The Hand in the Dark
thought of her own safety. She switched off the light and ran out,
carrying the revolver and the handkerchief with which she had been
wiping the blood from the dying woman's lips. She was just in time to
conceal herself behind the curtains in the corridor and escape the
observation of those who were rushing upstairs. There she stayed while
the rooms were searched, and was afterwards able to steal downstairs
unobserved and gain the safety of her mother's apartments, where the
revolver and the handkerchief were subsequently found."
"This is a remarkable story," said Musard slowly. "Do the police believe
it?"
"They do not, but I have my reasons for thinking it true," responded
Colwyn. "The next step in the story of how this unhappy girl became the
victim of an apparently irrebuttable set of circumstances through her
own silence, has to do with another person's secret visit to the
moat-house on the night of the murder. That person was a man, who came
to return to Mrs. Heredith the necklace which we subsequently discovered
to be missing from her locked jewel-case. It is not necessary to relate
how the necklace came to be in his hands. He had undertaken to return
the necklace from London to enable Mrs. Heredith to produce it on the
following day, and it was arranged between them that when he reached the
moat-house that night he was to enter the unused door in the left wing,
which was to be previously unlocked for him, and was to wait on the
staircase until Mrs. Heredith was able to steal down to him and obtain
the jewels. That plan was upset by Tufnell finding the door unlocked,
and locking it again before his arrival. When he did arrive he found
himself unable to get in."
"Stop a moment," exclaimed Musard hoarsely. "This story goes too deep
for me. Who is this man? Do you know him? Has he anything to do with the
murder?"
"Yes, I know him, and he has much to do with the murder," said the
detective. "Shall I mention his name, Mr. Heredith?"
Phil nodded, as though he were unable to speak.
"The man is Captain Nepcote."
"Nepcote!" A swift flash of wrath came into Musard's heavy dark eyes as
he uttered the name. Then, in a wider understanding of the sordid
interpretation of Colwyn's story, he hesitatingly added: "I think I see.
It was Nepcote's revolver. Was it he who shot Violet?"
"Before answering that question it is necessary to give Nepcote's
explanation of his actions on that night. His own story is that he did
not enter the house. He says that while he was waiting outside he heard
a scream followed by a shot, and he then hid in the woods in front of
the house until he thought it safe to return to London. He declares he
is innocent of the murder."
"That is a lie!" Phil burst forth. "Who will believe him?" He stopped
abruptly, and turned fiercely to Colwyn. "How do you know Nepcote said
this?" he demanded.
"Because I saw him the night before I left London. He told me
everything, and gave me the necklace."
"And you let him go again? Are you mad?" Phil was on his feet, shaking
with excitement.
"What makes you think I let him go?" retorted Colwyn coldly. "You need
not be afraid that your wife's murderer will escape justice. Nepcote is
lying ill of pneumonia in a private hospital in London. He can only
escape by death. But the manner in which you have received this
information suggests to my mind that you have had your own suspicions of
Nepcote all along, but have kept them to yourself."
"I cannot conceive that to be any business of yours," replied the young
man, with a touch of hauteur.
"It seems to me that it is, in the circumstances. You came to me seeking
my assistance because you believed in the innocence of Hazel Rath,
but--as I am now convinced--you suppressed information which pointed to
Captain Nepcote."
"I told you all that I thought necessary."
"You told me that your wife had been shot with Nepcote's revolver. Is
that what you mean?"
"Yes. That was sufficient to put you on the track without taking you
into my confidence about ... something which affected my honour and the
honour of my family." Phil turned very pale as he uttered the last
words.
"Perhaps Phil should have told you, but you must make allow--" commenced
Musard. But Colwyn silenced him with an imperative glance.
"At the time you came to see me, you believed that Captain Nepcote had
murdered your wife?" he said, facing Phil.
"I did."
"Do you mind telling me now on what ground you based that belief?"
"I fail to recognize your right to cross-question me," replied the young
man haughtily, "but I will answer your question. It was for the reason
that you have supposed. I suspected his relations with my wife. There
was his revolver to prove that he had been in her room. I do not know
why Hazel Rath carried it away."
"Perhaps I could enlighten you on that point. As you knew so much, it is
equally certain that you knew about your wife's missing necklace, though
you did not tell me of that, either. But I will not go into that now--I
wish to hurry on to my conclusion. I have at least done all that you
asked me to do; I have proved Hazel Rath's innocence. But I have proved
more than that. Captain Nepcote is also innocent."
"I should like to hear how you arrive at that conclusion." Phil strove
to utter the words calmly, but his trembling lips revealed his inward
agitation.
"His story, as told to me, fits in with facts of which he could have had
no knowledge. He says he found the door of the left wing locked, and we
know it was locked by Tufnell more than an hour before. He states that
after the shot he hid in the woods in front of the house. It was there
Tufnell thought he saw somebody hiding; it was there I found a scrap of
khaki adhering to a bramble at the spot indicated by Nepcote as his
hiding-place. Tufnell admits that he called out in alarm when his eye
fell on the crouching figure. Nepcote says that he saw Tufnell, heard
his cry, and plunged deeper into the bushes for safety. Tufnell returned
along the carriage drive twenty minutes afterwards with Detective Caldew
and Sergeant Lumbe. Nepcote heard the crunch of their feet on the gravel
as they passed. His accuracy in these details which he could not
possibly have known helped me to the conclusion that the whole of his
story was true."
"He had plenty of time to commit the murder, nevertheless," said Phil.
"It is useless for you to try and cling to that theory--now."
There was something in the tone in which these words were uttered which
caused the young man to look swiftly at the detective from beneath
furrowed brows.
"You seem to have constituted yourself the champion of this scoundrel,"
he said, in a changed harsh voice.
Musard glanced from one to the other with troubled eyes. There was a
growing hint of menace in their conversation which his mind, deeply
agitated by the strange disclosures of the evening, could only fear
without fathoming.
"I do not understand you," he said simply, addressing himself to Colwyn.
"If this man Nepcote did not commit the murder, who did? Was it not he
who was in the bedroom when Hazel Rath went there in the dark?"
"No," said Colwyn; "it was not he."
"Who was the man, then, who clutched Hazel Rath, by the throat?"
persisted Musard.
"It was no man," responded Colwyn, in a gloomy voice. "_That_ was the
point which baffled me for hours when I thought the whole truth was
within my grasp. Again and again I sought vainly for the answer, until,
in mental weariness and utter despair, I was tempted to believe that the
powers of evil had combined to shield the perpetrator of this atrocious
murder from justice. Then it came to me--the last horrible revelation in
this hellish plot. It was the hand of the dying woman, spasmodically
clutching at the empty air in her death agonies, which accidentally came
in contact with Hazel Rath's throat, and loosened her brooch."
"Oh, this is too terrible," murmured Musard. His swarthy face showed an
ashen tint. "What do you mean? What are you keeping back? Where does all
this lead to?"
"It leads to the exposure of the trick--the trick of a false report by
which the murderer sought to procure an alibi and revenge."
"What do you mean? What have you found out?" cried Phil, leaping to his
feet and facing Colwyn.
As he uttered the words, a loud shot in the room overhead rang out with
startling distinctness.
"I mean--that," said Colwyn quietly.
Even up to the moment of his experiment he was not quite certain. But in
the one swift glance they exchanged, everything was revealed to each of
them.
Before Musard could frame the question which trembled on his amazed
lips, Phil spoke. His face was very white, and his dark eyes blazing:
"Yes. That is it. You have found me out." His voice, deepened to a
bitter intensity, had a deliberate intonation which was almost solemn.
"What did they do to me? Shall I ever forget my feelings when,
unobserved by them, I caught them in the house one day, whispering and
kissing? I walked straight out into the woods to be alone with my shame.
My brain was on fire. When I recalled his lecherous looks and her wanton
meaning glances I was tempted to destroy myself in misery and despair.
Human nature--ah, God, what a beastly thing it is. I had trusted them
both so utterly--I loved her so deeply. How had they repaid my trust and
love? By deceiving me, under my eyes, in my own home, before my marriage
was three months old.
"That night I dreamt of obscene things. I awoke with their images
hovering by my bedside, looking at me with sneering eyes, mocking me
with lewd gestures. 'Your honour and the honour of the Herediths--Where
is it?' they kept repeating: 'Sold by the wanton you have made your
wife. What is honour to the lust of the flesh? There is nothing so
strong in the world.' But as I watched them the ceiling rolled away, and
in the darkness of the sky a stern and implacable face appeared. And it
said, 'There is one thing stronger than honour, stronger even that the
lust of the flesh, and that is--Death.'
"It was the answer to a question I had been asking myself ever since I
knew. I got up, and sat by the open window, to plan how I should kill
them both. But I wanted the man to feel more than a swift thunderstroke
of mortal agony. I wished to make him suffer as I had suffered, but at
first I could see no way.
"Then it came to me in the strangest way--a light, a direction, a guide.
I had been smoking as I sat there thinking--smoking cigarettes which I
lit with a little automatic lighter I always used. I must have laid it
down carelessly, for I was interrupted in my meditations by the sight of
a thin trail of vapour ascending from the window ledge. I had failed to
put the extinguisher on the lighter, and the wick had gone on burning.
As I watched the red spark crawling almost imperceptibly along the
yellow wick, there dawned in my mind the first glimmering of the idea of
a slow match and a delayed report. Bit by bit it took form, and the
means of my revenge was made clear to me. I went back to bed and slept
soundly.
"I was in no hurry to act. There was much to think over, much to do,
before the plan was finally perfected. I carried out experiments in the
gun-room when everybody was in bed, secure in the knowledge that no
report, however loud, could penetrate from those thick walls upstairs.
While I was making ready I watched them both. Not a furtive glance or
caress passed between them which I did not see.
"The night my aunt asked Violet about the necklace I suspected that it
was no longer in her possession. I guessed that by her evasive answers
and telltale face. When she left the room and went upstairs I crept
after her in the shadows and followed her to the door of Nepcote's room.