'About that,' said the other, and plucked a piece of paper out of a stand in front of him. 'This is what we use now.' The Inspector examined it. There was no doubt of the difference. The new paper was thinner and more glossy. But the heading looked exactly the same. The Inspector took a note of the firm who had printed both.
Unfortunately no sample of the old paper was available. Mr. Mason had a search made on the spot, but not a sheet was left.
'As a matter of fact,' Moresby now said, 'it had been noticed that the piece of paper on which the letter was written was an old one. It is distinctly yellow round the edges. I'll pass it round and you can see for yourselves. Please be careful of it.' The bit of paper, once handled by a murderer, passed slowly from each would - be detective to his neighbour.
'Well, to cut a long story shorter,' Moresby went on, 'we had it examined by the firm of printers, Webster's, in Frith Street, and they're prepared to swear that it's their work. That means the paper was genuine, worse luck.'
'You mean, of course,' put in Sir Charles Wildman impressively, 'that had the heading been a copy, the task of discovering the printers who executed it should have been comparatively simple?'
'That's correct, Sir Charles. Except if it had been done by somebody who owned a small press of their own; but that would have been traceable too. All we've actually got is that the murderer is someone who had access to Mason's notepaper up to six months ago; and that's pretty wide.'
'Do you think it was stolen with the actual intention of putting it to the purpose for which it was used? ' asked Alicia Dammers.
'It seems like it, madam. And something kept holding the murderer up.'
As regards the wrapper, Mr. Mason had been unable to help at all. This consisted simply of a piece of ordinary, thin brown paper, such as could be bought anywhere, with Sir Eustace's name and address hand - printed on it in neat capitals. Apparently there was nothing to be learnt from it at all. The postmark showed that it had been despatched by the nine - thirty p.m. post from the post office in Southampton Street, Strand.
'There is a collection at 8.30 and another at 9.30,' Moresby explained, 'so it must have been posted between those two times. The packet was quite small enough to go into the opening for letters. The stamps make up the right value. The post office was shut by then, so it could not have been handed in over the counter. Perhaps you'd care to see it.' The piece of brown paper was handed gravely round.
'Have you brought the box too, and the other chocolates?' asked Mrs. Fielder - Flemming.
'No, madam. It was one of Mason's ordinary boxes, and the chocolates have all been used for analysis.'
'Oh!' Mrs. Fielder - Flemming was plainly disappointed. 'I thought there might be finger - prints on it,' she explained.
'We have already looked for those,' replied Moresby without a flicker.
There was a pause while the wrapper passed from hand to hand.
'Naturally, we've made inquiries as to any one seen posting a packet in Southampton Street between half - past eight and half - past nine,' Moresby continued, 'but without result. We've also carefully interrogated Sir Eustace Pennefather to discover whether he could throw any light on the question why any one should wish to take his life, or who. Sir Eustace can't give us the faintest idea. Of course we followed up the usual line of inquiry as to who would benefit by his death, but without any helpful results. Most of his possessions go to his wife, who has a divorce suit pending against him; and she's out of the country. We've checked her movements and she's out of the question. Besides,' added Moresby unprofessionally, 'she's a very nice lady.
'And as to fact, all we know is that the murderer probably had some connection with Mason and Sons up to six months ago, and was almost certainly in Southampton Street at some time between eight - thirty and nine - thirty on that particular evening. I'm very much afraid we're up against a brick wall.' Moresby did not add that so were the amateur criminologists in front of him too, but he very distinctly implied it.
There was a silence.
'Is that all? ' asked Roger.
''That's all, Mr. Sheringham,' Moresby agreed.
There was another silence.
'Surely the police have a theory?' Mr. Morton Harrogate Bradley threw out in a detached manner.
Moresby hesitated perceptibly.
'Come along, Moresby,' Roger encouraged him. 'It's quite a simple theory. I know it.'
'Well,' said Moresby, thus stimulated, 'we're inclined to believe that the crime was the work of a lunatic, or semi - lunatic, possibly quite unknown personally to Sir Eustace. You see ...' Moresby looked a trifle embarrassed. 'You see,' he went on bravely, 'Sir Eustace's life was a bit, well, we might say hectic, if you'll excuse the word. We think at the Yard that some religious or social maniac took it on himself to rid the world of him, so to speak. Some of his escapades had caused a bit of talk, as you may know.
'Or it might just be a plain homicidal lunatic, who likes killing people at a distance.
'There's the Horwood case, you see. Some lunatic sent poisoned chocolates to the Commissioner of Police himself. That caused a lot of attention. We think this case may be an echo of it. A case that creates a good deal of notice is quite often followed by another on exactly the same lines, as I needn't remind you.
'Well, that's our theory. And if it's the right one, we've got about as much chance of laying our hands on the murderer as - as - - ' Chief Inspector Moresby cast about for something really scathing.
'As we have,' suggested Roger.
CHAPTER IV
THE Circle sat on for some time after Moresby had gone. There was a lot to discuss, and everybody had views to put forward, suggestions to make, and theories to advance.
One thing emerged with singular unanimity: the police had been working on the wrong lines. Their theory must be mistaken. This was not a casual murder by a chance lunatic. Somebody very definite had gone methodically about the business of helping Sir Eustace out of the world, and that somebody had behind him an equally definite motive. Like almost all murders, in fact, it was a matter of cherchez le motif.
On the exposition and discussion of theories Roger kept a firmly quelling hand. The whole object of the experiment, as he pointed out more than once, was that everybody should work independently, without bias from any other brain, form his or her own theory, and set about proving it in his or her own way.
'But oughtn't we to pool our facts, Sheringham?' boomed Sir Charles. 'I should suggest that though we pursue our investigations independently, any new facts we discover should be placed at once at the disposal of all. The exercise should be a mental one, not a competition in routine detection.'
'There's a lot to be said for that view, Sir Charles,' Roger agreed. 'In fact, I've thought it over very carefully. But on the whole I think it will be better if we keep any new facts to ourselves after this evening. You see, we're already in possession of all the facts that the police have discovered, and anything else we may come across isn't likely to be so much a definite pointer to the murderer as some little thing, quite insignificant in itself, to support a particular theory.'
Sir Charles grunted, obviously unconvinced.
'I'm quite willing to have it put to the vote,' Roger said handsomely.
A vote was taken. Sir Charles and Mrs. Fielder - Flemming voted for all facts being disclosed: Mr. Bradley, Alicia Dammers, Mr. Chitterwick (the last after considerable hesitation) and Roger voted against.
'We retain our own facts,' Roger said, and made a mental note of who had voted for each. He was inclined to guess that the voting indicated pretty correctly who was going to be content with general theorising, and who was ready to enter so far into the spirit of the game as to go out and work for it. Or it might simply show who already had a theory and who had not.
Sir Charles accepted the result with resignation. 'We start equal as from now, then,' he announced.
'As from the moment we leave this room,' amended Morton Harrogate Bradley, rearranging the set of his tie. 'But I agree so far with Sir Charles's proposition as to think that any one who can at this moment add anything to the Chief Inspector's statement should do so.'
'But can any one?' asked Mrs. Fielder - Flemming.
