Murder of a Lady

by Anthony Wynne

  “I heard It myself, sir, splashing in the burn this night before Mr. Barley was killed,” he declared. “And Mary, she heard It too. And she heard It when Mr. Dundas was killed…”

  “Rubbish.”

  “It is not rubbish, sir. To-night, after Mr. Barley was killed, Mary saw It swimming away from the mouth of the burn to the loch. And she called Flora and Flora saw It too, a black head It had, like the head of a seal, and It was swimming slowly…”

  Angus began to shake. The candle he was holding swayed in its socket and fell to the floor. Eoghan snatched the candlestick out of his hand and made him sit down. He gave him a stiff glass of whisky. Then he turned to the women, who seemed to find his energy reassuring:

  “What is he talking about, Mary?”

  “It’s the truth, sir, he’s been telling you,” the elder of the two girls declared. “I saw It with my own eyes, swimming out of the burn’s mouth and I heard the splashing It made when It came up out of the water and went back to it…I called to Flora ‘Oh, look, look,’ I cried to her, and she jumped out of her bed and came to the window and there It was swimming away.”

  “What was?” Eoghan cried irritably.

  “The thing that is covered with fish’s scales…”

  “Good gracious, girl, are you crazy?”

  “I saw It, sir, and Flora saw It. It was black, like a seal, till It came to the place where the moon was shining on the water. And then we saw the scales on Its head shining like the body of a fish.” Her voice fell. “You know, sir, that there was fish’s scales…”

  She broke off, overwhelmed by fresh fears. Eoghan turned to her sister.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s true, sir. I saw It as Angus and Mary has told you. Its head was shining like the body of a fish…”

  “Are you trying to tell me that a fish climbed up to my aunt’s bedroom?” Eoghan exclaimed in mocking tones.

  “Oh, no, sir.”

  “That’s what you’re saying.”

  “Oh, no, sir.”

  “What are you saying, then?”

  The girl gathered her courage. “The Evil One,” she declared in shaking tones, “can take any form he wishes to take.”

  “Oh, so it was the Devil you saw?”

  There was no answer. The young man glanced at Angus:

  “What do you mean by saying that you can’t stay in this house?” he demanded sternly.

  “There is something wrong with this house, sir.”

  Fear and whisky had combined to excite the old Highlander. He rose to his feet; his eyes, lately so dim, began to flash.

  “God is my witness,” he cried in solemn tones. “It was into that very water that your mother threw herself.”

  He stopped, suddenly afraid. Dr. Hailey saw the blood rush into Eoghan’s cheeks and then ebb out of them again suddenly.

  “Angus, what are you saying?”

  There was no answer. Both the women drew back.

  “What are you saying, Angus?”

  Eoghan’s pale face expressed a degree of emotional tension which brought Dr. Hailey to his side.

  “I shouldn’t trouble…”

  The young man interrupted with a quick, peremptory gesture. He took a step towards his father’s servant.

  “You said my mother threw herself into the burn?” he cried. “Is that true?”

  Angus had recovered from the first shock of his boldness; he was still in close enough touch with the emotions which had driven him to the room and enough under the influence of the whisky he had drunk to be unwilling to recede.

  “It’s the truth, Mister Eoghan,” he declared. He thrust out his hands. “It was these hands which helped to carry her back to this house.”

  “You are saying that my mother drowned herself?”

  The piper bowed his head.

  “Well?”

  “Yes, Mister Eoghan.”

  A queer, wild light shone in the young man’s eyes. But his features remained stiffened in immobility.

  “And now you think that this…this thing which splashes and kills…is come to avenge her?”

  Angus’s excitement was abating. He stood gazing at his master with sorrowful eyes, already remorseful because of the pain he had inflicted. Eoghan turned to the doctor.

  “Do you know anything of this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You too. Everybody except me.” He addressed the servants. “Go where you like,” he cried. “I’ve no wish to keep you here. In this house. I’ve no wish to keep you in this house.” He waved his hand, dismissing them. “Why should you suffer in this house for other men’s crimes?”

  He sank into a chair. Dr. Hailey approached him.

  “May I take them into another room and ask them some questions?”

  “No. Ask your questions here. Let me, as well as everybody else, be informed this time.”

  Eoghan’s tones rang out full of bitterness and derision. He gripped the arms of his chair with fingers the joints of which blanched. His lips moved up and down on his strong teeth. Dr. Hailey signed to the servants to sit down and sat down himself. He turned to the girl Mary.

  “You say you heard a splash on the night when Inspector Dundas was murdered?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. But I didn’t think at the time what it might be. There were fishing-smacks lying off the burn that night, sir.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “I know. And your brother was on one of these smacks?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your brother came here to report what he had seen that night. He didn’t mention hearing any splash.”

  “No, sir. Please, sir, it wasn’t till to-night that I thought anything about the splash.” She fumbled with the buttons on her coat. “There’s often splashes when the fishing is going on,” she added. “If my brother heard the splash, he would think it was made by somebody on one of the other boats throwing something overboard.”

  “I see.”

  “It was not a very loud splash.”

  “Where were you when you heard it?”

  “I was going to bed, the same as I was when I heard the first splash to-night. Flora was sleeping.”

  Dr. Hailey leaned forward eagerly:

  “You heard two splashes to-night?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Loud splashes?”

  “They were not very loud, sir.”

  He adjusted his eyeglass.

  “Why should you have troubled about them to-night when you didn’t trouble before?”

  “Because there were no smacks fishing to-night. I thought it was very strange that I should be hearing a splash when there was nobody to make it.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as she spoke.

  “Did you hear anything between the splashes?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  He leaned forward again:

  “Tell me exactly what you saw after the second splash.”

  “I have told you sir. There was something swimming out of the mouth of the burn. It had a head like a seal, that looked black till the moon shone on it. Then I saw that it was shining like the body of a fish.”

  She repeated the words mechanically but her voice shook.

  “It was then you called your sister?”

  ‘‘Yes, sir. ‘What is it?’ she said to me. ‘I don’t know what it is, Flora,’ I said, ‘but it’s what I heard splashing in the water and maybe it’s what I heard splashing when Mr. Dundas was murdered.’ When I was speaking we heard voices below the window and somebody said ‘He’s dead’ and Flora caught hold of my arm and began to cry. We went down to the kitchen and there was Angus sitting in a chair as white as death. I told him
what we had heard and he said, ‘Mr. Barley’s been murdered, too, I heard the splashes when I was standing in the hall!’”

  The girl shook her head when she finished speaking, and then again glanced behind her. She added:

  “Angus was crying and saying…”

  “Never mind that.” Dr. Hailey’s voice was stern. “How long did you watch the thing you saw swimming?”

  “Until we heard the voices.”

  “So you didn’t see where it went to?”

  “No, sir, we did not.”

  The doctor turned to Angus.

  “You were standing in the hall when you heard the first splash?” he asked in sharp tones.

  “Yes, sir. I was waiting in case Duchlan might require me.”

  “Where was Inspector Barley at that moment?”

  “He had just gone out of the house. He was standing at the front door, near to the motor-car.”

  “Do you think he heard it too?”

  “Yes, sir, I think he did, because he walked towards the burn.”

  “You saw that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you hear anything after that, before you heard the second splash?”

  Angus’s face stiffened with new fear. He bent forward in his chair.

  “I heard a sound, sir,” he whispered, “that I know was the rattle of death.”

  Chapter XXXIV

  “Something Wrong”

  The sweat gleamed on the old man’s brow. He wiped it away with his hand. Eoghan rose and gave him more whisky.

  “You were standing near the door of the small writing-room, were you not?” Dr. Hailey asked him.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “And the window of the writing-room was open?”

  “Yes, it was open.”

  “So that you were bound to hear everything that passed between Inspector Barley and his murderer?”

  “I did not hear anything except the sound I have told you about.”

  “What you call the death-rattle?”

  “It was that, sir; I have heard it before.”

  “The second splash followed?”

  “Yes, sir. And when I heard it I knew that…”

  “I don’t want to hear what you knew, only what you heard and did. What did you do?”

  “A young woman who was dressed like a policeman came running into the house.”

  “I know that. Please answer my question: What did you do yourself?”

  The piper shook his head.

  “I went back into the kitchen.”

  “Because you felt afraid?”

  “Because I knew that the day…”

  Again the doctor interrupted sharply. He rose and announced that he had no more questions to ask. He glanced at his watch.

  “You had better go back to the kitchen. You can keep two or three candles burning till dawn,” he said.

  He waited until they had gone. Then he turned to Eoghan.

  “At least we know now why Barley went to the place where he was killed,” he said in eager tones. “The next step, clearly, is to discover the truth about this swimmer.”

  “I suppose so.”

  The young man rose and walked to the fireplace. He stood leaning with one elbow on the mantelpiece, a dejected figure.

  “I understand your questions about my childhood now,” he said in low tones. “I understand everything now.”

  “Your father was very much under your aunt’s influence,” Dr. Hailey said in the accents of a man who feels it incumbent on him to be special pleader.

  “Yes.”

  “From what I could gather it was such another case as that of your wife and McDonald. The atmosphere of this place broke down your mother’s nervous strength.”

  “You mean it broke her heart?”

  The words came with extraordinary vehemence.

  “No, I don’t mean that. I feel sure that your father loved your mother in his own, strange way. But he was held in a kind of bondage by your aunt. He could not prevent himself from seeing and feeling what his sister willed that he should see and feel…”

  Eoghan started and took a step towards his companion. His face had flushed suddenly:

  “Dundas told me,” he exclaimed, “that my aunt had a healed wound on her chest. A wound that must have been inflicted long ago by someone…”

  His voice broke. He covered his face with his hands. But a moment later he recovered his self-control.

  “You know that it was my mother who inflicted that wound?” he asked in level tones.

  Dr. Hailey drew his hand across his brow. “My dear fellow,” he said gently, “your mother was no longer in her right mind.”

  “They had driven her mad!”

  “Perhaps not intentionally.”

  He clutched at his brow with both hands.

  “Horrible, horrible,” he cried. “And to think that I was taught to call my aunt ‘Mother’…that I called her ‘Mother’.”

  A strong tremor passed over his body.

  “That was why my father thought that Oonagh had killed her,” he added. “Because Oonagh is like my mother.”

  Suddenly a cry broke from his lips. He seized Dr. Hailey’s arm.

  “Did he, did my father make the same suggestion to Oonagh as he made to my mother? That she should drown herself?”

  “He believed her to be guilty, remember.”

  “Oh, I might have guessed it.”

  “My dear fellow, as you know the evidence was very strong.”

  The rebuke was spoken gently but exerted its effect. Eoghan’s eyes fell. He shook his head.

  “Angus was right,” he said, “there’s something wrong with this house.”

  Chapter XXXV

  The Chill of Death

  A moment later both men started and remained tense, listening. Shuffling feet were approaching the open window of the room. Dr. Hailey walked to the window and reached it just as a tall figure in a black dressing-gown emerged from the darkness. It was Duchlan.

  “Is Eoghan with you?” the old man asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I desire to speak to him. I’ll come round by the writing-

  room.”

  He gathered his gown about him and disappeared. Then they heard him crossing the hall. As he stood in the doorway the colour of his dressing-gown made painful contrast with the faded whiteness of his cheeks. His features were haggard and his long eyelids had fallen over his eyes, as if he might no longer face a world that had overthrown him. His son rose at his coming.

  “Sit down, Eoghan.”

  The withered hand made a gesture that was a plea rather than a command. Duchlan sat down himself and leaned his head on the back of the chair exposing his stringy, vulture-like throat.

  “Sleep has gone from me,” he said. “To-night I cannot rest.”

  The slight affectation of his tone and language did not hide his agitation. Dr. Hailey glanced at Eoghan and saw that the son shared fully the distress of the father.

  “You have no idea, I suppose,” Duchlan asked the doctor, “how this man Barley met his death?”

  “None.”

  “These murders are inexplicable, is it not so?”

  “We have not yet discovered the explanation of them.”

  The long eyelids closed.

  “You will not discover any explanation. And if you go on seeking, sorrow will be added to sorrow.”

  Duchlan’s fingers began to beat on the arms of his chair. The muscles round his mouth were twitching.

  “God is just,” he declared in tones of awe. He turned to his son. “I feel that my end is approaching; before it comes there is something that I must tell you.”

  He raised himself in his chair as he spoke. Eoghan recoiled.

&nb
sp; “I know it already,” he said.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Why and how my mother met her death.”

  Silence filled the room. The song of the burn, now in the ebb became a deep crooning like a mother’s song to her babe, came up to them.

  “Your mother,” Duchlan said at last, “died of diphtheria.”

  “You know, sir, that my mother drowned herself in the burn?”

  The old man did not flinch.

  “That is the other part of the truth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was an epidemic of diphtheria, during which many children died, Christina’s son among them. Your mother insisted on helping with the nursing and contracted the disease herself. As you know, diphtheria sometimes attacks the brain…” Duchlan sighed deeply. “What followed, therefore, was due to the promptings of a disordered mind.”

  He paused. His breathing had become laboured. Eoghan remained in a posture of tense expectancy.

  “But that is not all. Far be it from me at such an hour as this to hide from you any longer the burden of guilt which lies upon my heart. If it was disease which finally wrought your mother’s death, there were other causes, operating through weeks and months of sorrow, which led up to that tragedy. I am here to confess that my own weakness was the chief of these causes.”

  “Please don’t go on, father.”

  Duchlan raised his hand.

  “I beg of you to hear me.” He tugged at the neck of his gown, opening it wider. “From my childhood, I suffered a weakness of character which I found it impossible to overcome. I was timid when I would have been brave, fearful when resolution was required of me. It was my calamity that the qualities I lacked were possessed in fullest measure by my sister, your Aunt Mary. In consequence, she acquired, from the beginning, a dominion over me which I was unable to resist. She is dead; that dominion lives so that now I feel powerless to conduct my life without her. Your mother possessed an excellent strength of mind, but her strength was inferior to that of my sister; our marriage consequently was doomed.”

  He paused. His fingers continued their ceaseless drum-

  ming.

  “When she was eighteen your aunt became engaged to be married to an Englishman and I felt myself suddenly and terribly alone. I went to stay with an old friend in Dublin and there I met your mother.”