UNDER THE BILLIARD ROOM WINDOW
"Peculiar?" I queried wonderingly. "Nothing about them struck me as
peculiar. Anybody getting up in a hurry would have thrown them off just
as they appeared to----"
"You think so--well, you may if you like--here we are."
We had progressed along the gravel drive until we were opposite the
billiard room window. This lay on our right. Separating the path where
we were from the window in question, there was a bed of roses
approximately ten to twelve yards in width.
"What Baddeley has found, Bill, we can find," muttered Anthony. "There
you are--look. Footprints--that interested Baddeley."
His face shone with eagerness and intensity.
"Keep on the path, Bill; leave these to me."
He stepped carefully on to the earth bed, examining the prints with the
utmost care. From where I stood I could see a number of well-defined
"treads" and I readily appreciated the importance attached to them by
both Baddeley and my companion. It was very evident that one person at
least had crossed the rose-bed pretty recently to get beneath the
billiard room window. It looked an outside job of course. Burglary
evidently--Prescott had heard noises--come down to investigate--found
the trouble in the billiard room and had interrupted the disturbers at
the cost of his own life. But would burglars strangle their assailant
with a shoe-lace? Surely not! The whole affair seemed to me to be most
intricate and most involved. Still, the rain of the evening before had
been a Godsend--there were the footmarks--telling some story to more
than one pair of eyes. They might help the Inspector and I knew they
would interest Anthony.
I looked across at him. He was evidently at a loss. Something on the
wall beneath the window of the billiard room had apparently excited his
attention. He scrutinized it most carefully, and then turned again to
the prints. He shook his head.
"Bill!"
"Hullo?"
"Come over here, will you?"
I complied.
"Now, Bill, look at what I am going to show you, very carefully. I
expected to find traces of Prescott somewhere out here--you, of course,
noticed the mud on the shoes he is wearing--so that Baddeley's
announcement came as no surprise to me. The natural place to look for
them was in the vicinity of the billiard room window, since that room
was the last room he can have entered. Now, look here! Do you see that
double line of tracks? Looks something like a 10, I should say. We can
bank on those being Prescott's. I'll make sure later--but I'm certain of
my ground."
"In a double sense," I grinned.
"Eh? Oh--I see----" he laughed. "I wasn't thinking of what I had said.
But do look. Here we have a distinct set of tracks that are undoubtedly
Prescott's, side by side with a similar set, undoubtedly again
Prescott's, leading in the reverse direction. The left-hand set, as we
face the window, lead to the path, and the right-hand set lead to the
window. Agree?"
I looked attentively at the footmarks. "Yes. It would seem so."
"Right," he rejoined. "Then--proceeding along that line of
argument--since Prescott eventually reached the billiard room and stayed
there, the tracks leading to the path should have been made first.
That's elementary, isn't it?"
Once again I assented.
"Now," continued Anthony, "cast your weather-eye over there."
He pointed to a few feet away from the tracks we had agreed were
Prescott's.
I stared and started in surprise.
"More!" I cried.
"True, O King," said Anthony, rubbing his hands with real showman
instinct, "and whose are they? Come and look closer." They belonged to a
much smaller foot.
"A woman?" I queried.
Anthony shook his head in disagreement. "I think not. Might be. But it's
broad for a woman, not suggestive of a woman's heel, and more generally
indicative of a medium-sized man. He has walked deliberately towards the
window from the path and then equally deliberately back again. That's
another point I'm basing my opinion on, a woman so often picks her way,
especially with any mud about. Put it down to feminine fastidiousness."
"Then Prescott did have an assignation?" I ventured.
"Perhaps! It certainly looks like it. But----"
"But what?"
"Well, there's nothing to prove that the two people that have been here
were here at the same time, is there? Of course, I'm willing to admit
that in circumstances of this kind, the balance of probability is that
they _were_. But one never knows. I wonder what Baddeley----"
"What do you _really_ think about it?" I urged.
His answer amazed me rather.
"Too much!"
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I say. I _am_ actually thinking too much about a _number_
of points. There are too many clues here, Bill, falling over one
another. No wonder Baddeley's mystified. My job is to separate the true
significances from the false. That's real detective talent, Bill. In
this case, there is so much that _conflicts_. One set of facts, for
example, points to the North, and another set, apparently just as
authentic, points unerringly to the South. Therefore, they can't, all of
them, be authentic! See? Some must be false. And I've got to pick 'em
out." He slapped me on the back. "Magna est veritas"--he stopped
abruptly.
"Now what?"
"By Jove!" he murmured. And an illuminating smile spread across his
features. "Of course. Of course."
He turned to me quickly.
"It's strange, Bill, how an occasion will turn up to illustrate the
exact truth that a man has just enunciated. Here's an example to hand. I
was talking about the separation of falsehood from truth. Effecting this
separation explains something very clearly that has been causing me no
end of bother."
I became all attention and interest, immediately.
"Explain," I said. "Put me out of my miserable ignorance."
"Look at this wall, then."
I looked. "Yes, what about it?"
"Well, Bill, it's like this--listen! Assuming Prescott was out here some
time last night or this morning, how would you suggest he got here? Did
he come downstairs and risk the possible disturbance of other people or
did he come from his bedroom down the nine stairs to the billiard room
and out via the billiard room window? Think before you answer."
I hesitated a moment.
"Well, of course, it's all guesswork----"
"Not for a moment, old son! Use the powers the good God has given you."
I nodded sagely, yet still uncomprehending; then burned my boats.
"Down the stairs and out of the window!"
"You think so? Let's investigate. I suppose that window, Bill, is
roughly fifteen feet from the ground--eh?"
I assented. "An easy job," I interjected, "for an active man!"
"And when he wanted to get back," replied Anthony, "a moderately easy
climb. He could use the water-pipe," he indicated with his hand the
water-pipe running down the wall on the right of the window--"for a hold
with his right hand, could dig his toes in the brickwork; clutch the
window-sill with his left hand and easily draw his body up. Agree,
Bill?"
"Absolutely," I concurred. "If you like, I'll try it here and now, to
prove it's a practicable possibility."
"Done with you, Bill. You're a stout fellow! Up you go!"
I suited the action to the words. Reaching out with my right hand I
gripped the water-pipe well up its length, pulled myself up a bit,
kicked at the brickwork with my toes, got a momentary hold, hung for a
second, shot up my left hand to clutch the window-sill, succeeded, and
hauled myself up. Entrance to the billiard room would have been a
comparatively simple matter.
"Satisfied?" I grinned. Then, dropped to the ground again.
"Completely! So that, friend Bill, is the method by which the now
defunct Prescott, poor fellow, got out and got back? Eh?"
"That's about the size of it," I agreed, feeling a sense of triumph.
"We've established that pretty firmly."
Then I woke up.
"I disagree!" said Anthony curtly.
"You disagree?" I muttered in amazement.
"I do! And I'll show you why. I warned you to get that grey matter of
yours to work--didn't I? Pay attention to what I am going to
demonstrate."
"Go ahead!"
"I'm going. Now, Bill, which would be the easier way to get out of the
room? To get out, using the reverse method by which you got up--that is
to say--leaning out for a grip of the water-pipe with one hand, and then
all the rest of the movements, or as you said, a simple drop from the
window-sill?"
"A simple drop, unquestionably," I answered, without any hesitation.
"I think so, too! Where then," he swung round on me, alive with
interest, "are the heavy marks of his feet when he dropped? The ground
is soft, remember. And he was a pretty hefty fellow. There's no sign of
a drop at all--only this double line of tracks. Look!"
It was as he showed. There were no indications whatever of anybody
having dropped from the window.
I stared at him, for the moment nonplussed. Then turning, caught his
eye. I could see that there was more to come.
It came! "Also, Bill, I would call your attention to two very important
facts. Important, that is, in relation to the line of investigation that
we are at present conducting. Look at the toes of your shoes."
I did as directed.
"Slightly scraped," I said ruefully, "getting up to that window of
yours."
"Exactly, laddie. Exactly. Now for important fact number two."
"I'm all attention."
"Well, just as the wall has had its effect on your shoes, so have your
shoes had their effect on the wall. See?"
He pointed to the brickwork. It was quite true. My shoes had made a
perceptible discoloration where they had rubbed as I had struggled for
my foot-grip.
"And what is more, Bill," continued Anthony, "it's comparatively dry
now. Last night was wet, remember. And it may interest you to know that
the wall was perfectly clean when I arrived here just now, and
Prescott's shoes are certainly not scraped."
"Sure?" I queried.
"I am. I'm carrying a mental photograph of Prescott about with me, and
you can take it from me, Bill, that Prescott never did the climbing
trick that you've done this morning. Now where are we?"
"Ask me another," I grunted. "I should think, more in the dark than
ever."
But Anthony dissented.
"I'm not so sure of that. I'm beginning to see a little more light."
I surveyed him with astonishment.
"What on earth----"
"I'm still holding on, Bill, so don't worry me. Come along here, we'll
do a little more prospecting."
We strolled back along the path that led back to the French doors.
"No indication here of which way either of them went," remarked Anthony.
"This gravel path hardly takes a foot's impression, which, at the best,
would be hours old by now."
He stopped by the French doors. "Yes, Bill, I'm in the dark still with
regard to many points. As I said to you previously, there are so many
things that don't fit, they seem extraneous to the real core of the
crime--all the same, at the risk of becoming monotonous, I think I can
see a glimmer of light."
"What's your next move?" I questioned.
"I want to have another look around Prescott's bedroom. I should also
like to glance at his papers--but Baddeley pouched those--his check-book
might be interesting too. Yes, I must have another look up there."
"How are you going to manage it?"
"This way. I'm going to ask Sir Charles to cover me by engaging me, so
to speak, to clear up the affair on his behalf. You know what I mean.
Terrible disgrace to Considine Manor, and all that, to have this mystery
unsolved. Poor young fellow done to death, in a charming English country
house, where he is staying as a guest. Must get to the bottom of it for
the sake of the family name, you know. Otherwise, if Scout Baddeley
finds me poking about too much in bedrooms and around footprints, he'll
take the bull by the horns and arrest A. L. Bathurst, Esq. Get me,
Bill?"
Truth to tell, it did seem pretty terrible to think that a delightful
place like Considine Manor could harbor the crime it did. It was another
English summer morning after the rain of the night before. It seemed to
breathe freshness, and grass, and new-mown hay, and butterflies and
cricket--all that pageant of hot July that no other country in the world
can give.
"What about Canterbury?" I ejaculated.
"Giving it a miss! I can't very well rush off and bury myself in a round
of gaiety after what's happened here. Besides, I shouldn't be surprised
if Baddeley has something chatty and snappy to say about any of us
leaving yet awhile at any rate."
"Have you let them know?"
"No, I'll wire later. Let's get back now, and I'll see Sir Charles."
We strolled back, and the reflection came to me how suddenly our
immediate outlooks had changed. A few hours ago Anthony had the prospect
of a glorious week at Canterbury. Similarly, I had been anticipating a
delightful time in various delightful places--an English country house
takes a bit of beating during real summer--and now! Look at it how you
would--this sinister affair inevitably impinged in some way on the lives
of all of us who were staying in the house. I, for one, try as I might,
could not shake off its shadow.
Sir Charles met us as we entered the house, a changed man from the
morning before.
"I wanted a word with you two men. I'm perfectly assured that you will
understand--it's nothing really to do with me, or anything--er--over
which I appear to be able to exercise any control--but Inspector
Baddeley has intimated to me--I must say, that, for a policeman, he put
the matter very, very tactfully--I might even go so far as to
say--delicately--that he wishes to interview all of us in the house, as
soon as possible. I suggested we resort to the library."
"That's all right, sir," responded Anthony. "Is he waiting now?"
Sir Charles looked at his watch. "I have made arrangements for the
proceedings to--er--commence in half an hour's time."
"Could I have half a word with you, sir?" asked Anthony.
"Delighted, Bathurst."
"I've always been attracted by affairs of this nature, sir, little
thinking that one day I should be swept into one. Would you be good
enough to give me _carte blanche_ as it were, to do a little
investigating off my own bat? With your authority, you see, acting in a
private capacity as your agent, I can satisfy Inspector Baddeley of my
bona fides if he catches me nosing into things." Sir Charles pondered
for a moment, and I fancied his reply came after some degree of
hesitation.
"I see no objection, Bathurst. Provided, of course, that
any--er--results of your inquiry--are submitted to me before any action
is taken."
"I'll promise you that, sir--readily!"
"Very well."
"Then we'll regard that as settled."
"This will entail your staying on here," continued our host. "I've
discussed the question with nearly all the others, and I've put it to
them, subject to the Inspector's permission being granted that they
leave as quietly as possible to suit their several conveniences. After
the interview, of course. No good purpose whatever can be served by any
of them staying, and no lack of respect will be shown by them to the
dead, if they leave in the manner that I have described. If any one of
them should be required for the inquest--I am sorely afraid that an
inquest is unavoidable--Inspector Baddeley will be furnished with full
particulars. This will enable the authorities to get into touch quickly,
should it be necessary."
"What about Prescott's people, sir?" I ventured.
"He has no father, Bill, and is the only child of his mother. Jack is
communicating with her, I believe, almost at once. Somewhere in
Blackheath, I fancy. I dread the task of meeting her. Still more I dread
the task of telling her." He blew his nose fiercely to cover his evident
agitation.
The other members of the party came thronging up. But a hush seemed to
have descended upon them. The conviviality of last night and the
excitement of the morning's awakening had departed. They had heard,
indistinctly yet definitely, the flutter of the wings of the Angel of
Death. He had passed them by, but he had been very close to them. And
now what awaited them? Grief to the young is a transient matter. It soon
becomes impossible--youth's ardent eagerness engulfs it. It must be so.
Grief can find no permanent habitation in the heart of youth. Lady
Considine thought of Mrs. Prescott, and the news that would so soon
reach her. One mother considered the anguish of another mother. Mary
seemed terribly shaken, most of the men looked unperturbed; no matter
what their feelings were, they were clever enough to mask them.
The servants did most of their work on a kind of mental tiptoe. We
waited. But not for long.
A quick step and a quick voice sounded upon our ears.
"I am at your service, ladies and gentlemen," said Inspector Baddeley.