Dorothy Fielding - Chief Inspector Pointer's Cases - 12 Golden Age Murder Mysteries

"By the look of it, some one swung this around his head like a club. Now let's see." He opened his notebook. "They're Count di Monti's," he said after using a magnifying glass for some very careful minutes.

"When did you get his?"

"This afternoon he took a glass of soda water. Remember? I took care of that glass afterwards. So now we stand like this. We think Miss Charteris was here because of her frocks, the portrait, the fruit tray, and the marks on the window. We know di Monti was here, and in a fury because of these prints. The other finger-prints sprinkled all about so freely will doubtless turn out to be those of Bellairs himself. And now I'm done here."

At Medchester police station they found that Inspector Rodman had carried out Pointer's instructions very successfully.

Lady Maxwell had been informed that a navy evening frock of hers had been found among some stolen property which the police had just recovered.

The lady was both surprised and impressed by the speed with which it had been traced to her. Rodman had merely told her that "the force has its own ways, madam," with some inward amusement as to exactly what those ways had been.

He wanted to know whether it had been as crumpled as now when last seen.

Lady Maxwell thought that it had been shamefully treated by the thieves. The maid thought that the ill-treatment had taken place at Stillwater House. Between the two, of them, Rodman, listening avidly, and putting a few questions now and then, had managed to get a clear account.

The frock was quite new. Lady Maxwell had worn it for the first time at dinner at Stillwater House on Thursday and torn it. As the frock had cost some thousands of francs, simple though it looked, she had gladly accepted Mrs. Lane's offer to send it for her next morning to a woman in Medchester who did beautiful "invisible mending."

After dinner, when she went to her rooms, her maid had folded it up and laid it on the hall table for Mrs. Lane to see to in the morning. And when the terrible accident to Miss Charteris decided her mistress to hurry away, the maid found it still on the table, but tightly rolled up in paper, and very crushed.

Mrs. Lane, had come up herself a little later, and offered to still have it mended in Medchester. She had pressed Lady Maxwell to accept her offer, but that lady finally decided to take it to town with her.

Its loss from the hotel had been discovered at once, but it was believed that by some oversight it must have been taken to the cleaners.

Rodman's explanation, such as it was, evidently cut short a very promising triangular duel between mistress, and maid, and cleaner.

"So we now know that the frock might have been slipped on by any of the women in Stillwater House that night," Rodman muttered.

Pointer nodded. "Just so."

He proceeded to give the two police-officers a straight, condensed account of what he had found yesterday morning at the summer house down by the lake.

Harris said afterwards that if he hadn't had the presence of mind to catch hold of his jaw it would have fallen off altogether.

Even Rodman gaped.

"So those beads that were found by the sand-pit must have tumbled out of Miss Charteris's frock when they lifted her body off the truck."

Barns remembered the two brought him.

"Now," Pointer finished, "we want to find out three things of almost equal importance.

"First, who was the man of the summer house. He was not of what I call the Stillwater circle. That is, he wasn't the colonel, nor Mr. Thornton, nor Mr. Bellairs nor Count di Monti, nor Mr. Bond, nor Mr. Cockburn, nor any of the menservants. I've seen all their fingerprints by now."

He went on to speak of the probable connection between the stranger and the letter received by the colonel on Wednesday noon.

"It was delivered by the chauffeur of a Sir Henry Carew.

"Who's he?"

"Neighbour of the colonel's. Late of the same regiment. Tons of money."

"Married?" asked Pointer.

"Grandfather," Harris said triumphantly, in a tone that nipped any romantic suppositions in the bud.

"Any sons?"

"One. Fell at Givenchy."

"Then very probably he sent the colonel a warning."

"Ah, he would do that!" Harris quite approved of this idea.

"According to Paul, the colonel dined with him on Wednesday in town, and spent the evening with him, getting back about half-past twelve."

"They're often together," Harris threw in "Sir Henry, for one thing, owns a horse at this moment that the colonel's going to back for all he's worth, I hear. I'm rather inclined myself to—"

Pointer brought the talk back to the matter in hand, and ran over the possible suppositions about the unknown man who had lain on the bed of the summer house, very much as he had done to O'Connor, but in a tabulated, abbreviated form.

"That's the first point. The second we want to find out is, who was the man who pushed the carrier to the sand-pit. Thirdly, we want to trace out the woman who walked beside the man. She probably wore the stained blue dress. So much for the main facts. As to the motive for the murder—there's the idea of jealousy. We have two men and two women belonging to Miss Charteris's own circle that might have something to say to that. Bellairs and the count, Mrs. Lane and Miss Scarlett.

"The count, you remember, said that not only had he a perfect alibi for all Thursday evening and night from eight on, but that he was going to bring down two friends, a Prince Cornaro and a Mr. del Greco, a relation of the Italian Ambassador, to confirm it. We know there was a meeting at which he spoke at eleven, but if he was late he could have reached it after Miss Charteris was killed. However, if his alibi's as good as he says, he's out of it—seemingly.

"As for Mr. Bellairs, of course, in the ordinary way, we should ask for an explanation at once about that studio of his. But he's staying at Windsor Castle until Tuesday, painting a portrait of the Queen for the coming World's Conference of Women. But now, suppose the motive isn't jealousy, or anything in that line. Suppose Miss Rose's death was to some one's advantage—"

"Ah, but it wasn't!" put in Harris almost gleefully. "Not advantage enough to the Stillwater lot. Miss Sibella gets that Italian legacy, if it's ever paid, and that's all the profit there is. Her money don't come to the colonel till after her father's death. I've been talking to Mr. Gilchrist."

"I suppose the count's too wealthy to feel the pinch of letting the property go?" Inspector Rodman puzzled aloud, "but, of course, now there's only one girl to marry."

Harris turned on him quizzically.

"Look here, he's an Italian, not a Mormon."

"What I mean, sir, is this. That Italian property went to Miss Charteris, and, after her death, to Miss Scarlett, and then back to the di Monti. Now Miss Charteris's gone, if the count marries Miss Scarlett, it takes it back into the family at once, as it were?"

"I thought it went to Miss Scarlett permanent to will away," Harris said after a pause. "Let's look at the papers. I laid a note of her money affairs in with 'em."

He opened the safe and took out a parcel, untied it, and then started.

"Why, they're gone! These newspapers have been put in instead."

"When were they out of your keeping?" Pointer asked equably.

"The chief asked to see them, so I sent Briggs up there, yesterday about seven. The major sent them back again about nine. Mr. Thornton returned them. He'd been dining there."

"Who else was at Major Vaughan's at dinner, do you know?"

"Only the colonel, Briggs said."

"You may be sure that any one even remotely connected with the case would look in in the course of the evening," Pointer said a little grimly.

"I know the count did for a fact. But, Alf, the major wouldn't show these papers to outsiders—"