“Thought you were a mental, too?”
“Not quite that, sir,” was the reply. “But she said she knew it was a queer business and now she was positive. Didn’t know whether she ought to stop another minute. She didn’t like queer businesses. And what with Mrs. Cant having packed her clothes and all.”
“What did she make of that, Henry?”
“Queer, sir, the only word she seemed to know. She couldn’t get any explanation either. Mrs. Cant just told her that, anyhow, her job might soon be finished. The dragon nearly wept, and said she hoped it was gospel, for the sooner the better, as far as she was concerned.”
“Had there been any visitors since you were there yesterday morning?”
“No, sir. Then I told her what you said, sir. That she was to let no one into the house under any pretext until I came again tomorrow morning, not even Mr. Bonnington. She said that she couldn’t keep him out, and I explained that was why I had given her the pistol. That nearly did it, sir.”
“In what way?”
“She almost threw a fit of hysterics on the spot. I got very gentle then, sir. Cast myself on her mercy and all that sort of thing. She was the only person the great Clay Harrison could trust, and was she going to fail him. She had seen me. She knew I was her friend. Then why should she be worried at what my master asked her to do.”
“Splendid.”
“It calmed her, at any rate, sir. I said that things would be much more queer if she didn’t do what you said. I also added, I hope you don’t mind, sir, that you would be a very useful friend for her to have in the future.”
“Quite right, Henry.”
“She still wavered, sir. So then I had to play my trump card. I said that she knew as well as I did that there was no insanity whatever about Mrs. Cant. She blustered a bit, but looked frightened all the same. I told her that her own behaviour might seem queer to other people and that she had better do what she was told.”
“Quite the cave man, Henry,” said Harrison.
“I was sorry to have to do it. A very mild sort of dragon, sir, when all’s said and done. But it worked. I know that. And so I left her to it.”
“Thank heaven for Henry,” said Harrison, “I repeat for the millionth time. What should I do without you?”
“Thank you, sir,” answered Henry, placidly. “May I ask why all this precaution is necessary?”
“It may not be, Henry,” was the reply. “But the whole business of the Cants is so odd that I’m taking no chances. This case, to use the dragon’s own word, is very queer. No sooner do I think I see a little daylight than new puzzles appear. Why was Mrs. Cant packing? Why would the dragon’s job soon be finished?”
“That’s true, sir,” said Henry, rubbing his head in bewilderment.
“Puzzle number one. Puzzle number two. Why was the boy from Bonnington’s hanging around the staircase yesterday?”
“Spying round, sir.”
“That’s all very well, Henry, but we might as well go out of business at once if the moves we make are spotted so quickly.”
“You don’t think they’ve worked out the scheme of the appointment book, sir?”
“Certainly, if one goes by the way he behaved, Henry. He was obviously only there to make sure of recognising Eric. There is no doubt he went away directly he had done so.”
“He may have been sent along just to keep an eye on us, sir,” said Henry, “then by sheer bad luck for us, have recognised Eric and run back at once to tell Mr. Bonnington.”
“Just possible,” said Harrison.
“By the way, sir—” began Henry.
“Well?”
“It strikes me as rather curious that Bonnington should be watching us instead of ourselves watching Bonnington?”
“Why, Henry?”
“Well, sir, everything seems to point to Bonnington still, and yet you seem to be taking no notice of him whatever, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”
“Not at all, Henry, except that I can’t see any further reason for taking any notice of Mr. Bonnington, especially after Mr. Peary’s message. You understand it, I suppose?”
“Oh yes, sir,” answered Henry, proudly. “It was the reply to the cable he sent.”
“Good for you, Henry, go on?”
“As I see it, sir, it meant that the person who attacked the Fennel man smelt of methylated spirits.”
“Exactly, Henry,” said Harrison. “The huge, grotesque person who looked like the devil. In fact, Clem.”
“If I didn’t know you had your reasons, sir, I should feel like saying guesswork.”
“Really, Henry, it’s so painfully logical.”
“Maybe, sir, but I can’t see why you keep harping on methylated spirit.”
“But that’s the whole point of it, Henry.”
Henry was about to ask an exasperated question when Eric appeared. “It’s Mrs. Packard, sir,” he announced. “Terribly urgent, sir. She looks dreadful.”
“Show her in at once, Eric,” said Harrison. When Mrs. Packard appeared, it was obvious that she was in a pitiable state, bordering on collapse. There was not a trace of colour in her usually healthy-looking cheeks, while her eyes seemed filled with sorrow. Harrison felt unusually apprehensive at the news she might be bringing him, for he realised that it was only her iron will which was keeping her from going utterly to pieces. She was followed by an ordinary, unassuming-looking man, the trouble in whose face and whose lack of colour were equally patent.
“I realise you have something terrible to tell me, Mrs. Packard,” said Harrison, sympathetically. “I cannot imagine what it is but I urge you to take your time, if only to spare your own feelings.”
“It is terrible, Mr. Harrison, horrible, too horrible to think about,” was Mrs. Packard’s reply, in a quiet tone which made Harrison again feel unbounded admiration for the underlying strength of her character. “Even now I can hardly bring myself to say it. My maid, Elsie, Mr. Harrison—”
Harrison waited, his heart heavy at what he guessed was coming next.
“Last night,” went on Mrs. Packard, “murdered.” Her feelings overcame her and she covered her face with her handkerchief.
“Impossible,” cried Harrison.
“I wish it were,” murmured Mrs. Packard.
“When you feel you can tell me what happened—” said Harrison, gently.
Again they waited, and then Mrs. Packard said, “This is Taylor, Mr. Harrison, he does all the man’s jobs in the house. He came up to find me and tell me. He’d better tell you himself. I can’t.”
“Very well,” said Harrison.
“Well, sir,” started the man with an effort, for it was obvious that he was as near collapse as his mistress, and did not relish his task, “when Mrs. Packard did not return to dinner we took it for granted she would not be coming home, as she had told us to, sir. So we decided to go to bed early, sir.”
“We?” asked Harrison.
“Yes, sir, Jane, the cook, Elsie and myself. Elsie usually slept with Jane and Jane wanted her to last night.”
“I wish she had,” murmured Mrs. Packard.
“But Elsie had been sleeping the last few nights in the mistress’s room, and she said, even if the mistress was away, she had had no orders to sleep anywhere else. So she went to sleep in there alone.”
“She was not frightened to?” asked Harrison.
“No, sir,” said Taylor. “There was no reason to be. Indeed we were all laughing when we left her at the door, sir. We were ragging her about being stuck-up and wanting to be a fine lady and sleeping right away from us humble servants.”
“Mr. Harrison does not want to hear all that, Taylor,” interrupted Mrs. Packard.
“I think I need to hear everything,” said Harrison. “Go on, Mr. Taylor, with as much detail as you like.”
“Well, sir,” answered the man, “that was all that happened then.”
“She was, then, really, as you said, right away from your part of the house?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you hear anything in the night?”
“No, sir.”
“I assume you were not likely to?”
“That is so, sir. Mrs. Packard had a bell which could be rung, but I am certain either cook or I would have heard it.”
“But I don’t remember ever having rung it, Taylor,” said Mrs. Packard. “Does it still work?”
“I try it regularly to see that it is all right,” replied the man, reproachfully. “I tested it this morning, too. It is a very noisy bell, sir, it must have woken us.”
“Right,” said Harrison.
“Jane and I were both up in good time this morning. When we got down there was no sign of Elsie. That was rather unusual, sir, because she’s good at getting up. We had another joke about the grand lady having a nice lie in bed while we worked, but time went on and she did not show up, sir, so I thought I had better go and wake her. I knocked pretty loudly on the door, sir, and when there was no answer, I went in. Even then I didn’t think anything was wrong, I felt so certain she had overslept herself. She was lying in bed, sir, almost as if she was naturally asleep and I called her again. Nothing happened, so I went across to the bed, touched her shoulder to give her a shake, sir, and then I saw her face.” He stopped.
Harrison, who had been watching Mrs. Packard intently, said, “Would you prefer to go outside, Mrs. Packard, before Mr. Taylor starts again?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Harrison, I’m all right,” was the reply. “I shan’t break down again.”
“It was a dreadful sight, sir,” said Taylor. “Of course a there was no doubt whatever she was dead, but like that, sir— The police said the breath had been choked out of her by someone with astonishing strength. The marks were fearful round her throat.”
“You called the police at once?”
“Oh yes, sir. She had been dead for hours, sir.”
“Did it appear as if she had been frightened?”
“I don’t think it would be possible to judge, sir. There was no special kind of look, as you might say, sir; the police doctor said it had been done too violently for that, sir.”
“I see,” said Harrison. “And how do the police think it happened?”
“No doubt of that, sir,” answered Taylor. “The window was open and the murderer had climbed up by the ivy. It was all pulled about.”
“Any footmarks or finger-prints?”
“I couldn’t say, sir,” was the reply. “The police were looking for things like that when I left.”
“Henry,” said Harrison, “put through a call to Redford police station straight away.”
Henry carried out his instructions, and then Harrison continued, “Anything more, Mr. Taylor?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so,” was the answer. “I thought I had better come straight up to London to tell my mistress. I knew the addresses of a number of friends with whom she might be staying, and I was lucky to find her at the first one I went to.”
“Then if you will wait outside, Mr. Taylor, I should like to have a word with Mrs. Packard,” said Harrison. “Just a moment, though, there is one other question I should like to ask you.”
“Yes, sir?”
“When you went into that room this morning, did you notice any particular smell?”
“Smell, sir?”
“Yes, I know the window was open, but there might have been an odour of something, even the faintest, lingering near the bed. Try hard to remember. It is of the utmost importance.”
“No, sir,” replied Taylor, after anxious thought, “I can’t say that I did notice anything. What kind of a smell would it have been?”
“I don’t know myself,” said Harrison. “Methylated spirits possibly, or something like that?”
Taylor thought again, but his final answer was a decided negative.
“Very well,” said Harrison. “That is all. I wouldn’t keep you here, Mr. Taylor, but I am certain your mistress will need you.”
“Of course, sir,” was the respectful reply as Taylor went out of the room.
“I can’t believe it now, Mr. Harrison,” cried Mrs. Packard. “I blame myself. Elsie was murdered in my room because of me, Mr. Harrison. But for me she would have been alive today.”
“You must blame me,” said Harrison, sadly. “I ought to have foreseen it.”
“How could you think anyone would want to murder me?” said Mrs. Packard. “I little thought when you told me to stay in London that such a thing could possibly happen. I don’t blame you at all. I can’t help blaming myself.”
Harrison looked grimly in front of him. “It is little consolation, I know,” he said, “but I can promise you that the murderer will be under arrest before the day is out.”
The telephone bell rang and Henry answered it.
“Redford police station, sir,” he said.
Harrison spoke briefly to the officer in charge, and then turned to Mrs. Packard.
“You will go back to Redford as soon as possible,” he said.
“If I must.”
“I know it’s going to be an ordeal, but the police want you there.”
“Whatever you think best.”
“Taylor will go with you.”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Packard. “And have the police found out anything else?”
“No traces of any value,” said Harrison. “Nothing that they could identify anybody by. One thing they told me. A policeman walking along the main road to London some miles out of Redford reported that he was passed by a car going at great speed. There seemed to be two men in it, and they were shouting at one another.”
“Does that help?”
“Very little,” answered Harrison.
Mrs. Packard rose to go and, as she did so, she put her hand gently on Harrison’s arm. “I am certain you have done all you could,” she said, gently, “I may be a silly old woman but I am positive of that.”
Harrison tried to smile in response, but the effort was entirely unsuccessful. Henry led Mrs. Packard from the room, his master staring disconsolately after them, while his mind kept on framing the phrase, “the technique of terror.”
Chapter XIX
Rose Calls
Clay Harrison was active enough as soon as the door was shut, and Henry’s return found him busy with the telephone.
“Mr. Peary’s outside, sir,” announced Henry, as his master replaced the receiver.
“I don’t want to see him,” said Harrison, emphatically.
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t see how I can see anyone,” Harrison went on almost apologetically. “We must get straight off to Hested.”
“I guessed that, sir,” answered Henry. “I told Mr. Pear there wasn’t an earthly, but he said he’d wait a bit, all the same, to see if you came out of your trance.”
Harrison smiled faintly, much to Henry’s relief. “If he insists, Henry,” said Harrison. “We might even take him to Hested with us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more or less won’t make any difference.”
“No, sir.”
“Henry, this is a very bad business,” went on Harrison gloomily.
“I don’t think you should take it to heart so much, sir,” said Henry.
“That poor girl at Redford, Henry,” said Harrison. “It needn’t have happened. I might have prevented it.”
“You seem very certain of getting your man, sir. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make such a definite promise before.”
“I hope to get him at Hested, Henry,” replied Harrison. “But if he has tried to get out of the country, he won’t have a chance. I’ve just been on to Scotland Yard.”
“How will they know him, sir?”
“My description was quite detailed, Henry,” said Harrison. “There is only one possible loophole. He might already have left by air, but, even then, the police have already sent out warnings for him to be stopped at the other end, and I gather no passenger aeroplane fro
m London has arrived at its destination yet. It’s hardly credible that he could have got away so quickly, but he’s a fast worker, Henry, faster than I had anticipated.”
“In what way, sir?”
“I hardly expected he would make that swoop the very evening after Mrs. Packard had failed to keep her appointment. Besides, he had to collect up Clem.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to leave Hested, sir?”
“Of course, Henry. You said I was jumpy. You can see now I had reason to be. I shouldn’t have taken the risk. But his mother seemed terrified enough. She knew what I meant.”
“I should have thought that was precaution enough, sir.”
“It should have been, Henry, but I had no right to rely on anybody else. I should have stayed on the spot. Don’t think I am trying to excuse myself, Henry, but I did not expect murder.”
“Nor did anybody else, sir.”
“But even then, Henry, it was crystal clear. I had the logic of it, and I didn’t follow it far enough. Now I see it could have led to violent death at any moment. It’s so obvious now.”
“Anything to do with methylated spirit, sir?”
“Everything, Henry.”
“I suppose you were disappointed that Mrs. Packard’s man did not notice the smell of it, sir?”
“Not really, Henry,” answered Harrison. “I could hardly have expected it. It is a very distinctive smell. But so long after and with the window open, it was very unlikely. Yet it was there all the same, Henry, so what does it matter?”
“Was it, sir?”
“Of course it was,” said Harrison eagerly. “Here’s the logic of it.”
“What about Mr. Peary, sir?”
“He can go on waiting, Henry. Let’s get this straight first. You saw Clem, didn’t you? Did he strike you as a violent kind of man?”
“Not in the least, sir. I should have said the very opposite.”
“Exactly. A stupid, good-tempered fellow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if he changed into a violent fellow, you would want a very good reason?”
“I should, sir.”
“Well, Henry?” Harrison paused.
“Good heavens, sir,” cried Henry. “You don’t mean methylated spirit?”
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