by Sapper
“Was that ladder there last night?” asked someone.
“As a matter of fact, it was lying on the other side of the house,” said Dick. “Rogers – he’s one of the gardeners – has been cutting ivy. Huntly, old boy, you couldn’t have shown me a more welcome sight than that. I am very sorry she’s lost her pearls, but, thank Heaven, we now know how the burglar got in! I’ll just go and tell her.”
I wandered back to my room with Tommy, and lit a cigarette.
“Why this profound relief on Dick’s part?” I asked.
“Well, old boy, our Lady Carrington was talking a little out of her turn. I don’t blame her – it’s a bit disconcerting to lose a thing like that. But she was insisting on everyone in the house being searched and so on.”
“But surely she didn’t suspect one of us?” I cried.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“As I say, she was talking a little out of her turn,” he said. “Look here,” he suggested suddenly, “what about doing a bit of sleuthing? Let’s go and cast an eye on the flower-bed.”
“My dear Tommy,” I laughed, “what do you expect to find – the burglar’s visiting card?”
“You never can tell, laddie,” he burbled genially. “We might see something.”
So I followed him, principally because there was nothing else to do. Hideous cachinnations were still coming from the Carrington woman’s room. It seemed that she was now blaming Dick for not having burglar alarms fitted on all his windows. And this, mark you, at four-thirty in the morning, of all ungodly hours.
However, we reached, the flower-bed, and inspected clues with a professional eye. The whole thing was perfectly obvious, as I had anticipated. There were the marks of the two feet of the ladder in the wet earth perfectly clear and distinct, like a plaster cast; there was the damp mould sticking to the wood of the uprights. And if any further proof were needed as to how the thief had got in, at that moment Dick leant out of Lady Carrington’s window above us.
“There are marks of mud on the sill here,” he said. “Don’t go putting your great flat feet all over the place, Tommy – there may be footprints about there somewhere.”
I glanced at Tommy, and for a moment I thought he’d gone bughouse. He was staring first at the ladder, then at the marks in the flower-bed, and his eyes looked as if they were popping out of his head.
“What’s stung you?” I asked kindly. “Is the burglar a left-handed man with a stammer and a harelip?”
“I may be several sorts of an ass, Jim,” he answered, “but, dash it all, that’s deuced funny!”
“What is deuced funny?” I grunted.
“Oh, things,” he said airily. “Mud and stuff like that. Yes, by Jove! It’s most peculiar – what?”
I took no further notice. Tommy was himself again – more so than usual, if possible. Once again his face expressed that completely vacant look which was habitual to it; his brief moment of brightness had gone.
“I’m going to have a jolly now,” he cried. “Go round and see that all these lazy sons of Belial are up, and all that. Coming, old flick? No. Right ho!”
I watched him depart with profound relief. Tommy in the early morning was above my form. And shortly after, floods of blasphemy in various male voices proclaimed that he was carrying out his threat.
It was six o’clock before the police arrived, and by that time we had scratched up a bit of breakfast and were feeling better. All, that is, except Lady Carrington, whose face was reminiscent of a gargoyle on a French cathedral.
Another infamy of the miscreant had come to light. Lying on the floor by her bed had been found a handkerchief smelling strongly of chloroform.
“That’s rum,” burbled Tommy when he heard it. “What about the jolly old tum-tum, and all that?”
“May I ask what on earth you mean, Mr Maunders?” said Lady Carrington acidly.
“Icky-boo – or anything like that?” he persisted.
“Will no one suppress this impossible youth?” she asked resignedly. “No, Mr Maunders, thank you. The jolly old tum-tum is not icky-boo, or anything like that.”
“Deuced funny,” said Tommy darkly, and then, as far as I remember, someone flung him out of the window, and he was forgotten in the police examination.
It was more or less a formal affair – the whole thing was so blatantly obvious. And the main point on which the Inspector concentrated was how the burglar could have known which room was occupied by Lady Carrington. It pointed strongly, he declared, to the presence of a confederate inside the house. But at that Dick stuck in his toes. All his servants had been with him for years, he pointed out; it was incredible to suspect one of them. And as for his guests, the mere idea was farcical.
“The matter is perfectly simple,” he stated. “Lady Carrington’s necklace is probably known to every crook in England. It was known that she was coming here; and as the principal lady guest it would be easy to find out which room she would have.”
“What about Rogers, Sir Richard? Funny thing to do, to leave that ladder lying about.”
“And he’s going to get his tail twisted good and strong for doing so. But there’s no more to it than that, Inspector. Rogers has been with me since he was a boy. He is absolutely trustworthy; I’ll vouch for that.”
And so to breakfast, with nothing further discovered. The Inspector searched everywhere for finger marks, with no result.
Of clues, save the obvious ones which were plain for all to see, there were none. And so, perforce, it had to be left at the fact that some man unknown had climbed into Lady Carrington’s bedroom, removed her pearls while she slept – probably with the help of a whiff of chloroform – and got away with them.
The Inspector was vaguely hopeful; he felt sure it was one of the big men. And probably Scotland Yard would be able to trace their movements. But when he left Dick’s study it struck me that his optimism was more official than real.
“I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world, Jim,” said Dick as the door closed behind him. “I know the wretched things are insured, but that’s not the same thing at all. And from all I can see of it, it’s the clearest getaway I’ve ever heard of. What the devil do you want, Tommy?”
He swung round irritably as the door opened and Tommy came in.
“Look here, sir,” said Tommy quietly, “what will you say if I get those pearls back for you?”
“You get ’em back for me?” spluttered Dick. “What under the sun are you drivelling about?”
But Tommy was very serious.
“Perhaps I’m drivelling, and perhaps I’m not,” he said. “But you haven’t answered my question.”
“If you get ’em back,” laughed Dick. “Well, if you do, Tommy, you may marry Moyra.”
“Glad it was you who suggested it,” grinned Tommy. “Because that was going to be my price. And it comes more gracefully from you. But there’s only one thing I ask. Not a word to a soul. You both promise?”
We both did, and Tommy went out whistling.
“What’s the young fool talking about?” said Dick to me with a puzzled frown. “He can’t possibly know anything about it.”
“If he doesn’t, we’ll be no worse off than we are at present,” I answered. “And I wonder if–”
I broke off and lit a cigarette. I had just remembered Tommy’s strange look early that morning as we had stood side by side staring at the marks in the flower-bed. Was it possible that he had noticed something we had all missed?
However, if he had, he gave no sign of it that day. He drivelled on in his usual fatuous way until threatened with death unless he desisted. And eleven o’clock found us all in the pavilion ready to start. Nothing was to be gained by putting off the match, though I think the Carrington woman thought we all ought to be scouring the country in search of the burglar.
The Duds won the toss, and Tommy went in first – I forget with whom. And he proceeded to knock up a very useful fifty, before being run out. Well, I don’t know if any
one else spotted it, but it seemed to me at the time that he could have got into his crease if he’d tried. But he gave a sort of half stumble, and was out by two yards. And as he passed me on his way back to the pavilion he gave me a very deliberate wink.
“So, my young friend,” I reflected, “I was right. You purposely ran yourself out. What’s the game?”
That it was something to do with the pearls I was sure – but what? True to my promise, I said nothing, of course; but when we all assembled for luncheon and there was no sign of him, my curiosity increased. He arrived about ten minutes later and sat down next to me.
“Thank God! I’m out,” he remarked, “so that I can eat ’earty. By Jove! Carruthers, old fish, that valet of yours is a pretty grim-looking bird. He gave me quite a turn when I met him in the passage.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” said Carruthers sharply. “I haven’t got a valet.”
A sudden silence settled on the table. Was this some new development of the burglary?
“Not got a valet?” cried Tommy blankly. “Then who is that fellow with a face like a third-rate prize-fighter who said he was your valet? Said he hadn’t been able to come with you yesterday, but had followed on today. Wanted to know, which your room was.”
“Did you tell him?” snarled Carruthers.
“Of course I did,” bleated Tommy. “Hang it all! I thought he was your bird, and I couldn’t stand his face lying about the house.”
“You fool!” Carruthers had gone white with rage. “What the devil do you mean by sending a strange man into my room?”
He had pushed back his chair and risen.
“Will you excuse me, Sir Richard, if I go to the house? I haven’t got much of value, but I don’t particularly want to lose my links. And what is more to the point, I should think it very likely that this so-called valet of Maunders’ imagination is last night’s burglar, engaged in making a complete haul of the house.”
“What’s that?” shouted Dick. “If you’re right, Carruthers, we’d better have a general round-up. Come on, you fellows!”
“Hold hard, Sir Richard,” said Carruthers. “Wary does it, if we want to catch the bird. If he sees us all making tracks for the house he’ll be off like a scalded cat. Let me go in alone, while you split into four parties. Each party to keep under cover and watch one side of the house.”
“Right you are, Carruthers,” cried Dick. “You bolt the badger, and we’ll do the rest.”
And it was then I turned and looked at Tommy. His eyes were bright, and one could see he was excited.
“Tommy,” I said, “is all this part of the game?”
“I dunno, Jim,” he answered. “First time I’ve tried my hand at this sort of job. And for all I know, I may have made the most ungodly bloomer. Anyway,” he added, “I’m such an ass that nobody will be surprised.”
We were standing together behind a clump of bushes watching the front door. Carruthers had disappeared into the house, and old Dick, who was hopping about from one leg to the other, could hardly contain himself.
“You’re a drivelling idiot, Tommy,” he kept on saying. “Why the devil you didn’t get hold of Perkins or one of the footmen passes man’s understanding. For all that, even if you’re only partially responsible for getting those pearls back, I’ll forgive you.”
It was ten minutes before Carruthers emerged again, and it was obvious that he had drawn blank. We were hidden, of course, and he stood for a moment or two on the drive looking round to find us.
“What luck?” said Dick, coming out into the open.
“None at all,” answered Carruthers. “I saw no sign of anything being disturbed in my room, and then I took the liberty of having a quick look into all the others. But not a trace could I see of anyone. Can’t you give us a bit fuller description of the fellow, Maunders? It might enable the police to place him.”
Tommy, whose eyes were riveted on the front door, hardly seemed to hear.
“What’s that?” he said vaguely. “Description of him? Oh! you know – a funny-looking bloke, with a face like a foot. Looked a bit of a mess and all that sort of thing. Ah-h!”
He caught his breath sharply, and we all swung round. Stalking majestically through the front door came the butler, Perkins. In his hands he carried a tray; on the tray reposed a pair of white objects which proved, on closer inspection, to be cricket boots.
“What under the sun is Perkins doing?” said Dick feebly.
The butler continued to advance until he halted in front of Tommy.
“Mr Carruthers’ cricket boots, sir,” he said majestically.
There was a moment’s dead silence, and then I glanced at Carruthers. And he was staring at Tommy with a look of such concentrated fury on his face that involuntarily I took a step forward.
“You little rat-faced swab,” he said tensely, and the next instant the pair of them were at it hammer and tongs.
“Sit on the blighter’s head,” spluttered Tommy with his mouth full of grass. “He’s the blinking burglar.”
“The devil he is!” cried Huntly, and dotted Carruthers good and hearty on the point of the jaw.
“In the trees, sir,” remarked the unperturbed Perkins, when silence reigned again. “With a further assortment lifted – I believe that is the correct word – a few minutes ago.”
“Will someone elucidate?” cried Dick hopelessly. “Am I to understand that Carruthers is the burglar?”
“Of course you are,” said Tommy, plucking mud out of his teeth. “And he’s a rotten bad bowler too.”
Carruthers looked at him venomously, and Huntly flourished a stump.
“No more thick ear work,” he said curtly. “Is this a fact, Carruthers?”
“Well, there’s not much good denying it,” he muttered sulkily. “Though how that rat-faced excrescence found it out I don’t know.”
“Let’s take him to the luncheon tent, Jim,” said Dick. “Perkins, go and ring up the police. Now, Tommy, get it off your chest. How did you spot this swab?”
“Mud,” burbled Tommy. “Just mud. Mud on the ground; mud all over the place. And the jolly old law of gravity.”
Carruthers, very tense and silent, was watching him intently.
“Where are they exactly, Carruthers?” he went on quietly.
“In the trees,” said the other. “Chuck them over.”
We watched him breathlessly as he took the trees out of his boots. In the hinge was a small plug, which he proceeded to unscrew with the point of a knife. And as soon as he’d got it out he held up the tree and out poured Lady Carrington’s pearls. Then he did the same with the other, and out shot a variety of things, including a valuable tie-pin of Dick’s.
“Of all the gall,” spluttered Dick. “I’ll have to have the spoons counted.”
“Of that I assure you there is no need,” said Carruthers affably. And to do the blighter justice, from then on he took things like a sportsman. For the time being he’d forgotten what was coming to him, and he was genuinely curious to find out where he’d made his mistake.
“Where all you blokes slipped up,” began Tommy, “was over the jolly old ladder. You assumed that because it was lying on the ground outside Lady Carrington’s window, the thief had got in that way. Not so, my hearties. The ladder was a blind.”
“How did you spot that?” demanded Carruthers.
“Mud, laddie, mud. That’s where you made your one and only bloomer. If you put a ladder into wet earth the mud will adhere to its legs up to the depth of the holes it makes. Possibly not as far. But by no conceivable hook or crook can it climb up some six inches above the depth of the hole. The holes you made were about three inches deep. There was mud on the legs for a good nine inches from the bottom.”
A faint smile twitched round Carruthers’ lips.
“Quick,” he said quietly. “I congratulate you.”
“So, you see, chaps,” went on Tommy, “that altered the whole outfit. If the ladder was a blind, then t
he thief must be inside the house. There was another thing, too – that handkerchief with chloroform. Lady Carrington didn’t feel sick: therefore the assumption was it hadn’t been used. It was there in case of necessity, or possibly as a further blind. But if it hadn’t been used, something else must have been employed to keep her quiet – a dope of sorts. You remember she said she fell asleep very quickly last night, which again pointed to someone inside the house. And my suspicions naturally fell on Carruthers, simply because he was the only bloke in the house who was a stranger.
“When I went and jollied you all up this morning I had a look at your basins. The one in Carruthers’ room was full of brownish water where he’d washed the mud off his hands. So that was that as far as little Willie was concerned. I knew Carruthers had taken the pearls – but where were they? That was the point. And it struck me that the easiest way of finding out was to make him show us. If I was wrong, there was no damage done; if I was right, we nabbed the goods. So I invented the mythical valet, and installed our one and only Perkins in a cupboard where he could watch developments, trusting that the first thing Carruthers would do would be to see if the pearls were safe.”
Jim Featherstone knocked out his pipe.
“Which I think proves my contention that Tommy is not such a fool as he looks.”
We straightened out one or two points later; but he was absolutely right all through. Carruthers had doped Lady Carrington. He’d slipped it into a whisky and soda she had drunk before going to bed. He had specially wangled his introduction to Bob, knowing that Lady Carrington was always invited for the match. And he’d have got clean away with the pearls, and the other little trifles he’d lifted when he made a tour of the rooms, but for that little matter of mud. As it was, he got seven years, and I had to stump up a wedding present.
THAT BULLET HOLE HAS A HISTORY