John Carr - He Who Whispers

“What I saw was an innocent woman traduced by the man who pretended to be in love with her. Suppose Howard Brooke found this out, from the mysterious letter Harry was writing on the afternoon of the murder? In that case the person we must find was the equally mysterious correspondent, Jim Morell.

“This hypothesis would explain why Harry killed his father. It would show Fay as innocent of everything except—for some reason of her own!--hiding the brief-case that was dropped into the river, and never denouncing Harry. In any case the charge of vampirism was nonsense. I was just announcing this to you when . . .

“We heard a revolver-shot upstairs. We found what had happened to your sister.

“And I didn't understand anything.

“However! Let me now put together certain points I saw for myself, certain information you gave me, and certain other information given by your sister Marion when she was able to make a statement before we left Greywood. Let me show you how the whole game was played out under your eyes.

“On Saturday afternoon, at four o'clock, you met your sister and 'Stephen Curtis' at Waterloo Station. In the tea-room you flung your hand-grenade (though of course you didn't know it at the time) by announcing you had engaged Fay Seton to come to Greywood. Is that correct?”

“Steve! Steve Curtis!” Resolutely Miles shut out of his mind the face that kept appearing between him and the candle-flames.

“Yes,” Miles agreed. “That's correct.”

“How did the alleged Stephen Curtis receive the news?”

“In the light of what we know now,” Miles replied dryly, “t would be a strong understatement to say he didn't like t. But he announced that he couldn't go back to Greywood with us that evening.”

“Had you known he couldn't go back to Greywood with you that evening?”

“No! Now you mention it, it surprised Marion as much as I did me. Steve began to talk rather hastily about a sudden crisis at the office.”

“Was the name of Professor Rigaud mentioned at any time? Was 'Curtis' aware you'd met Rigaud?”

Miles pressed a hand against his eyes, reconstructing the scene. H saw, in blurred colours which sharpened to such ugliness, “Steve” fiddling with his pipe and “Steve” putting on his hat and “Steve” somewhat shakily laughing.

“No!” Miles responded. “Come to think of it, he didn't even know I'd gone to a meeting of the Murder Club, or what the Murder Club was. I did say something about 'the professor,' but I'll swear I never mentioned Rigaud's name.”

Dr. Fell bent forward, with a pink-faced and terrifying benevolence.

“Fay Seton,” Dr. Fell said softly, “still held the evidence which could send Harry Brook to the guillotine. But,if Fay Seton was disposed of, there would apparently be nobody to connect 'Stephen Curtis' with Harry Brooke.”

Miles started to push back his chair.

“God Almighty!” he said. “You mean . . . ?”

“So-oftly!” urged Dr. Fell, waving a mesmeric hand before eyeglasses coming askew. “But here—oh, here!--is the point at which I want you to jog your memory. During that conversation, when you and your sister and the so-called Curtis were present, was anything said about rooms?”

“About rooms?”

“About bedrooms!” persisted Dr. Fell, with the air of a monster lurking in ambush. “About bedrooms! Eh?”

“Well, yes. Marion said she was going to put Fay in her bedroom, and move downstairs herself to a better ground-floor room we'd just been redecorating.”

“Ah!” said Dr. Fell, nodding several times. “It did seem to me I heard you talking at Greywood about the bedroom situation. So your sister wanted to put Fay Seton in her bedroom! Oh, ah! Yes! But she didn't do it?”

“No. She wanted to do it that evening, but Fay refused. Fay preferred the ground-floor room because of her heart. Fewer stairs to climb.”

Dr. Fell pointed with his pipe.

“But suppose,” he suggested, “you believe Fay Seton will be in the upstairs bedroom at the back of the house. Suppose, to make dead sure of this, you keep a watch on the house. You hide yourself among the trees at the rear of the house. You look up at a line of uncurtained windows. And, at some time before midnight, what do you see?

“You see Fay Seton—wearing nightgown and wrap—slowly walking back and forth in front of those windows.

“Marion Hammond can't be seen at all. Marion is sitting in a chair over at the other side of the room, by the bedside table. She can't even be seen through the side of eastern windows, because they're curtained. But Fay Seton can be seen.

“And further suppose, in the black early hours of the morning, you creep into that dark bedroom intent on a neat and artistic murder. You are going to kill someone asleep in that bed. And, as you approach, you catch a very faint whiff of perfume; a distinctive perfume always associated with Fay Seton.

“You can't know, of course, that Fay has made the present of a little bottle of this perfume to Marion Hammond. The perfume bottle stands now on the bedside table. But you can't know that. You can only breathe the scent of that perfume. Is there any doubt in your mind now?”

Miles had sen it coming, seen it coming ever since Dr. Fell's first remark. But now the image seemed to rush out at him.

“Yes!” said Dr. Fell with emphasis. “Harry Brooke, alias Stephen Curtis, planned a skilful murder. And he got the wrong woman.”

There was silence.

“However!” added Dr. Fell, sweeping out his arm in a gesture which sent a coffee cup flying across the little dining-room, but which nobody noticed. “However! I am again indulging in my deplorable habit of anticipating the evidence.

“Last night, let it be admitted, I was royally stumped. With regard to the Brooke murder, I believed Harry had done the deed. I believed Fay Seton had afterwards got the brief-case with its damning raincoat, and still had it; in fact, I hinted as much to her with a question about underwater swimming. But nothing seemed to explain this mysterious attack on Marion Hammond.

“Even an incident on the following morning did not quite unseal these eyes. It was the first time I ever saw 'Mr. Stephen Curtis.'

“He had returned, very brisk and jaunty, apparently from London. He strolled into the sitting-room while you”--Dr. Fell again looked very hard at Miles—“were speaking on the 'phone to Miss Morell. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” said Miles.

“I remember the conversation,” said Barbara. “But . . .”

“As for myself,” rumbled Dr. Fell, “I was just behind him, carrying a cup of tea on a tray.” Dr. Fell furrowed up his face with intense concentration. “Your words to Miss Morell, in 'Stephen Curtis's' hearing, were (harrumph) almost exactly as follows:

“'There was a very bad business here last night,' you said to Miss Morell. 'Something happened in my sister's room that seems past human belief.' You broke off at the beginning of another sentence as 'Stephen Curtis' came in.

“Instantly you got up to reassure him in a fever of care that he shouldn't worry. 'It's all right,' you sad to him; Marion's had a very bad time of it, but she's going to get well.' You recall that part of it too?”

Very clearly Miles could se “Steve” standing there, in his neat grey suit, with the rolled-up umbrella over his arm. Again he saw the colour slowly draining out of “Steve's” face.

“I couldn't see his face,”--it was as though Dr. Fell, uncannily, were answering Miles' thoughts—“but I heard this gentleman's voice go up a couple of octaves when he said 'Marion?' Just like that!

“Sir, I tell you this: if my wits worked better in the morning (as they do not) that one word would have given the whole show away. 'Curtis' was completely thunderstruck. But why should he have been? He had just heard you announce that something very bad had occurred in your sister's room.