirmation or to prove me wrong; she would have noted the change in you, grown suspicious, and might have ruined everything at the eleventh hour. Unless I am much mistaken we shall discover that the woman was the brains of the gang."
So it proved when the trial came on, and in another direction Quarles was correct.
Squires was Mason's son. The lad had cut himself loose from his old companions, and had only meant to warn his father. He knew where he was likely to find him, but meeting the man and woman unexpectedly, he was frightened into trapping us.
There can be little doubt that it was intended to cast away the yacht as Mrs. Selborne had explained to me, and to drown those who were not meant to share in the spoil, but who knew too much to be allowed to go free. I should certainly have been amongst the missing, and young Squires, too, probably.
I shall always remember this case because—no, Zena and I did not quarrel exactly, but she was very much annoyed about Mrs. Selborne.
I really had some difficulty in convincing Zena that I had not fallen in love with Mrs. Selborne, and Quarles seemed to think it humorous to also express doubt on the subject. The professor is unconsciously humorous on occasion, but when he tries to be funny he only succeeds in being pathetic.
I got so tired of his humor one evening that I left Chelsea much earlier than usual, telling Zena that I should not come again until I heard from her that she was ready to go and choose furniture, I heard next day.
We were to be married in two months' time and had taken a house near Grange Park, and I have always thought it curious that my first introduction to the neighborhood, so to speak, should be as a detective, and not in the role of a newly married man.
It happened in this way.
Just before two o'clock one morning Constable Poulton turned into RoseAvenue, Grange Park. He was passing Clarence Lodge, the residence of Mrs.Crosland, when the front door opened suddenly and a girl came runningdown the drive, calling to him.
"The burglars," she said, "and I am afraid my brother hay shot one of them."
He certainly had. Poulton found the man lying crumpled up at the bottom of the stairs. He blew his whistle to summon another officer, and after searching the house they communicated with headquarters.
Grange Park, as many of you may know, is an estate which was developed some years ago in the Northwest of London, on land belonging to the Chisholm family. It got into the hands of a responsible firm of builders, and artistic, well-built houses were erected which attracted people of considerable means. It wasn't possible to live in Grange Park on a small income.
A few months ago the sedate tranquillity of the neighborhood had been broken by an astonishing series of burglaries, which had occurred in rapid succession. Half a dozen houses were entered; valuables, chiefly jewelry, worth many thousands of pounds, had been taken, and not a single arrest, even on suspicion, had been made. The known gangs had been carefully shadowed without results, and not a trace of the stolen property had been discovered. The thieves had evidently known where to go for their spoil, not only the right houses but the exact spot where the spoil was kept. There had been no bungling; indeed, in some cases, it was doubtful how an entrance had been effected. Not in a single instance had the inmates been aroused or alarmed, no thief had been seen or heard upon the premises, nor had the police noticed any suspicious looking persons about the estate.
The investigation of these robberies was finally entrusted to me, and I suppose the empty room in Chelsea had never been used more often and with less result than over the Grange Park burglaries. It was not only one chance we had had of getting at the truth, for half a dozen houses had been broken into; and it was not the lack of clues which bothered us so much as the number of them. The thieves seemed to have scattered clues in every direction, yet not one of them led to any definite result.
Like the rest of us, Christopher Quarles had his weaknesses. Whenever he failed to elucidate a mystery he was always able to show that the fault was not his, but somebody else's; either too long a time had elapsed before he was consulted, or some meddlesome fool had touched things and confused the evidence, or even that something supernatural had been at work. Once, at least, according to the professor, I had played the part of meddlesome fool, and one of my weaknesses being a short temper, it had required all Zena's tact to keep us from quarreling on that occasion. It came almost as a shock, therefore, when, after a long discussion one evening, he suddenly jumped up and exclaimed: "I'm beaten, Wigan, utterly beaten," and did not proceed to lay the responsibility for his failure on any one.
Upon the receipt of Constable Poulton's message, I was sent for at once, and it was still early morning when I roused Quarles and we went to Grange Park. I do not think I have ever seen the professor so excited.
Mrs. Crosland had a son and daughter and a nephew living with her. It was the daughter who had run down the drive and called Poulton. There were four servants, a butler and two women in the house and a chauffeur who lived over the garage. There was besides a nurse, for Mrs. Crosland was an invalid, often confined to her bed and even at her best only able to get about with difficulty. She suffered from some acute form of rheumatism and was tied to her bed at this time.
The son's version of the tragedy was simple and straightforward. Hearing a noise, he had taken his revolver—always kept handy since the burglaries—and had reached the top of the stairs when his sister Helen came out of her room. She had also heard some one moving. They went down together to the landing at the angle of the staircase. He did not see any one in the hall, nor was there any sound just then. He called out "Who's there?" The answer was a bullet, which struck the wall behind them. Then Crosland fired down into the hall, but at random. He saw no one, but as a fact he shot the man through the head.
"Do you think the man was alone?" I asked.
"In the hall, yes; but I feel convinced there was some one else in the house who escaped," Crosland answered. "My sister and I had not moved from the landing when Hollis, the butler, and one of the women servants came hastily from their rooms. Then I went down and switched on the light. The man was lying just as the constable found him. I never saw him move. When my sister realized he was dead she became excited, and before I knew what she was doing, she had opened the front door and run down the drive. The constable happened to be passing the gate at the moment."
"What time elapsed between the firing of the shots and the entrance of the constable?" I asked.
"A few minutes; I cannot be exact. It took me some little time to realize that I had actually killed the man, and I don't think Helen fully understood the extent of the tragedy until I said, 'Good God, I've killed him,' or something of that kind. I was suddenly aware of my awkward position in the matter."
"He had fired at you," I said.
"I think I forgot that for the moment," Crosland answered. "As a matter of fact we had a marvelous escape. You will see where the bullet struck the wall of the landing. It must have passed between us."
"Did your mother hear the shots?"
"They roused her out of a deep sleep, but she did not realize they were shots. The nurse came onto the landing whilst we were in the hall. I told her to say that something had fallen down. My mother is of an extremely nervous temperament, and I am glad she cannot leave her bed just now."
Helen Crosland had nothing to add to her brother's narrative. When she rushed out of the house her idea was to call the police as quickly as possible, not so much because of the burglars, but on her brother's account. She had the horrible thought of her brother being accused of murder.
Quarles asked no questions. He was interested in the bullet mark on the landing wall, and very interested in the dead man. A doctor had seen him before our arrival, and the body had been removed to a small room off the hall. Quarles examined the head very closely, also the hands; and casually looked at the revolver, one chamber of which had been discharged.
"A swell mobsman, Wigan, not accustomed to work entirely on his own, I should imagine. As Mr. Crosland says, there may have been others in the house who escaped."
"We may get some information from the servants presently," I answered.
"I doubt it. In all these burglaries, Wigan, we have considered the possibility of the servants being implicated, and in no case has it led us anywhere. More than once there have been clues which pointed to such a conclusion, merely clever ruses on the thieves' part. No, our clue is the dead man."
Quarles questioned Constable Poulton closely. The constable had not heard the shots. About half an hour earlier in the evening he had passed Clarence Lodge. There was no light in the house then. Just before one o'clock he had met Mr. Smithers who lived in the next house to Clarence Lodge; he was coming from the direction of the station and said good night. Since then he had seen no one upon his beat. Poulton described the position of the dead man graphically and minutely. He had no doubt he had been shot a few minutes before he saw him.
"I searched the house with Griffiths, the officer who came when I blew my whistle; we saw no sign of the others."
"How did they get in?" I asked.
"A window in the passage there was open," said Poulton. "That's the only way they could have come unless they fastened some window or door again when they had entered."
I examined this window carefully. There was no sign that any one had entered this way, no mark upon the catch. Outside the window was a flower bed, and I pointed out to Quarles that if any one had left the house in a hurry, as they would do at the sound of firearms, they would inevitably have left marks upon the flower bed.
Quarles had nothing to say against my argument.
"I don't believe either exit or entrance was made by this window,"I declared.
"Have you still got servants in your mind, Wigan?"
"I have, to tell the truth I always have had."
"The body is our best clue, Wigan. If we can identify that we shall be nearing the end." And then Quarles turned to Poulton. "Isn't there a nephew in the house? We haven't seen him."
"I'm told he is abroad, sir," the constable answered.
"Do you happen to know him?"
"Quite well by sight, sir."
Quarles nodded, but the nephew was evidently not disposed of to hisSatisfaction.
I interviewed the servants closely, including the chauffeur who had heard nothing of the affair until aroused by the police. Hollis was certain that all the doors and windows were securely fastened. Quarles rather annoyed me by suggesting that the thieves might have entered by an upstairs window or even by the front door.
"If you look at the upstairs windows I think you will find that impossible," said Hollis.
"We will look, and also at the front door."
The professor made a pretense of examining the front door rather carefully.
"You're sure this was locked and bolted last night?"
"Quite, sir."
"It looks substantial and innocent."
The only window which interested Quarles upstairs was that of a small room in the front of the house overlooking the drive, but, as the butler pointed out, no one could have got in there without a ladder.
"No, no, I suppose not," and Quarles did not say another word until we saw Mr. Crosland again. Then he immediately inquired about the nephew.
"George is in Paris, at least he was three days ago," and Crosland produced a picture postcard sent to his mother. "We are expecting him back at the end of the week."
"I suppose, Mr. Crosland, you have no suspicions regarding this affair?"
"I don't quite understand what you mean."
"Let me put it in another way," said the professor, "and please do not think that I am suggesting you fired too hastily. Immediately you heard the noise, you remembered the burglars who have caused a sensation in Grange Park recently. It was quite natural, but it seems to me rather strange that so astute a gang should commence operations in the same neighborhood again. For the sake of argument, let us suppose this gang had nothing to do with the affair. Now can you think of any one who might have something to gain by breaking into Clarence Lodge?"
"No, I cannot; and yet—"
"Well," said Quarles.
"I can think of no one; I recall no family skeleton, but there is one curious fact. This gang seemed to know exactly where to go for their spoil—jewels mostly, and there is nothing of that kind worth taking at Clarence Lodge."
"That goes to support my argument, doesn't it?"
"It does."
"That is the reason I asked particularly about your cousin."
"George Radley is like a brother," laughed Crosland, "our interests are identical."
"Oh, it was only a point that occurred to me as an outsider," Quarles returned. "We can leave him out of the argument and yet not be convinced there is no family skeleton. You might perhaps question your mother without explaining the reason, although I suppose she will have to know about this affair presently."
"I hope not."
"Acute rheumatism, isn't it? I wonder if she has ever heard of a quack who made a new man of me. What was his name now?"
"Was it Bush?" Crosland asked.
"No, but it was a commonplace name."
"As a matter of fact a man named Bush has been to see my mother. I dare not tell Dr. Heathcote; at one time I fancy Bush did her good, or she got better naturally, but she believes in him. He hasn't been for some time now, but she was speaking of him the other day."
"I'll look up my man's card and send it on to you," said Quarles. "You get Mrs. Crosland to see him, never mind Dr. Heathcote."
"I didn't know you had suffered from rheumatism," I said to Quarles as we left the house.
"Didn't you! Have it now sometimes. Well, Wigan, what do you make of this affair? Do you think the burglars are responsible?"
"I want time to think."
"We'll just call in and see Dr. Heathcote," said Quarles.
The doctor was a young man rather overburdened with his own importance. He was inclined to think that Crosland had done Grange Park a service by shooting one of the burglar gang.
"I only hope the authorities won't get sentimental and make it needlessly unpleasant for him."
"I shouldn't think so," I returned. "I may take it, doctor, that the man had been dead only a short time when you saw him?"
"Quite. Death must have been practically instantaneous."
"Oh, there is no doubt about Crosland's narrative, it is quite straightforward," said Quarles, "but I shouldn't be surprised if he found the inquiry awkward. I think his mother ought to know the truth."
"Why not?" asked Heathcote.
"He seems to think it would be bad for her in her state of health."
"I'll talk to him," said the doctor. "The old lady is not so bad as he supposes. To tell you the truth I think the nurse is rather a fool and frightens her. I tried to get them to change her, but she seems to be a sort of relation."
"That's the worst of relations, they're so constantly in the way," said Quarles.
We left the doctor not much wiser than when we went, it seemed to me, but Quarles appeared to find considerable food for reflection. He was silent until we were in the train.
"Wigan, you must see that a watch is kept upon Clarence Lodge day and night. Have half a dozen men drafted into the neighborhood. You want to know who goes to the house, and any one leaving it must be followed. Poulton's a good man, I should keep him there, and let him be inquisitive about callers. Then telegraph at once to the Paris police. Ask if George Radley is still at the Vendôme Hotel. If he is tell them to keep an eye on him. Now, here's my card. Take it to Schuster, 12 Grant Street, Pimlico, and ask him if he knows anything of a man named Bush, a quack specialist in rheumatism. Find out all you can about Bush. To-morrow morning you must go to Grange Park again, and see young Crosland. He may complain about the watch which is being kept over the house. If he does, spin him the official jargon about information received, etc., intimate your fear that the gang may attempt reprisals, and tell him you are bound to take precautions. After that come on to Chelsea. We ought to be able to arrive at some decision then. Oh, and one other thing, you might see if you have any one resembling the dead man in your criminal portrait gallery at the Yard."
"A fairly full day's work," I said with a smile.
"I am going to be busy, too, with a theory I have got. To-morrow we will see if your facts fit in with it."
To avoid repetition I shall come to the results of my inquiries as I related them to Quarles next day. I got back from Grange Park soon after two o'clock, had a couple of sandwiches and a glass of wine in the Euston Road, and then took a taxi to Chelsea. Zena and the professor were already in the private room, Zena doing nothing. Quarles engaged in some proposition of Euclid, apparently. On the writing table were a revolver and some cartridges.
"I have told Zena the whole affair as far as we know it," said Quarles,putting his papers on the table, "and she asks me a foolish question,Wigan. 'Why didn't the butler run for the police instead of MissCrosland?' Have you got any information which will help to answer it?"
"It doesn't seem to me very strange that she went," I returned. "I have been busy, but there is not very much to tell. I have got the house watched as you suggested. The Paris police telegraph that an Englishman named George Radley is at the Hotel Vendôme, a harmless tourist apparently, going about Paris seeing the sights. Schuster was able to give me Bush's address, and I called upon him, but did not see him. He had gone to a case in Yorkshire, but may be back any time. He lives in Hampstead, in quite a pleasant flat overlooking the Heath."
"Is he married?"
"No, he has a housekeeper, rather a deaf old lady who speaks of him as the doctor."
"You didn't chance to see a portrait of him?"
"No, there were no photographs about of any kind. His hobby seems to be old prints, of which he has some good specimens. I should say his temperament is artistic."
"That is an interesting conclusion," said the professor. "You didn't get any idea of his age?"
"No. This morning I went to Clarence Lodge and find you are by no means liked there."
"Indeed."
"An old gentleman called there yesterday afternoon saying you had asked him to go and see Mrs. Crosland about her rheumatism—a Mr. Morrison."
"The silly old ass!" exclaimed the professor. "He is the man I toldCrosland of, the man who cured rheumatism so marvelously. I supposeMorrison misread my letter and went at once instead of waiting to besent for."
"Crosland appears to have given him a piece of his mind," I laughed, "and called you a meddlesome fool."
"Poor old Morrison, but it serves him right."
"He managed to see Mrs. Crosland," I said. "When the old lady heard he was there she would see him. As the son was anxious his mother shouldn't know of the tragedy, it was arranged that she should be told that Morrison's visit was the outcome of a casual remark Crosland had dropped to a friend concerning Mrs. Crosland's suffering. The old lady appears to have put the old man through his paces, but ended by being convinced that Morrison knew what he was talking about. He has been asked to call again."
"Then I appear to have done the old lady a good turn after all," saidQuarles. "Did you see Mrs. Crosland, Wigan?"
"No. The butler opened the door, and I only saw young Crosland besides. I explained to him the necessity of having the house watched, and I think he believes I am afraid he will attempt to run away. He is a little nervous about his position in the affair. I reassured him."
"It's a pity you didn't manage to see the old lady. Don't you think it would be interesting to know what she is like?"
"I can't say I am very interested on that point."
"Well, we can ask old Morrison," said Quarles. "I daresay his quackery has made him a close observer. You don't succeed as a quack unless you have a keen appreciation of the foibles and weaknesses of human nature."
"You have my facts, Professor; now, have you progressed with your theory; has revolver practise had something to do with it?"
And I pointed to the writing table.
"Let's go back to the Grange Park burglaries for a moment," Quarles began slowly. "We have investigated them under the impression that they were the work of a gang, but it is possible they were worked by one man. The gang may have attacked Clarence Lodge, Crosland's chance though excellent marksmanship accounting for one of the members while the rest escaped; but on the whole the evidence seems to suggest that this man was alone, and we might conclude that the burglaries were the work of one man."
"I shall never believe that," I said.
"Still, you cannot disprove it by direct evidence. You may show it to be unlikely, but you cannot prove it impossible. Indirectly we can go a little further. There were several features about these burglaries to make them remarkable. The right house was chosen, the thieves were never heard or seen, there were always plenty of misleading clues left about, there was no bungling, In the case of Clarence Lodge the wrong house was chosen—Crosland himself told us that it contained no jewelry or particular valuables. The thieves, or rather thief, was heard, the sound must have been considerable to arouse both Crosland and his sister; the thief makes no attempt to conceal himself and fires the moment he is spoken to; in short, there was a considerable amount of bungling, quite unlike the experts we have been thinking of. We are safe, therefore, I fancy, in considering that the Clarence Lodge affair is not to be reckoned as one of the Grange Park burglaries."
I shook my head doubtfully.
"Since experts may at times make mistakes, I grant that my negative evidence is not as convincing as it might be," said Quarles, "but I want the point conceded. I want, as it were, a base line upon which to build my theoretical plan. I want to forget the burglaries, in fact, and come to the Clarence Lodge case by itself. So we have a dead man and we first ask who shot him. Crosland says he did, and tells us the circumstances, his sister confirms his statement, and the butler, the woman servant and the nurse, who are quickly upon the stage in this tragedy, see no reason to disbelieve the statement. We burrow a little deeper into the evidence, and we discover one or two interesting facts. The man was shot on the left side of the head, a clean wound above the left ear. Crosland says he fired after he had been fired at, so the man, directly he had fired, must deliberately have turned his head to the right, which at least is remarkable. Further, to hit the wall of the landing in the place he did the man must have stood in the very center of the stairs to fire. His body was found some feet away from this central position, and a bullet so fired and striking where it did could not have missed two people standing on that landing. I have made a rough plan here," and Quarles took up the papers from the table, "giving the position of the dead man, the position of the walls and stairs. The lines show where the bullet would have hit if fired from a spot nearer where the dead man was found."
I examined his diagram closely.
"A man shot through the brain might fall several feet away from where he was standing," I said.
"Yes, behind where he was standing, or perhaps forward, but hardly to one side. However, we burrow again, and we try and answer Zena's question why it was Helen Crosland who ran for the police. Why not? we may ask. Her close association with her brother in the affair, her anxiety on his account, make it natural that she should dash out not only for help but to make it certain that they had nothing to hide. Her words to Poulton, 'The burglars, and I am afraid my brother has shot one of them,' are significant. They tell the whole story in a nutshell. Crosland's statement merely elaborates it, over-elaborates it, in fact. The bolts on the front door, Wigan, were very stiff; I tried them. Helen Crosland would certainly have had difficulty in drawing them back, and it is an absurdity for her brother to declare that she had gone before he knew what she was doing."
I had no comment to make, and Zena leaned forward in her chair, evidently excited.
"It is a point to remember that she ran out exactly at the moment Poulton was passing, which may have been chance, of course, but from that room over the hall one can see down the drive and, by the light of a street lamp, some way down the road. Had any one watched there he could have prompted the girl when to start."
"You seem to be overloading the theory too much," I said, "and I do not see many real facts yet."
"I am coming to some facts presently," said Quarles. "I am showing you my working. Now, having done away with the gang of burglars, we ask how did the man get into the house. Your argument that no one could have escaped through that window in the passage was sound, I think, Wigan, and considering the immaculate condition of the latch and the lack of signs on the sill and the flower bed, I doubt if any one got in that way, either. On the whole, I am inclined to think he came through the front door, which was opened for him by Hollis the butler or by one of the servants."
"Still no facts," I said.
"Still theory," admitted Quarles. "By my theory it follows that the dead man was known to the Croslands. We will assume that in some family quarrel he was killed that night. The death—the murder—had to be concealed, so they pitched on the idea of the burglars, put the body in the hall, fired a shot into the landing wall, and threw open the passage window. It was smartly conceived, but, of course, took some little time, which had to be accounted for. Crosland could only say that he could not tell how long a time elapsed between the firing and the arrival of Poulton. Everything had to be thought of before Helen Crosland rushed out for the police."
"You assume that the whole household was in the conspiracy?" I asked.
"Yes, and that they are exceedingly clever. What do you think of the theory?"
"As a theory rather interesting, but I am still waiting for a fact or two."
"Here's one," said Quarles, taking up the revolver. "This is Crosland's; I purloined it. It is a very good weapon by a small maker. Curiously enough the thief's weapon was exactly like it."
"That may be a coincidence," said Zena.
"It may be, but I prefer to think it a significant fact," the professor returned; "but we'll go back to the theory again for the moment. I was very interested in Crosland and his sister, they were not exceedingly unlike each other. There was no portrait of Mrs. Crosland about, so I could not tell which of them took after the mother. Had you told me that Helen Crosland was the butler's daughter I should have believed you. Did you notice the likeness, Wigan?"
"No," I said with a smile. It seemed to me that the theory had got altogether out of hand.
"Well, it made me curious about the nephew," Quarles went on. "I wondered whether the dead man was the nephew and so I asked Crosland about a family skeleton, showed him that I had no belief in the burglar theory, and he quickly responded by saying there was nothing in the house worth stealing. I helped him out of a difficulty, and it was easy to talk about his mother and her rheumatism. So we got to the specialist Bush. You see the chief point was to find out the identity of the dead man. Now we get to two facts. He isn't the nephew who is still in Paris, and Bush is supposed to be in Yorkshire."
"Do you mean—"
"I am still theorizing," said Quarles. "There are no portraits at Clarence Lodge; you noticed a lack of portraits in Bush's flat, and you conclude by external evidence that his temperament is artistic. The dead man's hands were curiously capable and artistic. It struck me the moment I looked at them."
"I am not convinced, Professor."
"Nor was I," said Quarles, "so I mentioned the rheumatic specialist who had cured me."
"You, grandfather!" Zena exclaimed.
"Ah, you have evidently forgotten how I used to suffer," was the smiling answer. "I allowed Morrison to make a mistake on purpose and go to Clarence Lodge, his one idea to get an interview with Mrs. Crosland."
"And you have seen him since?" I asked.
"Came home with him from Grange Park," answered Quarles. "He was roundly abused to begin with, but, as you were told, he saw Mrs. Crosland. It was an interesting interview. The first thing that struck him was that the old lady was totally unlike her children, a different type altogether. She is a hard, masculine kind of woman, not at all of the nervous temperament he had been led to expect; and he was convinced that she had only consented to see him to make sure that he was no more than he had proclaimed himself—a specialist in rheumatism. My friend Morrison came to the conclusion that the nurse, as a nurse, was incompetent, and that the room he entered would not have been the one constantly occupied by the invalid. He was exceedingly interested in Mrs. Crosland, seeing in her a woman of extraordinary force of character and intellectual capacity, and he came to the conclusion that there was nothing whatever the matter with her."
"No rheumatism?" said Zena.
"About as much as I suffer from," said Quarles. "In short, Morrison was rather glad to get safely out of the house. He was certain that the old lady had a revolver under her pillow, and would certainly have shot him had she suspected that he was any one else but a specialist in rheumatism."
I was looking at Quarles as he turned to me.
"What do you make of my theory now, Wigan?"
"Were you Morrison?" I asked.
"Of course, and it was a trying ordeal. Do you think we have enough facts to go on?"
"Not facts, exactly, but evidence," I admitted.
"I think we shall find that the dead man is Bush," said the professor. "Inquiry will probably show that he has a record for quackery and has probably sailed fairly close to the wind at times. His connection with the Crosland family was not professional, but had other aims, and his profession was used merely as a reason for not having a doctor for Mrs. Crosland, who found it convenient to pose as an invalid. A quarrel resulted in Bush's being shot that night. I hazard a guess that it was the old lady who shot him, and that it was her brain which conceived the way out of the difficulty."
"That is guessing with a vengeance," I said.
"Yes, but not without some reason," Quarles went on. "Let's go back to the Grange Park burglaries for a moment, and suppose that a gang of expert thieves under the name of Crosland took Clarence Lodge. An invalid mother, son and daughter so called, butler, servants—a most respectable family apparently, in the midst of people worth plundering, able by friendly intercourse to collect the necessary information and plan their raids. Bush is the outside representative of the firm, so to speak, and the nephew who travels abroad occasionally sees to the selling of the spoil. It was the plot of a master mind—the old lady's, which has entirely beaten us until they quarrel between themselves. Now what do you think of my theory?"
"It takes me back to Grange Park without unnecessary delay," I said, getting up quickly.
"I thought it would. You have got the men waiting for you there, and I should raid the house forthwith. But caution, Wigan. I don't think they have any suspicion of Morrison, but the moment they tumble to your intentions they'll show fight, and probably put up a hot one. And don't forget the nephew in Paris. Take him, too."
The raid upon Clarence Lodge took place that evening, and was so managed that the servants and the chauffeur were taken before Crosland and his sister, who proved to be no relation as Quarles had surmised, were aware of the fact. Faced with the inevitable they made no fight at all, but the old lady was made of entirely different metal. She barricaded herself in her room, and swore to shoot the first man who forced the door. She had the satisfaction of wounding me slightly in the shoulder, and then before we could stop her she had turned the weapon upon herself and shot herself through the head.
The nephew was taken in Paris, and with the rest of the gang was sent to penal servitude. The evidence at the trial proved Quarles's theory to be very much as the tragedy had happened. The dead man was Bush, and it was his threat to give the burglaries away unless he had a larger share of the spoil than had been assigned to him which made the old lady shoot him in an ungovernable fit of rage.
"A master mind, Wigan," Quarles remarked, "and it is just as well not to have her as a neighbor. Your wound is not likely to put off your wedding?"
"No."
"A little better aim and she would have put it off altogether."
"Don't be so horrible," said Zena.
"A fact, my dear. Murray has been very keen about getting: hold of facts in this case, so I mention one. The Grange Park burglaries beat me because there was no clue to build on, but with a dead body—well, it really wasn't very difficult, was it?"
"Quite easy," I answered as if I really meant it, and then turned to discuss carpets with Zena.
It was not always wise to let the old man know you thought him clever.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Master Detective, by Percy James Brebner