“So even my faithful chronicler believes me in error,” he said, as though reading my thoughts.
I would have replied, but the Inspector spoke before I gathered my thoughts.
“Even the best of us make mistakes, Mr. Holmes,” he said indulgently. “I have made my share.”
“But I am not mistaken, Inspector,” said Holmes quietly, but firmly.
“Come now, sir. You are treading dangerously near obstinacy. Let us move on.”
“Indulge me for a moment longer, Inspector.”
“If you really must, Mr. Holmes, though I believe we are wasting our energies,” said Cavendish with a sigh.
“Please do not think me stubborn, Inspector, but there is a fact that you have forgotten,” began Holmes. “I am willing to stipulate that the facts, as they have been presented, make a case for reasonable doubt as to Mrs. Compton’s account of the events of this evening. However, the salient point that proves it is a fabrication is that the bolt was found, upon inspection, to be shot out.”
“What are you driving at, Holmes?” I asked. “I am not quite following your logic.”
The puzzled faces I saw in the room indicated I was not the only person at sea.
“Let me state it plainly,” said Holmes. “We know that the door was not bolted when it was forced. The doorframe tells us that, but the bolt was found to be out. This proves that someone drew the bolt out, after it was forced. How easy it would have been in those few moments of darkness, before Richard Compton lit a match, for Sara Compton to do that.”
“I have been a blind man,” cried Inspector Cavendish. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Holmes.
“That is absolutely capital, Holmes,” said I. “Forgive me for doubting you.”
“Think nothing of it, Doctor,” said Holmes. He then turned his attention to Sara Compton. “What say you now, madam?”
“What is there to say?” she asked. “I still think it is obvious that the culprit escaped through the window. The window was open, after all.”
“Mother, the window is not a viable option,” said Thomas Compton.
Sara Compton’s son quickly explained why we had discounted the possibility the window. The woman thought for a moment and then spoke to Holmes.
“How do you know that I drew forth the bolt, Mr. Holmes?” she asked.
“Because you were the only person who claimed the door was bolted, madam,” he said in reply. “It had to be you. You are an intelligent woman. I ask you now to give us an accurate account of what transpired in the study this evening.”
The room was a still as a graveyard. For a moment everyone held their breath, waiting for Sara Compton’s reply. I felt myself leaning forward in my seat. Finally, the lady spoke.
“Very well, Mr. Holmes,” she said in a clear voice. “You have outwitted me. I killed my husband.”
This pronouncement was met with confused shouting for a minute. Finally, I heard the voice of Richard Compton rise above the rest.
“Why did you do it, Sara? He worshipped the ground you walked on.”
“Sara, I counsel you to say nothing more, without advice from a solicitor,” warned the Judge.
“No, Wesley, I want to speak. Jonah and I argued this evening. The subject is unimportant, but I grabbed his revolver and shot at him,” she raised her arm out, mimicking the action. “I missed him, and he rushed me. He wrenched the gun from my hands. The final shot went into the ceiling during the struggle. Jonah threw the gun towards the sofa. He turned his back to me, and I snatched the knife from his desk. He turned around and I plunged it into his stomach. I then ran into the hall, and pretended the door was locked. I thought if the door was believed to be locked from the inside, then it would lead the police to believe that the killer escaped in that manner. I did not realize, of course, that the mastiff was outside. It was a foolish plan. I must have been completely mad this day. Perhaps, I still am.”
“And you drew the bolt forth when the door was forced,” said Holmes gently.
“Yes, Mr. Holmes. It happened just as you said.”
Inspector Cavendish stepped forward and placed his hand upon her shoulder.
“Sara Compton, I place you under arrest for the murder of General Jonah Compton. You will have to come with me.”
Ten minutes later, Holmes and I were alone in the great hall. Sara Compton had been led away by Cavendish. The Judge and Burton Winfield had gone with the lady to arrange a solicitor for her. The Judge had already been arguing against a charge of premeditated murder. The women had gone to see to the needs of their children, and the men of the family had withdrawn to the library.
“Well, Holmes, this is another feather in your cap,” I said. “Congratulations.”
“Congratulations for what, Doctor?” he asked.
“Why, for solving the murder of the General, of course. It was quite clever the way that you proved that Sara Compton had committed the crime.”
There is only one problem, Watson,” he said. “I do not believe that she did it.”
Chapter Six
“What did you say?” I asked, incredulously.
“I believe that you heard me, Doctor.”
“But, Holmes, you just demonstrated that Sara Compton did murder her husband.”
“I did no such thing, Watson. I merely demonstrated that she lied about the door being locked. I made no inference that she committed the crime.”
“But doesn’t one follow the other? What reason could she have for lying about the door if she didn’t commit the murder?”
“That is the question now, isn’t it, Doctor? One reason I doubt her is that she told another demonstrable lie in her confession.”
“I heard no lie.”
“You most certainly heard it, Watson. What you mean is that you did not perceive it.”
“Very well, Holmes, have it your way,” I said with some irritation. “Of what do you speak?”
“Sara Compton stated that she fired five shots at her husband, and then he wrenched the gun from her. During that short struggle, the gun went off one final time. That version of events does not match with your own, and indeed with the testimony of everyone who heard the shots.”
“Why, you’re right, of course, Holmes. That is the opposite of what happened.”
“Are you still certain of your version of the shots fired, Watson?”
“I am. There is no doubt in my mind.”
“Well, then we have a mystery yet to be solved.”
“What is our next step then, Holmes?”
“Let us start by speaking with the Compton men, but one word of warning, Doctor.”
“Yes, Holmes.”
“Understand that virtually no person in the house has a clear alibi. If someone with whom the dog was familiar went out the window, the brute would let him go right by. That person could then reenter the house any number of ways. Trust no one. Whoever the culprit is, he believes that he is safe for now, but if we begin to home in on him, he may strike out.
“The only unassailable alibi is that of Judith Compton. She was with you, Watson, at the time of the shots, and I think we can rule out you being complicit in this matter.”
We proceeded directly to the library and found Warren, Thomas, and Richard Compton in deep conversation. Once they became aware of our presence, they halted their conference and Richard Compton spoke.
“Mr. Holmes, the very person that we wanted to talk with, and you also, of course, Dr. Watson. Please, join us.”
We were all soon settled in a semi-circle of chairs around the fireplace of the room.
“Mr. Holmes,” said Richard, “I’ll come straight to the point.”
“That is usually advisable,” said Holmes.
“None of us believe this tale that Sara has told,” he said. “Thomas, Warren, and I all regard her story as completely fantastic.”
“That’s right, sir,” said Warren Compton. The red-haired man’s jaw was thrust forward aggressively. “The very idea of Mother
killing Father is ludicrous on the face of it. There is no possibility of her being convicted of this crime.”
“On the contrary, sir,” said Holmes. “Her confession will carry great weight. She will surely be convicted.”
“Then she must be forced to recant,” said Warren. “Some sort of mental breakdown is to blame.”
Holmes remained silent for a moment. He turned to Thomas Compton.
“And what of you, Mr. Compton? Do you hold the same view as your brother and your uncle?”
“Well, I suppose I do,” he replied hesitantly.
“What do mean, you ‘suppose’ you agree?” Warren demanded. “Either you agree, or you don’t. Do you really think Mother killed Father?”
For the first time this evening I saw fire in the eyes of the slender academic.
“Don’t insult me, Warren, and do not try and bully me either,” he said with a sudden sternness that surprised me. “Can you not see what it means if Mother is lying?”
“Of course, I can,” said Warren. “It just means someone else did it.”
“You fool, it means much more than that. Surely, Mr. Holmes understands what I am trying to tell you.”
“I can, Mr. Compton,” said Holmes. “If Mrs. Compton is not guilty of murder, then someone else is.”
“Well, of course,” said Warren. “I am not a child. I understand that.”
“But not just anyone else, sir,” stated Holmes. “The evidence demonstrates that no outsider committed this crime. The mastiff at the window eliminates that possibility. Additionally, if Mrs. Compton is lying, then she knows who the murderer is and is shielding that person. There can be no other reason. The question then becomes, who is she shielding and why?”
Richard Compton stood up and ran his fingers through his long, thick blonde hair.
“I suppose we have been blind to that fact, Mr. Holmes,” he stated. “But it matters not. The point is that Sara is not guilty. I believe that I speak for the entire family when I say that we will live with the consequences of proving Sara is shielding someone, whoever it is. An innocent cannot be allowed to suffer for the sins of another.”
“Very well,” said Holmes. “If we are all agreed that Sara Compton is not guilty of this crime, the question becomes, who did kill General Compton and, perhaps more importantly, who would Sara Compton then shield?”
Holmes had stated the question well, and I pondered it myself. Who would have such a hold upon Sara Compton that she would falsely confess to her own husband’s murder? Who would she protect to that degree?
Warren Compton looked to his brother and his uncle.
“We all know the man capable of such an act, and one that would have a motive,” he said finally.
“I am all attention, sir,” said Holmes.
“Warren, I warn you to guard your tongue against loose accusations,” said Richard Compton.
“For the love of God, Uncle,” cried Warren. “Did we not just agree that Mother is not the killer? If so, then we must put forth another candidate.”
“Warren is right, Uncle, and you know it,” said Thomas quietly. “Mr. Holmes, it is an open secret that Burton Winfield has been in love with Mother since their youth. He was a rival of Father’s for her hand. He is still in love with her. Elimination of a rival is a powerful motive for murder. Perhaps, it was not even murder. What if they had a fight that simply got out of hand.”
“Why would your mother then shield Mr. Winfield?” asked Holmes.
“The words feel like ashes in my mouth, Mr. Holmes,” began Thomas, “but that would mean that she was in love with him.”
“It is simply so difficult to believe,” said Richard Compton. “I was just a lad, of course, but I remember vividly the three of them each chasing Sara.”
“The three of them?” I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. As I said, the three of them. Sara was a special woman and the Judge was in love with her also. Neither he, nor Burt, ever married. I suppose, they never found a woman to replace her. Still, I wonder…”
Richard Compton drifted off wistfully. I imagined that it must have been quite a test of the friendship of the three men to remain companions after a victor emerged for the hand of the lady.
“I had considered Burton Winfield as a possibility before I became aware of this new development. It is certain that he is capable of violence, but he also strikes me as a man of high honour. Would such a man allow the woman he loves to confess to a crime he committed?”
“It is true that Burt has always been an honourable fellow,” said Richard. “But who else is there?”
“There is no one else,” said Thomas grimly. “Either the culprit left through the window, in which case the dog would only allow an intimate of the house, or he went through the door, in which case Mother saw him. It was either Burton or else it was one of us.”
“Nonsense, Thomas,” said Warren. “His own family would not harm Father.”
“Who stands to inherit the estate?” asked Holmes quietly. “Money is a powerful motivation for murder.”
“I resent that, Mr. Holmes, “ said Warren, “but the fact is that no one knows how Father intended to leave his money. The men of the line have been exceptionally long lived, and Father was thought to have at least two decades left. As he is the eldest son, it was always my distinct impression that Thomas would inherit.”
“Is that your impression as well, Mr. Compton?” asked Holmes of Thomas.
“Father never expressly stated his plans, Mr. Holmes.”
“Come now, Thomas,” said Warren. “You know Father would never trust me with the family fortune. I’m the black sheep of the family, I am afraid, Mr. Holmes. Thomas has written learned tomes about plants and the like, whilst I have never quite found my passion.”
“Play the fool, if you must, Warren,” said Thomas with a sigh, “but is the occasion of your Father’s death the proper forum for this type of humour?”
“Pardon me,” said the visibly chastened Warren Compton. “I am afraid that Father’s death has shaken me to the core. I’ve made a perfect ass of myself. Please, excuse me. I must see to Judith and my son.”
With that statement, the man strode quickly from the room. He appeared to be close to tears. It occurred to me that the man’s outward bluster was simply a blind to cover his deep sorrow at the loss of his father. Both Thomas and Richard Compton seemed a bit embarrassed by the emotional display made by Warren.
“You must forgive Warren, gentlemen,” said Thomas Compton to Holmes and myself. “He has always felt like a bit of an outsider, though Mother and Father never made any distinction between us. They have always loved Warren, just as much as they loved Anna and myself.”
“What are trying to say?” I asked, bewildered.
“Why, Warren is adopted,” said Thomas. “Didn’t you know? Why, of course, you didn’t. How could you? My parents adopted Warren when he was a baby. I was five at the time, and I remember the occasion well. I was happy to have a little brother, and when Anna came along five years after that, our family was complete.”
“It had occurred to me that Warren Compton was adopted,” said Holmes. “His hair colour is, of course, different from any of the rest of you, and he is shorter than even his sister.”
“I believe that is one of the reasons that Warren felt apart from us,” said Thomas sadly. “Every glance in a mirror reminded him of his adoptive status.”
“Why did your parents adopt?” I asked. “They already had a budding family.”
“I believe that Warren was the orphaned son of an old friend of the family, but frankly we never discussed it much, as my parents preferred to let the past remain the past.”
“Sometimes the past has a way of intruding upon the present,” I heard Holmes murmur.
Chapter Seven
The meeting soon broke up. Thomas declared that he was going to begin preparations for the funeral of his father. Apparently a family mausoleum was on the grounds. Holmes asked for the name of th
e General’s solicitor, which Thomas promptly provided. Richard stated that he was going to the Judge’s home to see if the two residents of that home had returned. Each gentleman excused himself, and Holmes and I were alone again.
“It would seem that the knives are out for Burton Winfield,” said I.
“And what is your opinion of their theory, Watson?”
“Holmes, it is not like you to ask my guidance.”
“In matters of the heart, I defer to your superior knowledge,” said he, with a smile.
“Well, the fact that of the three young men only the victor of the struggle married, could indicate a torch was held by the losers.”
“And perhaps, that torch burned so long that it ended by burning General Compton.”
“That is uncharacteristically poetic of you, Holmes,” I said. “One might think that a romantic heart beats within your chest, after all.”
“Please, Doctor, let us focus on the matter at hand.”
“By all means, let us focus on the matter at hand,” said a voice.
Holmes and I both turned to see the figure of Anna Grey in the doorway to the room. Her dark hair looked black in the light, and her mood seemed a match for that darkness. She walked into the room and closed the door.
“All of you men are prattling about without accomplishing anything. My Mother is facing the gallows. Aren’t you going to help her? I thought you were a great detective.”
“What would you have us do, madam?” asked Holmes.
“Why, find out who really killed Father, of course.”
“Then you believe your mother to be innocent,” said I.
“Certainly, she is innocent. The very idea that she would kill Father is absurd.”
“It has been suggested that both Judge Banner and Burton Winfield have remained suitors of your mother, even after she married.”
The Viking General (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 9) Page 4
