The Boathouse Riddle

by J. J. Connington

  “Then why not question young Keith-Westerton about its contents?” Wendover inquired.

  “Because I’m sure he’d lie if we did. We’d gain nothing and we’d let him know that we’ve spotted the letter, which he doesn’t realise at present,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “Now the next bit of evidence came from the chauffeur, who saw Mrs. Keith-Westerton take her car out of the garage again at 11.30 P.M. By the way, what did you make of that chauffeur, Squire?”

  “I didn’t like the look of him much,” Wendover said glumly. “He struck me as a coarse brute. And the way he laid himself out to sneer at that maid,—that rather annoyed me. He seemed to think he was too good for her. I’d have put it the other way around, myself.”

  Sir Clinton refrained from any criticism of this verdict.

  “Mrs. Keith-Westerton drove off to Ambledown, left her car in the all-night garage where we found it, took the 11.55 to London, and evidently got to the convent to which the Abbé Goron recommended her to go. Now let’s dispose of the other characters for that night. The housekeeper and the scullery maid didn’t leave the house that evening and they were both in bed quite early. Holland, the parlourmaid, came in about 10 P.M., and her statement’s checked by Hyde’s. Hyde says he came in at 10.30 P.M. There’s no support for that; but I should think he really was indoors at 11.30 when Mrs. Keith-Westerton went off in her car. He may have gone out later, for all I know, of course. The French maid was home at midnight, she told us; and her story’s borne out by Ferrers. Ferrers himself says he came in shortly after twelve, but there’s no confirmation of that. Keith-Westerton said he came home about one o’clock in the morning, but that’s unsupported too.”

  “That seems to leave plenty of loose ends.”

  “We can pare it down a bit, on certain assumptions,” Sir Clinton rejoined, in a speculative tone. “We don’t know what Keith-Westerton did after nine o’clock; nor do we know what his wife was doing between nine and half-past ten. The other witnesses from the Dower House fall into pairs; and if one member of a pair was lying, the other would have to lie also to make the stories tally.”

  “You’ve left out that Salvationist fellow,” Wendover pointed out.

  “Severn’s hunting up his record,” Sir Clinton reassured him.

  “He’s a mysterious devil, it seems to me,” said Wendover, in a disparaging tone. “He comes to the Dower House at ten o’clock at night and clamours urgently to see either of the Keith-Westertons; and he turns up again on much the same errand at the boathouse this morning. And yet, when you show him a photo with both of them in it, he doesn’t recognise either of them. He actually saw Mrs. Keith-Westerton herself twice, last night, and didn’t know who she was. Why all this urgency in the matter of a couple of total strangers? It beats me.”

  Sir Clinton made a vague gesture in reply.

  “There are one or two loose ends yet; but Severn’s trying to find them,” he acknowledged. “There’s the telephone call at a quarter past seven: we want to know where that came from. There’s the ownership of that abandoned car that turned up in the wood too. Severn’s going to ring me up later on, if he gets the information.”

  He seemed struck by a sudden idea.

  “By the way, Squire, when did young Keith-Westerton grow that moustache of his?”

  “About a year or so ago, I think.”

  “Did it alter his looks much?”

  “To a fair extent. It made him look older, for one thing.”

  “H’m! That might fit in,” Sir Clinton mused aloud.

  Chapter Nine

  Sir Clinton’s Fishing

  BEFORE Wendover had time to realise the implication of Sir Clinton’s last statement, a maid brought him a visiting card.

  ‘“Mr. Oliver Thewles,’” Wendover read aloud, in a rather puzzled tone. “I seem to remember the name, but I can’t place it. He’s pencilled ‘Urgent’ on his card. What does he want?”

  “I think he wants to see Sir Clinton, sir. He asked for you; and then he asked if Sir Clinton was here just now.”

  Wendover consulted the Chief Constable with a glance.

  “Very well. I’ll see him here.”

  In a few moments, the maid showed the visitor into the room. The thin stooping figure in light tweeds was quite unfamiliar to the Squire, but Thewles’ first words served to identify him.

  “Mr. Wendover? Ah, perhaps you may remember my writing you a letter recently, asking permission to enter your grounds at night—for entomological purposes.”

  Wendover knew where he was now.

  “Oh, yes. Very glad to be of any service to you in that way. I warned my keepers about it. I hope you haven’t been troubled in any way?”

  “Not at all, not at all,” Thewles hastened to assure him nervously. “Really, as a matter of fact, my mission is quite different. This is Sir Clinton Driffield, is it not? My business really lies in his province.”

  Tactful transitions were evidently not Thewles’ strong suit; but Wendover could see that no offence was intended by this abrupt dismissal of himself from the affair.

  “I am an entomologist, Sir Clinton, specialising in the nocturnal lepidoptera—moths, in fact. I have contributed several papers to various journals, among others to the Transactions of the Entomological Society, the Bulletin of the Italian Entomological Society, and the Entomologische Zeitschrift.”

  “An international reputation,” Sir Clinton interjected politely.

  He was perfectly well aware that in science an international reputation implies merely that an author’s papers are read by a handful of specialists, half of whom probably disagree with the conclusions. He kept a grave face, however, and waited patiently for the lepidopterist to get to business.

  “I mention these things merely to indicate that I am a reliable witness,” Thewles pursued, quite unaware that this statement was not accepted at its face value by at least one of his hearers. “I now come to the real purpose of my visit,—I mean this deplorable murder of the poor man Horncastle.”

  Wendover had taken a dislike to his uninvited guest.

  “Damned pedant,” was his tacit verdict. “No manners. I wonder if he knows any way of beginning a sentence except with a capital I?”

  “I presume you are unaware of the methods employed in securing specimens of the nocturnal lepidoptera?” Thewles continued, with a superior air which irritated the Squire to the point of breaking in on this purely rhetorical question.

  “Mix up brown sugar with some beer and rum; and paint it on tree trunks during the day time to attract the moths when they come out at night. Isn’t that it? Or else lure them with a lantern? I used to do it when I was a boy.”

  “That is, approximately, the proper procedure,” Thewles agreed, a little taken aback to find his thunder stolen by Wendover. He turned rather pointedly to the Chief Constable. “I prepared certain tree trunks yesterday afternoon, though it is not an entirely propitious time at present, owing to the strong moonlight which weakens the effect of a flash lamp on the creatures. I selected for treatment trees near the edge of the little wood behind the boathouse, I may say, since these appeared to offer the most favourable chances, judging from my previous results.”

  Sir Clinton listened patiently. Apparently Thewles had something to tell, and probably would get to the point quickest if he were left to tell it in his own way.

  “I am staying temporarily at the Talgarth Arms,” Thewles continued, “and last night, with my appliances, I left the hotel about ten o’clock, intending to visit the various trees which I had prepared beforehand. I was delayed on the way by an attempt, fruitless I regret to say, to capture a very interesting specimen which came within range of my flash lamp. When I approached the edge of the wood, I was surprised—I think quite naturally—by discovering that the lights in the boathouse were switched on. I had a particular reason for noting this, you will observe; since obviously these lighted windows formed a counter-attraction for nocturnal insects and were liable to draw the creatures
away from my flash lamp and my sugar lures. I felt that it was unfortunate that, on so propitious an evening—warm and calm—the boathouse should be in use for mere social purposes. I glanced at my watch to gauge if the boathouse would soon be vacated; and I noted that the time was then twenty-five minutes past ten. I am quite certain of that.”

  Sir Clinton made no comment, which seemed to vex Thewles slightly, since he had paused with the obvious intention of drawing one from the Chief Constable.

  “As I emerged from the wood,” he continued, “I observed a car standing on the road. I am not a motorist; in fact, I detest these vehicles: but I am familiar with this particular make because it is used by my next-door neighbour at home, who frequently wearies me with his descriptions of its so-called excellencies. I was therefore able to identify this car as being similar to that used by Mr. Keith-Westerton, a Sunbeam saloon, in fact.”

  Again he paused, as though expecting a compliment; but neither of his hearers rose to the occasion.

  “I was standing under the trees,” the entomologist pursued, in a slightly disappointed tone, “when the door of the boathouse opened, and I saw a woman’s figure come out. I did not see her face; but from her walk I have little hesitation in saying that it was Mrs. Keith-Westerton. She closed the boathouse door behind her, entered her car, and drove off towards the village. To my annoyance, however—as you can well understand—the boathouse lights still remained on.

  “I moved along the edge of the wood in this direction, intending to examine first those of my lures which were most remote from these disturbing lights. In about three minutes, I was relieved to see the electric lights switched off in the boathouse; but I had hardly begun to congratulate myself on their disappearance when once again they were lit up. I was then surprised by a peculiar phenomenon, for the boathouse lights were switched on and off, several times in rapid succession; and were then left full on. My impression at the time was that some child must be entertaining itself with the switches. I have since come to the conclusion that this is unlikely.”

  “Very interesting,” said Sir Clinton dryly.

  His face showed no flicker of amusement, though Wendover knew that the naiveté of the entomologist’s last two sentences must have tickled the Chief Constable’s sense of humour.

  “Much to my vexation,” Thewles continued, “the illumination of the boathouse persisted; and naturally, from time to time, I glanced in that direction. At one time I observed two shadow figures on the lowered blind of a window; but owing to the distortion produced by the light being above them, as well as behind, I was not able to determine whether the figures in the room were male or female. To be perfectly explicit, I did not make a very careful observation of them, as they seemed to be no affair of mine.”

  Sir Clinton made a faint gesture, as though approving Thewles’ caution.

  “Shortly after eleven—I can estimate it no more accurately for I did not examine my watch;—I was greatly relieved by the extinction of the lights in the boathouse; and thereafter I began to work backwards over my lures, in the direction of the building. As I approached it, I was somewhat surprised to observe that foreign ecclesiastic who frequents the village—I find that the local rustics have nicknamed him Father Go-Wrong, a curious and possibly prejudiced denomination—I observed, I say, this ecclesiastic walking up to the door of the boathouse and knocking on it as though he expected to find some one within. That was about half-past eleven, for I had occasion to examine my watch almost immediately after. At the moment, I was much engrossed in an attempt—which proved successful—to capture a specimen. When I chanced to glance again at the boathouse, the priest had evidently retired.

  “I continued to work along the line of my lures and had got past the boathouse when, greatly to my annoyance, the lights were once more switched on in the boathouse. I retreated to the end of my line of lures farthest from the boathouse on the west side. Fortunately, at that period, clouds began to obscure the” moon and I was able to utilise my flash lamp to some advantage.”

  “About what time did the lights go on again?” Sir Clinton inquired.

  “That I cannot do more than estimate very approximately from my recollection. I should place it about half-past eleven at the earliest, but there must obviously be a large margin for error in such cases. The lights shone for ten or twelve minutes on this occasion and were then extinguished. I confess that although it was no concern of mine, I was somewhat intrigued by these curious phenomena to which my interest had been so vexatiously drawn. That is one reason why the sequence of them made so strong an impression on my memory.

  “By this time, it was growing late. I glanced at my watch and found the hands within a few seconds of midnight. I had taken the precaution of promising the boots at the hotel a liberal douceur if he would sit up and let me in when I arrived back; but it seemed unnecessary to delay further. I was turning homeward when my attention was attracted by a dull sound from beyond the lake and on glancing across the water, I observed a figure rowing a boat towards the boathouse. The moon was obscured at the moment and I was unable to distinguish whether the rower was a man or a woman. Naturally, had I known then that I had heard the fatal shot, I should have made more careful investigation; but except for wondering why any one should choose that time of night to row on the lake, I admit that I paid no attention to the matter. I packed up my appliances and made my way home through the wood to my hotel, where I found the boots half-asleep, waiting for my arrival.”

  During Thewles’ rather laboured narration, Wendover had collated the fresh facts with those which he already knew; and at the end of the story he had to admit to himself that this new evidence had an ugly look.

  It left no doubt that Mrs. Keith-Westerton had been at the boathouse. Further, since the lights were left on after her departure, it was hardly possible to deny that some other person had met her there and had remained behind after she left. She and her husband could have discussed anything in their own house; they had no need to go independently to the lakeside for that purpose. Ergo, the second person in the boathouse was not Keith-Westerton. And from the boathouse, she had driven straight to the Abbé Goron for confession. Wendover, despite his prejudice, could not deny that this behaviour looked suspicious, when taken in conjunction with the rest of the night’s doings.

  The signalling by means of the boathouse lights could have only one meaning. Obviously the occupant of the boathouse had prearranged this code with yet another person, and the flashes were meant to indicate that the coast was clear after Mrs. Keith-Westerton’s departure. Keith-Westerton, for all his denial, had probably been at the boathouse that night. Was he the person for whom the signals were intended? Apparently some one had come in answer to the call, for shortly after that Thewles had seen the shadows of two people on the blind.

  Then there was the new fact of the Abbé Goron’s appearance at the boathouse door. His behaviour there proved that he had no key to the Yale lock. Obviously his visit must have been a sequel to what he learned from Mrs. Keith-Westerton when she went to him to confess. And had he “retired”, as Thewles supposed? The facts might just as easily be explained if, after knocking, he had been kept waiting for a time before being admitted into the boathouse, for Thewles had not seen him go away from the door. In that case, the boathouse must have been occupied even when the lights were out. It sounded improbable; but Wendover felt that he could not exclude this possibility entirely.

  Then came the two final episodes, obviously interwoven with the murder of Horncastle. The lights went on at about 11.30 P.M. and remained so for ten or twelve minutes before they were again extinguished. Perhaps a boat left the dock at the moment when they were put out. Shortly before midnight, Thewles heard the fatal shot; but at that very moment he saw a boat on the lake moving back towards the boathouse. The rower could not be the actual murderer, since the shot had been fired at close quarters. This fitted in, Wendover remembered, with the single-way trail away from the body, and also with Sir C
linton’s chaffing remark about the cleverness of the boat in bringing itself back to the dock after the murder.

  To Wendover’s mind, the whole problem seemed to centre in the identity of the person whom Mrs. Keith-Westerton had gone to meet at the boathouse. And with that, although he had no proof, he coupled the discovery of the abandoned car. Some one had come to the boathouse that night, somebody whose identity had still to be established. That lay at the root of the business. And, on the fact of the evidence, that character in the drama had not gone away again, though the car was waiting only a few dozen yards from the boathouse. An unpleasant suspicion shot through Wendover’s mind. Suppose Mrs. Keith-Westerton had taken this unknown individual away in the Sunbeam saloon? Then, with relief, Wendover remembered that Thewles had seen Mrs. Keith-Westerton come out of the boathouse and drive away—alone. But then, on the other hand, she might have returned later, unnoticed by the entomologist.

  “I naturally paid little attention to all these episodes at the time,” Thewles continued, “for I had no idea, of course, that they were of public importance. It was only at lunch time to-day that the waiter at my table—a somewhat garrulous personage—insisted on giving me a réchauffé of the local gossip about the murder of this poor keeper; and one or two of his remarks set me thinking about the events of last night, so far as they concerned me. I devoted some thought to the matter after lunch, and finally I came to the conclusion that my evidence might fill a gap and might possibly assume more importance when collated with other material already in the hands of the police. I do not believe in dealing with underlings, and as I had heard your name mentioned, Sir Clinton, in connection with the case, I thought it best to come direct to you.”