Читать книгу A Midnight Mystery - Fergus Hume - Страница 4

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In the month of May, a young man was walking slowly up and down the London, Chatham and Dover platform of the Victoria station. It was close on twelve and he glanced from the clock to the train, which was timed to leave for Margate at noon. This intended passenger was dressed in deep mourning and there was a haggard expression on his face which betrayed anxiety. Judging from his garb and ill-suppressed grief, he had but lately lost a near relative.

“Nearly twelve o’clock,” he uttered, looking at his watch to verify the station time, “and the train starts at five past. I am afraid Dillock will be late.”

Even as he spoke the man whom he expected emerged from the ticket office, and walked straight towards him. A tall, sober-looking individual was the newcomer, with a keen inquisitive look on his clean-shaven face. His appearance, smart and alert, was that of a barrister, and he was frequently mistaken for a member of the legal profession. As a matter of fact, if not a lawyer, he was closely connected with the law, for he was well known as Dillock, one of the cleverest of London detectives. Taken in conjunction with the mourning garb of the young man, his appearance on the spot was ominous of evil. It looked as though Dillock were engaged in the investigation of a possible crime.

“Just in time, Mr. Dillock.”

“Very sorry, Mr. Halston, couldn’t get here any sooner,” replied the detective smartly. “I came as quick as a hansom could bring me. After all I am in time, with five minutes to spare.”

“Well, about this case—” began Halston, when the other cut him short.

“You can tell me all about it in the train. Can we get a carriage to ourselves?”

“Here you are,” said Halston, beckoning to the guard. “I engaged one on purpose so that we should not be disturbed.”

Dillock jumped in, followed by Halston, the guard locked the door, and in a few minutes the train moved slowly out of the station. The two men settled themselves comfortably and proceeded to discuss the matter which had brought them together. Halston lighted a cigar and offered his case to the detective. Dillock declined the courtesy, and producing his pocket-book for the purpose of taking notes, plunged at once into business. He was a man who knew the value of time.

“I had no time to speak this morning, Mr. Halston,” he said, apologetically, “as I had to finish off another case, else I could not have got away to-day. Consequently, beyond a glimpse of the papers, I know nothing of this matter. You must tell me about it as minutely as possible.”

“I’ll tell you all I know,” said Halston, gloomily, “unfortunately, I was not at Seagate when my cousin was killed.”

“Rudolph Carrant is the name of the deceased,” observed Dillock, glancing at the newspaper, “your cousin!”

“Yes, My cousin! He was two years older than I, and engaged to be married to Miss Granville.”

“Oh, indeed!” said the detective, in a vague kind of way, as though such an engagement had no special interest for him, “He was to be married. Very sad! Very sad indeed. By the way,” he added, looking up from his paper, this report says he fell over the cliff and was killed. Is that correct?”

“Yes! It was supposed he fell over,” said Halston, with marked emphasis.

“Supposed! eh?” was the significant comment of Dillock

“I have my suspicions. They may be groundless; still, I can’t help suspecting that—”

“That he was pushed over,” finished Dillock, putting the idea into words.

“Precisely! That he was pushed over. It was not an accident, but a murder.”

“Have you any idea of the motive for the crime?” queried Dillock, looking keenly at the gloomy face of the other.

“I believe robbery was the motive. In fact, I am certain of it.”

“Robbery! Hm! Money? Jewels?”

“No, papers!” said the young man, with evident reluctance. “Yes, papers!”

“Papers! Have you any idea of their nature?”

“No. I have not the least idea. I know nothing of my cousin’s private affairs.”

“Then why do you suspect that your deceased cousin was robbed of papers, or why, Mr. Halston,” added Dillock, slowly, “why do you think there was any foul play in the matter. It might be, as the papers say, an accident.”

Cecil Halston had a fair and delicate complexion like that of a woman, and blushed with indignation at this speech. Knowing what he did, it seemed absurd that any one should hold a contrary opinion. He was prepared to substantiate his suspicions.

“It was not an accident,” he said, hurriedly. “My cousin was murdered and robbed. I do not agree with the jury. Their verdict is wrong.”

For answer, Dillock read aloud the description of the case reported in “The Morning Courier.” It was bald and unsatisfying.

“An inquest was held yesterday on the body of Mr. Rudolph Carrant, who fell over the cliff at Seagate on the fourteenth day of this month. The deceased was found on the morning of the fifteenth lying at the foot of the cliff with his neck broken. Dr. Maxwell said death must have been instantaneous. The unfortunate gentleman was engaged to be married to Miss Catherine Granville, daughter of Sir Algernon Granville, and was at his house on the night of the accident. He left there at ten o’clock for the purpose of going to his hotel, and it is supposed that he mistook the path and so fell over the cliff. The jury brought in a verdict of death by misadventure. Much sympathy is felt in the district for Miss Granville.”

When he finished reading this delectable report, Dillock laid the paper on the seat beside him, and proceeded to discuss the matter. Halston was prepared for this cross-examination.

“Is that report correct, Mr. Halston?” he asked, rubbing his chin.

“In the main it is perfectly correct,” replied the other, doubtfully.

“And the jury brought in a verdict of accidental death?”

“So it seems,” said Halston, coldly; “but I don’t agree with that verdict.”

“You believe Mr. Carrant was murdered?”

“I do! Murdered and robbed!”

“Robbed of papers, you say?” queried Dillock, looking down.

“Yes. At least, that is the only motive I can conjecture as reasonable.”

“You were not called as a witness at the inquest.”

“No. There was no reason that I should be called,” said Halston, promptly. “Besides, I was in Paris when the inquest was held. I was not subpœnaed.”

“What! Not when you guessed your cousin had been murdered?”

“I did not know that at the time,” responded the young man with some hesitation. “You see my cousin died on the fourteenth of this month. It is now the twentieth. The inquest, as you see, has been held, and he is now buried. I returned to England for the funeral. It was then that I fancied the cause of his death was other than accidental.”

“What made you think so?”

“A conversation I had with Sir Algernon Granville.”

“Oh!” said Dillock, suddenly. “Then this idea of foul play is not your own?”

“No. It is the idea of Sir Algernon.”

“But I don’t understand, Mr. Halston.”

“I will explain. On the night of the fourteenth, Rudolph was at Sir Algernon’s place at Seagate. There was some card playing and my cousin won ten pounds. Sir Algernon gave him a bank note for that amount and he placed it in his pocket-book. I know that pocket-book very well,” added Halston, speaking rapidly, “having often seen it in my cousin’s possession. It is of shagreen, with his crest and monogram in silver on the outside, and the corners are also bound with silver. You follow me?”

“Perfectly,” replied Dillock, scribbling this description in his note-book, “and Mr. Carrant had it in his possession on the night in question—Had it in his pocket.”

“So Sir Algernon says. He saw Rudolph place the ten-pound note therein. Then he went away and the next morning was found dead at the foot of the cliff. But the pocket-book was gone.”

“Ah! The pocket-book was gone,” said Dillock, in a casual kind of fashion.

“Yes. It had been abstracted from his breast-coat pocket.”

“Was he not in evening dress?”

“He was, certainly. But he had a breast pocket in his dress coat, an inner pocket, and it was there that Sir Algernon saw him place the book containing the note.

“So you think that Mr. Carrant was robbed and murdered for the sake of that ten-pound note?”

“I don’t see what other conclusion one can arrive at.”

“You said something about papers,” hinted Mr. Dillock, artfully.

“Well, he might have been robbed for papers, or for money, I don’t know which,” replied Halston, impatiently. “To tell you the truth, Mr. Dillock, my cousin was not a very reputable person. He knew many scamps, and it is just possible that his pocket-book may have contained papers likely to be of value to some of his disreputable acquaintances. You know from experience what these kind of people are.”

“It might be so, certainly,” said Dillock, thoughtfully, “it is more likely that a man would rob your cousin of papers which he knew were in his possession than of a ten-pound note of which he knew nothing.”

“He might have guessed Rudolph had money on him.”

“Possibly! But that special ten-pound note was only won off Sir Algernon at cards on the night in question. No one could have known Mr. Carrant had that in his possession when he left the house.”

“Except Sir Algernon,” said Halston, significantly.

Dillock played with his watch chain and did not answer this question directly.

“I don’t see how you can throw suspicion on him,” he said, at length, raising his eyebrows, “if he had anything to do with this matter he would have held his tongue about the robbery, particularly as the jury brought in a verdict of accidental death.”

“You then agree with me that my cousin was murdered?”

“The loss of that pocket-book is suspicious,” said Dillock, declining to commit himself to any opinion. “If your cousin had fallen accidentally over the cliff, it is probable that the pocketbook would still be in his possession—unless,” added the detective, after a momentary pause, “someone had a grudge against him and took away the pocket-book so as to foster the idea of robbery.”

“Certainly it might be that. A murder, and to avert suspicion, a pretended robbery.”

“Do you know anyone who had a grudge against him?” asked Dillock, seeing his companion answered somewhat absently and was in deep thought. Halston wriggled uncomfortably and dropped his eyes before the keen gaze of the detective which seemed to read his very soul.

“I don’t like to cast suspicion on anyone,” he said, at length, with a frown.

“Have you any suspicions?” asked Dillock, sharply.

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean. You speak in riddles. Give me the key to them. You mean—”

“Simply this!” burst out Halston, rapidly. “I say that my cousin was robbed, if not of money, at least of some papers he carried in that shagreen pocket-book.”

“That is Sir Algernon’s idea,” corrected the detective, “not your own. I wish to know your own suspicions.”

“I have none. At least, I have no very definite suspicions of any consequence.”

“Oh, yes you have,” persisted Dillock. “Come, Mr. Halston, you have told me everything so far, why not continue to repose confidence in me.”

“I might say that Rudolph’s death was accidental.”

“You might, but you will not do so. Your story of the pocket-book gives the lie to that. Come, Mr. Halston,” he said, again in a persuasive manner. “You suspect some one. I can read your face like an open book. You suspect some one.”

“Well, I do,” responded Halston, with manifest reluctance.

“And his name?”

“Hugh Oliphant! He is the man I suspect, but I am by no means certain.”

“Who is he?” asked Dillock, taking no notice other than the name.

“A gentleman of independent fortune,” sneered Halston, “and a discarded lover of Miss Granville’s.”

“Indeed,” said Dillock, pricking up his ears, “then he was naturally jealous of Mr. Carrant.”

“Very jealous indeed. Of course, I don’t speak from personal knowledge, as I know Oliphant but slightly. I simply say what was told to me by Rudolph.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That Oliphant hated him because he was going to marry Miss Granville, and would gladly put him out of the way if he could.”

“Had Mr. Carrant any tangible reason for such an opinion?”

“Ah, that I cannot tell you,” responded Halston, frankly. “He said no more than that. My idea is that Oliphant met Rudolph on that fatal night and that in a quarrel which ensued my cousin fell over the cliff.”

“Put it in plain words, Mr. Halston,” said Dillock, quietly. “You mean that Oliphant pushed Carrant over the cliff.”

“I don’t say so,” answered Halston, fencing with his questioner.

“No, but you think so,” persisted the detective, looking at him steadily.

Halston bit his lips in an angry fashion and looked gloomily downward.

“You forced it out of me,” he declared, sullenly. “I did not wish to tell you. I have no grudge against Oliphant, but I really and truly believe that he knows more about my cousin’s death than anyone else.”

“I quite appreciate your reluctance, Mr. Halston,” said the detective, quietly, “it is very chivalrous but, if you will pardon me saying so, very foolish. It is your duty to discover the assassin of your cousin, and if you suspect Oliphant you are quite right to say so.”

“But he may be innocent,” demurred Halston, faintly.

“You may be sure I shall give him the benefit of every doubt,” responded Dillock, drily. “By the way, did Miss Granville love Oliphant?”

“I don’t know; as she was to marry Rudolph I suppose she did not.”

“She might have been engaged to your cousin against her will, hence the jealously between the two men. Was your cousin rich?”

“Very rich. He had twenty thousand a year. I am his heir.”

“I congratulate you,” said Dillock gravely, “and Sir Algernon?”

“Is as hard up as it is possible for any one to be.”

“Then he doubtless forced his daughter to marry Carrant on account of its being a good match.”

“I don’t know. I can’t say.”

Halston was growing restive under this prolonged examination which had now lasted over two hours. The train would soon be in at Seagate, so as Dillock had learned nearly all he wished to know, he desisted from further questioning, and permitted his companion to busy himself in a book. Meanwhile he glanced over his notes and did his best to think out the case.

It perplexed him greatly. There were two theories equally feasible. One that Carrant was killed to gain possession of certain valuable papers, and the other that Oliphant had deliberately murdered him in a frenzy of jealous passion. The former was the most probable, as it was scarcely likely Oliphant would be so foolish as to commit a crime for such a trivial cause as jealously. Certainly, it appeared trivial to the detective, but it might not be so to Oliphant, yet Dillock could not comprehend the state of mind which could drive a man into periling his neck for the sake of a woman. He was rather misogynistic.

“I must see this Oliphant,” he thought, as the train gradually slowed down; “from his demeanour I can tell plainly his attitude towards this girl and her dead lover. As to the pocket-book—if that has been stolen it will be a more difficult matter to trace it—unless,” he considered with an after-thought, “the note affords a clue.”

As soon as this idea entered his brain he asked Halston a question.

“Do you know if Sir Algernon has the number of that ten-pound note he gave to Carrant in payment of his loss at cards?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” responded Halston, promptly. “He’s not the man to do anything in a business-like way. I shouldn’t think it likely. Why do you ask?”

“Because,” said Dillock, slowly, “if I can trace that note I’ll be able to lay my hand on the man who killed your cousin.”