“Nothing to prevent Ralph from having provided himself with a duplicate key, I suppose?” remarked the colonel uneasily.
“Not that I know of. It seems a curious detail that the key should be in the vicar’s hands just at that time. Curious and interesting. It may be important or it may not. As soon as I heard of the existence of the pistol I sent a man to keep an eye on the safe. If the pistol is still there, and if the bullets fired last night didn’t come from it, we needn’t bother about it any more. If it’s gone from the safe, or if it turns out to be the weapon used...”
He left the sentence unfinished, and the colonel remained silent for a moment or two, evidently thinking hard and looking very puzzled.
“Odd about that key,” he muttered. “Odd about Ralph’s having a pistol of the same make and calibre. Still, there are plenty of Colt point three-two automatics in existence.” Then he added:—“I know Ralph Hoyle. Not a likely murderer.”
“No, sir,” agreed Bobby, but a little doubtfully, and added:—“Murder is never likely, and murderers are still less so. Another thing that may be worth attention is that there appears to have been rather a violent scene at dinner between Ralph and Bertram, and there was an exchange of threats and references to pistols and shooting. Arthur Hoyle thinks Ralph was the first to threaten the use of a gun, but isn’t sure. Miss Anne says she doesn’t remember; she says anyhow it was only talk. No one actually produced a pistol. Miss Sophy Longden is quite clear that Bertram was the only one who said anything at all about a gun. I don’t think Miss Longden approves of Bertram. She gave me the idea she could have said more about him if she had wanted to.”
“Ralph and Bertram actually came to blows, did they?” the colonel asked.
“Bertram picked up a bottle and threatened to brain Ralph, and Ralph tackled him and threw him—‘gave him a toss’, is Ralph’s expression,” Bobby added, fumbling among his papers. “Bertram says: ‘Tripped me up when I wasn’t looking.’ Things seem to have been strained all through the meal. Even before that, there was an oddly uneasy feeling about, as if they all expected something to happen. My wife has met Miss Longden in connection with the evacuation preparations. She told me before this happened that Miss Longden seemed nervous and afraid, though it wasn’t at all clear what she was afraid of. There was another curious little incident at dinner last night, too, they all comment on. Some wine was spilt, port wine, and it made a red sort of stain that set them all saying how much it looked like blood. It was almost as if it struck them as a kind of omen. I thought that rather significant.”
“In what way?”
“As suggesting that the idea of bloodshed, death, murder, was already present in their minds. It’s not usual for people in a normal state of mind to begin thinking about bloodstains because a little wine gets spilt. It suggests to me that ideas of threats, or a dread of violence coming, were already in their minds—subconsciously perhaps and perhaps not.”
“The suggestion is that one of those at the table was already planning the murder?”
“I don’t mean that quite, I don’t think that follows,” Bobby answered. “What I mean is that someone, some time, had heard or even uttered a threat of violence of some sort; that in fact there was a general apprehension and fear among them. Not very clear and I’m not expressing myself very clearly. What I mean is, some such idea was present in some way and the spilt wine incident brought it to the surface.”
“Getting a bit out of my depth,” Colonel Glynne said doubtfully. “May be something in it, but police work wants facts. I daresay there was an uneasy feeling about. Natural enough in such a situation—every one strained and uneasy.” He began to finger the reports lying on the table. Presently he said:— “You don’t seem to think much of this butler fellow, Martin. Not been here long, has he?”
“No, sir,” Bobby answered. “When the last man left, I’m told Lady Wych had a good deal of trouble in getting any one else. Apparently good butlers are scarce. I gather she was too glad to get hold of Martin to check up on his references very carefully. I thought it might be as well to take him over his statement again.”
“I see that from your notes,” the colonel remarked. “Well, have him in and carry on.”
Martin was accordingly sent for, and Bobby explained that there were one or two points on which they would like further information.
“I notice, for instance,” he remarked, “you say you thought things were getting very tricky here.”
“Yes, sir, they were that,” Martin answered. “No one knew what was going to happen next, but we all felt there was bound to be a flare up.”
“In what way?”
“Well, there was Mr. Ralph talking very wild like about Mr. Bertram being a fraud and he meant to prove it. Mr. Bertram acted a bit queer, too. Some of us used to say how scared like he acted—almost as if it was him as was likely to be thrown out. The other ladies and gentlemen, too. Like so many cats on hot bricks, if you see what I mean. Something was bound to crack and something did.”
“It did,” agreed Bobby. “Now about this incident in the hall. When you heard Lady Wych telling Miss Longden about a seventeenth-century Hoyle who shot her son to preserve the honour of the family. Did you attach any importance to it at the time?”
“Oh, no, sir, none at all. I should never have thought of it again if it hadn’t been for what happened last night.”
“I suppose you are not suggesting that the countess shot the earl to preserve the honour of the Hoyle family, are you?”
“Oh, no, sir, of course not,” Martin answered with a kind of pleased smirk which suggested very strongly that that was in fact precisely what he wished to suggest. “Never even thought of that, sir. Only it did seem rather strange, and then you remember we were all told very particularly everything we could think of we were to mention, whether it seemed to have anything to do with the poor gentleman’s murder or whether it hadn’t. And it did strike me as strange, what her ladyship said, just as if it were a kind of prophecy.”
“The honour of no family is helped by murder,” Bobby remarked. “There is nothing else you can tell us, either about your own movements or about anything that strikes you as strange in the light of what happened later?”
“No, sir, nothing at all. Of course, I’m very sorry if I did wrong in mentioning about what her ladyship said in the hall.”
“You did quite right,” Bobby assured him. “Much better for us to know it now from you than for it to come out later. You locked up at eleven, you say?”
“That was the regular rule—eleven o’clock sharp. If any of the family meant to be out later, they told me, or if they didn’t, it wasn’t my fault.”
“You saw to all doors and windows personally?”
“Yes, at eleven sharp, all on the ground floor, that is. All except the library. His lordship saw to the windows there himself. He used to sit up late listening to the wireless, and he didn’t like being disturbed.”
“Didn’t he take anything for a nightcap before going to bed?”
“No, his lordship was a very abstemious gentleman. He never took anything late. It wasn’t often he even smoked a cigar after dinner. His rule was two a day, one after breakfast and one after lunch.”
“Did he never smoke cigarettes or a pipe?”
“I’ve never known him to. He had an idea that smoking at night stopped him from sleeping. He did have an extra cigar after dinner sometimes, but generally only if he were feeling upset or worried. He told me once it was a useful counter-irritant and I expect he felt he needed it after the scene with Mr. Ralph. That would be why he had one last night.”
“Oh, yes, I wanted to ask you about that,” Bobby said. “Yes. Let me see. Oh, yes, here it is. You were passing through the hall about ten or a quarter past. You heard loud voices coming from the library as you were going down the corridor outside. You recognized Mr. Ralph Hoyle’s voice, and you are sure he and Earl Wych were quarrelling?”
“Going at it hammer an
d tongs,” answered Martin confidently.
“Did you hear what was being said?”
“I expect I could if I had listened,” Martin replied, his tone now very virtuous, not to say unctuous, “but, of course, I didn’t.”
“Of course not,” agreed Bobby. “How is it you are sure it was Mr. Ralph?”
“Well, if you put it like that,” said Martin slowly, “I suppose I couldn’t swear it was him, if that’s what you mean. But every one knew Mr. Ralph was insisting on having it out with his lordship. Mr. Ralph hadn’t made any secret of it. Loud and furious they sounded, and I didn’t stop. I didn’t want the door to open suddenly and them find me there. It might have meant the sack and no character, both of them worked up the way they were.”
“You noticed also that Mr. Ralph looked very excited —very strange and excited you say in your statement. That was when you let him out?”
“Yes, sir, that’s right, sir,” agreed Martin, but now a trifle uneasily, as if somehow he had detected a warning note in Bobby’s voice, nor did that touch of uneasiness in his manner diminish when Bobby reminded him that he would be asked to repeat on oath all that he was now saying.
Bobby continued:—
“Mr. Ralph left about half-past ten, you think. He didn’t go to the drawing-room to say good-night to the others. You thought that was because of the scene during dinner. You locked up at eleven as usual. You are quite clear that the library wireless was going then. You went to the drawing-room where you found Miss Anne and Mr. Bertram. Miss Longden had gone to bed. You asked if there was anything more. You were told there wasn’t and you went to your own room, read a little, and were in bed by about a quarter to twelve. You heard nothing in the night and you were dressing this morning when you heard of the discovery of his lordship’s body outside the closed—not fastened—french windows of the library. You had not been near the library or outside the house since Mr. Ralph Hoyle left.”
“No, sir, that’s right, sir,” Martin answered. “I can take my Bible oath on that, sir.”
“What is puzzling me,” Bobby explained, “is exactly how you come to know that your master smoked a cigar after Mr. Ralph’s departure? He did so, because we found a half-smoked cigar on the carpet where it had burned a small hole. So it seems likely that it was actually being smoked at the moment of the attack. Mr. Ralph’s evidence is that his great-uncle didn’t smoke during their interview or before. How did you know?”
Martin hesitated, plainly at a loss how to reply.
“I heard someone say something about a cigar end in the library,” he stammered at last.
“Who was it?” demanded Bobby.
“I... I don’t remember.”
“No one who knew about it would be likely to mention it in your presence,” Bobby said. “Only our men knew, and our men don’t chatter. I’m afraid you are telling lies, Martin. Come, out with it. How did you know?”
“Well, I didn’t actually know,” Martin answered, recovering his self-possession. “It was just a guess. I knew his lordship’s ways so well. I said to myself after I had let Mr. Ralph out, I said: ‘They’ve had an almighty dust up. That’ll mean his lordship sitting up late smoking most like, to settle his nerves down, then he’ll be awake all night, and then he’ll be in a rotten bad temper to-morrow and we’ll all have to look out for squalls.’ You’ll remember, sir, I said just now, I said: ‘If his lordship smoked a cigar,’ I said.”
Bobby turned to the shorthand writer, sitting unobtrusively in a corner of the room.
“Have you ‘if’ down?” he asked.
“No, sir,” came the prompt response. “There wasn’t any ‘if’.”
“You mean you didn’t hear it,” said Martin calmly. “A little word like that, it’s easy overlooked or not heard. ‘If’ is what I said, and I’ll take my Bible oath.” In spite of his recovered self-possession, his glib replies, the man was plainly shaken. He was moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue; he was making little restless movements with his hands and feet. “I won’t sign nothing that hasn’t ‘if’ in it, like I said,” he declared. “You can’t make me, neither. I know my rights,” he declared defiantly.
“Just a little too well,” commented Bobby. “Suggests previous experience. Ever had any?” Martin did not answer. “Your protest will be noted,” Bobby said formally. “But I think you had better consider your position very carefully. If you wish to say anything more, let me know. And remember: Murder has taken place and murder is a serious matter. Murder is a hanging matter. You can go now.”
Martin put his hand to his throat with an odd, hurried gesture as though to relieve a pressure he felt there. He gave Bobby a scowl of mingled fear and dislike and then went off, looking a good deal less self-satisfied than before. The colonel said:—
“You don’t think he’s our man, do you? what motive could he have?”
“It’s all too difficult and obscure even to begin forming an opinion yet,” Bobby answered slowly. “At least, that’s how I feel. The motive may be as hidden and difficult to understand as the whole position seems. Martin was certainly lying part of the time, and the cigar business shows he was back near the library after Ralph Hoyle left. But by itself that doesn’t prove much, except of course that Martin is a liar. He may have gone back to the library door and listened out of mere curiosity, and smelt cigar smoke, and yet not want to admit he was doing a bit of more or less harmless snooping. Or there may be more to it. Hard to tell. He could let himself in or out of the house as he liked, for that matter there is nothing but his own word to show he went to bed when he says he did. He is playing his own game, and it may be a more dangerous game than he realizes.”
The colonel nodded again.
“Yes,” he agreed. “There’s a murderer loose about here, and a very cool and desperate murderer, too.”
CHAPTER VIII
VICAR—BUSINESS MAN
There was a knock at the door and a constable appeared with the information that the vicar had now arrived in answer to the message sent him requesting his attendance once more at the castle. Bobby, after consulting Colonel Glynne, told the constable they would be glad to see Mr. Longden at once. While they were waiting for his appearance, Bobby remarked to the colonel:—
“He was here earlier, but I didn’t ask him for any statement. I understood he came along only as the parish priest to see if he could help in any way, and there seemed nothing then to suggest he knew anything relevant. It was only after he had gone that I heard Ralph Hoyle had been seen handling an automatic in the Wych estate office. A bit suggestive with a murder happening shortly afterwards. And then, after that, the vicar’s umbrella was picked up in the castle grounds, so apparently he was somewhere about here last night.”
“How do they know whose it was?” the colonel asked. “Initials or something?”
“No, not that. I believe the man who found it recognized it as Mr. Longden’s. It seems he has a reputation for leaving odd belongings about; umbrella, gloves, anything.”
The door opened and Mr. Longden himself appeared. He was plainly nervous and distressed, and began at once, without waiting for questions, to talk of the horror of such a crime in that quiet and peaceful village.
“Is it certain it was murder?” he asked. “Couldn’t it possibly be accident—or even suicide? That would be very dreadful, very dreadful indeed, but not—not murder.”
“I fear there’s no doubt,” the colonel answered gravely. “My assistant, Inspector Owen, is in charge of the inquiry, and he would like to ask you a few questions. I need hardly say that both he and I rely upon you to give us all the help in your power.”
“It is a duty, a plain duty,” Mr. Longden answered, very much as if he wished it wasn’t. “Anything I can tell you, of course.”
“I ought to begin,” Bobby said, “by explaining that an umbrella was found in the grounds here, leaning against a tree.” He produced it, as quaint an exhibit as has ever played a part in the investigation
of a murder. “I’m told it is yours. Do you recognize it?”
“Dear me,” exclaimed Mr. Longden looking quite excited. “Is that where I left it? I knew I had it with me last night but I thought I must have left it at Mrs. Vigor’s. I was meaning to call there to-day to ask.”
“At Mrs. Vigor’s?” Bobby repeated.
“I was called to her house late last night,” Mr. Longden explained. “Her baby, only a few days old, was very ill and she wished me to baptize the poor child. Most happily, immediately after the baptism, there was a most marked change for the better. A wonderful change. I must not attribute it to the baptism, but still—the change was extraordinary. Most impressive. On my way back, I took a path—I have permission—through the castle grounds. It saves going a long way round. When I got near the house I could hear the wireless playing and I noticed the french windows of the library were partly open. It was a warm night.”
“Were they wide open?” Bobby asked.
“No, no, just a few inches. But then I saw someone from the terrace open them wider and go through into the library, pulling the windows to afterwards.”
He paused, evidently embarrassed. When he did not continue, Bobby said:—
“Did you recognize who it was?”
“I... I couldn’t be sure,” the vicar answered. His embarrassment was evident. He hesitated, stammered a little as he went on:—“I... I couldn’t be sure. No. I certainly couldn’t be sure. I suppose it was then I put down my umbrella. I think I prayed for guidance. I... felt so bewildered. I felt I must be mistaken.”
“Whom did you think it was?” Bobby asked, very quietly but with a note of insistence in his voice that evidently the vicar recognized, and that as evidently made him still more uncomfortable.
“You see,” he explained, “I’m not sure. Really, I don’t think it would be right for me to mention a name. It was only a mere passing glimpse. Very likely, I was entirely mistaken. I might,” he pointed out pleadingly, “be misleading you in a most unfortunate manner.”
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