A Mysterious Case
The murder of Miss Sophia Wharf at the Bristol Hotel ball, made
a great sensation. She had been well-known in Marport, and her
many friends were enormously excited that each and everyone of
them had been acquainted with a person who had been--as one of
them put it--done to death. Also the circumstances of the murder
were most extraordinary. It seemed almost incredible that a
popular lady should be murdered in so public a place; though
many said, that the safety of the assassin lay in the very fact
that he had chosen to commit his crime, a few yards away from a
spot where many people were congregated. But who had killed Miss
Wharf and why she was killed in so brutal a manner, no one could
understand.
When the local police heard of the assassination, an Inspector
with two subordinates took possession of the hotel, and obtained
from the manager a list of the guests present at the ball. As
these amounted to something like two hundred, it seemed like
looking for a needle in a haystack to search for the criminal
amongst them. And many of them did not know Miss Wharf even by
sight, so it was certain that the task of identifying the
assassin would be one of enormous difficulty. And the question
was asked on all hands. "What had taken the deceased lady down
the little-frequented steps?" The fan was missing--Miss Pewsey
noticed that, when she bent over the dead, but the story of the
fan was not yet public property.
According to custom the local police communicated with the
Treasury, who placed the case in the hands of the Criminal
Investigation Department, and thus it came about, that a plain
clothes officer--in other words a detective--was sent down to
Marport. This individual was called Rogers, and after paying a
visit to the Superintendent of the Marport Police Office, he
went to Ivy Lodge. Here, everything was gloomy and silent. The
body of the unfortunate woman had been brought home, and was
laid out for burial. Dr. Forge, who with others had been on the
spot at the time of the discovery, examined the corpse, and
asserted that the miserable woman must have been murdered just
an hour, or half an hour previous. As midnight was chiming
shortly before the discovery of the crime, it can be safely
declared--and Dr. Forge did declare this--that Miss Wharf was
strangled between eleven and twelve. When the corpse was found
it was yet warm, Clarence haunted the Lodge and talked with his
aunt, but Olivia kept to her own room.
"Tung-yu did it of course," said Mr. Burgh decisively. "I reckon
he came down to get that fan, and grudged giving so much cash
for it. I surmise that he lured the old girl to those steps, and
then slipped the silk string round her neck."
"The silk tie," said Miss Pewsey whose eyes were very black and
glittering, though red round the rims, from weeping.
"How do you know it's a tie?" asked Clarence with a start.
"I know," replied his aunt tightening her thin lips, "and I know
to whom the tie belongs. But you say that Tung-yu?--"
"Who else could have scragged the old girl aunt Lavinia. The
fan's gone--leastways I didn't see it when we spotted the
deader."
Miss Pewsey nodded. "Yes, the fan is gone," she assented, "but
if Tung-yu murdered dearest Sophia, he can easily be arrested."
"Oh, I guess not," replied Mr. Burgh easily. "Tung-yu's no
slouch, you bet, and didn't intend to lose his prize--"
"The fan?" inquired Miss Pewsey.
"Just so, the fan," replied Clarence imperturbably, "and he's on
his way to China by this time."
"Clarence?" Miss Pewsey rose, much excited; then calmed down. "I
do not agree with you," said she firmly. "Tung-yu is innocent."
"I'll lay a couple of dollars he isn't, Aunt Lavinia. Do you
remember that yacht I pointed out to you last night. Well, t'was
a steam deep-sea barky, two hundred tons, Lloyd's measurement I
reckon--quite heavy enough to cut round the Cape into Chinese
waters. Well, she arrived in the afternoon yesterday and after
midnight she lighted out."
"But how do you know Tung-yu was on board?"
"Well, I only size that up," said Clarence musingly, "but it
looks to me as though he'd engineered the job. 'Twould be easy I
guess for him to have had a boat waiting for him. After he'd
killed the old girl and annexed the fan, he could dance down
those steps like a two year old and pick up the boat on the
beach. Course it's all my fancy," added Burgh modestly, "but I
guess I'm right."
"I guess you're not," snapped Miss Pewsey in rather an
unlady-like manner, and she rose to shake out her skirts. "I
know who killed dearest Sophia," she added, wagging a lean
finger at her nephew. "I know who possessed the tie, and I shall
hand that man--"
"Who the dickens is he anyhow?"
"Rupert Ainsleigh," replied Miss Pewsey with a grim smile,
and left the room, while the buccaneer stared, and then smiled.
It was pleasant to think that his rival--as he considered
Rupert,--should be in such straits and should be pursued by the
vindictive hatred of Miss Pewsey, who would leave no stone
unturned to bring about the conviction of young Ainsleigh.
"Well," said the buccaneer with his hands in his pockets, "I
guess I'm not taking a hand in this biznai, and it ain't lively
round these quarters, I'll git."
And this Mr. Burgh did. When he passed out of the front door, he
brushed against a plainly dressed rubicund man with sharp grey
eyes who glanced at him inquisitively. However, the stranger
said nothing but proceeded to ring the bell. The maidservant who
appeared took him into the drawing-room and carried a card to
Miss Pewsey. The name thereon was, Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.
With this in her hand Miss Pewsey sailed into the drawing-room
and looked at the comfortable creature who rose to greet her.
"Mr. Orlando Rodgers, C.I.D.?" queried the little old lady.
"Criminal Investigation Department," said the man in a cool
voice, and with a sharp glance at the dry drab woman, "I'm in
charge of the Wharf Murder Case, and have been sent down by the
Treasury. As I have seen the Superintendent and can learn
nothing likely to throw light on the subject, I have come to
you--a relative?"
"No," answered Miss Pewsey sitting down, in a rigid way. "I am
the companion of the late Miss Wharf. Her only relative, down
here at all events, is Miss Olivia Rayner."
"Can I see her?"
"I think not--at present. She is in her room weeping. Though why
she should display such grief I can't understand," added Miss
Pewsey spitefully.
"It's natural in a relative, miss," said the detective looking
hard at the withered little face.
Miss Pewsey laughed in a shrill manner, and spoke between her
teeth more than ever, emphasising every word as usual. "Oh, dear
me, no," said she. "Miss Wharf and Olivia never got on well. The
girl hated her aunt, though dearest Sophia--Miss Wharf, you
know, sir--brought her up, when she hadn't a shilling or a
friend in the world."
"To whom have I the honour of speaking?" asked Rodgers wondering
how much of this spiteful speech was true, and seeing plainly
enough that the speaker was no friend to the niece.
"I am Lavinia Pewsey," said that lady, "and for years I have
been the cherished friend and dearest companion of Sophia. We
were at school together, and were--as I may say--like two
cherries on one stalk. Anything I can do to avenge her death
will be done."
"Punishment by the law, doesn't come under the head of
vengeance!"
"It comes under the head of hanging, and I'll be glad to see the
rope round his neck."
"Of whom are you talking?" asked Rodgers phlegmatically.
"Of the man who killed my dearest friend."
"Oh. I understood from the Superintendent that the affair was
quite a mystery."
"Not to me," snapped Miss Pewsey, "Rupert Ainsleigh strangled
her to get the fan."
"What fan?" asked the detective taking out his note-book, "and
who is Rupert Ainsleigh?"
Miss Pewsey spread her skirts and folded her hands together in a
prim way. "I shall tell you all," she cried, "and please take
down all I say. I am prepared to make this statement in a law
court."
"Well," said Rodgers moistening his pencil, "you may have to.
Now this Mr. Ainsleigh?----"
"Of Royabay, a few miles from Marport," said Miss Pewsey, "quite
one of the old families. A nice come down for the Ainsleighs,
for the last of them to die on the gallows."
"He is not there yet," said Rodgers dryly, "and may I ask you to
speak in a more reasonable way. I see you don't like the man."
"I hate him," Miss Pewsey drew a long breath, "and I hated his
father before him, to say nothing of his mother, who was a cat."
"Then your evidence is prejudiced, I fancy."
"Never you mind, Mr. Orlando Rodgers," she replied sharply,
"take down what I say, and then you can sift the matter out for
yourself. My Sophia was murdered to obtain possession of a
fan----"
"What fan?" asked Rodgers again.
Miss Pewsey smiled, and calmly detailed all she had learned from
Dr. Forge concerning the fan. "You can ask my nephew, Clarence
Burgh, about these things also," she ended, "and Dr. Forge, and
Mr. Christopher Walker, who brought the Chinaman Tung-yu to the
ball, and----"
"Wait a bit," interrupted the detective, "it appears to me from
what you say," he ran a quick eye over his notes, "that the
suspicion points to these Chinamen you mention. They advertised,
and they wanted the fan. Now Hwei--as I hear from you--was not
at the ball, but Tung-yu was. Therefore Tung-yu----"
"Didn't do it," said the little woman. "I don't pretend to
understand why Hwei offered death and Tung-yu money for the
possession of the fan; nor do I know why this Mandarin, whatever
his name may be, is so anxious to get possession of the article.
But I know that the fan is gone and that Tung-yu, who did not
intend murder, hasn't got it."
"Then who has?"
"Rupert Ainsleigh. He went up about the advertisement and knew
all about the fan. I believe he killed my Sophia, and got the
fan, so as to sell it for five thousand to Tung-yu--"
"But a gentleman of property wouldn't--"
"A gentleman of property," snorted the old maid smoothing her
dress, "why he's head over ears in debt and will lose Royabay
before the end of the year on account of the foreclosure of a
mortgage. He'd have done anything to get money, and five
thousand pounds is not a small amount."
"This is all very well: but I don't see how you connected Mr.
Ainsleigh with the crime."
"By means of the silk necktie," said Miss Pewsey with a
triumphant smile, and related how Rupert had received the scarf
from Olivia, "if he is guiltless how came his silk tie round the
throat of Sophia?"
Rodgers was shaken by this piece of evidence. "It looks queer I
admit," he said: then added, "I understand that Mr. Ainsleigh is
an admirer of Miss Rayner."
"He wants to marry her, and she is in love with him," said Miss
Pewsey, "which is an additional reason for the crime."
"I don't understand."
"You're not a sharp man," said the old woman tranquilly, "don't
you see that as Miss Rayner inherits dearest Sophia's money, she
will get the mortgage also. Then with that, and the five thousand
pounds Mr. Ainsleigh would be free from his money-troubles. Well," she
added sharply, as the detective rose, "what do you say?"
"Nothing at present. Give me the address of Dr. Forge who, I
believe, examined the body, and of your nephew and Mr. Ainsleigh."
Miss Pewsey did this with alacrity and accompanied Rodgers to
the door. "Don't spare him," she said venomously, "he's guilty
and he shall hang," and she shut the door herself.
"What a spiteful woman," mused Rodgers, leaving Ivy Lodge, "her
story is so very explicit that I am inclined to doubt it. She
wants this young man scragged. Why?"
He could find no answer to this question, but went on his way to
see Clarence Burgh. His interview with the buccaneer was brief,
Clarence related the story of the yacht, and set forth his
theory of Tung-yu. "Mind," said he, "I don't like Ainsleigh, as
he's trying to run the girl I want to hitch long-side of. But I
guess he didn't scragg the old girl."
"You speak fairer than your aunt," said Rodgers dryly.
Clarence heaved up his right shoulder, "Huh," said he, "if you
go by woman's jaw, you'll get on the shoals. Tung-yu scragged
the old girl, you bet, and he's on his way to China in that
yacht."
"Well, we'll see if we can't stop the yacht. She must coal
somewhere. What is her name?"
"The Stormy Petrel," said Clarence, "I got that out of a
boatman, who was rowing about her yesterday."
"Did he see any Chinaman on board?"
"No. He didn't see anyone. There didn't appear to be anyone about, or
else they were at tea," concluded Clarence ungrammatically.
"Humph," said the detective, noting the name of the yacht, "do
you know anything of the silk tie?"
"No. Aunt Lavinia says it belongs to Ainsleigh, but I never saw
it till it was round the throat of the old girl. I should like
to think he put it there," said Clarence pleasantly, "for I want
that chap out of the way; but I believe Tung-yu's the man."
"Perhaps he is. Have you a copy of that advertisement?"
"No. But I reckon Ainsleigh has. Ain't you going to see him?"
Rogers nodded. "Straight away. And I thank you for what you have
told me. You want him hanged I presume."
"Well no I reckon not. He's in my way, but I can lay him out on
my own, without the lynching biznai."
"You are fairer than your aunt," said the detective once more.
"Go slow. She's only an acid-drop, and you can't size her up,
just as an ordinary girl. She was crazy on Markham, the father
of this young Ainsleigh, and----"
"And proposes to hang the son to avenge herself on his father. A
nice woman, truly. But it seems to me Mr. Burgh that if anyone
killed Miss Wharf, Hwei is the man."
"Might be. He wasn't at the ball anyhow. Tung-yu was."
"But Tung-yu--as I understand from Miss Pewsey--intended to call the
next day--to-day that is--and buy the fan for five thousand."
"Huh," Clarence heaved up his shoulder again, "perhaps he thought
he'd settle in another way. 'Day. I'll be along here whenever you like
to call. I wish to see this biznai through, you bet."
Rodgers departed, and sought out Rupert at Royabay. The young
man was walking up and down the terrace smoking furiously. At
the sight of the stranger he frowned and Rodgers noted that he
looked worn and ill. "Might be money worries," thought the
detective, "and it might be the other thing."
However, he kept these thoughts to himself and merely detailed what he
had learned from Miss Pewsey and set forth the accusation she brought
against him. Ainsleigh heard the detective quietly enough, and smiled
wearily when the explanation was concluded. "Miss Pewsey doesn't love
me," he said quietly, "and would like to see me out of the way, so
that Miss Rayner could marry her nephew."
"I see," nodded Rodgers, "Miss Rayner will have the dead lady's
money, and the nephew is poor."
"I really don't know," replied Rupert coldly, "Mr. Burgh is a
mystery to me. He comes from nowhere, though I believe he has
been in China."
"And knows what about the fan?"
"I think so. At all events, young Walker declares that Burgh was
talking to a Chinaman near the Mansion House. Burgh admits this,
and also admits that the Chinaman was Hwei, who put in that
advertisement.
"I'm inclined to suspect Hwei himself," said Rodgers looking
keenly at the worn face of the young man, "but this silk
tie----"
"It is mine, Mr. Rodgers. Miss Rayner gave it to me last night."
"So Miss Pewsey says--on the balcony."
"Quite so. Miss Pewsey was spying and saw the tie given. As the
colours are rather pronounced, she could easily identify it. I
took it to the cloak-room and placed it in the pocket of my
overcoat."
"And took it out again?"
"No." Rupert rose and grew crimson, "surely you are not so
unjust as to believe Miss Pewsey's malignant tale."
"You may be sure, Mr. Ainsleigh, that I'll act fairly towards
you," said the detective dryly, "but the tie having been used to
strangle--"
"I don't know how it came round her throat," interrupted
Ainsleigh imperiously, "I placed the tie in my overcoat
pocket--that was the last I saw of it, until I noticed it on
Miss Wharf's dead body."
"Did anyone else see the tie?"
"Yes, Major Tidman?"
"Who is he?"
"A retired Army man--South American Army--who stops at Bristol
Hotel. He is much respected here. I went to the cloak room, and
found him talking to Tung-yu. Both, saw me place the tie in my
coat."
Rodgers sat up. "Oh," said he opening his eyes widely, "then
Tung-yu saw you place the tie in the coat."
"He did, but if you suspect he took it out again, I think you
are wrong. He left the room and I exchanged a few words with
Major Tidman."
"What about?"
"About this fan. Major Tidman told me to leave it alone. But of
course I never intended to meddle with it. Miss Wharf had it,
and she hated me too much to let me handle it, though she did
give me the chance of making the money," said Rupert, with an
after thought.
"Eh, how was that?"
"She offered to let me have the fan if I gave up my claim to
Miss Rayner, whom she desired should marry Mr. Burgh, I
refused."
"Humph," said Rodgers again, "and how does Major Tidman come to
know about the fan?"
"I refer you to him for an answer."
"And how did he come to know Tung-yu?"
"I believe he met him in Canton," replied Rupert restlessly, "he
had some adventure there--?"
"Connected with this ubiquitous fan?" asked Rodgers sharply.
"Yes. He promised to tell me the adventure to-day, but I had not
seen him yet."
"Humph. He may come after all. I'll call on this gentleman. At
the Bristol you say. Quite so," Rodgers took a note. "Now then
Mr. Ainsleigh, tell me how you came to go up about the advertisement?"
Rupert related his father's dealings with Lo-Keong, and referred
to the secret said to be connected with the fan. The detective
heard him in silence, and appeared to be struck by his frankness. "I
think it's one of the most complicated cases I ever had to do with,
Mr. Ainsleigh, and will take a lot of searching into."
"I hope you don't suspect me?"
"Humph, the tie is, strangely enough, the rope used to strangle
this woman, and you admit that it is yours. But Tung-yu saw you
put it in your overcoat pocket, and he wanted the fan--"
"For five thousand pounds remember. Hwei was the one who
threatened to gain the fan, by killing."
"Don't defend Tung-yu too much," said the detective dryly, "your
position is not a pleasant one and--"
"Do you mean to arrest me?" asked Rupert rising angrily.
"Not at present. But no doubt at the inquest you can prove an
alibi."
Rupert turned away, "I can't," he said in a low voice, "I was
walking outside smoking between eleven and twelve--on the
beach."
"That's a pity, Mr. Ainsleigh, I may have to arrest you after
all. But who is this gentleman. Major Tidman!--quite so.
Good-day Major."