Annie Haynes Premium Collection – 8 Murder Mysteries in One Volume. Annie Haynes

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Sir Anthony took his cigar from his mouth. "Well?" he echoed with a slight weary smile. "There does not seem much more to be said, does there, inspector?"

      The interest in the detective's eyes grew keener, he leaned forward and watched Sir Anthony's face closely.

      "You mean, sir—"

      Sir Anthony shrugged his shoulders. "There does not seem to me to be much to say, inspector! You have got your facts all very pat—well, there is nothing for you to do but to act upon them, I should imagine."

      Something in his tone, some faint contemptuous menace made the detective momentarily wince.

      "I have told you my reading of the facts, sir, won't you help me?"

      "How can I?" Sir Anthony parried. "You couldn't expect it, you know, inspector. But I thought there was a certain formality, a little warning that was always given by the police to a suspect, before they questioned him. I fancied he was always told that what he said would be taken down in writing and might be used in evidence against him. You are not so generous as your confrères, inspector!"

      The inspector stood up and buttoned his coat. "If you take it that way, sir, there is no more to be said. I came to ask your help. If you refuse to give it me—"

      "You will have to fall back upon Scotland Yard's plan," Sir Anthony finished, a resolute touch of lightness in his tone, though his deep-set eyes were sombre. "Understand, inspector, you will find me here when you want me. I shall not run away, I assure you."

      "No, I think you are too wise for that, sir," the detective's tone was grim: "I knew you could help me; I thought you would. I may have taken an unprofessional course, but I think the circumstances justified it. I hope you may not regret your refusal to be frank with me later on." He moved a step backwards, a little nearer the leather screen as he spoke.

      "I hope I shall not," Sir Anthony responded imperturbably. "The law does not force a man to incriminate himself, you know, inspector."

      "I know, and I tell you that I believe you could not only free yourself from every shadow of suspicion, if you chose, but could also help us materially to discover the real criminal." Inspector Furnival's tone was clear and distinct; he looked straight into the strong impassive face of the man in front of him. "But that won't avail us much when instructions come down from Scotland Yard, to apply for a warrant for the arrest of Sir Anthony Carew for the murder in Abbey Court."

      Sir Anthony bent his head in acquiescence. "I know you mean well, inspector. Many thanks for your good intentions. I am sure—"

      "Stop!" the voice rang out imperiously, the leather screen was pushed aside and fell to the floor. Sir Anthony's face went white beneath its tan. A curious satisfied gleam shone for a moment in the detective's eyes, as a tall, slim figure, in a light dressing-gown rose, and steadied itself tremblingly against the high back of a chair. "Stop!" the clear voice commanded again.

      "Judith!" Sir Anthony exclaimed hoarsely. He went forward quickly. "What is it, dear? Why are you here? Come, let me take you back to your room—to Paul."

      "No!" Judith put his hands aside decidedly, she held tightly to the high chair in front of her, her eyes glanced, not at the face of the man she loved, but past him at the lynx-eyed detective. "You will not apply for a warrant for the arrest of Sir Anthony Carew for the Abbey Court murder," she said in a high unnatural voice. "Because he is innocent. I killed the man who was known as C. Warden, in the Abbey Court flat."

      Sir Anthony caught her rigid figure roughly in his arms. "You are mad, Judith! You do not know what you are saying! Your night of watching, your grief, have turned your brain."

      His face was grey; the expression was changed now into one of terrible overwhelming fear. He tried to draw his wife to the door, but she resisted him, she freed herself resolutely, and turned again to the detective.

      "I—I killed the man," she cried feverishly. "Are you taking it down? Don't you understand?"

      "Not quite, Lady Carew," replied the plain-spoken detective. "Why should you kill this man?"

      Judith put her hand to her throat, she would not look at her husband's agonized face.

      "He—I had known him in the past"—her breath caught in cruel gasps between each word—"I thought he was dead, but he met me and threatened me. He ordered me to come to his flat that night. Then when I got there he insulted me—he—" She paused, her hands clenching.

      "Judith, Judith! for pity's sake," Sir Anthony put himself between her and the detective. "For Paul's sake, for my sake, for the sake of all that is past, be silent."

      But even Anthony himself had receded into the background of her mind. Judith looked at him with dull, non-seeing eyes.

      "I had taken one of my husband's revolvers, to protect myself with, and—I shot him—Warden—with it." She finished with a hoarse sob. "That is all. Now—now, you can arrest me—not Sir Anthony."

      The detective bowed. "I have no warrant to arrest anyone at present," he said stolidly. His eyes were downcast, but there was a gleam of triumph between their heavy lids. "When I hear definitely from Scotland Yard—"

      "Ah! Yes, I see," Judith said unsteadily. She swayed with a little sobbing moan.

      Sir Anthony sprang forward and caught her as she fell. He placed her on the couch. Then, he turned and faced the detective—merciful unconsciousness had come to his aid; the situation was in his hands now.

      "Of course you know that Lady Carew was raving," he said hoarsely. "The night of watching we have had with the child, the anxiety has been too much for her. She has imagined—"

      Inspector Furnival let his eyes stray to the unconscious form on the couch. "I told you that the identity of Warden's visitor was known to us, sir."

      Sir Anthony drew himself up. "You told me the inferences you had drawn from the circumstances as you knew them. You were right; I followed Lady Carew; I waited till she came out, then I went into the flat. I quarrelled with Warden, I threatened to horse-whip him, he closed with me and in our struggle the pistol went off. You know the rest, and now, you must do your worst inspector. You will understand that I am anxious that Lady Carew's name should be kept out of the affair as much as possible."

      The detective permitted himself to smile. "Not much chance of keeping her ladyship's name out of it as matters stand, sir. We should have been more likely to do so if you had been as I asked you to be, open with me from the first."

      "Umph!" Sir Anthony straightened his broad shoulders. He cast one glance behind him at the couch, then he turned again to the inspector. "I shall plead guilty, you understand. So—well—you will not have much difficulty."

      The inspector met his gaze fully.

      "No! I suppose not, sir. Under the circumstances I must leave my man Barker in the house. Later on when I have heard from Scotland Yard, I will—"

      "You will make the arrest," Sir Anthony finished. "I understand. You will find me ready, inspector!"

      Chapter XXVIII

       Table of Contents

СКАЧАТЬ