About the water was so far lowered as to allow an investigation of the bottom, and the sergeant, squeezing past the man at the pump, went down with his electric torch. French, leaning over the wall, anxiously watched the flickering light. Then came the sergeant’s voice: “There’s a waistcoat and trousers and shoes here, Mr. French.”
“That all?” called French.
“That’s all that I see. I’ve got everything of any size, anyhow.”
“Well, tie them to the rope and we’ll pull them up.”
How Domlio would comport himself when he saw the clothes was now the important matter. French watched him keenly as the dripping bundle appeared and was carried to a bench in the garage.
Though the day’s work had prepared the man for some denouement, he certainly appeared to French to be genuinely amazed when the nature of the find was revealed.
“Good Heavens! Inspector! What does this mean?” he cried, squaring his shoulders. “Whose are these and how did you know they were there?”
French turned to the plain-clothes men. “Just wait outside the door, will you,” he said, then went on gravely to the other: “That is what I have to ask you, Colonel Domlio.”
“Me?” The man’s sardonic calm was at last broken. “I know nothing about them. The thing is an absolute surprise to me. I swear it.” His face paled and he looked anxious and worried.
“There is something I should tell you,” French continued. “On considering this Berlyn-Pyke case I formed a theory. I don’t say it is correct, but I formed it from the facts I had learnt. According to that theory you took out your car on , drove into Ashburton, picked up Mr. Pyke’s coat, waistcoat, trousers, shoes, and certain other things, brought them here and threw them into the well. A moment, please.” He raised his hand as Domlio would have spoken. “Rightly or wrongly, that was my theory. But there was a difficulty. You had stated to the sergeant that you had not gone out that night. I came here and found that that statement was not true. You had been out. Then I made further enquiries and learnt that you had taken out your car. You explained that, but I regret to say that I was unable to accept your explanation. I thought, however, that the presence or absence of these objects in the well would settle the matter. I looked at the well and saw that the cover had recently been moved. Two nights ago Sergeant Daw and I came out, and after trying with a line and fishhooks, we drew up a coat—Pyke’s coat. Now, Colonel, if you wish to make a statement I will give it every consideration, but it is my duty again to warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you.”
“What? Are you charging me with a crime?”
“Unless you can satisfy me of your innocence you will be charged with complicity in the murder of Stanley Pyke.”
The Colonel drew a deep breath.
“But, good Heavens! How can I satisfy you? I don’t even know what you have against me, except this extraordinary business which I can make neither head nor tail of. You must know more about it than you have said. Tell me the rest.”
“You tell me this: Was your statement about the loss of the locket on that night true?”
Colonel Domlio did not reply. He seemed to be weighing some problem of overwhelming difficulty. French waited patiently, wondering how far his bluff would carry. At last the colonel spoke.
“I have lied to the sergeant and to you, Inspector, with what I now believe was a mistaken motive. I have been turning over the matter in my mind and I see that I have no alternative but to tell you the truth now or to suffer arrest. Possibly things have gone so far that this cannot be avoided. At all events, I will tell you everything.”
“You are not forgetting my warning, Colonel Domlio?”
“I am not forgetting it. If I am acting foolishly it is my own lookout. I tried to put you off, Inspector, to save bringing Mrs. Berlyn’s name further into the matter, because, though there was nothing against her character, I was sure you would have bothered her with annoying questions. But, though I thought it right to lie with this object, I don’t feel like risking prison for it.”
“I follow you,” said French.
“You will remember then what I told you about Mrs. Berlyn, that she had been seeing a good deal first of Pyke and then of myself. I’m sorry to have to drag this in again, but otherwise you wouldn’t understand the situation.
“About—let me see—four months before the tragedy Mrs. Berlyn came out here one afternoon. She said that she had been in London to a lecture on entomology and that she had been so much interested that she had read one or two books on the subject. She said that she knew I was doing some research in it and she wondered whether I would let her come and help me and so learn more. I naturally told her I should be delighted, and she began to come out here quite often. On different occasions she has accompanied me on the moor while I was searching for specimens, and she has spent several afternoons with me in my library mounting butterflies and learning to use the microscope. This went on until the day of the tragedy.”
Colonel Domlio paused, squared his shoulders, and continued:
“On that morning I had received by post a letter addressed in a strange hand and marked ‘Personal.’ It was signed ‘X.Y.Z.’ and said that the writer happened to be walking about in the Upper Merton glen at a certain point which he described; that he had seen me with Mrs. Berlyn in my arms; that, having a camera, he had at once taken two photographs, one of which had come out;
