"And while reading, he had the fatal seizure--eh? That, at least, is the theory of the police," the Captain said.

"But you say that the housemaid, when she came to clean the room, found the door locked from the outside?" I remarked. The reason I cannot tell, but somehow, while we had been speaking, I thought I had detected a curious mysterious evasiveness in the Captain's manner. Was he telling all he knew?

"Yes," he said. "It was undoubtedly locked from the outside--a most mysterious fact."

"Why mysterious?" I queried. "If Nicholson wished to commit suicide in mysterious circ.u.mstances, he could easily have arranged that he should be found behind locked doors. He had only to pa.s.s out by the door, lock it, and re-enter by the library window again, and bar that. I noticed as I came in that there is a spring-lock on the front door--so that it locks itself when closed!"

"Ah! I had not thought of that," the Captain declared. "Of course, by such proceeding he would have been found locked in."

"But you have suspicion of foul play," I said; "you may as well admit that, Captain Cardew."

"Well, I see no good in concealing it," he said, with a smile. "To tell the truth now, after well weighing the facts for more than twenty-four hours, I have, I admit, come to a rather different conclusion to that of the medical men."

"And I agree with you," I declared. "One point we have to consider is what occupied poor Guy from the time when he left you until two o'clock.

He would not take an hour and a half to read a newspaper."

"No, but he might have been reading something else. He was not writing letters, for the same thought occurred to me, and I searched for any letters he might have written, but I could find none."

"The question arises whether he returned to the library in order to meet somebody there in secret," I exclaimed. "They may have pa.s.sed in by the window to meet him, and afterwards out by the door, and eventually by the front door."

His round face, with the slight fair moustache, instantly changed.

"By Jove! I've never thought of that!" he gasped. "Then your theory is that from half-past twelve till two he was not alone, eh? What causes you to suspect that he did not die of natural causes, Mr Kemball? I've been quite frank with you; will you not be equally straightforward with me?"

"Well, I have strong reasons for believing that it was to the interest of certain persons that he should die suddenly," I said; "that's all."

"Will you not name the persons?" he asked.

"Not until I obtain proof. I may be mistaken. I may be grossly misjudging perfectly innocent persons, therefore I make no specific charge against anybody," was my calm reply, as I stood gazing around the large sombre old room, whence a beautiful view of the long avenue and the park was spread. It was a quiet, silent, restful apartment, in which the previous owner--a great politician and writer--had spent many studious hours.

"But if you entertain any well-founded suspicions, ought you not to put them to the police?"

"And allow the local constables to bungle a very difficult and delicate inquiry! Scarcely, I think," I replied, with a smile, still looking about me, and wondering what had really happened in that long, old-world room during the silent watches of that fatal night.

"Nothing has been touched here," Cardew remarked. "I picked up the newspaper, but everything is left just as I found it when I rushed down at hearing the housemaid's horrified cry."

The room was certainly in no disorder. On the big square table, covered by a green plush cloth, were a number of new books, and in the centre a great silver bowl filled with roses. The writing-table--an old-fashioned mahogany one--was, I noticed, littered with letters, bills, and receipts, the neglected correspondence of a careless man, and as I stood there I noted that the great easy-chair wherein he had sat was placed exactly opposite the window, while within reach, upon a small neat shaft affixed to the wall, was the telephone instrument. Strange that, if he felt himself suddenly ill, and had been unable to summon a.s.sistance, he did not ring up on the telephone.

"The hammering you heard--was it quite distinct?" I inquired.

"Quite. It seems entirely feasible now that he was striving to get out of this locked room."

The point that the door had been locked from the outside puzzled me considerably. But a fresh suggestion arose within me--namely, that after every one had retired, a servant, remembering that the window was open and the door unlocked, had gone down and seen to them. Yet she would in that case have found her master in the room, with the light still burning. No: the only explanation was that the key had been turned by one of the servants while pa.s.sing along the corridor after her master's return there, and while on her way to bed.

Yet, however one viewed the tragic affair, it was full of most remarkable features. There was mystery--a great and inexplicable mystery--somewhere.

And that mystery I now intended, at all hazards, to solve.

With that object in view, I interviewed the housemaid who found the body of her young master, and listened to her story from her own lips.

Probably the whole household considered me to be highly inquisitive; nevertheless, I pointed out to them the earnest necessity of clearing up the matter to everybody's satisfaction, and both to the housekeeper, a witty woman, and to the other servants, I declared that the facts were full of grave suspicion.

The inspector of County Constabulary was not highly intelligent, and as soon as the medical men had given their opinion he ceased to take any further professional interest in the affair. It was a sudden death, and with such occurrences the police have only to attend the inquest and formally report.

The officer was, I think, rather piqued at the persistency of my inquiries, for when I pointed out to him the suspicious circ.u.mstance of the locked door, he point-blank told me that the medical declaration was quite sufficient for him.

The girl, Kate Hayes, who discovered her master--a dark-haired, good-looking maid, about twenty-six--had been eight years at t.i.tmarsh Court. It was Mr Guy's habit always to read his paper before going to bed, she told me, as we stood in the long servants' hall.

"I often find the library door unlocked before I go to my room, sir, and the night before last it was unlocked."

"Did you lock it?" I asked quickly.

"No, sir. I once locked Mr Guy in, so I always look inside now, before securing it," she replied. "I looked inside, and found Mr Guy there.

He was then taking a book down from one of the shelves near the window.

I apologised for intruding, and wished him good-night. `Good-night, Hayes,' he replied, and I closed the door and left him. I heard nothing in the night. But when I went to the library door next morning I found it locked. I recollect it was locked, because at first the key would not turn. At last I succeeded in opening the door, when the first sight that met my eyes in the faint grey light through the c.h.i.n.ks of the shutters was poor Mr Guy lying crouched up, his knees nearly touching his chin and quite dead."

"You are absolutely certain that the window was quite securely closed?"

I asked.

"Captain Cardew opened it, sir. I ran away to fetch the other servants."

Here again the Captain showed some disinclination thoroughly to probe matters, for he interrupted, saying--

"I don't see how questioning the servants will a.s.sist us. We already know all that they know."

"What we want to discover is whether poor Nicholson received any visitor clandestinely during the early hours of the morning," I said. "To me, it seems very much as though he did."

"Then you are directly opposed to the medical theory?" he exclaimed.

"And so are you, are you not?" I remarked.

"In a manner, yes--but not altogether. We must credit doctors with a certain amount of knowledge where death is concerned."

"I credit them with every knowledge," I hastened to a.s.sure him; "only in this case, I fear they have not sufficiently weighed over all the known and indisputable facts."

"If there had actually been foul play, there would be traces of it," he said.

"Not always," I replied. "Many cases of secret a.s.sa.s.sination have been declared by doctors to have been deaths from natural causes."

I saw that the servants, all country-bred, ridiculed my suspicions.

Doctor Redwood had said that their master had died of brain disease, and that was sufficient. The police, too, were quite satisfied, and the young man's relations, two of whom arrived in hot haste while I was there, of course accepted the verdict of the medical men--the evidence which would be given at the inquest on the following day.

To me, it was a curious circ.u.mstance that Cardew, when he heard the shriek, had not attempted to investigate its cause. True, he had listened, and the cry was not repeated. I should have regarded his apathy as suspicious if I myself had not more than once, when dreaming, awakened suddenly, believing that I had heard a cry of distress.

The shriek of terror--nay, of horror, Cardew described it--was, in itself, a most peculiar circ.u.mstance. There is a distinct difference between a cry of pain and a shriek of horror.

No; I felt certain that the medical men had not sufficiently considered that very singular point. But when I tried to argue with the Captain, he merely declared that the cause of the shriek would never be explained. Perhaps it was the sudden knowledge that he was dying that had terrified him.

I intended, however, to seek further explanation. It was ever upon my mind that the man who had died so mysteriously intended to visit me on Sunday, and to reveal to me something--something concerning Harvey Shaw.