The Sea Mystery

if you would answer the purely formal question that we inspectors have to ask all who were in any way connected with the victim of such a tragedy. Where were you yourself at the time of the occurrence?”

The colonel raised his eyebrows.

“Do you suspect me of murdering Mr. Pyke?” he asked, drily.

“I think, sir, you needn’t take up that line.” French’s tone was also a trifle dry. “I have explained that my question is a formal one, invariably put. You are not bound to answer it unless you wish.”

“If I don’t you will suspect me in reality, so I don’t see that I have much option. I was here, in this room.”

“Between what hours?”

“During the whole evening. I finished dinner about eight or a quarter past. Then I came in here and stayed here until I went to bed between one and two.”

“And no one came in during that time?”

“No one came in. I take nothing after dinner except a little whisky going to bed, and I have everything I want in the cupboard there. I’m writing a book at present and I don’t like to be disturbed in the evenings.”

“Then in the face of what you’ve said I presume I needn’t ask you if you heard any sound at the door or windows?”

“You need not.”

“And⁠—excuse this question⁠—you didn’t sleep at all during the evening? No one could have knocked while you were asleep?”

The Colonel smiled slightly.

“Ingenious,” he remarked, “but unproductive. No, I didn’t sleep at all.”

“Thank you,” said French, “that disposes of one question. Now the other. Can you tell me anything likely to be helpful to me about either of the two gentlemen?”

The colonel regretted that in this case also he could do nothing to oblige. He would answer Mr. French’s questions so far as he could, but he had nothing to volunteer. And French found that after half an hour’s interrogation he had learnt just nothing whatever.

“There is one other matter to which I must refer,” he said. “I regret the necessity, as it’s somewhat delicate. Common report says that Mrs. Berlyn was on very intimate terms first with Mr. Pyke and then with yourself. Would you tell me how far that is true?”

The colonel squared his shoulders again and French presently saw that it was an unconscious nervous trick.

“Is it really necessary that Mrs. Berlyn’s name should be dragged in?” he asked, stiffly.

“I’m afraid so. You will recognise that I am trying to find motives.”

“I don’t think you will find one there.”

“On the contrary, Colonel Domlio, I have evidence that Mr. Berlyn was acutely jealous.”

But the colonel was not to be drawn.

“That is news to me,” he declared.

“Well,” said French, doggedly, “I should like to have your definite statement as to whether such jealousy would or would not have been justified, in so far, at all events, as you yourself were concerned.”

The colonel smiled sardonically.

“I should say that it would not have been justified.”

“Very good, Colonel. I have now only one other request to make. I should like to interrogate your servants. Some of them may have seen or heard something which might be useful to me. Would you oblige me by calling them in and instructing them to reply to me?”

For the first time an uneasy look appeared in the colonel’s eyes.

“Surely that is unnecessary?” he demurred. “What could they possibly tell you?”

“Nothing, I very greatly fear,” French admitted. “But it is a routine enquiry and as such I dare not omit it.”

With an evident ill grace Colonel Domlio rang the bell. French, sensing his opposition, had become keenly alert. It seemed to him that he might be on the brink of learning something important. But instantly he decided that he would postpone serious examination of the staff until he had them to himself.

The butler, Burt, answered the bell.

“This gentleman is Mr. French, Burt,” said the colonel. “He wants to ask you some questions. You might answer him so far as you can.”

“It was only to know whether you heard or saw anything unusual on the night of the deaths of Mr. Berlyn and Mr. Pyke,” French explained.

The man denied with what French thought was over-earnestness. Moreover, he looked acutely uneasy, even scared. French felt a sudden thrill, but he merely nodded and said:

“You didn’t see any traces on the moor the next day?”

“Nothing whatever, sir,” said the man with evident relief.

“Thank you. That’s all I want. Now, Colonel, if I could see the others to put the same questions I should be finished.”

Mrs. Burt and the two outside men were produced in turn, and each denied having heard or seen anything unusual. Coombe and Mee, the chauffeur and gardener, were interested, but evidently nothing more. But Mrs. Burt reproduced all the signs of uneasiness which her husband had exhibited, only in an intensified degree. She was obviously terrified when French questioned her, and her relief when her ordeal was over was unmistakable.

But French apparently saw nothing amiss and when the quartet had gone he thanked Colonel Domlio for his assistance and apologised for the trouble he had given. And in the colonel’s manner he noticed the same repressed evidences of relief. That something had taken place that night of which the master of the house and the two domestics were aware, French was positive.

He left the house and regained the clump of brushwood in which he had hidden the bicycle. But he did not withdraw the machine. Instead, after a quick glance round he crept in beside it, pulling the bushes over him to make sure that he was invisible from the road. From his hiding-place he could see the entrance to “Torview,” as the colonel had named his house.

He was waiting on a pure chance, but after an hour he found that his luck was in. He heard the sounds of an engine being started up, and presently saw a small green car turn out of the drive and disappear in the direction of Ashburton. In the car