Читать книгу The Hampstead Mystery - John R. Watson - Страница 10

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There was unpleasant news for Inspector Chippenfield when Miss Fewbanks arrived at Riversbrook accompanied by the housekeeper, Mrs. Hewson. In the first place, he learnt with considerable astonishment that it was Miss Fewbanks's intention to stay at the house until after the funeral, and for that purpose she had brought the housekeeper to keep her company in the lonely old place. Although they had taken up their quarters in the opposite wing of the rambling mansion to that in which the dead body lay, it seemed to Inspector Chippenfield—whose mind was very impressionable where the fair sex was concerned—that Miss Fewbanks must be a very peculiar girl to contemplate staying in the same house with the body of her murdered father for nearly a week. He was convinced that she must be a strong-minded young woman, and he did not like strong-minded young women. He preferred the weak and clinging type of the sex as more of a compliment to his own sturdy manliness.

His unfavourable impression of Miss Fewbanks was deepened when he saw her and heard what she had to tell him. The girl had come up from the country filled with horror at the crime which had deprived her of a father, and firmly determined to leave no stone unturned to bring the murderer to justice. It was true that she and her father had lived on terms of partial estrangement for some time past because of his manner of life, but all the girl's feelings of resentment against him had been swept away by the news of his dreadful death, and all she remembered now was that he was her father, and had been brutally murdered.

When she sent for Inspector Chippenfield she had visited the room in which lay the body of her father. It had been placed in a coffin which was resting on the undertaker's trestles in the bay embrasure of the big room with the folding doors. There was nothing in the appearance of the corpse to suggest that a crime had been committed, but it had been impossible for the undertaker's men to erase entirely the distortion of the features so that they might suggest the cold, calm dignity of a peaceful death. The ordeal of looking on the dead body of her father had nerved her to carry through resolutely the task of discovering the author of the crime.

She awaited the coming of the inspector in a small sitting-room, and when he entered she pointed quickly to a chair, but remained standing herself. In appearance Miss Fewbanks was a charming girl of the typical English type. She was of medium height, slight, but well-built, with fair hair and dark blue eyes, an imperious short upper lip and a determined chin, and the clear healthy complexion of a girl who has lived much out of doors. The inspector noted all these details; noted, too, that although her breast heaved with agitation she had herself well under control; her pretty head was erect, and one of her small hands was tightly clenched by her side.

"Have you found out—anything?" she asked the inspector as he entered.

The girl had chosen a vague word because she felt that there were many things which must come to light in unravelling the crime, but, from the police point of view of Inspector Chippenfield, the question whether he had found out anything was a stinging reflection on his ability.

"I consider it inadvisable to make any arrest at the present stage of my investigations," he said, with cold official dignity.

"Do you think you know who did it?" asked the girl.

"It is my business to find out," replied the inspector, in a voice that indicated confidence in his ability to perform the task.

The girl was too unsophisticated to follow the subtle workings of official pride. "The papers call it a mysterious crime. Do you think it is mysterious?"

"There are certainly some mysterious features about it," said the inspector. "But I do not regard them as insoluble. Nothing is insoluble," he added, in a sententious tone.

"If there are mysteries to be solved you ought to have help," said the young lady.

She glanced at Mrs. Hewson significantly, and then proceeded to explain to Inspector Chippenfield what she meant.

"I have asked Mr. Crewe, the celebrated detective, to assist you. Of course you know Mr. Crewe—everybody does. I know you are a very clever man at your profession, but in a thing of this kind two clever men are better than one. I hope you will not mind—there is no reflection whatever on your ability. In fact, I have the utmost confidence in you. But it is due to my father's memory to do all that is possible to get to the bottom of this dreadful crime. If money is needed it will be forthcoming. That applies to you no less than to Mr. Crewe. But I hope you will be able to carry out your investigations amicably together, and that you will be willing to assist one another. You will lose nothing by doing so. I trust you will place at Mr. Crewe's disposal all the facilities that are available to you as an officer of the police."

This statement was so clear that Inspector Chippenfield had no choice but to face the conclusion that Miss Fewbanks had more faith in the abilities of a private detective to unravel the mystery than she had in the resources of Scotland Yard. He would have liked to have told the young lady what he thought of her for interfering with his work, and he determined to avail himself of the right opportunity to do so if it came along. But the statement that money was not to be spared had a soothing influence on his feelings. Of course, officers of Scotland Yard were not allowed to take gratuities however substantial they might be, but there were material ways of expressing gratitude which were outside the regulations of the department.

"I shall be very pleased to give Mr. Crewe any assistance he wants," said

Inspector Chippenfield, bowing stiffly.

It was seldom that he took a subordinate fully into his confidence, but after he left Miss Fewbanks he flung aside his official pride in order to discuss with Rolfe the enlistment of the services of Crewe. Rolfe was no less indignant than his chief at the intrusion of an outsider into their sphere. Crewe was an exponent of the deductive school of crime investigation, and had first achieved fame over the Abbindon case some years ago, when he had succeeded in restoring the kidnapped heir of the Abbindon estates after the police had failed to trace the missing child. In detective stories the attitude of members of Scotland Yard to the deductive expert is that of admiration based on conscious inferiority, but in real life the experts of Scotland Yard have the utmost contempt for the deductive experts and their methods. The disdainful pity of the deductive experts for the rule-of-thumb methods of the police is not to be compared with the vigorous scorn of the official detective for the rival who has not had the benefit of police training.

"Look here, Rolfe," said Inspector Chippenfield, "we mustn't let Crewe get ahead of us in this affair, or we'll never hear the last of it. It's scandalous of a man like Crewe, who has money of his own and could live like a gentleman, coming along and taking the bread out of our mouths by accepting fees and rewards for hunting after criminals. Of course I know they say he is lavish with his money and gives away more than he earns, but that's all bosh—he sticks it in his own pocket, right enough. One thing is certain: he gets paid whether he wins or loses; that is to say, he gets his fee in any case, but of course if he wins something will be added to his fee. In the meantime all you and I get is our salaries, and, as you know, the pay of an inspector isn't what it ought to be."

Rolfe assured his superior of his conviction that the pay at Scotland Yard ought to be higher for all ranks—especially the rank and file. He also declared that he was ready to do his best to thwart Crewe.

"That is the right spirit," commented Inspector Chippenfield approvingly. "Of course we'll tell him we're willing to help him all we can, and of course hell tell us we can depend on his help. But we know what his help will amount to. He'll keep back from us anything he finds out, and we'll do the same for him. But the point is, Rolfe, that you and I have to put all our brains into this and help one another. I'm not the man to despise help from a subordinate. If you have any ideas about this case, Rolfe, do not be afraid to speak out, I'll give them sympathetic consideration."

"I know you will," said Rolfe, who was by no means sure of the fact. "You can count on me."

"As you know, Rolfe, there have been cases in which men from the Yard haven't worked together as amicably as they ought to have done. It used to be said when I was one of the plain-clothes men that the man in charge got all the credit and the men under him did all the work. But as an inspector I can tell you that is very rarely the case. In my reports I believe in giving my junior credit for all he has done, and generally a bit more. It may be foolish of me, but that is my way. I never miss a chance of putting in a good word for the man under me."

"It would be better if they were all like that," said Rolfe.

"Well, it's a bargain, Rolfe," said Inspector Chippenfield. "You do your best on this job and you won't lose by it. I'll see to that. But in the meantime we don't want to put Crewe on the scent. Let us see how much we'll tell him and how much we won't."

"He'll want to see the letter sent to the Yard about the murder," said

Rolfe. "The Daily Recorder published a facsimile of it this morning."

"Yes, I knew about that. Well, he can have it. But don't say anything to him about that lace you found in the dead man's hand—or at any rate not until you find out more about it. The glove he can have since it is pretty obvious that it belonged to Sir Horace. We'll spin Crewe a yarn that we are depending on it as a clue."

Crewe arrived during the afternoon to inspect the house and the room in which the crime had been committed. There was every appearance of cordiality in the way in which he greeted the police officials.

"Delighted to see you, Inspector," he said. "Who is working this case with you? Rolfe? Don't think we have met before, Rolfe, have we?"

Rolfe politely murmured something about not having had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Crewe, but of always having wanted to meet him, because of his fame.

"Very good of you," replied Crewe. "This is a very sad business. I understand there are some attractive points of mystery in the crime. I hope you haven't unravelled it yet before I have got a start. You fellows are so quick."

"Slow and sure is our motto," said Inspector Chippenfield, feeling certain that a sneer and not a compliment had been intended. "There is nothing to be gained in arresting the wrong man."

"That's a sound maxim for us all," said Crewe. "However, let's get to business. I rang up the Yard this morning and they told me you were in charge of the case and that I'd probably find you here. Can you let me have a look at the original of that letter which was sent to Scotland Yard informing you of the murder? There is a facsimile of it in the Daily Recorder this morning, and from all appearances there are some interesting conclusions to be drawn from it. But the original is the thing."

"Here you are," said the inspector, producing his pocket-book, taking out the paper, and handing it to Crewe. "What do you make of it?"

Crewe sat down, and placing the paper before him took a magnifying glass from his pocket. As he sat there, in his grey tweed suit, his hat pushed carelessly back from his forehead, he might have been mistaken for a young man of wealth with no serious business in life, for his clothes were of fashionable cut, and he wore them with an air of distinction. But a glance at his face would have dispelled the impression. The clear-cut, clean-shaven features riveted attention by reason of their strength and intelligence, and though the dark eyes were rather too dreamy for the face, the heavy lines of the lower jaw indicated the man of action and force of character. The thick neck and heavily-lipped firm mouth suggested tireless energy and abounding vitality.

"At least two people have had a hand in it," he said, after studying the paper for a few minutes.

"In the murder?" asked the inspector, who was astonished at a deduction which harmonised with a theory which had begun to take shape in his mind.

"In writing this," said Crewe, with his attention still fixed on the paper. "But of course you know that yourself."

"Of course," assented the inspector, who was surprised at the information, but was too experienced an official to show his feelings. "And both hands disguised."

"Disguised to the extent of being printed in written characters," continued Crewe. "It is so seldom that a person writes printed characters that any method in which they are written suggests disguise. The original intention of the two persona who wrote this extraordinary note was for each to write a single letter in turn. That system was carried as far as 'Sir Horace' or, perhaps, up to the 'B' in 'Fewbanks.' After that they became weary of changing places and one of them wrote alternate letters to the end, leaving blanks for the other to fill in. That much is to be gathered from the variations in the spaces between the letters—sometimes there was too much room for an intermediate letter, sometimes too little, so the letter had to be cramped. Here and there are dots made with the pen as the first of the two spelled out the words so as to know what letters to write and what to leave blank. Look at the differences in the letter 'U.' One of the writers makes it a firm downward and upward stroke; the other makes the letter fainter and adds another downward stroke, the letter being more like a small 'u' written larger than a capital letter. The differences in the two hands are so pronounced throughout the note that I am inclined to think that one of the writers was a woman."

"Exactly what I thought," said Inspector Chippenfield, looking hard at

Crewe so that the latter should not question his good faith.

"Then there are sometimes slight differences in the alternate letters written by the same hand. Look at the 'T' in 'last' and the 'T' in 'night'—the marked variation in the length and angle of the cross stroke. It is evident that the writers were labouring under serious excitement when they wrote this."

Rolfe was so interested in Crewe's revelations that he stood beside the deductive expert and studied the paper afresh.

"And now, about finger-prints?" asked Crews.

"None," was the reply of the inspector, "We had it under the microscope at Scotland Yard."

"None?" exclaimed Crewe, in surprise. "Why adopt such precautions as wearing gloves to write a note giving away this startling secret?"

"Easy enough," replied Inspector Chippenfield. "The people who wrote the note either had little or nothing to do with the murder, but were afraid suspicion might be directed to them, or else they are the murderers and want to direct suspicion from themselves."

"And now for the bullets," said Crewe, "I understand two shots were fired."

"From two revolvers," said the inspector. "Here are both bullets. This one I picked out of the wall over there. You can see where I've broken away the plaster. This one—much the bigger one of the two—was the one that killed Sir Horace. The doctor handed it to me after the post-mortem."

"Did Sir Horace keep a revolver?"

"The butler says yes. But if he did it's gone."

Crewe stood up and examined the hole in the wall where Inspector

Chippenfield had dug out the smaller bullet.

"Sir Horace made a bid for his life but missed. Of course, he had no time to take aim while there was a man on the other side of the room covering him, but in any case those fancy firearms cannot be depended upon to shoot straight."

"You think Sir Horace fired at his murderer—fired first?" asked Rolfe.

"This small bullet suggests one of those fancy silver-mounted weapons that are made to sell to wealthy people. Sir Horace was a bit of a sportsman, and knew something about game-shooting, but, I take it, he had no use for a revolver. I assume he kept one of those fancy weapons on hand thinking he would never have to use it, but that it would do to frighten a burglar if the occasion did arise."

"And when he was held up in this room by a man with a revolver he made a dash for his own revolver and got in the first shot?" suggested Rolfe, with the idea of outlining Crewe's theory of how the crime was committed.

"It is scarcely possible to reconstruct the crime to that extent," said Crewe with a smile. "But undoubtedly Sir Horace got in the first shot. If he fired after he was hit his bullet would have gone wild—would probably have struck the ceiling—whereas it landed there. Let us measure the height from the floor." He pulled a small spool out of a waistcoat pocket and drew out a tape measure. "A little high for the heart of an average man, and probably a foot wide of the mark."

"And what do you make of the disappearance of Sir Horace's revolver?" asked Rolfe, who seemed to his superior officer to be in danger of displaying some admiration for deductive methods.

"I'm no good at guess-work," replied Crewe, who felt that he had given enough information away.

"Well," said Rolfe, "here is a glove which was found in the room. The other one is missing. It might be a clue."

Crewe took the glove and examined it carefully. It was a left-hand glove made of reindeer-skin, and grey in colour. It bore evidence of having been in use, but it was still a smart-looking glove such as a man who took a pride in his appearance might wear.

"Burglars wear gloves nowadays," said Crewe, "but not this kind. The

india-rubber glove with only the thumb separate is best for their work.

They give freedom of action for the fingers and leave no finger-prints.

Have you made inquiries whether this is one of Sir Horace's gloves?"

"Well, it is the same size as he wore—seven and a half," said Inspector Chippenfield. "The butler is the only servant here and he can't say for certain that it belonged to his master. I've been through Sir Horace's wardrobe and through the suit-case he brought from Scotland, but I can find no other pair exactly similar. Rolfe took it to Sir Horace's hosier, and he is practically certain that the glove is one of a pair he sold to Sir Horace."

"That should be conclusive," said Crewe thoughtfully.

"So I think," replied the inspector.

"Well, I'll take it with me, if you don't mind," said Crewe. "You can have it back whenever you want it. Let me have the address of Sir Horace's hosier—I'll give him a call."

"Take it by all means," said the inspector cordially, referring to the glove. And with a wink at Rolfe he added, "And when you are ready to fit it on the guilty hand I hope you will let us know."