“Don’t be so blasted casual about it, Bingham. You know damn well what happened. I suspect you were hiding behind a tree somewhere.”
Bingham laid the shoes at the foot of the bed and began to brush Charles’s dinner coat.
“Oh, there was no need. I could see very well from my window and the voices carry amazingly well up that hill,” the butler proclaimed.
“And what were your conclusions from it all?” Charles asked.
Bingham halted, and then said, “That twelve years has not softened the strain in the battalion. Instead, new tensions may have been born in the meantime. That’s my conclusion.”
“Quite right, Bingham. Quite right. We have our work cut out for us if we are to get to the bottom of the Parker matter with all the other unpleasantries surrounding us.”
“By the way,” Charles continued, “we’ve been invited by Meath to view his collection of knives. I shall do it to make him happy and I thought you’d want to tag along.”
“Absolutely. Thank you, my Lord. I would, indeed, like to see what he has.”
When Charles was properly prepared for dinner, he and Bingham walked downstairs and immediately observed a bustle of activity they were unfamiliar with in most manors. People were moving up and down hallways, in and out of doors at both ends of the house as well as in individual rooms, and voices could be heard everywhere. Fortunately, they seemed to be calm voices, for now.
Stichen Manor was laid out as usual for a building its age. The front entrance led to a foyer from which four hallways led: one each to the left and right and one each at what would be ten and two on a clock face. Immediately to the right of the foyer was the study. Beyond that were bedrooms. Down the two o’clock hallway were more bedrooms. The ten o’clock hallway led to storage rooms, the kitchen and the library. The left hallway took one to the largest sitting room, and dining room. The staircases going up and downstairs were at the rear of the foyer, in front of a door leading outside.
Charles saw Calvert and asked for directions to Helen and Stuart Meath’s room. When Charles and Bingham arrived, they were surprised to find the door ajar. Charles knocked softly and the sound of steps was quickly followed by the door swinging open. The smiling face of Mrs. Meath met the guests. She wore a flowing, satiny red dress that accentuated her youthful beauty.
“Excuse us, Helen,” Charles apologized, “but Bingham and I are following up on your husband’s invitation to view his knife collection. Is he in?”
“Of course,” Helen said, backing up and opening the door even wider. She shook her head slightly and said, “He’s so passionate over that collection…almost fanatical, in my opinion. I have no idea what enjoyment he gets over those frightful weapons. That’s all they are, of course. Weapons.”
Charles saw Stuart enter the room from the opposite side to rescue the visitors from any more of Helen’s lecturing.
“Gentlemen, did I hear my collection mentioned?” Stuart Meath asked. “You mustn’t let Helen’s estimation of it influence you. You both were in the war. You’ll understand the significance of the items and see them as what they are—pieces of artwork.”
With a wave of his arm he invited Charles and Bingham to follow him into the sitting room. There, on an end table near the window, sat a polished wooden box of considerable length with a brass latch. Meath pulled open the lid and all three men stood around the table in a semi-circle.
“I mount them at home, of course,” Meath explained with pride.
One by one he extracted the knives and bayonets, laying them on the table with care until the entire surface was covered with gleaming silver blades and spotless wood handles.
“Feel free to inspect any that meet your fancy, gentlemen,” Meath said. “Some of these can’t be found in too many other places.”
Charles and Bingham turned over half a dozen of the weapons, acknowledging some of the intricate designs etched into the knife handles or the workmanship of the bayonets.
Meath enthusiastically gave a short history of nearly every one and he entertained his guests for half an hour. In the end, the visitors thanked the Meaths for their hospitality, waiting until they were back upstairs before expressing their mutual wonderment over why anyone would want such a collection.
When dinner was announced a short time later, Charles was one of the last to enter the dining room. The meal, thanks in great part to the offerings of Daphne Bishop’s little market, was hearty and the banter was civil. Charles talked principally to Helen Meath, who sat next to him, but he got much more pleasure out of watching the glances she often received across the table from Alistair Cooper.
The time passed rapidly, probably to the delight of nearly everyone there, including the Colonel. In the end, the women exited the room almost en masse and the men remained to sample after-dinner drinks and cigars. Soon, even they dispersed and Charles walked the grounds, sitting outside until the looming darkness forced him inside for his appointment with Colonel Humphries.
The clocks were striking nine o’clock as Charles entered the house at the rear and turned down the library’s hallway. He knocked on the library door one time. When he got no response, he knocked again. The sound of a door closing, or a drawer being slammed shut, convinced Charles the Colonel was there. One more knock, however, got no response.
After waiting a few seconds, Charles slowly turned the knob, pushed the door open enough to put his head in, and announced, “Colonel Humphries? Are you there?”
The silence that followed was only broken by the sound of the hinges as Charles pushed open the door and stepped inside the large room. The chair behind the desk was turned slightly away from Charles, facing the French windows. He saw the Colonel’s arm hanging down on the right side.
“Colonel, it’s Lord Stewart.”
His initial impression was that the Colonel was asleep. Charles walked to the front of the desk and quickly realized the truth.
The handle of a large knife protruded from the chest of a lifeless Colonel Humphries.
V. The Investigation Begins
“Good heavens,” Charles muttered under his breath.
He walked around the desk and approached the Colonel, who was slouched in the chair, his eyes and mouth wide open. Blood soaked through Humphries’ shirt and onto his jacket, the dark red stain growing slightly larger even as Charles watched.
Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw movement near the door. He looked over to find Calvert sticking his head inside.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the servant said. “I saw the door open and…”
“Please come inside and close the door,” Charles told him.
The doorman obeyed and Charles said, “Calvert, the Colonel’s been murdered.”
Charles let the statement sink in for a moment and saw that the doorman was clearly staggered by the news. Calvert stuttered, “Mmmurdered? Who would…I mean, murdered! Good gracious.”
“Who was the last person you saw enter or leave this room, Calvert?” Charles asked.
The servant couldn’t take his eyes off the Colonel’s chair and the slouched body. He thought, and replied, “Why…why nobody, sir. Not since before dinner. I haven’t seen anyone enter or leave.”
Thwarted at his long-shot attempt to gather some information, Charles asked, “Where is the nearest police station?”
“That would be Danby, sir,” Calvert said, his normal voice quickly returning. “Constable Stanhope, sir.”
“Can you contact him. And a doctor.”
“Of course, sir. A doctor. That would be Dr. Owens. I’ll send for them right away, sir. My word. Murdered?”
Charles added, “Oh, and send my man Bingham right away. Leave the door open, please.”
Calvert briskly headed for the nearest phone and Charles stood staring at the man in the chair for a moment. Then, realizing the significance of the precious seconds he had in the room alone, Charles surveyed his surroundings. His eyes remained on the Colonel initially because of the weapon i
tself. Then he glanced at the desktop and the material that was on it. Finally, Charles studied the floor in the proximity of the desk. In a matter of seconds, the scene was etched in his mind.
“Lord Stewart. Did I hear correctly that…that…good lord!”
George Parker entered the library and stopped a few steps inside.
“Please don’t touch anything, Parker. The police and doctor will be here shortly.”
“But when did this happen? And who…who would…my word, this is awful,” Parker said.
“I’m afraid the heated words were only a prelude,” Charles said with a sigh.
At that moment, Bingham joined them and Charles saw the butler’s eyes conduct the same cursory examination of the situation that he himself had performed. Charles considered the former Secret Service Bureau member an extension of himself when it came to the petty crimes he had dabbled in before. Now, Bingham and his experience were going to be especially invaluable.
“You called, my Lord,” Bingham said unflappably, his eyes still at work.
“Yes. The Colonel has met an untimely demise sometime after dinner,” Charles said. “We may very well be staying longer than we expected. Can that be arranged?”
“Of course, sir. Whenever you think the time is right, I can drive back to Balfron and pack additional items.”
“Excellent,” Charles told him. “Why don’t you stay, for now. I’d like you to hear what the police and doctor say. And the coroner will have to be involved, of course.”
Bingham nodded and the three gentlemen moved outside the library until the first of the local officials arrived nearly half an hour later. Constable Stanhope, who single-handedly comprised the Danby police force, entered the library and looked no less stunned than any other person who had already seen the Colonel in his chair. He was a man in his forties with a massive mustache and beard and a stomach no less massive, particularly in relation to his short stature. The pipe he was smoking appeared to be part of his mouth.
Stanhope approached the desk and chair, leaned forward awkwardly to get a better view of the Colonel, and muttered inaudibly to himself.
He turned to the other men and said, “When do we think this occurred, gentlemen?”
“I found him at nine o’clock, Constable,” Charles stated. “He had not been dead long. I’m quite certain the wound was still bleeding.”
“You saw no one?” Stanhope questioned.
“There were people milling about all evening. I met nobody leaving the library when I entered for a scheduled appointment with Humphries.”
“The French windows were closed?” Stanhope asked, looking at that area of the room.
“They appeared closed,” Charles said. “I did not test them. But I know nothing has been touched since I arrived.”
Voices in the hall signaled the fact that the news had spread throughout the house. Heads leaned in two at a time to see what they could and, each time, exclamations of shock followed.
“Make way, please,” Calvert’s voice could be heard above the din. “Dr. Owens needs to enter.”
Charles watched a distinguished looking, elderly man carrying a leather bag enter the library. The doctor’s perfectly trimmed mustache partially hid the solid lines of a mouth that showed no apparent emotion at his initial sight of the murdered man.
“It looks fairly straight-forward, Dr. Owens,” Constable Stanhope told him.
The doctor gripped the Colonel’s wrist for a few seconds, closed the lids over Colonel Humphries’ eyes, and pulled back the shirt just enough to see the weapon and fatal wound, which was now surrounded by thick, brown, fluid.
“Who found him?” the doctor asked.
Charles stepped forward. “I did. I entered the room shortly after nine o’clock when the Colonel did not answer my knock. We were scheduled to meet at nine.”
“Very well. We’ll leave him for Coroner Morris. There’s nothing more I can do,” the doctor proclaimed in a somber manner. “Oh, we’ll need to notify the next of kin, also. Does anybody know who that might be?”
Several people in attendance indicated there was no one to their knowledge and the general consensus was that one of the servants must know. Parker volunteered to ask Calvert and left the room.
Coroner Morris and the doctor passed in the hallway, speaking only briefly, and the Coroner, a thin, middle-aged man of considerable height, joined the group in the library. Morris quickly made his inspection, with Constable Stanhope hovering nearby, and asked for the body to be moved into the Colonel’s bedroom.
With the proceedings ostensibly completed in the library, Charles whispered to Bingham for the butler to join him in the sitting room that connected their two bedrooms. Soon, they were seated by a window with cigars in hand.
“What’s the first thing that strikes you, Bingham?” Lord Charles said bluntly.
“The weapon, sir.”
“Ah, yes. The weapon,” Charles said, followed by a long draw on his cigar. “You can identify it, of course.”
“Undoubtedly, a modified Belgian M1889 Garde Civique bayonet, with the original blade replaced by a much shorter one to make it a hand-held weapon,” Bingham said with authority. “The originals were often captured by the Germans and then captured again by the British and French in the war.”
“And where did you last see it?”
“In Meath’s collection, sir,” Bingham said with a hint of gravity.
“Excellent start, my man. Now, what else?”
Bingham said, “The papers on the desk need to be examined. They may or may not hint at who was there.”
Charles nodded. “And the drawers need to be looked into. Bingham, I’m certain I heard either a door close or a drawer being shut rapidly.”
“Interesting,” Bingham acknowledged.
“What else?” Charles asked.
“Did I miss something, sir?”
“You did,” Charles said. “But perhaps you were not at the right angle to see it. There were marks on the floor indicating the Colonel wasn’t killed in his chair. I’m convinced he was dragged there from the proximity of the fireplace.”
It was Bingham’s turn to nod, take a puff, and consider the facts.
“Might he have been outside and brought in through the French windows?”
“Unlikely,” Charles said. “Too risky, even in the dark. No, it all happened in the library and somehow I just missed the man before he ran out through the windows. Besides, it struck me as odd the way the Colonel was sitting in that chair and when I saw the marks on the floor it strengthened my view that he wasn’t in the chair when he was stabbed.”
“We need to try to secure that room, my Lord. I don’t trust that Stanhope will think of it and we don’t want the murderer in there alone. We should check outside the windows for footprints, too.”
“Yes, but people are in and out of there all day long. I’m not sure we can rely on anything we find, including fingerprints on that knife,” Charles replied. “Still, let’s go have a chat with our local police chap.”
VI. Inspector Silsbury Arrives
Constable Stanhope volunteered to spend the night in the library after a short meeting with Charles and Bingham. Stanhope told them news of the murder was wired to every police agency in the country, including Scotland Yard, as a matter of routine even though a suspect could not yet be identified. Stanhope took the additional step of requesting all guests to stay until they were cleared to return to their homes.
It was mid-morning of the next day that a car drove into the drive and Calvert was handed the card of Inspector Peter Silsbury, Scotland Yard.
Charles’ first impression of the nondescript man in the thick glasses was that the Yard had accidently sent an accountant instead of an Inspector. Silsbury struck him as about fifty years of age and wholly incapable of solving anything involving murder. However, the first conversation with him made Charles recognize that Silsbury would be a man to keep close at his side.
“Lord Stewart, I
was informed you were here,” Silsbury said, extending a hand. “Silsbury’s the name. Can we speak alone for a minute?”
“Only if my man Bingham can join us, Inspector. If you want me, you must also have Bingham. I believe you will find his experiences helpful to us both.”
“As you say, Lord Stewart,” Silsbury answered.
Charles led the Inspector and Bingham into the library and closed the door behind them.
“Now, what is it, Silsbury?”
“Is George Parker still present?”
Charles nodded. “Yes. Last I knew he had not left. I saw him at breakfast.”
“I’m not a man to mince words, as you will quickly learn, Lord Stewart. We have been keeping an eye on Parker from the time he last arrived in this country. There are certain aspects of his mining business that may, or may not, be…shall we say, genuine. We’re still in the fact finding stage and knew he would be approaching Colonel Humphries about finalizing a deal of some type. Then I saw the news on the wire last night and decided to come up right away.”
Charles said, “That’s rather extraordinary, Inspector, because I’m only here because the Colonel invited me with the specific intent of having me mingle with Parker and the others and find out what I could about the deal you mentioned.”
“And what have you determined?”
Charles shrugged. “I suppose I failed miserably. I was only here for half a day and gathered basically nothing, yet. Then the murder occurred.”
“Do you suspect Parker?” the Inspector asked bluntly.
Lord Charles shook his head. “For some reason, I do not. I don’t see how that would benefit Parker.”
Silsbury replied, “I happen to agree, but it’s very early. Can I see the scene now?”
Charles smiled and said, “You’re in it. This is it, pretty much untouched since the moment of the crime.”
“Excellent. Let me have a look around.”
In relative silence, Silsbury spent the next fifteen minutes studying the chair, the desk, the windows and doors. Neither Charles nor Bingham could read the mind of the Scotland Yard professional and his face gave away nothing. At the conclusion of the review of the scene, they sat in chairs in a corner of the library.
The Enemy in Our Midst: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery Page 3