Dick looked at Mack, who only shrugged his shoulders and nodded, as if he had lost all control of this monstrous, unorthodox situation. He sat down heavily on a chair at the foot of the bed as Dick approached.
“Remember,” whispered the nurse, behind Judith’s chair, “she can’t speak for more than a few moments at a time. Please don’t say anything to agitate her if you can help it!”
But those were not instructions which Dick could obey.
“Moira,” he said, “we know now who stole Mr. Ulder’s bag and we have traced the missing morphine which killed him. Your son Edward is in grave peril, others you love are in some peril of being arrested for poisoning Thomas Ulder. Have you anything to tell us about it?”
Soames gave a strangled shriek of anguish and moved towards the bed. But before Dick could silence him Moira spoke in the puzzled querulous voice of weakness and detachment.
“Why, yes, it was I gave him that morphia. I got out of my bed that night, I that hadn’t for weeks, and went to plead with him for my son and for Miss Judith and all. He wouldn’t listen so I put the poison into whisky and went back and made an end of it all.”
“Will you tell us how you got the morphia? Was it from the Bishop’s room?”
“Why yes!” The faint ghost of a smile suddenly, unbelievably, crossed her face. “Him and his secret drawers indeed!”
“You’d never miss a thing in spring-cleaning, darling!” Judith tried to speak as lightly and gaily as usual but there were tears in her eyes.
“How did you manage to get it that night? Or had you taken it before?”
“I’m no thief!” Moira’s cough began to shake her in her indignation, but she choked it back to add: “She”—gazing at Judith—“got it me that night. I said for my own pain—the doctor was that cruel, starving me of his injections … but I thought I’d need it for that man all along!”
“Why did you do it?” Mack had to raise his voice for the cough was getting beyond control.
“Don’t make her speak!” cried Judith. “I’ll tell them, Moira, and then they must go! It was partly because Ulder had threatened me, and partly because he’d recognized Soames, and Moira knew he’d tell Mrs. Broome about Soames’ bad ways and send him away, just when poor Moira was trying to get him straight. That was why you killed him, wasn’t it, Moira darling? And I don’t blame you one bit!”
“He’d ruined me … he took my boy away … my poor Edward had no chance like … I wouldn’t let him hurt my Judith … and her child that’s to be …”
“And meanwhile you exposed your son and Mrs. Mortimer, the Bishop himself and others in a less degree, to the grave danger of being tried and hanged for murder!” Dick could hardly wonder at Mack’s outburst, for indeed the faint ghostly triumph in Moira’s eyes and Judith’s casual approval could only be an abomination in the eyes of the Law. But as he laid his arm on Mack’s to suggest that they should withdraw, Judith looked up at the Chief Constable, with the angry contempt of an avenging angel.
“How could she tell, bottled up in this place? Do you suppose when we visited her and she was hardly conscious, that we woke her up to say: ‘Dear Moira, we’re all going to swing for murder?’ I didn’t know she’d done it till just now! I thought that—well someone else had got hold of that bottle. What does it matter? She did it for love, didn’t you, Moira? Nurse, please, please, send them away!”
“You’d better go too, dear,” whispered the nurse. “I’ve pressed the bell and Sister will come with an injection. She won’t come round again, I fancy!”
“No, I’ll stay with her. You go, Soames! It’s no use crying or fainting, and she’ll only want me if she does—come back again!”
Was Mack wondering, as Dick wondered, at this strange display in this fly-by-night, will-o’-the-wisp, light-of-love Judith—of a devotion and courage which knew no criticism of her old nurse’s life, or fear of death? Dick could not tell, but he did recognize then and remembered always, that the facets of love are endless and set at very different angles, and only when some unnoticed brilliant comes to light do we see the reflection of the perfect sun of Love. Only he did not put it to himself like that then: “Judith’s got a heart after all,” was the sum of that odd impression. “Every one has got a heart somewhere, and my job will be to help God to find it!”
“Well,” said Mack, when they were back in the waiting-room after a long pause, “what next? I imagine I should have this fellow arrested as accessory to the crime,” he added, pointing to Soames, but speaking in a whisper, “but not till the poor old woman’s gone!”
“Not at all, sir! It’s an odd place and time for questioning but why not hear his story now? He’ll feel worse still when it’s all over in there, and it would be cruel to take him away.”
“I’d nothing to do with it, sir, nothing!” Soames wailed. “I guessed she had, so I couldn’t speak out. I haven’t known what to do, sir. I’ve been almost out of my mind.”
“So you concentrated on trying to murder Mr. Marlin,” snapped Mack, as he began to piece the story of the last two days together in his mind. “How was that to help you?”
“Oh never, sir, not murder! I’ve the greatest respect for Mr. Marlin, almost one of the family, as Doris says! But I knew he was on my track, and that if he went on nosing round he’d soon find out I was Mr. Ulder’s son and had taken his bag and all, and then it’d be the long drop for me as things were—or for my mother if she got better and heard of all the goings-on and owned up. A gentleman like Mr. Marlin, a Rugby player and all, couldn’t be killed by my little contrivance in the turret—just got out of the way for a little, till things blew over a bit, if you take me!”
“That attic window might have finished me all right though!” The long day and excitement, pain and intense fatigue were sending Dick’s temperature up again and he found himself unable to regard Soames as anything but a joke (“though not in the best of taste”, Doris would have added primly).
“Oh, sir!” Soames seemed genuinely shocked. “That wasn’t meant for you—that was only to keep you out of my attics—all I could think of in a hurry. I’d gone up in the first place to listen to what you were both saying. You did seem so ’ot on my trail, as one might say—I don’t know how you did it and how you found out first one thing and then another. That’s why I didn’t dare go out on Thursday and leave you!”
“I know how you found out everything,” retorted Dick, “listening at keyholes and listening in on the telephone switches, quite a fine art of yours.”
“Well, let him speak up and tell us the whole tale,” said Mack impatiently. “It’s more than time we had the truth at last!”
“Well, sir, it was like this. Mr. Marlin knows my record, and that it wasn’t too good, but when I was last ‘in’, the prison chaplain wrote to my mother and said I was repentant and all, and what about her helping me to a new start? I did try at the Academy and then she got me to the Palace. I did try, sir, that I did; never picked up as much as a back-stud that didn’t belong to me and began a savings book. And Mother did her best to ’elp me though, of course, I were a disappointment to her. That Ulder had forced her to give me up to that Orphanage, and she never forgave him, for she said it was there I was led into bad ways.”
“Why on earth didn’t she tell Mrs. Broome you were her son? In her position, after years of service—”
“Mother’d die rather than own herself not respectable,” said Soames stiffly.
“Thinks murder respectable, I suppose,” growled Mack under his breath. “Well, go ahead! I suppose when Ulder came he recognized you and you him. But how?”
“He’d been making enquiries about me, sir. Seems a fellow can’t keep himself to himself when once he’s been ‘in’,” reflected Soames aggrievedly. “He said nothing in the hall, of course, and I popped up straight to Mother in a terrible way to tell her he’d come! And next thing we heard while we was talking was ’im being carried up next door to her.”
“Did Ulder know
your mother was in the house?”
“Not he! He hadn’t enquired after her seemingly. But he’d put an agent on to find me saying he was going to remember his—well—as you might say his bastards in his will. That was all I’d heard of him and though it had raised my hopes like, I got the wind up proper when I heard Dr. Lee and you, Mr. Marlin, sir, begin to suspect murder!”
“How did you hear?” asked Dick sharply.
“Up agin the partition wall, sir! I did have a laugh when the cops tried acoustics as they called it from Mother’s bed to next door and all. Stands to reason you couldn’t hear there!”
“Seems to me you’d hear pretty well anywhere. So you thought the next thing would be a lawyer’s letter telling you you were Ulder’s heir and that your motive for finishing him would be clear enough?”
“I’m afraid,” put in Dick as Soames nodded assent gloomily to Mack, “that you mustn’t hope for anything from Ulder’s enquiries. I saw his cousin to-day. He was playing tricks on you to rouse your hopes because he was angry with her—he never meant to leave you a thing.”
“Dirty swine!” said Soames malevolently. “Not that I’d have touched a penny of his filthy money.” This noble sentiment was obviously only an afterthought however. “A blackmailer! That’s what he was. Worse than a murderer, says my poor old mother. My hands may be poor but they’re clean—” (“Not at the moment, however,” murmured Dick’s imp.) “That’s why I hung on to that blinking bag, in case I’d find a will or something in it.”
“Now I want the truth, Soames!” Mack spoke so sternly and eyed Soames so severely that the poor little man nearly collapsed to the floor. “What did you do with the other papers, those papers which he was going to use for black mail on certain people in the Palace? For I suppose you’d discovered that?”
“Mother had, sir. At least about Mrs. Mortimer, for Mrs. Mortimer came straight up and told her all about it. A very free-and-easy lady, Mrs. Mortimer, but a kind heart!” Soames suddenly stared at the door as if the memory that even now his mother might be coughing her life away overwhelmed him. Dick longed to end the enquiry but dared not suggest it, for who knew but that further evidence might be needed from Moira at some point, and that soon she would be silent for ever. Mack, however, appeared to feel no sentiment.
“Better own up your whole story from the beginning,” he said gruffly.
“Well, sir!” As Soames pulled himself together and began his story Dick realized that the odd little fellow’s relief on coming into the open, and his sense of drama, were loosening his tongue effectively. “Well, to begin with, Ma sent for me that Wednesday evening in a proper taking and says I’ve to get hold of Mr. Ulder’s bag and bring it to her as soon as ever his room is quiet. ‘Get me those papers of his against my Miss Judith and I’ll slip in and coax him round later,’ she says. ‘Why, Ma, you’ll never get to his room and you bed-ridden for weeks,’ I says. ‘I’ve been out of my bed and about my room this evening,’ she said. ‘Dr. Lee’s given me no injection to-day and I’m restless-like!”
“But you’ve got some of his stuff there, haven’t you?’ I says, seeing a little tube on her table, and she just nods and says she’s something if she needs it and I thought no more of it then. I went and fair crept into Mr. Ulder’s room to see to the fire, as Mrs. Broome had said something about leaving it low and crept back to Ma with the bag in my hand, Mr. Ulder seeming asleep. ‘Quick and let me put it back,’ I says, but what did we find but that it was locked! I was fair upset but Ma never turns a hair. ‘Just hide the thing somewhere and we’ll search it to-morrow,’ says she. ‘But he’ll miss it any minute!’ says I. ‘You leave it to me,’ she says, as cool as a cucumber!”
“What time was all this?” asked Dick.
“Well, getting on for eleven I suppose, sir; I’d heard Canon Wye leave Mr. Ulder, and Miss Judith came after him, but Mrs. Broome soon walked her off to her room and gave me the chance to slip in as I told you. Next thing was we heard Mrs. Broome coming back, so I slipped away from Ma’s room and off down the new wing in case Mrs. Broome should see me. There was someone on the stairs above, but the drawing-room was all quiet and empty and it came to me that it wouldn’t be a bad plan to leave the bag there behind the sofa till morning. That room is Mrs. Briggs’ province and she never comes up till nine o’clock. The maids are all over the rest of the house and that Doris always snooping about my bedroom and my pantry. And then I hears Mrs. Broome coming along to the drawing-room, and at that hour—like a ’unted ’art I felt, sir, and so I opened the window—”
“And dropped the bag on the jasmine bush. Yes, we’ve got back to that, but what did you do with it afterwards?”
“I slipped out to bring it in when the house was quiet at last and then all of a sudden I thought of that there summer parlour and nipped over there with its key, and with the bag and a torch. And first thing I saw was a light in Doris’ bedroom window, so I knew she’d see my torch if I stayed in the turret and wouldn’t Miss Nosey be asking questions next day! So I left the bag there, fair sick of it all I was, and went back thinking I’d be up at dawn and try my bunch of keys on it and get those papers to Mother and the bag back in the gentleman’s room and thankful to be done with it all. But I was that worn out with all the fuss and bother and fourteen in the house party too, that I went to sleep like a log, and first thing I heard was Doris knocking on my door saying it was nine o’clock and I was a lazy hound and to take Mr. Ulder’s tray up at once. So I tumbled into my things anyhow and took the tray, and on my way looked in on Ma to tell her I still hadn’t got those cursed papers she was after. Like death she looked but never turned a hair. ‘Just get them this morning and bring them to me in the Hospital,’ she says. ‘Let’s see, yes, you get a nice bunch of flowers from Mr. Jay and wrap the flowers up with the papers. No one will suspect that and I’ll keep them safe.’ ‘But he’ll be asking for his bag and hunting for them!’ I says. ‘You go on, it’ll be all right,’ she says, and after I remembers that but I was in such a state I just took the tray in and hoped for the best—”
Dick and Mack exchanged glances. From that moment in the artless tale each recognized that Soames was clearly free of suspicion from any share in the murder itself. The narrative style of the butler might be open to criticism but his sequence was convincing.
“So I went into Mr. Ulder’s room and put on the bed-light, and then!” Soames gasped and, choking feebly, pointed upward with the same gesture which Mabel had employed in the Chapel. It was to be hoped, thought Dick, his mind confused with pain and fatigue, that the judgments of Heaven were as merciful to Mr. Ulder as those of the Palace domestic staff.
“But you’d no reason to suspect your mother then?”
“No, sir, but, well, she was queer and no denying. She’d heard the news when I screamed and the maids came running and sent for me again. But all she’d to say was: ‘Keep your ears open and hear what they’re all saying about this!’ Well, I thought, after all she’d been his wife in the sight of Heaven as you may say and I was his son and that was all she had to say: ‘Keep your ears open!’ And then I got a nasty shock when I sees the glass in Mr. Ulder’s room when you called me in. It hadn’t been there when I took the bag, Mrs. Broome wouldn’t have given him drink. Ma must have done it, I thinks, and she shouldn’t have. And then I listened by the window on the pantry stair which is very conveniently placed, sir, for the window to Mr. Ulder’s room and heard of suicide and how you weren’t sure if it was suicide at all. My head was going round and round and I felt I must see Ma again, but there was Miss Judith leaving her room and Mrs. Broome taking the doctor in, so all I could do was just to walk in and pick up her breakfast tray and carry it off. I couldn’t say a word to her but she just followed me with her eyes and they frightened me. And then I looked at her table and noticed that the tube which had been there the night before had gone, and then—”
“Then you began to suspect?”
“I don’t know exactly, sir, I was more afr
aid people would suspect me! And I’d never time to think things out before I got a fresh fright. For there you were telephoning about me to Scotland Yard, Mr. Marlin, after all your questions to me, and then the house upset and the police coming and the silver to do and fourteen to lay for and on top of it all your asking for the key of the summer parlour. Well, I just made off at that, and changed my kit and got into the turret, burst the lock, undid that blighted bag and took out a long envelope labelled ‘Palace Business’, then I made off to get Ma’s flowers from Mr. Jay. I took the bag and sneaked it up to the attics on my way. I’d heard Mr. Tonks say they’d leave the box-rooms till next morning, so it seemed safer there than in my bedroom with Doris next door in my pantry.”
“But why on earth didn’t you destroy it at once?”
“Well, sir, there was that question of the bequest,” said Soames reluctantly. “I’d no time to go through all the letters in the thing and then there was always the chance of finding some stuff belonging to Mr. Ulder—morphia or such, with which he might have overdosed himself and finished himself. You said he couldn’t have finished himself off because the bag had gone, but I was, as you may say, more in the know about that!”
“It would have been a bit tricky to explain how you got hold of it!” To Dick, in his pain and exhaustion the butler’s tale had varied dizzily between comedy and tragedy and Soames’ air of injured innocence was now comic relief.
“There were difficulties of course, sir.” It was odd to see how Soames, scenting ridicule at that remark, assumed his model butler manner. “But had any one been unjustly arrested I should not have hesitated to produce my evidence.”
“Brave Butler defends Bishop,” muttered Dick to himself. “Well, go on. Did you go to the Hospital or not that afternoon?”
“Punctured half-way and came back,” said Soames gloomily. “I got in through my bedroom window because I wanted the staff to think me out. Doris and Mrs. Briggs were washing up tea-things and gossiping and so the next thing I heard was that you were to hunt the attics. Always on my trail you were, sir! I was beginning fairly to hate you I must own! Doris and Briggs dawdled on so that I’d only just time when they’d cleared off to rush up to the attics and hear you and Miss Sue upstairs already. So I opened the window and put the bag outside—the roof is flat there, you see—and knocked over all that there mountain of boxes to give you a good fright and block your way a bit!
Arrest the Bishop? Page 22