pretty good one. But that's not what's really botherin' me. What bothers me is that infernal letter Uncle Spencer wrote to the Hume gal last night - swearin' he actually saw the murder done, and that Answell did it after all. Why did he write that? If he lied, why the blazes
'You suspected him just because he had an alibi?' I asked.
'It's no good talkin' to you,' said H.M. wearily. ‘You won't see the difficulties. I thought that if he didn't actually commit the murder, he arranged it -'
A new possibility appeared.
‘I remember reading about another of these cases,' I said; 'but it's so long ago that I can't remember whether it was a real happening or a story. A man was found apparently murdered in a room high up in a tower by the edge of the sea. His chest had been blown in with a shotgun, and the weapon was missing. The only clue was a fishing-rod in the room. Unfortunately, the door of the tower had been under observation, and no one was seen to go in or out. The only window was a small one up a smooth wall above the sea. Who killed him, and what had happened to the weapon? ... The secret was fairly simple. It was suicide. He had propped up the shot-gun, facing him, in the window. He stood some feet away and touched the hair-trigger with the fishing-rod. The kick of the gun when it exploded carried it backwards off the window-ledge into the sea: hence it was supposed to be murder and his family collected the insurance. Do you mean that there might have been some device in Avory Hume's study, which he accidentally touched, and it discharged the arrow at him? Or what die devil do you mean?'
'It can't be that,' Evelyn protested. 'If this isn't more mystification, we're to believe that the murderer was actually talking to Hume at the time.'
'That's right,' admitted H.M.
'All the same,' I said, 'it seems that we're straying away from the most important point. No matter who committed the murder, what was the motive? You can't tell me, for instance, that Answell would grab an arrow and stab Hume simply because he believed his future father-in-law had put knock-out drops in a glass of whisky. Unless, of course, he's as mad as they wanted to make out Reginald was. But there's been remarkably little talk about motive in this case. Who else had a shadow of a motive to kill Hume?’
'Ain't you forgettin' the will?' asked H.M., lifting dull eyes. 'What will?'
‘You heard all about it in court. Avory Hume was mad to have a grandson, like most self-made men. Perpetuate the line, and so on. He was goin' to make a will leaving everything in trust - everything, mind - for that hypothetical grandson.'
'Did he make the will?'
'No. He didn't have time. So I thought it might be interestin' to go to Somerset House and put down my shilling and get a look at the original will, the one that's been admitted to probate now. Well, the girl is the chief legatee, of course; but everybody else gets a neat slice of the old man's money; he wasn't even cautious over things like that. Even poor old Dyer got a cut, and there was a sizable bequest of ?3,500 to build a new ward-house for the Woodmen of Kent, to be delivered to the Secretary and used at his own discretion ...'
'So the Woodmen of Kent got together and marched up to London, and skewered him with an arrow? Rubbish, H.M.! That's not worthy of you.'
'I was only throwin' out suggestions,' returned H.M. with surprising meekness. He peered up from under wrinkled brows. 'Just to see if anything could possibly stir up your grey matter. You'd never be able to construct a defence, Ken: you can't take a hint out of the evidence, and go straight to where you'd probably find a witness. For instance! Suppose I thought it was pretty vital to get hold of Uncle Spencer? Even if I didn't shove him into the witness-box, suppose I thought it was very necessary to have a little talk with him? How would I go about puttin' .. my hands on him?'
'God knows. That's one of Masters's favourite jobs of routine. If the police can't find him, I don't see how you can. He got a good head-start, remember. He could be in Palestine by now.'
A knock at the door roused H.M. out of his apparent torpor. He dropped the stump of his cigar into the plate, and squared himself.
'Come in,' said H.M. 'He could be,' H.M. added, 'but he's not.'
The door was opened with some caution. And Dr Spencer Hume, impeccably dressed, with a bowler hat in one hand and a rolled umbrella hanging from the crook of his arm, came into the room.
XV
IF the gilded figure of Justice on the dome of the Old Bailey had slid down from the cupola and appeared here, it could have caused no more pronounced effect. But Dr Hume did not to-day seem so bland and banal. He looked ill. Though his dark hair was as neatly brushed into place as before, his high colour had gone and his little, sensitive eyes were uneasy. When he saw Evelyn and me sitting in the firelight, he shied badly.
'It's all right, son,' H.M. assured him. H.M. was sitting back at the table, one hand shading his eyes. The doctor's glance had gone instinctively towards the window, in the direction of the great building where he was wanted. 'These are friends of mine. One of 'em I think you met yesterday. Just sit down and smoke a cigar. There's a very old artillery proverb: 'The closer the target, the safer you are.' Bein' right smack up against the eye of Balmy Rankin, you're all right. You could get in the queue outside the public gallery entrance, and go up in the gallery among the spectators, and you could sit right up over Balmy's head without his knowin' you were anywhere closer than China.'
'I - ah - am aware of that,' replied Spencer, with traces of a bitter smile. He sat very straight in the chair, and his tubby figure had an odd dignity. He did not accept H.M.'s offer of a cigar, but sat with his hands flat on his knees. 'As a matter of strict record, I have been sitting in the public gallery all morning.'
'Uh-huh. I was pretty sure I saw you there,' observed H.M. casually. The other went a little more white. 'It's not a new trick. Charlie Peace did it at the trial of young Habron for the murder of the man Peace really killed. Honestly, you've got more guts than I thought you had.'
'But you didn't - speak up?'
'I hate rows in court” sniffed H.M., inspecting his fingers. 'It disturbs the nice soothin' atmosphere, and the feelin' of intellectual balance. Still, that's beside the point. I gather you got my message last night?'
Dr Hume put his hat on the floor, and leaned the umbrella carefully against the side of the chair.
'The point is that you have got me here,' he retorted, but without heat. 'Now will you answer one question? How did you know where to find me?'
'I didn't,' said H.M. 'But I had to try the most likely places. You'd done a bunk. But you had time to write a very long, very careful, and very weighty letter to your niece; and people who got to depend on the rush of aeroplanes or boat-trains don't usually have time for that. You knew they'd be after you, and that contempt of court is a criminal offence. There's only one excuse for it - extreme illness. I thought you'd probably run straight to your friend Tregannon, and gone to earth among the bedclothes and the ice-caps in his nursin' home. You can probably produce a certificate now, showin' how ruddy unwell you were yesterday. I've said a good many times that this tracing business is only a glorified version of the old chestnut about the idiot boy findin' the lost horse: 'I just thought where I'd have gone if I had been a horse; and I went there; and he had.' I sent you a message there, and you had.'
'Rather a queer kind of message,' said Spencer, looking hard at him.
'Yes. That's why it's time we got down to business. I thought there was one person at least you wouldn't want to see hanged.'
'You mean myself?'
'Right,' agreed H.M., taking his hand away from shading his eyes. He got out his watch, a large cheap one of the turnip variety, and put it on the table. 'Listen to me, doctor. I'm not bluffin'. I'll prove it, if you think I am. But in about fifteen minutes I'm due to be in court. I'll wind up the defence of Jim Answell this afternoon. I
don't say this as a certainty, mind - but, when I do, I think the betting's about a hundred to six that you'll be
