The Incredible Crime

by Lois Austen-Leigh

  “It was as stupid a bit of work as ever I heard of,” said Temple angrily. “I gave Heale credit for more sense than that. The man could have done you no harm once you were on your guard.”

  “There you are wrong. I couldn’t have him about the place at all when I was moving a cargo.”

  “Did the Fever Hospital accept the case as scarlet fever? It was taking a great risk.”

  “Oh, yes, I think so; he wrote to me some days after from the place, saying he was very comfortable and not at all bad.”

  Temple was pacing restlessly up and down the room.

  “I suppose it’s no good my appealing to you in the interests of science?”

  “Not the least use saying any more at all. I have not come to the conclusion without careful thought, and, having made up my mind, you know me well enough to realize I shall not change.”

  The two cousins, though alike to a certain extent, were at the moment looking very different. The Professor’s strong, nervous face was black with anger, while Wellende’s kept tranquil and composed.

  “You—you—” the Professor burst out angrily again. “The life of a fox is of more value to you than all the science in the world.”

  “No,” said Lord Wellende good-temperedly, “there you do me an injustice.”

  “And you’re safe enough,” went on the other. “It’s not as if you ran any danger of being shown up.”

  “Then tell me how it is that Prudence Pinsent has found out about the whole business?”

  The Professor stopped dead. “Prudence!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes,” said Wellende tranquilly. “She didn’t find out through us, and she won’t tell me how she did. It distresses her so much, I couldn’t press her more to tell me.”

  “Prudence,” murmured Temple to himself. “So that’s at the bottom of it!”

  He went and stood looking out of the window for some time. The pulse was beating fast in his forehead, and his face looked positively murderous with temper. After remaining in silence for some time, which Lord Wellende made no effort to break, he turned and said, in a more controlled but somewhat shaky tone of voice:

  “I’ve got an appointment that won’t keep me long; I’ll give you something to drink before I go.”

  He opened a cupboard, and having taken some time about it, he came back with a tumbler, which he put down at his cousin’s elbow, his usually steady hand shaking as he did so.

  “Thanks,” said Wellende pleasantly. “I’ll wait here till you come back.”

  But he did not.

  Scarcely had the last sounds of the Professor’s footsteps on the wooden stairs died away, when quite suddenly, without a sound and with scarcely a movement, Benedict Compton Temple, 27th Lord Wellende, who seldom left home, and never left England, set out on his last long journey. His head was fallen back on the cushion of the chair, and there was a look of contented peace on his face; and who shall wonder, for he had gone to a land where the pure in heart find a warmer welcome than the rich or the famous.

  Chapter XXX

  In the afternoon of the following day two men were sitting in a room above the police station at Cambridge. Colonel Marton, the Chief Constable, had a bloated, purple face, an ugly nose, and little pig’s eyes; but the face was a most horrid libel on the sober, shrewd gentleman behind it. When moved by deep emotion, especially anger, his face would turn a rich crimson, and at the present moment it was glowing like the setting sun. The other man with him was Mr. McDonald from Scotland Yard, an older-looking McDonald than was at Wellende, with the lines in his face sunk deeper in.

  “I can’t feel professional about this,” Colonel Marton was saying, as he pushed back his chair and got up. “It hurts me, it really hurts me.”

  “I know just what you are feeling,” replied McDonald. “If people like the Temples are not to be trusted to run straight, there’s no one you can put your faith in. Why, I’d—”

  “I know, I know; a business like this shakes all your faith in humanity. I’ve known these people for years, I’ve stayed more than once at the Old Hall for a day’s hunting; why I’d—” He finished with a sigh, and ran his fingers through his grey hair with a weary gesture. “I’m no detective, God knows, but I’ve had a bit of experience, and I had an uneasy feeling when Sir Boris came to me about having the gate at Prince’s watched that there was more behind it, but I’d no idea it was as bad as this…For all his pleasant manner, he doesn’t give much away.”

  “Who? Sir Boris?”

  “Yes.”

  “I should think he didn’t, indeed; that pleasant manner and smile are worth no end to him!”

  They both remained silent, each deep in his own thoughts. Then McDonald suddenly thumped the table with his fists so that the ink jumped out of the pot, and the pens rattled in their dish. “It’s murder—murder under our very noses. And I can do nothing, and that devil Temple knows it.”

  The Chief Constable was a tidy man, and with a preoccupied air he slid a bit of blotting-paper into the spilled ink.

  “No,” he said, pulling down the corners of his mouth; “if we had Tom Temple in here now and told him all we know, even if he believed us he would sooner leave his brother’s death unavenged than have him proved to be a drug trafficker.”

  “And the Professor knows it, of course.”

  “Yes, he knows it all right, that’s the strength of his position.”

  “Tom Temple is the new Lord Wellende, I suppose,” said McDonald.

  “That’s it. It occurs to me,” went on Colonel Marton, speaking slowly, “that if Tom’s in this drug business too, he will know his brother’s death is murder, and if I know Tom, he will get back on the Professor somehow or other; but if, on the other hand, he is absolutely innocent, he will accept the verdict of the inquest without question.”

  “Yes,” said McDonald, “but as long as he accepts the inquest, there’s no way I can get it upset and have another without bringing very serious charges which I am not in a position to prove, and that devil the Professor knows it.”

  “You’ve one consolation out of the business, McDonald; you are saved from catching Ben Wellende at it, which you would have hated. I am not sure,” he said with a sigh, “I wouldn’t sooner have him dead as he is than caught out as a trafficker in drugs.”

  “Yes; it’s a thin consolation but it’s something; and at any rate no more drugs will get into the country from that source.”

  There was a long pause. The noise of the traffic of the street outside came up to them, but they heeded it not.

  “You’ve known the Temples some time,” said McDonald. “Have you ever heard of there being insanity in the family?”

  Colonel Marton thought. “No,” he said, “I haven’t. It certainly has never been admitted to be so, but I was just trying to remember if there was any who might have been mad.”

  “Have you ever heard of any of them being in homes for drink, insomnia, or dyspepsia? That is the form in which it is generally served out for publication.”

  “No, I really don’t think I ever have. I fancy there was something a little mysterious about the death of Mrs. Pinsent, the wife of the Master of Prince’s; she was a cousin of sorts, a Temple, anyhow. But I could make inquiries.”

  “No, no, it’s quite immaterial. The verdict of the inquest was death from heart disease, and nothing but evidence of foul play can upset that. I was merely trying to account for the Professor. The line between genius and insanity is a very fine one. Say the Professor gets this drug through his cousin, who is peculiarly well placed for smuggling. His lordship, for some reason or other, wants to give it up, and shews signs of splitting on the business, and the Professor does him in, as he is well able, and what’s one life in the cause of science? Temple himself would probably give his own life, if it was necessary; he has often risked it, as it is; that is how he would argue, and
that is just where you have insanity creeping in.”

  “I have heard him say we place too high a value on life.”

  “I have no doubt of it, and it does make it less bad to take life in the cause of science when you’re willing to give your own in the same cause.”

  “I suppose that is the way in which he would argue,” said Colonel Marton; “but you know Creasey, who performed the autopsy, is a very reliable man.”

  “Look here,” said McDonald, “just put yourself for a moment in his place. A well-known man has died suddenly in his chair; there’s not a breath or a thought of foul play anywhere; he died in the rooms of his own friend and relative. That doctor hasn’t a doubt that it’s some form of heart disease; it can be nothing else. Is it therefore surprising that, going to work with this preconceived idea, he really thinks he does find disease? On the other hand, if he couldn’t find anything he’d be in such a d—d awkward position that it would take a very strong man to say so. To go to the coroner and say he can find no cause of death would raise a most awful shindy. The coroner would certainly be rude; and another doctor would be called in, and ten to one he would say he had found traces of disease, and a nice fool the first would look…No, he isn’t going to risk all that.”

  At this moment there was a knock on the door, and a constable came in, shutting the door behind him.

  “What is it?” said Colonel Marton shortly.

  “I thought I had better interrupt you, sir. There’s a person downstairs asking for you, sir; she is determined to see you about this death of Lord Wellende.”

  Colonel Marton’s whole expression changed, while McDonald, who was certainly no less interested, didn’t turn a hair.

  “What sort of person?” asked Colonel Marton.

  “It’s very hard to say, sir,” replied the constable hesitatingly.

  “Would you say she was one of the family, for instance?”

  “No, sir, a nurse, perhaps; she’s a very respectable-looking person, and says she has lived at Wellende in Suffolk all her life.”

  “Bring her up.”

  Colonel Marton and McDonald waited with interest, when a few moments later “Mary” from Wellende walked in. Mary looked respectability incarnate. Her grey-black clothes, her small hat, her neat umbrella, her black bag, and her grey cotton gloves, they all spelled sober respectability. She hesitated on seeing two men, both in mufti.

  “It was the Head Policeman I was wanting to speak to,” she said, looking hard at Colonel Marton.

  “I am he, and this gentleman here is in the force, too, so you can speak freely before him.”

  Mary looked suspiciously at McDonald.

  “Him a policeman too?”

  “Yes.”

  She sat down in the chair given her, folded her hands in her lap, and said very quietly: “I have come all the way here to tell you that his lordship was murdered—murdered by his cousin, the doctor; he’s been trying to do it for some time, and there’s others of the family could have told you the same, but they won’t speak, for the sake of the family.”

  There were a few moments of tense silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of a clock, and sounds from the street below.

  “This is a very serious allegation that you are making,” said Colonel Marton hoarsely. “Do you quite realize what you are saying, I wonder?”

  It was quite obvious that Mary did. “I don’t know about no alligators,” she said cautiously, “but I know what I am saying all right. It’s years ago. Mr. Ben, as he was then, had only just left school, and Mr. Francis was a few years older. They quarrelled about something, and Mr. Francis tried to murder him then, and very nearly did, too, and the old lord said he should never come near the place again, and if it wasn’t for the disgrace to the family, that had always been decent, he’d proceed against him for attempted murder—I heard him myself, shouting it out. He never came to the Old Hall, not until the last few years, and then he and his lordship became friends again.” Here Mary paused, then she said firmly: “He has been to the Hall several times, and each time after he has gone his lordship has been took sick—he that’s never had a day’s illness.”

  “What was Dr. Heale doing then? Didn’t he know of it?” said McDonald suddenly.

  Mary looked surprised, evidently wondering at the “other policeman’s” knowledge.

  “I doubt if he knew of it; his lordship didn’t like it mentioned.”

  “What are you at the Hall?”

  “I am head housemaid, sir. I began in the nursery, when his lordship was a baby, and then went into the house.”

  “See here,” said Colonel Marton, “what is your name?”

  “Mary Woodcock, sir.”

  “Can you give us any proof of what you say? Can you tell us something which would make us believe you, supposing we were not inclined to?”

  Mary thought. “If you was to go to Bishop Pinsent, sir, he knows it all. He knows Mr. Francis has tried once already to murder his lordship, only being one of the family he won’t speak!”

  Colonel Marton looked thoughtful.

  “I knew the Professor had quarrelled with Lord Wellende, but I had no idea of the cause, and I had no idea he ever went there now.”

  “I think I’ve seen you there, sir, haven’t I?” said Mary.

  “Yes, you have,” he said. “I was waiting for you to recognize me. Now, if you’ll wait here, this gentleman and I won’t be long.”

  They went into another room. “She’s genuine,” said Colonel Marton, looking apprehensively at McDonald. “I remembered a grey-haired housemaid, but I wanted her to recognize me.” He was looking worried and anxious; McDonald was not.

  “Oh, yes, she’s genuine enough. She wouldn’t come here with such an outrageous story and offer to face the Master of Prince’s with it, if she were not. Look here, Marton, you must come with me and that gallant old woman, and introduce me to the Master, and I’ll relieve you of all further responsibility in the case. This is just the handle I wanted.”

  “Are you going to ask for another post-mortem on the strength of this?”

  “I don’t know what I am going to ask yet,” said McDonald; “but you and I and the old woman are going together to confront the Master of Prince’s.”

  They rang up and found that the Master would be at home, and so it came about that Colonel Marton was seen taking his inflamed countenance and his two companions into the Lodge at Prince’s. The promptness with which the door was answered after their ring made McDonald wonder if the butler had been waiting in the hall. They were ushered straight into the Master’s study. There, to Colonel Marton’s added distress, they found Miss Pinsent as well as her father. But the poor man agitated himself needlessly, for after shaking hands with him and bowing somewhat frigidly to McDonald, Prudence slipped her arm through Mary’s and took her out of the room.

  The three men were left. There was a long pause. McDonald had told Colonel Marton to leave it entirely to him to conduct the interview, so the Colonel was left to clear his throat anew and to say nothing. The Master said nothing either, but looked inquiringly from one to the other. After a pronounced pause, McDonald said slowly:

  “I dare say your lordship is not altogether surprised at our visit?”

  “I was warned by your telephone message to expect you.”

  “I meant, rather, surprised at the reason for our visit.”

  “I shall be glad,” replied the Master imperturbably, “to hear exactly what your reason is.”

  McDonald, who had been trying to get the Master to give away some information first, saw now that he would not succeed. The Bishop was an able man, and there was nothing for it but to come down with the story. He therefore related shortly Mary’s accusation.

  “I asked her,” he said, “what she could bring to support such a charge, and she told us that you knew all the story, b
ut that you wouldn’t speak for the sake of the family credit.”

  “There,” said the Master quietly, “she did me an injustice, but she is a brave woman, and a faithful servant.”

  There was a pause, while the Master seemed lost in thought. Then he looked up and said: “I am afraid there is nothing for it but to tell you the whole story.”

  He got up and, putting his hands behind him, walked up and down the room as he spoke.

  “My brother-in-law, the father of the present Lord Wellende, was a man of violent and uncontrolled temper; he was also a man of irregular life. He was as different from his son Ben, whom you knew,” looking at McDonald, “as two men can be. Professor Temple, Francis, has something of the same temper, and in early life he entertained leanings towards socialism. Accidentally he came across a natural son of his kinsman, Lord Wellende, whom he thought was not being fairly treated. Hot with indignation, Francis went down to the Old Hall, and there he encountered Ben. Ben, as a matter of fact, knew absolutely nothing of his father’s wrongdoing, and the two cousins quarrelled. Ben thought Francis was wrong in accusing his father, and for once in his life lost his temper. Francis thought Ben was supporting his father, and he lost his temper so completely that he did, in fact, very nearly kill his cousin. It was not till long after that they realized how they had both been talking at cross-purposes…Old Lord Wellende,” said the Bishop slowly, “was the man to blame for that quarrel, and neither of the lads. I have watched Francis since, and I can tell you that man deserves unstinted admiration for the way in which he has mastered his evil spirits.”

  “Thank God,” said Colonel Marton in undisguised relief. “I am d—d glad to hear your account of it,” and he looked at McDonald to see what he thought, but McDonald was looking curiously at the Master.

  “And the natural son of your late brother-in-law is now your Head Porter?”

  The Master started violently and the colour poured into his face; it was unnecessary for him to reply.

  “How—how did you find out that?” he stammered.