Man with the Dark Beard (8 page)

“Yes, Sir Felix.”

“I hope you will see your way to undertaking my work. I know that my poor friend found you so satisfactory in every way that I –”

“You are very kind, Sir Felix,” the girl said demurely when he paused. “But” – she did not raise her downcast lids, though a faint smile flickered round her lips for a second – “I shall not need to look out for another post. My circumstances have altered. And I am inquiring about a flat. I have answered your letter, Sir Felix. You will get it by the next delivery. I am sorry not to be able to do what you want.”

“Oh, that is all right,” Skrine said easily. “Secretaries as secretaries are not difficult to find. But I always understood you were something very special. However, my loss is your gain. I congratulate you most heartily, Miss Houlton. It is pleasant to hear of good luck coming some one's way; I am sure there is trouble enough for everybody as a rule.”

“Thank you very much, Sir Felix. I am much obliged to you.” She gave him that vague, enigmatic smile once more as with a slight bow she turned back into her office.

Sir Felix looked after her, and then went on to find himself confronted by Miss Lavinia, who had come quietly down the stairs from the drawing-room.

She glanced at him curiously.

“What do you make of that young person, Sir Felix?”

“I don't make anything of her,” Skrine answered testily. “I am looking out for a secretary, and I thought she might do, but –”

“Dear me!” Miss Lavinia interrupted. “I shouldn't have thought a female secretary would have been in your line, Sir Felix. But all you men are alike nowadays – keep half a dozen young women running after you.”

This pleasantry was obviously not to Sir Felix's liking. He drew his brows together.

*“Really, Miss Priestley!”

“Really, Sir Felix!” she mocked. “Well, I shall be surprised if you do not find Miss Iris Houlton as sly as they make 'em.”

“I shall not find her anything at all,” Sir Felix returned. “She is not going to take another engagement, she says. Come into money, I gather.”

“Dear me!” exclaimed Miss Lavinia. “I should like to know where she got it from. Well, you haven't lost much, Sir Felix. I think – I really think I would rather have Mary Ann Taylor as a parlourmaid than that young woman as a secretary, and that is saying a great deal!”

“Can you call to mind any friend or acquaintance of Dr. Bastow's who wears a dark beard?”

“Don't know any of his friends or acquaintances at all, except Sir Felix Skrine. He entertained at his club – the Corinthian – or if he had anyone in for a pipe and a chat he had them in his own room. As for beards, nobody wears them. Men were a great deal better-looking in my opinion when they used to in my young days. Not but what they were inconvenient sometimes!” Miss Lavinia added candidly.

Whereat in spite of the gravity of the occasion a faint titter ran through the room.

The adjourned inquest had been opened this morning and, as Inspector Stoddart had prophesied, Miss Lavinia was one of the first witnesses called. After her account of the finding of the body of her brother-in-law given with her usual energy, the coroner proceeded to ask her a few questions, which Miss Lavinia, in no way cowed, seemed inclined to counter with some of her own.

“Why do you ask me about a man with a dark beard?” she demanded now.

The coroner stroked the side of his nose reflectively with his pen handle. Inspector Stoddart standing at the back of the court gave an almost imperceptible nod and the coroner went on.

“A paper was found on Dr. Bastow's desk on which apparently in his handwriting were these words:
‘It was the Man with the Dark Beard.'
”

Miss Lavinia stared at him. She did not appear in the least impressed.

“Well, what of that?”

The coroner took no notice of the question.

“Then I am to take it that so far as you know there were no men with dark beards in Dr. Bastow's circle?”

“I have just said so,” was Miss Lavinia's reply, spoken with uncompromising abruptness.

There was a pause. The coroner conferred a minute or two with Inspector Stoddart, and then signified to Miss Lavinia that her examination was over. The lady stood down with one of her loudest sniffs.

Iris Mary Houlton was the next witness called. 

The secretary came forward from her seat near Hilary Bastow and stepped into the witness-box, and after being sworn testified that the statement she had previously given to Inspector Stoddart and now read over to her was correct in every particular.

As she stood there, the clear light from the high window behind falling full upon her, Hilary Bastow looking at her was struck by the subtle change that seemed to have come over her. The Iris Houlton who had been Dr. Bastow's secretary had always appeared to Hilary to be a plain, dowdy little person who had a curious trick of dropping her eyes and never looking anyone in the face. This new Iris Houlton, in her expensive mourning, much more expensive and elaborate than Hilary's own, seemed to have no difficulty in looking the world in the face. Her complexion, which Hilary remembered as dull and sallow looking, was now pink and white, the lipstick had obviously been called in to aid nature, and the eyelashes and eyebrows, formerly indefinite and almost invisible, were now darkened and finely pencilled. She gave her evidence too in a clear, distinct rather musical voice totally unlike the almost inaudible fashion in which she had usually answered any inquiry of Hilary's in her secretary days. Her testimony did not carry the case much further, though. Dr. Bastow had seemed much as usual when she last saw him just before leaving about seven o'clock and had given her instructions with regard to some letters which had come in by the evening's post and had to be dealt with before she left. That was the last she saw of him until she was shocked to hear of his death the following morning.

Questioned with regard to the man with the dark beard, she at first looked puzzled, but the coroner at last elicited the fact that the only person with a dark beard she could name as having visited Dr. Bastow was Dr. Sanford Morris. It was not unusual for him to come in fairly often in the early evening between six and seven, she stated; he and Dr. Bastow were both pursuing investigations on the same lines, and would frequently have heated discussions about their progress. But she had heard nothing of any visit from Dr. Morris for at least a fortnight before Dr. Bastow's death. Deceased had been anxious to see him, she knew, as he had made some discovery which he considered of great importance and wished to know what Dr. Morris thought of it. Only the day before the murder, she had taken down a letter to Dr. Morris asking him to come in as soon as possible. She had no knowledge of any answer to that letter. Asked whether she knew what were the contents of the missing Chinese box, she stated that on the rare occasions when she had seen it opened it had apparently contained only papers. She had no idea whether they were valuable or not, and she had no knowledge whatever of what had become of the box itself. Nothing more was to be gathered from Iris Houlton and she left the witness-box without having added much to the information already in Inspector Stoddart's possession.

Dr. Sanford Morris was then called, and a tall, dark man who had just entered the court rose and made his way through the crowd to the witness-box. But – Dr. Sanford Morris, coroner, crowd and witnesses all rubbed their eyes. If there was one fact which had seemed to stand out more clearly than another from the mass of evidence they had heard it was that Dr. Sanford Morris had worn a dark beard. Yet this man was clean-shaven, and by no means of a prepossessing appearance. His hair was unusually long, his eyes were dark and deep-set, and he wore horn-rimmed spectacles. But the most curious thing was the contrast between the upper part of his face, which was browned by exposure to sun and air, and the lower, which was a dead, unhealthy white.

The coroner straightened his pince-nez and looked at him closely as he was being sworn.

Witness deposed that his name was Thomas Sanford Morris, that he lived at 81 Dormer Square, N.W., that he had taken his M.D. in London, and his Public Health diploma in Cambridge; that he was consulting physician to St. Philip's Hospital and was now principally occupied in research work. Had last seen Dr. John Bastow at three o'clock on the day of the murder when he met the deceased in Ivydale Road. Dr. Bastow was getting out of his car and waited for witness to come up. Deceased appeared to be much excited and told witness that he had made an important discovery with regard to the work on which they were both engaged – the isolation of cancer cells. This discovery would, if it were all the doctor claimed for it, Dr. Morris added, revolutionize the whole treatment of cancer and save probably nine-tenths of the sufferers from that much dreaded disease. Witness was naturally intensely interested, and promised to call on Dr. Bastow at 9.30 or thereabouts that same night. At this statement it was obvious that there was a considerable sensation in court.

The coroner interposed.

“That would be the night of the murder?”

Dr. Morris bowed.

“Certainly.”

“And about the time it took place, as nearly as the medical experts could place it?”

“Quite! And from the facts placed at my disposal with their opinion I entirely agree,” the witness volunteered.

The coroner coughed.

“Will you give us your account of the interview, please, Dr. Morris?”

“There was no interview,” Sanford Morris said quietly. “Soon after seeing Dr. Bastow I received an urgent message from Bayswater to say that my mother, who had been ill for some time, had been taken suddenly worse. I rang up Dr. Bastow and told him and arranged a provisional interview for the following morning, provided my mother's condition became less critical.”

The coroner glanced over his notes and made a rapid addition to them.

“Then we are to take it that the rest of your evening was spent at your mother's house in Arbuthnot Road?”

*“My mother passed away at 7.30 o'clock that same evening,” Dr. Morris said quietly. “I had nothing further to stay for.”

“But where were you for the next couple of hours?”

There was a momentary trace of hesitation before Dr. Morris replied.

“I really cannot tell you. I was feeling tired and overwrought as a result of the scene through which I had passed. After some necessary arrangements had been made, I decided to walk home, or at any rate part of the way.”

“You were some distance from Dormer Square,” the coroner said. “How far did you get?”

“The whole way. I was worried over some complications that were likely to arise as a result of my mother's death. The fresh air did me good and I walked on and on.”

“What time did you reach home?”

“About” – the witness paused a moment – “probably about half-past ten.”

“You cannot be more definite?”

“No. I started from Arbuthnot Road about 8.30, and I should say it would be a couple of hours before I reached Dormer Square. I did not take the nearest way.”

“You would have had time to keep your appointment with Dr. Bastow?”

“Undoubtedly I should. But I had so many other things to think about that I entirely forgot about it. I had besides, as I said before, phoned Dr. Bastow that I was prevented from coming, so that he would not be expecting me.”

It did not sound a particularly convincing explanation, and the coroner looked at the witness consideringly.

“Your domestics would testify to the time of your return, I presume?”

Sanford Morris shrugged his shoulders.

“I keep a man and his wife, who were probably in bed before I let myself in. They are off duty at ten o'clock.”

“I see. Now, Dr. Morris, we have heard you spoken of as a man with a dark beard. Today you are clean-shaven.”

Dr. Morris's expression was one of amazement, mingled with some natural irritation.

“I have been thinking for some time of shaving. I did so. It is not, so far as I am aware, an offence to be clean-shaven.”

“Or most of us would have to plead guilty. Can you tell us anything about the secret of which Dr. Bastow speaks in the unfinished letter found after his death?”

Sanford Morris shook his head.

“I have not the slightest idea. Certainly he never spoke or wrote of it to me.”

“One more question. Do you know whether Dr. Bastow kept any papers relating to this research work of yours and his in the Chinese box that used to stand before him on the writing-table?”

Dr. Morris shook his head.

“I have no idea what was in the box. I never saw it open to my knowledge.”

There was a great hush as Sanford Morris left the box, and the coroner, at the request of Inspector Stoddart, adjourned the inquest for a fortnight to give the police further time to pursue their inquiries and for the development of certain clues in their possession. At the word clues all eyes turned to Sanford Morris, just then taking his place at the solicitors' table.

Obviously he was entirely unaware of or absolutely indifferent to the scrutiny to which he was subjected. Glancing round, he bowed gravely to Miss Lavinia Priestley who was gazing at him through her raised
lorgnette
. Closing them now with a snap she deliberately looked Morris in the face, and turned her head away.

Hilary, sitting between her aunt and Sir Felix Skrine, shivered and grew pale, as she met his glance. The significance of that shaven face had not escaped her.

“My dear boy, it must be so.” Sir Felix Skrine spoke compassionately, but his tone was decided. “This house would be too large for you and Hilary alone, in any case. There is, besides, the fact that whoever takes the practice is sure to want the house also. I am very sorry, Fee, but as your father's executor I am bound to make the best arrangements I can with regard to the practice. I heard yesterday from a man who I think will probably buy it; he has a wife and family, and of course the house will be a necessity. There's no help for it, Fee.”