The Moon Rock

  CHAPTER X

  "Why should Robert commit suicide?"

  That was the burden of Mrs. Pendleton's cry, then and afterwards. Therewas an angry scene in the old cliff house between brother and sisterbefore the events of that night were concluded. She utterly refused toaccept Austin's theory that their brother, with his own hand, haddischarged the revolver bullet which had put an end to his life andambitions. Sitting bolt upright in indignant amazement, she rejected theidea in the sharpest scorn. It was nothing to her that the police sergeantfrom the churchtown shared her brother's view, and that Dr. Ravenshaw waspassively acquiescent. She brushed aside the plausible web ofcircumstances with the impatient hand of an angry woman. They might talktill Doomsday, but they wouldn't convince her that Robert, of all men, haddone anything so disgraceful as take his own life. Arguments and events,the locked door and the inaccessible windows--pathetically masculineinsistence on mere details--were wasted on her. The marshalled array offacts made not the slightest impression on her firm belief that Robert hadnot shot himself.

  Shaking a large finger of angry import at Austin, and addressing herselfto him alone, she had said--

  "Robert has been murdered, Austin, I feel sure. I don't care what you say,but if there's law in England I'll have his murderer discovered."

  And with that conclusion she had indignantly left the house with herhusband, leaving her brother to walk back to his lodgings at thechurchtown in moody solitude across the rainy darkness of the moors.

  For herself, she returned to her hotel to pass a sleepless night, tossingby the side of her placidly unconscious husband as she passed the tragicevents of the night in review and vainly sought for some clue to themystery. The dreadful logic of the circumstances which pointed to suicide,hammered at her consciousness with deadening persistence, but sheresolutely refused to give it entry. Why should Robert commit suicide? Whyindeed? It was the question which had sprung to her lips when she firstheard Austin's belief, and it was to that she now clung in the midst ofher agonizing doubts, as though the mere wordless insistence in her mindmade it an argument of negation which gathered force and cogency byfrequent repetition.

  But in the mass of teeming thoughts which crowded her brain in the silenceof the small hours, she long and vainly sought for any other theory whichwould account for her brother's death. If he had been murdered, as in thefirst flush of her indignation she had declared, who had killed him? Whohad gone to the lonely old house in the darkness of the night, and struckhim down?

  It was not until the first faint glimmering of dawn was pushing its greyway through the closed shutters that there came to her the recollection ofan incident of the previous day which had left a deep mark upon her mindat the time, but had since been covered over by the throng of latertremendous events. It was the memory of that momentary glance of a pair ofeyes through the slit of the door while her brother was telling of hisdaughter's illegitimacy and her mother's shame. In the light of Robert'ssubsequent death that incident appeared in a new sinister shape as a clueto the commission of the deed itself. With the recollection of that glancethere sprang almost simultaneously before her mental vision the grim andforbidding features of her brother's servant, Thalassa.

  If she had been asked, Mrs. Pendleton could not have given a satisfactoryreason for linking Thalassa with the incident of the eyes, but she was awoman, and not concerned about reasons. The two impressions had scurriedswiftfooted, into her mind together, and there they remained. She was nowconvinced that she had all along believed it was Thalassa she had seenwatching through the door, watching and listening for some fell purpose ofhis own. She knew nothing about Thalassa, but she had taken an instantdislike to him when she first saw him. That vague dislike now assumed theform of active suspicion against him. She determined, with theimpulsiveness which was part of her temperament, to bring her suspicionbefore the police at the earliest possible moment.

  She was essentially a woman of action, and in spite of her sleepless nightshe was up and dressed before her husband was awake. He came down tobreakfast to find his wife had already finished hers, and was dressedready to go out.

  "Where is Sisily?" he asked, with a glance at the girl's vacant place.

  "I've ordered her breakfast to be taken to her room, and sent word to herto rest in bed until I go to her," his wife replied. "I have a painfulordeal before me in breaking the news of Robert's death to her. It's allover the hotel already, unfortunately. Sisily is out of the way of gossipin her room. After I've seen her I shall leave her in your charge, Joseph.I shall have plenty on my hands to-day."

  Mr. Pendleton received this mandate with a blank face, and momentarilyregretted that the arrangements for their departure by the morning's trainhad been cancelled. Then his better nature asserted itself, and he meeklyreplied that he would do what he could. "What do you suggest?" he asked.

  "Take her for a walk," responded his wife. "Try and keep her interestedand her mind occupied."

  With these words she left the breakfast table and proceeded upstairs toSisily's room before going out. On the way there she again regrettedhaving undertaken the responsibility of her niece's future. She had notdisturbed Sisily on the previous night. She had tried her door on her wayto her own room, but it was locked, so she had let the girl sleep on, anddeferred breaking the tragic news until the morning.

  She now paused outside the door reluctantly. But she was not the woman toshrink from a duty because it was unpleasant, and womanly sympathy for herunhappy niece banished her diffidence. She knocked lightly and entered.

  Sisily was seated by the window reading. A breakfast tray, stilluntouched, stood on a small table beside her. She put down her book as heraunt entered, and rose to greet her.

  Mrs. Pendleton bent over the girl and kissed her, and took her hand. Asshe did so she observed that Sisily looked worn and fatigued, with blackrings under her eyes, as though she, too, had passed a sleepless night.But she was wonderfully pretty, the elder woman thought, and nothing couldrob her of the fresh charm of youth and beauty.

  "Sit down, Sisily," she said, leading her back to her chair, and takinganother one beside her. "I have sad news for you, dear, and you must be abrave girl. Something has happened to your father."

  "What has happened?" asked Sisily quickly. Then, as if taking in theimport of her aunt's tone, rather than her words, she added: "Do you meanthat he is ... dead?"

  Mrs. Pendleton inclined her head with tears in her eyes. "It is worse eventhan that," she went on, her voice drooping to a whisper. "He ... he hasbeen killed. We found him last night. Listen, dear, I will tell you all."

  She gave the cold fingers a comforting pressure as she spoke, but the handwas immediately withdrawn, and Sisily sprang away from her, then turnedand regarded her with blazing eyes and a white face.

  "Tell me about it!" she said.

  Mrs. Pendleton imparted as much of the facts as she felt called upon torelate. There was something about the girl's reception of the news whichpuzzled her, and her own look fell before the sombre intensity of hergaze. Sisily heard the story in silence, and when it was finished, merelysaid--

  "I think I would like to be left alone for a little while, if you don'tmind."

  "Oh, you mustn't sit here moping, my dear," said Mrs. Pendleton, with anattempt at cheerfulness which she felt to be clumsy and ill-timed, butSisily's manner had momentarily disconcerted her. "You had better put onyour hat and coat and go out with your uncle. He is waiting downstairs foryou. It is very sad, very terrible, but you must let us help you bear it.You must not stay here alone."

  "You are very kind"--the girl's lips quivered slightly, though her faceremained calm--"but I would rather not go out. I should prefer to be leftalone."

  There was in her expression a despairing yet calm detachment and resolvewhich forced Mrs. Pendleton in spite of herself to yield to her wish witha meekness which was almost timidity.

  "Very well, dear," she said. "If you feel like a walk later on, you willfind your uncle downstairs." br />
  As she left the room she heard the door shut behind her.

  But Mrs. Pendleton had other things to think about that morning than thestrangeness of her niece's disposition and the manner in which she hadreceived the news of her father's death. The horror of that event filledher own thoughts to the exclusion of everything else, and she wasdetermined to remain in Cornwall until the mystery was explained.

  She glanced at her watch as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She hadbreakfasted early, and it still wanted a few minutes to ten o'clock. Thelobby of the hotel was deserted, and through the glass doors leading tothe breakfast-room she could see a few guests still at their morning meal.A porter was sweeping the front entrance, and of him she enquired the wayto the police station, and set out for it.

  It was chill and grey after the storm, with a sky obscured by scuddingclouds, but a gleam of truant sunshine was sporting wantonly on the hoarycastled summit of St. Michael's Mount, and promised to visit the townlater on. Mrs. Pendleton walked briskly, and soon arrived at the policestation.

  A young constable in the office came forward as she entered and enquiredher business. She disclosed her name, and her relationship with the inmateof Flint House, deeming that would be sufficient to gain her an interviewwith somebody in authority. In that expectation she was not disappointed.The constable favoured her with a good hard stare, went into another room,and reappeared to say that Inspector Dawfield would see her at once.

  She followed him into the inner room, where a slight man of middle age wasseated at a leather-covered table opening his morning correspondence. Helooked up and bowed as he saw his visitor, but waited until the constablehad retired before he spoke.

  "Good morning," he said. "What can I do for you?"

  His eye regarded her with a thoughtful glance. His professional interesthad been aroused by the strange death of the occupant of Flint House,whose object in visiting Cornwall had been common gossip in the districtfor some time past.

  "It is about my brother's death that I wished to see you." Mrs. Pendletonspoke earnestly, drawing her chair closer with the feeling that the manbefore her had sufficient intelligence to give her a sympathetic hearing.

  "So I gathered from your card. It seems a very sad case. SergeantPengowan's report has just reached me. Anything I can do for you--"Inspector Dawfield pretended to occupy himself in cutting open an officialenvelope with scrupulous care.

  "Sergeant Pengowan regards it as a case of suicide, does he not?" askedMrs. Pendleton rigidly.

  "Well, yes, I believe he does," replied Inspector Dawfield. "There is nodoubt on that point, is there? Your brother's revolver was lying near him,and the door was locked on the inside."

  "There is the greatest doubt in my mind," returned Mrs. Pendletonvehemently. "I do not--I cannot believe that my brother has taken his ownlife. In fact, I am sure he did not."

  On hearing these words Inspector Dawfield looked at his visitor again,with something more than surprise in his eyes, then he pulled a documentfrom a pigeonhole and hastily scanned it.

  "Pengowan's report states quite definitely that it is suicide," he said ashe replaced it. "In the face of that, do you think--"

  "I think my brother has been murdered," she said in a decided voice.

  "This is a very grave statement to make, Mrs. Pendleton. Have you anythingto support it? Anything which has not been brought to light, I mean?"

  Mrs. Pendleton proceeded to give her reasons. She had thought over whatshe was going to say as she came along, and she spoke with growingconviction, intensified by the sight of the earnest attentive face beforeher. The incident of the person she had detected looking through the doortook on a new significance as she related it. By her constant associationof the eyes with the disliked face of her brother's servant, she hadunconsciously reached the conclusion that she had all along recognized theeavesdropper as Thalassa.

  "You say your brother was talking about some family matters at the time?"asked Inspector Dawfield, as she related that part of her story.

  "Yes," responded Mrs. Pendleton. She had repressed all mention of herbrother's announcement of his daughter's illegitimacy, but afterwards shetried to persuade herself that it slipped her memory at the time.

  "It's common enough for servants to listen at doors," remarked InspectorDawfield. "In this case it may seem to have a sinister interpretationbecause of what happened afterwards. How long has this man been in yourbrother's employ?"

  "A number of years, I believe," replied Mrs. Pendleton. "But he has awicked face," she added hastily, as though that fact cancelled a record oflengthy service. "I took a dislike to him as soon as I saw him."

  Inspector Dawfield veiled a slight smile with a sheet of foolscap. "Haveyou any other reason for suspecting him?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't like to say that I suspect Thalassa, or anybody else."Mrs. Pendleton was prompt with this assurance. "But there are certainthings which seem to me to need further investigation. There's thequestion of the door being locked on the inside. It seems to me that thedoor might have been locked on the outside, and the key dropped in thereafterwards. The door had to be smashed before we could get in, and the keywasn't in the door then, you know."

  Dawfield nodded thoughtfully. "Who has charge of the keys in yourbrother's house? This servant with the strange name--Thalassa, is it?"

  "Yes, and he was upstairs in my brother's room last night, after we camedown. And when we got there he was ready to go out, with his hat and coaton. It all seems very strange."

  Again the courteous inspector hid a slight smile. His lady visitor mightdisclaim suspecting anybody, but her inferences carried her to the samepoint.

  "What do you wish me to do?" he asked.

  "I feel there should be further inquiries. Sergeant Pengowan does notstrike me as the kind of man capable of bringing to light any mysterywhich may be hidden behind my brother's supposed suicide. He does not lookat all intelligent. I thought of sending a telegram to Scotland Yard, butI decided to see you first."

  The hint was not lost on Inspector Dawfield, but it was unnecessary. Itwas his duty to look into her complaint and make further inquiries intothe case.

  "Your statement shall certainly be investigated," he said emphatically. "Iam rather short of men just now, but I'll see if I can get Bodmin to sendover a man. I will inquire immediately, if you will excuse me."

  He retired into a curtained recess in a corner of the room, where Mrs.Pendleton could see him holding a colloquy over the telephone. Afterrather a lengthy conversation he returned to announce that a detective wascoming over by the next train to investigate the case.

  "The Bodmin office is sending over Detective Barrant, of Scotland Yard,"he explained. "He happens to be in Cornwall on another case, and was juston the point of returning to London. I was able to speak to him personallyand relate the facts of your brother's death. He decided to telephone toScotland Yard, and come over here at once. He will arrive soon afterlunch. I will take him to Flint House myself. He may wish to see you lateron. Will you be at your hotel?"

  "If not, I will leave word where I can be found," replied Mrs. Pendleton,rising as she spoke. "Good morning, and thank you."

  She left the police station feeling that she had accomplished an excellentmorning's work, and hurried back to the hotel with visions of letters tobe written and telegrams to be sent before lunch. But she was destined todo neither. As she entered the lounge, her eye fell upon its solitaryoccupant, a male figure in a grey lounge suit sitting in her favouritecorner by the window. It was her brother Austin.