Further search resulted in the following discoveries:
1. A hatchet used for chopping wood (found near the desk).
2. A foil with the button broken off (lying under the table).
3. A green-stone idol (edged under the fender).
The cook (defiantly courageous by reason of brandy) declared that she had left the house at four o’clock on the previous day and had returned close on eleven. The back door (to her surprise) was open. With the housemaid she went to inform her mistress of this fact, and found the body lying midway between door and fireplace. At once she called in the police. Her master and mistress were a most attached couple, and (so far as she knew) they had no enemies.
Similar evidence was obtained from the housemaid with the additional information that the hatchet belonged to the woodshed. The other rooms were undisturbed.
Poor young Vincent was so broken down by the tragedy that he could hardly answer my questions with calmness. Sympathizing with his natural grief, I interrogated him as delicately as was possible, and I am bound to admit that he replied with remarkable promptitude and clearness.
‘What do you know of this unhappy affair?’ I asked when we were alone in the drawingroom. He refused to stay in the study, as was surely natural under the circumstances.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ he replied. ‘I went to the City yesterday at ten in the morning, and, as I had business to do, I wired my wife I would not return till midnight. She was full of health and spirits when I last saw her, but now -’ Incapable of further speech he made a gesture of despair. Then, after a pause, he added, ‘Have you any theory on the subject?’
‘Judging from the wrecked condition of the desk I should say robbery -’
‘Robbery?’ he interrupted, changing color. ‘Yes, that was the motive. I had two hundred pounds locked up in the desk.’
‘In gold or notes?’
‘The latter. Four fifties. Bank of England.’
‘You are sure they are missing?’
‘Yes. The drawer in which they were placed is smashed to pieces.’
‘Did any one know you had placed two hundred pounds therein?’
‘No! Save my wife, and yet – ah!’ he said, breaking off abruptly, ‘that is impossible.’
‘What is impossible?’
‘I will tell you when I hear your theory.’
‘You got that notion out of novels of the shilling sort,’ I answered dryly. ‘Every detective doesn’t theorize on the instant. I haven’t any particular theory that I know of. Whosoever committed this crime must have known your wife was alone in the house and that there was two hundred pounds locked up in that desk. Did you mention these two facts to any one?’
Vincent pulled his moustache in some embarrassment. I guessed by the action that he had been indiscreet.
‘I don’t wish to get an innocent person into trouble,’ he said at length, ‘but I did mention it – to a man called Roy.’
‘For what reason?’
‘It is a bit of a story. I lost two hundred to a friend at cards and drew four fifties to pay him. He went out of town, so I locked up the money in my desk for safety. Last night Roy came to me at the club, much agitated, and asked me to loan him a hundred. Said it meant ruin else. I offered him a cheque, but he wanted cash. I then told him I had left two hundred at home, so at the moment, could not lay my hand on it. He asked if he could not go to Brixton for it, but I said the house was empty, and -’
‘But it wasn’t empty,’ I interrupted.
‘I believed it would be! I knew the servants were going to that wedding, and I thought my wife, instead of spending a lonely evening, would call on some friend.’
‘Well, and after you told Roy that the house was empty?’
‘He went away, looking awfully cut up, and swore he must have the money at any price. But it is quite impossible he could have anything to do with this.’
‘I don’t know. You told him where the money was and that the house was unprotected, as you thought. What was more probable than that he should have come down with the intention of stealing the money? If so, what follows? Entering by the back door, he takes the hatchet from the wood-shed to open the desk. Your wife, hearing a noise, discovers him in the study. In a state of frenzy, he snatches a foil from the mantelpiece and kills her, then decamps with the money. There is your theory, and a mighty bad one – for Roy.’
‘You don’t intend to arrest him?’ asked Vincent quickly.
‘Not on insufficient evidence! If he committed the crime and stole the money it is certain that, sooner or later, he will change the notes. Now, if I had the numbers -’
‘Here are the numbers,’ said Vincent, producing his pocket-book. ‘I always take the numbers of such large notes. But surely,’ he added as I copied them down – ‘surely you don’t think Roy guilty?’
‘I don’t know. I should like to know his movements on that night.’
‘I cannot tell you. He saw me at the Chestnut Club about seven o’clock and left immediately afterwards. I kept my business appointment, went to Alhambra, and then returned home.’
‘Give me Roy ’s address and describe his personal appearance.’
‘He is a medical student, and lodges at No. – Gower Street. Tall, fair-haired – a good-looking young fellow.’
‘And his dress last night?’
‘He wore evening dress concealed by a fawn-coloured overcoat.’
I duly noted these particulars, and I was about to take my leave, when I recollected the green-stone idol. It was so strange an object to find in prosaic Brixton that I could not help thinking it must have come there by accident.
‘By the way, Mr. Vincent,’ said I, producing the monstrosity, ‘is this green-stone god your property?’
‘I never saw it before,’ replied he, taking it in his hand. ‘Is it – ah!’ he added, dropping the idol, ‘there is blood on it!’
‘ ‘Tis the blood of your wife, sir! If it does not belong to you, it does to the murderer. From the position in which this was found I fancy it slipped out of his breast-pocket as he stood over his victim. As you see, it is stained with blood. He must have lost his presence of mind, else he would not have left behind so damning a piece of evidence. This idol, sir, will hang the assassin of Mrs Vincent!’
‘I hope so, but unless you are sure of Roy, do not mar his life by accusing him of this crime.’
‘I certainly should not arrest him without sufficient proof,’ I answered promptly, and so took my departure.
Vincent showed up very well in this preliminary conversation. Much as he desired to punish the criminal, yet he was unwilling to subject Roy to possibly unfounded suspicions. Had I not forced the club episode out of him I doubt whether he would have told it. As it was, the information gave me the necessary clue. Roy alone knew that the notes were in the escritoire, and imagined (owing to the mistake of Vincent) that the house was empty. Determined to have the money at any price (his own words), he intended but robbery, till the unexpected appearance of Mrs Vincent merged the lesser in the greater crime.
My first step was to advise the Bank that four fifty-pound notes, numbered so and so, were stolen, and that the thief or his deputy would probably change them within a reasonable period. I did not say a word about the crime, and kept all special details out of the newspapers; for as the murderer would probably read up the reports so as to shape his course by the action of the police, I judged it wiser that he should know as little as possible. Those minute press notices do more harm than good. They gratify the morbid appetite of the public, and put the criminal on his guard. Thereby the police work in the dark, but he – thanks to the posting up of special reporters – knows the doings of the law, and baffles it accordingly.
The green-stone idol worried me considerably. I wanted to know how it had got into the study of Ulster Lodge. When I knew that, I could nail my man. But there was considerable difficulty to overcome before such knowledge was available. Now a curiosity of this kind is not a common object in this country. A man who owns one must have come from New Zealand or have obtained it from a New Zealand friend. He could not have picked it up in London.
