THE NINTH HOUR
Silently, and with his accustomed efficiency, Thomson moved about the
boudoir rearranging some of the furniture. In the centre he placed the
largest of the beautiful ormolu tables, set round it several of the
gilt Louis-Seize chairs, leaving a clear space at the side that faced
Lady Rawson’s portrait; and finally put pens, ink, and paper before
each chair. That done he made up the fire, looked round the room as if
to assure himself that all was in order, and departed, going first to
his own room. There he unlocked a drawer, took out an old cigar-box,
glanced at the contents, and, with the box under his arm, went through
to his master’s bedroom.
Sir Robert was in bed and sound asleep. He had become restless and
feverish after the departure of Grace Carling and Austin Starr, and
Thomson had taken upon himself to ring up the doctor, who came round
at once, ordered the patient to bed, and administered an opiate, which
took effect immediately.
Thomson stood for a minute or so looking at his master’s face, stern
even in sleep, then slightly opened the outer door so that he could
hear anyone ascending the staircase, and seated himself near, where he
could still watch the invalid.
Presently he heard the sounds for which he listened--a knock and ring
at the front door, soft footsteps outside, and glanced at the clock.
Ten minutes to nine. He did not move, but still waited and listened.
Jenkins, the butler, acting on the very explicit instructions he had
received, took the visitor up to the boudoir. He was none other than
the Home Secretary, Gerald Lorimer--a tall, thin, aristocratic-looking
man, with alert, clean-cut face.
He glanced round the room with an air of surprise, sniffed disapproval
of the heavy perfume-laden atmosphere, and asked quickly:
“Where is Sir Robert?”
“In bed, sir; he has unfortunately been taken worse. Will you take a
seat, sir; the other gentlemen will be here directly.”
“Other? Why, who is coming?”
“Lord Warrington, for one, sir; and, if you’ll excuse me, I think I
hear his lordship arriving.”
Lord Warrington it was who entered next, and the two greeted each other
with mutual amazement.
“What’s up now, Warrington? I hear Sir Robert’s ill.”
“So I hear; but he rang me up, or, rather, that invaluable factotum of
his did so, and said Sir Robert begged me to come here at nine to-night
on a most urgent matter, so I came of course.”
“Same here--precisely the same message. Looks as if it were to be a
sort of board meeting. Is it about Carling? Poor chap! Personally, I
wish it had been possible to save him, but that’s impossible, in the
face of the evidence, and that verdict.”
“I suppose so,” Lord Warrington assented gravely. “It’s an awful
tragedy--a brilliant youngster like that! And you know, Lorimer, if
ever homicide was justifiable, that was--from _our_ point of view. He
ought to have been rewarded rather than punished! For if _she_”--he
frowned up at the portrait--“had passed on those papers--whew!--Rawson
himself never actually saw them, doesn’t know their contents to this
day. If he did he’d think as I do, even though his own wife was the
victim--as she was the thief, confound her! I say, this room’s pretty
weird, what? Damn those flowers, they smell like death!”
“Here’s Cummings-Browne. So it _is_ about Carling,” said Lorimer, and
stalked towards the new-comer, his old friend since the days when they
were both briefless barristers sharing chambers in the Temple. “Look
here, old man, if you arranged this conference, or whatever it is, in
the hope of getting a reprieve for Carling, you must know as well as I
do that it’s absolutely useless.”
“I know nothing about any conference, and never expected to meet you
here, Lorimer, or you, Lord Warrington. I had an urgent message from
Rawson.”
“As we did; but why on earth he sent for us we can’t imagine, unless
there is something fresh about Carling.”
“I hope there may be. If he’s hanged to-morrow you’ll be responsible
for a frightful miscarriage of justice, Lorimer!” said Cummings-Browne.
“Oh, come now! You put up a magnificent fight for him at the trial and
since, but you don’t--you can’t--personally believe he is innocent?”
“You are wrong for once. I am absolutely convinced in my own mind that
he is innocent--was convinced almost from the first. It’s the most
difficult, the most baffling case I’ve ever had!”
Lorimer looked at him perplexedly, but made no further comment, for
Jenkins announced, “Mr. Austin Starr and Mr. Snell,” and the two
entered. They had arrived together, and exchanged murmured questions as
they came up.
Cummings-Browne greeted Austin, Lorimer nodded to Snell with the
question:
“Anything fresh, Mr. Snell?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“But what are we all supposed to be here for?” Lord Warrington demanded.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. If you and the other gentlemen will kindly
be seated I will explain,” said a quiet voice.
Lord Warrington turned sharply, so did the others, and stared at
Thomson, who had entered silently, through the inner doors that led
to the Chinese Room. He was carrying the cigar-box carefully in both
hands, and looked pale, but otherwise self-possessed as usual.
“What is the meaning of all this? Why has Sir Robert sent for us?”
asked Warrington imperatively.
“If you and the gentlemen will be seated, my lord, I will explain at
once,” Thomson repeated, advancing to the table and depositing the box
on it. There was something so curiously compelling in his formal,
respectful manner that they actually complied--Lord Warrington taking
the head of the table, the Home Secretary facing him, Cummings-Browne
opposite Thomson. Snell slipped round and took the chair beside
Thomson, on his right hand, and, sitting sideways, watched him closely.
Austin was on his left.
Thomson stood erect, looking down at the cigar-box, on which his right
hand rested lightly. They all looked at him expectantly, a scrutiny
which he seemed to disregard entirely.
“It was I who took the liberty in my master’s name of asking you, my
lord, and the other gentlemen to come here to-night,” he said slowly,
as if weighing every word before he spoke. “And when you have heard my
explanation you will know that the matter was urgent--a matter of life
and death; and also the importance that what I have to say should be
written down. The materials are before you.
“_It was I who killed my lady!_”
If a bomb had exploded in their midst it could scarcely have created a
greater mental sensation than those seven quietly uttered words. There
was a low-voiced chorus of exclamation from his astounded listeners,
which he heard unmoved, never raising his eyes from the cigar-box: then
Cummings-Browne’s stern voice,
“Go on. Tell us everything.”
Thomson looked up then, met Cummings-Browne’s eyes full and steadily,
and thenceforth addressed himself to him direct.
“I will, sir--from the beginning. On that morning when the papers were
missing from Sir Robert’s safe I was awake very early--I often am. At
that time I slept in the basement: it is only since that date and Sir
Robert’s illness that I have occupied a room on this floor. I thought I
heard a sound in the library just above. Later I had reason to believe
it was the sliding of the panel that concealed the safe----”
“What time was this?”
“Just after five, sir. I had heard the clock strike. I went out and
along to the foot of the stairs in the dark and then saw there was a
light in the hall. Thinking there might be burglars, I felt in a stand
that is there in the lower hall, took a thick stick, and went softly
up the stairs. Just as I got to the top I saw my lady, in a green
dressing-robe, pass up the stairs, and a moment later the light went
out--there is a control switch on the first floor. I went back to bed,
thinking my lady had been down for a book.
“It was not till the middle of the morning, nearly noon, that Sir
Robert sent for me to the library and told me some papers were missing.
Mr. Carling was there and they were both very upset--very upset indeed.”
“Did you tell Sir Robert what you had seen?”
“No, sir. I realize now that I ought to have done so, but at the moment
I didn’t like to. Sir Robert told me not to say anything to anyone, and
I did not. I went down and thought it over. I felt sure in my mind that
my lady had the papers, whatever they were. I knew she was out--she
had gone out about ten o’clock--so was her maid, Mam’selle Périer,
who had been given the day out. I wondered if my lady had gone to
Rivercourt Mansions.”
“How do you know she was in the habit of going there?”
“I had known it a long time, sir. I discovered the address almost by
chance, from a letter.”
“Blotting paper?” asked Cummings-Browne dryly.
“Well, yes, sir. My lady was careless once or twice that way, though it
was only the address I could make out. I believe she was always very
careful to post those private letters herself.”
“And you had tracked her to the place?”
“Yes, sir, a good many times--usually at night. I nearly always knew
when she was going; it would be on Mam’selle Périer’s evening out, or
when my lady sent her to a theatre, as she often did.”
“Well, go on.”
“I found out quite a lot one way and another about Mr. Melikoff and the
Russians who used to go there, and the old Italian gentleman. It wasn’t
my business, of course, and I don’t quite know why I did it, for I had
no real grudge against my lady, except that I knew how my master doted
on her, so to speak, and I felt she was not doing the right thing by
him.
“And now I made up my mind all in a moment to go there and see if I
could find out anything. I didn’t ask Sir Robert. I thought I would
risk him missing me, as I’d often done before, and it wasn’t necessary
for me to tell Mr. Jenkins or anyone else. I took the train, and
just got to the corner of the square when, sure enough, I saw my lady
herself cross the road to go into that post office. I knew it quite
well, having been in and out several times when I’d happened to be in
the neighbourhood.
“I followed her sharp, and peeped in. My lady was standing at the
counter, and there was no one else in the shop but the person behind
it, who had her back turned getting a telephone call. I went straight
through--neither of them saw or heard me--passed the telephone-booth
and turned to the right by the foot of some stairs and the side door.
There was another door farther on half open, leading into a scullery.”
Cummings-Browne nodded. He knew--so did Snell--how accurate the
description was to the last detail.
“I don’t quite know what I meant to do. I think it was to snatch her
bag as she went into the booth and make a run for it. But--I had this
in my pocket.”
He opened the cigar-box, took out an article that looked like the
haft of a small dagger, of some dull metal elaborately chased, and
held it up to view. There was a click, and out of the haft sprang a
slender, vicious-looking little blade, some four inches long. Snell
involuntarily put out his hand as if to seize Thomson’s arm, but the
latter, having exhibited the weapon, pressed the spring again, causing
the blade to disappear, and laid the thing on the table.
“I bought it off a sailor years ago in Constantinople, when I was
there with my master, and he used to go about so reckless by himself
in places that weren’t safe for an English gentleman that often I
followed him, with this as a sort of protection, but I never had to use
it--never did use it but the once!
“I don’t know what came over me all in a moment. When my lady had gone
into the telephone-booth I found I’d got the dagger in my hand. I
opened the door, struck at her, and snatched the bag that was resting
on the little sloping shelf under the instrument. She only made a
little gurgling sound and dropped forward. I shut the door on her and
went through to the scullery and pushed to the door. The whole thing
couldn’t have taken half a minute, and I was just in time, for I heard
someone come along to the stairs and call ‘Jessie!’ There was a wet
rag on the scullery table--the place didn’t seem to be used much for
anything but rubbish: there was a heap of waste paper and boxes in the
corner. While I waited I wiped my glove on the rag and took it off;
here they both are. I’ve never cleaned them.”
He took a neatly folded pair of tan gloves out of the cigar-box and
laid them on the table.
“I opened the bag, found the big envelope addressed to Sir Robert just
as Mr. Carling had said, and knew the papers must be inside, but didn’t
try to look at them. I also found this key and this little box, and put
them in my pocket.”
He took out a Yale latchkey and a small ornate powder box of gold set
with jewels, and placed these beside the other articles.
“I saw through the window a taxicab standing before the side door.
There was no one at all in sight, so I listened for a minute--by the
sound there were several people in the shop--then went out at the side
door, put the bag through the cab window, walked away, slipping the
envelope into the post box at the corner. Then I walked to the station,
got a train at once--I had taken a return ticket--and was back here
soon after two. I had only been away just over an hour, and so far as I
know I had never been missed.
“I found my dinner on a tray in my room--I have always had my meals in
my own room--and I sat down and ate it.”
“Ate his dinner! Good heavens!” muttered Lord Warrington. The others
were silent, Austin Starr, an expert stenographer, was taking down the
confession verbatim; the Home Secretary and Cummings-Browne making
occasional notes; Snell maintained his ceaseless vigilance.
“I had just finished when Sir Robert’s bell rang for me. I went up
to the library and found him and Mr. Snell there. Sir Robert again
questioned me about the papers, and while he was speaking the news came
by telephone that my lady had been murdered, and my master fell down in
a fit.
“That’s about all it’s necessary to tell, I think, though if I might
be permitted to say a few words more--about this key, and something
else----”
“Go on; say all you have to say,” Cummings-Browne responded.
“Thank you, sir. I knew this key wasn’t one of ours--of this house--and
I thought it just possible it might be the key to Mr. Melikoff’s flat.
I knew, too, that my lady had written him a lot of letters first
and last, and that if they should ever be found they might raise a
scandal that would add to Sir Robert’s trouble, and I made up my
mind to try and get hold of these. It was some time before I got the
opportunity--it was a risky thing to do, of course. But the day that
Mr. Carling was committed for trial I managed it. I knew the whole
household was in the police court--I saw them there when I was in the
witness-box in the morning--and in the late afternoon I went to the
flat, and sure enough the key fitted. I had a look round just to take
my bearings, found Mr. Melikoff’s room--there was a photo of my lady
on his writing-table--and found the letters in a drawer of it. I was
just about to go when they all came back; I’d run it a bit too close!
I slipped into a room opposite Mr. Melikoff’s--a bare room, that
looked like a schoolroom with very little in it except a piano and
music-stands--and bolted the door. I thought, and so it turned out,
that it wouldn’t be used at night. Hours and hours I waited there in
the dark and cold before it seemed safe to try and get out.
“At last I ventured, and when I got into the hall, where the light was
on, I saw the drawing-room door was ajar; there was a curtain inside,
so I couldn’t see in.”
“But the door had been closed!” ejaculated Austin Starr.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Starr, I assure you it was open then, just an
inch or two, and I heard voices inside--your voice, sir, and a lady’s,
and you were talking about Lady Rawson. Dangerous as it was I couldn’t
help listening for a minute; then I turned off the hall light and
slipped off, closing the front door quietly with the key, and got away
all right. Here are the letters.
“One word more, my lord and gentlemen. It was a terrible shock to me
when Mr. Carling was accused, and I never believed they’d find him
guilty, and right up to to-day I hoped he would be reprieved, so that
it mightn’t be necessary for me to own up just yet. If my master had
died I would have owned up at once; but I did hope I should be able to
tend him as long as he needed me--and he needs me more now than he ever
did before.”
For the first time his voice faltered, and he leaned with both hands on
the table, as if for support. Snell half rose, but sat down again as
Thomson recovered himself and resumed:
“It would be very kind if you could keep the truth from Sir Robert, for
a bit anyhow--if you could tell him I’d been taken ill. And Mr. Carling
will be safe--he’ll soon be released now, won’t he, sir?” He looked at
the Home Secretary, and from him to Lord Warrington. “And you’ll excuse
the liberty I took in sending for you all. I wouldn’t leave nothing to
chance, so to speak. And now, Mr. Snell, I’m quite ready for you, and
I’ll go quiet, of course, though I suppose you’ll want to put on the
handcuffs, if you’ve got them with you?”
They all rose, and Thomson, respectful to the last, stepped back and
stood, with Snell close beside him, as if the buzz of low-toned,
agitated conversation among the others did not concern him in the
least.
Austin Starr unceremoniously clutched Lorimer’s arm.
“Say, Mr. Home Secretary, this does it! Roger Carling’s saved? You’ll
put the order for his release through right now?”
“It will have to be ‘the King’s pardon,’ of course, and it will be
put through at the earliest possible moment. Thank God that--that
extraordinary old villain confessed to-night!”
“When will Roger be home?”
“That I cannot say at the moment--possibly to-morrow.”
“I may ’phone right now to his poor young wife?”
“Assuredly; and I will telephone to her myself later.”
Austin glanced round the room. A telephone was there, but concealed
under a tall Sèvres china doll gorgeously arrayed in Louis-Seize court
costume, and he couldn’t see it. Downstairs he dashed, and seized the
instrument in the hall.
“Victoria ten-four-double-three, quick please! That you, Grace? Austin
speaking. Oh, my dear girl, it’s all right! Roger’s saved--cleared!
He’ll be home as soon as ever the Home Secretary can fix it. Old
Thomson’s confessed everything right now. It was he who murdered Lady
Rawson!”