The House on the Fens

CHAPTER I.--THE WAYS OF DEATH-2

Larose looked pale but he laughed it off lightly. "I don't mind," he smiled. "He'll probably come back presently and be quite all right again." He made a grimace. "But I had to call attention to that card, hadn't I?"

"Of course you had," said Julian Travers emphatically. "It was a damned piece of carelessness on Sampon's part, and if some of us didn't know him, well--we might even think it worse than that." He looked round significantly from one to the other. "Gad, but hadn't he a good hand almost every time when he was the dealer!"

Sir George shook his head emphatically. "But Sampon's not like that," he said quickly. "He and I have been friends since our Harrow days and I've always found him straight. It was rotten carelessness dropping that card but, I am quite sure, nothing more." He looked puzzled. "I can't understand his being so bad-tempered and insulting, either, as he's generally such a good-tempered chap."

"Well, don't let it spoil the game," said the barrister. "It's your deal now, Mr. Gauntry. I've cut."

So the game was resumed, but there was no zest in it, and after a couple more hands they stopped playing.

"Now, of course, not a word to anyone outside this room what's happened," said Sir George, as he rose to his feet, "and then no harm will have been done. I expect Sampon will have come to his senses by now. I'll go and see what he's doing."

But if Sir George were hoping the matter would be kept secret, the moment he entered the drawing-room he saw he was going to be disappointed. The major was not there, and the ladies were grouped together talking earnestly, with unsmiling faces.

"What's happened, George?" asked Lady Almaine, with a pretty frown. "Major Sampon's fearfully upset. He's been telling us he's been accused of cheating."

"Nothing of the kind!" exclaimed Sir George testily. "It's all a mistake. He happened to drop a card under his chair when dealing and Mr. Larose was the one to notice it when the hand had been played. Then Sampon lost his temper. That was all. A storm in a tea-cup, nothing more."

"But he was dreadfully put out," commented Mrs. Hutchings-Vane. "I've never seen him like it before."

"He ought to have been dreadfully apologetic," snapped Sir George. "He insulted Mr. Larose, who gave him no provocation. He was in the wrong from first to last, from being so careless as to drop a card when he was dealing, to telling you all here anything about it. Really, I'm quite ashamed of him." He turned to his wife. "Where is he now, Joyce?"

Lady Almaine inclined her head. "Out on the balcony, I think. He said he'd go there. He didn't say anything about going home."

"No, he's not gone home," said Sir George. "His coat and hat are still in the hall." He frowned. "Well, if he's on the balcony, let him stay there a bit and cool his heels." He became the smiling host again. "But come on, let's have some music. I'll bring the others in. Look in the paper, dear, and see if there is anything decent to listen to on the wireless."

Then for an hour and longer the time sped quickly by. Lady Almaine played some pieces of Chopin, Mrs. Vane sang two songs in a rich contralto voice and they listened to a ghost-story over the air.

But all the time an undercurrent of uneasiness was seemingly felt by everyone. Major Sampon had not reappeared, and it was unpleasant that the harmony of the evening was being spoilt by his bad temper.

Then, rather apologetically, Arnold Gauntry voiced the opinion of them all.

"I think we ought to bring the major back into the fold," he said smilingly. "He must be feeling very sorry for himself by now, but probably doesn't like to come in, not knowing quite what reception he'll got." He turned to Larose. "Look here, Mr. Larose, wouldn't it be a nice thing if you went out and fetched him? You're the injured party and could make it easier for him than anybody else."

"Oh, yes, do go, Mr. Larose," supplemented Lady Almaine pleadingly. "I hate to think of the poor man out there, imagining we're all angry with him."

"All right," laughed Larose, "I'll go and be very nice to him," and he immediately left the room.

It was still rankling in Larose's mind that the major had flung into his teeth that he had married a rich woman for her money, but for all that he was still smiling when he went on to the balcony.

Sir George Almaine's house stood in the middle of a large garden surrounded by a high wall. The house itself was built upon an elevation, with the ground in front of it sloping sharply down. So the architect had designed a broad and rather ornate verandah all along one side, with a balustrade about three feet high. There was a drop of about six feet from the verandah to the ground below. It was a bright moonlight night and, turning on to the verandah, Larose expected to find the bad-tempered major upon one of the seats there. But there was no sign of him anywhere and so he walked down the steps into the garden. He went all round the house without finding him and then returned into the house.

"But didn't we hear loud talking?" asked Gauntry, when Larose had made known the major was not to be seen anywhere. "Oh, I made certain I did and was afraid the major was still in his bad temper."

Everyone was concerned that Major Sampon had gone off without coming in first to make his peace, but Sir George affected to make light of the whole matter.

"Never mind," he said. "He's probably only gone for a bit of a walk and will be returning any moment for his hat and coat."

They talked on for about half an hour and then, it getting towards midnight, all the guests prepared to leave together. They were chatting by the hall door and saying their final goodbye when Travers and Gauntry happened to go round the comer on to the verandah.

"What's that up at the far end, there," asked Gauntry suddenly, "in the shadow under the balustrade?"

"Workmen's tools, I think," replied Travers, but advancing a few steps forward, he cried out excitedly, "No, it isn't! It's someone lying there and it may be Sampon. Perhaps he's fainted."

His cry had brought the other men running round and in a few seconds they were all bending over a recumbent figure. A torch was flashed and it was seen at once it was that of the missing major. He was lying upon his side, with his head in a dark pool of blood. There was a trail of blood, too, from a large garden chair about six feet away. Horrified exclamations burst from those standing round.

"God, he's been murdered!" exclaimed Dr. Revire breathlessly. "Look where his head's been battered in?"

"Keep the ladies away," cried Larose hoarsely, "and stand back, everybody, except the doctor. Don't touch anything, whatever you do. Now, are you sure he's quite dead, Doctor?"

"Dead!" exclaimed Dr. Revire. "God, yes! His skull's crushed right in! He couldn't have lived ten seconds with a head like that." He looked round with horror-struck eyes. "Who could have killed him?"

"We'll have to find that out," snapped Larose. He turned quickly to Sir George. "Have a car brought round the corner and flash the headlights on. Everyone move off the verandah. I'll go and ring up the police." His eyes swept round upon the ghastly-faced little group of men. "Another thing, we must none of us go away now. The police will want to question us all." He glanced back at Dr. Revire, who was still bending down over the body. "How long do you think he's been dead, Doctor?"

The doctor had now recovered his equanimity and spoke in a sharp professional manner. "From the warmth of his body, not more than half an hour," he said. He repeated, his former question. "But who on earth can have killed him?"

"Look here," said Sir George shakily, "as you must have all seen when you drove in, they're laying new water mains in the road. Well, there's a watchman outside all night to make sure the warning lights are kept burning. I'll go and find out if he's seen anyone come into the drive," and he ran off at once.

After a quick search through the grounds by Larose and the other two men they went back into the house. The ladies were standing shivering and shaking just inside the front door.

"Oh, is he really dead?" asked Lady Almaine, almost in tears.

"I'm sorry to say he is," said Larose solemnly, "and so everyone must remain here now. No one must leave until the police have done with them. I'm just going to ring up the station."

"But are you sure he's been murdered?" asked Mrs. Hutchings-Vane, the colouring upon her face standing out grotesquely against its white background.

Larose nodded. "Quite sure!"

He went into Sir George's study and rang up the Hampstead police station, quickly informing the sergeant in charge who he was and what had happened. Then he put in another call to the private house of Chief Inspector Stone, one of the Big Four of Scotland Yard. He was longer there in getting any answer and then a grumbling voice asked sleepily, "Well, what is it now?"

"It's I, Charlie," replied Larose. "Gilbert, and I'm in a bit of a hole, or I wouldn't have dreamed of ringing you up."

"All right, boy," came the voice with some animation in it now, "I don't mind if it's you. What's happened?"

"I'm at Sir George Almaine's house, Avon Court, on Hampstead Hill," said Larose, speaking very distinctly. "I've been spending the evening here. One of my fellow guests has been murdered out on the verandah and earlier in the evening he had fastened a quarrel on me. I'm not certain I wasn't out in the garden just about the time he was done in. Anyhow, when the local police arrive, and I've just rung them up, they're bound to be darned suspicious about me, and it's an odds on chance they'll want to put me in the cells. So if you would come along, too, you might save me a lot of unpleasantness."

Inspector Stone whistled. "Was he shot, Gilbert?"

"No, Charlie, what are you dreaming about? He was bashed in on the top of his head."

"All right, all right, my boy, that lets you out," came the booming voice over the phone, "You never were a basher, whatever else you were. Yes, I'll come but I'll have to ring the Chief first as a matter of form. So it'll probably be at least three quarters of an hour before I'm with you. Keep your pecker up. Old Charlie Stone will pull you through," and the receivers at both ends were jerked back on to their stands.

Larose returned into the lounge, where Sir George and Lady Almaine and the others were gathered together, talking in hushed voices, and there was no hiding from himself that he was regarded uneasily by them all. They stopped speaking, too, the instant he appeared.

Dr. Revire frowned hard, the barrister took out a silk handkerchief and began industriously wiping over his glasses again and again, Arnold Gauntry looked rather nervous, while Sir George's handsome face was white and strained. All the ladies appeared as if they were upon the verge of breaking down.

"Well, did you find any night watchman outside?" asked Larose frowningly of Sir George.

Sir George nodded solemnly. "Yes, but he said no one had come in or gone out of the drive the whole evening."