CHAPTER III
HANDCUFFS IN THE AIR
A painter and the son of a painter, Philip Trent had, while yet in histwenties, achieved some reputation within the world of English art.Moreover, his pictures sold. An original, forcible talent and a habit ofleisurely but continuous working, broken by fits of strong creativeenthusiasm, were at the bottom of it. His father's name had helped; apatrimony large enough to relieve him of the perilous imputation ofbeing a struggling man had certainly not hindered. But his best aid tosuccess had been an unconscious power of getting himself liked. Goodspirits and a lively, humorous fancy will always be popular. Trentjoined to these a genuine interest in others that gained him somethingdeeper than popularity. His judgment of persons was penetrating, but itsprocess was internal; no one felt on good behavior with a man who seemedalways to be enjoying himself. Whether he was in a mood for floods ofnonsense or applying himself vigorously to a task, his face seldom lostits expression of contained vivacity. Apart from a sound knowledge ofhis art and its history, his culture was large and loose, dominated by alove of poetry. At thirty-two he had not yet passed the age of laughterand adventure.
His rise to a celebrity a hundred times greater than his proper work hadwon for him came of a momentary impulse. One day he had taken up anewspaper to find it chiefly concerned with a crime of a sort curiouslyrare in our country: a murder done in a railway train. The circumstanceswere puzzling; two persons were under arrest upon suspicion. Trent, towhom an interest in such affairs was a new sensation, heard the thingdiscussed among his friends, and set himself in a purposeless mood toread up the accounts given in several journals. He became intrigued; hisimagination began to work, in a manner strange to him, upon facts; anexcitement took hold of him such as he had only known before in hisbursts of art-inspiration or of personal adventure. At the end of theday he wrote and despatched a long letter to the editor of the _Record_,which he chose only because it had contained the fullest and mostintelligent version of the facts.
In this letter he did very much what Poe had done in the case of themurder of Mary Rogers. With nothing but the newspapers to guide him, hedrew attention to the significance of certain apparently negligiblefacts, and ranged the evidence in such a manner as to throw gravesuspicion upon a man who had presented himself as a witness. Sir JamesMolloy had printed this letter in leaded type. The same evening he wasable to announce in the _Sun_ the arrest and full confession of theincriminated man.
Sir James, who knew all the worlds of London, had lost no time in makingTrent's acquaintance. The two men got on well; for Trent possessed somesecret of native tact which had the effect of almost abolishingdifferences of age between himself and others. The great rotary pressesin the basement of the _Record_ building had filled him with a newenthusiasm: he had painted there, and Sir James had bought at sight,what he called a machinery-scape in the manner of Heinrich Kley.
Then a few months later came the affair known as the Ilkley mystery. SirJames had invited Trent to an emollient dinner, and thereafter offeredhim what seemed to the young man a fantastically large sum for histemporary services as special representative of the _Record_ at Ilkley."You could do it," the editor had urged. "You can write good stuff, andyou know how to talk to people, and I can teach you all thetechnicalities of a reporter's job in half an hour. And you have a headfor a mystery; you have imagination and cool judgment along with it.Think how it would feel if you pulled it off!" Trent had admitted thatit would be rather a lark; he had smoked, frowned, and at last convincedhimself that the only thing that held him back was fear of an unfamiliartask. To react against fear had become a fixed moral habit with him, andhe had accepted Sir James's offer.
He had pulled it off. For the second time he had given the authorities astart and a beating, and his name was on all tongues. He withdrew andpainted pictures. He felt no leaning towards journalism, and Sir James,who knew a good deal about art, honorably refrained--as other editorsdid not--from tempting him with a good salary. But in the course of afew years he had applied to him perhaps thirty times for his services inthe unraveling of similar problems at home and abroad. Sometimes Trent,busy with work that held him, had refused; sometimes he had beenforestalled in the discovery of the truth. But the result of hisirregular connection with the _Record_ had been to make his name one ofthe best-known in England. It was characteristic of him that his namewas almost the only detail of his personality known to the public. Hehad imposed absolute silence about himself upon the Molloy papers; andthe others were not going to advertise one of Sir James's men.
The Manderson case, he told himself as he walked rapidly up the slopingroad to White Gables, might turn out to be terribly simple. Cupples wasa wise old boy, but it was probably impossible for him to have animpartial opinion about his niece. Yet it was true that the manager ofthe hotel, who had spoken of her beauty in terms that aroused hisattention, had spoken even more emphatically of her goodness. Not anartist in words, the manager had yet conveyed a very definite idea toTrent's mind. "There isn't a child about here that don't brighten up atthe sound of her voice," he had said, "nor yet a grown-up, for thematter of that. Everybody used to look forward to her coming over in thesummer. I don't mean that she's one of those women that are all kindheart and nothing else. There's backbone with it, if you know what Imean--pluck--any amount of go. There's nobody in Marlstone that isn'tsorry for the lady in her trouble--not but what some of us may thinkshe's lucky at the last of it." Trent wanted very much to meet Mrs.Manderson.
He could see now, beyond a spacious lawn and shrubbery, the front of thetwo-storied house of dull red brick, with the pair of great gables fromwhich it had its name. He had had but a glimpse of it from the car thatmorning. A modern house, he saw; perhaps ten years old. The place wasbeautifully kept, with that air of opulent peace that clothes even thesmallest houses of the well-to-do in an English country-side. Before it,beyond the road, the rich meadow-land ran down to the edge of thecliffs; behind it a woody landscape stretched away across a broad valeto the moors. That such a place could be the scene of a crime ofviolence seemed fantastic; it lay so quiet and well-ordered, so eloquentof disciplined service and gentle living. Yet there beyond the house,and near the hedge that rose between the garden and the hot, white road,stood the gardener's tool-shed, by which the body had been found, lyingtumbled against the wooden wall.
Trent walked past the gate of the drive and along the road until he wasopposite this shed. Some forty yards further along, the road turnedsharply away from the house, to run between thick plantations; and justbefore this turn the grounds of the house ended, with a small white gateat the angle of the boundary hedge. He approached this gate, which wasplainly for the use of gardeners and the service of the establishment;it swung easily on its hinges, and he passed slowly up a path that ledtowards the back of the house between the outer hedge and a tall wall ofrhododendrons. Through a gap in this wall a track led him to the littleneatly-built erection of wood, which stood among trees that faced acorner of the front. The body had lain on the side away from the house;a servant, he thought, looking out of the nearer windows in the earlierhours of the day before, might have glanced unseeing at the hut, as shewondered what it could be like to be as rich as Manderson.
He examined the place carefully, and ransacked the hut within, but hecould note no more than the trodden appearance of the uncut grass wherethe body had lain. Crouching low, with keen eyes and feeling fingers, hesearched the ground minutely over a wide area; but the search wasfruitless.
It was interrupted by the sound--the first he had heard from thehouse--of the closing of the front door. Trent unbent his long legs andstepped to the edge of the drive. A man was walking quickly away fromthe house in the direction of the great gate.
At the noise of a footstep on the gravel, the man wheeled with nervousswiftness and looked earnestly at Trent. The sudden sight of his facewas almost terrible, so white and worn it was. Yet it was a young man'sface. There was not a wrinkle about the haggard blue eyes, fo
r all theirtale of strain and desperate fatigue. As the two approached each other,Trent noted with admiration the man's breadth of shoulder and lithe,strong figure. In his carriage, inelastic as weariness had made it, inhis handsome, regular features, in his short, smooth yellow hair and inhis voice as he addressed Trent, the influence of a special sort oftraining was confessed. "Oxford was your playground, I think, my youngfriend," said Trent to himself.
"If you are Mr. Trent," said the young man pleasantly, "you areexpected. Mr. Cupples 'phoned from the hotel. My name is Marlowe."
"You were secretary to Mr. Manderson, I believe," said Trent. He wasmuch inclined to like young Mr. Marlowe. Though he seemed so near aphysical break-down, he gave out none the less that air of clean livingand inward health that is the peculiar glory of his social type at hisyears. But there was something in the tired eyes that was a challenge toTrent's penetration; an habitual expression, as he took it to be, ofmeditating and weighing things not present to their sight. It was a looktoo intelligent, too steady and purposeful, to be called dreamy. Trentthought he had seen such a look before somewhere. He went on to say: "Itis a terrible business for all of you. I fear it has upset youcompletely, Mr. Marlowe."
"A little limp, that's all," replied the young man wearily. "I wasdriving the car all Sunday night and most of yesterday, and I didn'tsleep last night, after hearing the news--who would? But I have anappointment now, Mr. Trent, down at the doctor's--arranging about theinquest. I expect it'll be to-morrow. If you will go up to the house andask for Mr. Bunner, you'll find him expecting you; he will tell you allabout things and show you round. He's the other secretary; an American,and the best of fellows; he'll look after you. There's a detective here,by the way; Inspector Murch, from Scotland Yard. He came yesterday."
"Murch!" Trent exclaimed. "But he and I are old friends. How under thesun did he get here so soon?"
"I have no idea," Mr. Marlowe answered. "But he was here last evening,before I got back from Southampton, interviewing everybody, and he'sbeen about here since eight this morning. He's in the librarynow--that's where the open French window is that you see at the end ofthe house there. Perhaps you would like to step down there and talkabout things."
"I think I will," said Trent. Mr. Marlowe nodded and went on his way.The thick turf of the lawn round which the drive took its circular sweepmade Trent's footsteps as noiseless as a cat's. In a few moments he waslooking in through the open leaves of the window at the southward end ofthe house, considering with a smile a very broad back and a bent headcovered with short grizzled hair. The man within was stooping over anumber of papers laid out on the table.
"'Twas ever thus," said Trent in a melancholy tone, at the first soundof which the man within turned round with startling swiftness. "Fromchildhood's hour I've seen my fondest hopes decay. I did think I wasahead of Scotland Yard this time, and now here is the largest officer inthe entire Metropolitan force already occupying the position."
The detective smiled grimly and came to the window. "I was expectingyou, Mr. Trent," he said. "This is the sort of case that you like."
"Since my tastes were being considered," Trent replied, stepping intothe room, "I wish they had followed up the idea by keeping my hatedrival out of the business. You have got a long start, too--I know allabout it." His eyes began to wander round the room. "How did you manageit? You are a quick mover, I know; the dun deer's hide on fleeter footwas never tied; but I don't see how you got here in time to be at workyesterday evening. Has Scotland Yard secretly started an aviation corps?Or is it in league with the infernal powers? In either case the HomeSecretary should be called upon to make a statement."
"It's simpler than that," said Mr. Murch with professional stolidity. "Ihappened to be on leave with the Missus at Halvey, which is only twelvemile or so along the coast. As soon as our people there heard of themurder they told me. I wired to the Chief, and was put in charge of thecase at once. I bicycled over yesterday evening, and have been at itsince then."
"Arising out of that reply," said Trent inattentively, "how is Mrs.Inspector Murch?"
"Never better, thank you," answered the inspector, "and frequentlyspeaks of you and the games you used to have with our kids. But you'llexcuse me saying, Mr. Trent, that you needn't trouble to talk yournonsense to me while you're using your eyes. I know your ways by now. Iunderstand you've fallen on your feet as usual, and have the lady'spermission to go over the place and make inquiries."
"Such is the fact," said Trent. "I am going to cut you out again,Inspector. I owe you one for beating me over the Abinger case, you oldfox. But if you really mean that you're not inclined for the socialamenities just now, let us leave compliments and talk business." Hestepped to the table, glanced through the papers arranged there inorder, and then turned to the open roll-top desk. He looked into thedrawers swiftly. "I see this has been cleared out. Well now, inspector,I suppose we play the game as before."
Trent had found himself on several occasions in the past thrown into thecompany of Inspector Murch, who stood high in the councils of theCriminal Investigation Department. He was a quiet, tactful and veryshrewd officer, a man of great courage, with a vivid history inconnection with the more dangerous class of criminals. His humanity wasas broad as his frame, which was large even for a policeman. Trent andhe, through some obscure working of sympathy, had appreciated oneanother from the beginning, and had formed one of those curiousfriendships with which it was the younger man's delight to adorn hisexperience. The inspector would talk more freely to him than to any one,under the rose, and they would discuss details and possibilities ofevery case, to their mutual enlightenment. There were necessarily rulesand limits. It was understood between them that Trent made nojournalistic use of any point that could only have come to him from anofficial source. Each of them, moreover, for the honor and prestige ofthe institution he represented, openly reserved the right to withholdfrom the other any discovery or inspiration that might come to him whichhe considered vital to the solution of the difficulty. Trent hadinsisted on carefully formulating these principles of what he calleddetective sportsmanship. Mr. Murch, who loved a contest, and who onlystood to gain by his association with the keen intelligence of theother, entered very heartily into "the game." In these strivings for thecredit of the press and of the police, victory sometimes attended theexperience and method of the officer, sometimes the quicker brain andlivelier imagination of Trent, his gift of instinctively recognizing thesignificant through all disguises.
The inspector, then, replied to Trent's last words with cordialagreement. Leaning on either side of the French window, with the deeppeace and hazy splendor of the summer landscape before them, theyreviewed the case.
* * * * *
Trent had taken out a thin notebook, and as they talked he began tomake, with light, sure touches, a rough sketch plan of the room. It wasa thing he did habitually on such occasions, and often quite idly, butnow and then the habit had served him to good purpose.
This was a large, light apartment at the corner of the house, withgenerous window-space in two walls. A broad table stood in the middle.As one entered by the window the roll-top desk stood just to the left ofit against the wall. The inner door was in the wall to the left, at thefarther end of the room; and was faced by a broad window divided intoopenings of the casement type. A beautifully carved old corner-cupboardrose high against the wall beyond the door, and another cupboard filleda recess beside the fireplace. Some colored prints of Harunobu, withwhich Trent promised himself a better acquaintance, hung on what littlewall-space was unoccupied by books. These had a very uninspiringappearance of having been bought by the yard and never taken from theirshelves. Bound with a sober luxury, the great English novelists,essayists, historians and poets stood ranged like an army struck dead inits ranks. There were a few chairs made, like the cupboard and table, ofold carved oak; a modern arm-chair and a swivel office-chair before thedesk. The room looked costly but very bare. Almost the only portableob
jects were a great porcelain bowl of a wonderful blue on the table, aclock and some cigar boxes on the mantel-shelf, and a movable telephonestandard on the top of the desk.
* * * * *
"Seen the body?" inquired the inspector.
Trent nodded. "And the place where it lay," he said.
"First impressions of this case rather puzzle me," said the inspector."From what I heard at Halvey I guessed it might be common robbery andmurder by some tramp, though such a thing is very far from common inthese parts. But as soon as I began my inquiries I came on some curiouspoints, which by this time I dare say you've noted for yourself. The manis shot in his own grounds, quite near the house, to begin with. Yetthere's not the slightest trace of any attempt at burglary. And the bodywasn't robbed. In fact, it would be as plain a case of suicide as youcould wish to see, if it wasn't for certain facts. Here's another thing:for a month or so past, they tell me, Manderson had been in a queerstate of mind. I expect you know already that he and his wife had sometrouble between them. The servants had noticed a change in his manner toher for a long time, and for the past week he had scarcely spoken toher. They say he was a changed man, moody and silent--whether on accountof that or something else. The lady's maid says he looked as ifsomething was going to arrive. It's always easy to remember that peoplelooked like that, after something has happened to them. Still, that'swhat they say. There you are again, then: suicide! Now, why wasn't itsuicide, Mr. Trent?"
"The facts, so far as I know them, are really all against it," Trentreplied, sitting on the threshold of the window and clasping his knees."First, of course, no weapon is to be found. I've searched, and you'vesearched, and there's no trace of any firearm anywhere within a stone'sthrow of where the body lay. Second, the marks on the wrists, fleshscratches and bruises, which we can only assume to have been done in astruggle with somebody. Third, who ever heard of anybody shootinghimself in the eye? Then I heard from the manager of the hotel hereanother fact, which strikes me as the most curious detail in thisaffair. Manderson had dressed himself fully before going out there, buthe forgot his false teeth. Now how could a suicide who dressed himselfto make a decent appearance as a corpse forget his teeth?"
"That last argument hadn't struck me," admitted Mr. Murch. "There'ssomething in it. But on the strength of the other points, which hadoccurred to me, I am not considering suicide. I have been looking aboutfor ideas in this house, this morning. I expect you were thinking ofdoing the same."
"That is so. It is a case for ideas, it seems to me. Come, Murch, let usmake an effort; let us bend our spirits to a temper of generalsuspicion. Let us suspect everybody in the house, to begin with. Listen:I will tell you whom I suspect. I suspect Mrs. Manderson, of course. Ialso suspect both the secretaries--I hear there are two, and I hardlyknow which of them I regard as more thoroughly open to suspicion. Isuspect the butler and the lady's maid. I suspect the other domestics,and especially do I suspect the boot-boy. By the way, what domestics arethere? I have more than enough suspicion to go round, whatever the sizeof the establishment; but as a matter of curiosity I should like toknow."
"All very well to laugh," replied the inspector, "but at the first stageof affairs it's the only safe principle, and you know that as well as Ido, Mr. Trent. However, I've seen enough of the people here, last nightand to-day, to put a few of them out of my mind for the present atleast. You will form your own conclusions. As for the establishment,there's the butler and lady's maid, cook and three other maids, one ayoung girl. One chauffeur, who's away with a broken wrist. No boy."
"What about the gardener? You say nothing about that shadowy andsinister figure, the gardener. You are keeping him in the background,Murch. Out with him!"
"The garden is attended to by a man in the village, who comes twice aweek. I've talked to him. He was here last on Friday."
"Then I suspect him all the more," said Trent. "And now as to the houseitself. What I propose to do, to begin with, is to sniff about a littlein this room, where I am told Manderson spent a great deal of his time,and in his bedroom; especially the bedroom. But since we're in thisroom, let's start here. You seem to be at the same stage of the inquiry.Perhaps you've done the bedroom already?"
The inspector nodded. "I've been through Manderson's and his wife's.Nothing to be got there, I think. Very simple and bare, no signs of anysort--that _I_ could see. Seems to have insisted on the simple life,does Manderson. Never employed a valet. The room's almost like a cell,except for the clothes and shoes. You'll find it all exactly as I foundit; and they tell me that's exactly as Manderson left it at we don'tknow what o'clock yesterday morning. Opens into Mrs. Manderson'sbedroom--not much of the cell about that, I can tell you. I should saythe lady was as fond of pretty things as most. But she cleared out of iton the morning of the discovery--told the maid she could never sleep ina room opening into her murdered husband's room. Very natural feeling ina woman, Mr. Trent. She's camping out, so to say, in one of the sparebedrooms now."
"Come, my friend," Trent was saying to himself, as he made a few notesin his little book. "Have you got your eye on Mrs. Manderson? Or haven'tyou? I know that colorless tone of the inspectorial voice. I wish I hadseen her. Either you've got something against her and you don't want meto get hold of it; or else you've made up your mind she's innocent, buthave no objection to my wasting my time over her. Well, it's all in thegame; which begins to look extremely interesting as we go on." To Mr.Murch he said aloud: "Well, I'll draw the bedroom later on. What aboutthis?"
"They call it the library," said the inspector. "Manderson used to dohis writing and that in here; passed most of the time he spent indoorshere. Since he and his wife ceased to hit it off together, he had takento spending his evenings alone, and when at this house he always spent'em in here. He was last seen alive, as far as the servants areconcerned, in this room."
Trent rose and glanced again through the papers set out on the table."Business letters and documents, mostly," said Mr. Murch. "Reports,prospectuses, and that. A few letters on private matters, nothing inthem that I can see. The American secretary--Bunner his name is, and aqueerer card I never saw turned--he's been through this desk with methis morning. He had got it into his head that Manderson had beenreceiving threatening letters, and that the murder was the outcome ofthat. But there's no trace of any such thing; and we looked at everyblessed paper. The only unusual things we found were some packets ofbank-notes to a very considerable amount, and a couple of little bags ofunset diamonds. I asked Mr. Bunner to put them in a safer place. Itappears that Manderson had begun buying diamonds lately as aspeculation--it was a new game to him, the secretary said, and it seemedto amuse him."
"What about these secretaries?" Trent inquired. "I met one calledMarlowe just now outside; a nice-looking chap with singular eyes,unquestionably English. The other, it seems, is an American. What didManderson want with an English secretary?"
"Mr. Marlowe explained to me how that was. The American was hisright-hand business man, one of his office staff, who never left him.Mr. Marlowe had nothing to do with Manderson's business as a financier,knew nothing of it. His job was to look after Manderson's horses andmotors and yacht and sporting arrangements and that--make himselfgenerally useful, as you might say. He had the spending of a lot ofmoney, I should think. The other was confined entirely to the officeaffairs, and I dare say he had his hands full. As for his being English,it was just a fad of Manderson's to have an English secretary. He'd hadseveral before Mr. Marlowe."
"He showed his taste," observed Trent. "It might be more thaninteresting, don't you think, to be minister to the pleasures of amodern plutocrat with a large P? Only they say that Manderson's wereexclusively of an innocent kind. Certainly Marlowe gives me theimpression that he would be weak in the part of Petronius. But to returnto the matter in hand." He looked at his notes. "You said just now thathe was last seen alive here, 'so far as the servants were concerned.'That meant--?"
"He had a conversation with his wife on
going to bed. But for that, theman-servant, Martin by name, last saw him in this room. I had his storylast night, and very glad he was to tell it. An affair like this is meatand drink to the servants of the house."
Trent considered for some moments, gazing through the open window overthe sun-flooded slopes. "Would it bore you to hear what he has to sayagain?" he asked at length. For reply, Mr. Murch rang the bell. A spare,clean-shaven, middle-aged man, having the servant's manner in its mostdistinguished form, answered it.
"This is Mr. Trent, who is authorized by Mrs. Manderson to go over thehouse and make inquiries," explained the detective. "He would like tohear your story." Martin bowed distantly. He recognized Trent for agentleman. Time would show whether he was what Martin called a gentlemanin every sense of the word.
"I observed you approaching the house, sir," said Martin with impassivecourtesy. He spoke with a slow and measured utterance. "My instructionsare to assist you in every possible way. Should you wish me to recallthe circumstances of Sunday night?"
"Please," said Trent with ponderous gravity. Martin's style was makingclamorous appeal to his sense of comedy. He banished with an effort allvivacity of expression from his face.
"I last saw Mr. Manderson--"
"No, not that yet," Trent checked him quietly. "Tell me all you saw ofhim that evening--after dinner, say. Try to recollect every littledetail."
"After dinner, sir?--yes. I remember that after dinner Mr. Manderson andMr. Marlowe walked up and down the path through the orchard, talking. Ifyou ask me for details, it struck me they were talking about somethingimportant, because I heard Mr. Manderson say something when they came inthrough the back entrance. He said, as near as I can remember: 'IfHarris is there, every minute is of importance. You want to start rightaway. And not a word to a soul.' Mr. Marlowe answered: 'Very well. Iwill just change out of these clothes and then I'm ready'--or words tothat effect. I heard this plainly as they passed the window of mypantry. Then Mr. Marlowe went up to his bedroom and Mr. Mandersonentered the library and rang for me. He handed me some letters for thepostman in the morning and directed me to sit up, as Mr. Marlowe hadpersuaded him to go for a drive in the car by moonlight."
"That was curious," remarked Trent.
"I thought so, sir. But I recollected what I had heard about 'not a wordto a soul,' and I concluded that this about a moonlight drive wasintended to mislead."
"What time was this?"
"It would be about ten, sir, I should say. After speaking to me, Mr.Manderson waited until Mr. Marlowe had come down and brought round thecar. He then went into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Manderson was."
"Did that strike you as curious?"
Martin looked down his nose. "If you ask me the question, sir," he saidwith reserve, "I had not known him enter that room since we came herethis year. He preferred to sit in the library in the evenings. Thatevening he only remained with Mrs. Manderson for a few minutes. Then heand Mr. Marlowe started immediately."
"You saw them start?"
"Yes, sir. They took the direction of Bishopsbridge."
"And you saw Mr. Manderson again later?"
"After an hour or thereabouts, sir, in the library. That would have beenabout a quarter past eleven, I should say; I had noticed eleven strikingfrom the church. I may say I am peculiarly quick of hearing, sir."
"Mr. Manderson had rung the bell for you, I suppose. Yes? And whatpassed when you answered it?"
"Mr. Manderson had put out the decanter of whisky and a syphon andglass, sir, from the cupboard where he kept them--"
Trent held up his hand. "While we are on that point, Martin, I want toask you plainly, did Mr. Manderson drink very much? You understand thisis not impertinent curiosity on my part. I want you to tell me becauseit may possibly help in the clearing up of this case."
"Perfectly, sir," replied Martin gravely. "I have no hesitation intelling you what I have already told the inspector. Mr. Manderson was,considering his position in life, a remarkably abstemious man. In myfour years of service with him I never knew anything of an alcoholicnature pass his lips except a glass or two of wine at dinner, veryrarely a little at luncheon, and from time to time a whisky-and-sodabefore going to bed. He never seemed to form a habit of it. Often I usedto find his glass in the morning with only a little soda water in it;sometimes he would have been having whisky with it, but never much. Henever was particular about his drinks; ordinary soda was what hepreferred, though I had ventured to suggest some of the naturalminerals, having personally acquired a taste for them in my previousservice. He used to keep them in the cupboard here because he had agreat dislike of being waited on more than was necessary. It was anunderstood thing that I never came near him after dinner unless sentfor. And when he sent for anything, he liked it brought quick, and to beleft alone again at once. He hated to be asked if he required anythingmore. Amazingly simple in his tastes, sir, Mr. Manderson was."
"Very well; and he rang for you that night about a quarter past eleven.Now can you remember exactly what he said?"
"I think I can tell you with some approach to accuracy, sir. It was notmuch. First he asked me if Mr. Bunner had gone to bed, and I repliedthat he had been gone up some time. He then said that he wanted someoneto sit up until twelve-thirty, in case an important message should comeby telephone, and that Mr. Marlowe having gone to Southampton for him inthe motor, he wished me to do this, and that I was to take down themessage if it came, and not disturb him. He also ordered a fresh syphonof soda-water. I believe that was all, sir."
"You noticed nothing unusual about him, I suppose."
"No, sir, nothing unusual. When I answered the ring, he was seated atthe desk listening at the telephone, waiting for a number, as Isupposed. He gave his orders and went on listening at the same time.When I returned with the syphon he was engaged in conversation over thewire."
"Do you remember anything of what he was saying?"
"Very little, sir; it was something about somebody being at somehotel--of no interest to me. I was only in the room just time enough toplace the syphon on the table and withdraw. As I closed the door he wassaying: 'You're sure he isn't in the hotel?' or words to that effect."
"And that was the last you saw and heard of him alive?"
"No, sir. A little later, at half-past eleven, when I had settled downin my pantry with the door ajar, and a book to pass the time, I heardMr. Manderson go upstairs to bed. I immediately went to close thelibrary window, and slipped the lock of the front door. I did not hearanything more."
Trent considered. "I suppose you didn't doze at all," he saidtentatively, "while you were sitting up waiting for the telephonemessage."
"Oh, no, sir! I am always very wakeful about that time. I'm a badsleeper, especially in the neighborhood of the sea, and I generally readin bed until somewhere about midnight."
"And did any message come?"
"No, sir."
"No. And I suppose you sleep with your window open, these warm nights."
"It is never closed at night, sir."
Trent added a last note; then he looked thoughtfully through those hehad taken. He rose and paced up and down the room for some moments witha downcast eye. At length he paused opposite Martin. "It all seemsperfectly ordinary and simple," he said. "I just want to get a fewdetails clear. You went to shut the windows in the library before goingto bed. Which windows?"
"The French window, sir. It had been open all day. The windows oppositethe door were seldom opened."
"And what about the curtains? I am wondering whether anyone outside thehouse could have seen into the room."
"Easily, sir, I should say, if he had got into the grounds on that side.The curtains were never drawn in the hot weather. Mr. Manderson wouldoften sit right in the doorway at nights, smoking and looking out intothe darkness. But nobody could have seen him who had any business to bethere."
"I see. And now tell me this. Your hearing is very acute, you say, andyou heard Mr. Manderson enter the house when he came in after dinn
erfrom the garden. Did you hear him re-enter it after returning from themotor-drive?"
Martin paused. "Now you mention it, sir, I remember that I did not. Hisringing the bell in this room was the first I knew of his being back. Ishould have heard him come in, if he had come in by the front. I shouldhave heard the door go. But he must have come in by the window." The manreflected for a moment, then added: "As a general rule, Mr. Mandersonwould come in by the front, hang up his hat and coat in the hall, andpass down the hall into the study. It seems likely to me that he was ina great hurry to use the telephone, and so went straight across the lawnto the window--he was like that, sir, when there was anything importantto be done. He had on his hat, now I remember, and had thrown hisgreat-coat over the end of the table. He gave his order very sharp, too,as he always did when busy. A very precipitate man indeed, was Mr.Manderson; a hustler, as they say."
"Ah! He appeared to be busy. But didn't you say just now that younoticed nothing unusual about him?"
A melancholy smile flitted momentarily over Martin's face. "Thatobservation shows that you did not know Mr. Manderson, sir, if you willpardon my saying so. His being like that was nothing unusual; quite thecontrary. It took me long enough to get used to it. Either he would besitting quite still and smoking a cigar, thinking or reading, or else hewould be writing, dictating, and sending off wires all at the same time,till it almost made one dizzy to see it, sometimes for an hour or moreat a stretch. As for being in a hurry over a telephone message, I maysay it wasn't in him to be anything else."
Trent turned to the inspector, who met his eye with a look of answeringintelligence. Not sorry to show his understanding of the line of inquiryopened by Trent, Mr. Murch for the first time put a question:
"Then you left him telephoning by the open window, with the lights on,and the drinks on the table; is that it?"
"That is so, Mr. Murch." The delicacy of the change in Martin's mannerwhen called upon to answer the detective momentarily distracted Trent'sappreciative mind. But the big man's next question brought it back tothe problem at once.
"About those drinks. You say Mr. Manderson often took no whisky beforegoing to bed. Did he have any that night?"
"I could not say. The room was put to rights in the morning by one ofthe maids, and the glass washed, I presume, as usual. I know that thedecanter was nearly full that evening; I had refilled it a few daysbefore, and I glanced at it when I brought the fresh syphon, just out ofhabit, to make sure there was a decent-looking amount."
The inspector went to the tall corner-cupboard and opened it. He tookout a decanter of cut glass, and set it on the table before Martin. "Wasit fuller than that?" he asked quietly. "That's how I found it thismorning." The decanter was more than half empty.
For the first time Martin's self-possession wavered. He took up thedecanter quickly, tilted it before his eyes, and then stared amazedly atthe others. He said slowly: "There's not much short of half a bottlegone out of this since I last set eyes on it--and that was Sundaynight."
"Nobody in the house, I suppose--" suggested Trent discreetly.
"Out of the question," replied Martin briefly. Then he added: "I begpardon, sir, but this is a most extraordinary thing to me. Such a thingnever happened in all my experience of Mr. Manderson. As for thewomen-servants, they never touch anything. I can answer for it; and asfor me, when I want a drink I can help myself without going to thedecanters." He took up the decanter again, and aimlessly renewed hisobservation of the contents, while the inspector eyed him with a look ofserene satisfaction, as a master contemplates his handiwork.
Trent turned to a fresh page of his notebook, and tapped it thoughtfullywith his pencil. Then he looked up and said: "I suppose Mr. Mandersonhad dressed for dinner that night."
"Certainly, sir. He had on a suit with a dress-jacket, what he used torefer to as a Tuxedo, which he usually wore when dining at home orinformally."
"And he was dressed like that when you saw him last?"
"All but the jacket, sir. When he spent the evening in the library, asusually happened, he would change it for an old shooting-jacket afterdinner, a light-colored tweed, a little too loud in pattern for Englishtastes, perhaps. He had it on when I saw him last. It used to hang inthis cupboard here"--Martin opened the door of it as he spoke--"alongwith Mr. Manderson's fishing-rods and such things, so that he could slipit on after dinner without going upstairs."
"Leaving the dinner-jacket in the cupboard?"
"Yes, sir. The housemaid used to take it upstairs in the morning."
"In the morning," Trent repeated slowly. "And now that we are speakingof the morning, will you tell me exactly what you know about that. Iunderstand that Mr. Manderson was not missed until the body was foundabout ten o'clock."
"That is so, sir. Mr. Manderson would never be called, or have anythingbrought to him in the morning. He occupied a separate bedroom. Usuallyhe would get up about eight and go round to the bathroom, and he wouldcome down some time before nine. But often he would sleep till nine orten o'clock. Mrs. Manderson was always called at seven. The maid wouldtake in tea to her. Yesterday morning Mrs. Manderson took breakfastabout eight in her sitting-room as usual, and everyone supposed that Mr.Manderson was still in bed and asleep when Evans came rushing up to thehouse with the shocking intelligence."
"I see," said Trent. "And now another thing. You say you slipped thelock of the front door before going to bed. Was that all the locking-upyou did?"
"To the front-door, sir, yes; I slipped the lock. No more is considerednecessary in these parts. But I had locked both the doors at the back,and seen to the fastenings of all the windows on the ground-floor. Inthe morning everything was as I had left it."
"As you had left it. Now here is another point--the last, I think. Werethe clothes in which the body was found the clothes that Mr. Mandersonwould naturally have worn that day?"
Martin rubbed his chin. "You remind me how surprised I was when I firstset eyes on the body, sir. At first I couldn't make out what was unusualabout the clothes, and then I saw what it was. The collar was a shape ofcollar Mr. Manderson never wore except with evening dress. Then I foundthat he had put on all the same things that he had worn the nightbefore--large-fronted shirt and all--except just the coat and waistcoatand trousers, and the brown shoes and blue tie. As for the suit, it wasone of half a dozen he might have worn. But for him to have simply puton all the rest just because they were there, instead of getting out thekind of shirt and things he always wore by day--well, sir, it wasunprecedented. It shows, like some other things, what a hurry he musthave been in when getting up."
"Of course," said Trent. "Well, I think that's all I wanted to know. Youhave put everything with admirable clearness, Martin. If we want to askany more questions later on, I suppose you will be somewhere about."
"I shall be at your disposal, sir." Martin bowed and went out quietly.
Trent flung himself into the arm-chair and exhaled a long breath."Martin is a great creature," he said. "He is far, far better than aplay. There is none like him, none--nor will be when our summers havedeceased. Straight, too: not an atom of harm in dear old Martin. Do youknow, Murch, you are wrong in suspecting that man."
"I never said a word about suspecting him." The inspector was takenaback. "_You_ know, Mr. Trent, he would never have told his story likethat if he thought I suspected him."
"I dare say he doesn't think so. He is a wonderful creature, a greatartist; but in spite of that he is not at all a sensitive type. It hasnever occurred to his mind that you, Murch, could suspect him, Martin,the complete, the accomplished. But I know it. You must understand,inspector, that I have made a special study of the psychology ofofficers of the law. It is a grossly neglected branch of knowledge. Theyare far more interesting than criminals, and not nearly so easy. All thetime I was questioning him I saw handcuffs in your eye. Your lips weremutely framing the syllables of those tremendous words: 'It is my dutyto tell you that anything you now say will be taken down and used inevidence ag
ainst you.' Your manner would have deceived most men, but itcould not deceive me."
Mr. Murch laughed heartily. Trent's nonsense never made any sort ofimpression on his mind, but he took it as a mark of esteem, which indeedit was; so it never failed to please him. "Well, Mr. Trent," he said,"you're perfectly right. There's no point in denying it. I have got myeye on him. Not that there's anything definite; but you know, as well asI do, how often servants are mixed up in affairs of this kind, and thisman is such a very quiet customer. You remember the case of Lord WilliamRussell's valet, who went in as usual in the morning to draw up theblinds in his master's bedroom, as quiet and starchy as you please, afew hours after he had murdered him in his bed. I've talked to all thewomen of the house, and I don't believe there's a morsel of harm in oneof them. But Martin's not so easy set aside. I don't like his manner; Ibelieve he's hiding something. If so, I shall find it out."
"Cease!" said Trent. "Drain not to its dregs the urn of bitter prophecy.Let us get back to facts. Have you, as a matter of evidence, anything atall to bring against Martin's story as he has told it to us?"
"Nothing whatever at present. As for his suggestion that Manderson camein by way of the window after leaving Marlowe and the car, that's rightenough, I should say. I questioned the servant who swept the room nextmorning, and she tells me there were gravelly marks near the window, onthis plain drugget that goes round the carpet. And there's a footprintin this soft new gravel just outside." The inspector took a folding rulefrom his pocket and with it pointed out the traces. "One of the patentshoes Manderson was wearing that night exactly fits that print--you'llfind them," he added, "on the top shelf in the bedroom, near thewindow-end, the only patents in the row. The girl who polished them inthe morning picked them out for me."
Trent bent down and studied the faint marks keenly. "Good!" he said."You have covered a lot of ground, Murch, I must say. That was excellentabout the whisky--you made your point finely. I felt inclined to shout'Encore!' It's a thing that I shall have to think over."
"I thought you might have fitted it in already," said Mr. Murch. "Come,Mr. Trent, we're only at the beginning of our inquiries, but what do yousay to this for a preliminary theory? There's a plan of burglary--say acouple of men in it and Martin squared. They know where the plate is,and all about the handy little bits of stuff in the drawing-room andelsewhere. They watch the house; see Manderson off to bed; Martin comesto shut the window, and leaves it ajar--accidentally on purpose. Theywait till Martin goes to bed at twelve-thirty; then they just walk intothe library, and begin to sample the whisky first thing. Now supposeManderson isn't asleep, and suppose they make a noise opening thewindow, or however it might be. He hears it; thinks of burglars; gets upvery quietly to see if anything's wrong; creeps down on them, perhaps,just as they're getting ready for work. They cut and run; he chases themdown to the shed, and collars one; there's a fight; one of them loseshis temper and his head, and makes a swinging job of it. Now, Mr. Trent,pick that to pieces."
"Very well," said Trent. "Just to oblige you, Murch--especially as Iknow you don't believe a word of it. First: no traces of any kind leftby your burglar or burglars, and the window found fastened in themorning--according to Martin. Not much force in that, I allow. Next:nobody in the house hears anything of this stampede through the library,nor hears any shout from Manderson either inside the house or outside.Next: Manderson goes down without a word to anybody, though Bunner andMartin are both at hand. Next: did you ever hear in your long experienceof a householder getting up in the night to pounce on burglars, whodressed himself fully, with underclothing, shirt, collar and tie,trousers, waistcoat and coat, socks and hard leather shoes; and who gavethe finishing touches to a somewhat dandified toilet by doing his hairand putting on his watch and chain? Personally, I call thatover-dressing the part. The only decorative detail he seems to haveforgotten is his teeth."
The inspector leaned forward thinking, his large hands clasped beforehim. "No," he said at last. "Of course there's no help in that theory. Irather expect we have some way to go before we find out why a man getsup before the servants are awake, dresses himself fully, and is murderedwithin sight of his house early enough to be cold and stiff by ten inthe morning."
Trent shook his head. "We can't build anything on that lastconsideration. I've gone into the subject with people who know. Ishouldn't wonder," he added, "if the traditional notions about loss oftemperature and rigor after death had occasionally brought an innocentman to the gallows, or near it. Dr. Stock has them all, I feel sure:most general practitioners of the older generation have. That Dr. Stockwill make an ass of himself at the inquest is almost as certain as thatto-morrow's sun will rise. I've seen him. He will say the body must havebeen dead about so long, because of the degree of coldness and _rigormortis_. I can see him nosing it all out in some text-book that was outof date when he was a student. Listen, Murch, and I will tell you somefacts which will be a great hindrance to you in your professionalcareer. There are many things that may hasten or retard the cooling ofthe body. This one was lying in the long dewy grass on the shady side ofthe shed. As for rigidity, if Manderson died in a struggle, or laboringunder sudden emotion, his corpse might stiffen practicallyinstantaneously: there are dozens of cases noted, particularly in casesof injury to the skull, like this one. On the other hand, the stiffeningmight not have begun until eight or ten hours after death. You can'thang anybody on _rigor mortis_ nowadays, inspector, much as you mayresent the limitation. No; what we _can_ say is this. If he had beenshot after the hour at which the world begins to get up and go about itsbusiness, it would have been heard and very likely seen, too. In fact,we must reason--to begin with, at any rate--on the assumption that hewasn't shot at a time when people might be awake--it isn't done in theseparts. Put that time at six-thirty A. M. Manderson went up to bed ateleven P. M. and Martin sat up till twelve-thirty. Assuming that he wentto sleep at once on turning in, that leaves us something like six hoursfor the crime to be committed in; and that is a long time. But wheneverit took place, I wish you would suggest a reason why Manderson, who was afairly late riser, was up and dressed at or before six-thirty; and whyneither Martin, who sleeps lightly, nor Bunner, nor his wife heard himmoving about, or letting himself out of the house. He must have beencareful. He must have crept about like a cat.... Do you feel as I do,Murch, about all this: that it is very, very strange and baffling?"
"That's how it looks," agreed the inspector.
"And now," said Trent, rising to his feet, "I'll leave you to yourmeditations, and take a look at the bedrooms. Perhaps the explanation ofall this will suddenly burst upon you while I am poking about up there.But," concluded Trent in a voice of sudden exasperation, turning roundin the doorway, "if you can tell me at any time how under the sun a manwho put on all those clothes could forget to put in his teeth, you maykick me from here to the nearest lunatic asylum, and hand me over as anincipient dement."