The Hampstead Mystery

by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Rees

  CHAPTER XXIII

  As Gabrielle finished her story, she cast a quick glance at Crewe's faceas though seeking to divine his decision. But apparently she could readnothing there, and with an imperious gesture she exclaimed:

  "You will do what I ask now that I have exposed my secret--my shame toyou--and told everything? You will save Madame Holymead from beingpersecuted by these police agents?"

  "I must ask you a few questions first."

  The contrast between the detective's quiet English tones and theFrenchwoman's impetuous appeal was accentuated by the methodical way inwhich Crewe slowly jotted down an entry in his open notebook. Her darkeyes sparkled in an agony of impatience as she watched him.

  "Ask them quick, monsieur, for I burn in the suspense."

  "In the first place, then, have you any--"

  "Hold, monsieur! I know what you would ask! You would say if I have anyproofs? Stupid that I am to forget things so important. I have broughtyou the proofs."

  She fumbled at the clasp of her hand-bag, as she spoke, and before shehad finished speaking she had torn it open and emptied its contents onthe table in front of Crewe--a dainty handkerchief and a revolver.

  "See, monsieur!" she cried; "here is the handkerchief of which I toldyou. It is that which the judge seized when I tried to stop the bloodflowing in his breast--look at the corner and you will see that a littlebit has been torn off by his almost dead hand. And the revolver--it isthat which I picked up on the floor near him. I have had it locked upever since."

  Crewe examined both articles closely. The revolver was a small,nickel-plated weapon with silver chasing, with the murdered man'sinitials engraved in the handle. It had five chambers, and one of thecartridges had been discharged. The other four chambers were stillloaded. Crewe carefully extracted the cartridges, and examined themclosely. One of them he held up to the light in order to inspect itmore minutely.

  "Did you do this?" he asked: "Have you been trying to fire off therevolver?"

  "No, no, monsieur," she exclaimed quickly. "I would not fire it, I do notunderstand it. I have been careful not to touch the little thing thatsets it going."

  "The trigger," said Crewe. He again studied the cartridge that hadattracted his attention. It had missed fire, for on the cap was a dintwhere the hammer had struck it. He placed the four cartridges on thetable and turning his attention to the handkerchief examined it minutely.It was one of those filmy scraps of muslin and lace which ladies call ahandkerchief--an article whose cost is out of all proportion to itsusefulness. Gabrielle, who was watching him keenly as he examined it,exclaimed:

  "The handkerchief--a box of them--were given me by Sir Horace because heknew I love pretty things."

  She laid a finger on the missing corner, which might indeed have beentorn off in the manner described. A scrap of the lace was missing, and itwas evident that it had been removed with violence, for the lace aroundthe gap was loosened, and the muslin slightly frayed.

  "You say that the corner was torn off when you wrenched the handkerchieffrom the dead man's hold?" said Crewe. "But it was not found in his handby the police or anyone else. And he was not buried with it, for Iexamined the body carefully. What became of it?"

  Gabrielle looked at him quickly as though she suspected some trap.

  "You would play with me," she said at length. "What became of it? Why,you must surely know that the police of Scot--Scotland Yard have it. Thepolice agent who called on Madame had it. What is his name--Rudolf?"

  "Rolfe?" exclaimed Crewe. "Has he got it?"

  "Yes," she replied. "He did not show it to me, but I saw it nevertheless.I dropped my handkerchief when I spoke at the telephone and MonsieurRolfe picked it up. Quickly he studied my handkerchief--not this one,monsieur, but one of the same kind--and from his pocket-book he took outthe missing piece that was in the dead man's hand and he studied themside by side. He thought I did not see--that my back was turned--but Isaw in the mirror which hung on the wall. Then, when I finished mytelephone, he bowed and said, 'Your handkerchief, mademoiselle.' It wasnot so badly done--for a clumsy police agent."

  She was not able to recognise how keen was Crewe's interest in herstatement, but she saw that she had pleased him.

  "It is because of this that he will come again," she continued. "It isbecause of this that he would question Madame Holymead. And then whatwill happen? I do not know. The police make so many mistakes--blundersyou English call them. Would they arrest her with their blunders? That iswhy I come to you to ask you to save her."

  "May I have the revolver and the handkerchief?" asked Crewe. "I will takegreat care of them."

  "They are at your disposal, for you will use them to confront thepolice agent."

  Crewe again examined the articles in silence before taking them to hissecretaire and locking them up in one of the pigeon-holes. Then he turnedto Gabrielle, whose large luminous eyes met his unhesitatingly. She evensmiled slightly--a frank engaging smile, as she remarked:

  "And now, monsieur, any more questions?"

  Crewe smiled back at her.

  "You have told a remarkable story, mademoiselle, and corroborated it withtwo important pieces of evidence, which are in themselves almostsufficient to carry conviction," he said. "But the Scotland Yard policeare a suspicious lot, and it is necessary for me to have furtherinformation in order to convince them--if I am to help you as you wish."

  Gabrielle flashed a look of gratitude at Crewe. She understood from hiswords that he believed her story and was disposed to help her, althoughthe police of Scotland Yard might prove harder to convince than him.

  "Bah! those police agents--they are the same everywhere," she exclaimed."They deal so much with crime that their minds get the taint, and betweenthe false and true they cannot tell the difference. _Que voulez-vous?_They are but small in brains. With you, the case is different. You haveit here--and there." She touched her temples lightly with a finger ofeach hand. "Proceed, monsieur: ask me what questions you will. I shallendeavour to answer them."

  "You said that as you were hiding behind the curtains on the stairwaylanding, Pierre, your husband, rushed down past you. You are quite sureit was he?"

  "Of that, monsieur, unfortunately there is no doubt. I saw his face quitedistinctly when he passed me, and when he turned round."

  "The light would be shining from behind, and would not reveal his facevery closely," suggested Crewe.

  "Nevertheless, monsieur, it was quite sufficient for me to see Pierreclearly. His head was half-turned as he ran, as though he was lookingback expecting to see the judge rise up and punish him for his dreadfuldeed, and I saw him _en silhouette_, oh, most distinctly--impossible himto mistake. I called softly--'Pierre!' just like that, and he turned hisface right round, and then with a cry he disappeared along the path."

  "About what time was this?"

  "The time--it was half-past ten, for that was the time I was to be thereaccording to the letter the judge sent me."

  "But are you sure it was half-past ten? Weren't you early? Wasn't it justabout ten o'clock?"

  "No, monsieur," she replied sadly. "If it had been ten o'clock I wouldhave been in time to save the life of my lover--to prevent this greattragedy which brings grief to so many."

  Crewe looked at her sharply, and then nodded his head in acquiescence ofthe fact that much misery would have been averted if she had been in timeto save the life of Sir Horace Fewbanks.

  "When you went into the room, Sir Horace Fewbanks, you say, was lying onthe floor, dying. Whereabouts in the room was he?"

  "If he had been in this room he would have been lying just behind you,with his head to the wall and his feet pointing towards that window. Hestruggled and groaned after I went in, and altered his position a little,but not much. He died so."

  Crewe rapidly reviewed his recollection of the room in which the judgehad been killed. Once again Gabrielle's statement tallied with his ownreconstruction of the crime and the manner of its perpetration. If themurder had been committ
ed in his office the second bullet would have gonethrough the window instead of imbedding itself in the wall, and the judgewould have fallen in the spot where she indicated.

  "And where was the writing-desk from where you got your letters?" wasCrewe's next question.

  "It was over there--almost by that--your little bookcase there."

  She pointed to a small oaken bookstand which stood slightly in advanceof the more imposing shelves in which reposed the portentous volumesof newspaper clippings and photographs which constituted Crewe's"Rogues' Library."

  "Now we come to the letters. You took them from the secret drawer in thedesk. Why did you remove them?"

  "Because I would not have the police agents find them, for then theywould want to know so much."

  "And what did you do with them?"

  "Monsieur Crewe, I destroyed them. When I got home I burnt them all--Iwas so frightened."

  "You mean you were frightened to keep them in your possession after thejudge was killed?"

  "Yes. What place had I to keep them safe from prying eyes? So, monsieur,I burnt them all--one by one--and the charred fragments I kept and tookinto the Park next day, where I scattered them unobserved."

  "And what became of the letter you wrote to Sir Horace Fewbanks atCraigleith Hall, asking him to come to London and save you from yourhusband's persecutions?"

  She looked at him earnestly in the endeavour to ascertain if he had laida trap for her.

  "Sir Horace destroyed it in Scotland, I suppose, if the police didnot find it."

  "Strange that he should have kept all your other letters so carefully anddestroyed that one. Perhaps it was in his pocket-book that was stolen."

  "I do not know. What does it matter? It has gone." She shrugged hershoulders lightly and indifferently.

  "Do you know who stole the pocket-book?"

  "No, monsieur. I thought it was stolen in the train."

  "That is the police theory," replied Crewe. "But let that go. Have you,since the night of the murder, seen anything of Pierre?"

  "Monsieur, I have not. It is as though the earth has him swallowed. Hekeeps silent with the silence of the grave."

  "He is wise to do so," responded Crewe. "Now, mademoiselle, I have nomore questions to ask you. Your confidence is safe; you need be under noapprehensions on that score."

  "I care not for myself, Monsieur Crewe, so long as Madame Holymead isfreed from the persecutions of the police agents," replied Gabrielle,rising from her seat as she spoke. "If, after hearing my story, you couldbut give me the assurance--"

  "I think I can safely promise you that Mrs. Holymead will not be troubledwith any further police attentions," said Crewe, after a moment's pause.

  Gabrielle broke into profuse expressions of gratitude as sheturned to go.

  "For the rest then, I care not what happens. I am--how do you say it--Iam overjoyed. _Je vous remercie_, monsieur, I beg you not, I can find myway out unattended."

  But Crewe showed her to the stairs, where again he had to listen to herprofuse thanks before she finally departed. He watched her gracefulfigure till it was lost to sight in the winding staircase, and then heturned back to his office. In the outer office he stopped to speak toJoe, who, perched on an office-footstool, was tapping quickly on theoffice-table with his pen-knife, swaying backwards and forwardsdangerously on his perch in the intensity of his emotions as he playedthe hero's part in the drama of saving the runaway engine from dashinginto the 4.40 express by calling up the Red Gulch station on the wire.

  "Joe," said Crewe, "I'll see nobody for an hour at least--nobody. Youunderstand?"

  Joe came out of the cinema world long enough to nod his head in emphaticunderstanding of the instructions. In his own room Crewe pulled out hisnotebook and once more gave himself up to the study of the bafflingRiversbrook mystery, in the new light of Gabrielle's confession.

  Part of her story, he reflected, must be true. She had produced SirHorace's revolver, and, still more important, a handkerchief which he hadclutched in his dying struggles. It was obvious that she or some otherwoman had been at Riversbrook the night of the murder, and in the roomwith the murdered man before he died. That tallied with Birchill'sstatement to Hill that he had seen a woman close the front door and walkalong the garden path while he was hiding in the garden. Crewe, recallingGabrielle's description of the room, came to the conclusion that it wasprobably she who had been with the judge in his dying moments. No one buta person who had actually seen it could have described the room with suchminuteness.

  She had been in the room, then. For what object? For the reasons statedin her confession? Crewe shook his head doubtfully.

  "She evaded the trap about the pocket-book, but she made one badmistake," he mused. "The letters in the secret drawer were taken away,and I have no doubt were burnt as she says. But were they her letters?Was Sir Horace her lover? At any rate, she did not get hold of them inthe way she said. They were not taken away on the night Sir Horace wasmurdered, for the simple reason that they were not in the secret drawerat the time."