Читать книгу The Shadow of the Dead Hand - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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Inspector Dwight smiled with the tolerant air of one who listens to the prattling of a little child. The mere idea that the man still lying there, on the floor of the library in Marrion-square, should be anybody but Felix Murdstone was too ridiculous even to argue about. There he was, in his own house, where he had been identified by two footmen, to say nothing of Martin, the butler, who could not possibly be mistaken. And yet, here was this chubby-faced little man with the eyeglass solemnly proclaiming that the body on the floor belonged to somebody else.

"Well," Dwight said. "I have heard some strange statements in my time, but if you will pardon me for saying so, nothing more ridiculous than the remark you have just made. Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me exactly what you mean."

Lantary smiled in his turn.

"You don't seem to have much imagination," he said. "That is the trouble with you Scotland Yard people. You pin yourselves down to what appears to be a fact, and there is no getting you away from it. You don't read many novels, I suppose?"

"Novels?" Dwight scoffed. "What have novels to do with it? I have something much better to do."

"Ah, that is rather a pity," Lantary lisped. "Because things are not always what they seem. When I tell you that the man lying there is not Felix Murdstone, I am telling you no more than the truth. Now, let's see exactly how things pan out. I find Murdstone, at least the man we regard as Murdstone, lying here, dead, and, obviously, murdered. I want to call your attention to the fact that the library window is a French one, and opens on to the garden. Being a hot night, it was open, so that anybody could enter from outside. It is a quiet garden, with plenty of shrubs, and, at the end of it, is a door leading into a lane. Please don't forget that. What I want to impress upon you is the fact that anybody could have stolen into the garden and thence into the library, where Murdstone was all alone. And that somebody killed him, beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"But Murdstone is lying there," Dwight said.

"Oh, no, he isn't, as I am going to prove to you presently. We will rule out the two footmen, if you like, because their evidence isn't worth much. They were in too great a state of agitation last night to take particular notice of the body. But Martin is a different affair altogether. Martin is going to prove my case. We will send for him presently, but, meanwhile, I am going to set a little trap. You see, I am a student of psychology, and I have come to the conclusion that I don't like Martin. There is something wrong about him. To begin with, when I told him last night that his master had been killed, his attitude was just a little too conventional. I don't say he didn't carry it off very well, but it struck me that he was acting. However, we will see. Dr. May, would you mind lending me the signet ring you are wearing on your little finger? It has your crest, I presume?"

May took the ring from his finger and handed it over to Lantary who proceeded to slip it on the hand of the man lying there on the floor. Even Dwight, with all his contempt for the amateur detective, appeared to be interested.

"Thank you," Lantary said. "Now, Inspector would you be good enough to ring the bell and tell somebody to ask Martin to step this way? The rest you can leave to me."

Martin came a few minutes later, quite cool and collected and perfectly deferential in his manner.

"You sent for me, gentlemen," he murmured.

"I sent for you," Lantary said. "Now, look here, Martin, I suppose there is no doubt whatever that it is your late master who is lying there, on the floor. It seems a strange thing to say, don't you know, but it is just possible that you might have made a mistake. Of course, I know that you identified Mr. Murdstone last night, and so did the footmen, but we want to be absolutely sure."

"Absolutely sure, sir?" Martin exclaimed. "There can't be any possible doubt about it. I have been in my master's service for years. I was with him, both in America and South Africa, long before I ever expected to end my days as a butler. We had a rough time of it abroad, before the tide turned, and Mr. Murdstone made all his money."

"Has he many friends?" Lantary asked.

"Well, no, sir, he hasn't. Sort of man who kept to himself. And as to relations, I don't believe he has one in the world. If you think there is any doubt, sir—"

"Oh, I am not suggesting that for a moment," Lantary interrupted. "All we want is to make absolutely certain. Your evidence and that of the footmen is quite sufficient for all practical purposes. There is only one thing, and that is in connection with the signet ring on Mr. Murdstone's finger. I mention this because it occurs to me that I have seen something very like it years ago. I suppose it isn't a recent purchase?"

"Oh, dear no, sir," Martin said glibly. "My master has had it for years. He bought it in an old curiosity shop in New York many years ago. In fact, he has worn it ever since. Looked upon it as a sort of mascot, he did."

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter very much," Lantary said carelessly. "Of course, there will be an inquest to-morrow, and you will have to come forward and identify the body. For the present, at any rate, we shan't want you any more, Martin."

The butler bowed deferentially, and left the room. Then Lantary turned triumphantly to Dwight.

"There," he cried. "What do you think of that? You saw how beautifully he fell into the trap I laid for him? You saw how glibly he lied. Of course, he took it for granted that Murdstone was in the habit of wearing a signet ring, and he made up his mind, on the spot, that he had never noticed it before. Of course, it is quite possible for a man to wear a ring, and somebody who comes in contact with him every day should not notice the fact. In other words, he was so anxious to identify the body that he was quite prepared to swear that Dr. May's ring belonged to his master. Have you any comment to make, Inspector?"

"Well, it is certainly very strange," Dwight admitted. "And I am quite prepared to take off my hat to you for the cleverness with which you lured Martin into telling a stupendous lie. Of course, you had some reason for doing so."

"Of course, I had," Lantary said. "First of all, I wanted to prove that Martin's evidence was worth nothing, and, in the second place, I want to convince you that the body lying there is not Murdstone, but that of somebody else. For some reason or another, Murdstone wanted to disappear, and he laid his plans accordingly. If that is so, and there is no reason to doubt it, Murdstone must have been in contact with a double. It might have been a twin brother, or somebody who bore a remarkable resemblance to him. You see what I mean? If I am correct, and Murdstone is the scoundrel that I take him for, then you can understand the advantage of being able to prove an alibi if Murdstone ever found himself in a tight corner. My theory is that Murdstone lured his alter ego into the house last night by means of the garden gate, and deliberately murdered him, so that he could disappear. It wouldn't be so very difficult when you come to think of it. The double is invited here at a certain time, and warned to put in an appearance in such a way that no one would know how he had entered the house. And that is not quite all. Just look at this."

With that, Lantary bent over the body, and, with a knife which he took from his pocket, lifted a portion of what appeared to be a wig from the dead man's head. It was only a tiny fragment, but quite sufficient to show that the hair was false, and that it had been attached to a shaven skull by something that might have been fish glue. But it was quite sufficient to convince Dwight that Lantary knew what he was talking about.

"There you are," the latter said. "What did I tell you? The double was lured here last night, and promptly murdered. There would have been plenty of time to shave his head with a safety razor and glue the wig on the head. Then, when the body was found, Martin came forward and identified it. Of course, that was all prearranged. Oh, I know it sounds fantastic to a degree, but I think you will agree that the thing is quite possible. Of course, Martin is in the conspiracy. Otherwise he wouldn't have lied so glibly over Dr. May's signet ring. Murdstone's idea was to get himself comfortably dead and buried and go on, fully convinced that he was free to carry on his nefarious career, whilst the police were under the impression that he was comfortably tucked away in the cemetery."

"You seem to know a lot about it," Dwight said.

"Yes, I do," Lantary smiled. "I know that the fellow was a blackmailer of the worst type. I know that he was expecting a good many thousand pounds from a friend of mine and that was why I was on his track. Probably he discovered that he was in danger, and, accordingly, carried out the ingenious scheme by which he got rid of his double and disappeared at the same time. When his affairs come to be investigated, you will find that he is not a millionaire at all, but that, on the contrary, he it desperately situated and almost penniless."

"Yes, that is all very well," Dwight said. "But when this cunning scheme of his is made public—"

"My dear sir," Lantary said impressively. "If you will take my advice, you won't make the scheme public at all. You will allow Martin to give his evidence at the inquest and leave the world to think that Murdstone is in his grave."