A telephone bell in the corner of the room rang sharply, and T. X. picked up the receiver. He listened intently.
“A trunk call,” he said over his shoulder to the departing commissioner, “it may be something interesting.”
A little pause; then a hoarse voice spoke to him. “Is that you, T. X.?”
“That’s me,” said the Assistant Commissioner, commonly.
“It’s John Lexman speaking.”
“I shouldn’t have recognized your voice,” said T. X., “what is wrong with you, John, can’t you get your plot to went?”
“I want you to come down here at once,” said the voice urgently, and even over the telephone T. X. recognized the distress. “I have shot a man, killed him!”
T. X. gasped.
“Good Lord,” he said, “you are a silly ass!”
III
In the early hours of the morning a tragic little party was assembled in the study at Beston Priory. John Lexman, white and haggard, sat on the sofa with his wife by his side. Immediate authority as represented by a village constable was on duty in the passage outside, whilst T. X. sitting at the table with a writing pad and a pencil was briefly noting the evidence.
The author had sketched the events of the day. He had described his interview with the moneylender the day before and the arrival of the letter.
“You have the letter?” asked T. X.
John Lexman nodded.
“I am glad of that,” said the other with a sigh of relief, “that will save you from a great deal of unpleasantness, my poor old chap. Tell me what happened afterward.”
“I reached the village,” said John Lexman, “and passed through it. There was nobody about, the rain was still falling very heavily and indeed I didn’t meet a single soul all the evening. I reached the place appointed about five minutes before time. It was the corner of Eastbourne Road on the station side and there I found Vassalaro waiting. I was rather ashamed of myself at meeting him at all under these conditions, but I was very keen on his not coming to the house for I was afraid it would upset Grace. What made it all the more ridiculous was this infernal pistol which was in my pocket banging against my side with every step I took as though to nudge me to an understanding of my folly.”
“Where did you meet Vassalaro?” asked T. X.
“He was on the other side of the Eastbourne Road and crossed the road to meet me. At first he was very pleasant though a little agitated but afterward he began to behave in a most extraordinary manner as though he was lashing himself up into a fury which he didn’t feel. I promised him a substantial amount on account, but he grew worse and worse and then, suddenly, before I realised what he was doing, he was brandishing a revolver in my face and uttering the most extraordinary threats. Then it was I remembered Kara’s warning.”
“Kara,” said T. X. quickly.
“A man I know and who was responsible for introducing me to Vassalaro. He is immensely wealthy.”
“I see,” said T. X., “go on.”
“I remembered this warning,” the other proceeded, “and I thought it worthwhile trying it out to see if it had any effect upon the little man. I pulled the pistol from my pocket and pointed it at him, but that only seemed to make it—and then I pressed the trigger. …
“To my horror four shots exploded before I could recover sufficient self-possession to loosen my hold of the butt. He fell without a word. I dropped the revolver and knelt by his side. I could tell he was dangerously wounded, and indeed I knew at that moment that nothing would save him. My pistol had been pointed in the region of his heart. …”
He shuddered, dropping his face in his hands, and the girl by his side, encircling his shoulder with a protecting arm, murmured something in his ear. Presently he recovered.
“He wasn’t quite dead. I heard him murmur something but I wasn’t able to distinguish what he said. I went straight to the village and told the constable and had the body removed.”
T. X. rose from the table and walked to the door and opened it.
“Come in, constable,” he said, and when the man made his appearance, “I suppose you were very careful in removing this body, and you took everything which was lying about in the immediate vicinity’?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the man, “I took his hat and his walkingstick, if that’s what you mean.”
“And the revolver?” asked T. X.
The man shook his head.
“There warn’t any revolver, sir, except the pistol which Mr. Lexman had.”
He fumbled in his pocket and pulled it out gingerly, and T. X. took it from him.
“I’ll look after your prisoner; you go down to the village, get any help you can and make a most careful search in the place where this man was killed and bring me the revolver which you will discover. You’ll probably find it in a ditch by the side of the road. I’ll give a sovereign to the man who finds it.”
The constable touched his hat and went out.
“It looks rather a weird case to me,” said T. X., as he came back to the table, “can’t you see the unusual features yourself, Lexman? It isn’t unusual for you to owe money and it isn’t unusual for the usurer to demand the return of that money, but in this case he is asking for it before it was due, and further than that he was demanding it with threats. It is not the practice of the average money lender to go after his clients with a loaded revolver. Another peculiar thing is that if he wished to blackmail you, that is to say, bring you into contempt
