Читать книгу The Shadow of the Dead Hand - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Lantary made his announcement in so ordinary a tone of voice that the other two hardly grasped what he was saying for a few minutes. And then the horror of it burst upon them.

"Good heavens," Roy exclaimed under his breath. "In that case, the sooner we are out of the house the better."

"Well, not quite in that way," Lantary drawled. "The mere fact that Murdstone has been murdered is all the more reason why there should be no hurry on your part. To begin with, you would have rather a difficulty in explaining how you got here, Roy. And Miss Glynn would have to explain a thing or two. No, I am afraid you must stay for a bit, until I have seen Martin, and told him what has happened. After that, we shall have to make some explanation to the guests for getting them out of the house, and when that time comes you two can drift off with the rest. So you just stay here as if nothing had happened till I come back."

Lantary vanished, and made his way through the throng of dancers into the hall, where Martin, the butler and head of the household staff, lounged with the rest of the servants. He beckoned the big, silent man on one side, and led him down the corridor, at the end of which the library was situated.

"Now, look here, Martin," he said. "I have got something very serious to say to you. I suppose that your master knows practically everybody who is here tonight?"

"Well, sir, I can't speak as to that," the man called Martin replied. "You see most of the guests here are friends of Countess Visconti. We lent the house to her for the occasion of her daughter's marriage. But why are you asking all this, sir?"

"Well, for the simple reason that your master is lying dead in his library at the present moment, and there is not the slightest doubt that he has been brutally murdered. I happened to go in the library just now to speak to him on a little matter of business, and I found him on the hearthrug, in front of the fireplace dead. Oh, yes, there is no doubt that some enemy has done this thing."

The big man seemed to droop and wilt for a moment, then he looked at Lantary with a peculiar expression in his shifty eyes.

"What are we going to do about it, sir?" he asked.

"Well, there is only one thing for it," Lantary said. "Don't say a word to the servants yet, but go quietly into the library and call up Scotland Yard on your master's private telephone. When you have done that, come back to me again and I will tell you what I think we should do. The first thing, of course, is to get all these people out of the house, and that you can leave to me."

Martin stood there for a moment, as unwilling, or too frightened to undertake his task, before he turned away and went, with dragging footsteps, in the direction of the library. Then Lantary made his way through the thick of the dancers until he came to the spot where the Countess was seated. She was a tall strikingly handsome woman, with dark flashing eyes, and presented a wonderful appearance of youth, considering her years, which could not have been less than 40. She turned with an almost pitying smile to Lantary as she saw the expression on his face.

"Well, Mr. Lantary," she said. "Well? I see you want to ask me a question. What is the trouble?"

Lantary leaned over and whispered three words in her ear. With all her coolness, and the undoubted courage which showed itself in every line of her face, those striking features of hers took on a pallid hue, and she swayed slightly in her chair.

"The thing is impossible," she murmured. "Just at this time, when everything is going so—"

She checked herself suddenly but Lantary had not been slow to notice that she was more angry and alarmed than overcome by the force of this stupendous tragedy.

"Well, there it is," Lantary said. "Murdstone is dead enough, and there is no getting away from that. I suppose you understand that the first thing we have to do is to get these people out of the house? How do you propose to manage it?"

"Yes, I suppose that is up to me," the Countess said, with a far-away look in her eyes. "After all, they are my guests. I suppose the best thing we can do is to tell them that Mr. Murdstone has been seized with a sudden illness."

"Yes, that's the best thing," Lantary agreed. "You break the news to them, and I will see the police when they come. There is no reason why you should stay here after your friends have gone."

The Countess appeared as if about to say something, then, as suddenly, changed her mind. Lantary stopped just long enough to hear a whisper go round the room, and note the looks of consternations on the faces of the irresponsible throng. Even the music of the band ceased, as if the musicians had suddenly become conscious of the tragedy that had happened in their midst. And then a dead silence, broken here and there by hoarse whispers. After that, a steady stream of guests in the direction of the street, and the noise of cab whistles and the horns of motor cars outside. It was almost weird to see the way in which the great house emptied without any sort of ceremony, though, so far, it was impossible that any of the guests could have guessed at the real cause of the breaking up of the party.

Almost on the heels of the last of them came two representatives of Scotland Yard. The leader of the two entered the hall, and spoke with an air of authority to Martin.

"I am Inspector Dwight," he said. "I think you sent for me just now. This is my colleague, Inspector Carson. I understand that something has happened to your master, Mr. Murdstone."

Martin was the quiet, model servant again. There was nothing in his exterior to show that he was stirred to the depths.

"That's quite right, sir," he said. "I sent for you at the instigation of one of the guests, Mr. Lantary. It was Mr. Lantary who found the body. You see, sir, my master had lent the house to Counters Visconti for the night, because her daughter was married this morning, and, indeed, the wedding took place from here."

"Have you seen the body?" Dwight asked.

"Oh, yes, sir; indeed, sir, Mr. Lantary sent me into the library on purpose. He came straight to me from the library, and told me what had happened. Then he informed Madame—I mean the Countess—and she told her friends that Mr. Murdstone had been taken suddenly ill, and, of course, they all left."

"Oh, did they?" Dwight asked sharply. "That was quite wrong, and you ought to have known it. You should have communicated with me before saying a word to anybody. Nobody should have been permitted to leave this house till after the police had had a chance to make, at least, a preliminary investigation. Where is Mr. Lantary? Has he gone with the rest?"

"No, he hasn't," Lantary said, as he strolled casually into the hall. "I couldn't very well do that, Inspector, considering that I found the body, and asked Martin here to call you in. Matter of fact, nobody is here except the servants, together with a young lady who is staying in the house, and a friend of mine, Mr. Roy Kindermere. Perhaps I am to blame, because it was I who suggested to the Countess that she should dismiss her friends under the pretext that Mr. Murdstone had been taken ill. I was talking to the young lady, Miss Glynn, in the conservatory, together with Mr. Kindermere, just before I went into the library to say a few words to my host, or, rather, my deputy-host, and, to my horror, I found him lying dead before the fire place."

"Any signs of a struggle?" Dwight asked.

"Well, to a certain extent—yes. Oh, he was murdered, right enough! Stabbed to the heart with a big clasp-knife, which is lying on the rug by the side of the body. Of course, I didn't touch it, or anything else for that matter. You see, Inspector, I am by way of being a sort of investigator myself."

Inspector Dwight smiled rather sourly at the speaker.

"Yes, I know you are, Mr. Lantary," he said. "Society scandals, and all that sort of thing. Wasn't it you who first put us on the right track with regard to that Redhill business?"

"That is quite right," Lantary said cheerfully. "But don't you think we are wasting time talking here? Don't you think it would be just as well if we went into the library and had a look round. And you won't mind my coming along?"

"On the contrary," Dwight said briefly, "as you have discovered the body, you will be one of the principal witnesses."

The trio walked down the corridor and turned into the library, where Dwight switched on the lights. He stood there, in the big, handsome room, glancing round him, and then, crossing the thick carpet, bent over the dumb object lying there, stretched on the hearthrug. The big, white face was turned up to the ceiling, the long, powerful arms lay by the dead man's side. In the centre of his broad expanse of shirt front was a long slit, from which the blood was still oozing. Between Murdstone's feet was a clasp knife with a spring, such as sailors use, and the long double-edged blade was red with the blood of the victim. A chair had been overturned, an occasional table slanted against a settee, and the big writing table was a litter of confusion. A large inkpot had been overturned, and its contents still dropped on the floor.

"Murder, beyond the shadow of a doubt!" Dwight murmured. "Carson, I wish you would fetch the man Martin, will you?"

Martin came, stolid and indifferent without, followed presently by two of the liveried footmen. They glanced down at the body for a minute or two before Dwight swept them from the room.

"You all identify your master, of course," he said. "I only want you for the purpose of identification. And now, Mr. Lantary, what about the dead man's relations? You know most of London Society people. Has he any relatives in town?"

Lantary looked down with his glass firmly screwed in his eye.

"I may be wrong," he said. "One never knows, of course, but I should be very much surprised, Inspector, if you, or anybody else, can discover any of Murdstone's relatives in London; in fact, I don't believe that he had such a thing in the world."