CHAPTER XIX
Superintendent Merrington sat in his office at Scotland Yard, irasciblewith the exertions of a trying day which had made heavy inroads upon histemper and patience. He had several big cases on his hands, his time hadbeen broken into by a series of visitors with grievances, and he hadbeen called upon to adjust a vexatious claim of a woman attacked in thestreet by a police dog, while the animal was supposed to be on dutytracking a sacrilegious thief who had felled a priest in an oratory andbolted with the silver candlesticks from the altar.
The woman had gone mad from the shock and had been placed in a publicasylum, where she had imagined herself to be a horse, and in that guisehad neighed harmlessly, for some years, until cured by auto-suggestionby a rising young brain doctor who had devoted much time and study toher peculiar case. Her first act of returned reason was to bring a heavyclaim for damages against Scotland Yard, and Merrington had fought itout that day with an avaricious lawyer who had taken up the case on thepromise of an equal division of the spoils.
Merrington had preferred to pay rather than contest the suit in law, andhe was exceedingly wroth in consequence. He was angry with the old womanfor presuming to get cured, and angry with the brain doctor for curingher. He considered that the brain doctor had been guilty of a piece ofmeddlesome interference in restoring the old lady to so-called sanity ina world of fools, without achieving any object except robbery from thepublic funds by a rascally lawyer. To use Merrington's own words,expressed with intense exasperation to an astonished subordinate, theold woman was quite all right as a horse, comfortable and well-fed, andhad probably got more out of life in that guise than she ever had as ahuman being, compelled to all sorts of shifts and contrivances and meanscrapings before her betters for a scanty living, with nothing but thework-house ahead of her. He concluded in a sort of grumbling epiloguethat some people never knew when to leave well alone.
It was in no very amiable frame of mind, therefore, that he receivedColwyn's card with a pencilled request for an immediate interview.Merrington disapproved of all private detectives as an unwarrantableusurpation of the functions of Scotland Yard, but he particularlydisapproved of a private detective like Colwyn, whose popular renown wasfar greater than his own. But there were politic reasons for theextension of courtesy to him. The famous private detective was such apowerful rival that it was best to conciliate him with a littlepoliteness, which cost nothing, and he had done Scotland Yard severalgood turns which at least demanded an outward show of gratitude. He hadinfluence in the right quarter, too, and, altogether, was not a personto be lightly affronted. The consideration of these factors impelledMerrington to inform the waiting janitor that he would see Mr. Colwyn atonce, and even caused him to crease his fat red features into a smile ofwelcome as he awaited his entrance.
When Colwyn appeared in the doorway the big man he had called to see gotup from his swing-chair to shake hands with him. When his visitor wasseated Merrington leaned back in his own chair and remarked, in hisgreat rolling voice:
"What can I do for you, Mr. Colwyn?"
"Nothing personally. I have called to have a talk with you about theHeredith case."
The veneer of welcome disappeared from Merrington's face at thisopening, though a large framed photograph of himself on the wall behindhis chair continued to smile down at the private detective with unwontedamiability.
"Ah, yes, the Heredith case," he responded. "A strange affair, that. Iinvestigated it personally. It was a pity you were not in it. There werepoints about that murder--distinct points. You would have enjoyed it."
Merrington's professional commiseration of Colwyn's ill-luck in missingan enjoyable murder was intended to convey a distinct rebuke to theother's presumption in discussing a case in which he had not beenengaged. But Colwyn's next words startled Merrington out of his attitudeof censorious dignity.
"I was not in the case at first, but I was called into it subsequentlyby the husband of the murdered woman. He is dissatisfied with theoutcome. He thinks a mistake has been made in arresting the girl HazelRath."
The silence with which Merrington received this information was aninvoluntary tribute to his visitor, implying, as it did, that he knewColwyn would not have come to see him without weighty reason for thesupport of what sounded like the repetition of a mere expression ofopinion.
"I was reluctant to interfere until Mr. Heredith told me something whichsuggested that one of your men was in danger of underestimating animportant clue," continued Colwyn. "That decided me. I went back withMr. Heredith in my car the night before last. After my arrival at themoat-house I made an interesting discovery--quite by accident. Idiscovered that a pearl necklace which had been given to Mrs. Heredithby Sir Philip Heredith was missing from the jewel-case in which it hadbeen locked. That jewel-case was in Mrs. Heredith's bedroom on the nightshe was murdered."
This piece of news was so unexpected that it caught Merrington off hisguard.
"A jewel robbery as well as murder!" he ejaculated, in something likedismay.
"It looks like it. You will be able to form a better judgment when Ihave told you all the circumstances of the discovery."
Merrington had long ago convinced himself that the case he had worked upagainst Hazel Rath did not admit of the slightest possibility of doubt;and, like all obstinate men, he adhered to his convictions withadditional strength in the face of anything tending to weaken them. Ashe recovered from his surprise at the private detective's piece of news,he listened to his account of the opening of the jewel-case with thewary air of one seeking a loop-hole in an unexpected obstacle. BeforeColwyn had finished he had found it in the belief that Hazel Rath, andnobody else, had stolen the missing jewels.
"This girl is a thief as well as a murderer," was the manner in which heexpressed his opinion when Colwyn had ceased speaking. "She has stolenthe necklace."
"She may have done so, but it is too great an assumption to make withoutproof," returned Colwyn. "You must be perfectly well aware, Mr.Merrington, that this belated discovery is of the utmost importance tothe Crown case, one way or the other. If you can prove that Hazel Rathstole the necklace, it gives you an unassailable case against her. Ifthe necklace was stolen by somebody else, you are confronted with a newand strange aspect of this murder."
"Not to the extent of lessening the strength of the case against thisgirl," replied Merrington doggedly. "She was seen going to the staircaseleading to Mrs. Heredith's room just before the murder; her brooch wasfound upstairs in the room; and the revolver and her handkerchief werefound concealed in her mother's rooms. Add to that, her silence underaccusation, and it is impossible to get away from the belief that she,and nobody else, murdered Mrs. Heredith."
"I am not attempting to controvert your theory or contradict yourfacts," rejoined Colwyn coldly. "My visit is to bring under your noticea fresh fact in the case which needs investigation. Whether that factsquares with your own theory or not, it is too important to bedisregarded or overlooked. That is why I left the moat-house immediatelyI discovered it. I felt that you had been ignorantly misled, and that itwas only right you should be told without delay."
Merrington was conscious of that evanescent feeling which men callgratitude. His impulse of thankfulness towards the man opposite him wasall the keener for the realization that he would not have acted sogenerously if he had been in Colwyn's place. But his gratitude wasspeedily swallowed up by the knowledge that he had been led astray, andhis anger was mingled with the determination to find a scapegoat.
"I am obliged to you for your information, although I do not attachquite so much importance to it as you do," was his careful rejoinder."But I certainly blame Detective Caldew for not finding it out beforeyou did. He made the original inquiries at the moat-house, and he seemsto have made them very carelessly. He said nothing to the ChiefConstable of Sussex or myself, when we arrived, about a jewel-case,locked or open."
"He didn't know himself."
"It was his duty to inquire. When he assured us, on
the authority ofMiss Heredith, that nothing was missing, I naturally assumed that he hadmade the proper inquiries. But I thank you for letting me know, and Ishall, of course, have investigations made. But I should like to knowwhy young Heredith interfered and brought you into the case?"
"For one thing, he has a strong belief in Hazel Rath's innocence."
"Mere sentiment," replied Merrington contemptuously. "Perhaps he's stillsweet on the girl."
"There is more than that in it. There's the question of the revolver. Ofcourse you are aware that he identified the revolver with which his wifewas shot as the property of Captain Nepcote, a guest at the moat-housewho left on the afternoon of the day on which Mrs. Heredith wasmurdered. Heredith does not accept your theory of the way in which HazelRath is supposed to have obtained the revolver. He does not think thatNepcote left the revolver behind him at the moat-house. He told Caldewthis, but Caldew said the ownership of the revolver was a matter of noconsequence."
"Caldew's a fool if he said that, and I wish I'd never allowed him tomeddle in the case," replied Merrington forcibly. "I've had the policecourt proceedings against the girl put back for a week till the questionof the ownership of the revolver could be settled. Now that it isdecided I shall have Nepcote interviewed and questioned without delay."
"Before you try to trace the missing necklace?" The faint inflection ofsurprise in Colwyn's voice might have escaped a quicker ear thanMerrington's.
"Scotland Yard will trace the necklace fast enough," he confidentlydeclared. "I like to take things in their proper order. The next thingto do is to ascertain whether Nepcote left his revolver behind him atthe moat-house, though I have not the least doubt that he did. Thenecklace is really a minor consideration. It merely provides anothermotive for the murder--cupidity as well as jealousy."
"Is that the way you regard it?" A less thick-skinned man thanMerrington would this time have caught something more than surprise inthe other's tone.
"Is there any other way of looking at it?"
"I would not like to venture an opinion in this case without moreknowledge than I have at present," returned Colwyn in sober accents."But so far as I have gone into it I should say that there are severalthings which seem to require more explanation. Nepcote's own actionsseem to call for some investigation."
"You are surely not suggesting that Nepcote had anything to do with themurder or the robbery of the pearls?" said Merrington in an astonishedvoice. "That is quite impossible. He left the moat-house in theafternoon before the murder was committed, and went over to France thatnight."
"He didn't go to France that night. He stayed in London, and did notreturn to France until the following day."
Merrington was obviously startled at this unexpected information.
"This is news to me," he said gravely. "Where did you learn it?"
"From the War Office this morning. There is no possibility of mistake.Nepcote was in London on the night of the murder."
"He probably has an explanation, but what you have just told me is anadditional reason for seeing and questioning Nepcote without delay, evenif I have to send a man to France for the job."
"It will not be necessary for you to do that. Nepcote returned to Londontwo days ago--sent over on some special mission. I ascertained that factalso from my friend at the War Office."
Merrington glanced at a small clock which stood on the desk in front ofhim.
"I will go immediately and see him myself," he said.
"I should like to accompany you."
"I shall be delighted to have you," replied Merrington with completeuntruth. "I have Nepcote's address included in the list of guests whowere at the moat-house at the time of the murder," he added, opening hispocket-book and hastily scanning it. "Ah, here it is--10 SherrymanStreet. I'll send for a taxi-cab. Is there anything I can do for you inreturn for your kindness in bringing me this information?"
"I should be obliged if you would lend me a copy of the coroner'sdepositions in the Heredith case."
"With pleasure." Merrington touched a bell, and instructed the policemanwho answered it to bring a typescript of the Heredith murder depositionsand the revolver which figured as an exhibit in the case. "And tellsomebody to call a taxi, Johnson," he added.
When Merrington and Colwyn emerged from the swing doors of the entrancea few moments later, a taxi-cab was waiting at the bottom of the stonesteps, with a pockmarked driver leaning against the door of the vehicle,gazing moodily over the Thames Embankment. He received Merrington'sinstructions morosely, cranked his cab wearily, and was soon threadinghis way through the mazes of Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus witha contemptuous disregard for traffic regulations, due to his promptrecognition of the fact that he was carrying a high official of ScotlandYard who was above rules of the road regulated by mere policeconstables. He skimmed in a hazardous way along Regent Street, dippedinto the network of narrower streets which lay between that haunt of thefox and the geese and Baker Street, and finally stopped abruptly outsidea tall house which was one of a row in a quiet street which led into thehighly fashionable locality of Sherryman Square.
Sherryman Street, in which the taxi-cab had stopped, was an offshoot andsnobbish mean relation of Sherryman Square, which housed a duke, anex-prime minister, and a fugitive king, to say nothing of several lessernotabilities, such as a High Court Judge or two, several baronets, and awar-time profiteer whose brand-new peerage had descended in the lastheavy downpour of kingly honours. Because of their proximity to thesegreat ones of the earth, the inhabitants of Sherryman Street assumed allthe airs of exclusiveness which distinguished the residents of thesuperior neighbourhood, and parasitical house agents spoke of it withgreat respect because one end opened into the rarefied atmosphere of theSquare. It was true that the other end was close to a slum, and therewas a mews across the way, but these were small drawbacks compared tothe social advantages.
Sherryman Street was full of gaunt, narrow houses, with prim fronts andnarrow railed windows, let in segments, flats, and bachelor apartments.Number 10 was as like its fellows as one drab soul resembles another.Superintendent Merrington's ring at the doorbell brought forth anelderly woman with an expressionless face surmounted by a frilled whitecap. She informed them in an expressionless voice that Captain Nepcote'sapartments were on the second floor. Having said this much, shedisappeared into a small lobby room off the entrance hall, leaving themfree to enter.
A knock at the entrance door of the second-floor flat brought forth amanservant whose smart bearing and precision of manner suggestedmilitary training. He cautiously informed Superintendent Merrington, inreply to his question, that he was not sure if Captain Nepcote was athome, but he would go and see.
"Who shall I say, sir?" he asked, in unconscious contradiction of hisstatement.
Merrington stopped further parleying by impatiently pushing past theservant into the room.
"Go and tell your master I want to see him," he said, seating himself.
The servant looked angrily at the burly figure on the slender chair, andthen, as though realizing his inability to eject him, he left the roomwithout further speech.
The room they had entered was furnished in a style which suggested thatits occupier had sufficient means or credit to gratify his tastes, whichobviously soared no higher than racehorses and chorus girls. Pictures ofthe former adorned the wall in oak; the latter smirked at the beholderfrom silver frames on small tables. The room was handsomely furnished ina masculine way, although there was the suggestion of a feminine touchin the vases on the mantelpiece and some clusters of flowers in a bowl.
The door opened to admit a young man, who advanced towards his visitorswith a questioning glance. His appearance, though military, was far fromsuggesting the sordid warfare of the trenches. He was well-groomed andhandsome, and wore his spotless uniform with that touch of distinctionwhich khaki lends to some men.
"Good afternoon," he said, and waited for them to announce the object oftheir visit.
"Are
you Captain Nepcote?" Merrington asked.
"My name is Nepcote," was the response. "May I ask who you are?" Hisglance included both his visitors.
"My name is Merrington," responded that officer, answering for himself."Superintendent Merrington, of Scotland Yard. This is Mr. Colwyn, aprivate detective," he added, as an afterthought. "I wish to ask you afew questions. I understand you were staying at the residence of SirPhilip Heredith when young Mrs. Heredith was murdered."
"That is not quite accurate," replied the young man. "I left themoat-house on the afternoon of the day that the murder was committed,and returned to London. What is it you wish to ask me? I am afraid Icannot enlighten you about the crime in any way, for I know nothingwhatever about it. It came as a great shock to me when I heard of it."
"Is this your revolver?" said Merrington, producing the weapon andlaying it on the table.
"Why, yes, it is," said the young man, picking it up and looking at itin unmistakable surprise. "Where did you get it?"
"Where did you have it last?" was Merrington's cautious rejoinder.
"Let me think," returned Nepcote thoughtfully. "Oh, I remember. The lasttime I saw it was at the moat-house on the day before my departure. Wewere using it for a little target practice in the gun-room downstairs."
"And what did you do with it afterwards?"
"That I cannot tell you," responded Nepcote. "I have no recollection ofseeing it since. I have never thought about it."
"Nor missed it?"
"No. It is no use to me--it is not an Army revolver. But it seems to methat I must have left it in the moat-house gun-room after the targetshooting. After we finished shooting some of us had a game of bagatelleon a table in the gun-room. I must have put the revolver down andforgotten all about it afterward. I have no recollection of taking itupstairs, and I have certainly never seen it since. Was it found in thegun-room?"
"It was found at the moat-house, at any rate. It was the weapon withwhich Mrs. Heredith was killed."
"What!" His exclamation rang out in horror and incredulity. "Why, it isimpossible. The thing is a mere toy."
"A pretty dangerous toy--as it turned out," was the grim comment ofMerrington.
"It seems incredible to me," persisted the young man. "It's veryold, and you have to be very strong with the finger and thumb tomake it revolve. And the cartridges are very small; only sevenmillimetres--about a quarter of an inch. I've had the old thing foryears, but I never regarded it as a real fire-arm. I'd never have letthe girls use it in the gun-room if I'd thought it was a dangerousweapon. Perhaps there is some mistake."
"There is no mistake," replied Merrington. "Mrs. Heredith was killedwith that revolver, and no other. We were unable to establish theidentity of the weapon until a day or two ago, and that is one of myreasons for calling on you to-day--to make quite sure of the identityand see if you could tell me where you left it."
"I have no doubt now that I must have left it behind me at themoat-house," responded Nepcote. "I was recalled to France and went awayin a hurry. God forgive me for my carelessness. To think that itresulted in this terrible murder!" His face had gone suddenly white.
"Did you return to France that night?" asked Merrington carelessly.
"As a matter of fact, I did not. When I returned to London from Sussex Ifound another telegram here from the War Office extending my leave untilthe following day. I returned to France the next afternoon."
"Thank you, Captain Nepcote." Merrington, as he rose to go, held out hishand. It was evident that the statement about the telegram had clearedhis mind of any suspicions he may have felt about the young man. AsNepcote shook hands he added: "You had better hold yourself in readinessto attend the police court inquiry, which will be held a week fromto-day. I will send you a proper notification of time and place. All weneed from you is the formal identification of the revolver."
"Is it essential that I should attend?" asked the young man anxiously."I'd rather not be mixed up in the case at all, you know. Besides, I mayhave to return to France."
"Perhaps we shall be able to dispense with your evidence now that wehave the facts," replied Merrington, after a moment's consideration. "Iwill see what can be done, and let you know. You had better give me youraddress in France, in case you have left England. It is necessary for meto know that, because the case has to some extent taken a new turn bythe discovery that robbery as well as murder has been committed. Avaluable necklace belonging to the murdered woman is missing."
Captain Nepcote had taken out his pocket-book while Merrington wasspeaking, in order to extract a card. As the other uttered the lastsentence, the pocket-book half slipped from his fingers, and severalother cards fluttered onto the table. Nepcote picked them up hastily,but not before Colwyn's quick glance had taken in their contents. Itseemed to him something more than a coincidence that the name andaddress displayed in neat black lettering on one of the cards should beidentical with one of the Hatton Garden addresses given him by Musard atthe moat-house the previous day.
The Hand in the Dark Page 19