THE STRANGE PERFUME.
The sensation caused by the news that the dead body of Maurice Alymer
had been stolen was even greater than that occasioned by the discovery
of the murder. Even the London papers took up the matter, and sent
down reporters to make investigations and build up theories as to the
reason of this strange disappearance. Everywhere people were talking
of the matter, and giving their opinions as to the proper course to be
pursued in recovering the corpse. Would-be detectives haunted the
roads and lanes around "Ashantee"; they would have penetrated into the
park itself but for the vigilance of Major Jen.
His attitude at this moment was rather displeasing to his friends. He
refused to permit anyone to see the chamber whence the body had been
stolen, and even declined to discuss the matter or accept advice as to
the best thing to be done. To all who spoke to him--and these were
many--he had but one reply.
"I know what I am doing," he would say, a trifle tartly, "and I prefer
to keep my own counsel. If the murderer of my dear boy can be found,
he or she will be found by me. If the wretch who stole his body can be
discovered, I am the man to make that discovery. How I intend to set
about it is my own affair."
Of course, busybodies, who saw their well-meant but meddlesome advice
thus rejected, were by no means pleased, and some even went so far as
to say that the shock of death and disappearance had unsettled Jen's
reason. They spoke to David and counseled him to look well after his
guardian, and said also that the major, if he had his senses about
him, which was doubtful, should engage a smart London detective to
investigate the case. But, as has been before stated, Jen had
concluded to be his own detective.
It must be conceded that for an amateur, the major set about his
unaccustomed task in a very methodical manner. He offered a reward of
five hundred pounds for the detection of the murderer, and a further
sum of the like amount to anyone who should discover the thief who had
desecrated the chamber of death. These munificent rewards set
everybody on the alert, and Jen, without putting down actual money,
thus became possessed of some hundreds of spies who would bring him
any information likely to assist him in his investigation. Also, the
major examined all the servants in the house. He questioned Sampson,
the young policeman who had been in the kitchen on the night when the
body had been stolen, and finally he paid a visit to the police office
at Deanminster, where he saw Mr. Inspector Arkel.
"Well, Arkel," said Jen, after the first greetings were over, "have
you any clew?"
"No, major," replied Arkel, rather gruffly, for disappointment was
beginning to tell on his temper, "nor are we likely to find any until
that servant of yours regains his senses. How is he now?"
"In a state of high fever, poor soul," said Jen, with a depressed
look. "He does nothing but rave. Yet, in all his wild talk he never
lets slip a single word likely to help us."
"That's a pity, major. By the way, I questioned Dr. Etwald about the
matter, and he is of opinion that the man was stunned by a blow on the
head."
"I know that. I can only suppose that Jaggard fell asleep at his post
and woke up in time to see the men getting in by the window. A
struggle would then ensue, and he would be struck on the head, as
Etwald supposes."
"I don't agree with that theory. There are flaws in it."
"Yes?" queried Jen, eagerly. "I am open to correction. Please go on."
"We will proceed on the questions and answers system," said Arkel,
precisely, "and thrash out the matter in that way. You were in the
library on that night?"
"Yes, I saw all was right in the house at twelve o' clock, and I slept
on in my chair from that hour until three."
"Good, Then between twelve and three the body must have been stolen.
You are a light sleeper, I heard you say, major?"
"Well, yes," returned Jen, with a thought upon the rapping of Isabella
upon the window. "It does not take much to waken me."
"You would have heard Jaggard call out, I suppose?"
"Certainly. The bedroom is no great distance from the library, and the
door of the latter was open. But then Jaggard didn't cry out!"
"Precisely," said Arkel, laying his forefinger on Jen's chest with an
air of triumph. "He did not cry out. Had he been asleep and woke up in
time to see the robbers get in by the window, he would have called out
at once for assistance."
"True enough," rejoined the major, struck by this sensible deduction.
"Still, he might not have heard them forcing the window."
"I doubt that, I doubt that. Jaggard, like yourself, is an old
campaigner, and no doubt an alert sleeper; that is," explained Arkel,
"he would wake up at the least sound."
"Yes, I think he would. But what does all this tend to?"
"Simply to a theory I have in my head. Jaggard was drugged, sir."
"But the wound at the back of the head which stunned him?"
"There you have it," cried Arkel, with a nod. "The wound at the back
of the head was caused by his falling like a log when he was drugged."
"H'm! This is all building on sand," said Jen, doubtfully. "Even to
drug him, these men must have entered by the window."
"No. Do you not remember when we examined the window that it was
opened from the inside?"
"Egad, you are right. Then you think that someone must have been
concealed in the room, and sprung out from hiding to drug Jaggard."
"No," said Arkel again, "no one was concealed in the room."
"Confound it, man, you don't mean to say that Jaggard opened the
window?" cried Jen, starting from his seat with some show of temper.
"Ay, but I do, major. Jaggard helped to steal the body of Mr. Alymer.
He opened the window to admit his accomplices. When they fulfilled
their task and got the body out of the room they turned on Jaggard and
betrayed him. That is, they drugged him and knocked him down."
"I don't agree with you at all, Arkel. Jaggard is perfectly honest and
was as devoted to Maurice as he is to me. Besides, even granting the
possibility of such a thing, which I do not in the least, why should
Jaggard's accomplices betray him?"
"I can't say," returned Arkel, shrugging his shoulders. "They may have
been bribed to steal the body, and on accomplishing their task did not
want to share the bribe with Jaggard."
"Rubbish!" said Jen, tartly. "They must have known that he would
betray them when he recovered his senses!"
"No doubt. But in the meantime they would make themselves scarce.
Jaggard has been insensible or raving for over a week, major. The
scoundrels counted on that!"
"I say again that I believe in Jaggard's honesty, and I do not agree
with you," said Jen, putting on his hat, "and after all, I do not see
how you deduce this drugging theory!"
"Oh, as to that, I was once a bit of a chemist," explained Arkel; "and
when you took me to see Jaggard I smelt a curious perfume which seemed
to be hanging about him. As a servant is not likely to use perfumes, I
thought it curious."
"What kind of a perfume?"
"I can't exactly describe it. A rich, heavy, deadly sort of thing,
likely, I should think, to dull the sharpest senses."
"Did Etwald notice it?" asked Jen, thoughtfully.
"Yes; but he professes his inability to explain it. He thinks the man
was stunned and not drugged. I think, on the grounds I have explained,
that he was first drugged and then stunned."
"H'm; it's queer! I'll have to think it over. But when the body was
taken out of the window, Arkel?"
"The thieves carried it across the lawn!"
"Then down through the bushes to that winding lane, I suppose?" said
Jen. "I know all that; but afterward?"
"They put it into a cart and took it away."
"How do you know that?" asked the major, all on the alert.
"Why," said Arkel, fingering his fat chin, "it was raining, as you may
remember on that night."
"Not until after the body had been stolen," returned Jen, mindful that
Isabella had come into the library dry-shod.
"How do you know that?" asked the inspector sharply.
Jen was rather taken aback by the quickness of this query, and saw
that if he wished to preserve the secret of Isabella, upon which
depended her reputation, it behooved him to be careful.
"Well," said he cautiously, "I looked out at the night when the hour
was twelve, and--"
"It might have rained between that time and three," said Arkel, with
swift interruption; "and I believe it did rain, for you see, major, we
found the mark of wheels in the lane, which would not have been left
had not a considerable amount of rain fallen."
"Did you follow the trail?" asked the major, waiving the question of
rain or no rain.
Arkel made a gesture of disappointment.
"To the high road only," said he; "and there the wheel marks became
mixed up with those of other vehicles. Lord knows where they took the
body to, for once on the high road they had the wide, wide world to
choose from. It's the devil's own mystery," he said, biting his
finger. "I never met the like of it before, and am fairly puzzled. Why
should these wretches steal the mortal remains of a murdered man?"
"True," said Jen; "and why should these wretches have murdered that
man?"
Arkel looked up sharply.
"As to that," he said, "we are by no means certain that they are the
same."
"I don't follow you."
"No? And yet it is easy enough. If those who slew Mr. Alymer wanted
his body, they could have stolen it on the high road, where they
struck him down. It was mere foolishness to venture liberty and life
in a raid upon the house."
"It may have been an afterthought."
"People don't have afterthoughts in grim matters of this kind," said
Arkel, rising. "Well, major, good-by, good-by. Should I learn anything
else I shall let you know; but depend upon it, the truth of the matter
is to come from Jaggard."
"He is honest. Honest!" cried Jen. "I'll stake my existence upon
that."
When riding homeward after this interesting conversation, the major
could not but admit to himself that Arkel had brightened up
wonderfully in his intellects since first taking charge of the case.
The man was not brilliant, not even clever; yet in the present
instance he displayed more readiness of resource than Jen would have
given him credit for. The theory of the drugging was worthy of
investigation, and the major determined to see if anything could be
discovered likely to support this view of the matter. He still held to
his belief in Jaggard's honesty, for it was incredible that an old
servant of thirty years' standing should turn traitor at once; but he
thought it probable that someone might have taken him by surprise and
drugged him. But as the window was closed the person in question must
have been concealed in the room. Here Jen's train of thought became
confused.
"I don't see how anybody can have been in the room," he reflected, as
he entered his house. "I saw that all was safe myself at midnight. The
servants were abed, Sampson keeping vigil in the kitchen, and Jaggard
sentry in the death-room. Moreover, I left the library door open, and
the sound of footsteps stealing to the door of my poor lad would have
wakened me out of the deepest sleep. Isabella's raps were light
enough, yet I was up on the instant. No, I can't see myself that the
devil who drugged the man could have been in the house; and yet the
window opened from the inside. H'm! it is strange; very strange. I
wish Jaggard were able to talk sensibly."
But Jaggard was far from the condition of connected thought or
coherent words. He turned and tossed upon his poor bed with bright
eyes, burning skin and babbling tongue. His head was swathed in
bandages, and the housemaid who watched beside him had frequently to
replace the clothes he tossed off in his violent movements. This nurse
was a sickly, dark-eyed creature, who was strongly attached to
Jaggard; and it was her love for him that made her proffer her
services to look after him, and that chained her to his bedside. She
reported to her master that Dr. Etwald had been in that morning, and
was coming again in the afternoon, but that there was nothing to be
done until the delirium had expended itself.
"Ay," thought Jen, as he stood by the bed, "or until the man dies. If
he dies without regaining his senses, we will never know the truth."
He bent down to replace the bedclothes which the sick man had thrown
off, and as he did so, a faint perfume, sickly and rich, struck his
nostrils. It seemed to come from the bandages at the back of the head,
and on bending down for a closer inspection, Jen saw that one of
these--it was the merest corner which peeped out--was of finer linen
than the rest. The fabric was cambric, and with a start which made the
blood turn to ice in his veins, Jen realized that it was a woman's
handkerchief--its delicacy and border-embroideries assured him of
this.
"How came this here?" he asked the housemaid, pointing to the scrap of
linen.
"Oh, that was on the first night, sir," she hastened to explain. "It
was put on his head when in the room where he fell, sir. The doctor,
sir, says as it ain't safe to take it away yet."
A curtain interposed between the head of the patient and the light of
the window. This Jen drew aside, and lightly removed the outside
wrappings of the wound. The housemaid looked on in horror, for she did
not dare to prevent her master from meddling, yet she felt sure that
he was doing wrong. But Jen was bent on making the discovery as to
whom the handkerchief belonged; and in a few minutes he had the
outside bandages removed, and saw the handkerchief discolored with dry
blood lying over the wound. With deft fingers he lightly touched the
four corners. In one of them were the initials "M. D."
"M. D.!" said the major to himself. "Margaret Dallas, the mother of
Isabella. How did her handkerchief come into the room on that night?
And the perfume?"
It struck his sense of smell with the belief that he had smelt it
before. Nothing is so strong to awaken memory as odor, and in less
than half a minute the mind of the major leaped back to where he had
smelt it before. It was the perfume of the dried poison of the
devil-stick.