CHAPTER XXIII
There are moments when the human brain refuses to receive communicationfrom its peripheries, and the rapidity of thought becomes so slow thatit can be measured by minutes. The stage of consciousness on whichlife's drama is solitarily played for every human being is toocircumscribed to expand all at once for the reception of a strange andunexpected image. Such moments follow in, the wake of a great shock,like a black curtain descending on a lighted scene. When the curtainbegins to rise again it is on a darkened stage, on which the objects areseen dimly at first, then clearer as returning intelligence, workingslowly for the accommodation of the new setting, places the freshimpression in order with the throng of previously existing ideas.
Such a moment seemed to have come to Hazel Rath as she stood looking atMerrington, who sat in an easy chair on the other side of the tableconfronting her with the tangible perception of his massive presence,reinforced by the weight of an authority which, if not so perceptible,was sufficiently apparent in the stolid blue back of a policeman on dutyoutside the glass door, and in the barred windows of the little room towhich she had been brought to receive the news which had just beenconveyed to her. But she gave no sign of having heard, or, at least,understood the import of Merrington's relation. Her dark eyes wanderedaround the little office, and slowly returned to the face of the big manwho was watching her so closely. Her look, which at first had been oneof utter bewilderment, now revealed a trace of incredulity whichsuggested a returning power for the assimilation of ideas. But she didnot speak.
"Have you nothing to say?" Merrington demanded. He had been a silentlistener to many criminal confessions in his time, but in the unusualreversion of roles he was becoming unreasonably angry with the girl fornot repaying his confidence with her own story.
His loud hectoring voice startled her, and seemed to accelerate themechanism of her mind into the association of her surroundings with herposition.
"Why did you bring me here to torture me?" she cried, with a sudden rushof shrill utterance which was, in its way, almost as pitiful andsurprising as her previous silence. "Oh, why cannot you leave me alone?"
She threw her arms out wildly, then, as if realizing the futility ofgesture, dropped them helplessly to her sides. There was something inthe action which suggested a bird trying to stretch its wings in acramped cage. Her quivering lips, tense facial muscles, and strained yetrestless bearing plainly revealed an unbalanced temperament, bendingbeneath the weight of a burden too heavy and sustained. As anexperienced police official, Merrington was well versed in the littlesigns which indicate the breaking point of imprisonment in those unusedto it. He saw that Hazel Rath had reached a state in which kindness andconsideration, but no other means, might induce her to tell all sheknew.
"Come now, my good girl," he said in a gentle pleasant voice which wouldhave astonished Caldew beyond measure if he had heard it, "nobody wantsto torture you. On the contrary, I have come down from London purposelyto help you."
He paused for a moment in order to allow this remark to sink into hermind and then went on:
"I do not think that you quite understood what I have been trying totell you. I will tell you again, and I wish you to listen to me for yourown sake."
He glanced at her again, and satisfied that he had now gained herattention, repeated the news he had endeavoured to tell her previously.The story, which he embellished with additional details as he went on,was a practical demonstration of the trick of conveying a falseimpression without telling an actual untruth. Merrington's sole aim wasto convince Hazel that further silence on her part was useless, so, tothat end, he used the incident of his visit to Nepcote's flat in a wayto suggest that Nepcote's admission of the ownership of the revolveramounted to an admission of his own complicity in the murder.
It was an adroit narration--Merrington conceded that much to himself,not without some pride in his own creation--but he was not prepared forits immediate and overmastering effect on the girl. She listened to himwith an intensity of interest which was in the strangest contrast withher former inattention and indifference. When Merrington reached thepoint of his revelations by telling her about the missing necklace inorder to assure her that the police were aware that Nepcote had gainedmore from the commission of the crime than she had, she surprised him byspringing to her feet, her eyes blazing with excitement.
"I knew it would be proved that I am innocent," she exclaimed. "Now Ican tell you all I know."
"It is the very best course you can pursue," responded Merrington withemphasis.
"I know it--I see it now! Oh, I have been very foolish. But I--" A burstof hysterical tears choked further utterance.
Merrington waited patiently until she recovered herself. He was troubledby no qualms of gentlemanly etiquette at watching the distress of thedistraught girl sobbing wildly at the little table between them. Thereis a wide difference between pampered beauty in distress and a femaleprisoner in self-abasement. So he waited composedly enough until shelifted her head and regarded him with dark wistful eyes through aglitter of tears.
"You had better tell me all," he said.
"Yes, I will tell you everything now," she quickly replied.
"Before you do so it is my duty to warn you that any statement you makemay be used in evidence against you at your trial," Merrington said,with a swift resumption of his official manner. "At the same time, Ithink you will be acting in your own interest by keeping nothing back."
"I quite understand. But it is such a strange story that I hardly knowhow to begin."
"Tell me everything from the first. That will be the best way."
"That night I went up to Mrs. Heredith's room just to see her," shecommenced, almost in a whisper. "My mother had told me earlier in theevening that she was alone in her room suffering from a headache. Ithought I would take the opportunity while the others were at dinner togo up to her room and ask her if she wanted anything. So I left mymother's room and walked quietly down the hall to the left wing. Therewas nobody about. All the guests were at dinner, and the servants werebusy in the kitchen and the dining-room.
"When I got upstairs I noticed that Mrs. Heredith's door was open alittle, and I saw that there was no light in the room. I thought thatstrange until I remembered she had been suffering from a bad headache,and probably had turned off the light to rest her head. I did not knockbecause I thought she might be asleep. I was just going to turn awaywhen I heard a sound like a sob within the room. I listened, and heardit again. I hardly knew what to do at first, but the thought came to methat perhaps Mrs. Heredith was worse, and needed someone. So I pushedopen the door and went in.
"I know the moat-house well, so I was aware that the switch of theelectric light was by the side of the fireplace, near the head of thebed, and not close to the door, as in the other rooms. To turn on thelight I had to walk across the room. It was very dark, and I walkedcautiously for fear of stumbling and alarming Mrs. Heredith. Twice Istopped to listen, and once I heard a sound like somebody whispering. Iwas dreadfully nervous because I didn't know whether I was doing rightor wrong by going into Mrs. Heredith's room like that, but somethingseemed to urge me on.
"I must have mistaken my direction in the dark, for I couldn't find theelectric switch. I kept running my hand along the wall in search of it,and while I was doing this, somebody caught me suddenly by the throat.
"All the blood in my veins seemed to turn to ice, and I screamed loudly.Immediately I screamed the hand let go, but I was too frightened tomove. It was so silent in the room then, that I could hear my own heartbeating, but as I stood there by the wall not daring to move I thought Iheard a rustling sound by the window. My hands kept wandering over thewall behind me, trying to find the switch of the light. Then, suddenly,there was a dreadful sound--the report of a gun. It seemed to fill theroom with echoes, which rolled to the window and back again. As thesound of the report died away, my fingers touched the switch and Iturned on the light.
"I was standing close to the hea
d of the bed, and the first thing Inoticed was something glittering on the carpet at my feet. I stooped andpicked it up. It was a revolver. Then my eyes turned to the bed, and Isaw poor Mrs. Heredith. She was lying quite still with blood on hermouth. I could see that she was still alive, because her eyes looked atme. At that terrible sight I forgot everything except that she was inagony. I was bending over her wiping her mouth when I caught the soundof footsteps running up the stairs. It flashed across my mind that Imust not be found there, in a room where I had no right to be, holdingin my hand a revolver which had just been discharged. I switched off thelight and ran out of the room. The light from the landing outside guidedme to the door. I had just time to get outside and slip behind thevelvet curtains when some of the gentlemen appeared on the landing.
"I stayed there hidden for some time, too frightened to move, andexpecting every moment to be discovered. I could hear them moving aboutsearching, and I thought that somebody would draw aside the curtains andsee me hiding underneath. But nobody came near me. I heard them go intoMrs. Heredith's room, and Mr. Musard started talking. The corridor wassilent, and it seemed to me that I had a chance of escaping downstairsif the staircase was clear. I crept across to the balusters, stillkeeping under the cover of the curtains, and looked over. I could seenobody in the hall downstairs. I slipped the revolver into my dress andran downstairs as quickly as I could. I got to the hall without meetinganyone, and then I knew that I was safe. But just as I turned into thepassage leading to my mother's rooms I heard the dining-room door open.I looked back and saw Tufnell come out and go upstairs, but he did notsee me. Then I reached my mother's rooms."
She was silent so long that Merrington thought she had finished herstory. "And what about your brooch--the brooch which you dropped in theroom. When did you get that again?"
"I did not miss it until some time after I had returned downstairs. Iwondered at first where I had dropped it. I then remembered the hand onmy throat, which must have unloosened the brooch and caused it to fall.I knew it was necessary for me to recover it so it would not be knownthat I had been in the room. The house was very quiet then, and the hallwas empty, though I could hear the murmur of voices in the library, so Iwalked along the hall and ran upstairs. The door of the bedroom waspartly open, and by the light within I could see that the room wasempty--except for _her_. I went into the room. The first thing I saw wasmy little brooch shining on the carpet, close by the bedside, near whereI had been standing when the hand clutched at my throat. I picked it upand ran downstairs."
"Is that the whole of your story?"
She considered for a moment. "Yes, I think that I have told youeverything."
"What took you to Mrs. Heredith's room in the first place?"
"I--I wanted to see her."
"For what purpose? If you want me to help you, you had better be frank."
"I wished to see the girl whom Mr. Phil had married." She brought outthe answer hesitatingly, but the colour which flooded her thin whitecheeks showed that she was aware of the implication of the admission.
But Merrington was impervious to the finer feelings of the heart. Hedisbelieved her story from beginning to end, and was of the opinion thatshe was trying to hoax him with a concoction as crude as the vainimaginings of melodrama or the cinema. It was more with the intention oftrapping her into a contradiction than of eliciting anything ofimportance that he continued his questions.
"You say that you heard a noise at the window after the shot was fired.What did you imagine it to be?"
"I was too nervous at the time to think anything about it, but since Ihave thought that it must have been someone getting out of the window."
"Did you hear the window being opened?"
"No; I heard nothing but the rustle, as I told you. But it may have beenthe wind, or my fear."
"Did you catch a glimpse of the person in the room--whoever it was--whenyou were caught by the throat?"
"No. I only felt the hand. It was quite dark, and I could see nothing."
"You are quite sure this happened to you? You are sure it is notimagination?"
"Oh, no, it was too terribly real."
"Did you observe anything about the revolver when you picked it up?"said Merrington after a pause.
"No, except that it was bright and shining."
"Nor when you placed it in your dress to carry it downstairs?"
"I do not know anything about fire-arms. When I got downstairs I lockedit away as quickly as I could."
"So you picked up a revolver which had just been fired, without noticingwhether the barrel was hot or cold. Is that what you wish me tobelieve?"
"I picked it up by the handle. I seem to remember now that it was warm,but I cannot be sure. I hardly knew what I was doing at the time."
Her confusion was so evident that Merrington did not think it worthwhile to pursue the point.
"If your story is true, why have you not told it before?" he said. "Ifyou are merely the unfortunate victim of circumstances that you claim tobe, why did you not announce your innocence when I was questioning youat the moat-house on the day after the murder?"
The girl hesitated perceptibly before answering the question.
"Perhaps I might have done so but for your recognition of my mother,"she said at length, in a low tone.
"I fail to see how that affected your own position."
"It seemed to me then that it did," she responded in a firmer tone. "Iknew that my story sounded improbable, but after learning what you knewabout my mother it seemed to me that you would be even less likely tobelieve me, so I thought the best thing I could do was to keep silence,and trust to the truth coming to light in some other way."
The recollection of the incidents of his visit to the moat-house camethronging into Merrington's mind at this reply.
"Did you see your mother when you got downstairs on the night of themurder?" he asked.
"Not at first. She came in afterwards."
"How long afterwards?"
The girl, struck by a new note in his voice, looked at him with horrorin her widened eyes.
"I understand what you mean," she replied, "but you are wrong--quitewrong. My mother knows nothing whatever about it. She did not even knowthat I had been upstairs. She is as innocent as I am."
"That does not carry us very far," said Merrington coldly, rising to hisfeet and touching a bell in front of him. "I do not believe you havetold all."