IN EXTREMIS
For some time--a minute, an hour--Steel stood over the dreadful thing
huddled upon the floor of his conservatory. Just then he was incapable of
consecutive ideas.
His mind began to move at length. The more he thought of it the more
absolutely certain he was that he had fastened the door before leaving
the house. True, the latch was only an ordinary one, and a key might
easily have been made to fit it. As a matter of fact, David had two, one
in reserve in case of accidents. The other was usually kept in a
jewel-drawer of the dressing-table. Perhaps--
David went quietly upstairs. It was just possible that the murderer was
in the house. But the closest search brought nothing to light. He pulled
out the jewel-drawer in the dressing-table. The spare latchkey had gone!
Here was something to go upon.
Then there was a rumbling of an electric bell somewhere that set David's
heart beating like a drum. The hall light streamed on a policeman in
uniform and an inspector in a dark overcoat and a hard felt hat. On the
pavement was a long shallow tray, which David recognised mechanically as
the ambulance.
"Something very serious, sir?" Inspector Marley asked, quietly. "I've
brought the doctor with me."
David nodded. Both the inspector and the doctor were acquaintances of
his. He closed the door and led the way into the study. Just inside the
conservatory and not far from the huddled figure lay David's new
cigar-case. Doubtless, without knowing it, the owner had whisked it off
the table when he had sprung the telephone.
"'Um," Marley muttered. "Is this a clue, or yours, sir?"
He lifted the case with its diamonds gleaming like stars on a dark night.
David had forgotten all about it for the time, had forgotten where it
came from, or that it contained £250 in bank-notes.
"Not mine," he said. "I mean to say, of course, it is mine. A recent
present. The shock of this discovery has deprived me of my senses
pretty well."
Marley laid the cigar-case on the table. It seemed strange to him, who
could follow a tragedy calmly, that a man should forget his own property.
Meanwhile Cross was bending over the body. David could see a face smooth
like that of a woman. A quick little exclamation came from the doctor.
"A drop of brandy here, and quick as possible," he commanded.
"You don't mean to say," Steel began; "you don't--"
Cross waved his arm, impatiently. The brandy was procured as speedily as
possible. Steel, watching intently, fancied that he detected a slight
flicker of the muscles of the white, stark face.
"Bring the ambulance here," Cross said, curtly. "If we can get this poor
chap to the hospital there is just a chance for him. Fortunately, we have
not many yards to go."
As far as elucidation went Marley naturally looked to Steel.
"I should like to have your explanation, sir," he said, gravely.
"Positively, I have no explanation to offer," David replied. "About
midnight I let myself out to go for a stroll, carefully closing the door
behind me. Naturally, the door was on the latch. When I came back an hour
or so later, to my horror and surprise I found those marks of a struggle
yonder and that poor fellow lying on the floor of the conservatory."
"'Um. Was the door fast on your return?"
"No, it was pulled to, but it was open all the same."
"You didn't happen to lose your latch-key during your midnight
stroll, sir?"
"No, it was only when I put my key in the door that I discovered it to be
open. I have a spare latch-key which I keep for emergencies, but when I
went to look for it just now the key was not to be found. When I came
back the house was perfectly quiet."
"What family have you, sir? And what kind of servants?"
"There is only myself and my mother, with three maids. You may dismiss
any suspicion of the servants from your mind at once. My mother trained
them all in the old vicarage where I was born, and not one of the trio
has been with us less than twelve years."
"That simplifies matters somewhat," Marley said, thoughtfully.
"Apparently your latch-key was stolen by somebody who has made careful
study of your habits. Do you generally go for late walks after your
household has gone to bed, sir?"
David replied somewhat grudgingly that he had never done such a thing
before. He would like to have concealed the fact, but it was bound to
come out sooner or later. He had strolled along the front and round
Brunswick Square. Marley shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, it's a bit of a puzzle to me," he admitted. "You go out for a
midnight walk--a thing you have never done before--and when you come back
you find somebody has got into your house by means of a stolen latch-key
and murdered somebody else in your conservatory. According to that, two
people must have entered the house."
"That's logic," David admitted. "There can be no murder without the slain
_and_ the slayer. My impression is that somebody who knows the ways of
the house watched me depart. Then he lured his victim in here under
pretence that it was his own house--he had the purloined latch-key--and
murdered him. Audacious, but a far safer way than doing it out of doors."
But Marley's imagination refused to go so far. The theory was plausible
enough, he pointed out respectfully, if the assassin had been assured
that these midnight rambles were a matter of custom. The point was a
shrewd one, and Steel had to admit it. He almost wished now that he had
suggested that he often took these midnight rambles. He regretted the
fiction still more when Marley asked if he had had some appointment
elsewhere to-night.
"No," David said, promptly, "I hadn't."
He prevaricated without hesitation. His adventure in Brunswick Square
could not possibly have anything to do with the tragedy, and nothing
would be gained by betraying that trust.
"I'll run round to the hospital and come and see you again in the
morning, sir," Marley said. "Whatever was the nature of the crime, it
wasn't robbery, or the criminal wouldn't have left that cigar-case of
yours behind. Sir James Lythem had one stolen like that at the last
races, and he valued it at £80."
"I'll come as far as the hospital with you," said Steel.
At the bottom of the flight of steps they encountered Dr. Cross and the
policeman. The former handed over to Marley a pocket-book and some
papers, together with a watch and chain.
"Everything that we could find upon him," he explained.
"Is the poor fellow dead yet?" David asked.
"No," Cross replied. "He was stabbed twice in the back in the region of
the liver. I could not say for sure, but there is just a chance that he
may recover. But one thing is pretty certain--it will be a good long
time before he is in a position to say anything for himself. Good-night,
Mr. Steel."
David went indoors thoughtfully, with a general feeling that something
like a hand had grasped his brain and was squeezing it like a sponge. He
was free from his carking anxiety now, but it seemed to him that he was
paying a heavy price for his liberty. Mechanically, he counted out the
bank-notes, and almost as mechanically he cut his initials on the
gun-metal inside the cigar-case. He was one of the kind of men who like
to have their initials everywhere.
He snapped the lights out and went to bed at last. But not to sleep. The
welcome dawn came at length and David took his bath gratefully. He would
have to tell his mother what had happened, suppressing all reference to
the Brunswick Square episode. It was not a pleasant story, but Mrs. Steel
assimilated it at length over her early tea and toast.
"It might have been you, my dear," she said, placidly. "And, indeed, it
is a dreadful business. But why not telephone to the hospital and ask how
the poor fellow is?"
The patient was better but was still in an unconscious condition.