“I wonder if this Miles Winterton can be the murderer,” he thought. “Anyhow, if she doesn’t think so herself, it’s pretty clear she is afraid we may.”
It was, in fact, a little strange that the young man had not yet made his appearance at Fairview, since by now the news of the murder had probably been published in every evening paper in the country. In fact, Bobby was now called to the front door, where an altercation was taking place with two enterprising reporters who had managed to evade the police cordon outside, and, having got hold of Bobby’s name in the village, had asked for him on the pretext of being friends. It was a claim Bobby had to repudiate, as politely as he could, which, however, did not prevent an “Exclusive Interview with Murdered Man’s Guest” appearing next day in one of the London papers.
After that there was another long delay, during which Bobby – who was always learning afresh and with difficulty that patience is a virtue great, and that detectives, like little boys, must learn to wait, and often to wait almost as if for evermore – had nothing to do but sit and muse in the lounge hall. He did, however, manage to obtain from Mrs. Cooper, going to and fro, busy with her household duties, a copy of a photograph of Miles Winterton she extracted for him from a collection of family photos.
“The poor lamb in there,” Mrs. Cooper told him, nodding towards the drawing-room, as she gave him the photograph, “has dropped off to sleep, bless her heart. I call it a shame to worry her with a lot of questions. She can’t know anything when she wasn’t here. And Mr. Miles is a real gentleman, and hasn’t been near the place for weeks, so what can he know, either?”
“I suppose they’ve got to question everybody,” Bobby observed, a little surprised by Mrs. Cooper’s use of the phrase “poor lamb,” for it was not like her to use such expressions, and they came a little oddly from her, who had more aloofness and reserve than tenderness in her general manner.
He studied, with interest, the photograph she gave him. It was that of a tall, good-looking young man, with a frank open expression, Bobby thought, but then he knew already that looks go for little, and that a man may be a murderer and yet show the world as smiling, frank, and friendly a face as any innocent. For, indeed, murder is the strangest as it is the most terrible of deeds – may discharge itself, as lightning from the clouds, from the most hidden of obscure motives; may be as swift in conception and in execution as it is eternal in result.
By now it was late in the afternoon, and Mrs. Cooper appeared with tea – luncheon she had already provided for them all, so consolidating the popularity her breakfasts had won her. She said to Bobby, as she was carrying plates of bread and butter and cake into the dining-room:
“It’s a mercy there was plenty in the house, but I don’t know how I’m to go on if these gentlemen stay after to-day. Or what Cooper and me are to do, neither, now the poor master’s gone.”
“I believe Mr. Winterton’s lawyer is here,” Bobby explained. “I expect he will be able to tell you something.”
“Well, I would like to know,” Mrs. Cooper repeated. “Cooper’s worrying a lot. If him and me’s to find a new place, we can’t set about it too soon. Your face is a little swollen, Mr. Owen.”
“It’s that tooth of mine,” Bobby explained.
She advised him again to visit the dentist she had spoken of, and returned to her household duties; and soon after that there arrived the summons Bobby had been so long expecting, to present himself in the study.
Major Markham was seated in Mr. Winterton’s place at the big writing-table. On his left was one of his colleagues, and another was sitting close behind. In Miss Raby’s seat was a shorthand writer, taking down everything that was said. There were three of these, taking the work in turn. On the table stood what was already a sufficiently formidable pile of documents referring to the case. A little to the right sat Superintendent Mitchell in his capacity as a helpful observer. He was following everything that passed with the closest attention, though he did not look like it. Close by, Mr. Waring occupied an armchair, his hands clasped before him, his round spectacled face puckered up into an expression of extreme distaste, as if he felt this was an affair with which no respectable family solicitor of unblemished reputation and long standing should have been asked to concern himself. Apparently he was already informed of Bobby’s identity as an officer of police, detailed here for special duty, for he showed no surprise when Bobby was so addressed, and, indeed, hardly looked up from the pile of manuscript on his knees. Apparently answering some remark Major Markham had just made, he said:
“Oh, it’s all exceedingly interesting. Poor Winterton was extraordinarily in earnest about this book of his. In his view, what was necessary for everyone’s safety was a store of gold, that meant security, he thought, with things everywhere all topsy-turvy as they are. Quite right, too, in my opinion, and, if his book can be published, it ought to be, I think.”
Mitchell, who, not listening to this, had been looking at Bobby, said:
“What’s the matter with your face, Owen?”
“Oh, just a touch of toothache, sir,” Bobby answered.
Major Markham withdrew his attention from the projected book on the gold standard, hardly noticed the reference to Bobby’s swollen face, and began to ask a good many questions on Bobby’s report, which had been already read.
“You spent the whole night at the door of Mr. Winterton’s room,” he said, “and you are sure you heard nothing?”
“Quite sure, sir.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Not very much,” answered Bobby ruefully. “I dropped off now and again, but only for minutes at a time, and no one could possibly have got in or out without my knowing it – couldn’t be done. I thought as I was watching at the door, and the window was fastened up, Mr. Winterton was all right. I can’t understand it even now. I almost thought I was dreaming, or had gone cracked, when I looked out of my window and saw him lying there on the lawn.”
Major Markham smiled.
“I don’t think there’s any great mystery about that,” he remarked.
“Never is about anything,” observed Mitchell. “Not when you know.”
“After you heard Mr. Winterton lock his door, and saw his light go out,” the Major continued, “you went to your own room for a few minutes?”
“I wasn’t away for more than five minutes or so,” Bobby answered. “And when I got back the door was still locked, for I tried it.”
“Five minutes is plenty of time for a man, who most likely hadn’t even undressed, to slip out of his room and downstairs again.”
“But the door was locked on the inside,” Bobby protested. “I am positive of that, for I looked to make sure, and the key was still in the lock inside.”
“It’s not difficult to turn a key from the outside by means of a fine pair of pliers,” observed Major Markham. “In point of fact, there are fresh scratches on the key, and, in a drawer of Mr. Winterton’s writing-table here, we’ve found pliers that seem to fit exactly, though that’ll have to be confirmed by the experts. Presumably, Mr. Winterton came out of his room as soon as he heard you go away, and then turned the key from the outside by means of the pliers we’ve found, so that you shouldn’t know he wasn’t there any longer.”
“But why? What for?” protested Bobby, scarcely less bewildered by this explanation than he had been by the thing itself. “I’m sure he knew he was in danger of some sort. He knew I was there to protect him all I could, and then, and then–”
“Obvious enough,” smiled Major Markham, not displeased by the air of frank bewilderment worn by this smart young Londoner. “Obviously he preferred the loss of your protection to the risk of your knowing what he was up to. Evidently, therefore, it was something – well, let us say, illegal” – this with a glance at Mr. Waring, plainly all ready to defend his late client’s memory – “or, at any rate, something he didn’t wish to be known by anyone whose duty it would be to make a report to the authorities. And that plainly links up
with the telegram warning him that someone had just been released from gaol. Most likely he under-estimated the real danger he was in. Luckily, it shouldn’t be difficult to find out who the telegram came from, and who it refers to. We’re taking steps to see that every released prisoner for the last day or two is accounted for – and, once identity is established, we shall most likely find the whole thing clear itself up. It seems pretty plain that for some reason this released prisoner was able to insist on a secret interview at night with Winterton – and that during the interview the murder occurred, though whether our ex-prisoner was the actual murderer is not quite so certain.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Bobby doubtfully. “Only–”
“Only what?”
“Well, sir, if it was like that, who killed the Airedale, and why? That happened before whoever the telegram refers to was released; so it couldn’t have been him.”
“I don’t see much difficulty in that,” Major Markham said. “There was certainly already someone here who was concerned in some way – remember that other interview at night you mention in your report with the girl, Laura Shipman. Possibly she had something to do with the getting rid of the dog.”
“Yes, sir. Only I can’t see why it was necessary to do that – get rid of the dog, I mean. If Mr. Winterton was expecting anyone, he could easily have kept the dog quiet. I’m sure Mr. Winterton was very puzzled at the dog’s death. I think it frightened him.”
“So far as regards the Laura Shipman girl,” Mitchell observed, “she seems out of what’s happened just now. It seems clear that after Owen here saw her, and paid her the reward, she left to visit some friends at Cromer.”
“Ran away,” suggested Major Markham. “Why? Knew what was coming, perhaps.”
“You’ll be able to tell that better after you’ve heard her story,” Mitchell agreed.
“Probably it’ll be a job to get her to speak at all,” Major Markham remarked pessimistically. “They all know they needn’t if they don’t want to.” He referred again to Bobby’s report. “You mention in your statement that you saw footprints on the grass of the lawn – leading to the body?”
“Yes, sir, they were quite plain,” Bobby answered. “They led straight to the body, and then back to the gravel path, just opposite the front door of the house.”
“You didn’t measure them?”
“There wasn’t time, sir,” Bobby answered, and told again how they had vanished before his eyes – drunk up, as it were, by the suddenly released heat of the sun.
There was a silence for a moment, for his tale, of how the mute evidence of the trail the murderer left had passed away even while Bobby watched, impressed itself oddly upon the imaginations of his listeners. Then Markham, still studying the report, said:
“You are quite clear there were traces of dew on Colin Ross’s shoes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“His statement is that he stepped on the grass borders after he came out of the house, and that accounts for it?”
“I am sure that’s not true,” Bobby answered. “I am quite certain he had only just come down from the front-door steps on to the gravel path when I spoke to him.”
“The murder took place, apparently, from the doctor’s evidence,” Markham continued, “somewhere about midnight or a little after. He is quite certain about it; though, in my experience, the more certain a doctor is, the more likely he is to be mistaken. Anyhow, no dew could have fallen by then, and you say yourself, in your report, that the ground under the body seemed dry?”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Bobby again. “I thought at first – I am afraid I was a bit rattled – but just at first I took it the dew on Mr. Ross’s shoes proved he was the murderer. Now, I think it only proves that he, not I, was the first to discover the body. Only, why didn’t he give an alarm? Unless, of course, he committed the murder earlier and went back later to the body for some reason – either to get something he wanted perhaps, or perhaps to destroy some evidence he was afraid would implicate him.” Bobby paused, and added: “I’ve seen the list of articles found on the body. There was no mention of a pocket-book I saw Mr. Winterton using several times.”
“It was lying on the table here,” explained Markham. “It has been identified as the one he habitually carried. It had money still in it – about twelve pounds in notes – some letters that don’t seem very important, the ‘released from prison’ telegram, and one or two other papers.”
As he spoke he handed to Bobby a careful list of the contents of the pocket-book. Bobby brooded over it for a moment or two in silence. Then he said:
“Mr. Winterton was working at a crossword puzzle he seemed very interested in. He wouldn’t let anyone see it but he told me once or twice I might find it worth looking at when it was finished. I don’t know why he said that, or whether he meant anything. But he used to keep his notes about it in his pocket-book, for I’ve seen him put them away in it, rather carefully, once or twice. From this list, it seems they weren’t in it when it was found.”
“If there had been anything of the kind, it would certainly have been mentioned,” Major Markham agreed. “But I don’t see that it matters, does it ? Most likely he got tired of the thing and tore it up. Anyhow, we are here to solve a crime – a murder – not a crossword puzzle.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Bobby, rebuked, but with something in his tone that made Major Markham ask him sharply:
“You don’t suggest that what Colin Ross wanted was to get hold of a crossword puzzle, do you?”
“I don’t see my way clearly enough to think anything at all as yet, sir,” Bobby answered frankly. “Except that I think it strange Mr. Winterton talked about it to me once or twice, and that now it’s vanished, when I am sure he was very interested in it – for some reason, only heaven knows what!”
“Well, anyhow, there’s no trace of it in his papers,” Major Markham observed. “What’s more important is that Mr. Waring tells us more than twenty thousand pounds of Mr. Winterton’s capital seems to have disappeared lately – and putting things together, that and the ‘released prisoner’ telegram, I say, blackmail.”
“It’s my own idea,” agreed Mr. Waring. “Only – I can’t imagine that a man like Winterton – Poor fellow, I knew him well – it seems incredible, blackmail. The actual amount is nearly twenty-five thousand pounds, as far as I can make out at present.”
“Twenty-five thousand pounds,” repeated Bobby, staggered at the size of the sum. “But surely, an amount like that can’t have just – vanished.”
“Seems so,” Major Markham told him. “Mr. Waring tells us that late last year the two brothers, Archibald and George, realised securities to somewhere about that amount. The explanation they gave Mr. Waring is that they intended exchange speculations – about the quickest way there is just now of making money.”
“Of losing it,” interposed Mr. Waring gently. “Of losing it.”
“After Archibald’s still unexplained death,” Major Markham went on, “George realised another ten or twelve thousand, explaining to Mr. Waring that their transactions were incomplete, and that he would take over all liabilities and return his brother’s share of the capital employed to his widow. That was done, and Mr. Waring knows nothing more, and, so far, there’s no trace in Mr. Winterton’s papers of what became of the money.”
“Went down the drain, most likely,” interposed Mr. Waring again; “that’s your exchange speculating all over.”
“Only we don’t know,” said Major Markham. “And we ought to know. What’s become of that money may have an intimate bearing on the case. Another thing, our finger-print people have found Colin Ross’s finger-prints on the cover of the pocket-book. He accounts for that by saying that his uncle dropped it on the floor last night, and he picked it up and returned it to him. He says no one saw the incident. Miss Raby says no such incident occurred, to the best of her knowledge; and she was in Mr. Winterton’s company the whole day after lunch. Ross’s finger-prints have also been found on
the handle of the door leading from this room to the garden. Ross says, last night he went in and out by that door once or twice. Miss Raby says he was never in the room till tea, and she is certain he did not use the door or even go near it. The handle of the knife found in Mr. Winterton’s body has been examined, and the report has just been ’phoned to us. It is an ordinary kitchen knife – such as any number of shops sell, and any number of people use. Colin Ross’s finger-prints are on it, too. He says he only remembers touching a knife of the kind once recently – when Mrs. Cooper asked him to do some trifling job for her, two or three days ago. Mrs. Cooper remembers the incident perfectly, but says she only has two knives like this one, and they are both still in the kitchen. She produced them. The analyst’s report says that, while the recent blood on the knife is human, there is dried blood in the crevice between handle and blade that is undoubtedly animal. So that makes it look as if it was the same knife that was used before for getting rid of the dog.”
“I wonder,” observed Bobby thoughtfully, “if there was any reason, after Mr. Winterton’s head had been beaten in in the brutal way it was, why a knife should be used as well?”
“To make sure, I suppose,” Major Markham answered. “Quite natural – you often notice murderers never feel they are sure enough. In that connection, the weapon used for the murder has been found – in the garden, behind some bushes. It’s a brick, apparently taken from a heap behind one of the outhouses, left over, I understand, when some repairs were carried out a year or two ago. There is blood on it, and there is no doubt it is what was used. Colin Ross, of course, would have known the bricks were lying there. Also, he acknowledges he has been betting heavily, and that probably means losing heavily – it generally does. If so, he would be pressed for money. But against that is the fact that Mr. Waring tells us Mr. Winterton has never altered an old will by which all his money goes to his brother and his brother’s heirs, so that in fact none of the three nephews benefit. But it is doubtful if Ross knew that. It seems George Winterton had intended to make a will dividing his estate between the nephews; and they would have had a share, too, if he had died intestate. We can’t rule out the possibility that Ross expected to inherit a big share of the estate. Only I don’t know if that can be proved. There seems no doubt, however, that Winterton had given all his three young men to understand he was intending to alter his will in their favour.”
Crossword Mystery Page 15
