The Ginger Cat Mystery (6 page)

“First character in the tragedy in order of appearance,” he soliloquized and made his way back to the approach to Marston Manor.

He found Heather engaged in what he called “scratching around,” a phrase which came natural to him for he kept fowls and was deeply interested in everything connected with them.

“You stole a march on me this morning, Inspector,” remarked Vereker as he joined him.

“Gathering facts is so much slower than getting intuitions that I reckon we now start about fair,” replied Heather.

“Managed to gather any important ones?” asked Vereker.

They were standing together in the spacious rectangular entrance hall of the mansion at the foot of a wide staircase facing the front door.

“Come upstairs,” said Heather quietly, “and see what you make of things. I'm afraid this is going to be a difficult problem. There's nothing much to lay hold of.”

They ascended about a dozen steps to what is generally called by house agents a “half-landing” with a wide window. On this half-landing, close to the window, was a pedestal flower-stand bearing a large pot from which dropped in an orange cascade a mass of wax-like begonia flowers. To the left as one turned to ascend the remaining steps to the first storey corridor, was a door.

“What room's this?” asked Vereker casually and to his surprise the inspector approached him on tip-toe with a serious face.

“Music room,” he replied in an almost inaudible whisper.  “It's—it's haunted! Contains pickled ghosts!”

Vereker, smiling at the inspector's little joke, turned the handle of the door only to find that it was locked.

“Never mind that room for the moment. Do you see this?” asked the inspector pointing to an inverted flower-pot on the polished oak of the floor and to other pots on the steps of the second flight to the right of the door.

“Ah!” exclaimed Vereker, “you've made a discovery. Bloodstains, I suppose?”

“Yes, rather important. Have a good look at them.”

Vereker went down on his knees, produced a magnifying glass from his pocket, lifted a pot and examined the floor closely.

“How on earth did you twig them? They're hardly visible to the naked eye,” he said.

Heather immediately flashed an electric torch on the floor.

“Is that better?” he asked.

“Excellent! I can see this one fairly clearly now,” replied Vereker.

“Just so. First instruction for beginners: when searching for dried bloodstains on polished floors or furniture use artificial light. The stains show up more clearly. But you're keeping the important part of that clue to yourself, Mr. Vereker.”

“No. I was just going to ask you where the body was found.”

“On the landing at the top of this flight of steps. I'll let you see the photographs that have been taken later.”

At this piece of information Vereker turned and was about to descend the first half-flight of steps.

“No, you needn't go down,” said the inspector, “I've examined every inch of that first half-flight and there's no further stain to be found.”

“None in the main hall?” asked Vereker.

“Not a drop. As far as I can see, he must have been holding his handkerchief to the wound for he certainly ascended the stairs after being shot.”

“You inferred that from the shape of the drops of blood on the steps; they splashed forward in the direction of his ascent.”

“Mr. Vereker, you're becoming as orthodox as a policeman,” remarked Heather with a smile. “You'll have to give up the amateur status and lose that popular halo you wear with such grace.”

“Now, now, Heather, you can't hoodwink me. You're just talking to side-track me. Here's where my knowledge of psychology has you beaten. Confess now that you're hiding the fact that the entrance hall floor was washed by one of the maids on the morning of the discovery of the murder, yes, and washed unfortunately before the police arrived and gave instructions that there must be no further cleaning of the house till further orders.”

“You've guessed right; it was a bright shot, Mr. Vereker. The hall lino, which is an imitation of a red-tiled floor, is washed every morning first thing. The maid carried out her duties as usual yesterday morning. Priceless clues may have vanished and our work doubled by the accident for it was an accident in a way. These little things are sent to try us, I suppose.”

“By Jove, but that's really tragic!” soliloquized Vereker with an ironic smile and ascended the second half-flight of steps on to the first-storey corridor landing.

“Here's where the body lay,” said Heather, “and that dark stain on the carpet is where a pool of blood flowed from the wound.”

“He ran up the stairs and collapsed here. Let me see the photographs you've got tucked away in your pocket, Heather.”

Heather chuckled and extracting some photographic prints from a note-case handed them to Vereker. The latter immediately switched on an electric light at the head of the stairs for, owing to the length of the corridor, the natural lighting was bad. He carefully examined the prints and handed them back to the inspector without comment.

“What d'you make of it, Mr. Vereker?” asked the officer seriously.

“Strange that he's lying on his back, Heather. Can you explain?”

“He fell forward and turned over or he may have turned in falling, for he was bearing to his left towards his bedroom and would be slightly off his dead balance.”

“That's possible, I suppose, but it strikes me as peculiar, very peculiar and most unlikely. But tell me, Heather, what was the man doing in a lounge suit at that time of night? He had dressed for dinner, went to bed at eleven and was dead at twelve or one o'clock in a complete change of clothes. He must have gone out. Could he let himself in?”

“Only if he had let himself out. If he had gone out before closing time he'd have left instructions with one of the servants for the front door to be left unlocked. You haven't examined the front door yet?”

“No. Anything peculiar?”

“The lock is inside the door. Nearly all the locks in the house are these old-fashioned exposed affairs. Then when the front door—it is in reality a double door with glass panes—is closed, a pair of folding shutters are drawn out from the wall on each side and are made secure with an iron fastening bar.”

“Then he didn't go out, after all?”

“Apparently not, but we mustn't jump to conclusions just yet, Mr. Vereker. The butler locked up and bolted all the doors and unlocked and unbolted them in the morning. He says he found every door leading out of the house locked and bolted as he had left them the night before. Of course, Mr. Frank Cornell may have opened one of these doors again to go out and then locked and bolted it on his return, but the butler is certain he didn't.”

“You've accepted the butler's words as true?”

“The man looked as if he were speaking the truth and for the time being we'll say his statement is correct. We must begin somewhere and somehow.”

“And the windows?”

“He says he personally examined all the windows and doors immediately he found Mr. Frank had changed into a lounge suit, because he himself inferred that the young man had been out or at least intended to go out.”

“Temporarily we'll say he didn't go out, but he must have gone downstairs for some purpose after he had changed, otherwise there wouldn't have been those blood splashes on the half-landing and second flight of steps. This is working itself up into a first-class mystery, Heather. Where's his bedroom?”

“First door on your left.”

“Let's have a good look at it. I may pick up some information there.”

“Before we leave the staircase, Mr. Vereker, there's one important thing I must tell you. I was going to hide it, but feel it wouldn't be quite fair. The young gentleman had taken his shoes off and dropped them on the half-landing in his ascent. The shoelaces hadn't been untied.”

“I was on the point of asking you why his shoes had been taken off before the police photographed the body,” remarked Vereker smiling. “I suppose we must infer he was creeping up the stairs in his socks to avoid disturbing the sleeping household. The tied shoelaces is a curious point and needs thinking over. Anything else you're concealing so as to favour your own chances?”

“Nothing unfair,” said Heather with a smile. “I mustn't bottle-feed you or you'll get lazy.”

With these words he glanced at his watch and said he must keep an appointment with the Deputy Chief Constable. “Mrs. Cornell, Mrs. and Miss Mayo are lunching with Dr. Redgrave. They won't be back till late. Mr. Carstairs has gone over to the village. I've told the servants in the house that you're my assistant, so you'll be able to scratch round on your own while I'm over at Bury. We'll discuss matters in the ‘Dog and Partridge' when I return.”

“That's splendid, Heather, I like scratching round on my own. It's the same when I'm painting. I always become self-conscious if there's anyone looking over my shoulder; paralyses all my faculties.”

“On my way I'll call at Dr. Redgrave's surgery where the body lies. He has extracted the bullet and I'll pick it up. I'll ask him to let you see the body if you think it worth while.”

“It may not be necessary, Heather. You're not hiding the fact that you've found the ejected cartridge shell if the weapon was an automatic?”

“No trace of a shell. It may have been an ordinary revolver,” replied the inspector.

“I shall want to see the bullet, Heather.”

“You shall, Mr. Vereker. I hope the beer's good in Bury.”

“Wasn't it one of your sayings, Heather, that there's no such thing as bad beer, but that some kinds are better than others?”

“Possibly. I always forget my best wisecracks. Someone ought to record them for posterity.”

“Before you go will you tell me where the dead man's shoes are?”

“You'll find them in his dressing-room. They're a heavy pair of brown brogues. You can't make any mistake.”

“Thanks. I'll see you on your return to the Inn.”

On Heather's departure, Vereker descended the stairs to the entrance hall and carefully examined the front door. He then wandered into the drawing-room and noticed that its wide open doors led on to a lawn which ran to a dense belt of trees forming a woodland screen against northerly winds. Here again, when the glass doors were closed, wooden shutters could be drawn and fastened by strong iron bars and catches as in the entrance hall. This room was furnished with a few choice antique pieces, an old bureau, an upright grand piano and two china cabinets full of valuable odds and ends of china and old English glass. On the walls hung two or three examples of early English water-colour and some Delft plates. A buhl cabinet on which stood an old ornate French clock, a settee and three or four comfortable chairs completed the contents, giving the room an air of spacious comfort. For some time Vereker was lost in his examination of the watercolours and then suddenly remembering that this occupation was irrelevant to his work, strode out of the room, crossed the hall and entered the dining-room. After a similar survey of this room he returned to the hall and slowly ascended the stairs, carefully examining every step as he went.

“Not a vestige of a clue,” he remarked as he once more stood on the half-landing. “Heather is terribly thorough.”

After a further scrutiny of the bloodstain on the polished wood of the half-landing he quickly mounted the stair and stood in the long corridor of the first floor. He walked along this corridor to the window at one end and looked out. Fifteen feet below him were a gravel “surround” a few feet wide and the lawn on to which the drawing-room doors opened. He pushed up the window, leaned out and looked around. The scene was almost magically peaceful. The warm autumn sunlight was reflected from a thousand glittering foliage points twinkling under the stir of a soft breeze. The leaves of a holly tree close to the window were turquoise blue where their glossy surfaces mirrored the now cloudless sky. Evidently satisfied, he quickly closed the window and retraced his steps slowly down the corridor to the door of the room which Heather had indicated as Frank Cornell's. He was about to enter this room when the door opened and a manservant emerged. The latter's face expressed surprise and suspicion in rapid succession and then he asked almost apologetically, “Are you Mr. Vereker, sir?”

“Yes, I was just having a look round the house. I think the inspector told you I would be here.”

“That's so, sir, but it had quite gone out of my mind for the moment. We have strict orders to allow no unauthorized people to hang about the place. My name's Tapp, sir. I was old Mr. Cornell's valet and was kept on by young Mr. Cornell till I could find a place.”

“This was young Mr. Cornell's room, I believe,” said Vereker indicating that apartment with a glance and a nod.

“That's so, sir.”

“I'm just going to have a look in, Tapp. You might come with me. I may want to ask you some questions,” said Vereker and turning the handle of the door walked in. “Nothing has been touched, Tapp, since Mr. Cornell's death?”

“No, sir. I happened to hear footsteps about and just glanced in to see that everything was all right. I didn't notice you in the corridor.”

“I see,” said Vereker and observing a suit of dress clothes flung untidily across the bed asked, “You were in attendance when Mr. Frank dressed for dinner that Sunday night?”

“I laid out everything for him as usual but that was all.”

“When did you see him last?”

“About six. Dinner was at seven.”

“You didn't see him alive again?”

“No, sir. As a matter of fact, he was a very independent young gentleman. He often told me he didn't want a valet fussing round him as he was quite capable of looking after himself, but that I could stay on as his valet till I got another job so long as I kept out of his way. It wasn't very satisfactory for me considering all things, but jobs are hard to get nowadays.”