The man who entered the room was of sufficiently remarkable appearance
to have attracted attention anywhere. He was short, but so fat that he
looked less than his actual height, which was barely five feet. His
ponderous head, which was covered with short stiff black hair, like a
brush, seemed to merge into his body without any neck, and two black
eyes glittered like diamond points in the white expanse of his hairless
face. As he advanced towards the table these eyes roved quickly from one
to the other of the faces on the other side of the table. He was in
every way a remarkable contrast to his employer, and a painter in search
of a subject might have been tempted to take the pair as models for a
picture of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
"Take that chair and answer my questions," said Mr. Cromering,
addressing the waiter in a very loud voice. "Oh, I forgot," he added, to
the innkeeper. "How do you manage to communicate with him if he is stone
deaf?"
"Quite easily, sir. Charles understands the lip language--he reads your
lips while you speak. It is not even necessary to raise your voice, so
long as you pronounce each word distinctly."
"Sit down, Charles--do you understand me?" said the chief constable
doubtfully. By way of helping the waiter to comprehend he pointed to the
chair the innkeeper had vacated.
The waiter crossed the room and took the chair. Like so many fat men,
his movements were quick, agile, and noiseless, but as he came forward
it was noticeable that his right arm was deformed, and much shorter than
the other.
The chief constable eyed the strange figure before him in some
perplexity, and the fat white-faced deaf man confronted him stolidly,
with his black twinkling eyes fixed on his face. His gaze, which was
directed to the mouth and did not reach the eyes, was so disconcerting
to Mr. Cromering that he cleared his throat with several nervous "hems"
before commencing his examination:
"Your name is----?"
"Charles Lynn, sir."
The reply was delivered in a whispered voice, the not infrequent result
of prolonged deafness, complete isolation from the rest of humanity
causing the gradual loss of sound values in the afflicted person; but
the whisper, coming from such a mountain of flesh, conveyed the
impression that the speaker's voice was half-strangled in layers of fat,
and with difficulty gasped a way to the air. Mr. Cromering looked hard
at the waiter as though suspecting him of some trick, but Charles' eyes
were fixed on the mouth of his interrogator, awaiting his next question.
"I understand that you waited on the two gentlemen in the upstairs
sitting-room last night"--Mr. Cromering still spoke in such an
unnecessarily loud voice that he grew red in the face with the
exertion--"the gentleman who was murdered, and the young man Ronald, who
came to the inn last night. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir. I waited on the gentlemen, sir."
"Very well. I want you to tell us all that took place between these
gentlemen while you were in the room. You were there all through the
dinner, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir, but I didn't follow all of the conversation because of my
infirmity." He touched his ears as he spoke. "I gathered some remarks of
Mr. Glenthorpe's, because he told me to stand opposite him and watch his
lips for orders, but I didn't get much of what the young gentleman said,
because I was standing behind his chair most of the time so as to see
Mr. Glenthorpe's lips better."
"Well, tell us all you did gather of the conversation, and everything
you saw."
"I beg your pardon, sir"--the interruption came from Superintendent
Galloway--"but would it not be advisable to get from the waiter first
something of what passed between him and Ronald when Ronald came to the
inn last night? The waiter was the first to see him, Benson says."
"Quite right. I had forgotten. Tell us, Charles, what passed when Ronald
first came to the inn in the afternoon."
"It was between five and six o'clock, sir, when the young gentleman came
to the front door and asked for the landlord. I told him he was out, but
would be back shortly. The young gentleman said he was very tired, as he
had walked a long distance and lost his way in the marshes, and would I
show him into a private room and send him some refreshments. I took him
into the bar parlour--this room, sir--and brought him refreshments. He
seemed very tired--hardly able to lift one leg after the other."
"Did he look ill--or strange?"
"I didn't notice anything strange about him, sir, but he dropped into a
chair as though he was exhausted, and told me to send the landlord to
him as soon as he came in. I left him sitting there, and when Mr. Benson
returned I told him, and he went in to him. I didn't see the young
gentleman again until I waited on him and Mr. Glenthorpe at dinner in
the upstairs sitting-room."
"Very good. Tell us what happened there."
"I laid the table, and took up the dinner at half-past seven. Those were
Mr. Glenthorpe's orders. When I went up the first time the table was
covered with flints and fossils, which Mr. Glenthorpe was showing the
young gentleman, and I helped Mr. Glenthorpe put these back into the
cupboards, and then I laid the table. When I took up the dinner the
gentlemen sat down to it, and Mr. Glenthorpe rang for Mr. Benson, and
told him to bring up some sherry. When the sherry came up Mr. Glenthorpe
told the young gentleman that it was a special wine sent down by his
London wine merchants, and he asked Mr. Ronald what he thought of it.
Mr. Ronald said he thought it was an excellent dry wine. The gentlemen
didn't talk much during dinner, though Mr. Glenthorpe was a little upset
about the partridges. He said they had been cooked too dry. He asked the
young gentleman what he thought of them, but I don't know what he
replied, for I was not watching his lips.
"Mr. Glenthorpe quite recovered himself by the time coffee was served,
and was talking a lot about his researches in the neighbourhood. It was
very learned talk, but it seemed to interest Mr. Ronald, for he asked a
number of questions. Mr. Glenthorpe seemed very pleased with his
interest, and told him about a valuable discovery made in a field near
what he called the hut circles. He said he had bought the field off the
farmer for £300, and was going to commence his excavations immediately.
As the farmer refused to take a cheque for the land he had been over to
the bank at Heathfield for the money, and had brought it back with him
so as to pay it over in the morning and take possession of the field.
Mr. Glenthorpe complained that the bank had made him take all the money
in Treasury notes, and he took them out of his pocket and showed them to
the young gentleman, saying how bulky they were, and pointing out that
they were all of the first issue."
"And what did Ronald say to that?"
If the chief constable's question covered a trap, the waiter seemed
unconscious of it.
"I wasn't looking at him, sir, and did not hear his reply. After putting
the money back in his pocket, Mr. Glenthorpe told me to go downstairs
and tell Mr. Benson to bring up some of the old brandy. Mr. Benson came
back with me, and Mr. Glenthorpe took the bottle from him and filled the
glasses himself, telling the young gentleman that the brandy was the
best in England, a relic of the old smuggling days, but far too good for
scoundrels who had never paid the King's revenue one half-penny. Then
when Mr. Benson had left the room he began to talk about the field
again, and how anxious he was to start the excavations. That was about
all I heard, sir, for shortly afterwards Mr. Glenthorpe told me to clear
away the things, which took me several trips downstairs, because, not
having the full use of my right hand, I have to use a small tray. It was
not till this morning, when I was cleaning the cutlery, that I noticed
that one of the knives I had taken upstairs the night before was
missing. I think that is all, sir."
The silence which followed, broken only by the rapid travelling of
Superintendent Galloway's pen across the paper, revealed how intently
the fat man's auditors had followed his whispered recital of the events
before the murder. It was Superintendent Galloway who, putting down his
fountain pen, asked the waiter to describe the knife he had missed.
"It was a small, white-handled knife, sir--not one of the dinner knives,
but one of the smaller ones."
"Are you sure it was one of the knives you took upstairs last night?"
"Quite sure, sir. We are very short of good cutlery, and I picked out
this knife to put by the young gentleman's plate because it was a very
good one. It and the carving-knife are the only two knives we have in
that particular white-handled pattern."
"Was this knife sharp?"
"Very sharp, with a rather thin blade. I keep all my cutlery in good
order, sir."
"You seem to have heard a lot that passed last night in spite of your
deafness," said Superintendent Galloway, in the blustering manner he had
found very useful in browbeating rural witnesses in the police courts.
"Is it customary for waiters to listen to everything that is said when
they are waiting at table?"
"I did not hear everything, sir," rejoined the waiter, and his soft
whisper was in striking contrast to the superintendent's hectoring
tones. "I explained to the other gentleman that I heard very little the
young gentleman said, because I wasn't watching his lips. It was
principally Mr. Glenthorpe's part of the conversation I have related. I
followed almost everything he said because I was watching his lips
closely the whole of the time."
"Why?" snapped Superintendent Galloway.
"It was Mr. Glenthorpe's strict instructions that I was to watch his
lips closely every time I waited on him, because of my infirmity. He
disliked very much being waited on by a deaf waiter when first he came
to the inn. He said he didn't want to have to bellow out when he wanted
anything. But when he found that I could understand lip language, and
could follow what he was saying by watching his lips, he allowed me to
wait on him, but he gave me strict instructions never to take my eyes
off him when I was waiting on him, because he disliked having to repeat
an order."
At the request of Sir Henry, Superintendent Galloway asked the waiter if
he had noticed anything peculiar in the actions of the murdered man's
guest during the dinner. The waiter replied that he had not noticed the
young gentleman particularly. So far as his observation went the young
gentleman had acted just like an ordinary young gentleman, and he had
noticed nothing strange or eccentric about him.
Mr. Cromering decided to occupy the remaining time at his disposal by
questioning Ann. The stout servant was brought from the kitchen in a
state of trepidation, and, after curtsying awkwardly to the assembled
gentlemen, flopped heavily into a chair, covered her face with her
apron, and burst into sobs. Her story--which was extracted from her with
much difficulty--bore out the innkeeper's account of her early morning
interview with Ronald. She said the poor young gentleman had opened the
door when she knocked with his tea. He was fully dressed, with his boots
in his hand, and he said he wouldn't wait for any breakfast, though she
had offered to cook him some fresh fish the master had caught the day
before. He asked her to clean his boots, but as she was carrying them
away he called her back and said he would wear them as they were. They
were all covered with mud--a regular mask of mud. She wanted to rub the
mud off, but he said that didn't matter: he was in a hurry to get away.
While she had them in her hands she turned them up and looked at the
bottoms, intending to put them to the kitchen fire to dry them if the
soles were wet, and it was then she noticed that there was a circular
rubber heel on one which was missing on the other--only the iron peg
being left. She took particular notice of the peg, because she intended
to hammer it down in the kitchen, thinking it must be very uncomfortable
to walk on, but the young gentleman didn't give her the chance--he just
took the boots from her and walked into his room, shutting the door
behind him.
Thus far Ann proceeded, between convulsive sobs and jelly-like tremors
of her fat frame. By dint of further questioning, it was elicited from
her that during this colloquy at the bedroom door the young gentleman
had put a pound note into her hand, and told her to give it to her
master in payment of his bill. "It won't be so much as that, sir," she
had said. "What about the change?"
"Oh, damn the change!" the young gentleman had said, very
impatient-like, and then he had said, "Here's something for yourself,"
and put five shillings into her hand.
"Did the young gentleman seem at all excited during the time you saw
him?" asked the chief constable, anticipating the inevitable question
from Sir Henry.
"I don't know what you mean by excited, sir. He seemed rarely impatient
to be gone, though anybody might be excited at having to walk across
them nasty marshes in the morning mist without a bite to stay the
stomach. I only hope he didn't catch a chill, the poor young man."
Further questions on this point only brought forth another shower of
tears, and a sobbing asseveration that she hadn't taken particular
notice of the young gentleman, who was a kind, liberal-hearted
gentleman, no matter what some folk might think. It was evident that the
tip of five shillings had won her heart.
The chief constable waited for the storm to subside before he was able
to extract the information that Ann hadn't seen the young gentleman
leave the house. He had gone when she took up Mr. Glenthorpe's breakfast
nearly an hour later, and made the discovery that the key of Mr.
Glenthorpe's room was in the outside of the door, and his room empty.
The young gentleman could easily have left the inn without being seen,
for she and Charles were in the kitchen, and nobody else was downstairs
at the time.
It was in response to Colwyn's whispered suggestion that the chief
constable asked Ann if she had turned off the gas at the meter the
previous night. Yes, she had, she said. She heard the gentlemen leave
the sitting-room upstairs and say good-night to each other as they went
to their bedrooms, and she turned off the gas at the meter underneath
the stair five minutes afterwards, when she had finished her ironing,
and went to bed herself. That would be about half-past ten.
Mr. Cromering, who did not understand the purport of the question, was
satisfied with the answer, and allowed the servant to retire. But
Colwyn, as he went out to the front to get the motor ready for the
journey to Heathfield, was of a different opinion.
"Ann may have turned off the gas as she said," he thought, "but it was
turned on again during the night. Did Ann know this, and keep it back,
or was it turned on and off again without her knowledge?"