Mr. Sheringham is Puzzled
Like many of the other rooms at Layton Court, the library had been
largely modernised. Dark oak panelling still covered the walls, but
the big open fireplace, with its high chimney-piece, had been blocked
up and a modern grate inserted. The room was a large one and (assuming
that we are standing just inside the hall with our backs to the front
door) formed the right-hand corner of the back of the house
corresponding with the dining room on the other side. Between these
two was a smaller room, of the same breadth as the hall, which was
used as a gunroom, storeroom, and general convenience room. The two
rooms on either side of the deep hall in the front of the house were
the drawing room, on the same side as the library, and the morning
room opposite. A narrow passage between the morning room and the
dining room led to the servants’ quarters.
In the side of the library which faced the lawn at the back of the
house had been set a pair of wide French windows, as was also the case
in the dining room; while in the other outer wall, looking over the
rose garden, was a large modern window of the sash type, with a deep
window seat below it set in the thickness of the wall. The only
original window still remaining was a small lattice one in the corner
on the left of the sash window. The door that led into the room from
the hall was in the corner diagonal to the lattice window. The
fireplace exactly faced the French windows.
The room was not overcrowded with furniture. An armchair or two stood
by the fireplace; and there was a small table, bearing a typewriter,
by the wall on the same side as the door. In the angle between the
sash window and the fireplace stood a deep, black-covered settee. The
most important piece of furniture was a large writing table in the
exact centre of the room facing the sash window. The walls were lined
with bookshelves.
This was the picture that had flashed across Roger’s retentive brain
as he stood in the little group outside the library door and listened
to Major Jefferson’s curt, almost brutal announcement. With
instinctive curiosity he wondered where the grim addition to the scene
was lying. The next moment the same instinct had caused him to turn
and scan the face of his hostess.
Lady Stanworth had not screamed or fainted; she was not that sort of
person. Indeed, beyond a slight and involuntary catching of her breath
she betrayed little or no emotion.
“Shot himself?” she repeated calmly. “Are you quite sure?”
“I’m afraid there can be no doubt at all,” Major Jefferson said
gravely. “He must have been dead for some hours.”
“And you think I had better not go in?”
“It’s not a pretty sight,” said the Major shortly.
“Very well. But we had better telephone for a doctor in any case, I
suppose. I will do that. Victor called in Doctor Matthewson when he
had hay fever a few weeks ago, didn’t he? I’ll send for him.”
“And the police,” said Jefferson. “They’ll have to be notified. I’ll
do that.”
“I can let them know at the same time,” Lady Stanworth returned,
moving across the hall in the direction of the telephone.
Roger and Alec exchanged glances.
“I always said that was a wonderful woman,” whispered the former
behind his hand, as they prepared to follow the Major into the
library.
“Is there anything I can do, sir?” asked the butler from the doorway.
Major Jefferson glanced at him sharply. “Yes; you come in, too,
Graves. It makes another witness.”
The four men filed in silence into the room. The curtains were still
drawn, and the light was dim. With an abrupt movement Jefferson strode
across and pulled back the curtains from the French windows. Then he
turned and nodded silently towards the big writing table.
In the chair behind this, which was turned a little away from the
table, sat, or rather reclined, the body of Mr. Stanworth. His right
hand, which was dangling by his side almost to the floor, was tightly
clenched about a small revolver, the finger still convulsively
clasping the trigger. In the centre of his forehead, just at the base
of his hair, was a little circular hole, the edges of which looked
strangely blackened. His head lolled indolently over the top of the
chair-back, and his wide-open eyes were staring glassily at the
ceiling.
It was, as Jefferson had said, not a pretty sight.
Roger was the first to break the silence. “Well, I’m damned!” he said
softly. “What on earth did he want to go and do that for?”
“Why does anyone do it?” asked Jefferson, staring at the still figure
as if trying to read its secret. “Because he has some damned good
reason of his own, I suppose.”
Roger shrugged his shoulders a little impatiently. “No doubt. But old
Stanworth of all people! I shouldn’t have thought that he’d got a care
in the world. Not that I knew him particularly well, of course; but I
was only saying to you yesterday, Alec——” He broke off suddenly.
Alec’s face had gone a ghastly white, and he was gazing with horrified
eyes at the figure in the chair.
“I was forgetting,” Roger muttered in a low voice to Jefferson. “The
boy was too young to be in the war; he’s only twenty-four. It’s a bit
of a shock, one’s first corpse. Especially this sort of thing. Phew!
There’s a smell of death in here. Let’s get some of these windows
open.”
He turned and threw open the French windows, letting a draught of warm
air into the room. “Locked on the inside all right,” he commented as
he did so. “So are the other two. Here, Alec, come outside for a
minute. It’s no wonder you’re feeling a bit turned up.”
Alec smiled faintly; he had managed to pull himself together and the
colour was returning to his cheeks. “Oh, I’m all right,” he said, a
little shakily. “It was just a bit of a shock at first.”
The breeze had fluttered the papers on the writing table and one fell
to the ground. Graves, the butler, stepped forward to pick it up.
Before replacing it he glanced idly at something that was written on
it.
“Sir!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Look at this!”
He handed the paper to Major Jefferson, who read it eagerly.
“Anything of interest?” Roger asked curiously.
“Very much so,” Jefferson replied dryly. “It’s a statement. I’ll read
it to you. ‘To Whom it May Concern. For reasons that concern only
myself, I have decided to kill myself.’ And his signature at the
bottom.” He twisted the piece of paper thoughtfully in his hand. “But
I wish he’d said what his reasons were,” he added in puzzled tones.
“Yes, it’s a remarkably reticent document,” Roger agreed. “But it’s
plain enough, isn’t it? May I have a look at it?”
He took it from the other’s outstretched hand and examined it with
interest. The paper was slightly creased, and the message itself was
typewritten. The signature, Victor Stanworth, was bold and firm; but
just above it was another attempt, which had only got as far as V-i-c
and looked as if it had been written with a pen insufficiently
supplied with ink.
“He must have gone about the business with extraordinary
deliberation,” Roger commented. “He goes to the trouble of typing this
instead of writing it; and when he finds he hadn’t dipped his pen deep
enough in the ink-pot, calmly signs it again. And just look at that
signature! Not a trace of nerves in it, is there?”
He handed the paper back, and the Major looked at it again.
“Stanworth was never much troubled with nerves,” he remarked shortly.
“And the signature’s genuine enough. I’d take my oath on that.”
Alec could not help feeling that Jefferson’s words had supplied an
answer to a question which Roger had purposely refrained from asking.
“Well, I don’t know much about this sort of thing,” Roger observed,
“but I suppose one thing’s certain. The body mustn’t be touched before
the police come.”
“Even in the case of a suicide?” Jefferson asked doubtfully.
“In any case, surely.”
“I shouldn’t have thought it would have mattered in this case,” said
Jefferson, a little reluctantly. “Still, perhaps you’re right. Not
that it matters either way,” he added quickly.
There was a tap on the half-open door.
“I’ve telephoned to Doctor Matthewson and the police,” came Lady
Stanworth’s even tones. “They’re sending an inspector over from
Elchester at once. And now don’t you think we ought to tell the others
in the dining room?”
“I think so certainly,” said Roger, who happened to be nearest to the
door. “There’s no sense in delaying it. Besides, if we tell them now
it will give them time to get over it a little before the police
come.”
“Quite so,” said Jefferson. “And the servants as well. Graves, you’d
better go and break the news in the kitchen. Be as tactful as you
can.”
“Very good, sir.”
With a last, but quite expressionless glance at his late master, the
burly figure turned and walked slowly out of the room.
“I’ve seen people more cut up at the death of a man they’ve lived with
for twenty years than _that_ gentleman,” Roger murmured in Alec’s ear,
raising his eyebrows significantly.
“And I wish you would be good enough to break the news in the dining
room, Major Jefferson,” Lady Stanworth remarked. “I really hardly feel
up to it myself.”
“Of course,” said Jefferson quickly. “In fact, I think it would be
much better if you went up to your room and rested a little before the
police get here, Lady Stanworth. This is bound to be a very great
strain. I will tell one of the maids to take you up a cup of tea.”
Lady Stanworth looked a trifle surprised, and for a moment it seemed
that she was going to object to this course. Evidently, however, she
changed her mind if that was the case; for she only said quietly,
“Thank you. Yes, I think that would be best. Please let me know
directly the police arrive.”
She made her way, a little wearily, up the broad staircase and
disappeared from view.
Jefferson turned to Roger. “I think as a matter of fact that I should
prefer you to tell the ladies, if you would, Sheringham. You’d do it
much better than I. I’m not much use at putting unpleasant things in a
pleasant way.”
“Certainly I will, if you’d rather. Alec, you’d better stay here with
the Major.”
Jefferson hesitated. “As a matter of fact, Grierson, I was wondering
if you would be good enough to run across to the stables and tell
Chapman to have the car ready all day to-day, as it might be wanted
any time at a moment’s notice. Will you?”
“Of course,” said Alec promptly and hurried off, only too glad of the
opportunity for a little action. He had not yet quite got over that
first sight of the dead man in the streaming sunshine.
Roger walked slowly across to the dining-room door; but he was not
pondering over what he was going to say. He was repeating to himself
over and over again, “Why was Jefferson so infernally anxious to get
rid of the four of us in such a hurry? Why? Why? Why?”
With his hand on the very knob of the door a possible answer came to
him, in the form of another question.
“Why was Jefferson so reluctant to admit that the body must not be
touched before the arrival of the police?”
It was a somewhat distrait Roger who opened the dining-room door, and
proceeded to acquaint three astounded ladies with the somewhat
surprising fact that their host had just shot himself through the
head.
Their reception of his news did not speak very well for Roger’s
tactfulness. It may have been that his preoccupation with what was in
his mind prevented him from doing justice to himself; but the fact
remains that even he was considerably startled by the way in which his
hearers behaved, and it took a good deal to startle Roger.
Mrs. Shannon, it is true, merely remarked with a not unjustified
annoyance that it was really exceedingly awkward as she had made all
her arrangements for being here another ten days and now she supposed
they would have to leave at once, and where on earth did anyone think
they could go to with the house in town shut up and all the servants
away? Barbara rose slowly to her feet, with every trace of colour
drained out of her face, swayed a little and, sitting down abruptly,
stared with unseeing eyes out into the sunlit garden. Mrs. Plant
incontinently and silently fainted.
But Roger had other things to do than dancing attendance upon fainting
and hysterical ladies. Leaving Mrs. Plant somewhat unceremoniously to
the ministrations of Barbara and her mother, he hurried back to the
library, taking care to step lightly. The sight that met his eyes was
exactly what he had expected.
Major Jefferson was bending over the dead man, rapidly and
methodically searching his pockets.
“Hullo,” Roger remarked easily from the doorway. “Putting him straight
a bit?”
The Major started violently. Then he bit his lip and slowly
straightened his back.
“Yes,” he said slowly, after the least possible pause. “Yes. I can’t
bear to see this constrained attitude he’s in.”
“It’s beastly,” Roger said sympathetically, advancing unconcernedly
into the room and shutting the door behind him. “I know. But I
shouldn’t move him if I were you. Not till the police have seen him,
at any rate. They’re rather particular about that sort of thing, I
believe.”
Jefferson shrugged his shoulders, frowning. “It seems damned nonsense
to me,” he said bluntly.
“Look here,” Roger remarked suddenly, “you mustn’t let this thing get
on your nerves, you know. Come and take a turn in the garden with me.”
He linked his arm through the other’s and, observing his obvious
hesitation, drew him towards the open windows. “Do you all the good in
the world,” he persisted.
Jefferson allowed himself to be persuaded.
For some minutes the two strolled up and down the lawn, and Roger took
some care to keep the conversation on indifferent topics. But in spite
of all his efforts, Jefferson kept looking at his watch, and it was
clear that he was counting the minutes before the police might be
expected. What Roger, watch how he might, was unable to discover was
whether his companion was eager for their arrival or the reverse. The
only thing he knew for certain was that this imperturbable man was,
for some reason or other, very badly rattled. It might be the simple
fact of his employer’s unseemly end which had caused this unwonted
state of affairs, Roger thought; for certainly Jefferson and old
Stanworth had been a very long time together. On the other hand, it
might not. And if this was not the reason, what was?
When they had made the circuit of the rose garden three times,
Jefferson halted suddenly.
“The police should be here at any minute now,” he said abruptly. “I’m
going to walk down towards the lodge to meet them. I’ll call you when
we want you.”
Anything more obvious in the way of a congé could hardly be imagined.
Roger accepted it with the best grace he could.
“Very well,” he nodded. “I’ll be somewhere out here.”
Jefferson disappeared rapidly down the drive and Roger was left to
continue his walk alone. But he had no intention of being bored. There
was, he felt, quite a lot of thinking that he would rather like to do;
and the chance of a few minutes’ solitude was not unwelcome. He paced
slowly back to the lawn again, his pipe in full blast, and reeking
clouds trailing lazily behind him.
But Roger was not to do his thinking just yet. Scarcely had he reached
the lawn when Alec appeared from the direction of the stables,
somewhat hot and flushed. He fell into step with Roger and began to
explain why he had been so long.
“Couldn’t get away from the wretched fellow!” he exclaimed. “Had to
tell him the whole thing from beginning to—— Hullo! What’s up?”
Roger had halted and was staring in through the library windows. “I’ll
swear I left that door shut,” he said in puzzled tones. “Somebody’s
opened it. Come on!”
“Where are you going?” Alec asked in surprise.
“To see who’s in the library,” returned Roger, already halfway across
the lawn. He quickened his pace to a run and hurried in through the
French windows, Alec close on his heels.
A woman who was bending over something on the farther side of the room
straightened hastily at their approach. It was Mrs. Plant, and the
object over which she had been bending was a large safe that stood by
the wall close to the little typewriting table. Roger had just had
time to see that she was feverishly twisting the knob before she had
sprung up on hearing their footsteps.
She faced them with heaving bosom and horrified eyes, one hand
clutching the folds of her frock, the other clenched at her side. It
was obvious that she was frightened almost out of her wits.
“Were you looking for anything?” Roger asked politely, and cursed
himself for the banality of the words even as he spoke them.
With a tremendous effort Mrs. Plant appeared to pull herself together.
“My jewels,” she muttered jerkily. “I asked—Mr. Stanworth to—to lock
them in his safe the other day. I—I was wondering—would the police
take them? I thought it might be better if I——”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Plant,” said Roger soothingly, breaking in
upon her painful utterances. “The police wouldn’t take them in any
case, I expect; and you can easily identify what is yours. They’ll be
safe enough, I assure you.”
A little colour was coming slowly back into her cheeks and her
breathing was becoming less rapid.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Sheringham,” she said more easily. “It was
absurd of me, no doubt, but they’re rather valuable, and I had a
sudden panic about them. Of course I ought not to have tried to take
them myself. I can’t think what I can have been doing!” She laughed
nervously. “Really, I’m positively ashamed of myself. You won’t give
me away for being so foolish, will you?”
There was a note of urgent appeal in the last sentence that belied the
lightness of the words.
Roger smiled reassuringly. “Of course not,” he said promptly.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Oh, thank you so much. I know I can rely on you. And on Mr. Grierson,
too. Well, I suppose I’d better run away before anyone else catches me
here.”
She made her way out of the room, carefully averting her eyes from the
chair by the writing table.
Roger turned to Alec and whistled softly.
“Now what did she want to lie like that for?” he asked with raised
eyebrows.
“Do you think she was lying?” Alec asked in puzzled tones. “I should
have said that Mrs. Plant was as straight as they make ’em.”
Roger shrugged his shoulders in mock despair. “And so should I! That’s
what makes it all the more extraordinary. Yet of course she was lying.
Like a trooper! And so ridiculously! Her story’s bound to be disproved
as soon as the safe is opened. She must have said the first thing that
came into her head. Alec, my son, there’s something damned queer going
on here! Mrs. Plant isn’t the only one who’s lying. Come out into the
garden and listen to the duplicity of Jefferson.”