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Stowmarket Mystery, or, a Legacy of Hate

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<h3>Chapter XII</h3> <h2>What the Stationmaster Saw</h2> Return to Table of Contents The number of type-writer exchanges in London is not large. Impressing the services of Smith and his wife as amanuenses, Brett despatched the requisite letters before he retired for the night. He was up betimes and out before breakfast, surprising the domestics of his club by an early visit to the library. The Etona contained a great many service members, and made a feature of its complete editions of Army and Navy lists. In one of the latter, eight years old, Brett found, among the officers of the Northumberland, at that time in commission, “Robert Hume-Fraser, sub-lieutenant.” A later volume recorded his retirement from the service. Hume and Winter reached Brett’s flat together. “Any luck with the Jap, sir?” asked the detective cheerily. Brett told them what had happened, and Winter sighed. Here, indeed, was a promising subject for an arrest. Why not lock him up, and seize the type-writer? But he knew the barrister by this time, and uttered no word. “And now,” said Brett, after a malicious pause to enable Winter to declare himself, “I am going back to Stowmarket. No, Hume, you are not coming with me. When does Fergusson arrive here?” The question drove from David’s face the disappointed look with which he received his friend’s announcement. “To-morrow evening,” he replied. “My father thinks the old man should not risk an all-night journey. He has also sent me every detail he can get together, either from documents or recollection, bearing upon our family history.” He produced a formidable roll of manuscript. The old gentleman had evidently devoted many hours and some literary skill to the compilation. “I will read that in the train,” said Brett. “You must start at once for Portsmouth. I have here a list of all the officers serving with your cousin Robert on the Northumberland immediately prior to his quitting the Navy. Portsmouth, Devonport, Southsea, and the neighbourhood will almost certainly contain some of them. If not, people there will know where they are to be found. You must make yourself known to them, and endeavour to gain any sort of news concerning the ex-lieutenant. Naval men roam all over the world. Some of them may have met him in the Argentine, or in any of the South American ports where British warships are constantly calling. He was a sailor. He left the Navy under no cloud. Hence, the presence of a British man-o’-war would draw him like a magnet. Do not come back here until you bring news of him.” “Why is it so important? You cannot imagine—” “No; I endeavour to restrain my imagination. I want facts. You are the best person to obtain them. One relative inquiring for another is a natural proceeding. It will not arouse suspicions that you are a debt-collector.” “Suppose I obtain news of his whereabouts?” “Telegraph to me and I will give you fresh instructions.” Hume walked to the door. “Give my kind regards to Miss Layton,” he said grimly. “I will be delighted. Work hard. You will see her all the sooner.” “There goes a man in love,” continued Brett, addressing the back of Winter’s skull, though looking him straight in the face. “His career, his reputation, everything he values most in this world is at stake. He is a sensible, level-headed fellow, who has become embittered by unjust suspicion; yet he would unwillingly let a material item like his cousin’s proceedings sink into oblivion just for the sake of telling a girl that she looks more charming to-day than she did yesterday, or some equally original remark peculiar to love-making. How do you account for it, Winter?” “I give it up,” sighed the detective. “We are all fools where women are concerned.” “You surprise me,” said the barrister sternly. “Such a personal confession of weakness is unexpected—I may say distressing.” Winter shook his head. “You’re not married, Mr. Brett, or you wouldn’t talk like that.” “Well, let it pass. I want you to make the acquaintance of that loving couple, Mr. and Mrs. Numagawa Jiro. You must disguise yourself. Jiro is to be shadowed constantly. Get any help you require, but do it. Be off, Winter, on the wings of the wind. Fasten on to Jiro. Batten on him. Become his invisible vampire. Above all else, discover his associates. Run now to the bank and cash this cheque. It repays the sum you advanced last night, and provides money for expenses.” “I must first see Capella off,” gasped the detective. “All the more reason that you should fly.” Left to himself, the barrister compiled memoranda for an hour or more. He read through what he had written. “The web is spreading quickly,” he murmured. “I wonder what sort of fly we shall catch! Is he buzzing about under our very noses, or will he be an unknown variety? As they say in the Argentine—Quien sabe?” During the journey to Stowmarket he mastered the contents of the bulky document sent from Glen Tochan. It contained a great many irrelevant details, but he made the following notes:— <blockquote> After the duel in 1763, David Hume, the man who avenged with his sword the supposed injury inflicted upon his father by the first Sir Alan Hume-Frazer, escaped to the Netherlands, and was never heard of again. There was a local tradition on the Scotch estate that five Hume-Frazers would meet with violent deaths in England. The reason for this singular belief was found in the recorded utterances of an old nurse, popularly credited with the gift of second sight, who prophesied, after the outlawry of the Humes in 1745, that there would be five long-lived generations of both families, and that five Frazers would die in their boots. “Curiously enough,” commented the old gentleman who supplied this information, “Aunt Elspeth’s prediction is capable of two interpretations, owing to the fact that the first Sir Alan Frazer assumed the additional surname of Hume. I have absolutely no knowledge of any distinct branch of the Hume family. David Hume’s sister was married to my ancestor at the time of the duel.” Admiral Cunningham, the hardy old salt who brought from Japan the sword used by a Samurai to commit hari-kara, or suicide by disembowelling, commanded the British vessels of the combined squadron which sailed up the Bay of Yedo on July 6, 1853, to intimidate the Mikado. He narrowly escaped assassination at the hands of a two-sword man, who was knocked down by a sailor and soundly kicked, after being disarmed. The Admiral brought home the two weapons taken from his assailant, and the larger sword was still to be seen in the armoury at Glen Tochan. The three brothers, of whom the writer alone survived, quarrelled over money matters about eight years before the murder of the fifth baronet. The youngest, Charles, had entangled himself in a disastrous speculation in the city, and bitterly reproached Alan and David (the narrator) because they would not come to his assistance. </blockquote> The old gentleman laboured through many pages to explain the reasons which actuated this decision, but Brett skipped all of them. Finally, he suspected no one of committing the crime itself, which was utterly inexplicable. At Stowmarket the barrister sought a few minutes’ conversation with the stationmaster. “Have you been long in charge of this station?” he asked, when the official ushered him into a private office. “Nearly five years, sir,” was the surprised answer. “Ah, then you know nearly all the members of the Hume-Frazer family?” “Yes, sir. I think so.” “Do you remember the New Year’s Eve when the young baronet was killed?” “Yes, generally speaking, I do remember it.” The stationmaster was evidently doubtful of the motives which actuated this cross-examination, and resolved not to commit himself to positive statements. “You recollect, of course, that Mr. David Hume-Frazer was arrested and tried for the murder of his cousin?” “Yes.” “Very well. Now I want you to search your memory well and tell me if you saw anyone belonging to the family in the station on that New Year’s Eve. The terrible occurrence at Beechcroft the same night must have fixed the facts in your mind.” The stationmaster, a cautious man of kindly disposition, seemed to be troubled by the interrogatory. “Do you mind if I ask you, sir, why you are seeking this information?” he inquired, after a thoughtful pause. “A very proper question. Mr. David Hume-Frazer is a friend of mine, and he has sought my help to clear away the mystery attached to his cousin’s death.” “But why do you come to me?” “Because you are a very likely person to have some knowledge on the point I raised. You see every person who enters or leaves Stowmarket by train.” “That is true. We railway men see far more than people think,” said the official, with a smile. “But it is very odd that you should be the first gentleman to think of talking to me in connection with the affair, though I can assure you certain things puzzled me a good deal at the time.” “And what were they?” “You are the gentleman who came here three days ago with Mr. David, whom, by the way, I hardly recognised at first?” “Exactly.” “Well, I suppose it is all right. I did not interfere because I could not see my way clear to voluntarily give evidence. Of course, were I summoned by the police, it would be a different matter. The incidents of that New Year’s Eve fairly bewildered me.” “Indeed!” “It was stated at the trial, sir, that Mr. David came from Scotland that morning, left Liverpool Street at 3.20 p.m., and reached Stowmarket at 5.22 p.m.” “Yes.” “Further, he was admittedly the second person to see his cousin’s dead body, and remained at the Hall until arrested by the police on a warrant.” Brett nodded. The stationmaster’s statement promised to be intensely interesting. “Well, sir,” continued the man excitedly, “I was mystified enough on New Year’s Eve, but after the murder came out I thought I was fairly bewitched. That season is always a busy one for us, what between parcels, passengers, and bad weather. On the morning of December 31, I fancied I saw Mr. David leave the London train due here at 12.15 midday. I only caught a glimpse of him, because there was a crowd of people, and he was all muffled up. I didn’t give the matter a second thought until I saw him again step out of a first-class carriage at 2.20 p.m. I looked at him rather sharp that time. He was differently dressed, and hurried off without any luggage. He left the station quickly, so I imagined I had been mistaken a couple of hours earlier. You could have knocked me down with a feather when he appeared by the 5.22 p.m. This time he had several leather trunks, and a footman from the Hall was waiting for him on the platform. Excuse me, sir, but it was a fair licker!” “It must have been. I wonder you did not speak to him!” “I wish I had done so. Mr. David is usually a very affable young gentleman, but, what between my surprise and the bustle of getting the train away, I lost the opportunity. However, the queerest part of my story is coming. I’m blest if he didn’t leave here again by the last train at 5.58 p.m. I missed his entrance to the station, but had a good look at him as the train went out. He showed the ticket-examiner at Ipswich a return half to London, because I asked by wire. Now what did it all mean?” “If I could tell you, it would save me much trouble,” said Brett gravely. “But why did you not mention these incidents subsequently?” “Perhaps I was wrong, sir. I did not know what to do for the best. Every one at the Hall, including Mr. David himself, would have proved that I was a liar with respect to his two earlier arrivals and his departure by the 5.58. I did not see what I would accomplish except to arouse a strong suspicion that I had been drinking.” “Which would be unjustifiable?” The stationmaster regained his dignity. “I have been a teetotaler, sir, for more than twenty years.” “You are sure you are making no mistake?” “Nothing of the kind, sir. I must have been very much mistaken, but I did not think so at the time, and it bothered me more than enough. If my evidence promised to be of any service to Mr. David, no consideration would have kept me back. As it was—” “You thought it would damage him?” “I’m afraid that was my idea.” “I agree with you. It is far better that it never came to the knowledge of the police. I am greatly obliged to you.” “May I ask, sir, if what I have told you will be useful in your inquiry?” “Most decidedly. Some day soon Mr. David Hume-Frazer will thank you in person. I suppose you have no objection to placing your observations in written form for my private use, and sending the statement to me at the County Hotel?” “Not the least, sir; good-day.” The barrister walked to the hotel, having despatched his bag by a porter. “I suppose,” he said to himself, “that when Winter came here he rushed straight to the police-station. How his round eyes will bulge out of their sockets when I tell him what I have just learnt.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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