“That’s all right,” the inspector said. “And you’re sure the door was locked?”
“Yes, sir, fast.”
“Key in the lock?”
“No, sir. I haven’t seen any key.”
“Window shut, just as it is now?”
“Yes, sir; nothing’s been touched.”
The inspector walked to the window and opened it. It was a wooden-framed casement window, fastened by the usual turning catch at the side, with a heavy bow handle. He just glanced out and then swung the window carelessly to on its hinges. The catch, however, worked so freely that the handle dropped and the catch banged against the window frame as he turned away. Hewitt saw this and closed the casement properly, after a glance at the sill.
The inspector made a rapid examination of the clothing on the body, and then said, “It’s a singular thing about the key. The door was locked fast, but there’s no key to be seen inside the room. Seems it must have been locked from the outside.”
“Perhaps,” Hewitt suggested, “other keys on this lauding tit the lock. It’s commonly the case in this sort of house.”
“That’s so,” the inspector admitted, with the air of encouraging a pupil. “We’ll see.”
They walked across the landing to the nearest door. It had a small round brass escutcheon, apparently recently placed there. “Yale lock;” said the inspector. “That’s no good.” They went to the third door, which stood ajar.
“Seems to be Mr. Foster’s room,” the inspector remarked; “here’s the key inside.”
They took it across the landing and tried it. It fitted Captain Pullin’s lock exactly and easily. “Hullo!” said the inspector, “look at that!”
Hewitt nodded thoughtfully. Just then he became aware of somebody behind him, who had arrived noiselessly. He turned and saw a mincing little woman, with a pursed mouth and lofty expression, who took no notice of him but addressed the inspector. “I shall be glad to know, if you please,” she said, “when I may leave the house and attend to my duties. My school has already been open for three-quarters of an hour, and I cannot conceive why I am detained in this manlier.”
“Very sorry, ma’am,” the inspector replied. “Matter of duty, of course. Perhaps we shall be able to let you go presently. Meanwhile perhaps you can help us. You’re not obliged to say anything, of course, but if you do we shall make a note of it. You didn’t hear any uncommon noise in the night, did you?”
“Nothing at all. I retired at ten and I was asleep soon after. I know nothing whatever of the whole horrible affair, and I shall leave the house entirely as soon as I can arrange.”
“Did you have any opportunity of observing Mr. Pullin’s manners or habits?” Hewitt asked.
“Indeed, no. I saw nothing of him. But I could hear him very often, and his language was not of the sort I could tolerate. He seemed to dominate the whole house with his boorish behaviour, and he was frequently intoxicated. I had already told Mrs. Beckle that if his stay were to continue mine should cease. I avoided him, indeed, altogether, and I know nothing of him.”
“Do you know how he came here? Did he know Mrs. Beckle or anybody else in the house before?”
“That also I can’t say. But Mrs. Beckle, I believe, knew all about him. In fact I have sometimes thought there was some mysterious connection between them, though what I cannot say. Certainly I cannot understand a landlady keeping so troublesome a lodger.”
“You have seen a little more of Mr. Foster, of course?”
“Well, yes. He has been here so much longer. He was more endurable than was Captain Pullin, certainly, though he was not always sober. The two did not love one another, I believe.”
There the inspector pricked his ears. “They didn’t love one another, you say, ma’am. Why was that?”
“Oh, I don’t really know. I fancy Mr. Foster wanted to borrow money or something. He used to say Captain Pullin had plenty of money, and had once sunk a ship purposely. I don’t know whether or not this was serious, of course.”
Hewitt looked at her keenly. “Have you ever heard him called Captain Pullin of the Egret?” he asked.
“No, I never heard the name of any vessel.”
“There’s just one thing, Miss Walker,” the inspector said, “that I’m afraid I must insist on before you go. It’s only a matter of form, of course. But I must ask you to let me look round your room—I shan’t disturb it.”
Miss Walker tossed her head. “Very well then,” she said, turning toward the door with the Yale lock, and producing the key; “there it is.” And she flung the door open.
The inspector stepped within and took a perfunctory glance round. “That will do; thank you,” he said; “I am sorry to have kept you. I think you may go now, Miss Walker. You won’t be leaving here to-day altogether, I suppose?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t. Good-morning.”
As she disappeared by the foot of the stairs the inspector remarked in a jocular undertone, “Needn’t bother about her. She isn’t strong enough to cut a hen’s throat.”
Just then Miss Walker appeared again and attempted to take her umbrella from the stand—a heavy, tall oaken one. The ribs, however, had become jammed between the stand and the wall; so Miss Walker, with one hand, calmly lifted the stand and disengaged the umbrella with the other. “My eyes!” observed the inspector, “she’s a bit stronger than she looks.”
The surgeon came upon the landing. “I shall send to the mortuary now,” he said.
“I’ve seen all I want to see here. Have you seen the landlady?”
“No. I think she’s downstairs.”
They went downstairs and found Mrs. Beckle in the back room, much agitated, though she was not the sort of woman one would expect to find greatly upset by anything. She was thin, hard and rigid, with the rigidity and sharpness that women acquire who have a long and lonely struggle with poverty. She had at first very little to say. Captain Pullin had lodged with her before. Last night he had been in all the evening and had gone to bed about half-past eleven, and by a quarter past everybody else had done so, and the house was fastened up for the night. The front door was fully bolted and barred, and it was found so in the morning. No stranger had been in the house for some days. The only person who had left before the discovery was Mr. Foster, and he went away when only the servant was up.
This was unusual, as he usually took breakfast in the house. What had frightened the girl so much, she thought, was the fact that after the door had been burst open she peeped into the room, out of curiosity, and was so horrified at the sight that she ran out of the house. She had always been a hardworking girl, though of sullen habits.
The inspector made more particular inquiries as to Mr. Foster, and after some little reluctance Mrs. Beckle gave her opinion that he was very short of money indeed. He had lost his ship sometime back through a neglect of duty, and he was not of altogether sober habits; he had consequently been unable to get another berth as yet. It was a fact, she admitted, that he owed her a considerable sum for rent, but he had enough clothes and nautical implements in his boxes to cover that and more.
Hewitt had been watching Mrs. Beckle’s face very closely, and now suddenly asked, with pointed emphasis, “How long have you known Mr. Pullin?”
Mrs. Beckle faltered and returned Hewitt’s steadfast gaze with a quick glance of suspicion. “Oh,” she said, “I have known him, on and off, for a long time.”