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

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СКАЧАТЬ watching Lady Carew?" Crasster asked eagerly. It was the first time he had spoken.

      Sir Anthony shook his head.

      "I cannot say that I did, though I have sometimes felt that his face was vaguely familiar. But as I say, it was only a glimpse I had of him that night. Can we help you any further, inspector?"

      "A little, I think, sir." Inspector Furnival drew a paper from his pocket and studied it in silence for a minute or two. "If Lady Carew will kindly answer a few questions? The dress you wore that night has been placed in the hands of the police by your late maid, Célestine, Lady Carew. There are splashes of blood on the bodice that must have come from the murdered man and the skirt is stained with ink. How do you account for this?"

      "I—I tried to raise him—Stanmore—in my arms," Judith faltered. Her voice wavered and broke. The very effort of speaking of it brought back the whole terrible scene before her eyes. "And—and—when he threw the pistol on the table he upset the inkstand; I tried to get it back; that is how the ink must have got on my dress."

      "Ah! The ink was on the table with the pistol," the inspector commented with a far-away look in his eyes. "One more question, Lady Carew. There was a blue star on Stanmore's wrist." Judith bent her head in assent. "Were you aware that there was a similar mark on the wrist of the man whom you knew as Jermyn Leigh?"

      Judith's face grew strangely white, her eyes glanced obliquely round as though oppressed by some horrible fear.

      "I—I never saw one—I did not think he had one." A hoarse sob rose in her throat.

      The inspector went on apparently scrawling hieroglyphics in his pocket-book. Lawrence and Crasster knew that his look, his very silence, betokened that he was satisfied.

      Nobody spoke for a minute or two, as if by common consent. Every one avoided looking at the agonized face of the woman in the big chair. Lawrence glanced at Crasster, some faint foreshadowing of what was coming upon him, unreal, fantastical, as must appear the happenings it involved. Inspector Furnival glanced at Mrs. Rankin. "You have nothing more to tell us, I think?"

      "No," she answered with a little catch in her breath. "Only that on Tuesday before the murder Stanmore called on us and asked us if we could tell him where Lady Carew was to be found. We declined to give him any information of course, and he went away asking us if we should hear of her later, to let him know at the Abbey Court flats, where he told us he was staying under the name of Charles Warden."

      The inspector tapped his notebook thoughtfully. "Did he tell you why he was anxious to find Lady Carew?"

      Mrs. Rankin shook her head.

      "No further than that he said he had come back to England to claim some great inheritance that had fallen to him, and we gathered that he wished her to share it with him."

      "Um! Um!" The inspectors did not speak for a minute or two, then he looked up suddenly. "Did he give you any notion of the sort of inheritance to which he had succeeded?"

      "No—no," Mrs. Rankin said slowly, "further than that he spoke as if it meant rank as well as wealth. But I think he was too much excited to talk coherently, and we, of course, were only too anxious to get rid of him.

      "Naturally!" the inspector assented. "Well, I don't think we need trouble you any further to-day."

      Mrs. Rankin sat back in her chair with an audible sigh of relief.

      Sir Anthony looked at the detective. "Can you help us, Furnival, or are we too hopelessly in the mire?"

      "I think I shall be able to do something, Sir Anthony." The inspector glanced over what he had written, then he closed the book and fastened it. "But before we go any further I should suggest Lady Carew goes to her room. I am sure Mrs. Rankin will agree with me that it is the best thing for her."

      "They—they do believe me, Anthony?" she said piteously, as her husband came forward and drew her arm through his.

      The inspector took the answer upon himself.

      "Well, I do, for one, Lady Carew," he said heartily. "And later on Sir Anthony will tell you the name of the Abbey Court murderer."

      "Thank you!" Judith murmured brokenly. She felt strangely bewildered, scarcely able even to think. All she could realize was that there was hope at last, hope that the awful black cloud that had brooded over Heron's Carew for so long was going to be dissipated.

      Her husband half-supported, half-carried her to her room, and then, whispering soothing words, he left her to Mrs. Rankin's care, and went back to the morning-room. The three men had their heads close together when he entered. He fancied that Crasster looked strangely disturbed.

      "Excuse me, Sir Anthony," murmured the inspector. He went across to the window, and, throwing it open, put his head out with a curious whistling sound, like a bird's cry. It was answered from the bushes on the other side of the terrace. He stepped back and closed the window.

      "It is all right," he observed enigmatically. "You are going to have a visitor, Sir Anthony. I hear a car in the drive."

      "A visitor!" Sir Anthony stepped to the bell.

      "Allow him to be admitted, please, Sir Anthony," said the inspector. "I fancy it is one whose evidence may be very germane to the case."

      Sir Anthony started.

      "Germane to the case! I don't see—"

      "One moment, Sir Anthony!"

      The inspector held up his hand.

      The bell pealed loudly, they heard the old butler open the door, a murmured colloquy, then Sir Anthony's face altered.

      "Chesterham! Ah, of course his testimony—"

      "Will supply the missing link!" the inspector finished.

      "Exactly." Sir Anthony opened the door. "Ah, Chesterham, we were just speaking of you. Come in."

      Chesterham was distinctly paler than usual, his face looked anxious and worried.

      "I only heard half an hour ago of the accident that happened to Lady Carew last night," he began, advancing to meet Sir Anthony. "I trust its gravity has been exaggerated. How is she? I—" He broke off as he saw the men behind Sir Anthony.

      Inspector Furnival stepped forward. Sir Anthony with a puzzled expression moved aside.

      "You do not disturb us, Lord Chesterham!" the inspector remarked suavely. "As Sir Anthony said, we were just speaking of you. You can supply exactly the evidence we want!"

      "Evidence! I don't understand you!" Chesterham's face darkened as he spoke, and he drew back. "I came here to speak to Sir Anthony Carew," he added with an assumption of hauteur that brought a slight smile to the inspector's lips.

      At the same time there was a knock at the front door. Furnival signed to the butler to open it. A couple of men in dark clothes entered and stood on the mat. As soon as they were fairly inside, the inspector advanced towards the astonished Chesterham.

      "Ronald Lee, alias Jermyn Leigh, alias Viscount Chesterham, I arrest you for the wilful murder of Cyril Stanmore, Lord Chesterham, at the Abbey Court flats on the night of April — 19—. СКАЧАТЬ