The Ashiel Mystery by Mrs. Charles Bryce (the alpha prince and his bride full story free TXT) 📖

wood."

 

Gimblet looked at him keenly.

 

"You are perfectly certain of this?" he said.

 

"Absolutely. Besides, you can ask Miss Byrne and Blanston. They both saw

him as he was at first. And the police and Dr. Duncan can tell you what

his position was when they went into the room. I said nothing about it

to any of them, because I thought at once that it must be David who had

been there."

 

"Why did you think that?"

 

"Because he knew where the key was. I took it out of my pocket when we

were alone in the smoking-room before going up to bed, and asked him what

I should do with it.

 

"'Oh, put it in a drawer,' he said, pointing to the writing-table, and I

put it there, as he suggested. Of course I see now that some one else may

have found the key in that drawer, but at first it did look as if David

must, for some reason, have taken it, and been in the library, after I'd

gone to bed."

 

"It seems very unlikely that anyone else would have hit on the place

where you had put it," said Gimblet reflectively. "And if they had

done so, would they have recognized the key? Is the library key

peculiar in any way?"

 

"It is rather an uncommon pattern," said Mark. "It is very old and

strong. I think anyone who knew the key would have recognized it

all right."

 

"It is hardly likely that anyone would have found it if they had had to

search all through the house for it in the middle of the night,"

commented Gimblet. "Is there no other way of getting into the library?"

 

"No, there is only one door."

 

"How about the window? It was broken; could not anyone have put in a

hand, or raised the sash?"

 

"I don't think anyone could have got in. It isn't a sash window. There

are stone mullions and small leaded casements in the old part of the

castle where the library is, and I doubt if anyone larger than a child

could squeeze through; in fact, a child couldn't; there are iron bars

down the middle, which make it too narrow."

 

"H'm," murmured Gimblet. "I should like to have a look at them. And what

was the doctor's report?"

 

"He said that the injuries to the heart were such that death must have

been instantaneous, or practically so."

 

"Did anything else come out?"

 

"Nothing, except the evidence against poor old David, I'm sorry to say."

 

"You haven't told me that yet," said Gimblet. "Go on from when the police

arrived on the scene."

 

"As soon as it was daylight we started off again on our search. But right

at the beginning of it, they came upon the footsteps."

 

"Ah, where were they?"

 

"The flower-bed outside the library window showed them plainly; the

ground beyond that was mossy, and there were no other marks. We divided

into two parties, one going west down the side of the loch, and the other

north and east over the hills. Till ten o'clock or later we beat the

country, searching behind every rock, and going through the woods and

bracken in a close line. But we saw no sign of a stranger, and came back

at last, dead beat, for food and a rest. When we got back we found that

the policeman left in charge had been nosing about, and whiling away his

time by collecting the boots of every one in the house and fitting them

to the footprints on the flower-bed. As bad luck would have it, David's

shooting-boots exactly fitted the marks."

 

"His shooting-boots?" said Gimblet. "He wouldn't be wearing

shooting-boots after dinner."

 

"That's what he said himself, and there seems no imaginable reason why he

should have worn them, unless--" Mark hesitated for a moment, and then

went on in a tone perhaps rather too positive to carry complete

conviction to a critical ear. "Of course not. He can't have put them on

after dinner. The idea is ludicrous. He must have made those footmarks

earlier in the day."

 

"Is that what he himself says?" asked the detective. He had finished

eating, and was leaning back in his chair with that air of far-off

contemplation which those best acquainted with him knew was

habitually his expression when his attention and interest were more

than usually roused.

 

"No," admitted Mark regretfully. "He doesn't. He sticks to it that he'd

never been near the flower-bed, with boots, or without them; it's my

belief his memory has been affected by the shock of all this. And he

would insist on talking to the police, though they warned him that

what he said might be used against him. I did all I could to stop him,

but it was no good. It really looked as if he was doing his best to

incriminate himself."

 

"How was that? What else did he say?"

 

"You see," said Mark, "when the Crianan man had got hold of the boots

that matched the footprints, he was no end excited by his success.

Pleased to death with himself, he was. And he was as keen as mustard on

following up his rotten clue. The next thing he did was to want a look at

David's guns. Of course we didn't make any objection to that, though if

I'd known--well, it's no earthly thinking of that now. So off we all

marched in procession to the gun-room, and it didn't take long to see

that the only one of the whole lot there that hadn't been cleaned since

it was last fired was the Mannlicher David had shot his stag with the day

before. The silly ass of a constable took it up and squinted through it

as solemn as a judge, and then he just handed it to my cousin, and 'What

have you to say to this, Sir David?' says he. Infernal cheek! 'I shot it

off yesterday, and haven't had time to clean it since,' said David, and

I, for one, could have sworn he was speaking the truth. Why not, indeed?

There was nothing improbable about it. But the dickens of the thing was

that while we were all out of the house, and he had the place to himself,

the policeman had routed out poor Miss Byrne and badgered her for an

account of all that had happened the evening before; and she, without a

thought of doing harm to any of us--I'm convinced she's as sorry for it

now as I am myself--had mentioned incidentally that David had told her,

when she saw him half an hour before the murder, that he'd just been

cleaning his rifle. She'd told me so, too, as far as that goes, when she

passed through the billiard-room on her way to the library. I happened to

ask her if she knew what he was up to."

 

"Decidedly awkward for Sir David," said Gimblet meditatively, "but

after all, some one else might have fired off the rifle after he had

cleaned it."

 

Mark shook his head gloomily.

 

"There are difficulties about that," he said. "It happens that David is

very fussy about his guns, always cleans them himself, you know, and

won't let another soul touch 'em. And though he keeps them in the gunroom

like the rest of us, he's got his own particular glass-fronted cupboard

which he keeps the key of himself. My uncle and I share one between us,

and generally leave the key in the lock, so that the keeper can get at

the guns, which we never bother to clean ourselves. Not so David. Ever

since we were boys he's had his own private cupboard, and no one but

himself has ever been allowed to open it. We always spent our holidays

here, and my uncle let us behave as if we were at our own house. David

took out the key for the sergeant to use, and when he was asked if anyone

else could have got at the rifle, he replied that it was impossible, as

the key had been in his pocket the whole time, except for an hour or two

while he was asleep, when it had lain on the table by his bedside."

 

"Did he deny having told Miss Byrne he had cleaned the rifle?"

asked Gimblet.

 

"Yes; he said he hadn't told her so. It was all very unpleasant, and the

police sergeant was as suspicious as you like, by this time. 'What were

you doing when the alarm was given?' he asked David. 'I was out in the

grounds,' said David, and that was rather a facer for the rest of us, I

must confess. He went on to say that he had fancied he saw some one

hanging about at the edge of the lawn--which is the opposite side of the

house from the library--and gone out to make sure, but he had found no

one, though he hunted about for nearly an hour, till he saw lights

approaching and fell in with our party of searchers. He said that it was

then he first heard what had happened."

 

Gimblet nodded his head thoughtfully.

 

"Miss Byrne said she saw him start off to look for some one," he

remarked.

 

"Yes," said Mark eagerly, "there's no doubt he saw a man lurking in the

darkness. And it was dark too," he added, "never saw such a black night

in my life; I must say it beats me how he could have seen anyone. But his

eyes were always rather more useful than mine," he concluded hastily.

 

"The police, however, seem to have thought it improbable," said Gimblet,

"since they arrested your cousin for the murder."

 

"Stupid brutes!" said Mark viciously. "No, they would have it it was

impossible he should have seen anyone. And what clinched it was the

unlucky fact that David and my uncle had had a violent row the day

before. My uncle shot David's dog; I must say I think it was uncalled

for, and poor David was absurdly fond of the beast. He felt very savage

about it, and all the ghillies heard what he said to Uncle Douglas."

 

"What did he say?"

 

"Oh, a lot of rot. He lost his temper. The idiotic thing he said was,

that he'd a good mind to shoot _him_ and see how he liked it. Pure

temper, you know. I don't believe David would hurt a hair of his head."

 

"Well, it was decidedly an indiscreet remark."

 

"It was imbecile. And of course the police heard all about it from the

servants and keepers, and it fitted in only too well with all the rest

about the footmarks and his absence from the house at the time, and the

rifle and everything. By the by, the bullet was a soft-nosed one which

fitted David's rifle; but for that matter it fitted mine--which is a .355

Mannlicher like his--or a dozen others on the loch side. It's a very

common weapon on a Scotch forest. But taking one thing with another there

was a good deal of evidence against him, so they made up their minds he

had done it; and Macross, when he arrived from Glasgow with his

myrmidons, agreed with the local idiots, and took him off. I'm certain

there must be a mistake somewhere, but so far it seems jolly hard to hit

on it. I hope you'll put your finger on the spot."

 

"I hope so," said Gimblet, but his voice was full of doubt. "It's hard to

see how anyone else could have used his rifle after he cleaned it, since

he admits that he locked it up and kept the key on him. Yes," he murmured

to himself, "the rifle speaks very eloquently. What other interpretation

can be put on these facts? I'm sure you must see that yourself," he went

on, glancing up at Mark, who was feeling in his pocket for another

cigarette. "Sir David told Miss Byrne he had cleaned his rifle; he told

the police he then locked it up and that the key had been in his

possession ever since. But the rifle was found to have been fired again

since he had cleaned it. His only explanation was to contradict what he

had previously said to Miss Byrne. Do those facts appear to you to leave

any possible loophole of doubt as to his guilt?"

 

Mark struck a match and lighted his cigarette before he answered. When

at length he did so his reluctance was very plain, and his voice full

of regret.

 

"Poor old chap," he said. "I'm afraid he must have done it in some fit of

madness. As you say, there is no other imaginable alternative."

 

Gimblet nodded philosophically.

 

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

 

Mark hesitated.

 

"There's a letter which arrived for Uncle Douglas this morning," he said,

"which you may think worth looking at. I daresay it's of no importance,

but it struck me as rather odd."

 

He took a letter out of his pocket