GIFFORD'S COMMISSION
Next morning directly after breakfast Kelson started for Wynford Place.
As the result of deliberating fully upon the anxious problem before them,
he and Gifford had come to the conclusion that it might be a grave
mistake to try to keep secret the maid's discovery. It would doubtless by
this time have become a subject of gossip and speculation in the
household and consequently would very soon become public. Accordingly it
was arranged that Kelson should arrive first and have a private interview
with Muriel Tredworth with a view to ascertaining finally and for certain
whether she could in any way account for the stain on her dress. Gifford
was to follow half an hour later, when they would have a conference with
the Morristons and afterwards, with their approval, go into the town and
see the chief constable on the subject. If Gifford was doubtful as to
the expediency of the plan, and it was with a considerable amount of
hesitation that he brought himself to agree to it, he seemed to have no
good reason to urge against it. And, after all, it appeared, in the
circumstances, the only politic course to follow. Secrecy was practically
now out of the question, and any attempt in that direction would
inevitably fail and would in all probability produce results unpleasant
to contemplate.
When Gifford arrived at Wynford Place he found Kelson pacing the drive
and impatiently expecting him.
"Come along," he exclaimed, "the Morristons are waiting for us."
"Miss Tredworth--?"
"Is utterly unable to account for the state of her dress," Kelson
declared promptly. "She is positive that if she noticed the man she never
spoke a word to him, nor danced with him. She says that if she ever met
him before, as according to that girl the other day was the case, she had
quite forgotten the circumstance. So the sooner we communicate this
discovery to the police the better. As it is, they say the servants are
talking of it; so the present position is quite intolerable."
In the library they found Morriston and his sister with the Tredworths.
The situation was discussed and there seemed no doubt in the mind of
any one of the party that the only thing to be done was to inform the
police at once.
"The whole affair is so mysterious," Morriston said, "that all sorts of
absurd rumours will be afloat if we don't take a strong, straightforward
line at once. Don't you agree, Edith?"
"Certainly I do," Miss Morriston answered with decision. "I don't
suppose," she added with a smile, "that any one would be mad enough to
suggest, my dear Muriel, that you were in any way implicated in the
affair; but the world is full of stupid and ill-natured people and one
can't be too careful to put oneself in the right. Don't you agree,
Captain Kelson?"
"Most decidedly," Kelson replied, with a troubled face. Charlie Tredworth
was also quite emphatically of opinion that his sister should make no
secret of what had been found.
"The inspector, who is here," Morriston said, "tells me that Major
Freeman, our chief constable, intends to come here this morning. I'll say
we want to see him directly he arrives."
It was not long before the chief constable was shown into the library.
Morriston lost no time in telling him of the mysterious circumstance
which had come to light. Major Freeman, a keen soldierly man, with the
stern expression and uncompromising manner naturally acquired by those
whose business is to deal with crime, received the information with grave
perplexity. He turned a searching look upon Muriel Tredworth.
"I understand you are quite unable to account for the stains on your
dress, Miss Tredworth?" he asked in a tone of courteous insistence.
"Quite," she answered. "I did not speak to Mr. Henshaw or even notice him
in the ball-room."
"You had--pardon these questions; I am putting this in your own
interest--you had at no time any acquaintance with Mr. Clement Henshaw?"
"I can hardly say that I had," the girl replied; "although a friend has
told me that I played tennis with him at a garden-party some years ago."
"A circumstance which you do not recollect?" The question was put
politely, even sympathetically, yet with a certain uncomfortable
directness.
"No," Muriel answered. "Even when I was reminded of it, my recollection
was of the vaguest description. So far as that goes I could neither admit
nor deny it with any certainty."
"And naturally you never, to your knowledge, saw or communicated with the
deceased man since?"
Muriel flushed. "No; absolutely no," she returned with a touch of
resentment at the suggestion.
Major Freeman forbore to distress the girl by any further questioning.
"Thank you," he said simply. "I am sorry to have even appeared to suggest
such a thing, but you and your friends will appreciate that it was my
duty to ask these questions. This looks at the moment," he continued,
addressing himself now to the party in general, "like proving a very
mysterious, and I will add, peculiarly delicate affair. The medical
evidence is inclined to scout the idea of suicide, and my men who have
the case in hand are coming round to the conclusion that the theory is
untenable."
"The locked door--" Morriston suggested.
"The locked door," said Major Freeman, "presents a difficulty, but still
one not absolutely incapable of solution. We know," he added, with a
faint smile, "from the way the door was eventually opened, that a key can
be turned from the other side, given the right instrument to effect it."
"Which only a burglar or a locksmith would be likely to have," Kelson
suggested.
Major Freeman nodded. "Quite so. I am not for a moment suggesting that as
an explanation of the mystery. It goes naturally much deeper than that.
Mr. Gervase Henshaw is to look into his brother's affairs and papers
while in town, and I am hoping that on his return here he may be able to
give some information which will afford a clue on which we can work. In
the meantime my men are not relaxing their efforts in this rather
baffling case."
"In which," Morriston suggested, "this new piece of evidence does not
afford any useful clue."
Major Freeman smiled, a little awkwardly, it seemed. "If anything, it
would appear to complicate the problem still further," he replied
guardedly. "Still, I am very glad to have it, and thank you for informing
me so promptly. Miss Tredworth may rest assured that should we find it
necessary to go still farther into this piece of evidence, it will be
done with as little annoyance as possible."
Some of the chief constable's habitual sternness of manner seemed to
have returned to him as he now rose to take leave. "I will just confer
with my men who are on the premises before I leave," he said to
Morriston in a quiet authoritative tone. "They may have something to
report." With that he bowed to the company and quitted the room, leaving
behind him a rather uncomfortable feeling which every one seemed to make
an effort to throw off.
But there was clearly nothing to be done except to let the police
researches take their course and to wait for developments. The party
at Wynford was going over to the dance at Stowgrave that evening and
it was arranged that they would call for Kelson and Gifford and all go
on together.
Accordingly at the appointed time the carriage stopped at the _Golden
Lion_; Kelson joining Miss Tredworth and her brother, while Gifford drove
with Morriston.
In answer to his companion's inquiry Morriston said that he had heard of
nothing fresh in the Henshaw case.
"I saw Major Freeman for a moment as he was leaving," he said, "and
gathered that the police were still at a loss for any satisfactory
explanation as to how the crime was committed."
"He made no suggestion as to the stains on Miss Tredworth's dress?"
Gifford asked.
"No. Although I fancy he is a good deal exercised by that piece of
evidence. Mentioned, as delicately as possible, that it might be
necessary to have the stains analyzed, but did not wish the girl to be
alarmed or worried about it. I can't understand," Morriston added in a
puzzled tone, "how on earth she could possibly have had anything to
do with it."
"No," Gifford assented thoughtfully; "it is inconceivable, unless by the
supposition that she may by some means have come in contact with some one
who was concerned in the crime."
"You mean if a man had a stain on his coat and danced with her--"
"Something of the sort. If there were blood on his lapel or sleeve."
"H'm! It would be easy to ascertain for certain whom she danced with,"
Morriston said reflectively. "But that again is almost unthinkable."
"And," Gifford added, "it seems to go no way towards elucidating the
problem of how Henshaw came to his death. As a matter of fact I should
say Miss Tredworth danced and sat out nearly the whole of the evening
with Kelson. You know he proposed at the dance?"
"Yes, I understood that. Poor Kelson; I am sorry for him, and for them
both. It is an ominous beginning of their betrothal."
"It is horrible," Gifford observed sympathetically. "Although one tries
to think there is really nothing in it for them to be concerned about."
The dance was an enjoyable affair, and, at any rate for the time,
dispersed the depression which had hung over the party from Wynford.
Gifford had engaged Miss Morriston for two waltzes, and after a turn or
two in the second his partner said she felt tired and suggested they
should sit out the rest of it. Accordingly they strolled off to an
adjoining room and made themselves comfortable in a retired corner,
Gifford, nothing loath to have a quiet chat with the handsome girl whose
self-possessed manner with its suggestion of underlying strength of
feeling was beginning to fascinate and intrigue his imagination.
"It is rather pleasant," she said a little wearily, "to get away from
the atmosphere of mystery and police investigation we have been living
in at home."
"Which I hope and believe will very soon be over," Gifford responded
cheeringly.
Miss Morriston glanced at him curiously. "You believe that?" she returned
almost sharply. "How can you think so? It seems to me that with little
apparent likelihood of clearing up the mystery, the affair may drag on
for weeks."
Gifford answered with a reassuring smile. "Hardly that. If the police
can make nothing of it, and they seem to be quite nonplussed, they will
have to give up their investigations and fall back on their first theory
of suicide."
Leaning back and watching his companion's face in profile as she sat
forward, he could see that his suggestion was by no means convincing.
"I wish I could take your view, Mr. Gifford," she returned, with the
suggestion of a bitter smile. "I dare say if the authorities were left to
themselves they might give up. But you forget a very potent factor in the
tiresome business, the brother, Mr. Gervase Henshaw; he will keep them up
to the work of investigation, will he not?"
"Up to a certain point, and one can scarcely blame him. But even then,
the police are not likely to continue working on his theories when they
lead to no result."
"No?" Miss Morriston replied in an unconvinced tone. "But he is--" she
turned to him. "Tell me your candid opinion of this Mr. Gervase Henshaw.
Is he very--"
"Objectionable?" Gifford supplied as she hesitated. "Unpleasantly sharp
and energetic, I should say. Although it is, perhaps, hardly fair to
judge a man labouring under the stress of a brother's tragic death."
"He is determined to get to the explanation of the mystery?" The tinge of
excitement she had exhibited in her former question had now passed away:
she now spoke in her habitual cold, even tone.
"He says so. Naturally he will do all he can to that end. Of course it
would be a satisfaction to know for certain how the tragedy came about:
not that it matters much otherwise. But unfortunately he rather poses as
an expert in criminology, and that will make for pertinacity."
For a moment Miss Morriston kept silent. "It is very unfortunate," she
murmured at length. "It will worry poor old Dick horribly. I think he is
already beginning to wish he had never seen Wynford."
Gifford leaned forward. "Oh, but, my dear Miss Morriston," he said
earnestly, "you and your brother must really not take the matter so
seriously. It is all very unpleasant, one must admit, but, after all,
except that it happened in your house, I don't see that it affects you."
"You think not," Miss Morriston responded mechanically.
"Indeed I think so." As he spoke Gifford could not help a slight feeling
of wonder that this girl, from whom he would have expected an attitude
rather of indifference, should allow herself to be so greatly worried by
the affair. For that she was far more troubled than she allowed to appear
he was certain. It is her pride, he told himself. A high-bred girl like
this would naturally hate the very idea of a sensational scandal under
her roof, and all its unpleasant, rather sordid accompaniments. "I wish,"
he added with a touch of fervour, "that I could persuade you to dismiss
any fear of annoyance from your mind."
"I wish you could," she responded dully, with an attempt at a smile.
Suddenly she turned to him with more animation in her manner than she had
hitherto shown. "Mr. Gifford, you--I--" she hesitated as though at a loss
how to put what she wished to say; "I have no right to ask you, who are a
comparative stranger, to help us in this--this worry, but if you cared
to be of assistance I am sure you could."
"Of course, of course I will," he answered with eager gladness. "Only let
me know what you wish and you may command the very utmost I can do. And
please don't think of me as a stranger."
Edith Morriston smiled, and to Gifford it was the most fascinating smile
he had ever seen. "Only let me know how I can serve you," he said, his
pulses tingling.
"I am thinking of my brother," she replied, in a tone so friendly that it
neutralized the rather damping effect of the words. "He is worrying over
this business more than one who does not know him well would think. I had
an idea, Mr. Gifford, that you might help us by, in a way, standing
between us, so far as might be possible, and this Mr. Gervase Henshaw. He
stays at your hotel, does he not?"
"Yes; he is expected there to-morrow morning, if not to-night."
"You may perhaps," the girl proceeded, "be able--I don't know how, and I
have no right to ask it--"
"Please, Miss Morriston!" Gifford pleaded.
"To minimize any annoyance we are likely to suffer through his--his
uncomfortable zeal," she resumed hesitatingly. "If not that, you may, if
he is friendly with you, have an opportunity of getting to hear something
of his plans and ideas, and warning me if he is likely to worry us at
Wynford. We don't want the tragedy kept alive indefinitely; it would be
intolerable. I am sure you understand how I feel. That is all."
"You may rely on me to the utmost," Gifford assured her fervently, in
answer to the question in her eyes.
"Thank you," she said, as she rose. "I felt sure I might ask you this
favour and trust you."
She made a slight movement of putting out her hand. The gesture was
coldly made; it might, indeed, have been checked, and gone for nothing.
But Gifford, keenly on the alert for a sign of regard, was quick to take
the hand and press it impulsively.
"You may trust me, Miss Morriston," he murmured.
"Thank you," she responded simply, but, he was glad to notice, with a
touch of relief.
She lightly took his arm and they went back to the ball-room.