The Hand in the Dark
a bad egg," chuckled Sir Philip, as he concluded the narrative. He
repeated the poor joke several times in manifest appreciation.
Miss Heredith did not smile at the story. She deprecated anything which
had the slightest tendency to cast ridicule on the family name. That was
made abundantly clear after the meal, when Sir Philip had retired to his
room for his afternoon nap, and the others went over the old house. She
took Colwyn under her special charge, and, forgetful of the real object
of the detective's visit, discoursed impressively to him on the past
glories of the Heredith line. She lingered long in each room, all rich
in memories of the past, pointing out the objects of interest with
loving pride. It would have been a disappointment to her if she had
known that the guest who walked beside her, listening to her stories and
legends of each antique relic and ancient picture, had his thoughts
fixed on far different matters. Colwyn's reasons for seeing the
moat-house had little to do with ancient oak, carved ceilings, panelled
walls, and old family portraits.
It was not until they descended to the gun-room that Colwyn's keen
professional scrutiny suggested, by force of contrast, that his former
air of interest had been largely feigned. There were several underground
rooms, entered by a short flight of stone steps, with an oak door at the
top and bottom. The two principal rooms were the armoury, full of
armour, spears, lances and bows, and the gun-room adjoining. What
arrested Colwyn's attention in the latter room was the display of guns
on the walls. There were many varieties of them: rifled harquebuses,
obsolete carbines, flint-lock muskets, and modern rifles; in fact, the
whole evolution of explosive weapons, from the first rude beginnings
down to the breech-loader of the present day.
"The Herediths have ever been a family of great warriors, Mr. Colwyn,"
said Miss Heredith, following his glance along the walls. "Each of those
weapons has some story of bravery, I might almost say heroism, attached
to it. That sword you are looking at belonged to my grand-uncle, who
commanded the British Army in the Peninsula. He was originally a major
in the 14th Foot."
"I was under the impression that Wellington commanded in Portugal," said
Musard.
"My grand-uncle was Sir Arthur Wellesley's senior officer, Vincent,"
responded Miss Heredith. "He arrived in Portugal in 1809 to take
command, but Sir Arthur most culpably failed to have horses ready to
carry him to the field of battle. In consequence of Sir Arthur's neglect
my grand-uncle was compelled to take the next boat back to England.
There was a question asked in the Commons of the day about Sir Arthur's
conduct. I do not know what the question was, but the answer was in the
negative, though I am not quite sure what that means. In any case, my
grand-uncle was a greater soldier than Wellington. My mother often heard
my grand-aunt say so."
"I notice that there are no revolvers or pistols among the weapons on
the walls," said Colwyn.
"We never had a revolver," replied Phil.
"There are a pair of horse pistols in that case," said Musard, pointing
to an oblong mahogany box with brass corners, resting on a stand in a
niche of the wall. He crossed over to the box and fumbled with the brass
snibs, but was unable to open it. "The case is locked," he said.
"Perhaps it is only jammed," suggested Phil.
"Oh, no, it is locked fast enough. Do you understand anything about
locks, Mr. Colwyn?"
"You will have to break it open if you have lost the key," said Colwyn,
after glancing at the box. "It is an obsolete type of lock."
"I should have liked to show you those pistols," said Musard. "They
carry as true as a rifle up to fifty yards. Their only drawback is that
they are a bit clumsy, and have a heavy recoil."
"I wonder where the key is?" remarked Miss Heredith. "I must ask Tufnell
about it."
"Will you tell me where the revolver practice took place that
afternoon?" said Colwyn, turning to Phil.
"They were firing from behind the bagatelle board at a target fixed over
there," said Phil, pointing to the far wall.
"Who proposed the game?"
"Nepcote. It was a very wet afternoon, and everybody had to stay
indoors. He suggested after tea that it would be a good way of killing
the time before dinner. Several of the men and two or three of the girls
thought it a capital idea, and a sweepstake was arranged. They asked me
for a revolver, but I told them we had not one. One of the officers
offered his army revolver, but that was objected to as too heavy and
dangerous for indoor shooting. Then Nepcote said that he had a light
revolver in his bag, and he went upstairs to get it. He came downstairs
with it in his hand, and those who were taking part in the sport went
downstairs to the gun-room. I went with them for a while, but I did not
stay long."
"Captain Nepcote's revolver is not an army weapon?"
"Oh, no. It is a very small and slight weapon, nickel-plated, with six
chambers. It is so light as to resemble a toy."
"With a correspondingly light report, I presume. The sound of the target
practice would not be heard upstairs?"
"It would be an exceedingly loud report that penetrated to the upper
regions through that door," interjected Musard, pointing to the oak door
with iron clamps which gave entrance to the gun-room. "Besides, there is
another door at the top of the steps. If they were both shut you might
fire off every weapon in the place without anybody upstairs hearing a
sound."
Colwyn had listened to Phil's account of the target shooting with the
closest attention. He remained silent for some moments, as though he
were pondering over every point in it. Then he said:
"What makes you feel so sure that Nepcote did not leave his revolver in
this room after the shooting?"
"He could only have left it on the bagatelle board or one of the
chairs," replied Phil earnestly. "If he had done so it would have been
seen by somebody."
"Provided anybody entered the gun-room," put in Musard.
"Of course there must have been somebody here," rejoined Phil with some
warmth. "The detectives think that Hazel did not find it until the
following evening. Do you suppose nobody visited the gun-room for
twenty-four hours?"
"I think it quite likely with such a poor shooting lot--" Musard
commenced, but broke off as he caught Miss Heredith's warning glance.
"All right, laddie," he added soothingly; "Perhaps you are right, after
all."
"I have no doubt I am right," exclaimed Phil excitedly. "Do you not
think I am right, Mr. Colwyn?"
"I think that what you have said about the likelihood of the revolver
having been seen is quite feasible," responded the detective. "But there
is nothing to be gained by discussing that possibility at the present
moment. Shall we go upstairs again, Miss Heredith?" he added, turning to
her.
She turned on him a grateful glance for his tact and forbearance, and
hastened to lead the way from the gun-room. The few words between Phil
and Musard had not only brought sharply back to her all the past horror
and agony of the murder, but had caused a poignant renewal of her
apprehensions about her nephew's health. She realized that he was a
changed being, moody and irritable, and liable to sudden fits of
excitement on slight provocation. She felt that Musard had been rather
inconsiderate to forget Phil's illness and cause him to get excited by
differing from him.
Her concern was not lessened by intercepting a strange glance which Phil
cast at Musard when they reached the library. Before she had time to
reflect on what it meant, Phil turned to her and asked her where she had
put Violet's jewel-case.
"I told you yesterday, Phil, that I brought it downstairs and locked it
up," replied Miss Heredith, with a glance at the safe in the corner of
the room. "I have been keeping the keys until you got better."
"Then you might let me have them now," said the young man. "I should
like to see if the jewels are all right."
"Why, Phil, of course they are all right," his aunt replied. "We found
the jewel-case locked, and not tampered with in any way."
"Was Mrs. Heredith's jewel-case in her bedroom the night she was
murdered?" asked Colwyn.
"Yes," responded Miss Heredith. "We found it on her toilet-table, where
she usually kept it."
"Did it contain valuable jewels?"
"It contained a necklace of pearls which was given to poor Violet by Sir
Philip," was the reply. "It is an old family necklace."
"Then I agree with Mr. Heredith that the jewel case should be opened."
"Very well. As you think it necessary, I will go to my room for the
keys."
Miss Heredith left the library, and returned in a few moments with a
small bunch of keys in her hand. She went to the safe, unlocked it, and
returned to the table bearing an oblong silver box of quaint design,
with the portrait of a stout simpering lady in enamel on the cover. Miss
Heredith directed Colwyn's attention to the portrait, remarking that it
was a likeness of a princess of the reigning house, who had given it and
the box to her great-uncle, Captain Sir Philip Heredith.
"Her Royal Highness held my great-uncle in much esteem, Mr. Colwyn," she
added, as she proceeded to fit one of the keys into the box. "He was one
of the most famous of Nelson's captains. When he died the residents of
his native town erected a memorial to him. It was inscribed with
testimony to his worth in a civic, military, and Christian capacity,
together with a text stating that he caused the widow's heart to sing
for joy. Beneath the text was commemorated his feat in sinking the
French frigate _L'Equille_, with every soul on board."
"That hardly seems like causing the widow's heart to sing for joy,"
commented Musard.
"The reference was to English widows, Vincent," replied Miss Heredith,
proceeding to open the box with loving care. "At that period of our
history we had not discovered the good qualities of the French people,
which have endeared them to--Oh!" Miss Heredith broke off with a
startled exclamation as the lid of the silver box fell back, revealing
an empty interior.
It is only in moments of complete surprise that the human face fails to
keep up some semblance of guard over the inmost feelings. At the
discovery that the jewel-case was empty Miss Heredith's dignity dropped
from her like a falling garment, and she stared at the velvet interior
with half-open mouth and an air of consternation on her face.
"Oh!" she cried again, finding voice after a moment's tense silence.
"The necklace is gone."
"By heaven, this is amazing," muttered Musard.
"I thought you said it was safe?" The speaker was Phil. He did not look
at his aunt as he uttered this reproach, but gazed at the empty box with
glowing eyes under drawn brows.
"Phil, Phil, I thought it was safe--oh, I thought it was safe!" cried
Miss Heredith almost hysterically. "Where is it gone? Who could have
taken it? The box was locked when we saw it upstairs, and the day after
the funeral I found Violet's keys at the back of the drawer where she
always kept them."
"The box may have been locked when you found it, but it seems equally
certain that it was also empty," said Colwyn. He alone of the excited
group was cool enough to estimate the awkward possibilities of this
discovery. "How was it that the detectives did not open the jewel-case
on the night of the murder, so as to make quite sure that the necklace
had not been stolen?"
"I took the necklace downstairs and locked it away before the police
arrived," said Miss Heredith tearfully. "When Detective Caldew came he
asked me if anything was missing from Violet's bedroom, and I told him
no. Of course, I did not dream of anything like this. Oh, how I wish now