Case for Three Detectives

by Bruce, Leo

  “You all came, you broke in, you searched, you left the room, and Stall, on the plea of fetching brandy for the hysterical girl, went to draw in the second rope, on which Mr. Rider had now swung back to the open window. He said afterwards that he had gone to the front door in answer to the bell, to admit Mr. Rider. At first, I thought that, had that bell rung, it would have been a peal of joy, for it would have proved this unfortunate man’s innocence. But then I found that all the bell-pushes of the house, including those of the front door and Mrs. Thurston’s room, operated on the same bell, so that had it sounded it might have been a summons to Stall from Mr. Rider in the bedroom as well as Mr. Rider at the front door. It might, as I said at the time, have shown that someone was not outside the front door, as well as that someone was there.

  “You know the rest. You came upstairs and found the murderer, who, I prefer to think, was but the weapon of the murderer, in the room beside the dead woman.”

  “So you think,” I asked breathlessly, “that he cut her throat because he thought it was a duty?”

  “I think,” said Mgr. Smith, blinking at me, “that he cut her throat because he thought it was a canker.”

  CHAPTER 31

  IT was at this difficult moment that Dr. Thurston came into the room.

  “I hope,” he said quietly, “that you have finished your deliberations. You haven’t yet made your arrest, Sergeant?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “The truth is, Thurston,” said Sam Williams, “that there is a little difference of opinion among these gentlemen.”

  Thurston looked puzzled. He evidently found this hard to understand or credit. “But… but haven’t you discovered who is guilty?” he asked wearily.

  “Yes, Well, that is…” Williams was in an uncomfortable predicament. At last he turned to Sergeant Beef. “Look here, Sergeant, you, after all, represent the police, and it is your duty to make an arrest. You have heard all these gentlemen. What do you think about it?”

  Sergeant Beef looked from one to the other of the three investigators with evident appreciation. “Wot do I think about it? I think wot these gentlemen ‘ave told us is remarkable. Remarkable! I shouldn’t never ‘ave believed it possible that anyone could ‘ave been so ingeenyus. And the details they thought of! It was wonderful, sir, and a treat to ‘ear them. I shan’t never forget to-day. It will be something to tell my grandchildren. To think that I’ve been privileged to ‘ear all that!” His eyes, usually a trifle glazed, glowed now with honest admiration.

  “That’s scarcely the point,” said Williams coldly. “What we have to do is to decide who is guilty, and arrest him.”

  “Oh yes,” admitted Sergeant Beef, “1 was forgetting that. I know ’oo done it, of course. But that ain’t nothink—not finding out ’oo done it isn’t. Why, I could never ‘ave made up them stories if you’d paid me, sir. Wonderful, they was.”

  “Well, Sergeant, you’ve been saying for a long time that you know who was guilty. Suppose you tell us your theory?”

  “I ‘aven’t got no theory, sir. I wouldn’t presume to ‘ave, not in front of these gentlemen. I couldn’t express myself like that, wotever you was to give me.”

  “You have no theory? But I thought you said you knew who had done it?”

  “So I do. But that’s nothink, sir. Not after ‘earing wot I ‘ave to-night.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, man, tell us what you know.”

  “Well, it’s really too simple, sir. I don’t ‘ardly like to disappoint you now.”

  “Come along. Did the murderer have an accomplice?”

  “Yus. ’E did. He ‘ad two.”

  “Two? Are you going to arrest these accomplices?”

  “Can’t do that, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because one of ’em’s dead and the other didn’t know wot would come of it.”

  “One’s dead?”

  “Yus. See, it began really when you wos talking about murder stories, before you ‘ad your supper.” Lord Simon shivered at the word. “And I wouldn’t ‘arf like to know ’oo started that conversation.”

  Suddenly I remembered. It had been opened by Thurston. “As a matter of fact,” I said, “though of course it’s of no importance, I remember now.” I turned to Dr. Thurston. “You probably remember, Doctor? You turned to me and asked me whether I had read any good murder stories lately. Of course the whole thing is ridiculous, but I just happen to remember that.”

  Dr Thurston smiled patiently. “Did I? Very likely. I can’t remember.”

  “Anyway, what has that to do with it?” asked Williams.

  “You’ll see in a minute. Well, Dr. Thurston starts you talking about murderers, and whether they gets copped. And Mr. Norris says ’e doesn’t ‘old wiv crime stories and that, because they aren’t true to life. And so on. It was just ‘ow anyone might go on.”

  “Well?”

  “Well. When Mrs. Thurston goes upstairs, Dr. Thurston goes to ‘is own room and gets dressed. Then, after Mr. Strickland ‘ad come out of ’er room, ’e slips in. ’Ere,’ ’e says, ‘I ‘aven’t ‘arf got a good idea for a lark,’ ’e says. ‘Wot say we bamboozle ’em to-night wiv a murder, and see whether they can find out ‘ow it’s done?’ ‘Wot you mean, dear?’ she asks. She was always a bit silly like and ready to be persuaded into anything.”

  At this point Williams stood up. “This is preposterous,” he said. “Beef, we’ll have no more of this nonsense. It is too painful for Dr. Thurston. Now …”

  “Mais non!” said M. Picon. “Let the good Bœuf continue! He begins to become interesting!”

  Beef went on. “The long and short of it was, ’e persuaded ’er. ‘Now I’ll tell you wot to do,’ ’e said. ‘When you go up to bed, don’t undress, but lock your door, and shut your window. Then take this ’ere bottle of red ink, and pour it on your pillow. Get ‘old of your lipstick, and paint a ’ell of a great scar across your froat. Then scream like blazes as ‘ard as you can, see? We’ll come and break down the door, and then we’ll see whether these people wot says you can’ commit a murder without being found out can see ‘ow the murderer escaped! Got it?’ ’e says, and she says it’s O.K. Then ’e says, ‘Tell you wot,’ ’e says, ‘I better take this bulb out of the light, otherwise they’ll be able to see you ‘avn’t really been murdered.’ And ’e does so, and chucks it out of the window.”

  “Then why weren’t there any finger-prints on the glass?” I asked. I thought that would squash him, since obviously Thurston could not have put on a glove to do it.

  “Why not? Because the light ‘ad just been burning, of course. It was still ‘ot. So naturally he pulls out ‘is ‘andker-chief to ‘andle it with. See?”

  I saw. I began to feel a little nervous. Suppose this blundering policeman had got together enough nonsense to look like evidence? It would be uncomfortable for Thurston to have the inconvenience of defending himself.

  “Well, to go on with what ’e said to Mrs. Thurston. ‘When we’ve got ’em on a string,’ ’e says, ‘we’ll tell ’em it was only a joke, see? Only don’t you move,’ ’e says, ‘till I give you the wink. We don’t want to let it out too soon.’ And she agrees. I knew the lady myself. She was always a bit childish, like. Anything like a bit of acting an’ that would ‘ave got ’er easy. She was game for what she thought would be just a lark, poor lady.

  “Then p’raps it was ’er ’oo thought of the next thing. ‘Suppose someone was to run downstairs and ‘phone the p’lice,’ she says ‘that wouldn’t do, would it?’ And ’e says, ‘No more it wouldn’t. I’ll tell you wot,’ ’e says, Til run down an’ cut the telephone wire, then no one can’t ‘phone,’ ’e says, and off ’e goes to do it, like wot we know it was done.

  “Then down you all comes to ‘ave your grub, and Mrs. Thurston’s in ‘igh spirits, because although she’s been blackmailed a bit by that Stall, ’oo I’m going to run in presently, she knows ’e’s got the sack, an’ll be gone in a couple of weeks, and be
sides, there’s this ’ere joke on, and she’s like a kid with a joke. She probably kep’ looking across knowing-like to ’er ‘usband, and thinking of ‘ow you was all going to be took in.

  “Well, then, Mr. Strickland goes off to bed, and soon after ‘im Mr. Norris, and then the Vicar. We’ll come to ‘im later. And at eleven o’clock, as per usual, Mrs. Thurston gets up to go to bed. When she opens ’er door, she finds Stall standing there, leaning on ’er dressing-table, ’elping ‘imself to snuff. ‘What are you doing ‘ere?’ she asks, though she knows very well ’e’s come for ‘is two ‘undred quid. But she doesn’t waste a lot of time arguing, she gives ‘im the notes to get rid of ‘im, and when ’e’s gone she starts getting ready for ’er lark.

  “Poor lady! She must ‘ave been laughing.to ‘erself, little knowing what she was letting ‘erself in for. She takes the bottle of red ink and pours it over ’er pillow (same as a schoolboy ’oo wants to get out of class pours some on ‘is ‘andkerchief and says ‘is nose is bleeding). Then she paints ‘erself ‘orrid round the froat, and bolts the door top and bottom. Now she thinks everything’s ready, and she lays down on the bed, and lets out three screams, as bloodcurdling as she can make ’em. Then she shuts ’er eyes, and Waits for wotever’s going to ‘appen.

  “You know wot did ‘appen. The first on the scene is Mr. Norris, because ’e’s got nothink to delay ‘im. Theaup comes Dr. Thurston, calling out ’er name, and Mr. Williams and Mr. Townsend, and start breaking the door in. Wot’s ‘appened to the others you may well ask. Two of them’s got something to ‘ide before they puts their noses out of their doors. There’s Mr. Strickland, with the diamond pendant, wot Mrs. Thurston ‘ad giv’ ‘im before dinner, lying on his dressing-table as bold as brass. ’E ‘as to conceal that before ’e dares open ‘is door. And there’s Stall with two ‘undred of the best in his room, ‘e can’t come running down before they’re away. Then there was the chauffeur. Well, don’t forget ’e ‘ad been sent for to Mrs. Thurston’s room that evening. I shouldn’t be surprised if e’d been on ‘is way down the stairs when ’e ‘card those screams, and got a narsty turn, and run back to ‘is own room for a minute. Somethink of that, anyway.

  “Then you breaks the panels of the door, and look in. “Ullo,’ you say, ‘murdered, is she?’ For there she lies in a pool of blood, you think. And Dr. Thurston, ’e walks across to ’er and examines ’er, and says she’s dead. And you start searching the room like mad, thinking that someone’s been in there a-murdering of ’er, just as you was meant to think. And all the while the poor lady’s smiling to ’erself, thinking she’s ‘aving a rare joke on you. So she was, up to then.

  “So you looks ‘igh and low, up the chimney, out of the winder, and under the carpet, not knowing as you know now, that no one ‘adn’t been in there since Stall was there, and ‘im only for a couple of minutes. But at last you’ve finished, and leave the lady alone. Mr. Townsend and Mr. Strickland and Mr. Norris go out in the gardens, while the chauffeur comes for me.

  “Then, with no one else there, and an alibi established, it ain’t no trouble to slip back in the room, murder the poor lady, and drop the knife out of the window in time for Mr. Townsend to find it on the ground. See? I told you it was simple. ‘Ardly worth telling. But you seemed to want to know how it was done.”

  “But good heavens, Beef,” I said, really appalled by the story which sounded uncomfortably true, “what proof have you got?”

  “Proof?” repeated Beef. “I got plenty of proof. D’ you know ‘ow I got on to this? Why, examining those bloodstains you was all so sarcastic about. You see, in that sort of way I’ve got a bit of an advantage over these gentlemen. I mean, I can’t work out theories like what they can, I only wish I could. Only we’re taught things in the police, see? And one of the first jobs in a case like this is to ‘ave a good look at the bloodstains. Well, I done that, and found something funny about ’em. It was a clean pillowslip, or ‘ad been before the blood was on it. And the stains on the pillow-slip was blood, real blood. But when I came to look at the pillow itself inside, what d’you think I found? Not only blood, but red ink! That taught me a thing or two. Oh, I says, so that was it, was it. Acting dead, was she? And the pillow-slip with the inkstains on been took away after the real murder, was it? Only there wasn’t a chance to take the ‘ole pillow, wasn’t there? I see. That’s ‘ow I come to discover it. Of course, I got the pillow and the pillow-slip. Exhibits A and B, them. That’s proof enough, isn’t it? And not circumstantial, wot’s more.”

  CHAPTER 32

  SO at last we knew who was guilty. As Sergeant Beef said, the evidence of the pillow and pillow-slip was not circumstantial, but was hard and certaift proof. I cannot pretend that I had suspected Dr. Thurston, because it had seemed to me impossible that he, who had been with us from the time that Mrs. Thurston went to bed until we had found her apparently murdered, could have had anything to do with it. Who could even have suspected that his accomplice, his unfortunate and unconscious accomplice, had been none other than the murdered woman. It seemed very horrible, but even as I realized it, it seemed diabolically clever.

  But there was one man who had evidently decided to remain loyal to Thurston. The Doctor was about to speak in answer to Sergeant Beef, when Williams placed a hand on his arm. “Doctor, as your lawyer I forbid you to say anything in answer to this at present. The whole thing is outrageous, and we shall be able to prove that this blundering fool of a policeman has made some fantastic mistake.”

  Lord Simon leaned back easily. “Not this time, Williams,” he said, “I am not one to get excited about the jolly old police, but I’m climbin’ down a peg.” Then he added, “Lord, what a relief it is to have been wrong for once! You don’t know the monotony of infallibility!”

  “I also, the great Amer Picon, shall rest contented. At last I have made the faux pas. Hooray, as you say in English, it is a great change for me!”

  And Mgr. Smith murmured softly, “I am so pleased. So pleased.”

  “At all events,” said Williams fiercely, “say nothing, Doctor, till we have conferred.” Then he turned to Beef. “I take it that there is no objection to Dr. Thurston coming with me to the study for a while before you … take any more steps?”

  “None at all, sir. There are police in the grounds and no one can leave. I will give you ten minutes.”

  The two went out of the room and Sergeant Beef made an unpleasant noise as though he were sucking his teeth, as indeed he probably was doing. Then suddenly he rose heavily to his feet.

  “I don’t know whether I ought to leave them …” he began.

  But his words were rudely interrupted. There was the sound of a revolver shot which seemed to shake the house, and sang deafeningly in my ears for some seconds. We jumped up, and ran out Into the hall. The study door was open, and full length on the ground lay the weighty bulk of Dr. Thurston, while in his right hand was still elapsed his revolver. Williams stooped over him, and Beef followed.

  “I’m afraid there can be no doubt about death in this case,” Williams said. “It must have been instantaneous.”

  “How did it happen?” I asked.

  “He led me in here, then asked if I would leave him alone for a moment. He said he wanted to collect himself before conferring with me. And foolishly I agreed. For some reason it never occurred to me that this was his intention. I had scarcely opened the door when I heard the shot behind me.”

  “Let’s go back to the other room,” I said, for the body of the dead man was gruesome. There was an expression of startled horror on Thurston’s dead face which was unendurable. Before we left him, however, a rug was laid over the corpse, and Beef took care to lock the door when we were all out of the room.

  “Well, that seems pretty well to prove your theory, Sergeant,” said Williams, when we had got back to the more natural atmosphere of the lounge.

  And indeed if further proof was necessary I felt that her it was. What could be more conclusive than the suicide of the
protagonist? But it appeared that Beef was modest.

  “Wot theory?” he said. “I ‘adn’t got no theory.”

  “Oh yes, you had,” said Williams, “and a very brilliant one, and as it now turns out amazingly true. Poor Mary! I wonder what Thurston’s motive was? I expect we shall see when we come to go through her papers. It was a fiendishly clever idea, though, for Thurston to persuade her into that pretence, and then, with his alibi established, for him to go back and murder her.”

  Sergeant Beef was standing between us and the door.

  “‘Oo said anythink about Dr. Thurston going back and murdering ’er?” he asked suddenly.

  For a moment I did not understand the implications of this extraordinary question, then I was horrified to see that the Sergeant had pulled out a pair of handcuffs and drawn himself up to his full height.

  “Samuel James Williams,” he said, “it is my duty to arrest you. You are charged with the murder of Mary Thurston. You will be further charged with the murder of Dr. Alexander Thurston. It is also my duty to warn you that anythink you say may be used in evidence against you.”

  Before I had recovered from my surprise I saw that he had slipped his handcuffs over the lawyer’s wrists.

  “But … but …” I said. “You’ve just been proving it was Dr. Thurston …”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, I ‘aven’t been proving nothink of the sort. I knowed it was ‘im all through.”

  Sergeant Beef then did a very commponlace thing. He blew loudly on a whistle.

  “Really!” said Lord Simon, whose sensibilities were touched by the sound.

  Two policemen entered.

  “Take ‘im along,” said Sergeant Beef. “’E won’t say nothink, being a lawyer. But ’e’s for it, oright. ‘Anged by the neck till ’e’s dead, ’e’ll be.”