Berrington's exclamation of surprise was not lost upon Inspector Field.
He stood obviously waiting for the gallant officer to say something. As
there was a somewhat long pause, the inspector took up the parable for
himself.
"In a great many cases that come under our hands, so many give us a
chance," he said. "We allow something for luck. More than once in
looking up one business I have come across a burning clue of another."
"What is the meaning of all this philosophy, Mr. Field?" Berrington
asked.
"Well, I think it is pretty obvious, if you care to see it. We are
engaged, just for the present, on looking for a private hansom, painted
black, in which is seated a lame gentleman. The rest of our
investigation does not matter just now, because we have beyond doubt
actually traced the parties who conveyed the body of Sir Charles from
the hotel. When the lame gentleman is spoken of you say something about
No. 100, Audley Place. It is quite obvious that you know something of
the man, or at any rate you think you do. May I point out that it is
your duty to help us if you can."
Berrington looked uncomfortable. As a matter of fact he had made up his
mind to say nothing as to Audley Place.
"There are several Audley Places in the Directory," Field went on. "I
am sure you would not put us to the trouble of looking them all up, sir.
Tell me all you know. Anything that you may say will be treated as
confidential."
"I quite see your reasoning," Berrington replied. "Let me tell you that
I should have said nothing--for the present, at any rate--had I not
betrayed myself. Look here, Field, I might just as well inform you that
we are treading on very delicate ground here. As soon as I begin to
speak, Sir Charles's daughter comes into the business."
"You mean Miss Darryll--Mrs. Richford, I should say. How, Colonel?"
"Because I am quite sure that she knows something of the matter. In the
first place you must understand that the marriage was the reverse of a
love match. Sir Charles's affairs were in anything but a prosperous
condition at the time of his death."
"In fact he was on the point of being arrested in connection with a
certain company," Field said coolly. "I got that information from the
City Police. It was a mere piece of gossip, but I did not identify it as
in any way connected with the subsequent tragedy."
"Well, I should not be surprised to hear that it had an important
bearing on the mystery. As far as I could judge after the wedding there
was a quarrel between Mr. and Mrs. Richford----"
"Ah!" Field exclaimed. His face was shrewd and eager. "Can you tell me
what about?"
"Indeed, I cannot. I cannot even guess. But I can't see what that has to
do with it."
"Can't you indeed, sir?" Field asked drily. "Mrs. Richford shall tell me
herself, presently. But we are getting no nearer to the lame gentleman
in Audley Place."
"Oh, yes we are. Let us admit that quarrel. I am certain of it because
yesterday Mr. Richford had luncheon at the same table as myself. He
ordered a steak and potatoes. When it came, he asked the waiter who had
been putting salt on his plate. Sure enough there _was_ salt on the
plate _and in the shape of a bullet_. Directly Richford saw that, his
whole aspect changed. He was like one beside himself with terror. He did
not know that I was watching him, he knew nothing beyond the horror of
the moment."
"You mean that shaped salt had some hidden meaning, sir?" Field asked.
"I am certain of it. Now don't run your head up against the idea that
you are on the track of some political society, or that Anarchism has
anything to do with it. It so happens that I have seen that salt sign
before in India under strange circumstances that we need not go into at
the present moment. The man who pointed it out to me disappeared and was
never heard of again. The sign was in his own plate at dinner. A little
later I was enabled to get to the bottom of the whole thing; the story
shall be told you in due course.
"Well, I wanted to see what Mr. Richford would do next. Was the sign an
imperative one or not? Evidently it was, for he got up, finished his
brandy, and left the table without having had a single mouthful of food.
Under ordinary conditions I should have taken no action, but you see
Mrs. Richford is a great friend of mine, and I was anxious to see how
far her husband was in with these people. To make a long story short, I
followed Richford's cab and traced him to No. 100, Audley Place, which
is somewhat at the back of Wandsworth Common. There I was so fortunate
as to find a policeman who had been in my regiment, and he gave me all
the information he could as to the inhabitants of the house. The gist of
that information was that the owner of the house was a lame gentleman
who sometimes went out in a bath chair. _Now_ you do see why I cried out
when the cabman finished his story to-day?"
Field nodded thoughtfully. He saw perfectly well. For a little time he
was silent, piecing the puzzle together. On the whole he was more than
satisfied with the morning's work.
"I see," he said at length. "The lame gentleman, of course, sent the
message to Mr. Richford. Within a few hours the body of Sir Charles
disappears. Why, then, was this message sent? So that the lame man could
get posted in all his facts with a view to stealing the body. In other
words, Mrs. Richford's husband was a party to that daring crime. Why
that body was fetched away we cannot inquire into, at present. What I
want to know, and what I must know, is what Mrs. Richford and her
husband quarrelled about."
Berrington winced. He had no pleasant vision of Beatrice being
cross-examined by this sharp, shrewd policeman. And yet the thing was
inevitable. Field's eyes asked a question.
"All right, Inspector," Berrington said, not without some irritation.
"I'll go and see the lady, and let her know what you have already found
out. I suppose it is fatal to try and conceal anything. This comes of a
lady marrying such a sweep as that."
Beatrice listened calmly enough to all Berrington had to say. It was
not nice to have to tell her story over again, but she decided to
conceal nothing. She had done a foolish thing, a wrong thing to save her
father, and the world was going to know the whole sordid truth. But so
long as Mark stood by her, what did the opinion of the world matter?
"Ask Inspector Field in here," she said. "No, I do not blame you, my
dear old friend. Is it not far better that everything should come out? A
dreadful crime has been committed and the guilty should be punished,
whoever they are."
Inspector Field came in, very sorry and very apologetic for the trouble
he was causing. He was quite different from the hard man who had been
cross-examining Berrington outside.
"I fancy you can give me certain information," he said. "I have some
little hesitation in saying anything personal as to the character of Mr.
Richford----"
"You need not hesitate," Beatrice said bitterly, "on my account. I am
going to speak freely, and all the more so because I see the possibility
of having to repeat it all in the witness box. I married my husband with
the sole idea of saving my father from dis----"
"Unpleasantness," Field said swiftly. "There is no occasion for anything
of _that_ kind to come out in the witness box. For family reasons you
became Mrs. Richford. There is no reason why your sacrifice should have
been altogether in vain."
"That is very good of you," Beatrice said gratefully. "Let me say that I
am not in love with the man whose name I am supposed to bear. Had
anything happened to my father before yesterday, my marriage would never
have taken place. My quarrel with my husband was that he knew my father
was dead two hours before the ceremony was fixed to take place."
Hardened as he was, Field started. This information was unexpected as it
was dramatic.
"I am not speaking idly," Beatrice went on. "I came back here, directly
my father's death came to my ears. In his room I found a telegram. It
was dated yesterday, the hour was clearly marked upon it--about ten
o'clock yesterday morning. That telegram was addressed to my husband; it
was found by me close to my father's body. The doctor said that Sir
Charles had been dead some hours before he was discovered. Therefore I
had conclusive proof in my hands that my husband had seen my father's
corpse and that he had stolen out of the room and said nothing, knowing
that I should never be his wife if he spoke the truth."
"It seems almost incredible," Field muttered. "What did Mr. Richford
say?"
"What could he do or say beyond admitting the truth of my accusation?
Even his cunning failed before the production of that fateful telegram.
He had to admit everything, he had to admit that the telegram belonged
to him, that he had occasion to see my father very early on pressing
business, and that he had not raised the alarm because he knew if he did
so he would lose me. At one time the suite of rooms in which we stand
was rented by Mr. Richford; indeed his term has not expired yet, and
that is why my father came here. I can tell you little if any more. What
I said to my husband does not matter in the least. I told him plainly
that I had done with him, and I hope that I may never see him again."
Field had few questions to ask further. A hundred theories were flying
through his nimble brain. Beatrice seemed to divine something of this.
"In common fairness I am bound to say that Mr. Richford could have had
nothing to do with my father's death," she said. "In the first place he
had everything to gain by Sir Charles keeping his health. I know the
doctors are suspicious that there is foul play somewhere, but recollect
that they are prepared to swear to my father's death some hours before
his body was found. A little before ten, Mr. Richford must have been at
home or he could never have had that telegram. Therefore it was after
ten before he sought out my father, who, according to the medical view
of the cause, had passed away hours before."
"That is very cleverly and logically reasoned," Field said, not without
admiration. "And in any case Mr. Richford would be able to give a really
convincing account of the reason why he remained silent--especially
after a jury had seen you in the witness box."
It was a pretty compliment and a tribute to Field's sound judgment as to
human nature, but Beatrice did not appear to heed his words.
"I had better finish and tell you everything," she said. "I have said
everything I can, in common fairness to my husband. I feel convinced
that if there was foul play he had no hand in it, no actual hand, that
is. But there is another side to the question. I have already told you
all about the Countess and the General. I told you how my suspicions
were aroused, and when I came up to my room as quickly as possible--the
door was shut and two people were talking inside. You asked me just now,
Inspector Field, if I could recognize the man again--the man who was in
the room when the Countess was actually taking impressions of the seals
on the door, and I said I could. Can you guess who that man was?"
The inspector looked puzzled for a moment, then the light of
illumination came over his face. He glanced up eagerly; his dark eyes
were dancing.
"You don't mean to say that it was Mr. Richford?" he asked.
"Indeed I do," Beatrice said quietly, "I had intended to keep that piece
of information to myself, but you have forced my hand. Of actual crime,
of actual _murder_, I am quite sure that Stephen Richford is innocent.
But as to the rest I cannot say. At any rate I have concealed nothing
that is likely to injure the course of justice."