never treated him as I should, I was as fond of him as a son. But I always acted the Dutch uncle. Kept him on a starvation allowance, always threatened to cut him off, and always told him how worthless he was. I don't know why I did it, but every time I saw that boy I wanted to preach. He had no idea of the value of money'
The limousine slid among red houses, and street lamps, made pale gleams through its windows in a canopy of mist. Emerging from Mark Lane, it swerved round the Monument and descended Tower Hill.
Rampole could see nothing more than a few feet ahead. Lamps winked in smoky twilight, and the immensity which should have been the river was full of short, sharp whistle blasts answered by deeper hootings from a distance.
When the limousine passed through the gate in the rails surrounding the whole enclosure, Rampole tried to rub the blur from the window to peer out. Vaguely he saw a dry moat paved in white concrete, with a forlorn hockey-net near the middle. The drive swung to the left, past a frame building he remembered as the ticket-office and refreshment room, and under an arch flanked by low, squat round towers. Just under this, arch they were brought up short. A sentry, in the high black shako and grey uniform of the Spur Guard, moved out smartly and crossed his rifle on his, breast. The limousine slithered to a halt and Hadley sprang out.
In the dim, ghostly half-light another figure emerged at the sentry's side. It was one of the Yeoman Warders, buttoned up in a short blue cloak and wearing the red-and-blue Beefeater hat. He said:
`Chief Inspector Hadley?…Thank you. If you'll' follow me, sir…?'
Hadley asked, shortly: 'Who is in charge?'
'The chief warder, sir, under the orders of the deputy governor. These gentlemen…?''
'My associates. This is Sir William Bitton. What has been done?'
'The chief warder will explain, sir. The young gentleman's body was discovered by. General Mason.' 'Where?'
'I believe it was on the steps leading down to Traitors' Gate, sir. You know, of course, that the warders are sworn in as special constables. General Mason suggested that, as you were a friend of the young gentleman's uncle, we communicate directly with you instead of with the district police station.'
'Precautions?'
'An order has been issued that no one is to enter or leave the Tower until permission has been given.'
'Good! You had better leave instructions to admit the police surgeon and his associates when they arrive.'
'Yes, sir.' He spoke briefly to the sentry, and led them under the arch of the Tower.
A stone bridge led across the moat from this (called the Middle Tower) to another and larger tower, with circular bastions, whose arch formed the entrance to the outer walls.
Grey-black, picked out with whitish stones, these heavy defences ran left and right; but the damp mist was so thick that the entrance was entirely invisible.
Just under the arch of this next tower, another figure appeared with the same eerie suddenness as the others: a thick, rather short man with a straight back, his hands thrust into the pockets of a dripping waterproof. A soft hat was drawn down on his brows. He came forward, peering, as he heard their muffled footfalls on the road.
He said: `Good God, Bitton! How did you get here?' Then he hurried up to grasp Sir William's hand.
`Never mind,' Sir William answered, stolidly. 'Thanks, Mason. Where have you got him?'
The other man looked into his face. He wore a gingery moustache and imperial, drooping with the damp there were furrows in his dull-coloured face and lines round his hard, bright unwinking eyes.
'Good man!' he said releasing his hand. `This is?'
'Chief Inspector Hadley. Dr Fell. Mr Rampole… General Mason,' explained Sir William, jerking his head. 'Where is he, Mason? I want to see him.'
General Mason took his arm. 'You understand; of course, that we couldn't disturb the body until the police arrived. He's where we found him. That's correct, isn't it, Mr Hadley?'
'Quite correct, General. If you will show us the place…? Thank you. I'm afraid we shall have to leave him there, though, until the police surgeon examines him.'
`For God's' sake, Mason,' Sir. William said, in a low voice, 'how was he killed?'
General Mason drew a hand hard over his moustache and imperial. It was his only sign of nervousness. He said:
'It appears to be a crossbow bolt, from what I can judge. There's about four inches projecting from his chest, and the point barely came out the other…. Excuse me. A crossbow bolt. We have some in the armoury. Straight through the heart. Intantaneous death, Bitton. No pain whatever.'
`You mean,' said the chief inspector, `he was shot… '
`Or stabbed with it like a dagger. More likely the latter. Come and look at him, Mr Hadley and then take charge of my court he nodded towards the Tower behind him `in there. I'm using the Warders' Hall as a third degree room.’
`What about visitors? They tell me you've given orders nobody is to leave.'
`Yes. Fortunately, it's a bad day and there aren't many visitors. Also, fortunately, the fog is very thick down in the well around the steps of Traitors' Gate; I don't think a passer-by would notice him there. So far as I'm aware, nobody knows about it yet. When the visitors try to leave, they are stopped at the gate and told that an accident has happened; we're trying to make them comfortable until you can talk to them.'
Ahead of them the hard road ran arrow-straight. Towards the left, a little distance beyond the long arch beneath which they stood, Rampole could see the murky outlines of another round tower. Joining it, a high wall ran parallel with the road. And Rampole remembered now. This left-hand wall was the defence of the inner fortress; roughly, a square within a square. On their right ran the outer wall, giving on the wharf. Thus was formed a lane some twenty-five or thirty feet broad, which stretched the whole length of the enclosure on the riverside. For perhaps a hundred yards along this road General Mason led them; then he stopped and pointed towards the right.
`St Thomas's Tower,' he said. `And that's the Traitors' Gate under it.'
Traitors' Gate was a long, flattened arch of stone, like the hood of an unholy fireplace in the thick wall. From the level of the road, sixteen broad stone steps led down to the floor of a large paved area, which had once been the bed of the Thames. For originally this had been the gateway to the Tower by water; the river had flowed in at a level with the topmost steps, and barges had moved under the arch to their mooring. There were the ancient barriers, closed as of old: two heavy gates of oaken timbers and vertical iron bars, with an oaken lattice stretching above them to fill in the arch. Thames-wharf had been built up beyond, and the vast area below was now dry.
General Mason took an electric torch from his pocket, snapped it on, and directed the beam towards the ground. A warder had been standing motionless near the fence; and the General gestured with his light.
`Stand at the gate of the Bloody Tower,' he said, `and don't let anybody come near… Now, gentlemen. I don't think we need to climb this fence. I've been down once before.'
Just before the beam of his flashlight moved down the steps, Rampole felt almost a physical nausea. Then he saw it.
The thing lay with its head near the foot of the stairs, on its right side, and sprawled as though it had rolled down the entire flight of steps. Philip Driscoll wore a suit of heavy tweed, with plus fours, golf stockings, and thick shoes. As General Mason's light moved along the body, they saw the dull gleam of several inches of steel projecting from the left breast. Apparently the wound had not bled much.
The face was flung up towards them, just as the chest was slightly arched to show the bolt in the heart. White and waxy, the face was, with eyelids nearly closed; it had a stupid, sponged expression which would not have been terrifying at all but for the hat.
That opera hat had not been crushed in the fall. It was much too large for Philip Driscoll; whether it had been jammed on or merely dropped on his head, it came down nearly to his eyes, and flattened out his ears grotesquely.
General Mason switched off the light.
'You see?' he said out of the dimness. `If that hat hadn't looked so weird, I shouldn't have taken it off at all, and seen your name inside it… Mr Hadley, do you want to make an examination now, or shall you wait for the police surgeon?'
`Give me your torch, please,' the chief-inspector requested. He snapped on the light again and swung it
