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

cause that sort of wound in his hands the day before he gave out that Rewse had been attacked by smallpox. I drove past the cottage as he stood in the doorway with it in his hand. He had the breach opened, and seemed to be either loading or unloading it—which it was I couldn’t say.”

      “Very good, doctor, that may be important. Now is there any single circumstance, incident or conjecture that you can tell me of in regard to this case that you have not already mentioned?”

      Doctor O’Reilly thought for a moment, and replied in the negative.

      “I heard of course,” he said, “of the reported new case of small-pox, and that Main had taken the case in hand himself. I was indeed relieved to hear it, for I had already more on my hands than one man can safely be expected to attend to. The cottage was fairly isolated, and there could have been nothing gained by removal to an asylum—indeed there was practically no accommodation. So far as I can make out nobody seems to have seen young Rewse, alive or dead, after Main had announced that he had the small-pox. He seems to have done everything himself, laying out the body and all, and you may be pretty sure that none of the strangers about was particularly anxious to have anything to do with it. The undertaker (there is only one here, and he is down with the small-pox himself now) was as much overworked as I was myself, and was glad enough to send off a coffin by a market cart and leave the laying out and screwing down to Main, since he had got those orders. Main made out the death certificate himself, and, since he was trebly qualified, everything seemed in order.”

      “The certificate merely attributed the death to small-pox, I take it, with no qualifying remarks?”

      “Small-pox simply.”

      Hewitt and Mr. Bowyer bade Dr. O’Reilly good morning, and their car was turned in the direction of the cottage where Algernon Rewse had met his death. At the Town Hall in the market place, however, Hewitt stopped the car and set his watch by the public clock. “This is more than half an hour before London time,” he said, “and we mustn’t be at odds with the natives about the time.”

      As he spoke Dr. O’Reilly came running up breathlessly. “I’ve just heard something,” he said. “Three men heard a shot in the cottage as they were passing, last Tuesday week.”

      “Where are the men?”

      “I don’t know at the moment; but they can be found. Shall I set about it?”

      “If you possibly can,” Hewitt said, “you will help us enormously. Can you send them messages to be at the cottage as soon as they can get there to-day? Tell them they shall have half-a-sovereign apiece.”

      “Right, I will. Good-day.”

      “Tuesday week,” said Mr. Bowyer as they drove off; “that was the date of Main’s first letter, and the day on which, by his account, Rewse was taken ill. Then if that was the shot that killed Rewse he must have been lying dead in the place while Main was writing those letters reporting his sickness to his mother. The cold-blooded scoundrel!”

      “Yes,” Hewitt replied, “I think it probable in any case that Tuesday was the day that Rewse was shot. It wouldn’t have been safe for Main to write the mother lying letters about the small-pox before. Rewse might have written home in the meantime, or something might have occurred to postpone Main’s plans, and then there would be impossible explanations required.”

      Over a very bad road they jolted on and in the end arrived where the road, now become a mere path, passed a tumble-down old farmhouse.

      “This is where the woman lives who cooked and cleaned house for Rewse and Main,” Mr. Bowyer said. “There is the cottage, scarce a hundred yards off, a little to the right of the track.”

      “Well,” replied Hewitt, “suppose we stop here and ask her a few questions? I like to get the evidence of all the witnesses as soon as possible. It simplifies subsequent work wonderfully.”

      They alighted, and Mr. Bowyer roared through the open door and tapped with his stick. In reply to his summons a decent-looking woman of perhaps fifty, but wrinkled beyond her age, and better dressed than any woman Hewitt had seen since leaving Cullanin, appeared from the hinder buildings and curtsied pleasantly.

      “Good morning, Mrs. Hurley, good morning,” Mr. Bowyer said, “this is Mr. Martin Hewitt, a gentleman from London, who is going to look into this shocking murder of our young friend Mr. Rewse and sift it to the bottom. He would like you to tell him something, Mrs. Hurley.”

      The woman curtsied again. “An’ it’s the jintleman is welcome, sor, sad doin’s as ut is.” She had a low, pleasing voice, much in contrast with her unattractive appearance, and characterised by the softest and broadest brogue imaginable. “Will ye not come in? Mother av Hiven! An’ thim two livin’ together, an’ fishin’ an’ readin’ an’ all, like brothers! An’ trut’ ut is he was a foine young jintleman indade, indade!”

      “I suppose, Mrs. Hurley,” Hewitt said, “you’ve seen as much of the life of those two gentlemen here as anybody?”

      “True ut is, sor; none more—nor as much.”

      “Did you ever hear of anybody being on bad terms with Mr. Rewse—anybody at all, Mr. Main or another?”

      “Niver a soul in all Mayo. How could ye? Such a foine young jintleman, an’ fair-spoken an’ all.”

      “Tell me all that happened on the day that you heard that Mr. Rewse was ill—Tuesday week.”

      “In the mornin’, sor, ‘twas much as ord’nary. I was over there at half afther sivin, an’ ‘twas half an hour afther that I cud hear the jintleman dhressin’. They tuk their breakfast—though Mr. Rewse’s was a small wan. It was half afther nine that Mr. Main wint off walkin’ to Cullanin, Mr. Rewse stayin’ in, havin’ letthers to write. Half an hour later I came away mesilf. Later than that (it was nigh elivin) I wint across for a pail from the yard, an’ then, through the windy as I passed I saw the dear young jintleman sittin’ writin’ at the table calm an’ peaceful—an’ saw him no more in this warrl’.”

      “And after that?”

      “Afther that, sor, I came back wid the pail, an’ saw nor heard no more till two o’clock, whin Mr. Main came back from Cullanin.”

      “Did you see him as he came back?”

      “That I did, sor, as I stud there nailin’ the fence where the pig bruk ut. I’d been there an’ had me of down the road lookin’ for him an hour past, expectin’ he might be bringin’ somethin’ for me to cook for their dinner. An’ more by token he gave me the toime from his watch, set by the Town Hall clock.”

      “And was it two o’clock?”

      “It was that to the sthroke, an’ me own ould clock was right too whin I wint to set ut. An’—”

      “One moment; may I see your clock?”

      Mrs. Hurley turned and shut an open door which had concealed an old hanging clock. Hewitt produced his watch and compared the time. “Still right I see, Mrs. Hurley,” he said; “your clock, keeps excellent time.”

      “It does that, sor, an’ nivir more than claned twice by Rafferty since me own father (rest his soul!) lift ut here. ‘Tis no bad clock, as Mr. Rewse himsilf said oft an’ again; an’ I always kape ut by the Town Hall toime. But as I was sayin’, Mr. Main came back an’ gave me the toime; thin he wint sthraight to his house, an’ no more av him I saw till may be half afther three.”

      “And then?”

      “An’ thin, sor, he came across in a sad Lakin’, wid a letther. ‘Take ut,’ sez he, ‘an’ have ut posted at Cullanin by the first that can get there. Mr. Rewse has the sickness on him awful bad,’ he sez, ‘an’ ye must not be near the place or ye’ll take ut. I have him