C. N. Williamson & A. N. Williamson: 30+ Murder Mysteries & Adventure Novels (Illustrated). Charles Norris Williamson
explanation, I had thought, even then.
I remembered the smoke and sparks which had so mysteriously risen from the tower, and the heat of the octagonal room adjoining it. All this, too, had been accounted for. I had not cared at the time to invent romances to fit into the strange appearances, which I had assured myself were doubtless strange only in appearance; but now I could not help dwelling upon them with an almost morbid persistency that would not be set aside.
I thought of the woman's face which had for an instant gazed at me through the narrow window beside the door. I reminded myself of the surprise on the features of the decorous male factotum when he had learned that I was not the man expected by his master, and I went over word for word, as nearly as I could, each sentence whispered by Wildred and his servant in the hall.
What if there were some ghastly connection between the apparent mystery in the House by the Lock and the half-charred, headless body found to-day in the Thames!
I was ready to accuse my own enmity towards Wildred, and my vague suspicions of him, also my merciless desire to fasten some stigma upon the man, of being potent factors in these mental suggestions of mine.
But I could not banish them even if I would. Continually throughout the remainder of the evening and night I pieced together various theories, all more or less defective, and next morning the desire was strong within me to go and see the headless corpse.
There were at least twenty chances to one against my being able to identify it, or finding in the pitiful remains of a tragedy any clue such as I sought. But strange fancies steeped my brain with their potent fumes, and I knew that I should not be able to rest until, at least, I had absolutely proved myself mistaken.
Permission to view the body at the mortuary was easily obtained at the local police station, when I had given my name, and mentioned that I had come for purposes of identification.
Fortunately for my self-control, I had looked upon many a gruesome sight during my somewhat chequered career, though scarcely one more hideous than this which I had deliberately sought.
It would be worse than useless to enter into a detailed description of what my eyes turned from with loathing. There was only one possible way of identification, however, that of finding some mark upon the partially charred body, or something lacking which might be suggestive of a theory.
I had a theory, which as yet I had scarcely dared dwell upon in my own mind, so wild, so improbable did it appear at any other time than dead of night, when all strange things seem possible. But now, as I judged what the height and size of the body must have been, and let my glance travel almost fearfully to the left hand, I saw that which tended in a ghastly manner to confirm it. All the four fingers were missing, having been cut off between the second joint and knuckles.
Harvey Farnham had worn the ring given to Karine Cunningham by Wildred on the little finger of the left hand; and in the light of this discovery my dream of Christmas Eve came back to me as a prophetic vision.
Chapter XVI.
Information Laid by Carson Wildred
The case being one of great local importance, having thrown the countryside into a whirl of excitement, the inspector himself had thought it worth while to accompany me on my journey to the mortuary. My name was familiar to him, he said, with a look of interest and curiosity in his eyes; and this being so, doubtless he had not been averse to the chance of keeping watch upon me when I went to gaze upon the body of the mysteriously murdered man.
If he were interested in me, I was, at least, equally interested in him, or rather in the opinions which he and brother members of the police force might have formed.
Reticence was, of course, supposed to be observed by so important a functionary as the inspector, but I saw that in his round, good-natured face which caused me to hope he might be amenable to a little judiciously applied flattery. I therefore extolled the arrangements of the local authorities, and ended by saying that, as the sight I had just witnessed had considerably upset me, I should be glad if he would do me the favour of having something with me at the private bar of the adjacent inn.
"Well, sir, it's against the rules, you know," he said, smiling sapiently. "But I certainly consider it an honour to be invited by so celebrated a gentleman as you, Mr. Stanton. And–if you'll go first, sir, I'll just look in a little later and find you at the private bar."
I followed the prudent suggestion, and was presently joined by the inspector, who appeared relieved at finding himself shut in and alone with me.
We had whisky and soda ad libitum, and then I cautiously began: "The fact is, inspector," I said, "I was particularly anxious for this chance of a little friendly chat with you. I have certain suspicions which may be, of course, without a grain of foundation. What I mean to say is, I have grave fears that the murdered man is the friend I thought it possible I might identify. Who the murderer may be in any case remains to be seen, but if the body is that of the person I have in my mind, I might be able to put a clue into the hands of the police. 'A word to the wise,' you know, inspector! But first I am hoping for a little help from you before I run the risk of incriminating one who may be innocent. Quite between ourselves, allow me to ask what your police surgeon has had to say regarding his examination?"
The inspector looked dubious, then brightened visibly. "You being the man you are, Mr. Stanton," he said, sociably, over his third glass of old Scotch, "I can't see that there'd be anything amiss in my answering you so far. Our surgeon, Mr. Potter, reported that the corpse was that of a well-nourished man of somewhere between forty and forty-five years of age, all the organs healthy, though there were traces of opium in the system–not, however, enough to have caused death. The head had been severed from the neck by a skilled anatomist, who knew exactly where to strike; but it had been separated after death, not before. Also the mutilation of the left hand had been done in the same way. I suppose that is roughly the sort of thing you wanted to know?"
"Exactly," I returned, "and every detail you have mentioned goes to strengthen my suspicions. Being an amateur, I was obliged to judge principally by size and height. The surgeon's report fits in with my theory precisely. Still, it does not comprise everything. It would be a great assistance if I might know whether the police have yet had any reliable information to work upon."
We had grown very friendly, indeed, almost fraternal now, and the inspector kindly allowed me to refill his glass. "Do you know who Mr. Carson Wildred, of the House by the Lock, is, Mr. Stanton?" he enquired, confidentially.
The question surprised and excited me. Was it possible, I hastily asked myself, that already the police were on the same track that I was following? If so, Wildred must have shown himself a less impenetrable villain than I had had reason to suppose him.
"Yes, I not only know who he is, but have a slight personal acquaintance with him," I said conservatively.
"Well, sir"–slowly, and with some unction–"Mr. Wildred has been the only one so far–not counting what you yourself may have to say presently–who has given any information of value."
"Indeed? He has given information?" I could not eliminate the astonishment, and perhaps something of the disappointment, from my voice.
"Yes, sir. As you know Mr. Wildred, you're probably aware that his country house is close by our town, and close, too, to the spot where the body was found. He was in yesterday evening, as soon as the matter had got noised about, and asked to see the body."
"Incredible!" The word sprang to my lips, but I forced it back, and refrained from uttering it.
"He was unable to identify it, but he spoke to having seen something in the neighbourhood of the small backwater not far from his house, just before Christmas, which seemed likely to throw light on the matter. The surgeon's idea is, as I think I forgot to mention, sir, that the body had been in the water since Christmas time, or thereabouts, which made Mr. Wildred's supposition the