The Eight of Swords

went on quickly:

'Then you never knew of an enemy he might have had? I mean, somebody not in your circle, whom you had never met?'

'Good Lord, No!'

'I asked that,' Hadley went on, 'because of the circumstances surrounding his death. According to Inspector Murch, who has the testimony of his valet and cook, this is what happened… '

He rustled his papers. 'His valet, Raymond Storer, says that he came back to the Guest House about seven o'clock, after having been out to tea—'

'Had it with us,' grunted the colonel. 'We were all pretty bucked about the news: his daughter and my son, I mean. He'd got a letter from her the day before, and he and I talked it over night before last. So he came up to tea yesterday and told the whole crowd.'

'Did he seem in good spirits?'

'Good Lord, yes. Tickled pink.'

Hadley’s eyes narrowed. 'Did anything occur, then, while he was with you that — upset him?'

Standish had taken out a cigar, and he was lighting it when an uneasy thought seemed to strike him. He screwed round his neck and looked somewhat malevolently at the bishop.

'Hey… Look here, I've thought of something!' His boiled eye protruded. 'He did seem down in the dumps when he left, by Jove. And that was just after you took him aside and spoke to him. Eh?'

The bishop folded his hands over his umbrella. His heavy jaw had a curious expression of seeming to move about with repressed satisfaction.

'Quite so, my friend,' he replied. 'I shall tell the chief inspector about it when he has finished outlining the facts… Pray go on, sir.'

'The valet testified,' Hadley went on, after a slight pause, 'that he seemed disturbed when he arrived back at the Guest House. He ordered his dinner to be sent to him in the study. And he did not, as seems to have been usual, dress for dinner.

'His dinner was taken up to him about half past eight, when he seemed to have been even more restless. He told the valet that he had work to do, and would be at home to nobody that night. Last night, you remember, was the end of the heat wave. The storm broke late in the evening—'

'Damme, and what a storm!' grunted the colonel. 'Henry Morgan got caught in it, and had to walk three miles to—'

Hadley's temper was wearing thin. 'If you don't mind, colonel' he said, 'it will be rather necessary for you to know these things… Shortly after the storm broke, it blew down a wire or something of the sort, and all the lights went out. The valet, who was on the ground floor closing all the windows, rummaged about until he found some candles. He was about to go upstairs with them when there was a knock at the outer door.

'The wind blew out his candle when he opened the door, but when he had got it lighted again, he saw that the caller was nobody he had ever seen before…'

'You have a description of the man, Mr. Hadley?' the bishop put in crisply.

'Not a very good one. He was medium-sized, youngish, dark hair and moustache, loud clothes, and spoke with an American accent.'

An expression of grim triumph drew the bishop's neck in folds over his collar. He nodded. Tray go on, Mr. Hadley?

'The valet was about to shut the door, saying that Mr. Depping could see no one, when the man put his foot in die door. He said' — Hadley glanced at his notes—'he said, 'Hell see me. Ask him.' Inspector Murch was not very clear about this. The man seems to have pointed to some sort of speaking tube.'

'Right' said the colonel. 'You know. You whistle in 'em, demmit. Then you talk. Depping only used two rooms to live in: study and bedroom. He'd got a speaking tube running up to the study. It was beside the outer door.'

'Very well… The man was insistent, so Storer spoke to Mr. Depping upstairs. Mr. Depping finally said, 'All right; send him up,' though the man would give no name. But Depping told the valet to be close at hand, in case he should be needed. Storer suggested that he had better go and see to fixing the lights, whereupon Depping said not to mind the lights; that he had plenty of candles in the study, and they would suffice.

'However, Storer woke up the cook, a man named Achille Georges, and sent him out in the rain with a flashlight — under great protest — to find out whether or not the wires had come down. Meantime he was going about shutting the upstairs windows, and he heard Depping and his guest talking in the study. He couldn't hear anything that was said, but they seemed on amiable enough terms. Presently the cook returned, swearing no wire was down. They had a look at the fuse box, and discovered that there had only been a short circuit of some sort, and that plugging in new fuses restored the lights… '

For the first time Dr. Fell, who had been sitting abstractedly filling a pipe, rolled up his big head and stared at the chief inspector. His eyes had a curiously cross-eyed look. A long sniff rumbled in his nose.

'I say, Hadley,' he muttered, 'that's very interesting; It's the first interesting detail you've mentioned so far. Go on, go on.'

Hadley grunted. He looked speculatively at the doctor, and went on:

'By that time it was nearly midnight, and Storer wanted to get to bed. He knocked on the study door, told Depping the lights were repaired, and asked whether he could retire. Depping said, 'Yes, yes,' rather impatiently. So he turned in. There was still a terrific thunderstorm going on, and it kept him awake… On reflection, this morning, he thinks he heard the sound of a shot about a quarter past twelve; he noticed it at the time, but he thought it must be a part of a thunderclap, and didn't investigate. Inspector Murch says the police surgeon reports a quarter past twelve to be about the time of death.

'The next morning, when Storer went downstairs, he saw over the transom that the lights were still burning in the study. He knocked at the door for some time, and got no answer; the door was locked on the inside. So he got a chair, climbed up, and looked through the transom.

'Depping was lying forward across his reading desk, with the back of his head shot open direcdy against the bald spot. Finally Storer plucked up enough nerve to push the transom back, crawl through, and get into the room. Depping had been dead for many hours, and there was no weapon to be found.'

Young Donovan found his morning-after head rapidly disappearing. This cool, unhurried, gruesome recital roused his wits and his imagination. That wild talk of sliding down bannisters now seemed a part of yesterday night's tippling; it was the first time he had caught the scent of a man hunt, and he was beginning to understand its fascination. There was a silence. With a return of uneasiness he found the bishop's complacent paternal eye fixed upon him.

This, Mr. Hadley,' said the bishop, 'is most interesting. And instructive.' He waved his hand towards his son. 'My son, Mr. Hadley, is a student of criminology like myself. Hem. I shall see presently what good his studies have done him' He became businesslike, and considered. There are several suggestive points, I fancy. For example —'

'But, demmit! — ' protested the colonel, mopping his forehead, 'I say—!'

'— for example' the bishop continued coldly, 'you say the door of the study was locked on the inside. Did the murderer escape through a window?'

'No. Through another door. There is an upstairs balcony running along the side of the house, and a door opens out on it. This door — which Storer says is generally locked — was partly open.' Hadley regarded him without sarcasm, and very patiently. 'Now, then. If you will explain your own part in the matter…?'

The bishop nodded, and smiled at Standish in a kindly fashion.

'With pleasure. Fortunately, Mr. Hadley, I can tell you the name of the man who called on Mr. Depping last night. As a matter of fact, I can show you a photograph of him.'

While the colonel a tared, he took from his inside pocket a sheet of glazed paper, carefully annotated in a small hand, and bearing two photographs, which he handed across to Hadley. Now that he was vindicated, the bishop's sense of humor seemed to reassert itself.

'His name is Louis Spinelli. In case the name fails to stir your memory, Mr. Hadley, there are a few notes on him at the bottom of the sheet'

'Spinelli—' repeated Hadley. His eyes narrowed. 'Spinelli — got it! Blackmail. That's the chap. One of