The inspector blinked for a moment. The appearance of the room, with its
closely drawn curtains and air of dissipation, was certainly strange.
Wingate advanced to meet him.
"You called to see Lord Dredlinton, I believe, Inspector," he began. "My
name is Wingate. I am friend of the family."
"I understood that Lord Dredlinton was here," the inspector announced,
looking around.
"I am sorry to say," Wingate informed him gravely, "that a very terrible
thing has happened. Lord Dredlinton died suddenly in this room, only a
few minutes ago. His body is upon the sofa there."
The imperturbability of the inspector was not proof against such an
amazing statement.
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Was he ill?"
"Not that we know of," Wingate replied. "The doctor, who is on his way
here, will doubtless be able to inform us upon that point, I have always
understood that his heart was scarcely sound."
The inspector, as he stepped forward towards the couch, with Wingate a
yard or two in front of him, for the first time recognised the two men
who sat at the table, looking at him so strangely. Rees' hands were in
his pockets, his tie had come undone, his hair was ruffled. He had all
the appearance of a man recovering from a wild debauch. Phipps'
waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his eyes, in the gathering light, were
streaked with blood.
"Mr. Rees!" the inspector exclaimed. "And Mr. Phipps! Here? Why, I've a
dozen men all over the country looking for you two gentlemen!"
There was a dead silence. Wingate's hand had stolen into his pocket, in
which there was a little bulge, Rees seemed about to speak, then checked
himself. He glanced towards Phipps,--Phipps, whose hands were clasped
together as though he were in pain.
"The wanderers returned," Wingate explained, with a smile. "Lord
Dredlinton, as you know. Inspector, has been very much worried by the
supposed disappearance of his fellow directors. They turned up here last
night unexpectedly. It seems that they have been all the time up in the
North of England, making some investigations connected with the energies
of their company. Their sudden return was naturally a great relief to
Lord Dredlinton. We all celebrated---perhaps a little too well. Since
then I am afraid we must also plead guilty," Wingate went on, "to a
rather wild night, which has ended, as you see, in tragedy."
The inspector bent down and examined Lord Dredlinton's body.
"The doctor is on his way here," Wingate continued. "He will inform us,
no doubt, as to the cause of death. Lord Dredlinton looked very exhausted
many times during the night--or rather the morning--"
"I am to understand," Shields interrupted quietly, "that, overjoyed
by the return of his friends, Lord Dredlinton, Mr. Phipps, Mr. Rees
and yourself indulged forthwith in a debauch? A great deal of wine
was drunk?"
"A great deal," Wingate admitted.
"Supper, I see, has been served here," the inspector went on, "and you
have played cards."
"Poker," Wingate assented. "Lord Dredlinton preferred bridge but we
rather overruled him."
Shields turned towards the two men, who had been silent listeners. In his
face there seemed to be some desire for corroboration.
"You two gentlemen were present when Lord Dredlinton died?" he asked.
"We were," Phipps replied, after a moment's hesitation.
"We believed that it was a faint," Rees observed. "Even now it seems
impossible to believe that he is dead."
"Dead!--My God!" Phipps repeated, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"Nothing else transpired during the evening," the inspector continued,
"likely to have proved a shock to his lordship?"
"Nothing," Phipps declared hoarsely. "We must have been playing for a
great many hours."
"I am a strong man," Rees added, "and the youngest of the party, but I
too--feel faint."
"It seems a little strange, Mr. Wingate," Shields remarked, turning
towards him, "that you yourself show not the slightest signs of fatigue."
Wingate smiled grimly.
"I neither drink nor smoke to excess," he explained, "and as a rule I
keep regular hours. Perhaps that is why, if I choose to sit up all night,
I am able to stand it."
There was a knock at the door and Grant presented himself. To all
appearance he was, as ever, the perfect butler. It was only Wingate who
saw that quick, questioning look, the hovering of his hand about his
pocket; who knew that, if necessary, there was no risk which this man
would not run.
"The doctor has arrived, sir," he announced.
"You had better show him in," Wingate replied. "And, Grant."
"Yes, sir?"
"It would be as well, I think, to let her ladyship be informed that Lord
Dredlinton is ill--very ill."
The man bowed and stood on one side as the doctor entered. The latter
paused for a moment in astonishment as he looked upon the scene. Then he
moved towards one of the windows and threw it up.
"If Lord Dredlinton has been sitting for long in an atmosphere like
this," he observed drily, "it's enough to have killed him."
He glanced around with an air of distaste at Phipps and Rees, at the
debris of the presumed debauch, and stooped over the body stretched
upon the sofa. His examination lasted barely a minute. Then he rose
to his feet.
"Lord Dredlinton is dead," he announced in a shocked tone.
"I feared so," Wingate murmured.
"Will you call in some servants?" the doctor went on. "I should like the
body carried into his lordship's bedroom at once."
Grant appeared, quickly followed by two of his subordinates. The
melancholy little procession left the room, and Shields turned to
follow it. As he reached the door, he hesitated and glanced around
towards Wingate.
"Mr. Wingate," he said, "I wish to hear what the doctor has to say
concerning Lord Dredlinton's death, but I also wish to have another
word with you before you leave the house. Can I rely upon your waiting
here for me?"
"I give you my word," Wingate promised.
"I shall also require some explanation," the inspector continued, turning
to Phipps--
"Explanation be damned!" the latter interrupted furiously. "If you want
to know the truth about the whole business--"
He broke off suddenly. His eyes seemed fascinated by the slow entry of
Wingate's hand to his pocket. He kicked a footstool sullenly on one side.
The inspector, after waiting for a moment, turned away.
"In due season," he concluded, "I shall require to hear the truth from
both of you gentlemen. You seem to have given Scotland Yard a great deal
of unnecessary trouble."
The telephone bell began to ring as the door closed. Wingate took up the
receiver, listened for a moment and passed the instrument over to
Phipps. The latter presently replaced the receiver upon its hook with a
little groan.
"You've broken us," he announced grimly.
"No news has ever given me greater pleasure." Wingate replied.
Stanley Rees rose to his feet.
"We are not prisoners any more, I suppose?" he asked sullenly. "I am
going home."
"There is nothing to detain you," Wingate replied politely, "unless you
choose to take breakfast first."
"We want no more of your hospitality," Phipps muttered. "You will hear of
us again!"
Wingate stood between them and the door.
"Listen," he said. "You are going away, I can see, with one idea in your
mind. You have held your peace during the last quarter of an hour,
because you have known that your lives would be forfeit if you told the
truth, but you are saying to yourselves now that from the shelter of
other walls you can tell your story."
There was a furtive look in Rees' eyes, a guilty twitch on his
companion's mouth. Wingate smiled.
"You cannot," he continued, "by the wildest stretch of imagination,
believe that this has been a one-man job. The whole scheme of your
conveyance into Dredlinton House and into this room has necessitated the
employment of something like twenty men. The greater part of these, of
course, have been paid by me. One or two are volunteers."
"Volunteers?" Phipps exclaimed. "Do you mean that you could find men to
do your dirty work for nothing?"
"I found men," Wingate answered sternly, "and I could find many more--and
without payment, too--who were willing to enter into any scheme directed
against you and your company."
"Are we to stand here," Phipps demanded, "whilst you preach us a sermon
about our business methods?"
"I am afraid, for your own sakes, you must hear what I have to say before
you go," Wingate replied. "I will put it in as few words as possible. If
you give the show away, besides making yourselves the laughingstocks of
the world you may live for twenty-four hours if my people are unlucky,
but I give you my word of honour, Phipps--and I will do you the credit of
believing that you recognise truth when you come across it--that you will
both of you be dead before the dawn of the second day."
Phipps leaned against the back of a chair. He seemed to have aged ten
years in the last few days.
"You threaten us with the vengeance of some secret society?" he demanded.
"Not so very secret, either," Wingate rejoined, "but if you want to know
the truth, I will tell it you. The greatest problem which we had to
face, in arranging this little escapade, was how we should keep you
silent after your release. We could think of none but primitive means,
and those primitive means are established. There are five men, each of
them men who have been ruined by the operations of your company, who have
sworn to take your lives if you should divulge the truth as to your
detention here. They are men of their word and they will do it. That is
the position, gentlemen. I will not detain you any longer."
Phipps moistened his dry lips.
"If," he said, "we decide to hold our peace about the happenings of the
last few days, it will not be because of your threats."
"So long as you hold your peace," Wingate replied drily, "I have no
desire to question your motives. Believe me, though, silence, and silence
alone, will preserve your lives."
He opened the door and they passed out of the room, Phipps stumbling a
little, as though blinded by the unexpected sunshine which streamed
through the skylight in the hall. From the shadows beyond, Grant came
suddenly into evidence.
"Breakfast is served in the dining room," he announced respectfully.
A flickering anger seemed suddenly to blaze up in Stanley Rees. He
cast a furious glance at the man whose fingers had twisted their
imprisoning cords.
"Open the door," he snarled, "and let us get out of this damned house!"
Almost before the front door had closed upon Phipps and his nephew.
Inspector Shields descended the stairs, crossed the hall, made his way
down the passage, and silently entered the room which had been the scene
of the tragedy. Wingate was standing in the midst of the debris at the
far end of the apartment, directing the operations of a servant whom he
had summoned. Shields held up his hand.
"Stop, please," he ordered quietly.
The two men both looked around.
"I was just having the room cleared up," Wingate explained.
"Presently," was the curt reply. "Please send the man away. I want a
word with you alone."
The pseudo-servant lingered, his eyes fixed upon Wingate's face. He, too,
was an underling of Grant's,--a keen, intelligent-looking man, with broad
shoulders and a powerful face. Wingate nodded understandingly.
"I will ring if I need you, John," he said quietly.
The man left the room. Wingate sat upon the arm of an easy-chair. Shields
stood looking meditatively about him, his hands thrust deep into his
coat pockets.
"What is the physician's report?" the former asked.
The inspector seemed to come back from a brown study.
"Ah! Upon Lord Dredlinton? A very good report from your point of view,
Mr. Wingate. Lord Dredlinton's death was due to exhaustion, but the
doctor certifies that he was suffering, and has been for some time, from
advanced valvular disease of the heart."
"He had not the appearance," Wingate observed, "of being a healthy man."
"He certainly was not," Shields admitted. "On the other hand, with great
care he might have lived for some time. The immediate cause of his death
was the strain of--what shall we call it, Mr. Wingate--this orgy?"
"An excellent word," Wingate agreed, his eyes fixed upon his companion.
The inspector lifted one of the packs of cards which had been dashed upon
the table and looked at them thoughtfully.
"Poker," he murmured. "By the by, where are the chips?"
"The chips?" Wingate repeated.
"Poker is one of those games, I believe, which necessitates the use of
counters or the handling of a great deal of money."
Wingate shrugged his shoulders. He made no reply. Shields took up one of
the bottles of champagne, held it to the light, poured out the remainder
of its contents and gazed with an air of surprise at the froth which
crept up the glass.
"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "I do not know much about champagne, but it
seems to me that this has not been opened very long. By the by, you all
drank champagne?" he went on. "I see no trace of any spirits about."
"It was one of Lord Dredlinton's hobbles," Wingate declared. "Spirits are
very seldom served in this house."
The Inspector nodded. He had crossed to the sideboard and was looking
into the contents of a great bowl of flowers.
"I never heard," he reflected, "that roses did well in champagne. Let me
see," he proceeded, counting the empty bottles, "four bottles between
four of you, the contents of at least two bottles here, and--dear me, the
carnations, too!" he went on, peering into a further bowl. "Really, Mr.
Wingate, your orgy scarcely seems to have been one of drink."
"Perhaps it was not," was the resigned reply.
The inspector sighed.
"I have seldom," he pronounced, looking fixedly at his companion, "seen a
more amateurish piece of work than the arrangement of this so-called
debauch. It seems pitiable, Mr. Wingate, that a man with brains like
yours should have sought to deceive in so puerile a fashion."
"What is this leading up to?" Wingate demanded.
The inspector drew a little pamphlet from his pocket and passed it
across. Wingate took it into his hands, opened it and stared at it
in surprise.
"A list of Cunard sailings!" he exclaimed.
"One of the safest of lines," said Shields, with a nod. "The
_Agricola_ sails to-morrow morning. The boat train, I believe, leaves
Euston at four."
Wingate glanced from the sailing list to his companion. The inspector was
making movements as though about to depart. Wingate himself was
speechless.
"The physician is able to certify," Shields went on, "that Lord
Dredlinton's death is due to natural causes. There will therefore be no
inquest. That being the case, it is not my business to make
enquiries--unless I choose."
A newsboy went shouting across the square. The two men heard distinctly
his hoarse cry:
"Great fall of wheat in every market! Cheap bread next week!"
The eyes of the two men met. There was almost a smile upon Shields' thin
lips as he turned towards the door.
"And I do not choose," he concluded.