The Crisis
Beyond Wilton-on-Sea, there is a bare hill standing gaunt above the
surrounding country.
On the seaward side the cliff is sheer, and to the West a sudden drop
into a quarry pit makes for danger. On the East a very steep path
leads to a semi-ruined church, surrounded by a church yard, and some
little distance away is a tower where once stood an ancient castle.
The church forms a landmark for miles.
From a distance it appears to be an imposing edifice. On near approach
there is a tiny chancel which still retains a roof, and a nave with no
roof. It is all very small, like the chapel of a stronghold in days
gone by. At the base of the hill is a public-house of mean appearance,
and also some straggling houses.
It was here that Sinclair and Collins had taken up their residence.
For three days they had been glued to the spot. A fretful distrust of
each other was growing up, which they tried their best to hide.
There had been no talk of going to Sir James’ house. Collins would sit
in the little sitting room upstairs, reading, with one eye on the
window. Sinclair was more restless; he wandered outside, prowling
round the base of the hill but never going up.
He appeared to be drinking more than was good for him, and evidently
suffering from the strain of waiting. Each was sure that the other was
keeping something to himself, but whatever it was it had drawn them to
this spot. Evening was coming on after a grey autumn afternoon, and a
thin drizzle was falling. It was a time when a wise man hugs his fire,
and is glad to draw the curtains and light a cheery lamp.
There was no light in the small upper room where Collins sat like a
sphinx. Sinclair was glowering in the arm-chair, his face slightly
grey, and a worried look in his eyes.
The hillside was getting dark, and the church on the top stood out
black against the western sky. A straggling group of people were
coming down the steep path. There had been a service in the tiny
chancel, and curiosity had drawn visitors to attend.
Perhaps a dozen or so were descending the steep pathway.
Collins gave a slight movement, and drew in his breath quickly.
“At last!” he said, almost involuntarily.
He sprang to his feet, and took his mackintosh from a chair.
Sinclair got up, too. “Well?” he said.
Collins laughed. “Come on then. I see you want to be in at the death.”
Without a word Sinclair put on his coat, and followed.
At the point where the steep path wound upwards there was a lych-gate.
Here in the shadow they waited while the rain dripped off the tiled
roof. The people had passed, and a solitary figure was approaching in
the gathering gloom.
He was scarcely a yard off, when Sinclair made an exclamation, and
sprang forward. He laid his hand on the other’s shoulder and looked
straight in his face. “Ah,” he said, “Lewis at last! I arrest you for
the murder of Sir James Watson, and I warn you—but of course you know
all about that.” The other made no movement of protest or resentment.
Collins came forward smiling blandly.
“Steady, Sinclair, don’t let your professional zeal run away with you.
You haven’t a warrant to start with, and you are mistaking your man.”
“What do you mean?” said Sinclair, turning to him.
“You are mistaking your man, that is all. Let me introduce you. This
is Sir Ronald Watson, Baronet, Superintendent Sinclair.”
A look of blank astonishment was on Sinclair’s face, and he looked
from one to the other in bewilderment.
“What on earth do you mean?” he said.
The other man turned to Collins, “Hast thou found me, oh mine enemy?”
he said, with a smile, which belied his words.
“Come on,” said Collins; “let’s get indoors, it’s beastly out here.”
“So be it,” said the other.
They crossed the road where the mud was splashing, and entered the
house. Once in the room, the stranger turned to Sinclair.
“Yes; I am Ronald Watson, though how Mr. Collins has run me to earth
is a mystery. And what you are doing in the matter, unless you knew my
identity, is more than I can say.”
“I don’t understand it at all,” said Sinclair, who was inclined to be
sulky at the turn of affairs. “It seems to me there will have to be a
lot of explanation.”
“You shall have it. The time has gone by for this concealment. It was
a mistake. Only let me tell you I had nothing to do with the murder of
my poor father.”
“I can answer for that,” said Collins.
“Look here,” continued Collins, “I have my car here, and I suggest
that we run over to The Vale, and have a full explanation there.”
“Yes; that will be the best thing,” said Watson, or Lewis. A sudden
thought crossed Sinclair’s mind. “Oh, of course. That will do,” he
said. Collins was watching him keenly.
“Will you settle up here then, while Watson and I get the car ready?”
Sinclair was about to demur, but after all this was Collins’ capture,
and he could not very well insist on keeping the man with him, and as
Collins had said he had no warrant.
Without waiting for an answer, the other two went out.
In a few minutes the humming of the car was heard, and Sinclair,
having paid their bill, went to the front door.
The small luggage they had brought was always ready packed, for each
had felt they might have to move in a hurry.
At the door Collins and Watson were already in the car, and Sinclair
got in behind with none too good a grace.
They set off into the night at a rapid pace.
* * *
Old John came to the door in answer to their ring, and Collins got
down, leaving the others in the car.
In a matter-of-fact voice he asked whether he could see Miss Watson—he
would not come in, he had some friends in the car.
John said he would ask her to come. Whatever astonishment he felt he
did not show. Warned by some premonition she could not master, Mabel
came at once. She had just been going up to dress.
“How do you do, Mr. Collins?” she said. “John tells me you won’t come
in.”
“I wanted to speak to you first,” he said. “Don’t be alarmed, I have
your brother here with me. I brought him over from Wilton.”
She turned white and caught hold of the post of the door.
“My brother?” she stammered.
“Yes; he feels, and I agree with him, that the time has come for a
full explanation.”
She lifted her head proudly. “There is nothing shameful or underhand.”
“I know that,” said Collins quietly, “but I have Superintendent
Sinclair here, an old friend of mine from Scotland Yard, and he would
like to hear the whole thing.”
“Scotland Yard?” she said. “He has not——?”
“Arrested him. Oh, no, there’s nothing of that sort.”
A figure came from the car.
“It’s all right, Mabel, don’t be frightened. We’ve made fools of
ourselves with all this secrecy, and we’ll have all the cards on the
table now. Let’s get out of this wet.”
Sinclair advanced and shook hands with Mabel. He had met her, of
course, in London, at the time of the Inquest, but could hardly claim
acquaintance.
In the hall they were met by Allery and Eric Sanders.
Collins opened his eyes in surprise.
“Eric,” said Mabel. “This is my brother.” The two men shook hands with
a mutual look of interest.
Allery laughed outright.
“You young dog,” he said. “How did you come to be caught after all our
trouble. I was afraid Collins would be one too much for us.... I
congratulate you on your cleverness,” said he, turning to Collins.
“I am afraid this is all Greek to me,” said Sinclair stiffly. He had
expected Tragedy, and found Comic Opera.
“You shall know everything,” said Allery; “but come to dinner first.
Can you manage it?” he said to Mabel.
“I’ll go and see about it at once,” said she.
“As these three poor men have no dress clothes with them, we will have
a scratch meal, and then a round talk.” Her spirits seemed to have
risen now that the affair was over.
Dinner was a merry meal, even if the gaiety was somewhat forced.
Old John moved round with a look of blank astonishment on his face.
His eyes were round and wide, and he could not keep them off Watson.
The aunt had sent a message that she would not come to dinner. The
news had proved too much for her nerves.
When the port was on the table, and John had retired, Mabel said,
“This room is very comfy, and I think we might go into matters here.
You can smoke.”
“Not till after this excellent port,” said Collins. “Our ancestors
would turn in their graves if we smoked with the port. Isn’t that so,
Watson?”
“That was the custom,” said the other with a smile. There was no trace
of the Scotland Yard ‘hack’ now in this man who presided at the table
as one born to it.
“Well, before we have your story,” said Collins, “I would like to know
how many were in the plot. Miss Watson and you, Allery, I know. Anyone
else?” and he glanced sharply at Sanders.
“You are a wizard,” said Allery. “No, there were only us two. Sanders
knew nothing about it.”
Sinclair moved uneasily. Was he in a madhouse? ‘Plot’ and ‘secret’!
These people were talking as though they were playing a game, and he
had come on the track of a murderer.
“Can we have the explanation of all this?” he said, testily.
“Certainly, Sinclair,” said Watson, “and you are entitled to one from
me, at any rate. Here goes.”
The main lights were turned off, and only the electric bulbs in shades
threw a soft light on the table. There was no sound in the room while
Watson spoke.
“I will not be more tedious than possible, but I want to make the
narrative clear, so I must go back.”
“I need not go into the reasons for my leaving England. Allery here, I
know, thought I had done something criminal—in fact, forged my
father’s name. But I think I have convinced him that it was only a
youthful outbreak, which I sincerely regret.” Allery nodded, gravely.
“I wandered about in the South American States. I found I could not
settle down to any definite occupation, and after a time I got mixed
up with a pretty little revolution. Partly through pride, and partly
because I was not carrying out the conditions my father imposed, I
stopped communicating with the lawyer at Monte Video, and then I was
in prison, and nearly executed for my part in the revolution which
failed. When I got out, I had had enough of plots, and was only
released on my agreeing to leave the country. I knew a man who was a
merchant, and he gave me a job to come to England in charge of some
freight for his firm which required some one to travel with it,
largely bullion. It was a responsible job, though an easy one, and
with a strong letter of recommendation from the firm I got a position
in the London office, where my knowledge of the other end was useful.
I had intended to go to the old man, and tell him the whole thing, but
it savoured too much of the prodigal son, and I delayed doing so. I
soon got sick of the office work, and as I had always had a taste for
detective stories, I got the idea that I would try and get into
Scotland Yard. My father was not then Home Secretary, or I would not
have risked a chance meeting. As Sinclair here knows I got in as a
clerk on the recommendation of my good merchants. Only the head of the
firm knew where I had come from, and he died soon after, so my past
was hidden.
“I believe I discharged my duties satisfactorily, and was promoted to
be right-hand man to Superintendent Sinclair. I might even have become
an Inspector in time.
“All this time I had held no communication with my father or sister,
though I couldn’t resist the temptation of coming down here and
looking at the old place, and saw them both without being seen. This
was only three weeks before the death of my father.” He paused and
steadied his voice. “It got on my nerves and I had almost made up my
mind to come and tell him the whole story. On the very day of the
terrible occurrence, I had made up my mind to go to him, and as you
know now, I had spoken aloud on the subject. I went out with the
intention of doing so, but wandered round in a state of uncertainty,
and then returned. Would to God I had gone!”
“Wait a moment,” said Sinclair. “Then you were not the man who called
on Sir James on that afternoon?”
“No; I never saw him again,” he answered sadly.
“You can imagine the awful shock I had when you sent for me and told
me of the telephone message, although I hoped it was, as you thought,
a hoax. When you asked me to go into the house, I was so upset I felt
I could not do so, and made an excuse. I wandered out in a terrible
state of anxiety till the evening papers came out with an account of
the affair. I didn’t know what to do, but I felt I must get in touch
with Mabel and declare myself. I was really half off my head, and so I
settled up at my old lodgings and left London. I did not go back to
the office, as already I had the idea of disappearing as Lewis and
coming back as myself. I suppose it was pride. I thought somehow it
would not look very well that I had been a clerk in Scotland Yard.
Then next morning the papers came out, and I saw to my horror that I
was ‘wanted’ in connection with the crime. You can imagine my
feelings. I could see the frightful construction that would be placed
on my actions—the most awful accusation that can be brought against
any man.
“It was dreadful. Of course I knew I could clear myself, but there
would be that nasty suspicion which always hangs round a man who has
been accused and that damnable saying ‘there is no smoke without a
fire.’ I had arrived the night before, and not wishing to go to the
house at once, I had spent the night in the old tower near the chapel,
where I used to go birds-nesting when I was a youngster. I came on
here in the early hours of the morning, and roused Mabel up. She came
down and let me in, and we had a very long talk. We could not decide
what to do. It seemed difficult for me to get out of the country, and
equally difficult to stay.
“Mabel had to go up to the inquest, and there was no one to advise us.
So we decided to take Allery into our confidence. He came down here
and we told him the whole story.”
All eyes were turned on the old lawyer.
“Yes,” he said. “They dragged me into it, and I had to give advice. I
was quite convinced that our young friend had nothing to do with the
crime. There was nothing criminal in his remaining in hiding. If he
could have got away to Monte Video, he could have come back from there
in the ordinary course and established his identity. But, in the
meantime, he had better wait till the police had got hold of the real
man, and then there would be no case against him. It was hard to
decide what to do, but the publicity was what we all wanted to avoid.”
“We arranged,” continued Watson, “for me to stay in the old attic over
the hall door; there are no secret chambers or anything of that sort
in the house. I just lived as best I could while Mabel was in London.
Then you all came down here to stay. That made matters easier in a
way, as Mabel and Allery could both come and see me. We hit on the
rather absurd scheme of my dressing up in my father’s court dress and
with a wig and false moustache. We thought, if by any chance I were
seen, it would be thought to be the ghost of Sir James. We thought
that would be the lesser evil.”
“So then it was you that old John saw in this room?” said Sanders.
“Yes, and I would have taken him into our confidence, but he fled like
a madman. I don’t think he knew where he was. After that we thought it
was too risky for me to remain in the house, and I was in Mabel’s room
all ready to go, when we heard noises downstairs, and sounds of
talking, so I had to take cover again.”
“So it was you who were talking to Mabel that night?” said Sanders
before he realised what he had said.
“What do you mean?” said Mabel, sharply.
He was crimson with shame and could hardly meet her eyes.
“Only that I heard someone talking in your room with you, and came
down here and—met Collins.”
Mabel’s eyes glittered ominously. “I think you had better explain
yourself,” she said.
“Oh, please, don’t ask me. Well, if you must know, I accused Mr.
Collins of having been—with you, and we had heated words over it.
There, that’s the truth, and you must think what you will of me,” and
he moved his hands in a gesture of despair.
They all looked at Collins.
“I would rather not say anything about the matter, but since we are
all giving explanations, I found Sanders in here with a loaded
revolver waiting to shoot me. I was able to prove to him that it was
not I that he had heard, and that his suspicions were groundless and
unworthy. That is all.”
“How horrible,” said Mabel, clenching her teeth.
“Oh, I know,” said Sanders, “I was a brute and Collins here acted like
a gentleman. I had better go.”
“Please stay where you are—for the present,” said Mabel. “Since you
have acted like this I will also say something. Mr. Collins knew that
you had called on Sir James on the very afternoon of the crime, and he
said nothing about it, because he was certain that you were not the
criminal, or connected with the crime. He could have ruined you if he
had liked to tell what he knew. And you repay him with vile
suspicions. Now you will wait to hear the end.”
There was an awkward silence for a few minutes. Sinclair looked
unasked questions at Collins.
“I am sorry Miss Watson has mentioned this, but since it is out I rely
on you, gentlemen, to keep it to yourselves. I picked up a card on the
floor of the library which Sanders had dropped. Mrs. Simmons knew all
about this visit.”
“Oh, so that’s it, is it?” said Sinclair. “I begin to see. That’s what
she was keeping back in her evidence. That’s what you had up your
sleeve.”
“I thought it would not be fair to tell you this at the time, as you
would be bound to use it officially. If it had led to anything, of
course I would have told you; when I was satisfied in my own mind that
Sanders had nothing to do with the crime.” Sanders squirmed with
shame. “I decided to tell no one.”
“That’s why you told Miss Watson, I suppose,” Sanders blurted out.
“You wrong Mr. Collins, he only told me when we had got at
cross-purposes. When he told me there might be suspicion on someone
dear to me I thought he meant Ronald. He treated you most generously
all through,” she said, coldly.
“We are rather wandering from the main story,” said Allery, to pour
oil on the water. “Let’s hear the rest, Watson.”
“There is little more to tell. We decided that I must get out of the
house, and I thought of the old tower. Allery here had arranged for a
motor boat to take me to Bristol, and I was going on board a tramp
bound for Rio. I was going to answer the advertisement from there and
return. To-morrow I should have been off, but our friend here,” he
pointed to Collins, “seems to have been one too much for us, and came
in the nick of time.”
Collins gave a laugh. “I see you all want to know my part in the
matter. I am afraid there is no mystery about it, and no great skill.
I will confess that when I found the visiting card on the floor I
thought it was a possible clue, and worth following up. But when I
became acquainted with Sanders I realised that it was a mere
coincidence.” He bowed slightly to Sanders with a politeness which was
almost a mockery, and Sanders looked hatred at him. Every word was
putting him in a position of humiliation and Collins as the hero of
the piece, and it was gall to him.
Collins continued.
“The first thing which put me on the track was the fact that no news
had been heard of Lewis. I was certain that he had nothing to do with
the crime, and yet he had disappeared. His confusion when asked to go
to Leveson Square was taken to be a sign of guilt, but if there was no
guilt there must be another explanation. He had not fled instantly. He
had gone back to his lodgings, and paid his bill, and then gone. There
was, therefore, I argued, another reason for going. It must be
connected in some way with Sir James, especially when he had said that
he was going there on that afternoon. There was a hue and cry out for
him, and he had not come forward to clear himself. Then he must have a
reason beyond the mere shrinking from publicity.
“Then it is difficult for a man without friends, as he appeared to be,
to disappear entirely, as he seemed to have done.
“If it was anything to do with Sir James, there might conceivably be a
clue at this house. On the first night I was here as the sun was
setting a ray shone on that portrait of Sir James, and I saw Lewis
looking at me.”
“What do you mean?” said Mabel, startled.
“I mean the likeness was unmistakable. The light was peculiar, and the
eyes, nose and forehead were all that showed up, and there was the
striking family likeness.”
“I saw the expression on your face,” said Allery, “and it made me
uneasy.”
“And I saw the look that passed between you and Miss Mabel,” said
Collins with a laugh, “and it confirmed my suspicions.”
“Then the ghost, of course, was as clear as daylight to me. The dress
was a good idea, if I may say so. I found the marks of real feet on
the hearth-rug. When I went from here I did not go back to London, but
kept watch. I thought I had got you,” he said turning to Watson, “when
the car left here secretly at night; but you were too cunning, there
was only Allery and Miss Mabel. I suppose that was your doing,
Allery?”
Allery burst out laughing. “We did you there. We had no idea that
anyone was watching, of course, but we had to take precautions, so
Mabel fetched the car from the garage, and Watson was waiting there.
He was on the floor of the car, covered with a rug, and I came out of
the front door and joined them. It was in case any servants were
about. We didn’t want another ghost episode. But how did you pick up
the clue?”
“I hung around. The night was too wet to follow the tracks of the car,
but twice I saw you going on the road to Wilton in the evening, and
each time I was further along the road, and on the second occasion was
able to follow up, and saw the car at the bottom of the hill. I was
certain Lewis, or Sir Ronald, as I now thought it was, was hiding in
the neighbourhood, and knew a search would simply give the game away.
“So I came down here and watched, and finally saw you coming down the
hill. I had found out about this strange service, and calculated that
if a lonely man wanted to come down he would take the chance when a
lot of others were coming.”
“Very clever,” said Allery.
“I think that explains all there is to explain. But how did you get on
the track, Sinclair?”
“I had my suspicions, but pardon me, I am not a free-lance like you
are, but an official, and you must allow me to keep my secrets.”
“Of course,” said Collins, carelessly.
“What I don’t understand,” said Allery, “is, why you were so keen on
finding out the whole thing?”
“Blackmail, I should think,” said Sanders.
Mabel gave him a look of contempt, and the rest ignored him.
“I really couldn’t tell you. I suppose a problem always fascinated me,
and then I thought I might be of some use, perhaps,” and he glanced at
Mabel.
“You have certainly cleared up the mystery,” said Allery.
“Yes,” said Sinclair, “but we are no nearer to the question of the
murder.”
“I thought they had got the man,” said Mabel in surprise.
“They think they have,” said Sinclair.
“I suppose it will remain one of those unsolved mysteries.”
“By the way, Sir Ronald,” said Sinclair, starting up, “can I have a
word with you, I shan’t keep you a minute?”
“Oh, really, Mr. Sinclair, I think he has had enough for this
evening,” said Mabel.
“I am afraid the matter is very urgent,” insisted the other.
Something in his manner irritated Allery. “Mr. Sinclair,” he said,
“you must remember, please, you are a guest here, and not on official
duty. Are you not satisfied with the explanation you have heard?”
Collins interposed. “Don’t you think you ought to tell old John and
the servants that you have come home? You know how servants gossip.”
“Of course,” said Watson, “I must do that at once. Don’t disturb
yourselves, we don’t want any solemn announcement. I will just go and
tell him, in an off-hand way. The old fellow will be very pleased.”
He got up and went out. Sinclair bit his lip.
There was a silence when he had gone out.
Allery cleared his throat.
“Mr. Sinclair,” he said, “this brings about an awkward situation. We
are rather in your hands. Your department is searching for Lewis. You
have—if I may say so—unofficially found him. The question is, if you
are satisfied that he has nothing to do with the crime, will you
consent for us to carry out our plan and let him go, as we had
arranged.”
“That places me in a curious position. I can’t give an answer
off-hand. I must think it over.”
“Take your time,” said Collins pleasantly. “Have a whiskey and soda?”
He rose from the table and went to the sideboard.
“Bother, there’s none here. Miss Mabel, may I act as butler and fetch
some, we don’t want to send for old John just now?”
“Certainly,” she said with a smile.
He went out.
Sanders spoke for the first time since his gross insinuation.
“I will go. After what has happened you will not want me to remain.”
“That is a matter for you to decide,” said Mabel stiffly.
“Oh, that’s all nonsense,” said Allery, “you two are not going to let
this business upset you. It only needs an apology, and I am sure
Sanders will give that. He was upset, and perhaps a little jealous,”
he added.
Sanders coloured.
“Your remark is in doubtful taste,” he said. “I don’t think any
apology would serve in a case like this.” He rose.
Sinclair put up his hand. “Stop,” he said firmly, “I may want you.”
Sanders turned from red to white. “What do you mean?” he said.
“I have no warrant, and cannot make any arrest. But it would be
advisable if you did not leave this house.”
“This is about the last straw,” said Sanders, and sank into his chair.