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

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      Chapter XXXI

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      "Committed for trial, is he? well, they couldn't do much else!"

      It was the verdict of Mrs. Curtis, at the Carew Arms, as she watched the crowd pouring down the village street.

      Carew village had never known such excitement within the memory of man. Lord Chesterham, in some extraordinary way, had turned out not to be Lord Chesterham at all, but Ronald Lee, whom many of the villagers remembered as a child, and, as if this news was not thrilling enough, he had been brought before the magistrates that morning charged with having murdered somebody—the true Lord Chesterham, some people said it was—up in London.

      He had attempted to commit suicide too, and had been carried into court that morning with his leg swathed in bandages. Small wonder was there that there had not been standing room in the magistrates' court—that the whole population of the neighbourhood seemed to have turned out, eager to learn all that there was to be learned of this astonishing story.

      Inspector Furnival came down the street with Stephen Crasster.

      "I congratulate you, inspector," Crasster was saying, as they neared the Carew Arms. "You have done a difficult piece of work marvellously well. I wonder what it was that first gave you the clue that enabled you to straighten out the tangle?"

      The inspector pondered a minute, his hand on the garden gate.

      "I think it was the blue star of the Chesterhams! But I must premise that I never believed Lady Carew guilty. Though very soon it was a matter of certainty with me that she was Warden's mysterious visitor, I felt a premonition all along that Warden's murderer must be searched for elsewhere. The blue star made me feel sure that there was some connection between Warden and the Chesterhams too."

      "It seems a very slight thing to have led to so momentous a conclusion," Crasster said thoughtfully. "I can't make out how you guessed the man to be an impostor, either. I say inspector, I think I will come in with you for a minute or two"—as he became suddenly aware that their colloquy was exciting an unusual amount of interest from the passers-by—"we shall have a crowd round us in no time if we stand here."

      "By all means, sir." The inspector stood back. "It is not often the folks down here get anything like this to talk about," he added as he shut the gate.

      They did not enter the house, but walked up and down the garden paths.

      "You want to know what made me think him an impostor, sir?" the inspector went on. "Well, when the idea first occurred to me I had nothing to go on but guesswork. His friendship for the Lees was the first definite thing I had to put me on the track. I had the pleasure of 'assisting' at one of his interviews with old Betty, as our French neighbours say, and that was enough to show me that she, at any rate, suspected a mystery. Then I could find no trace of anyone who might have been Warden among the Chesterham collaterals. Although his likeness to them, as well as the blue star, proved that he must have been related. The only illegitimate descendant of whom I could find any definite trace was young Ronald Lee, and he had no blue star. Later I found that young Lee had a passion for tattooing, and also from his gipsy relatives he had learned many tricks of colouring. I became sure that one of them, either Warden or the man called Lord Chesterham, had simulated the star, and, on the whole, it didn't seem to me it was so likely to be the dead man. The impersonation supplied the motive for the murder, you see."

      "As one can't doubt after to-day's evidence," Crasster assented. "The murder must have been premeditated, inspector.

      "Distinctly," the inspector agreed. "He had discovered that Lady Carew was to be there, and laid his plans accordingly, so the suspicion should turn upon her. There can be no doubt that he was waiting in the outer room to accomplish his purpose; the accidental turning out of the light gave him his opportunity, and he instantly availed himself of it. He must then have gone out of the flat and watched. He met Lady Carew on the stairs designedly, to frighten her, to show her that she was in his power; and when he had left her he went back to the flat, having previously provided himself with a key—you remember the wax on the lock—and took all the papers that proved Stanmore to be the heir to the peerage of Chesterham. He trusted to his knowledge of the family history, and his undoubted likeness to the Chesterhams, to enable him to carry out the rest. It was a diabolical scheme, and might have succeeded, but that he gave himself away over the pistol. Undoubtedly he left it in the flat to implicate Sir Anthony or Lady Carew. He had forgotten that when he picked it up there was ink on the table-cloth, that some of it got on his hands, and that therefore his finger-prints were left on the revolver. That was what turned my suspicion into a certainty. When I applied to him for a warrant later I managed to upset some ink, and obtain some impressions of his thumb and fingers. They corresponded with those on the revolver, and thus practically clinched the matter."

      "Well, it has been a pretty smart thing," concluded Crasster. "And it will be a feather in your cap for years to come, inspector. There are not many men who could have cleared up the mystery as you have. Bless my life"—with a sudden change of tone, as they suddenly turned a corner—"who is this?"

      A woman stood before them on the path, a small scarlet fury of a woman, her little piquante face distorted with rage, her black eyes blazing. The inspector cast one glance at her, and then, distinguished police officer though he was, looked as though he was about to run away.

      But Célestine placed herself directly in front of him.

      "Good day to you, Meestare Lennox—or Inspector Furnival," she said, subduing her shaking voice to accents of ironic politeness. "So it is a—well what you call—police officer you are, after all!"

      Crasster with difficulty repressed a smile; the inspector's face threatened to become a copper colour.

      "That is it, mademoiselle," he responded, with a gallant attempt to appear at his ease.

      Célestine СКАЧАТЬ