  “I ought to tell you gentlemen, or at least those of you to whom the Considine pearls are unknown, that they have been in my family for several generations and are of great value. My wife wears them in the form of a necklace that she had made some seventeen years ago. And it has been her fancy, call it whim if you please to, to wear this necklace quite often. The last occasion she wore it was the evening before last—it was my birthday and it delighted her to celebrate the affair. She informs me that she replaced the necklace in her jewel-case when she retired that evening. I ought to mention that it goes into a case of its own which, in turn, is placed in a larger case. Unfortunately, she did not take the trouble to get this second case at the time—she was very tired. Yesterday morning she asked Coombes, her maid, to do so for her. About half an hour ago, it occurred to her that Prescott’s death may have resulted from a clash with burglars. She went to her large jewel-case, and was amazed to discover that the case containing the pearl necklace was not there. Neither was it to be found—anywhere. She is terribly upset to think that her partial neglect may have cost this poor young man his life.” Baddeley waved his hand deprecatingly. “There is no need for Lady Considine to worry over that, Sir Charles. None of us ever know the result of some of our most innocent actions. But this requires careful consideration. Coombes—this maid of Lady Considine’s—is she to be trusted?” “As far as I can say,” replied Sir Charles. “She has been with us seven or eight years. She is desperately worried, Lady Considine says, and has no definite remembrance as to whether she replaced the necklace or not. Will you see her?” “I will see both Lady Considine and her maid in a few moments. But I should like to feel certain whether I am investigating one case or two.” “Things certainly are moving, Inspector,” said Anthony. “But perhaps this latest piece of news will help us a lot.” Lady Considine was heart-broken at her loss. But she did her best to forget her personal loss in the greater sorrow that had befallen others. She was a pretty woman, and I knew that she had been considered a beauty in her day. “When I went to bed the night before last,” she said, “I took the necklace off and put it into its own case, but I did not put this case into the larger one. I was sleepy and it meant getting up and crossing the room. My maid was brushing my hair. I said, ‘Coombes—put the case with the necklace away, in the morning—never mind now. Hurry up with my hair and I’ll get to bed.’” Sir Charles interrupted here. “I understood you asked her the following morning.” “No, I asked her that night. To put the case away in the morning.” “Did she reply?” commented Baddeley. “She promised that she would.” “Did you remind her again the following morning?” he continued. “Yes—first thing.” “And then what transpired?” “Nothing. I thought no more about it. Not seeing the case lying on my dressing-table, I naturally imagined that Coombes had carried out my instructions.” Baddeley nodded in acquiescence. “Quite so. And then?” “Well, I was thinking over this dreadful business of last night and worrying ... and wondering ... when suddenly the idea of theft and burglary flew to my brain ... and as I have just explained to Sir Charles ... I went straight to the large jewel-case, unlocked it ... more as a means of making sure than because I really thought I had lost anything ... you know the rest. The case containing the necklace was not there.” “Now, Lady Considine,” said the Inspector, “try and think ... when is your last remembrance of seeing the missing case?” “Yesterday morning.” “You are sure ... quite sure?” “I am.” Then turning to her husband, “I want Inspector Baddeley to see Coombes—poor girl—she’s in a terrible way. I think she can already visualize herself being hanged at least. But as honest as the day, Inspector, so don’t frighten her.” “I’ll try not to, I’m sure,” grunted Baddeley. “Roper!” The silent Roper came to life again. “Get full particulars of this missing necklace from Sir Charles and take the usual steps. If you send for Coombes,” to Lady Considine, “I’ll see her now.” “Enter Coombes L.U.E.,” smiled Anthony. “As innocent as the ‘rathe’ primrose by the river’s brim.” “Don’t count chickens before the hatching stage is completed, Mr. Bathurst. I’ve known crooks that looked like choristers, and bishops that looked like burglars.” “That comes of judging people by their looks, Inspector,” chaffed back Anthony, “instead of by their actions.” Coombes entered. Scared to death! She was a tall girl, with wispy red hair and a big face. The sense of bigness was given by the face, by a long line of strong jaw. It was what I should have called a “horse’s face.” Pythagoras would have declared that she had transmigrated from a horse. She opened the proceedings by bursting into loud sobbing. “It’s all my fault, Mr. Policeman,” she managed to get out between her sobs. “I’ll tell the truth. I promised mother when I came into service I’d tell the truth always, so I’ll tell it now, even though I shall cop out for it—but it’s all my fault and God’s own mercy that we haven’t all been murdered.” She paused for breath. “Come, come, my girl, what is all your fault?” demanded Baddeley. “Why, sir ... this.... I d-d-don’t believe I put the n-n-necklace case away at all!” “You mean you left it lying where Lady Considine had left it?” “Y-y-yes! I meant to put it away first thing that morning when my Lady told me to—but something put it out of my mind and made me forget it ... and I never saw it again to make me remember it. At least I don’t think I did.” “You can’t be sure of that, you know ...” remarked the Inspector. “Because you didn’t see it, doesn’t prove it wasn’t there.” He turned to Sir Charles. “Any strange characters been knocking about lately, that you’ve noticed?” “None that I’ve seen.” “H’m! Probably an inside job. With your permission I’ll step up to the bedroom in question, a little later on, Sir Charles! Perhaps you gentlemen would care to accompany me? I’ll adjourn down here, temporarily. All right, Coombes—you come along with us.” We made our way upstairs—Anthony wrapped in thought. Lady Considine’s bedroom was, as has already been explained, on the same floor as the billiard room. It will be remembered that the door of the latter faced anybody ascending the stairs. Lady Considine’s room lay on the left of the landing some twenty yards away. Between her room and the billiard room was the bedroom occupied by Dick and Helen Arkwright. Baddeley entered, the rest of us following him. “Is this the dressing-table where the case was?” Lady Considine replied in the affirmative. “It’s near the window. Quite an easy entrance from outside.” He walked to the window and measured with his eyes the distance to the ground. “Is the window left open during the day?” “Quite possibly, Inspector. As you see, it’s of the casement type.” He examined it. “No signs of its having been forced,” he pronounced. “I presume the door is open during the day?” “It’s closed, of course, but not locked, if that’s what you mean.” “I see! Most people in the house would have a fairly reasonable opportunity of access to the room—eh?” “I suppose they would,” admitted Sir Charles, reluctantly. “This may sound as though we are confoundedly careless, Inspector, but we’ve always considered ourselves remote from crime. That’s the only explanation I can give.” “Surely you don’t suspect anyone here ...” broke in Dick Arkwright. “I’m beginning to think those footsteps I was yammering about were made by real feet. And I feel very relieved to think that I told you.” “I’m not forgetting ’em, Captain Arkwright. Not for a moment,” conceded Baddeley. “I’ve formed some very definite conclusions. Come down again to the library, Sir Charles, and you two gentlemen, also,” he addressed Anthony Bathurst and me—“you may as well see the thing through with me.” We retraced our steps downstairs to the library. “Your servants, Sir Charles—tell me about them—I’m curious.” “There’s Fitch, the butler, been with me over twenty years, Mrs. Dawson, the cook over fifteen years. The four maids are Coombes, the one you saw—she looks after Lady Considine and my daughter, Mary, if she happens to require her—Marshall, Hudson and Dennis. I suppose you would call them housemaids. They see to the rooms and wait at table if we want them. Coombes has been with us over seven years, Marshall and Hudson are comparative newcomers to my establishment. Been with me about three years and eighteen months respectively. Dennis we have only had nine weeks. I’ve no complaints against any one of them.” For a brief space Baddeley conferred with Roper. I observed that Anthony watched this consultation with some interest. “Very well, then, Roper—I quite agree,” I heard the Inspector say—and then, “ask her to come in.” He turned in the direction of Sir Charles. “This maid, Marshall, that discovered Mr. Prescott’s body this morning—you say she has been with you for about three years?” “About that time, Inspector.” “Well, I’m going to have a few words with her. I’m not——” The door opened to admit Marshall. She was a dark, rather pretty girl, of medium height—I should have said of Welsh type. When she entered, I was struck by the extreme pallor of her face. The shock of the finding of Prescott’s body had evidently affected her considerably. Had I not known that, I should have thought that she was a victim of fear. “Your name is Marshall?” opened Baddeley. “Amy Marshall.” “You’ve been here some time?” “Three years in October.” “Your daily duties, I presume, took you into the billiard room this morning?” Marshall shot a scared glance at him through half closed eyes. “I sweep and clean several rooms before breakfast—the billiard room every morning, as it has usually been in use the night before.” “Was the billiard room the first room you did this morning?” “No, sir! I had swept and polished two floors before I went into the billiard room.” “Was the door open when you came to it?” “No, sir, it was shut.” “When you got in the room—what happened?” “Well, sir, I opened the door with my left hand, I had my broom and things in my right, so that I didn’t catch sight of the corpse, sir, till I was well inside the room.” “Then you saw Mr. Prescott? Eh?” “And that awful knife——” she shuddered as the memory of the scene came home to her again. “H’m. Was the window open?” Her black eyes opened wide, intensifying the pallor of her face. “The window—sir?” she queried. “Let me think.” She pondered for a brief moment. “Yes, sir,” she declared. “I think so.” “Your pardon, Inspector,” intervened Sir Charles, “perhaps I can help you with regard to that point; the window was open, I distinctly remember noticing it.” He preened himself. Baddeley regarded him with a mixture of approval and amusement. “It was open when I arrived, Sir Charles, but I was later on the scene than you gentlemen. “Now, Marshall,” he continued, “after you saw Mr. Prescott’s body—what did you do? Did you go and touch it at all—take hold of the dagger—inquisitive-like—h’m?” “Touch it!” she gasped. And then again as though she hadn’t heard him properly—“touch it? Lord love yer”—she relapsed from her acquired manners—“I wouldn’t ’ave gorn near it for a thousand quid. Touch it!” “Well, what did you do?” “I screamed. And then got up against the wall to support myself—I come over so queer.” “And then?” “Then all the gentlemen rushed down, and the master told me to clear off.” Baddeley addressed Sir Charles. “This dagger, Sir Charles, that was used by the murderer ... I understood, when I was upstairs, that it is your property?” “It has been in my family for two hundred years. Came originally from Venice and lies on the curio table in the drawing-room. It was in the drawing-room last night.” “So it must have been taken out between last night and the early hours of the morning?” Sir Charles bowed. “It would seem so—beyond argument.” “Have you finished with me, sir?” interrupted Marshall. “If you ’ave”—her h’s were very uncertain and fugitive just now—“I should like to go—I’m feeling far from well. This shock ’as been a great blow to me.” “No—I haven’t quite done with you, yet. You have just told me you sweep and clean the rooms.” Marshall nodded. “What time did you do Lady Considine’s bedroom, yesterday?” Marshall never turned a hair. “I ’aven’t never been in Lady Considine’s bedroom since I was engaged. Coombes sees to that as the master will tell you if you ask him! I know my place, and what’s better than that—I keep it.” Baddeley looked her straight in the eyes, but Marshall never batted an eyelid. “What Marshall says is quite true, Inspector,” interjected Sir Charles Considine. “Her duties do not take her into Lady Considine’s room.” Baddeley accepted the situation with good grace. He tried another tack. “There were three chairs overturned in the billiard room when you entered it. Didn’t that strike you as strange?” “It did—when I caught sight of ’em. But the corpse caught my eye first—you run across a corpse on a billiard-table first thing in the morning—see whether you notice anything else much—a corpse seems to fill the landscape—you might say. You don’t want no ‘close-up’ of it—believe me.” This was truth and truth with a vengeance, naked and unashamed. There was no mistaking it. Marshall had put the matter in plain unvarnished terms—with all the cheap humor of her class—but her sincerity was undoubted and it struck home. If we had not been concerned in the investigation of a murder, I think most of us would have laughed outright. Sir Charles Considine shifted in his chair, uneasily and disapprovingly. Anthony alone seemed completely unperturbed. Baddeley bent across to Roper. I did not catch all he said, but he seemed very importunate with regard to some point or other, and I heard Roper say, “It’s all right.... I got it when you first put me wise.” “All right then, Marshall,” said the Inspector. “You can go now; if I want you again, I’ll send for you.” Anthony leaned across the table, his forefinger extended towards the maid. “One moment, Marshall.” “Yes, sir,” she said fretfully. “You’ve answered Inspector Baddeley’s questions so nicely,” he continued, with a smile charming enough to put any member of the gentler sex at her ease—“that I’m going to ask you to answer some of mine.” His smile expanded. Marshall eyed him doubtfully, but seemed to relax a bit. He scanned her face deliberately—then I saw him hesitate as though puzzled by something. His eyes searched her, seeking. And his glance grew more penetrative in its quality. Something about her was causing him a difficulty. But he threw it off. “You had done some work this morning, before you went to the billiard room?” “Yes, sir.” “Would you mind telling me what work?” “I had swept two rooms, done a bit of general tidying-up and polished the floor of the dining-room.” “Had you polished the dining-room floor just before you went to the billiard room?” “Yes, sir—just before!” “What with?” Anthony’s voice was tense and eager. “Ronuk floor polish.” “By Moses!” cried Baddeley, “then it was Ronuk.” Marshall looked the picture of amazement. She had been led to the brink of a morass and even yet failed to realize her imminent danger. “You wear gloves for polishing floors?” Anthony’s tone grew sharper. “I use a cloth ... and wear gloves when I’m using it ...” Marshall replied with a suspicion of sullenness. “Then why”—cried Anthony,—“when you entered the billiard room and saw Prescott’s body on the billiard-table—why did you rush straight to the window, fling it open—and lean out over the window-sill?” For the space of a few seconds Marshall stared at him in astonishment. Then she swayed slightly and fell into a dead faint on the library floor. |
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