Who?

by Elizabeth Kent

  CHAPTER IV

  ON THE SCENE OF THE TRAGEDY

  "When, how, who did it?" cried Cyril incoherently. "Give me the paper."

  "Murder of Lord Wilmersley--disappearance of Lady Wilmersley," he read."Disappearance of Lady Wilmersley," he repeated, as the paper fell fromhis limp hand.

  "Here, get your master some whiskey; the shock has been too much forhim," said Camp bell. "Mysterious disappearance of Lady Wilmersley,"murmured Crichton, staring blankly in front of him.

  "Here, drink this, old man; you'll be all right in a moment," saidCampbell, pressing a glass into his hand.

  Cyril emptied it automatically.

  "The deuce take it!" he cried, covering his face with his hands.

  "Shall I read you the particulars?" Campbell asked, taking the paper.Cyril nodded assent.

  "'The body of Lord Wilmersley was found at seven o'clock this morningfloating in the swimming bath at Geralton. It was at first thought thatdeath had been caused by drowning, but on examination, a bullet woundwas discovered over the heart. Search for the pistol with which thecrime was committed has so far proved fruitless. The corpse was dressedin a long, Eastern garment frequently worn by the deceased. LadyWilmersley's bedroom, which adjoins the swimming bath, was empty. Thebed had not been slept in. A hurried search of the castle and groundswas at once made, but no trace of her ladyship has been discovered. Itis feared that she also has been murdered and her body thrown into thelake, which is only a short distance from the castle. None of herwearing apparel is missing, even the dress and slippers she wore on theprevious evening were found in a corner of her room. Robbery wasprobably the motive of the crime, as a small safe, which stands next toLady Wilmersley's bed and contained her jewels, has been rifled. Whoeverdid this must, however, have known the combination, as the lock has notbeen tampered with. This adds to the mystery of the case. LadyWilmersley is said to be mentally unbalanced. Arthur Edward Crichton,9th Baron Wilmersley, was born--' here follows a history of your family,Cyril, you don't want to hear that. Well, what do you think of it?"asked Campbell.

  "It's too horrible! I can't think," said Crichton.

  "I don't believe Lady Wilmersley was murdered," said Campbell. "Whyshould a murderer have troubled to remove one body and not the other?Mark my words, it was his wife who killed Wilmersley and opened thesafe."

  "I don't believe it! I won't believe it!" cried Cyril. "Besides, howcould she have got away without a dress or hat? Remember they make apoint of the fact that none of her clothes are missing."

  "In the first place, you can't believe everything you read in anewspaper; but even granting the correctness of that statement, what wasthere to prevent her having borrowed a dress from one of her maids? Shemust have had one, you know."

  "No--no! It can't be, I tell you; I--" Cyril stopped abruptly.

  "What's the matter with you? You look as guilty as though you had killedhim yourself. I can't for the life of me see why you take the thing soterribly to heart. You didn't like your cousin and from what youyourself tell me, I fancy he is no great loss to any one, and you don'tknow his wife--widow, I mean."

  "It is such a shock," stammered Cyril.

  "Of course it's a shock, but you ought to think of your new duties. Youwill have to go to Geralton at once?"

  "Yes, I suppose it will be expected of me," Cyril assented gloomily."Peter, pack my things and find out when the next train leaves."

  "Very well, my lord."

  "And Guy, you will come with me, won't you? I really can't face thisbusiness alone. Besides, your legal knowledge may come in useful."

  "I am awfully sorry, but I really can't come to-day. I've got to be incourt this afternoon; but I'll come as soon as I can, if you really wantme."

  "Do!"

  "Of course I want to be of use if I can, but a detective is really whatyou need."

  "A detective?" gasped Cyril.

  "Well, why not? Don't look as if I had suggested your hiring a camel!"

  "Yes, of course not--I mean a detective is--would be--in fact--veryuseful," stammered Cyril. Why couldn't Guy mind his own business?

  "Why not get one and take him down with you?" persisted Campbell.

  "Oh, no!" Cyril hurriedly objected, "I don't think I had better do that.They may have one already. Shouldn't like to begin by hurting localfeeling and--and all that, you know."

  "Rot!"

  "At any rate, I'm not going to engage any one till I've looked into thematter myself," said Cyril. "If I find I need a man, I'll wire."

  Campbell, grumbling about unnecessary delay, let the matter drop.

  Two hours later Cyril was speeding towards Newhaven.

  Huddled in a corner of the railway carriage, he gave himself up to thegloomiest reflections. Was ever any one pursued by such persistentill-luck? It seemed too hard that just as he began to see an end to hismatrimonial troubles, he should have tumbled headlong into this terriblepredicament. From the moment he heard of Lady Wilmersley's disappearancehe had never had the shadow of a doubt but that it was she he hadrescued that morning from the police. What was he going to do, now thathe knew her identity? He must decide on a course of action at once. Washhis hands of her? No-o. He felt he couldn't do that--at least, not yet.But unless he immediately and voluntarily confessed the truth, who wouldbelieve him if it ever came to light? If it were discovered that he, theheir, had helped his cousin's murderess to escape--had posed as herhusband, would any one, would any jury believe that chance alone hadthrown them together? He might prove an alibi, but that would only savehis life--not his honour. He would always be suspected of havinginstigated, if not actually committed, the murder.

  If, however, by some miracle the truth did not leak out, what then? Itwould mean that from this day forward he would live in constant fear ofdetection. The very fact of her secret existence must necessarily poisonhis whole life. Lies, lies, lies would be his future portion. Was hewilling to assume such a burden? Was it his duty to take upon himselfthe charge of a woman who was after all but a homicidal maniac? But wasshe a maniac? Again and again he went over each incident of theirmeeting, weighed her every word and action, and again he found itimpossible to believe that her mind was unbalanced. Yet if she was notinsane, what excuse could he find to explain her crime? Provocation?Yes, she had had that. She had been beaten, flogged. But even so, tokill! He had once been present when a murderer was sentenced: "To hangby the neck until you are dead," the words rang in his ears. That smallwhite neck--no--never. Suddenly he realised that his path wasirrevocably chosen. As long as she needed him, he would protect her tothe uttermost of his ability. Even if his efforts proved futile, even ifhe ruined his life without saving hers, he felt he would never regrethis decision.

  "Newhaven."

  It seemed centuries since he had left it that morning. Hiring a fly, hedrove out to Geralton, a distance of nine miles. There the door wasopened by the same butler who had admitted him five years previously."It's Mr. Cyril!" he cried, falling back a step. "Why, sir, they alltold us as 'ow you were in South Africa. But I bid you welcome, sir."

  "Thank you. I am glad to see you again."

  "Thank you, sir,--my lord, I mean, and please forgive your beingreceived like this--but every one is so upset, there's no doing nothingwith nobody. If you will step in 'ere, I'll call Mrs. Eversley, the'ousekeeper."

  "Is Mrs. Eversley still here? I remember her perfectly. She used tostuff me with doughnuts when I came here as a boy. Tell her I will seeher presently."

  "Very good, my lord."

  "Now I want to hear all the particulars of the tragedy. The newspaperaccount was very meagre."

  "Quite so, my lord," assented the butler.

  "Lady Wilmersley has not been found?" asked Cyril.

  "No, my lord. We've searched for her ladyship 'igh and low. Not a traceof her. And now every one says as 'ow she did it. But I'll never believeit--never. A gentle little lady, she was, and so easily frightened! Why,if my lord so much as looked at her sometimes, she'd fall a t
rembling,and 'e always so kind and devoted to 'er. 'E just doted on 'er, 'e did.I never saw nothing like it."

  "If you don't believe her ladyship guilty, is there any one else you dosuspect?"

  "No, my lord, I can't say as I do." He spoke regretfully. "It was aburglar, I believe. I think the detective----"

  "What detective?" interrupted Cyril.

  "His name is Judson; 'e comes from London and they say as 'e can find amurderer just by looking at the chair 'e sat in."

  "Who sent for him? The police?"

  "No, it was Mr. Twombley of Crofton. He said we owed it to 'er ladyshipto hemploy the best talent."

  "Where is the detective now?"

  "'E's in the long drawing-room with Mr. Twombley."

  "Has the inquest been held?"

  "No, the corpse won't be sat on till to-morrow morning."

  "Show me the way to the drawing-room. I don't quite remember it."

  The butler preceded him across the hall and throwing open a doorannounced in a loud voice:

  "Lord Wilmersley."

  The effect was electrical. Four men who had been deep in conversationturned and stared open-mouthed at Cyril, and one of them, a short fatman in clerical dress, dropped his teacup in his agitation.

  "Who?" bellowed a tall, florid old gentleman.

  The butler, secretly delighted at having produced such a sensation,closed the door discreetly after him.

  "I don't wonder you are surprised to see me. You thought I was with myregiment."

  "So you're the little shaver I knew as a boy? Well, you've grown a bitsince then. Hah, hah." Then, recollecting the solemnity of the occasion,he subdued his voice. "I'm Twombley, friend of your father's, you know,and this is Mr. James, your vicar, and this is Mr. Tinker, the coroner,and this is Judson, celebrated detective, you know. I sent for him. Hopeyou approve? Terrible business, what?"

  "It has been a great shock to me, and I am very glad to have Judson'sassistance," replied Cyril, casting a searching and apprehensive glanceat the detective.

  He was a small, clean-shaven man with short, grey hair, grey eyebrows,grey complexion, dressed in a grey tweed suit. His features werepeculiarly indefinite. His half-closed eyes, lying in the shadow of theoverhanging brows, were fringed with light eyelashes and gave no accentto his expressionless face.

  At all events, thought Cyril, he doesn't look very alarming, but then,you never can tell.

  "I must condole with you on the unexpected loss of a relative, who wasin every way an honour to his name and his position," said the vicar,holding out a podgy hand.

  Cyril was so taken aback at this unexpected tribute to his cousin'smemory that he was only able to murmur a discreet "Thank you."

  "The late Lord Wilmersley," said the coroner, "was a mostpublic-spirited man and is a loss to the county."

  "Quite so, quite so," assented Mr. Twombley. "Gave a good bit to thehunt, though he never hunted. Pretty decent of him, you know. You hunt,of course?"

  "I haven't done much of it lately, but I shall certainly do so infuture."

  "Your cousin," interrupted the vicar, "was a man of deep religiousconvictions. His long stay in heathen lands had only strengthened hisdevotion to the true faith. His pew was never empty and he subscribedliberally to many charities."

  By Jove, thought poor Cyril, his cousin had evidently been a paragon. Itseemed incredible.

  "I see it will be difficult to fill his place," he said aloud. "But Iwill do my best."

  Twombley clapped him heartily on the back. "Oh, you'll do all right, myboy, and then, you know, you'll open the castle. The place has been likea prison since Wilmersley's marriage."

  "No one regretted that as much as Lord Wilmersley," said the vicar. "Heoften spoke to me about it. But he had the choice between placing LadyWilmersley in an institution or turning the castle into an asylum. Hechose the latter alternative, although it was a great sacrifice. I haverarely known so agreeable a man or one so suited to shine in anycompany. It was unpardonable of Lady Upton to have allowed him to marrywithout warning him of her granddaughter's condition. But he never had aword of blame for her."

  "It was certainly a pity he did not have Lady Wilmersley put underproper restraint. If he had only done so, he would be alive now," saidthe coroner.

  "So you believe that she murdered his lordship?"

  "Undoubtedly. Who else could have done it? Who else had a motive fordoing it. My theory is that her ladyship wanted to escape, that hislordship tried to prevent her, and so she shot him. Don't you agree withme, Mr. Judson?"

  "It is impossible for me to express an opinion at present. I have nothad time to collect enough data," replied the detective pompously.

  "He puts on such a lot of side, I believe he's an ass," thought Cyril,heaving a sigh of relief. "But what about the missing jewels?" he saidaloud. "Their disappearance certainly provides a motive for the crime?"

  "Yes, but only Lord and Lady Wilmersley knew the combination of thesafe."

  "Who says so?"

  "All the servants are agreed as to that. Besides, a burglar would hardlyhave overlooked the drawers of Lord Wilmersley's desk, which containedabout L300 in notes."

  "The thief may not have got as far as the library. Lady Wilmersleyoccupied the blue room, I suppose."

  "Not at all. At the time of his marriage Lord Wilmersley ordered a suiteof rooms on the ground floor prepared for his bride's reception,"replied the vicar.

  "And this swimming-bath? Where is that? There was none when I was hereas a child."

  "No, it was built for Lady Wilmersley and adjoins her privateapartments," said the vicar.

  "But all these rooms are on the ground floor. It must be an easy matterto enter them. Consequently----"

  "Easy!" interrupted Twombley; "not a bit of it! But come and see foryourself."

  Crossing the hall they paused at a door. "Now this door and that onenext to it, which is the door of Lady Wilmersley's bedroom," said thecoroner, "are the only ones in this wing which communicate with the restof the castle, and both were usually kept locked, not only at night, butduring the daytime. You will please notice, my lord," continued thecoroner, as they entered the library, "that both doors are fitted withan ingenious device, by means of which they can be bolted and unboltedfrom several seats in this room and from the divans in theswimming-bath. Only in the early morning were the housemaids admitted tothese rooms; after that no one but Mustapha, Lord Wilmersley's Turkishvalet, ever crossed the threshold, unless with his lordship's expresspermission."

  Twombley hurried him through the library.

  "You can look this room over later; I want you first to see theswimming-bath."

  Cyril found himself in an immense and lofty hall, constructed entirelyof white marble and lighted by innumerable jewelled lamps, whosemulti-coloured lights were reflected in the transparent waters of apool, from the middle of which rose and splashed a fountain. Divanscovered with soft cushions and several small tables laden with pipes,_houkahs_, cigarettes, etc., were placed at intervals around the sidesof the bath. On one of the tables, Cyril noticed that two coffee-cupswere still standing and by the side of a divan lay a long Turkish pipe.The floor was strewn with rare skins. A profusion of tropical plantsimparted a heavy perfume to the air, which was warm and moist. Cyrilblinked his eyes; he felt as if he had suddenly been transported to thepalace of Aladdin.

  "Rum place, what?" said Twombley, looking about him with evidentdisfavour. "To be shut in here for three years would be enough to driveany one crazy, I say."

  "You will notice," said the coroner, "that the only entrance to the bathis through the library or her ladyship's bedroom. No one could have lethimself down through the skylight, as it is protected by iron bars."

  "I see."

  "It was here and in the library that Lord Wilmersley spent his time, andit was here in the right-hand corner of the bath that his body wasdiscovered this morning by one of the housemaids. The spot, as you see,is exactly opposite her ladyship's door and that door wa
s found open,just as it stands at present. Now the housemaids swear that they alwaysfound it closed and it is their belief that his lordship used to lockher ladyship in her rooms before retiring to his own quarters for thenight. At all events they were never allowed to see her ladyship orenter her apartments unless his lordship or her ladyship's maid was alsopresent."

  "At about what time is Lord Wilmersley supposed to have been killed?"asked Cyril after a slight pause.

  "Judging from the condition of the body, the doctor thinks that themurder was committed between eleven and twelve P.M.," replied thecoroner; "and whoever fired the shot must have stood five or six feetfrom Lord Wilmersley; in all probability, therefore, in the doorway ofthe bedroom. This is the room. Nothing has been touched, and you seethat neither here nor in the swimming-bath are there signs of astruggle."

  "The door leading into the hall was found locked?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Then how did the house-man enter?"

  "By means of a pass-key."

  "Where does that other door lead to?" asked Cyril, pointing to a door tohis left.

  "Into the sitting-room," replied the coroner, throwing it open. "It washere, I am told, that Lady Wilmersley usually spent the morning."

  It was a large, pleasant room panelled in white. A few faded pastels ofby-gone beauties ornamented the walls. A gilt cage in which slumbered acanary hung in one of the windows. Cyril looked eagerly about him forsome traces of its late occupant's personality; but except for a pieceof unfinished needlework, lying on a small table near the fireplace,there was nothing to betray the owner's taste or occupations.

  "And there is no way out of this room except through the bedroom?"

  "None."

  "No secret door?"

  "No, my lord. Mr. Judson thought of that and has tapped the walls."

  "But the windows?"

  "These windows as well as those in the bedroom are fitted with heavyiron bars. Look," he said.

  "Who was the last person known to have seen Lord Wilmersley alive?"

  "Mustapha. He carried coffee into the swimming-bath at a quarter pastnine, as was his daily custom."

  "And he noticed nothing unusual?"

  "Nothing. And he swears that in passing out through the library he heardthe bolt click behind him."

  "What sort of a person is Mustapha?"

  "Lord Wilmersley brought him back with him when he returned from theEast. He had the greatest confidence in him," said the vicar.

  "Do you know what his fellow-servants think of him," inquired Cyril,addressing the coroner.

  "He kept very much to himself. I fancy he is not a favourite, but no onehas actually said anything against him."

  "Insular prejudice!" cried the vicar. "How few of us are able toovercome our inborn British suspicion of the foreigner!"

  "Now will you examine the library?" asked the coroner. "See, here is hislordship's desk. There are the drawers in which the L300 were found, andyet any one could have picked that lock."

  "Where does that door lead to?"

  "Into Lord Wilmersley's bedroom, the window of which is also providedwith iron bars."

  "And that room has no exit but this?"

  "None, my lord. If the murderer came from outside, he must have got inthrough one of these windows, which are the only ones in this wing whichhave no protection, and this one was found ajar--but it may have beenused only as an exit, not as an entrance."

  Cyril looked out. Even a woman would have no difficulty in jumping tothe ground.

  "But it couldn't have been a burglar," said the vicar, "for what objectcould a thief have for destroying a portrait?"

  "Destroying what portrait?" inquired Cyril.

  "Oh, didn't you know that her ladyship's portrait was found cut intoshreds?" said the coroner.

  "And a pair of Lady Wilmersley's scissors lay on the floor in front ofit," added the vicar.

  "Let me see it," cried Cyril.

  Going to a corner of the room the vicar pulled aside a velvet curtainbehind which hung the wreck of a picture. The canvas was slashed fromtop to bottom. No trace of the face was left; only a small piece of fairhair was still distinguishable.

  Cyril grasped Twombley's arm. Fair! And his mysterious _protegee_ wasdark!

  "What--what was the colour of Lady Wilmersley's hair?" He almoststuttered with excitement.

  "A very pale yellow," replied the coroner.

  "Why do you ask?" inquired the detective.

  For the convenience of my readers I give a diagram of Lord and LadyWilmersley's apartments.

  X. Spot where Lord Wilmersley's body was found. 1. Doors locked and barred. 2. Windows all barred. 3. Window without bars found open. 4. Library table. 5. Lady Wilmersley's portrait. 6. Doors leading to swimming-pool. 7. Doors leading from hall. 8. Divans.]