the incident of the day had cast a gloom over the party.
mabel’s aunt had been in bed all the day, with one of her sick headaches. collins was down before the others, and had a word with old john. the old servant was devoted to him.
“i hope you got over your scare,” said he.
“oh, yes, thank you, sir, but it frightened me at the time. but you were probably right. i have been thinking about the master a lot lately.”
“i have often come across cases like that,” said collins. “now i suppose you came in quite quietly, without making any noise?”
“yes, sir, as the family were out i was wearing carpet slippers, as i suffer with my feet a good deal, and the door was only ajar.”
they were standing in the dining-room.
collins walked to the fire-place.
“and you thought you saw sir james standing here,” he said, but he took in a breath. with an effort he controlled his voice.
“don’t let me stop your work,” he said.
“thank you, sir,” said the other, hurrying to complete his preparations.
collins stooped quickly.
the impression of two feet was plainly visible on the thick rug. no one had been in the room since the morning, as they had all been out for lunch. hastily collins walked up and down the rug two or three times, sliding his feet over the soft pile.
then he glanced up at the portrait.
“i wonder,” he said.
dinner was a dreary performance. even collins was preoccupied. the first news bulletin had told them that jackson had been declared by the doctors unfit to plead. it remained to be seen whether there was sufficient evidence to convict him as the murderer.
“how is your aunt?” said allery, to make conversation.
“oh, she is not very bad. she takes to her bed at intervals.”
“nothing serious, i hope?” said mrs. allery.
“only nerves.”
“what a blessing she did not hear about the ghost,” said sanders.
“i think the less said about that the better,” said allery.
“i quite agree,” said collins with meaning. “once these things get about they get exaggerated, and you will have the psychical research people offering to investigate, which would never do,” and as he said this he glanced at allery.
“no,” said he without a flicker of the eyelid, “we don’t want this to get about at this time.”
“cunning old ruffian,” said collins to himself.
there was an awkward silence. john had come into the room.
after dinner collins seized an opportunity when his hostess was alone for a moment. “may i have a word with you?” he said.
mabel felt almost inclined to make an excuse, but braced herself.
“certainly,” she said. “is it anything private?”
“not at all,” he said, with a smile. “only that i shall be leaving you to-morrow. i must return to town, and i wanted to thank you for a very delightful visit.”
“how provoking,” she said. “mr. sanders is also going. it is a break-up of the party, and i was enjoying it so much.”
in spite of the words collins noted an insincerity which was foreign to her nature.
“i must get back to my work,” he said.
“not about—my father? you have finished with that, haven’t you?”
“the matter has been taken out of my hands,” he answered.
“when all this has passed over, you must come and see us again. you have been very good and helpful.”
“miss watson, you will forgive me saying a thing i have perhaps no right to say, but i rather fancy mr. sanders does not care for my presence here.”
“surely you are mistaken. why should he not like you? i thought you got on very well together.”
“it won’t do, miss watson, you know differently. and i expect you can guess the reason. so i had better go.”
this was said with such a charm of manner that it disarmed her from the haughty tone she would have assumed.
“well, i am very sorry. but perhaps you two will get to know each other better.”
“perhaps we shall,” he muttered under his breath.
allery entered. “oh, mr. allery,” said mabel, “here’s mr. collins going off to-morrow. this will mean the break-up of our party.”
“well, i am afraid we shall have to go too, very soon. my business will not wait, you know.”
“oh, you must not go,” she said, with a look of terror coming into her eyes.
allery laughed. “i dare say we can manage another day or two,” he said.
when sanders heard that collins was going the next day, he was both relieved and angry.
“just my luck,” he thought, “if i had kept quiet, i need not have gone myself.”
collins paced his room restlessly. things were taking shape in his mind. something was going on which his keen intellect could not explain, but which gave rise to wild conjecture.
he was fully dressed, but had a pair of slippers on. he would know the truth that night somehow.
the wind had got up, and was howling round the old house, making the timbers creak and the windows shake, till it died down to a moaning sound.
several times he went carefully on to the landing and listened.
it was an ideal night for ghosts to walk.
he would piece the puzzle together. there was jackson, the lunatic. he knew he was not the murderer, though the police would certainly make out a case against him. very well. then there was the strange disappearance of lewis, on which sinclair was basing a case until his official position compelled silence.
then there was his own piece of evidence which was closing in. there was something else.
when he and sinclair had discussed the matter in his flat, the latter had taken out the statement of mrs. simmons from his pocket book. he had done more. there had slipped on the floor a letter. collins’ keen eyes had seen the signature ‘james watson’ and the date. under pretence of reading the statement he had picked up the letter and rapidly read it. so sinclair had kept this from him, for some reason. what was he afraid of? did he know more about the murder than he cared to own? there was nothing but his word that he had been in the office on the fateful afternoon. what a lark if the sober sinclair—but he broke off suddenly. his quick ear had caught something that sounded in the house in spite of the wind, a stealthy step. he moved noiselessly to the landing.
there was a stirring in the house, as the wind increased in volume, but the other sound was quite distinct.
very quietly collins closed the door, and went to the window. outside, the old ivy came round, but collins preferred the safety of a rope. even this would have been no easy work for a man who was not in condition. he hung for one moment turning round in the air as the wind caught him.
once on the ground he made his way cautiously round the house till he arrived at the dining-room window. here he paused. a wild gust of wind, with a wisp of rain in it, caught him, as he stood listening. not a sound was heard from within, and no light was showing.
was it a fool’s errand after all? the whole house was dead still. collins felt his way round the corner. by the old, oak door he paused. all was dark, but a sort of ghostly radiance was shining on an ancient elm.
he stepped back from the house, and presently saw, high up in the gabled roof, a beam of light was shining from a slit in a shutter or a badly-fitting blind. probably some servant who could not sleep, or was frightened at the weather.
cold and wet he returned to beneath his window, and with the practised skill of an athlete hauled himself up.
he stood in thought. unless he had made a mistake things were happening in this house which were, to say the least, interesting. he opened the door, and slid down the bannisters without noise. once in the hall he waited, holding his breath. the dining-room door was open, and, faint as it was, he caught the sound of a living thing breathing.
like a cat he stole across the intervening space, and carefully put his hand round the edge of the doorway. inch by inch the fingers crept till they touched the switch. a flood of light illuminated the room, and showed a man standing on the hearth-rug, rigid. it was eric sanders. in his hand was a revolver. for a moment the two men gazed at each other without a word. a look of hate was on the face of sanders.
“so,” he said, “it was you. i thought i could not be mistaken. you foul brute, you’re not fit to live,” and he raised his pistol.
“you’re very free with your shooter,” said collins coolly. “may i ask for an explanation?”
“it is no good my saying anything. of course you will deny everything, and so will she, but i heard.”
“you will excuse me, but i haven’t the faintest idea what on earth you are talking about.” his face was stern. “we don’t want to rouse the whole house at this hour. hadn’t you better tell me what the trouble is? in the first place, what are you doing here at all?”
“you know perfectly well. it’s no good lying. i heard everything and came down here to see you. you are not going out of this room alive.”
collins slowly drew out his case, and lit a cigarette. he knew a hasty action might force the issue.
“what did you hear?” he asked, casually.
“oh, it’s no good. i could not sleep, you know why. then i thought i would try a whiskey, which i never touch as a rule, so i came down. as i passed mabel’s bedroom, i heard talking and—i know i ought not to have done, but i listened.”
“if it interests you to know,” said collins, “i do not even know where miss watson’s bedroom is, so if i were you, i should hesitate to make any insinuations.”
the other was shaken by his firm tones.
“but i tell you i heard a man’s voice in there, and mabel called him dear. and then she said ‘go to the dining-room, i will join you there.’ ”
“and you pretend to love this girl, and dare to make such foul accusations. if miss watson was talking to anyone, it is her own business, and i am sure she has her own reasons. you ought to be ashamed of yourself. as for my being here, if you want to know, i could not sleep, and i heard someone moving about the house. i am an investigator as you know, and apart from the question of burglars, i am convinced there is something happening in this house which requires investigating. so i came down and found you here.”
sanders looked at him doubtfully.
“but i tell you, mabel was talking with a man in her bedroom.”
“you make me sick with your insinuations. how do you know it was a man? a woman can imitate a man’s voice as a man can a woman’s.”
sanders was in perplexity, and slowly put the revolver on the table. without any sudden movement collins picked it up. “is this yours?” he asked casually.
“no,” said sanders. “it belonged to sir james. i found it here among his papers.”
“sir james was very fond of pistols,” said the other, “he had one in london, too.”
“yes,” said sanders, “he was always afraid of being attacked.”
“i wonder you did not have one, too,” said collins.
“i did,” said sanders and stopped.
collins was quite at his ease. sander’s fit of wild jealousy was passing away. “lost it?” he said.
“yes, i got rid of it,” said sanders in some confusion.
“but we must not stay here; if you tell me on your word of honour it was not you i heard, i will apologize for my words.”
“certainly i will, but it is to miss watson that an apology is due, not to me.”
“of course i cannot mention it to her, she would never forgive me. and i hope you will not do so.”
collins looked straight at him.
“i should advise you to keep these fits of excitement within bounds—and,” he added slowly, “when they do come on, to leave your revolver behind you.”
“what do you mean?” said sanders, turning white.
“when you called on sir james watson and asked to see him, you were in one of those fits, it is dangerous.”
“what do you mean?”
“when you left your card under the door, with a note to say you must see him at once, i don’t suppose you forget the day,” and he looked at him with meaning.
“are you suggesting that i⸺?”
“i am suggesting nothing,” said collins, sternly. “i am citing facts.”
“if you think i had any hand in the murder, you had better arrest me,” said the other wildly.
“i am not a policeman, and do not go about arresting people. the police know their business. i am merely giving you a friendly warning against temper. and now i think i will go to bed. i am sure someone has been listening to our conversation. and if you don’t mind, i think i will take this.” and he picked up the revolver. sanders watched him go without a word.
