The Hampstead Mystery (Thriller Novel). Arthur J. Rees
sir."
"What time did you leave the house?"
"It would be about a quarter past twelve, sir."
"And what did you do after that?"
"I went home and had my dinner. In the afternoon I took my little girl to the Zoo. I had promised her for a long time that I would take her to the Zoo."
"And what did you do after visiting the Zoo?"
"We went home for supper. After supper my wife took the little girl to the picture palace in Camden Road. It was quite a holiday, sir, for her."
"And what did you do while your wife and child were at the pictures?"
"I stayed at home and minded the shop. When they came home we all went to bed. My wife will tell you the same thing."
"I've no doubt she will," said the inspector drily. "Well, if you didn't murder Sir Horace yourself when did you first hear that he had been murdered?"
"I saw it in the papers yesterday evening."
"And you immediately came up here to see if it was true?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you were taken to the Hampstead Police Station to make a statement as to your movements on the day and night of the murder?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the story you have just told me about the Zoo and the pictures and the rest is virtually the same as the statement you made at the station?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know if Sir Horace kept a revolver?"
"I think he did, sir."
"Where did he keep it?"
"In the second drawer of his desk, sir."
"Well, it's gone," remarked Inspector Chippenfield without opening the drawer. "What sort of a revolver was it? Did you ever see it? How do you know he kept one?"
"Once or twice I saw something that looked like a revolver in that drawer while Sir Horace had it open. It was a small nickel revolver."
"Sir Horace always locked his desk?"
"Yes, sir."
"None of your keys will open it, of course?"
"No, sir. That is--I don't know, sir. I've never tried."
Inspector Chippenfield grunted slightly. That trap the butler had not seen until too late. But of course all servants went through their masters' private papers when they got the chance.
"Do you know if Sir Horace was in the habit of carrying a pocket-book?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; he was."
"What sort of a pocket-book?"
"A large Russian leather one with a gold clasp."
"Did he take it away with him when he went to Scotland? Did you see it about the house after he left?"
"No, sir. I think he took it with him. It would not be like him to forget it, or to leave it lying about."
"And what sort of a man was Sir Horace, Field?"
"A very good master, sir. He could be very stern when he was angry, but I got on very well with him."
"Quite so. Do you know if he had a weakness for the ladies?"
"Well, sir, I've heard people say he had."
"I want your own opinion; I don't want what other people said. You were with him for three years and kept a pretty close watch on him, I've no doubt."
"Speaking confidentially, I might say that I think he was," said Hill.
He glanced apprehensively behind him as if afraid of the dead man appearing at the door to rebuke him for presuming to speak ill of him.
"I thought as much," said the inspector. "Have you any idea why he came down from Scotland?"
"No, sir."
"Well, that will do for the present, Field. If I want you again I'll send for you."
"Thank you, sir. May I ask a question, sir?"
"What is it?"
"You don't really think I had anything to do with it, sir?"
"I'm not here, Field, to tell you what I think. This much I will say: If I find you have tried to deceive me in any way it will be a bad day for you."
"Yes, sir."
Grave, taciturn, watchful, secret and suave, with an appearance of tight-lipped reticence about him which a perpetual faint questioning look in his eyes denied, Hill looked an ideal man servant, who knew his station in life, and was able to uphold it with meek dignity. From the top of his trimly-cut grey crown to his neatly-shod silent feet he exuded deference and respectability. His impassive mask of a face was incapable--apart from the faint query note in the eyes--of betraying any of the feelings or emotions which ruffle the countenances of common humanity.
On the way downstairs, Hill saw Police-Constable Flack in conversation with a lady at the front door. The lady was well-known to the butler as Mrs. Holymead, the wife of a distinguished barrister, who had been one of his master's closest friends. She seemed glad to see the butler, for she greeted him with a remark that seemed to imply a kinship in sorrow.
"Isn't this a dreadful thing, Hill?" she said.
"It's terrible, madam," replied Hill respectfully.
Mrs. Holymead was extremely beautiful, but it was obvious that she was distressed at the tragedy, for her eyes were full of tears, and her olive-tinted face was pale. She was about thirty years of age; tall, slim, and graceful. Her beauty was of the Spanish type: straight-browed, lustrous-eyed, and vivid; a clear olive skin, and full, petulant, crimson lips. She was fashionably dressed in black, with a black hat.
"The policeman tells me that Miss Fewbanks has not come up from Dellmere yet," she continued.
"No, madam. We expect her to-morrow. I believe Miss Fewbanks has been too prostrated to come."
"Dreadful, dreadful," murmured Mrs. Holymead. "I feel I want to know all about it and yet I am afraid. It is all too terrible for words."
"It has been a terrible shock, madam," said Hill.
"Has the housekeeper come up, Hill?"
"No, madam. She will be up to-morrow with Miss Fewbanks."
"Well, is there nobody I can see?" asked Mrs. Holymead.
Police-Constable Flack was impressed by the spectacle of a beautiful fashionably-dressed lady in distress.
"The inspector in charge of the case is upstairs, madam," he suggested. "Perhaps you'd like to see him." It suddenly occurred to him that he had instructions not to allow any stranger into the house, and police instructions at such a time were of a nature which classed a friend of the family as a stranger. "Perhaps I'd better ask him first," he added, and he went upstairs with the feeling that he had laid himself open to severe official censure from Inspector Chippenfield.
He came downstairs with a smile on his face and the message that the inspector would be pleased to see Mrs. Holymead. In his brief interview with his superior he had contrived to convey the unofficial information that Mrs. Holymead was a fine-looking woman, and he had no doubt that Inspector Chippenfield's readiness to see her was due to the impression this information had made on his unofficial feelings.
Mrs. Holymead was conducted upstairs and announced by the butler. Inspector Chippenfield greeted her with a low bow of conscious inferiority, and anticipated Hill in placing a chair for her. His large red face went a deeper scarlet in colour as he looked at her.
"Flack tells me that you are a friend of the family, Mrs. Holymead. What is it that I can do for you? I need scarcely say, Mrs. Holymead, that your distinguished husband is well known to us all. I have had the pleasure of