The Master Detective by Percy James Brebner

P >> Percy James Brebner >> The Master Detective

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

"Half past ten," said the skipper. "Sure you will be all right alone?"

I could not tell to which of the hands he spoke; at any rate, he got no
answer except by a nod, perhaps. Half past ten; that was the time Mrs.
Selborne's husband was to arrive.

Then came a surprise. The three men got into the dinghy and pulled
towards the shore.

I was left alone with Mrs. Selborne.

"Caught, Mr. Murray--Wigan."

She laughed as she paused between my two names, and seated herself on a
corner of the skylight with a revolver in her lap.

"We can talk," she went on, "but a shout would be dangerous. I am used to
handling firearms. Our last sail together, a notable one, and not yet
over. You're a more pleasant companion than I expected to find you, but
you are not such a great detective as I had been led to suppose."

I was too astonished to make any kind of answer. She was quite right. I
had never detected a criminal in her. All her kindness was an elaborate
scheme to get me in her power. Did Quarles know? Surely not, or he would
have put me on my guard.

"Posing as an invalid was an excellent notion," she went on, "and you are
not altogether a failure. You have prevented a haul being made at the
Folkestone Hotel because we could not discover what men you had at work.
I wonder how you got on my track?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I hadn't, to say that my being
there was chance, that I really was an invalid, but I kept the confession
back. I remembered Quarles saying I might want all my wits about me at
the end of this cruise. This seemed to be the end as far as I was
concerned.

"I don't suppose you are going to tell me how these robberies have been
managed," I said, "so you cannot expect me to give away my secrets."

"I will tell you one thing," she answered; "there will be no more
robberies by us. From to-night we begin to enjoy the proceeds."

"That is interesting."

"And you will quite appreciate that, although you are not so clever as
people imagine, you are a difficulty."

"It is no use my petitioning you to let me go for the sake of--of our
friendship?"

"I am afraid not."

"What then?"

"Dead men tell no tales," she said.

It was an uncomfortable answer. It was the only way out of the
difficulty I had been able to conceive.

"Pardon me, they do," I returned quietly. "In watching me so carefully,
and beating me at the game, you have advertised your interest in me to
scores of people. You have forged a link between us. My death will mean a
quick search for you and your confederates. I am likely to be more
dangerous to you dead than alive."

"Do you suppose that has not been considered and arranged for?"

"And do you suppose a detective values his life if by his death he can
bring notorious criminals to justice?" I asked.

"What exactly do you mean?"

We might have been discussing some commonplace question across a
tea table.

"For the sake of argument, let us suppose one or two of your confederates
have not hoodwinked me so completely as you have done. You can understand
the possibility and appreciate the probable result."

"Do I look like a woman to be frightened by such a thin story?"
she asked.

"Certainly not. You are so reckless a person you have, no doubt, courage
to face any unpleasant consequence which may arise."

"I have wit enough to know that prevention is better than cure," she
returned. "Within an hour, Mr. Wigan, my confederates and all who could
possibly witness against me will be on board this yacht. How long some of
them will remain on board I have not yet decided."

She was evidently not afraid. Her plans must be very complete.

"As I cannot be allowed to live, a sketch of your career would interest
me. It would serve to pass the time."

"The past does not concern me, the future does," she answered. "You may
appreciate my general idea of making things safe. I fancy this yacht will
be cast away on a lonely spot on the French coast. I know the spot, and I
expect one or two persons will be drowned. That will be quite natural,
won't it? Should the accident chance to be heard of at Folkestone, it
will be surmised that I am drowned. Bodies do not always come ashore, you
know. One thing is quite certain; Mrs. Selborne and all trace of her will
have disappeared."

"It is rather a diabolical scheme," I said.

"I regret the necessity. I daresay you have sometimes done the same when
a victim of your cleverness has come to the gallows."

She got up and walked away from me, but she did not cease to watch me. I
wondered if she would fire should I venture to shout.

It was a long hour, but presently there came the distinct dip of oars. In
spite of my unenviable position I felt excited. I thought there were two
boats. Naturally there would be. The dinghy was small; crew and
confederates could not have got into it.

There was the rattle of oars in the rowlocks, then a man climbed on deck,
others coming quickly after him, and in that moment Mrs. Selborne swung
round and fired. The bullet struck the woodwork of the skylight close to
my head. I doubt if I shall ever be so near death again until my hour
actually sounds.

Her arm was struck up before she could fire again, and a familiar voice
was shouting:

"It's all right, Wigan. The lady completes the business. We have
got the lot."

Christopher Quarles had come aboard with the police, those in the dinghy
wearing the coats and caps the crew had worn, so that any one watching on
the yacht for their return might be deceived.

The prisoners were left in the hands of the police, and a motor took
Quarles and myself back to Folkestone. He told me the whole story before
we slept that night.

The lonely house on Romney Marsh had been bought by Wibley some months
ago in the name of Reynolds. He had let it be known that, after certain
alterations had been made, he was coming to live there, so it was natural
that a couple of men, looking like painters, should presently arrive and
be constantly about the place. If three or four men were seen there on
occasion no one was likely to be curious.

Watching Wibley when he came down to Hythe, Quarles found he had a
liking for motoring on the Dymchurch Road. He saw him pull up one
morning to speak to a man on the roadside. He did the same thing on the
following morning, but it was a different man, and Quarles recognized
young Squires.

Squires afterwards went to this empty house, and Quarles speedily had men
on the Marsh watching it night and day. It looked as if the house were
the gang's meeting-place. Either another coup was being prepared, or an
escape was being arranged.

During a hurried visit to town the professor had seen my letter to Zena,
and this had given him a clue.

"It was the name Selborne," Quarles explained. "I told you, Wigan, that
Wibley's daughter--or supposed daughter--was not with him in Hampshire.
Her whereabouts worried me. I could not forget that a woman had taken
part in our capture during the chalice case. While I was in Hampshire I
spent half a day in Gilbert White's village. His 'Natural History of
Selborne' has always delighted me. Selborne. If you were going to take a
false name, Wigan, and your godfathers had not called you Murray, only
James, what would you do? As likely as not you would take the name of
some place with which you were familiar. In itself the idea was not
convincing, but it brought me to your hotel at Folkestone, and then I was
certain. Do you remember the woman Squires spoke to on the night he led
us into that trap?"

"It was too dark to see her face," I said.

"I mean the way she stood," said Quarles, "with her arms akimbo; so did
the masked woman in the cellar, and when I saw Mrs. Selborne on the lawn
she did the same. The pose is peculiar. When a woman falls into this
attitude you will find she either rests her knuckles on her hips, or
grasps her waist with open hands, the thumbs behind the four finger in
front. This woman doesn't. She grasps her waist with the thumbs in front,
a man's way rather than a woman's. Her presence there suggested, another
hotel robbery; the yacht suggested a means of escape for the gang,
apparently gathering at the empty house. Since Mrs. Selborne had paid you
so much attention, I guessed she knew who you were, and thought you were
on duty, posing as an invalid. I thought it likely your presence would
prevent the robbery, but she took every precaution that you should go
with her to-day, storm or shine, eh, Wigan? We have had the glasses on
the yacht all day, and when the crew landed to-night we caught them.
Then we went to the house, Wigan. Got them all, and I believe the whole
of the six months' spoil."

"Why didn't you put me on my guard?" I asked.

"Well, Wigan, I think you would have scouted the idea. You were
fascinated, you know. In any case, you could not have helped watching her
for confirmation or to prove me wrong; she would have noted the change in
you, grown suspicious, and might have ruined everything at the eleventh
hour. Unless I am much mistaken we shall discover that the woman was the
brains of the gang."

So it proved when the trial came on, and in another direction Quarles
was correct.

Squires was Mason's son. The lad had cut himself loose from his old
companions, and had only meant to warn his father. He knew where he was
likely to find him, but meeting the man and woman unexpectedly, he was
frightened into trapping us.

There can be little doubt that it was intended to cast away the yacht
as Mrs. Selborne had explained to me, and to drown those who were not
meant to share in the spoil, but who knew too much to be allowed to go
free. I should certainly have been amongst the missing, and young
Squires, too, probably.

I shall always remember this case because--no, Zena and I did not quarrel
exactly, but she was very much annoyed about Mrs. Selborne.

CHAPTER XV

THE SOLUTION OF THE GRANGE PARK MYSTERY

I really had some difficulty in convincing Zena that I had not fallen
in love with Mrs. Selborne, and Quarles seemed to think it humorous to
also express doubt on the subject. The professor is unconsciously
humorous on occasion, but when he tries to be funny he only succeeds in
being pathetic.

I got so tired of his humor one evening that I left Chelsea much earlier
than usual, telling Zena that I should not come again until I heard from
her that she was ready to go and choose furniture, I heard next day.

We were to be married in two months' time and had taken a house near
Grange Park, and I have always thought it curious that my first
introduction to the neighborhood, so to speak, should be as a detective,
and not in the role of a newly married man.

It happened in this way.

Just before two o'clock one morning Constable Poulton turned into Rose
Avenue, Grange Park. He was passing Clarence Lodge, the residence of Mrs.
Crosland, when the front door opened suddenly and a girl came running
down the drive, calling to him.

"The burglars," she said, "and I am afraid my brother hay shot one of
them."

He certainly had. Poulton found the man lying crumpled up at the bottom
of the stairs. He blew his whistle to summon another officer, and after
searching the house they communicated with headquarters.

Grange Park, as many of you may know, is an estate which was developed
some years ago in the Northwest of London, on land belonging to the
Chisholm family. It got into the hands of a responsible firm of
builders, and artistic, well-built houses were erected which attracted
people of considerable means. It wasn't possible to live in Grange Park
on a small income.

A few months ago the sedate tranquillity of the neighborhood had been
broken by an astonishing series of burglaries, which had occurred in
rapid succession. Half a dozen houses were entered; valuables, chiefly
jewelry, worth many thousands of pounds, had been taken, and not a single
arrest, even on suspicion, had been made. The known gangs had been
carefully shadowed without results, and not a trace of the stolen
property had been discovered. The thieves had evidently known where to go
for their spoil, not only the right houses but the exact spot where the
spoil was kept. There had been no bungling; indeed, in some cases, it was
doubtful how an entrance had been effected. Not in a single instance had
the inmates been aroused or alarmed, no thief had been seen or heard upon
the premises, nor had the police noticed any suspicious looking persons
about the estate.

The investigation of these robberies was finally entrusted to me, and I
suppose the empty room in Chelsea had never been used more often and with
less result than over the Grange Park burglaries. It was not only one
chance we had had of getting at the truth, for half a dozen houses had
been broken into; and it was not the lack of clues which bothered us so
much as the number of them. The thieves seemed to have scattered clues
in every direction, yet not one of them led to any definite result.

Like the rest of us, Christopher Quarles had his weaknesses. Whenever he
failed to elucidate a mystery he was always able to show that the fault
was not his, but somebody else's; either too long a time had elapsed
before he was consulted, or some meddlesome fool had touched things and
confused the evidence, or even that something supernatural had been at
work. Once, at least, according to the professor, I had played the part
of meddlesome fool, and one of my weaknesses being a short temper, it
had required all Zena's tact to keep us from quarreling on that
occasion. It came almost as a shock, therefore, when, after a long
discussion one evening, he suddenly jumped up and exclaimed: "I'm
beaten, Wigan, utterly beaten," and did not proceed to lay the
responsibility for his failure on any one.

Upon the receipt of Constable Poulton's message, I was sent for at once,
and it was still early morning when I roused Quarles and we went to
Grange Park. I do not think I have ever seen the professor so excited.

Mrs. Crosland had a son and daughter and a nephew living with her. It was
the daughter who had run down the drive and called Poulton. There were
four servants, a butler and two women in the house and a chauffeur who
lived over the garage. There was besides a nurse, for Mrs. Crosland was
an invalid, often confined to her bed and even at her best only able to
get about with difficulty. She suffered from some acute form of
rheumatism and was tied to her bed at this time.

The son's version of the tragedy was simple and straightforward. Hearing
a noise, he had taken his revolver--always kept handy since the
burglaries--and had reached the top of the stairs when his sister Helen
came out of her room. She had also heard some one moving. They went down
together to the landing at the angle of the staircase. He did not see any
one in the hall, nor was there any sound just then. He called out "Who's
there?" The answer was a bullet, which struck the wall behind them. Then
Crosland fired down into the hall, but at random. He saw no one, but as a
fact he shot the man through the head.

"Do you think the man was alone?" I asked.

"In the hall, yes; but I feel convinced there was some one else in the
house who escaped," Crosland answered. "My sister and I had not moved
from the landing when Hollis, the butler, and one of the women servants
came hastily from their rooms. Then I went down and switched on the
light. The man was lying just as the constable found him. I never saw him
move. When my sister realized he was dead she became excited, and before
I knew what she was doing, she had opened the front door and run down the
drive. The constable happened to be passing the gate at the moment."

"What time elapsed between the firing of the shots and the entrance of
the constable?" I asked.

"A few minutes; I cannot be exact. It took me some little time to realize
that I had actually killed the man, and I don't think Helen fully
understood the extent of the tragedy until I said, 'Good God, I've killed
him,' or something of that kind. I was suddenly aware of my awkward
position in the matter."

"He had fired at you," I said.

"I think I forgot that for the moment," Crosland answered. "As a matter
of fact we had a marvelous escape. You will see where the bullet struck
the wall of the landing. It must have passed between us."

"Did your mother hear the shots?"

"They roused her out of a deep sleep, but she did not realize they were
shots. The nurse came onto the landing whilst we were in the hall. I told
her to say that something had fallen down. My mother is of an extremely
nervous temperament, and I am glad she cannot leave her bed just now."

Helen Crosland had nothing to add to her brother's narrative. When
she rushed out of the house her idea was to call the police as
quickly as possible, not so much because of the burglars, but on her
brother's account. She had the horrible thought of her brother being
accused of murder.

Quarles asked no questions. He was interested in the bullet mark on the
landing wall, and very interested in the dead man. A doctor had seen him
before our arrival, and the body had been removed to a small room off the
hall. Quarles examined the head very closely, also the hands; and
casually looked at the revolver, one chamber of which had been
discharged.

"A swell mobsman, Wigan, not accustomed to work entirely on his own, I
should imagine. As Mr. Crosland says, there may have been others in the
house who escaped."

"We may get some information from the servants presently," I answered.

"I doubt it. In all these burglaries, Wigan, we have considered the
possibility of the servants being implicated, and in no case has it led
us anywhere. More than once there have been clues which pointed to such a
conclusion, merely clever ruses on the thieves' part. No, our clue is the
dead man."

Quarles questioned Constable Poulton closely. The constable had not heard
the shots. About half an hour earlier in the evening he had passed
Clarence Lodge. There was no light in the house then. Just before one
o'clock he had met Mr. Smithers who lived in the next house to Clarence
Lodge; he was coming from the direction of the station and said good
night. Since then he had seen no one upon his beat. Poulton described the
position of the dead man graphically and minutely. He had no doubt he had
been shot a few minutes before he saw him.

"I searched the house with Griffiths, the officer who came when I blew my
whistle; we saw no sign of the others."

"How did they get in?" I asked.

"A window in the passage there was open," said Poulton. "That's the only
way they could have come unless they fastened some window or door again
when they had entered."

I examined this window carefully. There was no sign that any one had
entered this way, no mark upon the catch. Outside the window was a flower
bed, and I pointed out to Quarles that if any one had left the house in a
hurry, as they would do at the sound of firearms, they would inevitably
have left marks upon the flower bed.

Quarles had nothing to say against my argument.

"I don't believe either exit or entrance was made by this window,"
I declared.

"Have you still got servants in your mind, Wigan?"

"I have, to tell the truth I always have had."

"The body is our best clue, Wigan. If we can identify that we shall be
nearing the end." And then Quarles turned to Poulton. "Isn't there a
nephew in the house? We haven't seen him."

"I'm told he is abroad, sir," the constable answered.

"Do you happen to know him?"

"Quite well by sight, sir."

Quarles nodded, but the nephew was evidently not disposed of to his
Satisfaction.

I interviewed the servants closely, including the chauffeur who had heard
nothing of the affair until aroused by the police. Hollis was certain
that all the doors and windows were securely fastened. Quarles rather
annoyed me by suggesting that the thieves might have entered by an
upstairs window or even by the front door.

"If you look at the upstairs windows I think you will find that
impossible," said Hollis.

"We will look, and also at the front door."

The professor made a pretense of examining the front door rather
carefully.

"You're sure this was locked and bolted last night?"

"Quite, sir."

"It looks substantial and innocent."

The only window which interested Quarles upstairs was that of a small
room in the front of the house overlooking the drive, but, as the butler
pointed out, no one could have got in there without a ladder.

"No, no, I suppose not," and Quarles did not say another word until we
saw Mr. Crosland again. Then he immediately inquired about the nephew.

"George is in Paris, at least he was three days ago," and Crosland
produced a picture postcard sent to his mother. "We are expecting him
back at the end of the week."

"I suppose, Mr. Crosland, you have no suspicions regarding this affair?"

"I don't quite understand what you mean."

"Let me put it in another way," said the professor, "and please do not
think that I am suggesting you fired too hastily. Immediately you heard
the noise, you remembered the burglars who have caused a sensation in
Grange Park recently. It was quite natural, but it seems to me rather
strange that so astute a gang should commence operations in the same
neighborhood again. For the sake of argument, let us suppose this gang
had nothing to do with the affair. Now can you think of any one who might
have something to gain by breaking into Clarence Lodge?"

"No, I cannot; and yet--"

"Well," said Quarles.

"I can think of no one; I recall no family skeleton, but there is one
curious fact. This gang seemed to know exactly where to go for their
spoil--jewels mostly, and there is nothing of that kind worth taking at
Clarence Lodge."

"That goes to support my argument, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"That is the reason I asked particularly about your cousin."

"George Radley is like a brother," laughed Crosland, "our interests are
identical."

"Oh, it was only a point that occurred to me as an outsider," Quarles
returned. "We can leave him out of the argument and yet not be convinced
there is no family skeleton. You might perhaps question your mother
without explaining the reason, although I suppose she will have to know
about this affair presently."

"I hope not."

"Acute rheumatism, isn't it? I wonder if she has ever heard of a quack
who made a new man of me. What was his name now?"

"Was it Bush?" Crosland asked.

"No, but it was a commonplace name."

"As a matter of fact a man named Bush has been to see my mother. I dare
not tell Dr. Heathcote; at one time I fancy Bush did her good, or she got
better naturally, but she believes in him. He hasn't been for some time
now, but she was speaking of him the other day."

"I'll look up my man's card and send it on to you," said Quarles. "You
get Mrs. Crosland to see him, never mind Dr. Heathcote."

"I didn't know you had suffered from rheumatism," I said to Quarles as we
left the house.

"Didn't you! Have it now sometimes. Well, Wigan, what do you make of this
affair? Do you think the burglars are responsible?"

"I want time to think."

"We'll just call in and see Dr. Heathcote," said Quarles.

The doctor was a young man rather overburdened with his own importance.
He was inclined to think that Crosland had done Grange Park a service by
shooting one of the burglar gang.

"I only hope the authorities won't get sentimental and make it needlessly
unpleasant for him."

"I shouldn't think so," I returned. "I may take it, doctor, that the man
had been dead only a short time when you saw him?"

"Quite. Death must have been practically instantaneous."

"Oh, there is no doubt about Crosland's narrative, it is quite
straightforward," said Quarles, "but I shouldn't be surprised if he found
the inquiry awkward. I think his mother ought to know the truth."

"Why not?" asked Heathcote.

"He seems to think it would be bad for her in her state of health."

"I'll talk to him," said the doctor. "The old lady is not so bad as he
supposes. To tell you the truth I think the nurse is rather a fool and
frightens her. I tried to get them to change her, but she seems to be a
sort of relation."

"That's the worst of relations, they're so constantly in the way,"
said Quarles.

We left the doctor not much wiser than when we went, it seemed to me, but
Quarles appeared to find considerable food for reflection. He was silent
until we were in the train.

"Wigan, you must see that a watch is kept upon Clarence Lodge day and
night. Have half a dozen men drafted into the neighborhood. You want to
know who goes to the house, and any one leaving it must be followed.
Poulton's a good man, I should keep him there, and let him be inquisitive
about callers. Then telegraph at once to the Paris police. Ask if George
Radley is still at the Vendome Hotel. If he is tell them to keep an eye
on him. Now, here's my card. Take it to Schuster, 12 Grant Street,
Pimlico, and ask him if he knows anything of a man named Bush, a quack
specialist in rheumatism. Find out all you can about Bush. To-morrow
morning you must go to Grange Park again, and see young Crosland. He may
complain about the watch which is being kept over the house. If he does,
spin him the official jargon about information received, etc., intimate
your fear that the gang may attempt reprisals, and tell him you are bound
to take precautions. After that come on to Chelsea. We ought to be able
to arrive at some decision then. Oh, and one other thing, you might see
if you have any one resembling the dead man in your criminal portrait
gallery at the Yard."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20