The Arthur Morrison Mystery

by Arthur Morrison

  “Well, was anything done?”

  “Strict inquiry was made among the servants, of course, but nothing came of it. It was such a small matter that Mrs. Armitage wouldn’t hear of my calling in the police or anything of that sort, although I felt pretty certain that there must be a dishonest servant about somewhere. A servant might take a plain brooch, you know, who would feel afraid of a valuable ring, the loss of which would be made a greater matter of.”

  “Well, yes, perhaps so, in the case of an inexperienced thief, who also would be likely to snatch up whatever she took in a hurry. But I’m doubtful. What made you connect these two robberies together?”

  “Nothing whatever—for some months. They seemed quite of a different sort. But scarcely more than a month ago I met Mrs. Armitage at Brighton, and we talked, among other things, of the previous robbery—that of Mrs. Heath’s bracelet. I described the circumstances pretty minutely, and, when I mentioned the match found on the table, she said: ‘How strange! Why, my thief left a match on the dressing-table when he took my poor little brooch!’”

  Hewitt nodded. “Yes,” he said. “A spent match, of course?”

  “Yes, of course, a spent match. She noticed it lying close by the pin-cushion, but threw it away without mentioning the circumstance. Still, it seemed rather curious to me that a match should be lit and dropped, in each case, on the dressing-cover an inch from where the article was taken. I mentioned it to Lloyd when I got back, and he agreed that it seemed significant.”

  “Scarcely,” said Hewitt, shaking his head. “Scarcely, so far, to be called significant, although worth following up. Everybody uses matches in the dark, you know.”

  “Well, at any rate, the coincidence appealed to me so far that it struck me it might be worth while to describe the brooch to the police in order that they could trace it if it had been pawned. They had tried that, of course, over the bracelet without any result, but I fancied the shot might be worth making, and might possibly lead us on the track of the more serious robbery.”

  “Quite so. It was the right thing to do. Well?”

  “Well, they found it. A woman had pawned it in London—at a shop in Chelsea. But that was some time before, and the pawnbroker had clean forgotten all about the woman’s appearance. The name and address she gave were false. So that was the end of that business.”

  “Had any of the servants left you between the time the brooch was lost and the date of the pawn ticket?”

  “No.”

  “Were all your servants at home on the day the brooch was pawned?”

  “Oh, yes! I made that inquiry myself.”

  “Very good! What next?”

  “Yesterday—and this is what made me send for you. My late wife’s sister came here last Tuesday, and we gave her the room from which Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet. She had with her a very old-fashioned brooch, containing a miniature of her father, and set in front with three very fine brilliants and a few smaller stones. Here we are, though, at the Croft. I’ll tell you the rest indoors.”

  Hewitt laid his hand on the baronet’s arm. “Don’t pull up, Sir James,” he said. “Drive a little farther. I should like to have a general idea of the whole case before we go in.”

  “Very good!” Sir James Norris straightened the horse’s head again and went on. “Late yesterday afternoon, as my sister-in-law was changing her dress, she left her room for a moment to speak to my daughter in her room, almost adjoining. She was gone no more than three minutes, or five at most, but on her return the brooch, which had been left on the table, had gone. Now the window was shut fast, and had not been tampered with. Of course the door was open, but so was my daughter’s, and anybody walking near must have been heard. But the strangest circumstance, and one that almost makes me wonder whether I have been awake today or not, was that there lay a used match on the very spot, as nearly as possible, where the brooch had been—and it was broad daylight!”

  Hewitt rubbed his nose and looked thoughtfully before him. “Um—curious, certainly,” he said, “Anything else?”

  “Nothing more than you shall see for yourself. I have had the room locked and watched till you could examine it. My sister-in-law had heard of your name, and suggested that you should be called in; so, of course, I did exactly as she wanted. That she should have lost that brooch, of all things, in my house is most unfortunate; you see, there was some small difference about the thing between my late wife and her sister when their mother died and left it. It’s almost worse than the Heaths’ bracelet business, and altogether I’m not pleased with things, I can assure you. See what a position it is for me! Here are three ladies, in the space of one year, robbed one after another in this mysterious fashion in my house, and I can’t find the thief! It’s horrible! People will be afraid to come near the place. And I can do nothing!”

  “Ah, well, we’ll see. Perhaps we had better turn back now. By-the-by, were you thinking of having any alterations or additions made to your house?”

  “No. What makes you ask?”

  “I think you might at least consider the question of painting and decorating, Sir James—or, say, putting up another coach-house, or something. Because I should like to be (to the servants) the architect—or the builder, if you please—come to look around. You haven’t told any of them about this business?”

  “Not a word. Nobody knows but my relatives and Lloyd. I took every precaution myself, at once. As to your little disguise, be the architect by all means, and do as you please. If you can only find this thief and put an end to this horrible state of affairs, you’ll do me the greatest service I’ve ever asked for—and as to your fee, I’ll gladly make it whatever is usual, and three hundred in addition.”

  Martin Hewitt bowed. “You’re very generous, Sir James, and you may be sure I’ll do what I can. As a professional man, of course, a good fee always stimulates my interest, although this case of yours certainly seems interesting enough by itself.”

  “Most extraordinary! Don’t you think so? Here are three persons, all ladies, all in my house, two even in the same room, each successively robbed of a piece of jewelry, each from a dressing-table, and a used match left behind in every case. All in the most difficult—one would say impossible—circumstances for a thief, and yet there is no clue!”

  “Well, we won’t say that just yet, Sir James; we must see. And we must guard against any undue predisposition to consider the robberies in a lump. Here we are at the lodge gate again. Is that your gardener—the man who left the ladder by the lawn on the first occasion you spoke of?”

  Mr. Hewitt nodded in the direction of a man who was clipping a box border.

  “Yes; will you ask him anything?”

  “No, no; at any rate, not now. Remember the building alterations. I think, if there is no objection, I will look first at the room that the lady—Mrs.—” Hewitt looked up, inquiringly.

  “My sister-in-law? Mrs. Cazenove. Oh, yes! you shall come to her room at once.”

  “Thank you. And I think Mrs. Cazenove had better be there.”

  They alighted, and a boy from the lodge led the horse and dog-cart away.

  Mrs. Cazenove was a thin and faded, but quick and energetic, lady of middle age. She bent her head very slightly on learning Martin Hewitt’s name, and said: “I must thank you, Mr. Hewitt, for your very prompt attention. I need scarcely say that any help you can afford in tracing the thief who has my property—whoever it may be—will make me most grateful. My room is quite ready for you to examine.”

  The room was on the second floor—the top floor at that part of the building. Some slight confusion of small articles of dress was observable in parts of the room.

  “This, I take it,” inquired Hewitt, “is exactly as it was at the time the brooch was missed?”

  “Precisely,” Mrs. Cazenove answered. “I have used another room, and put myself to some other inconveniences, to av
oid any disturbance.”

  Hewitt stood before the dressing-table. “Then this is the used match,” he observed, “exactly where it was found?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was the brooch?”

  “I should say almost on the very same spot. Certainly no more than a very few inches away.”

  Hewitt examined the match closely. “It is burned very little,” he remarked. “It would appear to have gone out at once. Could you hear it struck?”

  “I heard nothing whatever; absolutely nothing.”

  “If you will step into Miss Norris’ room now for a moment,” Hewitt suggested, “we will try an experiment. Tell me if you hear matches struck, and how many. Where is the match-stand?”

  The match-stand proved to be empty, but matches were found in Miss Norris’ room, and the test was made. Each striking could be heard distinctly, even with one of the doors pushed to.

  “Both your own door and Miss Norris’ were open, I understand; the window shut and fastened inside as it is now, and nothing but the brooch was disturbed?”

  “Yes, that was so.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Cazenove. I don’t think I need trouble you any further just at present. I think, Sir James,” Hewitt added, turning to the baronet, who was standing by the door—“I think we will see the other room and take a walk outside the house, if you please. I suppose, by the by, that there is no getting at the matches left behind on the first and second occasions?”

  “No,” Sir James answered. “Certainly not here. The Scotland Yard man may have kept his.”

  The room that Mrs. Armitage had occupied presented no peculiar feature. A few feet below the window the roof of the billiard-room was visible, consisting largely of skylight. Hewitt glanced casually about the walls, ascertained that the furniture and hangings had not been materially changed since the second robbery, and expressed his desire to see the windows from the outside. Before leaving the room, however, he wished to know the names of any persons who were known to have been about the house on the occasions of all three robberies.

  “Just carry your mind back, Sir James,” he said. “Begin with yourself, for instance. Where were you at these times?”

  “When Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet, I was in Tagley Wood all the afternoon. When Mrs. Armitage was robbed, I believe I was somewhere about the place most of the time she was out. Yesterday I was down at the farm.” Sir James’ face broadened. “I don’t know whether you call those suspicious movements,” he added, and laughed.

  “Not at all; I only asked you so that, remembering your own movements, you might the better recall those of the rest of the household. Was anybody, to your knowledge—anybody, mind—in the house on all three occasions?”

  “Well, you know, it’s quite impossible to answer for all the servants. You’ll only get that by direct questioning—I can’t possibly remember things of that sort. As to the family and visitors—why, you don’t suspect any of them, do you?”

  “I don’t suspect a soul, Sir James,” Hewitt answered, beaming genially, “not a soul. You see, I can’t suspect people till I know something about where they were. It’s quite possible there will be independent evidence enough as it is, but you must help me if you can. The visitors, now. Was there any visitor here each time—or even on the first and last occasions only?”

  “No, not one. And my own sister, perhaps you will be pleased to know, was only there at the time of the first robbery.”

  “Just so! And your daughter, as I have gathered, was clearly absent from the spot each time—indeed, was in company with the party robbed. Your niece, now?”

  “Why hang it all, Mr. Hewitt, I can’t talk of my niece as a suspected criminal! The poor girl’s under my protection, and I really can’t allow—”

  Hewitt raised his hand, and shook his head deprecatingly.

  “My dear sir, haven’t I said that I don’t suspect a soul? Do let me know how the people were distributed, as nearly as possible. Let me see. It was your, niece, I think, who found that Mrs. Armitage’s door was locked—this door, in fact—on the day she lost her brooch?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Just so—at the time when Mrs. Armitage herself had forgotten whether she locked it or not. And yesterday—was she out then?”

  “No, I think not. Indeed, she goes out very little—her health is usually bad. She was indoors, too, at the time of the Heath robbery, since you ask. But come, now, I don’t like this. It’s ridiculous to suppose that she knows anything of it.”

  “I don’t suppose it, as I have said. I am only asking for information. That is all your resident family, I take it, and you know nothing of anybody else’s movements—except, perhaps, Mr. Lloyd’s?”

  “Lloyd? Well, you know yourself that he was out with the ladies when the first robbery took place. As to the others, I don’t remember. Yesterday he was probably in his room, writing. I think that acquits him, eh?” Sir James looked quizzically into the broad face of the affable detective, who smiled and replied:

  “Oh, of course nobody can be in two places at once, else what would become of the alibi as an institution? But, as I have said, I am only setting my facts in order. Now, you see, we get down to the servants—unless some stranger is the party wanted. Shall we go outside now?”

  Lenton Croft was a large, desultory sort of house, nowhere more than three floors high, and mostly only two. It had been added to bit by bit, till it zigzagged about its site, as Sir James Norris expressed it, “like a game of dominoes.” Hewitt scrutinized its external features carefully as they strolled around, and stopped some little while before the windows of the two bed-rooms he had just seen from the inside. Presently they approached the stables and coach-house, where a groom was washing the wheels of the dog-cart.

  “Do you mind my smoking?” Hewitt asked Sir James. “Perhaps you will take a cigar yourself—they are not so bad, I think. I will ask your man for a light.”

  Sir James felt for his own match-box, but Hewitt had gone, and was lighting his cigar with a match from a box handed him by the groom. A smart little terrier was trotting about by the coach-house, and Hewitt stooped to rub its head. Then he made some observation about the dog, which enlisted the groom’s interest, and was soon absorbed in a chat with the man. Sir James, waiting a little way off, tapped the stones rather impatiently with his foot, and presently moved away.

  For full a quarter of an hour Hewitt chatted with the groom, and, when at last he came away and overtook Sir James, that gentleman was about re-entering the house.

  “I beg your pardon, Sir James,” Hewitt said, “for leaving you in that unceremonious fashion to talk to your groom, but a dog, Sir James—a good dog—will draw me anywhere.”

  “Oh!” replied Sir James, shortly.

  “There is one other thing,” Hewitt went on, disregarding the other’s curtness, “that I should like to know: There are two windows directly below that of the room occupied yesterday by Mrs. Cazenove—one on each floor. What rooms do they light?”

  “That on the ground floor is the morning-room; the other is Mr. Lloyd’s—my secretary. A sort of study or sitting-room.”

  “Now you will see at once, Sir James,” Hewitt pursued, with an affable determination to win the baronet back to good-humor—“you will see at once that, if a ladder had been used in Mrs. Heath’s case, anybody looking from either of these rooms would have seen it.”

  “Of course! The Scotland Yard man questioned everybody as to that, but nobody seemed to have been in either of the rooms when the thing occurred; at any rate, nobody saw anything.”

  “Still, I think I should like to look out of those windows myself; it will, at least, give me an idea of what was in view and what was not, if anybody had been there.”

  Sir James Norris led the way to the morning-room. As they reached the door a young lady, carrying a book and walking very languidly
, came out. Hewitt stepped aside to let her pass, and afterward said interrogatively: “Miss Norris, your daughter, Sir James?”

  “No, my niece. Do you want to ask her anything? Dora, my dear,” Sir James added, following her in the corridor, “this is Mr. Hewitt, who is investigating these wretched robberies for me. I think he would like to hear if you remember anything happening at any of the three times.”

  The lady bowed slightly, and said in a plaintive drawl: “I, uncle? Really, I don’t remember anything; nothing at all.”

  “You found Mrs. Armitage’s door locked, I believe,” asked Hewitt, “when you tried it, on the afternoon when she lost her brooch?”

  “Oh, yes; I believe it was locked. Yes, it was.”

  “Had the key been left in?”

  “The key? Oh, no! I think not; no.”

  “Do you remember anything out of the common happening—anything whatever, no matter how trivial—on the day Mrs. Heath lost her bracelet?”

  “No, really, I don’t. I can’t remember at all.”

  “Nor yesterday?”

  “No, nothing. I don’t remember anything.”

  “Thank you,” said Hewitt, hastily; “thank you. Now the morning-room, Sir James.”

  In the morning-room Hewitt stayed but a few seconds, doing little more than casually glance out of the windows. In the room above he took a little longer time. It was a comfortable room, but with rather effeminate indications about its contents. Little pieces of draped silk-work hung about the furniture, and Japanese silk fans decorated the mantel-piece. Near the window was a cage containing a gray parrot, and the writing-table was decorated with two vases of flowers.

  “Lloyd makes himself pretty comfortable, eh?” Sir James observed. “But it isn’t likely anybody would be here while he was out, at the time that bracelet went.”

  “No,” replied Hewitt, meditatively. “No, I suppose not.”