There was unpleasant news for Inspector Chippenfield when Miss Fewbanks
arrived at Riversbrook accompanied by the housekeeper, Mrs. Hewson. In
the first place, he learnt with considerable astonishment that it was
Miss Fewbanks's intention to stay at the house until after the funeral,
and for that purpose she had brought the housekeeper to keep her company
in the lonely old place. Although they had taken up their quarters in the
opposite wing of the rambling mansion to that in which the dead body lay,
it seemed to Inspector Chippenfield--whose mind was very impressionable
where the fair sex was concerned--that Miss Fewbanks must be a very
peculiar girl to contemplate staying in the same house with the body of
her murdered father for nearly a week. He was convinced that she must be
a strong-minded young woman, and he did not like strong-minded young
women. He preferred the weak and clinging type of the sex as more of a
compliment to his own sturdy manliness.
His unfavourable impression of Miss Fewbanks was deepened when he saw her
and heard what she had to tell him. The girl had come up from the country
filled with horror at the crime which had deprived her of a father, and
firmly determined to leave no stone unturned to bring the murderer to
justice. It was true that she and her father had lived on terms of
partial estrangement for some time past because of his manner of life,
but all the girl's feelings of resentment against him had been swept away
by the news of his dreadful death, and all she remembered now was that he
was her father, and had been brutally murdered.
When she sent for Inspector Chippenfield she had visited the room in
which lay the body of her father. It had been placed in a coffin which
was resting on the undertaker's trestles in the bay embrasure of the big
room with the folding doors. There was nothing in the appearance of the
corpse to suggest that a crime had been committed, but it had been
impossible for the undertaker's men to erase entirely the distortion of
the features so that they might suggest the cold, calm dignity of a
peaceful death. The ordeal of looking on the dead body of her father had
nerved her to carry through resolutely the task of discovering the author
of the crime.
She awaited the coming of the inspector in a small sitting-room, and
when he entered she pointed quickly to a chair, but remained standing
herself. In appearance Miss Fewbanks was a charming girl of the typical
English type. She was of medium height, slight, but well-built, with
fair hair and dark blue eyes, an imperious short upper lip and a
determined chin, and the clear healthy complexion of a girl who has
lived much out of doors. The inspector noted all these details; noted,
too, that although her breast heaved with agitation she had herself well
under control; her pretty head was erect, and one of her small hands was
tightly clenched by her side.
"Have you found out--anything?" she asked the inspector as he entered.
The girl had chosen a vague word because she felt that there were many
things which must come to light in unravelling the crime, but, from the
police point of view of Inspector Chippenfield, the question whether he
had found out anything was a stinging reflection on his ability.
"I consider it inadvisable to make any arrest at the present stage of my
investigations," he said, with cold official dignity.
"Do you think you know who did it?" asked the girl.
"It is my business to find out," replied the inspector, in a voice that
indicated confidence in his ability to perform the task.
The girl was too unsophisticated to follow the subtle workings of
official pride. "The papers call it a mysterious crime. Do you think it
is mysterious?"
"There are certainly some mysterious features about it," said the
inspector. "But I do not regard them as insoluble. Nothing is insoluble,"
he added, in a sententious tone.
"If there are mysteries to be solved you ought to have help," said the
young lady.
She glanced at Mrs. Hewson significantly, and then proceeded to explain
to Inspector Chippenfield what she meant.
"I have asked Mr. Crewe, the celebrated detective, to assist you. Of
course you know Mr. Crewe--everybody does. I know you are a very clever
man at your profession, but in a thing of this kind two clever men are
better than one. I hope you will not mind--there is no reflection
whatever on your ability. In fact, I have the utmost confidence in you.
But it is due to my father's memory to do all that is possible to get to
the bottom of this dreadful crime. If money is needed it will be
forthcoming. That applies to you no less than to Mr. Crewe. But I hope
you will be able to carry out your investigations amicably together, and
that you will be willing to assist one another. You will lose nothing by
doing so. I trust you will place at Mr. Crewe's disposal all the
facilities that are available to you as an officer of the police."
This statement was so clear that Inspector Chippenfield had no choice but
to face the conclusion that Miss Fewbanks had more faith in the abilities
of a private detective to unravel the mystery than she had in the
resources of Scotland Yard. He would have liked to have told the young
lady what he thought of her for interfering with his work, and he
determined to avail himself of the right opportunity to do so if it came
along. But the statement that money was not to be spared had a soothing
influence on his feelings. Of course, officers of Scotland Yard were not
allowed to take gratuities however substantial they might be, but there
were material ways of expressing gratitude which were outside the
regulations of the department.
"I shall be very pleased to give Mr. Crewe any assistance he wants," said
Inspector Chippenfield, bowing stiffly.
It was seldom that he took a subordinate fully into his confidence, but
after he left Miss Fewbanks he flung aside his official pride in order to
discuss with Rolfe the enlistment of the services of Crewe. Rolfe was no
less indignant than his chief at the intrusion of an outsider into their
sphere. Crewe was an exponent of the deductive school of crime
investigation, and had first achieved fame over the Abbindon case some
years ago, when he had succeeded in restoring the kidnapped heir of the
Abbindon estates after the police had failed to trace the missing child.
In detective stories the attitude of members of Scotland Yard to the
deductive expert is that of admiration based on conscious inferiority,
but in real life the experts of Scotland Yard have the utmost contempt
for the deductive experts and their methods. The disdainful pity of the
deductive experts for the rule-of-thumb methods of the police is not to
be compared with the vigorous scorn of the official detective for the
rival who has not had the benefit of police training.
"Look here, Rolfe," said Inspector Chippenfield, "we mustn't let Crewe
get ahead of us in this affair, or we'll never hear the last of it. It's
scandalous of a man like Crewe, who has money of his own and could live
like a gentleman, coming along and taking the bread out of our mouths by
accepting fees and rewards for hunting after criminals. Of course I know
they say he is lavish with his money and gives away more than he earns,
but that's all bosh--he sticks it in his own pocket, right enough. One
thing is certain: he gets paid whether he wins or loses; that is to say,
he gets his fee in any case, but of course if he wins something will be
added to his fee. In the meantime all you and I get is our salaries, and,
as you know, the pay of an inspector isn't what it ought to be."
Rolfe assured his superior of his conviction that the pay at Scotland
Yard ought to be higher for all ranks--especially the rank and file. He
also declared that he was ready to do his best to thwart Crewe.
"That is the right spirit," commented Inspector Chippenfield approvingly.
"Of course we'll tell him we're willing to help him all we can, and of
course hell tell us we can depend on his help. But we know what his help
will amount to. He'll keep back from us anything he finds out, and we'll
do the same for him. But the point is, Rolfe, that you and I have to put
all our brains into this and help one another. I'm not the man to despise
help from a subordinate. If you have any ideas about this case, Rolfe, do
not be afraid to speak out, I'll give them sympathetic consideration."
"I know you will," said Rolfe, who was by no means sure of the fact. "You
can count on me."
"As you know, Rolfe, there have been cases in which men from the Yard
haven't worked together as amicably as they ought to have done. It used
to be said when I was one of the plain-clothes men that the man in charge
got all the credit and the men under him did all the work. But as an
inspector I can tell you that is very rarely the case. In my reports I
believe in giving my junior credit for all he has done, and generally a
bit more. It may be foolish of me, but that is my way. I never miss a
chance of putting in a good word for the man under me."
"It would be better if they were all like that," said Rolfe.
"Well, it's a bargain, Rolfe," said Inspector Chippenfield. "You do your
best on this job and you won't lose by it. I'll see to that. But in the
meantime we don't want to put Crewe on the scent. Let us see how much
we'll tell him and how much we won't."
"He'll want to see the letter sent to the Yard about the murder," said
Rolfe. "The _Daily Recorder_ published a facsimile of it this morning."
"Yes, I knew about that. Well, he can have it. But don't say anything to
him about that lace you found in the dead man's hand--or at any rate not
until you find out more about it. The glove he can have since it is
pretty obvious that it belonged to Sir Horace. We'll spin Crewe a yarn
that we are depending on it as a clue."
Crewe arrived during the afternoon to inspect the house and the room in
which the crime had been committed. There was every appearance of
cordiality in the way in which he greeted the police officials.
"Delighted to see you, Inspector," he said. "Who is working this case
with you? Rolfe? Don't think we have met before, Rolfe, have we?"
Rolfe politely murmured something about not having had the pleasure
of meeting Mr. Crewe, but of always having wanted to meet him,
because of his fame.
"Very good of you," replied Crewe. "This is a very sad business. I
understand there are some attractive points of mystery in the crime. I
hope you haven't unravelled it yet before I have got a start. You fellows
are so quick."
"Slow and sure is our motto," said Inspector Chippenfield, feeling
certain that a sneer and not a compliment had been intended. "There is
nothing to be gained in arresting the wrong man."
"That's a sound maxim for us all," said Crewe. "However, let's get to
business. I rang up the Yard this morning and they told me you were
in charge of the case and that I'd probably find you here. Can you
let me have a look at the original of that letter which was sent to
Scotland Yard informing you of the murder? There is a facsimile of it
in the _Daily Recorder_ this morning, and from all appearances there
are some interesting conclusions to be drawn from it. But the
original is the thing."
"Here you are," said the inspector, producing his pocket-book, taking out
the paper, and handing it to Crewe. "What do you make of it?"
Crewe sat down, and placing the paper before him took a magnifying glass
from his pocket. As he sat there, in his grey tweed suit, his hat pushed
carelessly back from his forehead, he might have been mistaken for a
young man of wealth with no serious business in life, for his clothes
were of fashionable cut, and he wore them with an air of distinction. But
a glance at his face would have dispelled the impression. The clear-cut,
clean-shaven features riveted attention by reason of their strength and
intelligence, and though the dark eyes were rather too dreamy for the
face, the heavy lines of the lower jaw indicated the man of action and
force of character. The thick neck and heavily-lipped firm mouth
suggested tireless energy and abounding vitality.
"At least two people have had a hand in it," he said, after studying the
paper for a few minutes.
"In the murder?" asked the inspector, who was astonished at a deduction
which harmonised with a theory which had begun to take shape in his mind.
"In writing this," said Crewe, with his attention still fixed on the
paper. "But of course you know that yourself."
"Of course," assented the inspector, who was surprised at the
information, but was too experienced an official to show his feelings.
"And both hands disguised."
"Disguised to the extent of being printed in written characters,"
continued Crewe. "It is so seldom that a person writes printed characters
that any method in which they are written suggests disguise. The original
intention of the two persona who wrote this extraordinary note was for
each to write a single letter in turn. That system was carried as far as
'Sir Horace' or, perhaps, up to the 'B' in 'Fewbanks.' After that they
became weary of changing places and one of them wrote alternate letters
to the end, leaving blanks for the other to fill in. That much is to be
gathered from the variations in the spaces between the letters--sometimes
there was too much room for an intermediate letter, sometimes too little,
so the letter had to be cramped. Here and there are dots made with the
pen as the first of the two spelled out the words so as to know what
letters to write and what to leave blank. Look at the differences in the
letter 'U.' One of the writers makes it a firm downward and upward
stroke; the other makes the letter fainter and adds another downward
stroke, the letter being more like a small 'u' written larger than a
capital letter. The differences in the two hands are so pronounced
throughout the note that I am inclined to think that one of the writers
was a woman."
"Exactly what I thought," said Inspector Chippenfield, looking hard at
Crewe so that the latter should not question his good faith.
"Then there are sometimes slight differences in the alternate letters
written by the same hand. Look at the 'T' in 'last' and the 'T' in
'night'--the marked variation in the length and angle of the cross
stroke. It is evident that the writers were labouring under serious
excitement when they wrote this."
Rolfe was so interested in Crewe's revelations that he stood beside the
deductive expert and studied the paper afresh.
"And now, about finger-prints?" asked Crews.
"None," was the reply of the inspector, "We had it under the microscope
at Scotland Yard."
"None?" exclaimed Crewe, in surprise. "Why adopt such precautions as
wearing gloves to write a note giving away this startling secret?"
"Easy enough," replied Inspector Chippenfield. "The people who wrote the
note either had little or nothing to do with the murder, but were afraid
suspicion might be directed to them, or else they are the murderers and
want to direct suspicion from themselves."
"And now for the bullets," said Crewe, "I understand two shots
were fired."
"From two revolvers," said the inspector. "Here are both bullets. This
one I picked out of the wall over there. You can see where I've broken
away the plaster. This one--much the bigger one of the two--was the one
that killed Sir Horace. The doctor handed it to me after the
post-mortem."
"Did Sir Horace keep a revolver?"
"The butler says yes. But if he did it's gone."
Crewe stood up and examined the hole in the wall where Inspector
Chippenfield had dug out the smaller bullet.
"Sir Horace made a bid for his life but missed. Of course, he had no time
to take aim while there was a man on the other side of the room covering
him, but in any case those fancy firearms cannot be depended upon to
shoot straight."
"You think Sir Horace fired at his murderer--fired first?" asked Rolfe.
"This small bullet suggests one of those fancy silver-mounted weapons
that are made to sell to wealthy people. Sir Horace was a bit of a
sportsman, and knew something about game-shooting, but, I take it, he had
no use for a revolver. I assume he kept one of those fancy weapons on
hand thinking he would never have to use it, but that it would do to
frighten a burglar if the occasion did arise."
"And when he was held up in this room by a man with a revolver he made a
dash for his own revolver and got in the first shot?" suggested Rolfe,
with the idea of outlining Crewe's theory of how the crime was committed.
"It is scarcely possible to reconstruct the crime to that extent," said
Crewe with a smile. "But undoubtedly Sir Horace got in the first shot. If
he fired after he was hit his bullet would have gone wild--would probably
have struck the ceiling--whereas it landed there. Let us measure the
height from the floor." He pulled a small spool out of a waistcoat pocket
and drew out a tape measure. "A little high for the heart of an average
man, and probably a foot wide of the mark."
"And what do you make of the disappearance of Sir Horace's revolver?"
asked Rolfe, who seemed to his superior officer to be in danger of
displaying some admiration for deductive methods.
"I'm no good at guess-work," replied Crewe, who felt that he had given
enough information away.
"Well," said Rolfe, "here is a glove which was found in the room. The
other one is missing. It might be a clue."
Crewe took the glove and examined it carefully. It was a left-hand glove
made of reindeer-skin, and grey in colour. It bore evidence of having
been in use, but it was still a smart-looking glove such as a man who
took a pride in his appearance might wear.
"Burglars wear gloves nowadays," said Crewe, "but not this kind. The
india-rubber glove with only the thumb separate is best for their work.
They give freedom of action for the fingers and leave no finger-prints.
Have you made inquiries whether this is one of Sir Horace's gloves?"
"Well, it is the same size as he wore--seven and a half," said Inspector
Chippenfield. "The butler is the only servant here and he can't say for
certain that it belonged to his master. I've been through Sir Horace's
wardrobe and through the suit-case he brought from Scotland, but I can
find no other pair exactly similar. Rolfe took it to Sir Horace's hosier,
and he is practically certain that the glove is one of a pair he sold to
Sir Horace."
"That should be conclusive," said Crewe thoughtfully.
"So I think," replied the inspector.
"Well, I'll take it with me, if you don't mind," said Crewe. "You can
have it back whenever you want it. Let me have the address of Sir
Horace's hosier--I'll give him a call."
"Take it by all means," said the inspector cordially, referring to the
glove. And with a wink at Rolfe he added, "And when you are ready to fit
it on the guilty hand I hope you will let us know."