CHAPTER XI
On his way to Chidelham, Caldew again pondered over the murder, and forthe first time seriously asked himself whether Miss Heredith could havecommitted the crime. He had glanced at that possibility before, and hadpractically dismissed it on the score of lack of motive, but hissister's story of the differences between Miss Heredith and her nephew'swife supplied that deficiency in a startling degree. In reviewing thewhole of the circumstances by the light of the information his sisterhad given him, it now seemed to him that Miss Heredith fitted into thecrime in a remarkable way.
The most important fact leading to that inference was that she alone, ofall the inmates of the moat-house the previous night, was out of thedining-room when the murder was committed. That supposition took nocognizance of the servants, but Caldew had all along eliminated theservants in his consideration of the crime. In the next place, itsupplied an explanation for the disappearance of the bar brooch from thebedroom. In all likelihood the butler had first acquainted his mistresswith his discovery of the unlocked staircase door, and she, realizingwhere she had dropped her brooch, had seized upon the opportunity torequest Musard to call the detective downstairs and tell him about thedoor. In his absence she returned to the bedroom for the brooch.
This theory seemed plausible enough at first blush, but as Caldewexamined it closely several objections arose in his mind. The hiddenmotive of the crime, as innocently laid bare by his sister, was strong,but was it strong enough to impel a woman like Miss Heredith, with therigid principles of her birth, breeding, and caste, and a woman,moreover, who had spent her life in good works, to commit such anatrocious murder? Caldew considered this point long and thoughtfully.With his keener imagination he differed from Merrington by relying tosome extent on external impressions, and he could not shake off hisfirst impression of Miss Heredith as a woman of exceptionally good type.He had to admit to himself that her graciousness and dignity were notthe qualities usually associated with a murderer. Religion, hypocrisy,smugness, plausibility; these were the commonest counterfeit qualitiesof criminals; not dignity, worth, and pride.
There was, of course, the possibility that Miss Heredith, grownimperious with her long unquestioned sway at the moat-house, hadquarrelled with the young wife, and committed the murder in a suddengust of passion. The most unlikely murders had been committed under thesway of impulse. Caldew recalled that Miss Heredith had been the lastperson to see the murdered woman alive, and nobody except herself knewwhat had occurred at that interview. It might be that the young wife hadsaid something to her which rankled so deeply that she conceived theidea of murdering her.
Caldew, on reaching this stage of his reasoning, shook his headdoubtfully. He had to admit to himself that such a theory did not ringtrue. If Miss Heredith had been maddened by some insult at theafternoon's interview, she was far more likely to have killed Mrs.Heredith immediately than have waited until dinner-time. And, if she hadcommitted the murder, why had she gone about it in the manner likeliestto lead to discovery, openly leaving her guests a few minutes before,and allowing herself to be seen afterwards descending the staircase?Even the veriest neophyte in crime usually displayed some of the cautionof self-preservation.
But Caldew was too experienced in criminal investigation to reject atheory merely because it was contrary to experience. There existedpresumptions for suspicion of Miss Heredith which at least warrantedfurther inquiry. And, thinking over these presumptions, he arrived atthe additional conclusion that the theory of her guilt could also bemade to account for the puzzle of the open window in Mrs. Heredith'sbedroom. Caldew believed that the open window had some bearing on thecrime. His first impression had been that the murderer had entered andescaped by that means. The Virginia creeper to which Weyling haddirected attention that morning had strengthened that belief, in spiteof Merrington's opinion that the plant would not bear a man's weight.But now it seemed to him that Miss Heredith might have opened the windowfor the purpose of throwing the revolver into the moat so that it shouldnot be found. He determined to investigate that possibility as soon ashe returned to the moat-house.
He reached his destination only to learn that Mr. and Mrs. Weyne hadmotored over to the moat-house to pay their condolences to the family.He remounted his bicycle and rode back as fast as he could, chagrined tothink that he had wasted the best part of an afternoon in a fruitlesserrand.
It was evening when he reached Heredith again, and rode through thewoods towards the moat-house. It looked deserted in the gatheringtwilight. A fugitive gleam of departing sunshine fell on the bronze andblood-red chrysanthemums in the circular beds, but the shadows werelengthening across the lawn, and the mist from the green waters of themoat was creeping up the stained red walls.
His ring at the front door was answered by the pretty parlourmaid whohad been dusting the hall before breakfast. He recognized in Milly Sakera village playmate of nearly twenty years ago, and he recalled that itwas she who had told his sister of the difference which had existedbetween Miss Heredith and her nephew's wife.
Milly greeted the detective with a coquettish smile of recognition.
"How are you?" she said. "You wouldn't look at me this morning. Youseemed as if you didn't want to recognize old friends."
Caldew's mind was too preoccupied to meet these rural pleasantries inthe same spirit.
"Is Miss Heredith in?" he asked, stepping into the hall.
"I shouldn't be here talking to you if she was," replied the girlpertly. "She's gone to the village in the motorcar to meet Mr. Musard.She's just got a telegram to say he's coming back."
"I thought he was going to France," said Caldew.
"Well, he's not. The telegram says he's not. So Miss Heredith's gone tomeet him by the evening train. Tufnell's out too. I don't know wherehe's poked to, but I shan't cry my eyes out if he never comes back."
"Have Mr. and Mrs. Weyne been here?"
"Yes. They drove over in their car, and saw Miss Heredith and SirPhilip. They weren't here very long."
"Where are Superintendent Merrington and Captain Stanhill?"
"In the library. They come in about an hour ago. The big gentleman hasto go back to London to-night--I heard him say so. A good riddance too.He had all the servants in the library this morning, bullying themdreadfully."
"What did he say to you?" asked Caldew, with a smile.
"Nothing," responded the girl promptly, "except what he said early thismorning, when he stopped me in the hall here, and put his great uglyhand under my chin, and told me he'd have a talk with me by-and-by. Buthe didn't get the chance, because I was over in the village all themorning with my mother, who's been ill. But he gave all the other girlssuch a time that they haven't done talking of it yet. Gwennie Harden,who sleeps with me, says he must have thought one of us murdered Mrs.Heredith, and the cook was so angry with the questions he asked her thatshe was going to give a month's warning on the spot, but old Tufnelltalked her over, saying that it was only done in the way of duty, nopersonal reflection being intended. Tufnell begged her pardon for whatshe'd had to put up with, and the cook granted it, and there the matterended. But they do say that Mrs. Rath--that's the housekeeper--came outof the library looking fit to drop. But Hazel Rath didn't go into thelibrary, although she stayed here last night, and has been with hermother all day. Favouritism, I call it. Why should they put all usservants through our facings, and leave her alone?"
The mention of Hazel Rath's name recalled to Caldew's mind theinformation his sister had given him about the early association betweenher and Philip Heredith. But the import of that statement, and thesignificance of the piece of news Milly Saker had just given him, werenot made clear to him until later. At the moment his thoughts were fixedon the idea of testing his new theory about the open window while MissHeredith was absent. As he turned away, he asked the girl where SirPhilip was.
"He's sitting with Mr. Phil," was the reply.
"I suppose there is nobody upstairs in the left wing?" he added.
"Nobody but the corpse," responded Milly, with a slight shiver. "MissHeredith's had her bedroom shifted. Last night she slept downstairs, butthis morning she gave orders for the white bedroom in the right wing tobe prepared for her. I reckon she wants to get as far away from it aspossible, and I don't blame her."
Caldew proceeded upstairs, and entered the death-chamber in the silentwing. On his way back from Chidelham he had picked up a round stone,which he now took from his pocket, intending to throw it from thewindow, and mark the spot where it fell into the moat. He opened thewindow, and looked out across the garden. The distance to the moat wasmuch farther than he had imagined; so great, indeed, that his own shotat the water fell short by several feet. It was impossible that MissHeredith could have accomplished such a remarkable feat as to hurl arevolver across the intervening space between the window and the moat.No woman could throw so far and so straight.
This unforeseen obstacle rather disconcerted Caldew at first, but onlooking out of the window again it seemed to him, by the lay of thehouse, that the window of Miss Heredith's bedroom was closer to the moatthan the window at which he was standing. As Miss Heredith hadtransferred her bedroom to the other wing, he decided to go into theroom and see if he were right. He still clung to his new idea that therevolver had been thrown into the moat, although his altered view thatit might have been thrown from Miss Heredith's window meant theabandonment of his other assumption that the disposal of the revolver bythat means accounted for the open window in Mrs. Heredith's bedroom.Caldew realized as he left the room that the question of the open windowstill remained to be solved. What he did not realize was that he wasdistorting the facts of the case in order to establish the possibilityof his own theory.
The door of the room which Miss Heredith had occupied was ajar. Hepushed it open and entered. There was within that deserted and desolateair which a room so quickly takes on when the occupant has vacated it.The heavier furniture and the bed remained to demonstrate the uglinessof utility after the accessories and adjuncts of luxury had been carriedaway.
The blind was down and the room in partial darkness. Caldew went to thewindow, raised the blind, and looked out. The distance to the moat wasappreciably nearer, compared with the window of the room he had justleft, but the distance was still considerable.
As Caldew turned from the window, with the reluctant conviction that hehad been nursing an untenable theory, a last ray of sunshine shotthrough the open window, causing the dust he had raised by his entranceto quiver and gyrate like a host of mad bacilli dancing a jig. The shaftof light, falling athwart the dismantled toilet-table, brought somethingelse into view--a tiny fragment of gold chain dangling from the polishedsatinwood drawer.
Caldew pulled the drawer open. Inside was a lady's thin gold neck chain,with a bundle of charms and trinkets attached to the end, which hadevidently been left behind and forgotten. He glanced at the chaincarelessly, and was about to replace it in the drawer, when his eye wasarrested by one of the trinkets. It was a small image, not much over aninch in length; a squatting heathen god, with crossed arms and a satyr'sface--a wonderful example of savage carving in miniature.
It was not the perfection of the carving or the unusual nature of theornament which attracted Caldew's attention, but the material, of whichit was composed, a clear almost transparent stone, with the faintestpossible tinge of green. Holding it in the sunlight, Caldew was able todetect one or two minute black flecks in the stone. There was no doubtabout it--the image was of the same peculiar material as the trinket hehad seen in the murdered woman's room the previous night.
As he stood there examining the charm, the murmur of voices not far awayfell on his ears. Looking cautiously out of the window, he saw Musardand Miss Heredith walk round the side of the house to the garden, deepin earnest conversation. Caldew backed away to an angle where he was notvisible from beneath, and watched them closely. Musard was talking,occasionally using an impressive gesture, and Miss Heredith waslistening attentively, with a downcast face, and eyes which suggestedrecent tears. As she passed underneath the window at which he waswatching, she raised a handkerchief to her face and sobbed aloud. Caldewwondered to see the proud and reserved mistress of the moat-house showher grief so freely in the presence of Musard, until he remembered whathis sister had told him of their supposed early love for each other. Andwith that thought came another. It must have been Musard, the explorer,the man who had wandered afar in strange lands in search of preciousstones, who had brought to the moat-house the peculiar stone of whichthe missing brooch and the little image had been fashioned.
Acting on the swift impulse to take the image to Miss Heredith and seehow she received it, Caldew slipped the chain into his pocket andhurried downstairs. At the bottom of the staircase he was stopped byTufnell, who had evidently been waiting for him to descend. The usuallyimperturbable dignity of the butler was for once ruffled, and he lookedslightly flushed and dishevelled.
"I have been down to the village looking for you," he said, in aquerulous tone. The majesty of the law had not vested Caldew with anydignity in the old butler's eyes. He saw in him only the village urchinof a score of years ago, whose mischievous pranks on the Heredith estatehad been a constant source of worry to him.
The detective appreciated the estimation in which the old man held him,and the fact did not tend to lessen his own irritation.
"What did you want me for?" he curtly asked.
"I did not want you, but the gentlemen in the library do. SuperintendentMerrington thought you had been a long time away, and he sent me down tothe village to look for you. He is anxious to return to London. You willfind him in the library."
The butler's cool assumption that it was Merrington's privilege tocommand, and Caldew's duty to obey, nettled the latter considerably. Hefelt that Merrington had, in his offensive way, deliberately assertedhis official authority in order to humiliate him in his native place.Acting on the impulse of anger he replied:
"I have some things to attend to before I can see him. You can tell himso, if you like."
He walked away towards the hall door, conscious that the butler wasstanding stationary by the stairs, watching him. When he got outside, heturned his steps towards the garden; but brief as had been the intervalsince he had seen Musard and Miss Heredith conversing together by thesundial, it had been sufficient to bring the conversation to aconclusion. Miss Heredith was no longer to be seen, and Musard wassauntering along the gravel walk smoking a cigar.
Had they seen him at the window, and broken off their conference inconsequence? It looked as if this were so. Miss Heredith must haveentered the house by another door, because if she had gone in by thefront door he must have encountered her. Caldew would have retraced hissteps if Musard had not looked up, and, seeing the detective, waited forhim to approach.
Caldew walked towards him, wondering whether Miss Heredith had missedher chain of charms, and had gone upstairs to find it. In that case, hereflected grimly, the position of the previous night was reversed, andthis time it was she who was forestalled. It was an ironical situation,truly, but he was to some extent the master of it.
Musard nodded to the detective and proffered his cigarcase. Caldewaccepted a cigar and admired the case, which was made of crocodile skin,worked and dressed in a manner altogether new to him. He had never seenanything like it in London tobacconists' shops, and he said so.
"Native manufacture," replied Musard, selecting a fresh cigar. "MyChinese boy shot the crocodile which provided it. It's a rare thing fora Chinese to be a good shot with a modern English rifle, but my boywould carry off anything at Bisley. He never misses. It was lucky for methat he didn't that time, because the brute came along to bag me while Iwas swimming in a river. Suey, hearing me call, ran out from the tentwith my rifle, and shot him from the bank. He got him through theeye--the eye and the throat are the only two vulnerable spots in acrocodile. A bullet will rebound off the head as off a rock."
"Where did this happen?" asked Caldew, in an interested
tone. His ownknowledge of crocodiles was confined to the fact that he had once seen asmall one in a tank at the Zoological Gardens.
"In Zambesi. There are plenty of them there in the rivers and mangoswamps. Some hunters stake a dog overnight by the river bank, and theanimal gives them warning of the approach of the reptiles by howlingwith terror. It is rather cruel--to the dog."
"Undoubtedly," said Caldew.
"How are you getting on with your investigations in this case?"continued Musard, abruptly changing the conversation.
Caldew was instantly wary, and stiffened into an attitude of officialreserve, wondering why Musard should seek to question him about themurder.
"I am an old friend of the Herediths," continued Musard, as thoughdivining the other's thoughts. "This murder is a very terrible thing forthem. I am afraid it may mean Sir Philip's death-blow. He is old andfeeble, and the shock, and his son's illness, have had a very bad effecton him. I should have gone to France to-day for the War Office, but Iarranged for somebody to go in my place in order to remain with thefamily in their hour of trial. Have you found out anything which leadsyou to suppose you are on the track of the murdered?"
"I am afraid I cannot tell you anything about the investigations,"replied the detective cautiously. "I am not in charge of the case, youknow."
"I understand," rejoined the other, with a nod. "Perhaps I should nothave asked you. My anxiety must be my excuse."
He uttered this apology so courteously and pleasantly that Caldew feltmomentarily ashamed of his own rigidly official attitude. But hisinstincts of caution quickly reasserted themselves, and he told himselfthat in this sinister case it was his business to be on his guard andtalk to nobody.
The situation was terminated by the reappearance of Miss Heredith from adoor at the side of the house. The detective was a little surprised tosee her again, for he had conceived the idea that she had gone indoorsto avoid meeting him. She went eagerly to Musard without noticing him.
"Oh, Vincent!" she exclaimed, and the look of relief on her face wasunmistakable. "Sir Ralph Horton is just leaving. He says that Phil haspassed the crisis, and there is no need for him to stay any longer. Philstill needs great care and attention, but Sir Ralph says it will bequite safe to leave him in Dr. Holmes's hands. There is no fear for hisbrain, thank God."
"This is good news," said Musard. "Have you told Sir Philip?"
"Not yet. I thought it better to defer it until after dinner. I want youto tell him then."
Miss Heredith turned as though to re-enter the house, but Caldew, whohad been hovering a few paces away within earshot of this dialogue,approached her with the gold chain in his hand.
"Excuse me, Miss Heredith," he said. "One of the maids told me that youno longer occupied the room upstairs in the left wing, so I took theliberty of going in there to see if it was possible for the murderer tohave escaped by clambering from the window of one room to another, andwhile I was there I found this chain. It was hanging out of a drawer ofthe toilet-table near the window, and as it had obviously been forgottenI thought I had better restore it to you."
He held it out to her as he finished speaking, keenly watching her facefor some sign of confusion or trepidation. But Miss Heredith receivedthe chain calmly, and thanked him for returning it. Caldew wasdisappointed at the failure of his test, but he essayed a further shot.
"I noticed a very peculiar little image among the charms on the chain,"he said hesitatingly. "I have never seen anything like it before, and Icouldn't help wondering where it came from."
It was a clumsy trap, and he realized it, but he was too anxious toachieve his end by more subtle methods. There was nothing in MissHeredith's calm countenance to suggest that she was alarmed or uneasy athis curiosity. She turned to Musard.
"Mr. Caldew means the strange little image you gave me when you arrived,Vincent. What is it?"
She held out the chain, and the explorer took it in his big brown hand.He separated the image from the other charms with his forefinger, andturned it over carelessly.
"That is a tiki," he said.
The explanation conveyed nothing to Caldew.
"I have never heard the word before," he said. "What is a tiki?"
"It is the Maori word for the creator of man, and is also taken torepresent an ancestor," Musard explained. "The Maoris are to some extentancestor worshippers, and adorn their pahs and temples with large woodenimages of immense size, supposed to represent some renowned fightingancestor. These images are worshipped as gods, and are believed to bevisited by the spirits, who ascend to converse with them by the hollowroots of a pohutukawa tree, which descends into the Maori netherregions. The smaller tikis, or, more strictly speaking, hei-tiki, suchas this, are carved as representations in miniature of the largerimages, and are worn as neck ornaments. They are supposed to render thewearer immune from the wicked designs of evil spirits."
"From what material are they carved?" said Caldew, who had followed thisexplanation attentively. "I have never seen anything resembling it. Itseems as clear and colourless as glass, but it emits a faint greenishlustre, and there are black flecks in it."
"It is nephrite, or Maori greenstone," replied Musard. "London jewellersterm it New Zealand jade."
"Surely this stone is not jade?" said Caldew, in some surprise. "I haveseen New Zealand jade ornaments in London shops, but they were made froma dull deep greenstone, not a bit like this stone, which is clear ascrystal, and has a lustre."
"There are different sorts of jade," replied Musard. "The present crazeof Society women is for Chinese pink jade and tourmalin. A good pinkjade necklace will readily bring a thousand pounds in Bond Street, andit is going to be the fashionable jewel of the season. New Zealandnephrite has not yet come into popular favour with English ladies, andonly the commoner dark green variety, which is frequently spurious, isseen here. This image was made of the rarer kind of pounamu, as theMaoris call it."
"It is very pretty," said Caldew. "Have you any more of it?" Heflattered himself that the assumption of carelessness in his tone wasnot overdone.
"No," replied Musard. "It was the only piece of the rare kind I was everlucky enough to obtain."
"There was another small piece, Vincent," remarked Miss Heredith. "Youbrought it about ten years ago. It was the same kind of transparentstone, with black flecks in it."
"I had forgotten. I gave it to Phil, didn't I? What did he do with it?"
"He had it made into a brooch for Hazel Rath, and gave it to her as abirthday gift."
The Hand in the Dark Page 11