FACTS
Next morning brought Cannington in a towering rage to Mootley. He
arrived in a motor while I was breakfasting at nine o'clock, and
explained with many apologies that he had become aware of my
difficulties only one hour previously.
"That silly blighter you sent," said the boy volubly, "never came to
the Barracks last night. After telling the police what had happened,
he started to come to me--this is his story, remember--but on the way
dropped into a pub. There he talked about the murder, and was supplied
with so many free drinks that he wasn't in a fit state to leave."
"Humph!" said I, going on with my breakfast, "Giles was right it
seems. This Ashley animal is a wastrel. Well?"
"Well," echoed Cannington, fuming, "there is no well about it. The
intoxicated beast only turned up this morning at nine o'clock. I was
in bed when my servant brought in the message, and when I saw him I
told him off, confound him for a silly ape. Then I got Trent to loan
me his car and came along here as soon as I could bathe and dress."
"Have you had breakfast?"
"Oh, damn breakfast! No."
"Well, sit down and have some, if Mrs. Giles," glanced at the little
woman, who was hovering round the fire, "permits."
"I'll set another cup and plate at once, sir," she said, evidently
fluttered at the idea of entertaining a real live lord, "but I'm
afraid, sir, that eggs and bacon and tea ain't what the young
gentleman's used to."
"I don't know anything better," said Cannington graciously, and soon
was occupied industriously in filling up. "And I do call it beastly,"
he said between mouthfuls, "that I should have been out of all the
fun. If I'd only come along with you, Vance----"
"You'd have been arrested, as I am," I finished.
"Oh, come now, that's a bit too thick. You didn't rob this woman, or
murder her for one of your melodramas, did you?"
"Who said she was murdered?" I asked, taking another cup of tea.
"That blighter who came this morning."
"How the deuce does he know? The murder was only found out after he
went to Murchester. Everyone--myself included--thought that it was
merely robbery of a glass eye."
"A glass eye!" Cannington stared. "Who the deuce would steal a glass
eye?"
"The woman who annexed my motor car, and who murdered Mrs. Caldershaw
by sticking a hat-pin into her heart, stole it."
"Whose glass eye was it?"
"Mrs. Caldershaw's."
"Who is she?"
"The dead woman."
Cannington gulped down a cup of tea and requested particulars. "You
see I was in such a rage that I heard very little from the messenger,"
he explained apologetically. "All I gathered was that some woman had
been murdered and robbed, and that you were suspected. I hurried along
to tell the police that they were idiots, and----"
"Oh, not such idiots," said I, pushing back my chair and lighting a
cigarette. "You see I was caught red-handed by Mrs. Giles' husband."
"Oh, sir," put in the greengrocer's wife deprecatingly.
"Begin at the beginning," commanded Cannington, who was still eating
with the healthy appetite of a young animal, "and go on to the end.
I'm not clever enough to make up a story out of scraps."
Thus adjured I detailed all that had taken place from the time I had
left him at the Mess-room door on the previous day. He became so
interested that he ceased to eat, and at the conclusion of my
narrative jumped up from his chair with an ejaculation. "By Jove,"
said he, recalling our conversation in the Rippler, "adventures are to
the adventurous, aren't they? This real life business beats any of
your melodramas."
"I agree. Truth is always more impossible than fiction."
"An epigram doesn't meet the case," snapped Cannington.
"It sums it up, my boy. Who could ever invent such a situation--I
speak as a playwright, you understand. I could never have imagined the
tragedy of an old woman killed by a hat-pin for the sake of her glass
eye, much less the implicating of an inoffensive stranger, and the
theft of his motor by the murderess."
"You are sure she is guilty?"
"Certainly! Who but a woman would use a hat-pin to slay, and who but a
woman would have a hat-pin to use?"
"But why should she kill the old woman?"
"That question can only be answered when we know more about the lady
in the white cloak, who bolted with my car."
"Who is she?"
"Helen of Troy, for all I know. What silly questions you ask,
Cannington."
"I'm not Sherlock Holmes," he retorted, "and I _did_ come on straight
to help you through this business."
"Forgive me, boy; you're a brick. What about your duties?"
"I got leave from the adjutant. That's all right. What's to be done
now?"
"We must see Inspector Dredge, and look after my motor, which is still
piled up in the field where the lady left it. Clever woman that. She
knew that she might be traced by the number, and so got rid of the
car. I daresay she footed it to Murchester, and went on to London by
the night train."
"In a white cloak she'd be traced."
"If she was fool enough to wear it," said I dryly, "but I daresay
we'll find that white cloak packed away in the car."
"Come along and let us see," cried Cannington, greatly excited.
"One moment. Mrs. Giles, what about Miss Destiny and her servant?"
"She's not up yet, sir, and Lucinda has taken in her breakfast."
"Is she returning to Burwain to-day?"
"I think so, sir. But Sam told Inspector Dredge of what she said last
night, and he wishes to ask her questions about Mrs. Caldershaw's
past."
I nodded. "No doubt. In Mrs. Caldershaw's past will be found the
motive for the committal of this strange crime. That glass eye was a
dangerous possession, Mrs. Giles."
"Lor', sir, do you think that has anything to do with it?"
"Everything, if you remember what Miss Destiny said about the value
Mrs. Caldershaw attached to that glass eye. She is dead, and
evidently--since the eye is missing--was murdered for its possession.
Depend upon it, Mrs. Giles, when Inspector Dredge learns the history
of that eye, he will be able to lay his hand on this lady who so
ingeniously escaped."
"But after all," said Cannington, looking back from the door, "you
really aren't arrested, Vance, are you?"
"You can put it that I am under surveillance, boy."
"What rot."
"Come and tell Dredge so," said I, taking his arm. "I'll be back soon,
Mrs. Giles, so tell your husband," and with a nod I went out.
We found Cannington's--or rather Trent's--motor at the door, and got
into it to proceed to the shop round the corner. Here we found
Inspector Dredge, surrounded by his myrmidons, and I explained to him
that my friend had come to vouch for my respectability; also that I
desired to go in search of my Rippler. The Inspector, although as
grim-faced, was less taciturn than on the previous night, and received
my explanation most kindly, assuring me that there was little need for
Lord Cannington to state my honourable qualities. "Although," he
added, "his lordship is welcome to depose to your position, as a
matter of form."
"Oh, Mr. Vance is all right," said Cannington cheerily, "he only
commits murders on the stage."
"I don't think even on the stage I ever committed so ingenious a
murder as this one seems to be," I retorted.
Dredge nodded. "Yes. This unknown woman is singularly clever."
"Then you think she is guilty?"
"What else can I think, Mr. Vance?" said Dredge, raising his eyebrows.
"From what you tell me, I am inclined to think that she was hiding in
an upstairs room--there are two--when you entered the shop. Possibly
the sound and appearance of your car drove her there after she had
murdered the unfortunate Mrs. Caldershaw. You did not enter the shop
immediately?"
"Well, no, I was a few minutes looking into things connected with the
car."
"And the shop was in darkness?"
"Complete darkness."
"I thought so. This woman heard your car coming, and later on saw it.
She doubtless slipped out of the back room, where she had just stabbed
her victim, and had the eye--this seems to be the motive for the
commission of the crime--in her pocket. She could not walk into the
road without running a chance of meeting you, so she sprang up the
stairs yonder"--he pointed to the steps, which clung to the wall on
one side and had a light railing on the other--"and took refuge in the
bedroom. When she heard you enter the back room, she came down turned
the key, and ran away with your car."
"Humph!" said I, after a pause, "permit me to put you right on one
point, Mr. Inspector. I believe that the woman was in the back room
when I entered the shop, for when I tried the door in order to find
someone, it was locked."
"Really!" Dredge made a hasty note. "Was the key on the outside?"
"I don't remember. All I know was that I could not pull open the
door."
"She would not have had time to change the key from the inside to the
outside," mused the Inspector. "I daresay the key all along was on the
outside, as it is now." He glanced at the door leading into the back
room, and sure enough there was the key. "Possibly, she shot the
bolt--there is one on the hither side of the door, as I noticed.
Well?"
"Well, while I was filling the tank of my car with petrol she must
have emerged, and--as you say--unable to escape without observation by
the road, she must have slipped upstairs. When I found the door open
on trying it for the second time, I entered the back room, attracted
by the last moan of the dying woman. Then she--the murderess, I
mean--must have come down, and after softly turning the key, have gone
off in my car."
"But why should she leave the car in a field?" asked Cannington.
"To the more easily escape," said Dredge, raising his eyebrows. "A car
with a number could easily be traced. She took it as near Murchester
as she dared, then abandoned it, and walked to the town. That is my
theory, and then she could either remain in Murchester or take the
train to some other place. It will be a hard matter to find her, as
she has concealed her trail very successfully."
"She might have left some evidence behind in the car," I suggested.
Dredge shook his head. "I examined the car myself this morning," he
remarked. "There is not a vestige to show that any woman occupied it.
She has not left even so much as a pin behind."
"Pardon me; she left a hat-pin!"
"Yes," said the Inspector grimly, "in the heart of the unfortunate
Mrs. Caldershaw. But your car is still in that field near Murchester,
Mr. Vance, and I shall leave you to take it away. I don't know how
much it is injured."
"Last night you said that it wasn't much hurt," I said hastily.
"Quite so, sir," said Dredge imperturbably. "But last night my
examination was necessarily perfunctory, as I was in a hurry to reach
the scene of the crime. This morning I examined the car more
carefully, and I am not sufficiently an expert to see what damage has
been done. Remember, it was driven violently through a wooden gate."
"On purpose?" asked Cannington quickly.
The Inspector cast a side glance at his fresh-coloured face. "I can't
say, my lord. I think not. The woman, driving down the incline, nearly
ran into Miss Destiny's trap. To avoid a complete collision, she may
have turned the steering-wheel too completely round, and so probably
dashed by mischance through the gate. Indeed, I think that is the true
explanation."
"Then, but for this accident," said Cannington pertinaciously, "she
would have driven the car to Murchester."
"I really can't offer an opinion on that point, my lord. We are
working in the dark just now, and all I have said is mere theory
founded upon circumstantial evidence. However, Mr. Vance," he turned
to me, "you can go and see after your car, and tell me what you think
That is," he glanced at his watch sharply, "after I have examined Miss
Destiny. I am told by Giles that she knew Mrs. Caldershaw, and was
coming here to pass the night."
"You want me to be present?"
"If you will so far oblige me."
"I shall be delighted. I wish to hear of everything connected with
this most interesting case. Do you mind if Lord Cannington is present
also?"
"Not at all," said Dredge graciously, and shuffled his notes, which
were lying on the counter. "Miss Destiny will be here in a few
minutes, and we can go into the back room where the crime was
committed."
"Where is the body?" asked Cannington abruptly.
"It has been laid out in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Do you wish to
view it, my lord?"
"Oh, hang it, certainly not," gasped Cannington hastily, and with all
the repugnance which the upper classes exhibit towards such morbid
sights. "I was only asking, as I don't wish to sit in the room with a
corpse."
The Inspector threw open the door to display the back premises. "You
see," he said, inviting us by a gesture to enter, "the body has been
removed."
In the grey daylight, for there was no sun to graciously soften
crudities, the room looked forlorn and chill and lonely. Cannington
stepped at my heels with a nervous shiver, for he was somewhat
impressionable. I now noticed that there were two windows in the outer
wall, which looked on to a kind of fenced clearing, sown with
cabbages, potatoes and leeks. These jostled each other in a disorderly
fashion, and the paths between the beds were so grass-grown that it
was apparent but little interest had been taken in her garden by the
late owner of the corner shop. The paling fence, unpainted and broken,
which surrounded the oblong of the cultivated ground, seemed to push
back the encircling elms, forming a small untidy wood behind. There
was no gate in the fence, so the sole means of egress was through the
shop. Between the windows was a door, leading into this dismal garden,
standing cheek by jowl with a cumbersome chimney. The back door was
locked. "We found it like that last night," exclaimed Dredge, now more
communicative and less grim. "The odd thing is that the key is
missing."
"Perhaps Mrs. Caldershaw never went into her garden," I remarked. "It
does not look inviting."
"Oh, she must have gone out of that door sometimes," insisted the
Inspector. "For there is a small shed filled with coals and wood
outside; she must have replenished her fire occasionally, you know,
Mr. Vance."
"Well then, she probably had locked the door for the night, when she
was murdered by this white-cloaked woman."
"I daresay; but why should the key be missing?"
Cannington made a suggestion. "The woman locked it when she escaped."
"She escaped through the shop, after locking Mr. Vance in," retorted
Dredge, "so why should she have troubled to steal the back-door key,
which, on the face of it, she did not require?"
"Huh," said the boy, "she seems to have a weakness for taking queer
things, Mr. Inspector. Witness the glass eye."
Dredge nodded. "I hear Miss Destiny knows something about that."
At this moment, as if in answer to her name, the little old lady
stepped daintily into the back room. She looked as shabby and frail as
ever, but she undoubtedly was a gentlewoman, and her eyes still
revealed a strong vitality. With a curtsey to me and to Cannington,
she addressed herself graciously to Inspector Dredge.
"My trap is at the door, sir, and I am anxious to return to my home at
Burwain, since this poor woman I came to see is unfortunately dead."
"Murdered," said Dredge laconically.
Miss Destiny blinked with her wonderfully youthful eyes, and recoiled
with a nervous gesture of her hand. "Murdered," she whispered, half to
herself. "They did not tell me that."
"Who did not tell you, ma'am?" demanded the Inspector brusquely.
"Lucinda, my servant, Mr. Giles and his wife," she replied brokenly.
"How was she murdered, sir?"
"An ordinary hat-pin with a blue glass bead for a head was thrust into
her heart, ma'am. She must have died immediately."
"How dreadful. But why should she be murdered, poor soul?"
"So far as I can gather, on account of her glass eye, which is
missing. I should like to hear what you have to say on that point,
ma'am?" and Dredge fixed his stern eyes inquisitively on the little
old lady.
Miss Destiny sat down quietly, and appeared to make an effort to
recover her composure, which had been sorely shaken, and very
naturally, by the news of the strange murder. "All I can say is, that
Anne had a glass eye to which she appeared to attach a ridiculous
value"--at this point I became aware that she was repeating word for
word her speech of the previous night, and certain of it, when she
continued. "Anne often declared that she would not lose it for a
fortune. Now it is lost, and she is dead. Dear me!"
"It has been stolen, and she has been murdered," corrected the
Inspector smartly. "I should like to know why Mrs. Caldershaw attached
such value to the eye?"
"I can't tell you that, Mr. Inspector, because I do not know. Anne was
always very close and kept her business to herself."
"Who is the woman?" asked Dredge impatiently.
"Who _was_ the woman, you mean, sir," corrected Miss Destiny smartly
in her turn. "I can tell you that. She was my brother's housekeeper at
Burwain for many years. When he died five years ago, more or less,"
added Miss Destiny precisely, "she retired with her savings to this
place, which was her native village, and here set up this shop."
"Have you seen her since she came to live here?"
"At intervals, sir. Anne was a valued old servant, whom I respected,
and at times--say once a year, I came over to stay the night with
her."
"Had she any enemies?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir."
"Was she happy here?"
"As happy as a grumbler like Anne could be. For there is no denying,
poor soul, that she was a grumbler," ended the little old lady
regretfully.
"What was your brother's name, ma'am?" said Dredge, producing his
note-book.
"Gabriel Monk, sir. He was a bachelor, and lived at The Lodge,
Burwain. I kept house for him with Anne as our servant until he died.
Then Anne came here and I took a small cottage in the village, where I
now am."
"And The Lodge?" asked Dredge, somewhat irrelevantly I thought.
"His brother, Walter Monk, inherited The Lodge and the money of his
deceased relative. He lives there now with my niece."
"Oh!" The inspector here saw a point which in my opinion he ought to
have noticed before. "Then Gabriel Monk was not exactly your brother?"
"I called him so, because I looked after his house for him, but he
really was not, sir."
"Your brother-in-law, then?"
"Not even that, Mr. Inspector. Let me explain. My sister married
Walter Monk, the brother of Gabriel, and became a widower with one
child, a girl. Gabriel took Gertrude, the girl, to live with him, when
she was a small child, and asked me to take charge of her. I did so,
and therefore fell into the habit of calling Gabriel my brother; but,
as you see, he was no relation. And pardon me, Mr. Inspector, but I do
not see what all this private business has to do with the murder of
Anne Caldershaw."
Dredge snapped the elastic band on his closed pocket-book. "I wish to
learn all I can about the dead woman's past," he said gruffly, "and so
ask you to tell me all you know."
"I have told you all I know," said Miss Destiny, rising. "And now may
I take my departure, as I have a long way to drive?"
Dredge nodded. "You may have to return for the inquest," he said
abruptly, "and in any case, I shall come over to Burwain to ask
questions."
"By all means. Anyone will tell you where I live," said Miss Destiny
with dignity, "and I trust that my expenses will be paid, should I be
required as a witness at the inquest." Here I noted she again revealed
a miserly tendency.
"Oh, yes, that's all right," said Dredge, and Miss Destiny, again
making her queer little curtsey to Cannington and myself, was about to
depart, when I stopped her with a question.
"Will you please tell me the name of this lady?" I asked, indicating
the photograph in the silver frame.
Miss Destiny's eyes were too keen to require glasses, and she
recognised the face at once. "Dear me, it is a photograph of
Gertrude."
"Your niece?"
"Certainly. Anne nursed her, you know, and Gertrude was always greatly
attached to her. She will be distressed when she hears of this
tragedy. Dear me, I never knew Gertrude had given Anne her portrait,
and in such a very expensive frame. Waste! waste! But why do you ask
about it, sir?"
I coloured. "I thought the face was so lovely," was my reply, made in
a low and somewhat awkward voice.
Miss Destiny gave me a piercing glance, and nodded in a friendly
manner, evidently amused by my embarrassment. "Gertrude is as good as
she is beautiful," she said smiling. "Good-day, gentlemen," and she
left the shop to mount the trap. Lucinda wrapped the rug carefully
round her knees and the oddly assorted pair drove away.
Meanwhile Cannington--who was always much too clever when dulness
would have been more diplomatic--laughed meaningly, and whispered.
"Adventures are to the adventurous," said Cannington wickedly.
"So you said before, and the remark isn't original in any case," I
answered tartly. "What you mean----"
"Oh, of course," he chaffed softly. "I haven't got eyes in my head,
and you're a Joseph where a pretty girl is concerned. And she is
pretty"--he turned to look at my goddess--"she is----"
"Oh, shut up!" I interrupted crossly. "Mr. Inspector, I am going to
look after my motor car. And the inquest?"
"Will be held in this house to-morrow at ten o'clock."
This settled matters for the time being and I departed with the boy,
who still chaffed me, like the silly young ass he was. "Old Vance in
love. Ho, ho!" said this annoying boy.