The Unknown Speaker
The whole case was getting on Fletcher’s nerves. He had paid a visit
to Giles, to follow up the clue about the money.
The old man was quite straightforward; it was true, he had asked
Sefton to change a five pound note for him, which had been given him
by Lord Reckavile as wages. When his Lordship was away he never sent
any money, but when he came home, he had been in the habit of giving
the old servant quite large sums to carry on with.
It was quite possible, and there was nothing to be said about this,
but yet Fletcher felt somehow that all these people were combining to
thwart his efforts and were secretly laughing at him.
What was Halley doing in Portham? And what was Southgate up to in his
nocturnal visit to the castle, for he was sure that that was where he
had gone in the night, though he had no definite proof.
Halley had returned from London, so much he had learnt, and was again
visiting the Sefton’s bungalow, where Summers was now openly staying
as a paying guest, under Sefton’s care.
He returned from a troubled walk; his stay at Portham was already
lasting too long, and hints from Headquarters had been thrown out that
if he could not manage the job, he had better return.
He had allowed his thoughts to stray to the fair grace of Ena Sefton,
only to have the cup dashed to the ground by the revelation of his
profession, as if there was anything to be ashamed of in being a
detective. It was better than an unknown adventurer anyhow, he kept on
telling himself in self pity.
He arrived at the Club in a despondent mood, and was met by Brown, the
constable.
The latter had an air of mystery about him.
“Well, what is it, Brown,” he asked “anything fresh?”
“Yes, sir,” said the other, glancing round.
“It’s all right, you may talk here,” said Fletcher testily.
“Well, sir, you remember that I told you that when I heard that Mr.
Halley speaking it reminded me of something. I have been worrying over
it, and it has all come back to me now. I am quite certain that it was
he who was in the room with Lord Reckavile when he was murdered. It
was his voice we heard. It came through two doors and was muffled, but
there is no mistaking his tone.”
Fletcher started back; here was news indeed.
“Are you absolutely certain, Brown?” he said “remember this is of the
very utmost importance, you must not make a mistake.”
“I am certain,” said the constable doggedly.
“And I’ll tell you another thing, sir, when I found those two men in
the library, although I only had a glimpse, I am nearly positive one
of them was Halley.”
“Can you swear to that?” said Fletcher gripping the other’s arm in his
excitement.
“No, sir, I can’t swear to that, only in my own mind I am pretty
sure.”
“Well, we have something to go upon at last,” said Fletcher. “Not a
word of this to anyone. We must get some more details. I knew that
fellow with his superior manners and hypocritical ways was a crook,
though why he should make love to a penniless girl like Ena Sefton, is
beyond me.”
But if he had hit at last on the real criminal, there was something
still hidden. What could be more stupid than for a man to commit a
murder, and then remain on in the village for no reason, unless . . .
He recalled to his mind cases where men who had fallen in love had
committed every kind of indiscretion and jeopardised their safety. He
had on his journeyings visited the Castle of Blois, and seen the spot
where the Duc de Guise had stood eating prunes, while waiting for the
summons of the King which had been a call to death, and all because in
spite of warnings, he had remained on, in attendance on his mistress.
Giles, when he was examined was less sure than the constable.
“I couldn’t be sartin’,” he kept on repeating, “I were that flustered,
and I be ’ard of ’earing. No I dun’no as ’ow I cud swear to any voice
for sartin’.”
Fletcher was cute enough to see that such evidence was worthless, and
that the stubborn old man would not alter his evidence in the Box.
But a startling new piece of information came to hand by accident,
when he returned to the Club, and fell into conversation with the
steward.
Their talk turned on Sefton, and the mystery which was no longer a
mystery.
“Yes, sir,” said the steward, “I knew he was a doctor. He brought a
gentleman in here sometime ago, who was bleeding like a stuck pig. I
held the basin for him, and the way he bound him up showed me he had
some experience.”
“When was this?” said Fletcher without suspecting anything important.
The other laughed; “I can easily tell you that,” said he “it was the
night the murder took place at the castle.”
“What?” said Fletcher “and who was the man?”
“That I can’t tell you for certain. He was on a seat outside the Club,
and the night was dark. Mr. Sefton thought he had fallen down and cut
himself. I thought it was just a case of drunkenness. I believe it was
Mr. Halley who’s staying in the village.”
There was only one thing to do, although Fletcher knew he would not
meet with a genial reception from Sefton.
He made his way to his bungalow, and asked for him. The tousled maid
who did odd jobs, and did them mighty badly, informed him that the
“Doctor,” as she called him, was in, but Miss Sefton was out, at which
Fletcher was rather relieved.
Sefton came to the door and eyed his visitor with little favour.
“Well, what is it?” he asked.
“Mr. Sefton,” said the Detective formally “I would not come to you if
it was not on a matter of great importance, but I believe you can give
me some information.”
“What is it now?” said Sefton.
“On the night of the murder, I understand you bound up a man who was
wounded or injured in some way, at the Club. Would you mind telling me
who that was?”
“Really, Fletcher,” said Sefton “you have a lot to learn in your
profession. Your questions are very crude. If I treat a man medically
I no more disclose his name than a priest does one who comes to
confession.”
His manner annoyed Fletcher.
“That’s all nonsense,” he said “you are not a real doctor and in any
case in the interests of justice . . .”
Sefton cut him short.
“The interests of justice are concerned with criminals, and as the man
in question had nothing to do with the crime, there is no reason to
reveal his name. You will excuse me, but I am rather busy.”
“Yes, and I know why you refuse,” said Fletcher “because it was that
fellow Halley. I believe you are all conspiring together to shield him
but I’ll . . .”
Fletcher was left to face a closed door, and turned away with death in
his heart. Were the whole village in league to cheat the ends of
justice?
In a furious mood he made his way to the telephone to call up Sergeant
Andrews.