INSPECTOR BADDELEY PUTS HIS CARDS ON THE TABLE
Baddeley closed the library door behind us and gestured to us to be
seated. "I don't purpose troubling Sir Charles Considine at the moment,"
he informed us, "for one or two reasons--but I do feel, gentlemen, that
I've reached a stage in the investigations of this affair when I'm bound
to talk things over with somebody." He paused and produced his pipe
which he proceeded to fill, slowly and deliberately. Then he continued.
"Early on, Mr. Bathurst, you had a little joke with me about going
fifty-fifty in regard to our discoveries ... well ... it's like this ...
I seem to be properly up against the most baffling set of clues it's
ever been my good fortune--or bad, if you like--to encounter." He struck
a match and lit the tobacco. "In all probability I've been able to get
information that you haven't, Mr. Bathurst--that sort of thing's my job
so you're starting a bit 'scratch' as it were--still I'm going to play
the game and put all the cards on the table."
Anthony waved a deprecating hand. "Quite so--Inspector."
Baddeley eyed him warily--then went on again.
"There's a young fellow murdered and a pearl necklace stolen in the same
house on the same night. The robbery is cleared up pretty
quickly--thanks to you, Mr. Bathurst--and the question arises--the
natural question if I may call it so--what connection, if any, is there
between the two?"
Anthony broke in. "Do you want me to answer that?"
Baddeley held up his hand. "Not for the moment, sir! Let me go on for a
bit. My reason tells me that there is a connection--because the murdered
man was strangled with a shoe-lace, and the man pinched for the robbery
has, as far as I can tell--the identical shoe-lace in his pocket. I'm
not exactly a scholar, gentlemen, but you can say he's caught 'in
flagrante delicto.'" He looked at us.
Anthony was smiling. "Go ahead, Inspector," was all that he said.
"Well, sir--that's what reason tells me! But instinct tells me just the
opposite--I can't get the times to fit--nothing seems to link up just in
the way that it should--and I've got a decidedly uneasy feeling that
I've missed my way somewhere." He puffed at his pipe. "I'm going to do a
lot of talking, gentlemen; can you put up with it?" He proceeded without
waiting for our reply.
"Usually, there's a motive sticking out in these cases. But I'm damned
if I can find a really satisfactory one here. Robbery? I don't think
so--he had no money on him when he was found--but his chief card
winnings hadn't been paid over, and it isn't likely he was carrying a
very large sum about with him. Robbery for something that he possessed?
The I.O.U. for instance? Possibly! Revenge? Again--possibly! But if so
for something that has, so far, eluded me. Still--we'll concede--a
distinct possibility. You see--we aren't nearing probabilities yet. And
probabilities are much more satisfactory than mere possibilities. Now
there's that very mysterious piece of work with the Venetian Dagger."
He stopped again as though to let his words sink well in. Anthony grew
very attentive, and I found myself more responsive, so to speak, to the
Inspector's mood.
"The dagger had been used to 'make sure' apparently. The murderer was
taking no risks--dead men tell no tales--but--and here's something you
probably don't know, Mr. Bathurst--that Venetian dagger had unmistakable
signs of finger-prints."
Anthony grinned. "It was the dagger, after all, Bill," he said. Then he
addressed Baddeley. "I tumbled to your letter dodge, Inspector," he
explained. "I spotted that you had some prints somewhere and were after
an identification. Fire away." He settled in his chair again. Baddeley
gazed at him steadily.
"You miss a hell of a lot. I _don't_ think," he muttered. "I fancy I've
brought my samples to the right market, after all."
Anthony dismissed the compliment with a wave of the hand. Then came as
quickly to the challenging point. "Whose were they?"
Baddeley replied very quietly. "They belonged to Major Hornby, Mr.
Bathurst."
This was interesting with a vengeance.
"Really," said Anthony. "This is very important! Have you approached the
Major, or are you holding your hand?"
"I have seen the Major, and informed him of my knowledge."
"Ah! I am curious to hear what he says."
"His explanation is that he handled the dagger during the evening."
"Really."
"Yes. And what is more, Mr. Bathurst, he is prepared to assert that when
he retired for the night, the dagger had been removed from its customary
resting-place on the table."
"Removed from where he had replaced it?"
"Exactly."
Anthony looked up and studied the Inspector's face very seriously.
"Really--Inspector. Really? This is most illuminating! Taken from the
table some time during the evening--eh?" He rubbed his hands. "And do
you know, Inspector--do you know--I'm not surprised."
Baddeley flung him a quizzical glance. "The day that I surprise you, I
reckon I'll surprise myself," he uttered laconically. "But I'll go on.
I've given you one piece of information that I believe you were ignorant
of. Now for what happened this morning at the inquest--I fancy you heard
a thing or two there for the first time? Am I right?"
Anthony pulled at his top lip with his fingers--a favorite trick of his.
"You refer to the evidence of Andrew Whitney and the maid, Dennis--I
presume?"
Baddeley nodded. "Whitney's evidence was a stroke of pure good fortune
for me. He had seen the account of the case in the papers, read the
description of the house, Considine Manor, and knowing of course that
his delay occurred in the village of Considine or thereabouts, had no
difficulty in recognizing it again when he came to have a second look at
it. I tell you I was glad to get my hooks into this piece of evidence,
from an absolutely unimpeachable source--but when he swore that the time
was past three--well, I was pretty well staggered." He came right across
to us and looked Anthony straight in the face. "Mr. Bathurst, think it
over! Dr. Elliott tells us Prescott was killed somewhere about half-past
one--perhaps two--'Spider' Webb was pulling off his little job of work
round about the same time--it all seems to point to a connection between
the two--yet I'm not satisfied--I can't think what was doing in that
billiard room after three o'clock that morning." He stared broodingly at
his pipe. Neither Anthony nor I broke the silence--he seemed determined
to let Baddeley have his entire say without further interruption.
"So much then for Whitney's evidence. Now we come to Annie Dennis. I am
indebted to the butler--Fitch--for getting on to her. When I first
questioned her she told me she could tell me nothing. Apparently she had
either forgotten the incident or didn't consider it of sufficient
importance to mention. She took it to Fitch who passed it on to me--so I
interviewed her. What was a man doing outside the billiard room window
at that time--just after nine o'clock--on Friday evening? Once
again--was it Webb--or an accomplice of Webb's? There are too many
twists and turns in this for me, Mr. Bathurst. I'm fairly staggered."
Anthony rose and stretched his long body.
"This inquest to-day, Inspector Baddeley--I was very interested to
observe that all reference to Webb's arrest was avoided. In fact, as far
as I can remember not a great deal of mention was made of the theft of
Lady Considine's necklace. Marshall--Mrs. Webb--was treated exactly as
an ordinary witness. I presume I am correct, Inspector, in assuming that
you stage-managed this?"
Baddeley smiled. "Right again, Mr. Bathurst!"
"May I ask why? I have my own ideas of course--but----"
Baddeley cut in. "Well, I'll be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Bathurst.
In these cases as you are doubtless aware, especially at an inquest, it
isn't always the best policy for the Police to put all their cards on
the table--at first that is. The robbery and the murder may be linked
up--on the other hand they may not--if they are not--as my instinct
tells me--it's just as well for the real murderer to remain in the dark
about Webb."
Anthony pondered for a moment. "All very well, as far as it goes. To
have charged Webb and Marshall with the murder might possibly have given
this other chap--your murderer--a sense of false security. Don't you
think so?"
"I always believe in keeping people uninformed--as far as possible. They
are more likely to betray themselves."
"But there is an alternative to that," replied Anthony. "By imparting
information--carefully prepared and selected, you sometimes force people
to betray themselves. Don't you see? However, it's of no particular
consequence--I merely desired to know what exactly was your intention.
Now I know!"
Baddeley plunged his hands into his jacket pockets. "You asked me just
now, Mr. Bathurst, if I wanted you to answer a question that I had
raised--and I asked you to refrain from answering it at the moment. I'd
like you to answer it now. Has Webb with his robbery any connection with
the death of Prescott?"
"You want me to answer that--here and now?"
"If you please, Mr. Bathurst."
"In my opinion, then, as I read the case, none whatever!"
"None whatever!"--I intervened incredulously--"then what about the
shoe-lace? I can't understand----"
"Neither can I," reiterated Baddeley. "That beats me--that does."
Anthony smiled. "You asked me a simple question, and I gave you a simple
answer. Let's leave it at that, for the time being. And now allow me to
ask you a question!"
Baddeley signified assent. "Very well, sir!"
"Shortly after you were called to this business, Inspector--you
definitely stated that Prescott had been out in the grounds of the Manor
_after_ twelve o'clock. Do you remember?"
"Decidedly, I do," came the answer. "What are you getting at?"
"You drew your inference, I supposed, Inspector, from the mud on the
brown shoes, and the state of the clothes that Prescott was wearing when
found? They were bone-dry, and you argued that had he been out before
twelve they would have got very wet--rain was falling pretty
steadily--and would still have shown some traces of wet when you
arrived. Am I on the lines of your reasoning?"
"You are--pretty conclusive too, don't you think?"
"It would fit one hypothesis, certainly--but not another."
"I don't quite get you."
"Don't go too fast. I was merely satisfying myself as to the line your
inferences had taken."
Baddeley looked doubtfully at him. "You think I've missed something?"
Anthony patted him on the shoulder. "Naturally--we all have, haven't
we--or the murderer would be kicking his heels in Lewes Jail by this
time--there's no urgent necessity for you to be despondent because of
that."
"That's all very well," returned the Inspector--"but you see this
happens to be my job--my bread and butter depends on it--I can't afford
to miss things and get away with it."
"Don't abandon hope yet," responded Anthony. "I am becoming more
optimistic as we progress. You'll clap your handcuffs on the criminal
yet. Now tell me something else. You collared Prescott's papers when you
first ran your eye over his bedroom. Find anything?"
"Nothing of any consequence. Here they are." He fished in his breast
pocket. Then produced an ordinary brown leather wallet which he handed
over to my companion. About a shilling's worth of postage stamps, and
half a dozen papers were all it contained. Anthony looked through them.
"Hotel Bill--July--'Varsity Match probably, two letters from his
mother"--he scanned them through--"not important--a communication from
the O.U.D.S.--another from the 'Authentics'--and a tailor's bill.
H'm--nothing here apparently." He returned the wallet to Baddeley.
"Did you get his check-book?"
"You bet your life I did. Care to have a look at that?" He smiled.
Anthony turned over the counterfoils for a moment or two. "Nothing here,
either, I fancy; only five checks drawn since the beginning of May--four
to 'Self' and one to the tailor whose account we just handled. Well, I'm
not surprised--I didn't want to find anything startling."
"Any information helps," muttered Baddeley somewhat gloomily.
"Not always, Inspector! Consider your own position here--you found
pieces of information from time to time that only served to confuse you.
You have admitted that yourself! They wouldn't fit in, as links in the
chain--I had the same difficulty----"
"That's true," conceded the Inspector. "But you like to feel you're
running freely."
Anthony went straight across to him. "I do, Inspector. I feel that I'm
actually 'in the straight.'"
But Baddeley refused to be comforted. "I'm not denying that you've done
one or two smart things, but I'm afraid you're a bit over-confident.
I've been at the game longer than----"
Anthony cut in. "Look here, Baddeley, do you think I should say a thing
like that, without good and sufficient reason?"
I subjected Baddeley to a careful scrutiny, for I felt myself
sympathizing with him. How could Anthony possibly make a statement like
that? It seemed to me from what I had seen of the case--which was as
much as anybody--that several people lay under suspicion, but none more
than any other. Now there was Hornby to add to Webb, Barker, "Marshall"
and the rest of them. I could quite see Baddeley's point of view--a maze
of clues and not one, to my outlook, that stood out conspicuously from
the others.
Baddeley's voice broke in upon my reverie.
"No, Mr. Bathurst--I don't! But since you ask me--I'm dashed if I can
follow you--I _don't_ see my way clearly and that's a fact."
Anthony took a cigarette from his case--we did likewise at his
invitation. "Do you mind being the third, Inspector?" he asked as we lit
up.
"I'm not superstitious, Mr. Bathurst--though I've a shrewd idea this
little conference will prove unlucky for somebody." We laughed.
"You do?" said Anthony. "Well, listen to me for a moment."