AFTERWARDS
Patricia recovered her senses to find that she was lying on her own
bed, in her own room. Beside her sat fat Mrs. Sellars, with many
restoratives, and with a look of anxiety on her tearful face. When
Miss Carrol opened her eyes and asked vaguely where she was, Ma
uttered an exclamation of pleasure and thankfulness.
"Oh, what a fright you gave me, dropping down as though you were
shot," she said, producing a damp handkerchief. "I thought it was
another murder, and that you had taken poison, or----"
"Wait!" Patricia with sudden vigour sat up in bed and grasped the
woman's arm. "You used the word murder when I fainted."
"And I use it now, my dear," said Mrs. Sellars, with some asperity.
"What other word is to be used in connection with a cut throat?"
"A cut throat!" Patricia stared at her blankly.
"Oh, don't tie me down to words," wailed Mrs. Sellars, placing her fat
hands on her fat knees and rocking. "Stabbed in the throat would be
better, I daresay, if there can be any better in connection with the
tragic death of my own and only sister. Martha and I never got on well
together, but----"
"Ah, yes," interrupted Patricia, passing her hand across her forehead
with a bewildered air, as a full recollection of what had taken place
came back to her suddenly. "Mrs. Pentreddle has been murdered. You
said that, and I fainted at the door."
"And very naturally," lamented Mrs. Sellars dolefully. "I'm sure I'd
faint myself, if it wasn't that I am needed, with doctors and
policemen in the house. And after such a happy evening, too," she
continued, placing her handkerchief to her red eyes. "Sammy's play was
such a success. I'm sure it will go on at a West End theatre and have
quite a run."
Patricia ruthlessly cut short this babble, as she was yet in the dark
as to what had taken place during her absence. "Will you tell me who
killed Mrs. Pentreddle?" she asked, with some sharpness.
"No, I won't, my dear, because I can't, my dear. I should rather ask
you that very question, seeing that you were left in charge of her
with that sprained foot of hers. Why did you go out and leave Martha
all alone in this big house, and where did you go, and why are you
home so late, and----?"
"I shall answer all those questions in the presence of the
police-officer who has charge of the case," said Patricia firmly, and
gathering her Irish wits together to face a very awkward situation. "I
can exonerate myself."
"Oh, my dear! no one ever accused you."
"Someone might accuse me," said the girl dryly. "People are always
prone to believe the worst of one." She scrambled off the bed. "Will
you please tell me exactly what has taken place while I bathe my face
and change my dress?"
"What wonderful self-command you have, my dear!" said Mrs. Sellars
admiringly; "it's a thing I never have had. I'm sure when Bunson met
me at the door to say that Martha was lying in the drawing-room with
her jugular bleeding and all the blood out of her body--not that she
ever had much, poor dear!--you might have knocked me down with a
feather. I was fit for nothing, and it was Sammy who sent for the
police. Fancy! how good of him, my dear, seeing that he had the
success of his drama on his mind. And it _is_ a very great success, I
can----"
"What did Bunson say?" demanded Patricia, keeping Mrs. Sellars to the
point from which, confused by trouble, she constantly strayed.
"He met me and the rest at the door, my dear, when we came back from
the theatre at eleven," replied Mrs. Sellars, trying to calm herself.
"His face was as white as a clown's, but it was fear and not chalk
with Bunson. He and Matilda and Sarah and Eliza got back at a quarter
to eleven, so that the supper might be seen to. And no one has eaten
the supper," cried Mrs. Sellars, again going off at a tangent. "Such a
lovely supper, too! We expected to have such a happy evening, and here
is Martha lying on her bed a gory corpse, with all the bedrooms upset
by the villain!"
"What villain?"
"Him who murdered poor Martha, whoever he is, the scoundrel. He first
stabbed Martha in the drawing-room, and then hunted all through the
bedrooms, making hay, as the boys say, in every one. Just look at your
own, my dear."
Miss Carrol had already done so, but she had hitherto believed that
the open drawers, with their tumbled contents, the disordered
wardrobe, and the displaced furniture, had been the work of Mrs.
Sellars. "I thought you had done this when you were attending to me."
"But why should I?" demanded Mrs. Sellars, somewhat tartly. "It
wouldn't have done you any good to have pulled your room to pieces in
this way. The police say he wanted something."
"Who wanted something?"
"The caitiff who robbed Martha of her life," retorted the ex-actress
in her best theatrical manner. "He murdered the poor dear for
something, and as it wasn't on her--whatever it is--he searched the
house. Whether he got it or not--whatever it is--I can't say, nor can
anyone else. But he went out by the front door, in spite of the
drawing-room middle window being unfastened, and where he's gone no
one knows."
"The middle drawing-room window could not have been unfastened," said
Patricia, raising her dripping face from the basin. "Bunson locked it
before he went to the theatre."
"Well, then, it must have been opened since, my dear, for the latch is
undone, and it has been pushed up a little way from the bottom. Martha
couldn't have done it, as her foot was so bad she couldn't have left
the sofa. I daresay the villain did it."
"He could scarcely have opened the window from the outside," said
Patricia.
Mrs. Sellars shook her head mournfully. "I'm not so sure of that, my
dear," was her reply. "The balcony runs along the front of all three
windows, and as they are old and shaky, like all the house, he could
easily have slipped a knife between the upper and lower sashes and
pressed back the snick."
"But in that case Mrs. Pentreddle, thinking a burglar was trying to
get in, would have shrieked for assistance," argued Miss Carrol.
"Who would hear her?" asked Mrs. Sellars very pertinently. "There was
no one in the house, and I daresay no one in the road, as scarcely
anyone comes along so far as this; on a foggy night, too. Who would
come here on a foggy night? No. The villain found poor Martha all
alone and stuck her like a pig. You shouldn't have left her."
"She asked me to."
"She asked you to?" repeated Mrs. Sellars, her round eyes growing
rounder with astonishment. "Asked you to what?"
"To go on an errand, and"----Patricia checked herself, as it was
unnecessary to repeat her story twice, and she wished to tell it in
the presence of the police-officer. "It's too long to tell you now,"
she said hastily, and looked in the glass to see that her hair was in
order. "Come downstairs, and let me see the man in charge of the
case."
"Oh!" wailed Mrs. Sellars, submitting to be led out of the room. "Oh,
that I should have lived to hear Martha called a case! And Bunson
called her 'the remains.' Such an insult!"
"What did Bunson say exactly?" inquired Patricia quickly.
"He said that he and Matilda and Sarah and Eliza came round by the
back and entered the house by the kitchen. While Matilda made up the
fire and put on the kettle, Bunson went up to the dining-room to see
if the supper was all right. Nothing was disturbed, so he went to look
into the drawing-room, expecting to see Martha and you. But he only
found Martha lying dead and icy cold on the sofa, covered with blood
from her jugular vein. She never did have much blood, poor dear!"
sobbed Mrs. Sellars; "but what she had she lost, for she died from
losing it, too hurriedly."
"And what else did----"
"There's nothing else," interrupted Mrs. Sellars, waving her arms in a
dramatic manner. "Everyone's upset and can't eat and can't go to bed,
and they're all sitting in the dining-room, because Inspector Harkness
won't let them sit in the drawing-room."
"Is Inspector Harkness the man I am to see?"
"Yes. He's in the drawing-room, and told me to bring you to him as
soon as you could stand. He saw the cabman who brought you, and asked
him where you had entered the cab. The man said at Hyde Park Corner
about half-past eleven, which may or may not be true, for I can't
understand what you should be doing there at this time of night."
"It's quite true," said Miss Carrol quietly. "I lost myself in the
fog."
"But why did you leave the house?"
"I shall explain that to Inspector Harkness. Dear Ma," Patricia patted
the disturbed old woman's shoulder kindly, "don't cry so. I assure you
I have nothing to do with the death of poor Mrs. Pentreddle."
"I never thought for one minute you had, my dear," said the poor
landlady. "All the same, Martha is as dead as a door-nail. She is now
with her late husband I expect, though it can't be a very pleasant
place where such a rascal has gone to. Not that I want to say anything
bad against them that are gone, for we may be the same to-morrow," and
so poor Mrs. Sellars, quite incoherent with grief and bewilderment,
maundered on aimlessly.
Patricia was invited to enter the drawing-room by a jovial-looking
man, whose would-be military air did not suit his looks. He was stout,
red-faced, grey-haired and bluff in his manner, resembling the typical
John Bull more than anything else. He tried to be stiff, but failed in
his buckram civilities when he forgot that he was Inspector Harkness
and remembered that he was primarily a human being. Miss Carrol was so
pretty and graceful in spite of her white face and drooping air, the
result of fatigue, that the officer beamed on her approvingly. But
having placed a chair for her, and one for Mrs. Sellars, who was to be
present at the interview, he became aware that he had his duty to
perform, and looked as stern as he possibly could.
"Now, young lady," he said, arranging some papers, and getting ready
to take notes, "what do you know of this matter?"
"Nothing," said Patricia, coolly and decisively. She was now quite her
own clever, ready-witted self, as the difficulties of her position had
acted upon her like a tonic. In spite of Inspector Harkness's suave
demeanour, she was fully aware that he would not hesitate to arrest
her, if he believed she was in any way inculpated. Her curt answer
rather annoyed him.
"Nothing," he repeated sharply. "That is rather a strange denial to
make, in the face of the fact that you were the last person who saw
this unfortunate lady alive. Do you deny that, Miss Carrol?"
"No. Why should I? I was with Mrs. Pentreddle from the time Mrs.
Sellars left with the others for the Curtain Theatre----"
"Half-past six, as we thought the house would be full," interpolated
Ma sadly.
--"until nearly half-past eight o'clock," finished Patricia calmly.
"And after that?" asked Harkness, noting down this fact and
acknowledgment.
"I was wandering about Hyde Park, lost in the fogs until half-past
eleven."
"What took you to Hyde Park on this night?"
"Mrs. Pentreddle asked me to go on an errand for her."
"What was the errand?"
"What indeed?" said Mrs. Sellars curiously. "Martha, poor dear, was
always of a very secretive disposition, and never told me anything.
But, as I am her own sister, she ought to have told me what she
wanted."
Patricia took no notice of this remark, but addressed herself to
Inspector Harkness. She wished to get the interview over, so that she
could retire to bed, for she felt extremely tired, and only her
will-power enabled her to sustain the examination. "Mrs. Pentreddle,"
she explained, and the officer took down her words, "had an
appointment to-night with a man near the Serpentine Bridge on this
side. Owing to her sprained ankle she could not go herself, so she
promised me five pounds if I would go in place of her. At first I
objected, since the conditions under which I was to meet this man were
so strange; but when Mrs. Pentreddle declared that, failing me, she
would ring up a messenger-boy on the telephone, I thought that there
could be nothing wrong, and accepted the commission."
"For the sake of the five pounds," hinted the inspector.
Patricia threw back her head proudly. "I am not rich, and five pounds
mean much to me," she said simply, but with a nervous flush. "Yes, I
went for the sake of the five pounds. Though, of course," she added
quietly, "I was quite willing to oblige Mrs. Pentreddle in every way.
I refused the money at first, but when she insisted upon paying me, I
was only too delighted to accept. Do you blame me?"
"Well, no," acknowledged the officer, after a pause. "But did you not
think that five pounds was a rather large sum to pay for a simple
errand?"
"And Martha was so close-fisted as a rule," put in Mr. Sellars.
"The errand was not a simple one," said Patricia quickly. "There was a
very great deal of mystery about it," and she repeated the
instructions which the dead woman had given her. These both impressed
the inspector and startled Mrs. Sellars.
"One would think that Martha was a conspirator," she exclaimed.
"Perhaps she was and perhaps she was not," replied Miss Carrol
wearily. "I have been puzzling over the question ever since the box
was stolen."
"Stolen!" Harkness rose suddenly to his feet and looked at the girl's
pale face with an imperious glance. "What do you mean?"
"What I say," answered Patricia, whose nerves were giving way. "A man
came and snatched the jewel from my hand while I looked at it."
"The jewel!" cried Mrs. Sellars alertly. "What jewel?"
"The one which was in the deal box."
"The box which this unknown man thrust into your hand?" asked
Harkness.
"Of course. I should not have opened the box, but I did so,
because----" Patricia hesitated. It seemed useless to tell these two
very matter-of-fact people about the weird sensations which she had
felt while holding the jewel, as they would neither understand nor
believe. Swiftly changing her mind, she ended her sentence
differently--"because the whole circumstances were so strange that I
wished to know what was in the box."
"You were afraid that Mrs. Pentreddle had sent you on a nefarious
errand?"
"Yes, I was, and with good reason," said Patricia, and Harkness nodded
approvingly.
Mrs. Sellars disagreed. "Why, Martha was a most religious woman, and
so good as to be almost unpleasant. She would never have sent you on
an errand which had to do with anything wrong, my dear."
"You can judge for yourself," said Miss Carrol, quietly. "I am telling
you all that has taken place."
Harkness pondered. "You say that you left this house at half-past
eight, and wandered in Hyde Park until half-past eleven. How can you
prove this?"
"Very easily, Mr. Inspector. I met a policeman in Crook Street when
I left the house and asked him the time. He told me that it was
half-past eight. At half-past eleven I spoke to another policeman near
the Achilles statue, saying I had lost myself in the fog. I asked him
the time also, and told him to whistle me up a cab. He said it was
half-past eleven and got me the cab. Mrs. Sellars told me in my
bedroom that you had questioned the cabman, sir, so he must
substantiate my story."
Harkness nodded. "Yes. He told me that a policeman had put you in the
cab at Hyde Park Corner about the time you mentioned. I see that you
can account for leaving the house and returning to it. But what were
you doing in the meantime?"
"I have told you," said Patricia, annoyed at having her word doubted.
"Yes, you have told me; but can you prove what you say?"
"Luckily I can, unless the things are stolen."
"What things?"
"The umbrella, the lantern and the empty box, which I left on the
bench in the broad Bayswater path. I was sitting there when the man
robbed me."
"What was the man who robbed you like?"
"I can't say. It was foggy and he only remained for a single moment."
"And what was the man who gave you the box like?"
"I can only make you the same answer," said Patricia. "Both incidents
happened so swiftly that I had no time to observe anything. But if you
will send to the Park you will perhaps find the articles I left on the
bench."
The inspector nodded, and rising from his chair, went out of the room.
Mrs. Sellars caught the girl's hand when they were alone.
"What does it all mean, my dear?" she asked helplessly.
"I can't say," replied Patricia, shaking her head. "You know all that
I know, and must form your own opinion."
"What is yours?"
"I have none. I am quite bewildered."
At this moment Inspector Harkness re-entered the room and returned to
his seat. "I have sent to the Broad Walk in Hyde Park," he said
bluffly; "so if your story is true, the articles will be found."
"My story is true," said Patricia, flushing with anger. "But while I
was away someone may have sat on the bench and----"
"And have taken the articles," finished the officer dryly. "Well, yes;
but I hope for your sake that your tale--a very strange one--will be
substantiated by these proofs."
"Do you believe that I am telling you a falsehood?" asked Patricia in
her most indignant manner.
"I believe nothing and I say nothing until these articles are found."
"And if they are not?"
The inspector hesitated, looked awkward, and did not reply.
Patricia stood up, trying to control her nerves, but quivering from
head to foot. "Perhaps you accuse me of murdering Mrs. Pentreddle
before I went out?"
"No, dear, no," cried Mrs. Sellars, catching her hand kindly. "The
doctor says that poor Martha was murdered about ten o'clock, and as
you can prove that you were absent by means of those policemen and the
cabman, no one can accuse you of the crime. And I know," said Mrs.
Sellars, bursting into tears, "that you wouldn't hurt a fly, much less
Martha, who liked you in her disagreeable way."
"I am not accusing Miss Carrol, I beg to say," remarked the inspector,
as soon as he secured a moment to speak; "but the whole tale is so
strange that Miss Carrol cannot blame me if I desire proofs. Naturally
a high-spirited young lady doesn't like to be questioned in this way,
but----"
"I don't mind being questioned," interrupted Patricia, her hot Irish
blood aflame. "But it is being doubted that I object to."
"Natural enough; natural enough," said Harkness soothingly; "but one
cannot bring personal feelings into legal matters. I have daughters
myself of your age, Miss Carrol, and I have every sympathy with your
position. As a man and a father, I fully believe every word you say;
but as an officer, I am obliged to disbelieve until I have proofs. If
I do not demand them, the jury and the coroner will."
"When? Where?" asked Patricia, startled.
"At the inquest. You will be the most important witness, Miss Carrol."
"But I don't know who committed the crime."
"No, nor does anyone else. But you can tell the coroner and the jury
what you have told me, and I hope that the articles you left on the
bench will be forthcoming to prove the truth of your extraordinary
story. Come, Miss Carrol, you must see that I am trying to make things
as pleasant as possible for you, consistent with my official
responsibility."
"Yes," said Patricia, and sat down again, for, after all, she could
not deny but what her story sounded very incredible. And as yet she
had not told the most incredible portion, as that had to do with her
own peculiar sixth sense, which she was very certain neither the
inspector nor Mrs. Sellars possessed. And as they had not got it, how
useless it would be, as she fully recognized, to relate the sensations
caused by the stolen jewel. Her tale was improbable enough, so there
was no need to make it still more so.
"Can you describe what was stolen?" Harkness asked her.
Patricia did so, and the explanation was received with exclamations of
surprise by Mrs. Sellars and with a somewhat sceptical air by the
inspector. Patricia saw his doubts and grew annoyed again. "What is
the use of my telling you things when you won't believe me?"
Before Harkness could answer this very natural question, a young
constable entered and placed on the table the articles which had been
left on the bench in the foggy Park. Miss Carrol spread out her hands
triumphantly.
"Yes," said the inspector, interpreting the gesture. "I believe your
story now, young lady. Here are the proofs."
"Ah, yes," groaned Mrs. Sellars, rocking. "But where is the jewel?"