Inspector Stoddart's Most Famous Cases. Annie Haynes

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      Chapter XIV

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      "It is a curious affair altogether," Inspector William Stoddart said to his subordinate, Alfred Harbord.

      The two men were standing outside Hawksview Mansions. The inspector was looking up at the windows of the Wilton flat on the second floor as he spoke.

      "No chance of anything being seen from the outside with those curtains drawn across," he went on. "If it had been winter and the lights on there might have been that possibility."

      Harbord assented silently. He was not a man of many words, this young detective; but the inspector had singled him out from the first for his remarkable powers of deduction, and of analysis, that Stoddart had brought him to Hawksview Mansions showed that there were problems connected with the death of Iris Wilton that were puzzling that astute detective. He said no more now, but went up the steps to the Mansions. Harbord followed. In the hall Stoddart glanced round.

      "Only two flights of stairs, you see. Hardly worth taking the lift for. As a matter of fact Mrs. Wilton very seldom used it except when she brought Wilton up or down, which was but seldom. Only three or four times in all, after the marriage, the man says. He has never seen Wilton come down in the lift or by the stairs alone, until the day of Mrs. Wilton's death, and even of that he is not certain. He thinks he saw Wilton come down the stairs and go out. He puts the time as near five o'clock as possible; but he was not at all familiar with his appearance, so he cannot swear to him. I think for this morning we will walk up, Harbord." The lift man motioned to them, but the inspector shook his head and went on.

      "Quite easy steps, you see, and softly carpeted. Not at all difficult for Wilton to negotiate, I should imagine, even if he were the invalid we have heard described."

      "Depends what was the matter with him," Harbord remarked sagely. "By the way, what does he say is wrong with him?"

      The inspector looked dubious. "I believe his account is that he is quite well, only that he feels stupid and sleepy and does not remember things clearly. Dunbar, the man who recognized and detained him, says that he was walking along the street in an aimless fashion and that he appeared perfectly thunderstruck on hearing of his wife's death. He seemed quite willing to give all the information he could at the police station, and he was released this morning, as you know. There is really nothing against him except that one cannot see who else could have done it, and that will not do for the law. The inquest will be adjourned after the doctor's evidence has been taken, of course. But now—just a look round, and then we will see what we can make of the maid, Alice Downes. I told her to be ready to come when I sent for her." He opened the door of the Wilton's flat as he spoke and turned to the telephone just inside.

      "Where is she—Alice Downes—and what is she doing?" Harbord inquired.

      "Oh, going from one hysterical fit into another, as far as I know," Stoddart said impatiently. "She stayed with the caretaker and his wife last night. Of course she couldn't remain in the flat, and we couldn't let her go far away. But here we are."

      He turned to the drawing-room door as he spoke and inserted a key, dropping the latchkey back in his pocket as he spoke.

      "The poor creature's own," he remarked. "Wilton hadn't one on him when he was searched—seemed amazed at being asked about such a thing. Yet it is not an uncommon possession. He had one at Dr. Bastow's."

      "He lived in, there, didn't he?" Harbord inquired.

      "No, he lodged with the doctor's chauffeur just over the road. He appears to have had a good many meals at the house, though, incidentally falling in love with the doctor's daughter."

      "And the secretary," Harbord finished.

      Stoddart did not answer. His quick eye wandered round the lounge, then without further comment he turned into the drawingroom.

      Harbord went over to the hearthrug.

      "This is where she was found, of course."

      The inspector nodded.

      "Her head was on the steel curb. You can see the dried blood on the tiled hearth. Everything in the room is just as it was when she was found, except that the body was moved to the mortuary when the medical examination was over."

      "Suicide out of the question, of course?"

      "Quite!" The inspector's tone was emphatic. "The medical evidence makes that plain, and death must have taken place before six o'clock, probably before 5.30 which, as you see, keeps it perilously near the time when the porter thinks he saw Wilton come downstairs."

      Harbord went over the tea-table.

      "The cups have been used. Only two, I see, sir."

      The inspector was measuring the distance from the hearthrug to the different objects in the room.

      "I should say she was standing by this table when she was shot and she fell rather to one side, striking her head on the curb, just above the temple. Probably death would have resulted anyhow. But her assailant was not taking any risks. He must have either stooped over her or knelt beside her and shot her through the ear. A more cold-blooded murder has seldom come my way."

      "On the face of it, it looks curious that people should be shot in two houses in which Wilton lived," Harbord said slowly. "Still, the pistol with which Dr. Bastow was shot was found in Rufford Square, I remember it was taken as pointing to Dr. Sanford Morris. He might have gone home that way."

      "That wasn't the pistol that shot Dr. Bastow," Stoddart said quietly. "Cruikshanks said that from the first. The papers chose to assume that it was, but you know well enough, Harbord, that we don't tell them everything."

      Harbord nodded.

      "Quite, sir. I understand. I do not know that it makes much difference whether it was the same pistol or not."

      "Very little!" the inspector assented.

      He took a small pill-box from his pocket and shook a powdering of fine dust over the table he had indicated, then blew it away.

      "Ah!" he said in a disappointed tone. "Only her finger-prints. Well, I expected nothing else, but there was just a chance. She stood there, Harbord, supporting herself by one hand on the table. You see the mark of the right thumb СКАЧАТЬ