I said, “I don’t see how you can be sure of that,” and he replied, “Well, think over what you’ve just told me. This is Lady Nunn’s coat, certainly, but you have her word that it’s just been cleaned, that she hasn’t put it on since it came back from the cleaners, and that it always hangs in the hall, on a peg where everyone knows where it is. On the other hand, you have Hilary saying she put on a coat when she went into the garden. What more likely than that she grabbed up this one, particularly as she must have been late? I don’t know how much Ralph had threatened, but clearly it was enough to make her intend to go across at half-past twelve, as he suggested. That would be supper-time. I suppose she was to come back later, but it would be a tremendous feather in Ralph’s cap to have forced her to meet him clandestinely, and very probably he had some plan in his head to make their meeting public, and force her hand.”
“And you think he was deliberately hiding when she did come, so as to spin out the torment?”
“As to that, I don’t know. I think we’d better get hold of Hilary, and have some of our suppositions on a firm basis.”
Hilary was so much alarmed when we showed her the letter that many of our suspicions took firm root. She did know something, and she was terrified in case we got to know of it, too.
“You may as well make a clean breast of it,” said Jeremy, curtly. “We’re all having a very unpleasant time of it at present, and if you can help, you ought to.”
Hilary muttered something about Dennis, and Jeremy said, “All right, we’ll leave him out of it, if you like. Don’t blame me, though, if there’s hell to pay afterwards. He doesn’t look to me the sort of man who likes being blindfolded.”
Hilary said, “He mustn’t know. Please, Jeremy.”
“All right, I’ve told you we’ll leave him out of it till you give the word. Now, come on. Tell us about Ralph. Did you see him in the end?”
“No. He wasn’t there. I only found this note.”
“And determined to come down at twelve o’clock?”
“What else could I do? You do despise me, Jeremy, don’t you? Think I’m a horrible coward, but if you’d ever been blindfolded and set to walk along the edge of a cliff, with no hope if you made a false step, even then you wouldn’t know quite how bad I feel. I can’t explain the way it is with me where Father’s concerned.”
Jeremy said steadily, “If you didn’t see Ralph, whom did you see?”
“No one. On my honour, I didn’t.”
“And you were wearing Lady Nunn’s coat?”
“Yes. I was afraid of being stopped by you or Arthur or Uncle James if I went upstairs and fetched one of my own. Besides…” she hesitated and Jeremy finished up smoothly, “You thought you were less likely to be recognised if you wore that coat. It’s very muffling, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” whispered Hilary. “I did think of that.”
“Well, go on. What time, by the way, were you supposed to be at the summer-house?”
“Ralph said eleven.”
“Did he write to you?”
“No. He wasn’t taking any chances. He rang up during the afternoon. He sounded so strange and angry I was afraid of refusing him.”
Jeremy said, “I bet you had a rotten night after the party. Because you didn’t get away, did you?”
“No. Arthur saw to that. Jeremy, I want to ask you something. It’s to be without prejudice. Do you think Arthur knows anything?”
“About Ralph?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mean, do I think he had a hand in his death?”
“I don’t know, but he’s odd. He’ll hardly speak to me, and he’s so strange and gruff…”
“You can’t expect him to be bursting with affection, can you?” said Jeremy, reasonably. “You’ve got us all into a lovely mess, and I daresay it’ll all react against his interests. But as to whether he knows anything, I know no more than the man in the moon. Have you asked him?”
“Oh, Jeremy, don’t be a fool! Do you suppose I dare ask Arthur things like that?”
“Then you are afraid…?”
“Yes. I am. He said in that quiet careless way of his that I could put the idea of marrying Ralph out of my head. And he meant it. He’s the sort of man who doesn’t make idle threats. I did warn Ralph, but he only laughed. We all think he’s a bit of a milksop till we get closer to him. I don’t believe either of you realise how strong he is really.”
“He certainly seems to have impressed you,” I murmured.
She said simply, “He frightens me, Tony. It’s the first time I’ve found myself up against something I don’t understand. Ralph’s different; I know what he wants, and I understand the means he takes to get it. But when it’s a man like Arthur, then you’re up against something very changed. It’s like being in the dark, with no landmarks.”
Then Mrs. Ross came in, saying in the manner of a distracted but optimistic hen, “Oh, Hilary…” and Hilary said hastily, “I’m coming,” and left us.
4
“We don’t seem to be getting much forrader,” Jeremy acknowledged rather gloomily. “Let’s start theorising. We may get somewhere by the process of elimination. Put yourself and myself out of it. That leaves the Nunns and Hilary and Dennis, of this household, that is. The most likely person is Dennis, and I fancy Hilary is tormenting herself by a fear that he is responsible. Let’s see what sort of case we can make out against him. Incidentally, I’m beginning to think I was probably wrong when I said it must be a two-man plot. I was thinking of the difficulty of one man carting the body from the summer-house to the pool, without scratching the face or tearing the clothes, but a fellow as muscular as Dennis, and in his good condition, could do it without turning a hair, I believe. The chief risk would be of someone passing at the crucial moment, but I don’t suppose many people use the right-of-way after dark, and if they are lovers they wouldn’t stay on the high road.”
“You’re assuming that Ralph was dead, I suppose? The medical evidence hardly supports that. Both Gudgeon and McKenzie said the blow on the head was superficial, and Gudgeon even thought it might have been caused by a stumble.”
“It’s possible that he was momentarily knocked unconscious.”
“Then sudden immersion in cold water—and that pond’s like ice in February—ought to have a contrary reaction. It would have brought him round.”
“He might have been fairly far gone. My experience is that with these knocks on the head you can never be sure. He might collapse from shock, particularly if he’d been drinking at all. I know Baynes said he hadn’t touched a drop all day, but we aren’t compelled to take everything that virulent fellow said for gospel.”
“Still, the police have examined the pond pretty carefully. The grass round the edge is quite long, and their conclusion was, I understood, that if anyone had tried to haul himself out of the pond by clutching at the grass, there would be signs of the effort. The grass would be torn up, for instance, and there was nothing of the kind to be seen.”
“The only other solution seems to be McKenzie’s suggestion of the wet cloth over the mouth and nostrils, and that argues wilful murder.”
“Committed by Dennis? But when?”
“I should say not at eleven o’clock after all, partly because, according to this note, Ralph wasn’t there then, and partly because I don’t think he had the time. You can’t murder a man and dispose of the body in ten minutes, and I remember now seeing him when I went back to the ball-room. I wonder if he could have got anything out of Hilary about the second appointment. He strikes me as a man who’s apt to get his own way. Suppose he kept the appointment for her? How does that fit the bill?”
We considered the possibility, but came to the conclusion that it wasn’t really satisfactory. To begin with, the doctors were of the opinion that Ralph died before midnight. And then, wouldn’t Dennis’s absence have
created some comment? Besides, if Hilary knew the truth, could she keep up so excellent a pretence?
“She might,” said Jeremy. “If you ask me, I think she’s badly smitten where Dennis is concerned, has been all along in spite of all this damn-foolery about Ralph, and in that case, being Hilary, she’d act us all off the stage.”
“All the same,” I stuck to my point, “I call it thin. Can you suggest anything else?”
Jeremy thought. “If he didn’t kill him at eleven, and I fancy we’re agreed that he didn’t, and it was too late after midnight (and as to that, I think we ought to accept the medical evidence), then what other opportunity did he have? Unless he settled Ralph’s hash in advance, not being keen on taking any risks of a second local scandal. By Jove, Tony, that’s an idea. Now we come to examine it, this,” he tapped Ralph’s letter, “strikes me as a bit unconvincing. To begin with, if Ralph was really crazy about Hilary, it’s very questionable whether he’d take umbrage just because she was ten minutes late. He’d know how difficult it was for her to get away, and unless he was drunk, in which case his writing wouldn’t have been so steady, he’d realise it would be next-door to impossible for her to escape twice in one evening. And there was too much at stake—because this time Ralph was in mad earnest about the girl—for him to take any unnecessary chances. Suppose she’d agreed to go off with him—anything is possible when you get two hotheads like Hilary and Ralph in juxtaposition—anyway, he must have known it was his one chance. Besides, what was he going to do for an hour and a half? And where did he get to? He didn’t go home, and it doesn’t sound to me like our Ralph to hang about on a cold night in a supremely uncomfortable disguise. No, no. Hilary didn’t find him there, because at that time it wasn’t possible for him to turn up.”
“Because he was in the pond?”
“Where else? There’s another thing. This paper. It isn’t Ralph’s kind of paper. It’s a common joke that he writes on expensive paper if he’s only making betting notes. Besides, this is a sheet from a writing-pad, and no man carries a writing-pad about with him. No, Tony, I’m getting it. This note was prepared in advance by the person who killed Ralph—deliberately killed him—and someone, moreover, who knew that Hilary was going to meet him at eleven o’clock.”
“That means before the party began,” I objected. “Then what about Baynes’ evidence? If Ralph was killed so much earlier that we had supposed, then he must have left his house some time before half-past ten.”
“That puts Baynes out of court,” Jeremy agreed. “I wonder if he could have had a hand in it. It might be possible to find out something about his movements, if we’re discreet. We don’t even know whether Ralph made his cryptic remark about going to his death. Dear me, we seem to be getting very much involved. I wonder if we could find out whether a letter went from here to Ralph just before the party. He must have had some inducement to turn out at that hour; he’s not the type of man who comes first to a party. Old Peters might remember. I don’t doubt the whole village has been betting on what would happen on the night of the 15th. And if there was a letter from the Abbey, well, Peters must know their respective hand-writings. Could you find out, Tony, do you think? You know the villagers pretty well, and old Peters must have been going before you were born.”
I agreed to do that. Then we went on with our suppositions.
“Are we still imagining that Dennis did the deed?” I asked. And then I stopped.
“What is it?” exclaimed Jeremy. “Come on, man. Don’t make mysteries. I’m like Scotland Yard. I don’t like ’em.”
I said, softly, “The car, Jeremy, the car that was seen going up the right-of-way between half-past eight and nine. And the people in it.”
“Well?”
“Has it occurred to you that of all the men on the night of 15th, Nunn was practically the only one who wore ordinary evening rig?”
“He was. And you think he was in the car?”
“Eleanor told me she was terrified that he would do something violent. And he came downstairs very late that evening. Mrs. Ross explained to me it was because Eleanor kept him out of the bathroom.”
“She did, did she? Now why the deuce, Tony, do you suppose she would have taken the trouble to explain to you why her brother was late? You hadn’t been commenting on it, I suppose?”
“No. I hadn’t mentioned Nunn.”
“But she wanted you to realise it was Eleanor’s fault. You might, you see, have remembered later that he hadn’t come down in particularly good time.”
“What on earth are you driving at?”
“It’s not what I’m driving at. It’s the bulls-eye you’ve unwittingly hit. At least, I think you have.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’ve solved the problem we were sent down here to elucidate. By Jove, what a leg-up over Dennis.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I protested, rather irritably. “What have we solved?”
Jeremy’s momentary hilarity dropped from him. His face was serious enough as he replied. “The identity of the Spider,” he said.
Chapter XI
1
At first I was inclined to treat the notion with scepticism. “It’s nothing but a leap in the dark,” I objected. “Why on earth, even if Nunn has got a quarrel with Ralph, you should pick on him as one of the chief criminals of his time—the thing’s absurd.”
“Not it,” said Jeremy, staunchly. “Just consider the position for a minute. We came down here, at Philpotts’ request, because he had every reason to suppose that the mysterious head of the gang was at the Abbey, and if not the head, then one of his lieutenants. We also believed that Ralph was involved, but we certainly didn’t suppose he was the central figure. Consider the other personalities in the place. Who else is so likely to be responsible? You don’t want anyone picturesque or noticeable. Nunn is the perfect type. He’s middle-class and quiet and shrewd and respectable and rich; he has a great personality and, I should say, unusual organising ability. He hasn’t a shred of nerves and probably not a shred of conscience. He knows a most unusual number of exclusive people, considering his position. I’ve heard from several friends of mine since I came here, and it’s astonishing how many of them seem to have met Nunn, and not at the kind of houses you might have expected. I’m not saying the man isn’t sufficiently unusual to have made a fair amount of headway on his own account, but he doesn’t talk as if he knew any of these people intimately. Besides, how did he meet them? And another thing. It’s odd, to say the least of it, for him to have rented the house where his predecessor took his own life. And one of the first things he does, having rented it, is to bar his own landlord. Now, you might argue two things from that. He might object to Ralph as a neighbour, as he declares he does, or it might be that he didn’t want the County to suppose he was at all friendly with him. The fact that Ralph never came over here means nothing; both he and Nunn are frequently in town.”
“And the whole thing was a blind? And he and Ralph were in the gang together?”
“I should say unquestionably yes. I wonder what the chap did in the war. Archie Fraser could probably find that out for me. I’ll send him a line to-day. There must have been some kind of split between Nunn and Ralph, though, for Ralph to have started blackmailing Nunn’s wife. I should imagine that if, as seems pretty certain, Cleghorne has been dead for years, Ralph must have had those letters for a considerable time. He wouldn’t use them, of course, so long as his relations with Nunn were good, but when they quarrelled—possibly about Hilary—then Ralph played his winning card.”
“You think that a man who hasn’t scrupled to blackmail for years, would refuse to let Hilary marry his partner?” I asked.
“I daresay that wasn’t Nunn’s doing at all. It seems much more likely to have been his wife’s. Lady Nunn is no fool, and her husband would have to throw dust in her eyes to prevent her gettin
g suspicious. She may have come to him and said that at all costs he’s to prevent a marriage between Hilary and Ralph. He had a lot at stake, remember. I think the trouble between them was genuine, not just part of a plan. Ralph wouldn’t quarrel with a man as rich as Nunn if he could avoid it. And once that position arose, Nunn really had no option. Ralph’s strength was that he had nothing to lose. His reputation was in shreds, and he possibly decided to marry Hilary, replace Nunn at the Abbey and settle down to respectability. That’s quite comprehensible. It’s the kind of thing men like Ralph, who have exhausted every emotional experience, do when they get bored. Byron, they say, would have been a monk if he’d lived to be fifty. Naturally, Nunn couldn’t stand for that position. He wouldn’t merely be unseated, he’d be positively in danger, and nothing could end that danger but Ralph’s death. The man who has blackmailed knows better than anyone else the immense possibilities of such a field of activity. Nunn, if he had any imagination, and these big men usually have, it’s part of their outfit for success, could look ahead and see himself getting gradually more and more under Ralph’s thumb. And the notion was intolerable. So he had to get rid of Ralph, and this was an ideal time, when he had several of us on the premises who might be suspected of foul play.”
“He meant it to look like an accident, though.”
“He probably did. And if the luck had been a little more in his quarter, it would have been passed off as one. Even now a lot of people think the police are merely being nosey, as usual, and they clamour that the force is too large if it has to look for jobs like this.”
“Is it your notion that he carried this out single-handed?”
Jeremy considered. “Sounds a bit difficult. Besides, you’re forgetting. There was a woman in the car.”
“You’re not suggesting he dragged Eleanor into it, are you?”
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