Death Comes to Cambers (11 page)

There rose before Bobby a memory of Sterling's thin, dark, vivid face, a face, Bobby thought, of one of strong emotions, of many possibilities. Nor was Bobby altogether satisfied that Sterling's manner under examination had been quite normal. There had been, he thought, a hint of restraint, of carefulness not altogether natural in one of so vivid and eager a personality. But then, again, one had to remember the circumstances that perhaps made such an attitude not so much natural as inevitable.

Bobby shook his head impatiently, hoped he was not growing fanciful, and turned to the next on his list of suspects – Sir Albert Cambers himself – for Bobby felt he deserved not to be forgotten. There was not only the complication with Miss Bowman to be considered, but also the fact that there had undoubtedly been serious disputes over money matters. It sounded as if his losses in the City had given his wife the opportunity to take a high hand with him, and that she had succeeded in securing full control of the family estates. Then there had been a quarrel about the missing jewellery, Sir Albert claiming at any rate some of it as his own, and Lady Cambers insisting that it was all her property.

Could it be possible that he had attempted to enforce his claim with violence that had had tragic results? It would be necessary, Bobby thought, to inquire very closely into the movements of Sir Albert Cambers on this Sunday night.

Also there was the unknown visitor to the village about whom no one seemed to know anything but about whom everyone had something to say. Was it of any significance that with the news of the murder he had vanished in such haste?

Yet, if he had been guilty of the murder, would he not have vanished sooner? A disappearance after it had become generally known suggested dismay and fear rather than previous guilty knowledge.

It had to be remembered, though, that he had managed to get himself suspected of burglary by the marked interest he had shown in Cambers House, and that now the Cambers jewellery had disappeared!

There jerked into Bobby's memory the story Amy Emmers had told of the disappointment and anger of the American millionaire, Mr. Tyler, at Lady Cambers's refusal to part with her Cleopatra pearl. Did the truth lie somewhere there – in an attempt by an agent of Mr. Tyler to secure by theft the desired pearl – and had it resulted more tragically than had ever been contemplated? Another suspect, then, to be added to the list. For collectors have been known to go very far indeed in their efforts to secure the objects they have set their hearts on.

Finally there was the butler, Farman, and this story of the old far-off conviction, that should now have passed into oblivion after so many years of honest war and domestic service. But now it had to be remembered, Bobby supposed, only he would be very careful not to give it too much importance.

A complicated affair, it seemed, and carefully Bobby set down in order the names of the chief suspects, and the motive that it seemed might have urged them to the crime.

1.
Sir Albert Cambers.

Motive: Freedom to marry Miss Bowman. Money disputes. Rival claims to possession of the missing jewellery. (N.B.: Check movements on Sunday night.)

2.
Mr. Bowman.

Motive: Financial (reported hard-up), and wish to see his sister married to Sir Albert, with consequent advantages to his own business and social position.

3.
Mr. Tyler.

Motive: The Cleopatra pearl.

4.
Farman.

Motive: Doubtful; might be theft of jewellery on own account or to secure the Cleopatra pearl for Mr. Tyler.

5.
The Stranger from London (suspected of burglarious intentions).

Possibly in Mr. Tyler's pay. Must be traced.

6.
Eddy Dene.

Motive: Doubtful. Apparently a protégé of Lady Cambers, but then protégés and their patrons sometimes quarrel. Apparently a young man of unusual character, known to have been in Lady Cambers's company late on the Sunday night. The pen found on the scene of the murder now identified as his.

7.
Amy Emmers, Lady Cambers's personal maid.

Motive: If any, probably a desire to help or shield someone else. Engaged to Eddy Dene, a fact to remember, but apparently no great keenness on either side.

Note: Almost certainly knows more than she has told. Various small suspicious circumstances observed.

8.
The vicar of the parish, Mr. Andrews.

Motive: Objection to Dene's archaeological investigations, and fear of conclusions that might be drawn from them. Threats used from pulpit and now materialized.

9.
Tim Sterling.

Motive: His aunt's heir, but position precarious. Resentment at attempt to force a wife on him.

Note: His visit so late on Sunday curious in the extreme, especially as he didn't reach his destination.

10.
Ray Hardy (hardly worth including).

Motive: None apparent.

Note: His behaviour seemed vaguely suspicious. Was out early that morning and passed near body without seeing it. Nothing much in that, and behaviour to be quite easily accounted for in the circumstances.

With considerable distaste, Bobby surveyed this long list. It seemed to him almost certain the murderer's name was there. Only how to identify it?

By careful, painstaking work it might be possible to eliminate the names one by one till only one was left, and then it would be fairly certain that that one was the murderer's.

In the meantime he supposed there were three special points to clear up:

First:
Why had Lady Cambers gone out alone so late at night without warning anyone, and why had she taken a suit-case with her?

Secondly:
Who had lain and watched so long that night in the rhododendron-bushes, and for what object, since the watch must have continued long after the murder had been committed?

Thirdly:
Who was it who had been served with refreshments in Lady Cambers's business room? And by whom?

Having concluded this survey of the case, identified his long list of suspects, decided on the first three points to aim at, Bobby descended from his seat on the five-barred gate, brushed his trousers, put his note-book back in his pocket, and felt depressed.

It began to seem to him that in the dark and complicated background to the tragedy must lie the secret of its cause and perpetration. The murder of Lady Cambers was, he felt, no isolated occurrence, but the perhaps inevitable and, so to say, destined, outcome of a long series of events, of passionate emotions that in the end had broken loose, of deep conflicting interests in which love and ambition and greed of money and position were all inextricably confused.

But how to find the path that through such a labyrinth would lead to the truth, how to discover with what degree of passion and intensity these ten different people had pursued their various aims so that, in one instance at least, there had supervened so black a crime?

And then in the background the enigmatic figure of Amy Emmers, with her aloof and proud indifference, her gentle, ready explanations?

To Bobby it seemed clear that the truth was to be found almost certainly, in this case at least, in a study of character rather than in an examination of fact. Once the detective had grasped character and motive, then he would know ‘why' and, once the ‘why' was understood, then it was comparatively simple to follow out the ‘how'. One might easily have, so to speak, all the facts in one's hand, and yet fail entirely to read their message for lack of comprehension of the motives that had inspired them. Whereas once those motives were understood, then the most puzzling facts would fall quickly and easily into place and present themselves in one coherent story of simple and straightforward reading.

It was a theory of detection – to concentrate more on spiritual motive than on material fact – Bobby had learned in part from his immediate superior at the Yard, Superintendent Mitchell, in part from the writing of Mr. G.K. Chesterton.

A microscope, infra-red rays, supra-violet rays and their effects, finger-prints and footprints – all had their valuable, and, indeed, essential, part to play, but they could only be interpreted correctly in the light of character and motive. And to do so is a task both more difficult and less spectacular than to analyse a speck of dust from the pocket of a suspect and draw therefrom scientific conclusions.

Bobby shook off these somewhat depressing thoughts to find he had now reached the village. It was easy to see at the first glance how profoundly the small community had been stirred by what had happened. The women, their household tasks forgotten, were gathered in little groups, talking in subdued, frightened whispers. The men, if they could not always leave their work so easily, were none the less talking just as hard and much more loudly. Bobby's appearance as he walked up the street produced first a pause and then a renewed gush of talk, for they all knew both that he was connected with the London police and that he had been staying at Cambers House as a guest. From all parts of the straggling, sunny street curious eyes were turned in his direction, and one could almost feel the ache of the longing to question him.

At one spot the postman and the milkman were exchanging condolences. Both had just been getting into trouble with their clients for being so late upon their rounds, and both had been protesting that they could not help it. People would insist on asking them a mort of questions, and they couldn't get away without being downright rude. 

‘Look at Mrs. Roberts – her that's cook up at Bowmans',' complained the milkman. ‘I know I was over an hour late getting there; nine it was striking when I knocked, instead of half-past seven and a good twenty minutes before I got away again, all along of her wanting to know what was up, and having heard nothing about it. And just as I was telling her, there was Mr. Bowman himself came walking in at the gate; gave us both a turn, and cook and all thinking him in his office, for like a ghost he looked – white as a sheet.'

Bobby, who had overheard this, and who had previously chatted with both men, with one while delivering the letters, the other the milk, at Cambers House, thought this conversation sounded promising. So he joined in, and soon, since he had made up his mind it would be well to try to find out all he could about the stranger from London said to have been staying in the village and to have vanished that morning with a somewhat suspicious speed, he was inquiring about him. But the milkman knew nothing, and, remembering waiting customers, departed, and the postman did not seem inclined to be very communicative.

‘The gent that was stopping at the Cambers Arms?' he asked. ‘Jones was his name – Samuel Jones. Left this morning, they say, but there's no letters for him.'

Bobby tried to pursue the subject further, but the postman grew suddenly official. It was forbidden to give any information about the mail without special authority. If any more letters came for Mr. Jones they would have to be dealt with in the ordinary way, and authority to hand correspondence over would have to be obtained from headquarters. As a matter of fact the good man had been telling in full detail everything he knew to everyone he met all the morning long, and had most thoroughly enjoyed doing so. But it was a different matter altogether to talk to a detective who had behind him all the mysterious powers of Scotland Yard. So he grew suddenly silent, and Bobby tactfully applauded this official discretion, felt fairly confident that, so recognized, it would in time easily dissolve in a pint or two of good ale, and moved on to the Cambers Arms, where all morning, during that generally mournful period when the licensing laws forbid the sale of ‘wine, beer, or spirits', the consumption of lemonade and ‘minerals' had touched unprecedented heights.

It was luncheon-time now, and, indeed, past it, and in the bar and the cosy sheltered dining-room the talk was largely about mysterious Mr. Samuel Jones and his equally mysterious disappearance. Most of the company appeared convinced he was the murderer, and, with various glances Bobbywards, wondered he had not already been found and arrested. But the landlady pointed out that he had always paid regularly and had settled his bill before he departed, which, as she justly observed, was more than could have been expected from a murderer.

But it seemed that neither she nor anyone else had much real information about him. He had appeared abruptly in the village, and at first everyone had accepted his story that he was on the look-out for a cottage, with a bit of land attached, whereon to settle down on his retirement from business. This had seemed to explain the many questions he asked, until it began to be noticed that the questions increased in number and detail in proportion as the prospective purchase grew vaguer and vaguer.

Still, he had made himself fairly popular; he had won a good many pints and half-pints at darts, and lost others at shove-halfpenny; he had received several letters with typewritten address, and those he had written himself, it had been noticed, he never seemed to care to post in the village. For that purpose he had invariably gone to Hirlpool or elsewhere, and he had taken pains to explain that his wife was very anxious to know how the search for a new home progressed.

All this seemed interesting to Bobby, and after luncheon he managed to get the landlady aside. From her he learnt the further fact that Mr. Jones had been very fond of smoking a late pipe out-of-doors – so much so that finally he had been given a key of the side-door in order that he might let himself in when he was late without making anyone wait up for him. There were also hints that these late strolls had a way of taking him in the direction of Cambers House, but the landlady was quite clear that on the night of the murder the heavy rainstorm had brought him in fairly early and wet through – and that he had not gone out again, but had proceeded straight to bed.

If this were so, and could be confirmed, it provided, of course, a complete alibi so far as the actual murder was concerned, but of one thing Bobby felt convinced: that Mr. Jones's assumption of the character of a retired business man seeking a country home was an invention to conceal his real purpose, whatever that might have been – burglarious or otherwise.