CHAPTER XV
A STARTLING DISCLOSURE
Cleek took a sudden step forward.
"What's that? What's that?" he rapped out, sharply. "_Your_ shot, SirNigel? This is something I haven't heard of before, and it's likely tocause trouble. Explain, please!"
But Merriton was past explaining anything just then. For he had bowed hishead in his hands and was sobbing in great, heart-wrung sobs with DoctorBartholomew's arms about him, sobs that told of the nerve-strain whichgave them birth, that told of the tenseness under which he had livedthese last weeks. And now the thread had snapped, and all the broken,jangling nerves of the man had been loosed and torn his control to atoms.
The doctor shook him gently, but with firm fingers.
"Don't be a fool, boy--don't be a fool!" he said over and over again,as he waved the other away, and, taking out a little phial from hiswaistcoat pocket, dropped a dose from it into a wine-glass and forced itbetween the man's lips. "Don't make an ass of yourself, Nigel. The shotyou fired was nothing--the mere whim of a man, whose brain had been firedby champagne and who wasn't therefore altogether responsible for hisactions."
He whipped round suddenly upon Cleek, his faded eyes, with their fringeof almost white lashes, flashing like points of light from the seamed andwrinkled frame of his face.
"If you want to hear that foolish part of the story, I can give it toyou," he said, sharply. "Because I happened to be there."
"_You!_"
"Yes--I, Mr.--er--Headland, isn't it? Ah, thanks. But the boy's unstrung,nerve-racked. He's been through too much. The whole beastly thing hasmade a mess of him, and he was a fool to meddle with it. Nigel Merritonfired a shot that night when Dacre Wynne disappeared, Mr. Headland; firedit after he had gone up to his room, a little over-excited with too muchchampagne, a little over-wrought by the scene through which he had justpassed with the man who had always exercised such a sinister influenceover his life."
"So Sir Nigel was no good friend of this man Wynne's, then?" remarkedCleek, quietly, as if he did not already know the fact.
The doctor looked up as though he were ready to spring upon him and tearhim limb from limb.
"No!" he said, furiously, "and neither would you have been, if you'dknown him. Great hulking bully that he was! I tell you, I've seen the manuse his influence upon this boy here, until--fine, upstanding chap thathe is (and I've known him and his people ever since he was a baby) hesucceeded in making him as weak as a hysterical girl--and gloated overit, too!"
Cleek drew in a quiet breath, and gave his shoulders the very slightestof twitches, to show that he was listening.
"Very interesting, Doctor, as psychological studies of the kind go," hesaid, smoothly, stroking his chin and looking down at the bowed shouldersof the man in the arm chair, with something almost like sorrow in hiseyes. "But we've got to get down to brass tacks, you know. This thing'sserious. It's got to be proved. If it can't be--well, it's going to bemighty awkward for Sir Nigel. Now, let's hear the thing straight out fromthe person most interested, please. I don't like to appear thoughtless inany way, but this is a serious admission you've just made. Sir Nigel, Ibeg of you, tell us the story before the constable comes. It might makethings easier for you in the long run."
Merriton, thus addressed, threw up his head suddenly and showed a facemarked with mental anguish, dry-eyed, deathly white. He got slowly to hisfeet and went over to the table, leaning his hand upon it as though forsupport.
"Oh, well," he said, listlessly, "you might as well hear it first aslast. Doctor Bartholomew's right, Mr. Headland. I _did_ fire a shot uponthe night of Dacre Wynne's disappearance, and I fired it from my bedroomwindow. It was like this:
"Wynne had gone, and after waiting for him to come back away past thegiven time, we all made up our minds to go to bed, and Tony West--a palof mine who was one of the guests--and the Doctor here accompanied me tomy room door. Dr. Bartholomew had a room next to mine. In that part ofthe house the walls are thin, and although my revolver (which I alwayscarry with me, Mr. Headland, since I lived in India) is one of thosealmost soundless little things, still, the sound of it reached him."
"Is it of small calibre?" asked Cleek, at this juncture.
Merriton nodded gravely.
"As you say, of small calibre. You can see it for yourself. Borkins"--heturned toward the man, who was standing by the doorway, his hands hangingat his sides, his manner a trifle obsequious; "will you bring it from theleft-hand drawer of my dressing table. Here is the key." He tossed over abunch of keys and they fell with a jangling sound upon the floor atBorkins's feet.
"Very good, Sir Nigel," said the man and withdrew, leaving the door openbehind him, however, as though he were afraid to lose any of the storythat was being told in the quiet morning room.
When he had gone, Merriton resumed:
"I'm not a superstitious man, Mr. Headland, but that old wives' tale ofthe Frozen Flames, and the new one coming out every time they claimedanother victim, seemed to have burnt its way into my brain. That and thechampagne together, and then close upon it Dacre Wynne's foolish bet tofind out what the things were. When I went up to my room, and aftersaying good-night to the doctor here, closed the door and locked it,I then crossed to the window and looked out at the flames. And as Ilooked--believe it or not, as you will--another flame suddenly sprang upat the left of the others, a flame that seemed brighter, bigger than anyof the rest, a flame that bore with it the message: 'I am Dacre Wynne'."
Cleek smiled, crookedly, and went on stroking his chin.
"Rather a fanciful story that, Sir Nigel," he said, "but go on. Whathappened?"
"Why, I fired at the thing. I picked up my revolver and, in a sort ofblind rage, fired at it through the open window; and I believe I saidsomething like this: 'Damn it, why won't you go? I'll make you go, youmaddening little devil!' though I know those weren't the identical wordsI spoke. As soon as the shot was fired my brain cleared. I began to feelashamed of myself, thought what a fool I'd look in front of the boys ifthey heard the story; and just at that moment Doctor Bartholomew knockedat the door."
Here the doctor nodded vigorously as though to corroborate thesestatements, and made as if to speak.
Cleek silenced him with a gesture.
"And then--what next, Sir Nigel?"
Merriton cleared his throat before proceeding. There was a drawn lookupon his face.
"The doctor said he thought he had heard a shot, and asked me what itwas, and I replied: 'Nothing. Only I was potting at the flames.' Thisseemed to amaze him, as it would any sane man, I should think, and as nodoubt it is amazing you, Mr. Headland. Amazing you and making you think,'What a fool the fellow is, after all!' Well, I showed the doctor therevolver in my hand, and he laughingly said that he'd take it to bedwith him, in case I should start potting at _him_ by mistake. Then Igot into bed, after making him promise he wouldn't breathe a word toanybody of what had occurred, as the others would be sure to laugh atme; and--that's all."
"H'm. And quite enough, too, I should say," broke in Cleek, as the manfinished. "It sounds true enough, believe me, from your lips, and I knowyou for an honourable man; but--what sort of a credence do you think anaverage jury is going to place upon it? D'you think they'd believe you?"He shook his head. "Never. They'd simply laugh at the whole thing, andsay you were either drunk or dreaming. People in the twentieth centurydon't indulge in superstition to that extent, Sir Nigel; or, at least,if they do, they let their reason govern their actions as far aspossible. It's a tall story at best, if you'll forgive me for saying so."
Merriton's face went a dull, sultry red. His eyes flamed.
"Then you don't believe me?" he said, impatiently.
Cleek raised a hand.
"I don't say that for one moment," he replied. "What I say is: 'Would ajudge and jury believe you?' That is the question. And my answer to itis, 'No.' You've had every provocation to take Dacre Wynne's life, so faras I can learn, every provocation, that is, that a man of unsoundmentality wh
o would stoop to murder could have to justify himself in hisown eyes. Things look exceedingly black against you, Sir Nigel. You canswear to this statement as far as your part in it is concerned, DoctorBartholomew?"
"Absolutely," said the doctor, though plainly showing that he felt it wasno business of the supposed Mr. Headland's.
"Well, that's good. But if only there had been another witness, someonewho actually saw this thing done, or who had heard the pistol-shot--notthat I'm doubting your word at all, Doctor--it might help to elucidatematters. There is no one you know of who could have heard--and notspoken?"
At this juncture Borkins came quietly into the room, holding the littlerevolver in his right hand, and handed it to Cleek.
"If you please, sir," he said, impassively, and with a quick look intoMerriton's grave face, "_I_ heard. And I can speak, if the jury wants meto, I don't doubt but what my tale would be worth listenin' to, if onlyto add my hevidence to the rest. That man there"--he pointed one shakingforefinger at his master's face, and glowered into it for a moment "wasthe murderer of poor Mr. Wynne!"
The Riddle of the Frozen Flame Page 15