To halt would be to reveal our visit to the wood to the village
constable, therefore we sprang across a stile, skirted the grass land,
keeping beneath the high hawthorn hedge, and emerging into the roadway
just as the lights of the gig came around the bend.
"Halloa! doctor!" I shouted, as he approached with the constable at his
side, and the groom behind.
"Who's that?" he inquired, peering into the darkness.
"Hughes--Wilfrid Hughes," I answered, and a moment later he pulled up,
and both Eric and I greeted him.
"We can go across the fields from here," Booth remarked. Therefore they
all three descended, and leaving the groom with the horse, we allowed
ourselves to be guided by the constable to the spot where the body was
lying.
"I hope, gentlemen, you haven't been waitin' long," said Booth,
addressing us, as he lit the hurricane lamp he had brought.
"Not at all," declared Eric, quite unconcernedly, "but we're naturally
very anxious to ascertain who the poor fellow is."
"From what Booth says, it seems a clear case of murder," remarked
Richards, the hard-working country practitioner.
"A mystery, evidently," said Domville. "Has no weapon been found?"
"We haven't searched yet, sir," the constable replied. "We'll have to
wait till daylight."
And so, our way lit by the officer's lantern, we went on past the dump
of bushes where my friend declared that some person was in hiding. Both
of us glanced across eagerly, but all was quiet--not a leaf stirred.
Who was concealed there, I wondered? I knew Eric Domville too well to
doubt that his practised eye had been deceived.
I longed to go forward and search, but that was entirely out of the
question. Some unknown person had witnessed our visit to the body. Our
actions had been watched.
Presently, when we reached the spot, and the light shone upon the
prostrate man, I was enabled to obtain my first clear sight of him.
The face, white and waxen in death, bore a hard, terrible look in the
eyes, an expression that caused me to shudder. It was the look of one
who shrank in awe and horror from the great Unknown. His clothes, a
suit of rough, cheap dark tweed, the vest of which bore a large dark
stain, showed evidence of hard wear, frayed at the elbows and cuffs, his
linen was not over clean, and his boots bore traces of long tramping.
His cloth golf-cap had fallen off, and lay near, disclosing that his
close-cropped dark hair was somewhat curly, while his face was
clean-shaven, and around his collar was a dark blue cravat tied in a
bow.
"I wonder who he is?" remarked Booth, as he bent down, and, opening his
vest, disclosed the small shot-wound.
"I wonder," I echoed, at the same time feeling in my pocket the papers
and other objects which no doubt would establish his identity. I longed
to return to the house and examine them.
"Shot clean through the heart!" exclaimed Richards, kneeling upon the
carpet of dead leaves and making as thorough an examination as the
fickle light afforded. "He must have fallen and died almost instantly."
"Could it have been suicide?" inquired Booth.
"I think not. Of course, he might have shot himself, but from the
position of the wound I think not. Besides, where is the revolver?"
We looked about, but could not discover it, and at the same time Booth
constantly urged upon us not to move about lest we might destroy any
footmarks that would lead to a clue.
While Booth was searching the dead man's pockets of course finding
nothing, Eric noticed a light approaching up the road, and pointed it
out.
"That's the gov'nor on 'is bike," declared the constable. "I left word
with my missis to send 'im up 'ere. I'm glad 'e's come."
We awaited the arrival of the superintendent, a short, elderly,
thick-set man in a dark suit, who spoke sharply to his officer, listened
to the doctor's opinion, and then proceeded to make a methodical
examination for himself.
He held the lantern to the dead man's face, and looked for some moments
into his features.
"No. He's a perfect stranger to me," the officer declared. "Was there
nothing in his pockets?"
"Only some money, sir--a shillin' or two," answered the village
policeman.
"On tramp, no doubt," and he examined the palms of both hands, feeling
them with his fingers. "Not used to hard work--clean-shaven, too--done
it to disguise himself probably. No razor?"
"No, sir."
"Found the revolver?"
"No, sir."
"Not searched yet, I suppose?"
"No, sir. I waited until you came, to hear your instructions."
"Quite right. You'd better move him down to the village, and when it's
light we'll search all around." Then, turning to Richards, he added,
"There'll have to be an inquest, doctor. Shall we fix it for the day
after to-morrow, at the Spread Eagle at Midhurst? Will that suit you?"
"Yes. I can make the post-mortem to-morrow," Richards said, and thus it
was arranged.
"It's a mystery--murder without a doubt," declared the superintendent a
few minutes later, while chatting with the doctor. "How long has he
been dead, do you think?"
"Eight or nine hours," I should say.
"Then it was done about dusk, you think?"
"Most probably."
"He was shot from the front, you notice, not in the back. Therefore, it
seems quite evident that some secret meeting took place here before it
grew dark. Bear that in mind, Booth, and make every inquiry to find out
whether anybody was seen going over the fields."
"His lordship and his friends were about the farms a-shootin' all day,"
the constable replied.
"Yes," laughed Eric, "but we didn't shoot with revolvers," at which we
all three laughed.
I admired my friend for his clever sally, for if anyone actually did see
him crossing the turnips there would be no suspicion aroused that he had
been witness of any meeting.
The police superintendent made a cursory examination of the surroundings
by aid of the lantern, but saw nothing that led him to believe that a
struggle had taken place; then eager to return and examine those papers
I had in my pocket, we both bade the doctor and policeman good-night,
and returned across the fields and along the drift skirting the park,
scaling the wall, and so reaching the house by a much shorter route than
by re-passing the village.
"I wonder who was in that thicket," I said, as we walked down the hill,
after leaving the scene of the tragedy.
"I saw something white, but whether it was a man's shirt-front or a
woman's blouse I don't know," Eric replied. "Whoever it was may tell
the police of our visit there, and we may find ourselves in a most
awkward position. It wouldn't be nice to be charged with trying to
defeat the ends of justice, would it?"
"No," I said, thinking deeply, and recognising the seriousness of the
situation. "But how could we have acted otherwise? If we are to save
Tibbie we must accept the risk."
"It's terrible--terrible," he murmured. "I wonder who the fellow is?"
"Let's get back. Come up to my room, and we'll have a look through what
we've found," I said, and then we went on in silence until we managed to
reopen the smoking-room window and creep in without attracting the
attention of either the dogs or the night-watchman.
Eric mixed two stiff glasses of whisky, and we drank them. I confess
that my hand trembled with excitement, while before me as I had walked
through the night I saw that staring terror-stricken face--the face of
the man who had looked into the Unknown and had been appalled.
Together we crept up to my room, first taking off our boots, as in order
to reach the wing in which I was placed we had to pass Jack's room, and
also that of old Lady Scarcliff, who was, I knew, always nervous of
burglars. Besides, we had no desire that it should be known that we had
been out at that hour--otherwise Sybil might suspect.
Up the Long Gallery we went, past the grim row of armed knights so
ghostly in the darkness, past the loudly-ticking old clock, past the
deep window-seat wherein Sybil had so nearly betrayed her secret in the
sunset hour, and on into my room.
Once within we locked the door, drew the _portiere_ to shut out the
sound of our voices, and I took from my various pockets all that we had
secured from the dead man.
It was a strange collection of papers, letters and various odds and
ends, rendered gruesome by the stains of a man's life-blood upon them.
They lay upon the table in the window and I scarce dared to touch them;
stolen as they had been from that silent, staring corpse.
I switched on the table-lamp, and we drew chairs eagerly forward, so
excited that neither of us spoke.
The first thing I took in my hand was the small circular medallion of
gold with the thin chain which I had taken from the dead man's neck.
About the size of a penny it was, smooth and polished on either side. I
turned it over in wonder, and as I did so noticed that although so thin
it was really a locket, one of those which is sometimes worn by ladies
upon a long chain.
With trembling fingers I inserted my thumb nail into the slit and prised
it open.
Upon one side a small ivory miniature of the Honourable Sybil smiled
mockingly at us, and on the other was engraved an inscription.
I put it down and took up a letter folded in half without an envelope,
the paper of which was crumpled and blood-stained.
I quickly scanned over what was written there, Eric looking over my
shoulder meanwhile.
What I learnt staggered me. It told us the awful truth.
We turned and faced each other, looking into each other's eyes without
uttering a word.
The problem was, we saw, far more intricate and amazing than we had ever
dreamed.
Yes, there, spread before us, was the dead man's secret!