The Hand in the Dark
that I had opened the jewel-case at the time. But I never thought. I
tried the case and found it locked, so I thought it had not been
touched."
"Really, I am more to blame than Miss Heredith," interposed Musard
hurriedly. "I saw the jewel-case first, and I should have thought of
having it opened."
"It is a pity you did not inform the detectives about the case," said
Colwyn. His face was grave as he realized how completely the police had
been led astray in their original investigations by the misunderstanding
which had concealed an important fact. "But first let us make sure that
the jewel-case was empty when it was brought downstairs. How many people
have access to this safe, Miss Heredith? Is there more than one key?"
"There is only one key," she replied. "And that has been in my
possession since the night of the murder."
"That disposes of that possibility, then. What about Mrs. Heredith's
bunch of keys? Have they also been in your possession since she was
killed?"
"Yes; I kept them in an upstairs drawer, which was locked."
"Can you tell me when you last saw the necklace?"
Miss Heredith reflected for a moment.
"Not for some time," she said. "Violet did not care for it, and rarely
wore it."
"The necklace was of pink pearls," Musard explained. "Their value was
more historical than intrinsic, for they had become tarnished with age,
and the setting was old-fashioned. It was for that reason Mrs. Heredith
did not like it. I was going to take the pearls to London the following
day to arrange to have them skinned and reset."
"When I went into poor Violet's room that night to see if she felt well
enough to go to the Weynes' I asked her for the necklace," said Miss
Heredith. "She replied that she would give it to me in the morning. If
she had only given it to me then, she might have been alive to-day."
"I should like to hear more about this," said Colwyn. "Please tell me
everything."
In response Miss Heredith related to the detective all that had passed
between the young wife and herself in the bedroom before dinner on the
night of the murder. Colwyn listened attentively, with a growing sense
of hidden complexities in the crime revealed at the eleventh hour. He
saw that the case took on a new and deeper aspect when considered in
conjunction with the facts which had been so innocently ignored. When
Miss Heredith had finished, he asked her when it was first decided to
send the necklace to London for resetting.
"It was the night before the murder," Miss Heredith replied. "Sir Philip
suggested that Violet should wear the necklace to the dance on the
following night, but Violet said that the pearls were really too dull to
be worn. Mr. Musard agreed with her, and offered to take it to London
and have it cleaned and reset by an expert of his acquaintance. Mr.
Musard had to return to London on the morning after the dance, so that
was the reason why I went into Violet's room before dinner on the night
of the party to ask her for the necklace."
Colwyn considered this reply in all its bearings before he spoke.
"The best thing I can do is to return to London without delay and bring
these additional facts before Scotland Yard," he said. "They have been
misled--unwittingly but gravely misled--and it is only right that they
should be informed at once. I know Merrington, and I will make a point
of seeing him personally and telling him about the discovery of the
missing necklace."
The little group heard his decision in a silence which suggested more
than words were able to convey. It was Phil who finally uttered the
thought which was in all their minds:
"Are you satisfied that Hazel Rath is innocent?"
"I cannot say that," responded the detective quickly. "The loss of the
necklace does nothing to lessen the suspicion against her unless it can
be proved that she had nothing to do with its disappearance--perhaps not
even then. But all the facts must be investigated anew. The necklace
must be traced, and the point about the revolver cleared up. But there
is nothing more to be done here at present. The field of the
investigation now shifts to London. I will get ready for the journey, if
you will excuse me."
"I hope you will continue your own investigations, Mr. Colwyn," said
Phil earnestly. "I am more than ever convinced of Hazel Rath's
innocence, but I have small faith that the police are likely to
establish it--even if they attempt to do so. I was not impressed with
the skill of Detective Caldew, or his attitude when I told him that I
believed Hazel Rath to be innocent."
"I will continue my investigations in conjunction with Scotland Yard, if
it is your wish," the detective replied.
CHAPTER XVIII
Colwyn was upstairs in his bedroom preparing for his return journey to
London when a meek knock and an apologetic cough reached his ears. He
turned and saw Tufnell standing at the half-open door. The face of the
old butler wore a look of mingled determination and nervousness--the
expression of a timid man who had braced himself to a bold course of
action after much irresolute deliberation.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, and his trepidation was apparent in
his voice. "But might I--that is to say, could you spare me a few
minutes' conversation?"
"Certainly," replied the detective. "Come inside, Tufnell. What is it?"
The butler entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him.
"I am sorry to interrupt you, sir," he said. "But I have just heard Miss
Heredith give orders for your car to be got ready for your return to
London, and I knew there was no time to be lost. It's about the--the
murder, sir." He brought out the last words with an effort.
"Go on," said Colwyn, wondering what further surprise was in store for
him.
"It's about something that happened on that night. I wanted to tell you
before, but I didn't like to. After the murder was discovered I was sent
over to the village to fetch the police and the doctor, and while I was
hurrying through the woods near the moat-house I thought I saw a man
crouching behind one of the trees near the carriage drive. He seemed to
be looking towards me. When I looked again he was gone."
"And what did you do?"
"I called out, but received no answer, so I hurried on."
Colwyn scrutinized the butler with a thoughtful penetrating glance. The
butler bore the look with the meek air of a domestic animal who knows
that he is being appraised.
"Am I the first person to whom you have told this story?" the detective
asked after a pause.
"Yes, sir."
"Why did you not inform the police officers when they were investigating
the case?"
"For several reasons, sir. It seemed to me, when I came to think it
over, that it must have been my fancy, and then it passed out of my mind
in the worry and excitement of the house. Then, when I did think of it
again, I didn't like to mention it to Superintendent Merrington, because
he was such a bullying sort of gentleman that I felt quite nervous of
him. Really, for a gentleman who has travelled with Royal Highnesses, as
I've heard tell, and might be supposed to know how gentlemen behave, the
way he treated the servants while he was here was almost too much for
flesh and blood to bear." The butler's withered cheeks flushed faintly
at the recollection. "I couldn't bring myself to tell him, sir."
Colwyn smiled slightly. He was not unacquainted with Merrington's
methods of cross-examination.
"You could have spoken to Detective Caldew, the other officer engaged in
the case," he said.
"Young Tom Caldew!" exclaimed the butler, in manifest surprise.
"You know him then?"
"I know him, but I cannot say I know any good of him," rejoined the
butler severely. "Young Tom Caldew was born and bred in this village,
and an idle young vagabond he was. Many a time have I dusted his jacket
for stealing chestnuts in our park. The place was well rid of him, I
take it, when he ran away to London and joined the police force. No,
sir, I really couldn't see myself confiding in young Tom Caldew."
"And why have you confided in me now?"
"Well, sir, it was the arrest of the young woman that set me thinking,
and caused me to wonder whether I'd done right in keeping this back.
What I thought I saw that night may have been merely fancy on my part,
but it took on an added importance in my mind when Miss Rath was
arrested for murdering Mrs. Heredith. It seemed to me as though I might
be doing some sort of injustice to her by not telling about it, and I
wouldn't like to have that on my conscience after the way things turned
out. But I thought it was too late to say anything after they had
arrested Miss Rath and taken her away. Then Mr. Philip got better from
his illness and went to London to fetch you. The same evening I heard
Miss Heredith and Mr. Musard talking at the dinner table about the
murder, and I gathered from what they said that Mr. Philip thought the
detectives had made a mistake in arresting Miss Rath. Then I decided to
tell you when you arrived, but I couldn't summon up my courage to do so
until now," concluded the butler simply. "I hope I have done right,
sir."
"You have certainly done right in not keeping the story to yourself any
longer," said Colwyn. "Before I leave here you had better show me the
place in the woods where you thought you saw this man."
"I shall be happy to do so, sir. I should like to thank you for
listening to me. It is a weight off my mind."
"I shall be going almost immediately," continued Colwyn. "I think the
best plan will be for you to meet me in the carriage drive, near the
spot. Can you manage that?"
"Quite easily, sir."
"Excellent. And now, as you go downstairs, I should be glad if you would
tell Mr. Musard that I should like to see him in my room before I go."
"Very well, sir. Afterwards you will find me waiting at the bend of the
carriage drive where it winds round the lake."
Colwyn nodded his comprehension, and Tufnell left the room with a
relieved countenance. A few moments later there was another knock at the
door. In response to Colwyn's invitation the door opened, and Musard
appeared.
"Tufnell said you wished to see me," he said, with an inquiring glance
from beneath his dark brows.
"Yes. I should be glad if you would give me a description of the missing
necklace. It will be useful in tracing it."
"It is not difficult to describe," replied Musard, seating himself on
the edge of the bed. "It consisted of a single row of pink pearls, none
of them very large. The biggest is about forty grains, and the others
between twenty and thirty. It has a diamond clasp, set in antique gold,
which is the most valuable part of the necklace. Do you know anything
about jewels?"
"A little."
"Then you are aware that blue and red diamonds are the most valuable of
stones. This diamond is a blue one--not very large, but a particularly
fine stone."
"Of course the necklace is well-known to jewel experts?"
"As well-known as any piece of jewellery in Europe. Some of the pearls
in it are hundreds of years old. It would be almost impossible for the
thief to dispose of the necklace."
"It might be taken to pieces," suggested Colwyn.
"In order to hide its identity? Well, yes, but the selling value would
be greatly reduced. The pearls have been strung."
"What about the diamond? Could not that be sold by the thief without
risk of discovery?"
"Only by sending it to Amsterdam to get it cut into two or three smaller
stones, so as to lessen the risk of detection. The Heredith blue diamond
is known to many connoisseurs. It is cut in an unusual form--a kind of
irregular rosette, in order to display its fire and optical properties
to the best advantage. If it were cut it would lose a great deal of its