“Cease!” said Trent. “Drain not to its dregs the urn of bitter prophecy. Let us get back to facts. Have you, as a matter of evidence, anything at all to bring against Martin’s story as he has told it to us?”
“Nothing whatever at present. As for his suggestion that Manderson came in by way of the window after leaving Marlowe and the car, that’s right enough, I should say. I questioned the servant who swept the room next morning, and she tells me there were gravelly marks near the window, on this plain drugget that goes round the carpet. And there’s a footprint in this soft new gravel just outside.” The inspector took a folding rule from his pocket and with it pointed out the traces. “One of the patent shoes Manderson was wearing that night exactly fits that print; you’ll find them,” he added, “on the top shelf in the bedroom, near the window end, the only patents in the row. The girl who polished them in the morning picked them out for me.”
Trent bent down and studied the faint marks keenly. “Good!” he said. “You have covered a lot of ground, Murch, I must say. That was excellent about the whisky; you made your point finely. I felt inclined to shout ‘Encore!’ It’s a thing that I shall have to think over.”
“I thought you might have fitted it in already,” said Mr. Murch. “Come, Mr. Trent, we’re only at the beginning of our enquiries, but what do you say to this for a preliminary theory? There’s a plan of burglary, say a couple of men in it and Martin squared. They know where the plate is, and all about the handy little bits of stuff in the drawing-room and elsewhere. They watch the house; see Manderson off to bed; Martin comes to shut the window, and leaves it ajar, accidentally on purpose. They wait till Martin goes to bed at twelve-thirty; then they just walk into the library, and begin to sample the whisky first thing. Now suppose Manderson isn’t asleep, and suppose they make a noise opening the window, or however it might be. He hears it; thinks of burglars; gets up very quietly to see if anything’s wrong; creeps down on them, perhaps, just as they’re getting ready for work. They cut and run; he chases them down to the shed, and collars one; there’s a fight; one of them loses his temper and his head, and makes a swinging job of it. Now, Mr. Trent, pick that to pieces.”
“Very well,” said Trent; “just to oblige you, Murch, especially as I know you don’t believe a word of it. First: no traces of any kind left by your burglar or burglars, and the window found fastened in the morning, according to Martin. Not much force in that, I allow. Next: nobody in the house hears anything of this stampede through the library, nor hears any shout from Manderson either inside the house or outside. Next: Manderson goes down without a word to anybody, though Bunner and Martin are both at hand. Next: did you ever hear, in your long experience, of a householder getting up in the night to pounce on burglars, who dressed himself fully, with underclothing, shirt, collar and tie, trousers, waistcoat and coat, socks and hard leather shoes; and who gave the finishing touches to a somewhat dandified toilet by doing his hair, and putting on his watch and chain? Personally, I call that overdressing the part. The only decorative detail he seems to have forgotten is his teeth.”
The inspector leaned forward thinking, his large hands clasped before him. “No,” he said at last. “Of course there’s no help in that theory. I rather expect we have some way to go before we find out why a man gets up before the servants are awake, dresses himself awry, and is murdered within sight of his house early enough to be cold and stiff by ten in the morning.”
Trent shook his head. “We can’t build anything on that last consideration. I’ve gone into the subject with people who know. I shouldn’t wonder,” he added, “if the traditional notions about loss of temperature and rigour after death had occasionally brought an innocent man to the gallows, or near it. Dr. Stock has them all, I feel sure; most general practitioners of the older generation have. That Dr. Stock will make an ass of himself at the inquest, is almost as certain as that tomorrow’s sun will rise. I’ve seen him. He will say the body must have been dead about so long, because of the degree of coldness and rigor mortis. I can see him nosing it all out in some textbook that was out of date when he was a student. Listen, Murch, and I will tell you some facts which will be a great hindrance to you in your professional career. There are many things that may hasten or retard the cooling of the body. This one was lying in the long dewy grass on the shady side of the shed. As for rigidity, if Manderson died in a struggle, or labouring under sudden emotion, his corpse might stiffen
