At the sight of that hideous injury, all Colin's professional
training instinctively asserted itself. Letting go the switch, he
sprang forward, and, heedless of the blood and broken glass, dropped
down on one knee beside the prostrate body.
It needed no medical knowledge to see that the case was hopeless. A
terrific blow from some blunt instrument had smashed the whole front
of the skull, and portions of the crushed and bleeding brain were
even now protruding from the wound. Death must have come with
merciful abruptness--a sudden and utter annihilation of every sense
and feeling.
Almost dazed by the blast of fury that swept through him, Colin
stumbled to his feet. He glanced wildly round the room, and the
broken French window, one half of which was standing open,
immediately caught his eye. Since the door had been locked from
inside, it was the only way by which the murderer could have escaped.
He had evidently darted through into the garden with the intention of
climbing the wall, and, moved by a desperate hope, Colin stepped
across the dead body and ran out on to the lawn. A flood of
moonlight, streaming in through the bare trees, lit up the whole
desolate expanse of grass and shrubs. Everything was perfectly
still, and, except for the faint rumbling of a cart in the distance,
the entire neighbourhood seemed to be plunged in absolute silence.
He was listening intently, with his eyes on the black line of bushes
opposite, when a slight noise in the room behind attracted his
attention. He turned round instantly, and through the window he
caught sight of the panic-stricken figure of Mrs. Ramsay peering in
at the open doorway.
As he moved forward into the light she uttered a stifled scream.
"Don't be frightened," he said quickly. "It's I--Doctor Gray."
Clutching at her dressing-gown with one hand, she pointed a trembling
finger toward the body.
"Oh, my Gawd, sir," she gasped, "what is it? What's been happening?"
Colin stood in the window, his face white and set.
"The Professor has been murdered," he said.
She stared at him for a moment, as though his words conveyed no
meaning; then with a pitiful sound, like the whimpering of a beaten
dog, she staggered back against the wall.
Colin strode forward and took her by the arm.
"You must pull yourself together," he said curtly. "This is no time
for hysterics. I want your help--now--at once."
As he expected, his almost brutal words had the desired result. She
stopped crying, and once more her terrified glance travelled round in
the direction of the dead man.
"Who--who killed him?"
Colin shook his head. "I don't know. When I came down the study
door was locked from inside. I broke it open and found him lying
here--like this."
"It must have been the same man," she whispered; "the one who tried
to burgle his desk." She caught hold of Colin's sleeve, and looked
up imploringly into his face. "Oh, sir, can't nothing be done?
Isn't there----"
"I am going to telephone to the police. While I'm doing it I want
you to stand outside in the hall, so that you can see into the room.
If you hear the smallest sound or movement in the garden call to me
at once."
She gazed fearfully toward the broken window.
"Do you think he's out there, sir, hiding in the bushes?"
"I think he's a quarter of a mile away by this time. All the same,
until the police arrive the room mustn't be left unwatched for a
single moment."
He waited until she had obeyed his instructions, and then, with a
final glance round, walked swiftly down the passage and took off the
receiver.
"Get me on to Scotland Yard as soon as possible," he said.
There was a note of urgency in his demand which must have carried
conviction even to the mind of the clerk, for in something less than
ten seconds the reply came.
"Scotland Yard speaking. Who's that?"
"Dr. Colin Gray. Can you tell me if Inspector Marsden is still
there?"
"I think so. Hold on a minute and I'll find out."
A pause followed.
"Hullo!" exclaimed a voice. "I'm Marsden. What's the matter,
doctor? I didn't expect to hear from you again at this time of
night."
"It's a bad business," said Colin quietly. "I'm speaking from the
Red Lodge, Campden Hill. I have just found Professor Carter lying
dead in his study."
"Dead!" came the sharp rejoinder. "How did he die?"
"He has been murdered."
He heard a sudden exclamation at the other end of the wire.
"Murdered! Good God, doctor! Are you certain of what you're saying?"
"Perfectly certain. He has been murdered by some man who broke into
the house after I had gone to bed. The whole front of his skull has
been smashed to pieces."
There was a brief silence, followed by a few indistinct words, as
though Marsden had turned round and was addressing someone else.
Then his voice came again, clear and peremptory.
"When did this happen?"
"About six or seven minutes ago."
"How did the man escape?"
"I think he ran out into the garden and climbed over the wall."
"Is there any one else in the house besides you?"
"There are two old servants. One of them is watching the room now."
"You had better go back yourself, and stop there until we arrive.
Leave everything exactly as you found it. Don't disturb the body and
don't touch or move a single object. We shall be with you in a
quarter of an hour. Do you quite understand?"
"Quite," said Colin.
He hung up the receiver as the detective rang off, and, shivering
slightly from the cold, made his way back to where he had left the
housekeeper.
"They're coming down almost at once," he said. "I'll wait here and
let them in."
She moved back, as though glad to escape from the sight of the room.
"Then I'd better go up and get your dressing gown," she replied.
"You'll catch your death standing about like that with nothing on."
Colin nodded gratefully. "You might fetch me some slippers, too,
while you're about it," he said. "You'll find a pair alongside the
bed. I turned out in such a hurry I forgot to put them on."
With trembling steps and holding tightly to the banisters, Mrs.
Ramsay slowly ascended the staircase. She returned in a few minutes
carrying the desired articles, and, stepping forward to meet her,
Colin took them from her hands.
"Thanks so much," he exclaimed. "Now I think the best thing you can
do is to get back to your room. I expect the police will want to see
you when they come, but until then----"
Mrs. Ramsay shook her head.
"It wouldn't be no use, sir. I couldn't close my eyes, not if you
was to offer me a thousand pounds." She turned again toward the
stairs. "Besides, there's Mrs. Wilson--the cook, you know, sir.
I've got to go and look after her."
"What's the matter? Is she ill?" demanded Colin.
"I heard her screaming," was the answer. "I shouldn't wonder if
anything had happened, what with being woke up sudden and her having
a weak heart."
"People don't often die from shock," said Colin. "Take her up a drop
of brandy out of the dining room, and you had better have a little
yourself at the same time."
He thrust his feet into the slippers, and, putting on his dressing
gown, reentered the study.
Unlike most people whose ideas on the subject are drawn chiefly from
sensational novels, Colin knew that the surest way of assisting a
criminal was for some well-meaning amateur to conduct a few
preliminary investigations before the arrival of the police. During
his four years at the hospital he had twice been called upon to give
evidence in cases of murder, and the experience had convinced him
that it was only when a properly qualified detective was first in the
field that any really valuable clues were likely to be forthcoming.
Marsden's urgent instructions over the telephone had therefore been
unnecessary; even without them he would certainly have waited for the
Inspector's appearance before attempting any further interference
with the existing condition of the room.
He walked across to where the Professor was lying and looked down
again at the body. The sight filled him with a mingled grief and
anger that were almost unbearable. He had revered the dead man with
all the ardour of a disciple, and, in addition to this lifelong
homage, their close intimacy during the last few weeks had produced
other and still stronger ties. In spite of the old scientist's
rather dictatorial manner, his attitude throughout had been so
extraordinarily kind and generous that a very real if
half-unconscious affection for him had gradually sprung up in Colin's
heart. The thought that the murder had been committed while he was
actually in the house only increased the horror and bitterness of the
whole affair. No excuses could alter his feeling that he had failed
miserably--failed in the very duty for which he had been selected and
employed.
Self-reproaches, however, were of little use now, and with a
tremendous effort he wrenched his mind back to the immediate problem
that confronted it. Why, in God's name, should any one have wished
to kill the Professor, and how had it come about that the latter's
body was lying where it did? In order to reach the study from the
laboratory one had to pass through the whole length of the hall.
Colin's hearing was particularly acute, and he felt positive that the
creak of footsteps or the opening or shutting of a door would
instantly have attracted his attention. Nothing of the sort had
happened. Until that one crash of breaking glass the whole house had
been absolutely silent.
His eyes fell upon the damaged lock, and another question suddenly
presented itself. Who had been responsible for turning the key?
Surely it could not have been the Professor. If he had entered the
room expecting to find it empty, what conceivable reason could he
have had for fastening himself in? If, on the other hand, he had
entertained even the remotest suspicion that somebody was hiding on
the premises, he would certainly have come upstairs before attempting
to approach the study.
It seemed more likely that the murderer had locked the door after
committing the crime, so that he might have a better chance of making
his escape. There was a coolness about the proceeding which
suggested that he was fully aware of Colin's presence in the house,
and a conviction that the whole thing had been planned and carried
out with the most cold-blooded deliberation forced itself gradually
upon the young surgeon's mind.
Had Mrs. Ramsay been right? Was it the same man who had ransacked
the Professor's desk?
If it were so--and all the circumstances seemed to point to that
conclusion--burglary and not murder had probably been the real object
of his visit. There was evidently something in the place, some
document or paper, of which he was desperately anxious to obtain
possession. Having failed to find it at his first attempt, he had
apparently returned to the house a second time in order to make
another and more exhaustive search.
By some fatal chance the Professor must have taken it into his head
to enter the study just after the intruder had succeeded in gaining
admittance. On finding the window open he had naturally stepped
forward to close it, only to receive a murderous blow out of the
darkness, which had sent him crashing into the glass.
The one fact which refused to fit in with this theory was the entire
absence of any sound right up to the actual moment of the crime.
There must, of course, be some explanation, and Colin was puzzling
his brains in a vain attempt to discover it when the loud peal of a
bell suddenly jangled out from the kitchen.
Just pausing to gather his dressing gown about him, he hurried down
the passageway to the outer door, which he unfastened and opened. A
large car was drawn up in the roadway, and five men, two of them
uniformed constables, were standing in a group on the pavement.
Inspector Marsden, who was in the centre, immediately came forward.
"Well, what's happened, doctor?" he inquired curtly. "Anything fresh
to report?"
Colin shook his head. "Only what I told you over the telephone," he
replied. "The Professor is dead, and the man who murdered him has
escaped."
"That's enough to go on with, anyhow," returned the detective.
"Jackson, you and Roberts stop here for the present. If any one
attempts to leave the house arrest them at once."
With an obedient salute the two constables fell back, and, followed
by his other companions, Marsden mounted the steps.
"This is Doctor Sinclair, our divisional surgeon," he announced. "He
tells me that he has already had the pleasure of meeting you."
Colin shook hands with a tall, gray-bearded man, whose face seemed
vaguely familiar.
"And this," continued the Inspector, "is Detective Sergeant
Humphries, of the Finger Print Department. Now I think the first
thing we'll do is to go in and have a look at the body. I'll take
your statement as soon as the doctor has finished his examination."
Without offering any comment, Colin conducted them down the corridor,
and, leading the way across the hall, brought them to the door of the
study.
Marsden halted in the entrance, and stood staring silently at the
tragic spectacle in front of him.
"You followed my instructions?" he asked. "Everything is exactly as
you found it!"
"Exactly," said Colin.
"Then I'll ask you two gentlemen to wait here for a moment. There's
just one point I should like to make certain about before any one
touches the body."
He pulled out a notebook from his inside pocket, and, beckoning to
his colleague stepped forward into the room.
Doctor Sinclair moved across to where Colin was standing.
"I don't suppose you remember me," he said, "but I called in at St.
Christopher's last year in connection with one of your cases." He
nodded toward the two detectives, both of whom were kneeling down
beside the dead man. "This is a very terrible business," he added.
"I was horrified when I heard that it was Professor Carter."
Colin, whose mind was in no state for conversation, made an effort to
collect his thoughts.
"Did you know him personally?" he asked.
The surgeon shook his head. "No," he replied. "Like everyone else,
I was a great admirer of his work, but I never had the honour of
being introduced to him. The police tell me that you were acting as
his resident assistant."
"I came here straight from the hospital," said Colin. "I had been
with him for nearly a month."
"It seems such a particularly brutal and senseless crime," continued
the other, after a short pause. "One would think that even the most
callous ruffian would hesitate about striking down an old man of over
eighty." He glanced at Colin's dressing gown. "I gather that the
murderer broke into the house after you had gone to bed?"
Colin was about to answer when the Inspector got up suddenly and
turned toward the door.
"We've seen all we want to for the present, doctor. Perhaps you'll
be good enough to have a look at the body now, and let's hear your
opinion?"
The surgeon hurried forward, and, following him slowly into the room,
Colin seated himself on the corner of the sofa. From this position
he was able to watch the proceedings of all three of his companions,
none of whom for the moment betrayed any desire to interrogate him
further. Doctor Sinclair, after taking off his coat, became wholly
absorbed in his professional duties. Marsden appeared to be busy
making notes, while the sergeant, who had produced an electric torch
and a large magnifying glass, stepped down into the garden and began
a minute examination of the still open French window.
At last, after a lapse of several minutes, the surgeon rose to his
feet.
"It is a clear case of deliberate murder," he said slowly. "The
Professor was struck on the temple by some blunt weapon--probably a
jemmy. There is no doubt that he was killed instantly. I should
think he has been dead for about twenty minutes."
The Inspector turned to Colin. "You were the first to view the
body," he remarked. "Is there anything in the doctor's report with
which you are not in agreement?"
"Nothing," replied Colin. "I came to the same conclusion myself
directly I examined the wound."
Marsden pulled a chair up to the table, and the sergeant, who had
been listening from the window, stepped forward and joined him.
"I want the full facts now, Doctor Gray," he said brusquely. "Tell
us in your own words exactly what happened from the moment you
returned to the house."
Amid a profound silence, broken only by the occasional scratching of
the Inspector's pencil, Colin proceeded to relate his story.
Starting with his talk to the Professor at the laboratory door, he
went on step by step to describe the whole of his subsequent
experiences right up to the arrival of his present companions. He
kept strictly to the bare facts, making no attempt to explain his own
views, and all three of his audience listened to him with an absorbed
interest, which showed itself plainly in their faces.
It was only when he had quite finished that the Inspector offered his
first comment.
"Well, I wish everyone could make a statement like that," he said
approvingly. "It would save us a lot of trouble in the course of the
year." He leaned forward, and ran his eye over the various notes
which he had jotted down while Colin was speaking. "This other
burglary that the housekeeper referred to," he inquired; "when did
that take place?"
"I think it was about three months ago," said Colin, after a moment's
reflection. "I wasn't here at the time; in fact, there was no one
else in the house except Mrs. Ramsay and the cook. That was really
the chief reason why the Professor decided to engage an assistant."
"Why weren't the police notified?" demanded the Inspector. "There
was certainly no report sent in to the Yard."
"The Professor declared that he didn't want to waste his time. He
was a very busy man, and as nothing appeared to have been stolen he
decided to let the whole matter drop."
"Nothing stolen!" repeated Marsden, raising his eyebrows. "Are you
perfectly certain about that?"
"It's what he told me, anyhow," replied Colin. "According to him,
the only damage they did was to smash open his desk and search his
papers."
Both men glanced across the room in the direction of the oak bureau.
"Is that the desk?" inquired the Sergeant.
Colin nodded.
"Had he any idea what they were after?"
"Not the slightest. All his papers which are of any scientific value
are kept in the laboratory. I believe he had some money and
valuables in the safe, but they seem to have left that entirely
alone."
There was a brief silence, and then, without saying anything, the
Sergeant got up from his chair and walked over toward the two pieces
of furniture in question. Marsden remained seated, his keen blue
eyes fixed thoughtfully upon Colin's face.
"What's your opinion, doctor?" he asked at last.
"I am inclined to agree with Mrs. Ramsay," said Colin. "I think it
was the same man who broke into the house before. He is evidently
searching for some particular paper or document, and as he couldn't
find it in the desk he came back a second time to try and open the
safe. On his first visit he probably hadn't got the necessary tools
with him."
"And how about the murder?"
Colin hesitated. "There's one thing I don't understand," he frankly
admitted. "I left the Professor working in the laboratory, and it's
a mystery to me how he managed to reach the study without my hearing
him. I was awake the whole time, and I can swear that there wasn't a
sound."
"Well, I can explain that to you," said the Inspector. "Mr. Carter
didn't cross the hall; he entered the room by the window."
With a sudden exclamation Colin started to his feet.
"By Jove, what an idiot I am!" he exclaimed. "I never thought of
that. Of course, there's a side door from the laboratory into the
garden."
"I imagined that there must be," said Marsden, "and I haven't the
least doubt that we shall find it unlocked." He got up from his
chair and glanced at the police surgeon, who was standing by himself
in front of the fire. "I don't think we need keep you any longer,
Doctor Sinclair," he added. "I'll let you know what time we fix for
the P.M. as soon as I've seen Ashford."
The surgeon, who seemed ready enough to depart, picked up his hat and
coat.
"You can tell him to 'phone me at my house," he replied. "I shall be
there till midday for certain."
He nodded a general good-night, and, accepting Colin's offer to
escort him to the front door, accompanied the latter through the hall
and down the outer corridor.
"We shall be bound to come across each other again during the next
few days," he said as they shook hands. "I only hope that when all
this is over we shall have the pleasure of meeting under less
distressing circumstances."
Colin returned some more or less suitably polite rejoinder, and,
shutting the door, made his way back to the study.
He found the two detectives standing in front of the safe, the
sergeant stooping down and apparently engaged in some experiment with
the lock.
Marsden looked round at his entrance.
"We'll leave Humphries to finish up here," he said. "I want you to
take me to the laboratory; and afterward, if you'll call down the
servants, I'd like to have a few minutes' conversation with both of
them."
"I don't suppose you'll get much out of the cook," said Colin
doubtfully. "According to Mrs. Ramsay, she's collapsed for the
night."
"She'll talk all right," was the somewhat cynical answer. "Women can
always pull themselves together if there's a chance of using their
tongues."
He stepped forward briskly, and, following Colin to the back of the
house, turned down the side passage which led to the laboratory.
The door of the latter apartment was still open, and at the sight of
the big, brilliantly lit interior he pulled up with an exclamation of
surprise.
"Hullo!" he remarked. "I'd no idea it was such a size. The old man
must have been pretty well off if he could afford to run up places
like this."
He glanced round the room as though in search of the additional exit,
and, without waiting for his question, Colin pointed toward a high
screen which jutted out at right angles from the wall.
"It's behind there," he explained. "I never thought of looking to
see if it was open. The Professor told me that he only used it in
summer time."
"He used it to-night," was the detective's reply. "If he hadn't he
would probably be alive now."
As he spoke he descended the steps, and, with Colin in close
attendance, strode confidently toward the spot. They came to a halt
in front of a small oak door, flush with the wall, and, catching hold
of the handle, Marsden gave it a sharp turn. The next moment a gust
of cold wind was blowing in their faces, and they were staring across
the lawn in the direction of the study windows, from which a flood of
yellow light streamed out into the darkness of the garden.
It was the Inspector who first broke the silence. "That's clear
enough as far as it goes," he observed. "The question is, Why did he
open the door at one o'clock in the morning?"
A possible explanation suddenly occurred to Colin.
"I shouldn't wonder if he wanted to let in a little fresh air. He'd
been making an experiment, and there was a horrible smell in the room
when I spoke to him at the doorway."
"You've got it," was Marsden's laconic answer. He pulled out an
electric torch, a duplicate of the sergeant's, and allowed the light
to play backward and forward over the patch of gravel outside. "I
don't suppose there will be any footprints," he continued. "It's
been freezing too infernally hard for that, and, in any case, we
shall only do more harm than good by trampling all over the place in
the dark." He switched off the torch, and closing and locking the
door, put away the key in his pocket.
"We'll get back now," he added, "and if you'll give me a hand I think
we'll move the Professor's body into his own bedroom. When we've
done that you can call down the servants."
They returned to the study, where they found Humphries still
examining the safe, and after the Inspector had exchanged a few words
with his subordinate, he and Colin set about their task.
Lifting the frail, bloodstained figure between them, they carried it
slowly up the staircase as far as the first landing. The Professor's
room was situated right at the end of the corridor, a large, sparsely
furnished apartment with an old-fashioned four-poster in the farther
corner. They laid their burden on the bed, and Marsden stood up, cap
in hand, while Colin sponged away the blood and covered over the body
with a clean sheet.
"It's a wretched sort of ending to a life like his," said the
detective, with an unexpected touch of feeling. "One of the greatest
scholars in the world, so they tell me; and look at him now--knocked
on the head and done for, just like any common drunk in a street
fight!" He paused. "I'm not a rich man," he added, "but I'd give a
couple of months' pay to put a rope round the neck of the party who
did this."
He walked to the door, and, replacing his cap, glanced up at the
landing above.
"You might give the servants a call now, doctor," he said. "Don't
frighten 'em; just say that if they feel up to it I'd like to have a
nice friendly little chat in the study." He dived into his pocket
and once more pulled out his notebook. "By the way, can you tell me
the name and address of the Professor's solicitor? We shall have to
get hold of him the first thing in the morning."
"It's a Mr. Medwin," said Colin. "He lives close by here in Albert
Terrace, but I'm hanged if I can remember his number."
"That doesn't matter," returned Marsden. "I can easily look him up
in the telephone directory."
He jotted down the name, and, replacing the book in his pocket, laid
his hand on Colin's arm.
"There'll be no need for you to stay up any longer," he said. "Both
Humphries and I have got plenty to keep us busy until breakfast time.
You turn in and get some sleep as soon as you've brought down the
servants."
Colin, who was beginning to feel distinctly weary, contented himself
with a nod.
"You'll know where to find me," he said, pointing to his room. "If
there's anything you happen to want just give me a call."
He left his companion at the end of the passage and mounted the
second flight, which led up to the servants' quarters. Somewhat to
his surprise, he found Mrs. Ramsay and the cook, both fully dressed,
standing on the small landing at the head of the stairs.
"We couldn't stop in bed," explained the former, "not after we heard
the bell ring. Oh, sir, what do the police say? Have they----"
"The Inspector wants to have a few minutes' talk with both of you,"
he said. "Of course, if Mrs. Wilson doesn't feel well enough----"
The cook drew herself up with a suggestion of injured pride.
"I know my duty, sir," she remarked. "If the police wishes for my
hevidence they shall have it heven if I drop dead on the carpet, the
same as my poor mother did before me."
There being apparently nothing further to be said, Colin conducted
his charges as far as the study, where he found the two detectives
waiting to receive them. He remained just long enough to make the
necessary introductions, and then, availing himself of Marsden's
suggestion, returned upstairs again to his own room.
Now that his services were no longer needed an irresistible reaction
had suddenly set in. He felt tired out in mind and body, and,
scarcely conscious of anything but an intense desire for sleep, he
threw off his dressing gown, and, for the second time that evening,
clambered thankfully into bed.
* * * * * * * * *
It seemed to him as though he had scarcely laid his head upon the
pillow when he was abruptly aroused by a touch on the shoulder. He
sat up with a start, and, rubbing his eyes, perceived a burly and
familiar figure standing beside him in the gloom.
"Hullo, Inspector!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter? Anything
wrong?"
"Only the time," returned his visitor. "It's just gone eight, and as
we're expecting Mr. Medwin at nine I thought I'd better give you a
knock-up."
With rather a rueful laugh Colin threw back the clothes.
"How about breakfast?" he inquired. "Have you made any arrangements?"
"The cook's on the job," was the encouraging answer. "I was careful
to keep on the right side of her last night, and she's promised us a
dish of eggs and bacon at a quarter past."
"I'll be there," said Colin, thrusting a leg over the side. "How did
you and the sergeant get on after I'd gone to bed?"
"Well, we haven't altogether wasted our time," said Marsden, turning
toward the door. "I won't hang about in your way now, however. You
shall have the news--such as it is--while we're waiting for the
solicitor."
He disappeared with a friendly nod, and, after indulging in a cold
tub and a somewhat hasty toilet, Colin followed him downstairs to the
dining room.
His arrival synchronized almost exactly with that of Mrs. Ramsay, who
appeared from the kitchen carrying a well-laden tray. She arranged
the contents on the breakfast table, which was already set out, at
the same time expressing an apologetic hope that if there were any
shortcomings they might be attributed to the natural agitation of
herself and the cook. She then retired, and with an air of
businesslike alacrity the two detectives drew up their chairs.
"This will just suit my complaint," observed Marsden, uncovering the
eggs and bacon. "I was never a believer in working on an empty
stomach, and I reckon Humphries here is pretty much of the same
opinion."
"There were some sandwiches and whisky on the sideboard last night,"
said Colin. "I ought to have told you before I went to bed."
"Oh, we found them all right," returned Marsden with a smile. "And,
for the matter of that, some very excellent cigars, too." He helped
his companions to a generous portion each, and transferred the
remainder to his own plate. "I only wish," he added grimly, "that
we'd been equally successful in our professional discoveries."
"Have you any clue at all?" asked Colin.
"Depends on what you call a clue," was the answer. "I can tell you
one thing for a certainty. Whoever broke into the house was an old
hand at the game, and, what's more, a chap who knew his job from A to
Z."
"Why do you think that?"
"Well, you're not likely to find an amateur burglar who can cut out a
pane of glass without making a sound, nor yet one who wears gloves so
as to hide his finger prints. Besides, no one but an expert
cracksman could possibly have forced the lock of the safe."
"I didn't know it was forced," said Colin.
"One bolt had gone, anyhow; and a very neat bit of work it was, too,
eh, Humphries?"
The sergeant, whose mouth was full, confined himself to an
affirmative grunt.
"That rather knocks the bottom out of my theory," said Colin, after a
short pause.
"It simplifies things a good deal from our point of view," returned
the Inspector. "Directly we can get a crime into a particular class
we're half way toward finding the man who did it. You see, there are
never more than a certain number of skilled burglars out of prison,
and it's the Yard's business to keep a pretty close eye on what
they're up to. Roughly speaking, a case like this narrows itself
down to about twenty or thirty likely parties. By to-night they'll
all have been put through it, and if there's a single one who can't
account exactly for what he was doing he'll--well, he'll be what the
newspapers call 'detained for further inquiries.'
"Do you think it was the same man who broke in before?" asked Colin.
Marsden looked doubtful. "It may be, of course, and if that's so
there's probably more in the case than appears on the surface. A man
like the Professor might very well have had papers and secrets that
certain people were anxious to get hold of, and it's quite on the
cards that they might have taken in a professional thief to do their
dirty work for them. The trouble is that at present we know
practically nothing about his private life."
"I can't help you there," said Colin. "I believe that Mr. Medwin was
the only person who was at all in his confidence."
"Well, Mr. Medwin will be able to answer for himself in a few
minutes. Our next best hope is to get on to the track of this old
manservant Kennedy. He seems to have been with the Professor for
about forty years, so if he's still alive he might be able to give us
some useful information."
"I expect Mrs. Ramsay or the cook could let you have his address."
"I asked them last night, but neither of them has the least notion
where he is. From the way they spoke I gather that there was
precious little love lost between them. However, he will probably
show up as soon as he reads about the murder, and, if not, we
oughtn't to have much difficulty----"
A ring at the front door bell interrupted his words, and, glancing at
the clock, he gulped down the remainder of his tea.
"I wonder if this is our man," he added. "You don't often find a
solicitor ahead of his time." He turned to Colin as Mrs. Ramsay's
steps were heard crossing the hall. "Just a word of caution, doctor.
He knows nothing about the murder yet, and I've told the old lady to
keep her tongue quiet while she's showing him in. Leave me to break
the news if you will; I've a fancy to see how he takes it."
Colin's only reply was a nod, and the three of them sat in silence
until the door opened and Mrs. Ramsay appeared on the threshold, with
the massive form of Mr. Medwin looming up behind her.
The solicitor, who was wearing a frock-coat and carrying a top hat in
his hand, took a couple of paces forward. Then with an air of
surprise he came to a sudden halt.
The Inspector rose instantly.
"Let me introduce myself, Mr. Medwin. I am Inspector Marsden, of
Scotland Yard."
Mr. Medwin bowed, his close-set eyes travelling swiftly over the
other occupants of the room.
"Good morning," he said, in that peculiarly suave voice of his. "May
I inquire what all this signifies?"
"Professor Carter has been murdered."
Marsden's answer came with startling bluntness, and there could be no
question as to the effect that it produced. An expression of
incredulous amazement flashed across the big man's face, and for a
moment he stood gripping his hat and staring blankly at the speaker.
"Murdered?" he exclaimed at last. "Impossible! There must be some
mistake."
"It's not the sort of thing that lends itself to mistakes," returned
the detective.
Mr. Medwin drew in a long breath, and Colin, who was watching
intently, saw that he was making a tremendous effort to recover his
self-control.
"I think I had better sit down for a moment," he said slowly.
He moved forward, and, laying his hat on the corner of the table,
sank into the vacant chair from which Marsden had just arisen.
"You must excuse me," he continued. "I feel half stunned at this
appalling news. The Professor was one of my most valued friends."
He moistened his lips and glanced up suddenly at the detective.
"When did it happen?" he demanded.
"Last night," was the reply, "or, to be more exact, about a quarter
to one this morning."
"Why wasn't I sent for before?"
Marsden stroked his moustache, and eyed the other with a kind of
dispassionate interest.
"Well, Mr. Medwin, I appreciate the importance of your testimony, but
as I happen to be responsible for this case you must permit me to
conduct my investigation in the way that I consider best."
Instead of betraying any resentment at the snub, the solicitor merely
nodded.
"Quite so," he assented readily. "Your first step would naturally be
to go into all the circumstances of the murder, and I was forgetting
for a moment what a great deal of work it must have entailed." He
paused. "Have you made any discoveries?" he asked. "Anything that
could possibly be described as a clue?"
"Several," replied Marsden. "But I think it will save time if I give
you the full details straight away. There are several peculiar
features about the affair, and it's not much use discussing them
until you are in possession of the facts."
Mr. Medwin folded his arms.
"Just exactly as you prefer," he remarked. "Please consider me
entirely at your service."
Without wasting any more words Marsden entered upon a brief
description of everything that had taken place from the moment when
Colin had returned to the house. The curt and matter-of-fact fashion
in which he told his story seemed somehow or other to heighten its
dramatic horror, and, in spite of the solicitor's expressionless
face, it was easy to see the strained attention with which he was
following every word. Once or twice he seemed to be on the point of
asking a question, but on each occasion he apparently changed his
mind at the last moment, as though unwilling to interrupt the
narrative.
"As far as I can see at present," concluded Marsden, "there are two
probable lines of inquiry, both of which I propose to follow up.
Either it was an ordinary case of burglary, or else the thief was
after some particular object that he believed to be hidden in the
study. With regard to the actual murder, I am inclined to think that
it was more or less of an accident. The silly fool got rattled when
the old man came in at the window, and smashed his head in before he
realized what he was doing. He has probably been cursing himself
ever since."
"I should say that your first suggestion was the right one," remarked
Mr. Medwin. "An old-fashioned house like this, shut away from the
road, is exactly the sort of place that a professional burglar would
select. It's very improbable there's anything more in it than
that--a sordid attempt at house-breaking, ending up in a brutal and
bloody murder."
"Well," returned Marsden slowly, "I'm not altogether satisfied on the
point. Take the question of this previous attempt. Granting it was
the same man, why did he content himself with merely examining the
desk?"
The lawyer glanced swiftly in the direction of Colin.
"Is that what the Professor told you?" he asked.
Colin nodded.
"He said the same thing to me," continued the other, "but I remember
wondering at the time whether his statement could really be trusted.
Like so many gifted men, he was curiously careless in the matter of
money. It's quite possible that he may have had a bundle of notes in
some drawer that he remembered nothing about."
"And you think that, having whetted his appetite, the thief came back
for more?"
Marsden put the question almost casually.
Mr. Medwin spread out his hands. "Surely it's a more likely theory
than to imagine the existence of some mysterious object that nobody
has ever heard of?"
"I suppose that if the Professor had had any specially valuable paper
or secret in his possession he would probably have mentioned the
fact? I gather that you were entirely in his confidence?"
"Entirely, as far as his business arrangements were concerned."
"And how about his private affairs?"
The solicitor paused. "I am as much in the dark as you are with
regard to them. On anything that concerned himself Mr. Carter was
one of the most reticent men who ever lived."
"So I understand from Dr. Gray," returned the Inspector. "All the
same, we shall have to look into the matter, and I should think the
easiest way of doing it would be to get in touch with his old
servant, Kennedy. Do you happen to know where he can be found?"
Colin, who was watching closely, thought that he detected a faint
change of expression in the solicitor's face. If so, it passed away
instantly.
"I haven't any idea," was the reply. "I am afraid it's very likely
that he's dead. He was partly paralyzed when he left the Professor's
service, and I don't imagine he would have lasted for more than a few
months."
The Inspector walked to the window and for a moment or two stared
thoughtfully out into the garden.
"What about the estate?" he asked, turning round suddenly. "Who
comes into the property?"
Mr. Medwin shrugged his shoulders. "There again I am completely at
sea. I presume that it passes to the next of kin, but who that
fortunate person may be I haven't the remotest notion."
"Hasn't Mr. Carter made a will?"
"Not that I'm aware of. I suggested to him several times that he
ought to take some steps in the matter, but he always made the excuse
that he was too busy to be bothered about it at the moment. As so
often happens in these cases, the opportunity has now gone by for
ever."
"Then if no one comes forward the money passes to the Crown?"
"That is so; but it's not a situation which is likely to occur. In
view of the large fortune at stake some claimant is certain to put in
an appearance."
The Inspector raised his eyebrows. "A large fortune, eh?" he
repeated. "Can you give us any idea of what it amounts to?"
Mr. Medwin reflected. "The Professor has been saving money for
years," he said slowly. "He drew a big income from his various
patents, and his personal expenditure was comparatively trifling.
Some of his experiments were naturally rather costly, but, all the
same, there can be no doubt that he was an extremely wealthy man. As
a rough estimate I should say that he was worth at least a couple of
hundred thousand pounds."