The Mystery at Stowe

by Vernon Loder

  The butler entered suddenly. ‘A gentleman to see Miss Gurdon,’ he said. ‘He is waiting in the hall, sir.’

  ‘Did he give his name?’ asked Elaine, with a look of surprise.

  ‘Yes, miss. Mr Carton.’ He advanced with his tray, on which lay a card, and held it towards her.

  Elaine looked at the card, and a faint colour flowed into her cheeks. Then she looked at Mr Barley.

  ‘It’s—it’s an old friend of mine,’ she said. ‘Will you excuse me?’

  CHAPTER VIII

  Mr CARTON INTRUDES

  THE man who awaited Elaine in the hall was a tall fellow of about twenty-seven. While not handsome, he had an attractive and humorous face, much tanned by sun and wind, and an air of distinction that even clothes of a colonial cut could not altogether hide.

  ‘Hello! Hello!’ he cried, as he saw her. ‘Didn’t expect to see me, did you?’

  He grasped her hands warmly, admiration in his eyes, and Elaine returned his grip, gasping a little with surprise, a thing unusual with her, and a sign of unfamiliar emotion.

  ‘My dear Jim!’ she cried, ‘it is really you after all? I wondered—I thought there must be some mistake, when I saw the name on the card. But you have changed.’

  ‘Grown up,’ he assented, laughing. ‘You found me a cub once. Talking about changes, why, you—are looking wonderful. If I was a cub, you were a lanky awkward thing, to be frank!’

  Elaine suddenly remembered that they were talking in the open hall. ‘Will you come into the library?—I thought you were in Africa.’

  ‘Correct,’ he said with a twinkle, as he followed her. ‘I was in Africa—Nyassaland, to be precise. I got home three days ago, looked round your old haunts, then came on your name in a paper. You looked almost too high and mighty for me. A lecturer and explorer, by Jove! But I chanced it. I saw you were at Elterham, gutted all the social announcements, and read that you were the guest of a Mr Barley—here. I wonder if he will think it cheek, my coming?’

  Elaine bit her lip. ‘I don’t think so. He is very kind.’

  ‘Tell him I once proposed to you,’ he laughed, ‘and have been very humble since. Nothing like the wilds for taking the starch out of you, and showing you that you are only a speck in the universe, what?’

  She did not smile. She had to tell him what had happened. He could hardly have come at a more awkward moment.

  ‘Look here, Jim,’ she said, ‘a rather terrible thing has happened here—in this house. One of the guests, the wife of a friend of mine—but you know Ned Tollard?—’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, staring, and anxious.

  ‘Is dead, they fear was murdered in her bedroom early this morning.’

  He exclaimed sharply, bent his brows, and spoke. ‘I had better clear out then. I am sorry. Ned’s wife? He was unmarried when I was last home. Do they know who killed her?’

  She shook her head. ‘I had better tell you all about it, then I should like you to see Barley. Will you listen quietly, please, to what I have to say, and not interrupt until I have done.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll listen,’ he said, seeing now the marks of trouble on her face. ‘Fire away.’

  His face expressed surprise, horror and indignation, as she went on. When she had finished, he looked straight at her, and put a blunt question.

  ‘Look here, Elaine, I apologise in advance if I hurt you, but there isn’t anything in this business with Ned Tollard?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said proudly.

  ‘And Ned isn’t likely to have done it? He wasn’t that type of fellow, but I just ask.’

  ‘Could you think him guilty of such a thing?’

  ‘No, though one sees some dashed queer things where I have been. One fellow I knew killed his brother and bolted. He was the mildest man out, and we never knew why.’

  ‘He was in the Isle of Wight. He is coming here today.’

  ‘Good! The nasty fly in this ointment is the fact that someone used one of your darts. That’s rotten!’

  ‘It’s unfortunate.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘More than that. You see, Elaine, since I saw you, I’ve been a bit of a policeman myself.’

  ‘A policeman?’

  ‘Well, a sort of Assistant Commissioner among the natives. I had to nose out a good many crimes, and I think I am pretty good at it.’

  ‘This is different,’ she said.

  ‘Only in details,’ he said. ‘All crimes are much the same. When the negro kills a man or woman, he hasn’t any esoteric motives. It’s anger, jealousy, robbery, or hate, just as at home. There are about five primary motives, as there are five primary colours. But to come back to this inopportune visit of mine, don’t you think I ought to buzz off, and see you another time?’

  ‘Please don’t,’ she said. ‘I want you to come with me to see Mr Barley.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ he replied, lighting a cigarette thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps you would see him, and just mention that I didn’t know of this tamasha.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Elaine, ‘I’ll go at once.’

  She was back in a few minutes with her host, and introduced the two men briefly.

  ‘Mr Carton and I are old friends, but I haven’t seen him for six years,’ she said.

  ‘Glad to meet you, Mr Carton,’ said Mr Barley. ‘I suppose Miss Gurdon has told you of the terrible trouble we have had down here.’

  ‘She has, sir, and I’m confoundedly sorry. I don’t think I ought to hang about any longer. I shall only be in the way.’

  Mr Barley shook his head. ‘I can’t let you go off like that, after coming so far. Stay to dinner, if you can, and we can put you up for the night. I wish you would. I’m a poor host with all this trouble to worry me.’

  ‘Couldn’t think of it, sir,’ said Carton gratefully. ‘I’d better get back to town at once.’

  ‘There is no train after the four-fifty,’ said Barley. ‘It isn’t a very cheery house to invite you to just now, but I can’t see you stuck. The inn at the village is not fit for a pig.’

  Carton considered. ‘Very well, sir, I’ll accept your kind suggestion, and I may be able to help a bit, perhaps. I have some experience of police work.’

  Mr Barley raised his eyebrows. ‘I am afraid it is in the hands of the regular police, Mr Carton.’

  ‘Jolly good fellows, too,’ said Carton. ‘But two heads were always better than one, and witnesses have a way of shutting up when an official gets on their track.’

  ‘At all events, I am pleased to have you. You will be company for Miss Gurdon. She tells me you know Tollard.’

  ‘I was at school with Ned. A very good sort, too. Ned’s people, and mine, and Elaine’s, lived within a mile of each other in Bucks.’

  ‘Really? Mr Tollard is rushing here by car. It will be a sad business meeting him.’

  ‘Let me see him for you,’ said Jim Carton readily. ‘He may take it better from me.’

  Elaine broke in. ‘There is something in that. Mr Barley has too much on his hands already.’

  ‘Let me know when he arrives, and I’ll have a talk with him,’ said Carton. ‘It’s awfully good of you to put me up, sir.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Barley. ‘You’ll excuse me now, won’t you? I have several things to see to, and the superintendent may ring me up at any time.’

  When he had gone, Elaine turned to Carton. ‘I think it was a good idea to suggest telling Ned. Poor Mr Barley is dreadfully upset and fussed. Sometimes he looks as if he was going to break down.’

  ‘Doesn’t Ned know anything about it?’

  ‘Of course he knows that she is dead, but unless—No, it could not be in any of the papers yet.’

  ‘You mean, he does not know she was murdered?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I thought the old chap might think it funny, my suggesting seeing Ned first. I’m a stranger here, after all.’

  ‘Mr Barley has got to the point where he is only too glad to get anyone to tak
e the responsibility off his shoulders. It is wretched for him, really. It will get into all the papers, and he may be haunted by journalists.’

  ‘I know.’ Jim Carton looked at her thoughtfully, and added, ‘I think I should like to take a look at that window from outside—the window you told me about. I might see something.’

  ‘The detective searched the lawn and the shrubbery thoroughly. And the superintendent gave orders no one was to go out there.’

  Carton shrugged. ‘Well, I am a stranger, and did not hear the instructions! You see, Elaine, out where I was we get a bit more practice in open-air tracking than they do here. We were up against hard ground, too, that doesn’t show spoor much, and the men we went after were used all their lives to treading warily, covering up their tracks, and all the other little games savages are so expert at.’

  ‘Do you think you could get any information?’

  ‘I might. There’s the shrubbery. If a fellow hid there, he must have moved the branches and leaves. Signs that a town detective wouldn’t see, might convey a good deal to me.’

  Elaine went to the window, and pointed out a shrubbery about twenty yards to the right. ‘If you think you can, you had better slip out now, Jim. I can’t take any responsibility, but this may be your only chance if the police come back.’

  He smiled, and advanced to the French window, which was latched. ‘Right! I’ll risk it! You don’t know what I’m doing. You can say I had a touch of the sun in Africa, if you like!’

  He slipped out, and went across to the shrubbery at once. Elaine sat down, and bent her gaze on the floor. She was thinking quickly. Her eyes were absent. Once or twice she frowned. Once a little smile flickered on her lips, and was gone.

  Carton’s quick eyes were roving about the shrubs outside. He bent down and examined a twig here, a leaf there. He studied the dry soil under the bushes, and frowned when he saw the distinct mark of a large boot.

  ‘The policeman’s mark,’ he said. ‘That broken twig is his job too. The sap is too fresh; especially with this sun so hot.’

  He had concluded his examination, and was stepping out of the shrubbery, when a window was thrown open on the first floor of the house, and a youthful but angry voice addressed him.

  ‘What the devil are you doing there, eh? Don’t you know no one is allowed to walk there?’

  Carton looked casually up, to see Ortho Haine’s flushed face staring down at him. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he apologised. ‘Are you the inspector?’

  Haine glared at him. ‘I’m a guest here,’ he said sharply. ‘But get off the lawn at once.’

  Carton raised his hat ironically, and returned to the library through the French window.

  ‘Who’s the angry boy-scout above?’ he asked.

  Elaine repressed a smile. ‘Ortho Haine,’ she said. ‘He’s a very decent boy, but is rather excited just now. You see, he doesn’t know who you are, and he was rather a worshipper of Margery Tollard.’

  ‘Oh, is that it? Well, to avoid further trouble, perhaps you would introduce me to some of the other guests.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Elaine, then glanced at him. ‘You brought nothing with you, of course?’

  ‘Not a clout. I never thought the old sportsman would invite me to stay. I expect he won’t mind my turning up to dinner in these, though; considering the occasion.’

  ‘I’m sure he won’t, and Haine might lend you pyjamas.’

  ‘From his voice, he didn’t appear joyfully impressed by me, but you never know,’ said Jim.

  Ortho Haine was rather unpleasantly surprised when, after running downstairs to tell Mr Barley that a strange man was on the lawn, he met Elaine with that very fellow, and was promptly introduced to him. After shaking hands, and staring almost rudely at the newcomer, before he recollected himself, he muttered an apology.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a friend of Miss Gurdon’s,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I thought you were a reporter.’

  ‘And I mistook you for a policeman, so we’re square, Mr Haine. As a matter of fact, Mr Barley knew I could not get back to town, and took pity on me.’

  Elaine led the way then into the drawing-room, and made him known to Mrs Minever, Nelly Sayers, and Mrs Gailey. The latter, who was always a romantic, at once took particular interest in Carton, wondering if he were in love with Elaine. Surely he must be, or he would not have rushed down to see her so soon after his return to England.

  Elaine left them, saying she must ascertain in which room Mr Carton was to sleep.

  ‘How exciting to have been in Africa,’ Netta cried. ‘But then, things are horribly exciting here. It is most terrible, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very tragic indeed,’ he said soberly. ‘I knew Ned Tollard before I went away.’

  ‘But not Margery, perhaps?’

  ‘His wife, no. I have been away some years.’

  ‘Have you known Elaine long?’ she asked ingenuously.

  ‘A good many years,’ he said, with a look in his eye that stirred Netta’s romantic instincts again.

  Meanwhile, seeing the new visitor engaged with Netta Gailey, Haine had gone to the further end of the long room with Mrs Minever and Nelly Sayers. The impudence of Carton, in ironically raising his hat and mistaking him for a policeman, when he challenged him from the window, still rankled.

  ‘Seems an odd fish,’ he remarked in a low voice to Nelly. ‘I suppose he’s all right though.’

  ‘He is evidently one of Miss Gurdon’s worshippers,’ said Mrs Minever waspishly.

  Nelly was torn between two impulses: to agree with Haine and the old lady; and to champion the attractive stranger.

  ‘He doesn’t know anything yet, you see,’ she said, compromising between the two camps.

  As she spoke, Elaine came hurriedly back. She did not look at any of the others, but went straight up to Carton.

  ‘Ned has come,’ she said, in a low but clear voice, ‘but you need not go. Mr Barley happened to be going down the hall, when Ned arrived.’

  Haine turned to Nelly to whisper, ‘Why should he go anyway?’

  ‘Hush!’ said Nelly fearfully, ‘he’ll hear you!’

  CHAPTER IX

  THE HUSBAND

  IF anyone doubted that Ned Tollard had loved his wife, his appearance when he arrived at the house was sufficient to dissipate the doubt. He looked as white as paper, his eyes were red-rimmed, and he walked with the tremulous gait of a man crushed under some great burden.

  Mr Barley, much moved himself, ushered him into the library, locked the door, and at once told him what had happened. Fortunately, there was no one in the hall when they left the room together, and ascended the stairs. They parted on the landing, Mr Barley remaining standing near the head of the stairs, while the bereaved husband went on to the room where his wife lay.

  When he came out again in ten minutes, he walked with a decisive step, his eyes were full of determination, and he had recovered command of his voice.

  ‘I must pull myself together, Mr Barley,’ he said. ‘What is done is done, but we can make sure that the ruffian does not escape punishment. Are the police in the house?’

  ‘They were here, but they are gone. No doubt Superintendent Fisher will be back. He was anxious to see you.’

  They returned to the library, and hardly sat down before a heavy vehicle came up the drive. Mr Barley excused himself and went out to see what it was. When he came back, he told Tollard in an awed voice that the body must be removed to Elterham for the post-mortem. The town was nearly twenty-five miles away, and the ambulance had arrived.

  Tollard held his hand over his eyes for a moment, then looked up. ‘I suppose it must. I can’t go up again now. Tell them I identify the body, and will do so in public when required. Is the superintendent here yet?’

  ‘He came with them, and wants to ask you some questions. Are you fit to see him?’

  Tollard’s mouth grew grim. ‘Yes. Show him in here. If any man can help me to punish the damned ruffian that did it, he’s welcome
.’

  ‘What a fool I was to think there was anything in this business between him and Miss Gurdon,’ said Barley to himself, as he went in search of Fisher.

  The latter entered the smoke-room a few minutes later, introduced himself, and exchanged a few words with Tollard. Then at the latter’s bidding, he sat down, and put a question.

  ‘You were in the Isle of Wight last night, sir, I understand?’

  ‘Yes. I left London pretty late, but a friend of mine who has a small steam yacht at Lymington took me over.’

  ‘I understood Mr Barley to say you went away on business.’

  ‘I may have said so,’ replied Tollard, giving him a steady look, ‘but, from your point of view, it is most important to know where, and not why I was in any given place last night.’

  ‘That is true, sir,’ said Fisher, conscious of an evasion, but not quite sure if he ought to pin it down.

  ‘Very well. I called at my house in London before I left town. My secretary saw me. If you will communicate with Mr Charles Dodd, S.Y. Triton, Lymington, Hants, he will tell you that I was on the yacht with him.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘And now,’ said Tollard, with some bitterness, ‘having disposed of the possibility of my having killed my wife, to whom I was deeply attached, let us get back to common-sense! Some woman in a red dressing-gown was seen for a moment at my wife’s window, this morning early. Have you traced her?’

  ‘No, sir. We can’t understand that. Unless a woman climbed in through the open window, we don’t know how she got admittance. There were no fingerprints on the sill, and no outer door of the house appears to have been tampered with. The windows on the lower floor were, of course, closed and fastened last thing by Grover, the butler.’

  ‘Is anyone in this house in the habit of wearing a red dressing-gown?’

  ‘Only the cook, sir,’ said Fisher, and suddenly remembered that he was being examined—a reversal of his proper rôle.

  ‘If you don’t mind, sir, I prefer not to answer any more questions,’ he said, rather sharply. ‘As far as I can see, sir, we can be pretty certain that you were out of the district last night, and that being so, we have nothing further to ask.’