by Vernon Loder
Netta was too troubled to defend herself. ‘Perhaps Ned will be able to prove where he was?’ she said.
‘I hope he will,’ said Mr Barley.
Grover answered the front door bell as he was speaking, and came to him in a few moments with a telegram. He tore it open, and passed it to Mrs Gailey after glancing at it. It read:
‘Mr Tollard left last night for Ventnor. Have wired.’
‘That will be from his secretary,’ said Mr Barley, much relieved. ‘Of course I never believed he had anything to do with it, but I had better show it to the inspector now.’
Nelly and Netta separated and went to their rooms. Mr Barley went in search of Fisher. The sergeant from the village had already gone away, to be pestered by the inhabitants of the hamlet with regard to the tragedy, news of which had already filtered down there.
Ortho Haine was in the drawing-room talking to Elaine Gurdon. He was still excited and indignant, and though she did not seem to be aware of it, a faint hostility to Elaine pervaded his mind. Whatever had happened, he told himself, she was the indirect cause of it. She had been very indiscreet in associating with Tollard, who had apparently a jealous wife. Why hadn’t she touched old Barley for the money? Apart from that, it was one of the beastly darts she had brought to the house that had done the mischief.
‘She must have been shot by someone outside,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t done from indoors, I’ll swear; but her window was open, and you know there is a little shrubbery opposite.’
‘I know there is,’ she returned. ‘But who would do it? And the blow-pipe I sold Mr Barley is still in the hall.’
‘They ought to examine it for fingerprints,’ he said.
‘No doubt they will,’ said Elaine. ‘But I don’t see that it will be much use. I had it the other day, and so had you; and so had Ned Tollard. All our fingerprints may be on it.’
‘But no one could charge me with it,’ he cried.
‘And I am in the same position,’ she remarked. ‘As for Ned, he was not here.’
‘There may be other prints.’
‘But how could an outsider know where it was? And how could he return it, even if he stole it first?’
‘I don’t know. It’s very odd. But I hope they catch the beast who did it! I would like to skin him!’
Elaine did not reply. She got up from her chair, took a turn up and down the room, and went out.
The superintendent had made a careful examination of the room formerly occupied by Mr Tollard, and was joined there by the detective, who reported that he had found nothing incriminating in the garden.
‘Then we had better get that blow-pipe, and have it packed, and sent back to be examined for fingerprints,’ said Fisher. ‘Come along.’
As they descended the stairs, they heard a ring, and saw Grover cross the hall to the front door. Mr Barley had already handed over the telegram, which apparently gave Tollard an alibi. They paused for a moment, then saw Grover backing into the hall, to admit the police sergeant, who was accompanied by a fellow of twenty-four, or five, dressed in moleskins, and wearing gaiters of an under-keeper.
‘What’s up now?’ asked Fisher, going across.
‘A new witness, sir,’ said the sergeant, full of importance at his find. ‘This is Jorkins, sir.’
‘Bring him into the library,’ said Fisher, leading the way.
When, they were settled there, Fisher asked the man to tell what he knew. It was simple and clear enough, though it was difficult to decide exactly what bearing it had upon the murder.
Jorkins had passed across the park just after dawn, he said. He had happened to look towards the house, and in one of the windows on the first floor he had seen a lady standing.
‘Are you sure of the window?’ asked Fisher.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jorkins. ‘Sergeant showed it me.’
‘Very well. Go on.’
Jorkins cleared his throat nervously and continued. He had only seen the lady for a moment. Then she had disappeared. He did not know if she had walked back, or to one side. She had just disappeared.
‘Might she have fallen?’
Jorkins agreed that she might, though he could not say.
‘You are sure it was a lady?’
The witness was quite sure. He had seen that she was wearing something flowing, even at that distance.
‘A white night-gown, perhaps,’ said Fisher.
The man shook his head, He was quite certain that it was not white.
‘Mrs Tollard was wearing a dressing-gown, sir,’ the inspector reminded his superior.
‘So she was. We are not sure that this fellow did actually see Mrs Tollard, though. Pale green was the colour of that silk thing, I should say.’
‘Yes sir,’ the inspector agreed, ‘a pale tint.’
‘What colour was this flowing garment?’ the superintendent asked Jorkins.
‘Red, sir,’ said the man.
Fisher started, and looked at his colleague. ‘That’s odd! As clear a suggestion that an intruder was in the room as one could wish for.’
‘Looks like it, sir.’
‘While the fact that this intruder was dressed in what seems like a dressing-gown suggests that someone in—’ he stopped short, remembering that Jorkins was listening.
‘Shall I make inquiries about that now, sir?’ asked the detective.
‘At once, please,’ said Fisher.
CHAPTER VII
A STRANGER IN RED
THE detective-inspector found Mr Barley wandering about the house restlessly, and asked him if he could get the lady guests, and also the female domestics together, so that he might question them as speedily as possible.
‘Why all the women only?’ asked Barley curiously.
‘Because we have a new witness, sir, who declares he saw a woman’s figure at that window early this morning.’
‘Mrs Tollard herself?’
‘We are not sure, sir.’
‘Very well. I’ll have them all called.’
He ushered the detective into a large dining-room, and went off on his errand. Within ten minutes he had a small congregation of women in the room, some in tears, some hostile, most nervous and suspicious.
‘A lady was seen at the window of Mrs Tollard’s room early this morning,’ said the detective clearly. ‘A witness who saw her declares that she was wearing a red garment, probably a dressing-gown. If any of you have a garment of this kind in use, or know of any in use in this house, will you please let me hear of it?’
They looked at one another wonderingly, and the cook held up her hand, as if she were a child at school trying to attract the teacher’s attention. She wore a red flannel gown, it seemed, and was ready to show it to anyone, but not a hand had she had in anything to do with the poor dead lady.
‘We don’t think of such a thing,’ said the detective, ‘but someone might wear another’s garment, you see.’
Elaine spoke up suddenly. ‘Perhaps, inspector, it might be better if those who have dressing-gowns told you in turn what colour they are. Personally I prefer blue. I was wearing a pale pastel shade of blue this morning when I found Mrs Tollard. Mr Barley will corroborate me in that.’
‘Thank you, miss, a very good idea,’ said the detective. ‘Now, we’ll begin with this lady on the right.’
‘Mauve!’ snapped Mrs Minever.
‘Maize,’ said Mrs Gailey.
But most of those who possessed dressing-gowns preferred some shade of blue. One or two wore pink, but they were under-servants who slept in the same bedroom, and were not likely to be connected in any way with the tragedy.
The inspector dismissed them, and conferred for a few moments with Mr Barley. Then there was a knock at the door, and Dr Browne came in.
‘Ha, Warren,’ he said to the inspector, ‘is the superintendent here?’
‘Yes, sir, in the library, I know he wants to see you.’
‘Come along, Mr Barley,’ said Browne. ‘We may as well go into this at onc
e. I have another urgent case I must get to as soon as possible.’
Jorkins had been dismissed, and Fisher was making notes of his evidence when the doctor and Mr Barley entered behind the detective.
‘I am glad you are here, doctor,’ said the superintendent. ‘There is a point I want to go into with you. I wonder, Mr Barley, if you would be good enough to fetch Miss Gurdon here. In this case she is an expert witness, from her knowledge of those darts.’
When Barley had gone, he looked at Warren. ‘Any luck about those dressing-gowns?’
‘I am afraid not, sir. Only the cook had one really called red.’
‘Right! We must examine all the garments of that kind later.’
Browne shrugged. ‘What’s your point?’
‘About the dressing-gowns?’
‘Good gracious, no, man! I’m not a draper! I mean about the dart.’
‘If you will wait, please, till Miss Gurdon comes. Ah, here she is. Miss Gurdon, you can help us now. We are assuming that the dart was fired by someone standing outside with a blow-pipe. We assume that he would hide in the little shrubbery about thirty yards from the window. That would be about the range.’
‘I understand,’ said Elaine.
Fisher turned to the doctor. ‘Now, sir, was this dart deeply seated in the wound or not?’
‘Pretty deep,’ said Browne.
‘It had done more than merely penetrate the flesh, though it had first to penetrate two thicknesses of cloth, the night-dress and the dressing-gown?’
‘Yes. Both cloths were pretty flimsy, but the dart had gone well in.’
‘Thank you. Now, Miss Gurdon, do you think a dart fired at the range I have mentioned would penetrate human flesh deeply, after going through two thin cloths?’
She considered for a few moments, then shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The dart flies with considerable velocity, but, unless it was directed by an expert, I am sure it would not go deep at that range. It is unlikely, in any case.’
‘Then that does seem to spoil our theory of its having been fired from outside,’ murmured Fisher.
Browne shrugged impatiently. He was not a very mild man at any time.
‘Nothing whatever to do with it,’ he declared. ‘You are forgetting that she was lying on her back when found. Even if the dart had only just entered the skin, it would be driven deeper when the free end of it came in contact with the floor in her fall.’
‘And when I raised her up, on going into her room, I was so shocked that I let her fall back a second time,’ said Elaine.
‘There you are,’ said Browne abruptly. ‘I’ve seen that blow-pipe. It’s a long clumsy thing to hold. I don’t think anyone could use it well in the confined space of a room.’
‘It might have been shot through the keyhole of the door of the room communicating with Mrs Tollard’s, doctor. There was no key in that.’
‘Stuff and nonsense! The blower would be more than seven feet away from the keyhole. The mouth of the pipe would cover that up. How could he see to aim at someone in the other room? No, she was shot from outside, if she was shot at all.’
The superintendent agreed rather ruefully. ‘Well, we must wait till Mr Tollard turns up. I don’t think we can do anything more than make arrangements for the post-mortem, and the inquest. Mr Tollard was the only relation who stayed here lately, but was not present last night.’
‘In the Isle of Wight,’ said Mr Barley.
‘Presumably in the Isle of Wight,’ agreed Fisher, but stressing the adverb.
‘I should prefer not to have the body sent to Elterham,’ said Barley quickly. ‘I have no objection to the inquest being held here.’
‘We shall decide that later,’ said Fisher. ‘Now, I shall examine the servants in detail, then return to Elterham. We’ll take the blow-pipe and the darts back with us.’
A quarter of an hour later, the police left for Elterham. Dr Browne had a few minutes’ chat with Mr Barley, and went off to his case. Mr Barley himself had had a little conversation with each of his guests, and was relieved to find that none of them objected to remaining until after the inquest.
Ten minutes after that, a wire came from Tollard. It had been handed in at Ventnor, Isle of Wight, and said that he was crossing at once to the mainland, and driving over at once.
‘I expect a fast car will bring him here sooner than cross-country trains,’ Barley said to Elaine, to whom he showed the wire. ‘I’ll hate telling him all about it, but I can’t put any more trouble on you.’
That afternoon he began to suspect that there was a division in his house party, and it was obvious that the members of it were taking sides in the matter of Margery Tollard’s death.
Mrs Minever, Ortho Haine, and Netta Gailey talked a great deal together; while Miss Sayers and Elaine (the initiative coming from Nelly) appeared to be seen more together than ever before.
Mrs Gailey had wired to her husband, putting off his visit, and was very eager to support her friend even to the point of indiscretion. This division, which gradually grew, came with Elaine’s decision not to leave the case altogether to the police, but to make some enquiries herself.
‘I don’t see why she should,’ said Haine to Mrs Minever. ‘It seems odd that she is so much to the front in this.’
‘Well, they may say she is too much interested in Mr Tollard,’ snapped the elderly lady. ‘I knew what would come of it.’
‘But can we say that anything has come of it?’ asked Netta Gailey timidly. ‘After all, Mr Tollard was away last night.’
‘That’s true,’ said Ortho. ‘This wire proves he was in the Isle of Wight right enough.’
‘I never said he wasn’t,’ grumbled Mrs Minever. ‘All I say is that, with his wife dead, he is free to do what he likes.’
‘I see what you mean.’
Haine shook his head. ‘Oh, we can’t go as far as that yet. Being interested in a married man is one thing, and disposing of his wife is another.’
‘I never said anyone disposed of his wife, Mr Haine. I only say he is free now.’
‘You don’t think he wants to marry Elaine, do you?’ asked Netta.
Mrs Minever became alarmed, and drew in her horns. ‘I don’t say anything. I know nothing about it,’ she observed.
But the thought she had expressed did linger in their minds. Margery had been no companion to her husband. She had been in the way. If Elaine really was in love with Ned Tollard, the way was open.
‘What troubles me is this,’ said Ortho, in the ardour of his championship. ‘So far as we can see, that dart must have been shot out of the blowpipe. Very well! The police will look for fingerprints on it.’
‘How do they do that?’ asked Netta.
‘I don’t know the exact process, but that is what they will do. Now, that day on the lawn, Miss Gurdon brought out the blow-pipe, and let us try our hand with it.’
Mrs Minever nodded. Netta looked interested. ‘You aren’t worrying about the possibility of their suspecting you, Ortho?’
‘Of course not. But they will find three sets of fingerprints on it—mine and Mr Tollard’s and hers.’
‘What’s the point of that?’ asked Mrs Minever bluntly.
Haine bit his lip. ‘I thought you would see it at once. It’s only hypothesis, of course, but that is the kind of thing the police will put to themselves.’
‘What hypothesis?’
‘If they begin to suspect Miss Gurdon, they will ask if she didn’t arrange, that demonstration on purpose.’
‘I’m very dense, I suppose,’ observed Mrs Minever, shaking her head impatiently. ‘For what purpose?’
‘Oh, so that she could say any fingerprints on the blow-pipe were those she made when she showed us how to use it on the lawn.’
‘You are clever!’ cried Netta. ‘I never thought of that. Why, it does look suspicious, doesn’t it?’
Mrs Minever expressed disbelief. ‘I don’t think so at all. If she is in love with Mr Tollard—I don’t
say she is!—she would hardly have let him handle the nasty thing, for fear he might be suspected.’
‘It’s horribly puzzling,’ said Netta.
While they were talking, Mr Barley had found Elaine and Miss Sayers in the billiard-room.
‘I am relieved to find that Mr Tollard was right away from here after all,’ he said, as he sat down, and began to fan his hot face with a handkerchief.
‘Who could have suspected him?’ said Elaine, rather coldly.
‘The police did,’ said Nelly drily. ‘I know they did. They fished for information from Netta, and they tried to pump me. It will be a nasty smack for them when they hear he was in the Isle of Wight really and truly.’
Elaine reddened. ‘No one who knows Ned could think such a thing.’
‘We don’t,’ said Mr Barley. ‘But it’s a puzzle to know who had a motive. She wasn’t an aggressive woman, or mixed up in politics or anything that might make her enemies, and I doubt if in this country any controversy would lead to murder.’
‘I quite agree,’ said Elaine. ‘My travels perhaps have done something to harden me, but I was really terribly shocked when I went in this morning, and found her dead.’
‘I am sure you were. I suppose we can only leave it to the police?’
‘I intend to do more,’ said Elaine, her mouth growing firm. ‘We can’t get away from the evidence of that man Jorkins, who saw a woman in a red dressing-gown at the window.’
‘But it couldn’t have been cook,’ cried Nelly.
‘Of course not; but someone may have borrowed that garment of hers. At any rate, there was another person present in the room this morning.’
‘But she must have been dead then, or surely she would have cried out?’
‘Margery? I should imagine so. At all events I am going to look into it on my own. I suppose you don’t mind my fossicking about the house, Mr Barley.’
‘Not at all,’ he said; for, now that Tollard seemed to have an alibi, he could not help feeling that suspicion might fall on Elaine. He did not believe for a moment that she had anything to do with it, but the police knew nothing about her, and might regard her as a possible criminal, inspired by a passionate motive.