He heard the butler’s story, then Innes’s and lastly Smith’s. He was a young and intelligent officer, and was anxious to send in a complete explanation of the tragedy in his report, but he was almost equally desirous not to inconvenience or offend Austin Ponson, whom he supposed would succeed Sir William and become a magistrate and a leading man in the district. Though he had admired Sir William and was genuinely shocked and sorry about the accident, yet he was human, and he could not but recognise the affair gave him a chance of coming under the special notice of his superiors.
Up to a certain point he was clear in his own mind what had occurred. Sir William had left his house sometime between and the previous evening, and had gone down to the boathouse with his key, entered, opened the water gate and taken out the Alice. In the darkness, and probably underestimating the amount of fresh in the river, he had allowed himself to be carried into the narrow channel. Once there he had practically no chance. The place was notoriously dangerous.
So much was plain enough, but the sergeant was bothered by the question, what had Sir William gone out for? No one had as yet thrown any light on this.
Calling Dr. Ames, who, not having had any breakfast, was just finishing a somewhat substantial snack in the dining-room, the sergeant explained that he wished to go through Sir William’s pockets, if the doctor would come and assist him. They accordingly made their way upstairs and began their search.
The pockets contained just those articles which a man in Sir William’s position would naturally be expected to carry, with one exception. Besides the bunch of keys, handkerchief, watch, cigar-case, money and suchlike, there was a very singular object—nothing more nor less than a small-sized six-chambered Colt’s revolver, unloaded. There were no shells, either full or empty, and the barrel was clean, showing it had not been fired.
“By Jove! Sergeant,” Dr. Ames exclaimed in a low tone. “That’s surprising.”
“Surprising, sir? I should just think so! You never know, sir, about anybody. Sir William was the last man, I should have said, to go about armed.”
“But he wasn’t armed, sergeant,” rejoined the doctor. “A man with a revolver is not armed unless he has something to fire out of it. That’s no more an arm than any other bit of old iron.”
The sergeant hesitated.
“That’s so, sir, in a way, of course. Still—you can hardly think of anyone carrying an empty revolver. I expect he must have had the habit of carrying shells, but by some oversight forgot them yesterday.”
“Possibly. There doesn’t seem to be much else of interest anyway.”
“No, sir, that’s a fact.” The sergeant, having emptied all the pockets, began laboriously to make a list of the articles he had found. Dr. Ames had taken up a small diary or engagement book, and was rather aimlessly turning over the sodden leaves. Suddenly he gave an exclamation.
“Look here, sergeant,” he whispered. “Here’s what you have been wanting.”
There was a division in the book for each day of the year, with notes of engagements or other matters in most. At the bottom of the space for the previous day—the portion which would probably refer to the evening—was written the words: “Graham, ”
“There it is,” went on Dr. Ames. “That’s where he was going last night. He evidently intended to consult Dr. Graham privately. As it was too far to walk round by the road, and he didn’t want to get a car out, he thought he would take a shortcut by rowing across the river.”
The sergeant made a gesture of satisfaction.
“You have it, sir. That’s just what he’s done. I don’t mind saying that was bothering me badly. But now, thanks to you, sir, the whole thing is cleared up. I’ll go over to Dr. Graham’s directly, and see if I can’t learn something about it from him.”
“I have an operation in an hour and I must go back to Halford, but I’ll come out again in the afternoon, and have another look at the body. If you call in with me tonight I’ll let you have the certificate.”
“There’ll have to be an inquest, of course, sir.”
“Of course. It should be arranged for .”
“It’ll be for the coroner to fix the time, but I would suggest or . I’ll call round tonight anyway sir, and let you know.”
Taking Smith, the gardener-boatman, and the constable who had helped to carry the body, the sergeant returned to the site of the accident. The river was falling rapidly, and with some trouble the four men succeeded in getting the damaged boat ashore. Smith identified it immediately as the Alice. A careful search in the neighbourhood brought to light the rudder and bottom boards—each split and torn from the rocks. But there was no sign of the oars or rowlocks.
It was useless, the sergeant thought, to look for the rowlocks. They would be at the bottom of the river. But the oars should be recoverable. Sending the two men downstream to search for them, he himself took the Argyle, which Austin had left for the convenience of the police, and drove to Dr. Graham’s. That gentleman had not heard the news and was profoundly shocked, but when the sergeant went on to ask his question, he denied emphatically that there had been any appointment for the previous evening. Sir William, he stated, was a personal and valued friend, and they had often visited at each other’s houses, but he had never met the deceased in a professional capacity. He believed Dr. Ames was Sir William’s medical adviser.
“But, of course,” Dr. Graham concluded, “it is quite possible he may have wished to consult privately. He knows I am usually to be found in my study about , and he may have intended to walk up unobserved
