The Mystery at Stowe

by Vernon Loder

  At lunch, Tollard was gloomy, and Elaine absent-minded, and their example set the tone for the rest. Carton determined this time to get ahead of the indiscreet Tollard, and managed to monopolise Elaine afterwards for a little time in the garden.

  ‘You ran away this morning,’ he rallied her. ‘Was that fair or kind?’

  She shrugged. ‘Ned wanted to talk over things.’

  ‘Very likely. But that was selfish of him. He has seen you lately. I have been away for six years, and have a lot of leeway to make up.’

  ‘We shall have lots of time to talk later, Jim. Ned is heart-broken. He feels it a great deal. Then the scandal and the publicity will be very unpleasant.’

  ‘Short of unfolding a plan for muzzling the reporters, and censoring the papers, I don’t see how you could help him. Mr Barley is furious. It appears he was beset by two pressmen on the way to church, and one going back. He had given the lodge-keeper orders to admit no one, without ’phoning the name and business up to the house.’

  ‘I know.’

  As she spoke, a little man with a keen, alert face, came up the drive on foot.

  ‘That one of the detectives?’ asked Carton, as the new-comer advanced to the porch. ‘Looks like it?’

  ‘I never saw him before,’ said Elaine, shifting her chair to get a better view. ‘He may be.’

  The visitor was admitted to the house. Carton resumed: ‘Do be pally, old thing. I came all these thousands of miles to enjoy your society, and I want you to play up to me.’

  She smiled at him, but faintly. ‘Well, here I am.’

  ‘I know you are. But you are developing a habit of am-notting!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I have been worried.’

  Grover appeared suddenly from the house, and came over to them.

  ‘Mr Barley’s solicitor has just come, sir, and Mr Barley will be glad if you will see him,’ he said.

  Carton stared, then laughed vexedly. ‘All right. I’ll come. Just my luck,’ he added to Elaine as Grover retired. ‘I had looked forward to a little talk with you.’

  Mr Barley’s lawyer, Mr Greeby, was quite of Barley’s mind and Carton’s. He agreed that as little as possible should be said about any matter not strictly of fact, and agreed to represent Miss Gurdon as well, if she consented.

  ‘As things stand, she may be involved,’ he said, in his mild voice. ‘My firm does very little criminal business, as you know, but if any danger threatened, the case could of course be transferred to a firm who specialise in that line.’

  ‘The police don’t seem to be doing anything here at present,’ said Carton, after a few minutes’ discussion.

  ‘I think they have a good many plain-clothes men scouring the country for Mrs Tollard’s possible assailant,’ replied Mr Greeby. ‘I had lunch at the club with the chief constable yesterday, and he seemed to think they were being very active. Apparently they are also making enquiries in a wide radius for a woman who may have stayed at an hotel or inn, and who was in possession of a red dressing-gown.’

  ‘The chief constable hasn’t called yet,’ said Mr Barley, ‘but certain members of the household have been called on to give evidence tomorrow. Much fewer than I thought.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Mr Haine, Mrs Tollard’s maid, Mr Tollard, Miss Gurdon, and myself. While Fisher examined some of my other guests, apparently he doesn’t need them. Jorkins, the under-keeper, of course, will be there.’

  ‘Well, we had better see what your guest Miss Gurdon thinks,’ said Mr Greeby.

  ‘Would you mind asking her to come in?’ said Mr Barley to Carton.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Carton, and went out in search of Elaine.

  He saw very little of her again that day. When the solicitor had gone she was engaged in talk with Mr Barley for an hour, and later he could not separate her from the rest of the party. He went to bed irritated and dissatisfied. Was she purposely avoiding him, or was it simply chance?

  Mr Barley’s biggest car took them all next morning to Elterham to the inquest. Carton accompanied them, though not to give evidence, and regarded with patient indifference the formalities of swearing the jury, and preparing for the opening of the proceedings.

  He glanced at Tollard, who sat stiffly, his mouth grim. Elaine was calm, and studied her surroundings with interest. Mr Barley and Ortho Haine were the most nervous of the party.

  Elaine was called on presently to describe what had happened on the morning of the tragedy. She spoke clearly and distinctly, and made a good impression. Asked if she had suspected the presence of a second person in Mrs Tollard’s room prior to her own entrance, she replied with a decided negative. She had heard sounds suggestive of a restless sleeper, had gone in and found Mrs Tollard lying on her back on the floor. She was prepared to swear that she was wearing a pale blue dressing-gown at the time. Mrs Tollard wore a green one. Asked if she would call it pale green, she said she would have called it green. It was not emerald in colour, but the adjective pale would not have occurred to her.

  A dart was handed up to her. She was prepared to say that it was one of those that had been in a quiver in the hall on the day before the murder. She had handed six in a quiver to Mr Barley, who had had them hung up in their bark receptacle on the wall, together with a blow-pipe, to form a trophy for decoration. Asked if the darts were poisoned, and if so, could she tell the court what was the nature of the poison, she replied that she knew they were poisoned, but that this poison was a native secret. She had shown several guests at Stowe House how to use the blow-pipe. They were Mr Tollard and Mr Haine. She had used it herself at the same time on the lawn, using a dart without any venom on the tip. She did not think that Mr Tollard or Mr Haine had had sufficient practice to hit a mark even at short range, as the weapon was one that required a great deal of expertness to use with effect.

  ‘You have seen animals die after being shot with these things?’ the coroner asked.

  ‘Yes, and a man on one occasion, when I was in South America.’

  ‘Was the death sudden?’

  ‘I should describe it as sudden. Of course, in that case the poison was fresh. Stale venom might take longer to kill.’

  ‘You do not believe the dart in this case was tipped with curare?’

  ‘I am sure it was not. These poisons for that purpose are localised to a certain extent.’

  ‘You did not notice the dart in the body when you tried to raise Mrs Tollard?’

  ‘No, I was startled when I thought she must be dead. I let her drop back rather suddenly, I am afraid.’

  ‘You were an acquaintance of hers?’

  ‘I have known her for years, yes.’

  ‘You do not know anyone who would wish her ill?’

  Elaine shook her head. ‘We all have people who dislike us, but I know of no one who would perpetrate a murder. I have no reason to think she had enemies of that kind.’

  Mr Tollard was called next. He swore that he knew no one who bore a grudge against his wife. He identified the body as hers. He told the court that he had left Stowe House on the afternoon preceding the murder, had gone to London, called at his house, then left for Lymington, where he had gone aboard a friend’s yacht.

  ‘And you were in the Isle of Wight when the telegram reached you?’

  Tollard agreed, and was dismissed. Dr Browne followed him.

  The doctor told of his examination of the body, and the conclusion he had formed from certain superficial signs that death was due to the administration of some poison. Taking those observations in conjunction with his finding of the dart in the body, and certain facts already known to him with regard to these darts, he assumed that the poison on the dart was woorali, a vegetable alkaloid, a preparation known to every practitioner under the name of curare. From what Miss Gurdon had said, he was of opinion that he had made a mistake—not in believing poison to be the cause of death, but only that particular poison.

  ‘The Home Office experts are making an analysis,’ said the cor
oner.

  ‘I hear so, sir. That is the usual practice. Until I know their opinions, which may be delayed, I am unable to say definitely the nature of the poison used.’

  ‘Was the dart deeply seated in the wound?’

  ‘Decidedly. But, as I declared when I made the first examination of the body, that may have been due to the fact that Mrs Tollard fell on her back, thus driving in the dart more deeply.’

  ‘Were you in a position to decide the angle at which the dart had entered?’

  ‘That was difficult, on account of the fact I have just mentioned, but I am inclined to think it entered the back while moving in an upward direction.’

  ‘Which would suggest that she had been shot by someone standing some distance away, below?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘It seems unfortunate that no witness so far has been able to give the exact hour, or moment, when the murder was discovered. Miss Gurdon thinks it must have been about a quarter-past five, but is not sure.’

  ‘I arrived at the house and went upstairs at five minutes past six. I should say that she had been dead about an hour when I examined her.’

  ‘I think we had better recall Miss Gurdon,’ said the coroner, and Elaine took the doctor’s place in the box.

  ‘It was only a few minutes from the time when you heard noise, and decided to get up and see if Mrs Tollard was ill?’ said the coroner.

  ‘A very few minutes,’ replied Elaine.

  ‘She was apparently dead when you entered. Did she seem cold when you touched her? Were you at once aware that she was dead?’

  ‘Her limpness told me that, but somehow I almost had the impression that she had died a few moments before I reached her. But, of course, she cannot have been dead long, for I heard those movements in her room.’

  ‘Might not those have been the movements of a possible intruder?’

  ‘They might,’ said Elaine. ‘I naturally took them to be made by her.’

  She stood down, and was followed in the witness-box by Ortho Haine. He admitted that he occupied a bedroom on the same landing, but swore that he heard no disturbing sounds that morning. He was a friend of Mrs Tollard, and of her husband. He was not able to throw any light on the murder or its motives. He was dismissed, looking very red in the face, and as self-conscious as if he had been the criminal himself.

  Mr Barley followed. He had little fresh to say. He declared that so far as he was aware nothing had been stolen from the dead woman’s room. Mr Tollard had assured him that his wife’s jewels were intact in their case. All his servants had been with him for some years, and he believed them to be strictly honest.

  Then came Mrs Tollard’s maid. She was as incoherent as most of her class in a similar situation, and her evidence threw no light whatever on the affair.

  For some reason or other, the sergeant and Superintendent Fisher gave their evidence last, with the exception of the man Jorkins, who had not yet been called. They spoke to finding the body, and making the requisite examinations, laid stress on the wide open window of the bedroom, and disclosed the fact that they had found nothing in the room or the house that threw any light on the crime.

  ‘But you are of the opinion that this unfortunate lady might have been shot with a blow-pipe from some point of vantage in the grounds?’ Fisher was asked.

  ‘That is my present opinion, sir,’ said Fisher, and added that as the Home Office experts had not yet presented their evidence with regard to the nature of the poison used, and the police investigations were still incomplete, he would have to ask for a fortnight’s adjournment.

  ‘When we have heard the last witness, we shall discuss that,’ said the coroner. ‘Call Jorkins.’

  CHAPTER XIII

  WHO WAS IT?

  JORKINS, the under-keeper, gave his evidence with surprising clearness and certainty. Perhaps his occasional appearances in magistrates’ courts, when poachers were charged with offences against the game-laws, helped him, but he had also a natural aplomb, which made what he said sound convincing.

  He repeated that he had occasion to cross the park at Stowe House on the morning of the murder, and presumed that it would be about a quarter-past five, though he could not be certain of the exact minute. He made no note of the time, because, though he did not often see a woman’s figure at a bedroom window so early in the morning, there was nothing in that appearance to suggest a tragedy.

  ‘You were sure it was a woman, not a man in a dressing-gown?’ he was asked.

  ‘I seed the head, sir,’ he replied. ‘Fair hair I think it had, though I can’t be sure of that. Anyway, ’twas not short like most of ladies has it nowadays’

  ‘Are you aware that the dead lady had fair hair, which was uncut?’

  ‘No, sir. I never see her to my knowledge.’

  Carton listened to this interestedly. Evidently the police had shared his view at first, that a man in a dressing-gown might be mistaken for a woman.

  The coroner looked at some notes before him. ‘Could you say how the lady was standing when you saw her?’

  ‘Well, sir, if I hadn’t had good eyes, I wouldn’t have seen that her hair was long, but I was a goodish distance away.’

  ‘But you formed perhaps some impression? Did you think she was facing the window, standing with her back to it, or what?’

  ‘I somehow don’t think she stood with her back to it?’

  ‘Or facing it?’

  ‘I should say she was half-ways on, sir,’ said Jorkins, very carefully. ‘Sidewise like.’

  ‘And wearing a red dressing-gown?’

  ‘A flowing red thing, sir, whatever it was.’

  ‘It might have been a loose coat then?’

  ‘It might, sir. I couldn’t say.’

  ‘From where you were, you could see a small shrubbery, which lies twenty or thirty yards from the window?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You did not notice anyone hiding there, crouching among the bushes?’

  ‘No one at all, sir.’

  ‘You might have seen anyone there?’

  ‘If there had been, sir, I think I would. The shrubs is thinner from the side I was, and I’m used to watching movements in cover—have to be, with the poachers to look out for.’

  ‘You did not notice anyone crossing the park prior to that, or moving furtively anywhere in the grounds?’

  ‘No, sir. I went on straight, took up some rabbit-traps, and went down to village to see about some rabbit cartridges. I heard of the murder up at the house, and went with sergeant to tell what I seen.’

  He was allowed to stand down then, and Mr Barley was recalled. Asked if any of his household conformed to the description of the woman who had shown herself momentarily at the window, he replied that Mrs Tollard answered to it, except for the fact that she did not wear a red dressing-gown.

  That closed the proceedings for the moment. The superintendent renewed his application for an adjournment, which was granted. As the Stowe House party left the court, the chief constable, who had been present, spoke to Mr Barley briefly. Mr Barley left him, went to Tollard, and asked him if he would go home with the others in the car.

  ‘I must stay for a little,’ he explained. ‘I may lunch here. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Tollard gloomily, and looked at Elaine. ‘We are to go back,’ he told her, as Barley returned to the chief constable. ‘Isn’t that the car over there?’

  He signalled, and the chauffeur brought Mr Barley’s car up to the kerb. Haine looked discontentedly about him as the others got in.

  ‘If I had known there would have been an adjournment, I should have had my luggage brought down this morning,’ he said to Tollard. ‘I don’t see that there’s any use in my hanging about here.’

  Tollard was privately of the same opinion. He had found Haine’s youthful worship of his dead wife annoying and ill-timed.

  ‘You could get a train after lunch,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose Mr Barley will
be late.’

  Elaine sat silent and thoughtful during the drive back, and the others would have done the same had not Ortho Haine started a controversial hare.

  ‘It’s a funny thing that the woman at that window should have had fair hair,’ he said. ‘I can’t make it out.’

  Carton looked at him. ‘That’s by no means the strangest feature of the case. After all, there are still a few women who do not shingle, and fair hair is not uncommon in England.’

  Tollard grunted. ‘If you don’t mind, Haine, we won’t pursue the subject.’

  ‘Oh, just as you like,’ said Haine peevishly. ‘But it seems to me very important.’

  ‘Possibly it does to you,’ said Tollard savagely.

  While the party were driving home to Stowe House, Superintendent Fisher and the inspector were walking slowly back to the station, deeply engaged in talk.

  ‘I’m turning it over to you now, Warren,’ said the former. ‘You know my views, and have read my notes.’

  ‘What do you think of the evidence of that fellow Jorkins?’ asked Warren. ‘Clear enough, it seemed to me.’

  ‘In details, yes, but I’m hanged if it’s at all clear in any other way, unless we take a big supposition.’

  ‘What is that, sir?’

  ‘Well, if we assume that another woman was actually in the room, wearing a red dressing-gown, or loose coat, she was there for a definite purpose, and that purpose was murder.’

  ‘But if she was in the room, why should she drag a long thing like that blow-pipe with her?’

  ‘I’ll come to that later on. Assuming she was there for the purpose of murder, she might wish it to be thought that she was actually Mrs Tollard.’

  ‘In case anyone caught a glimpse of her?’

  ‘Yes. Now, Mrs Tollard had a quantity of fair hair, and wore it long. No one else in the house seems to have had hair both long and fair, but one of them might have put on a fair wig.’

  ‘That might be, sir.’

  ‘And from her position in the room, she might have seen a man—the under-keeper in this case—crossing the park, and shown herself for a moment at the window to make him think it was Mrs Tollard standing there.’