Читать книгу I, Spy - 6 Espionage & Detective Books in One Edition - Frederic Arnold Kummer - Страница 12

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We arrived at Exeter at some time after eight in the evening, and it was close to nine before we made our appearance at The Oaks. Inspector Burns and his companion had left me to myself on the trip down, and I occupied my time with smoking and turning over in my mind the curious events of the past forty-eight hours. I had no serious apprehension of any trouble coming out of the matter to either Miss Temple or myself. I knew that the Inspector's theory was a tissue of errors, although the facts, as he stated them, did seem to fit in with his conclusions to an almost uncanny extent. It was true I had agreed to stand by Miss Temple and help her in her trouble. Our conversation on the night of the murder had, I presumed, been overheard by one of the servants, from whom it had been wormed by McQuade's men during my absence. I began to believe that his willingness to have me accompany him to London was not entirely disinterested. But the thought that Muriel Temple could have delivered the blow that sent Robert Ashton to his death was preposterous. I knew that I was prejudiced in her favor, for her lovely face had scarce been out of my thoughts for a moment, since our first meeting. I knew that I had come to love her, that nothing could ever change it, and I realized that but two real bits of evidence connected her with Ashton's death—one, the presence of her handkerchief in the room and the curious use to which it had been put; the other, her early morning expedition from the house and her sudden return. The former she had explained, at least to my satisfaction, but the latter was still a mystery. If she would but explain that, I felt sure that Inspector Burns' theory would fall to the ground like a house of cards. Why she refused to do so, I could not imagine—that she had some strong compelling reason, I felt sure. She had told me that she went out that morning, with the intention of going away and thus escaping the inevitable promise, which she knew her father would insist upon her ratifying, to Ashton. She got only as far as the end of the west wing, and hastily returned. Why?—that was the question. Did she see anyone on the roof—and, if so, whom? Someone she felt she must shield at any cost—there could be but one—her father. Had she then seen him there? Did she think for a moment that he had anything to do with Mr. Ashton's death? I could not believe that even for her father's sake she would allow an innocent person to be accused.

We drove up to Major Temple's door at about nine o'clock. It was quite dark, and very cold. The house showed few lights, and it was some time before we were admitted by Gibson, the man who, with myself, had broken in Mr. Ashton's door. He ushered us into the library, where Major Temple sat smoking. I could see that he was suffering deeply. The affair of Mr. Ashton's death had told upon him, and he seemed nervous and constrained. He greeted us pleasantly enough, however, shook hands with the Inspector, and requested us to be seated. Sergeant McQuade, however, announced that we had come on business of importance, and that Inspector Burns desired to ask Miss Temple a few questions. Before doing so, however, he requested the Major to conduct us to the scene of the murder, which Inspector Burns had, of course, not had an opportunity, as yet, to examine. The Major rose. "My daughter has retired, I fancy," he said. "I have not seen her since dinner, but I will send her word." He summoned one of the maids and requested her to inform Miss Temple of our wishes, and then led the way to the green room. We were quite a party. The Major led the way with Inspector Burns, and I followed with McQuade, Major Temple's powerful mastiff, Boris, bringing up the rear. We first entered the room which I had occupied, McQuade using the key which he had obtained from the officer who had discovered the supposed weapon in my dresser drawer. The drawer was soon unlocked, and there lay the wretched poker wrapped in my handkerchief, just as I had left it. Inspector Burns took it up, examined it carefully then brandished it as though in the act of delivering a heavy blow. "Hardly heavy enough, I should think, to fracture a man's skull," he muttered, as he replaced it in the drawer. "It is evidently the upper half of a long poker which has been broken off." He turned to Major Temple. "What do you know about this thing?" he inquired.

The Major looked puzzled. He had not seen the weapon before. I imagine the police had guarded its discovery carefully, and I wondered how Miss Temple came to know of it, in order to notify me.

"It is, as you say, half of an old poker," he replied. "It was used originally in the lower hall, and the lower end was burnt through, owing to its having been carelessly left in the fire one night. I gave it to the gardener. He wanted it to use as a stake in laying out his flower beds, and running the edges of the paths and roads while trimming the turf. He had a long cord, and a wooden stake for the other end. It has been roughly ground to a point, as you see, so that it might be readily thrust into the earth. The last time I saw it, he was using it upon the pathways about the house."

"Then it was not in the green room?" asked the Inspector in an aggrieved tone. He saw that his theory would already require some readjustments.

"Never, to my knowledge," said Major Temple. "There is no fireplace in that room, and it would have been of no use there."

The Inspector closed the drawer with a slam. "Then, if this was the weapon the murderer used," he said, rather lamely, "he must have taken it along with him. Let us have a look at the room."

We all adjourned to the green room, which the detective unlocked, and the Inspector went over the ground, as McQuade and I had done before him, without discovering anything new. The dark-brown spot upon the green carpet, which marked the place where the murdered man's head had rested, was still plainly visible, a grewsome reminder of the terrible tragedy which had been enacted there, but all else seemed ordinary and commonplace enough. The dog seemed strangely oppressed by the surroundings and, after sniffing about nervously with a low whine, crawled under the bed and lay quiet. We spent but a few minutes in the room and were just on the point of leaving, when the maid rushed in and, calling Major Temple aside, addressed a few low words to him, apparently in great agitation, at the same time handing him a sealed envelope. The Major took it from her, passed his hand nervously over his forehead, and turned to us. "Gentlemen," he said, in a frightened sort of a voice, "Miss Temple cannot be found."

We all turned toward him in intense surprise. "What does this mean?" asked the Inspector. "Where is she?"

"She has disappeared," replied the Major, as we hurriedly left the room, McQuade locking the door carefully after him. "Her maid tells me that she has searched everywhere for her, and she cannot be found. This note, addressed to me, was lying upon her writing desk."

"Read it," commanded the Inspector, as we all hastily adjourned to the library.

Major Temple opened the letter with trembling fingers. My own agitation at this new development was equally great.

He glanced hurriedly through its contents, his face ashen, his lips blue, then read aloud as follows:

"My Dear Father:

"I am going to London to see Mr. Morgan. They suspect him of the murder. I overheard the police talking about it this morning. I do not know what to do. I cannot let an innocent person suffer. It may be better for me to remain away altogether. If I must speak I can only ask for forgiveness.

"Muriel."

If the earth had opened up and engulfed me, I could not have been more astounded than I was when Major Temple finished reading this strange letter. What on earth had she gone to London to see me for? The poor girl, I felt sure, was laboring under some terrible misapprehension. I, for one, had no fear of anything she could say. I glanced at her father. He seemed shrunken and old, his head bowed upon his breast. Could he—? I refused to think. Yet he either feared for himself, or—God help me!—for her. No other emotion, no consideration for anyone else, could have so terribly affected him. The note plainly enough meant that Miss Temple knew who had murdered Mr. Ashton, and she knew that it was not I. But would the police so regard it? I looked at the cold, accusing faces of the two Scotland Yard men and groaned inwardly. In a moment the Inspector spoke. "Have you a telephone in the house, Major Temple?" he asked.

"Yes," answered the Major, rousing himself from his lethargy. "In the hall, near the foot of the staircase."

The Inspector nodded to McQuade, who arose without a word and left the room. I knew that Muriel had not yet had time to reach London, that, when she did so, it would be to step into the arms of an officer. The net was fast closing about someone, but about whom I could not yet see. I was lost in a maze of conflicting thoughts.

"Mr. Morgan, have you anything to say in explanation of this letter?" I heard Major Temple asking me. His voice came to me as from afar off. I looked up and shook off my growing fears.

"Miss Temple writes as though she believed you would understand what she means," I replied. "I certainly do not."

"I!" cried the Major. "It's absolute nonsense to me. Why should she want to see you, unless you understood something between you? What does she know, that she should speak, and for what does she seek for forgiveness?" He threw up his hands in absolute dismay. If this were acting, I thought, it could not be better done by the most renowned actor on the boards.

"You remember, Major Temple, that your daughter refused to tell what it was she saw, or what happened, that caused her to return to the house so suddenly that morning. I advised her to speak—she refused. Had she come to me to-night, I should have given her the same advice as before. Nothing that she can say would harm me."

"Nor me," retorted Major Temple.

"Then whom, in Heaven's name?" I cried, speaking my thoughts aloud.

"You have heard my theory of the murder, Mr. Morgan," said the Inspector, coldly. "Why not herself? The note is plain enough. She will speak—she will confess and accuse herself before she will allow you to bear the penalty of her crime."

"Her crime!" Major Temple was on his feet in an instant, his eyes blazing. "Your words are ill chosen, sir." Poor man, he did not know of the damning circumstances which the Inspector had so cleverly woven into his accusing theory.

"Not at all, Major Temple," replied the imperturbable Inspector. "Sergeant McQuade is at present ordering the arrest of your daughter. She will be apprehended as soon as she arrives in London, and we will hear her story at the Magistrate's hearing to-morrow."

"But," I cried, in consternation, "this is ridiculous. Don't you see that—?"

"Mr. Morgan, the time has come for the truth. It is my painful duty to place you under arrest."

"On what charge?" I demanded hotly.

"For complicity in Robert Ashton's murder," he replied, and placed his hand upon my shoulder.

I spent a dreary enough night, nor was I able to close my eyes in sleep. I sat up in the library through the long hours, sometimes talking with McQuade, who dozed upon a couch, but for the most part engaged in interminably revolving in my mind the maddening problem of Robert Ashton's death. I had begun to regard it as almost supernatural in its mysterious and devious phases. I thought of all the detective stories I had ever read and tried to piece out some points of resemblance, some similar events, which would serve as a starting point for a solution, but I could find none. In all these cases, the various clews led somewhere, but here they led to nothingness. There remained but Miss Temple's story, and that, like all the rest, I feared would fail to prove a solution of the mystery. That she herself was guilty and that her story would be in the nature of a confession, I refused to consider. I loved her and I could no more believe her guilty than I could have believed myself so; yet I could not help remembering the advice of the witty Frenchman: cherchez la femme—seek the woman. The thing seemed monstrous, yet it persisted all through the long night.

I must have dozed, toward morning, for I dreamed that I was alone upon a wide field of ice, running madly forward toward a dim light that constantly receded as I approached it, and followed by a pack of hungry wolves. Their yelps and cries filled me with dread. I awoke trembling, and listened. Far off I heard the mournful howling of a dog, a series of low, unearthly howls, that would die slowly away only to be once more repeated. It seemed like the moaning of an animal in great pain. Presently, as I listened, there came a great yelp, and thereafter silence. After this I slept. About seven o'clock coffee was brought to us, and a little later we set out for the town.

We walked in, and did the short distance in less than twenty minutes. On arrival, we went at once to the headquarters of the police, where I made my first acquaintance with the interior of a cell. McQuade informed me that I would be taken before the Magistrate for a hearing at ten o'clock, and suggested that I had better employ counsel, but this I refused to do. I had made up my mind to tell the whole story as simply and exactly as I could and trust to the plain, unvarnished truth to see me out of my difficulties. I asked the detective upon our arrival if he had received any word regarding Miss Temple, and he told me that she would arrive during the forenoon. Major Temple and the servants were to come into the town a little later, in time for the hearing, at which they would be wanted as witnesses. I secured a morning paper and resigned myself to a tedious wait of somewhat over two hours. I was strangely calm and self-possessed. The ordeal through which I was about to pass seemed to give me but slight concern. But for Miss Temple I feared greatly.