“I knew nothing about what happened on Tuesday till I saw it in the papers. I still don’t know how or why the police got the idea that it was Mr. Davenant who murdered my husband. Of course, if they came to know all that I’ve been telling you now, they’d think it was a certainty. But I’ve told you about it, because I thought it was best to let you know everything, and then perhaps you could help.”
“Of course I should be awfully glad to do anything I could to—well, to establish the innocence of an innocent man. Was that your idea, Miss Rendall-Smith?”
“Mr. Reeves, do you believe at all in a woman’s intuitions? Probably you don’t, because you go in for clues and all that sort of thing. But I assure you I’m as certain that Mr. Davenant never laid a hand on my husband as I’m certain that you’re sitting in that chair. I can’t explain the feeling; I can’t analyse it; it’s like a sort of sixth sense to me. I’ve always had these strong intuitions, and they’ve always been right. So I’m asking you, quite fearlessly, to work on this case as hard as you can, and examine all the evidence you’ve got. I’m perfectly certain that the effect of that will be to prove Mr. Davenant’s innocence. I know he ran away and hid himself; but after all, that’s a thing an innocent man may easily do if he’s afraid of being charged with murder.”
“I was saying the same thing to my friends only this afternoon.”
“Mr. Reeves, you’re wonderful! And, of course, you’ve got to remember this. Mr. Davenant is—he’s still in love with me. And, you see, he must have known that if he were charged with the murder, my name was likely to get dragged into the thing. So it wasn’t only for his own sake that he tried to get away.”
“Well, I’ll do my best. But you can’t throw any light on the whole thing yourself, except for what you’ve said? You didn’t, I mean, see Brother—see your husband or Davenant after you heard about the bankruptcy?”
“Yes, I think I ought to tell you this. Mr. Davenant heard of the bankruptcy—or the strong probability of it—beforehand, and wrote to warn me. So I went up to London to see Mr. Davenant, and came back that same afternoon. He wanted to take me back to Binver on the earlier train, but I wouldn’t let him—I didn’t want to be seen travelling with him. The result was that he travelled on that fatal train with my husband, and so drew on himself the suspicion of murder. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that.”
“Did Davenant hint to you at all that he meant to see Brotherhood about it?”
“No, never; he said there was still hope that my husband would stick to his word like a decent man.”
“There’s one other question I want to ask you, a rather odd one. Have you any reason to think that Davenant was carrying a golf-ball in his pocket when he came up on Tuesday afternoon?”
“He might be, of course. But he would hardly have mentioned it, would he?”
“No: only I had a special reason for asking. Well, Miss Rendall-Smith, I’ll do my best, and if I want any more information I suppose I can come over and see you. Are you on the telephone?”
“Yes; it’s Binver 35. Thank you so much, Mr. Reeves; I shall expect great things of you,” and he showed her out, still smiling encouragement.
“That’s a damned fine woman,” he said to himself as he shut the door after her.
XVII
By Which Train?
He met Marryatt on his way upstairs—Marryatt looking pained, as he always did when bad news went round.
“I must congratulate you on your driving, Reeves. It’s all over the Club. But when I think of that poor fellow Davenant—I wonder now, do you think perhaps the jury will find Davenant was insane? Why do we always assume it’s a madman’s act to take one’s own life, when it’s surely a far more desperate thing to take anybody else’s? Did you think, from what you saw of Davenant, that he was in mental health?”
“My dear Marryatt,” said Reeves, “you’re jumping to conclusions again. The police have arrested Davenant, because his movements since the time of the murder have been suspicious, and he has got to account for them. But there isn’t any positive case against him as far as I know.”
“I’m afraid the facts are only too clear,” said Marryatt, shaking his head. “A man doesn’t conceal himself so carefully unless there’s a guilty conscience behind it. But I still ask myself, was it a sane man’s act?”
Reeves was a little disappointed to find the assumption of Davenant’s guilt so universal. People, he felt, were confoundedly illogical. He went to look for Carmichael, in the hope that he might have some new illuminating theories, but Gordon discouraged him.
“Carmichael says he’s
