The Daffodil Mystery

by Edgar Wallace

  CHAPTER XII

  THE HOSPITAL BOOK

  While the nurse was attending to the girl Tarling sought an interviewwith the medical officer in charge of the hospital.

  "I don't think there's a great deal the matter with her," said thedoctor. "In fact, she was fit for discharge from hospital two or threedays ago, and it was only at her request that we let her stay. Do Iunderstand that she is wanted in connection with the Daffodil Murder?"

  "As a witness," said Tarling glibly. He realised that he was saying aridiculous thing, because the fact that a warrant was out for OdetteRider must have been generally known to the local authorities. Herdescription had been carefully circulated, and that description must havecome to the heads of hospitals and public institutions. The next wordsof the doctor confirmed his knowledge.

  "As a witness, eh?" he said dryly. "Well, I don't want to pry into yoursecrets, or rather into the secrets of Scotland Yard, but she is fit totravel just as soon as you like."

  There was a knock on the door, and the matron came into the doctor'soffice.

  "Miss Rider wishes to see you, sir," she said, addressing Tarling, andthe detective, taking up his hat, went back to the little ward.

  He found the girl more composed but still deathly white. She was out ofbed, sitting in a big arm chair, wrapped in a dressing-gown, and shemotioned Tarling to pull up a chair to her side. She waited until afterthe door had closed behind the nurse, then she spoke.

  "It was very silly of me to faint, Mr. Tarling but the news was sohorrible and so unexpected. Won't you tell me all about it? You see, Ihave not read a newspaper since I have been in the hospital. I heard oneof the nurses talk about the Daffodil Murder--that is not the----"

  She hesitated, and Tarling nodded. He was lighter of heart now, almostcheerful. He had no doubt in his mind that the girl was innocent, andlife had taken on a rosier aspect.

  "Thornton Lyne," he began, "was murdered on the night of the 14th. He waslast seen alive by his valet about half-past nine in the evening. Earlynext morning his body was found in Hyde Park. He had been shot dead, andan effort had been made to stanch the wound in his breast by binding awoman's silk night-dress round and round his body. On his breast somebodyhad laid a bunch of daffodils."

  "Daffodils?" repeated the girl wonderingly. "But how----"

  "His car was discovered a hundred yards from the place," Tarlingcontinued, "and it was clear that he had been murdered elsewhere, broughtto the Park in his car, and left on the sidewalk. At the time he wasdiscovered he had on neither coat nor vest, and on his feet were a pairof list slippers."

  "But I don't understand," said the bewildered girl. "What does it mean?Who had----" She stopped suddenly, and the detective saw her lips tightentogether, as though to restrain her speech. Then suddenly she covered herface with her hands.

  "Oh, it's terrible, terrible!" she whispered. "I never thought, I neverdreamed--oh, it is terrible!"

  Tarling laid his hand gently on her shoulder.

  "Miss Rider," he said, "you suspect somebody of this crime. Won't youtell me?"

  She shook her head without looking up.

  "I can say nothing," she said.

  "But don't you see that suspicion will attach to you?" urged Tarling."A telegram was discovered amongst his belongings, asking him to callat your flat that evening."

  She looked up quickly.

  "A telegram from me?" she said. "I sent no telegram."

  "Thank God for that!" cried Tarling fervently. "Thank God for that!"

  "But I don't understand, Mr. Tarling. A telegram was sent to Mr. Lyneasking him to come to my flat? Did he go to my flat?"

  Tarling nodded.

  "I have reason to believe he did," he said gravely. "The murder wascommitted in your flat."

  "My God!" she whispered. "You don't mean that! Oh, no, no, it isimpossible!"

  Briefly he recited all his discoveries. He knew that he was acting in amanner which, from the point of view of police ethics, was wholly wrongand disloyal. He was placing her in possession of all the clues andgiving her an opportunity to meet and refute the evidence which had beencollected against her. He told her of the bloodstains on the floor, anddescribed the night-dress which had been found around Thornton Lyne'sbody.

  "That was my night-dress," she said simply and without hesitation. "Goon, please, Mr. Tarling."

  He told her of the bloody thumb-prints upon the door of the bureau.

  "On your bed," he went on, "I found your dressing-case, half-packed."

  She swayed forward, and threw out her hands, groping blindly.

  "Oh, how wicked, how wicked!" she wailed "He did it, he did it!"

  "Who?" demanded Tarling.

  He took the girl by the shoulder and shook her.

  "Who was the man? You must tell me. Your own life depends upon it. Don'tyou see, Odette, I want to help you? I want to clear your name of thisterrible charge. You suspect somebody. I must have his name."

  She shook her head and turned her pathetic face to his.

  "I can't tell you," she said in a low voice. "I can say no more. Iknew nothing of the murder until you told me. I had no idea, nothought.... I hated Thornton Lyne, I hated him, but I would not havehurt him ... it is dreadful, dreadful!"

  Presently she grew calmer.

  "I must go to London at once," she said. "Will you please take me back?"

  She saw his embarrassment and was quick to understand its cause.

  "You--you have a warrant, haven't you?"

  He nodded.

  "On the charge of--murder?"

  He nodded again. She looked at him in silence for some moments.

  "I shall be ready in half an hour," she said, and without a word thedetective left the room.

  He made his way back to the doctor's sanctum, and found that gentlemanawaiting him impatiently.

  "I say," said the doctor, "that's all bunkum about this girl being wantedas a witness. I had my doubts and I looked up the Scotland Yard warningwhich I received a couple of days ago. She's Odette Rider, and she'swanted on a charge of murder."

  "Got it first time," said Tarling, dropping wearily into a chair. "Do youmind if I smoke?"

  "Not a bit," said the doctor cheerfully. "I suppose you're taking herwith you?"

  Tarling nodded.

  "I can't imagine a girl like that committing a murder," said Dr.Saunders. "She doesn't seem to possess the physique necessary to havecarried out all the etceteras of the crime. I read the particulars in the_Morning Globe_. The person who murdered Thornton Lyne must have carriedhim from his car and laid him on the grass, or wherever he was found--andthat girl couldn't lift a large-sized baby."

  Tarling jerked his head in agreement.

  "Besides," Dr. Saunders went on, "she hasn't the face of a murderer. Idon't mean to say that because she's pretty she couldn't commit a crime,but there are certain types of prettiness which have their origin inspiritual beauty, and Miss Stevens, or Rider, as I suppose I should callher, is one of that type."

  "I'm one with you there," said Tarling. "I am satisfied in my own mindthat she did not commit the crime, but the circumstances are all againsther."

  The telephone bell jingled, and the doctor took up the receiver and spokea few words.

  "A trunk call," he said, explaining the delay in receiving acknowledgmentfrom the other end of the wire.

  He spoke again into the receiver and then handed the instrument acrossthe table to Tarling.

  "It's for you," he said. "I think it is Scotland Yard."

  Tarling put the receiver to his ear.

  "It is Whiteside," said a voice. "Is that you, Mr. Tarling? We've foundthe revolver."

  "Where?" asked Tarling quickly.

  "In the girl's flat," came the reply.

  Tarling's face fell. But after all, that was nothing unexpected. He hadno doubt in his mind at all that the murder had been committed in OdetteRider's flat, and, if that theory were accepted, the details wereunimportant, as there was no reason in th
e world why the pistol shouldnot be also found near the scene of the crime. In fact, it would havebeen remarkable if the weapon had not been discovered on those premises.

  "Where was it?" he asked.

  "In the lady's work-basket," said Whiteside. "Pushed to the bottom andcovered with a lot of wool and odds and ends of tape."

  "What sort of a revolver is it?" asked Tarling after a pause.

  "A Colt automatic," was the reply. "There were six live cartridges in themagazine and one in the breach. The pistol had evidently been fired, forthe barrel was foul. We've also found the spent bullet in the fireplace.Have you found your Miss Stevens?"

  "Yes," said Tarling quietly. "Miss Stevens is Odette Rider."

  He heard the other's whistle of surprise.

  "Have you arrested her?"

  "Not yet," said Tarling. "Will you meet the next train in from Ashford?I shall be leaving here in half an hour."

  He hung up the receiver and turned to the doctor.

  "I gather they've found the weapon," said the interested medico.

  "Yes," replied Tarling, "they have found the weapon."

  "Humph!" said the doctor, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A pretty badbusiness." He looked at the other curiously. "What sort of a man wasThornton Lyne?" he asked.

  Tarling shrugged his shoulders.

  "Not the best of men, I'm afraid," he said; "but even the worst of menare protected by the law, and the punishment which will fall to themurderer----"

  "Or murderess," smiled the doctor.

  "Murderer," said Tarling shortly. "The punishment will not be affected bythe character of the dead man."

  Dr. Saunders puffed steadily at his pipe.

  "It's rum a girl like that being mixed up in a case of this description,"he said. "Most extraordinary."

  There was a little tap at the door and the matron appeared.

  "Miss Stevens is ready," she said, and Tarling rose.

  Dr. Saunders rose with him, and, going to a shelf took down a largeledger, and placing it on his table, opened it and took up a pen.

  "I shall have to mark her discharge," he said, turning over the leaves,and running his finger down the page. "Here she is--Miss Stevens,concussion and shock."

  He looked at the writing under his hand and then lifted his eyes to thedetective.

  "When was this murder committed?" he asked.

  "On the night of the fourteenth."

  "On the night of the fourteenth?" repeated the doctor thoughtfully. "Atwhat time?"

  "The hour is uncertain," said Tarling, impatient and anxious to finishhis conversation with this gossiping surgeon; "some time after eleven."

  "Some time after eleven," repeated the doctor. "It couldn't have beencommitted before. When was the man last seen alive?"

  "At half-past nine," said Tarling with a little smile. "You're not goingin for criminal investigation, are you, doctor?"

  "Not exactly," smiled Saunders. "Though I am naturally pleased to be in aposition to prove the girl's innocence."

  "Prove her innocence? What do you mean?" demanded Tarling quickly.

  "The murder could not have been committed before eleven o'clock. The deadman was last seen alive at half-past nine."

  "Well?" said Tarling.

  "Well," repeated Dr. Saunders, "at nine o'clock the boat train leftCharing Cross, and at half-past ten Miss Rider was admitted to thishospital suffering from shock and concussion."

  For a moment Tarling said nothing and did nothing. He stood as thoughturned to stone, staring at the doctor with open mouth. Then he lurchedforward, gripped the astonished medical man by the hand, and wrung it.

  "That's the best bit of news I have had in my life," he said huskily.