by Sapper
“All in good time, Sir Robert,” said the other gravely. “The lucky thing for you is that you have practically never used that room.”
“What do you mean?” muttered his host, going a little white.
“If you had, the chances are that this house-party would never have taken place,” answered Seymour. “At least, not with you as the host.”
“My God!” cried the other. “You don’t mean to say that there’s anything in that inscription!”
“It’s the key to everything,” returned the other, shortly. “To put it mildly, your predecessor had a peculiar sense of humour.”
Ten minutes later he was getting into the car, when Inspector Grayson appeared round the corner.
“You won’t forget the inquest is at three, Major Seymour?” he said, a trifle sharply.
“I shan’t miss it,” answered the soldier.
“Found the murderer yet?” asked the detective.
“Yes – this morning,” returned the other. “Haven’t you?”
And the officer was still staring thoughtfully down the drive long after the car had disappeared round a bend. This confounded soldier seemed so very positive, and Grayson, who was no fool, had been compelled to admit to himself that there were several strange features about the case. The inscription on the wall he had dismissed as childish; from inquiries made in the neighbourhood, Sir Robert Deering’s predecessor had obviously been a most peculiar specimen. Not quite all there, if reports were to be believed. To return to the case, however, a complete alibi had been proved by every single member of the household, save one kitchen maid, Mr Trayne, and – Bill Brabazon. The kitchen maid and Mr Trayne could be dismissed – the former for obvious reasons, the latter owing to the impossibility of having done the deed in the time between leaving the drawing-room and arriving in the billiard-room with the news. And that left – Bill Brabazon. Every single line of thought led ultimately, to – Bill Brabazon. Motive, opportunity, capability from a physical point of view – all pointed to him. A further exhaustive search that morning of the flower-bed outside the window had revealed no trace of any footprint; it was impossible that the murderer should have entered by the window. Therefore – he shrugged his shoulders. The house-party again – and Bill Brabazon. Blind with fury, as he admitted himself, he had first knocked the dead man down and then strangled him, turning out the light lest anyone should see. Then, taking off the rope, he had left him, almost, but not quite, dead on the floor. In a last despairing gasp for air, Denton had staggered to the window and collapsed – still not quite dead. Finally, he had made one more convulsive effort, floundered on the flower-bed, and had there died.
Such was the scene as Inspector Grayson reconstructed it, and yet he was far from satisfied. Why strangle? An un-English method of killing a man. Still – facts were facts – the man had been strangled. Un-English or not, that was the manner in which he had met his death; and since suicide could be ruled out, only murder remained. If the soldier could prove it was not young Brabazon – well and good. Until he did, Mr Grayson preferred to bank on facts which were capable of proof.
The result of the coroner’s inquest was a foregone conclusion. Death after strangulation, with a rider to the effect that, had prompt assistance been given on the first discovery of the body, life might have been saved.
Bob Seymour, seated beside another lean, suntanned man, heard the verdict with an impassive face. He had given his evidence, confining it to the barest statement of fact; he had advanced no theory; he had not attempted to dispute Inspector Grayson’s deductions. Once he had caught Ruth’s eyes fixed on him beseechingly, and he had given her a reassuring smile. And she – because she trusted him – knew that all was well; knew that the net which seemed to be closing so grimly round her brother would not be fastened. But why – why didn’t he tell them now how it was done? That’s what she couldn’t understand.
And then, when it was all over, Bob and his friend disappeared in the car again.
“There’s no doubt about it, Bob,” said Strangways. “What a diabolical old blackguard the man must have been.”
“I agree,” answered Seymour, grimly. “One wishes one could get at him now. As it is, the most we can do is to convince our mutton-headed friend Grayson. I owe the gentleman one for that rider to the verdict.”
The car stopped first at a chemist’s, and the two men entered the shop. It was an unusual request they made – cylinders of oxygen are generally required only for sick rooms. But after a certain amount of argument, the chemist produced one, and they placed it in the back of the car. Their next errand was even stranger, and consisted of the purchase of a rabbit. Finally, a visit to an ironmonger produced a rose such as is used on the end of a hosepipe for watering.
Then, their purchases complete, they returned to the house, stopping at the police-station on the way. Grayson came out to see them, a tolerant smile on his face. Yes, he would be pleased to come up that evening after dinner.
“Do you want to introduce me to the murderer, Major?” he asked, maliciously.
“Something of the sort, Inspector,” said Seymour. “Studied that encyclopaedia yet?”
“I’ve been too busy on other matters – a little more important,” answered the other, shortly.
“Good,” cried Seymour, genially. “By the way, when you want to blow out a lamp what is the first thing you do?”
“Turn down the wick,” said Grayson.
“Wise man. I wonder why the murderer didn’t.”
And for the second time that day, Inspector Grayson was left staring thoughtfully at a retreating motor-car.
It was not till after dinner that Bob Seymour reverted to the matter which was obsessing everyone’s mind. Most of the house-party had left; only Mr Trayne and Ruth and her brother remained. And even the Celebrated Actor had been comparatively silent throughout the meal, while Bill had remained sunk in profound gloom. Everything at the inquest had pointed to him as the culprit; every ring at the bell and he had imagined someone arriving with a warrant for his arrest. And Bob had said nothing to clear him – not a word, in spite of his apparent confidence last night. Only Ruth still seemed certain that he would do something; but what could he do, exploded the boy miserably, when she tried to cheer him up. The evidence on the face of it was damning.
“About time our friend arrived, Gilbert.” Bob Seymour glanced at his watch, and at that moment there came a ring at the bell.
“Who’s that?” said Bill, nervously.
“The egregious Grayson, old boy,” said Bob “The experiment is about to begin.”
“You mean–” cried Ruth, breathlessly.
“I mean that Sir Gilbert has kindly consented to take the place of Denton last night,” said Bob, cheerfully. “He’ll have one or two little props to help him, and I shall be stage-manager.”
“But why have you put it off so long?” cried Bill, as the inspector came into the room.
“‘When ’tis day. All serene,’”quoted Bob. “Good evening, Mr Grayson. Now that we are all here, we might as well begin.”
“Just as well,” agreed the inspector, shortly. “What do we begin with?”
“First of all a visit to the smoking-room,” answered Seymour. “Then, except for Sir Gilbert Strangways, we shall all go outside into the garden.”
In silence they followed him to the scene of the tragedy.
“I trust you will exonerate me from any charge of being theatrical,” he began, closing the door. “But in this particular case the cause of Mr Denton’s death is so extraordinary that only an actual reconstruction of what happened would convince such a pronounced sceptic as the inspector. Facts are facts, aren’t they, Mr Grayson?”
The inspector grunted non-committally. “What’s that on the floor?” he demanded.
“A cylinder of oxygen, and a rabbit in a cage,” explained Seymour, pleasantly. “Now first to rearrange the room. The lamp was on this table – very possibly placed there by the dead man to get
a better view of the inscription under the window; so that we may proceed to what happened.
“First, Inspector, Mr Brabazon entered the room and, as he has already described, he and Mr Denton came to blows, with the result that he laid Denton out. Then Mr Brabazon left the room, as I propose we shall do shortly. And, after a while, Mr Denton came to his senses again, and went to the window for air, just as Sir Gilbert has done at the present moment.”
“You can’t prove it,” snapped Grayson.
“True,” murmured Seymour. “Just logical surmise – so far; from now onwards – irrefutable proof. The murderer is admirably trained, I assure you. Are you ready, Gilbert?”
“Quite,” said Strangways, bending down and picking up the rabbit-cage, which he placed on the table by the lamp.
“Perhaps, Inspector, you would like to examine the rabbit?” remarked Seymour. “No! Well, if not, I would just ask you to notice Sir Gilbert’s other preparations. A clip on his nose; the tube from the oxygen cylinder in his mouth.”
“I don’t understand all this, Major Seymour,” cried Grayson, testily. “What’s the rabbit for, and all this other tommy-rot?”
“I thought I’d explained to you that Sir Gilbert is taking the place of the murdered man last night. The tommy-rot is to prevent him sharing the same fate.”
“Good God!” The inspector turned a little pale.
“Shall we adjourn to the garden?” continued Seymour, imperturbably. He led the way from the room. “I think we’ll stand facing the window, so that we can see everything. Of course, I can’t guarantee that the performance will be exactly the same; but it will be near enough, I think. Nor can I guarantee exactly when it will start.” As he spoke they reached a point facing the window. The lamp was burning brightly in the room, outlining Sir Gilbert’s figure as he stood facing them, and with a little shudder Ruth clutched her brother’s arm.
“Even so did Denton stand last night.” Seymour’s even voice came out of the darkness. “You see his shadow on the grass, and the shadow of the sash; just as Mr Brabazon saw the shadow last night, Inspector.”
Silence settled on the group; even the phlegmatic inspector seemed impressed. And then suddenly, when the tension was becoming almost unbearable, Sir Gilbert’s voice came from the window.
“It’s coming, Bob.”
They saw him adjust his nose-clip and turn on the oxygen; then he stood up as before, motionless, in the window.
“Watch carefully, Inspector,” said Seymour. “Do you see those dark, thin, sinuous feelers coming down outside the window? Like strands of rope. They’re curling underneath the sash towards Sir Gilbert’s head. The lamp – look at the lamp – watch the colour of the flame. Orange – where before it was yellow. Look – it’s smoking; thick black smoke; and the room is turning green. Do you see? Now the lamp again. It’s going out – even as it went out last night. And, by this time last night, Inspector, Denton, I think, was dead; even as the rabbit on the table is dead now. Now watch Sir Gilbert’s shirt front.”
“Great Heavens!” shouted Sir Robert. “It’s going up.”
“Precisely,” said Bob. “At the present moment he is being lifted off his legs – as Denton was last night; and if at this period Denton was not already dead, he could not have lasted long. He would have been hanged.”
“Oh Bill, it’s awful!” cried Ruth, hysterically.
“Then came the rain,” continued Seymour “I have here the hosepipe fitted with a rose.” He dragged it nearer the window, and let it play on the side of the house as far up as the water would reach. Almost at once the body of Sir Gilbert ceased rising; it paused as if hesitating; then with a little thud, fell downwards half in half out of the window, head and arms sprawling in the flower-bed.
“And thus we found Mr Denton last night, when it was still raining,” said Seymour. “All right, Gilbert?”
“All right, old boy!” came from the other.
“But if he’s all right,” said the inspector, wonderingly, “why wasn’t the other?”
“Because Sir Gilbert, being in full possession of his senses when the hanging process stared, used his hands to prevent strangulation. To continue – the rain ceased. We were out of the room waiting for your arrival, Mr Grayson, and while we were out – Look! Look!”
Before their eyes the top part of Sir Gilbert’s body was being raised till once again he stood straight up. Then steadily he was drawn upwards till his knees came about the level of the sill, when, with a sudden lurch, the whole body swung out and then back again, while the calves of his legs drummed against the outside of the house. “Do you remember the marks on the trousers, Inspector? And then the rain came again.” Seymour turned on the hose. Once more the body paused, hesitated, and then crashed downwards into the flower-bed.
“All right, Gilbert?”
“All right,” answered the other. “Merely uncomfortably wet.” He rose and came towards them.
“And now, Inspector,” murmured Seymour mildly, “you know exactly how Mr Denton was killed.”
“But good Lord! gentlemen,” said Grayson, feebly, “what was it that killed him?”
“A species of liana,” said Sir Gilbert. “In my experience absolutely unique in strength and size – though I have heard stories from the Upper Amazon of similar cases. It’s known amongst the natives as the Green Death.”
“But is it an animal?”
“You’ve asked me a question, Inspector,” said Sir Gilbert, “that I find it very difficult to answer. To look at – it’s a plant – a climbing plant, with long, powerful tendrils. But in habits – it’s carnivorous, like the insect-eating variety in England. It’s found in the tropical undergrowth, and is incidentally worshipped by some of the tribes. They give it human sacrifices, so the story goes. And now I can quite believe it.”
“But, hang it, sir,” exploded the inspector, “we aren’t on the Upper Amazon. Do you mean to say that one of these things is here?”
“Of course. Didn’t you see it? It’s spread from the wall to the branches of that old oak.”
“If you remember, Inspector, I pointed it out to you this morning,” murmured Seymour, mildly. “But you were so engrossed with the flower-bed.”
“But why did the lamp go out?” asked Ruth breathlessly.
“For the same reason that the rabbit died,” said Bob. “For the same reason that the match went out last night, and gave me the third clue. From each of the tendrils a green cloud is ejected, the principal ingredient of which is carbon dioxide – which is the gas that suffocates. The plant holds the victim, and they suffocate him. Hence the oxygen and the nose-clip; otherwise Sir Gilbert would have been killed tonight. By the way, would you like to see the rabbit, Inspector?”
“I’ll take your word for it, sir,” he grunted, shortly. “Only, why the devil you didn’t tell me this last night I can’t understand.”
“I’d have shown you – only the rain had come on again. And you must admit I advised you to get an encyclopaedia.”
3
“Bob, I don’t understand how you did it,” cried Ruth.
It was after breakfast the following morning, and the sound of axes came through the open window from the men who were already at work cutting down the old oak tree.
The other laughed. “Points of detail’,” he said, quietly. “At first, before the police arrived, I thought it possible that Bill had been responsible for his death. I thought he’d hit him so hard that the man’s heart had given out, and that in a final spasm he’d staggered to the window and died. It struck me as just conceivable that Denton had himself blown out the lamp, thinking it made it hotter. But why not turn it out? And would he have had time if he was at his last gasp? Then the police came, and the body had moved. I knew the man was dead when he was lying over the sill, though I hadn’t seen the mark round his neck. I therefore knew that some agency had moved the body. That agency must have been the murderer – anyone else would have mentioned the fact. Therefore it couldn�
��t have been Bill, because he was in the billiard-room the whole time, and I’d locked the door of the smoking-room. Then I saw the mark round his neck – strangled. But you can’t strangle a powerful man without a desperate struggle. And why should the strangler return after the deed was committed? Also there were no footmarks on the flower-bed. Then I noticed the grey dust on his trousers just below the knee, and underneath the window outside, kept dry by the sill, which stuck out, was ivy – dusty and cobwebby as ivy always is. How had his legs touched it? If they had – and there was nowhere else the dirt could have come from – he must have been lifted off the ground. Strangulation, certainly, of a type – hung. The dirt had not been there when we first found the body lying over the sill. And if he’d been hung – who did it? And why hang a dead man? What had happened between the time Bill left the room and the police found the body? A heavy shower of rain, during which we found the body; then clear again, while we were out of the room; then another shower, when the police found the body. And then I thought of the rhyme: –
‘When ’tis hot, shun this spot;
When ’tis rain, come again.’
“Could it be possible that there was some diabolical agent at work, who stopped, or was frustrated, by rain? It was then I saw the green cloud itself over the constable’s head – the cloud which extinguished my match.
“Incredible as it seemed, I saw at once that it was the only solution which fitted everything – the marks on the back of his trousers below the knee – everything. He’d been hung, and the thing that had hanged him had blown out the lamp – or extinguished it is a more accurate way of expressing it – even as it extinguished my match. The smell – I’d been searching my memory for that smell the whole evening, and it came to me when I saw that green gas – it’s some rank discharge from the plant, mixed with the carbon dioxide. And I last saw it, and smelt it, on the Upper Amazon ten years ago. My native bearers dragged me away in their terror. There was a small animal, I remember, hanging from a red tendril, quite dead. The tendril was round its neck, exuding little puffs of green vapour. So I got Gilbert to make sure. That’s all.”
