The adjourned inquest was to be opened to-day at eleven o'clock. It was now nine, and the inspector who was an indefatigably early riser had been up for hours, and having breakfasted was now at liberty to read the papers, and to carry out a private plot of his own before going on to the inquiry.
Lady Anne Daventry's murder had captured the public imagination in no ordinary degree. The rank and age of the victim, the mystery surrounding the crime and the fact that the newspapers just now had nothing particular on hand had combined to make the Charlton Crescent Mystery, as it was called, the principal topic of interest.
The inspector ran through the papers quickly. As he had expected, such headings as "Charlton Crescent Murder." "Reported Clue." "Who was the man at the window?" were conspicuous on the first page. But surprises for Inspector Furnival were hardly likely to come in the daily press. He soon turned back to his notes, and was knitting his brows together over some knotty problem when Soames came into the room. The man was looking white and shaken.
"I have been told, Mr. Furnival, that I shall be one of the first witnesses called to-day, because I was the first to see the man at the window."
"Quite likely!" the inspector assented. "But it will only be a matter of form, you know, Mr. Soames. You will not find it at all alarming. Just say what you saw. That is all."
"Thank you. But I have never come in contact with anything of the kind before, and I can't say I like the prospect of speaking right out in court."
"Oh, well, it will soon be over," the inspector said genially. "You look cold. Stir the fire. I didn't notice how hollow it was burning. But, there, I forgot. Don't you high-class flunkeys get a footman to poke the fire for you?"
Soames gave a sickly smile as he paused, poker in hand.
"Oh, we are not all quite so bad as they make us out. My poor lady would have told you that I always liked to do everything in her room myself."
"Ah, well, I am glad that her ladyship recognized your long years of devoted service," the inspector went on.
Soames stirred the hot coals into a brisk flame.
"Yes, Mr. Furnival, her ladyship has left all us head servants, if we were with her at the time of her death, five hundred pounds each. That is, me and Miss Pirnie, and the chauffeur that used to be the coachman, and the head gardener—we all came with her from the Keep. The other ones have smaller sums according to their time of service."
The inspector nodded. No one was better acquainted with the terms of the will than he.
"You were here when—" he was beginning when his quick ear caught the sound of a "click" in the hall. He got up leisurely.
"Somebody at the telephone—I will just explain—"
Soames would have stepped forward to open the door already standing ajar, but the inspector waved him aside and went into the hall.
"Ah, Miss Fyvert," he said suavely. "I see you did not know the extensions had been cut off. The only phone left now is this one in the library."
Dorothy Fyvert stared at him, receiver in hand.
"Who has done this? How stupid and inconvenient!" with an evident effort to speak naturally.
"Well, I am afraid I must plead guilty to having given the order. Detectives have to do all sorts of odd things, you know, Miss Fyvert. But I am very sorry if it has inconvenienced you," the inspector went on politely. "Will you not come in to the library?"
"Well, I want to send a message to the dressmaker," Dorothy hesitated. "It was rather important, but—"
"Shall I see if the line is clear for you?" the inspector inquired blandly as he held open the library door.
Miss Fyvert hesitated. She was not looking well to-day, as the inspector had noticed at once. Her face was very white; all her pretty colour had faded; her eyes had deep blue half-circles under them, and the eyes themselves glanced about nervously. She bit her lip now.
"No, thank you! After all I do not know that I will ring up Madame Benoit. I do not know that there is any real need."
"Oh, but I have always been told that a lady's appointment with her dressmaker was most important," the inspector said. "Madame Benoit, you said." He paused with the receiver in his hand. "The address, please."
Miss Fyvert paused a minute, but the inspector's gimlet-like eyes were filed upon her.
"17 Clonnell Street, off Wigmore Street," she said with a little laugh. "Really, inspector, you are a very determined man. I don't wonder the criminal classes are afraid of you."
"I hope they are," the inspector said grimly. "Here. Why, we have been lucky enough to get on at once. Now, Miss Fyvert."
He handed her the receiver and waited while she gave her few directions about a dress that did not fit, and made an appointment for some alterations. Then she put down the receiver with a hand that visibly trembled.
"Thank you very much, Inspector Furnival. If I had known your telephone arrangements I would not have disturbed you."
The inspector smiled faintly.
"It has been no trouble, Miss Fyvert. I am glad I happened to be here," he said truthfully. "I have been looking for an opportunity of having a few words with you. Perhaps you could spare me a few minutes now?"
The girl's white face turned scarlet, slowly, painfully.
"I do not think can stay this morning," she faltered. "I have to go to this terrible inquest and then my little sister is not well. I am very anxious about her. I cannot think what is the matter with her."
"I am sorry to hear that." The inspector placed a chair for her and something about his gaze compelled her to take it. "But children are often up and down. I have six at home so ought to know. As for the inquest, I am anxious to have a few words with you before that."
"The—the inquest?" Dorothy faltered. "But that is this morning. I really do not see—"
"Oh, there will be plenty of time before the inquest," the inspector said easily. He had placed her chair so that she faced the window, and now he stood opposite so that he, though in the shadow himself, got the light full upon her. "There is sure to be a crowd there—at the inquest, I mean—and it would not be wondered at if a young lady like yourself lost her head a little. So I thought if you and I had a talk first it might make things easier for you."
"But I can't tell them anything!" the girl exclaimed wildly, clasping her hands closely together. "I was in the room when Aunt Anne was—when she died, but I did not see anything. I could not tell them anything."
The inspector coughed.
"In a case like this, we have to look at the matter all round. And first and foremost there is the question of motive. There were five people in the room—"
"Five people!" Dorothy interrupted him. "Six, you mean, for you surely cannot omit the man at the window?"
The inspector accepted the correction.
"Six, then. Of course you saw this sixth—the man at the window—yourself, Miss Fyvert?"
"Well, I can't say exactly," Dorothy said honestly. "I was at the tea-table, and was so amazed to see Soames drop the cakes that I was looking at him, and only had the most casual glance at something moving at the window. Also, of course, everybody made a rush for the window, so that they got between."
"And you saw and heard nothing else?" the inspector said sharply.
"Well, I have told myself since that it must have been a mistake," Dorothy said doubtfully. "But I did fancy at the time that I heard a soft eerie laugh."
"Ah! You did?" the inspector's eyes grew keen. "Now where did it seem to come from, up or down, or one side?"
"Really, I couldn't tell," Dorothy said, a strange look compounded of fear and some subtler emotion coming over her face. "It just seemed to be in the air. I can't tell you any