The Incredible Crime

by Lois Austen-Leigh

  Sir Boris came and sat down again by the bed. “We have to bear in mind,” he said, “that this stuff is coming into the country, and it is coming in so as to blind us to its source. That means it’s coming in the last place that we should be expected to look for it. Why, if I could have my way, I’d even have the Archbishop of Canterbury searched! I’d trust no one, no one!” he exclaimed, with some heat, and then went on more quietly, “We know from the coast-guards that Wellende is being secretive about something; we know his cousin in Cambridge is handling the drug; that this same cousin after years of estrangement has lately taken to going fairly often to Wellende. We now know that Lord Wellende is so anxious to get rid of you as to poison you, and run the risk of detection. We made a mistake in not hiding your identity altogether.”

  “I couldn’t; Maryon wouldn’t have taken me on those conditions.”

  “Well, it has had the effect of compelling them to make a mistake. You had better leave them under the impression that you still think it’s scarlet fever. Who have you left down there?”

  “I’ve two men,” said McDonald; “it’s been very difficult to introduce anyone, as everyone knows all about his neighbour there, and his neighbour’s concerns, and they all adore Lord Wellende. I have a man reputed to be one of the Harwich Water Guard with the coast-guardsmen at Wellende, and a young fellow living alone on a motor-boat on the river, an ornithologist, and if Miss Pinsent goes out again in her boat, he’ll keep her under observation.” There was a long pause.

  “I arranged that Wickin should meet Professor Temple and get him talking on his own subject, to see if he could find out at all if Temple has got hold of this drug; but he could get nothing out of him, wouldn’t talk about his own special work,” said Sir Boris.

  “If we laid our hand on the table and told the Professor everything—it’s only if he was innocent that it would help,” said McDonald musingly.

  “Yes,” agreed Sir Boris, “and as things are, I daren’t, because if he’s guilty we should have given ourselves completely away.”

  McDonald agreed.

  “There was one thing I discovered you may say is a bit more against his lordship,” said McDonald; “when my supposed scarlet fever was discovered, they made me up a bed in his smoking-room, and among a lot of sporting literature I found a most surprisingly advanced library on veterinary surgery, and one or two books on toxicology; and what is more, they had been well read.”

  “That is of importance,” said Sir Boris.

  “Yes, it establishes the fact that the reader of those books has a good knowledge of drugs, and almost certainly of how to handle them.”

  “An unusual addition to a country gentleman’s education,” observed Sir Boris dryly.

  “It hurts me,” said McDonald, looking at his superior with real pain in his eyes, “it hurts me that a chap like Lord Wellende can be doing such a thing. I’ve tried to excuse him in that he can’t be knowing what he’s doing, but he’s no fool; he wouldn’t have those books if he were,” and McDonald fidgeted uneasily in his bed.

  “Heredity can play some funny tricks,” said Sir Boris gently, “and he comes of a long line of people who have just taken what they wanted—and then he may—I say, may—be led by his cousin, without quite realizing.”

  McDonald grunted. He wanted to think it of Lord Wellende, but in all honesty he couldn’t.

  “I’d do a lot to get money to keep such a place as Wellende Old Hall going in my family,” said McDonald, “but not that—not that.”

  “And Temple would do a lot to get money for his work. I hear he applied to the Rockefeller Trust, but got turned down,” added Sir Boris.

  “It’s Lord Wellende’s part that hurts me so much,” replied McDonald. “All his servants have been with him as long as they can remember, I believe; why, it came out at dinner, he gets his hair cut by an undergardener—an undergardener, if you please—because seventy years ago the old fellow was in a barber’s shop, and he always has cut his lordship’s hair for the last forty years, and so he always will! And when he lent me things for the night, he produced an old-fashioned night-shirt, with an apology, as ‘he hadn’t yet taken to pyjamas,’ but offered to get me some from one of the footmen if I preferred it!”

  Sir Boris laughed.

  “Well, that sort of thing had made me think perhaps he was smuggling game-cocks, and doing a bit of cock-fighting on his own; it’s just what would be in keeping with the place; and it’s illegal,” said McDonald, looking almost hopefully at Sir Boris, somewhat as a child looks who hopes his excuse for ill-behaviour is going to be good enough to pass; but Sir Boris shook his head, and McDonald knew he was right.

  “No, it’s no good; a man in his position wouldn’t poison you on that score. He’d have appealed to your sporting side, if that had been all; for as far as he knew, you weren’t there in your professional capacity.”

  McDonald sighed. He knew that what Sir Boris said was true.

  “And when you think of Lord Wellende in his beautiful house, leading his quiet sporting life, beloved by all his people, turn your thoughts away and reflect on the demented, tortured victims of this poison that you have known, the corrupted humanity turning to crime, the ruined lives, the shattered ambitions, the broken families, hiding their shame and haunted by fear—and let that stiffen your back to your job.”

  McDonald flung himself over in his bed.

  “May one smoke here?” said Sir Boris.

  “Yes, of course, and it will do us both good,” and so one lit a cigar and the other a pipe.

  “You are not looking at all well, old fellow,” said Sir Boris kindly; “there is something the matter with you, and my visit is doing you no good.”

  “What luck have you had with your investigations at Cambridge?”

  “Not much, so far. I have had someone outside the gate of Prince’s most of the daytime. A woman selling flowers, or a man selling matches; the man picked up a bit more rock-salt, and some crushed mortar; the woman thinks she heard a bell more than once; but nothing enough yet to justify further steps.”

  “If there’s anything in it,” said McDonald with a laugh, “it will let Miss Pinsent out, for she called your attention to it. I don’t feel towards her at all as I feel towards Lord Wellende and Dr. Heale; she’s much more complicated, but I’ve never believed her guilty.”

  “I believe everyone guilty on this, till we prove them innocent,” said Sir Boris.

  Chapter XXVII

  They had been out all day long, tramping the roots and the long soft furrows, then waiting by the brown covert side while the birds were driven towards them. The soft calls of the beaters, the sound of their sticks tap-tap-tapping against the undergrowth as they advanced, the occasional call of “Hi cock,” and the soft local sing-song drawl in their voices when they spoke, all blended with the subdued sounds of the country-side. The last rattle of the old game-cart going down the drive had died away, as Ben and Prue tramped home. A vivid autumn sunset was in their eyes, and the massive pile of the old Hall stood up black against it; away over the marshes the curlews were whistling softly to each other. Indoors, they got rid of their heavy boots and outdoor things, and met again over the tea-table.

  Said Ben, after taking a long drink, “I’ve had a wire from Francis; he can come here for to-morrow night, though he has to be off again by the middle of Sunday, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “Oh,” breathed Prudence, then was silent, for it had come as a real shock to her that this bit of news was the crown to a perfect day. “Better than nothing!” She laughed to herself. “Why, it’s everything, just everything.” Aloud she said, “What brings him; anything special?”

  “Yes, he’s just made a great success in an experiment against distemper, and he’s bringing the experiment with him to show me.”

  “Oh, the darling!” exclaimed Prudence.

 
“Who?” said Ben, looking thoroughly startled, “Francis?”

  “No, no,” laughed Prudence, “I mean the experiment; I’ve seen him, and it’s the most engaging puppy you ever beheld.”

  That evening, while dressing for dinner, Prudence said to Mary, “His lordship has just told me that Dr. Temple is coming for a night.”

  Mary looked grim. “In that case, miss, I am very glad you are here.”

  “Mary,” said Prudence earnestly, “you must believe me when I tell you there is no question of Dr. Temple being after his lordship’s life; it is simply unthinkable. Indeed, I know what they are doing together, and the fewer that know about it the better. If any trouble came of it, it would come as much to one as the other.”

  The next day, Saturday, was a hunting day, and though sport had not been as good as usual, Prudence felt thoroughly happy all day long; it didn’t matter what happened, or didn’t happen, she was going to see Temple again that evening. She came home in time to change for tea. The old stud-groom helped her out of the saddle, and as he did so he remarked, “His lordship tells me the doctor is coming for the night; he’s a fine gentleman, he is, knows near as much about animals as his lordship.”

  “Does he?” said Prudence in some surprise. “You’ll hardly know him this time, Berry; he’s shaved off his whiskers and it’s made him look extraordinarily like Lord Wellende.”

  “Has he now, miss? Well, he couldn’t do better than look like his lordship,” replied that faithful retainer.

  Prudence, with Mary’s assistance, got into a soft, dark green tea-frock, and with her lovely chestnut-coloured hair and happy face, looked as beautiful as she had ever done in her life. She was feeling a good deal less sure of herself than usual, and extraordinarily happy. Tea was in the library on the first floor, and as she passed along the gallery round the hall, she saw through a window the headlights of an approaching car. She paused. A footman, followed by Dunning, crossed the hall and opened the doors. Prudence heard the scrunch of the tyres on the soft gravel as the big car drew up. A few confused noises—and the sound of the car moving on to the luggage entrance. Dunning’s voice hospitably welcoming, and then…and at the sound of it Prudence’s well-regulated heart missed a beat for the first time in its life…the deep voice of Temple replying. She was angry with herself, and a little frightened at the strength of her own feelings. It was ridiculous, she told herself; she might be a love-sick girl in her teens, to be feeling like this. Anyhow she must suppress it, and at any cost show nothing of her feelings.

  A few minutes later, and Temple, followed by Ben, entered the room. The sight that met their eyes was a charming one. A magnificent old Tudor fire-place with the blazoned coat of the Temples, the shield—“or, a chevron gules, between bears’ paws erased proper”; in the middle, a fire of driftwood, with purple, blue, and green flames, and in front of it all a cosy, glittering tea-table with the charming figure of Prudence bending over it.

  Temple was looking grim, Prudence thought, as he advanced; and she, to hide her embarrassment, began at once.

  “What have you done with the experiment; haven’t you brought him?”

  “If Prue is as fond of you as she is of your dog, Francis,” said Ben, with blissfully unconscious stupidity, “you’re a lucky man.”

  “You shall see him soon,” replied the Professor, without looking at her; “at present he has gone round to the back with my man.”

  “Give me my tea in the slop-basin,” said Ben, who, having shed his top-boots and pink coat, was comfortably though inelegantly clad, in socks, breeches, a canary-coloured waistcoat, and an old Norfolk jacket, “and put six lumps of sugar in.”

  Temple asked with real interest after the hounds and what sport had been shown; Ben, stirring his basin of tea, replied.

  “If Ben only knew how to talk to his field, the sport would have been as good to-day as any,” remarked Prudence severely. “Why, even I could give him lessons in it.”

  “I haven’t the slightest doubt you could,” said Ben, “and you’d have to solace all their outraged feelings after.”

  “I know a bit now that your father taught me when I was still in the schoolroom; it sounds fine, it does, and it takes me a good two minutes to say it straight through without stopping. There are parts,” added Miss Pinsent thoughtfully, “that I don’t understand even now.”

  Ben laughed, but Temple looked black and muttered something. “I am not going to repeat it, because you and Dr. Temple might understand.”

  “Bless my soul, Prue, you don’t call him Dr. Temple, surely? I never knew anything so ridiculous; you’re cousins, however distant.”

  “Yes, Ben, but you don’t realize in the least what a respect I have for him,” said Prudence maliciously.

  “I couldn’t dream of addressing him familiarly by his Christian name,” she went on, watching Temple’s profile, but getting no enlightenment therefrom. “It’s only the other day he was pointing out to me how infinitely superior he is to me in every way, and who am I?…”

  “Does that mean you are prepared to stand up and say your ‘duty’ to me?” said Temple, suddenly turning round on her.

  “No, it does not,” replied Prudence, in a totally different voice.

  “Well, if you two know what you are talking about, I’m blessed if I do,” said Ben, and whistling for his dog, he left the room.

  There was a long silence while neither of the others spoke. Then Prudence got up, and sitting down in an old high-backed chair just opposite Temple, looked derisively up into his dignified face and said, “Francis,” softly.

  He looked straight over her head and, thrusting his hands a little deeper into his pockets, said, “If you look or speak to me like that again, you must take the consequences.”

  “And what are the consequences?”

  “I shall certainly come and kiss you.”

  Prudence, though she had asked for it, and deserved it, had got it a great deal straighter than she had expected; but luckily for her at that moment Ben returned. It was only in thinking things over afterwards that she considered Ben’s return lucky; it had just saved her from what she was strongly tempted to do—say it again, and take the consequences! Later, when she went to her room to change for dinner, even though she knew her conduct had been deplorable, her heart was dancing for joy. But happiness, especially that ill-gotten happiness which has such a peculiarly enjoyable flavour, generally comes before a fall. Mary came into her room with an expression on her face that is often described as one “to turn the cream sour.”

  “I thought as I ought to tell you, miss, that that there manservant as Dr. Temple has brought with him is the same feller as was on that barge, and I overheard give that message to him.”

  Prudence sat down, astonished.

  “I don’t know if you are still satisfied that things are going as they should, miss?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s a bit of a surprise,” said Prudence slowly, “but it fits in perfectly with what I believe is the case. Mary,” she went on vehemently, “you must put away all idea of anyone attempting his lordship’s life; it’s simply outrageous; it’s no more a question of his life than it is of yours or mine.”

  But Prudence’s high spirits had gone for the evening, and the old worry as to what was going on returned with redoubled force.

  The “experiment” came down to dinner with his master; and Prudence, not feeling much inclined for talk herself, listened to the others discussing various topics. She was intrigued to notice for the first time a strong resemblance between Francis Temple and a Holbein of one of his forbears hanging behind him.

  After dinner they all went together to Ben’s smoking-room. The wind, which had been getting up all the evening, was moaning round the house, with an occasional scream. The three cousins settled themselves comfortably round the blaze. Temple was looking an absolutely contented man; Ben, after his day
in the saddle, was half asleep, but Prudence felt very much on edge. One moment she was transported with joy at the thought of what Temple had said to her in the library (for she knew he was the sort of man to say that to one woman only), and the next, feeling wretched at the thought of what was going on in secret. She realized that Mary had not abandoned her fear that Temple was after his cousin’s life. Well, if Mary was going to be such a fool, it was not her fault. She wondered what the two men would say if she poured out all that was in her mind now.

  A prolonged scream from the wind. The “experiment” was wandering uneasily round the room.

  Between the cousins there was a good deal of real affection and trust; why couldn’t she tell them all her anxieties? Her promises to Studde and to Mary were insuperable obstacles. She sighed.

  Temple looked up. “Does the wind worry you?” he said kindly.

  “Yes, it does rather, I don’t know why, quite. Look at that dog.”

  The Professor regarded his dog, who was uneasily snuffling round the wainscoting. “He’s restless in unfamiliar surroundings.”

  Silence again, while the wind continued to howl. Prudence reconsidered for the hundredth time the chances of Mr. McDonald having been sent there by Scotland Yard; decided, as before, on the improbability of it, and thought with satisfaction that anyhow the measles or whatever it was must have nipped anything he was doing in the bud. Suddenly there came back into her mind something Susan Skipwith had said. She looked at the quiet, sleeping face of Lord Wellende, and then turning her troubled gaze to Temple, said: “Would you ever say that Ben was a person troubled by complexes or unconscious urges?”

  Though she had spoken softly, at this outrageous charge Ben opened his indignant eyes—generally the eyes of a peaceful child. Temple looked at him and laughed.

  “No,” he said, “I never knew a simpler or saner feller in my life.”

  “Really, Prue, I will not have you call me such names,” he said, rousing himself, “it positively woke me up. Here, look at that dog; does he want to go out?”