The Hand in the Dark

A >> Arthur J. Rees >> The Hand in the Dark

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"It's a damned remarkable case," exclaimed Merrington, in his booming
voice. "I do not remember its parallel. An English lady is murdered in
her home, with a crowd of people sitting at dinner in the room
underneath, and the murderer gets clean away, without leaving a trace.
No weapon, no finger-prints or footprints, and no clue of any kind."

Caldew had been hoping to get an opportunity of telling Merrington
privately about the missing trinket, but he realized that he was not
doing his duty by delaying the explanation.

"There was something which might have helped us as a clue," he said.
"Last night, while I was examining Mrs. Heredith's bedroom, I saw a
small trinket lying on the floor near the bedside."

"What sort of a trinket?" asked Merrington.

"A small bar brooch."

"Where is it?"

"I do not know," replied Caldew awkwardly. "I left it where I saw it,
hidden in the carpet, thinking it possible that the person who had lost
it might return in search of it, but while I was downstairs it
disappeared."

"It is rather strange," said Merrington thoughtfully. "I am not inclined
to think there is anything in it to help us," he added, after a moment's
consideration. "Still, I will look into it later. Why did you leave the
trinket in the room, Caldew?"

"I thought it possible that if the owner had anything to do with the
crime he--or she--might return for it," said Caldew. "So I left it where
I found it, and watched the room from the end of the passage."

"A murderer doesn't go about wearing a cheap trinket, and, if he did, he
wouldn't risk his neck coming back to look for it. The brooch was more
likely dropped by one of the maidservants, who picked it up again."

"Would a girl go into a room where there was a dead body?"

"A country wench would. English countrywomen have pretty strong nerves.
You ought to know that. But why did you leave the room if you expected
the owner of the trinket to return in search of it?"

"I was called downstairs to see Mr. Musard. An unused outside door which
is generally kept locked was discovered unlocked by the butler before
the murder was committed. As the door opens on a staircase leading to
the left wing, Mr. Musard thought the butler's discovery had some
bearing on the crime."

"He thought the murderer may have entered the house that way? Such a
theory would suggest that one of the servants is implicated."

"Yes; but I do not agree with Mr. Musard."

"What is your own opinion?"

"I think the key must have been left in the door by one of the
servants--perhaps some days ago. The fact that the butler locked the
door when he found it unfastened did not prevent the murder being
committed, or the murderer escaping afterwards."

"The murderer may have entered by the door before the butler discovered
that it had been unlocked, and then concealed himself inside the house
awaiting an opportunity to commit the crime."

"In that case, he would have tried to escape the same way, but it is
quite certain that he did not do so. Mr. Musard says that the staircase
was the first place to be searched when the guests rushed upstairs. If
the murderer had gone that way he would have found the door at the
bottom locked, and the key removed, and he must have been caught before
he could get back upstairs."

"There's something in that," said Merrington. "But how do you account
for the door being unlocked in the first instance?"

"The servants know where the key is kept. One of the maids may have
taken it to steal out of the house that way to keep an appointment with
a sweetheart, and forgotten all about it when she returned. The back
staircase and entrance are never used by the members of the household,
and the key, which was inside the door, may have been there for days
without being noticed. Tufnell admits that it was only by chance he
tried the door yesterday. He had not tried it for weeks before."

"I'll have a look at this door later. And now, we had better get to
work. We have got to catch this murderer pretty quickly, or the press
and the public will be up in arms. He's had too long a start already.
You must make up your mind for considerable public indignation about
that, Caldew."

"I do not see how I can be held responsible for the murderer getting
away," said Caldew, in an aggrieved tone. "He had his start before I
arrived. I did everything that I could. I searched the house inside and
out, and Sergeant Lumbe has been scouring the country-side since
daybreak looking for suspicious characters."

"I am not blaming you, Caldew," responded Merrington, but his voice
suggested the reverse of his words. "I am merely pointing out to you the
way the British public will look at it. They will say, 'Here is a young
wife murdered in the bosom of her home and family, and the murderer gets
right away. What do we pay the detective force for? To let murderers
escape?' Mark my words, if we don't lay our hands on this chap quickly,
we'll have the whole of the London press howling at our heels like a
pack of wolves. Half a dozen special reporters travelled down in the
train with me and pestered me with questions all the way. They are
coming along here later for a statement for the evening editions. But
never mind the journalists--let us get to work without further loss of
time. Have you made a list of all the guests who have been stopping in
the house?"

"Not yet. Here is a sketch plan of the moat-house interior and the
grounds which you may find useful."

"Thanks. You had better prepare a list of the guests before they leave.
They are sure to get away as fast as possible, and we may want to
interview some of them later on. Now we had better have a look at the
body."

They went upstairs to the bedroom. There they found a young man, with a
freckled face and a snub nose, packing up a photographic apparatus. He
was the photographer, and he had been taking photographs of the dead
body.

"Finished?" inquired Merrington. "That's right. Then you and Freeling
had better return to London by the next train--you'll be wanted in that
Putney case."

The photographer and the finger-print expert left the room together, and
Merrington walked across to the bed. He drew away the sheet which
covered the dead girl, and bent over the body, examining it closely, but
without touching it.

"The corpse has not been moved, I suppose?" he remarked to Caldew, who
was standing beside him.

"Not since I arrived. But she may not have been shot in that position.
She lived some minutes afterwards, and may have moved slightly--not
much, I should say, for there are no marks of bloodstains on any other
part of the bed."

Merrington nodded. He was looking at the bullet wound, which was plainly
visible through a burnt orifice in the rest-gown which the dead girl was
wearing. The wound was a circular punctured hole in the left breast,
less than the size of a sixpenny piece.

"The wound has been washed," he observed. "Was that done by the police
surgeon?"

"The police surgeon has not been here. The corpse was examined by the
village medical man, Dr. Holmes."

"I should like to see him. Where is he to be found?"

"He will be here in the course of the morning. He is attending young
Heredith, who is suffering from the shock. The doctor fears brain
fever."

"When he comes I want to see him. It is idle speculating about the cause
of death in the absence of a doctor. Death in this case appears to have
been due to haemorrhage. Apparently the murderer aimed at the heart and
missed it, and the shot went through the lungs. The shot was fired at
very close range too--look how the wrapper is burnt! Any sign of the
bullet, Caldew?"

"I found none."

"Well, we shall have to wait for the doctor to clear up these points."

His trained eyes swept round the bedroom, taking stock of every article
in it. He next carefully examined the door, and the lock on it.

"The door was open when the others came upstairs, you said, Caldew?"

"Yes--about half open."

"That accounts for the scream and the shot being heard so plainly
downstairs. It also suggests that the murderer fled very hurriedly,
leaving the door open behind him."

"It seems to me more likely that he escaped by the window, even if he
did not enter that way. Miss Heredith, who was the last inmate of the
household to see Mrs. Heredith alive, thinks that the window was closed
when she was in the room before dinner."

Merrington walked over to the window and examined it, testing the lock
and looking at the sill.

"Does Miss Heredith say that the window was locked, or merely closed,
when she was in the room?" he asked.

"She cannot say definitely. She thinks it was closed because the air was
heavy, and she knew that Mrs. Heredith disliked having her bedroom
window open."

Merrington shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"A woman's fancies are not much to build a theory upon," he said. "Have
you any other reason for thinking that the murderer may have escaped by
this window?"

"Yes. After the shot was fired the guests rushed upstairs immediately,
and the murderer would have run into them if he had attempted to escape
downstairs."

"Is there no other means of escape from the wing except by the
staircase?"

"There is the back staircase I told you of, at the end of the corridor.
That staircase is never used. The door is kept locked, and the key hangs
in a room downstairs. It was the door at the bottom of this staircase
which was found unlocked by the butler yesterday evening."

"I'll have a look at it, and then we'll go downstairs. I want to see
this bedroom window from outside."

They left the bedroom and proceeded to the end of the corridor, where
Caldew pointed out the door at the top of the staircase. Merrington
opened it, and went down the stairs. He reappeared after the lapse of a
few minutes with dusty hands and cobwebs on his clothes.

"The murderer didn't get in that way," he said. "On the face of it, it
seems a plausible theory to suggest that he entered by the locked door
and hid himself somewhere in this wing, and escaped after committing the
murder by jumping through the bedroom window. But it is impossible to
get over your point that if he had entered by the door he would have
tried to escape by the same means, not knowing that the door had been
locked in the meantime. To do that he must have traversed the corridor
twice and gone down and up these back stairs while the guests were
coming up the other stairs. He couldn't have done it in the time. He
would have been caught--cut off before he could get back. Look at this
steep flight of stairs and the length of the corridor! That disposes of
the incident of the door. Whoever unlocked it was not the murderer."

Merrington retraced his steps along the corridor. As he walked, his eyes
roved restlessly over the tapestry hangings and velvet curtains, and
took in the dark nooks and corners which abound in old English
country-houses.

"Plenty of places here where a man might hide," he muttered, in a
dissatisfied voice.

At the head of the front staircase he paused, and looked over the
balusters, as though calculating the distance to the hall beneath. Then
he descended the stairs.

It still wanted half an hour to breakfast time. There was no sign of
anybody stirring downstairs except a fresh-faced maidservant, who was
dusting the furniture in the great hall. She glanced nervously at the
groups of police officials, and then resumed her dusting. Merrington
strode across to her.

"What is your name, my dear?" he asked, in his great voice.

"Milly Saker, sir."

"Very well, Milly. I'll come and have a talk with you presently--just
our two selves."

The girl, far from looking delighted at this prospect, backed away with
a frightened face. Merrington strode on through the open front door, and
turned towards the left wing.

It was a crisp autumn morning. The early sunshine fell on the hectic
flush of decay in the foliage of the woods, but a thin wisp of vapour
still lingered across the moat-house garden and the quiet fields beyond.
Merrington kept on until he reached the large windows of the
dining-room, which opened on to the terraced garden.

"That's Mrs. Heredith's window," he said, pointing up to it. "Her
bedroom is directly over the dining-room. If the murderer escaped by the
window he must have dropped on to this gravel path."

"It is a pretty stiff drop," said Captain Stanhill, measuring the
distance with his eye.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Merrington. "He'd let himself down eight
feet with extended arms, and that would leave a drop of only ten feet or
thereabouts--not much for an athletic man. But if he dropped he must
have left footprints."

"There are none. I have looked," said Caldew.

The information did not deter Merrington from examining the path anew.
He got down on his hands and knees to scrutinize the gravel and the
grass plot more thoroughly.

"Nothing doing here either," he said as he scrambled to his feet. "There
are neither footprints nor marks such as one would expect to find if a
man had dropped out of the window. What are you looking at, Weyling?"

In reply Inspector Weyling made his first and only contribution towards
the elucidation of the crime.

"Could not the murderer have climbed up to the bedroom by that creeper?"
he asked, pointing to a thin trail of Virginia creeper which stretched
up the wall almost as high as the window.

Merrington tested the frail creeper with his great hand. His sharp tug
detached a mass of the plant from the brickwork.

"Not likely," he replied. "It might bear the weight of a boy or a
slender girl, but not of a man. What do you think, Caldew?"

Caldew nodded without speaking. Weyling's remark had started a train of
thought in his mind, but he had no intention of revealing it to a man
who plainly did not intend to confer with him on equal terms, or
disclose his own theory of the murder--if he had formed one.

"Let us get inside again," said Merrington, in his masterful way.

He turned back towards the house, and the others followed.

CHAPTER VIII

As they reached the library again a small silver clock on the
mantelpiece gave a single chime. Merrington looked at it, and then
glanced at his watch.

"Half-past eight!" he said. "That clock is five minutes slow--by me. The
people who have been staying here will go off after breakfast. Visitors
always leave a house of trouble as soon as possible--like rats deserting
a sinking ship. The thing is to question as many as we can get hold of
before they go. As some of them knew Mrs. Heredith before her marriage,
we may elicit something about her or her antecedents which will throw
some light on the motive for the crime."

"I do not think Sir Philip will care to have his guests questioned,"
remarked Captain Stanhill doubtfully. "They must be all well-connected
and very respectable people, or they would not have been invited here."

"There have been very respectable and highly connected murderers before
to-day, Captain Stanhill, as no doubt you are aware," rejoined
Merrington caustically.

"The guests were all downstairs in the dining-room at the time the
murder was committed," said Caldew. "Miss Heredith told me so herself."

"I am aware of that fact also," retorted Merrington sharply.
"Nevertheless, they must be seen. We cannot afford to throw away a
chance."

"It is a delicate and awkward business," murmured the Chief Constable.

"It will be a delicate and awkward business for us if we don't lay our
hands on this criminal," responded Merrington. "Sir Philip Heredith,
with his influence and connections, will be able to make it pretty hot
for Scotland Yard and the County Police if the murderer of his son's
wife is allowed to escape. You'd better take the job in hand at once,
Caldew. Weyling can go with you and help. See as many of the guests as
you can--especially the ladies--and get what you can out of them. But
I'd be glad if you'd first ask Miss Heredith to grant me an interview
before breakfast. Don't send a servant, but see her yourself."

Caldew left the room to undertake the investigations allotted to him,
and Weyling followed him with a startled expression of face. He felt
overweighted by the magnitude of the task which had been thrust upon
him, and doubted his ability to discharge it properly.

"Miss Heredith will be able to give us more information than Sir
Philip," remarked Merrington in a friendly tone to Captain Stanhill, as
the door closed behind the subordinate officials. "A woman is generally
more observant than a man--particularly if anything underhand has been
going on."

Captain Stanhill cast a puzzled glance at his companion. As a
simple-minded English gentleman he was quite unable to penetrate the
obscurity of expression which masked the meaning of the last remark.
Merrington caught the look, but had formed too poor an opinion of his
companion's understanding to explain himself further. Besides, he liked
mystifying people.

"I'm going to put the servants through their facings straight away," he
continued. "If there is anything to be learnt we are more likely to find
it out from them than the guests. Trust the backstairs for knowing
what's going on upstairs! Servants want skilful handling, though. You've
got to know when to bully and when to coax. Half measures are no good
with them."

Captain Stanhill did not reply. He wandered round the spacious library,
glancing at the rows of books in their oaken shelves. Superintendent
Merrington, while awaiting the arrival of Miss Heredith, drew forth the
plan of the moat-house which Caldew had sketched, and studied it
closely.

The moat-house had only two stories, but it was a rambling old place and
covered a considerable area of ground, facing three sides of the county.
The principal portion, consisting of the old house which had been burnt
down and rebuilt, faced the north. The two wings had been added later.

The front door opened into a spacious entrance hall which in former
times had been the dining-room. At the end of the hall was the grand
staircase, adorned by statues, armour, and the Heredith arms carved in
panels. The principal rooms, with the exception of the dining-room, were
all on the ground floor of the main building, but corridors led off the
entrance hall to the newer wings at each side, extending on the right
side to the billiard room, conservatory, greenhouses, and orangery, and
on the left side to the dining-room, Miss Heredith's private
sitting-room, and Sir Philip's study.

Merrington carefully studied the arrangements of this wing, as depicted
on Caldew's sketch plan. The upper portion was reached by a staircase
which opened off the corridor almost opposite the dining-room door, and
ran, with one turning, to a landing which was only a few feet away from
the door of the bedroom in which Mrs. Heredith was murdered. Next to
this room was a dressing-room, and a spare bedroom. The remainder of the
wing consisted of two bathrooms, a linen room, and Miss Heredith's
bedroom, which was at the south end of the wing. The rooms all faced the
west side of the house, and were lit by windows opening on the terraced
gardens. They were entered by a corridor which ran the whole length of
the wing, terminating in the door which opened on the unused back
staircase.

Before Merrington had finished his scrutiny of the plan, the door
opened, and Miss Heredith entered the library. She looked pale and worn,
and there were dark rings under her eyes which suggested a sleepless
night. But her face was composed, though grave.

Captain Stanhill advanced and shook hands with her, uttering a few words
of well-bred sympathy as he did so, and then introduced Superintendent
Merrington.

"Superintendent Merrington has been kind enough to come down from
Scotland Yard at my request to give us the benefit of his skill in
investigating this terrible crime," he said simply.

"I desired an interview with you in order to ask a few questions," said
Merrington, coming to the point at once.

Miss Heredith bowed.

"Were all the blinds down in the dining-room last night during dinner?"
asked Merrington.

Captain Stanhill looked quickly at his colleague. He failed to see the
purpose of the question.

"I think so," replied Miss Heredith, after a moment's reflection. "I
cannot say for certain, as I was out of the room during the latter
portion of the dinner, but I can easily ascertain." She touched a bell,
which was answered by a maidservant. "Tell Mr. Tufnell I wish to speak
to him," she said.

The girl went away, and Tufnell appeared a moment afterwards.

"Were the blinds all drawn in the dining-room during dinner last night,
Tufnell?"

"Yes, ma'am. I pulled them down myself before sounding the gong."

"Thank you, Tufnell."

"I understand that you were not present at the dinner table when the
shot was fired?" said Merrington when the butler had left the room.

"No, I was not."

"May I ask why you left the table?"

The question was put suavely enough, but a half-uttered protest from
Captain Stanhill indicated that he, at least, realized the sting
contained within it. But Miss Heredith, looking at Merrington with her
clear grey eyes, replied calmly:

"I was called out of the room to speak to our chauffeur. He had been
ordered to have an extra vehicle in readiness to convey our guests to an
evening entertainment, and he wished to consult me about it."

"Why did you not return to the dining-room?"

"Because dinner was nearly finished when I left the room."

"Where were you when the shot was fired?"

"I was on the stairs, on the way to my room when I heard the scream. I
was hastening back to the dining-room as quickly as possible, but before
I reached it the shot rang out."

"Surely these questions are unnecessary, Merrington," exclaimed
Captain Stanhill. "Anyone would think--I mean that there is not the
slightest idea in our minds that Miss Heredith--at least, I meant to
say--" Captain Stanhill floundered badly as he realized that his remarks
were capable of a terrible interpretation which he did not intend, and
broke off abruptly.

"I am very glad that Superintendent Merrington has asked these
questions," said Miss Heredith coldly.

Merrington bowed a grim acknowledgment. He had still many questions he
wanted to ask Miss Heredith, and he proceeded to put them in his own
masterful way, very much as though he were examining a witness in the
police court, Captain Stanhill thought, but in reality with a courtesy
and consideration quite unusual for him. It was his best manner; his
worst, Captain Stanhill was to see later. As a matter of fact, it was
impossible for Merrington to be gentle with anybody. He had spent so
many years of his life probing into strange stories and sinister
mysteries that he had insensibly come to regard the world as a larger
criminal court, made up of tainted and adverse witnesses, whom it was
his privilege to cross-question.

He questioned Miss Heredith searchingly about the young bride. According
to an eminent expert in jurisprudence, the tendency to believe the
testimony of others is an inherent instinct implanted in the human
breast by the Almighty. If that be so, it is to be feared that the seed
had failed to germinate in Merrington's bosom, for his natural tendency
was to look upon his fellow creatures as liars, particularly when they
were of good social standing, with that hatred of notoriety which is
characteristic of their class. Merrington had this fact in his mind as
he interrogated Miss Heredith closely about the circumstances of her
nephew's marriage. He hoped to extract from her something which her
English pride might lead her to conceal, something which might throw a
light on the motive for the murder.

Miss Heredith answered him with a frankness which even Merrington
grudgingly realized left nothing to be desired. She was, apparently,
only too anxious to help the police investigations to the best of her
ability. But what she had to tell amounted to very little. Her first
knowledge of her nephew's intention to marry was contained in a letter
written home some four months before, in which he announced his
engagement to a young lady engaged in war work in a London Government
office. A month later came the news that he was married, and was
bringing his young bride to the moat-house. The young couple arrived a
week after the receipt of the second letter. They were welcomed home,
and settled down to country life in the old place. Phil left his post in
the War Office, and busied himself in looking after the estate. He was
very fond of his young wife, but it was obvious from the first that
Violet found the quiet country existence rather dull after her London
life. She knew nobody in Sussex except Mrs. Weyne, the author's wife,
who had been an acquaintance of hers in London years before, and she did
not seem to care much for the county people who visited the moat-house.
She received letters from girl friends in London, and sometimes read
extracts from them at the breakfast table, but her life, on the whole,
was a secluded one. It was in order to brighten it that Phil suggested a
house party. The guests consisted principally of Violet's and Phil's
London friends and acquaintances.

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