The Complete Works of Arthur Morrison (Illustrated). Arthur Morrison

and he can tell you where to find Truscott.”

      Hewitt accordingly made for the house, and had the good fortune to overtake Truscott on his way there. “Good morning, inspector,” he called cheerily. “I’ve got some information for you, I think.”

      “Oh, good morning. What is it?”

      “It’s in regard to that business,” Hewitt replied, indicating by a nod the row of houses a hundred yards ahead. “But it will be clearer if we go over the whole thing together and take what I have found out in its proper place. You’re not altogether satisfied with your capture of Foster, are you?”

      “Well, I mustn’t say, of course. Perhaps not. We’ve traced his doings yesterday after he left the house, and perhaps it doesn’t help us much. But what do you know?”

      “I’ll tell you. But first can you get hold of such a thing as a boat-hook? Any long pole with a hook on the end will do.”

      “I don’t know that there’s one handy. Perhaps they’ll have a garden rake at the house, if that’ll do?”

      “Excellently, I should thick, if it’s fairly long. We will ask.”

      The garden rake was forthcoming at once, and with it Hewitt and the inspector made their way along the path that led towards the railway station and stopped where it came by the ditch.

      “I’ve brought you here purely on a matter of conjecture,” Hewitt said, “and there may be nothing in it; but if there is it will help us. This is a very muddy ditch, with a soft bottom many feet deep probably, judging from the wet nature of the soil hereabout.”

      He took the rake and plunged it deep into the ditch, dragging it slowly back up the side. It brought up a tangle of duckweed and rushes and slimy mud, with a stick or two among it.

      “Do you think the knife’s been thrown here?” asked the inspector.

      “Possibly, and possibly something else. We’ll see.” And Hewitt made another dive. They went along thus very thoroughly and laboriously, dragging every part of the ditch as they went, it being frequently necessary for both to pull together to get the rake through the tangle of weed and rubbish. They had worked through seven or eight yards from the angle of the path where it approached the ditch, when Hewitt stopped, with the rake at the bottom.

      “Here is something that feels a little different,” he said. “I’ll get as good a hold as I can and then we’ll drag it up slowly and steadily together.”

      He gave the rake a slight twist and then the two pulled steadily. Presently the sunken object came away suddenly, as though mud-suction had kept it under, and rose easily to the surface. It was a muddy mass, and they had to swill it to and fro a few times in the clearer upper water before it was seen to be a linen bundle. They drew it ashore and untied the thick knot at the top. Inside was an Indian shawl, also knotted, and this they opened also. There within, wet and dirty, lay a sextant, a chronometer in a case, a gold watch and chain, a handful of coins, a thick gold ring, a ship carved in ivory, with much of the delicate work broken, a sealskin waistcoat, a door key, a seamen’s knife, and an iron hook screwed into a wooden stock.

      “Lord!” exclaimed Inspector Truscott, “what’s this? It’s a queer place to hide swag of this sort. Why, that watch and those instruments must be ruined.”

      “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Hewitt answered. “You see the things are wrapped in the sheets, just as you expected. But those sheets mean something more. There are two, you notice.”

      “Yes, of course; but I don’t see what it points to. The whole thing’s most odd. Foster certainly would have been a fool to hide the things here; he’s a sailor himself, and knows better than to put away chronometers and sextants in a wet ditch—unless he got frightened, and put the things there out of sight because the murder was discovered.”

      “But you say you have traced his movements after he left. If he had come near here while the police were about he would have been seen from the house. No, you’ve got the wrong prisoner. The person who put those things there didn’t want them again.”

      “Then do you think robbery wasn’t the motive after all?”

      “Yes, it was; but not this robbery. Conic, we’ll talk it over in the house, Let us take these things with us.”

      Arrived at the house Hewitt immediately locked, bolted and barred the front door.

      Then he very carefully and gently unfastened each lock, bolt and bar in order, pressing the door with his hand and taking every precaution to avoid noise. Nevertheless the noise was considerable. There was a sad lack of oil everywhere, and all the bolts creaked; the lock in particular made a deal of noise, and when the key was half turned its bolt shot back with a loud thump.

      “Anybody who had once heard that door fastened or unfastened,” said Hewitt, “would hesitate about opening it in the dead of night after committing murder. He would remember the noise. Do you mind taking the things up to the room—the room—upstairs? I will go and ask Mrs Beckle a question.”

      Truscott went upstairs, and presently

      Hewitt followed. “I have just asked Mrs. Beckle,” he said, “whether or not the captain went to the front door for any purpose on the evening before his death. She says he stood there for some half an hour or so smoking his pipe before he went to bed. We shall see what that means presently, I. think. Now we will go into the thing in the light of what I have found out.”

      “Yes, tell me that.”

      “Very well. I think it will make the thing plainer if I summarise separately all my conclusions from the evidence as a whole from the beginning. Perhaps the same ideas struck you, but I’m sure you’ll excuse my going over them. Now here was a man undoubtedly murdered, and the murderer was gone from the room. There were two ways by which he could have gone the door and the window. If he went by the window, then he was somebody who did not live in the place, since nobody seemed to have been missing when the girl came down, though, mind you, it was necessary to avoid relying on all she said, in view of her manner, and her almost acknowledged determination not to incriminate Foster. It seemed at first sight probable that the murderer had gone out by the door, because the key was gone entirely, and if he had left by the window he would probably have left the key in the lock to hinder anybody who attempted to get in with another key, or to peep. But then the blind was up, and was found so in the morning. It would probably be pulled down at dark, and the murderer would be unlikely to raise it except to go out that way. But then the casement was shut and fastened. Just so; but can’t it be as easily shut and fastened from the outside as from the in? The catch is very loose, and swings by itself. True, this prevents the casement shutting when it is just carelessly banged to, but see here.” He rose and went to the window. “Anybody from outside who cared to hold the catch back with his finger till the casement was shut as far as the frame could then shut the window completely, and the catch would simply swing into its appointed groove.

      “And now see something more. You and I both looked at the sill outside. It is a smooth new sill—the house itself is almost new; but probably you saw in one place a sharply marked pit or depression. Look, it seems to have been drilled with a sharp steel point. It was absolutely new, for there was the powder of the stone about the mark. The wind has since blown the powder away. Now if a man had descended from that sill by means of a rope with a hook at the end that was just the sort of mark I should expect him to leave behind. So that at any rate the balance of probability was that the murderer had left by the window. But there is another thing which confirms this. You will remember that when Mrs. Beckle mentioned that the sheets were gone from the bed you concluded that