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Stowmarket Mystery, or, a Legacy of Hate

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<h3>Chapter XXV</h3> <h2>Where Did Margaret Go?</h2> Return to Table of Contents In the Kennington Park Road he hailed hansom and drove home. Winter awaited him, for Smith now admitted the detective without demur should his master be absent. The barrister walked to a sideboard, produced a decanter of brandy, and helped himself to a stiff dose. “Ah,” he said pleasantly, “our American cousins call it a ‘corpse reviver,’ but a corpse could not do that, could he, Winter?” “I know a few corpses that would like to try. But what is up, sir? I have not often seen you in need of stimulants.” “I am most unfeignedly glad to give you the opportunity. Winter, suppose, some time to-morrow, you were told that the body of Reginald Brett, Esq., barrister-at-law, and a well-known amateur investigator of crime, had been picked up shortly after midnight in the Kennington district, whilst the medical evidence showed that death was caused by a fractured skull, the result of a fall, there being no other marks of violence on the person, what would you have thought?” “It all depends upon the additional facts that came to light.” “I will tell them to you. You were aware that I had quitted the hotel, because you called there?” “Yes.” “Whom did you see?” “Mr. David. He said that you were angry with Mrs. Capella, for no earthly reason that he could make out. He further informed me that she had followed you when you left the room, and had not returned, being presumably in her own apartment.” “Anything further?” “Mr. Hume asked Miss Layton to go and see if Mrs. Capella had retired for the night. Miss Layton came back, looking rather scared, with the information that Mrs. Capella had dressed and gone out. After a little further talk we came to the conclusion that you were both together. Was that so?” Brett had commenced his cross-examination with the intention of humorously proving to Winter that he (the detective) would suspect the wrong person of committing the imagined murder. Now he straightened himself, and continued in deadly earnest: “When did you leave the hotel?” “About 10.15.” “Had not Mrs. Capella returned?” “Not a sign of her. Miss Layton was alarmed, both the men furious, Mr. Robert particularly so. I did not see any use in remaining there; thought, in fact, I ought to obey orders and await you here, so here I am.” The barrister scribbled on a card: “Is Mrs. C. at home?” He rang for Smith, and said: “Take a cab to Mr. Hume’s hotel. Give him that card, and bring me the answer. If you and the cabman must have a drink together, kindly defer the function until after your return.” Smith took such jibes in good part. He knew full well that to attempt to argue with his master would produce a list of previous convictions. Then Brett proceeded to amaze Winter in his turn, giving him a full, true, and complete history of events since his parting from Mrs. Capella in the corridor. He had barely finished the recital when Smith returned with a note: <blockquote> “Yes; she came in at 10.45, and has since retired for the night. She says that her head ached, that she wanted to be alone, and went for a long walk. Seemed rather to resent our anxiety. Helen and I will be glad when we are all safely away from London. D.H.” </blockquote> The barrister pondered over this communication for a long time. “I fear,” he said at last, “that I came away from Middle Street a few minutes too soon. To tell the truth, I was in an abject state of fear. Next time I meet Mr. Frazer the Third I will be ready for him.” “Is he really so like the others that he might be mistaken for one of them?” “In a sense, yes. He has the same figure, general conformation, and features. But in other respects he is utterly different. Have you ever seen a great actor in the role of Mephistopheles?” “I don’t remember. My favourite villain was Barry Sullivan as Richard III.” Brett laughed hysterically. “Let me speak more plainly. You have, no doubt, a vague picture in your mind of a certain gentleman of the highest descent who is popularly credited with the possession of horns, hoofs, and a barbed tail?” “I’ve heard of him.” “Very well. You will see someone very like him, minus the adornments aforesaid, when you set eyes on the principal occupant of 37 Middle Street.” Winter slowly assimilated this description. Then he inquired: “Why did you say just now that you came away from Middle Street a few minutes too soon?” “Where did Mrs. Capella go when she left the hotel?” “If she went to visit the man you met, then she is acting in collision with her brother’s murderer, and she knows it.” “That is a hard thing to say, Winter.” “It is a harder thing to credit, sir; but one cannot reject all evidence, merely because it happens to be straightforward and not hypothetical.” “Winter, you are sneering at me.” “No; I am only trying to make you admit the tendency of facts discovered by yourself. There is a period in all criminal investigation when deductive reasoning becomes inductive.” “Now I have got you,” cried Brett “I thought I recognised the source of your new-born philosophy in the first postulate. The second convinces me. You have been reading ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue.’” “The book is in my pocket,” admitted Winter. “I recommend you to transfer it to your head. It should be issued departmentally as a supplement to the Police Code. But let us waste no more time. To-morrow we have much to accomplish.” “I am all attention.” “In the first place, Mrs. Capella is leaving London for the North. She must not be regarded in our operations. The woman is weighted with a secret. I am sorry for her. I prefer to allow events as supplied by others to unravel the skein. Secondly, Jiro and his wife, and all who visit them, or whom they visit, must be watched incessantly. Get all the force required for this operation in its fullest sense. You, with one trusted associate, must keep a close eye on No. 37 Middle Street. On no account obtrude yourself personally into affairs there. Rather miss twenty opportunities than scare that man by one false move. Do you understand me thoroughly?” “I am to see and not be seen. If I cannot do the one without the other, I must do neither.” “Exactly. What a holiday you are having! You will return to the Yard with an expanded brain. When you buy a new hat you will be astounded and gratified. But beware of the fate of the frog in the fable. He inflated himself until he emulated the size of the bull.” “And then?” “Oh, then he burst.” The detective changed the conversation abruptly. “What do you propose doing, Mr. Brett?” “I purpose reading a chapter in ‘The Stowmarket Mystery,’ written by your friend, Mr. Holden.” They heard a loud rat-tat on the outer door. “Probably,” continued Brett, “this is its title.” Smith entered with a telegram. It was in the typed capitals usually associated with Continental messages. It read: <blockquote> “Johnson leaves Naples to-night with others, I travel same train.—HOLDEN.” </blockquote> The barrister surveyed the simple words with an intensity that indicated his desire to wrest from their context its hidden significance. Winter, more subject to the influences of the hour, puffed his cigar furiously. “You arrange your words to suit the next act for all the world like an Adelphi play,” he growled. “I see that Holden has the same gift. What does he mean by ‘others’? Who is Capella bringing with him?” “Witnesses,” volunteered Winter. “Just so; but witnesses in what cause?” “How the—how can I tell?” “By applying your borrowed logic. Try the deductive reasoning you flung at me a while ago.” “I don’t quite know what ‘deductive’ means,” was the sulky admission. “That is the first step towards wisdom. You admit ignorance. Deduction, in this sense, is the process of deriving consequences from admitted facts. Now, mark you. Capella wishes to be rid of his wife, by death or legal separation. He thinks he wants to marry Miss Layton. He is convinced that something within his power, if done effectively, will bring about both events. He can shunt Mrs. Capella, and so disgust Miss Layton with the Hume-Frazers that she will turn to the next ardent and sympathetic wooer that presents himself. He knew the points of his case, and went to Naples to procure proofs. He has obtained them. They are chiefly living persons. He is bringing them to England, and their testimony will convict Mrs. Capella of some wrong-doing, either voluntary or involuntary. Holden knows what Capella has accomplished, and thinks it is unnecessary to remain longer in Naples. He is right. I tell you, Winter, I like Holden.” “And I tell you, Mr. Brett, that if I swallowed the whole of Mr. Poe’s stories, I couldn’t make out Holden’s telegram in that fashion. So I must stick to my own methods, and I’ve put away a few wrong ’uns in my time. When shall I see you next?” Brett took out his watch. “At seven p.m., the day after to-morrow,” he said coolly. “Until then my address is ‘Hotel Metropole, Brighton.’” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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