THE CRIME AT TATTENHAM CORNER (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes
dived into the bag again and brought out another bit of paper.
On it was scrawled in what looked like the same writing as that on the other: "Will probably leave Oxley a little after twelve. Should reach the Wood in ten minutes."
Stoddart knit his brows. "As I said before, it seems strong evidence that some person was lurking there on the night of the tragedy. But I suppose you don't suggest that the owner of this thing"—giving the bag a contemptuous flick—"waited there under the trees and took a pot-shot at Sir John Burslem as he passed in his car, then pulled him out and flung him into a ditch. Besides, you are forgetting when Sir John left Oxley soon after twelve he had his wife with him. He drove her home, drew up and signed his will after that. It was not until he went out again for some inexplicable reason and drove to Hughlin's Wood a second time that he met his death. But the owner of this bag must be traced. It is quite possible that she witnessed the murder, or at any rate knows something of the events that led up to it. The question is, How is this woman to be found? She must have heard of Sir John Burslem's death—the papers are full of nothing else—and she hasn't come forward. The inference is that she has some reason for her silence, and one can scarcely conceive that it is an innocent one."
"Hardly," Harbord assented. He waited silently while Stoddart stood up, took a pipe from the mantelpiece, filled it deliberately and then sat down while he lighted a match.
"There's no doubt a pipe does clear one's brain in a way that this rubbish you younger ones smoke doesn't touch," he said, throwing a cigarette-case over to Harbord. "Help yourself. They are Imperial Regent, quite a new brand, and not bad. So far as I can see, a journey to Oxley is the first thing indicated and a few inquiries as to any strangers who were seen in the neighbourhood that day, or who had made inquiries about Sir John Burslem or his projected visit. Somebody must have given the information away."
"Precisely. But—"
A tap at the door interrupted Harbord before he could finish his sentence. A man in undress uniform opened the door. "A young lady is asking to see the officials in charge of the Burslem case, sir."
"A young lady?" the inspector demanded sharply. "What young lady? What name did she give?"
"I asked her, sir. But she said you did not know her."
"Ask her again."
The man saluted and departed. Stoddart looked across at Harbord.
"Is this your mysterious lady of the Wood and the handbag?"
As he spoke the door opened. "Miss Burslem, sir—Miss Pamela Burslem."
"Sir John's daughter! Show her in at once," the inspector ordered. He drew in his lips as he looked across at Harbord.
Miss Burslem was ushered in in a moment—a tall, slim girl, in a short skirt and with the shingled hair of the period. She looked essentially modern. She glanced at Stoddart, who had risen and put his pipe down, and from him to Harbord.
"Which of you is in charge of the case?" she inquired abruptly. "The case of my father's murder I mean?"
"I am," Stoddart answered. "And Mr. Harbord," with a wave of his hand at the young man, "is my very capable and tried assistant."
"Oh!"
Miss Burslem took the chair nearest her. "Have you found out who is guilty?" she demanded unceremoniously.
"Not yet," the inspector said. "I understood that you were in Italy, otherwise—"
"So I was in Italy," Miss Burslem said abruptly. "You didn't expect me to stay there quietly when my father was murdered, I suppose?"
"No, but I was afraid that you might not have got home in time—"
"We are not living in the days of stage-coaches and sailing boats," the girl said scornfully. "I flew, of course. Reached Croydon this morning and motored straight on."
It was evident to the inspector at a glance that the girl was tired and overwrought. Unlike her stepmother, she did not look as if she had been crying. Instead, her grey eyes were bright, hard and tearless.
"But I will not rest until my father's murderer is punished," she cried impatiently, "and I can tell you who he is—Sir Charles Stanyard, and if my stepmother would speak the truth—"
"Hush! Hush! my dear young lady," the inspector said in real alarm. "Do you know that you might bring grave trouble upon yourself by making such a statement?"
"You mean that Stanyard might bring a libel against me?" Miss Burslem said more quietly. "Now, I am not going to turn hysterical on your hands. Don't be afraid. But"—she pressed her lips together and looked at him squarely in the face before she continued—"I mean my father's murderer to be found and brought to justice if I spend every penny I possess. That is why I came to you at once, as soon as I arrived. Don't think of expense; I am going to offer a reward—oh, a very big reward—the biggest perhaps that has ever been offered, to bring the guilt home—"
The inspector held up his hand. "Miss Burslem, everything will be done that can be done. As for money"—he shrugged his shoulders—"that will make no difference. Common justice for the rich as well as for the poor demands that Sir John's murderer should be found and punished. With regard to offering a reward, it may be useful. But I must tell you that no member of the police force is allowed to take it."
"Well, if you stand for British justice—" retorted Miss Burslem more equably. "Can't you see the whole thing? Lady Burslem was engaged to Sir Charles Stanyard when they never thought he would come in to the title and the estates. Then she met my father, who fell foolishly, madly in love with her. She threw over Captain Stanyard and married my father. Do you know that she was twenty-one and he was forty-two when she married him? Is it likely that she would care for him?" with the fine scorn of youth for middle age. "And my father's death meant heaps of money for Sir Charles Stanyard. It meant that Perlyon won the Derby instead of Peep o' Day, and they say he was on his colt to any amount. Oh, he knew Peep o' Day wouldn't run!"
"My dear young lady, do you think a man in Sir Charles Stanyard's position would willingly put his neck in a noose for the sake of a few thousand pounds?" Stoddart questioned impressively. "And there is another question: What would your father have said if he heard you bring such a charge?"
"I don't know!"
For one moment Pamela's composure threatened to give way. They could see her throat twitching painfully.
"I haven't seen so much of my father lately," she confessed. "Before his second marriage I was always with him. But since"—forlornly—"I don't think he has wanted me—much." She got up. "Well, that is all. I want to put you on the right track, to tell you to offer the biggest reward that has ever been offered for the discovery of the murderer."
After a moment's hesitation, she held out her hand to the inspector.
He took it in his for a moment.
"We will let you know when it is desirable to offer a reward, Miss Burslem. And in the meantime let me advise you to put all these lamentable ideas out of your head. Believe me, things will not turn out as you expect."
He opened the door and escorted her out of the building.
When he came back he looked at Harbord.
"Nice sort of young person, eh?"
Harbord waited a minute.
"Well, poor girl!" he said at last, "she is evidently overwrought and overstrained, but she has managed to pitch on the obvious clue, hasn't she?"
"She has, but to my mind the obvious clue is generally the wrong one," the inspector observed sententiously.
Meanwhile Pamela had dismissed her car; she felt that she must be alone to think—to try to realize this awful thing that had befallen her. She went to the Embankment and for a while stood watching the sluggish moving waters of the Thames, then almost without knowing what she was doing she turned to the right and in a few minutes found herself in St. James's Park. She was buried deep in thought when, just as she was about to cross one of the bridges,