C. N. Williamson & A. N. Williamson: 30+ Murder Mysteries & Adventure Novels (Illustrated). Charles Norris Williamson
"It seems that the gentleman had a friend staying with him at the House by the Lock until a week or so ago–a Mr. Farnham, an American–who has since sailed for home. They were in the habit of taking a daily walk together, whenever they were not in town, and a week before Christmas noticed that close to the little backwater two men were living in a tent.
"It was a quiet place enough in winter time, and the fellows might have expected to escape observation, perhaps, but it was the smell of their smoke which first attracted Mr. Wildred and his friend to the spot, and as it was his land Mr. Wildred at first was inclined to order the chaps away. He thought better of it, though, as he seems a good-natured gentleman, and said it didn't really matter to him whether they stayed or went. A strict watch was kept on all the locks up at the house, however, as it occurred to Mr. Wildred the men might have some queer design. A day or two went by, and the tent was still there, but on Christmas, when Mr. Wildred and Mr. Farnham were walking out, they heard the sound of loud voices, and went near enough to see that the two men were quarrelling outside.
"He says he wishes now he had interfered, but it didn't seem worth while at the time. That night there was an unpleasant smell of burning, which came up to the House by the Lock, with the wind from that quarter, and was noticed by all the servants, as well as Mr. Wildred, who asked the butler about it at dinner. Next day, when Mr. Wildred sent down to find out, the tent and the men were both gone."
"I suppose," I said, "that you have already taken means to ascertain whether there are any remaining traces of such an encampment by the backwater?"
"Certainly we have. That was done immediately, sir, and the ashes left by a big wood fire were found close to the water; also four rough stakes for the tent ropes, and–a coal sack–much of the sort in which the body up there at the mortuary was sewn. There was something else, too, sir. I wouldn't mention it thus early in the proceedings to anybody for whom I hadn't the respect I have for you; but even as it is, I must have your promise it shan't go any further till it comes out in the proper course of events."
I gave him my promise, hiding my impatience as best I could.
"Well, Mr. Stanton," the inspector went on, lowering his voice, though there was nobody within earshot, "in the wood ashes was found what looks like a most important clue. Nothing less, sir, than the calcined bones of four human fingers, cut from the left hand!"
"By Jove!" I ejaculated involuntarily, springing to my feet, and beginning to walk nervously up and down. I hardly knew whether to feel that I had been brought to a dead stop in my operations and suspicions, or to tell myself that Carson Wildred was the most cold-blooded, and, at the same time, the cleverest scoundrel who had ever walked the earth.
Chapter XVII.
A Disappointment
"You seem surprised, Mr. Stanton!" exclaimed the inspector.
"I am surprised," I echoed, "and I intend to explain why presently. Meanwhile, I suppose you are trying to get on the track of the second man who lived in that tent?"
"That's what we are doing, sir–hard at it."
"You will never find him," I said.
"No, sir? May I ask what makes you so sure of that?"
"Simply because my opinion is that he does not exist–never did exist."
The inspector's jaw dropped. "But–but Mr. Carson Wildred—" he began, when I turned on him and cut him short.
"Did your experience never show you a case where a man, himself a criminal, invented proofs and clues for the purpose of putting the police upon the wrong track?"
He too started from his chair, forgetting to set down his glass of whisky. "Good heavens, sir, you don't mean to accuse—"
"I don't accuse. I am not yet in a position to do that. I only suggest, and should be myself a criminal if I did not try to throw such light upon the matter as I can. Sit down again, inspector, and let me tell you what I know, and what I suspect."
He sat, or rather dropped into his lately-deserted chair, and his horrified expression, his drooping attitude, went far towards showing me what an exalted position Carson Wildred occupied in the esteem of the neighbourhood.
"I can't seem to realise it, Mr. Stanton," ejaculated the inspector. "Such a man as Mr. Wildred! So respected, so charitable, has given so much to the church! Why, you must be making a mistake."
"You shall judge for yourself whether I have any evidence to offer worth building upon," I returned. And then I told him everything, beginning with my chance meeting with Harvey Farnham at the theatre on Christmas Eve. His face grew graver and graver as I went on, and when at last (having dwelt with due insistence upon the mysterious proceedings attending my call at the House by the Lock) I mentioned the reappearance of the ring on "a young lady's finger," he shook his head regretfully.
"You've made out a fairly good case against Mr. Wildred, sir," he observed. "Would it be indiscreet to ask whether you've any personal enmity against the gentleman?"
"I don't like him," I admitted. And then I went on to describe in a few words my haunting impression of having been disagreeably associated with him in the past.
"I would wish," I added hurriedly, "to keep the name of the lady now in possession of the ring entirely out of the question if possible. It must only be brought in, inspector, at the last extremity should no other means remain of detecting a murderer. As for the ring itself, to save trouble in that direction, I think I could if necessary engage to get hold of it, and I am quite ready at any time to swear to its identity with the one worn by my old friend Farnham."
The inspector thoughtfully scratched his head. "It'll be a nasty business to examine Mr. Wildred's house, in case your friend Mr. Farnham should prove to be all right over in the States. But we can't lose any time. What you've told me to-day is very serious, sir, and must be attended to at once. A couple of detectives will call at the House by the Lock with a search-warrant before nightfall. I can assure you of that. Until some definite conclusion is arrived at, Mr. Stanton, I suppose you would prefer that your name didn't appear in the matter?"
"I don't care a hang whether it appears or not," I retorted recklessly. Perhaps if I had been a little less reckless–but it is never profitable to dwell on and brood over the mistakes of one's past.
The inspector assured me that a detective should call that night at the hotel in Great Marlow where I had volunteered to remain, and give me all particulars concerning the examination of the House by the Lock. The appointment made was for eight o'clock, by which time, allowing for obstacles and unforeseen delays, all was sure to be well over.
Though the inspector had promised that the New York police should be communicated with, a great restlessness was upon me, and I resolved myself to cable to America.
It was possible that the St. Paul, the ship in which Farnham had been supposed to sail, was arriving at New York that day, though the chances were, as the weather had been rough, that she would not have made one of her record trips. However, there could be no harm in wiring, and if the ship had got in all waste of time would be avoided.
I wrote out a despatch to the office of the American line in New York, to be answered (reply prepaid) the moment the St. Paul got in. In this I enquired whether Mr. Harvey Farnham, of Denver, Colorado, had been among the passengers. And not contenting myself with this I cabled Farnham, both to Denver and New York, and to the manager of the Fifth Avenue Hotel in the latter place, where I had been told that he usually put up.
The answers to these messages I requested to have sent me at the hotel I had chosen for my headquarters in Great Marlow.
The hours which must intervene before I could possibly hope for a return I spent at the Wayfarers', and there I heard of Wildred, who had lunched at the club with his friend Wigram, and later