The Hand in the Dark
"Mr. Caldew means the strange little image you gave me when you arrived,
Vincent. What is it?"
She held out the chain, and the explorer took it in his big brown hand.
He separated the image from the other charms with his forefinger, and
turned it over carelessly.
"That is a tiki," he said.
The explanation conveyed nothing to Caldew.
"I have never heard the word before," he said. "What is a tiki?"
"It is the Maori word for the creator of man, and is also taken to
represent an ancestor," Musard explained. "The Maoris are to some extent
ancestor worshippers, and adorn their pahs and temples with large wooden
images of immense size, supposed to represent some renowned fighting
ancestor. These images are worshipped as gods, and are believed to be
visited by the spirits, who ascend to converse with them by the hollow
roots of a pohutukawa tree, which descends into the Maori nether
regions. The smaller tikis, or, more strictly speaking, hei-tiki, such
as this, are carved as representations in miniature of the larger
images, and are worn as neck ornaments. They are supposed to render the
wearer immune from the wicked designs of evil spirits."
"From what material are they carved?" said Caldew, who had followed this
explanation attentively. "I have never seen anything resembling it. It
seems as clear and colourless as glass, but it emits a faint greenish
lustre, and there are black flecks in it."
"It is nephrite, or Maori greenstone," replied Musard. "London jewellers
term it New Zealand jade."
"Surely this stone is not jade?" said Caldew, in some surprise. "I have
seen New Zealand jade ornaments in London shops, but they were made from
a dull deep greenstone, not a bit like this stone, which is clear as
crystal, and has a lustre."
"There are different sorts of jade," replied Musard. "The present craze
of Society women is for Chinese pink jade and tourmalin. A good pink
jade necklace will readily bring a thousand pounds in Bond Street, and
it is going to be the fashionable jewel of the season. New Zealand
nephrite has not yet come into popular favour with English ladies, and
only the commoner dark green variety, which is frequently spurious, is
seen here. This image was made of the rarer kind of pounamu, as the
Maoris call it."
"It is very pretty," said Caldew. "Have you any more of it?" He
flattered himself that the assumption of carelessness in his tone was
not overdone.
"No," replied Musard. "It was the only piece of the rare kind I was ever
lucky enough to obtain."
"There was another small piece, Vincent," remarked Miss Heredith. "You
brought it about ten years ago. It was the same kind of transparent
stone, with black flecks in it."
"I had forgotten. I gave it to Phil, didn't I? What did he do with it?"
"He had it made into a brooch for Hazel Rath, and gave it to her as a
birthday gift."
CHAPTER XII
As Caldew returned to the house for his interview with Merrington, the
one clear impression on his mind was that the discovery of the owner of
the missing brooch was the starting point in the elucidation of the
murder.
In the library he found Superintendent Merrington, Captain Stanhill,
Inspector Weyling, and Sergeant Lumbe. The sergeant, who looked tired
and dirty, was apologetically explaining that his visit to Tibblestone
had been fruitless.
"I had my journey for nothing," he was saying in his thick country
voice, as Caldew entered. "I had a wild goose chase all over the place,
and then it turned out that this chap Mr. Hawkins telephoned about was
only a canvasser for In Memoriam cards for fallen soldiers. I come
across him at last sitting by the roadside eating his dinner and reading
a London picture paper. He looked a doubtful sort of a customer, sure
enough, but he was able to prove that he was playing bagatelle in the
inn last night at the time the murder was committed."
Superintendent Merrington dismissed this information with a nod, and
turned to Caldew.
"Did you interview Mrs. Weyne?" he asked.
"They were not in," was the reply. "I was told they had motored to the
moat-house. Did you see them?"
Superintendent Merrington frowned. He had not seen the Weynes, and he
had not been informed of their visit. It was another addition to the sum
of untoward incidents which had happened to him since his arrival at the
moat-house, and he felt very dissatisfied and wrathful.
"I am returning to London by the next train, Caldew," he said, in his
authoritative voice. "Official business of importance demands my
immediate presence. I will have some inquiries made at Scotland Yard
about the people who have been staying here. In the meantime, you had
better remain on the spot and continue your inquiries under the Chief
Constable."
"I shall be very glad of Detective Caldew's help in unravelling this
terrible mystery," Captain Stanhill remarked courteously.
Caldew drew several conclusions from his chief's speech. Merrington was
puzzled about the case, but had no intention of taking him into his
counsel. Merrington believed that the murderer had got clear away, and,
therefore, further local investigation was useless, but he deemed it
advisable to keep a Scotland Yard man on the scene to watch for possible
developments, because he placed no reliance on the county police. It was
apparent that Merrington thought the murderer had come from a distance,
and he was going to seek him in London. But he was leaving nothing to
chance. He was retaining control of the investigations at both ends in
order to monopolize the glory of the capture. If the murderer escaped,
Caldew and the county police could be made the scapegoats for public
indignation.
But while paying the involuntary tribute of swift anger towards these
astute tactics of his departmental chief, Caldew realized with
satisfaction that he was in the possession of a piece of valuable
information which might upset his calculations.
"There are several people in the district whom it will be advisable to
interview," continued Merrington, hastily consulting his notes. "In the
first place, you must make another effort to see the Weynes. Mrs. Weyne
may be able to give us some valuable information about Mrs. Heredith's
earlier life. And I think you should see the station-master of Weydene
Junction. The murderer may have walked across country to the junction
rather than face the greater risk of subsequent identification by taking
the train at one of the village stations on this side of it. And you had
better see the housekeeper's daughter and get a statement from her. I do
not suppose she knows anything about the crime, but she was here last
night, and she had better be seen. She is employed as a milliner at the
market town of Stading."
"Do you mean Hazel Rath?" inquired Caldew, in some surprise.
"Yes. She is the daughter of the housekeeper. She stayed here last night
with her mother, but left to go back to her employment by the first
train this morning."
"There must be some mistake about that. I understand she is still in the
house."
"Who told you so?"
"One of the maidservants."
"We had better have the maid in and question her. What is her name?"
"Milly--Milly Saker."
Merrington touched the bell, and told the maidservant who answered it to
send in Milly Saker.
The girl came in almost immediately, looking half defiant and half
afraid. Merrington glanced at her keenly.
"You're the girl I saw dusting the hall this morning," he said. "Why did
you not come in with the other servants to be examined?"
"Because I wasn't here," answered the girl pertly.
"Where were you?"
"Down in the village, at my mother's place."
"Who gave you permission to go?"
"Mrs. Rath, the housekeeper."
"Did you ask her for leave of absence?"
"No. She knew my mother was ill, and she said to me after breakfast,
'Milly, would you like to go and see your mother this morning?' I said,
yes, I should, if she could spare me. She told me she could, so I
thanked her and went."
Superintendent Merrington and Captain Stanhill exchanged glances. The
same thought occurred to both of them. Mrs. Rath, the housekeeper, had
assured them that she had sent all the servants to the library to be
examined. Merrington turned to the girl again.
"Mrs. Rath's daughter was staying with her last night, wasn't she?"
"Yes."
"Is she still here?"
"Yes."
"Are you quite sure of that?"
"Yes, when I was outside about half an hour ago, I saw her through the
window, sitting in her mother's room."
This piece of information conveyed some significance to Merrington's
mind which was not apparent to Caldew. He paused for a moment, and then
continued abruptly:
"Where were you last night at the time of the murder?"
"Please, sir, I don't know nothing about it," responded the girl with a
whimper.
"Control yourself, my good girl," said Captain Stanhill soothingly.
"Nobody suggests you had anything to do with it."
For reply, the girl only sobbed loudly. Superintendent Merrington, who
had his own methods of soothing frightened females, shook her roughly by
the arm.
"Listen to me," he sternly commanded. "Do you want to go to prison?"
"N--o, sir," responded Milly, between a fresh burst of sobs.
"Then you'd better stop that noise and answer my questions, or I'll put
you under lock and key till you do. Where were you last night when the
murder was committed?"
"I was waiting at table till dessert was served," replied the girl,
thoroughly subdued by the overbearing manner of the big man confronting
her.
"What did you do when you left the dining-room?"
"I went to the kitchen and was talking to cook for a while."
"And what did you do then?"
"I went up the passage and into the hall to see if dinner was finished.
I knew Miss Heredith was anxious to have dinner over early as they were
all going out, and I wanted to get dinner cleared away as quickly as I
could, because I wanted to go out myself. I saw her leave the room and
go towards the front door, but nobody else came out of the dining-room,
and I could hear somebody talking. So after waiting a little while, and
seeing nobody else come out, I went back towards the kitchen."
"Where were you standing while you were waiting?"
"Just at the corner of the passage leading up from the kitchen."
"You didn't go up stairs at all?"
"No, of course I didn't. 'Tisn't my place to go upstairs."
"Don't be saucy, but answer my questions. Did you hear the scream and
the shot?"
"No, I didn't. I was back in the kitchen before then, and the kitchen is
right at the back of the house. Cook and me didn't know anything about
it till one of the girls came running down and told us about what had
happened."
"Did you see anybody except Miss Heredith in the hall or on the
staircase of the left wing while you were standing at the end of the
passage?"
"Nobody except Miss Rath."
"Do you mean the housekeeper's daughter?"
"Yes."
"When did you see her?"
"As I was standing there waiting for a chance to clear away the dinner
things, she come up from the centre passage leading from the
housekeeper's rooms, and turned into the hall."
"Where was she going?"
"I don't know. I didn't ask her," replied the girl, who had regained
something of her pert assurance.
"Did she see you?"
"No. I was standing at the end of the kitchen passage, which is close to
the right wing. The passage she come out of was quite a long way from
where I was standing, almost in the centre of the house. She turned the
other way."
"She turned to the right, then, as she emerged from the passage, and
walked in the direction of the left wing?"
"I don't know where she was going to. All I know is that I saw her turn
out of the passage, and walk, as if might be, up the hall in that
direction."