Adventures of Martin Hewitt (12 page)

“A connection by marriage, of course?” Hewitt’s hard gaze was still upon
her.

Mrs. Beckle looked from him to the inspector and back again, and the
corners of her mouth twitched. Then she sat down and rested her head on her
hand. “Well, I suppose I must say it, though I’ve kept it to myself till
now,” she said resignedly. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

“Of course, as you have been told, you are not obliged to say anything
now; but the more information you can give the better chance there may be of
detecting your brother-in-law’s murderer.”

“Well, I don’t mind, I’m sure. It was a bad day when he married my sister.
He killed her—not at once, so that he might have been hung for it, but
by a course of regular brutality and starvation. I hated the man!” she said,
with a quick access of passion, which however she suppressed at once.

“And yet you let him stay in your house?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was afraid of him; and he used to come just when he
pleased, and practically take possession of the house. I couldn’t keep him
away; and he drove away my other lodgers.” She suddenly fired up again.
“Wasn’t that enough to make anybody desperate? Can you wonder at
anything?”

She quieted again by a quick effort, and Hewitt and the inspector
exchanged glances.

“Let me see, he was captain of the sailing ship
Egret,
wasn’t he?”
Hewitt asked. “Lost in the Pacific a year or more ago?”

“Yes.”

“If I remember the story of the loss aright, he and one native
hand—a Kanaka boy—were the only survivors?”

“Yes, they were the only two. He was the only one that came back to
England.”

“Just so. And there
were
rumours, I believe, that after all he
wasn’t altogether a loser by that wreck? Mind, I only say there were rumours;
there may have been nothing in them.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Beckle replied, “I know all about that. They said the ship had
been east away purposely, for the sake of the insurance. But there was no
truth in that, else why did the underwriters pay? And besides, from what I
know privately, it couldn’t have been. Abel Pullin was a reckless scoundrel
enough, I know, but he would have taken good care to be paid well for any
villainy of that sort.”

“Yes, of course. But it was suggested that he was.”

“No, nothing of the sort. He came here, as usual, as soon as he got home,
and until he got another ship he hadn’t a penny. I had to keep him, so I
know. And he was sober almost all the time from want of money. Do you mean to
say, if the common talk were true, that he would have remained like that
without getting money of the owners, his accomplices, and at least making
them give him another ship? Not he. I know him too well.”

“Yes, no doubt. He was now just back from his next voyage after that, I
take it?”

“Yes, in the
Iolanthe
brig. A smaller ship than he has been used
to, and belonging to different owners.”

“Had he much money this time?”

“No. He had bought himself a gold watch and chain abroad, and he had a
ring and a few pounds in money, and sonic instruments, that was all, I think,
in addition to his clothes.”

“Well, they’ve all been stolen now,” the inspector said. “Have you missed
anything yourself?”

“No.”

“Nor the other lodgers, so far as you know?”

“No, neither of them.”

“Very well, Mrs. Beckle. We’ll have a word or two with the servant now,
and then I’ll get you to come over the house with us.”

Sarah Taffs was the servant’s name. She seemed to have got over her
agitation, and was now sullen and uncommunicative. She would say nothing.
“You said I needn’t say nothin’ if I didn’t want to, and I won’t.” That was
all she would say, and she repeated it again and again. Once, however, in
reply to a question as to Foster, she flashed out angrily, “If it’s Mr.
Foster you’re after you won’t find ‘im. ‘E’s a gentleman, ‘e is, and I ain’t
goin’ to tell you nothin’.” But that was all.

Then Mrs. Beckle showed the inspector, the surgeon and Hewitt over the
house. Everything was in perfect order on the ground floor and on the stairs.
The stairs, it appeared, had been swept before the discovery was made.
Nevertheless Hewitt and the inspector scrutinised them narrowly. The top
floor consisted of two small rooms only, used as bedrooms by Mrs. Beckle and
Sarah Taffs respectively. Nothing was missing, and everything was in order
there.

The one floor between contained the dead man’s room, Miss Walker’s and
Foster’s. Miss Walker’s room they had already seen, and now they turned into
Foster’s.

The place seemed to betray careless habits on the part of its tenant, and
was everywhere in slovenly confusion. The bed-clothes were flung anyhow on
the floor, and a chair was overturned. Hewitt looked round the room and
remarked that there seemed to be no clothes hanging about, as might have been
expected.

“No,” Mrs. Beckle replied; “he has taken to keeping them all in his boxes
lately.”

“How many boxes has he?” asked the inspector.

“Only these two?”

“That is all.”

The inspector stooped and tried the lids.

“Both locked,” he said. “I think we’ll take the liberty of a peep into
these boxes.”

He produced a bunch of keys and tried them all, but none fitted. Then
Hewitt felt about inside the locks very carefully with a match, and then
taking a button-hook from his pocket, after a little careful “humouring”
work, turned both the locks, one after another, and lifted the lids.

Mrs. Beckle uttered an exclamation of dismay, and the inspector looked at
her rather quizzically. The boxes contained nothing but bricks.

“Ah,” said the inspector, “I’ve seen that sort of suits o’ clothes before.
People have ‘em who don’t pay hotel bills and such-like. You’re a very good
pick-lock, by the way, Mr. Hewitt. I never saw anything quicker and
neater.”

“But I
know
he had a lot of clothes,” Mrs. Beckle protested. “I’ve
seen them.”

“Very likely—very likely indeed,” the inspector answered. “But
they’re gone now, and Mr. Foster’s gone with ‘em.”

“But—but the girl didn’t say he had any bundles with him when he
went out?”

“No, she didn’t; and she didn’t say he hadn’t, did she? She won’t say
anything about him, and she says she won’t, plump. Even supposing he
hadn’t
got them with him this morning that signifies nothing. The
clothes are gone, and anybody intending a job of
that
sort”—the
inspector jerked his thumb significantly towards the skipper’s
room—“would get his things away quietly first so as to have no
difficulty about getting away himself afterwards. No; the thing’s pretty
plain now, I think; and I’m afraid Mr. Foster’s a pretty bad lot. Anyway I
shouldn’t like to be in his shoes.”

“Nor I,” Hewitt assented. “Evidence of that sort isn’t easy to get
over.”

“Come, Mrs. Beckle,” the inspector said, “do you mind coming into the
front room with us? The body’s covered over with a rug.”

The landlady disliked going, it was plain to see, but presently she pulled
herself together and followed the men. She peeped once distrustfully round
the door to where the body lay and then resolutely turned her back on it.

“His watch and chain are gone and whatever else he had in his pockets,”
the inspector said. “I think you said he had a ring?”

“Yes, one—a thick gold one.”

“Then that’s gone too. Everything’s turned upside down, and probably other
things are stolen too. Do you miss any?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Beckle replied, looking round, but avoiding with her eyes the
rug-covered heap near the fireplace. “There was a sextant on the mantelpiece;
it was
his;
and he kept one or two other instruments in that drawer
“—pointing to one which had been turned out—“but they seem to be
gone now. And there was a small ship, carved in ivory, and worth money, I
believe—that’s gone. I don’t know about his clothes; some of them may
be stolen or they may not.” She stepped to the bed and turned back the
coverlet. “Oh,” she added, “the sheets are gone from the bed too!”

“Usual thing,” the inspector remarked; “wrap up the swag in a sheet, you
know—makes a convenient bundle. Nothing else missing?”

The landlady took one more look round and said doubtfully, “No, no, I
don’t think so. Oh, but yes,” she suddenly added, “uncle’s hook.”

“Oh,” remarked the inspector with dismal jocularity, “he’s took uncle’s
hook as well as his own, has he? What was uncle’s hook like?”

“It wasn’t of much value,” Mrs. Beckle explained; “but I kept it as a
memorial. My great uncle, who died many years ago, was a sea-captain too, and
had lost his left hand by accident. He wore a hook in its place—a hook
made for him on board his vessel. It was an iron hook screwed into a wooden
stock. He had it taken off in his last illness and gave it to me to mind
against his recovery. But he never got well, so I’ve kept it over since. It
used to hang on a nail at the side of the chimney-breast.”

“No wounds about the body that might have been made with a hook like that,
doctor, were there?” the inspector asked.

“No, no wounds at all but the one.”

“Well, well,” the inspector said, moving toward the door, “we’ve got to
find Foster now, that’s plain. I’ll see about it. You’ve sent to the mortuary
you say, doctor? All right. You’ve no particular reason for sending the girl
out of doors to-day, I suppose, Mrs. Beckle?”

“I
can
keep her in, of course,” the landlady answered. “It will be
inconvenient, though.”

“Ah, then keep her in, will you? We mustn’t lose sight of her. I’ll leave
a couple of men here, of course, and I’ll tell them she mustn’t be allowed
out.”

Hewitt and the surgeon went downstairs and parted at the door. “I shall be
over again to-morrow morning,” Hewitt said, “about that other matter I was
speaking of. Shall I find you in?”

“Well,” the doctor answered, “at any rate they will tell you where I am.
Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Hewitt answered, and then stopped. “I’m obliged for being
allowed to look about upstairs here,” he said. “I’m not sure what the
inspector has in his mind, by the way; but I should think whatever I noticed
would be pretty plain to him, though naturally he would be cautious about
talking of it before others, as I was myself. That being the case it might
seem rather presumptuous in me to make suggestions, especially as he seems
fairly confident. But if you have a chance presently of giving him a quiet
hint you might draw his special attention to two things—the charred
paper that I took from the fireplace and the missing hook. There is a good
deal in that, I fancy. I shall have an hour or two to myself, I expect, this
afternoon, and I’ll make a small inquiry or two on my own account in town. If
anything comes of them I’ll let you know to-morrow when I see you.”

“Very well, I shall expect you. Goodbye.”

Hewitt did not go straight away from the house to the railway station. He
took a turn or two about the row of houses, and looked up each of the paths
leading from them across the surrounding marshy fields. Then he took the path
for the station. About a hundred yards along, the path reached a deep muddy
ditch with a high hedge behind it, and then lay by the side of the ditch for
some little distance before crossing it. Hewitt stopped and looked
thoughtfully at the ditch for a few moments before proceeding, and then went
briskly on his way.

That evening’s papers were all agog with the mysterious murder of a ship’s
captain at West Ham, and in next morning’s papers it was announced that Henry
Foster, a seafaring man, and lately mate of a trading ship, had been arrested
in connection with the crime.

That morning Hewitt was at the surgeon’s house early. The surgeon was in,
and saw him at once. His own immediate business being transacted, Hewitt
learned particulars of the arrest of Foster. “The man actually came back of
his own accord in the afternoon,” the surgeon said. “Certainly he was drunk,
but that seems a very reckless sort of thing, even for a drunken man. One
rather curious thing was that he asked for Pullin as soon as he arrived, and
insisted on going to him to borrow half-a-sovereign. Of course he was taken
into custody at once, and charged, and that seemed to sober him very quickly.
He seemed dazed for a bit, and then, when he realised the position he was in,
refused to say a word. I saw him at the station. He had certainly been
drinking a good deal; but a curious thing was that he hadn’t a cent of money
on him. He’d soon got rid of it all, anyhow.”

“Did you say anything to the inspector as to the things I mentioned to
you?”

“Yes, but he didn’t seem to think a great deal of them. He took a look at
the charred paper and saw that one piece had evidently been a cheque on the
Eastern Consolidated Bank, but the other he couldn’t see any sort of sign
upon. As to the hook, he seemed to take it that that was used to fasten in
the knot of the bundle, to carry it the more easily.”