“I suppose one of them must have murdered the other,” said the inspector reflectively.
“I see no sufficient reason for thinking that,” replied his superior. “It looks to me more like a very carefully planned affair, worked out by some third party. But we mustn’t take anything for granted. Your immediate job is certainly to follow up the clues you have found. Even if they do not lead where we expect them to lead, they will probably lead somewhere. A deliberately laid false clue is often just as useful as an ordinary straightforward clue in the long run.”
“Oh, I’ll keep my eyes open,” said the inspector, “and as there is a third party involved in any case, it’s worth remembering that he could not easily have got into the house after midnight at the latest, and I’m blest if I see how he could have got out of it and left all the doors properly fastened unless he had an accomplice inside.”
“That is certainly a point. Everyone who slept in the house is certainly worth watching. What about the menservants?”
“Only two—Morgan and Winter—sleep in the house. Morgan says he came back about 11:30, after spending the evening with friends in Hammersmith. He and Winter went up to their rooms together soon after. Morgan’s room can only be reached through Winter’s. Winter says he lay awake for some hours—he is a bad sleeper—and heard Morgan snoring in the next room all the time. He did not go to sleep until after he had heard two o’clock strike. He says he is a light sleeper, and Morgan could not have passed through his room without waking him.”
“That seems to clear Morgan, if Winter is speaking the truth. What about Winter himself? A good deal seems to turn on his testimony.”
“Winter is a very old servant. He has been in the family since he was a boy. He doesn’t strike me as at all the kind of man to be mixed up in an affair of this sort. Morgan is rather a sly fellow—much more the sort of man one would be inclined to suspect.”
“You are probably right; but we must not let Winter off too easily. Suppose it is true that one of these two men did kill the other. Isn’t an old devoted family servant, if he saw the crime, just the man to take his revenge? There have been many crimes with far less strong a motive.”
“I will certainly have Winter watched, and Morgan too. But I’m not at all hopeful. It’s too well planned to be a sudden crime, and I’m sure Winter’s not the man for a high-class job of this sort.”
“Do the best you can, and keep me fully informed about the case. If I have a brainwave, I’ll let you know. At present I can’t see light any more than you.”
With that unsatisfactory conclusion the two detectives parted. Superintendent Wilson, left alone, walked quickly up and down the room, chuckling to himself, and every now and then marking off a point on his fingers, or pausing in his walk to examine one of the clues which the inspector had left in his keeping. He appeared to find it a fascinating case.
VI
A Pause for Reflection
When Inspector Blaikie got to his own room, he sat down with a sheet of paper in front of him, and on it made out, from his notes, a list of all the persons whom he knew to have been in the house the previous night. It was a long list, and he made it out more to set his subconscious mind free to work than with any idea that it would throw a direct light on the problem. Having made his list, he began to write down, after each name, exactly what was known about its owner’s doings and movements on the night before. He left out nothing, however unimportant it might seem; for he had fully mastered the first principle of scientific detection—that detail generally gives the clue to a crime, and that therefore every detail matters.
He began with those who seemed least likely to have had any hand in the business. First there were the four maidservants. They had gone to bed before eleven. They slept two in a room, and there seemed no reason to doubt that, as they said, they had all slept soundly. He did not dismiss them from his mind, but he had nothing against them so far.
Then there was the lady’s maid, Agnes Dutch. She had slept alone on the first floor, in a little room next to that of Joan Cowper. She had felt tired, she said, and had gone to bed at 10:30, after making sure that Miss Joan would not want her again. She seemed a nice, quiet girl, and, although she seemed very upset in the morning when the inspector saw her, that was no more than was to be expected. There was nothing against her either. Besides, Mary Woodman had not gone to bed until after twelve, and she said that she was certain the girl was in her room until then. She had been sitting in the big landing-lounge reading, and both Joan’s and the maid’s doors opened on to the lounge.
What of Mary Woodman herself? She had been with Joan until about eleven, and had then sat for an hour reading. No one had seen her during that hour, or heard her go to bed afterwards. But Mary notoriously got on with everybody and had not an enemy in the world. Everyone had told the inspector, without need of his asking the question, that she was the very last person to have anything to do with a murder. Besides, the whole thing was clearly a man’s job. The inspector filed Mary Woodman in his mind for future reference; but he felt
