The Hampstead Mystery

by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Rees

  CHAPTER XV

  When Rolfe left Crewe's office he went back to Scotland Yard. He foundInspector Chippenfield still in his office, and related to him thesubstance of his interview with Crewe. The inspector listened to therecital in growing anger.

  "Birchill not the right man?" he spluttered. "Why, of course he is. Thecase against him is purely circumstantial, but it's as clear asdaylight."

  "Then you don't think there's anything in Crewe's points?" asked Rolfe.

  "I think so little of them that I look upon Birchill as good as hanged!That for Crewe's points!" Inspector Chippenfield snapped his fingerscontemptuously. "And I'm surprised to think that you, Rolfe, whoseloyalty to your superior officer is a thing I would have staked my lifeon, should have sat there and listened to such rubbish. I wouldn't havelistened to him for two minutes--no, not for half a minute. He was tryingto pick our case to pieces out of blind spite and jealousy, because we'vegot ahead of him in the biggest murder case London's had for many a longday. A man who jaunts off to Scotland looking for clues to a murdercommitted in London is a fool, Rolfe--that's what I call him. We havebeaten him--beaten him badly, and he doesn't like it. But it is not thefirst time Scotland Yard has beaten him, and it won't be the last."

  "I suppose you're right," said Rolfe. "But there's one point he madewhich rather struck me, I must say--that about Birchill telling Hill he'dfound the dead body. Would Birchill have told Hill that, if he'dcommitted the murder?"

  "Nothing more likely," exclaimed the inspector. "My theory is thatBirchill, while committing the burglary at Riversbrook, was surprised bySir Horace Fewbanks. It is possible that the judge tried to captureBirchill to hand him over to the police, and Birchill shot him. I believethat Birchill fired both shots--that he had two revolvers. But whatevertook place, a dangerous criminal like Birchill would not require muchprovocation to silence a man who interrupted him while he was on businessbent, and a man, moreover, against whom he nursed a bitter grudge. Inthis case it is possible there was no provocation at all. Sir HoraceFewbanks may have simply heard a noise, entered the room where Birchillwas, and been shot down without mercy. Birchill heard him coming and wasready for him with a revolver in each hand. You've got to bear in mindthat Birchill went to the house in a dangerous mood, half mad with drink,and furious with anger against Sir Horace Fewbanks for cutting off theallowance of the girl he was living with. He threatened before he leftthe flat to commit the burglary that he'd do for the judge if heinterfered with him."

  "That's according to Hill's statement," said Rolfe.

  Inspector Chippenfield glanced at his subordinate in some surprise.

  "Of course it's Hill's statement," he said. "Isn't he our principalwitness, and doesn't his statement fit in with all the facts we have beenable to gather? Well, the murder of Sir Horace, no matter how it wascommitted, was committed in cold blood. But immediately Birchill had doneit the fact that he had committed a murder would have a sobering effecton him. Although he bragged before he left the flat for Riversbrookabout killing the judge if he came across him, he had no intention ofjeopardising his neck unnecessarily, and after he had shot down the judgein a moment of drunken passion he would be anxious to keep Hill--whom hemistrusted--from knowing that he had committed the murder. But he wasfully aware that Hill would be the person who'd discover the body nextday, and that if he wasn't put on his guard he would bring in the policeand probably give away everything that Birchill had said and done. So, toobviate this risk and prepare Hill, Birchill hit on the plan of tellinghim that he'd found the judge's dead body while burgling the place. Itwas a bold idea, and not without its advantages when you consider what anawkward fix Birchill was in. Not only did it keep Hill quiet, but itforced him into the position of becoming a kind of silent accomplice inthe crime. You remember Hill did not give the show away until he wastrapped, and then he only confessed to save his own skin. He's adangerous and deep scoundrel, this Birchill, but he'll swing this time,and you'll find that his confession of finding the body will do more thananything else to hang him--properly put to the jury, and I'll see that itis properly put."

  Rolfe pondered much over these two conflicting points of view--Crewe'sand Inspector Chippenfield's--for the rest of the day. He inclined toInspector Chippenfield's conclusions regarding Birchill's admission aboutthe body. The idea that he had assisted in arresting the wrong man andhad helped to build up a case against him was too unpalatable for him toaccept it. But he was forced to admit that Crewe's theory was distinctlya plausible one. Though it was impossible for him to give up theconviction that Birchill was the murderer, he felt that Crewe's analysisof the case for the prosecution contained several telling points whichmight be used with some effect on a jury in the hands of an experiencedcounsel. Rolfe had no doubt that Holymead would make the most of thosepoints, and he also knew that the famous barrister was at his best inattacking circumstantial evidence.

  That night, while walking home, the idea occurred to Rolfe of going overto Camden Town after supper to see if by questioning Hill again he couldthrow a little more light on what had taken place at Doris Tanning'sflat the night Sir Horace Fewbanks was murdered. Hill had beenquestioned and cross-questioned at Scotland Yard by InspectorChippenfield concerning the events of that night, and professed to haveconfessed to everything that had happened, but Rolfe thought it possiblehe might be able to extract something more which might assist instrengthening what Crewe regarded as the weak points in the police caseagainst Birchill. Rolfe had every justification for such a visit, for,though Hill had not been arrested, he had been ordered by InspectorChippenfield to report himself daily to the Camden Town Police Station,and the police of that district had been instructed to keep a strict eyeon his movements. Inspector Chippenfield did not regard his principalwitness in the forthcoming murder trial as the sort of man likely tobolt, but if he permitted him for politic reasons to retain his liberty,he took every precaution to ensure that Hill should not abuse hisprivilege.

  Rolfe lived in lodgings at King's Cross, and, as the evening was fine andhe was fond of exercise, he decided to walk across to Hill's place.

  As he walked along his thoughts revolved round the murder of Sir HoraceFewbanks, and the baffling perplexities which had surrounded itselucidation. Had they got hold of the right man--the real murderer--inFred Birchill? Rolfe kept asking himself that question again and again. Afew hours ago he had not the slightest doubt on the point; he had lookedupon the great murder case as satisfactorily solved, and he had thoughtwith increasing satisfaction of his own share in bringing the murderer tojustice. He had anticipated newspaper praise on his sharpness: judicialcommendation, a favourable official entry in the departmental records ofScotland Yard, with perhaps promotion for the good work he hadaccomplished in this celebrated case. These rosy visions had beentemporarily dissipated by the conversation he had had with Crewe thatmorning. If Crewe had not succeeded in destroying Rolfe's conviction thatthe murderer of Sir Horace Fewbanks had been caught, he had pointed outsufficient flaws in the police case to shake Rolfe's previous assuranceof the legal conviction of Birchill for the crime. The way in which Crewehad pulled the police case to pieces had shown Rolfe that the convictionof Birchill was by no means a foregone conclusion, and had left him aprey to doubts and anxiety which Inspector Chippenfield's subsequentdepreciation of the detective's views had not altogether removed.

  The little shop kept by the Hills was empty when Rolfe entered it, butMrs. Hill appeared from the inner room in answer to his knock. Thefaded little woman did not recognise the police officer at first, butwhen he spoke she looked into his face with a start. She timidly said,in reply to his inquiry for her husband, that he had just "stepped out"down the street.

  "Then you had better send your little girl after him," said Rolfe,seating himself on the one rickety chair on the outside of the counter."I want to see him."

  Mrs. Hill seemed at a loss to reply for a moment. Then she answered,nervously plucking at her apron the while: "I don't think it'd be muchus
e doing that, sir. You see, Mr. Hill doesn't always tell me where he'sgoing and I don't really know where he is."

  "Then why did you tell me that he had just stepped out down the street?"asked Rolfe sharply.

  "Because I thought he mightn't be far away."

  "Then, as a matter of fact, you don't know where he is or whenhe'll be back?"

  "No, sir."

  Her prompt and uncompromising reply indicated that she did not want himto wait for her husband.

  "I think I'll wait," said Rolfe, looking at her steadily.

  "Yes, sir."

  Daphne appeared at the door of the parlour which led into the shop andher mother waved her back angrily.

  "Go to bed this instant, miss; it's long past your bedtime," she said.

  It was obvious that Mrs. Hill retained a vivid recollection of howdisastrous had been Daphne's appearance during Inspector Chippenfield'sfirst visit to the shop.

  "Perhaps your little girl knows where her father is," said Rolfemaliciously.

  "No, she doesn't," replied Mrs. Hill with some spirit. "You can ask herif you like."

  Rolfe was suddenly struck with an idea and he decided to test it.

  "I won't wait--I've changed my mind. But if your husband comes in tellhim not to go to bed until I've seen him. I'll be back."

  "Yes, sir," she replied.

  "Do you think he was going to Riversbrook?" he asked.

  The woman flushed suddenly and then went pale. She knew as well as Rolfethat her husband was strictly forbidden, pending the trial, to go nearthe place of his former employment, and that the police had relieved himof his keys and taken possession of the silent house and lockedeverything up.

  "No, sir," she replied, with trembling lips, "Mr. Hill hasn't goneover there."

  "How can you be certain, if he didn't tell you where he was going?"asked Rolfe.

  "Because it's the last place in the world he'd think of going to," gaspedMrs. Hill. "Such a thought would never enter his head. I do assure you,sir, Mr. Hill would never dream of going over there, sir, you can take myword for it."

  Rolfe walked thoughtfully up High Street. Was it possible that Hill hadgone to his late master's residence in defiance of the orders of thepolice? If so, only some very powerful motive, and probably one whichaffected the crime, could have induced him to risk his liberty by makingsuch a visit after he had been commanded to keep away from the place.And how would he get into the house? Rolfe had himself locked up thehouse and had locked the gates, and the bunch of keys was at that momenthanging up in Inspector Chippenfield's room in Scotland Yard. But even ashe asked that question, Rolfe found himself smiling at himself for hissimplicity. Nothing could be easier for a man like Hill--anex-criminal--to have obtained a duplicate key, before handing overpossession of the keys. Rolfe had noticed with surprise when he waslocking up the house that the French windows of the morning room werelocked from the outside by a small key as well as being bolted from theinside. Hill had explained that the late Sir Horace Fewbanks hadgenerally used this French window for gaining access to his room after anocturnal excursion.

  Rolfe looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. He decided to go toHampstead and put his suspicions to the test. It was quite possible hewas mistaken, but if, on the other hand, Hill was paying a nocturnalvisit to Riversbrook and he had the luck to capture him, he might extractfrom him some valuable evidence for the forthcoming trial that Hill hadkept back. And Rolfe was above all things interested at that moment inmaking the case for the prosecution as strong as possible.

  Rolfe walked to the Camden Town Underground station, bought a ticket forHampstead, and took his seat in the tube in that state of exhilaratedexcitement which comes to the detective when he feels that he is on theroad to a disclosure. The speed of the train seemed all too slow for thepolice officer, and he looked at his watch at least a dozen times duringthe short journey from Camden Town to Hampstead.

  When Rolfe arrived at Hampstead he set out at a rapid walk forRiversbrook. It was quite dark when he reached Tanton Gardens. He turnedinto the rustling avenue of chestnut trees, and strode swiftly down tillhe reached the deserted house of the murdered man.

  The gate was locked as he had left it, but Rolfe climbed over it. A latemoon was already throwing a refulgent light through the evening mists,silvering the tops of the fir trees in front of the house. Rolfe walkedthrough the plantation, his footsteps falling noiselessly on the pineneedles which strewed the path. He quickly reached the other side of thelittle wood, and the Italian garden lay before him, stretching in silverglory to the dark old house beyond.

  Rolfe stood still at the edge of the wood, and glanced across the moonlitgarden to the house. It seemed dark, deserted and desolate. There was nosign of a light in any of the windows facing the plantation.

  The moon, rising above the fringe of trees in the woodland which skirtedthe meadows of the east side of the house, cast a sudden ray athwart theupper portion of the house. But the windows of the retreating first storystill remained in shadow. Rolfe scrutinised these windows closely. Therewere three of them--he knew that two of them opened out from the bedroomthe dead man used to occupy, and the third one belonged to the libraryadjoining--the room where the murder had been committed. The moonlight,gradually stealing over the house, revealed the windows of the bedroomclosed and the blinds down, but the library was still in shadow, for alarge chestnut-tree which grew in front of the house was directly in theline of Rolfe's vision.

  Rolfe remained watching the house for some time, but no sign or sound oflife could he detect in its silent desolation. "I must have beenmistaken," he muttered, with a final glance at the windows of the firststory. "There's nobody in the house."

  He turned to go, and had taken a few steps through the pinewood whensuddenly he started and stood still. His quick ear had caught a faintsound--a kind of rattle--coming from the direction of the house. What wasthat noise which sounded so strangely familiar to his ears? He had it! Itwas the fall of a Venetian blind. Instantaneously there came to Rolfethe remembrance that Inspector Chippenfield had ordered the library blindto be left up, so that when the sun was high in the heavens its rays,striking in through the window over the top of the chestnut-tree, mightdry up the stain of blood on the floor, which washing had failed toefface. Somebody was in the library and had dropped the blind.

  Rolfe hurriedly retraced his steps to the edge of the plantation, andraced across the Italian garden, feeling for his revolver as he ran. Someinstinct told him that he would find entrance through the French windowson the west side of the morning room, and thither he directed his steps.He pulled out his electric torch and tried the windows. They were shut,and the first one was locked. The second one yielded to his hand. Hepulled it open, and stepped into the room. Making his way by the light ofhis torch to the stairs, he swiftly but silently crept up them and turnedto the library on the left of the first landing. The door was closed butnot locked, and a faint light came through the keyhole. Rolfe pushed thedoor open, and looked into the room. A man was leaning over the deadjudge's writing-desk, examining its contents by the light of a candlewhich he had set down on the desk. He was so engrossed in his occupationthat he did not hear the door open.

  "What are you doing there?" demanded Rolfe sternly. His voice soundedhollow and menacing as it reverberated through the room.

  The man at the desk started up, and turned round. It was Hill. Whenhe saw Rolfe he looked as though he would fall. He made as if tostep forward. Then he stood quite still, looking at the officer withashen face.

  "Hill," said Rolfe quietly, "what does this mean?"

  The butler had regained his self-composure with wonderful quickness. Themask of reticence dropped over his face again, and it was in the smoothdeferential tones of a well-trained servant that he replied:

  "Nothing, sir, I just slipped over from the shop to see if everythingwas all right."

  "How did you get into the house?"

  "By the French window, sir. I had a duplicate key which Si
r Horacehad made."

  "And I see you also have a duplicate key of the desk. Why didn't you givethese keys up with the others to Inspector Chippenfield?"

  "I forgot about them at the time, sir. I found them in an old pocket thisevening, and I was so uneasy about the house shut up with a lot ofvaluable things in it and nobody to give an eye to them that I justslipped across to see everything was all right."

  "You came here after dark, and let yourself in with a private key afteryou had been strictly ordered not to come near the place? You have theaudacity to admit you have done this?"

  "Well, it's this way, sir. I was a trusted servant of Sir Horace's. Iknew a great deal about his private life, if I may say so. I know hekept a lot of private papers in this room, and I wanted to make surethey were safe--I didn't like them being in this empty house, sir. Icouldn't sleep in my bed of nights for thinking of them, sir. I feltlast night as if my poor dead master was standing at my bedside, urgingme to go over. I am very sorry I disobeyed the police orders, Mr. Rolfe,but I acted for the best."

  "Hill, you are lying, you are keeping something back. Unless youimmediately tell me the real reason of your visit to this house tonight Iwill take you down to the Hampstead Police Station and have you lockedup. This visit of yours will take a lot of explaining away after yourprevious confession, Hill. It's enough to put you in the dock withBirchill."

  Hill's eyes, which had been fixed on Rolfe's face, wavered towards thedoorway, as though he were meditating a rush for freedom. But hemerely remarked:

  "I've told you the truth, sir, though perhaps not all of it. I cameacross to see if I could find some of Sir Horace's private papers whichare missing."

  "How do you know there are any papers missing?"

  "As I said before, Mr. Rolfe, Sir Horace trusted me and he didn't takethe trouble to hide things from me."

  "You mean that he often left his desk open with important papersscattered about it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "And you made a practice of going through them?"

  "I didn't make a practice of it," protested Hill. "But sometimes Iglanced at one or two of them. I thought there was no harm in it, knowingthat Sir Horace trusted me."

  "And some papers that you knew were there are now missing. Do youmean stolen?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "When did you see them last?"

  "Just before Inspector Chippenfield came--the morning after the body wasdiscovered. You remember, sir, that he came straight up here while youstayed downstairs talking to Constable Flack."

  "Do you mean to suggest that Inspector Chippenfield stole them?"

  "Oh, no, sir, I don't think he saw them. Sir Horace kept them in thislittle place at the back of the desk. Look at it, sir. It's a sort ofsecret drawer."

  Rolfe went over to the desk, and Hill explained to him how the hidingplace could be closed and opened. It was at the back of the desk underthe pigeonholes, and the fact that the pigeonholes came close down to thedesk hid the secret drawer and the spring which controlled it.

  "What was the nature of these papers?" asked Rolfe.

  "Well, sir, I never read them. Sir Horace set such store by them that Inever dared to open them for fear he would find out. They were mostlyletters and they were tied up with a piece of silk ribbon."

  "A lady's letters, of course," said Rolfe.

  "Judging from the writing on the envelopes they were sent by a lady,"said Hill.

  Rolfe breathed quickly, for he felt that he was on the verge of adiscovery. Here was evidence of a lady in the case, which might lead to astartling development. Perhaps Crewe was right in declaring that Birchillwas the wrong man, he said to himself. Perhaps the murderer was not aman, but a woman.

  "And who do you think stole them?" he asked Hill.

  "That is more than I would like to say," replied the butler.

  "Are you sure they were in this hiding place when Inspector Chippenfieldtook charge of everything?"

  "Yes, sir. I dusted out the room the morning you and he came toRiversbrook together, and the papers were there then, because I happenedto touch the spring as I was dusting the desk, and it flew open and I sawthe bundle there."

  "Why didn't you tell Inspector Chippenfield about the papers and thesecret drawer?"

  "That is what I intended to do, sir, if he didn't find them himself. Butwhen I had found they had gone I didn't like to say anything to him,because, as you may say, I had no right to know anything about them."

  "When did they go: when did you find they were missing?"

  "When Inspector Chippenfield went out for his lunch. I looked in the deskand found they had gone."

  "Who could have taken them? Who had access to the room?"

  "Well, sir, Mr. Chippenfield had some visitors that morning."

  "Yes. There were about a dozen newspaper reporters during the day atvarious times. There were Dr. Slingsby and his assistant, who came out tomake the post-mortem: Inspector Seldon, who came to arrange about theinquest, and there was that man from the undertakers who came to inquireabout the funeral arrangements. But none of these men were likely totake the papers, and still less to know where they were hidden. In anycase, no visitor could get at the desk while Mr. Chippenfield was in theroom. And he is too careful to have left any visitor alone in thisroom--it was here that the murder was committed."

  "He left one of his visitors alone here for a few minutes," said Hill ina voice which was little more than a whisper.

  "Which one?" asked Rolfe eagerly.

  "A lady."

  "Who was she?"

  "Mrs. Holymead."

  "Oh!" Rolfe's exclamation was one of disappointment. "She is a friend ofthe family. She came out to see Miss Fewbanks--it was a visit ofcondolence."

  "Yes, sir," said the obsequious butler. "She was a friend of the family,as you say. She was a friend of Sir Horace's. I have heard that SirHorace paid her considerable attention before she married Mr.Holymead--it was a toss up which of them she married, so I've been told."

  Rolfe saw that he had made a mistake in dismissing the idea of Mrs.Holymead having anything to do with the missing papers. "Do you thinkthat she stole these letters--these papers?" he asked. "Do you think sheknew where they were?"

  "While she was in the room, Inspector Chippenfield came rushingdownstairs for a glass of water. He said she had fainted."

  "Whew!" Rolfe gave a low prolonged whistle. "And after she left you tookthe first opportunity of looking to see if the papers were still there,and you found they were gone?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What made you suspect Mrs. Holymead would take them?"

  "Well, sir, I didn't suspect her at the time. I just looked to see ifInspector Chippenfield had found them. I saw they had gone, and as Icouldn't see any sign of them about anywhere else I concluded they musthave been taken without Inspector Chippenfield knowing anything about it.The reason I came over here to-night was to have another careful lookround for them."

  Rolfe was silent for a moment.

  "What would you have done with the papers if you had found them?" heasked suddenly.

  "I would have handed them over to the police, sir," said the butler, whoobviously had been prepared for a question of the kind.

  "And what explanation would you have given for having found them--forhaving come over here in defiance of your orders from InspectorChippenfield?"

  "The true explanation, sir," said the butler, with a mild note of protestin his voice. "I would have told Inspector Chippenfield what I havealready told you. And it is the simple truth."

  Rolfe was plainly taken back at this rebuke, but he did not reply to it.

  "In your statement of what took place when Birchill returned to the flatafter committing the murder, he said something about having seen a womanleave the house by the front door as he was hiding in the garden--afashionably dressed woman I think he said."

  "Yes, sir, that was it."

  "Do you believe that part of his story was true?"

  "Well, s
ir, with a man like Birchill it is impossible to say when he istelling the truth, and when he isn't."

  "There was no lady with Sir Horace when you left him that night when hereturned from Scotland?"

  "No, sir."

  "I think you said he was in a hurry to get you out of the house, and toldyou not to come back?"

  "That is what I thought at the time, sir."

  "Well, Hill," said Rolfe, resuming his severe official tone; "all thisdoes not excuse in any way your conduct in coming over here andforcing your way into the house in defiance of the police; opening thisdesk, and prying about for private papers that don't concern you. Theproper course for you to adopt was to come to Scotland Yard and tellyour story about these missing papers to Inspector Chippenfield ormyself. However, I don't propose to take any action against you atpresent. Only there is to be no more of it. If you come hanging abouthere again on your own account, you'll find yourself in the dock besideBirchill. Hand me over the duplicate key of the door by which you camein, and also the key of the desk which you had still less right to havein your possession. Say nothing to anyone about those papers until Igive you permission to do so."