Ten Star Clues (11 page)

“Any finger-prints?” Colonel Glynne asked.

“I thought it important enough to call in Wakefield,” Bobby said. “I wired asking them to send one of their most experienced men along as quickly as possible. They sent him in a fast car. I haven't his report yet.”

“Criminals never leave finger-prints, they know better,' the colonel remarked pessimistically.

Bobby was inclined to agree, but then in detective work you never know your luck. A crime may be committed in the heat of passion and not a hint or a clue left behind. A crime may be committed after the most careful preparation and the scene simply shriek the name of the perpetrator. Bobby turned to the pile of reports and statements through which the colonel had been glancing.

“Up to and including dinner last night,” he said, “the statements made are clear and detailed and all agree. There were more at dinner than usual, I understand, because several came on after the evacuation meeting held earlier. During the afternoon the vicar, Mr. Longden, called at the Wych estate office. Ralph Hoyle was there. He acts as his great-uncle's agent though I suppose he may get the sack now Bertram Hoyle has turned up again. Mr. Clinton Wells, who it seems is going to act for Ralph if the succession case comes into court, was there, too.”

“Well,” commented the colonel, “I don't see what Ralph can do if both grandparents accept Bertram as genuine—pretty conclusive. Not our business, though. Our job is to find out who shot the old earl. A blackguardly crime. Not logical, I suppose, but somehow it seems worse to cut off an old man's few remaining days. However, that's not the point. What matters is the evidence you've got together. A bit confusing so far.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed Bobby. “There are two or three points I want to draw your attention to. First, there seems no doubt about Ralph Hoyle and his great-uncle having had a violent quarrel last night. But Ralph left about half-past ten, an hour or so before the murder. So if he is responsible he must have come back.”

“No difficulty about that, I suppose?” asked the colonel.

“Oh, no, none. Secondly the butler, Martin, says that Lady Wych was using language earlier in the evening which could be taken either as a threat or as knowledge of a threat from another quarter. Thirdly, one of the gardeners found an umbrella in the castle grounds on a path that is often used as a short cut. It's a private path, but there seems to be a sort of tacit permission for people in the neighbourhood to use it. The umbrella has been recognized as Mr. Longden's. I'm told he has a trick of leaving things about. The gardener who found it had another look round and came across cigarette ends and other signs that someone had been sitting under rhododendron bushes near. So both the vicar and some other person were in the castle grounds last night, apparently about the time of the murder. The fourth point seems important. During the vicar's call at the Wych estate office Ralph Hoyle was handling a Colt point three-two automatic. The bullets that killed the earl were fired from a pistol of that make and calibre. It doesn't follow it was Ralph's pistol, but it was one similar. Ralph says he locked his pistol up in the estate office safe, and that it must be there still because the safe has not been opened. But it appears that the vicar absentmindedly went off with Ralph's keys, including the key of the safe. Ralph says he has no other key by him. The spare ones are kept in the bank, and it seems clear the key was in the vicar's possession before, during and after the time of the murder.”

“Nothing to prevent Ralph from having provided himself with a duplicate key, I suppose?” remarked the colonel uneasily.

“Not that I know of. It seems a curious detail that the key should be in the vicar's hands just at that time. Curious and interesting. It may be important or it may not. As soon as I heard of the existence of the pistol I sent a man to keep an eye on the safe. If the pistol is still there, and if the bullets fired last night didn't come from it, we needn't bother about it any more. If it's gone from the safe, or if it turns out to be the weapon used...”

He left the sentence unfinished, and the colonel remained silent for a moment or two, evidently thinking hard and looking very puzzled.

“Odd about that key,” he muttered. “Odd about Ralph's having a pistol of the same make and calibre. Still, there are plenty of Colt point three-two automatics in existence.” Then he added:—“I know Ralph Hoyle. Not a likely murderer.”

“No, sir,” agreed Bobby, but a little doubtfully, and added:—“Murder is never likely, and murderers are still less so. Another thing that may be worth attention is that there appears to have been rather a violent scene at dinner between Ralph and Bertram, and there was an exchange of threats and references to pistols and shooting. Arthur Hoyle thinks Ralph was the first to threaten the use of a gun, but isn't sure. Miss Anne says she doesn't remember; she says anyhow it was only talk. No one actually produced a pistol. Miss Sophy Longden is quite clear that Bertram was the only one who said anything at all about a gun. I don't think Miss Longden approves of Bertram. She gave me the idea she could have said more about him if she had wanted to.”

“Ralph and Bertram actually came to blows, did they?” the colonel asked.

“Bertram picked up a bottle and threatened to brain Ralph, and Ralph tackled him and threw him—‘gave him a toss', is Ralph's expression,” Bobby added, fumbling among his papers. “Bertram says: ‘Tripped me up when I wasn't looking.' Things seem to have been strained all through the meal. Even before that, there was an oddly uneasy feeling about, as if they all expected something to happen. My wife has met Miss Longden in connection with the evacuation preparations. She told me before this happened that Miss Longden seemed nervous and afraid, though it wasn't at all clear what she was afraid of. There was another curious little incident at dinner last night, too, they all comment on. Some wine was spilt, port wine, and it made a red sort of stain that set them all saying how much it looked like blood. It was almost as if it struck them as a kind of omen. I thought that rather significant.”

“In what way?”

“As suggesting that the idea of bloodshed, death, murder, was already present in their minds. It's not usual for people in a normal state of mind to begin thinking about bloodstains because a little wine gets spilt. It suggests to me that ideas of threats, or a dread of violence coming, were already in their minds—subconsciously perhaps and perhaps not.”

“The suggestion is that one of those at the table was already planning the murder?”

“I don't mean that quite, I don't think that follows,” Bobby answered. “What I mean is that someone, some time, had heard or even uttered a threat of violence of some sort; that in fact there was a general apprehension and fear among them. Not very clear and I'm not expressing myself very clearly. What I mean is, some such idea was present in some way and the spilt wine incident brought it to the surface.”

“Getting a bit out of my depth,” Colonel Glynne said doubtfully. “May be something in it, but police work wants facts. I daresay there was an uneasy feeling about. Natural enough in such a situation—every one strained and uneasy.” He began to finger the reports lying on the table. Presently he said:— “You don't seem to think much of this butler fellow, Martin. Not been here long, has he?”

“No, sir,” Bobby answered. “When the last man left, I'm told Lady Wych had a good deal of trouble in getting any one else. Apparently good butlers are scarce. I gather she was too glad to get hold of Martin to check up on his references very carefully. I thought it might be as well to take him over his statement again.”

“I see that from your notes,” the colonel remarked. “Well, have him in and carry on.”

Martin was accordingly sent for, and Bobby explained that there were one or two points on which they would like further information.

“I notice, for instance,” he remarked, “you say you thought things were getting very tricky here.”

“Yes, sir, they were that,” Martin answered. “No one knew what was going to happen next, but we all felt there was bound to be a flare up.” 

“In what way?”

“Well, there was Mr. Ralph talking very wild like about Mr. Bertram being a fraud and he meant to prove it. Mr. Bertram acted a bit queer, too. Some of us used to say how scared like he acted—almost as if it was him as was likely to be thrown out. The other ladies and gentlemen, too. Like so many cats on hot bricks, if you see what I mean. Something was bound to crack and something did.”

“It did,” agreed Bobby. “Now about this incident in the hall. When you heard Lady Wych telling Miss Longden about a seventeenth-century Hoyle who shot her son to preserve the honour of the family. Did you attach any importance to it at the time?”

“Oh, no, sir, none at all. I should never have thought of it again if it hadn't been for what happened last night.”

“I suppose you are not suggesting that the countess shot the earl to preserve the honour of the Hoyle family, are you?”

“Oh, no, sir, of course not,” Martin answered with a kind of pleased smirk which suggested very strongly that that was in fact precisely what he wished to suggest. “Never even thought of that, sir. Only it did seem rather strange, and then you remember we were all told very particularly everything we could think of we were to mention, whether it seemed to have anything to do with the poor gentleman's murder or whether it hadn't. And it did strike me as strange, what her ladyship said, just as if it were a kind of prophecy.”

“The honour of no family is helped by murder,” Bobby remarked. “There is nothing else you can tell us, either about your own movements or about anything that strikes you as strange in the light of what happened later?”

“No, sir, nothing at all. Of course, I'm very sorry if I did wrong in mentioning about what her ladyship said in the hall.”

“You did quite right,” Bobby assured him. “Much better for us to know it now from you than for it to come out later. You locked up at eleven, you say?”

“That was the regular rule—eleven o'clock sharp. If any of the family meant to be out later, they told me, or if they didn't, it wasn't my fault.”

“You saw to all doors and windows personally?”

“Yes, at eleven sharp, all on the ground floor, that is. All except the library. His lordship saw to the windows there himself. He used to sit up late listening to the wireless, and he didn't like being disturbed.”

“Didn't he take anything for a nightcap before going to bed?”

“No, his lordship was a very abstemious gentleman. He never took anything late. It wasn't often he even smoked a cigar after dinner. His rule was two a day, one after breakfast and one after lunch.”

“Did he never smoke cigarettes or a pipe?”

“I've never known him to. He had an idea that smoking at night stopped him from sleeping. He did have an extra cigar after dinner sometimes, but generally only if he were feeling upset or worried. He told me once it was a useful counter-irritant and I expect he felt he needed it after the scene with Mr. Ralph. That would be why he had one last night.”

“Oh, yes, I wanted to ask you about that,” Bobby said. “Yes. Let me see. Oh, yes, here it is. You were passing through the hall about ten or a quarter past. You heard loud voices coming from the library as you were going down the corridor outside. You recognized Mr. Ralph Hoyle's voice, and you are sure he and Earl Wych were quarrelling?”

“Going at it hammer and tongs,” answered Martin confidently.

“Did you hear what was being said?”

“I expect I could if I had listened,” Martin replied, his tone now very virtuous, not to say unctuous, “but, of course, I didn't.”

“Of course not,” agreed Bobby. “How is it you are sure it was Mr. Ralph?”

“Well, if you put it like that,” said Martin slowly, “I suppose I couldn't swear it was him, if that's what you mean. But every one knew Mr. Ralph was insisting on having it out with his lordship. Mr. Ralph hadn't made any secret of it. Loud and furious they sounded, and I didn't stop. I didn't want the door to open suddenly and them find me there. It might have meant the sack and no character, both of them worked up the way they were.”

“You noticed also that Mr. Ralph looked very excited —very strange and excited you say in your statement. That was when you let him out?”

“Yes, sir, that's right, sir,” agreed Martin, but now a trifle uneasily, as if somehow he had detected a warning note in Bobby's voice, nor did that touch of uneasiness in his manner diminish when Bobby reminded him that he would be asked to repeat on oath all that he was now saying.

Bobby continued:—

“Mr. Ralph left about half-past ten, you think. He didn't go to the drawing-room to say good-night to the others. You thought that was because of the scene during dinner. You locked up at eleven as usual. You are quite clear that the library wireless was going then. You went to the drawing-room where you found Miss Anne and Mr. Bertram. Miss Longden had gone to bed. You asked if there was anything more. You were told there wasn't and you went to your own room, read a little, and were in bed by about a quarter to twelve. You heard nothing in the night and you were dressing this morning when you heard of the discovery of his lordship's body outside the closed—not fastened—french windows of the library. You had not been near the library or outside the house since Mr. Ralph Hoyle left.”

“No, sir, that's right, sir,” Martin answered. “I can take my Bible oath on that, sir.”

“What is puzzling me,” Bobby explained, “is exactly how you come to know that your master smoked a cigar after Mr. Ralph's departure? He did so, because we found a half-smoked cigar on the carpet where it had burned a small hole. So it seems likely that it was actually being smoked at the moment of the attack. Mr. Ralph's evidence is that his great-uncle didn't smoke during their interview or before. How did you know?”