ARRESTED!
If the death of Sir Michael, unexpected as it was, had given the
household of Evenden Priory a shock, this new calamity was
overwhelming. Roberto’s wild shrieks were only too justified. The
butler and a footman visited the Prior’s Room immediately, and there,
lying on the floor in his pyjamas, his body twisted and contorted, was
the young master of Evenden. Jack had enjoyed his baronetcy for
something under twenty-four hours.
The police and the doctor were immediately sent for. The latter
pronounced Jack dead, and added that death had probably taken place
eight hours previously.
When the superintendent of the local police arrived, accompanied by an
inspector, Frank Gough received them in the library. Frank stated all
he knew. He said that on the previous evening he had been rather late
returning from a visit to Norwich, where he had ordered some black
clothes from his tailor. On the way back, his car had given trouble,
and it had been necessary to have it repaired. The delay made him late
for dinner, which he subsequently ate alone.
He then had received a message from the butler to the effect that his
brother had retired, and that he would expect him to come up to the
Prior’s Room. He did so, and had found the dead man strangely
perturbed. Jack had been very nice, but it had been necessary for him
to make a certain disclosure, the nature of which Frank had resented
very much.
While Frank was still worried and shocked--because, he said, the
disclosure was certainly shocking--his dead brother had gone on to
explain that, as the apportionment of money for both Frank and his
mother was entirely in his hands, it left him in a very difficult
position. Frank then lost his temper, and accused Jack of deliberately
raking up a cock-and-bull story to avoid his manifest duty,
financially, to his stepmother and stepbrother.
High words had followed. The brothers had almost come to blows. Then
Frank had said that as soon as the funeral of his stepfather was over
he would leave the place forever. After that he left the room, going
direct to his own bedroom. Half an hour later, he stated, Jack had
come to his room to apologize. He understood, he had said, how Frank
must have felt, and very quietly told him more details of the story.
The two brothers had at last arrived at a common policy of silence in
regard to the matter; and, before he left, Jack had told Frank that it
was his intention to carry out religiously his father’s wishes with
regard to money--and that with a generous interpretation.
Both had apologized to each other for the previous high words and
unkind aspersions. Then, after shaking hands, Jack went back to the
Prior’s Room.
All this was carefully taken down by the police inspector. The
superintendent darted a keen glance at Frank from time to time; but,
not until the statement was completed did he speak. Then he asked a
number of questions. But Frank remained unshaken.
The superintendent then asked Frank to remain with him while he
interrogated the servants.
The butler’s story was a complete confirmation of the early part of
Frank’s story. The late young baronet, he said, had dined alone and
then he had retired, after expressing a wish that his stepbrother
should be asked to visit him in his room. He had delivered the message
to Mr. Frank whom he later saw depart in the direction of the Prior’s
Room. He knew nothing more until he had the report of Roberto in the
morning that Mr. Jack was dead.
The housekeeper, two footmen, and Roberto were then examined. Roberto
merely repeated his first statement. At eight o’clock he had found his
master dead--that was all he knew.
The housekeeper knew absolutely nothing, and said so. Just before she
left, however, she startled her hearers by declaring:
“Of course I know how he died, all the same.”
“What do you mean, Mrs. Turnbull?” asked the superintendent.
“Last night was the eve of St. Michael and All Angels,” declared the
old lady, “and there never has been, in the history of the Priory, a
case of a single person who has been allowed to remain the night
through in the Prior’s Room on that awful night. Some have tried--but
they have escaped in time--terrified.”
“What is this?” asked the bewildered superintendent.
Frank told him the ancient tradition of the haunted room and the
supposed visit of the dour figure of the last of the priors, John
Paseley, on the anniversary of his murder, in defense of his priory.
The inspector, who was a good catholic, surreptitiously crossed
himself.
“Is there any record of any authentic experiences?” asked the
superintendent.
“Yes,” Frank replied. “There is an old book in the locked strong room,
there. Shall I get it?”
“Yes,” replied the superintendent. “I would like to see it.”
Then the question of keys arose. Jack had had the key to that room.
After a moment’s reflection, the superintendent said:
“Never mind, I will finish the inquiry first; then I will look.
Perhaps I had better take the keys, for the moment.”
The next to be examined was the senior footman--he knew nothing and
was quickly dispatched. He was followed by a young under-footman
called Thomason--country-bred and raw. He entered the room with gaping
mouth, his goggle-eyes fixed on Frank, and quickly had his hearers
alert.
“I dunno whether I ought to say what I gotta say, sir,” he began
helpfully. The superintendent immediately fixed on him a keen glance.
“Tell us all you know,” he ordered. “Everything, mind you.”
“Well, sir,” began Thomason, “about nine o’clock I had occasion to go
to the small pantry adjoining the Prior’s Room, and I heard awful
quarreling, sir.”
“Did you recognize the voices?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Thomason.
“Who were they?” demanded the superintendent. Thomason turned a
frightened glance in the direction of Frank.
“I can’t help telling, sir, can I?” he faltered, looking the picture
of rustic stupidity.
“Get on, you fool, get on--tell the truth,” ordered Frank.
“Well, the voices was Mr. Jack and Mr. Frank,” Thomason declared,
gasping in his horror.
“Could you hear what they were saying?” the superintendent next asked.
“Not exactly,” replied the footman. “There was something about
greediness--and something about her ladyship--and something about Mr.
Frank leaving the place forever.”
“But they were quarreling--fiercely?”
“Oh yes, sir--something scandalous!” replied Thomason solemnly.
“You stayed there for some time, I take it?” asked the superintendent.
“Yes, sir.”
“Cocking your ear?” The interruption came from old Evans the butler
who, with rising disgust, had watched the exhibition his footman was
making of himself.
“Be quiet, Mr. Evans,” ordered the superintendent. “This man may be an
important witness.”
“He’ll never be an important footman if I have anything to do with
it,” heatedly replied the butler. “The very idea--a servant trained by
me----”
“Mr. Evans, I must ask you to leave the room!” The superintendent
stood up and pointed to the door. With a venomous look at his ungainly
assistant, old Evans left the room, but it said much for his authority
at the Priory that Thomason stood and shivered like a whipped baboon
after he had gone.
Nothing more was got out of Thomason--indeed, he tried to withdraw
something of what he already had said, until the superintendent
frightened him severely by telling him the terrible things that happen
to people who mislead the police.
While the inquiry was in progress, Mr. Benson arrived. Frank had sent
for him earlier. The former was thunderstruck by the news. The first
thing he asked was whether Lady Evenden knew about it?
Frank did not know--he had been fully engaged all the time since the
discovery.
The old lawyer asked Frank to accompany him. The superintendent seemed
on the point of demurring. But, Mr. Benson was accustomed to rule even
superintendents of police; and, he and Frank went together to Lady
Evenden’s room.
The news had been broken to her by the housekeeper and Jill Kilby. She
was terribly distressed. But, singularly enough, Mr. Benson thought
her in much better mental condition than she had been on the previous
day. Jill Kilby stated that, earlier in the morning, Lady Evenden had
broken down and had cried bitterly and passionately, for the first
time since her husband’s death.
She said very little now. She took her son’s hand and gripped it. Then
she turned to Mr. Benson, gripping his hand tightly, as though it were
some pillar of rock in a moving sea of trouble.
“There must be a curse fallen upon the house,” she cried. “Oh, Mr.
Benson, don’t let anything else terrible happen to us, will you?”
The old man answered as reassuringly as he could, and then he and
Frank left the room to return to the library.
The superintendent and inspector had completed their interrogation of
the servants, and were poring over the great tome which told of the
recurring phenomena of the Prior’s Room.
“How did you get hold of that?” asked Mr. Benson.
“Mr. Frank Gough told me it was in the strong room, and I had the keys
that were found in the pockets of the murdered man,” answered the
superintendent.
“My dear Dodgson!” Mr. Benson’s eyebrows lifted and his forehead
wrinkled. “Since when has it been customary for police officers to
take keys from the pockets of deceased people without consulting
lawyers, or anybody else? What are you thinking about?”
“I am searching in this book to see if I can find any possible clue to
the murder. It has been stated that no one has remained throughout a
whole night in that room--called the Prior’s Room--on a certain
day--that is, the eve of Michaelmas.”
“By Jove, that is certainly remarkable--and it is true, too, I can
tell you that,” said Mr. Benson thoughtfully.
“I want to see you a minute privately, in any case,” the
superintendent proceeded. Mr. Benson nodded, and they left the room
together. He led Superintendent Dodgson to a small morning room; then
the superintendent coughed a little and spoke.
“You are, of course, acting for the family?” Mr. Benson nodded. “Well,
roughly,” continued the superintendent, “this is the position at
present. The following statements taken--will you read them? This is
Mr. Gough’s, and this is the last one--by the footman Thomason.” There
was silence for ten minutes while Mr. Benson digested the contents.
The longer he read, the more he frowned. Without a word, he folded the
papers, handed them back to the superintendent, removed his
eyeglasses, and fixed the other with the piercing eyes that had
intimidated many a county bench. Then he spoke.
“Well?”
The superintendent was undoubtedly embarrassed--his position was
delicate. He coughed again, once or twice.
“I feel like calling Scotland Yard,” he began. Mr. Benson nodded
approval. “But in the meantime--I say in the meantime--I don’t see how
I can avoid arresting Mr. Gough.”
Mr. Benson never flinched. Not by so much as the flicker of an eyelid
did he betray the slightest emotion. In silence for quite a minute he
continued to stare at the superintendent; then, shaking his head a
little, he said very quietly:
“At present that would seem inevitable, Dodgson, but I wouldn’t do it,
if I were you. He certainly didn’t do it--I have not the slightest
doubt upon that point--And equally, I have no doubt but what, as the
inquiry proceeds, evidence will be forthcoming to substantiate the
story he tells. It is not the duty of the law as I see it--and as I’m
sure you do--to place a young man, newly shouldering great rank, in a
position that will cast a certain stigma upon him for life? Frank
Gough as you know, is now the heir. Reversion to him was long since
arranged. Will you arrange with him to remain here and be at your
call?”
“I would like to, Mr. Benson.” The superintendent was visibly
troubled. “But I’ve thought it over, and I cannot see how I possibly
can do anything but arrest him. My position in the event of his going
away, or committing suicide, would be untenable. Don’t you see, sir,”
he went on, “that even what you’ve just said, from a strictly
impartial point of view, increases, _prima facie_, the case against
him. Take the facts: there has been a quarrel; the elder brother has
the power, and means to use it, of depriving the other of any
inheritance. Further than that, there is some talk of scandal in
connection with the mother. The removal of the first leaves the way
open for the inheritance of the second, and that completely, as well
as quieting the alleged scandal. In the face of that, what can I do?”
“Well, there are all sorts of things you can do--that is your trouble.
One of the first things I _would_ do, if I were you, would be to get
your pathological people down to conduct a post-mortem on the body. I
suppose you don’t mind my having a chat with Mr. Gough privately, do
you?”
“Not in the least, Mr. Benson,” agreed the superintendent, rising.
“And there’s just one other thing--I’m in charge now. Do you mind
turning over those keys to me?” The little man held out his hand, and,
after a second’s hesitation, Superintendent Dodgson placed the bunch
of keys into it. Then he left the room, having agreed to send Frank to
the lawyer.
Frank entered the room. The lawyer drew up a chair for him close to
his own, and said:
“Frank, my boy, we’re in for a very unpleasant few days, from what I
can see of things. Now, in whatever you have to undergo, I conjure you
to be strong--never let yourself go. You are about to be tested in
very fierce fires indeed, my lad, but remember you are not fighting
alone. All the time the best brains that I can buy, and all that I can
do, will be done. Victory is a foregone conclusion, boy--get that on
your mind. We don’t need to even dream of defeat. But, in the meantime
be strong.”
“What--what----” Frank stammered, for the earnestness of the lawyer
was an indication of the terrible nature of the experience in store
for him.
“When we shall have finished our chat,” said Mr. Benson gravely, “the
superintendent of police will arrest you for the murder of your
stepbrother.” Frank turned very pale. “Now, remember what I have told
you--they will not win, but much depends upon your calmness, and the
complete manner in which you take me into your confidence.”
“But--this is awful----” stammered Frank.
“Of course it is,” agreed the lawyer. “Now pull yourself together, and
tell me, absolutely word for word, what your late brother said to you
when you joined him in the Prior’s Room last night.”
Frank, after some difficulty in starting, told Mr. Benson as nearly as
he could remember, word for word, what had occurred on the evening
before. He repeated the whole story that had been told to Jack by
Gunnery Lieutenant Towers, and he told of its connection with the
visit of Dr. Laidlaw. The old man raised his eyebrows when he heard
that. Then Frank told him how the quarrel was occasioned, how that,
feeling pretty sick about the terrible tale of his own father’s death,
his mind was still dwelling on it when Jack, having finished that
subject, was talking about the terms of his father’s will. In the
bitterness of his heart Frank accused him of coupling the two things
together, and if making the one an excuse for the other.
Jack had been furious to have such meanness attributed to him. Frank
had been equally furious to have this awful story told him of his
father’s death--which would seem to shatter the ideal his mother stood
for, to him.
Then he told of how Jack had come to his room later, unable to sleep
without putting the unfortunate misunderstanding right, and how the
interview had ended in perfect amity--with deep sympathy expressed on
both sides, each for the position of the other.
When the interview was over, and Mr. Benson had asked him many
questions, the old lawyer rang the bell, and upon a servant appearing,
ordered brandy and soda. He insisted on Frank taking a stiff glass;
then he accompanied him to the hall, where the superintendent was
waiting.
“Have you prepared Mr. Frank Gough, Mr. Benson?” he asked.
“I have informed Sir Frank Evenden, Dodgson, and he is quite at your
service. See to it that you treat him in every way----”
“You can leave that to me, sir,” interrupted the superintendent. “Sir
Frank, I regret this most painful duty; but, until such evidence
appears as will clear you, it is my duty to arrest and detain you for
the wilful murder of the late Sir John Evenden.”
“I understand your position, superintendent,” Frank replied calmly. “I
am, of course, innocent of any knowledge of the causes of my brother’s
death. I place myself entirely at your disposal.”
The old lawyer nodded his approval, and a minute later he was standing
on the steps of Evenden Priory, the autumn breeze ruffling his white
locks--for he stood bareheaded--while a retreating motor car carried
the heir to Evenden Priory, to answer a murder charge.
“Two dead baronets in the Priory, and another facing death at the
hands of the law,” muttered the old man. “Surely, John Paseley, you
are celebrating this Michaelmas in high and solemn order.”