THE SIGN OF THE CAT
When Coates brought in my tea, newspapers and letters in the morning,
I awakened with a start, and:
"Has there been any rain during the night, Coates?" I asked.
Coates, whose unruffled calm at all times provided an excellent
sedative, replied:
"Not since a little before midnight, sir."
"Ah!" said I, "and have you been in the garden this morning, Coates?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, "for raspberries for breakfast, sir."
"But not on this side of the cottage?"
"Not on this side."
"Then will you step out, Coates, keeping carefully to the paths, and
proceed as far as the tool-shed? Particularly note if the beds have
been disturbed between the hedge and the path, but don't make any
marks yourself. You are looking for _spoor_, you understand?"
"Spoor? Very good, sir. Of big game?"
"Of big game, yes, Coates."
Unmoved by the strangeness of his instructions, Coates, an
object-lesson for those who decry the excellence of British Army
disciplinary methods, departed.
It was with not a little curiosity and interest that I awaited his
report. As I sat sipping my tea I could hear his regular tread as he
passed along the garden path outside the window. Then it ceased and
was followed by a vague muttering. He had found something. All traces
of the storm had disappeared and there was every indication of a
renewal of the heat-wave; but I knew that the wet soil would have
preserved a perfect impression of any imprint made upon it on the
previous night. Nevertheless, with the early morning sun streaming
into my window out of a sky as near to turquoise as I had ever seen it
in England, I found it impossible to recapture that uncanny thrill
which had come to me in the dark hours when out of the shadows under
the hedge the great cat's eyes had looked up at me.
And now, becoming more fully awake, I remembered something else which
hitherto I had not associated with the latter phenomenon. I remembered
that lithe and evasive pursuing shape which I had detected behind me
on the road. Even now, however, it was difficult to associate one with
the other; for whereas the dimly-seen figure had resembled that of a
man (or, more closely, that of a woman) the eyes had looked out upon
me from a point low down near the ground, like those of some crouching
feline.
Coates' footsteps sounded again upon the path and I heard him walking
round the cottage and through the kitchen. Finally he reëntered the
bedroom and stood just within the doorway in that attitude of
attention which was part and parcel of the man. His appearance would
doubtless have violated the proprieties of the Albany, for in my rural
retreat he was called upon to perform other and more important
services than those of a valet. His neatly shaved chin, stolid red
countenance and perfectly brushed hair were unexceptionable of course,
but because his duties would presently take him into the garden he
wore, not the regulation black, but an ancient shooting-jacket, khaki
breeches and brown gaiters, looking every inch of him the old soldier
that he was.
"Well, Coates?" said I.
He cleared his throat.
"There are footprints in the radish-beds, sir," he reported.
"Footprints?"
"Yes, sir. Very deep. As though some one had jumped over the hedge and
landed there."
"Jumped over the hedge!" I exclaimed. "That would be a considerable
jump, Coates, from the road."
"It would, sir. Maybe she scrambled up."
"She?"
Coates cleared his throat again.
"There are three sets of prints in all. First a very deep one where
the party had landed, then another broken up like, where she had
turned round, and the third set with the heel-marks very deep where
she had sprung back over the hedge."
_"She?"_ I shouted.
"The prints, sir," resumed Coates, unmoved, "are those of a lady's
high-heeled shoes."
I sat bolt upright in bed, staring at the man and scarcely able to
credit my senses. Words failed me. Whereupon:
"Will you have tea or coffee for breakfast?" inquired Coates.
"Tea or coffee be damned, Coates!" I cried. "I'm going out to look at
those footprints! If you had seen what I saw last night, even your old
mahogany countenance would relax for once, I assure you."
"Indeed, sir," said Coates; "did you see the lady, then?"
"Lady!" I exclaimed, tumbling out of bed. "If the eyes that looked at
me last night belonged to a 'lady' either I am mad or the 'lady' is of
another world."
I pulled on a bath-robe and hurried out into the garden, Coates
showing me the spot where he had found the mysterious foot-prints. A
very brief examination sufficed to convince me that his account had
been correct. Some one wearing high-heeled shoes clearly enough had
stood there at some time whilst the soil was quite wet; and as no
track led to or from the marks, Coates' conclusion that the person who
had made them must have come over the hedge was the only feasible one.
I turned to him in amazement, but recognizing in time the wildly
fantastic nature of the sight which I had seen in the night, I
refrained from speaking of the blazing eyes and made my way to the
bathroom wondering if some chance reflection might not have deceived
me and the presence of a woman's footmarks at the same spot be no
more than a singular coincidence. Even so the mystery of their
presence there remained unexplained.
My thoughts were diverted from a trend of profitless conjecture when
shortly after breakfast time my 'phone bell rang. It was the editor of
the _Planet_, to whom I had been indebted for a number of special
commissions--including my fascinating quest of the Giant Gnu, which,
generally supposed to be extinct, was reported by certain natives and
others to survive in a remote corner of the Dark Continent.
Readers of the _Planet_ will remember that although I failed to
discover the Gnu I came upon a number of notable things on my journey
through the almost unexplored country about the head-waters of the
Niger.
"A most extraordinary case has cropped up," he said, "quite in your
line, I think, Addison. Evidently a murder, and the circumstances seem
to be most dramatic and unusual. I should be glad if you would take it
up."
I inquired without much enthusiasm for details. Criminology was one of
my hobbies, and in several instances I had traced cases of alleged
haunting and other supposedly supernatural happenings to a criminal
source; but the ordinary sordid murder did not interest me.
"The body of Sir Marcus Coverly has been found in a crate!" explained
my friend. "The crate was being lowered into the hold of the S.S.
_Oritoga_ at the West India Docks. It had been delivered by a
conveyance specially hired for the purpose apparently, as the
_Oritoga_ is due to sail in an hour. There are all sorts of curious
details but these you can learn for yourself. Don't trouble to call at
the office; proceed straight to the dock."
"Right!" I said shortly. "I'll start immediately."
And this sudden decision had been brought about by the mention of the
victim's name. Indeed, as I replaced the receiver on the hook I
observed that my hand was shaking and I have little doubt that I had
grown pale.
In the first place, then, let me confess that my retirement to the odd
little retreat which at this time was my home, and my absorption in
the obscure studies to which I have referred were not so much due to
any natural liking for the life of a recluse as to the shattering of
certain matrimonial designs. I had learned of the wreck of my hopes
upon reading a press paragraph which announced the engagement of
Isobel Merlin to Eric Coverly. And it was as much to conceal my
disappointment from the world as for any better reason that I had
slunk into retirement; for if I am slow to come to a decision in such
a matter, once come to, it is of no light moment.
Yet although I had breathed no word of my lost dreams to Isobel but
had congratulated her with the rest, often and bitterly I had cursed
myself for a sluggard. Too late I had learned that she had but awaited
a word from me; and I had gone off to Mesopotamia, leaving that word
unspoken. During my absence Coverly had won the prize which I had
thrown away. He was heir to the title, for his cousin, Sir Marcus,
was unmarried. Now here, a bolt from the blue, came the news of his
cousin's death!
It can well be imagined with what intense excitement I hurried to the
docks. All other plans abandoned, Coates, arrayed in his neat blue
uniform, ran the Rover round from the garage, and ere long we were
jolting along the hideously uneven Commercial Road, East, dodging
traction-engines drawing strings of lorries, and continually meeting
delay in the form of those breakdowns which are of hourly occurrence
in this congested but rugged highway.
In the West India Dock Road the way became slightly more open, but
when at last I alighted and entered the dock gates I recognized that
every newspaper and news agency in the kingdom was apparently
represented. Jones, of the _Gleaner_, was coming out as I went in,
and:
"Hello, Addison!" he cried, "this is quite in your line! It's as mad
as 'Alice in Wonderland.'"
I did not delay, however, but hurried on in the direction of a dock
building, at the door of which was gathered a heterogeneous group
comprising newspaper men, dock officials, police and others who were
unclassifiable. Half a dozen acquaintances greeted me as I came up,
and I saw that the door was closed and that a constable stood on duty
before it.
"I call it damned impudence, Addison!" exclaimed one pressman. "The
dock people are refusing everybody information until Inspector
Somebody-or-Other arrives from New Scotland Yard. I should think he
has stopped on the way to get his lunch."
The speaker glanced impatiently at his watch and I went to speak to
the man on duty.
"You have orders to admit no one, constable?" I asked.
"That's so, sir," he replied. "We're waiting for Detective-Inspector
Gatton, who has been put in charge of the case."
"Ah! Gatton," I muttered, and, stepping aside from the expectant
group, I filled and lighted my pipe, convinced that anything to be
learned I should learn from Inspector Gatton, for he and I were old
friends, having been mutually concerned in several interesting cases.
A few minutes later the Inspector arrived--a thick-set, clean-shaven,
very bronzed man, his dark hair streaked with gray, and with all the
appearance of a retired naval officer, in his well-cut blue serge suit
and soft felt hat; a very reserved man whose innocent-looking blue
eyes gave him that frank and open expression which is more often
associated with a seaman than with a detective. He nodded to several
acquaintances in the group, and then, observing me where I stood, came
over and shook hands.
"Open the door, constable," he ordered quietly.
The constable produced a key and unlocked the door of the small stone
building. Immediately there was a forward movement of the whole
waiting group, but:
"If you please, gentlemen," said Gatton, raising his hand. "I must
make my examination first; and Mr. Addison," he added, seeing the
resentment written upon the faces of my disappointed confrères, "has
special information which I am going to ask him to place at my
disposal."
The constable stood aside and I followed Inspector Gatton into the
stone shed.
"Lock the door again, constable," he ordered; "no one is to be
admitted."
Thereupon I looked about me, and the scene which I beheld was so
strange and gruesome that its every detail remains imprinted upon my
memory.
The building then was lighted by four barred windows set so high in
the walls that no one could look in from the outside. Blazing sunlight
poured in at the two southerly windows and drew a sharp black pattern
of the bars across the paved floor. Kneeling beside a stretcher, fully
in this path of light, so that he presented a curious striped
appearance, was a man who presently proved to be the divisional
surgeon, and two paces beyond stood a police inspector who was engaged
at the moment of our entrance in making entries in his note-book.
On the stretcher, so covered up that only his face was visible, lay
one whom at first I failed to recognize, for the horribly contorted
features presented a kind of mottled green appearance utterly
indescribable.
Stifling an exclamation of horror, I stared and stared at that ghastly
face, then:
"My God!" I muttered. "Yes! it _is_ Sir Marcus!"
The surgeon stood up and the inspector advanced to meet Gatton, but my
horrified gaze had strayed from the stretcher to a badly damaged and
splintered packing-case, which was the only other object in the
otherwise empty shed. At this I stared as much aghast as I had stared
at the dead man.
The iron bands were broken and twisted and the whole of one side lay
in fragments on the floor; but upon a board which had formed part of
the top I perceived the figure of a cat roughly traced in green paint.
Beyond any shadow of doubt this crate was the same which on the night
before had lain in the garage of the Red House!