collins, sinclair and boyce had just discussed an excellent glass of port after a frugal but well-cooked meal at collins’ flat.
the room was tastefully but not luxuriously furnished, and was stamped with the individuality of the occupier.
over the mantelpiece was an oar, a relic of the time when collins had stroked his college boat to victory in the “mays.”
four selected pictures were on the walls, but the eye was caught by ‘napoleon, the last phase,’ which seemed to dominate the room, with its tortured sadness.
collins rose, rang the bell for coffee, and handed round cigars.
during the meal all reference to the tragedy of the day had been dropped by tacit consent. now each of the men drew up his chair to the fire, and prepared to discuss the affair—in spite of the heat of the day the nights were cold.
collins suggested, with an irony which was lost on the others, that boyce should give them the light of his wisdom on the problem.
this he hastily declined, and sinclair asked collins to open the ball. here he was in his element.
“i will go through the facts, and sinclair can check me.” the others nodded assent. the cigars were good and the chairs comfortable. they were in the right mood for listening.
“first then,” said collins, “there are four possibilities. it may have been suicide, but the doctor does not think that is possible. there was no blackening round the wound, and it would not be likely that a man could shoot himself through the head and throw the revolver away from him.”
“but what about the telephone messages and the newspaper article?” said boyce.
“we are coming to that, but they may have nothing to do with the crime.”
the other two exchanged glances.
“then we come to accident. that is a possibility. a man may have tried blackmail or to extract some secret, and fired by accident. here again the position of the body and the whole arrangement of the room are against such an idea.”
“then there is only murder?” said boyce.
“not quite,” said the other. “there is first the work of a madman.”
“but that is nevertheless murder,” said sinclair.
“yes; but we then have to proceed on an entirely different basis. if this is the work of a lunatic, it explains the telephone messages and the newspaper article. it is just the sort of thing that a madman with an inordinate vanity would do. and we need not look for motive. if that is so, our task will be simplified.”
the others agreed.
“now we come to the fourth. a cold-blooded and deliberate murder, of which each detail was planned beforehand so accurately that the criminal had the effrontery to inform the press before it was done.”
“that is the most probable,” said sinclair.
“i agree, but we must not lose sight of the others.”
“now for our facts. at sometime before 2.30 when the box was cleared, a letter was posted at westminster bridge post office, the contents of which you know. at 3.00 o’clock a man calls on the home secretary who is either expected or well known to sir james.”
“how do you know that?” said boyce.
“surely,” said collins; “he opened the door himself, and takes him straight to his library.”
“this man may have been the actual murderer or not. we are here going on the statements of the housekeeper, which may turn out to be a tissue of lies; but i do not think so, she is not a good enough actress for that. this man stays for half an hour, and is let out by the home secretary. after that sir james writes a letter and posts it himself. he returns and goes to his room complaining of feeling sleepy.”
“did he?” said sinclair, “i did not hear that.”
“certainly,” said collins, “mrs. simmons said so, if she is reliable. very good, he locks himself in, and asks not to be disturbed. here he remains, as far as we know, till the murder takes place. we find the door locked and the windows fastened, with no apparent means of escape. there is no one in the room.”
“by jove, he was a cool hand,” said sinclair. “all the time he was talking with sir james the letter was on its way to the central news, and might have arrived. he must have calculated things pretty well.”
“undoubtedly, and he probably knew that there was no telephone in the house.”
collins got up and handed round the cigar box. when he resumed his seat he continued, and his face was grave.
“a home secretary is very open to attack. he may have refused to pardon a criminal, and the man when he comes out from penal servitude or imprisonment will seek revenge. he is always getting threatening letters. then there are murderers whom he reprieves, and the relatives of the murdered man may seek revenge. again, there are political fanatics. you remember the phœnix park murders.”
“of course,” said boyce, “the whole staff will be put on to-morrow to investigate this side of the question.” collins nodded.
“then there is a personal revenge. his life appears to be a blameless and honourable one, but one never knows; there are skeletons in the best of cupboards.”
“there was a ne’er-do-well son,” said sinclair.
“chut, don’t let’s come to any personalities until we have more data; we shall be following wandering fires.”
sinclair was not to be silenced.
“what do you make of the behaviour of lewis when i asked him to come with me?” he said.
“i don’t pretend to make anything of it. it may have the most natural of explanations.”
“i have never known him to behave like that before,” he persisted. collins ignored him.
“we have five things to bear in mind, or shall i put it we have five questions to answer:
“who sent the letter to the central news, and for what object?
“who called us up on the telephone, and why?
“who was the man who called at three?
“how did the murderer get in, and how did he escape?
“what was the motive of the murderer?”
“you’ve left out the most important of all,” said boyce, “who was the murderer?”
“yes, of course, there’s always that,” said collins with an indulgent smile.
“you've put it very well,” said sinclair, who was in a genial mood after collin’s excellent fare.
“we must find out all we can about the letter and envelope.”
“it was a most extraordinarily good forgery, that signature,” said boyce, “i would have sworn in any court it was yours.”
sinclair’s face flushed. “are you suggesting anything, sir,” he said.
“of course not, my dear fellow, only it was, wasn’t it?”
“then you must try and find out about the telephone calls,” intervened collins.
“i shall have mrs. simmons up to the yard and take down a full statement,” said boyce, anxious to show he had a grasp of the situation.
“all right, i must put a few things together and get off. we will each carry on with our own line of research.”
and he went into the next room.
“has he got something up his sleeve?” said boyce. “it’s not like him to go off when there’s an interesting problem to solve. it can’t be just to break the news, he knows nothing of these people.”
“he’s pretty deep, and it may be he saw something that i didn’t,” said sinclair, modestly. “he seemed to think mrs. simmons was holding something back.”
collins came back with a small suit-case.
“i will let you know when i am coming back,” he said, “and we will meet and compare notes. this will make a most almighty stir, and if the prime minister thinks it is the work of an ex-convict or anything of that sort, you will get it hot.”
boyce made a wry face.
“i am afraid so,” he said.
