THE GREEN IMAGE
"Yes," said Gatton, "I was speaking no more than the truth when I told
them that you had special information which I hoped you would place at
my disposal. Some of the particulars were given to me over the 'phone,
you see, and I was glad to find you here when I arrived. I should have
consulted you in any event, and principally about--that."
He pointed to an object which I held in my hand. It was a little green
enamel image; the crouching figure of a woman having a cat's head, a
piece of Egyptian workmanship probably of the fourth century B.C.
Considered in conjunction with the figure painted upon the crate, the
presence of this little image was so amazing a circumstance that from
the moment when it had been placed in my hand I had stood staring at
it almost dazedly.
The divisional surgeon had gone, and only the local officer remained
with Gatton and myself in the building. Sir Marcus Coverly presented
all the frightful appearance of one who has died by asphyxia, and
although of course there would be an autopsy, little doubt existed
respecting the mode of his death. The marks of violence found upon the
body could be accounted for by the fact that the crate had fallen a
distance of thirty feet into the hold, and the surgeon was convinced
that the injuries to the body had all been received after death, death
having taken place in his opinion fully twelve hours before.
"You see," said Gatton, "when the crate broke several things which
presumably were in Sir Marcus' pockets were found lying loose amongst
the wreckage. That cat-woman was one of them."
"Yet it may not have been in any of his pockets at all," said I.
"It _may_ not," agreed Gatton. "But that it was somewhere in the crate
is beyond dispute, I think. Besides this is more than a coincidence."
And he pointed to the painted cat upon the lid of the packing-case. I
had already told him of the episode at the Red House on the previous
night, and now:
"The fates are on our side," I said, "for at least we know where the
crate was despatched from."
"Quite so," agreed Gatton. "We should have got that from the carter
later, of course, but every minute saved in an affair such as this is
worth considering. As a pressman you will probably disagree with me,
but I propose to suppress these two pieces of evidence. Premature
publication of clews too often handicaps us. Now, what _is_ that
figure exactly?"
"It is a votive offering of a kind used in Ancient Egypt by pilgrims
to Bubastis. It is a genuine antique, and if you think the history of
such relics is likely to assist the investigation I can give you some
further particulars this evening if you have time to call at my
place."
"I think," said Gatton, taking the figure from me and looking at it
with a singular expression on his face, "that the history of the thing
is very important. The fact that a rough reproduction of a somewhat
similar figure is painted upon the case cannot possibly be a
coincidence."
I stared at him silently for a moment, then:
"You mean that the crate was specially designed to contain the body?"
I asked.
"I am certainly of that opinion," declared Inspector Heath, the local
officer. "It is of just the right size and shape for the purpose."
Once more I began to examine the fragments stacked upon the floor, and
then I looked again at the several objects which lay beside the crate.
They were the personal belongings of the dead baronet and the police
had carefully noted in which of his pockets each object had been
found. He was in evening dress and a light top-coat had been packed
into the crate beside him. In this had been found a cigar-case and a
pair of gloves; a wallet containing £20 in Treasury notes and a number
of cards and personal papers had fallen out of the crate together with
the cat statuette. The face of his watch was broken. It had been in
his waistcoat pocket but it still ticked steadily on where it lay
there beside its dead owner. A gold-mounted malacca cane also figured
amongst the relics of the gruesome crime; so that whatever had been
the object of the murderer, that of robbery was out of the question.
"The next thing to do," said Gatton, "is to trace Sir Marcus's
movements from the time that he left home last night to the time that
he met his death. I am going out now to 'phone to the Yard. We ought
to have succeeded in tracing the carter who brought the crate here
before the evening. I personally shall proceed to Sir Marcus's rooms
and then to this Red House around which it seems to me that the
mystery centers."
He put the enamel figure into his pocket and taking up the broken
board which bore the painted cat:
"You are carrying a top-coat," he said. "Hide this under it!"
He turned to Inspector Heath, nodding shortly.
"All right," he said, with a grim smile, "go out now and talk to the
crowd!"
Having issued certain telephonic instructions touching the carter who
had delivered the crate to the docks, and then imparting to the
representatives of the press a guarded statement for publication,
Inspector Gatton succeeded in wedging himself into my little
two-seater and ere long we were lurching and bumping along the
ill-paved East-end streets.
The late Sir Marcus's London address, which had been unknown to me, we
had learned from his cards, and it was with the keenest anticipation
of a notable discovery that I presently found myself with Gatton
mounting the stairs to the chambers of the murdered baronet.
At the very moment of our arrival the door was opened and a man--quite
obviously a constable in plain clothes--came out. Behind him I
observed one whom I took to be the late Sir Marcus's servant, a
pathetic and somewhat disheveled figure.
"Hello, Blythe!" said Gatton, "who instructed you to come here?"
"Sir Marcus's man--Morris--telephoned the Yard," was the reply, "as he
couldn't understand what had become of his master and I was sent along
to see him."
"Oh," said Gatton, "very good. Report to me in due course."
Blythe departed, and Gatton and I entered the hall. The man, Morris,
closed the door, and led us into a small library. Beside the telephone
stood a tray bearing decanter and glasses, and there was evidence that
Morris had partaken of a hurried breakfast consisting only of biscuits
and whisky and soda.
"I haven't been to bed all night, gentlemen," he began the moment that
we entered the room. "Sir Marcus was a good master and if he was
sleeping away from home he never failed to advise me, so that I knew
even before the dreadful news reached me that something was amiss."
He was quite unstrung and his voice was unsteady. The reputation of
the late baronet had been one which I personally did not envy him, but
whatever his faults, and I knew they had been many, he had evidently
possessed the redeeming virtue of being a good employer.
"A couple of hours' sleep would make a new man of you," said Gatton
kindly. "I understand your feelings, but no amount of sorrow can mend
matters, unfortunately. Now, I don't want to worry you, but there are
one or two points which I must ask you to clear up. In the first place
did you ever see this before?"
From his pocket he took out the little figure of Bâst, the
cat-goddess, and held it up before Morris.
The man stared at it with lack-luster eyes, scratching his unshaven
chin; then he shook his head slowly.
"Never," he declared. "No, I am positive I never saw a figure like
that before."
"Then, secondly," continued Gatton, "was your master ever in Egypt?"
"Not that I am aware of; certainly not since I have been with him--six
years on the thirty-first of this month."
"Ah," said Gatton. "Now, when did you last see Sir Marcus?"
"At half-past six last night, sir. He was dining at his club and then
going to the New Avenue Theater. I booked a seat for him myself."
"He was going alone, then?"
"Yes."
Gatton glanced at me significantly and I experienced an uncomfortable
thrill. In the inspector's glance I had read that he suspected the
presence of a woman in the case and at the mention of the New Avenue
Theater it had instantly occurred to me that Isobel Merlin was
appearing there! Gatton turned again to Morris.
"Sir Marcus had not led you to suppose that there was any likelihood
of his _not_ returning last night?"
"No, sir; that was why, knowing his regular custom, I became so
alarmed when he failed to come back or to 'phone."
Gatton stared hard at the speaker and:
"It will be no breach of confidence on your part," he said, speaking
slowly and deliberately, "for you to answer my next question. The best
service you can do your late master now will be to help us to
apprehend his murderer."
He paused a moment, then:
"Was Sir Marcus interested in some one engaged at the New Avenue
Theater?" he asked.
Morris glanced from face to face in a pathetic, troubled fashion. He
rubbed the stubble on his chin again and hesitated. Finally:
"I believe," he replied, "that there was a lady there who--"
He paused, swallowing, and:
"Yes," Gatton prompted, "who--?"
"Who--interested Sir Marcus; but I don't know her name nor anything
about her," he declared. "I knew about--some of the others, but Sir
Marcus was--very reserved about this lady, which made me think--"
"Yes?"
"That he perhaps hadn't been so successful."
Morris ceased speaking and sat staring at a bookcase vacantly.
"Ah," murmured Gatton. Then, abruptly: "Did Sir Marcus ever visit any
one who lived in College Road?" he demanded.
Morris looked up wearily.
"College Road?" he repeated. "Where is that, sir?"
"It doesn't matter," said Gatton shortly, "if the name is unfamiliar
to you. Had Sir Marcus a car?"
"Not latterly, sir."
"Any other servants?"
"No. As a bachelor he had no use for a large establishment, and
Friars' Park remains in the possession of the late Sir Burnham's
widow."
"Sir Burnham? Sir Marcus's uncle?"
"Yes."
"What living relatives had Sir Marcus?"
"His aunt--Lady Burnham Coverly--with whom I believe he was on bad
terms. Her own son, who ought to have inherited the title, was dead,
you see. I think she felt bitterly towards my master. The only other
relative I ever heard of was Mr. Eric--Sir Marcus's second cousin--now
_Sir_ Eric, of course."
I turned aside, glancing at some books which lay scattered on the
table. The wound was a new one and I suppose I was not man enough to
hide the pain which mention of Eric Coverly still occasioned me.
"Were the cousins good friends?" continued the even, remorseless voice
of the inquisitor.
Morris looked up quickly.
"They were not, sir," he answered. "They never had been. But some few
months back a fresh quarrel arose and one night in this very room it
almost came to blows."
"Indeed? What was the quarrel about?"
The old hesitancy claimed Morris again, but at last:
"Of course," he said, with visible embarrassment, "it was--a woman."
I felt my heart leaping wildly, but I managed to preserve an outward
show of composure.
"What woman?" demanded Gatton.
"I don't know, sir."
"Do you mean it?"
A fierce note of challenge had come into the quiet voice, but Morris
looked up and met Gatton's searching stare unflinchingly.
"I swear it," he said. "I never was an eavesdropper."
"I suggest it was the same woman that Sir Marcus went to see last
night?" Gatton continued.
The examination of Morris had reached a point at which I found myself
hard put to it to retain even a seeming of composure. All Gatton's
questions had been leading up to this suggestion, as I now perceived
clearly enough; and from the cousins' quarrel to Isobel, Eric's
_fiancée_, who was engaged at the New Avenue Theater, was an
inevitable step. But:
"Possibly, sir," was Morris's only answer.
Inspector Gatton stared hard at the man for a moment or so, then:
"Very well," he said. "Take my advice and turn in. There will be much
for you to do presently, I am afraid. Who was Sir Marcus's solicitor?"
Morris gave the desired information in a tired, toneless voice, and we
departed. Little did Gatton realize that his words were barbed, when,
as we descended to the street, he said:
"I have a call to make at Scotland Yard next, after which my first
visit will be to the stage-doorkeeper of the New Avenue Theater."
"Can I be of further assistance to you at the moment?" I asked,
endeavoring to speak casually.
"Thanks, no. But I should welcome your company this afternoon at my
examination of the Red House. I understand that it is in your
neighborhood, so perhaps as you are also professionally interested in
the case, you might arrange to meet me there. Are you returning home
now or going to the _Planet_ office?"
"I think to the office," I replied. "In any event 'phone there making
an appointment and I will meet you at the Red House."