The other took a chair and watched.
After a long and keen search all over the room, he rose to his feet.
“There are three sets of marks,” he said.
“Here are one lot walking up and down and crossing frequently. Number two was sitting down here, it is quite a different type of boot, or rather shoe, I think, and here are the marks which I rather fancy are my own when I stepped to lay the rug.”
He removed his shoe and placed it on the mark.
“That’s right,” he said. “It shows how careful one has to be. If you and I and the doctor had all walked over the carpet we should have obliterated the others. …
“Now which of these is the dead man’s?”
Sinclair was hardened in criminal matters, and without compunction removed one of the dead man’s boots.
“Exactly,” said Collins, fitting it to a mark on the floor. “That’s that. He was the one who walked about the room. How does that fit in with the idea of him being shot when asleep?”
“No theories yet,” said Sinclair.
“Right you are. That’s the floor. Now the windows. Firmly fastened. Anything curious there?”
“Nothing that I see except we have to find how the murderer escaped.”
“A hot day in summer, and all the windows close fastened. Well, perhaps he did not want the shot to be heard.”
“Are you suggesting suicide?”
“Why not? Oh, I see, you are thinking of the telephone message. Still, we must not eliminate the possibility at present.”
“Door locked on the inside, and no trace of the second person.”
“Of course, the walls and floor will have to be examined,” said Sinclair.
“Of course, and the ceiling and chimney. Well, that’s all here, and we had better get the doctor and remove the body.”
“Wrap those glasses and decanter and syphon carefully up for finger prints,” said Collins.
Sinclair turned scarlet.
“I am most awfully sorry. I ought to have known better, but this thing upset me rather. While you were grovelling on the floor I helped myself to a little whisky—it was really unpardonable.”
“I saw you,” said Collins coolly. “It would cost you your place if it were known, but I shan’t tell any tales.”
“Thanks,” said Sinclair simply. It was a little weakness he had.
They took the body carefully into the dining-room, and left it with the doctor.
“Now for the housekeeper,” said Sinclair.
“Mrs. Simmons, will you come here, please?”
The woman came in very distressed, and seated herself, at a word from Collins.
“Now, Mrs. Simmons,” he said in kind tones, “Can you throw any light on this affair? Please calm yourself and tell us all you know.”
After a prolonged examination, the following facts were elicited, which are better put together.
The Home Secretary was a widower. He had one daughter, Mabel, who lived with him. She had gone down to their country place in Devonshire, from which he had come the day before, and he intended to return the next day. The servants had gone, leaving Mrs. Simmons to look after Sir James.
He had been at his Office all the morning, returning for lunch. He was a solitary man and shunned company.
At about three o’clock a ring had come at the door, and she had gone up to answer it. When she got to the top of the stairs, she saw that Sir James had already opened the door. A man came in and went straight to the library. She could not see anything of him, as Sir James was between them. She thought nothing of it, as it was probably an official from the Home Office. Sir James locked the door, and the two were together for about half an hour. She heard nothing, as the kitchen was not under the library.
Then there was a ring from the library. She was quite certain of that. She went up after a moment, as she had been writing a letter. When she got to the hall, Sir James was showing the visitor out, and she did not see him. Sir James stood on the steps and watched him go. As she was not wanted she went down again.
A little later Sir James came out from the library, and went across the road with a letter, which he put into the pillar-box. She waited for him, as she wished to ask about arrangements for the evening.
When he came back he told her he should be out to dinner, and that he was on no account to be disturbed.
He had then gone in and locked the door. She was certain of that—she had heard the key turn. After that she had been busy in the dining-room, and was quite certain that no one else had called. She had heard nothing until the two men had come. She had heard no sound of a shot.
She would certainly have heard one from where she was.
“Why was she so agitated when the door was opened?”
She was given to presentiments, and was feeling afraid of something after the strange man had called.
At the conclusion Collins asked her about the household. Were there any relations who came?
“No, sir,” she said, “though Sir James used to have regular house-parties at his country place. He lived very quietly in London.”
“Has he ever shown any signs of being afraid of an attack, or anything of that sort?”
“Well, sir, there have been times when he seemed uneasy. He has asked whether there was anybody hanging round the house, and he always kept a loaded revolver in his room.”
“Oh, did he? And where is it now?”
The housekeeper led them into the library, now guarded by a plain-clothes man. She opened a drawer in the writing table. Within lay a small silver-plated revolver, fully loaded.
“You say that Sir James had one child, a daughter?” said Collins.
Mrs. Simmons hesitated. “Well, sir, I have been with the family twenty years. There was another, a son, but he was a wrong ’un, and went abroad many years ago, and, as far as I know, the family have heard nothing since.”
“But hasn’t
