  “Peculiar?” I queried wonderingly. “Nothing about them struck me as peculiar. Anybody getting up in a hurry would have thrown them off just as they appeared to——” “You think so—well, you may if you like—here we are.” We had progressed along the gravel drive until we were opposite the billiard room window. This lay on our right. Separating the path where we were from the window in question, there was a bed of roses approximately ten to twelve yards in width. “What Baddeley has found, Bill, we can find,” muttered Anthony. “There you are—look. Footprints—that interested Baddeley.” His face shone with eagerness and intensity. “Keep on the path, Bill; leave these to me.” He stepped carefully on to the earth bed, examining the prints with the utmost care. From where I stood I could see a number of well-defined “treads” and I readily appreciated the importance attached to them by both Baddeley and my companion. It was very evident that one person at least had crossed the rose-bed pretty recently to get beneath the billiard room window. It looked an outside job of course. Burglary evidently—Prescott had heard noises—come down to investigate—found the trouble in the billiard room and had interrupted the disturbers at the cost of his own life. But would burglars strangle their assailant with a shoe-lace? Surely not! The whole affair seemed to me to be most intricate and most involved. Still, the rain of the evening before had been a Godsend—there were the footmarks—telling some story to more than one pair of eyes. They might help the Inspector and I knew they would interest Anthony. I looked across at him. He was evidently at a loss. Something on the wall beneath the window of the billiard room had apparently excited his attention. He scrutinized it most carefully, and then turned again to the prints. He shook his head. “Bill!” “Hullo?” “Come over here, will you?” I complied. “Now, Bill, look at what I am going to show you, very carefully. I expected to find traces of Prescott somewhere out here—you, of course, noticed the mud on the shoes he is wearing—so that Baddeley’s announcement came as no surprise to me. The natural place to look for them was in the vicinity of the billiard room window, since that room was the last room he can have entered. Now, look here! Do you see that double line of tracks? Looks something like a 10, I should say. We can bank on those being Prescott’s. I’ll make sure later—but I’m certain of my ground.” “In a double sense,” I grinned. “Eh? Oh—I see——” he laughed. “I wasn’t thinking of what I had said. But do look. Here we have a distinct set of tracks that are undoubtedly Prescott’s, side by side with a similar set, undoubtedly again Prescott’s, leading in the reverse direction. The left-hand set, as we face the window, lead to the path, and the right-hand set lead to the window. Agree?” I looked attentively at the footmarks. “Yes. It would seem so.” “Right,” he rejoined. “Then—proceeding along that line of argument—since Prescott eventually reached the billiard room and stayed there, the tracks leading to the path should have been made first. That’s elementary, isn’t it?” Once again I assented. “Now,” continued Anthony, “cast your weather-eye over there.” He pointed to a few feet away from the tracks we had agreed were Prescott’s. I stared and started in surprise. “More!” I cried. “True, O King,” said Anthony, rubbing his hands with real showman instinct, “and whose are they? Come and look closer.” They belonged to a much smaller foot. “A woman?” I queried. Anthony shook his head in disagreement. “I think not. Might be. But it’s broad for a woman, not suggestive of a woman’s heel, and more generally indicative of a medium-sized man. He has walked deliberately towards the window from the path and then equally deliberately back again. That’s another point I’m basing my opinion on, a woman so often picks her way, especially with any mud about. Put it down to feminine fastidiousness.” “Then Prescott did have an assignation?” I ventured. “Perhaps! It certainly looks like it. But——” “But what?” “Well, there’s nothing to prove that the two people that have been here were here at the same time, is there? Of course, I’m willing to admit that in circumstances of this kind, the balance of probability is that they were. But one never knows. I wonder what Baddeley——” “What do you really think about it?” I urged. His answer amazed me rather. “Too much!” “What do you mean?” “Exactly what I say. I am actually thinking too much about a number of points. There are too many clues here, Bill, falling over one another. No wonder Baddeley’s mystified. My job is to separate the true significances from the false. That’s real detective talent, Bill. In this case, there is so much that conflicts. One set of facts, for example, points to the North, and another set, apparently just as authentic, points unerringly to the South. Therefore, they can’t, all of them, be authentic! See? Some must be false. And I’ve got to pick ’em out.” He slapped me on the back. “Magna est veritas”—he stopped abruptly. “Now what?” “By Jove!” he murmured. And an illuminating smile spread across his features. “Of course. Of course.” He turned to me quickly. “It’s strange, Bill, how an occasion will turn up to illustrate the exact truth that a man has just enunciated. Here’s an example to hand. I was talking about the separation of falsehood from truth. Effecting this separation explains something very clearly that has been causing me no end of bother.” I became all attention and interest, immediately. “Explain,” I said. “Put me out of my miserable ignorance.” “Look at this wall, then.” I looked. “Yes, what about it?” “Well, Bill, it’s like this—listen! Assuming Prescott was out here some time last night or this morning, how would you suggest he got here? Did he come downstairs and risk the possible disturbance of other people or did he come from his bedroom down the nine stairs to the billiard room and out via the billiard room window? Think before you answer.” I hesitated a moment. “Well, of course, it’s all guesswork——” “Not for a moment, old son! Use the powers the good God has given you.” I nodded sagely, yet still uncomprehending; then burned my boats. “Down the stairs and out of the window!” “You think so? Let’s investigate. I suppose that window, Bill, is roughly fifteen feet from the ground—eh?” I assented. “An easy job,” I interjected, “for an active man!” “And when he wanted to get back,” replied Anthony, “a moderately easy climb. He could use the water-pipe,” he indicated with his hand the water-pipe running down the wall on the right of the window—“for a hold with his right hand, could dig his toes in the brickwork; clutch the window-sill with his left hand and easily draw his body up. Agree, Bill?” “Absolutely,” I concurred. “If you like, I’ll try it here and now, to prove it’s a practicable possibility.” “Done with you, Bill. You’re a stout fellow! Up you go!” I suited the action to the words. Reaching out with my right hand I gripped the water-pipe well up its length, pulled myself up a bit, kicked at the brickwork with my toes, got a momentary hold, hung for a second, shot up my left hand to clutch the window-sill, succeeded, and hauled myself up. Entrance to the billiard room would have been a comparatively simple matter. “Satisfied?” I grinned. Then, dropped to the ground again. “Completely! So that, friend Bill, is the method by which the now defunct Prescott, poor fellow, got out and got back? Eh?” “That’s about the size of it,” I agreed, feeling a sense of triumph. “We’ve established that pretty firmly.” Then I woke up. “I disagree!” said Anthony curtly. “You disagree?” I muttered in amazement. “I do! And I’ll show you why. I warned you to get that grey matter of yours to work—didn’t I? Pay attention to what I am going to demonstrate.” “Go ahead!” “I’m going. Now, Bill, which would be the easier way to get out of the room? To get out, using the reverse method by which you got up—that is to say—leaning out for a grip of the water-pipe with one hand, and then all the rest of the movements, or as you said, a simple drop from the window-sill?” “A simple drop, unquestionably,” I answered, without any hesitation. “I think so, too! Where then,” he swung round on me, alive with interest, “are the heavy marks of his feet when he dropped? The ground is soft, remember. And he was a pretty hefty fellow. There’s no sign of a drop at all—only this double line of tracks. Look!” It was as he showed. There were no indications whatever of anybody having dropped from the window. I stared at him, for the moment nonplussed. Then turning, caught his eye. I could see that there was more to come. It came! “Also, Bill, I would call your attention to two very important facts. Important, that is, in relation to the line of investigation that we are at present conducting. Look at the toes of your shoes.” I did as directed. “Slightly scraped,” I said ruefully, “getting up to that window of yours.” “Exactly, laddie. Exactly. Now for important fact number two.” “I’m all attention.” “Well, just as the wall has had its effect on your shoes, so have your shoes had their effect on the wall. See?” He pointed to the brickwork. It was quite true. My shoes had made a perceptible discoloration where they had rubbed as I had struggled for my foot-grip. “And what is more, Bill,” continued Anthony, “it’s comparatively dry now. Last night was wet, remember. And it may interest you to know that the wall was perfectly clean when I arrived here just now, and Prescott’s shoes are certainly not scraped.” “Sure?” I queried. “I am. I’m carrying a mental photograph of Prescott about with me, and you can take it from me, Bill, that Prescott never did the climbing trick that you’ve done this morning. Now where are we?” “Ask me another,” I grunted. “I should think, more in the dark than ever.” But Anthony dissented. “I’m not so sure of that. I’m beginning to see a little more light.” I surveyed him with astonishment. “What on earth——” “I’m still holding on, Bill, so don’t worry me. Come along here, we’ll do a little more prospecting.” We strolled back along the path that led back to the French doors. “No indication here of which way either of them went,” remarked Anthony. “This gravel path hardly takes a foot’s impression, which, at the best, would be hours old by now.” He stopped by the French doors. “Yes, Bill, I’m in the dark still with regard to many points. As I said to you previously, there are so many things that don’t fit, they seem extraneous to the real core of the crime—all the same, at the risk of becoming monotonous, I think I can see a glimmer of light.” “What’s your next move?” I questioned. “I want to have another look around Prescott’s bedroom. I should also like to glance at his papers—but Baddeley pouched those—his check-book might be interesting too. Yes, I must have another look up there.” “How are you going to manage it?” “This way. I’m going to ask Sir Charles to cover me by engaging me, so to speak, to clear up the affair on his behalf. You know what I mean. Terrible disgrace to Considine Manor, and all that, to have this mystery unsolved. Poor young fellow done to death, in a charming English country house, where he is staying as a guest. Must get to the bottom of it for the sake of the family name, you know. Otherwise, if Scout Baddeley finds me poking about too much in bedrooms and around footprints, he’ll take the bull by the horns and arrest A. L. Bathurst, Esq. Get me, Bill?” Truth to tell, it did seem pretty terrible to think that a delightful place like Considine Manor could harbor the crime it did. It was another English summer morning after the rain of the night before. It seemed to breathe freshness, and grass, and new-mown hay, and butterflies and cricket—all that pageant of hot July that no other country in the world can give. “What about Canterbury?” I ejaculated. “Giving it a miss! I can’t very well rush off and bury myself in a round of gaiety after what’s happened here. Besides, I shouldn’t be surprised if Baddeley has something chatty and snappy to say about any of us leaving yet awhile at any rate.” “Have you let them know?” “No, I’ll wire later. Let’s get back now, and I’ll see Sir Charles.” We strolled back, and the reflection came to me how suddenly our immediate outlooks had changed. A few hours ago Anthony had the prospect of a glorious week at Canterbury. Similarly, I had been anticipating a delightful time in various delightful places—an English country house takes a bit of beating during real summer—and now! Look at it how you would—this sinister affair inevitably impinged in some way on the lives of all of us who were staying in the house. I, for one, try as I might, could not shake off its shadow. Sir Charles met us as we entered the house, a changed man from the morning before. “I wanted a word with you two men. I’m perfectly assured that you will understand—it’s nothing really to do with me, or anything—er—over which I appear to be able to exercise any control—but Inspector Baddeley has intimated to me—I must say, that, for a policeman, he put the matter very, very tactfully—I might even go so far as to say—delicately—that he wishes to interview all of us in the house, as soon as possible. I suggested we resort to the library.” “That’s all right, sir,” responded Anthony. “Is he waiting now?” Sir Charles looked at his watch. “I have made arrangements for the proceedings to—er—commence in half an hour’s time.” “Could I have half a word with you, sir?” asked Anthony. “Delighted, Bathurst.” “I’ve always been attracted by affairs of this nature, sir, little thinking that one day I should be swept into one. Would you be good enough to give me carte blanche as it were, to do a little investigating off my own bat? With your authority, you see, acting in a private capacity as your agent, I can satisfy Inspector Baddeley of my bona fides if he catches me nosing into things.” Sir Charles pondered for a moment, and I fancied his reply came after some degree of hesitation. “I see no objection, Bathurst. Provided, of course, that any—er—results of your inquiry—are submitted to me before any action is taken.” “I’ll promise you that, sir—readily!” “Very well.” “Then we’ll regard that as settled.” “This will entail your staying on here,” continued our host. “I’ve discussed the question with nearly all the others, and I’ve put it to them, subject to the Inspector’s permission being granted that they leave as quietly as possible to suit their several conveniences. After the interview, of course. No good purpose whatever can be served by any of them staying, and no lack of respect will be shown by them to the dead, if they leave in the manner that I have described. If any one of them should be required for the inquest—I am sorely afraid that an inquest is unavoidable—Inspector Baddeley will be furnished with full particulars. This will enable the authorities to get into touch quickly, should it be necessary.” “What about Prescott’s people, sir?” I ventured. “He has no father, Bill, and is the only child of his mother. Jack is communicating with her, I believe, almost at once. Somewhere in Blackheath, I fancy. I dread the task of meeting her. Still more I dread the task of telling her.” He blew his nose fiercely to cover his evident agitation. The other members of the party came thronging up. But a hush seemed to have descended upon them. The conviviality of last night and the excitement of the morning’s awakening had departed. They had heard, indistinctly yet definitely, the flutter of the wings of the Angel of Death. He had passed them by, but he had been very close to them. And now what awaited them? Grief to the young is a transient matter. It soon becomes impossible—youth’s ardent eagerness engulfs it. It must be so. Grief can find no permanent habitation in the heart of youth. Lady Considine thought of Mrs. Prescott, and the news that would so soon reach her. One mother considered the anguish of another mother. Mary seemed terribly shaken, most of the men looked unperturbed; no matter what their feelings were, they were clever enough to mask them. The servants did most of their work on a kind of mental tiptoe. We waited. But not for long. A quick step and a quick voice sounded upon our ears. “I am at your service, ladies and gentlemen,” said Inspector Baddeley. |
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