The Hand in the Dark
Office. She is a kind and gracious woman, taking a great interest in the
hundreds of girl clerks employed at her husband's department in
Whitehall. Last winter she gave a series of dances at her house in
Knightsbridge, and the girls were invited in turns. Mr. Heredith was
present at one of these functions."
"So much I know," said Merrington.
"Then you are probably aware that Captain Nepcote was also present that
evening, and brought several other young officers with him. It was he
who introduced Philip Heredith to the girl whom he afterwards married."
"I knew Nepcote was a guest at one of the dances, but it is news to me
that he introduced the girl to young Heredith. Lady Vaughan did not tell
us this."
"Lady Vaughan did not know. I ascertained the fact later from one of the
guests who witnessed the introduction. I attach some importance to the
point. Last winter Philip Heredith and Nepcote were on fairly intimate
terms, working together in the same room at the War Office, and
sometimes going together to the houses of mutual friends. It was
evidently a case of the attraction of opposites."
"It must have been," replied Merrington emphatically. "I have had
inquiries made about Nepcote, and I should not have thought he would
have appealed to Mr. Heredith. There is nothing actually wrong so far as
we can learn, but he had the reputation, before the war, of a fast and
idle young man about town, with a weakness for women and gambling. He
came into a few thousands some years ago, but soon spent it. I imagine
that he has subsisted principally on credit and gambling since he
squandered his money, for he is certainly not the type of man to live on
his pay as an officer. As a matter of fact, he was in serious trouble
with the Army authorities recently for not paying his mess bills in
France. He was not brought up to the Army, and he has seen very little
active service. He got his captain's commission about twelve months
after the war commenced, when the War Office was handing out commissions
like boxes of matches, but he managed to keep under the Whitehall
umbrella until quite recently. He seems to have a bit of a pull
somewhere, though I cannot find out where. Perhaps it is his charm of
manner--everybody who knows him says he has a charming manner, though it
wasn't apparent to me that night I interviewed him at his flat."
"Perhaps he was too afraid to exercise it on that occasion," suggested
Colwyn, with a smile. "He must have thought that it was all up with
him."
"Have you discovered anything about Mrs. Heredith's antecedents?" asked
Merrington with an abruptness which suggested that he had little relish
for the last remark.
"Very little, apart from the fact that she lived in rooms, and had no
real girl friends, so far as I can ascertain. Apparently she was a girl
who played a lone hand, as they say in America. The type is not uncommon
in large cities. My information, such as it is, is not of the least
importance one way or the other."
"I have learnt very little more than you, except that she changed her
rooms pretty frequently, but always kept within an easy radius of the
West End, living in dull but respectable neighbourhoods like Russell
Square and Woburn Place. It was precious little time she spent there,
though. The people of these places know nothing about her except that
she used to go out in the morning and did not return till late at
night--generally in a taxi, and alone, so far as is known. She was,
apparently, one of those bachelor girls who have sprung into existence
in thousands during the war--one of that distinct species who trade on
their good looks and are out for a good time, but keep sufficiently on
the safe side of the fence to be careful of their reputations. It's part
of their stock in trade.
"Such girls contrive to go everywhere and see everything at the expense
of young men with more money than brains, who have been caught by their
looks. It's the Savoy for lunch, a West End restaurant for dinner,
revue, late supper, and home in a taxi--with perhaps, a kiss for the lot
by way of payment. The War Office was a godsend to this type of girl. It
gives them jobs with nothing to do, with a kind of official standing
thrown in, and the chance of meeting plenty of young officers over on
leave from the front, with money to burn and hungry for pretty English
faces. It is difficult to find out anything about these bachelor girls.
They have no homes--only a place to sleep in--they confide in nobody,
and their men friends will never give them away. Almost any woman will
give away a man, but I have never yet known a man give away a woman."
"If Mrs. Heredith was that type of girl, it is possible that some early
episode or forgotten flirtation in her past life is mixed up with the
mystery of her death."
"You think that, do you?" asked Merrington regarding his companion
attentively.
"How else can we explain Nepcote's appearance in the mystery, except on
the ground that he may have murdered her for the necklace? It is
important to bear in mind that Nepcote knew her in her single days. If
she had a secret she has taken it to the grave with her. There remains
Nepcote, who is deeply implicated in the case in some way. You may learn
something from him if you can catch him and induce him to speak, though
I must confess I find it difficult to reconcile the supposition that he
committed the murder with the known circumstances of the case."
"There I agree with you," exclaimed Merrington. "What is Hazel Rath's
position if we admit any such supposition? Nothing has yet come to light
to shake the evidence which points to her as the person who murdered
Mrs. Heredith."
"Does she still refuse to speak?"
"Yes. She is as obstinate as a mule and as mute as a fish. I sent a very
clever woman detective down to the gaol at Lewes to try and coax her to
say something, but she could get nothing out of her. She said she had no
statement to make, and nothing whatever to say. She refused to go beyond
that."
"She may have some strong reason for keeping silence," remarked Colwyn
thoughtfully. "Arrested persons sometimes remain silent under a grave
charge because they are anxious to keep certain knowledge in their
possession from the police. Nepcote's implication in the case lends
colour to the theory that Hazel Rath may be keeping silent for some such
purpose."
"In order to shield Nepcote?"
"It is possible, though I do not think we are in a position to infer
that much without further knowledge. But now that we know that Nepcote
is connected with the case I certainly think that a strong effort should
be made to induce Hazel Rath to speak."
"It is not to be done," replied Merrington, with an emphatic shake of
the head. "The girl is not to be drawn."
"Have you told her about the recent developments of the case?"
"About Nepcote, do you mean?"
"Yes."
"Certainly not," replied Merrington, in a tone of outraged officialism.
"To give the girl that piece of information before I know what it means
would place such a powerful weapon in the hands of the lawyer for the
defence that I should have to withdraw the charge against Hazel Rath at
the next police court proceedings if I did not arrest Nepcote in the
meantime. I do not want any dramatic developments--as the idiotic
newspapers call it--in my cases. There is a certain amount of public
sympathy with this girl already."
"I think you stand to gain more than you lose by telling her that
Nepcote is suspected."
"I prefer to arrest Nepcote first. We may get him at any moment, and
then, I hope, we shall find out where we stand in this case. But what do
you mean by saying that I have more to gain than lose by telling the
girl about him?"
"If she is keeping silent to shield Nepcote, she is likely to reveal the
truth when she knows that there is nothing more to be gained by silence.
She will then begin to think of herself. In my opinion, you have now an
excellent weapon in your hand to force her to speak."
"Can we go so far as to assume that she is keeping silence to shield
him? Let us assume that they went to Mrs. Heredith's room together for
the purpose of murder and robbery. The girl, we will suppose, fired the
shot and Nepcote escaped from the window with the necklace. Is Hazel
Rath likely to reveal such a story when she knows it will not save
herself?"
"Your assumptions carry you too far," returned Colwyn. "Our presumptive
knowledge does not take us that distance. Till Nepcote's share in the
case is explained it is useless indulging in speculations outside our
premises. Let us defer inferences until we have marshalled more facts.
We do not know whether more than one pair of eyes witnessed the murder
of Mrs. Heredith; the theory that Hazel Rath fired the shot is merely a
presumption of fact, and not an actual certainty. Much is still hidden
in this case, and the question is, can Hazel Rath enlighten us? As she
and Nepcote are now both implicated, it seems to me that the best
inducement to get her to speak is by letting her know that you have
arrested Nepcote. In my opinion, the experiment is well worth trying."
Merrington rose to his feet and paced across the room, pondering over
the proposal.
"I am inclined to believe you are right," he said. "At any rate, I shall
go down to Lewes to-morrow and put it to the test. I would ask you to
accompany me, but it would be a little irregular."
"I shall be content to learn the result," Colwyn answered.
CHAPTER XXIII
There are moments when the human brain refuses to receive communication
from its peripheries, and the rapidity of thought becomes so slow that
it can be measured by minutes. The stage of consciousness on which
life's drama is solitarily played for every human being is too
circumscribed to expand all at once for the reception of a strange and
unexpected image. Such moments follow in, the wake of a great shock,
like a black curtain descending on a lighted scene. When the curtain
begins to rise again it is on a darkened stage, on which the objects are
seen dimly at first, then clearer as returning intelligence, working
slowly for the accommodation of the new setting, places the fresh
impression in order with the throng of previously existing ideas.
Such a moment seemed to have come to Hazel Rath as she stood looking at
Merrington, who sat in an easy chair on the other side of the table
confronting her with the tangible perception of his massive presence,
reinforced by the weight of an authority which, if not so perceptible,
was sufficiently apparent in the stolid blue back of a policeman on duty
outside the glass door, and in the barred windows of the little room to
which she had been brought to receive the news which had just been
conveyed to her. But she gave no sign of having heard, or, at least,
understood the import of Merrington's relation. Her dark eyes wandered
around the little office, and slowly returned to the face of the big man
who was watching her so closely. Her look, which at first had been one
of utter bewilderment, now revealed a trace of incredulity which
suggested a returning power for the assimilation of ideas. But she did
not speak.
"Have you nothing to say?" Merrington demanded. He had been a silent
listener to many criminal confessions in his time, but in the unusual
reversion of roles he was becoming unreasonably angry with the girl for
not repaying his confidence with her own story.
His loud hectoring voice startled her, and seemed to accelerate the
mechanism of her mind into the association of her surroundings with her
position.
"Why did you bring me here to torture me?" she cried, with a sudden rush
of shrill utterance which was, in its way, almost as pitiful and