The Third Mystery

by James Holding

  “How are you, Westaway?” exclaimed Inspector Payne, as he stood his bicycle against the wall of the house near the front door. “What do you mean by giving us a murder when we’ve got our hands full? We’ve burglaries in half a dozen towns, a murder at Denham, two unidentified bodies washed ashore in a boat at Hemsley, and the disappearance from Lewes of a well-known solicitor who is wanted for embezzling trust funds. Let me introduce you to Detective Gillett, of Scotland Yard. I’m turning the investigation of this murder of yours over to him. You will give him all the assistance he wants.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Sergeant Westaway.

  “Glad to meet you, Westaway,” said Detective Gillett, as he shook hands with the Sergeant.

  Sergeant Westaway had come to the door to meet the new-comers, and he now led the way back to the room where he had been preparing his report.

  Detective Gillett took up a position by the open window, and sniffed gratefully at the soft air.

  “Fine view, here,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the cliff road and open bay. “Fine, bracin’ air—sea—country—birds—and all that sort of thing. You chaps in the country have all the best of it—the simple life, and no hustle or bustle.”

  Sergeant Westaway looked darkly at the speaker as though he suspected him of a desire to rob him of the grievance he had brooded over in secret for twenty-five years.

  “It’s dull enough,” he said ungraciously.

  “But the air, man, the air!” said the London detective, inhaling great gulps of oxygen as he spoke. “It’s exhilarating; it’s glorious! Why, it should keep you going until you reach a hundred.”

  “Too salt,” commented Sergeant Westaway curtly.

  “The more salt in it the longer it will preserve you,” said Gillett. “What a glorious day it is.”

  “The day is right enough,” said Westaway. “But tomorrow will be different.”

  “Westaway doesn’t like to be enthusiastic about this locality for fear we will shift him somewhere else,” said Inspector Payne. “However, let us get to business. I must be on my way back to Lewes in an hour.”

  Sergeant Westaway coughed in order to clear his throat, and then began his narrative in a loud official voice:

  “At five minutes past nine last night a gentleman named Marsland came to the police station. I was in my office at the time, preparing a report. He told me that he had found the dead body of a man in this house.”

  “Who is this Marsland?” asked Inspector Payne. “Does he live in the district?”

  “He does not,” replied the sergeant. “He lives at Staveley. That is to say, he lives in London, but he is staying at Staveley. He is staying there with his uncle, Sir George Granville.”

  “I know Sir George,” said the inspector. “And so this young gentleman who discovered the body is his nephew. How old is he?”

  “About twenty-eight, I should say.”

  “What sort of young man is he? How did he impress you?”

  “He impressed me as being an honest straightforward young gentleman. He gave me a very clear statement of who he was and how he came to call in at this farm last night. Nevertheless, I took the precaution of telephoning to Inspector Murchison at Staveley and asking him to have inquiries made. The inspector’s report coincides with what Mr. Marsland told me. He has been in ill-health and came down from London to Staveley to recuperate. He has been there five days. Yesterday he left Staveley for a ride on the downs. He got lost and was caught in the storm which came up shortly after dusk. His horse went lame, and seeing this house he came here for shelter. The horse is in the stable now. There was no light in the house, and when he went to the front door to knock he found it open. He struck a match and lit a candle which was on the hallstand. He could see no one about. Then he lit a lamp in this room and sat down to wait until the storm was over. He was sitting here for some time listening to the rain when suddenly he heard a crash above. He took the lamp and made his way upstairs. In a sitting-room on the first floor he found the dead body of a man in an arm-chair. At first he thought the man had died a natural death, but on inspecting the body he found that the man had been shot through the body. As the storm was abating, Mr. Marsland made his way down to Ashlingsea and reported his discovery to me.”

  “And what did you do?” asked Inspector Payne, in an authoritative voice.

  “I closed the station and in company with Mr. Marsland I knocked up Police-Constable Heather. Then the three of us came here. I found the body as Mr. Marsland had described. I identified the body as that of Frank Lumsden, the owner of this farm. Leaving Heather in charge of it, I returned to Ashlingsea accompanied by Mr. Marsland, and reported the matter by telephone to headquarters at Lewes, as you are aware, inspector. This morning I returned here to make a minute inspection of the scene of the crime and to prepare my report.”

  “Is the body upstairs now?” asked Detective Gillett.

  “It has been left exactly as it was found. I gave Heather orders that he was not to touch it.”

  “What sort of a man was this Lumsden?” asked Inspector Payne. “Had he any enemies?”

  “He may have,” replied the cautious sergeant. “There are some who bore him no good will.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Because they thought he hadn’t acted rightly by them. He was the executor of his grandfather’s will, but he didn’t pay the legacies his grandfather left. He said there was no money. His grandfather drew all his money out of the bank when the war broke out, and no one was ever able to find where he hid it. But there are some who say Frank Lumsden found it and stuck to it all.”

  “This is interesting,” said Detective Gillett. “We must go into it thoroughly later on.”

  “And what makes it more interesting is that a sort of plan showing where the money was hidden has disappeared,” continued Sergeant Westaway. “It disappeared after Lumsden was murdered. Mr. Marsland told me that he found it when he was going upstairs to find out the cause of the crash he heard. It was lying on the second bottom stair. Mr. Marsland picked it up and put it on the table with the candle stuck on top of it. But when we came here this morning it was gone.”

  “That is strange,” commented Inspector Payne. “What was the plan like? And how does Mr. Marsland know it had anything to do with the missing money?”

  “Of course he doesn’t know for certain. But when I happened to tell him about the murdered man’s grandfather and the missing money he called to mind a strange-looking paper he had picked up. As he described it to me, it had some figures written in the shape of a circle on it, and some letters or writing above and below the circle of figures. He did not scrutinize it very closely when he first found it, for he intended to examine it later.”

  “And it disappeared after Mr. Marsland left the farm to go to the police station?” asked Detective Gillett.

  “Showing, to my mind, that the murderer was actually in the house when Mr. Marsland left,” added Sergeant Westaway, with impressive solemnity. “In all probability the murderer was hiding in the top floor at the time. I have ascertained that the crash Mr. Marsland heard was caused by a picture being knocked down and the glass broken. This picture I found on the stairs leading to the top floor. It used to hang on the wall near the top of the stairs. My theory is that the murderer, feeling his way in the dark while Mr. Marsland was in this room, accidentally knocked it down.”

  “I take it that Marsland did not go up to the top floor but left the house after examining the body,” remarked Detective Gillett.

  “That is so,” replied the Sergeant. “He forgot about the crash when he found the body of a murdered man. His first thought was to communicate with the police.”

  “And the murderer, leaving the house after Marsland had gone, found this plan on the table and took it?” suggested Detective Gillett.

  “That is my theory,” replied Sergeant Westaway. “I forgot to say, however, that the plan was probably stolen in the first place from the murdered
man’s pocket-book—his pocket-book was found on the table near him. It had been opened and most of the papers it contained had been removed. The papers were scattered about the table. The way I see the crime is this: the murderer had killed his victim, had removed his pocket-book, and had obtained possession of the plan. He was making his way downstairs to escape when he saw Marsland in the doorway. In his alarm he dropped the plan on the stairs and then crept softly upstairs to the top of the house. After Mr. Marsland left, the murderer came downstairs again, looked about for the plan, and after finding it then made off.”

  “A very ingenious reconstruction, sergeant,” said Inspector Payne. “I shouldn’t wonder if it proved to be correct. What do you say, Gillett?”

  “Westaway is wasting his time down here,” said the young detective. “We ought to have him at Scotland Yard.”

  CHAPTER V

  Sergeant Westaway was flattered at the manner in which his theory of the murder had been received by men who were far more experienced than himself in investigating crime. His sallow cheeks flushed with pleasure and his pessimism waned a little. In his determination to place his hearers in possession of all the facts concerning the crime and the victim he gave them details regarding Lumsden’s mode of life at Cliff Farm after his discharge from the army, and the gossip that was current in the district concerning him. While he was dealing with these matters they heard a motor-car approaching. It stopped outside the gates of the farmhouse, and the three police officials went to the door to see who had arrived.

  “Why, it’s Crewe!” exclaimed Detective Gillett, in a tone of surprise. “I wonder who has put him on to this?”

  “That is Sir George Granville with him—the stout elderly man,” said Inspector Payne.

  “The other gentleman is Mr. Marsland,” said Sergeant Westaway.

  “Which is Crewe and which is Marsland?” asked Inspector Payne.

  “The tall one on the left is Crewe,” answered Detective Gillett.

  As a police official, Inspector Payne was indignant at the idea of Crewe intruding into the case, but as a man he was delighted at the opportunity of meeting the famous private detective who had so often scored over Scotland Yard by unravelling mysteries which had baffled the experts of the London detective department. Crewe’s fame had even penetrated to Ashlingsea, and Sergeant Westaway studied the private detective with awed interest as the three occupants of the motor-car walked up the drive.

  Inspector Payne had pictured Crewe as a more striking personality than the tall young man in tweeds who was accompanying Sir George Granville and his nephew. The latter was talking earnestly, and Crewe was listening closely. Inspector Payne had an opportunity of noting the distinction and character which marked the detective’s face in repose: the clear, clean-cut profile, the quick penetration and observation of his dark eyes as they took in the exterior of Cliff Farm. He concluded that Crewe was rather young for the fame he had achieved—certainly under forty: that he liked his face; that he looked like a gentleman; and that his tweed suit displayed a better cut than any provincial tailor had ever achieved.

  His companion, Sir George Granville’s nephew, was a young man of Saxon type, fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a clear skin which had been tanned brown as the result of his war campaigning in France. He was two or three inches shorter than Crewe, but was well set up and well-built, and although he did not wear khaki his recent connection with the army was indicated by his military carriage and bearing.

  After the necessary introductions Crewe explained with an air of modesty that, Sir George Granville’s nephew having had the misfortune to become associated with the tragedy through the discovery of the body, Sir George, as a public man, had conceived the idea that he ought to do something towards discovering the author of the crime. That was how he himself came to be present. He hoped that he would not be in the way of the police.

  “Not at all; not at all,” said Inspector Payne, answering for the County Police. “We’ll be glad of your help. And as for anything we can do for you, Mr. Crewe, you have only to ask.”

  “That is very kind of you,” said Crewe.

  “You are just in time,” continued Inspector Payne. “Gillett and I have been here only a few minutes. We were just going upstairs to look at the body when you arrived.”

  On their way upstairs Gillett drew attention to some marks on the margin of the stairs between the carpet on the staircase and the wall. These marks were irregular in shape, and they looked as if they had been made by wiping portions of the stairs with a dirty wet cloth. Some of the stairs bore no mark.

  “It seems to me that some one has been wiping up spots of blood on the stairs,” said Inspector Payne, as he examined the marks closely.

  On the linoleum covering the landing of the first flight there were more traces of the kind, the last of them being beside the door of the room in which the body had been discovered.

  The dead man was still in the arm-chair near the window. There was such a resemblance to life in his stooping posture that the men entering the room found it difficult at first to realize they were confronted with the corpse of a man who had been murdered. A ray of sunlight fell through the narrow window on the bent head, revealing the curly brown hair and the youthful contour of the neck. The right arm was slightly extended from the body towards the table near the arm-chair in which the corpse was seated, as though the murdered man had been about to pick up the pocket-book which lay on the table. The pocket-book was open, and the papers which had been in it were scattered about the table.

  Payne, Gillett and Crewe inspected the body closely. Sir George Granville and Marsland waited a little distance away while the others conducted their examination. The dead man had been fully dressed when he was shot. On the left side of his vest was the hole made by the bullet, and around it was a discoloured patch where the blood, oozing from the wound, had stained the tweed. There were numerous blood-stains on the floor near the dead man’s feet, and also near the window at the side of the arm-chair.

  “I see that the window is broken,” said Inspector Payne, pointing to one of the panes in the window near the arm-chair.

  “By a bullet,” said Sergeant Westaway. He pulled down the window blind and pointed to a hole in it which had evidently been made by a bullet. “When I came in the blind was down. I pulled it up in order to let in some light. But the fact that there is a hole in the window blind shows that the murder was committed at night, when the blind was down. I should say two shots were fired. The first went through the window, and the other killed him.”

  “I think the bullet that killed him has gone through him,” said Crewe, who had moved the body in order to examine the back of it. “It looks as if he was shot from behind, because the wound in the back is lower down than the one in front.” He pointed to a hole in the back of the coat where the cloth showed a similar discoloured patch to the one in the vest.

  “It must have been a powerful weapon if the bullet has gone through him,” said Gillett. “That means we shall have no bullet to guide us as to the calibre of the weapon, unless we can find the one that went through the window.”

  “Perhaps there was only one shot fired after all,” remarked Inspector Payne. “The victim may have been standing by the window when he was shot, and then have staggered to the chair. Otherwise if he were shot in the back while sitting in the chair the bullet should be embedded in the chair or wall. But I can see no sign of it.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Gillett. “Look at the position on the arm-chair. It is possible that the bullet, after going through the man, went through the window. That would account for the broken pane of glass.”

  The pocket-book and the papers it contained were next examined. Inspector Payne asked Marsland concerning the mysterious plan he had picked up on the stairs. Marsland borrowed a sheet of paper from the inspector’s large official note-book and drew a rough sketch of the plan as he remembered it. He explained that as he had lost his glasses while out in the storm he had
not been able to make a close study of the plan. While he was engaged in reproducing the plan as far as he remembered it, Sergeant Westaway enlightened Crewe and Sir George Granville about the theory he had formed that the murderer was in the house when Marsland discovered the body, and that, after Marsland left, the murderer made his escape and took from the sitting-room downstairs the plan he had dropped on the stairs when he heard Marsland in the house.

  “What do you make of this, Mr. Crewe?” asked Inspector Payne, as he took up the paper on which Marsland had sketched what he recalled of the plan. “Do you think this was meant to show where the old grandfather had his money?”

  “That is very probable,” said Crewe. “But it is not worth while trying to solve the riddle from a sketch drawn from memory. Get the murderer and you will probably get the original plan as well.”

  Sergeant Westaway, in pursuance of his duties as guide, took his visitors downstairs to the sitting-room for the purpose of showing them how the window had been forced in order to provide an entrance. He pointed to a mark on the sash which indicated that a knife had been used to force back the catch.

  This was the room in which Miss Maynard had been sitting when Marsland had arrived to obtain shelter from the storm. Marsland noticed the chair beside which she had stood while they were in the room together before going upstairs to investigate the cause of the crash they had heard. He gave a start as he saw behind the chair a small tortoiseshell comb such as ladies sometimes wear to keep their hair up. He stooped quickly to pick it up, and as he did so he realized that he had blundered badly. In order to rectify the blunder he made a weak attempt to hide the comb, but he saw Detective Gillett’s eye on him.