Inspector Chippenfield's first words were a warning.
"You know what you are saying, Hill?" he asked. "You know what this
means? Any statement you make may be used in evidence against you at
your trial."
"I'll tell you everything," faltered Hill. The impassive mask of the
well-trained English servant had dropped from him, and he stood revealed
as a trembling elderly man with furtive eyes, and a painfully shaken
manner. "I'll be glad to tell you everything," he declared, laying a
twitching hand on the inspector's coat. "I've not had a minute's peace or
rest since--since it happened."
The dry official manner in which Inspector Chippenfield produced a
note-book was in striking contrast to the trapped man's attitude.
"Go ahead," he commanded, wetting his pencil between his lips.
Before Hill could respond a small boy entered the shop--a ragged,
shock-headed dirty urchin, bareheaded and barefooted. He tapped loudly on
the counter with a halfpenny.
"What do you want, boy?" roughly asked the inspector.
"A 'a'porth of blackboys," responded the child, in the confident tone of
a regular customer.
"If you'll permit me, sir, I'll serve him," said Hill and he glided
behind the little counter, took some black sticky sweetmeats from one of
the glass jars on the shelf and gave them to the boy, who popped one in
his mouth and scurried off.
"I think we had better go inside and hear what Hill has to say,
Inspector, while Mrs. Hill minds the shop," said Rolfe. He had caught a
glimpse of Mrs. Hill's white frightened face peering through the dirty
little glass pane in the parlour door.
Inspector Chippenfield approved of the idea.
"We don't want to spoil your wife's business, Hill--she's likely to need
it," he said, with cruel official banter. "Come here, Mrs. Hill," he
said, raising his voice.
The faded little woman appeared in response to the summons, bringing the
child with her. She shot a frightened glance at her husband, which
Inspector Chippenfield intercepted.
"Never mind looking at your husband, Mrs. Hill," he said roughly.
"You've done your best for him, and the only thing to be told now is the
truth. Now you and your daughter can stay in the shop. We want your
husband inside."
Mrs. Hill clasped her hands quickly.
"Oh, what is it, Henry?" she said. "Tell me what has happened? What have
they found out?"
"Keep your mouth shut," commanded her husband harshly. "This way, sir, if
you please."
Inspector Chippenfield and Rolfe followed him into the parlour.
"Now, Hill," impatiently said Inspector Chippenfield.
The butler raised his head wearily.
"I suppose I may as well begin at the beginning and tell you
everything," he said.
"Yes," replied the inspector, "it's not much use keeping anything
back now."
"Oh, it's not a case of keeping anything back," replied Hill. "You're too
clever for me, and I've made up my mind to tell you everything, but I
thought I might be able to cut the first part short, so as to save your
time. But so that you'll understand everything I've got to go a long way
back--shortly after I entered Sir Horace Fewbanks's service. In fact, I
hadn't been long with him before I began to see he was leading a strange
life--a double life, if I may say so. A servant in a gentleman's
house--particularly one in my position--sees a good deal he is not meant
to see; in fact, he couldn't close his eyes to it if he wanted to, as no
doubt you, from your experience, sir, know very well. A confidential
servant sees and hears a lot of things, sir."
Inspector Chippenfield nodded his head sharply, but he did not speak.
"I think Sir Horace trusted me, too," continued Hill humbly, "more than
he would have trusted most servants, on account of my--my past. I fancy,
if I may say so, that he counted on my gratitude because he had given me
a fresh start in life. And he was quite right--at first." Hill dropped
his voice and looked down as he uttered the last two words. "I'd have
done anything for him. But as I was saying, sir, I hadn't been long in
his house before I found out that he had a--a weakness--" Hill timidly
bowed his head as though apologising to the dead judge for assailing his
character--"a weakness for--for the ladies. Sometimes Sir Horace went
off for the week-end without saying where he was going and sometimes he
went out late at night and didn't return till after breakfast. Then he
had ladies visiting him at Riversbrook--not real ladies, if you
understand, sir. Sometimes there was a small party of them, and then they
made a noise singing music-hall songs and drinking wine, but generally
they came alone. Towards the end there was one who came a lot oftener
than the others. I found out afterwards that her name was Fanning--Doris
Fanning. She was a very pretty young woman, and Sir Horace seemed very
fond of her. I knew that because I've heard him talking to her in the
library. Sir Horace had rather a loud voice, and I couldn't help
overhearing him sometimes, when I took things to his rooms.
"One night,--it was before Sir Horace left for Scotland--a rainy gusty
night, this young woman came. I forgot to mention that when Sir Horace
expected visitors he used to tell me to send the servants to bed early.
He told me to do so this night, saying as usual, 'You understand, Hill?'
and I replied, 'Yes, Sir Horace,' The young woman came about half-past
ten o'clock, and I let her in the side door and showed her up to the
library on the first floor, where he used to sit and work and read. Half
an hour afterwards I took up some refreshments--some sandwiches and a
small bottle of champagne for the young lady--and then went back
downstairs till Sir Horace rang for me to let the lady out, which was
generally about midnight. But this night, I'd hardly been downstairs more
than a quarter of an hour, when I heard a loud crash, followed by a sort
of scream. Before I could get out of my chair to go upstairs I heard the
study door open, and Sir Horace called out, 'Hill, come here!'
"I went upstairs as quick as I could, and the door of the study being
wide open, I could see inside. Sir Horace and the young lady had
evidently been having a quarrel. They were standing up facing each other,
and the table at which they had been sitting was knocked over, and the
refreshments I had taken up had been scattered all about. The young woman
had been crying--I could see that at a glance--but Sir Horace looked
dignified and the perfect gentleman--like he always was. He turned to me
when he saw me, and said, 'Hill, kindly show this young lady out,' I
bowed and waited for her to follow me, which she did, after giving Sir
Horace an angry look. I let her out the same way as I let her in, and
took her through the plantation to the front gate, which I locked after
her. When I got inside the house again, and was beginning to bolt up
things for the night Sir Horace called me again and I went upstairs.
'Hill,' he said, in the same calm and collected voice, 'if that young
lady calls again you're to deny her admittance. That is all, Hill,' And
he turned back into his room again.
"I didn't see her again until the morning after Sir Horace left for
Scotland. I had arranged for the female servants to go to Sir Horace's
estate in the country during his absence, as he instructed before his
departure, and they and I were very busy on this morning getting the
house in order to be closed up--putting covers on the furniture and
locking up the valuables.
"It was Sir Horace's custom to have this done when he was away every
year instead of keeping the servants idling about the house on board
wages, and the house was then left in my charge, as I told you, sir, and
after the servants went to the country it was my custom to live at home
till Sir Horace returned, coming over two or three times a week to look
over the place and make sure that everything was all right. On this
morning, sir, after superintending the servants clearing up things, I
went outside the house to have a final look round, and to see that the
locks of the front and back gates were in good working order. I was going
to the back first, sir, but happening to glance about me as I walked
round the house, I saw the young woman that Sir Horace had ordered me to
show out of the house the night before he went to Scotland, peering out
from behind one of the fir trees of the plantation in front of the house.
As soon as she saw that I saw her she beckoned to me.
"I would not have taken any notice of her, only I didn't want the women
servants to see her. Sir Horace, I knew, would not have liked that. So I
went across to her. I asked her what she wanted, and I told her it was no
use her wanting to see Sir Horace, for he had gone to Scotland. 'I don't
want to see him,' she said, as impudent as brass. 'It's you I want to
see, Field or Hill or whatever you call yourself now.' It gave me quite a
turn, I assure you, to find that this young woman knew my secret, and I
turned round apprehensive-like, to make sure that none of the servants
had heard her. She noticed me and she laughed. 'It's all right, Hill,'
she said. 'I'm not going to tell on you. I've just brought you a message
from an old friend--Fred Birchill--he wants to see you to-night at this
address.' And with that she put a bit of paper into my hand. I was so
upset and excited that I said I'd be there, and she went away.
"This Fred Birchill was a man I'd met in prison, and he was in the cell
next to me. How he'd got on my tracks I had no idea, but I seemed to see
all my new life falling to pieces now he knew. I'd tried to run straight
since I served my sentence, and I knew Sir Horace would stand to me, but
he couldn't afford to have any scandal about it, and I knew that if there
was any possibility of my past becoming known I should have to leave his
employ. And then there was my poor wife and child, and this little
business, sir. Nothing was known about my past here. So I determined to
go and see this Birchill, sir. The address she had given me was in
Westminster, and, as my time was practically my own when Sir Horace
wasn't home, I went down that same evening, and when I got up the flight
of stairs and knocked at the door it was a woman's voice that said 'Come
in,' I thought I recognised the voice. When I opened the door, you can
imagine my surprise when I saw the young woman to be Doris Fanning, who
had had the quarrel with Sir Horace that night and had brought me the
note that morning. Birchill was sitting in a corner of the room, with his
feet on another chair, smoking a pipe. 'Come in, No. 21,' he says, with
an unpleasant smile, 'come in and see an old friend. Put a chair for him,
Doris, and leave the room.'
"The girl did so, and as soon as the door was closed behind her Birchill
turned round to me and burst out, 'Hill, that damned employer of yours
has served me a nasty trick, but I'm going to get even with him, and
you're going to help me!' I was taken back at his words, but I wanted to
hear more before I spoke. Then he told me that the young woman I had seen
had been brutally treated by Sir Horace. She had been living in a little
flat in Westminster on a monthly allowance which Sir Horace made her, but
he'd suddenly cut off her allowance and she'd have to be turned out in
the street to starve because she couldn't pay her rent. 'A nice thing,'
said Birchill fiercely, 'for this high-placed loose liver to carry on
like this with a poor innocent girl whose only fault was that she loved
him too well. If I could show him up and pull him down, I would. But I've
done time, like you, Hill. He was the judge who sentenced me, and if I
tried to injure him that way my word would carry no weight; but I'll put
up a job on him that'll make him sorry the longest day he lives, and
you'll help me. Sir Horace is in Scotland, Hill, and you're in charge of
his place. Get rid of the servants, Hill, and we'll burgle his house. We
can easily do it between us.'"
At this stage of his narrative, Hill stopped and looked anxiously at his
audience as though to gather some idea of their feelings before he
proceeded further. But Inspector Chippenfield, with a fierce stare,
merely remarked:
"And you consented?"
"I didn't at first," Hill retorted earnestly, "but when I refused he
threatened me--threatened that he'd expose me and drag me and my wife and
child down to poverty. I pleaded with him, but it was of no use, and at
last I had to consent. I had some hope that in doing so I might find an
opportunity to warn Sir Horace, but Birchill did not give me a chance. He
insisted that the burglary should take place without delay. All I was to
do was to give him a plan of the house, explain where to find the most
valuable articles that had been left there, and wait for him at the flat
while he committed the burglary. His idea in making me wait for him at
the flat was to make sure that I didn't play him false--put the double on
him, as he called it--and he told the girl not to let me out of her sight
till he came back, if anything went wrong I should have to pay for it
when he came back.
"In accordance with Sir Horace's instructions, I sent the servants off to
his country estate. It had been arranged that Birchill was to wait for me
to come over to the flat on the 18th of August, the night fixed for the
burglary. But about 7 o'clock, while I was at Riversbrook, I heard the
noise of wheels outside, and looking out, I saw to my dismay Sir Horace
getting out of a taxi-cab with a suit-case in his hand. My first impulse
was to tell him everything--indeed, I think that if I had had a chance I
would have--but he came in looking very severe, and without saying a word
about why he had returned from Scotland, said very sharply, 'Hill, have
the servants been sent down to the country, as I directed?' I told him
that they had. 'Very good,' he said, 'then you go away at once, I won't
want you any more. I want the house to myself to-night.' 'Sir Horace,' I
began, trembling a little, but he stopped me. 'Go immediately,' he said;
'don't stand there,' And he said it in such a tone that I was glad to go.
There was something in his look that frightened me that night. I got
across to Birchill's place and found him and the girl waiting for me. I
told him what had happened, and begged him to give up the idea of the
burglary. But he'd been drinking heavily, and was in a nasty mood. First
he said I'd been playing him false and had warned Sir Horace, but when I
assured him that I hadn't he insisted on going to commit the burglary
just the same. With that he pulled out a revolver from his pocket, and
swore with an oath that he'd put a bullet through me when he came back if
I'd played him false and put Sir Horace on his guard, and that he'd put a
bullet in the old scoundrel--meaning Sir Horace--if he interrupted him
while he was robbing the house.
"He sat there, cursing and drinking, till he fell asleep with his head on
the table, snoring. I sat there not daring to breathe, hoping he'd sleep
till morning, but Miss Fanning woke him up about nine, and he staggered
to his feet to get out, with his revolver stuck in his coat pocket. He
was away over three hours and the girl and I sat there without saying a
word, just looking at each other and waiting for a clock on the
mantelpiece to chime the quarters. It was a cuckoo clock, and it had just
chimed twelve when we heard a quick step coming upstairs to the flat. The
girl fixed her big dark eyes inquiringly on me, and then we heard a
hoarse whisper through the keyhole telling us to open the door.
"The girl ran to the door and let him in, but she shrieked at the sight
of him when she saw him in the light. For he looked ghastly, and there
was a spot of blood on his face, and his hands were smeared with it. He
was shaking all over, and he went to the whisky bottle and drained the
drop of spirit he'd left in it. Then he turned to us and said, 'Sir
Horace Fewbanks is dead--murdered!' I suppose he read what he saw in our
eyes, for he burst out angrily, 'Don't stand staring at me like a pair of
damned fools. You don't think I did it? As God's my judge, I never did
it. He was dead and stiff when I got there.'
"Then he told us his story of what had happened. He said that when he got
to Riversbrook there was a light in the library and he got over the fence
and hid himself in the garden. Then he noticed that there was a light in
the hall and that the hall door was open. He thought Sir Horace had left
it open by mistake, and he was going to creep into the house and hide
himself there till after Sir Horace went to bed. But suddenly the light
in the library went out and Birchill again hid behind a tree, for he
thought Sir Horace was retiring for the night. Then the light in the hall
went out and immediately after Birchill heard the hall door being closed.
Then he heard a step on the gravel path and saw a woman walking quickly
down the path to the gate. She was a well-dressed woman, and Birchill
naturally thought that she was one of Sir Horace's lady friends. But he
thought it odd that Sir Horace, who was always a very polite gentleman to
the ladies, should not have shown her off the premises. He waited in the
garden about half an hour, and as everything in the house seemed quite
still, he made his way to a side window and forced it open. He had an
electric torch with him, and he used this to find his way about the
house. First of all, he wanted to find out in which room Sir Horace was
sleeping, and he knew from the plan he'd made me draw for him which was
Sir Horace's bedroom, so he went there and opened the door quietly and
listened. But he could not hear anyone breathing. Then he tried some of
the other rooms and turned on his torch, but could see no one. He thought
that perhaps Sir Horace had fallen asleep in a chair in the library, and
he went there. He listened at the door but could hear no sound. Then he
turned on his torch and by its light he saw a dreadful sight. Sir Horace
was lying huddled up near the desk--dead--just dead, he thought, because
there were little bubbles of blood on his lips as if they had been blown
there when breathing his last. He didn't wait to see any more, but he
turned and ran out of the house.
"I didn't believe his story, though Miss Fanning did, but he stuck to it
and seemed so frightened that I thought there might be something in it
till he brought out that he'd lost his revolver somewhere. Then I
remembered the horrid threats he'd used against Sir Horace, and I was
convinced that he had committed the murder. But of course I dared not let
him think I suspected him, and I pretended to console him. But the
feeling that kept running through my head was that both of us would be
suspected of the murder.
"I told this to Birchill, and that frightened him still more. 'What are
we to do?' he kept saying. 'We shall both be hanged.' Then, after a
while, we recovered ourselves a bit and began to look at it from a more
common-sense point of view. Nobody knew about Birchill's visit to the
house except our two selves and the girl, and there was no reason why
anybody should suspect us as long as we kept that knowledge to ourselves.
Birchill's idea, after we'd talked this over, was that I should go
quietly home to bed, and pay a visit to Riversbrook on Friday as usual,
discover Sir Horace Fewbanks's body, and then tell the police. But I
didn't like to do that for two reasons. I didn't think that my nerves
would be in a fit state to tell the police how I found the body without
betraying to them that I knew something about it; and I couldn't bear to
think of Sir Horace's body lying neglected all alone in that empty house
till the following day--though I kept that reason to myself.
"It was the girl who hit on the idea of sending a letter to the police.
She said that it would be the best thing to do, because if they were
informed and went to the house and discovered the body it wouldn't be so
difficult for me to face them afterwards. I agreed to that, and so did
Birchill, who was very frightened in case I might give anything away, and
consented on that account. The girl showed us how to write the letter,
too--she said she'd often heard of anonymous letters being written that
way--and she brought out three different pens and a bottle of ink and a
writing pad. After we'd agreed what to write, she showed us how to do it,
each one printing a letter on the paper in turn, and using a different
pen each time."
"You took care to leave no finger-prints," said Inspector Chippenfield.
"We used a handkerchief to wrap our hands in," said Hill. "Birchill got
tired of passing the paper from one to another and wrote all his letters,
leaving spaces for the girl and me to write in ours. When the letter was
written we wrote the address on the envelope the same way, and stamped
it. Then I went out and posted the letter in a pillar-box."
"At Covent Garden?" suggested Inspector Chippenfield.
"Yes, at Covent Garden," said Hill.
"When I got home my wife was awake and in a terrible fright. She wanted
to know where I'd been, but I didn't tell her. I told her, though, that
my very life depended on nobody knowing I'd been out of my own home that
night, and I made her swear that no matter who questioned her she'd stick
to the story that I'd been at home all night, and in bed. She begged me
to tell her why, and as I knew that she'd have to be told the next day, I
told her that Sir Horace Fewbanks had been murdered. She buried her face
in her pillow with a moan, but when I took an oath that I had had no hand
in it she recovered, and promised not to tell a living soul that I had
been out of the house and I knew I could depend on her.
"Next morning, as soon as I got up, I hurried off to a little wine tavern
and asked to see the morning papers. It was a foolish thing to do,
because I might have known that nothing could have been discovered in
time to get into the morning papers, for I hadn't posted the letter until
nearly four o'clock. But I was all nervous and upset, and as I couldn't
face my wife or settle to anything until I knew the police had got the
letter and found the body, I--though a strictly temperate man in the
ordinary course of life, sir--sat down in one of the little compartments
of the place and ordered a glass of wine to pass the time till the first
editions of the evening papers came out--they are usually out here about
noon. But there was no news in the first editions, and so I stayed there,
drinking port wine and buying the papers as fast as they came out. But it
was not till the 6.30 editions came out, late in the afternoon, that the
papers had the news. I hurried home and then went up to Riversbrook and
reported myself to you, sir."
As Hill finished his story he buried his face in his hands, and bowed his
head on the table in an attitude of utter dejection. Rolfe, looking at
him, wondered if he were acting a part, or if he had really told the
truth. He looked at Inspector Chippenfield to see how he regarded the
confession, but his superior officer was busily writing in his note-book.
In a few moments, however, he put the pocket-book down on the table and
turned to the butler.
"Sit up, man," he commanded sternly. "I want to ask you some questions."
Hill raised a haggard face.
"Yes, sir," he said, with what seemed to be a painful effort.
"What is this girl Fanning like?"
"Rather a showy piece of goods, if I may say so, sir. She has big black
eyes, and black hair and small, regular teeth."
"And Sir Horace had been keeping her?"
"I think so, sir."
"And a fortnight before Sir Horace left for Scotland there was a
quarrel--Sir Horace cast her off?"
"That is what it looked like to me," said the butler.
"What was the cause of the quarrel?"
"That I don't know, sir."
"Didn't Birchill tell you?"
"Well, not in so many words. But I gathered from things he dropped that
Sir Horace had found out that he was a friend of Miss Fanning's and
didn't like it."
"Naturally," said the philosophic police official. "Is Birchill still at
this flat and is the girl still there?"
"The last I heard of them they were, sir. Of course they had been talking
of moving after Sir Horace stopped the allowance."
"Well, Hill, I'll investigate this story of yours," said the inspector,
as he rose to his feet and placed his note-book in his pocket. "If it is
true--if you have given us all the assistance in your power and have kept
nothing back, I'll do my best for you. Of course you realise that you are
in a very serious position. I don't want to arrest you unless I have to,
but I must detain you while I investigate what you have told us. You will
come up with us to the Camden Town Station and then your statement will
be taken down fully. I'll give you three minutes in which to explain
things to your wife."