The Curious Case of the Broken Window

she slowly came over allowing the Count to clasp her hand in both of his own. 

  “It will be alright, Louise.” Said the Count in his gentlest tones. 

  “I wish, I could believe that, but Henry...He...” I thought she might loss herself, but with a supreme effort she rallied. 

  The count nodded and helped her over to the same seat he had just vacated. “I will do all in my power to set this right.”

  “Thank you.”

  The pleasant expression that usually sat upon my friends features was changed once we had entered the study of Mr Cartwright.

  “Count, I have never seen you like this.”

  “No.” He said briefly. “It is not often that someone I care for is faced with such a tragedy.”

  As was his custom my friend examined the room first. Starting with the desk that was neat and orderly as if it had not been used that night, then the window examining the surround roofs, and finally the fireplace. He fingered a half burnt piece of paper, picking it up and examining it, though what he saw I could not tell as it appeared black to me.

  It took him at least twenty minutes to come towards the body, in which time McMurdy had joined us, leaving Mrs Cartwright in the hands of the Constable. The Inspector, with new appreciation for my friend’s skill, stood quietly, though his manner told me he was eager to know what the Count thought.

  The Count turned the left hand of Mr. Cartwright up examining the wound to his hand, still covered in shards of glass.

  “His fingers probably landed on the glass after it broken, and with some desperate last act of trying to save himself, ended up embedding the glass in his hand.” Said Inspector McMurdy.

  “That is a possibility.” The Count said in an offhand manner.

  Taking up his bag of tools, which he was never without, the count opened it up and retrieved a pair of forceps. Having the tool he used it to carefully extract the largest piece of glass, carefully polishing it with handkerchief. He held the piece up and looked through it, before picking up a piece from the floor and doing the same. With a smile he placed the two pieces in his pocket and returned to the hand. Paying careful attention to the thumb, he raised it to his nose and sniffed.

  “My word count. What are you doing?” Asked I.

  “Really, Wright must I explain each time we work together.” Returned the Count. “It is remarkable. Rarely have I ever had such a treasure trove given to me so early.”

  “Surely you have not solved it already?” Asked McMurdy.

  “Sadly not, but I believe that I am well on the way. Now if you gentleman would be so good as to help me lift the body.”

  A little heated from the earlier reprimand, I silently raised the body up along with the help of Inspector McMurdy. With the instructions of the count we held him in the position he would have been standing when the fatal blow struck him. With a length of cotton cording, the count drew a line from where the bullet finally came to a rest to the body. Having us hold the length of cord, he retrieved a measuring device that reminded me of a sextant. In most cases I had worked with the Count, his face would become more animated as he worked. In this case it seemed like the more he searched the darker his appearance became. 

  “I think that is all that I can learn here. I must return to my client.”

  “Count. Surely now you can shed some light on this?” Said McMurdy.

  “Don't worry, my good Sir. Soon I hope to have an answer for you.” And with that he returned to the side of Mrs. Cartwright.

  “It's very queer.” 

  “What is?” Asked I.

  “He is very tight lipped, and did you see the way that Mrs. Cartwright looked at him.”

  “I admit there was something in her gaze.” I admitted.

  “Perhaps...” He started but glancing at me decided not to share.

  When we had rejoined Mrs Cartwright I and inspector McMurdy were surprised to find a gentleman standing at her side, and my friend the Count speaking to them.

  “Who might you be Sir?” Asked McMurdy

  “I am Baronet Rodger Burton, a friend of Henry Cartwright. Mrs Cartwright sent me a letter informing me of what has happened, and of course I came immediately.”

  “That is very good of you.” The count said amiable. “Though for some reason I believe I have seen your name somewhere before.”  

  “Ah, you must read the papers.”

  “Quite frequently I do.” Admitted the count.

  “Then you must have seen the announcement of my coming nuptials.”

  “Yes, that is it, to the Lady de Clare no less, a very smart woman from an old family.”

  “Quite so.” Said the baronet with a well meaning smile.

  “Louise.” Said the count addressing Mrs Cartwright. “Did your husband own a revolver?”

  Admittedly, I was taken aback by the question and apparently I was not the only one as Mrs. Cartwright's paler grew.

  “No. He loathed the things. Why do you ask?”

  “What I have observed leads me to believe there was a gun in the room at the time of his death.”

  “You can't mean to say that the killer was in the room with him.” McMurdy blustered.

  “Perhaps, though I don't yet have all the facts.”

  “Surely you are just trying to save yourself by casting doubt.” Said McMurdy in a suspicious tone.

  “Think how you like, but I still retain one hour to prove my innocence.”

  During the interlude, Mrs. Cartwright had remained completely silent, but now she reached out and gripped the Count By his hand.

  “Please, could we speak privately?”

  “I cannot allow that.” McMurdy said. “The Count is a suspect and I cannot allow him out of my sight.”

  Mrs. Cartwright looked hopelessly from one to the other before she released his hand. To me it was clear she held some integral piece of the puzzle but was not willing to divulge it anyone but the Count.

  “Inspector McMurdy, surely we can give them a moment.” I said

  “No. I will not allow it. If I allow the Count the chance to escape, the Chief Inspector would make me eat my hat if he got away.”

  The count squeezed Mrs. Cartwright's hand reassuringly. “Please, Louise. I have one more question. Was your husband involved in any legal matters?”

  Her pallor seemed to increase and she her eyes flicked to the Baronet.

  “I don't believe he was.” Said the Baronet. “As much as he was my friend, he was also my business partner. We ship cotton to the Americas, and he brought me into his confidence in every matter.”

  “That is well then.” Reaching his hand towards the Baronet. “I thank you for your aid.”

  The baronet's hand seem to fumble before clasping with the counts.

  “Come, Wright. I believe we are close to our answer.”

  Before I followed the Count, I observed the wife and Baronet glance at each other, and the Baronet placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  Our next order of business was to question the staff, which consisted of three maids, a small Negro boy, and a chamberlain. The three maids seemed to be of no help as they were deep within the house at the time of the murder and did not hear the shot until the Mrs alerted them to it. The chamberlain as well was little help, but my friend further questioned him on the comings and goings of the visitors that the Cartwright's entertained.

  “There are not many.” Said the man in a welsh accent. “The only person they see with any frequency is Mr Burton.”

  “He is a frequent visitor?” asked the count.

  “Yes. He had business with the master, and would often come round with papers for him to sign, or if the master was out he would hand them off to the Mrs.” 

  “Was he out often?” 

  “A few times.”

  “That is well.” Said the count. “Did you hear the shot?”

  “Well, I can't say really. I heard the window breaking but the shot must have been from some distance as I couldn't hear it.” r />
  “That is strange. Did you hear nothing after Mr Cartwright retired for the night?”

  The chamberlain seemed uncomfortable. “Well I don't like to speak of the goings on of a marriage...”

  “There was some disturbance?”

  “Some small disturbance yes. The master seemed quite annoyed with Mrs. Cartwright before returning to his study. He must have been really very annoyed with her as a little while later he dropped a book. I could hear it hit the floor.”

  “You are sure it was a book?”

  “It must have been it was a thumping sound not very loud.”

  “So it couldn't have been the sound of a pistol?”

  “Surely not, the sound was quite soft.”

  “He says it is not Count, so surely you must give it up.” Said McMurdy with a self important air.

  My friend waved the chamberlain off and the three of us were left alone for a moment. To me, who was so used to the relaxed expression of my companion, I was shocked to see his dark mood. His brow was heavy with a storm and his eyes were slight downcast.

  “My Lord, Count. Whatever is the matter? Surely you have not lost hope.” Said I, feeling like a student whose favourite tutor had failed his expectations.

  “He should. As I have said from the first, he is our man.”

  My friend seemed not to hear McMurdy or his remark, as when he looked up at me his eyes were filled with deep sadness. “Tell me this, and be truthful my friend for this time I rely on you. If the one you chase is one you care for, should you give up the chase or hound them and give them up to justice?” This was all said in a hushed tone, so that it was clear to me that McMurdy did not hear nor seem to care to hear having already come to his conclusion.

  “I believe that we can do what we will to