“Then it was that you took out of your pocket a golf-ball—a golf-ball of a very common kind, by which you could not be traced. Leaning out of the window on the left-hand side of the train, you threw the ball backwards, in such a way as to hit the further window of Brotherhood’s carriage, the window on the side furthest from the engine, I mean. Your idea was that the ball, bouncing off with considerable speed, would fall into the valley below, where of course it would arouse no suspicion if it were found. As a matter of fact, it lodged at the top of the viaduct and was there found by me.
“Brotherhood was startled at the noise, and, as you had hoped, he put his head out of the window. As you had hoped, he looked backwards in doing so, because it was the back window that the ball had hit. At that moment you brought down your stick with a violent blow over his skull, and he must have fallen doubled up over the window-frame.
“It was not difficult, with the train stationary and the fog all around you, to climb along the footboard, still on the left-hand side of the train. You had to be quick, though, for the train might move on at any moment. You removed his season-ticket, and substituted a third-class ticket for Paston Whitchurch. The train you were on did not stop at Paston Whitchurch; the ticket, then, would make people think that Brotherhood had fallen from the slow train that went past later. You changed the time of his watch, in order to confirm this impression. You put a wristwatch on him, registering the same time, so as to make assurance doubly sure. There you overreached yourself; there is no need to explain how.
“All this you did while your victim, I suppose, still breathed. And still the train was held up by the signals. There was time to search the pockets. Your cipher-letter was still in his pocket; you thought there was no need to destroy that, because its secret could not be penetrated. You forgot that on the back of the sheet of notepaper on which you sent the cipher message you had jotted down some references to anthems, mattins, and so on, which helped me ultimately to trace the crime to you. You also found a coupon for a sleeping-carriage; that, too, you did not destroy, but you altered the dates, because your quick brain saw that a sleeping-carriage coupon for Tuesday would not have been held by a man travelling in the later train, the 4:50.
“Then you took the living body and heaved it out of the carriage-window, over the viaduct. That was just as the train started, or when it had already started; it was a moment later that you saw you had left the dead man’s hat in the rack, and threw that over too. One thing you allowed to fall over without meaning to—the stick with which you inflicted the first wound; it slipped, I suppose, from your hand: certainly it was found just on the edge of the viaduct, a few feet down the embankment. When you reached Binver you came straight back to us, and were careful to tell us that you had come back by the three o’clock train.
“You have had some bad moments since then—when I sliced my drive into the osiers, and found the body, and you had to look at your victim; when your superstitious fears made you think that a photograph had come to life; when you saw on my shelves, and stole from them, the very copy of Momerie’s Immortality which you had given to Brotherhood: when, finally, you came into my room last night, and saw in front of you the stick with which the crime was committed. But what should have caused you more horror is the fact than an Innocent man, Davenant, is awaiting trial on the charge of murder, and you have taken no steps, so far, to exculpate him. That I cannot understand, but I hope you meant to do so; certainly you will have to do so.
“I want you to write out a full confession of these facts, and to bring it to my room to sign it; I will witness it, and Gordon, to whom the facts themselves are already known. After that, you are free to go where you will. Respect for your cloth and for our friendship makes this the only possible course for us. Your confession will not be made public unless that is the only way of saving Davenant from execution or a life sentence. Of course, we are taking a considerable risk ourselves—”
The door of the steward’s office swung open, and Carmichael came in, saying as he turned the corner, “Hullo, Reeves, have you heard that Davenant has confessed? Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you were telephoning.”
XXIII
Marryatt Breaks the Pledge
Mordaunt Reeves looked up in a dazed way, still holding the tube. “What was that you said?”
“I said, Davenant’s confessed. It’s an extraordinary thing, you know, the way we use ambiguous expressions, and expect the other man to interpret them in the right sense. Davenant, now, is a Catholic, and therefore it’s absurd for me to say ‘Davenant’s confessed’ as if I were to rush into the room and say ‘Davenant’s shaved.’ But when I say ‘Davenant’s confessed,’ I mean, and expect you to
