by Vernon Loder
‘You must take the responsibility,’ he said.
‘Willingly,’ said Jim Carton. ‘Come on, Tollard.’
Barley went down to Fisher. In the passage on the first floor Carton saw Mrs Gailey suddenly emerge from her room.
‘I should like to have her, too. Do you mind?’ he asked.
Tollard shrugged. ‘If it is necessary.’
Netta exclaimed on seeing Tollard there, but Carton spoke a few words to her, and she accompanied them to the door of the room where Mrs Tollard had died, and followed them in, when the door was unlocked and the light turned on.
Tollard remained near the door, his shoulders leaned against the wall, his head bent. He did not appear to wish to follow Carton’s movements very closely.
Carton turned on another light over the dressing-table, and quickly went to the spot where Mrs Tollard had been found lying. He looked to every side, and presently asked Mrs Gailey if she would mind standing with her back to one wall of the bayed window. She assented, with some hesitation, and stood at a point he indicated, while he remained in the room in a line with the wall of the bay, and appeared to be studying her in profile.
‘Now a yard further on,’ he said.
‘Is this necessary?’ said Tollard, looking up.
‘Very,’ said Carton. ‘Right, Mrs Gailey!’
She could not move any further along that side, for she was already beside the straight front of the window.
Carton took a sight along the wall, and placed his hand at a certain point.
‘Now you can move away,’ he said, and she obeyed him eagerly. ‘Would you mind coming over here, Tollard, and telling me something?—Fisher may be here at any minute.’
Tollard walked over. ‘What is it?’
‘You must have been fairly familiar with this room when your wife slept here.’
‘In a sense, I suppose I was.’
‘Did anything hang just here, or near here?’ He indicated a point on the wall.
Tollard stared. ‘No. Wait a moment. I imagine a little wall-calendar hung there. My wife always carried it about with her.’
‘You do not see it now?’
‘No.’
Mrs Gailey gave a little cry. ‘I hear them coming up the stairs. Shall I go?
‘No, please stay! I shall want you again,’ said Carton.
He went over to the door, and threw it open. Mr Barley and the superintendent were coming along the passage. Fisher carried the step-ladder, a handkerchief round his hand.
‘Now, sir,’ said Fisher, as he stood in the doorway, and glared at Carton. ‘What do you mean by this? It’s tampering with evidence, and obstructing the police! I’ll make you smart for this!’
Carton bowed. ‘I gave the key to Mr Barley the moment I knew you were in the house. I intended to show the ladder to you later.’
‘You had no business to move it, or examine it, at all.’
‘You can hold me responsible.’
‘You have no right to be in this room either!’
‘I have the right of common-sense, but I’ll waive that.’
Fisher was heated. ‘You’ll explain at once what you are doing, or have been doing in this room; and for what purpose.’
‘Willingly,’ said Carton, very gravely. ‘I have been examining this room to find who killed Mrs Tollard. That was my only purpose.’
‘And I suppose you have found another fine clue like that air-gun?’ said Fisher.
His annoyance was natural, and Carton did not blame him.
‘No. I have, I think, found who killed Mrs Tollard.’
Tollard gave a cry, and went up to him. ‘If you’re making a joke of this I’ll give you a damned good thrashing.’
‘It is no joke,’ said Carton quietly. ‘Have you examined the ladder, superintendent?’
‘No. When I heard you were here interfering again, I came up at once.’
Carton nodded. ‘Very well; then perhaps you will follow the details of my little investigation before you think of taking any action against me.’
‘If you’re quick about it,’ said Fisher harshly.
‘I’ll try to be,’ said Carton. ‘Tollard, didn’t you tell me just now—’
‘I said there was a little calendar hanging on the wall, but what has that to do with it?’ cried Tollard fiercely.
‘Where do you think it was?’
Tollard walked across to the wall where Mrs Gailey had stood. ‘Here, I think. Yes, there is a small nail-hole.’
‘But no nail?’ said Carton.
Fisher propped the ladder against the wall, and hurried over. ‘What’s this? Oh, I see. There had been a small nail here. It has fallen out.’
‘Or been taken out,’ said Carton.
The others murmured surprise and perplexity, except Fisher, who looked more grim than ever.
‘Well, sir, if it has?’
‘If it has, superintendent, will you please examine that ladder thoroughly? Under peril of your displeasure, I took the risk of examining it myself, and you will find a small cross made in ink near the top of one of the uprights.’
For a moment Fisher seemed about to make some hot reply, but he calmed himself, brought the ladder, set it up under a lamp, and drew a lens from his pocket.
‘This you mean, sir?’ he said presently, breaking a silence which had grown more intense each moment.
‘That,’ said Carton. ‘You will see, I think, that there is a tiny splinter on the edge of the wood.’
‘And dried blood on it,’ said Fisher. He drew a deep breath, and again turned to the ladder to examine that tiny clue more closely.
‘Someone went in the night to that cupboard, and got the ladder,’ Carton went on, ‘took it into the hall, and got a dart out of the quiver hung on the wall. Either in ascending or descending, that tiny splinter made a scratch, and drew blood. That person afterwards found it difficult to put the ladder back in the cupboard without making a noise, so simply removed it to the kitchen. It was found there by Mr Barley, when Miss Gurdon asked him to get her one.’
‘That’s true,’ cried Mr Barley excitedly.
Fisher had now turned, and was listening attentively. ‘Go on, sir.’
‘If you will look also on the same upright, but nearer the bottom, superintendent, you will see that there are several very fine splinters; attached to one of them is a silky fibre or two, that I should like you to examine, and afterwards send to a textile expert.’
Tollard moved closer, his eyes wide. Fisher bent quickly, and then straightened himself, with something held between the tips of forceps he had taken from his pocket.
‘You are right, sir,’ he said wonderingly. ‘This is a fibre of silk.’
‘Put it away carefully, and I shall try to hurry on,’ Carton said. ‘I come to this room now. I was looking for something, and I found it.’
‘What was that, sir?’
‘A pure speculation, but it has come out all right. I wanted to find a hole in the wall, and I found it. That calendar Mr Tollard admits seeing there formerly is gone. So is the tiny nail on which it hung. You see that for yourselves.’
‘Of course,’ said Tollard.
‘But I don’t see the point,’ remarked Fisher.
‘I am coming to that. Mrs Gailey, you were kind enough to help me before, will you help me again?’
Netta Gailey was trembling with nervous excitement, but she nodded, and stammered that she would do what she could.
Carton thanked her, took a matchbox from his pocket, and sharpened one end of a match hurriedly with his penknife.
‘Watch this carefully, superintendent,’ he said. ‘I am going to insert one end of this in the hole left by the withdrawal of that nail.’
‘Very well, sir. I am watching.’
Carton inserted the wooden match in the hole where the calendar had hung, and motioned to Netta Gailey, who came forward slowly.
‘Will you please stand a little away from the wall, and lean back against it g
ently? Opposite that match. No, a little more to the left. Right! Don’t move any more. Lean back. Stop!’
Poor Netta was flushed and self-conscious, but she held that pose very well, and Carton turned to Fisher.
‘Will you put your hand flat, and very carefully behind Mrs Gailey’s shoulder?’
Tollard put a hand over his eyes, and went blindly towards the door. Elaine followed him, her face tragic. They left the room together, as Fisher obeyed Carton, and slid his hand along the wall behind Netta Gailey’s back.
No one attempted to stop them. The door closed. Carton did not even look round, and though Netta’s eyes turned to follow Tollard’s retreating figure, she kept her position bravely.
Fisher drew a deep breath. ‘I can feel it, sir. It is just under the left shoulder-blade.’
Carton nodded, his face intent. ‘The two ladies were about the same height. That is why I asked Mrs Gailey to help me.’
Netta shuddered a little. ‘Please may I go now?’
‘Yes, you have been very good,’ said Carton. ‘I don’t know what we would have done without you. I know you didn’t like it, but it is over now, and you may know that it was a great help.’
She left her place, and stood near the middle of the bedroom. Fisher looked at Carton, and shrugged.
‘I don’t care if you did, in a way, forestall us, sir,’ he said generously. ‘You got on this when we hadn’t a notion of it.’
‘A bit of luck, superintendent,’ said Carton. ‘That was all. I can assure you that, if I had been at all certain of my ground, I would have put this clue in your hands at once. But I hated the idea of interfering again, only to find that I had not effected anything.’
Superintendent Fisher nodded. ‘We aren’t out for glory, sir. We want to clear up the case, that is all. If I am not much mistaken, this does clear it up finally.’
‘We shall have to hear Tollard’s story,’ said Carton.
Netta had been listening, turning to look first at one and then the other of the speakers. She burst out now.
‘But what does it mean? What do you know? Have you really found who killed Mrs Tollard?’
Fisher nodded. ‘I think so, Mrs Gailey. I shall have to have the fibres of silk compared with those in the dressing-gown of course, but I think there is no doubt where they came from.’
‘But I don’t see it even then?’
‘It is really quite simple, now that we have these clues in our hands,’ said Fisher. ‘The two fibres of silk I found on the splinter on the ladder just now are green, so far as I can see. They came from the garment of someone who climbed up that ladder to get a dart from the quiver on the wall. Mrs Tollard was wearing a green silk dressing-gown when found dead. I have no doubt that the fibres came from that; which proves that she was the person who took the dart.’
‘But why?’
‘I am coming to that. There was also, as Mr Carton here discovered, a splinter higher up which had caught the arm of the person climbing.’
‘And Dr Browne told me there was a slight scratch on Mrs Tollard’s forearm,’ interrupted Carton.
‘I saw that,’ said Fisher. ‘But, as it was dry, I assumed that it had been inflicted some time before, and therefore had no bearing on the case. As it turns out, it partly proves that Mrs Tollard climbed that ladder, either when your party were away on the picnic at Heber Castle, the afternoon prior to the tragedy, or in the night. I am inclined to the latter theory, as she would then be undisturbed.’
Netta gasped. ‘It is unbelievable!’
Fisher continued. ‘What followed, as nearly as I can reconstruct it, with the valuable demonstration just given us by Mr Carton, is this: She returned to her room with the dart, and possibly went to bed. She rose after dawn, her mind made up, and removed the wall-calendar, which we found—though we attached no importance to it—in the wastepaper basket when we searched the room. A small nail was twisted in the ribbon that held it up when in position.’
Carton raised his eyebrows. ‘You never told me that.’
‘I saw no need to. I could not think it had any meaning. But, to go on: Mrs Tollard removed the nail from the wall, and inserted the butt of the thorn-like dart in the hole it left. Then she stood with her back to it, the point almost, but not quite, on a level with the lower edge of her shoulder-blade, and leaned gently back. That leaning movement gave to the dart the appearance of having been driven in from a position slightly below. Is that your theory, Mr Carton?’
‘You have interpreted it exactly, superintendent.’
‘Then, as I see it, she lay down on the floor near the window. I should say that death followed within an hour, perhaps much less.’
‘But she cried out?’ said Netta, white as a sheet.
Fisher and Carton exchanged glances. Carton shook his head almost imperceptibly. He thought it unnecessary for Netta to hear all. Fisher understood him, and continued hurriedly. ‘We may take it that even suicides are not immune from pain. But I have no doubt now that Mrs Tollard committed suicide.’
Netta burst suddenly into tears. Fisher signed to Carton, who took her gently by the arm, and led her out of the room, and down a further corridor which led to her bedroom. He left her there, and returned to Fisher, who was gently scraping with the point of a fine penknife at the hole in the wall, and removing from it, with the points of his forceps, some fine vegetable fibres.
‘By Jove! That’s some of the silk-cotton!’ he cried, when he saw what Fisher was doing.
‘And I think it clinches the case,’ replied Fisher. ‘We’ll go below now, sir, and hear Mr Tollard’s story.’
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE BROODING SILENCE
THE sound of voices came from the library as the three men descended the stairs. From the moment when Carton had completed his demonstration until they left the room which had been the scene of the tragedy, Mr Barley had not said a single word. He had remained stupefied, and silent. The whole thing had been so unexpected by him that he was stunned by it.
Now, as they paused outside the door of the library, he shook his head mournfully.
‘She meant more than that,’ he said, as if to himself. ‘Surely she must have been out of her mind?’
Fisher, his hand on the handle of the door, replied softly: ‘Jealousy is a frequent cause of madness, sir. But quietly now. We shall hear more in a few minutes.’
As they went in, they saw Tollard sitting by the table, his head bent on his hands. Elaine was in a chair near the window. She was staring out blankly when they entered, and did not look round.
The mixture of misery and horror on Tollard’s face for a moment immobilised the three men on the threshold. Then Fisher quietly closed the door behind him, and spoke.
‘May we have a word with you, sir?’
Tollard nodded mechanically. ‘You think it was suicide?’
‘I am afraid so, sir.’
Elaine rose from her chair. ‘I had better go.’
Fisher made no objection. He let her out, and went to stand near Tollard. Barley and Carton moved over to the window embrasure, and stood there together.
The superintendent’s voice was sympathetic as he began. ‘There is hardly a doubt, sir, that your wife took her own life. But a more difficult question arises from that. It will be for you to decide if the coroner’s jury is to know that their verdict is felo-de-se, or if these other and more painful things are to be gone into in court.’
‘If you are satisfied, that it is suicide, I am prepared to take your view,’ said Tollard, in a stifled voice.
‘I think you are wise, sir. That silk fibre came, I am sure, from your wife’s dressing-gown. She obtained the dart, and used it in the way Mr Carton demonstrated. I have since found some minute traces of silk-cotton in the hole into which the dart had been thrust.’
‘I am prepared to accept that,’ Tollard murmured bitterly.
‘Then, sir, we come to the motive; but, to understand that, we shall have to ask you for the story o
f your relations with your wife since Miss Gurdon’s return to England. If you prefer to tell that story to me alone, I shall ask Mr Carton and Mr Barley to withdraw.’
Tollard shook his head. ‘God knows I did it for her sake,’ he said. ‘I was afraid of this, and yet I couldn’t think it. I hated the idea of the publicity; not for my sake, but for hers. I loved her, Fisher! I have never faltered in that. I meant to say nothing of our difficulties. I thought the case would fall through, and be forgotten.’
‘It was nearly sending Miss Gurdon into the dock,’ said Fisher.
Tollard bit his lip. ‘I know that now. Because that is so, I would rather Mr Barley stayed, and Carton too. I owe it to them to explain. I have already told Miss Gurdon.’
Fisher bowed. ‘Thank you, sir. Take your time. This is a painful thing for you, and we’ll make every allowance.’
For a few moments there was silence. Tollard looked straight before him, his eyes reminiscent, tragically lacklustre.
‘There was never anything stranger than our married life,’ he began at last. ‘I loved her, and she loved me. I have no doubt that she loved me. But we had different tastes, sympathies; we were as different as man and wife can be. Until Miss Gurdon came back to England we were very happy. But even then I discovered a temperament in my wife that I could hardly understand. A man of my sanguine temperament can understand a temper that flares up, and is gone. My wife was not like that. I see now that the brooding, introspective temperament is more dangerous to peace of mind than the other. I got a glimpse of her when little differences cropped up, as they do in all married lives. But it was only when Miss Gurdon visited me, and I undertook to finance an expedition, that I realised to what a pass jealous love can drive a woman.’
He paused a moment, wiped his forehead, and went on: ‘From the first, I want you to understand that Miss Gurdon was not responsible. It was she who insisted that we should discuss matters at my house. To the very end she thought it was unwise to let Margery even appear to stand outside the circle of our interests. It is due to me that she has been so reticent since the tragedy. I insisted that as little publicity as possible should be given to my differences with my wife. I knew that they were the result of my wife’s love for me, and the, perhaps mistaken, attitude I had taken up.’
