MR. BATHURST'S WONDERFUL SYMPATHY
Anthony drained his last cup of tea and pushed his chair away from the
breakfast table.
"Fitch!" He called the butler over to his side. Fitch listened to him.
"Yes, sir. With pleasure. I think it's the July issue. I will obtain it
for you, sir; in just a moment!"
I think the rest of the company were somewhat surprised to see the
excellent Fitch return with the A.B.C.
"Leaving us, Bathurst?" queried Sir Charles Considine. "You haven't
forgotten our----?"
"No, sir. Only taking a run up to town. I shall be back this evening."
"Want a companion?" I asked.
He thought for a moment or two. "Awfully good of you, Bill--but if you
don't mind, I'll go alone. I'm not altogether sure that I shan't be
wasting my time--so I've no desire to waste yours, possibly!" He smiled
his disarming smile. I was immediately mollified.
"Have the Morris-Oxford, Bathurst, to run you to the station," offered
Sir Charles.
"Thank you very much, sir, I shall be delighted. I'll leave here about
twenty minutes past ten. I'll just go and get ready."
"What's taking him away, Bill?" said Jack Considine. "I'm not
inquisitive I hope, but is it this Prescott business?"
"I can't say," I replied. "Very probably, though."
"I think it must be," announced Sir Charles. "Baddeley was up here again
yesterday, you know. I had a moment with him. I gave him a rub or two
concerning the inquest." He chuckled. "He's a very decent fellow though,
and very despondent at the moment over his lack of success in regard to,
what I am informed, is now known to the world in general as 'The
Billiard Room Mystery.'" He sighed. "Such is fame, Helen! Anyhow, when I
realized that he was genuinely sore and upset, I tried a different tack.
I'm afraid this case would have tried a greater brain than Baddeley's."
"Well, I for one, sincerely hope the affair will be settled," intervened
Captain Arkwright. "We are all more or less under a cloud while it
remains unsolved--that's how I feel about it. And others besides
us--Hornby, Tennant, Daventry--and all the fellows that were here at the
time."
"That's very true," agreed our host. "The whole house is under a
cloud--the Cricket Week will always have this unholy reminiscence
hanging over it--even after the whole tangle is cleared away--if it ever
is cleared away. Of course there is less strain for all of us since Mrs.
Prescott returned to London."
The door opened and Anthony came quickly in.
"The car's waiting, sir, so with your permission, I'll get away."
He waved a good-bye and shortly afterwards we heard the car go humming
away down the road. He reached the station with a good five minutes to
spare before his train (as he related afterwards) so he sauntered to the
booking office to get his ticket. Surely he knew that figure just in
advance of him!
"Good-morning, Inspector!" Baddeley wheeled quickly at the unexpected
greeting.
"Why, it's Mr. Bathurst. Going to Victoria, sir?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Thought of taking a run up." He grinned. "Though I didn't know I was
coming till this morning, itself."
"Good! We'll travel together then, Inspector."
The train rumbled in and the pair sought, with success, an empty
compartment.
Baddeley was in a communicative mood.
"Major Hornby has left Canterbury, Mr. Bathurst. You may be interested
to know that. I made inquiries last night. He's stopping at a private
hotel in the Kensington district--near Gloucester Road."
Mr. Bathurst was interested--but not tremendously. He was not aware of
the Inspector's desire to get into touch again with Major Hornby. How
had the Inspector fared over the little matter of the cigar stub?
"A dead end, Mr. Bathurst!"
Mr. Bathurst complimented his companion upon the particular aptness of
his reply, but was assured with transparent sincerity that it had been
unintentional. How far had the Inspector taken the line of his
investigation?
"It was a commonplace brand of cigar--sold most probably in a 'pub'--to
trace it would entail a long and arduous task--and then might prove to
be unilluminative. I abandoned the idea!"
Then the Inspector was not at work on it this morning?
"No, as I indicated, I'm desirous of having another interview with Major
Hornby. Are you leaving Considine for good?"
Mr. Bathurst was most certainly doing nothing of the kind. He was merely
paying a visit to a friend. He was returning to Considine that
evening--all being well.
"A great weight of what I will term--_police_ opinion is in favor of
charging Webb and his wife with the murder of Mr. Prescott. Up to the
moment I have stalled them off. I don't think Webb's the man. That
shoe-lace business doesn't spell Webb to my way of thinking, and as for
the lace found in the 'Spider's' pocket--one lace is very like another."
Mr. Bathurst assented. But was rather surprised that Webb had _not_ yet
been charged with the murder.
"I'm not denying that a very strong 'prima facie' case could be made
against him," said Baddeley--"because it undoubtedly could."
"Had Webb an alibi from any time of the fatal night?" asked Mr.
Bathurst.
"Yes, he's attempted to put one forward from about two-fifteen. He
states that he was with a confederate--so it comes from a source that is
suspect--a good counsel would speedily demolish it."
Mr. Bathurst agreed. But there was Andrew Whitney to be considered. His
evidence would help Webb considerably. He considered it was very
sporting of Inspector Baddeley to have put him up before the Coroner.
Inspector Baddeley was not oblivious to the compliment and smiled his
acknowledgment.
Then Mr. Bathurst took a turn.
Had the Inspector by any chance a photograph of the body when found? He
believed he was correct in his idea that the Inspector had ordered Roper
to take certain photographs of the room and body on that first morning.
Mr. Bathurst was quite right in his assumption, and Inspector Baddeley
would be delighted to show him what he had. He produced half a dozen
plates.
Mr. Bathurst examined them carefully. The Inspector offered his help.
Was there any point in the disposition of the body upon which he could
throw any further light?
Mr. Bathurst thanked him, but replied in the negative. He was not
concerned about the position of the body. He was curious about the
position of the red ball!
The Inspector stared in amazement. The red ball was not on the table!
What on earth did Mr. Bathurst mean?
Mr. Bathurst quite understood that the red ball was not on the table
because it was in the pocket as shown by one of the photographs taken
from a higher altitude. He pointed it out to the Inspector--lying on top
of the other two. By the time they reached Victoria, Inspector Baddeley
was more perplexed than ever. "This is where we part, Inspector," said
Anthony, as they passed through the barrier. "_Au'voir._"
Anthony made his way to the underground and booked to Cannon Street.
Arrived there he made tracks for the Main station.
The next train to Blackheath was at 12.22.
"That will land me there just in time for lunch," he thought to himself,
and events proved him to be a sound prophet.
A smart-looking maid took the card he proffered her, and in a few
seconds he found himself in what was evidently the drawing-room.
Mrs. Prescott followed him in. "I got your wire, Mr. Bathurst, and of
course, I am very pleased to see you. I can hardly realize yet all that
has happened. I'm trying to bear up--but frankly, I have little left in
the world now to capture either my interest or my imagination. Now, what
is it you wanted to see me about?"
Anthony was all sympathy. "I want to talk to you about your boy."
"You asked me a good many questions at Considine Manor, Mr. Bathurst.
You wish to ask me some more?"
"If you would be kind enough to answer them."
Mrs. Prescott bowed her head in assent.
"First of all, let me assure you that I feel a very great sympathy with
you in your sorrow." He touched her arm for a brief moment, very gently.
"And I have every hope that the crime which has hurt you so much will
not go unpunished." He spoke with a feeling that Mrs. Prescott was not
slow to detect.
"I thank you for your words and for your sympathy, too, Mr. Bathurst."
"Tell me about your boy--as much as you can--everything!"
It was not a difficult thing that he had asked her.
A mother who has lost her boy--under the circumstances that she
had--grasps at the straws of reminiscence to save herself from going
under.
"Begin at the beginning," said Anthony.
She told him. He listened attentively. She got to his cricket--he had
played for Oxford at Lords'.
Then Anthony made his first interruption.
"Tell me, Mrs. Prescott--has your son in any game or sport--been
ambidextrous?"
Mrs. Prescott showed signs of surprise.
"Think carefully," he reiterated. "Did he ever bat left-handed or bowl
left-handed--did he ever play billiards, for instance, left-handed?"
She shook her head. "Never to my knowledge, Mr. Bathurst."
"Had he any personal peculiarities, at all?"
"Peculiarities? Well, I suppose every one of us has a----"
"I mean physical. For example--a right-handed acquaintance of mine
always counts money with his left hand and deals cards in the same way."
"I see what you mean," she declared. She thought, but to no effect.
"No, Mr. Bathurst, I can't think of anything like that."
Anthony accepted the situation, and Mrs. Prescott continued her
memories.
"I can't imagine anything more that I can tell you," she concluded very
quietly.
"Thank you very much. One last point. Had your son any particular
knowledge of knots? The various types of knots that can be tied, that
is?"
"Once again--not that I know of," she answered. "I think the only knot
that I have ever seen him tie--was just an ordinary bow. Why do you
ask?"
"A little whim of mine, Mrs. Prescott. Nothing more." He rose.
"You'll stay to lunch, Mr. Bathurst. I insist."
Anthony did, and when about to take his departure sometime afterwards
realized that his hostess was a singularly able woman.
He shook hands with her. "Good-bye, Mr. Bathurst. You have hopes?"
"I have," he said gravely. "And fears. We are on the verge of a very
horrible discovery. But it can't be helped. Good-bye."
Mrs. Prescott looked white and troubled as he spoke. "Good-bye," she
murmured.
Anthony made off down the road--a prey to conflicting thoughts. Then he
encountered a surprise, that quickly jolted him back to realities. Two
figures passed by on the other side; well in his view. He stared in
surprise. Major Hornby and Lieutenant Barker! "What the devil----" He
stopped in the shadow of a wall and watched them curiously. They knocked
at and entered the house that he had just left!
"Now--what on earth," he muttered. A hand touched him on the arm, and a
voice exclaimed eagerly: "Tell me--quickly--whose house is that, Mr.
Bathurst?" The hand was the hand of the Law--and the voice the voice of
Inspector Baddeley.