"Maryanneliza, do keep the children quiet. The bad twins are fighting with the good twins, and the odd ones are making such a noise that I can't finish this story."
"Well, ma'am, there's so much to be done. The breakfast's to clear away, and the washing to be counted, and----"
"Oh, don't trouble me," cried Mrs. Baldwin, settling herself on the sofa. "It's one of my bad days. What Miss Mason will think of the way this house is kept, I don't know. What do I pay you wages for?"
"It's little enough I get," said Mary Ann Eliza, firing up.
"More than you're worth," retorted her mistress. "If you were a mother, with seven orphans to keep, you might talk. Where's Miss Gerty?"
"Gone to see Mr. Tracey at the factory."
"So like her," lamented the mother; "no consideration for my feelings. What I feel only the doctor knows. There!" as several wild screams rent the air to tatters, "that's blood. If any one of my darlings die, I'll hold you responsible, Maryanneliza!" Mrs. Baldwin ran the three names into one as the children did, and shrieked out to stop the servant from going. But Maryanneliza knew better. If she stopped to listen to Mrs. Baldwin's complaints, there would be no work done. She simply bolted to see which child was being tormented to death, and Mrs. Baldwin, after calling in vain, subsided into her book, and solaced herself with a lump of Turkish delight.
She was not unlike a Turkish odalisque herself, if rumour speaks truly of their fatness and flabbiness. A more shapeless woman it would have been hard to discover, and she usually wore a tea-gown as the least troublesome garment to assume. From one week's end to the other, Mrs. Baldwin never went out, save for a stroll in the garden. Not even the delights of shopping could tempt her into making any exertion, and she had long since ceased to care for the preservation of her figure or good looks. At one time of her life she had been handsome, but the production of seven children, including two sets of twins, had proved too much for her. Also her second husband had deserted her, and as he had been responsible for six children, she complained bitterly of his absence. He was supposed to be alive, but kept carefully away from his too prolific wife. For eight years she had not heard from him, but never ceased to expect him back.
Mrs. Baldwin's first husband had been a gentleman, and she was the pretty daughter of a lodging-house keeper, who had ensnared him when he was not on his guard. His family disowned him, and after the birth of a daughter, the young man broke his neck when hunting. He left Mrs. Harrow, as she was then, with the child and five hundred a year. Afterwards a man called Rufus Baldwin, attracted by the money, married the pretty young widow. Luckily, owing to the will, Mr. Baldwin was not able to seize the principal of the income. But he lived on his wife till six children came to lessen the money, and then finding he could get nothing more luxurious, he ran away. Mrs. Baldwin then removed to Cloverhead, and occupied an old manor-house at a small rent. It was a pleasant, rambling old mansion in a quiet street, and here she lived very comfortably on her five hundred a year.
"Do you remember Gerty Harrow with whom we were at school?" wrote Laura Mason to an old friend. "She lives here, near the place of my brother-in-law, and is now about twenty-two years of age. Such a nice girl--pretty and clever, and engaged to a most amusing American called Luther Tracey. He manufactures motor-cars, and Gerty Baldwin drives them. Whenever a car is sold, Gerty goes down and stops for a week or so with the people who buy it, to show them how it works. Being pretty she gets plenty to do. Mrs. Baldwin objected to Gerty doing this for a livelihood, and only consented when Gerty agreed to drop her father's name. She is Miss Baldwin now, and I like her more than ever. The mother----"
Here followed several marks of exclamation, as though Laura's powers of writing failed her, as they assuredly did. It would have taken the pen of Dickens to describe this lazy, self-indulgent, querulous woman, who lay on a sofa all day reading novels. At the present moment, she was deep in aFamily Heraldstory called "Only an Earl," in which a governess with a single rose in her hair marries, with great self-abnegation, a mere earl, after refusing two dukes and a foreign prince. Mrs. Baldwin, basking like a cat in the sunshine that poured through the window, read each page slowly, and ate a lump of Turkish delight every time she turned a page.
The sitting-room was most untidy. Children's toys were strewn about; the carpet was raggedy the pictures hung askew, the red plush table-cloth--it was a most abominable covering--was stained, the blind was torn, and a broken window-pane had been filled up with brown paper. Yet the room had a comfortable, homely look, and if it had not been so disorderly, would have been pleasant to live in. But Mrs. Baldwin, quite undisturbed by the confusion, read on with great enjoyment. She only lifted her eyes when Laura Mason entered the room, and then her first words were querulous.
"How you can bear to stop here with Getty when your own home is so beautiful, I really don't know," moaned Mrs. Baldwin, keeping her place in the tale by bending the book backward. "Just look at this room. I may toil from morning to night, and it never will look tidy."
"It's comfortable, at all events," said Laura, sitting down. "Do you feel well this morning, Mrs. Baldwin."
"Just alive. I could hardly get out of bed. Not a wink of sleep, and dreadful dreams."
Mrs. Baldwin did not explain how she could dream without sleeping, but she was such a wonderful woman that she could do anything. For instance, she could be idle throughout the day, and keep up the fiction that she worked like a slave. She could enjoy her life in laziness and dirt and selfishness, posing as a martyr to every one. Laura saw through her as most people did; but as Laura was a guest, and Gerty's friend, she did not explain herself at length, as she would have liked to do. Besides, Mrs. Baldwin was a good-natured old dormouse, and no one could be angry with her long.
"I have been out with Gerty," said Laura, sitting near the window; "she has gone to the factory to see Mr. Tracey."
"She never thinks of me slaving from morning till night," moaned the mother. "I'm skin and bone."
Miss Mason nearly laughed outright, for Mrs. Baldwin was as fat as butter, and quite as soft. "You should take more care of yourself."
"No, Miss Mason," said the heroic woman. "I must deny myself all pleasures for the sake of my babes. Ah, they will never know what a mother they have."
It certainly would not be for the want of telling, for Mrs. Baldwin was always recounting her virtues at length. She did so now. "When I was young and gay, and truly lovely, and lived with ma in Soho Square," she rambled on, "I little thought that life would be so hard. When Mr. Harrow led me to the altar, all was sunshine, but now penury and disgrace are my portion."
"Oh, not so bad as that, Mrs. Baldwin," protested Laura.
"Penury, disgrace, and desertion, Miss Mason. Rufus Baldwin has left me with six pledges of his affection, and but for the forethought of my first husband--who must have foreseen the twins--I would have starved in chains and miry clay."
Having thus placed herself in the lowest position she could think of, in order to extort sympathy, Mrs. Baldwin ate more Turkish delight--she was too selfish to offer Laura any--and stated that her heart was broken. "Though I don't show it, being trained by ma to bear my woes in silence," she finished.
Laura said a few words of comfort in order to stop further complaints, and then stated that she was going to Westcliff-on-Sea in two days. "My sister Julia is expecting me," she said, "and I have been with you for over a week. It is so good of you to have me."
"Not at all. I've done my best to make you comfortable, Miss Mason, though heaven knows I can hardly keep on my feet." Here Mrs. Baldwin closed her eyes as a token of extreme exhaustion. "But we must do our duty in the world, as I always tell Horry, who is to be a parson, if he can pass the examinations, which I doubt. Of course Gerty will marry Mr. Tracey, who is well off, and leave her poor ma, who has done so much for her. But I am determined that my babes shall occupy the best places in society. Totty, Dolly, and Sally shall marry money. Jimmy and Dickey must win renown to repay me for my lifelong agonies. You don't look well, Miss Mason?"
The suddenness of this question, coming so quickly after the rambling discourse, made Laura start and colour. She was a fair, pretty girl, with yellow hair and a creamy complexion. Her eyes were dark, her mouth delightful, and her nose was "tip-tilted like the petal of a flower," to quote her favourite poet. Not a particularly original girl either in looks or character, but charming and sympathetic. Laura had a wide circle of friends who all loved her, but no one could call her clever. But she was so womanly that men liked her. "I am quite well, Mrs. Baldwin," she declared; "only I did not sleep much last night."
"Dreams! dreams!" moaned Mrs. Baldwin. "I had horrible dreams about you. I fancied I saw you eating bananas. Every one knows that means trouble. But pine-apples growing in ice are the worst," said Mrs. Baldwin. "I have never dreamed that. Trouble is coming to you."
"Don't!" cried Laura, starting to her feet, and with an anxious air; "please don't! I think dreams are nonsense."
"No," said Mrs. Baldwin, producing a small book from under her sofa pillow. "Read this, and see what it means to dream of sparrows pecking cats to death."
Laura laughed. "I should rather think the cats would eat the birds."
"Not in a dream. Everything goes by contraries in dreams. Before John Baldwin ran away, I dreamed he was rushing into my arms, crowned with honeysuckle. But that day he went. Didn't your walk last night do you good?"
"No," said Laura shortly, then went on with some hesitation. "I was away only for half an hour."
"Where did you go?"
"Across the fields."
"Thinking of Mr. Calvert, no doubt," said Mrs. Baldwin playfully.
Laura grew red, and on another occasion would have resented this remark about the young gentleman mentioned by Mrs. Baldwin. But at this moment she appeared to be rather glad of the suggestion. "Iwasthinking of him," she assented.
"A very nice young man, though he is an actor."
"Why shouldn't he be an actor?" demanded Laura angrily.
"There! there!" said Mrs. Baldwin soothingly; and aggravatingly, "We know that love levels all ranks."
"Arnold Calvert is a gentleman."
"Your sister, Mrs. Fane, doesn't think so. She expressed herself much annoyed that he should pay his addresses to you."
"Julia can mind her own business," said Laura angrily. "She married Mr. Fane, and he wasn't a very good match."
"No indeed. Your sister had the money."
"And I have money also. Quite enough for Arnold and I to live on, as you----" Here Laura held her tongue. She really did not see why she should tell Mrs. Baldwin all her private affairs. But when the heart is very full, the tongue will speak out. Luckily at this moment there was another outburst of noise overhead, and Mrs. Baldwin moaned three times.
"The bad twins are persecuting the good ones, and the odd ones are looking on," she lamented. "Do go up and see, Miss Mason."
Laura, glad of an excuse to leave the room, saw Mrs. Baldwin with another lump of delight in her mouth, and another page turned, and flew up the stairs. Here she found a general rebellion. The bad twins, Totty and Dickey, aged ten, were pinching the good twins, Jimmy and Sally, aged twelve. Horry and Dolly, who, not being twins, were called the odd ones, looked on complacently. Laura darted into the middle of the fray, and parted the fighters.
"Horry! Dolly! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves to see these children fight so. Horry, you are fourteen, and you, Dolly, are seventeen. Why don't you behave?"
"We are behaving," said Dolly, a girl in the stage of long legs, short frocks, and inky fingers. "We haven't touched them. I can't study my French lesson for the noise."
"And I've got my algebra to do."
"You shouldn't learn lessons on Sunday," said Laura.
"Why not? Gerty's gone to business."
"She has not. She only went to see if Mr. Tracey found his motor-car that was lost last night."
"Ah! And I'm glad of it," cried Horry triumphantly. "He wouldn't let me sit in it to watch."
"And a good thing to," said Dolly, pensively picking a hole in her stocking; "you started it last time."
"And nearly ran us over," said one of the good twins.
"I wish he had," said the bad twins in chorus. "Come and play, Miss Mason. Bible games!"
"I have no time. Gerty will be back soon. Now, be good children, and don't disturb your mother. She has a headache. Besides, you must get ready for church."
"I hate church," growled Horry. "And if mother thinks I'm going to be a parson, I ain't. So there now."
"You'll never go to heaven then," said Sally, who was the most pious of the good twins.
"Oh, mon Dieu, quel dommage!" said Dolly.
"Dolly!" cried Laura, shocked.
"I'm only swearing in French. It doesn't sound so bad as using bad words in English."
"No," chimed in a bad twin. "I heard the gardener say----"
"Hold your tongue, Jimmy; you needn't say the word!"
But Jimmy, being bad by nature and training, had made up his mind to say the word, and did so very distinctly. An uproar ensued, which ended by the entrance of Mary Anne Eliza. "Come and be washed." There was a chorus of protests, in the midst of which Laura escaped. Not being inclined to talk further to Mrs. Baldwin, she went out in the garden, which was large and as ill-kept as the house within. At the gate she paused, and leaning over, looked up the lane. It was a beautiful morning, and the air was as balmy as the sky was blue. But the exquisite weather did not banish the dark look from Laura's face. She gazed up the road with compressed lips, and then taking a letter out of her pocket, she read it hurriedly. Thus engaged, she did not see a tall brunette flying down the lane, with a flushed face, and an air of excitement.
"O Laura!" cried the newcomer; "O Laura! Such news--dreadful news."
Miss Mason started, and her face grew pale. Hastily thrusting the letter into her pocket, she looked at the girl. "What is it, Gerty? Nothing is wrong with Arnold?"
"No! no! What a timid thing you are," said Gerty, opening the gate. "But I have just seen Luther. He hasn't found his car. But he told me that a murder had been committed in your sister's house."
"A murder!" Laura grasped her friend's arm. "Not Arnold?"
"No. It's a woman."
"Who is she?"
"No one knows. She was found lying dead in the White Room. Stabbed in the back, and quite dead. Such a pretty woman, Luther says, and quite young. Luther thinks the murderer ran away with his car, and that's how it's missing. He's coming round here this morning to see you."
"To see me? Why should he see me? I know nothing."
Laura spoke sharply, and her face was in a glow of colour. At the same time it expressed bewilderment. "How did the woman enter the house?" she asked; "and who is she?"
"I tell you no one knows," said Gerty impatiently. "You'll hear all from Luther, when he comes. But don't say anything to mother. She'll only moan and make a fuss. Besides, Luther says it had better be kept quiet till your brother-in-law comes up. He has been telegraphed for by the police."
"The police. O Gerty, will they bring the police into the matter?"
"Of course. It was a policeman who found the body last night."
"How did the policeman enter the house?" asked Laura. "It's shut up, and not even a caretaker was left."
"I don't know the whole story. Luther would not tell me much." Here Gerty looked at her friend. "Laura, I thought you went to the house last night."
"No," said Laura, after a moment's hesitation. "I told you that I was going to meet Arnold. You know that I have to meet him by stealth, since Julia objects to our engagement. It is not likely we would meet at the house--especially as it is locked up."
"Did you meet him?" asked Gerty persistently and curiously.
"I didn't. I went into the fields by the Nightingale's Tree, and waited till nearly a quarter to ten. But Arnold never came."
"Did he promise to come?"
"No. I only went on the chance. He thought that he might be able to get away if his understudy could take his part in the piece."
"I expect he couldn't get away," said Gerty. "How awful this murder is. I wonder who the woman can be, and how she came to be killed."
"It's very strange," said Laura, who was pale but composed. "Gerty, did you tell Luther I was out last night?"
"No. We were too busy talking of the crime."
"Then say nothing. I should only get into trouble with Julia."
It was not from Tracey that Laura learned the details of the Ajax Villa tragedy. Leaving Gerty in the garden with her lover, Miss Mason walked round to the house, eager to hear all that had taken place. A rumour about the murder had crept round Troy, and a few curious people were staring at the windows. But no policeman was to be seen. The inspector kept his officers on guard inside the villa, thinking, and very rightly, that the sight of a constable in the garden would provoke inquiry, and bring onlookers. Derrick wished the matter kept as quiet as possible until the arrival of Mr. Fane. The body of the unfortunate woman had been removed to one of the bedrooms, and a policeman watched at the door. Everything in the house was in the same order as it had been when entered by Mulligan, and Derrick himself took up his quarters in the White Room. Here he issued orders.
"If a young lady calls to see me, let her in," he said; "but no one else is to be admitted."
"Mr. Tracey, sir?" asked Mulligan, who was full of official pride.
"Yes; certainly. I except him. But no one else, mind."
"What about the wire to Mr. Fane, sir?"
"I'll send it as soon as I get his address from the lady. Ah"--he nodded as a ring came to the door--"there she is."
Laura entered the room, looking pale and discomposed, evidences of emotion of which Derrick took note. To be sure, it was natural that a girl of this tender age should be unstrung by the tragedy which had taken place, and Derrick scarcely expected to see her other than moved. But having regard to the crime, he was suspicious of all the Fane family. He admired Laura's fresh beauty, and placed a chair for her, apologising meanwhile for the disagreeable duty he had to perform.
"But I am sure you will excuse me, Miss Mason," said the gallant Derrick. "I will ask as few questions as possible."
"I really don't know what questions you can ask me," said Laura.
"Oh, that is an easy matter, Miss Mason. However, we had better clear the ground, so that we may understand one another. It was Mr. Tracey who told me that you are the sister-in-law of Mr. Fane, and I requested him to bring you round. Is he below?"
"No; I preferred to come myself. Mr. Tracey is of a very inquiring nature, and I don't want him to hear all I may have to tell you."
Derrick shook his head. "I fear you will be obliged to let the whole of London hear, Miss Mason. There will be an inquest."
"Must I appear at that?"
"Certainly. You may be able to identify the woman."
"I fear not, from the description Mr. Tracey gave of her."
Derrick looked at her sharply as she said this. Her eyes met his fairly, and she did not flinch from his scrutiny. But her bosom rose and fell hurriedly, her cheeks flushed, she passed her tongue over her dry lips. All these things gave evidence of inward discomposure. Whether she knew anything, Derrick was not prepared to say. But if she did, he was sure it would be difficult to make her speak out. Laura was innocent and young, but in spite of her delicate appearance, she had a strong will. Derrick guessed as much from the way in which she tightened her lips. But he could not conceive that she could hold out against his examination. "Have you anything to conceal?" he asked abruptly and rashly.
Laura coloured still more and glanced at him indignantly. "How can you speak to me like that?" she said; "do you suspect me?"
"No. Certainly not. But the affair is strange, Miss Mason."
"From the little I gathered from Mr. Tracey, it is," she assented.
"Here is a house shut up," said Derrick, pursuing his own train of thought; "left without even a caretaker----"
"There was no need for one to be left," interposed the girl. "My sister, Mrs. Fane, thinks that Troy is a safe suburb. There have been no burglaries hereabouts, so she merely asked the police to keep an eye on the house. Besides, she is away only for three weeks."
"When do Mrs. Fane and family return?"
"In six days."
"You remained behind?"
Laura bowed. "My sister and I are not on very good terms," she began, "and I thought it best to remain with my friend, Miss Baldwin, while the house was shut up. But you were saying something."
"Merely that it is queer this woman--this stranger--if she is a stranger, should obtain admittance into the house while those who own it are away. She came on Saturday evening--at what time we are not as yet able to learn. No one saw her come. We do not know if she came alone or in the company of any one. But come she did, and entered the house. How did she get in?"
"I am as puzzled as you are, sir. But if you will let me see the body, I may be able to tell you if it is that of a stranger to me."
"We can do that later," said Derrick. "Meanwhile I wish to put a few questions. And even if this woman were not a stranger is it likely that she could enter the house?"
"No. So far as I know, my brother-in-law alone has a latch-key."
"Is there not another possessed by a young man?"
Laura looked out of the window while answering this question. "Not that I know of," she said faintly.
Derrick appeared satisfied with this reply, and took out his note-book. "Answer my questions, please," he began. "Who is Mr. Fane?"
"My brother-in-law. He is the second partner in the shipping firm of Mason, Son, and Mason."
"Oh! And why does not his name appear?"
Laura explained. "The firm is an old one," she said; "there are two partners, my brother and Walter Fane. When my father died, the firm was Mason, Son, and Mason, and as it is an old-established one, my brother did not change the name when Mr. Fane became a partner."
"When did Mr. Fane become a partner?"
"Three years ago, when he married my sister Julia!"
"Did Mr. Fane bring any money into the business?" asked Derrick; then seeing Laura's look of surprise, he continued apologetically, "Excuse me, Miss Mason, but I must know everything."
"I believe Mr. Fane brought very little money into the business. It was my sister Julia who had the money, and she paid sufficient to my brother to buy Walter a share. But I have no right to tell you these things," said Laura, flushing. "If you wish to know anything further you must ask Mr. Fane himself."
"I intend to. Will you give me his address?"
"Ocean View, Wandle Road, Westcliff-on-Sea."
Derrick noted this in his book. "I'll send a wire to him," he said, "as the inquest takes place to-morrow and we must have him present. By the way, do you know a young man with a pointed beard and slim figure? Is he a visitor at this house?"
"Not that I know of," said Miss Mason promptly. "I know no one of that type--with a pointed beard, I mean."
"Yet such a young man came out of the house, and held the policeman in talk while his accomplice murdered this woman."
"Were there two men, then?"
"We think so," answered Derrick cautiously. "I presume, Miss Mason," he added, "you have been to this house since Mrs. Fane left it?"
"Certainly not."
"But living so near--Meadow Lane is but a stone-throw away."
"Quite so. All the same I had no reason to return here."
"You live in this house?"
"With my sister. Yes."
"Then your things are here?"
Laura looked hard at Derrick, trying to fathom his meaning. "I took all needful things with me, as though I were going on a long journey, Mr. Inspector. For nearly two weeks I have lived with Mrs. Baldwin, and have not been in Achilles Avenue."
"Have you not passed the house?"
"I said that I had not been in Achilles Avenue," replied Laura.
"Then you know nothing," said Derrick, obviously disappointed with the result of his examination.
"Absolutely nothing."
The inspector nursed his chin, and thought with his eyes on the ground. There was nothing else he could ask. Mr. Fane was the owner of Ajax Villa, and as this unknown woman had been murdered therein, Mr. Fane alone would be able to say how she had come by her death. In his past life might be found the reason that the poor creature should be so slain. "What did Mr. Fane do before he joined the firm?"
"Nothing," replied Laura, rousing herself from her own thoughts; "he is possessed of independent means and travelled a great deal. I suppose he grew weary of so aimless a life. However, my sister persuaded him to become a partner, which he did, after he married her."
"Hum!" said Derrick, not finding this reply threw any light on the subject. Then he cast his eyes round the room. "This is a queer place, Miss Mason. Mrs. Fane's idea?"
"No. Mr. Fane furnished the house. My sister does not like this room. It is too cold in its looks for her. Mr. Fane is fond of it. But the whole house was furnished before Mr. Fane married."
"For the marriage, I presume."
"No. Mr. Fane lived here as a bachelor for six months before he married my sister."
"But no doubt the engagement lasted six months, and Mr. Fane furnished the house as he thought your sister would like it."
"He did not. Mr. Fane married my sister at the end of three months, and before that he furnished the house according to his own taste."
Derrick thought this strange. However, he did not ask any more questions, as he felt that he had rather exceeded the limits of an even official courtesy. "I am much obliged to you for replying so frankly to my questions, Miss Mason," he said. "If I have been too curious, the strange nature of this case must be my excuse. We will now inspect the body."
Laura's cheeks grew even paler than they were. But she made no objection. Silently she followed the inspector, moving indifferently through the house. Only when they arrived at the door of the death-chamber did she draw back. "You have put the body into my room," she said resentfully.
"I am sorry," said Derrick, opening the door, "but of course I was quite in ignorance."
"I shall never be able to sleep in the room again," murmured Laura, and passed through the door which Derrick held open.
Out of delicacy the inspector did not enter with her. He remained outside, thinking over what she had said. It seemed to him that Mr. Fane had married very suddenly, and had taken his bride to a house which had not been furnished for her. The house was too large for a bachelor, and must have been intended for two. What if Fane had been engaged to some one else, for whom the house was furnished, but the engagement being broken, and married Miss Julia Mason so hurriedly. If this were so, the house with its strange White Room which was not to the present Mrs. Fane's taste must have been furnished for the unknown woman. And perhaps the unknown woman was the poor soul who lay dead within. Only Fane had the latch-key, only Fane could have admitted her, and then--here Derrick broke off. He felt that he was taking too much for granted; that he was building up a theory on unsubstantial foundations. Until he saw Fane, and learned what kind of a man he was, it was impossible to formulate any theory. Still, for his own satisfaction, Derrick determined to ask Laura a few more questions. It was at this moment she emerged, pale but composed.
"I do not know the woman at all," she said, before he could speak.
"You are quite sure?"
"Perfectly. I never set eyes on her before. A pretty woman," added Laura sadly, "and with quite a girlish face. I wonder what brought her here to meet her death."
"I wonder," said Derrick; "and who could have killed her?"
"That is the mystery," sighed Laura, turning to go away.
"It will not remain one long. Mr. Fane must know her, since only he had the latch-key."
"Yes. Only he has----" here Laura broke off and flashed an inquiring look on the inspector. "Do you mean to say that my brother-in-law knows something about this crime?"
"If only he has the latch-key----"
"You stated that this young man with a pointed beard met by your policeman had a latch-key."
"Yes. But has Mr. Fane a beard?"
"A beard? No. He is clean-shaven."
"He might have assumed a disguise."
"How dare you hint at such a thing?" said Laura indignantly. "I am quite sure that Mr. Fane knows nothing. Last night he was at Westcliff-on-Sea, ill in bed. I can show you a wire. My sister knew that I was going to her to-morrow, and she wired last night at five o'clock saying that Walter was ill and that I had better not come."
"Oh!" This statement took the inspector aback. If Fane had been ill at Westcliff-on-Sea, he certainly could not be the man met by Mulligan. "Can you show me the wire?" he asked.
"I will send it round to you. And I am quite sure that when you see Mr. Fane you will not suspect him of this crime. A better and more kindly man does not live. However this woman came to enter the house, however she was killed, and for what reason, Mr. Fane can know nothing of the matter. How was she killed?"
"Stabbed under the left shoulder-blade while she was singing."
"Singing! What was she singing, and why in a strange house?"
"She was singing 'Kathleen Mavourneen.'"
Laura looked surprised. "My sister's favourite song."
"Oh indeed," said Derrick sharply. He hesitated. "Your sister is also at Westcliff-on-Sea?"
"Are you about to accuse her?" asked Laura disdainfully.
"I accuse no one," replied Derrick, nettled. "I am only trying in all directions to learn facts upon which to build up a theory."
"Then why don't you look for real evidence?"
"Such as what, Miss Mason?"
"Such as the weapon with which this woman was killed."
"We have looked. It cannot be found. The murderer took it away. He would not be such a fool as to leave that lying about. The doctor fancies from the nature of the wound that it must be a long slim dagger--a kind of stiletto."
"Such as a foreigner might use," said Laura involuntarily.
"What do you mean?" asked the inspector sharply.
Laura flushed. "Nothing, nothing," she responded; "but foreigners usually make use of such a weapon, don't they? An Englishman would not kill a person with a stiletto."
"It's not British, certainly," said Derrick, with insular prejudice; "but a woman might use such a thing. Still, we do not know that the assassin is a man or"--he looked straight at her--"a woman."
Laura could not quite understand his meaning, since it never struck her that he meant to incriminate her in the matter. She took no notice, being anxious to learn what Derrick thought. "What is your theory on existing facts?" she asked coldly.
Derrick reflected. "I hardly know what to say. Let us suppose that the woman admitted herself into the house. How she got the latch-key I am not prepared to say. She came to meet some one--possibly the two people who killed her."
"The two people?" interrupted Laura abruptly.
"There was the young man who kept Mulligan in talk," explained the officer, "and the one who presumably killed her. Let us suppose, for the sake of argument, that this woman met these two men. Seeing a policeman at the gate, Number One goes out to lure him away. Left alone with Number Two, the woman sits at the piano to sing. On the music-stand is 'Kathleen Mavourneen.' She knows that song and sings it. The assassin, standing behind her, watches his opportunity and stabs her. Then he goes."
"You forget that the song was being sung, according to your own account, before Number One left the gate with the policeman."
"Certainly. But the woman might have begun to sing immediately after Number One left."
"Before," insisted Laura. "The policeman listened while Number One was in the room. It was the song that made him stop. I am only going by what you told me. Your theory doesn't fit together."
Derrick frowned. "It is hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together, Miss Mason. Only in detective fiction does the heaven-born genius put this and that together in a flash. I--a mere mortal--am groping in the dark. I may discuss a hundred theories before I hit on the right solution. Nothing more can be done till I see Mr. Fane. As the woman was in his house, he must know----"
"He knows nothing," interrupted Laura imperiously; "he can't know. The man is ill at the seaside and----"
Derrick interrupted in his turn. "I'll wait till I hear what Mr. Fane has to say," he declared abruptly.
He rose to terminate the interview. As he opened the door Tracey entered hurriedly. "My car's found," he burst out.
"Where?" asked Derrick and Laura together.
"Stranded in the yard of Charing Cross Station."
Laura turned quickly on Derrick. "I beg you to observe, Mr. Inspector, that you cannot get to Westcliff-on-Sea from Charing Cross."
"I have not yet accused Mr. Fane," retorted the inspector.
Naturally there was great excitement over "The White Room Crime," as it soon came to be called. The inhabitants of Troy were shocked, as such a thing had never before happened in their locality. They found their holy quiet invaded by a host of reporters, detectives, policemen, idlers, and morbid folk who wished for new sensations. Mr. and Mrs. Fane left their child at the seaside and came up for the inquest, which was held at a quiet public-house in the neighbourhood. Fane insisted that the body should be taken away from Ajax Villa.
"It should have been removed at once," he declared. "I don't know the woman. I never set eyes on her. My wife doesn't know her, and I can't conceive how she came to die in my place."
"Do you alone own the latch-key?"
It was Derrick who asked this question, and he eyed Fane sharply as the reply came.
"I alone own the latch-key of my house," said Fane; "it is a peculiar lock. No other key but mine will fit it. See!" He produced a long slim key, upon which Derrick, unlocking a drawer, took out of it the key picked up by Mulligan. The two were identical in all respects. "You see," said Derrick in his turn, "a duplicate has been made. I noticed that the strange key was new when Mulligan showed it."
"Where did you get this key?"
"The young man who lured Mulligan away from the gate dropped it."
"Very strange," said Fane in a puzzled tone. "I can't understand. I don't think the locksmith who made me my key can have made two, as I especially agreed with him that he was not to do so."
"Have you his address?"
"Yes. It is at my office in the city. I will give it to you. But I am sure the man is to be trusted. A most respectable tradesman."
"Hum," said Derrick, scratching his chin. "Respectable tradesmen do queer things for money at times."
"But why should this strange woman have been brought to this house--my house--to be murdered?"
"I can't say. That is what we have to find out. You don't know this woman?" asked Derrick doubtfully.
Fane was a smart, cheery-faced fellow with rather a weak mouth. He looked rather haggard, as he had practically risen from a sick-bed to obey the summons of the law. For the moment he appeared puzzled when Derrick spoke. Then he flashed an indignant look on him, and grew red. "Do you mean to insinuate that I did something underhand, Mr. Inspector?" he inquired excitedly.
"Men admire pretty women," said Derrick dryly.
"I do, like all men. At the same time I am faithful to my wife, whom I love very dearly. We are a most attached couple. And if you hint at anything wrong, sir, let me tell you that I was ill with a cold at the seaside when this crime was perpetrated. Also, had I been in town--had I known this woman--I certainly should not have brought her to my own house."
"No! no! quite so," said Derrick soothingly. "I don't mean to hint for a moment that your character is not spotless. But this key, sir. Has it ever been out of your possession?"
"Never! I carry it, as you see, on a steel chain. It comes off at night and goes on in the morning. Only my wife could have had it in her possession. You are not going to accuse her of taking an impression, are you?" asked Fane scathingly.
"Does Mrs. Fane know the woman?" asked Derrick, passing over this ironical speech.
"No. She never set eyes on her. No one knows who the woman is."
"Strange! Strange! I wonder why she should be killed in your house?"
"Don't you know her name?" asked Fane.
"No. There is no mark on her linen; no cards or letters in her pocket. She came out of the darkness into your house, and has been swallowed up by the darkness of the grave. We know no more. At the inquest something may transpire."
"I sincerely hope so," said Fane bluntly. "The whole thing is most disagreeable. I shall have to give up Ajax Villa. My wife is quite upset. The affair will put me to great expense. Good-day."
"One moment. Do you know a young man with a pointed beard?"
"Not that I can recall," replied Fane after a pause. "But of course I may have met such a person."
"Well"--Derrick gave up his questions in despair--"we must wait for the inquest."
But here a fresh disappointment awaited him. Nothing came to light at the inquest likely to throw light on the mystery. Geason proved that the unknown woman had been stabbed from behind and had died almost immediately. He was positive that she had been dead five hours when he was called in. If this were so, the woman who sang the song could not be the dead one. Nor could the young man who entered into conversation with Mulligan have been sent to lure him away so that the murder might take place. When the young man came out of the house the woman must have been dead three hours. The doctor firmly held to this opinion, and thereby perplexed the jury and upset the theories of Derrick.
Various were the opinions given by those present during the interview. Some thought this, some that, and every one had his own pet solution of the mystery. But the evidence was scanty. Both Mr. and Mrs. Fane stated that they knew nothing of the woman. The husband insisted that the latch-key had never been out of his possession, and the wife asserted that he had been sick in bed miles away at the time the crime was committed. Mulligan described his meeting with the strange young man and the conversation which had ensued; also his discovery of the body, and how he had entered the house. All inquiries on the part of the police failed to prove the identity of the dead. Tracey stated how he had missed his motor-car, and evidence was forthcoming to show that it had been left in the Charing Cross yard. But no one seemed to know who had brought it there. The result of this crop of scanty facts was obvious. The jury brought in a verdict against some person or persons unknown.
"It's the only thing to be said," said Derrick to Fane when the crowd dispersed. "The woman is dead, and she must be buried. That cost will fall on the parish."
"No," replied Fane, who did not seem to be an unkindly man. "The poor creature died in my house, so I will charge myself with her burial. I have consulted Mrs. Fane, and she thinks as I do."
"But you know nothing about her."
"That is true. However, if you make inquiries, you may learn."
The inspector shook his head. "I fear not; I don't know where to look. It is a kind thought of you to bury her, Mr. Fane. Not many men would do that in your place after the trouble you have had."
"It's the least I can do, seeing she was murdered under my roof. But you may hear who she is. Why not advertise?"
"That has been done. Handbills have been placed round describing her looks, and with a picture. Orders have been sent throughout London to the police to keep their eyes open. I doubt if anything will come of the hunt though."
"Surely," said Fane, wrinkling his brows, "a woman can't disappear like this in London?"
"London is the very place where people disappear," retorted Derrick. "Those who live in this big city never know how many people vanish yearly and are never heard of again. In this case we have the body of the woman, but who she was, where she came from, and why she was murdered in your house, will probably never be known."
"Well," said Fane, with the air of a man dismissing the subject, "if you do intend to make inquiries, please keep me advised of your discoveries. I should like to know how the woman entered the house. I believe you saw my locksmith?"
"I did. He swears positively that he did not make a duplicate key. More than that, he has not a duplicate of the one he made you."
Fane looked doubtful. "I should have thought he would have retained a copy for trade purposes. Suppose I lost the key----"
"He would not have been able to make you another, Mr. Fane. However, I am keeping an eye on him. He may be lying for his own ends. One never knows, and I always mistrust respectable men."
"From what my sister-in-law told me, Mr. Derrick, you were inclined to mistrust me."
Derrick coughed. "The case is so strange," said he; "but I am now quite sure that you had nothing to do with the matter."
"Thank you for nothing," said Fane dryly. "It is lucky that with the assistance of my wife I was able to prove an alibi."
"Very lucky indeed," replied the inspector cheerfully. "Had you been in town that night, and unable to explain your comings and goings, it might have gone hard with you."
"Do you mean to say----"
"Nothing--absolutely nothing. But see here, Mr. Fane; put yourself in my place, in the place of any man. A woman gains admittance to your house and there is murdered. You alone have the key. On the face of it, does not that look as though you alone killed her, else, why the use of your key to let her enter the house? It is lucky for you, as you say, that in full open court, and in the ears of all men, you were able to prove an alibi, else nine out of ten would have suspected you of knowing more than you stated."
"I said all I knew."
"I am sure of that, sir; and you proved--with the assistance of Mrs. Fane--your innocence. As they say, you leave the court without a stain. All the same, the case is strange. For my part, pending the discovery of the young man who dropped the key, I shall hunt for the woman. In her past life will be found the explanation of her death. I shall let you know how I get on, but I must ask you to also keep me advised of what you see and hear."
Fane shrugged his shoulders and took out a cigar. "I shall take no further steps in the matter. Once this woman is buried, and I have left Ajax Villa, the thing will be relegated to obscurity so far as I am concerned."
"Well," said Derrick, with a side look, "perhaps that's natural."
He then said good-bye to Fane, and went away thoughtfully. Derrick was not a particularly brilliant mortal, as his conduct of the case shows. As the saying goes, he could not see further than his nose. But he certainly wondered in his own mind, if despite the evidence of Mrs. Fane, her husband might not have something to do with the matter. To save his life, to keep him from shame, she might have kept silence. "But it's impossible," said Derrick aloud. "If he was guilty, she would not lie. If the victim had been a man now. But as it was a woman, a jealous creature like Mrs. Fane would certainly not sacrifice herself to save a man who deceived her. No; Fane is guiltless. But who is the culprit? That's the question." And it was a question which Derrick could not answer, though he tried to do so in his blundering way.
So the unknown woman was duly buried. Tracey and Fane went to the funeral, and the body was followed by a large concourse of those who wished to see the last of the victim of this mysterious tragedy. Every one agreed that Fane was behaving very well in thus giving the poor wretch decent burial. Fane looked white and worn when the grave was being filled in, and the rumour went round of how ill he had been, and how he had come up from a sick-bed to see this matter through. Several people shook hands with him as he left the cemetery, and he was congratulated on all hands. Then the gates of the burial-ground were closed, and the grave was left to the rain and the sunshine. For all any one present knew, its secret would not be delivered up until the Judgment-day.
It was the press that said the last word on the subject. TheDaily Budget, always in search of the sensational, thought the affair strange enough to give it the honour of a leading article. As many people may remember the perplexity of police and public in connection with this murder, it may not be uninteresting to give an extract or two from the article.
"The inexplicable murder in Troy is one of those crimes which at once startle and shock the public. That a woman should be done to death in this manner is bad enough, but that with our wonderful police organisation, her identity should remain a mystery is nothing less than a scandal and a shame. If the houses of law-abiding citizens are to be made the shambles for unknown assassins, the sooner the police force is reorganised the better. And again, is it not disgraceful that nothing can be found likely to prove who this poor creature is? Have we not newspapers and agents and handbills and all the paraphernalia of civilisation for the detection of the unknown? Search should be made in the most minute manner in order to prove who this dead woman is. Once her name is discovered, in her past life may be found the reason of her untimely and tragic death. This is the opinion of Inspector Derrick, who has handled the case, with all its strange elements of mystery, with but an indifferent degree of success. Not but what we are prepared to admit that the case is remarkably difficult and would tax the intellect of a Vidocq to unravel.
"It would seem that the woman went to the house between eight and nine o'clock, and was murdered shortly after she entered the door. Certainly she was seated at the piano, and certainly the song of 'Kathleen Mavourneen' was open before her. But we are sure that she never sang the song. While waiting for some one--perhaps the assassin who struck her down--she may have played for a time. But the woman who sang the song did so some three hours after the death of the unfortunate creature. Mulligan swore that he heard the song about eleven; the doctor declares that the woman was murdered before nine o'clock. On the face of it, it is impossible to reconcile this conflicting evidence.
"No one saw the woman enter the house, although many people were about Achilles Avenue during the evening. But in the multitude of people--especially on a Saturday night--would lie the chance of the woman not being observed. Few people knew that Mr. Fane and his family--one little girl--were at the seaside; so even if any one had noticed the woman enter the gate of Ajax Villa such a thing would not be fixed in the mind of the observer. All inquiries have been made, but no one appears to have noted the woman's coming. It is therefore impossible to say if she entered the house alone or in the company of the assassin.
"And with regard to the assassin. We are inclined to think he is a man--and that man who spoke to the policeman at eleven o'clock. It might be, that gaining admittance by his latch-key with the woman, he killed her almost immediately he entered, and then watched his chance of escape. That he entered the house with the woman appears clear. We stated above that it is impossible to say if the woman entered the house alone. By this we mean that the man may have come earlier, and may have admitted her before nine o'clock. The poor creature walked into a death-trap. Taking her to the White Room, he lured her to sit down at the piano, which would give him an opportunity of standing behind her to stab her unawares. Then when she was dead, he probably looked out of the window to see how he could escape. Fear evidently kept him within till nearly eleven o'clock. Then he saw the policeman passing, and then he sang the song to make the man believe a woman was singing. Afterwards, when he had lulled any suspicions the policeman may have entertained, he came out and escaped in the manner described. This is our theory. The singer is described by Mulligan--a remarkably intelligent officer--as having a deep contralto voice; so it is probable the assassin sang in falsetto. That the man killed the woman and thus escaped, we are sure; for only he having the latch-key could have admitted her, and only he could have a reason to lure her into the house. What that reason may be, must remain for ever a mystery."
So far theDaily Budgetwith its gimcrack theory. A rival newspaper promptly set to work to pick holes in the case as presented by the paper. This rival journal, theStar of Morning, commented as follows:
"Our respected contemporary goes too fast. Evidence was given clearly by Mulligan that the song was being sung while the presumed assassin--in theDaily Budget'sopinion--was in conversation with him at the gate. Therefore the young man with the pointed beard could not have sung 'Kathleen Mavourneen' in falsetto. The theory is amusing, but it won't hold water. Our belief is quite different, and we think more real.
"In the first place, we think that the young man was the person who admitted the women into the house. So far we agree with our contemporary. We say 'women,' because we believe there were two people, the victim and another woman. These two women came to the house either in the company of the young man or by themselves. In any case, he admitted them, since, however he obtained it, he alone possessed the latch-key, and was thus enabled to enter the deserted house. Once in the White Room, and the victim lured to the piano--again we agree--she was murdered. The two assassins--for both the man and the woman are equally guilty, though we are not prepared to say who actually struck the blow--then watched their opportunity to escape. It is a marvel that they should have remained three hours in the house, perhaps in the room, after the crime was committed. They arrived unseen along with their victim, so it is natural to think that they would have escaped from the house as soon as possible, positive that they would not be suspected. But guilt makes cowards of every one, and it made cowards of these two. They waited in the room, watching the gradual desertion of Achilles Avenue. About eleven they decided to venture. Then the policeman appears. Doubtless to save appearances, the woman sang. The man looking out, went away to lure the policeman. He did so, and then the woman escaped. She saw Mr. Tracey's motor-car standing unwatched at a gate, and forthwith used it to fly, fearful lest she should be followed. If she went straight to Charing Cross she must have arrived about half-past eleven. In the crowd in the yard on a Saturday night, with cabs and other vehicles coming and going, she would easily be able to draw up her car in a quiet corner. No one seems to have noticed her, and women driving motors is such a common spectacle now that no one would remark on the circumstance. We think that the woman then entered the station and left London. She may have escaped to the continent; she may have gone merely to a suburb. At all events, all trace of her is lost, and the deserted car was noted some hours later.
"This is our theory, and we think it is a more feasible one than that offered by our contemporary. As Mr. Fane is ignorant of the name of the deceased, it is inexplicable how she came to meet with her tragic death in his house. All the servants of Mr. Fane were at the seaside along with their master and mistress, so no blame can possibly be attached to them. Mr. Fane himself was ill in bed at Westcliff-on-Sea, so he can know nothing. He positively asserts that he alone possessed the latch-key, and the locksmith from whom he obtained it, declares that no duplicate was made. This is not the least strange element in this case. One thing we would draw our readers' attention to--the decoration of the room in which the murder was perpetrated. It was all white, and the black dress of the corpse must have formed a strange contrast to the snowy desert around when the poor creature was discovered by Mulligan. Quite a picturesque murder! Mr. Fane seems to be a gentleman with an original turn for furnishing to possess such a room, and the crime adds to its romance. And the secret of this murder will never be discovered. Why the woman should be stabbed, why she should have been lured to that strange room to be killed, how the assassins obtained possession of the latch-key--these things must remain for ever a mystery. But we are convinced that the crime was committed by a man and a woman, and we have given our reason."
To this statement--a purely theoretical one--theDaily Budgetretorted in a short paragraph.
"We will merely ask our clever contemporary one question. 'If the woman assassin thus invented was singing at the piano before the policeman leaned over the gate, what opportunity had she and the young man to concert their scheme of escape?'"
To this demand there came no reply, and the press ceased to comment on the crime. The murder at Ajax Villa was relegated to the catalogue of unknown crimes for quite two weeks. Then a strange thing came to light.