The mystery of Angelina Frood
atmosphere of the place we had come from seemed to have affected
Bundy’s spirits so much that I thought it only kind to ask him to come
back to lunch with me; an invitation that he accepted with avidity.
During lunch we discussed the tragic discovery, and Bundy, now that he
had escaped from physical contact with the relics of mortality, showed
his usual shrewd common sense.
“Well,” he said, “the mystery of poor Angelina Frood is solved at
last--at least, so far as it is ever likely to be.”
“I hope not,” I replied, “for the essential point of the mystery is
not solved at all. It has only just been completely propounded. We now
know beyond a doubt that she was murdered, and that the murder was a
deliberate crime, planned in advance. What we want to know--at least,
what I want to know, and shall never rest until I do know--is, who
committed this diabolical crime?”
“I am afraid you never will know, John,” said he. “There doesn’t seem
to be the faintest clue.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “You seem to have forgotten Nicholas
Frood.”
Bundy shook his head. “You are deluding yourself, John. Nicholas
seems, from your account of him, to be quite capable of having
murdered his wife. But is there anything to connect him with the
crime? If there is, you have never told me of it. And the law demands
positive evidence. You can’t charge a man with murder because he seems
a likely person and you don’t know of anybody else. What have you got
against him in connexion with this present affair?”
“Well, for instance, I know that he was prowling about this town, and
that he was trying to find out where she lived.”
“But why not?” demanded Bundy. “She was a runaway wife, and he was her
husband.”
“Then I happen to have noticed that he carried a sheath-knife.”
“But do you know that she was killed with a sheath-knife?”
“No, I don’t,” I answered savagely. “But I say again that I shall
never rest until the price of her death has been paid. There must be
some clue. The murder could not have been committed without a motive,
and it must be possible to discover what that motive was. Somebody
must have stood to benefit in some way by her death; and I am going to
find that person, or those persons, if I give up the rest of my life
to the search.”
“I am sorry to hear you say that, John,” he said as he rose to depart.
“It sounds as if you were prepared to spend the rest of your life
chasing a will-o’-the-wisp. But we are premature. The inquest may
bring to light some new evidence that will put the police on the
murderer’s track. You must remember that they have been engaged in
tracing the body up to now. When the inquest has been held and the
facts are known they will be able to begin the search for the
murderers. And I wish them and you good luck.”
I was rather glad when he was gone, for his dispassionate estimate of
the difficulties of the case only served to confirm my own secret
hopelessness. For I could not deny that these wretches seemed to have
covered up their tracks completely. In the three months that had
passed no whisper of any suspicious circumstance had been heard. From
the moment when poor Angelina had faded from my sight into the fog to
that of her dreadful reappearance in the old wall, no human eye seemed
to have seen her. And now that she had come back, what had she to tell
us of the events of that awful night? The very body, on which
Thorndyke had relied for evidence, at least, of the manner of the
crime, had dwindled to a mere skeleton such as might have been exhumed
from some ancient tomb. The cunning of the murderers had outwitted
even Thorndyke.
The thought of my friend reminded me that I had to report to him the
results of the opening of the wall; results very different from what
he had anticipated when he had given the sergeant the too-fruitful
hint. I accordingly wrote out a detailed report, so far as my
information went; but I held it back until the last post in case
anything further should come to my knowledge. And it was just as well
that I did; for about eight o’clock, Cobbledick called to give me the
latest tidings.
“Well, Doctor,” he said, with a smile of concentrated benevolence, “I
have got everything in going order. I have seen the coroner and made
out a list of witnesses. You are one of them, of course; in fact, you
are the star-witness. You were the last person to see her alive, and
you were present at the exhumation. Dr. Baines--he’s rather a
scientific gentleman--is to make the post-mortem examination, and tell
us the cause of death, if he can. He won’t have much to go on. The
lime has eaten up everything--it would, naturally, after three
months--but the bones look quite uninjured, so far as I could judge.”
“When does the inquest open?” I asked.
“The day after to-morrow. I’ve got your summons with me, and I may as
well give it to you now.”
I looked at the little blue paper and put it in my pocket-book. “Do
you think the coroner will get through the case in one day?” I asked.
“No, I am sure he won’t,” replied Cobbledick. “It is an important
case, and there will be a lot of witnesses. There will be the evidence
as to the building of the wall; then the opening of it and the
description of what we found in it; then the identification of the
remains--that is you, principally; and then there will be all the
other evidence, the pawnbroker, Israel Bangs, Hooper, and the others.
And then, of course, there will be the question as to the guilty
parties. That is the most important of all.”
“I didn’t know you had any evidence on that subject,” said I.
“I haven’t much,” he replied. “From the time when she disappeared
nobody saw her alive or dead, and, of course, nothing has ever been
heard of any occurrence that might indicate a crime. All we have to go
on--and it is mighty little--is the fact that she was hiding from her
husband, and that he was trying to find her. Also that he had made one
attempt on her life. That is where your evidence will come in, and
that of the matron at the ‘Poor Travellers.’ I’ve had a talk with
her.”
“Do you know anything of Frood’s movements about the time of the
disappearance?”
“Practically nothing, excepting that he went away from his lodgings
the day before. You see, we were not in a position to start tracing
possible criminals. We had no real evidence of any crime. We knew that
the woman had disappeared, and she appeared to have got into the
river. But there was nothing to show how. It looked suspicious, but it
wasn’t a case. So long as no body was forthcoming there was no
evidence of death, and nobody could have been charged. Even if we had
found the body in the river, unless there had been distinct traces of
violence, it would have been merely a case of ‘found dead,’ or ‘found
drowned.’ But now the affair is on a different footing entirely. The
body has been discovered under conditions which furnish prima facie
evidence of murder, whatever the cause of death may turn out to have
been. There is sure to be a verdict of wilful murder--not that the
police are dependent on the coroner’s verdict. So now we can get a
move on and look for the murderer.”
“What chance do you think there is of finding him?” I asked.
“Well,” said Cobbledick with a benevolent smile, “we mustn’t be too
cock-sure. But, leaving the husband out of the question and taking the
broad facts, it doesn’t look so unpromising. This wasn’t a casual
crime--fortunately. There’s nothing so hopeless as a casual crime,
done for mere petty robbery. But this crime was thought out. The place
of burial was selected in advance. The key of the place was obtained,
so that the murderer could not only get in but could lock himself--or
more probably themselves--in and work secure from chance disturbance.
And the time seems to have been selected; a week-end, with two whole
nights to do the job in. All this points to very definite
premeditation; and that points to a very definite motive. The person
who planned this crime had something considerable to gain by Mrs.
Frood’s death; it may have been profit or it may have been the
satisfaction of revenge.
“Well, that is a pretty good start. When we know what property she
had, who comes into it at her death, if any of it is missing, and if
so, what has become of it; we can judge concerning the first case. And
if we find that she had any enemies besides her husband; anyone whom
she had injured or who owed her a grudge; then we can judge of the
second case.
“Then there is another set of facts. This murderer couldn’t have been
a complete stranger to the place. He knew about the wall and what was
going on there. He knew the river and he possessed, or had command of,
a boat. He knew the waterside premises and he knew his way--or had
someone to show him the way--across the marshes and up Black Boy-lane.
One, at least, of the persons concerned in this affair was a local man
who knew the place well. So you see, Doctor, we have got something to
go on, after all.”
I listened to the sergeant’s exposition with deep interest and no
little revival of my drooping hopes. It was a most able summary of the
case, and I felt that I should have liked Thorndyke to hear it; in
fact, I determined to embody it in the amplification of my report.
With the facts thus fully and lucidly collated, it did really seem as
though the perpetrator of this foul crime must inevitably fall into
our hands. Having refreshed the sergeant with a couple of glasses of
port, I shook his hand warmly and wished him the best of success in
the investigation that he was conducting with so much ability.
When he had gone I wrote a full account of our interview to add to my
previous report, and expressed the hope that Thorndyke would be able
to be present at the inquest, when I myself should “be and appear” at
the appointed place to give evidence on the day after the morrow.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE INQUIRY AND A SURPRISE
On the morning of the inquest I started from my house well in
advance of time, and in a distinctly uncomfortable frame of mind.
Perhaps it was that the formal inquiry brought home to me with extra
vividness the certainty that my beloved friend was gone from me for
ever, and that she had died in circumstances of tragedy and horror.
Not that I had ever had any doubt, but now the realization was more
intense. Again, I should have to give evidence. I should have to
reconstitute for the information of strangers scenes and events that
had for me a certain sacred intimacy. And then, above all, I should
have to view--and that not cursorily--the decayed remains of the woman
who had been so much to me. That would be naturally expected from a
medical man and no one would guess at what it would cost me to bring
myself to this last dreadful meeting.
Walking down the High-street thus wrapped in gloomy reflections, it
was with mixed feelings that I observed Bundy advancing slowly towards
me, having evidently awaited my arrival. In some respects I would
sooner have been alone, and yet his kindly, sympathetic companionship
was not altogether unwelcome.
“Good morning, John,” said he. “I hope I am not _de trop_. It is a
melancholy errand for you, poor old chap, and I can’t do much to make
it less so, but I thought we might walk down together. You know how
sorry I am for you, John.”
“Yes, I know and appreciate, and I am always glad to see you, Peter.
But why are you going there? Have you had a summons?”
“No, I have no information to give. But I am interested in the case,
of course, so I am going to attend as a spectator. So is Japp, though
he is really a legitimately interested party. In fact, I am rather
surprised they didn’t summon him as a witness.”
“So am I. He really knows more about the poor girl than I do. But, of