The Hand in the Dark
night. And she had to go to church on Sunday because it was expected of
her, did he ever hear of such rot--and so on. It seemed that everything
in her life bored her. Of course Phil worshipped her, but that didn't
help her much. How could it, Nepcote asked, fixing his burning glance on
his listener, when she had only married him for his coin?
It appeared he had given her such counsel as his worldly experience
suggested. He told her to get Phil to take her up to London now and
again for a change. He advised her to stand no nonsense from anybody,
pointing out to her that she was the future Lady Heredith, and, within
limits, could do practically what she liked.
These intimate details of the confidences between them brought Nepcote
to the vital point of his possession of the necklace. He now admitted
that his former story was untrue. The actual truth was that he had
needed some money badly for his gambling debts. He told Violet of his
position, and asked her had she any money to lend him. She had not, and
rather than ask Phil, she had, for old friendship's sake, offered him
her necklace to raise money on, or to sell outright the diamond in the
clasp. He accepted her offer, and went up to London on the following day
to try and sell the diamond. Wendover's card had been given to him by a
brother officer in France as that of a man who gave a good price for
jewels without asking too many questions. But the diamond merchant had
not lived up to his reputation. He had refused to look at the diamond.
He had been horribly rude, treating him as though he was a pickpocket,
and had practically ordered him out of his office. In fact, his whole
attitude was so suspicious that Nepcote decided it would be better to
leave his gambling debts owing than run the risk of trying to raise
money on a married woman's jewels. He returned to the moat-house,
leaving the necklace locked in his desk at his flat.
At this point Nepcote ceased speaking again, interrupted by a paroxysm
of coughing, and when it passed his eyes turned towards the window, as
though he were listening to the gentle patter of rain on the panes. For
a space the two men sat with no sound in the room except Nepcote's
laboured breathing. When he did resume he spoke with a quickened
emphasis, like a man aware that he was entering upon the part of his
narrative most incredible of belief.
"It happened three nights later," he said. "I was in my room writing
some letters before retiring, when I heard a light and hurried tap at my
door. When I opened it Violet was standing there. She stepped quickly
inside. Before I could express my opinion of her reckless foolishness
she burst into passionate sobs and reproaches. It was all my fault--that
was the burden of her reproach between her sobs. It was some time before
I could get out of her what was wrong. Then she told me that Sir Philip
had asked her to wear the necklace at some dance we were to attend on
the next night. It was then that I learnt that the necklace had been
given to Violet by Sir Philip as a wedding present. Violet attached such
little value to the gift that she had given the necklace to me, thinking
it would not be missed, but she had found out her mistake that night. It
was in the presence of Phil and Miss Heredith that Sir Philip had asked
her to wear it. Violet tried to get out of it by saying that the pearls
were dull and the necklace wanted resetting. On hearing this Miss
Heredith had gone out of the room and returned with Mr. Musard, an old
family friend who had arrived that day on a short visit. He is a
connoisseur in jewels, and Miss Heredith asked his advice about the
necklace. Musard told her that the pearls had long needed some treatment
technically known as "skinning," and he offered to take the necklace to
London two days later and get it done by an expert. Violet accepted the
offer, and then promised Sir Philip that she would wear the necklace at
the party.
"She slipped upstairs to see me as soon as she dared. She was greatly
relieved when she learnt that I had not parted with the necklace, and
she wanted me to go up to London and bring it back so that she could
wear it to the party. I was willing to do so, but I doubted whether I
would be able to get back in time. The local train service had been
restricted on account of the war, and the only train I could catch back
did not reach Heredith until half-past seven.
"It was Violet who hit on the plan. The big thing--the vital thing for
her, she pointed out, was to have the necklace in time to give to Musard
before he went to London. She said she could easily get out of going to
the dance by pretending to have one of her bad headaches, and she did
not wish to meet Mrs. Weyne again. Her idea was that I should pretend I
had been recalled to France, delay my departure until the afternoon
train to prevent suspicion, and return secretly with the necklace. She
said that the afternoon train reached London at twenty-five minutes past
five, which would give me thirty-five minutes to take a taxi to my flat,
get the necklace, and catch the return express at six o'clock. I was to
leave the train at Weydene Junction, where nobody was likely to
recognize me, and walk across country to the moat-house. She expected
that by the time I reached the house the others would have left for the
Weynes, so the coast would be clear. I was to enter the house by a
little unused door at the back of the left wing which she would leave
unlocked for me, and wait at the foot of the staircase until she came
down.
"I did not like this plan because of the risk, but Violet grew almost
hysterical when I objected to it. She said there was no danger, and it
was her only chance of safety. She believed that Phil suspected
something, because he had looked at her strangely when they were talking
about the necklace downstairs. I put that down to nervousness on her
part, but I realized she must have the necklace, so I gave in, and said
I would do as she wished. I have since bitterly regretted that I did not
go openly to London and back, even at the risk of a little idle
curiosity.
"I announced my recall and departure next morning at the breakfast
table, and returned to London by the afternoon train. I drove to
Sherryman Street, got the necklace, and returned to Victoria just in
time to catch the six o'clock express. I left the train at Weydene, and
walked across the fields to the moat-house. It was quite dark when I
reached there. I crossed the back bridge over the moat and went to the
door in the left wing, as we had arranged. To my surprise it was locked.
"I waited outside the door expecting Violet to come down. Everything was
silent, so I thought the others must have started for the dance. But the
time went on, and nobody came. Then I decided to creep round the, side
of the wing and see if there was a light in Violet's bedroom. At that
moment I heard a loud scream from somewhere upstairs, followed by a
deafening report.
"I had no idea what had happened, but I knew that I must not be found
there, so I slipped back the way I had come. I ran along the outside of
the moat wall, making for the wood in front of the house. As I passed
Violet's window I looked up, and it was in darkness. I suppose that was
why I did not connect the shot or the scream with her.
"I plunged through the woods till I came to the carriage drive. From
there the front of the moat-house was visible to me. I could see lights
flashing, and people moving hurriedly about. After I had stood there for
some time I saw a man hurrying across the moat-house bridge in my
direction, so I went back into the wood and hid behind a tree. The man
stopped as he walked along the carriage drive, and looked towards the
tree where I was crouching. He called out 'Who is there?' I recognized
his voice. It was Tufnell, the butler. I thought I was discovered, and
crept into some undergrowth, but in a moment he walked on.
"I remained hidden in the undergrowth for some time--an hour or more.
Once I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel-path, then all was silent
again. After waiting for some time longer I decided to walk back to
Weydene and return to London. But I made such a wide detour for fear of
being seen that I lost my way, and it was nearly midnight when I found
myself at Rainchester, on the main line, just in time to catch the last
train to London.
"It was a terrible shock to me when I opened my paper the next morning
and read about poor Violet's murder. I had never thought of anything
like that. At first I could think of nothing but her terrible end, but
then it occurred to me that my own position would be awkward if the loss
of the necklace was discovered. As the papers said nothing about the
necklace I concluded that it had not been missed. But I knew the police
would be searching for clues, and might discover the loss at any moment.
I knew it was dangerous for me to keep it in my possession, so I decided
to get rid of it without delay.
"I thought at first of returning it anonymously, but I immediately
abandoned that idea as too dangerous. Then I thought of dropping it into
the river. It occurred to me, however, that if by any chance the police
discovered that the necklace had been given to me, and I couldn't
produce it if I were questioned, I should be in a worse fix still. So I
tried to think of a safe hiding-place where I could lay my hands on it
in case of necessity. I could think of none. Time went on, and before I
had decided what to do with the thing my man came along and said it was
time to catch the boat train. So in the end I put the necklace into my
pocket and took it to France with me. It seemed as safe there as
anywhere else for the time being.
"I was only going to the base, so I saw the London papers every day. I
was very relieved when I read of the arrest of Hazel Rath for the
murder. I returned to London feeling reasonably safe, though it seemed
strange to me that the loss of the necklace had not been discovered.
"I thought everything was found out when you and that Scotland Yard
detective visited my flat. But Merrington seemed to have no suspicions
of me, and I was just beginning to think I was finally safe when he
remarked that the police knew of the missing necklace. I started, and
that gave me away to you, at all events. I saw you glance at Wendover's
card as it fell on the table, and I knew that you suspected me.
"After you had both left I had a bad half-hour. I could see I was in a
dangerous fix. You were aware of the address of the diamond merchant to
whom I had gone, and who, no doubt, would be able to identify me. I had
made my own position worse by lying about the War Office telegram, as
could easily be proved. There was also the possibility that the police
might find out about my return to Heredith on the night of the murder. I
did not then see what all these facts portended for me, though I do now.
But I feared arrest for the theft of the necklace, with the alternatives
of imprisonment if I kept silent, or facing a horrible scandal if I told
the truth. I was not prepared for either.
"I slept at an hotel that night because I feared arrest, but next
morning, early, I returned to the flat to exchange my khaki for a
civilian suit. After thinking over things during the night I had come to
the conclusion that I had most to fear from you, and I decided to watch
you. If you did not visit Wendover's place during the day it seemed to
me that I might be alarming myself needlessly. You know what happened. I
bolted when I saw you emerge from the buildings, and wandered about for
hours, not knowing what was best to do. When I discovered that I had no
money--nothing in my pockets except that cursed necklace, which I had
taken with me because I knew the flat would be searched--I decided to