Kean found Fayre waiting for him when he reached the hotel at
Whitbury. Cynthia, he learned, had taken the car to the garage to fill
up and Leslie had accompanied her.
“With consummate tact, I said I should prefer to be dropped here to
wait for you,” explained Fayre. “Heaven knows how much more time
they’ll have together. It strikes me as a black outlook, Edward.”
His kindly face was grave and troubled.
Kean nodded.
“I haven’t been able to get much out of Miss Allen. She is convinced
that Leslie had nothing to do with it, and I believe she is right. All
the same, his story is weak.”
“It’s the most infernal bad luck! If only he’d gone up to London as he
intended! What do you suppose induced poor Mrs. Draycott to go to the
farm?”
“If we knew that, Leslie could snap his fingers at them,” answered
Kean sombrely.
He pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket as he spoke, and a
small red stylographic pen came with it and rolled on the floor at
Fayre’s feet. He picked it up and examined it. The cap was missing
and, half concealed beneath the mud with which it was plastered, was
an inkstain, running right round the pen.
“Hullo! This is the fellow I picked up!” he exclaimed.
Kean took it from him and slipped it into the pocket of his coat.
“Our one clue,” he assented dryly. “And we shall probably trace that
to one of the reporters. I don’t think we need build on it.”
He pulled off his heavy coat and threw it over a chair. Then he turned
and faced Fayre squarely.
“I’m going to save that boy if I can, Hatter, if things go against
him,” he said. “You can tell Cynthia that, if I don’t have an
opportunity myself after the inquest. We’ll hope it won’t come to
that, but, frankly, I’m not sanguine.”
“Neither am I. It looks almost as if suspicion had been deliberately
thrown on Leslie. It’s an inconceivably devilish scheme, if it is so.
There’s no earthly reason, as far as we know, why Mrs. Draycott should
have gone to his farm at all, unless she were decoyed there, and, if
she were, why choose that spot? Surely it would have been as easy to
shoot the poor creature in the open. It looks uncommonly as if some
one had tried to plant the murder on John Leslie.”
Kean walked over to the window and stood there looking out, his hands
deep in his pockets.
“It hasn’t occurred to you,” he said slowly, “that whoever did it may
have known that Leslie had been subpoenaed as a witness and was due in
London on Tuesday. Remember, he should, by rights, have been in the
train at the time Mrs. Draycott was killed. I don’t suppose he made
any secret of the fact that he was going, and news travels fast in a
small country place.”
Fayre stared at him for a moment then, with a sudden look of
comprehension:
“By Jove! That narrows things down a bit! If there is anything in your
theory, we shall find the man is some one who either lives in the
neighbourhood or who was there for a time, at least, before the crime
was committed.”
Kean turned to him with a smile.
“Come to that, why ‘the man’? Women have been known to shoot people
before now.”
“Women!”
Fayre stopped, appalled. There was only one woman who, so far, could
be said to have any connection with the case. Cynthia had, according
to her own account, gone straight home when she parted from Leslie at
five-thirty. She was fairly certain to have been seen by some member
of her father’s household. Supposing that, by some evil chance she
hadn’t been seen? Fayre gazed at Kean with something like horror in
his eyes.
“Not Cynthia?”
Kean’s smile vanished.
“Thank goodness, we can rule Cynthia out. The lodge gates are kept
closed at Galston and, unless we are up against another piece of
unheard-of bad luck, the lodge-keeper must have let her in. As a
matter of fact, I had nobody in mind when I spoke. You were theorizing
so smoothly that I couldn’t resist the temptation to point to at least
one weak point in your argument. After all, as you say, the murderer
may have deliberately planted the whole thing on Leslie. It is as good
an explanation as any, considering how little we have to go on.”
“If it wasn’t a plant, why did he take the trouble to get her to the
farm?”
Kean had turned again to the window.
“The sound of a shot carries a good way in the open air, remember. I
can see our young couple. I suggest that we drop the subject, as far
as possible, during lunch. I can give Leslie a few hints on the
correct behaviour for witnesses afterwards. I fancy he’s a hotheaded
young beggar and he mustn’t be allowed to lose his temper.”
Kean could be a delightful and interesting companion when he chose and
on this occasion he laid himself out to keep Leslie’s mind off the
coming ordeal, with the result that even the two people most concerned
found the meal a pleasant one. After it was over Kean drew the boy
aside and spoke to him very seriously while Fayre did his best to keep
the ball of conversation rolling with Cynthia. She had conquered her
agitation and was facing things with a pluck that did her credit; but,
in spite of both their efforts, the time dragged heavily and he was
glad when the suspense was over and they started for the Town Hall
where the inquest was to be held.
At Kean’s suggestion they separated and he and Fayre joined the crowd
in the body of the Court. Though one or two people looked curiously at
the two strangers, it is doubtful whether anybody recognized the lean
man with the keen eyes and hawk-like face, though his photographs had
appeared often enough in the press. Their interest was focused on
Leslie and on Miss Allen, who came in just before the proceedings
opened and took her seat on the opposite side of the Court.
Fayre looked at her with interest. She was dressed in a black coat and
skirt and a small black felt hat, of the kind affected by the more
downright type of middle-aged spinster. She was pale, but composed,
and was apparently oblivious of the little stir occasioned by her
entrance. Catching sight of Leslie, she bowed to him, gravely, but
with marked friendliness.
The Jury filed in, followed by the Coroner, an elderly man whose
practice lay on the other side of Whitbury. His address to the Jury
was short and to the point.
“You have inspected the body of this lady,” he concluded, “and have
been shown the cause of death, a bullet-wound in the left temple. The
body, as you know, has already been identified. After hearing the
evidence which will be brought before you, you are called on to settle
in your minds in what way the deceased came by her death.”
The proceedings opened with the evidence of Gunnet and Sergeant Brace.
Brace described his visit to the farm and the discovery of the
footsteps under the window and in the barn. He reported his
conversation with Leslie concerning them.
“You have not, so far, been able to trace them to any definite
person?” suggested the Coroner.
“We are making inquiries,” answered Brace evasively. “At present we
have nothing to report.”
One of the jurors, a tradesman whose shop was on the outskirts of
Whitbury, cleared his throat nervously.
“There was a tramp passed my place on Monday afternoon,” he
volunteered.
There was a slight delay while he was sworn in.
“What time did you see this man?”
“Round about four. I was dressing the window, that’s how I happened to
remember the time. He was going in the direction of Keys, all right.”
“Could you describe him?”
“A smallish man. Thin, with a reddish face. That’s all I can remember.
Don’t know as I should recognize him if I saw him again. I just
noticed him in passing.”
The Coroner recalled Brace.
“I understand that the deceased was identified on the Monday night?”
“I went straight from Mr. Leslie’s farm to Greycross, where I
interviewed Miss Allen. At my suggestion she came at once with me to
the mortuary. The body had arrived there about half an hour before and
she identified it as that of her sister, Mrs. Henry Draycott, who was
staying at her house.”
The Coroner dismissed Brace and called Miss Allen.
“I am sorry to have to ask these questions, Miss Allen,” he said. “I
will be as brief as possible. Will you tell us the circumstances in
which your sister left your house on Monday night. Was it usual for
her to take a walk at this hour?”
“Very unusual, I should say. It was a long time since she had stayed
with me and she had only arrived the night before, but she had never
been a walker and did not care for exercise, especially in bad
weather.”
“Can you think of anything which could have drawn her out on such a
night?”
“Nothing. I did not see her leave the house and was surprised when I
discovered she was out. She had said nothing about going.”
“You can think of no reason why she should have gone to Mr. Leslie’s
farm?”
“None. She did not know Mr. Leslie and, to the best of my belief,
could have had no possible reason for going there.”
The Coroner leaned forward.
“I am sorry to have to touch on such a subject, but did your sister
speak openly to you about her affairs? Supposing she had gone out with
the intention of meeting some one, would she be likely to mention it
to you?”
Miss Allen hesitated for a moment.
“I was not in my sister’s confidence,” she said at last. “We have seen
little of each other in the last few years and, though she was very
frank as a rule about her affairs, I do not think she would have
chosen me for her confidante in the case of any intimate business.”
“So that she might quite well have left your house to keep an
appointment without consulting you?”
“It is more than likely.”
“You know of no message or letter which might have had some bearing on
a possible appointment?”
“No. As soon as I became alarmed at her absence I questioned the
servants as to whether any message had come for her, and found there
had been nothing of the sort. I have since looked through her letters,
but can find nothing. She had only arrived the day before and had
received no letters through the post.”
Miss Allen returned to her seat with the same quiet dignity she had
shown all through the examination. Fayre, watching her closely, was
astonished at the perfection of her poise; but now that she was off
her guard for a moment it was easy to see that only the most iron
self-control had enabled her to go through the ordeal. She was no
longer young and her sister’s death had evidently shocked her deeply,
but he doubted, having known Mrs. Draycott, whether there could have
been any real affection between the two women. Mrs. Draycott, shallow,
yet astute enough in her small way, a born huntress of men, but
only of those men she considered worth while, could have had
nothing in common with Miss Allen, who, after all, had been almost
disconcertingly frank in her description of her relations with her
sister. She had stated plainly that she had never been in her
confidence and he suspected that she had probably actually disliked
her and was generous enough to feel repentant now of her attitude
towards her.
Dr. Gregg was called next. He gave his evidence clearly and
straightforwardly, but with an awkwardness of manner that amounted
almost to surliness. Fayre had the impression that he was either shy
or bad-tempered, possibly both. He expressed his opinion that the
deceased had been dead for about four hours at the time of his
examination. Asked whether the wound might have been self-inflicted,
he said that such a thing would be practically impossible, even in the
case of a left-handed person, as the shot had been fired at
arm’s-length, a feat so difficult as to be almost out of the question.
In answer to a question by the Coroner, he stated that death would
have been instantaneous and that, in the case of suicide, the weapon
would undoubtedly have fallen either on the table or on the floor
close to the chair. He gave his answers grudgingly, as though he
resented having been drawn into the affair at all. His evidence was
corroborated by the police surgeon who had been summoned from
Carlisle.
There was a little stir in the court as John Leslie stepped forward.
Kean had drilled him well in the few minutes he had had at his
disposal and he gave his evidence in a clear, audible voice, confining
himself to the bare facts of the case. He described his return to the
farm and the finding of the body and stated emphatically that he had
never met Mrs. Draycott and had no idea of her identity until Gunnet
recognized her. Asked to account for his movements, he said that he
had left the farm at about four o’clock and that from five until just
before eight he had been walking.
“That leaves a certain period of time unaccounted for. Where did you
go when you left the farm?” asked the Coroner.
“I walked to the edge of the Galston copse. I had an appointment there
at four-thirty.”
“Did you keep that appointment?”
“I did, leaving there at five and walking straight across the fields
in the direction of Besley. When I was almost in sight of the village
I turned off and made a wide detour and arrived back at the farm from
the Whitbury side.”
“You did not stop at any inn or speak to any one in the course of your
walk?”
“No. I was in the fields practically all the time. I hardly saw a
soul. It was dark before seven and pitch-black by the time I got
home.”
“Then I understand that you spoke to no one except the person with
whom you had the appointment?”
“No one.”
“Who was that person, Mr. Leslie?”
“Lady Cynthia Bell.”
Leslie spoke with obvious reluctance and there was a rustle as the
crowd turned, sheep-like, to stare at Cynthia.
“And you parted at five o’clock?”
“Thereabouts.”
“Why didn’t you return to the farm after leaving the Galston copse?”
“I had been working all day and I needed exercise.”
“Farm work is fairly heavy work, Mr. Leslie, even at this time of
year. According to your account, you must have walked a good twelve
miles between five o’clock and eight. Had you no other reason for
making such a wide detour?”
Leslie’s eyes flashed and for a moment it seemed as if Kean’s
admonitions were to go for naught, then he controlled himself with an
effort.
“I was annoyed and wanted to walk it off.”
“What had happened to upset you?”
“I had had a difference of opinion with Lady Cynthia. We had been
going for a walk together, but, owing to this, we parted, rather
suddenly. I’d got the walk in my mind, I suppose, so when that
happened I just went on by myself and tried to walk my temper off.”
“You are engaged to Lady Cynthia Bell, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Was the difference of opinion you mentioned just now due to
attentions you had been paying to another lady? Mrs. Draycott, for
instance?”
Leslie stared blankly at his interrogator, a dark flush slowly
mounting to his forehead.
“Good Lord, no!” he ejaculated.
“You say that you tried to walk off your anger. Was that anger
directed against anybody in particular?”
“I was annoyed with Lady Cynthia at first, in the way one is annoyed
with any one one has had an argument with. But after that I was angry,
principally, with myself for being such an ass as to quarrel.”
“There was no third person involved either in the quarrel or in your
thoughts afterwards?”
“Of course not. Who should there be?”
“You are sure that you did not go back to the farm after leaving Lady
Cynthia Bell for the purpose of keeping an appointment you had made
with the deceased?”
Fayre heard the sharp hiss of Kean’s breath between his teeth,
followed by a whisper:
“Then they have got something up their sleeves, after all.”
Leslie, after the first blank stare of astonishment, flushed with
anger as he realized the full force of the insinuation.
“Of course not,” he said curtly. “I have told you that I didn’t know
Mrs. Draycott.”
“You are certain that you did not meet Mrs. Draycott at all that
evening?”
“I never saw Mrs. Draycott in my life until I found her body at the
farm.”
“Thank you, Mr. Leslie. Sergeant Brace!” Sergeant Brace took his
stand, very erect and soldierly in his blue uniform.
“On the day after the murder you visited Mr. Leslie’s farm, I
believe.”
“I went to the farm on Tuesday, the twenty-fourth, in company with
Police-Constable Collins, and made a thorough search of the premises.
In a drawer in Mr. Leslie’s bedroom I found a Webley Service revolver,
one chamber of which had been discharged. The other chambers were
loaded and the gun had not been cleaned since it had last been fired.”
“You have the bullet which killed Mrs. Draycott?”
Brace held out his hand and displayed a bullet lying in the palm.
“Does it correspond with those used in the weapon you found at the
farm?”
“It does.”
“You have the revolver in court?”
Police-Constable Collins stepped forward and handed a heavy Service
revolver to the Coroner. “Thank you. Call Mr. Leslie.”
Leslie’s expression was one of blank consternation.
“Do you recognize this, Mr. Leslie?”
Leslie examined the revolver.
“It belongs to me,” he said simply. “I keep it in the drawer of the
dressing-table in my bedroom. I suppose Sergeant Brace found it
there.”
“When did you last fire it?”
“About a week ago. I found a poor beast of a cat in a trap in Smith’s
field, just across the lane from me. It was past saving, so I went
home and fetched this and shot it through the head.”
“You have not used it since then?”
“No. I haven’t had it out of the drawer since.”
“Was any one present when you shot the cat?”
“No. I was alone.”
“Did you speak to anybody afterwards of what you had done?”
“No. If I’d run across Smith I should probably have mentioned it to
him, but I haven’t seen him.”
“Was there any one who could have heard the shot?”
“There might have been. Quite likely not. My man had gone home and
Smith’s farm lies a good way back from the lane.”
“Why did you hide the revolver at the back of the drawer?”
Leslie coloured hotly.
“I’ve never hidden it. The drawer’s full of mufflers and silk
handkerchiefs and things and I keep it at the back for fear Mrs. Grey,
who does my room, should get monkeying with it. She puts my
handkerchiefs back when she brings them from the wash and I didn’t
want to run any risk with the revolver.”
“You persist in your statement that you did not return to the farm
till eight o’clock?”
“I went for a long walk, as I have said, and did not get back till
close on eight. Hang it all, if I’d killed Mrs. Draycott do you
suppose I’d have left my revolver in a drawer where any one could find
it? Without cleaning it or reloading it either?”
Leslie’s quick temper had got the better of him at last.
“That is for the Jury to decide, Mr. Leslie,” said the Coroner. There
was a sharp note of reproof in his voice and Fayre realized that, in a
moment of irritation, Leslie had gone a long way towards effacing the
good impression he had made in the beginning.
“You have no explanation as to why Mrs. Draycott went to the farm?”
“As I’ve already said, I didn’t know Mrs. Draycott. Why she should
have gone there is a mystery to me.”
Leslie went back to his seat to the accompaniment of a low murmur of
voices, as the crowds composed mostly of his own friends and
neighbours, exchanged their whispered comments on the unexpected turn
the inquiry had taken. He was popular in the district and Fayre
noticed that, in spite of the damning evidence the police had brought
forward, there was little hostility, so far, in the faces that were
turned so eagerly in Leslie’s direction. His heart sank when Cynthia
was called. He had hoped that she might escape this ordeal.
“Will you tell us in your own words exactly what happened on the
evening of March 23rd?” said the Coroner.
Cynthia’s colour was a little deeper, her eyes a trifle brighter, than
usual; otherwise she showed no embarrassment at the position in which
she found herself.
“I met Mr. Leslie, as we had arranged, on the edge of the Galston
copse . . .” she began.
“What time was that?” interrupted the Coroner.
“About a quarter past four. We talked for about three-quarters of an
hour and then I went back to Galston and Mr. Leslie walked away
through the copse in the direction of Besley.”
“Good girl,” murmured Kean in Fayre’s ear. “She’s got her wits about
her.”
“You are sure you noticed the direction in which Mr. Leslie went?”
“Quite sure. After I had gone a few yards I turned round, meaning to
say something to him, but he was walking so quickly that I gave up the
idea. He was going in the opposite direction to the farm then.”
The Coroner leaned forward.
“You were not on friendly terms with Mr. Leslie when you parted, I
understand?”
“I was furious with him at the moment and I expect he loathed me. I
got over it almost at once. That’s why I turned round, meaning to call
to him.”
“You considered that he had treated you badly?”
“It wasn’t that, exactly. I was angry because he would go on trying to
treat me too well, or at least what he thought was well. I didn’t
agree with him and lost my temper. He’d got into his head that because
he’d no prospects and couldn’t marry for a long time he was putting me
in a false position and that he ought to break off the engagement.”
“Was this the first time he had made the suggestion to break off the
engagement?”
“O dear, no. He began worrying about it ten minutes after we first
became engaged.”
A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the court and the Jury, who
had pricked up their ears at the Coroner’s question, relapsed into
somewhat amused languor.
“Was it an old argument between you?”
“Oh, yes. That’s why I was annoyed. We’d had it out so often that I
was tired of the subject.”
“So that, when Mr. Leslie wished to break off the engagement, you
refused and held him to it?”
The colour flooded Cynthia’s cheeks, but she was too wise to take
offense at the suggestion. She looked at the Coroner with disarming
frankness.
“He didn’t wish to break off the engagement. That was why the whole
argument was so silly. He went on suggesting it simply from a sense of
duty. I shouldn’t have held him to his word if I’d thought he wanted
to go.”
“Was he more insistent than usual on this occasion?”
“No. He didn’t have time. I lost my temper almost at once.”
“Are you sure that the presence of Mrs. Draycott in the neighbourhood
was not one of the causes of this quarrel?”
“Perfectly certain. I had never heard of Mrs. Draycott. Miss Allen
told me her sister was coming and asked me to meet her at dinner that
night, but I didn’t know then that that was her name.”
“Had you never heard her name coupled with that of Mr. Leslie?”
“Never.”
Lady Cynthia was the last witness. She returned to her seat, her head
held high and her cheeks flaming, but she had done better work than
she knew, for her gallant bearing had won the sympathy, not only of
the spectators, but of the Jury, two of whom were her father’s tenants
and had known her since childhood.
There was an expectant hush as the Coroner rose to address the Jury.
Fayre summed him up as a man of mediocre intelligence, slow, but
conscientious, and perhaps a little over-conscious of the importance
of his own position.
“Gentlemen of the Jury,” he began. “You have heard the evidence put
before you and are now called upon to consider your verdict. If there
is anything that you have not fully understood I am here to help you.
As to the manner in which the deceased met her death, you will have
seen from the doctor’s evidence how unlikely it is that she died by
her own hand. You must not, however, entirely disregard the
possibility of suicide. Unlikely as it may seem, it is not absolutely
impossible that she herself fired the fatal shot. If, however, you
decide that the deceased did not voluntarily cause her own death you
must state whether she died at the hand of any person known to you or
at the hand of some person unknown. I take it that you are ready to
consider your verdict now, gentlemen.”
The Jury filed out of the court and Fayre, after a word with Kean,
crossed over to a chair by the side of Cynthia. He found her pale, but
composed, talking quietly with Leslie. To his surprise they were
discussing the farm and the steps to be taken should Leslie find
himself unable to return there immediately, and his sympathy and
admiration for these two increased as he realized the pluck with which
they were facing an almost unbearable situation. Kean remained in his
old place in the body of the court, deep in his own thoughts. He had
little doubt as to what the verdict would be, in the face of the
unexpected evidence brought forward by the police.
Indeed, the Jury was not absent for more than twenty minutes. Fayre
watched them, trying to judge from their faces what line they would
take. The Coroner addressed them.
“Well, gentlemen, have you considered your verdict?”
And even before the foreman spoke, Fayre knew what was coming.
They found that Mrs. Draycott had been murdered, and John Leslie left
the court in the custody of the police.