“Why, that’s my regimental badge!” he exclaimed. “Where did you say you found it exactly?”
“Close by where someone had secreted Mr Salah’s wallet,” Fisher replied grimly.
“In the cellar, I think you said?”
“Exactly so. In the cellar where the dead man’s body was also hidden. A difficult task for the killer, I imagine, and likely to lead to all sorts of things being knocked off or dropped and the owner none the wiser.”
“But I helped move Salah’s body to his room, Inspector. With Dr Watson, as it happens,” Hopkirk protested, pointing at me. “It must have dropped off then. As you said, all sorts of things get knocked off when you’re shifting a body in a packed cellar.”
“He did,” I confirmed, pleased he had raised the objection himself, so that I did not need to.
Fisher was obviously not put out, however. He glanced down at his notebook and, though he was too far away for me to read what he had written there, I could make out the large map he had drawn of the cellar, and the crosses, which presumably indicated the position of Salah’s body, his wallet and Hopkirk’s cap badge. “I’m aware of that, Captain,” he said, “but the badge was not discovered near the body, but to one side, under a rusted grass-cutting machine…”
“A grass-cutting machine with dried blood on it?” I interrupted, unable to stop myself. “That was the machine which Captain Hopkirk brought to our attention just after Salah’s body was found, and upon which he spotted a drop of fresh blood.”
Fisher glared at me, then turned on Holmes. “This is the first I’ve heard of such a thing,” he declared angrily. “Why was I not informed of it when we spoke earlier?”
Holmes was contrite. “My apologies, Inspector,” he said, “but if you will recall, I did mention the spot of fresh blood discovered near the body. However, it was remiss of me not to be more precise about its location and the identity of the man who noticed it. In any case, it hardly seems the action of a man keen to distance himself from a murder.”
“Though it might explain when my cap badge fell off,” Hopkirk added. “Either then, or when Dr Watson and I actually shifted the poor chap’s body.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t even aware it was missing until you showed me it.”
Fisher scribbled furiously in his notebook, underlining several points heavily. Beyond that, he made no comment on this new information. Instead, he asked Hopkirk at what time he had retired on the night of the murder.
“As I told you, and Mr Holmes before you, I was in bed by ten thirty and slept soundly all night.”
“You insist that you did not leave your room last night after ten thirty?”
Even if Hopkirk missed it, I could hear danger in Fisher’s voice. He appeared oblivious, however.
“Not for a moment,” he said.
With cold certainty, Inspector Fisher allowed his trap to close on the captain. “Constable Halliday, please ask the young lady to step inside,” he said. His eyes remained fixed on Hopkirk while the constable opened the door and invited Alice Crabtree to enter.
She did so, following Halliday across the room until she stood at the side of the table, shuffling shyly from foot to foot and twisting a rag between her hands, her eyes downcast. Fisher said her name and she looked up quickly, as though concerned she were acting inappropriately. I had never really looked at her before, but now that I did I could see that she was a heavy-set, somewhat plain girl, with a mass of brown hair which she wore wound into a loose bun and crammed beneath an old-fashioned white bonnet, such as servants had worn half a century before. Her eyes were a grey-green colour and there was a long smudge of ash on her left ear of all places. As her eyes flicked nervously towards Hopkirk, he crossed his legs and blew smoke towards the ceiling, with an expression more confused than concerned on his face.
“Miss Crabtree,” the inspector repeated irritably.
She gave a start as though jabbed with a pin and turned to him, the rag twisting into a tight rope in her hand. “Yes, sir?” she asked in a small, near whisper.
“Don’t be nervous, girl,” Fisher went on in a kinder voice. “You’ve done nothing wrong. All you need to do is tell everyone what you told me earlier.”
“About the boots?” she asked. Her knuckles had whitened with the force she was exerting on the rag, I noticed. Holmes emitted a small grunt of recognition at my side, and I suddenly remembered our meeting the previous evening.
“That’s right, about the boots,” said Fisher. His tone was patient but there was no disguising the excitement on his face. I had seen the same look of anticipation on the face of Lestrade when he believed an arrest was close.
Captain Hopkirk, for his part, evinced no sign of concern. He continued to smoke and to watch the girl with a sort of disinterested puzzlement.
“Well, sir, it was like this.” Alice finally began to speak, and as she did so, much of her nervousness fell away. She allowed the rag to loosen in her grip and her voice increased in strength as she went on in a rush of information. “Last night, Mr Buxton asked me to clean enough pairs of boots for all the guests and to put them outside their rooms. He was taking them all for a walk next day, he said, and what with the snow and all, he was worried they’d ruin their good clothes in the dirt and the mud. Well, there ain’t pairs of boots for everyone, I says, unless they all brought their own, but they have, he says. So get the ones from the hall that they was wearing today, he says, and give them a clean and put them outside their rooms.”
“And did you?” Fisher interrupted, allowing the girl to take a much-needed breath.
“I did, sir. I found most of them boots where they’d been left and gave them a clean and put them outside the rooms.”
“All the rooms?” Fisher asked, his pencil poised above his notebook. “Did you leave them all outside the guests’ rooms?”
Alice shook her head. “I put them outside every room but his…” she said, and cast a sideways look at Hopkirk. “Begging your pardon, Captain Hopkirk’s. His door wasn’t shut proper, so I knocked on it, in case he wanted them put inside, and the door swung open but he wasn’t there, so I put them outside like the others and left.”
“You shut the bedroom door behind you?”
She nodded again, some of her timorousness returning now that she had been brought to specifics.
Fisher scribbled something down as he addressed himself to Hopkirk. His voice was calm but it was all he could do to keep a smile from his face. “What have you to say to that, Captain?”
“The girl’s obviously mistaken,” Hopkirk replied with, in the circumstances, surprising calm. He swivelled in his seat so that he was facing Alice directly, the first time he had done so since she entered the room. “There are a lot of empty rooms up there, Alice. How can you be sure it was my room you entered?”
At first, I thought Alice would not speak. Seconds passed in silence, and then she replied so quietly that we all had to strain to hear. “It was next door to Mr Reilly’s,” she whispered. “And I brought you up a jug of water yesterday. That’s how I knew it was yours.”
Hopkirk had the grace to look embarrassed as he continued to argue with the young maid. “And yet there were no boots outside my room when I rose this morning, my dear girl. I had to take a pair from downstairs to go out with Dr Watson and Mr Holmes.”
Fisher shook his head in mock sorrow. “Even though there were – indeed, still are – pairs of boots outside the doors of the Schells and Mr Reilly, who did not accompany Mr Buxton on his little tour. Are you claiming that, inexplicably, yours was the only room outside which no boots were left?”
“No, not exactly that,” Hopkirk muttered. A bead of sweat rolled down his face and ran along the line of his chin. “Or rather, yes, I am claiming that. But in any case,” he went on more strongly, his manner for the first time visibly agitated, “this won’t do, not at all. You drag me up here and all but accuse me of slaughtering Salah, and all because of a dropped badge and the fact that a maid may or may not ha
ve put my boots at the wrong door? I’ve never heard such nonsense, Inspector! Why, I’ve a good mind to report you! I have friends who could make your life a misery and bring your petty little career to a quick end!”
Secure in the knowledge that his triumph was imminent, Fisher allowed Hopkirk to rant for a moment or two longer. Then he gestured to Constable Halliday, who took a step forward so that he was standing directly behind the captain.
“I’m afraid that I must ask you to keep your voice down, Captain Hopkirk. Both because it’s frightening this young lady—” he indicated Alice Crabtree, who did indeed look about to burst into tears “—and because it would not be in your own best interests to lose your temper in such a violent fashion again.”
Hopkirk’s complaints came to a sudden halt and he sat, red-faced, glaring at the inspector. In the silence that followed, Fisher thanked Alice for her time and informed her she could leave, which she did with considerably more speed than she had entered. Only once she was gone, and the door firmly closed behind her, did he continue.
“Now, sir, if you’ll allow me, I’ll tell you what I think happened last night. I’d be obliged if you didn’t interrupt, but feel free to ask any questions or make any corrections once I’m done.” He picked up his notebook and turned back a couple of pages. “What I think happened is this. You were still angry with Mr Salah after he exposed your illicit affair with Mrs Schell, and were fearful that he would repeat his accusations again. You’d already tried to silence him once, but Mr Holmes prevented that, so you waited until everyone was in bed, then followed him on his nightly walk, saying you wanted to have it out with him. You fought and in the struggle you finished off the job you’d started that afternoon. Now,” he held up a hand to prevent any interruption from Hopkirk, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to kill him, but you’ve got a bad temper – we’ve witnesses to that – and it just got the better of you. But now you had a dead body on your hands, didn’t you? Even then, you are a soldier – or you were once, at least – and not easily upset by corpses. You only needed it hidden for a day or two, after all, for then you’d be gone, the auction over and the house locked up until the new owner took over. So you dumped Mr Salah in that dirty, unlit cellar. His wallet fell out of his pocket, I suppose, but you didn’t need the money, so you threw it away. Salah’d argued with almost everyone after all, and though people might think it odd, they’d be willing to believe he’d done a moonlight flit, if there’s nothing to suggest otherwise. It was just your bad luck, though, that Mr Buxton decided to go and check on the entrance to the caves and happened to spot the corpse.”
“That is not what happened at all! How dare you!” Hopkirk’s composure had gone now, and he jumped to his feet as he spoke, reaching across the table for Fisher with violence in his eyes. His fingers had merely brushed the fabric of the inspector’s coat when Constable Halliday’s two substantial hands crashed down on his shoulders and he crumpled back into his seat.
“If you could remain seated, Captain,” Fisher said, emphasising Hopkirk’s title with a sneer. “I did say that I’d be happy to hear any questions and objections, but I must warn you that, though you are not yet under arrest, that is not a state of affairs which is likely to last beyond tomorrow morning, when we return to town on the first available train.”
Hopkirk twice opened his mouth to speak, and twice closed it again without doing so. Instead, he smoothed back his hair and straightened his jacket. He lit a fresh cigarette with a hand that was very slightly trembling, and sat back in his chair.
“Until then, Constable Halliday will escort you to your room, where you will remain for the moment.” Fisher nodded to Halliday, who followed Hopkirk from the room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Fisher turned towards us.
“Well then, Mr Holmes, I think that’s a very promising start to proceedings. An excellent morning’s work, and based entirely on proper, unglamorous police work.”
Holmes stretched his long legs out in front of him, then pushed himself to his feet. He lit a cigarette before he spoke.
“I certainly admire the courageous way in which you acted, Inspector,” he said finally. “To threaten to arrest a man who claims to have powerful friends on such flimsy evidence is a brave act indeed.”
“Flimsy evidence? He attacked and almost killed the dead man, he lied about being in his room when Salah was killed, and a badge he admits is his was found right beside one of the dead man’s possessions. I’ve rarely seen a more cut and dried case.”
Holmes sniffed doubtfully. “You may be right, Inspector,” he said. “I am merely an observer, when all is said and done.”
“I should be grateful if you would remember that, Mr Holmes,” said the inspector. He picked up his pencil and resumed writing in his notebook. It was obvious that we had been dismissed.
* * *
We emerged from the room just in time to see the top of Constable Halliday’s head as he escorted Hopkirk down the short flight of stairs which led back to the main part of the building. By the time we followed him through the door that connected the two sections of the house, the burly policeman was stationed outside the captain’s room. There was nobody else about and I wondered if Holmes would want to go downstairs and make further enquiries, but instead he stopped in front of his door and reached for the handle.
“Fisher is correct, of course,” he said, in a voice loud enough for Halliday to hear. “The evidence against Hopkirk, while circumstantial, is compelling, on the surface at least. But there is something that does not ring true. The captain is withholding some detail, I am sure of it.”
He turned the handle and pushed his door open, then stopped suddenly. On the floor, just inside his room, lay an envelope. It was just far enough inside that Halliday could not see it, and had obviously been pushed under the door. Holmes knelt down as though to tie his shoelace, continuing to talk to me over his shoulder as he did so.
“I think I shall come downstairs for that drink, after all, Watson,” he said, as he palmed the letter and rose to his feet, sliding it inside his jacket pocket as he did so. “Listening to a police inspector in full spate is thirsty work.”
He nodded to Halliday, who studiously ignored him, and led the way downstairs. There was nobody in the dining room, so we slipped inside and Holmes quickly opened the envelope.
Inside we found a single sheet of paper, headed “Thorpe Manor”, of the sort that had been placed by Buxton in every room. Holmes unfolded it, read it, and held it out to me.
I took it and cast my eye over its brief message. “Meet me at the grotto at 2 p.m., I beg of you. A man’s life may depend on it.”
It was signed Julieanne Schell.
Chapter Fourteen
Julieanne’s Confession
Even in distress, Julieanne Schell was a striking woman. She stood at the mouth of the sparkling cave, wrapped in a pale fox-fur coat which stretched down to her tan leather boots, her auburn hair swept up and pinned high on her head. Her eyes were downcast, however, and as she looked up at us, her face was grave.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” she began quietly. “I have spent the day unsure what to do for the best, and even now am not certain I am doing the right thing. The consequences…” She stopped and pulled nervously at the fingers of her right glove. We waited for her to speak, as she traced a pattern in the snow with her foot. Twice she began to say something, only to bite off her words unspoken.
“I do not come from a rich family, Mr Holmes, or an influential one,” she announced finally, the words coming quickly as if she feared she would be unable to continue, were she to consider them for even a moment. “Quite the reverse, in fact. My father worked on the Boston dockyards until he was crushed beneath a falling cargo container, and I have six siblings, all younger than me. All I had was my pleasing looks, and with them a family of eight to feed.”
“Mrs Schell…” Holmes began, but the lady was not ready to stop, now that she had found her voice.
�
�No, Mr Holmes, do not say anything. Let me speak while my resolution allows. My looks were given to me by God, but I added a sweet voice by my own efforts, through listening to my betters and mimicking them, until I sounded an educated young woman even if, in truth, I was not.” She smiled, but it was a weak effort and contained no humour that I could see. “Pretty girls are welcome everywhere, Mr Holmes, in America as much as in England, and I caught the eye of more than one wealthy man. But I rejected all advances until the day I was introduced to Frederick Schell. A bachelor of advanced age, a rich man desiring a young wife to care for him in his declining years. He was exactly what I sought.” A strand of hair had escaped the pin that held it in place, and she carefully returned it to its place. “He proposed within a week, and we were married within a month. My family were rescued from poverty, my brothers and sisters given decent starts in life, my mother made comfortable. And all in return for allowing Frederick to believe himself still a vital man, to do as he bade at all times, to tell him the kind lie that he remained the master of his own life. I have simply always done whatever I had to do to survive.”
“But then you met Captain Hopkirk?” Holmes’s voice was soft.
“Yes, Mr Holmes. Then I met Captain Hopkirk. We were touring Europe, as we had done every year since we married. We were in San Moritz and James asked Frederick for a light for his cigar. They fell to talking and discovered a shared love of racehorses.” She hesitated and her face coloured a deep pink. “Do not think me too mercenary, Mr Holmes. I do not love Frederick, but he knew that from the beginning. And I do love James. That is why I asked Frederick to invite him this weekend.”
“Do such requests not raise his suspicions?”
“Perhaps they do, Mr Holmes, but I believe that he is aware, on some level, of the attraction between James and myself.”
I had to interrupt. “You think he knows about your affair?”
“Not knows, exactly, Dr Watson. But there is something, occasional things he has said, which lead me to believe that he is aware that we are closer than would normally be thought acceptable.”
The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--Sherlock Holmes and the Crusader's Curse Page 14
