Whatsoever a Man Soweth
Page 6
quiet--not a leaf stirred.
Who was concealed there, I wondered? I knew Eric Domville too well todoubt that his practised eye had been deceived.
I longed to go forward and search, but that was entirely out of thequestion. Some unknown person had witnessed our visit to the body. Ouractions had been watched.
Presently, when we reached the spot, and the light shone upon theprostrate man, I was enabled to obtain my first clear sight of him.
The face, white and waxen in death, bore a hard, terrible look in theeyes, an expression that caused me to shudder. It was the look of onewho shrank in awe and horror from the great Unknown. His clothes, asuit of rough, cheap dark tweed, the vest of which bore a large darkstain, showed evidence of hard wear, frayed at the elbows and cuffs, hislinen was not over clean, and his boots bore traces of long tramping.
His cloth golf-cap had fallen off, and lay near, disclosing that hisclose-cropped dark hair was somewhat curly, while his face wasclean-shaven, and around his collar was a dark blue cravat tied in abow.
"I wonder who he is?" remarked Booth, as he bent down, and, opening hisvest, disclosed the small shot-wound.
"I wonder," I echoed, at the same time feeling in my pocket the papersand other objects which no doubt would establish his identity. I longedto return to the house and examine them.
"Shot clean through the heart!" exclaimed Richards, kneeling upon thecarpet of dead leaves and making as thorough an examination as thefickle light afforded. "He must have fallen and died almost instantly."
"Could it have been suicide?" inquired Booth.
"I think not. Of course, he might have shot himself, but from theposition of the wound I think not. Besides, where is the revolver?"
We looked about, but could not discover it, and at the same time Boothconstantly urged upon us not to move about lest we might destroy anyfootmarks that would lead to a clue.
While Booth was searching the dead man's pockets of course findingnothing, Eric noticed a light approaching up the road, and pointed itout.
"That's the gov'nor on 'is bike," declared the constable. "I left wordwith my missis to send 'im up 'ere. I'm glad 'e's come."
We awaited the arrival of the superintendent, a short, elderly,thick-set man in a dark suit, who spoke sharply to his officer, listenedto the doctor's opinion, and then proceeded to make a methodicalexamination for himself.
He held the lantern to the dead man's face, and looked for some momentsinto his features.
"No. He's a perfect stranger to me," the officer declared. "Was therenothing in his pockets?"
"Only some money, sir--a shillin' or two," answered the villagepoliceman.
"On tramp, no doubt," and he examined the palms of both hands, feelingthem with his fingers. "Not used to hard work--clean-shaven, too--doneit to disguise himself probably. No razor?"
"No, sir."
"Found the revolver?"
"No, sir."
"Not searched yet, I suppose?"
"No, sir. I waited until you came, to hear your instructions."
"Quite right. You'd better move him down to the village, and when it'slight we'll search all around." Then, turning to Richards, he added,"There'll have to be an inquest, doctor. Shall we fix it for the dayafter to-morrow, at the Spread Eagle at Midhurst? Will that suit you?"
"Yes. I can make the post-mortem to-morrow," Richards said, and thus itwas arranged.
"It's a mystery--murder without a doubt," declared the superintendent afew minutes later, while chatting with the doctor. "How long has hebeen dead, do you think?"
"Eight or nine hours," I should say.
"Then it was done about dusk, you think?"
"Most probably."
"He was shot from the front, you notice, not in the back. Therefore, itseems quite evident that some secret meeting took place here before itgrew dark. Bear that in mind, Booth, and make every inquiry to find outwhether anybody was seen going over the fields."
"His lordship and his friends were about the farms a-shootin' all day,"the constable replied.
"Yes," laughed Eric, "but we didn't shoot with revolvers," at which weall three laughed.
I admired my friend for his clever sally, for if anyone actually did seehim crossing the turnips there would be no suspicion aroused that he hadbeen witness of any meeting.
The police superintendent made a cursory examination of the surroundingsby aid of the lantern, but saw nothing that led him to believe that astruggle had taken place; then eager to return and examine those papersI had in my pocket, we both bade the doctor and policeman good-night,and returned across the fields and along the drift skirting the park,scaling the wall, and so reaching the house by a much shorter route thanby re-passing the village.
"I wonder who was in that thicket," I said, as we walked down the hill,after leaving the scene of the tragedy.
"I saw something white, but whether it was a man's shirt-front or awoman's blouse I don't know," Eric replied. "Whoever it was may tellthe police of our visit there, and we may find ourselves in a mostawkward position. It wouldn't be nice to be charged with trying todefeat the ends of justice, would it?"
"No," I said, thinking deeply, and recognising the seriousness of thesituation. "But how could we have acted otherwise? If we are to saveTibbie we must accept the risk."
"It's terrible--terrible," he murmured. "I wonder who the fellow is?"
"Let's get back. Come up to my room, and we'll have a look through whatwe've found," I said, and then we went on in silence until we managed toreopen the smoking-room window and creep in without attracting theattention of either the dogs or the night-watchman.
Eric mixed two stiff glasses of whisky, and we drank them. I confessthat my hand trembled with excitement, while before me as I had walkedthrough the night I saw that staring terror-stricken face--the face ofthe man who had looked into the Unknown and had been appalled.
Together we crept up to my room, first taking off our boots, as in orderto reach the wing in which I was placed we had to pass Jack's room, andalso that of old Lady Scarcliff, who was, I knew, always nervous ofburglars. Besides, we had no desire that it should be known that we hadbeen out at that hour--otherwise Sybil might suspect.
Up the Long Gallery we went, past the grim row of armed knights soghostly in the darkness, past the loudly-ticking old clock, past thedeep window-seat wherein Sybil had so nearly betrayed her secret in thesunset hour, and on into my room.
Once within we locked the door, drew the _portiere_ to shut out thesound of our voices, and I took from my various pockets all that we hadsecured from the dead man.
It was a strange collection of papers, letters and various odds andends, rendered gruesome by the stains of a man's life-blood upon them.
They lay upon the table in the window and I scarce dared to touch them;stolen as they had been from that silent, staring corpse.
I switched on the table-lamp, and we drew chairs eagerly forward, soexcited that neither of us spoke.
The first thing I took in my hand was the small circular medallion ofgold with the thin chain which I had taken from the dead man's neck.About the size of a penny it was, smooth and polished on either side. Iturned it over in wonder, and as I did so noticed that although so thinit was really a locket, one of those which is sometimes worn by ladiesupon a long chain.
With trembling fingers I inserted my thumb nail into the slit and prisedit open.
Upon one side a small ivory miniature of the Honourable Sybil smiledmockingly at us, and on the other was engraved an inscription.
I put it down and took up a letter folded in half without an envelope,the paper of which was crumpled and blood-stained.
I quickly scanned over what was written there, Eric looking over myshoulder meanwhile.
What I learnt staggered me. It told us the awful truth.
We turned and faced each other, looking into each other's eyes withoututtering a word.
The problem was, we saw, far more intricate
and amazing than we had everdreamed.
Yes, there, spread before us, was the dead man's secret!
CHAPTER FIVE.
WHICH PUZZLES BOTH OF US.
Holding our breath in our eagerness, we turned over the letters andhastily scanned them through, save where the writing was obliterated bythose dark stains.
They were a revelation to us both. They told a story which utterlyamazed us.
Within the flat circular locket were engraved the words: "From Sybil--August 14th," but there was no year. It was a love token which theunknown had worn around his neck, a beautiful miniature signed by one ofthe most fashionable modern miniaturists.
The letters were, for the most part, in a woman's