THE CRYSTAL BEADS MURDER (Murder Mystery for Inspector Stoddart). Annie Haynes
by the 3.30 from Derby to Holford." There was a certain relief in Courtenay's tone now. His eyes met Stoddart's openly.
"And Saunderson--when did he come?" the inspector said quickly.
"Saunderson?" Courtenay stared at him. "I don't know. I don't know anything about him. I couldn't believe it when I heard he was lying dead in the summer-house."
"When did you hear?" The inspector looked straight at the young man as he put the question.
"Why, when the gardener came up and told us all." Courtenay looked down and shifted his feet about on the gravel uncertainly.
The inspector brought out his notebook. "Now, Mr. Courtenay, this is just a matter of course. I have nearly finished. What were you doing between nine and ten o'clock last night, and where were you?"
"Ten o'clock last night?" Courtenay repeated, kicking up a big bit of gravel. "Well, the Medchesters had some neighbours in to dinner and of course there were a few of us staying in the house, and afterwards we had a rubber of bridge in the card-room. I meant to take a hand, but I cut out, and after I'd watched the play a bit I went into the billiard-room with a couple of other men and knocked the balls about. Later on I went back to the card-room and had a game. Landed a pound or two, too--my luck was in."
"How long were you in the billiard-room?"
Courtenay, having got up his piece of gravel, kicked it off into the grass.
"Oh, it might have been half an hour or so, or maybe it might have been a bit longer. I couldn't tell you nearer than that," he said carelessly, but his eyes from beneath their heavy lids shot an odd glance at the inspector as he spoke.
Stoddart's quick fingers were making notes. He was not looking at Courtenay now.
"Who were the two men with you in the billiard-room?"
"Sir James Wilson and Captain Maddock," Courtenay said quickly. "Mind, I don't say they were there all the time. We were in and out, you know."
The inspector made no comment.
"Can you give me the names of the card-players?"
"Not all of them right off, I can't," Courtenay said after a minute or two spent apparently in trying to quicken his memory. "Old Lady Frinton was my partner, I know, and the vicar part of the time. The others may come back to me later on."
"Lord and Lady Medchester, perhaps?" the inspector suggested.
Courtenay shook his head.
"I don't think so. Lord Medchester was with us in the billiard-room a bit. Then he went off. I think a few of them were smoking on the veranda."
"And Lady Medchester? Was she playing?"
Courtenay paused a moment.
"No," he said. "I remember she wouldn't, though she is generally pretty keen about it. But I don't think they played high enough for her. She goes in for pretty high stakes in town. She just dodged about, looking after folks. The two old people--the Dowager and my old grandfather--were playing bezique in the small drawing-room. I didn't see much of her."
"I see." The inspector produced the crystal beads from his pocket and held them up. "Have you ever seen these before, Mr. Courtenay?"
Harold Courtenay stared at them, and as he looked the colour which had been coming back to his face ebbed away again.
"I--I don't know," he stammered. "I don't think so."
"Are you quite sure?" The inspector spoke suavely, but there was a look in his eyes which Harbord knew was a danger signal.
Harold Courtenay wriggled uneasily.
"I may have done; I can't be sure. Every woman you meet wears this sort of thing nowadays."
"True enough," the inspector assented, dangling the beads before him. "And these are of no particular value. You can see that at once."
"Where did you find them?" Harold Courtenay asked, his eyes watching them as if fascinated, while the inspector dangled them before him.
A curious, enigmatic smile twisted Stoddart's thin lips.
"Ah! That," he said as he restored the beads to his pocket, "is my secret, Mr. Courtenay--and it will be as well if you say nothing about them at present."
Chapter V
"This is a queer case," Inspector Stoddart said slowly. "There is something about it I don't understand, I can't fathom--"
Harbord made no rejoinder. He looked tired and worried. The two men were sitting in the little room the inspector had engaged at the "Medchester Arms." It was a small, unpretentious village inn, and they had been fortunate in securing the rooms vacated that morning by Maurice Stainer and his sister. They had just finished their midday meal--the cold beef and pickles which, with a slice of apple pasty, was all that Holford could produce in the way of luncheon at the end of the week.
A box of cigarettes stood on the table. Stoddart stretched out his hand and took one.
"There's nothing like a smoke for clearing one's brain; to my way of thinking, nothing beats a gasper. Lord Medchester made me take a couple of Egyptians this morning. Very good, but give me my own gold flake."
"Yes, I hate those strong things," Harbord assented. "But I'd smoke 'em fast enough if I thought they'd do my brain any good. It seems to be made of cotton-wool lately. Young Courtenay knows something. I am clear enough about that."
Stoddart drew in his lips.
"So do a good many other people--Lord Medchester for one. But as to what it is, and how much there is to it, I can't make up my mind. How did those beads come in Saunderson's pocket, and who put them there?
"There were those few moments when the superintendent went to look at the barn, but to my mind they must have been there when he searched the body."
Harbord lighted a cigarette and continued:
"As I see things, it must have been a woman who shot Saunderson--probably he had letters from her. He may have been holding them over her, for he seems to have been a tolerably bad hat where women are concerned. Then she searched his pocket--possibly she knew they were there, and the beads look as if they had been part of a chain, one of those long, dangling things women wear to make up for their short skirts, maybe. A chain of white glass beads is common enough. They are always catching on buttons and what not, you know, sir."
"I don't," the inspector said with emphasis on the pronoun. "They never get the chance of catching on my buttons, thank the Lord. But there's a snag in your theory, Alfred--the beads were not there when the body was found."
"According to Superintendent Mayer," Harbord corrected. "They were not in the bottom of the pocket, you know, sir. One of the links of the chain had hooked itself in the lining of the pocket. I think it would be quite easy to take papers or anything of that sort out without feeling the beads."
"Only the pocket-book and papers were lying on the floor," the inspector objected. "No use trying to make facts fit in with your theory, Alfred. And don't make the mistake of underestimating the superintendent's intelligence. Because he is fat and ponderous and talks with the accent of Loamshire, you do not give him credit for the brains he possesses."
"Does he?" Harbord questioned sceptically. The inspector nodded.
"Undoubtedly. Medchester isn't much of a place certainly, but a man doesn't become police superintendent even there without a certain amount of ability. As for Superintendent Mayer--" He paused.
"Well?" Harbord said interrogatively.
"Those little pig's eyes of his see further than you think," Stoddart finished. "Oh, there were no beads when he went through the pocket; I feel sure of that."
"Then how