A Disappointment
"You seem surprised, Mr. Stanton!" exclaimed the inspector.
"I am surprised," I echoed, "and I intend to explain why presently.
Meanwhile, I suppose you are trying to get on the track of the second
man who lived in that tent?"
"That's what we are doing, sir--hard at it."
"You will never find him," I said.
"No, sir? May I ask what makes you so sure of that?"
"Simply because my opinion is that he does not exist--never did exist."
The inspector's jaw dropped. "But--but Mr. Carson Wildred----" he began,
when I turned on him and cut him short.
"Did your experience never show you a case where a man, himself a
criminal, invented proofs and clues for the purpose of putting the
police upon the wrong track?"
He too started from his chair, forgetting to set down his glass of
whisky. "Good heavens, sir, you don't mean to accuse----"
"I don't accuse. I am not yet in a position to do that. I only suggest,
and should be myself a criminal if I did not try to throw such light
upon the matter as I can. Sit down again, inspector, and let me tell you
what I know, and what I suspect."
He sat, or rather dropped into his lately-deserted chair, and his
horrified expression, his drooping attitude, went far towards showing me
what an exalted position Carson Wildred occupied in the esteem of the
neighbourhood.
"I can't seem to realise it, Mr. Stanton," ejaculated the inspector.
"Such a man as Mr. Wildred! So respected, so charitable, has given so
much to the church! Why, you must be making a mistake."
"You shall judge for yourself whether I have any evidence to offer worth
building upon," I returned. And then I told him everything, beginning
with my chance meeting with Harvey Farnham at the theatre on Christmas
Eve. His face grew graver and graver as I went on, and when at last
(having dwelt with due insistence upon the mysterious proceedings
attending my call at the House by the Lock) I mentioned the reappearance
of the ring on "a young lady's finger," he shook his head regretfully.
"You've made out a fairly good case against Mr. Wildred, sir," he
observed. "Would it be indiscreet to ask whether you've any
_personal_ enmity against the gentleman?"
"I don't like him," I admitted. And then I went on to describe in a few
words my haunting impression of having been disagreeably associated with
him in the past.
"I would wish," I added hurriedly, "to keep the name of the lady now in
possession of the ring entirely out of the question if possible. It must
only be brought in, inspector, at the last extremity should no other
means remain of detecting a murderer. As for the ring itself, to save
trouble in that direction, I think I could if necessary engage to get
hold of it, and I am quite ready at any time to swear to its identity
with the one worn by my old friend Farnham."
The inspector thoughtfully scratched his head. "It'll be a nasty
business to examine Mr. Wildred's house, in case your friend Mr. Farnham
should prove to be all right over in the States. But we can't lose any
time. What you've told me to-day is very serious, sir, and must be
attended to at once. A couple of detectives will call at the House by
the Lock with a search-warrant before nightfall. I can assure you of
that. Until some definite conclusion is arrived at, Mr. Stanton, I
suppose you would prefer that your name didn't appear in the matter?"
"I don't care a hang whether it appears or not," I retorted recklessly.
Perhaps if I had been a little less reckless--but it is never profitable
to dwell on and brood over the mistakes of one's past.
The inspector assured me that a detective should call that night at the
hotel in Great Marlow where I had volunteered to remain, and give me all
particulars concerning the examination of the House by the Lock. The
appointment made was for eight o'clock, by which time, allowing for
obstacles and unforeseen delays, all was sure to be well over.
Though the inspector had promised that the New York police should be
communicated with, a great restlessness was upon me, and I resolved
myself to cable to America.
It was possible that the _St. Paul_, the ship in which Farnham had
been supposed to sail, was arriving at New York that day, though the
chances were, as the weather had been rough, that she would not have
made one of her record trips. However, there could be no harm in wiring,
and if the ship had got in all waste of time would be avoided.
I wrote out a despatch to the office of the American line in New York,
to be answered (reply prepaid) the moment the _St. Paul_ got in. In
this I enquired whether Mr. Harvey Farnham, of Denver, Colorado, had
been among the passengers. And not contenting myself with this I cabled
Farnham, both to Denver and New York, and to the manager of the Fifth
Avenue Hotel in the latter place, where I had been told that he usually
put up.
The answers to these messages I requested to have sent me at the hotel I
had chosen for my headquarters in Great Marlow.
The hours which must intervene before I could possibly hope for a return
I spent at the Wayfarers', and there I heard of Wildred, who had lunched
at the club with his friend Wigram, and later had been interrupted
during a game of billiards by a telegram. He had used some strong
language, and hurriedly excusing himself, had left in the midst of the
game.
Things had evidently been put into train early, I told myself with
satisfaction, and I concluded that the despatch had either gone out from
police headquarters or been sent by that stealthy-faced, invaluable
major-domo of Wildred's.
By half-past five I was in the train again, carrying with me all that I
could want for the stay of a day or two in a strange hotel, and before
eight o'clock I had dined and was anxiously awaiting the appearance of
the detective. I had hardly dared to hope as yet for any answer to my
cablegrams, still I was disappointed to find upon my advent in Great
Marlow that nothing had arrived.
Every step along the corridor outside the private sitting-room I had
taken made me start like a nervous woman, fancying each time that a
knock on my door might follow and the wished-for message be handed in to
me.
I did not believe that I should hear from Farnham, because my conviction
was steadily growing that his murdered body lay unidentified in the
mortuary not far away. But I did expect to hear from the ship's company
to the effect that no such passenger had been on board the _St.
Paul_. Should this intelligence arrive, there would be so great an
increase of the circumstantial evidence against Wildred that I believed
the police would be justified in making an arrest. Wildred once arrested
and obliged to stand his trial for the crime of murder, Karine
Cunningham would be saved.
Eight o'clock struck, however, and I was reluctantly obliged to give up
all idea of receiving any news from America for the night. Five minutes
later, as I restlessly paced the room, the wished-for knock sounded, but
there was no cablegram to be presented on a tray. A young, fresh-faced
man in plain clothing stood there, who I knew before he spoke must be
the expected detective. His information might prove of equal importance
with the tidings from America, and I received him cordially.
With his first words, however, my heart went down like lead. It was not
that I was eager to see a presumably innocent man proved a murderer for
the sake of my own selfish ends, but thoroughly believing Wildred to be
a consummate scoundrel, I was anxious that he should be found out in
time to prevent disaster.
"I think sir," said the young man of the cheerful countenance, "that
we've been on a false scent to-day."
I got him to sit down, and launched him upon the full tide of narrative.
"Mr. Wildred was away when we first arrived at the House by the Lock,
sir," he went on, "but we should have made use of our search-warrant
without waiting for his return had not the passage and the octagonal
room you described, as well as the tower, been shut off from all
communication with the older part of the house by a heavy iron door, of
which Mr. Wildred invariably carries the key. This his butler explained
by saying that the door had been placed on account of his master's
chemical experiments, which were sometimes of a slightly dangerous
character, unless great precautions were used, and in case of an
explosion or other accident the safety of the living-rooms might be
assured by means of the iron door. The only way of opening it would have
been to employ dynamite, the lock being impregnable; and as the grounds
for suspicion against Mr. Wildred were not yet strong enough to resort
to such violent means, there was nothing to do but wait. He was wired
for to London at once."
"Naturally he would prefer being on the spot," I said, with something
like a sneer. "All the same, I am very sure that there _is_ another
means of communicating with the octagonal room and the tower besides the
main door through the passage." And I mentioned the mysterious
disappearance of the servant, which had on Christmas Day led me to
believe in the existence of a secret way of exit.
"We did look about for something of the sort, and even went down a
cellar," said the detective, "but saw not the slightest sign to suggest
a hidden door."
"Well, go on then to Mr. Wildred's return," I exclaimed impatiently. "I
am anxious to learn why it has been decided that I put you on the wrong
track."
"When he came home he admitted very frankly that he had been annoyed at
the bother occasioned by our telegram, but appeared by that time to have
recovered from his vexation, and to be inclined to laugh the matter off.
He let us know in a moment that he guessed how the information had come,
but we said nothing, of course, to confirm his suppositions.
"In the first place he opened the iron door, explained its workings as
though he took some pride in its mechanism, which he said he had
invented himself. Then he showed us into the octagonal room, which he
had had fitted up as a studio and smoking-room combined. The little door
you had seen behind the drapery merely led into a cupboard containing
boots, an artist's model--a jointed figure of wood--and other odds and
ends. It was concealed only because it was not 'an object of beauty,'
Mr. Wildred said.
"We then proceeded to the tower, where the chemical experiments are
made. There is a small room, reached by mounting a winding skeleton
stairway of iron, and there we were shown Mr. Wildred's apparatus. I
know something of chemistry myself, having had a fad that way when I was
a boy, and I could see that everything he had was straight and
above-board. A big fireplace in the room accounts for the sparks you saw
when you approached the house that day, and Mr. Wildred voluntarily
mentioned that there had been something wrong with the flues, so that
his experiments could not be conducted properly, and he had sent for an
expert to come down from London to look at everything. The man had been
expected on Christmas Eve, then on Christmas, as Mr. Wildred considered
the matter urgent, and finally arrived the day after. Mr. Wildred gave
us his address without waiting to be asked to do so. That accounted for
one more point in your story, sir--the man who was so anxiously looked
for, the man the butler seemed at first to take you to be.
"We then said we had been informed that screams or groans had been heard
issuing from his house on Christmas Day. Mr. Wildred laughed, remarking
that, judging from what he knew of our informant, he had been waiting
for us to come to that point.
"And he repeated the explanation which had been given you, asking us
also if we would care to see the scar (which was not yet quite healed)
made by the burning methylated spirit on the cook's foot or ankle.
"We thought it best to do as he suggested--indeed, if he had not, we
should have proposed the same course ourselves, for the sake of making
assurance doubly sure. The cook was sent for, a very handsome young
woman, sir, bright and ready with her answers. She described the
accident, and whipping off the shoe and stocking from the right foot,
showed us a red mark which spread from the ankle down over the whole
instep."
"So the cook was a handsome young woman, was she?" I asked,
suspiciously, remembering the face which had peered at me through the
narrow window by the door. "Had she great black eyes, a very white face,
and a quantity of dark hair?"
"She had, sir. That would describe her very well. A woman not more than
twenty-five or six, and evidently of a superior class."
I turned this bit of information over in my mind. To be sure, I could
not at the moment make anything of it apropos of the case in hand, but
afterwards I was to remember it under somewhat startling circumstances.
"So you see, sir," the detective continued, "every point you made was
met, and in our opinion, frankly and sufficiently met. Nothing was found
which could possibly justify an arrest, and unless unfavourable reports
are received from the New York police, the case against Mr. Wildred will
have to be dropped. The inspector is having an interview with him
to-night, and doubtless some details with which we, in enforcing our
search-warrant, had no concern will be satisfactorily cleared up. I mean
to say, details relating to the American gentleman, his ring, and his
departure for the States. Should we hear from New York that he has not
returned, why of course, in spite of appearances at the House by the
Lock and failure of circumstantial evidence, suspicion will be renewed
again."
There was absolutely nothing more to be said. Deep as was my chagrin, I
held my tongue as to my opinion of the way affairs had been managed, and
parted with the young detective with apparent nonchalance.
Naturally, I slept little during the night, and was awake even before
the early knock which sounded at my door.
"Two cablegrams for you, sir," said the waiter, when I had bidden him
come in.