Murder of a Lady (14 page)

“Since she became friendly with McDonald?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“It was during the last few weeks, was it, that she began to demand a home of her own?”

Duchlan inclined his head.

“After she ran away from this house,” he stated in low tones. “That evening saw the crisis of her relations with my sister. She told my sister that she would never again be indebted to her for a crust of bread. She said she was going away to earn her own living by any means that offered, even if it meant going into domestic service.”

“Did she talk in that way after she came back?”

Barley asked the question in tones which thrilled with excitement. He thrust his body forward as if he feared to miss a syllable of the reply.

“Not quite in that way. After she came back she expressed a determination to have a home of her own, with her husband and child.”

There was a short period of silence. The cackle of a seagull fell unseasonably on their ears. Then Barley waved his hand.

“It boils down to this, I venture to think,” he remarked, “namely, that Miss Gregor suspected your daughter-in law and was determined to expose her to her husband, doubtless from the highest motives. That, believe me, was likely to be a serious affair both for Mrs. Eoghan and for Dr. McDonald. As Mrs. Eoghan is not possessed of any private means, her position as a divorced wife, deprived of her child, must have been sufficiently melancholy. As for the doctor, he ran a great risk of being removed from the Medical Register and so completely ruined. It's obvious therefore that both the woman and the man had strong motives for wishing that your sister might be removed from their paths.”

Duchlan did not reply. Even his fingers were still. The detective rose and struck his hands together.

“I suggest,” he declared in tones that were menacing, “that it was these considerations which led you to suggest to your daughter-in-law, after the murder of your sister, that she had better take immediate steps to cheat the gallows?”

“What! You accuse me…”

“Pardon me, Duchlan, but the facts as I know them admit, in my humble opinion, of no other explanation. You believed that your daughter-in-law was party to the murder of your sister by Dr. McDonald. His fate did not concern you; hers did. She is your son's wife, the mother of your only grandson, of the heir to Duchlan. You knew very well that if she drowned herself there would be silence not only about her share in the crime but even about the manner of her death. There is no Coroner's Court in Scotland. Moreover, only you knew about her meetings with Dr. McDonald. So long as she lived there was the dreadful fear that these relations might continue and so be discovered. Her death promised safety for everybody, for you and your son and your son's son, for your house and your name.”

The silence fell again and deepened so that the chiming of a clock in the hall outside was an intolerable burden. Duchlan's head began to nod like the head of one of those cunning ivory toys which react for long periods to the slightest touch.

“Your daughter-in-law,” Barley added, “yielded to your compulsion. Acknowledgment, surely, of her guilt.”

Chapter XXII

Torture

When Duchlan had gone away, Dr. Hailey gave the detective an account of his interview with Dr. McDonald.

“You can, of course, question him yourself if you wish,” he added, “but I think that if you do, you will waste your time. He admitted quite frankly that he had fallen in love with Mrs. Eoghan; he denied and went on denying, that she has ever, in any degree, given him encouragement.”

“Did he?” Barley's expression showed how much importance he attached to such a statement. “It's curious, if he's telling the truth, that Mrs. Eoghan should have tried to drown herself; indeed, that these murders were committed at all. Innocent people never commit crimes to escape from unjust accusations.”

“I agree. But innocent people sometimes sacrifice themselves to preserve those they love.”

“Why should Mrs. Eoghan have thought that her husband had killed his aunt?”

“I feel sure she did think so.”

“Yes, but why, why?”

“If one loves one fears. There was a strong motive, remember.”

Barley frowned.

“That's saying that she believed her husband capable of murder.”

He stared at Dr. Hailey as he spoke. When the doctor shook his head he frowned again.

“It may mean that, of course. But does it necessarily mean that? Knowing that a strong motive exists one may be seized by a dreadful fear, a fear that does not shape itself in words, scarcely even in thoughts; that is a feeling rather than an idea. And one may act on that feeling…”

“Still, the basis of the idea is murder.”

“No, I think the basis of the idea is sympathy, the knowledge of human nature which we all derive from the fact of our own humanity. Is there a single crime that you or I might not commit in certain circumstances? You remember: ‘But for the grace of God there goes John Bunyan.' I feel sure that only very stupid or very vain people are so entirely sure of themselves as to believe themselves immune from temptation. Saints and sinners have more in common than is usually supposed.”

Barley leaned back in his chair. His face assumed a gracious expression.

“Your method, believe me,” he declared, “is rich in attraction for me. If I could believe that Mrs. Eoghan cared for her husband, I might even be persuaded. But what are the facts?” He shook his head. “Can you doubt, speaking as man to man, that she cared for McDonald? Does a woman run away at night to a man in whom she is not specially interested? Does she meet that man in secret? Women, believe me, are not easily got rid of when their affections are engaged. But she was shrewd. If she couldn't have the doctor, she did not mean to lose her husband. Remember that Miss Gregor's death served the purposes of three different people: It rescued Dr. McDonald, it saved Eoghan Gregor, and it gave back her husband and child to the woman.”

“Even so, McDonald struck me as being an honest man.”

Barley did not reply. He had made up his mind to question Dr. McDonald and was not the man to be turned from such a resolution.

Assuming his singular dust-coat, which made him look like a chess-board, he drove to Ardmore with Dr. Hailey during the afternoon. They found the doctor at home. He took them to a small room at the back of the house, which smelt faintly of iodoform. The room contained a number of glass cases full of instruments and numerous jars in which lints and gauzes were stored. Though the cleanliness and order of this surgery were beyond reproach, it had a desolate aspect. The spirit somehow was lacking.

Dr. McDonald opened a drawer in the desk which occupied the end of the room and took out a box of cigars.

“You'll smoke, Inspector?”

“No, thank you.” Barley sat down on a leather-covered couch and crossed his legs. He got to business immediately, explaining that the questions he was about to ask were likely to tax both memory and observation.

“Let us go back, in the first place, to the night of the murder of Miss Gregor. You were, I understand, summoned on that night to see Mrs. Eoghan Gregor's little boy?”

“Yes, I was.”

“About what time?”

“About half-past nine.”

“Did Mrs. Eoghan Gregor receive you?”

“She was in the nursery. The child had had another of his hysterical attacks and was rather weak. I…”

“Excuse me interrupting you, but how was Mrs. Eoghan Gregor dressed?”

“She wore a blue dressing-gown.”

“Was the maid, Christina, in the nursery?”

“Yes. But as soon as I arrived she went away to attend to Miss Gregor. She came back before I left.”

“So that you and Mrs. Eoghan Gregor were alone?”

“With the child, yes.”

“Did Mrs. Eoghan seem to be unduly excited?”

McDonald raised his head sharply. A look of anxiety appeared on his face.

“She was distressed about the child.”

Barley thrust out his hands.

“I shall be frank with you,” he declared. “Duchlan has just told me that Mrs. Eoghan and her aunt quarrelled violently during the evening, for which reason Mrs. Eoghan retired early to bed. What I want to know is whether or not Mrs. Eoghan discussed this quarrel with you.”

“She told me that she was upset with the attitude her aunt was adopting towards her.”

“Did she tell you that her aunt accused her of being in love with yourself?”

Barley's voice rang out. But the impression he produced was less than he seemed to expect. McDonald nodded.

“She told me that, yes.”

“That Miss Gregor was determined to impart all her suspicions to her nephew on his return?”

“Yes.”

The detective thrust his head forward:

“That meant ruin both for Mrs. Eoghan and yourself?” he demanded.

“Possibly, if Eoghan Gregor believed his aunt.”

“Have you any reason to suppose that he would not have believed her?”

McDonald wiped his brow.

“Eoghan Gregor,” he said in quiet tones, “is in love with his wife, and she is in love with him.”

“Nevertheless his wife was meeting you each evening after dark?”

“Did Duchlan tell you that too?”

“He did.”

“It's not true. We met on one or two occasions only, because Mrs. Eoghan wished to ask my advice.” Suddenly McDonald's voice rang out: “You can have no idea of the torture inflicted on that poor girl by her father-in-law and her aunt.”

“Torture! Torture!” Barley exclaimed in tones which rebuked such extravagance of language.

McDonald rose and began to stump about the room. His powerful body seemed too big for its narrow limits. Dr. Hailey was reminded of a young tiger he had seen pacing its cage at the Zoo.

“Yes, torture,” he cried. “That's the only word that applies. You didn't know Miss Gregor; I did. A woman without a flicker of compassion; devoured by jealousy and family pride. She had not married, I believe, because the idea of losing her name of Gregor of Duchlan was intolerable to her. It may seem a grotesque idea, but I am convinced that it was her instinct to be the mother as well as the daughter of her race. Fate, as it happened, had allowed her to realize that instinct in the case of Eoghan. Mrs. Eoghan, however, robbed her of its complete fulfilment. She dared to assert her wifehood and her motherhood. Eoghan loved her more than he loved his aunt. It was obvious that as soon as the slender thread of Duchlan's life was broken, Miss Gregor's reign at the castle would end for ever.” McDonald paused and then added: “Unless, in the meanwhile, husband and wife could be estranged from one another and separated permanently. In that case Hamish would fall into his aunt's hands just as his father had done before him. Miss Gregor would remain the mistress of Duchlan.”

He turned as he spoke and faced his accuser. Barley was too good a student of human nature not to be impressed, but he was also a practical man, well able to judge of the motives underlying any process of reasoning.

“You are telling me, remember,” he warned, “that neither you nor Mrs. Eoghan could expect any mercy from Miss Gregor. That is exactly what I believe myself.”

“What does that prove?”

“It supplies a strong motive for the crime which, as I believe, you committed between you.”

The doctor started.

“What? You think I murdered Miss Gregor?”

“With the help of Mrs. Eoghan.”

McDonald's face darkened. He wiped his brow again. Dr. Hailey saw him glance out of the window as though an impulse to escape had come to him. Then he began to laugh.

“You must be crazy. Crazy! How do you suppose I got into the woman's bedroom?”

He wiped his brow again. He sat down and disposed his leg with the most attentive care.

“By the door.”

“What? Do you mean to say you don't know that the door was locked?”

“Eoghan Gregor says it was not locked.”

The doctor stared. He repeated in tones of bewilderment:

“Eoghan says it was not locked? Why I saw the carpenter cut out the lock.”

“Did you try the handle?”

“No.”

“So your knowledge is at second-hand.”

“The carpenter tried the handle.”

“He told you that?”

“Good gracious, no, I saw him do it. He tried it several times.”

Barley blinked his eyes. “That, however, was in the morning. What I am suggesting is that the door was unlocked when you left the nursery at the end of your visit on the night before?”

“It was locked then too. Mrs. Eoghan heard her aunt lock it.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Eoghan's evidence is of no value on that point.”

McDonald laughed again. “I see. It's a case of heads I win, tails you lose, is it?”

“My dear sir, Miss Gregor was murdered. Somebody, therefore, entered the room and escaped from it. And human beings do not pass through doors and windows. It's easier, in my humble opinion, to assume that Mrs. Eoghan and yourself have given an untrue account of your doings than to believe that the laws of nature have been set aside.”

“How do you suggest that I killed the old woman? With my wooden leg?”

“No, sir. I believe that Mrs. Eoghan brought an axe from the kitchen. The servants had gone to bed.”

“I see.” The doctor drew a deep breath. “And the herring scale that was found in the wound, where did that come from?”

“Possibly from the blade of the axe.”

“You have still to explain how the door locked itself on the inside, haven't you?”

“I believe I can explain that too.”

Barley had recovered his suavity; like a huntsman whose quarry has turned at bay, he seemed to be making ready to deal a final blow.

“I shall be surprised,” he declared, “if positive proof is not soon forthcoming that you did murder Miss Gregor. Very greatly surprised! I go farther than that. I know where to look for that proof and I know that, when I do look for it, I shall find it.”

He spoke with complete conviction.

Dr. Hailey experienced a sense of bewilderment, which, he saw, was shared, fully, by McDonald. How could it be proved that the doctor had entered the bedroom? Or that he had escaped from it again without passing through the door?

“There's one further point,” Barley said, “on which I am seeking enlightenment. Do you remember who was the first to enter Miss Gregor's room after the lock had been cut from the door?”

“I was.”

“Were the blinds in the room drawn?”

“Yes.”

“Did you open them?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Now tell me, was the amputation which made it necessary for you to wear a wooden leg a high or a low amputation?”

“A high amputation.”

“So that you walk with difficulty?”

“Oh, no.”

“I mean you're always in some danger of slipping or falling?”

McDonald shook his head. He raised his wooden leg from the floor, using both hands in the work.

“As you see,” he remarked, “I wear a special shoe in this foot. These nails in the sole are guaranteed to grip anything.”

On the way back to the castle, Barley asked Dr. Hailey if he had noticed that no mention of the murder of Dundas had been made by McDonald.

“Every moment I expected to hear him advance that second murder as proof of his innocence.”

“Why?”

“Because guilty people always overstate their cases.”

“I see. Does that mean that you harbour some doubts about his guilt?”

“Not doubts exactly. I believe my case is good; good enough to secure a unanimous verdict from any jury. But it's a case in logic rather than in personal conviction. Frankly, McDonald doesn't seem to me to fill the part assigned to him.”

“I agree with you.”

“And the same applies to Mrs. Eoghan?”

“Yes.”

“And yet the choice undoubtedly lies between them and Eoghan Gregor. And we know now that Eoghan Gregor lied to us.”

“About the locked door?”

“Exactly. The carpenter did try the door.” Barley lay back on the cushions and combed his moustache. “I left a message that he was to be called to the castle. We shall hear his own story.”

“You didn't ask any questions, I noticed,” Dr. Hailey said, “about Mrs. Eoghan's flight to McDonald's house?”

“No. He would have told me what he told you. Frankly, since I've seen him, I feel less sure about the circumstances of that flight. I begin to think that he is in love with her. In that case it's certain that he didn't reject her.”

“And therefore unlikely that she offered herself.”

Barley shook his head in his most emphatic manner.

“No, no; that doesn't follow. Women in love seldom or never count the cost, and therefore act as a rule with extreme rashness. But it's quite another matter with men in love. A man, happily, never loses his social sense, no, not even when he seems to be ready to abandon himself. The ages have branded it upon the male mind that work that is service must have first place. McDonald, I believe, suggested the secret meetings which afterwards took place. But he sent Mrs. Eoghan home that night. He was not ready to immolate his professional being.”