The Hand in the Dark
that you have undertaken to make further inquiries into the case will do
much to ease his mind."
"I will do what I can. My principal difficulty is to pick up the threads
of the case. It is some time since the murder was committed, and the
attendant circumstances which might have helped me in the beginning no
longer exist. It is like groping for the entrance to a maze which has
been covered over by the growths of time."
"Do you yourself believe it possible that Hazel Rath is innocent?"
"I have come here to investigate the case. The police account for the
girl's possession of Captain Nepcote's revolver, with which Mrs.
Heredith was shot, by the theory that she obtained it from the gun-room
of the moat-house shortly before the murder. There is work for me to do
both here and in London, in clearing up this point. It is so important
that I cannot understand the attitude of Detective Caldew in dismissing
it as a matter of no consequence. If Hazel Rath were convicted with that
question unsettled, she would be condemned on insufficient evidence. It
is for this reason I have taken her interests into my hands. But, apart
from this point, I am bound to say that the case against her strikes me
as a very strong one."
"Yet it is quite certain that Phil Heredith believes her innocent,"
remarked Musard thoughtfully.
"Belief is an intangible thing. In any case, his belief is not shared by
you."
"How do you know that?"
"You would have said so."
"Well, I will go so far as to say that Hazel Rath is a most unlikely
person to commit murder."
"Murder is an unlikely crime. There is no brand of Cain to reveal the
modern murderer. Finger-prints are a surer means of identification. This
unhappy girl may be the victim of one of those combinations of sinister
events which sometimes occur in crime, but I do not intend to form an
opinion about that until I know more about the case. For that reason I
shall be glad if you will give me your account of everything that
happened on the night of the murder. Philip Heredith's story is
incomplete, and I wish to hear all the facts."
Musard nodded, and related the particulars with an attention to detail
which left little to be desired. His version filled in the gaps of
Phil's imperfect narrative, and enabled the detective to visualize the
murder with greater mental distinctness. The two stories agreed in their
essential particulars, but they varied in some degree in detail. Colwyn,
however, was well aware that different witnesses never exactly agree in
their impressions of the same event. Phil had made only an incidental
reference to the dinner-table conversation about jewels, and Colwyn was
not previously aware that the story of the ruby ring had occupied twenty
minutes in the telling.
"How did you come to tell the story?" he asked.
"Some of the ladies were admiring my ring, and Phil suggested that they
should hear the story of its discovery. I had just finished when the
scream rang out from upstairs, followed by the shot."
"How long was the interval between the scream and the shot?"
"Only a few seconds," replied Musard. "Some of us started to go upstairs
as soon as we heard it, but the shot followed before we reached the door
of the dining-room."
Colwyn reflected that this estimate differed from Phil Heredith's, who
had thought that nearly half a minute elapsed between the scream and the
shot. But he knew that a correct estimate of the lapse of time is even
rarer than an accurate computation of distance.
Musard knew nothing about two aspects of the case on which Colwyn
desired to gain light. He had seen nothing of the target shooting in the
gun-room the day before the murder, but he thought it quite possible
that Captain Nepcote's revolver might have lain there unnoticed until
the following night, because the men of the house party were a poor
shooting lot who were not likely to use the gun-room much. He had heard
the head gamekeeper say that there had been no shooting parties, and
Tufnell had told him that only one or two of the men had brought guns
with them. Neither was Musard aware whether there existed the motive of
wronged virtue or slighted affection to arouse a girl like Hazel Rath to
commit such a terrible crime. He had always thought her a sweet and
modest girl, but he had seen too much of the world to place much
reliance on externals, and he had had very few opportunities of
observing whether there had been anything in the nature of a love affair
between her and Philip. His own view was that whatever feeling existed
was on the girl's side only.
"If there had been love passages between them, Phil's conscience would
not have allowed him to be quite so certain of her innocence," added
Musard. "I told him of her arrest, and there can be no doubt that he
thinks the police have made a hideous mistake in arresting her.
Detective Caldew refused to admit the possibility of mistake, but Phil
shuts his eyes to everything that tells against the girl, including her
mother's unpleasant past."
"Did Miss Heredith know anything of her housekeeper's past?"
"No. Mrs. Rath, as she calls herself, came to Heredith many years ago,
took a small cottage, and tried to support her daughter and herself by
giving lessons in music and French. She would have starved if it had not
been for Miss Heredith, who helped her and her little girl, tried to get
the mother some pupils, and finally took her into the moat-house as
housekeeper. Mrs. Rath disappeared from the place after her daughter's
arrest, when the police had decided that it was not necessary to detain
her, leaving a note behind her for Miss Heredith to say that she
couldn't face her after all that had happened."
Colwyn did not speak immediately. He was examining the row of upper
windows which looked down on the garden in which they were standing.
"Is that the window of the room in which Mrs. Heredith was murdered?" he
asked, pointing to the first one.
"Yes. It is high for a first-floor window, but there is a fall in the
ground on this side of the house."
Colwyn tested the strength of the Virginia creeper which grew up the
wall almost to the window, and then bent down to examine the grass and
earth underneath.
"Caldew thought at first that the murderer escaped from the window, but
Merrington did not agree with him," said Musard.
If the remark was intended to extract an expression of opinion from
Colwyn it failed in effect, for he remained silent. He had regained his
feet, and was looking up at the window again.
"Where is the door which opens on the back staircase of this wing?" he
said, at length.
"At the extreme end. You cannot see it from here. It opens on the back
of the house."
"According to the newspaper reports of the case, the door is always kept
locked. Is that correct?"
"As a general rule it is. But it was found unlocked before dinner on the
night the murder was committed."
"I was not informed of this before."
"Phil was not aware of it, and Detective Caldew attached so little
importance to it when I told him after the murder that I should not have
thought it worth mentioning if you had not asked me. Caldew's point of
view was that the door had been left unlocked, accidentally, by one of
the servants, which is quite possible. I understand both detectives
agree that it had nothing to do with the murder, because the door was
locked by the butler, who discovered it unlocked, fully an hour before
the murder was committed. If Hazel Rath had attempted to escape that way
she would have been caught in a _cul-de-sac_, for we rushed upstairs
from the dining-room immediately we heard the scream."
"Did you search the back staircase?"
"Almost immediately. It was empty."
"And there is no doubt that the door at the bottom was locked?"
"None whatever--one of the young men tried it."
"What time did the butler make his discovery?"
"Shortly before dinner. I do not know the exact time."
"Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to see the room
Mrs. Heredith occupied. Is it empty?"
"Yes. The wing has been unoccupied since the night of the murder. Shall
I show you the way up?"
"It will not be necessary. I know the way, and I shall be there some
time."
"In that case I will leave you till lunch-time," responded Musard, as he
walked away.
Colwyn did not go upstairs immediately. He took a solitary walk in the
woods, thinking over everything that Musard had told him. Then he
returned to the house and mounted the staircase to the left wing. His
first act was to make a thorough examination of the unused back
staircase at the end of the corridor. Then he entered the bedroom Mrs.
Heredith had occupied.
The room had the forlorn appearance of disuse. The bed had been partly
stripped, and the tall-backed chairs, in prim linen covers, looked like
seated ghosts with arms a-kimbo. Colwyn's first act was to draw the
heavy window curtains and open the window. He then commenced an
examination of the room in the morning sunlight.
His examination was long and thorough, but it brought nothing to light
which added to his knowledge of the events of the murder. The time went
on, and he was still engrossed in his scrutiny when the door opened and
Phil entered the room.
CHAPTER XVII
"Lunch is waiting," said the young man. "My aunt thought that you did
not hear the gong, so I came up to tell you."
"Miss Heredith was right--I did not hear it. I am sorry if I have kept
you waiting. I have been so busy that I forgot the passing of time."
If Phil felt any curiosity as to the matters which had engaged Colwyn's
attention in the room where his wife had been murdered, he did not
express it in words.
"My aunt will show you over the moat-house after lunch, if you wish,"
was what he said.
"I should be glad," returned Colwyn. "But I am reluctant to put Miss
Heredith to the trouble."
"Do not think of that," responded Phil. "My aunt desires nothing better
than to show the old place to anybody she likes. And she has taken a
liking to you."
"It is very good of her. I shall be pleased to accept her offer, for I
wish to see over the house as soon as possible."
They had started to descend the stairs. Colwyn, happening to glance over
the balusters, saw the motionless figure of Tufnell standing at the
bottom of the staircase partly concealed by the group of ornamental
shrubs in the hall. His face was turned upwards with an aspect of
strained curiosity, but it was immediately withdrawn as his eyes
encountered Colwyn's downward gaze. A moment later Colwyn saw him enter
the dining-room.
When they reached the foot of the staircase, Colwyn, with an explanatory
glance at his soiled hands and dusty clothes, promised to join the
luncheon party in a few minutes. He went to his own room for a hasty
toilet, and when he descended a few minutes later he again saw Tufnell
in the hall. The butler, who was giving a direction to a servant, met
his eye calmly, and hastened to open the dining-room door for him.
There was more conversation at luncheon than at the morning meal. The
weight of senility relaxed from Sir Philip sufficiently to permit him to
talk to his guest with some brightness. He told Colwyn a story of a
seagoing ancestor of his who had entertained the Royal Family in his own
frigate at Portsmouth in honour of Sir Horatio Nelson's victory of the
Nile, and how the occasion had tempted the cupidity of his own fellow to
make a nefarious penny by permitting the rabble of the town to take
peeps at the guests through one of the port-holes. It happened that one
Jack Tar, eager to gaze on his idol Nelson, got his head jammed in the
port-hole, and broke up the party with a volley of terrible oaths and
roars for assistance. "The servant's name was Egg--Dick Egg, but he was