Ten Star Clues (12 page)

Martin hesitated, plainly at a loss how to reply.

“I heard someone say something about a cigar end in the library,” he stammered at last.

“Who was it?” demanded Bobby.

“I... I don't remember.”

“No one who knew about it would be likely to mention it in your presence,” Bobby said. “Only our men knew, and our men don't chatter. I'm afraid you are telling lies, Martin. Come, out with it. How did you know?”

“Well, I didn't actually know,” Martin answered, recovering his self-possession. “It was just a guess. I knew his lordship's ways so well. I said to myself after I had let Mr. Ralph out, I said: ‘They've had an almighty dust up. That'll mean his lordship sitting up late smoking most like, to settle his nerves down, then he'll be awake all night, and then he'll be in a rotten bad temper to-morrow and we'll all have to look out for squalls.' You'll remember, sir, I said just now, I said: ‘If his lordship smoked a cigar,' I said.”

Bobby turned to the shorthand writer, sitting unobtrusively in a corner of the room.

“Have you ‘if' down?” he asked.

“No, sir,” came the prompt response. “There wasn't any ‘if'.”

“You mean you didn't hear it,” said Martin calmly. “A little word like that, it's easy overlooked or not heard. ‘If' is what I said, and I'll take my Bible oath.” In spite of his recovered self-possession, his glib replies, the man was plainly shaken. He was moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue; he was making little restless movements with his hands and feet. “I won't sign nothing that hasn't ‘if' in it, like I said,” he declared. “You can't make me, neither. I know my rights,” he declared defiantly.

“Just a little too well,” commented Bobby. “Suggests previous experience. Ever had any?” Martin did not answer. “Your protest will be noted,” Bobby said formally. “But I think you had better consider your position very carefully. If you wish to say anything more, let me know. And remember: Murder has taken place and murder is a serious matter. Murder is a hanging matter. You can go now.”

Martin put his hand to his throat with an odd, hurried gesture as though to relieve a pressure he felt there. He gave Bobby a scowl of mingled fear and dislike and then went off, looking a good deal less self-satisfied than before. The colonel said:—

“You don't think he's our man, do you? what motive could he have?”

“It's all too difficult and obscure even to begin forming an opinion yet,” Bobby answered slowly. “At least, that's how I feel. The motive may be as hidden and difficult to understand as the whole position seems. Martin was certainly lying part of the time, and the cigar business shows he was back near the library after Ralph Hoyle left. But by itself that doesn't prove much, except of course that Martin is a liar. He may have gone back to the library door and listened out of mere curiosity, and smelt cigar smoke, and yet not want to admit he was doing a bit of more or less harmless snooping. Or there may be more to it. Hard to tell. He could let himself in or out of the house as he liked, for that matter there is nothing but his own word to show he went to bed when he says he did. He is playing his own game, and it may be a more dangerous game than he realizes.” 

The colonel nodded again.

“Yes,” he agreed. “There's a murderer loose about here, and a very cool and desperate murderer, too.”

There was a knock at the door and a constable appeared with the information that the vicar had now arrived in answer to the message sent him requesting his attendance once more at the castle. Bobby, after consulting Colonel Glynne, told the constable they would be glad to see Mr. Longden at once. While they were waiting for his appearance, Bobby remarked to the colonel:—

“He was here earlier, but I didn't ask him for any statement. I understood he came along only as the parish priest to see if he could help in any way, and there seemed nothing then to suggest he knew anything relevant. It was only after he had gone that I heard Ralph Hoyle had been seen handling an automatic in the Wych estate office. A bit suggestive with a murder happening shortly afterwards. And then, after that, the vicar's umbrella was picked up in the castle grounds, so apparently he was somewhere about here last night.”

“How do they know whose it was?” the colonel asked. “Initials or something?”

“No, not that. I believe the man who found it recognized it as Mr. Longden's. It seems he has a reputation for leaving odd belongings about; umbrella, gloves, anything.”

The door opened and Mr. Longden himself appeared. He was plainly nervous and distressed, and began at once, without waiting for questions, to talk of the horror of such a crime in that quiet and peaceful village.

“Is it certain it was murder?” he asked. “Couldn't it possibly be accident—or even suicide? That would be very dreadful, very dreadful indeed, but not—not murder.”

“I fear there's no doubt,” the colonel answered gravely. “My assistant, Inspector Owen, is in charge of the inquiry, and he would like to ask you a few questions. I need hardly say that both he and I rely upon you to give us all the help in your power.”

“It is a duty, a plain duty,” Mr. Longden answered, very much as if he wished it wasn't. “Anything I can tell you, of course.”

“I ought to begin,” Bobby said, “by explaining that an umbrella was found in the grounds here, leaning against a tree.” He produced it, as quaint an exhibit as has ever played a part in the investigation of a murder. “I'm told it is yours. Do you recognize it?”

“Dear me,” exclaimed Mr. Longden looking quite excited. “Is that where I left it? I knew I had it with me last night but I thought I must have left it at Mrs. Vigor's. I was meaning to call there to-day to ask.”

“At Mrs. Vigor's?” Bobby repeated.

“I was called to her house late last night,” Mr. Longden explained. “Her baby, only a few days old, was very ill and she wished me to baptize the poor child. Most happily, immediately after the baptism, there was a most marked change for the better. A wonderful change. I must not attribute it to the baptism, but still—the change was extraordinary. Most impressive. On my way back, I took a path—I have permission—through the castle grounds. It saves going a long way round. When I got near the house I could hear the wireless playing and I noticed the french windows of the library were partly open. It was a warm night.”

“Were they wide open?” Bobby asked.

“No, no, just a few inches. But then I saw someone from the terrace open them wider and go through into the library, pulling the windows to afterwards.” 

He paused, evidently embarrassed. When he did not continue, Bobby said:—

“Did you recognize who it was?”

“I... I couldn't be sure,” the vicar answered. His embarrassment was evident. He hesitated, stammered a little as he went on:—“I... I couldn't be sure. No. I certainly couldn't be sure. I suppose it was then I put down my umbrella. I think I prayed for guidance. I... felt so bewildered. I felt I must be mistaken.”

“Whom did you think it was?” Bobby asked, very quietly but with a note of insistence in his voice that evidently the vicar recognized, and that as evidently made him still more uncomfortable.

“You see,” he explained, “I'm not sure. Really, I don't think it would be right for me to mention a name. It was only a mere passing glimpse. Very likely, I was entirely mistaken. I might,” he pointed out pleadingly, “be misleading you in a most unfortunate manner.”

“I am afraid,” Bobby insisted, “it is necessary for us to know what you thought at the time. We realize it was only an impression and possibly a mistaken one. If it was, we can soon get that cleared up. The point is that even a mistaken impression will be a guide and a help, and it is essential to know who was and who was not near the spot at the time of the murder. That is what we call establishing identity. Identity of time, place, and any possible suspect.” The vicar was evidently thinking this over. Bobby did not try to hurry him. The vicar said with unexpected insight:—

“That means me—includes me as a suspect?”

“Well, yes,” agreed Bobby, though in point of fact he had not thought of that before. “Still, we can leave that aside for the moment. What we are asking for now is the name of the person you thought at the moment you recognized. We have got to know it,” he added with that hard resolve which was at the core of his character though it so seldom appeared, “for we do not intend that the murder of an old, inoffensive man like Lord Wych shall go unpunished.”

“It will not,” the vicar said with a sudden and a curious severity that matched—outmatched indeed—the hardness in Bobby's tone. “It cannot, indeed, for the punishment is in the deed itself. No punishment is greater than impunity.”

Bobby did not attempt to argue that point. He thought to himself that perhaps it was a punishment, this of impunity, that might well encourage crime and still more crime. But he was not sure, for he thought that at least he could catch a glimpse of what the vicar meant. He waited quietly, and with a sigh Mr. Longden spoke.

“I want to say again,” he began, “that very likely I was utterly mistaken. At the time I know I felt I must be. It seemed it was incredible. But certainly at the time it did seem to me that I had seen the Countess Wych.”

Neither Bobby nor the colonel could quite conceal their surprise. It was the last name either of them had expected. Colonel Glynne indeed drew his breath in sharply, in a very audible gasp of astonishment.

“Lady Wych,” he exclaimed incredulously.

“No doubt I was utterly mistaken,” repeated Mr. Longden eagerly, turning quickly towards the colonel as if hoping to escape from Bobby's hard insistence. “Incredible, of course. In her state of health.”

“She came downstairs to dinner last night,” Bobby remarked thoughtfully, half inclined to belief on the old principle: ‘I believe because it is impossible'—or, in this case, so highly improbable. The impression made on the vicar must have been strong, he felt, to have produced such a statement. “Anyhow, you feel sure it was a woman?” he asked abruptly.

“Well, yes, a woman,” the vicar agreed, “yes, I think so, but really, it was only a glimpse, as—whoever it was— opened the window, pushed back the curtain, entered the room.” 

“The wireless was playing?” Bobby asked.

The vicar was quite clear on that point. He distinctly remembered hearing it playing. But he had heard nothing in the nature of pistol shots. Concerning the exact time, he was less certain. Somewhere about half-past eleven, he supposed. Nor could he be certain what exact piece of music was being played, or what portion. Classical music certainly, but he had not recognized it. His knowledge of music was limited and his ear by no means first rate.

There is one thing more where you can help us possibly,” Bobby continued, when it became clear that nothing more definite could be extracted from the vicar's somewhat vague recollections. “Not far from where you were standing, judging, that is, from where the umbrella was found, there are traces of footprints. Cigarette ends are lying about. Under some rhododendron bushes. It looks as if someone had been sitting there for some time, and it appears to be about the only convenient spot from which the castle can be seen comfortably. There is an uninterrupted view of the library windows. Apparently whoever it was remained there for some time, just as if he or she were watching. It may have been the murderer waiting a favourable opportunity. There may be some innocent explanation. Did you notice or can you remember anything to help us there? Did you smell tobacco smoke, for example, or see a lighted cigarette?”

Mr. Longden looked a good deal disturbed at this new suggestion.

“Do you mean,” he asked, “the murderer may have been hiding there and that I may have passed within a few feet of him?—dear me, a most uncomfortable idea.”

Disturbing as he evidently found the suggestion, he was unable to say anything to confirm it, and Bobby did not press the point.

“There's just one thing more,” he said. “You were a good deal surprised when you saw Lady Wych, so much so that I think you said something about praying for guidance. I don't quite understand what guidance was necessary.”

Mr. Longden flushed and hesitated.

“I was conscious of a certain temptation,” he said. “My daughter has undertaken duties towards Lady Wych, whose health is very bad. My first feeling was that Lady Wych oughtn't to be out there at that time of night, and that her being so might imply a certain neglect on Sophy's part. I wasn't sure what to do, I was tempted to do nothing for fear of drawing attention to what might have been a fault on my daughter's part. But there was, after all, no reason why Lady Wych shouldn't be up and about. It was not very late and it was a warm, fine night. Yet I felt uneasy. I don't know why. I wasn't sure what to do, and when I feel like that, it is my habit to seek guidance. Then I saw Lady Wych turn back into the room and pull the curtains to behind her. I felt that was an answer, and showed there was no need for me to do anything. I went on home. That is all.”

“Thank you,” Bobby said, touched and a little puzzled by the simplicity of the tale and the natural way in which it had been told.

He asked one or two more questions about what had passed in the estate office the previous day, with special reference to the pistol incident. Mr. Longden was quite clear he had seen it locked up securely in the safe. Bobby went over all this so carefully and in such detail that he felt by the time he had finished that he was aware of every tiny incident of the interview that had taken place that afternoon. Then Mr. Longden returned to the disturbing possibility that he might have been within arm's length of the murderer the previous night.