The Seven Secrets

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER V

  DISCLOSES A MYSTERY.

  The man's amazing announcement held me speechless.

  "Murdered!" I cried when I found tongue. "Impossible!"

  "Ah! sir, it's too true. He's quite dead."

  "But surely he has died from natural causes--eh?"

  "No, sir. My poor master has been foully murdered."

  "How do you know that?" I asked breathlessly. "Tell me all the facts."

  I saw by the man's agitation, his white face, and the hurried mannerin which he had evidently dressed to come in search of me, thatsomething tragic had really occurred.

  "We know nothing yet, sir," was his quick response. "I entered hisroom at two o'clock, as usual, to see if he wanted anything, and sawthat he was quite still, apparently asleep. The lamp was turned low,but as I looked over the bed I saw a small dark patch upon the sheet.This I discovered to be blood, and a moment later was horrified todiscover a small wound close to the heart, and from it the blood wasslowly oozing."

  "Then he's been stabbed, you think?" I gasped, springing up andbeginning to dress myself hastily.

  "We think so, sir. It's awful!"

  "Terrible!" I said, utterly dumbfounded by the man's amazing story."After you made the discovery, how did you act?"

  "I awoke the nurse, who slept in the room adjoining. And then wearoused Miss Mivart. The shock to her was terrible, poor young lady.When she saw the body of the old gentleman she burst into tears, andat once sent me to you. I didn't find a cab till I'd walked almost toHammersmith, and then I came straight on here."

  "But is there undoubtedly foul play, Short?"

  "No doubt whatever, sir. I'm nothing of a doctor, but I could see thewound plainly, like a small clean cut just under the heart."

  "No weapon about?"

  "I didn't see anything, sir."

  "Have you called the police?"

  "No, sir. Miss Mivart said she would wait until you arrived. She wantsyour opinion."

  "And Mrs. Courtenay. How does she bear the tragedy?"

  "The poor lady doesn't know yet."

  "Doesn't know? Haven't you told her?"

  "No, sir. She's not at home."

  "What? She hasn't returned?"

  "No, sir," responded the man.

  That fact was in itself peculiar. Yet there was, I felt sure, somestrong reason if young Mrs. Courtenay remained the night with herfriends, the Hennikers. Trains run to Kew after the theatres, but shehad possibly missed the last, and had been induced by her friends toremain the night with them in town.

  Yet the whole of the tragic affair was certainly very extraordinary.It was Short's duty to rise at two o'clock each morning and go to hismaster's room to ascertain if the invalid wanted anything. Generally,however, the old gentleman slept well, hence there had been nonecessity for a night nurse.

  When I entered the cab, and the man having taken a seat beside me, wehad set out on our long night drive to Kew, I endeavoured to obtainmore details regarding the Courtenay _menage_. In an ordinary way Icould scarcely have questioned a servant regarding his master andmistress, but on this drive I saw an occasion to obtain knowledge, andseized it.

  Short, although a well-trained servant, was communicative. The shockhe had sustained in discovering his master made him so.

  After ten years' service he was devoted to his master, but from theremarks he let drop during our drive I detected that he entertained astrong dislike of the old gentleman's young wife. He was, of course,well aware of my affection for Ethelwynn, and carefully concealed hisantipathy towards her, an antipathy which I somehow felt convincedexisted. He regarded both sisters with equal mistrust.

  "Does your mistress often remain in town with her friends at night?"

  "Sometimes, when she goes to balls."

  "And is that often?"

  "Not very often."

  "And didn't the old gentleman know of his wife's absence?"

  "Sometimes. He used to ask me whether Mrs. Courtenay was at home, andthen I was bound to tell the truth."

  By his own admission then, this man Short had informed the invalid ofhis wife's frequent absences. He was an informer, and as such mostprobably the enemy of both Mary and Ethelwynn. I knew him to be theconfidential servant of the old gentleman, but had not beforesuspected him of tale-telling. Without doubt Mrs. Courtenay's recentneglect had sorely grieved the old gentleman. He doted upon her,indulged her in every whim and fancy and, like many an aged husbandwho has a smart young wife, dared not to differ from her or complainof any of her actions. There is a deal of truth in the adage, "There'sno fool like an old fool."

  But the mystery was increasing, and as we drove together down thatlong interminable high road through Hammersmith to Chiswick, wet, darkand silent at that hour, I reflected that the strange presage ofinsecurity which had so long oppressed me was actually beingfulfilled. Ambler Jevons had laughed at it. But would he laugh now?To-morrow, without doubt, he would be working at the mystery in theinterests of justice. To try to keep the affair out of the Presswould, I knew too well, be impossible. Those men, in journalisticparlance called "liners," are everywhere, hungry for copy, and alwayseager to seize upon anything tragic or mysterious.

  From Short I gathered a few additional details. Not many, be it said,but sufficient to make it quite clear that he was intenselyantagonistic towards his mistress. This struck me as curious, for asfar as I had seen she had always treated him with the greatestkindness and consideration, had given him holidays, and to myknowledge had, a few months before, raised his wages of her ownaccord. Nevertheless, the _menage_ was a strange one, incongruous inevery respect.

  My chief thoughts were, however, with my love. The shock to her must,I knew, be terrible, especially as Mary was absent and she was alonewith the nurse and servants.

  When I sprang from the cab and entered the house she met me in thehall. She had dressed hastily and wore a light shawl over her head,probably to conceal her disordered hair, but her face was blanched tothe lips.

  "Oh, Ralph!" she cried in a trembling voice. "I thought you were nevercoming. It's terrible--terrible!"

  "Come in here," I said, leading her into the dining room. "Tell me allyou know of the affair."

  "Short discovered him just after two o'clock. He was then quitestill."

  "But there may be life," I exclaimed suddenly, and leaving her Irushed up the stairs and into the room where the old man had chattedto me so merrily not many hours before.

  The instant my gaze fell upon him I knew the truth. Cadaveric rigidityhad supervened, and he had long been beyond hope of human aid. Hisfurrowed face was as white as ivory, and his lower jaw had dropped inthat manner that unmistakably betrays the presence of death.

  As the man had described, the sheet was stained with blood. But therewas not much, and I was some moments before I discovered the wound. Itwas just beneath the heart, cleanly cut, and about three-quarters ofan inch long, evidently inflicted by some sharp instrument. He had nodoubt been struck in his sleep, and with such precision that he haddied without being able to raise the alarm.

  The murderer, whoever he was, had carried the weapon away.

  I turned and saw Ethelwynn, a pale wan figure in her light gown andshawl, standing on the threshold, watching me intently. She stoodthere white and trembling, as though fearing to enter the presence ofthe dead.

  I made a hasty tour of the room, examining the window and finding itfastened. As far as I could discover, nothing whatever was disturbed.

  Then I went out to her and, closing the door behind me, said--

  "Short must go along to the police station. We must report it."

  "But is it really necessary?" she asked anxiously. "Think of the awfulexposure in the papers. Can't we hush it up? Do, Ralph--for my sake,"she implored.

  "But I can't give a death certificate when a person has beenmurdered," I explained. "Before burial there must be a _post-mortem_and an inquest."

  "Then you think he has actually been murdered?"

/>   "Of course, without a doubt. It certainly isn't suicide."

  The discovery had caused her to become rigid, almost statuesque.Sudden terror often acts thus upon women of her highly nervoustemperament. She allowed me to lead her downstairs and back to thedining room. On the way I met Short in the hall, and ordered him to goat once to the police station.

  "Now, dearest," I said, taking her hand tenderly in mine when we werealone together with the door closed, "tell me calmly all you know ofthis awful affair."

  "I--I know nothing," she declared. "Nothing except what you alreadyknow. Short knocked at my door and I dressed hastily, only to discoverthat the poor old gentleman was dead."

  "Was the house still locked up?"

  "I believe so. The servants could, I suppose, tell that."

  "But is it not strange that Mary is still absent?" I remarked,perplexed.

  "No, not very. Sometimes she has missed her last train and has stoppedthe night with the Penn-Pagets or the Hennikers. It is difficult, shesays, to go to supper after the theatre and catch the last train. Itleaves Charing Cross so early."

  Again there seemed a distinct inclination on her part to shield hersister.

  "The whole thing is a most profound mystery," she went on. "I musthave slept quite lightly, for I heard the church clock strike eachquarter until one o'clock, yet not an unusual sound reached me.Neither did nurse hear anything."

  Nurse Kate was an excellent woman whom I had known at Guy's throughseveral years. Both Sir Bernard and myself had every confidence inher, and she had been the invalid's attendant for the past two years.

  "It certainly is a mystery--one which we must leave to the police toinvestigate. In the meantime, however, we must send Short to RedcliffeSquare to find Mary. He must not tell her the truth, but merely saythat her husband is much worse. To tell her of the tragedy at oncewould probably prove too great a blow."

  "She ought never to have gone to town and left him," declared mywell-beloved in sudden condemnation of her sister's conduct. "She willnever forgive herself."

  "Regrets will not bring the poor fellow to life again," I said with asigh. "We must act, and act promptly, in order to discover theidentity of the murderer and the motive of the crime. That there is amotive is certain; yet it is indeed strange that anyone shouldactually kill a man suffering from a disease which, in a few months atmost, must prove fatal. The motive was therefore his immediatedecease, and that fact will probably greatly assist the police intheir investigations."

  "But who could have killed him?"

  "Ah! that's the mystery. If, as you believe, the house was found to bestill secured when the alarm was raised, then it would appear thatsomeone who slept beneath this roof was guilty."

  "Oh! Impossible! Remember there are only myself and the servants. Yousurely don't suspect either of them?"

  "I have no suspicion of anyone at present," I answered. "Let thepolice search the place, and they may discover something which willfurnish them with a clue."

  I noticed some telegraph-forms in the stationery rack on a smallwriting-table, and taking one scribbled a couple of lines to SirBernard, at Hove, informing him of the mysterious affair. This Ifolded and placed in my pocket in readiness for the re-opening of thetelegraph office at eight o'clock.

  Shortly afterwards we heard the wheels of the cab outside, and a fewminutes later were joined by a police inspector in uniform and anofficer in plain clothes.

  In a few brief sentences I explained to them the tragic circumstances,and then led them upstairs to the dead man's room.

  After a cursory glance around, they went forth again out upon thelanding in order to await the arrival of two other plain-clothesofficers who had come round on foot, one of them the sergeant of theCriminal Investigation Department attached to the Kew station. Then,after giving orders to the constable on the beat to station himself atthe door and allow no one to enter or leave without permission, thethree detectives and the inspector entered the room where the dead manlay.