Murder of a Lady (18 page)

Chapter XXVII

Man to Man

Dr. Hailey returned alone to the castle. He found Barley awaiting him.

“My case is complete,” the detective assured him. “I've found the axe with which the murder of Miss Gregor was committed.”

He led the way to his bedroom and produced a small axe from a drawer of the dressing-table. He handed it to his companion.

“Observe, my dear Hailey,” he pointed out, “that there are herring scales on the handle. The axe is nominally used to chop wood but the cook admits that she employed it the other day to break up a big bone for the stock-pot. She had been cleaning some herring just before she did this.”

Dr. Hailey sat down and took snuff.

“Don't forget,” he said, “that there were herring scales on Dundas's head.”

“Quite. I feel sure that that blow was struck with a lead sinker. I've seen Dr. McDonald's boat. It's plentifully endowed with scales. He's a keen deep-sea fisherman and often uses herring as bait.”

Barley hooked his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat and spread out his fingers.

“I confess,” he declared, “that I have great sympathy—the greatest possible sympathy—with Mrs. Eoghan. Poor woman, her life has been made unbearable by her aunt, who deserved perhaps no better fate than that which has overtaken her. At the same time, let us not deceive ourselves, murder is murder. Deliberation of a most calculating kind is revealed by the use of that axe, which had to be fetched from below stairs and by the fact that a rope was kept in readiness to enable the murderer to escape. Once he had bolted the windows of Miss Gregor's bedroom, on the morning after her death, McDonald must have felt that he was secure against detection.”

Dr. Hailey described his talk with Oonagh and his meeting with Duchlan and, as usual, received a careful and courteous hearing.

“More collateral proofs, in my humble judgement,” Barley exclaimed. “Duchlan's discovery of the footprints seems to me of crucial import. What a feeble defence to say that a doctor left his patient's house by the window rather than face a poor, distracted old man!”

“McDonald, remember, didn't cover up his tracks. He left those footprints to tell their tale, surely an act of gross carelessness in a murderer.”

Barley shrugged his shoulders and then spread out his hands.

“Yes, a point. I admit it. But how small after all! I apologize in advance for using a bad argument, an argument which, generally speaking, I deprecate; but if McDonald didn't commit this murder, who did? Again surely we are entitled to ask
Cui bono
? McDonald undoubtedly. He had access, he alone, to the murdered persons. He was able to escape, he alone, from the rooms where the murders were committed. He has left traces, unmistakable, damning, of his escape. I confess that, so far as I am concerned, not a shadow of doubt about his guilt exists.”

He broke off and remained for a few minutes in silent contemplation of the carpet.

“An hour ago,” he said, “I applied for warrants for the arrest of Dr. McDonald and Mrs. Eoghan Gregor. It is my purpose to effect these arrests, at the latest, to-morrow morning.”

“Your case will necessarily be founded,” Dr. Hailey said, “on the assumption that McDonald and Mrs. Eoghan were lovers?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any real evidence to support that charge?”

“Circumstantial evidence. Besides, if Mrs. Eoghan's motives in meeting McDonald were strictly correct, the effect of the meetings remain. Both man and woman knew that Miss Gregor would report to her nephew; both had a clear idea what the effect of that report would be. The motive for murder remains therefore and is, I submit, by no means invalidated by assuming that these meetings were absolutely
en règle
.”

“Innocence does not kill.”

Barley frowned. He began to comb his moustache with unusual vigour.

“Exactly,” he declared, “and therefore I presume that the relationship was not innocent.”

“Do you believe seriously that McDonald is that type of man?”

A curious expression came upon Barley's face. He seemed, for a moment, to take off the policeman and become his ordinary, human self.

“I think, my dear doctor,” he exclaimed, “that you mustn't ask me such a question. It's like…” He raised his hand. “It's like asking a surgeon if he doesn't think it cruel to wound people. I may like McDonald, I may pity him. But the one thing I can't do, the one thing I mustn't do, is to import my personal feelings into my case against him.”

Dr. Hailey shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because a detective is primarily an observer. You know very well how apt the personal equation is to obtrude on scientific observation. It's the same in this kind of work. If you begin by finding heroes and heroines and villains you won't end by finding your murderer.”

“You admit that if McDonald's relationship with Mrs. Eoghan was innocent, your case is weakened considerably?”

Barley shrugged his shoulders.

“That's a debating point,” he declared in brisk tones. “And I must ask to be excused the task of debating it.” He rose and took the axe which the doctor had placed on a table beside him. He laid it back in its drawer. Dr. Hailey left him and went to his own bedroom. He lay down on the bed and was soon asleep. When he woke, the night was marching across the sky. He watched the changing colours of the clouds, wondering vaguely what time it was; then his critical faculty asserted itself. The fault in Barley's theory as he now recognized was its disregard of the character of Miss Gregor. That woman had been ready to sow hate and suspicion between husband and wife; but the idea that she was concerned to effect a public breach of their marriage was certainly mistaken. Such women look on divorce with lively horror, and will exert their whole strength to preserve their kin from the disgrace attending it. McDonald must have known this, and known, consequently, that he had nothing to fear. Why then commit murder? He had discovered no answer to this question when he heard light footsteps approaching his door. A moment later Oonagh burst into the room.

“Eoghan's gone off in the motor-boat,” she cried.

Her face was quick with foreboding. Her eyes beseeched help. She grasped the rail of the bed and stood trying to recover her breath.

“I feel terribly anxious about him.”

Dr. Hailey jumped up.

“When did he go?”

“I suppose about half an hour ago. Nobody seems to have seen him. I went to his room to talk to him. He wasn't there. I searched the house. Then I noticed that the boat had disappeared. The wind is off-shore; I imagine he let her drift from her moorings so as not to excite attention.”

She gazed at the doctor as she spoke, but his face remained expressionless.

“Where can we get a motor-boat?”

“In Ardmore.”

She put her hand on his arm.

“Do you think that…that he's in danger?”

“Perhaps.”

She mastered herself. They went downstairs.

“I haven't told Duchlan,” she said.

“Much better not.”

They left the house and hurried towards the village. Once they stopped to listen; the night held only murmurings of winds. Oonagh did not speak, but the glimpses which the moon gave him of her face showed how acutely she was suffering. McDonald had not lied when he said that this woman loved her husband.

The boat hirer had ended his day's work and did not seem eager to resume it. He stood in the doorway of his cottage, from which the smell of frying herrings emerged, and expounded the many weaknesses of his motor-boat and the unwisdom of sailing in her in the dark. His round, red face grew melancholy as he emphasized this danger.

“I'm ready to run any risk, Mr. McDougall,” Oonagh said.

“But surely Mr. Eoghan can be in no danger? He's a good sailor, whatever.”

The tones were challenging. She shook her head.

“His engine must have broken down. We couldn't hear it; on a quiet night like this you should hear it five miles away.”

“The weather is very settled. He will not come to no harm before the morning.”

“I can't wait till the morning. Not another hour. Sandy Logan has a motor-boat, hasn't he?”

“Aye, he has.”

The Highlander spoke stiffly. He was not concerned to enter into rivalry with anyone. Let them go where they would. He took a step back, preparatory, apparently, to shutting the door when the beat of a motor engine came faintly but distinctly to their ears. Mr. McDougall strained forward to listen.

“Yon's Mr. Eoghan's boat,” he declared with assurance. “She's coming into the harbour.”

He waved his hand in a gesture that absolved him from any further responsibility.

“How can you be sure?” Dr. Hailey asked.

“By the sound, sir. There's no two engines make the same sound. That one of Mr. Eoghan's is the newest and best between Rothesay and Inveraira.”

The beating of the engine grew louder, more insistent.

“I think it is Eoghan's boat,” Oonagh said. She pointed seaward. “I can see it.”

They left the cottage and walked to the shore. The motor-boat was coming in fast and seemed to be making for the jetty under Dr. McDonald's house. Dr. Hailey touched his companion's arm.

“You realize where he's going?”

“Oh, yes.” She turned to him in distress. “I feel that something terrible is going to happen.”

He considered a moment.

“I think that you must leave this business to me,” he said at last. “If we remain together the chances are that we'll fail.”

“Oh, I can't go back to Duchlan.”

“Not for your husband's sake?”

She did not reply. They could see the motor-boat clearly now in the wake of the moon. Eoghan was standing up in the stern. She grasped his arm.

“Very well.” She moved away a few paces and then came back. “Promise that you'll keep him from doing anything…terrible.”

“Yes.”

She disappeared away among the shadows. He waited until the motor-boat had been brought to the jetty and then walked in the direction of Dr. McDonald's house. He reached the gate in time to see Eoghan ascending the steep footpath to the door. He followed, going slowly and with great caution. When he reached the top of the path he crouched down. Eoghan had been admitted to the house and was standing in the study, the windows of which were wide open. His face was very pale; even from a distance, it was obvious that he was labouring under great excitement. McDonald entered the room. The men did not shake hands. Dr. Hailey moved into the deep shadows which lay beyond the beam of light cast by the windows. He approached the house and crouched again. He heard Eoghan's clear, well-bred voice say:

“The position is this: I've done my best to persuade them that I'm the man they're looking for. I've failed. Barley has made up his mind that you and Oonagh killed my aunt between you and that you killed Dundas.” He paused for an instant and then added: “Don't misunderstand me when I say that I think he's got a strong case.”

“Against me, perhaps; not against your wife.”

“My dear sir, his case fails unless he can associate my wife with you. He believes,” Eoghan's voice hardened in spite of himself, “that you and my wife were in love with each other. My aunt thought so too; she wrote me to that effect. My father is convinced of it. So, also, I think, is Christina.”

He paused. Dr. Hailey heard McDonald move across the room. Then he heard the doctor ask:

“And you?”

“No, I'm not convinced.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Hailey stood erect; he took a step near to the beam of light and then retired to a point from which he could see the two men. Eoghan's expression was less friendly than he had expected.

“I don't want to sail under false colours,” he told Dr. McDonald. “No man can be grateful to another for bringing suspicion on his wife. What I mean is that, although the case as others see it, is damning enough, I don't choose to be damned by it. But if I believe Oonagh against the weight of evidence, I'm not fool enough to suppose that the weight of evidence is thereby lightened. Barley has asked for warrants to arrest you and her. He means to execute them to-morrow.”

His features were grim. He stood facing McDonald with clenched fists and tense muscles so that, for a moment, Dr. Hailey thought he was about to attack him.

‘‘Your wife is innocent, Gregor,” McDonald cried. ‘‘I swear it.”

‘‘I'm afraid, my dear fellow, that that isn't likely to help much; whatever you or I may swear Oonagh will be tried with you for murder. The odds, frankly, are enormous that you'll be convicted, both of you. Barley, I understand, has discovered footprints under my aunt's window. His case is that nobody but you can have committed this murder and 'pon my word, I can't see any other solution myself.”

‘‘There must be another solution.”

“Can you suggest one?”

“No, but…”

“The murders are a man's doing. They've excluded me. The only other possibilities are Father and Angus.” Eoghan paused and then repeated. “Father and Angus.”

He stood gazing at McDonald who faced him courageously.

“Why on earth should I murder your aunt?” the doctor asked.

“I've told you. As Barley points out your professional life was at stake.”

“Only if you divorced your wife.” McDonald took a step forward. “I do not believe that you would ever have done that.”

Eoghan did not reply for a moment. Then he said:

“I'm afraid that, from Barley's point of view, what I might or might not have done is of no consequence. I'm not here because I believe in anybody's guilt. I'm here because the evidence in the possession of the police is so strong that they're bound to succeed against you and my wife. They will ask the jury to consider what must have happened if I had got a divorce, not whether or not I was likely to petition for one. After all, no man can be sure what another man will do in such circumstances. Barley is entitled to assume that divorce was on the cards.”