Читать книгу The Yellow Hunchback - Fergus Hume - Страница 6

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Naturally enough, an immense sensation was caused by the violent death of Evan Berrow. Had the victim been a tramp, or a workman, or a pauper, everyone would still have been excited, since in so quiet and respectable a neighbourhood, crime of any kind was of rare occurrence. But that the son of the man who had surrounded old Chadston village with resplendent villas, who was himself virtual king of the suburb by reason of his wealth, should be done to death in so mysterious a manner sent a thrill through the community. The news was all over the place early next day, and many were the inquiries made at the Manor House, where the body lay.

Like a flock of vultures the London reporters descended on the suburb, and permeated the place, asking questions and suggesting answers. But the inspector of police who had charge of the case was grimly silent, and no one else seemed to know anything. The sole information procurable was that Berrow had left his home after dinner, and had been found dead at half-past ten in the High Street of Chadston village. Also it was ascertained that a stab under the left shoulder blade had caused the death; whereupon one smart young reporter suggested that the poor little man had been taken by surprise and killed before he could cry out or turn on his assailant. And then the smart young reporter went in search of Polly Tait, the secretary of the dead dwarf.

He had no right to do this, for his name was Teddy Smith and he was engaged to the pretty girl, who formed part of the Berrow household. It was possible, thought Teddy, that Polly might know something, and she would certainly tell him everything, so that he might concoct sensational paragraphs. But an inquiry at the Manor House led to the discovery that Miss Tait had gone to see Miss Marvel. Smith recollected that this was the young lady who had found the body, and therefore thanked his stars that, on the plea of seeing Polly, he might be able to question one so intimately concerned in the case.

Alice knew that Teddy was a reporter on the Daily Gossip, and admitted him at once to share the conversation of herself and Polly. The latter damsel, who was a demure brunette, with merry black eyes and a coy manner, thanked Alice for allowing Teddy the opportunity of gathering information. But Polly did not know that Alice’s true reason was concerned with the desire to place before the public a true, unvarnished tale of the doings of her father on the previous night, lest he should be implicated.

It was not that Alice thought her father had killed the man; but he had taken her down the High Street, where the body was found, on the plea that he had left his spectacles at the office. On his return home, however, she noted that he produced his spectacles, and guessed that the excuse was a false one. Also the man, highly strung and weak, had betrayed such agitation, when the crime came to light, that Alice could not but suspect that he had seen the corpse before he met her at the top of the High Street. She had questioned him on this point, but Marvel, with the cunning of the weak, had refused to explain. All he said was, that he knew nothing, and had never seen the body until he chanced on it with Alice. Nevertheless, his daughter shivered with apprehension lest the police, discovering too much, should arrest Marvel. And if that was done, so foolish a man would certainly get himself into trouble, even though he was perfectly innocent, as Alice believed him to be. For this reason she welcomed Teddy Smith, and admitted him to the ugly sitting-room, where Polly already sat comfortably by the fire.

Teddy, who was slight and fair-haired, with the innocent blue eyes of a child and the self-confidence of a minor poet, saluted Polly in a hasty manner, which drew forth a remonstrance.

“Well, I’m sure, Teddy,” she said, straightening herself indignantly; “you might be more polite.”

“I’m on business now, Polly. Business is never polite. And you must understand,” he eyed both young ladies sternly, “that if I can find out the truth of this murder it means promotion to me, and an increase of salary. Then, Polly, we can marry.”

“On blood-money,” pouted Polly, with a shiver.

“Nonsense, my dear. There is no reward offered, but if Mrs. Berrow does offer one I’ll do my best to earn it. Now then, Miss Marvel,” he took out a large notebook, and moistened his pencil, “will you answer me a few questions?”

“Certainly,” began Alice, smiling faintly, although she looked white and worried. “Mr. Berrow came here at nine o’clock—”

“Where was he previously?” demanded Teddy, imperatively.

“I can tell you that,” put in Polly, quickly. “He dined with Mrs. Berrow and myself at half-past seven, and went out at eight.”

“A short meal, my dear Polly.”

“He was worried, and ate very little.”

“Humph! He was worried. What about?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t my business to question my employer.”

“Worried, eh?” Teddy noted this. “And he left the Manor House at eight. From there to this villa is but a short distance. He could walk it in a quarter of an hour. He did not come here until nine. Now then,” he looked sternly at his listeners, “what was Mr. Berrow doing during the remaining three-quarters of an hour?”

“I don’t know,” pouted Polly.

Teddy turned to Alice. “Did he tell you, Miss Marvel?”

“No,” replied Alice, perfectly composed, and knowing well what to say. “Mr. Berrow came here at nine, and asked me to marry him. I refused, and he went away at a quarter past nine. At ten I went out to fetch home my father, whom I thought was at The Builders’ Hall. However, I met him at the top of the High Street, coming from the office.”

“Why from the office, when you expected to find him in the hall?”

Alice explained about the pianist who had recovered, and how Marvel had gone to work at the office. “Then my father found that he had forgotten his spectacles,” she continued, “and we were going back for them when we found the body. The police came when I called out for help, and took charge of the corpse. Then my father and I came home.”

“Is that all?” asked Teddy, noting this evidence carefully.

Alice met his keen look steadily. “That is all,” she said, calmly. “Mr. Berrow never mentioned where he had been previous to his coming here, nor did he say where he was going.”

Teddy turned so suddenly on Polly that she jumped. “Did Mr. Berrow say when he would be home?”

“Oh, how you frightened me,” cried Polly, angrily. “Don’t be so sudden, Teddy. No. He simply rose from the table and went out. Mrs. Berrow and I went into the drawing-room, and I retired to bed at half-past eight with a headache.”

“And you’ll bring it on again,” snapped Miss Tait, “so inconsiderate as you are, Edward.”

“Don’t be cross, Polly. This is business.” He rose to go, and bowed to Alice. “Thank you, Miss Marvel, you have given me enough material to make an excellent paragraph. The idea that Mr. Berrow asked you to marry him is most romantic.”

“Don’t put that in,” cried Alice, quickly, and a vivid colour flushed her face.

“Why not? It adds so much to the interest of the crime. Berrow may have killed himself for love—no—it was murder, and not suicide. But someone who loved you may have murdered him, and—”

“Oh!” Alice clenched her hands. “How can you rattle on so, Mr. Smith? I am sorry I told you anything now. I don’t want that proposal of marriage put in, because Mr. Treffry would be angry.”

“Mr. Treffry?” said Polly. “Who is he, Alice?”

“The man I am engaged to be married to.”

“Oh!” Polly stared. “I knew that you were engaged, for poor Mr. Berrow told me. But this is the first time I have heard the name. Oh,” she looked wounded, “and we are such friends.”

“Never mind, dear,” said Alice, wearily. “I’ll tell you my romance later. Meanwhile, Mr. Smith, you can see my objection to having this proposal of marriage put in the papers, especially as Rupert—that is, Mr. Treffry—was with me last night, just before Mr. Berrow came.”

“Oh!” Out came Teddy’s notebook again. “Did Mr. Treffry meet with Mr. Berrow?”

“Yes. Just for a moment. Then Mr. Treffry went to see Mr. Mason Clyde about some business.”

“Humph!” said Smith, under his breath; “and Clyde’s office is in the High Street, where the body was found.”

Alice caught the words, low as they were uttered, and she rose in a royal rage. “How dare you speak like that?” she flamed out. “Do you dare to suggest that Mr. Treffry had anything to do with—”

“No! No; I am only thinking of a picturesque paragraph, and—”

“You shall not make up picturesque paragraphs at my expense,” interrupted Alice, regretting that she had been so open; “and please to consider this conversation private. What I say at the inquest will be what you will say in your paper.”

“Quite so,” protested Teddy. “But it will be in all the papers. Now, with this conversation with you I have got the inside track, and—”

“You can say as little as possible,” said Alice, relenting.

“Then I’ll leave out all about the proposal and the meeting of Mr. Treffry and Mr. Berrow, and—”

“That will do.” Alice rose, having gained her point. “And now you can take Polly away. You are not looking well, Polly,” she added, as she kissed the girl.

“I am quite well,” replied Miss Tait, with unnecessary vehemence. “It is only that my father is bothering me, as usual. He is hoping, now that Mr. Berrow is dead, that some money is left to him by the will.”

“Well, he was treated badly by Mr. Berrow’s father,” said Alice, reflectively, “and perhaps Evan, poor boy, has made amends. When is the will to be read?”

“On the day after the funeral,” said Polly, “Will you be there?”

Alice gave her one swift glance, and wondered if by chance Polly had heard of the latest will, from Evan Berrow. “Why should I be there?” she asked, coldly and cautiously.

“Mr. Berrow loved you, and he might have left you something.”

“I don’t think it is at all likely,” rejoined Alice. “Good-bye, dear.”

While this conversation was going on, Teddy Smith’s keen eyes were alternately glancing from one pretty face to the other. He saw that both Alice and Polly were confused, and concluded that they knew more than they chose to tell. Alice, he saw, would not talk any more, but he tried vainly to get some further information out of Miss Tait as they walked into Chadston. Polly, however, burst into tears when he pressed her, and declined to reply. This exhibition of weakness was so contrary to her usual character that Teddy became more suspicious than ever. Polly cut short further questioning by running away, and Mr. Smith went to the nearest hotel to drown his annoyance in whisky, and write his picturesque paragraph. It seemed absurd to him that Polly should know of anything connected with the case likely to cause a sensation, yet refuse to permit him to use it. The more early and startling information he could get before the public, the better would he be appreciated by his editor; therefore, Teddy was annoyed. Since Polly was to marry him, it seemed that she was—vulgarly speaking—cutting off her nose to spite her face. “I wonder what she knows?” reflected Mr. Smith, but could find no answer to the question.

He hoped that it would be answered at the inquest, which took place next day, but Polly said much the same as she had in the presence of Miss Marvel. Also Miss Marvel—suppressing the fact of the proposal—gave much the same evidence as she had done to Teddy. The facts elicited from the several witnesses by the Coroner were of the barest description. Evan Berrow had left his own house at eight, and had appeared at the villa at nine. He left there at a quarter past, and the next seen of him, he was lying dead at half-past ten in the High Street. There was absolutely no motive to be found why he should have been murdered.

The doctor who had examined the body deposed that the death had been caused by a large wound under the left shoulder blade. The man had been struck from behind, and must have died almost without a sound. No weapon could be found. The doctor also said that, as he examined the corpse fifteen minutes after its discovery by Miss Marvel, the man must have been killed three-quarters of an hour previously—say, at ten o’clock.

Marvel, who had steadied his nerves with several glasses of brandy, gave his evidence composedly enough. On leaving Clyde’s office, a few minutes after ten o’clock, he had walked up the High Street on his way home, but on the opposite side to that on which the body had been found. A blinding snowstorm prevailed at the time, therefore he saw nothing, and, in fact—as he stated emphatically—could not even see across the narrow road. He met his daughter, and returned to find his spectacles, which he had left on his desk. It was then that Miss Marvel and himself had chanced on the body, as she had stated.

Alice, with a pale face and a beating heart, looked steadily at her father, as he deliberately told what she knew to be a lie. He glanced stealthily in her direction, and a faint colour crept into his cheeks and his shifty eyes fell. But this momentary confusion passed unnoticed, and his evidence was accepted readily enough. It was with a sigh of relief that Alice saw him dismissed. Yet her heart was heavy, even though the immediate danger had passed. She could not help fearing that there was trouble ahead.

Mrs. Berrow, looking wonderfully young and pretty, appeared dressed in deep mourning. It would almost seem as though she had expected the death of her step-son, so accurately was she arrayed in the garb of woe. Her evidence was to the effect that Evan had no enemies, and had left the house in a calm, untroubled state of mind. He did not anticipate being killed, and she never heard him hint at any possibility of meeting with an early death. Mason Clyde also stated very frankly that his client was most popular, and was not likely to be murdered. He deposed that he had not set eyes on Evan Berrow on the night in question. He was working at his office late, and had been summoned therefrom by the police. Marvel, his clerk, had also staggered in with a report of the tragedy. Then witness had assisted the police to remove the body to the Manor House. He broke the news as gently as possible to Mrs. Berrow, who was—said Mason Clyde—sincerely attached to the dead man.

There were no other witnesses, and the Coroner summed up the evidence, which, as can be seen, was scanty enough. Berrow had been found dead, and there was nothing to show how he had come by his death. Alice Marvel apparently was the last person to see him, and there was nothing in what she said likely to reveal the truth. Perhaps if Alice had detailed Berrow’s wild talk of his step-mother’s desire to inherit the fortune the jury might have taken another and more decided attitude. As it was, the verdict given was to the effect that Evan Berrow had met his death at the hands of “some person or persons unknown.” The twelve good and lawful men could say no more and no less, on the evidence before them. And so the inquest ended, leaving the mystery of the murder as unfathomable as when the proceedings opened. Everyone left the Manor House, where the inquest had been held, in a dissatisfied state of mind. Yet no one could suggest the advisability of any other verdict being delivered.

As Alice stood at the door, while her father exchanged a few words with Clyde relative to business, she felt a touch on her arm. Mrs. Berrow was by her side, calm and composed, although her eyes showed traces of weeping.

“Evan will be buried to-morrow,” said Mrs. Berrow. “And afterwards the reading of the will takes place. I want you to be present.”

“Why?” asked Alice, abruptly.

Mrs. Berrow smiled significantly. “You may hear of something to your advantage.”