The Ashiel mystery: A Detective Story

by Mrs. Charles Bryce

  CHAPTER IX

  "The next thing I remember, was finding myself lying on the floor, and,when I tried to get up, seeing everything in the room swinging about melike the swinging boats at a fair. I don't know how long I had beenunconscious, but when, at last, I managed to stand up, and clinging,faint and giddy, to the back of a chair, looked again at the motionlessfigure that sprawled across the writing-table, there was a great pool ofblood on the polished oak of the floor beneath it, which grew slowlybroader, as drop after drop dripped down to swell it. With a great effortI conquered my faintness, and staggered out of the room and down thelong passage.

  "In the billiard-room Mr. McConachan was still practising his game. Hemust have been making a break, for I remember hearing him speak, as Iopened the door. 'Twenty-seven,' he said aloud. My voice wouldn't come,and I stood holding on to the doorpost, while he, with his back to me,went on potting the red.

  "'That you, Miss Byrne?' he said, without looking round. Then, as Ididn't answer, he glanced up and saw by my face, I suppose, thatsomething was very wrong. He came quickly to me, his cue in his hand.'What's the matter?' he said. 'Do you feel ill?' 'Lord Ashiel is dead,' Isaid; 'in the library. Some one shot him. Didn't you hear?' 'Dead?' hecried; 'Uncle Douglas shot! Do you know what you're saying! I heard ashot, it is true, five minutes ago, but surely that was the keepershooting an owl or something.'

  "I shook my head. 'He is dead,' I repeated dully. He looked at me, stillincredulous, and then darted forward and caught me by the arm. 'Here, sitdown,' he said, and half pushed, half led me to a chair. I saw him run tothe bell and tug violently at the rope. Then I believe I fainted again.

  "I think that is all there is to tell you, Mr. Gimblet. You know alreadythat the murderer got clear away, and the next morning footmarks werefound outside the window which proved to have been made by Sir DavidSouthern. I was so idiotic, when I was questioned, as to mention havingspoken to him outside the gun-room door, and to repeat, incidentally,that he had said he had been cleaning his rifle. I never dreamt thatanyone could be so mad as to suspect him. But they looked at the rifle,and found that it was dirty, so that it must have been discharged againsince I saw him. And it appears he did not join in the search for themurderer, and was not seen until it was all over. And so they arrestedhim and took him away. No amount of evidence could ever make me believefor a moment that he had a hand in this dreadful thing, but oh, Mr.Gimblet, I see only too well how black it looks against him. What shall Ido if you, too, now that I have told you everything, think he did it? Youdon't, do you?"

  "My dear young lady," said the detective. "I really can't give you anopinion at present. There are a score of points I must investigate, adozen other people besides yourself whom I must question, before I canform any kind of conclusion. I hope that Sir David Southern may prove tobe a much wronged man. But beyond that I can't go, just at present; and Ishouldn't build too much on my help if I were you. I'm not infallible;far from it. And I certainly can't prove him innocent if he is guilty."

  He stood up, shaking the sand out of his clothes.

  "Let us go on, up to the castle," he said.

  The gates were near at hand; in silence they breasted the steep inclineof the drive, which wound and zigzagged up between high banks coveredwith rhododendron and bracken, and grown over with trees. After a quarterof a mile these gave place to an abrupt, grass covered slope, whose tophad been smoothed and levelled by the hand of man, and from which on thefar side rose the castle of Inverashiel, its stout and ancient frameworkdisguised and masked by the modern addition to the building which facedthe approach; a mass of gabled and turreted stonework in the worst styleof nineteenth century architecture which in Scotland often took on ashape and semblance even more fantastically repulsive than it assumed inthe south. The great tower that formed the principal remaining portion ofthe old building could just be discerned over the top of the flaringfacade, but the nature of the site was such that most of the ancientfortress was invisible from that part of the grounds. Juliet stopped atthe turn of the road.

  "I will leave you here," she said, "you will not want me, I suppose?After you have finished, will you come to Lady Ruth Worsfold's house, andtell me what you think? It is just past the station turning; you willeasily find your way, though the house is hidden by the trees. Yourluggage will be there already, as Lady Ruth is going to put you up."

  Mr. Mark McConachan, or rather Lord Ashiel, as he had now become, was inthe act of ending a solitary meal, when Gimblet was announced. He wentto meet the detective, forcing to his trouble-lined face a smile ofwelcome that lit up the large melancholy eyes with an expression fewpeople could resist.

  "I thought it was another of those newspaper fellows, but, thankgoodness, I believe they're all gone now," he said. "I am exceedinglyglad to see you, Mr. Gimblet. I should myself have asked you to come toour aid, but I found that Miss Byrne had been before me. I suppose youhave seen her?"

  "Yes," said Gimblet. "She met me at the station. I'm afraid I'm ratherlate on the scene. I hear that the Glasgow police have come and gone,taking with them the author of the crime."

  "It is a dreadful business altogether," returned young Ashiel. "I don'tknow which part of it is the worst. There's my uncle dead, shot down likea rat by some cold-blooded scoundrel; and now my cousin David, poor chap,in jail, and under charge of murder. It seems impossible to believe it ofhim, and yet, what is one to believe? One can only suppose that he musthave been off his head if he did it. But have you had lunch, Mr. Gimblet?Sit down and have something to eat first of all; you can ask me anyquestions you wish while you are eating."

  And he insisted on Gimblet's doing as he suggested.

  "The household is naturally a bit disorganized," he said when theservants had left the room and the detective was busy with some coldgrouse. "I had a cold lunch myself to save trouble; would you ratherhave something hot? I expect that a chop or something could be produced,if you are cold after your journey."

  Gimblet assured him that he could like nothing better than what healready had.

  "You have had Macross up here, haven't you?" he asked. "It is reallydisappointing to find the whole thing over before I arrive. I am afraidthere is nothing left for me to do."

  Mark looked at him quickly. Was it possible he accepted Macross's verdictwithout inquiring further himself?

  "We are hoping you will undo what has been done," he said. "I look to youto get my cousin out of prison. Surely there must be some otherexplanation than that he did it. I simply won't believe it."

  "If there is any other explanation," said Gimblet, "I will try andfind it; but the affair looks bad against Sir David Southern from whatI can hear."

  "Why should he have shot through the window?" said Ashiel. "They wereboth in the same house. Why should my cousin go into the garden, whenhe had nothing to do but to open the library door and shoot, if hewanted to?"

  "Oh," said Gimblet, "ordinary caution would suggest the garden. He didnot know perhaps, whether his uncle would be alone; and as a matter offact, he was not, was he?"

  "No, Miss Byrne was with him. By Jove," said Mark, bending forward tolight a cigarette, "I shall never forget the fright it gave me when Isaw her face. She looked as if--oh, she looked perfectly ghastly! I wasin the billiard-room when she came in, as white as a sheet, and stoodthere without speaking for a minute, while I imagined every sort ofcatastrophe except the real one. And all the time I kept thinking itwould turn out to be nothing really, as likely as not; women will lookhideously frightened and upset if they cut their finger, or see a rat,or think they hear burglars. One never knows. And then at last she gotout a few words, 'Lord Ashiel has been shot,' or something of the sort,and fainted."

  "What did you do?" asked Gimblet.

  "Well, I had to see to her, you know. I couldn't very well leave her inthat state, could I? I hung on to the bell for all I was worth, and thebutler and footmen came running. I told them to look after the young ladyand to call her maid, and then I ran off to the library, fo
llowed by oldBlanston, the butler. You know what we found there. My poor old uncle,dead as a door nail; a hole in the window where the bullet came in, andthe floor around him all covered with blood. Ugh!" Mark shuddered, "itwas horrid. We only stayed to make sure he was dead, and then we left himas we had found him and rushed back to rouse the rest of the household,and to start a chase after the murderer. Of course the first person Ilooked for was David Southern, but he wasn't to be found, so I and threemenservants ran out at once with sticks and lanterns, and hunted all overthe grounds without seeing or hearing anything or anyone. The hall boyhad been sent down to fetch up the stablemen and chauffeur, and to routout some of the gardeners and anyone else he could find, so that we werea decently large party, and I don't think there was an inch of ground wedidn't go over, of all that lies within the policies. The murderer,however, had plenty of time to get right away, and as it was hopeless toscour the whole country side in that darkness--for it was as black asyour hat--I decided, after an hour of groping about in the shrubberies,that we must leave off and wait for daylight."

  "What time was it when you abandoned the hunt?" asked Gimblet.

  "It was past midnight. I didn't see that any good could be done bysitting up all night. On the contrary, I thought it important that weshould get some sleep while we could, so as to be fresher for the chasewhen daylight came. At this time of the year it gets light fairly early,so I sent every one to bed, except two of the ghillies, whom I told torow across the loch to Crianan and fetch the doctor and police, which Isuppose I ought to have thought of before. Then I went to bed myself."

  "And when did Sir David Southern turn up?" asked Gimblet.

  "Oh, he appeared soon after we started to beat the policies. I hadn'ttime then to ask him where he'd been, and he was as keen on catchingthe murderer as anyone. Of course it never occurred to me tocross-question him."

  "Naturally. Please go on with your narrative."

  "Well, we slept, to speak for myself, for three or four hours, and thenJames and Andrew came back with the people I had sent for. And now, Mr.Gimblet, I come to a strange thing, a thing I've been careful not tomention to anyone but you, though I'm afraid it's bound to come out atthe trial. When Blanston and I went out of the library, we locked thedoor behind us, but when I opened it again, to let in the doctor and thepolice, my uncle's body had been moved."

  "Moved? How?" Gimblet repeated after him.

  "Oh, not far, but it had been touched by some one, I am ready to swear,though I said nothing about it at the time. When we first found him, hewas lying forward on the table with one arm under his head and the otherhanging beside him. When I went in for the second time he was sittingsideways in his chair with his head and arm in quite a different place.Instead of being in the middle, on the blotting-pad, they were further tothe right, on the bare polished wood."

  Gimblet looked at him keenly.

  "You are perfectly certain of this?" he said.

  "Absolutely. Besides, you can ask Miss Byrne and Blanston. They both sawhim as he was at first. And the police and Dr. Duncan can tell you whathis position was when they went into the room. I said nothing about itto any of them, because I thought at once that it must be David who hadbeen there."

  "Why did you think that?"

  "Because he knew where the key was. I took it out of my pocket when wewere alone in the smoking-room before going up to bed, and asked him whatI should do with it.

  "'Oh, put it in a drawer,' he said, pointing to the writing-table, and Iput it there, as he suggested. Of course I see now that some one else mayhave found the key in that drawer, but at first it did look as if Davidmust, for some reason, have taken it, and been in the library, after I'dgone to bed."

  "It seems very unlikely that anyone else would have hit on the placewhere you had put it," said Gimblet reflectively. "And if they haddone so, would they have recognized the key? Is the library keypeculiar in any way?"

  "It is rather an uncommon pattern," said Mark. "It is very old andstrong. I think anyone who knew the key would have recognized itall right."

  "It is hardly likely that anyone would have found it if they had had tosearch all through the house for it in the middle of the night,"commented Gimblet. "Is there no other way of getting into the library?"

  "No, there is only one door."

  "How about the window? It was broken; could not anyone have put in ahand, or raised the sash?"

  "I don't think anyone could have got in. It isn't a sash window. Thereare stone mullions and small leaded casements in the old part of thecastle where the library is, and I doubt if anyone larger than a childcould squeeze through; in fact, a child couldn't; there are iron barsdown the middle, which make it too narrow."

  "H'm," murmured Gimblet. "I should like to have a look at them. And whatwas the doctor's report?"

  "He said that the injuries to the heart were such that death must havebeen instantaneous, or practically so."

  "Did anything else come out?"

  "Nothing, except the evidence against poor old David, I'm sorry to say."

  "You haven't told me that yet," said Gimblet. "Go on from when the policearrived on the scene."

  "As soon as it was daylight we started off again on our search. But rightat the beginning of it, they came upon the footsteps."

  "Ah, where were they?"

  "The flower-bed outside the library window showed them plainly; theground beyond that was mossy, and there were no other marks. We dividedinto two parties, one going west down the side of the loch, and the othernorth and east over the hills. Till ten o'clock or later we beat thecountry, searching behind every rock, and going through the woods andbracken in a close line. But we saw no sign of a stranger, and came backat last, dead beat, for food and a rest. When we got back we found thatthe policeman left in charge had been nosing about, and whiling away histime by collecting the boots of every one in the house and fitting themto the footprints on the flower-bed. As bad luck would have it, David'sshooting-boots exactly fitted the marks."

  "His shooting-boots?" said Gimblet. "He wouldn't be wearingshooting-boots after dinner."

  "That's what he said himself, and there seems no imaginable reason why heshould have worn them, unless--" Mark hesitated for a moment, and thenwent on in a tone perhaps rather too positive to carry completeconviction to a critical ear. "Of course not. He can't have put them onafter dinner. The idea is ludicrous. He must have made those footmarksearlier in the day."

  "Is that what he himself says?" asked the detective. He had finishedeating, and was leaning back in his chair with that air of far-offcontemplation which those best acquainted with him knew washabitually his expression when his attention and interest were morethan usually roused.

  "No," admitted Mark regretfully. "He doesn't. He sticks to it that he'dnever been near the flower-bed, with boots, or without them; it's mybelief his memory has been affected by the shock of all this. And hewould insist on talking to the police, though they warned him thatwhat he said might be used against him. I did all I could to stop him,but it was no good. It really looked as if he was doing his best toincriminate himself."

  "How was that? What else did he say?"

  "You see," said Mark, "when the Crianan man had got hold of the bootsthat matched the footprints, he was no end excited by his success.Pleased to death with himself, he was. And he was as keen as mustard onfollowing up his rotten clue. The next thing he did was to want a look atDavid's guns. Of course we didn't make any objection to that, though ifI'd known--well, it's no earthly thinking of that now. So off we allmarched in procession to the gun-room, and it didn't take long to seethat the only one of the whole lot there that hadn't been cleaned sinceit was last fired was the Mannlicher David had shot his stag with the daybefore. The silly ass of a constable took it up and squinted through itas solemn as a judge, and then he just handed it to my cousin, and 'Whathave you to say to this, Sir David?' says he. Infernal cheek! 'I shot itoff yesterday, and haven't had time to clean it since,' said David, andI, for
one, could have sworn he was speaking the truth. Why not, indeed?There was nothing improbable about it. But the dickens of the thing wasthat while we were all out of the house, and he had the place to himself,the policeman had routed out poor Miss Byrne and badgered her for anaccount of all that had happened the evening before; and she, without athought of doing harm to any of us--I'm convinced she's as sorry for itnow as I am myself--had mentioned incidentally that David had told her,when she saw him half an hour before the murder, that he'd just beencleaning his rifle. She'd told me so, too, as far as that goes, when shepassed through the billiard-room on her way to the library. I happened toask her if she knew what he was up to."

  "Decidedly awkward for Sir David," said Gimblet meditatively, "butafter all, some one else might have fired off the rifle after he hadcleaned it."

  Mark shook his head gloomily.

  "There are difficulties about that," he said. "It happens that David isvery fussy about his guns, always cleans them himself, you know, andwon't let another soul touch 'em. And though he keeps them in the gunroomlike the rest of us, he's got his own particular glass-fronted cupboardwhich he keeps the key of himself. My uncle and I share one between us,and generally leave the key in the lock, so that the keeper can get atthe guns, which we never bother to clean ourselves. Not so David. Eversince we were boys he's had his own private cupboard, and no one buthimself has ever been allowed to open it. We always spent our holidayshere, and my uncle let us behave as if we were at our own house. Davidtook out the key for the sergeant to use, and when he was asked if anyoneelse could have got at the rifle, he replied that it was impossible, asthe key had been in his pocket the whole time, except for an hour or twowhile he was asleep, when it had lain on the table by his bedside."

  "Did he deny having told Miss Byrne he had cleaned the rifle?"asked Gimblet.

  "Yes; he said he hadn't told her so. It was all very unpleasant, and thepolice sergeant was as suspicious as you like, by this time. 'What wereyou doing when the alarm was given?' he asked David. 'I was out in thegrounds,' said David, and that was rather a facer for the rest of us, Imust confess. He went on to say that he had fancied he saw some onehanging about at the edge of the lawn--which is the opposite side of thehouse from the library--and gone out to make sure, but he had found noone, though he hunted about for nearly an hour, till he saw lightsapproaching and fell in with our party of searchers. He said that it wasthen he first heard what had happened."

  Gimblet nodded his head thoughtfully.

  "Miss Byrne said she saw him start off to look for some one," heremarked.

  "Yes," said Mark eagerly, "there's no doubt he saw a man lurking in thedarkness. And it was dark too," he added, "never saw such a black nightin my life; I must say it beats me how he could have seen anyone. But hiseyes were always rather more useful than mine," he concluded hastily.

  "The police, however, seem to have thought it improbable," said Gimblet,"since they arrested your cousin for the murder."

  "Stupid brutes!" said Mark viciously. "No, they would have it it wasimpossible he should have seen anyone. And what clinched it was theunlucky fact that David and my uncle had had a violent row the daybefore. My uncle shot David's dog; I must say I think it was uncalledfor, and poor David was absurdly fond of the beast. He felt very savageabout it, and all the ghillies heard what he said to Uncle Douglas."

  "What did he say?"

  "Oh, a lot of rot. He lost his temper. The idiotic thing he said was,that he'd a good mind to shoot _him_ and see how he liked it. Puretemper, you know. I don't believe David would hurt a hair of his head."

  "Well, it was decidedly an indiscreet remark."

  "It was imbecile. And of course the police heard all about it from theservants and keepers, and it fitted in only too well with all the restabout the footmarks and his absence from the house at the time, and therifle and everything. By the by, the bullet was a soft-nosed one whichfitted David's rifle; but for that matter it fitted mine--which is a .355Mannlicher like his--or a dozen others on the loch side. It's a verycommon weapon on a Scotch forest. But taking one thing with another therewas a good deal of evidence against him, so they made up their minds hehad done it; and Macross, when he arrived from Glasgow with hismyrmidons, agreed with the local idiots, and took him off. I'm certainthere must be a mistake somewhere, but so far it seems jolly hard to hiton it. I hope you'll put your finger on the spot."

  "I hope so," said Gimblet, but his voice was full of doubt. "It's hard tosee how anyone else could have used his rifle after he cleaned it, sincehe admits that he locked it up and kept the key on him. Yes," he murmuredto himself, "the rifle speaks very eloquently. What other interpretationcan be put on these facts? I'm sure you must see that yourself," he wenton, glancing up at Mark, who was feeling in his pocket for anothercigarette. "Sir David told Miss Byrne he had cleaned his rifle; he toldthe police he then locked it up and that the key had been in hispossession ever since. But the rifle was found to have been fired againsince he had cleaned it. His only explanation was to contradict what hehad previously said to Miss Byrne. Do those facts appear to you to leaveany possible loophole of doubt as to his guilt?"

  Mark struck a match and lighted his cigarette before he answered. Whenat length he did so his reluctance was very plain, and his voice fullof regret.

  "Poor old chap," he said. "I'm afraid he must have done it in some fit ofmadness. As you say, there is no other imaginable alternative."

  Gimblet nodded philosophically.

  "Is there anything else?" he asked.

  Mark hesitated.

  "There's a letter which arrived for Uncle Douglas this morning," he said,"which you may think worth looking at. I daresay it's of no importance,but it struck me as rather odd."

  He took a letter out of his pocket and handed it to the detective, whoopened it and read as follows:

  "Si Milord ne rend pas ce qu'il ne doit pas garder, le coup de foudre luitombera sur la tete."

  There was no signature, nor any date.

  Gimblet turned the sheet over thoughtfully. The message was typewrittenon a piece of thin foreign paper; the postmark on the envelope was Paris,and the stamps French. He folded it again and replaced it in its cover.

  "It seems the usual threatening anonymous communication," he observed."Have you any idea who it's from?"

  Mark shook his head.

  "None," he confessed. "It looks, though, as if my uncle had in hispossession something belonging to the writer, doesn't it? Don't youthink it might have something to do with the murder?"

  "I don't see why the murderer should send a threatening letter after thedeed was done," said the detective. "Still less could he have posted itin Paris on the very day the crime was committed."

  "No, that's true enough," Mark admitted reluctantly.

  "Has any suspicious looking person been seen about this place, thissummer? Any foreigner, for instance?" asked the detective.

  "No; no," Mark replied. "I should have heard of it for certain if therehad been. It would have been an event, down here."

  Gimblet dropped the subject.

  "If I may," he said. "I will keep this. It may lead to something,"he added, tucking the letter away in an inside pocket. "That's all,I suppose?"

  Mark was silent for a minute. He seemed to be thinking.

  "That's all I know about the murder," he said at last, "but there areplenty of complications apart from that. I suppose Miss Byrne told youthat my uncle electrified us all by saying she was his daughter, only anhour or so before he died?"

  Gimblet nodded. "Yes," he said, "she told me."

  "It makes it very awkward for me," said Mark. "I want to do the rightthing, but I'm hanged if I know what I ought to do. You see, my uncleused to say that he'd left his property between me and David; he nevermade any secret of it, and as a matter of fact I've had a communicationfrom his London lawyers, telling me they have a very old will, made whenI was a small boy, long before the birth of his son, and that everythingis left to me. There were re
asons why he may have thought David would beprovided for--he was engaged to marry a very rich American, but shedropped him yesterday like a red-hot coal as soon as it began to look asif he'd be suspected. She's gone now, I'm glad to say. As a matter offact, if David can only be cleared of this horrible charge, I shallinsist on dividing my inheritance with him. That is, if I can't get MissByrne to take it, or Miss McConachan, as I ought to call her now."

  "Lord Ashiel could leave his money where he liked, couldn't he?"Gimblet inquired.

  "Yes, he could, but he would naturally have left it to his daughter, ifshe really was his daughter. In fact, Miss McConachan says he told her hehad done so, but I haven't come across the will so far, though I had agood hunt through his papers this morning; Blanston and the housekeeper,who say they witnessed some document which may have been a will, have noidea where it is. Of course, my uncle may have intended to say that hewas going to make one, and Miss McConachan may have misunderstood him,but she seems to think he had some secret hiding-place of his own, and Ihope to goodness you'll be able to hit on it, if he had. I can't standthe idea of profiting by a lost will, and I'd far rather simply hand overthe money than bother to look for this missing paper."

  "Oh, I daresay it will turn up," said Gimblet. "You haven't had much timeto find it yet."

  "My uncle was a very methodical man. Everything is in its place. You waittill you see his papers! If he made a will he must have hidden itsomewhere where we shall never dream of looking for it. It's just wasteof time hunting about, and I shall have another try at persuading my newcousin to let me make over everything to her."

  "It is not every young man in your position who would part so readilywith a large fortune," observed Gimblet.

  But Mark awkwardly deprecated his approving words.

  "Oh," he said, "I'm sure any decent chap would do the same in my place."