A Mysterious Visit
By dining on the train, Collins had just time to do a Gilbert and
Sullivan opera. He had a seat permanently booked, which was to be
disposed of if he did not turn up in time.
After the excitement of his daily life, he found these plays, which he
knew almost by heart, very refreshing. It was the dear old ‘Yeoman of
the Guard’ this night, and he lay back and listened with his eyes half
shut, absorbing the delicious tunes like a rare old vintage.
“It is easier to die well than to live well, for in sooth I have tried
both,” says Colonel Fairfax.
How many cases he had come across in his work where this was true.
Some of the worst of men had earned the admiration of men by their
brave end.
He made his way home in the purple night through back streets and
half-lighted squares which he always preferred to the rush and
dazzling brightness of West London, when he had thinking to do.
He arrived at his flat to find Sinclair waiting for him, as he had
almost expected.
“You’re a nice fellow,” said the latter. “I’ve been waiting for you
for over an hour. Your man did not know where you had gone.”
“Anything wrong,” said the other, carelessly.
“Wrong,” said Sinclair. “I should think there was. You can’t have a
Home Secretary murdered for nothing. The Premier sent for Boyce this
morning, and half the Cabinet have been round or calling up. They all
have ‘theories’ which they want us to work out.... Luckily, Boyce is
in his element, and professes great hopes of capture and all that sort
of thing.”
Collins helped Sinclair to a generous whiskey and soda, took a more
modest one for himself, and sat down.
“Now let’s hear all about it,” he said.
“Well,” said the other. “We have done a good deal of spade work, and
the negative results are of use anyhow, though our many critics would
not say so. First, as to the room. It has been so thoroughly examined
that there is no possibility of the murderer having got out by any
secret means.”
“I could have told you that,” said Collins almost contemptuously.
“How?” said the other.
“Well, nowadays, people in modern London houses do not have trap doors
and secret panels, and all that sort of thing. That’s kept for
detective stories.”
“Then how in the world did he come and go?”
“I can’t tell you. That’s what we’ve got to find out.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Simmons was an accomplice?”
“Not necessarily, but how did you get on with her?”
“She came, and you remember Boyce said he was going to examine her
himself. The great man was engaged with higher game, and I did the
examining. We got her whole statement down, and turned her inside out.
I am sure she was telling the truth. She had nothing to add to what
she said yesterday.”
Collins grunted.
Sinclair looked at him for a moment, then continued.
“We could get nothing further about the letter sent to the Central
News. It was, as you said, posted at Bridge Street, but of course no
one can say any more than that. I have sent it to an expert on
typewriting to see whether we can ascertain what machine was used.”
“Good.”
“The telephone has given us nothing. They cannot say where the call
came from, and it was probably a Public Telephone Office. What a nerve
the man had.”
“Yes, but it was clever. Haven’t you noticed that where there is
nothing but the bare deed, it is easier to concentrate on that, but
all these extraneous matters lead one away from the essentials?
“Now I see you are dying to tell me. What about Lewis?”
Sinclair gave a start. This man’s instinct was uncanny.
“As I told you, Lewis has bolted. He did not turn up again yesterday,
and I sent a man to see if he was ill. He had gone home, coolly packed
his things and paid his bill, telling his landlady he would not be
back, and gone.”
“And so you think he is the murderer?”
“It is suspicious, but you have not heard all. Of course, this,
coupled with his curious manner the day before, caused me to make
enquiries. Two important facts have come to light. On the afternoon of
the murder he told his typist that he was going out. He was very
restless, and said he could not work, and then he seemed to come to a
decision, and said, ‘I must go and see Sir James Watson,’ and took his
hat and stick.”
“When was this?” said Collins, leaning forward.
“About 2.30, and he did not return till just before I sent for him
after the telephone message came.”
Collins laughed.
“Then, you suppose that, having planned the murder and written the
letter saying that it had taken place, and posted it, he tells his
typist he is going to do it and comes back in time to call you up, and
me too, and then answers your bell.”
“I suppose nothing,” said Sinclair, nettled. “I am giving you facts,
and I haven’t done.”
“Fire away, then.”
“When we searched his rooms after he had gone, his landlady said he
always kept a revolver in the top drawer in his bedroom. The day
before yesterday she saw him take it out, and put it in his pocket.”
“My dear fellow, this is too crude for words. Couldn’t he have shut
his door, or taken some precaution?”
“Of course, I know that, but it is this sort of mistake which hangs
men.”
“Well, go on.”
“That’s all, but it is enough to go on for me. Why has he fled, tell
me that?”
“My dear fellow, let me demolish your house of cards. First, would a
man who is so cool a hand that he can do what he has done, show
nervousness and fright when asked to go to the house? Would he not
rather welcome the chance, as these vain-glorious murderers invariably
do?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then, from what you tell me, he seems to have made up his mind to go
and see Sir James suddenly. That doesn’t fit in.”
“How did he get into the house and out again the second time?”
“It’s no good asking questions. He may have had accomplices for all we
know.”
“Ah, now you are opening up a new question altogether. We have rather
assumed that there was only one man in it, but let’s keep to Lewis.”
“All right, then. He had access to official paper, and knew my
signature well. He had letters of mine, and could have copied it. Then
he knew my habits, and where I should be found, and he knew where to
find you. He might even have called up from the Yard itself.”
“That’s one to you, certainly,” said Collins. “I can see Lewis having
a thin time if you catch him. What do you know about him, anyway?”
“Nothing much. He has been here for three years. He came from a
merchant’s office, and applied for a clerkship. He was well
recommended, and was always keen on his work, and very reliable. So I
took him on as my right-hand man and confidential clerk. He was known
there as my ‘familiar.’”
“That’s all straightforward. Have you taken any action?”
“I have sent a full description of him to the papers, and posted him
as ‘wanted.’ ”
“Oh, my God,” said Collins, jumping up, “when will you people learn
the folly of this? You know what will happen? First, you put him at
once on his guard. Then we shall have letters from Tokio and
Leningrad, besides Brighton and Battersea, from people who have seen
him and talked to him. You know that always happens, and if, by any
chance, he is guilty, we shall have his body washed ashore by the
Thames in about a month’s time. Or,” he added grimly, “possibly if he
is innocent.”
“Well, that’s the official procedure. I cannot go behind that,
especially in a case like this.”
Collins laughed, and sat down.
“It may not be a bad thing,” he said. “It may put the murderer into a
false position of security.”
“You don’t think much of this, then?”
“I reserve judgment, but if you are right he was one of the cleverest
scoundrels of this generation.”
Sinclair started. The words were the same as in the letter he had
received, and which was burning in his pocket.
“But you, what did you find in Devonshire?”
“A charming house and a charming girl. It was a rotten job to have to
break the news to her.”
“Then why on earth did you go?”
“Oh, I learnt some interesting facts about the family.”
“It’s a dark business altogether, and the worst is that we shall have
no peace till it is solved. I have had our staff working all day
tracing the movements of well-known criminals who are at large, and
any who may have had a grievance against the Home Secretary. Also of
any lunatics who are at large, and, as you know, there are many of
them.”
They smoked in silence for a while.
“Have you any clue at all? Don’t tell me if you would rather not, but
I fancied you were holding something back?” said Sinclair.
“You have asked me, and I will tell you. I have. The only reason I
have not confided in you is, not from lack of confidence, but because
I was afraid of just such action as you have taken in the case of
Lewis. You see, you are bound to do certain things by your position.
If this develops I will tell you.”
“Thanks,” said the other, his face clearing.
“Did you notice anything curious in Mrs. Simmons’ statement?” said
Collins, after a few minutes’ silence.
“In what particular?”
“I commend it to your notice. She said that when the unknown visitor
had been with Sir James for some time, she heard a ring from the
library. When she went upstairs, Sir James was showing the visitor
out. If so, who rang, and why?”
“Just a moment, I have the statement here,” and he pulled out his
pocket book, and took out a folded paper. “Here we are. Yes, you are
quite right, I did not notice it at the time. You think that curious?”
“I think it—— Hush, what was that?”
“What?” said the other.
“I could have sworn I heard someone moving.”
“Your man, probably. I heard nothing.”
“My man does not live in. Don’t move.”
He got to his feet without noise, and went to his desk. Opening a
drawer he took out an automatic pistol, and went to the door. With a
swift movement he flung it open. Outside was darkness. Collins turned
on the light and looked around.
“Nothing,” he said. “Must have been my imagination. Hullo, what’s
this?”
He stooped down and picked up a piece of paper from the floor.
It was a sheet torn from a pocket book, and he brought it into the
room, closing the door carefully.
“Read that,” he said, and for all his coolness there was a tremble in
his voice. “You are both on the wrong track. Poor fools,” and that was
all.
“Come,” said Collins, incisively. “We must search the flat.”
It did not take long, as the flat was not a large one. There was not a
trace of anyone, and the door was fast.
“Well, well, things are getting lively. We have to deal with a pretty
customer. We shall have to look out for ourselves.”
Sinclair was white. He got up and helped himself to a whiskey.
Collins picked up the statement of Mrs. Simmons from the floor, and
read it carefully through.
Then he folded it up and handed it back to Sinclair.
“Was there anything else found on his person of interest?” he said.
“Yes,” said Sinclair, and took from his pocket a leather case. “The
other things were just the ordinary things a man carries: they are at
the house. This I brought with me. It contains miniatures of Sir
James’ wife and daughter. She is a beautiful girl, you saw her
to-day?”
Collins looked at the miniature long. It showed Miss Watson as a very
young girl, with quaint curls encircling her face, but from the eyes
there looked out the same brave innocence, and there was the wistful
curve of the lips which he had seen in the girl of to-day.
He turned to the other picture, and gave a start. An intent look came
into his face, and he looked long and earnestly.
Sinclair looked up.
“They are very much alike, aren’t they?” he said. “Anyone would know
them for mother and daughter. Do you know, when I saw that photo
miniature I almost seemed to recognise it, there is something
familiar.”
Collins composed his face before he answered.
“The likeness is striking. It’s very strange,” he said.
“Strange?” said the other.
“Yes, strange, because I, too, seem to recognise it. I saw her
portrait at the Vale to-day.”
“Perhaps that is why it looks familiar,” said Sinclair.
“Perhaps,” said Collins, carelessly, but his eyes were still on the
picture.
“You had better stay here for the night after what has happened—it’s
very late, and it’s no good playing the fool,” he said.
“Do you know, I think I will. No one is sitting up for me.”
“Good. I shan’t be sorry to have you,” and he laughed.
“We can go to Leveson Square to-morrow, or rather to-day,” he said.
“Let’s turn in. I can rig you out.”
He rose and turned to the door, slipping the leather case into his
pocket.
It was not the first time that Sinclair had accepted Collins’
hospitality, and he knew from experience what an excellent host he
made.