MR. BATHURST CALLS UPON THE POSTMISTRESS
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "That settles it. A topping shot of yours,
Anthony!"
"Not so bad," he admitted. "But not exactly a shot--I remembered the
face and the associations. Spare my blushes."
"Ole Baddeley will listen with both ears when you show him this," I
continued. "In a way I'm glad it's turned out like this ... it was a
pretty ghastly thought to imagine that anybody in the house could have
been the guilty party. But this settles it."
"Settles what, Bill?"
"Why--the affair--Prescott of course! Why do you ask?"
Anthony shook his head. "On the contrary, Bill, this settles two little
matters but _not_, distinctly _not_, the affair of Prescott as you call
it. I don't like to think about that too much. There, Bill, as the
immortal Sherlock would say, 'we are in very deep waters.'"
Dr. Mackenzie joined us. Had we had any success ... yes? ... he was
gratified....
"May I take this copy of _The Prattler_ with me, Doctor?" said Anthony.
"I shall be happy to recompense you for its loss."
"Certainly not! I couldn't hear of it," said the doctor. He would have
liked us to have stayed for dinner, but he was very much afraid that his
_cuisine_ might not be adequate!
"Many thanks, Doctor,"--Anthony with one of his rare smiles--"we
understand perfectly. Besides, we are anxious to get back.
Good-afternoon."
I harked back directly we were outside the house.
"I should be eternally obliged if you would explain things a bit, old
man," I declared, a trifle resentfully. "Surely this clears things up
considerably."
"This clears the robbery problem--Lady Considine's robbery--and it
effectively explains that very vexed question that bothered a number of
us--why Marshall opened the window. Beyond that----"
"Tell me," I begged.
"Well, it's pretty evident that Marshall took the case containing the
pearl necklace from Lady Considine's bedroom, and it's also fairly
conclusive that she conveyed that same case to her husband--'Spider'
Webb--via the window of the billiard room. The second set of footprints
we shall very soon discover to be that august gentleman's. And I think
they were the footsteps that Dick and Helen Arkwright heard. But I don't
think ..." he paused and reflected.
"You don't think what?"
"I don't think it was the billiard room door that Jack Considine fancies
he heard shutting." He slashed with his stick at the grass as we walked.
"Was it Prescott's door?" I broke in eagerly. "Did Prescott hear
anything and come down to meet his death?"
My theory excited me.
"No, Bill, I don't think so. All my intuition and instinct, if you care
to call it that, lead me away from that idea."
"What about Marshall--or Mrs. Spider as she is--and the window? You
haven't explained that yet," I insisted, "properly!"
"Prescott's body on the billiard-table was an overwhelming surprise to
Marshall when she opened the door this morning. She had dropped the
'sparklers,' as Comrade Spider probably calls them, out of the window
and closed it again. Then gone quietly back to bed in the servants' part
of the house. Now for her surprise! When she enters the room a few hours
later she comes face to face with a greater and more sinister crime. She
at once, in her mind, connects the two things! Had 'Spider' come back
for anything, encountered Prescott and killed him? Had they fought? Was
'Spider' hurt? She had last seen him just outside the window. Was he
there still, wounded perhaps? She rushes to the window and flings it
open. _Voilà_, Bill!"
I nodded in approval. Yet----
"Where does Prescott come in then?" I queried. "Did he meet Webb
_outside_?"
Anthony stopped and looked at me.
"That's an idea. I never considered that. Outside! That's certainly a
possibility."
"One more point," I said, secretly pleased to have set him thinking,
"and that may be two ... apparently nothing else has been stolen besides
Lady Considine's necklace ... that is to say nothing in the jewel
line.... How comes the Venetian dagger to be in the billiard room?"
Anthony looked grave.
"That's a poser," he commented. "But it must not be forgotten that we
are dealing with two adventures ... 'The Adventure of Lady Considine's
Necklace' and 'The Adventure of the Death in the Billiard Room' ...
there may be no connection whatever between the two ... and yet, as you
have suggested, Bill, there may."
"The Venetian dagger was always kept in the drawing-room," I maintained.
"Therefore, the person that took it, _went_ to the drawing-room to get
it."
"True ... but when? That's the point. Also, Bill, why was the dagger
used when Prescott was already dead--strangled?"
"Perhaps the murderer didn't know he was dead. Now I'm coming to that
second point at which I hinted just now ... something I fail to
understand at all. How do you account for the absence of blood stains?
As far as I could see, Prescott lay on the billiard-table on his
shoulder, there was no blood on the table, though, and his clothing
seemed to show very little trace.... I should have imagined, though I
don't pretend to know, that a blow struck with the force that that had
been would have caused a rush of blood from the wound."
Anthony nodded. "Good for you--the same feature struck me--but Dr.
Elliot had an explanation. He says that a blow struck at the top of the
spinal cord as this blow was, produced, in a living body, almost an
instantaneous paralysis, and that he would expect, as a medical man, a
very small quantity of blood to be shed. This was a dead body when the
blow was struck, remember! But why the dagger was ever used ... well,
I'm in considerable doubt."
"And I," I rejoined. "And I can't see much hope of our doubts being
dispelled."
Anthony looked at his wrist watch.
"We've got time to go home through the village," he said. "I want to
make a call."
"Are you going to tell Baddeley of this Marshall business at once?" I
asked. "He can't very well arrest her because she's the wife of a man
who was sentenced for jewel robbery five years ago."
"It would be taking a chance, wouldn't it?" he grinned.
"It wouldn't surprise me if she hasn't cleared by now," I said,
reflectively. "You shook her up a bit this morning."
"All the better if she has ... but she hasn't, you'll find."
"Why?"
"If she's cleared, Baddeley's men will have shadowed her ... and she'll
lead them straight to the 'Spider'" ... he thought for a moment. "Still,
I've an idea that she'll let me know where he is when we've talked to
her for a little while."
By this time we had reached the village and coming down the hill from
the track that leads from the Downs, we entered the main street.
"I am of the opinion, Bill," said Anthony, "that a few discreet
inquiries here may prove of interest and advantage. I suggest that we
call and see Mrs. Hogarth at the Post Office. Does she know you, Bill?"
"She remembers me as a guest at the Manor for some years, at any rate,"
I responded.
"That's the stuff to give 'em,"--Anthony waxed merry--"I want her to
talk and tell us things--if she knows you it will help tremendously."
The Post Office was a "general" shop that sold everything from pins to
Postal Orders.
"See that?" murmured Anthony, as we entered, heralded by the loud
clanging of the shop bell on the door. He pointed to the telephone
call-box. "I hoped that the 'phone would be in here."
Mrs. Hogarth bustled out.
He nudged me in the ribs. "Introduce yourself--tell her who you are."
"Good-afternoon, Mrs. Hogarth," I cried with an air. "How's the
rheumatism?"
"Why, it's Mr. Cunningham from the Manor. Good-afternoon, sir. The
rheumatics? ... oh, not so bad, sir, considering my age and all that ...
this is a terrible thing I hear, sir, what's happened up at the Manor!"
"Yes, Mrs. Hogarth," I replied. "It is! This is Mr. Bathurst, a very
intimate friend of Sir Charles and her Ladyship----"
Mrs. Hogarth curtsied to the best of her ability--"Pleased to meet you,
sir----"
"And they would be glad," I continued, "if you would give him any
information for which he may ask you."
"Only too pleased, Mr. Cunningham."
"Thank you," said Anthony, "I shan't worry you unduly. This 'phone
call-box" ... he motioned towards it ... "is this the nearest one to
Considine Manor?"
"Oh yes, sir. By far. The next one is almost to Allingham ... a matter
of close on six miles."
"Now quite in confidence, Mrs. Hogarth, in the very strictest
confidence, Sir Charles Considine has asked me to conduct a little
inquiry on his behalf. And he suggests that first of all I should come
and see you."
Mrs. Hogarth's excitement increased. "You may rely on me, sir...."
"I'm sure I can," exclaimed Anthony. "Now my real question is this ...
do you know one of the maids at present employed at Considine Manor, of
the name of Marshall?"
"Why, yes, sir, and it's a funny thing her name should have left your
lips so soon after you asking me about that there telephone it is."
"Oh? Why is that, Mrs. Hogarth?" smiled Anthony. "Has she been using it
lately?"
"As sure as I stand here, sir, she was the very last person to do so."
"This is very interesting, Mrs. Hogarth ... very interesting, and I must
congratulate you on your excellent memory. You are quite certain of your
statement?"
"Positive, sir! You see, it's like this. We're a small village here, as
you might say, comparatively speaking that is, and most of the telephone
custom we get is from the betting people--there are the Lewes and
Brighton bookies you see--so I get to know the regular customers and
just about when to expect them--which is from about half-past twelve
till about four o'clock--and not so very many after dinner at that--see?
Well, yesterday morning, about a quarter past eleven, the bell rings and
I bustles out ... only to find it's a 'phone call. I could see a female
in the box which was a bit unusual at that time o' day, as I've said ...
so I waited for her to come out ... as you might say ... when she did,
who should I set my eyes on but Marshall, the maid from the Manor?"
"Of course you couldn't hear anything of the message?" inquired Anthony.
Mrs. Hogarth shook her head. "No, sir, I couldn't ... and I ain't the
sort to listen hard!"
Anthony accepted her denial with a disarming smile.
"Of course not, Mrs. Hogarth, Mr. Cunningham and I are fully alive to
that. Did she appear agitated at all?"
Mrs. Hogarth pursed her lips and pondered for a moment.
"No, sir, I wouldn't say that. Yet she had a look on her that's hard to
describe." She pondered still more.
"Yes," said Anthony, encouragingly, "perhaps I can help you ... eh? She
looked pleased with herself, didn't she?"
Mrs. Hogarth knocked the counter with the palm of her hand.
"That's it, sir, that's it ... her face was hot, as you might say,
flushed you might call it, with pleasure. That was a extryordinary good
guess, sir." Mrs. Hogarth was in the seventh heaven of delight--she had
assisted this friend of Sir Charles Considine, she felt sure. She would
now fire her last shot, her crowning triumph.
"There's one other little thing, sir, now I come to think of it," she
murmured with more than a suggestion of an apology in her tone, "I
wasn't listening to the conversation in any way, sir, I know my place
here better than to do that, but I've just an idea that I did just
manage to hear the last sentence the hussy spoke." She breathed heavily
as she looked at us.
"Better and better, Mrs. Hogarth," said Anthony. "You're a veritable
'Treasure-Trove' of information. Let's hear it."
"Well, sir, as she was a-finishing the conversation she was having, I'm
almost sure I overheard her say 'Good-bye, Emma!'"
"Thank you, Mrs. Hogarth. Nothing more?"
"No sir, I couldn't remember anything else."
"I needn't trouble you any more, then. You have helped me considerably.
Come along, Bill." We bowed ourselves out, personally conducted by the
postmistress--a beaming postmistress now--and started homeward.
"Well, Bill, things are plainer now with a vengeance," said Anthony
decisively.... "I think if I put these facts before Baddeley he will
take action ... if necessary the call should be easy to trace ... then
Webb can be taken comfortably."
"The Spider?" I queried.
He assented. "They call him 'Spider' as much for his physical as for the
name association," he continued. "I remember seeing his photo when he
was tried and sentenced--he has long thin arms and long thin legs--with
smallish feet."
"What was the 'phone message?" I asked.
"That she had the pearls, laddie! She has been planted there to get them
... the 'Spider' flies high ... or shall we say he spins high ... forged
references doubtless ... she waited three years for her chance.
Yesterday it came. Her 'phone message to the 'Spider' was 'Success' with
a capital 'S,' William! Best part of the three years he's been in
prison."
"You don't know she did 'phone her husband," I ventured, with criticism
in my voice. "Why call him Emma? It may have been the most harmless of
conversations."
"No, Bill--all your wonted eloquence will not convince me of that. She
'phoned the 'Spider,' informing him of her luck. 'I've got the
necklace,' she said, 'when are you coming for it?' Shall I go on with
the conversation, Bill?"
"Please do," I said mockingly and a little incredulously.
"Well 'Spider' probably said, 'Where shall I come?' The reply was
'outside the billiard room' ... directions how to find it followed ...
then arose the question of time. Listening, Bill?"
I grinned. "Carry on ... I don't say I believe it all though."
"I repeat it, Bill ... then came the question of timing the assignation.
It had to be after dark ... she couldn't get away during dinner, for
instance, her absence would have been detected instantly, and she
couldn't risk the garden after dinner, there was always the chance of
guests going there ... Jack Considine and I were there, for example, so
she had to wait till all was quiet. Now when would that be, William?"
"Oh," I replied, "somewhere about one o'clock in the morning, I suppose,
at the earliest."
"Exactly," responded Anthony nonchalantly. "Sometime, we will say about
one, or possibly two--'ack Emma!'[1] S'that--Umpire? Is it a hit?"
I gasped! And I had completely missed that meaning--plain as a pike
staff now I had secured the explanation.
"Not so bad, Bill, eh?" muttered Anthony quizzically. "Don't overwhelm
me with your admiration."
"You're a perishin' marvel," I said--"I never thought of that--I
shouldn't have expected Marshall to use the term, for one thing."
"'Spider' probably saw Service," he replied--"she has picked it up from
him. That's the solution of that. Here we are--now for friend Baddeley."
"You don't think then," I said, "that we are nearing the finish of the
Prescott affair?"
"As I told you before, Bill, no! I shall see Baddeley now, put these
discoveries in front of him, let him act on them ... he'll be delighted
to ... it will save his face, temporarily at least ... then I shall turn
my attention to the more complex problem ... which I think will prove to
be very dark and very sinister. Certainly, the latter."
I searched his face with my eyes, but gathered nothing from the
inspection. It was heavy and troubled, but the clouds soon passed.
Anthony Bathurst was like that, mood succeeded mood very rapidly. In the
Hall we encountered Roper. He had a message for us from Baddeley.
"The Inspector has had the body removed to the mortuary, gentlemen," he
said, "and would like you to...."
Anthony cut into his speech--"Where is the Inspector?... I should like a
word with him immediately ... if possible. Will you find him and tell
him?" Roper departed on his errand.
"Take a pew, Bill," said Anthony, "and watch for his face to light up."
Baddeley was quickly with us.
"Yes, Mr. Bathurst, Roper here tells me you want me." He looked at us
with an air of inquiry.
"I have some information for you, Inspector," commenced Anthony as
coolly as possible, "that may help you considerably towards the recovery
of Lady Considine's necklace, and the arrest of the thief."
Baddeley favored him with a steady and sustained stare.
"The deuce you have," he exclaimed.
"I had an advantage over you, you see," proceeded Anthony--"in the fact
that Marshall's face seemed familiar to me and awakened a memory in me
that I have been able to follow up." He paused and then continued with
deliberation ... "to follow up successfully." He opened _The Prattler_.
"Look at that, will you, Inspector? And gain enlightenment."
Baddeley bent down in amazement. "By Moses!" he yelled ... "that's she
... a guinea to a gooseberry on it. Smart work, Mr. Bathurst. I'm
grateful, sir, for the hint." He wrung Anthony's hand. Anthony laughed.
"We can get this Webb, I think, Baddeley; ... listen." He recounted the
evidence of Mrs. Hogarth.
Baddeley was respectfully attentive. "You haven't let the grass grow
under your feet, that's a sure thing," he declared.
Anthony smiled again. "And I don't suppose you have either, Inspector,
if the truth's known."
Baddeley grimaced.
"What do you mean, sir, exactly by that remark?" he queried.
"I can't forget," pronounced Anthony, "that there are two most important
things still missing: the Barker I.O.U. and the shoe-lace that killed
Prescott."