‘The next day she was further surprised by being expressly forbidden by Mrs. Alcock to enter a certain corridor at the top of the house. This was a corridor leading to some disused rooms and one which, under ordinary circumstances, it would never have occurred to her to enter. Being, however, of the female sex, the prohibition immediately aroused in her a strong spirit of inquiry, and, on the first possible occasion, when she had reason to suppose the rest of the staff occupied downstairs, she went into the forbidden corridor and listened. She heard nothing, but to her alarm detected a faint odour of disinfectant — an odour which immediately connected itself in her mind with the idea of death. Which reminds me, my lord, to suggest that your lordship’s injuries—’
‘Never mind my injuries. Carry on.’
‘The young woman, alarmed as she was, was still more frightened by hearing footsteps ascending the stairs. Not wishing to be caught in an act of disobedience, she hastened to conceal herself inside a small broom-cupboard at the head of the staircase. Peeping through the crack, she observed Alcock, carrying a jug of hot water and a safety-razor, pass along the corridor and enter a room at the end. Convinced that there was a corpse in the house, and that Alcock was on his way to wash and shave it in preparation for burial, she rushed downstairs and indulged in hysterics in the pantry. Fortunately Mrs. Alcock was not at hand, and in time she contrived to control her feelings and go about her duties in the accustomed manner.
‘Immediately after lunch she was sent out upon an errand in the town, but she was afraid to communicate her suspicions to anybody. On returning, she was kept fully occupied by various tasks, and was never out of sight of one or the other of her fellow-domestics until bed-time. She spent the night in a condition of nervous apprehension, trying but failing to summon up courage to investigate the mysterious corridor again.
‘Early in the morning she began to feel that even the most disagreeable certainty was preferable to agitating suspicions. She got up, crept cautiously past the bedroom of the two Alcocks and went up to the top of the house again. She ventured a little way down the corridor, when she was rooted to the spot by the sound of a hollow groan.’
‘Really, Bunter,’ said Wimsey, ‘your narrative style would do credit to the Castle of Otranto.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I am only acquainted by repute with the work you mention, but I understand that it enjoyed a considerable vogue in its day. The girl Elizabeth was hesitating whether to shriek or to run away, when she happened to tread upon a loose board, which made a loud noise. Thinking that the sound would awaken the Alcocks, she was preparing to retreat once more to the shelter of the broom-cupboard, when the door at the end of the passage was opened in a stealthy manner and a terrible face looked out at her.’
Bunter appeared to be enjoying the sensation he was producing, and paused.
‘A terrible face,’ said Wimsey. ‘Very well, I’ve got that. A terrible face. Next, please!’
‘The face, as I understand,’ pursued Bunter, ‘was enveloped in grave-clothes. The jaws were closely bound up, the features were hideous and the lips writhed away from the protruding teeth and the apparition was of a ghastly pallor.’
‘Look here, Bunter,’ said Wimsey, ‘could you not cut out some of the fancy adjectives and say plainly what the face was like?’
‘I had not myself the opportunity of observing the face,’ said Bunter, reprovingly, ‘but the impression produced on me by the young woman’s observations was that of a dark-haired, clean-shaven man with protruding teeth under the affliction of some form of physical suffering.’
‘Oh, it was a man, then?’
‘That was Elizabeth’s opinion. A lock of hair was visible beneath the bandages. The eyes appeared to be shut, or partly shut, for, although she was standing in full view, the man said in a muffled tone, “Is that you, Alcock?” She did not reply, and presently the apparition retired into the room and shut the door. She then heard a bell ring violently. She rushed down the passage in blind alarm, encountering Alcock as he issued from his bedroom. Too terrified to think what she was doing, she gasped out: “Oh, what is it? What is it?” Alcock replied: “It must be those dratted mice playing with the bell-wires. Go back to bed, Betty.” She then remembered that she deserved rebuke for having gone into the upstairs corridor and retired to her own room to hide her head in the bed-clothes.’
‘The best thing she could do,’ said Wimsey.
‘Precisely, my lord. Thinking the matter over during the forenoon, she came to the very reasonable conclusion that the person she had seen might, after all, not be a living corpse but merely a sick man. She was, however, quite sure that she had never seen the person’s face in her life. She now noticed that food was disappearing at every meal in excess of that consumed by herself and the Alcocks, and this she found encouraging, because, as she observed, dead folks do not eat.’
‘True,’ replied Wimsey. ‘As G. K. C. says, “I’d rather be alive than not”.’
‘Quite so, my lord. I spoke as encouragingly as possible to the young woman and offered to accompany her back to Mr. Gowan’s house. She informed me, however, that she had received permission to spend the night at her mother’s.’
‘Indeed?’ said Wimsey.
‘Precisely. I therefore took her home and returned to the High Street, where I observed Mr. Gowan’s saloon car standing before the door. It was then five minutes to eleven. It was borne in upon me, my lord, that some person was about to take a surreptitious departure from Mr. Gowan’s residence, and that Elizabeth had been given a night’s leave of absence in order that she might not be a witness of the proceedings.’
‘I think the inference is justifiable, Bunter.’
‘Yes, my lord. I took the liberty of concealing myself at the corner of the street contiguous to Mr. Gowan’s house where the little flight of steps leads down to the river. Presently a tall figure, closely muffled in a scarf and overcoat with the hat pulled well down to conceal the features, emerged from the doorway. I could not see the features at all, but I am confident that the form was that of a male person. A few words were exchanged in a low tone with the chauffeur, and the impression produced upon my mind was that the speaker was Mr. Gowan himself.’
‘Gowan? Then who was the mysterious stranger?’
‘I could not say, my lord. The car moved away, and, on consulting my watch, I found that the time was three minutes past eleven.’
‘H’m,’ said Wimsey.
‘I formed the opinion, my lord, that Mr. Gowan had, after all, not departed from Kirkcudbright on the Monday evening as Alcock had stated, but that he had remained concealed in his own house in attendance upon the sick person observed by Elizabeth.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Wimsey.
‘I returned here,’ pursued Bunter, ‘and consulted the local timetable. I found that there was a train leaving Dumfries for Carlisle and the South at two minutes past midnight. It appeared conceivable that Mr. Gowan was intending to catch it either at Dumfries or at Castle Douglas.’
‘Did you see any luggage taken out?’
‘No, my lord; but it might have been previously placed in the car.’
‘Of course it might. Did you inform the police?’
‘I thought it best, my lord, in view of the delicacy of the circumstances, to communicate directly with Sir Maxwell Jamieson. I hastened to the Selkirk Arms and put in a call from there.’
‘You must have passed me,’ said Wimsey. ‘I had just hared across to the police-station, but Inspector Macpherson wasn’t there.’
‘I regret extremely that I should have missed your lordship. I informed Sir Maxwell of the circumstances, and I understood him to say that he would immediately telephone to Castle Douglas and Dumfries, with a view to intercepting Mr. Gowan if he should make his appearance at either of those points, and that he would also circulate a description of the car and its driver.’
‘Well, well, well,’ said Wimsey. ‘For a quiet country place, Kirkcudbright seem
s to boast a bright lot of inhabitants. They appear and disappear like Cheshire cats. I give it up. Bring forward the arnica and a whiskey-and-soda, and let’s get to bed. All I know is, that it’s perfectly useless for me to try and detect things. You’re always off the mark before me.’
The real sting of this episode lay in its tail. Inspector Macpherson came in the next day after lunch in an irritable frame of mind. Not only had his rest been broken the previous night by an alarm of burglars at a house on the outskirts of the town, which turned out to be purely fictitious, not only had he thereby missed the scoop about Gowan, but the Chief Constable had bungled matters somehow. Though he had (or so he said) immediately telephoned descriptions of the car and its occupants to Castle Douglas, Dumfries, Carlisle and all the intermediate stations up to Euston, nothing whatever had been seen of any of them. Inquiries in the Stranraer direction had proved equally useless.
‘It’s fair rideeculous,’ said the Inspector. ‘It’s pairfectly feasible that the car should ha’ stopped on the outskirts of Castle Douglas or Dumfries tae let Gowan tak’ the train on his ain feet, but that they should ha’ missed Gowan is no thinkable — and him so conspicuous wi’ his big black beard an’a’.’
Wimsey suddenly uttered a loud yelp.
‘Oh, Inspector, Inspector! He’s done it on us! What dolts and ninnies we are! And now I suppose that damned photograph has been circulated all over the country. Show Bunter the specimen, Inspector. I told you we ought to have done that before we did anything else. This will be the death of us. We shall never hold up our heads again. The specimen, Inspector, the specimen!’
‘By God!’ said the Inspector, ‘I believe your lordship’s right. Tae think o’ that, noo. An’ me sairtain that it was Farren!’
He drew out his notebook and handed the bunch of curly black hair to Bunter.
‘My lord,’ said the latter, reproachfully, ‘it is most regret-table that I did not see this before. Without presuming to speak as an expert, I may say that on several occasions I had the opportunity of examining the beard of a person belonging to the Mohammedan persuasion. You are doubtless aware, my lord, that the strict followers of this sect consider it unlawful to trim the hair of the face, with the consequence that the beard is extremely silky in texture, each hair preserving the natural tapering point.’
Wimsey, without a word, handed Bunter his lens.
‘Your lordship has doubtless observed,’ pursued Bunter, ‘that this specimen conforms in every particular to this description, and having seen Mr. Gowan’s beard, I do not hesitate to give it as my personal opinion — subject to expert correction — that Mr. Gowan will now be found to be deprived, in whole or in part, of that facial adornment.’
‘I’m afraid you’re right, Bunter,’ said Wimsey, sadly. ‘Now we know who the mysterious stranger was, and what he was suffering from. You’ll have to revise your time-scheme, Inspector, and put Gowan in the leading rôle.’
‘I must go and send off a corrected description at once,’ said the Inspector.
‘Just so,’ said Wimsey. ‘But have you the slightest idea what Gowan looks like without his beard? Inspector, I venture to prophesy that it will be a shock to you. When a man grows a jungle of face-fungus up to his cheek-bones and half-way down his chest, he has generally something to hide. I have known revelations—’ he sighed. ‘Do you realise, my dear man, that you have never seen anything of Gowan, except his eyes and a somewhat exaggerated nose?’
‘We’ll catch him by his nose,’ said the Inspector, without the slightest humorous intention. He bustled away.
‘Bunter,’ said Wimsey, ‘this case resembles the plot of a Wilkie Collins novel, in which everything happens just too late to prevent the story from coming to a premature happy ending.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘The trouble about this, Bunter, is that it completely destroys our theory, and apparently lets out Farren.’
‘Quite so, my lord.’
‘And unless your friend Betty is lying, it lets out Gowan too.’
‘That appears to be the case, my lord.’
‘Because, if he was hiding at home all Monday night and Tuesday morning, suffering from an accident, he couldn’t have been painting pictures beyond Newton Stewart.’
‘I quite see that, my lord.’
‘But is Betty telling the truth?’
‘She appeared to me to be an honest young woman, my lord. But you will recollect that it was not until before lunch-time on the Tuesday that she saw Alcock enter the Bluebeard’s Chamber, if I may use so fanciful an expression, and that the sick man was not seen by her in person until early on Wednesday morning.’
‘True,’ said Wimsey, thoughtfully. ‘We have no evidence that he was there on Tuesday at all. Alcock will have to be interrogated. And in my opinion, Alcock is a man of considerable resource and sagacity.’
‘Exactly so, my lord. And, what is more, Alcock had disappeared also.’
CHIEF INSPECTOR PARKER
The mystery of the car turned out to have a perfectly simple explanation. It was reported from a small hotel at Brig of Dee, a village a few miles out on the Kirkcudbright side of Castle Douglas. A visit by the police discovered Messrs. Alcock and Hammond calmly seated at lunch. Their story was a straightforward one. Mr. Gowan had written from London, suggesting that, in his absence, they should take a holiday, and giving them his permission to use the car. They had decided on a little fishing excursion, and here they were. They had started late, on account of some small repairs which Hammond had had to make to the engine. The muffled-up person who had got in was Alcock himself. Certainly the Inspector could see Mr. Gowan’s letter. Here it was, written from Mr. Gowan’s club, the Mahlstick, on the club’s own paper, and posted in London on the Wednesday.
As for Bunter’s story, Alcock denied it altogether. The girl Betty was a foolish and hysterical young person, who imagined a great deal of nonsense. It was perfectly true that Mrs. Alcock had forbidden her to go into the disused part of the house. Betty was a great deal too fond of wasting her time. There were a lot of old magazines kept up there in a box-room, and the girl was always sneaking in there to read them when she ought to be engaged on household duties. Mrs. Alcock had had occasion to speak about it before. As regards the Tuesday, it was a fact that he (Alcock) had gone up there with hot water. One of the dogs had been hurt in a rabbit snare. He had made it a bed in the disused room and washed the wounds out with disinfectant. Mrs. Alcock would show the dog to the police if they cared to call. As for the alleged apparition on Wednesday morning, it was quite obvious that the girl had merely been suffering from nightmare, due to her own ridiculous fancies about corpses. There was no sick person there and never had been. Mr. Gowan had left Kirkcudbright, as previously stated, by car on Monday evening to catch the 8.45. The person whom Bunter had seen entering the car on the Thursday night had been Alcock. Hammond and Mrs. Alcock could confirm all this.
They could, and did, confirm it. The injured dog was produced and found to be actually suffering from a nasty sore in the leg, and Betty, when closely questioned, admitted that she had frequently got into trouble through reading magazines in the box-room.
As against this, there was the evidence of a garage proprietor at Castle Douglas that a gentleman, giving his name as Rogers, had telephoned the previous evening for a fast car to catch the 12.2 express at Dumfries. He had got ready a 14 h.p. Talbot, which was a new and speedy car, and at about twenty minutes past eleven, the gentleman had walked into the garage. He was tall and had dark eyes and what the proprietor described as a ‘rabbity’ face. The proprietor had himself driven Mr. Rogers to Dumfries and set him down at the station at four minutes to twelve precisely.
The booking-clerk at Dumfries confirmed this up to a point. He remembered selling a first-class ticket for Euston to a gentleman who had come in just before midnight. He did not remember the gentleman very distinctly — he was much like other gentlemen, but he agreed that he had rather a big nose and
stick-out teeth.
The ticket-collector on the train was not helpful. Gentlemen on night-trains tended to be sleepy and muffled-up. Several first-class gentlemen had joined the 12.2 at Dumfries. Certainly he had seen nobody remotely resembling the photograph of Gowan. Was there anybody at all like what Gowan would be if clean-shaven? Well, there now, that was asking something, that was. Had the Inspector any idea what a ’edge-’og would look like without its spikes? No, nor he didn’t suppose nobody had, neither. He was a ticket-collector, not a puzzle-picture expert. The booking-clerk at Dumfries expressed a similar opinion, still more forcibly.
Inspector Macpherson, whom this dreary investigation had carried as far as Euston, then turned his attention to the club from which Gowan was supposed to have written. Here the news was a little more cheering. Mr. Gowan had certainly not been staying there. One or two letters had arrived for him, which had been collected by a gentleman presenting Mr. Gowan’s card. The gentleman had signed a receipt for them. Might the Inspector see the receipt? Certainly he might. The signature was J. Brown. The Inspector wondered how many J. Browns there might be among London’s four million, and turned his weary steps towards Scotland Yard.
Here he asked for Chief Inspector Parker, who received him with more than official cordiality. Any friend of Wimsey’s was entitled to Parker’s best attention, and the complicated story of Gowan and the spanner, Farren, Strachan and the two bicycles, was sympathetically listened to.
‘We’ll find Gowan for you all right,’ said Parker, encouragingly. ‘With the very precise details you have produced for us it ought not to take long. What do you want done with him when we’ve got him?’
‘Weel, noo, Mr. Parker,’ said the Inspector, deferentially, ‘do ye think we have enough evidence tae arrest him?’
Parker turned this over carefully.
‘I take it,’ he said, ‘that your idea is that Gowan met this man Campbell in the road between Gatehouse and Kirkcud-bright and killed him in a quarrel. Then he got frightened and decided to fake up the accident. His first step was to cut off his own very conspicuous beard, in the hope, I suppose, of getting through the Gatehouse end of the business unrecognised. It must have been an awkward bit of barbering. Still, he might have managed to produce a fairly good imitation of a man who hadn’t shaved for a fortnight. Then he went through all the movements which you originally ascribed to Farren. He hid the body up the side-lane and drove Campbell’s own car back to Gatehouse. Now, why should he have done that?’
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