The Night of the Storm

Chapter I.—The Crime-2

“Were the doors shut?” asked Carter.

“No, neither of them”—the Superintendent paused impressively—“and in his basket in the hall was curled the agent's little fox terrier.”

“Drugged, eh?” queried Stone quickly.

The Superintendent laughed. “Not a bit of it, and he came up at once, wagging his tail.” He went on—“She ran into the office and laid her hand upon Toller's arm, but the sight of blood at once made her feel sick, she dashed to the telephone and rang up the Priory. It is a private phone, and only rings up to there, but it has an extension into the butler's room at night, and Chime answered her at once. She wailed wildly that she didn't know what had happened, but that she had come home to find Toller lying back quite still in his chair and all covered with blood, and she was sure he must be dead.”

“She didn't say then he had been murdered?” asked Stone sharply.

“No, and she says it hadn't occurred to her, for she was too dazed to think of anything, but Chime thought of murder or suicide at once, and so rang up Dr. Athol, the village doctor, a very smart man, by the by, asking him to come immediately. He also says he asked him to bring the village Constable along with him but the doctor said later he did not take in that part of the message, and in consequence he came alone. Dr. Athol is both the a medical man and a friend of the Brabazon-Fanes, and, living not half a mile away, he arrived at the bungalow just at the very same moment as the butler, who had hastily thrown on some clothes and rushed there himself.”

“Had the butler said anything to any of them at the Priory?” asked Stone.

“No, he had told no one, but had come straight off on his own, taking the precaution, however, to lock the hall door of the house behind him. They found the housekeeper standing outside the bungalow, sobbing hysterically and clutching the little fox terrier she was holding. She pointed to the open window, and they looked through. Then the doctor ran in, and seeing instantly that the man was dead, with no delay sent Chime back to the house to ring up the village constable and tell him, too, to acquaint us here with what had happened. Also, he ordered Chime to wait at the entrance to the grounds, and, when we arrived, bring us straight to the bungalow without going near the house. He didn't want to alarm anybody there, and particularly so, because he had been called in that very day to attend Lady Mentone, who had not been well after the ball of the previous night.” The Superintendent nodded here. “I learnt later that a baby is expected next year.”

He went on—“I was just going to turn in when we got the ring from the Constable, and I decided at once to go out myself with two of my men.” He frowned. “But we had the devil's own luck that night. We were shorthanded, and couldn't get in touch with our special photographer, as he was off duty, and no one knew where he was. Also, our own surgeon had gone up to town to a medical dinner, and to cap all we ran into one of the most awful storms I have ever encountered. It was quite fine when we started, but a mile off Stratford St. Mary it was thundering, and the lightning was flashing and the rain simply coming down in torrents.

“We picked up the butler at the entrance to the grounds, and, reaching the bungalow, found Dr. Athol waiting for us in the passage. He said that as the man was stone dead when he arrived he had not disturbed the body, but had left everything exactly as it had been when he came in. It appeared, too, that the housekeeper had collapsed, and it had taken him all his time to attend to her.”

“But, of course, he was with you when you examined the body?” asked Carter.

The Superintendent nodded. “It was still quite warm, and he estimated that death had taken place less than two hours previously. There was not much blood about, very little in fact, and the hole in the forehead was very small. From the position of the body we were of opinion that the deceased had undoubtedly been shot through the open window, and, from the size of the wound, that a weapon firing a .22 bullet had been used.” He paused dramatically. “And then, hardly able to articulate in his excitement, the butler, who had been standing alongside us while we had been examining the body, burst out impetuously with a story of how the small .22 rifle was missing from the Priory Hall, and how earlier in the night he had thought he heard someone stealthily closing the hall door when all the lawful inmates of the house were at that moment accounted for in other parts of the building.”

The Superintendent shook his head vexatiously. “And I confess candidly I was guilty of a great error of judgment then, for after listening to the man, I didn't attach much importance to what he had told us, in fact I didn't altogether believe him. I sized him up as only a busybody, who just wanted to get into the limelight, as he was obviously so anxious to make all things fit in—that the agent had been shot with that particular rifle. Then—”

“One moment, please,” interrupted Stone, “you told us, did you not, that the butler said he had heard the movements in the hall after the clicking of the hall door, not, before?”

“Yes, that's it,” nodded the Superintendent, “and, remembering that there was then no association in our minds with the murderer and the person who clicked that door, you can understand my blunder.” He shrugged his shoulders disgustedly. “We had not learnt then that the gardener had seen the murderer running towards the Priory only two minutes before the time of the clicking of the door. So when Chime said he had heard those movements after the clicking, I dismissed them as unimportant, just thinking that perhaps one of the young ladies had been out for a late stroll, although he had imagined they had all gone to bed.”

“And naturally,” commented Stone, “you did not think the sounds had anything to do with any theft of the missing rifle?”

The Superintendent shook his head. “No, I did not,” he replied emphatically. “And about the disappearance of that rifle from its accustomed place; when I asked Chime if it had ever been missing from the hall before, he began to hum and haw, and then admitted that Miss Eva, the second girl, had taken it into her bedroom, only a few nights previously, to shoot at an owl that had began hooting in the tree just opposite her window.”

He sighed heavily. “No, that night the butler didn't impress me, and the next morning I saw I had lost my chance”—his voice hardened—“for he had become an evasive and unwilling witness. He had been out and heard what the gardener had to say, and, undoubtedly comparing the latter's story with his own, was realising how damning he was making things look for one or other of his young mistresses.”

Inspector Carter emitted an exclamation of surprise. “But hadn't the gardener,” he asked incredulously, “at once told his wife what he had heard and seen the very moment she had got home the previous night?”

“He had certainly told her,” replied the Superintendent, “but unhappily he had told no one else, and”—he looked rather sheepish—“as a plain statement of fact, we were not even aware of the gardener's existence that night.” He went on quickly. “I have said we were dogged by evil luck, and that terrific storm upset everything. When we arrived at the bungalow the rain was simply coming down in sheets and it was so pitch dark that we didn't see, and no one thought to mention to us, that there was any gardener's cottage so near. Consequently, the gardener never entered into our minds, and we were all unconscious that there was almost an eye-witness of the actual crime, in possession of a most valuable clue as to the identity of the murderer.” He almost groaned. “I could have kicked myself when, returning the next morning, I saw the cottage there, for then I guessed instantly that in the stillness that had preceded the thunderstorm, its inmates would most certainly have heard the firing of the shot that killed the agent.”

“But I should have thought this smart doctor you talk about,” growled Stone, “would have had the intelligence to suggest your questioning the gardener as to whether he had heard anything, seeing that his cottage was such a little way away!”

“Well, be didn't,” replied the Superintendent and then he added after a moment, “but I think that was because he was much too concerned about the condition of the housekeeper, she is a patient of his and he was aware she has valvular disease of the heart. Indeed, she was so bad that night that he had to give her a strychnine injection.” He sighed. “There again we were most unfortunate, for we didn't get her story until the following morning.”

“Then didn't you attempt to ask her any questions at all?” asked Stone, very surprised.

“I didn't even see her,” replied the Superintendent, “for the doctor said we had better not go into her room.” He shook his head angrily. “Yes, and another thing, we didn't learn that night that all the time there had been a dog upon the premises, for the doctor had put the little beast upon the bed by the woman's side, to comfort her, so he says.”

“And the significance there?” asked Carter.

The Superintendent nodded emphatically. “That the dog had not barked, or maybe had not even left his basket, when the killer had crept up to the open window through which the agent had undoubtedly been shot, which means surely”—he spoke very solemnly—“that the animal was familiar with his or her footsteps.”

“And does the fox terrier know the young ladies well?” asked Carter.

“Sure,” replied the Superintendent. “He's always up at the house after scraps; and he meets me, barking like the very devil, every time I appear.”

“And the butler,” went on Carter, looking rather puzzled, “didn't even he suggest that perhaps the gardener might have heard something?”

“Never said a word,” replied the Superintendent, and he shook his head disgustedly. “You see, that awful thunderstorm, apart from the distraction of the noise, was actually filling us with physical discomfort and dulling all our senses. The butler had got wet through, waiting for us, and was shivering as if he were seized with an ague, and we, driving with no side curtains up, were no better off, for we were soaked almost to the skin, too. As I have already told you, it wasn't raining when we started out, and naturally in a great hurry, we had just jumped into the car as it was.”

“Well, what did you do next?” asked Stone.

“Decided to leave everything as it was until the morning, touching nothing in the room and even letting the body remain in the position we had found it. We locked the door and one of my men, Detective Lesser, was left in charge of the bungalow with strict injunctions that no one was to enter on any pretence.”

“And what time was it, then?” asked Stone.

“A quarter to one and still raining heavily. Well, in the morning we were back again by eight o'clock and then things began to move quickly. We got the gardener's story straight away, and then knowing the exact moment when the murder had been committed, and at once realising the significance of what the butler had told us”—he paused dramatically—“we began to have ideas.”