III
Inspector Dunbar Takes Charge
DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR DUNBAR was admitted by Dr. Cumberly. He was a man of notable height, large-boned, and built gauntly and squarely. His clothes fitted him ill, and through them one seemed to perceive the massive scaffolding of his frame. He had gray hair retiring above a high brow, but worn long and untidily at the back; a wire-like straight-cut mustache, also streaked with gray, which served to accentuate the grimness of his mouth and slightly undershot jaw. A massive head, with tawny, leonine eyes; indeed, altogether a leonine face, and a frame indicative of tremendous nervous energy.
In the entrance lobby he stood for a moment.
“My name is Cumberly,” said the doctor, glancing at the card which the Scotland Yard man had proffered. “I occupy the flat above.”
“Glad to know you, Dr. Cumberly,” replied the detective in a light and not unpleasant voice—and the fierce eyes momentarily grew kindly.
“This—” continued Cumberly, drawing Dunbar forward into the study, “is my friend, Leroux—Henry Leroux, whose name you will know?”
“I have not that pleasure,” replied Dunbar.
“Well,” added Cumberly, “he is a famous novelist, and his flat, unfortunately, has been made the scene of a crime. This is Detective-Inspector Dunbar, who has come to solve our difficulties, Leroux.” He turned to where Exel stood upon the hearth-rug—toying with his monocle. “Mr. John Exel, M. P.”
“Glad to know you, gentlemen,” said Dunbar.
Leroux rose from the armchair in which he had been sitting and stared, drearily, at the newcomer. Exel screwed the monocle into his right eye, and likewise surveyed the detective. Cumberly, taking a tumbler from the bureau, said:—
“A scotch-and-soda, Inspector?”
“It is a suggestion,” said Dunbar, “that, coming from a medical man, appeals.”
Whilst the doctor poured out the whisky and squirted the soda into the glass, Inspector Dunbar, standing squarely in the middle of the room, fixed his eyes upon the still form lying in the shadow of the writing-table.
“You will have been called in, doctor,” he said, taking the proffered tumbler, “at the time of the crime?”
“Exactly!” replied Cumberly. “Mr. Leroux ran up to my flat and summoned me to see the woman.”
“What time would that be?”
“Big Ben had just struck the final stroke of twelve when I came out on to the landing.”
“Mr. Leroux would be waiting there for you?”
“He stood in my entrance-lobby whilst I slipped on my dressing-gown, and we came down together.”
“I was entering from the street,” interrupted Exel, “as they were descending from above”…
“You can enter from the street, sir, in a moment,” said Dunbar, holding up his hand. “One witness at a time, if you please.”
Exel shrugged his shoulders and turned slightly, leaning his elbow upon the mantelpiece and flicking off the ash from his cigar.
“I take it you were in bed?” questioned Dunbar, turning again to the doctor.
“I had been in bed about a quarter of an hour when I was aroused by the ringing of the door-bell. This ringing struck me as so urgent that I ran out in my pajamas, and found there Mr. Leroux, in a very disturbed state—”
“What did he say? Give his own words as nearly as you remember them.”
Leroux, who had been standing, sank slowly back into the armchair, with his eyes upon Dr. Cumberly as the latter replied:—
“He said ‘Cumberly! Cumberly! For God’s sake, come down at once; there is a strange woman in my flat, apparently in a dying condition!’”
“What did you do?”
“I ran into my bedroom and slipped on my dressing-gown, leaving Mr. Leroux in the entrance-hall. Then, with the clock chiming the last stroke of midnight, we came out together and I closed my door behind me. There was no light on the stair; but our conversation—Mr. Leroux was speaking in a very high-pitched voice”…
“What was he saying?”
“He was explaining to me how some woman, unknown to him, had interrupted his work a few minutes before by ringing his door-bell.”…
Inspector Dunbar held up his hand.
“I won’t ask you to repeat what he said, doctor; Mr. Leroux, presently, can give me his own words.”
“We had descended to this floor, then,” resumed Cumberly, “when Mr. Exel, entering below, called up to us, asking if anything was the matter. Leroux replied, ‘Matter, Exel! There’s a devil of a business! For mercy’s sake, come up!’”
“Well?”
“Mr. Exel thereupon joined us at the door of this flat.”
“Was it open?”
“Yes. Mr. Leroux had rushed up to me, leaving the door open behind him. The light was out, both in the lobby and in the study, a fact upon which I commented at the time. It was all the more curious as Mr. Leroux had left both lights on!”…
“Did he say so?”
“He did. The circumstances surprised him to a marked degree. We came in and I turned up the light in the lobby. Then Leroux, entering the study, turned up the light there, too. I entered next, followed by Mr. Exel—and we saw the body lying where you see it now.”
“Who saw it first?”
“Mr. Leroux; he drew my attention to it, saying that he had left her lying on the chesterfield and not upon the floor.”
“You examined her?”
“I did. She was dead, but still warm. She exhibited signs of recent illness, and of being addicted to some drug habit; probably morphine. This, beyond doubt, contributed to her death, but the direct cause was asphyxiation. She had been strangled!”
“My God!” groaned Leroux, dropping his face into his hands.
“You found marks on her throat?”
“The marks were very slight. No great pressure was required in her weak condition.”
“You did not move the body?”
“Certainly not; a more complete examination must be made, of course. But I extracted a piece of torn paper from her clenched right hand.”
Inspector Dunbar lowered his tufted brows.
“I’m not glad to know you did that,” he said. “It should have been left.”
“It was done on the spur of the moment, but without altering the position of the hand or arm. The paper lies upon the table, yonder.”
Inspector Dunbar took a long drink. Thus far he had made no attempt to examine the victim. Pulling out a bulging note-case from the inside pocket of his blue serge coat, he unscrewed a fountain-pen, carefully tested the nib upon his thumb nail, and made three or four brief entries. Then, stretching out one long arm, he laid the wallet and the pen beside his glass upon the top of a bookcase, without otherwise changing his position, and glancing aside at Exel, said:—
“Now, Mr. Exel, what help can you give us?”
“I have little to add to Dr. Cumberly’s account,” answered Exel, offhandedly. “The whole thing seemed to me”…
“What it seemed,” interrupted Dunbar, “does not interest Scotland Yard, Mr. Exel, and won’t interest the jury.”
Leroux glanced up for a moment, then set his teeth hard, so that his jaw muscles stood out prominently under the pallid skin.
“What do you want to know, then?” asked Exel.
“I will be wanting to know,” said Dunbar, “where you were coming from, to-night?”
“From the House of Commons.”
“You came direct?”
“I left Sir Brian Malpas at the corner of Victoria Street at four minutes to twelve by Big Ben, and walked straight home, actually entering here, from the street, as the clock was chiming the last stroke of midnight.”
“Then you would have walked up the street from an easterly direction?”
“Certainly.”
“Did you meet any one or anything?”
“A taxi-cab, empty—for the hood was lowered—passed me as I turned the corner. There was no other vehicle in the street, and no person.”
“You don’t know from which door the cab came?”
“As I turned the corner,” replied Exel, “I heard the man starting his engine, although when I actually saw the cab, it was in motion; but judging by the sound to which I refer, the cab had been stationary, if not at the door of Palace Mansions, certainly at that of the next block—St. Andrew’s Mansions.”
“Did you hear, or see anything else?”
“I saw nothing whatever. But just as I approached the street door, I heard a peculiar whistle, apparently proceeding from the gardens in the center of the square. I attached no importance to it at the time.”
“What kind of whistle?”
“I have forgotten the actual notes, but the effect was very odd in some way.”
“In what way?”
“An impression of this sort is not entirely reliable, Inspector; but it struck me as Oriental.”
“Ah!” said Dunbar, and reached out the long arm for his notebook.
“Can I be of any further assistance?” said Exel, glancing at his watch.
“You had entered the hall-way and were about to enter your own flat when the voices of Dr. Cumberly and Mr. Leroux attracted your attention?”
“I actually had the key in my hand,” replied Exel.
“Did you actually have the key in the lock?”
“Let me think,” mused Exel, and he took out a bunch of keys and dangled them, reflectively, before his eyes. “No! I was fumbling for the right key when I heard the voices above me.”
“But were you facing your door?”
“No,” averred Exel, perceiving the drift of the inspector’s inquiries; “I was facing the stairway the whole time, and although it was in darkness, there is a street lamp immediately outside on the pavement, and I can swear, positively, that no one descended; that there was no one in the hall nor on the stair, except Mr. Leroux and Dr. Cumberly.”
“Ah!” said Dunbar again, and made further entries in his book. “I need not trouble you further, sir. Good night!”
Exel, despite his earlier attitude of boredom, now ignored this official dismissal, and, tossing the stump of his cigar into the grate, lighted a cigarette, and with both hands thrust deep in his pockets, stood leaning back against the mantlepiece. The detective turned to Leroux.
“Have a brandy-and-soda?” suggested Dr. Cumberly, his eyes turned upon the pathetic face of the novelist.
But Leroux shook his head, wearily.
“Go ahead, Inspector!” he said. “I am anxious to tell you all I know. God knows I am anxious to tell you.”
A sound was heard of a key being inserted in the lock of a door.
Four pairs of curious eyes were turned toward the entrance lobby, when the door opened, and a sleek man of medium height, clean shaven, but with his hair cut low upon the cheek bones, so as to give the impression of short side-whiskers, entered in a manner at once furtive and servile.
He wore a black overcoat and a bowler hat. Reclosing the door, he turned, perceived the group in the study, and fell back as though someone had struck him a fierce blow.
Abject terror was written upon his features, and, for a moment, the idea of flight appeared to suggest itself urgently to him; but finally, he took a step forward toward the study.
“Who’s this?” snapped Dunbar, without removing his leonine eyes from the newcomer.
“It is Soames,” came the weary voice of Leroux.
“Butler?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s he been?”
“I don’t know. He remained out without my permission.”
“He did, eh?”
Inspector Dunbar thrust forth a long finger at the shrinking form in the doorway.
“Mr. Soames,” he said, “you will be going to your own room and waiting there until I ring for you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Soames, holding his hat in both hands, and speaking huskily. “Yes, sir: certainly, sir.”
He crossed the lobby and disappeared.
“There is no other way out, is there?” inquired the detective, glancing at Dr. Cumberly.
“There is no other way,” was the reply; “but surely you don’t suspect”…
“I would suspect the Archbishop of Westminster,” snapped Dunbar, “if he came in like that! Now, sir,”—he turned to Leroux—“you were alone, here, to-night?”
“Quite alone, Inspector. The truth is, I fear, that my servants take liberties in the absence of my wife.”
“In the absence of your wife? Where is your wife?”
“She is in Paris.”
“Is she a Frenchwoman?”
“No! oh, no! But my wife is a painter, you understand, and—er—I met her in Paris—er—…Must you insist upon these—domestic particulars, Inspector?”
“If Mr. Exel is anxious to turn in,” replied the inspector, “after his no doubt exhausting duties at the House, and if Dr. Cumberly—”
“I have no secrets from Cumberly!” interjected Leroux. “The doctor has known me almost from boyhood, but—er—” turning to the politician—“don’t you know, Exel—no offense, no offense”…
“My dear Leroux,” responded Exel hastily, “I am the offender! Permit me to wish you all good night.”
He crossed the study, and, at the door, paused and turned.
“Rely upon me, Leroux,” he said, “to help in any way within my power.”
He crossed the lobby, opened the outer door, and departed.
“Now, Mr. Leroux,” resumed Dunbar, “about this matter of your wife’s absence.”