In White Raiment

I thanked him, declaring my intention to use every discretion; and then Rowling gave them a brief description of the character of the man who had discovered the body, and handed them a written report made by the police surgeon, Doctor Douglas, who had been called to examine the body.

“There are no suspicions against any one?” inquired Bullen, after he had read the medical statement aloud to his two companions.

“None,” answered Rowling. “The boundary of the Park is patrolled, but the man on duty last night declares that he saw nobody of whom he could entertain, any suspicion.”

Then, going to the wall, he pointed out on the ordnance map the position of the park and mansion. This having been examined carefully by all three, Rowling gave them a brief description of the murdered man, his wife and his son, very similar to that given by my gossiping friend of the Red Lion.

“There were a lot of visitors at the Park, you say,” Bullen observed. “Are they still there?”

“No. Most of them have returned to London, I believe,” I responded.

“Ah!” said the detective, in a tone of disappointment; “it would have assisted us greatly if we could have seen what kind of persons they were. But we’d better go down to the house and have a look round.”

Chapter Fourteen

A Theory

Half an hour later I stood beside the body of Colonel Chetwode, making a thorough and complete examination.

It was still clothed, just as it had been found, for the local police had given orders that it should not be touched before the arrival of the detectives from headquarters.

The body was that of a tall, thin man, with aquiline, refined features, about sixty or so, with iron-grey hair and moustache, and a brow lined by care and anxiety. His evening clothes, wet and muddy, in the broad light of day gave the corpse a disreputable, neglected appearance, which was rendered even more striking by his dishevelled hair and moustache matted with dried mud.

Bullen was alone with me, his companions being at the spot where the body was found, and as I proceeded to draw up the blind and examine the wound in the dead man’s scalp, the detective stood by in silence watching my examination.

The wound near the base of the skull was, I found to my surprise, quite a superficial one. By its appearance I saw that the police doctor had probed it and quickly found that the injury was not of such a nature as to have caused death.

“Well?” Bullen asked anxiously. “What do you make out of it. Doctor?”

“At present, I can only say that death was not caused by that wound,” I responded.

“Then how, in your opinion, was the crime committed? What, in your opinion, was the weapon used?” he asked.

“At present I am unable to say,” I responded. “The natural conclusion is that it was caused by a blow from a life-preserver, yet a round knob could never have inflicted such a wound. I incline to the opinion that the wound might have been caused by a fall from the bridge upon the rough stones below.”

By the aid of my probe I satisfied myself that the bone was not fractured, as it would have been by a deliberate blow dealt from behind. The nature of the wound, indeed, was very much as if it had been caused by the unfortunate man’s head coming into contact with some sharp stone.

Then, after very careful investigation, lasting over half an hour, during which I took a number of accurate measurements which might be used later in the identification of the weapon, I came to the rather vague conclusion that the crime had been committed not by a blow, but by hurling the victim from the little bridge below which he had been found.

“Do you believe that death was instantaneous?”

“I am not certain,” I responded. “There is no injury to the spinal column which could have caused death. He was, without doubt, pinioned from behind, at the moment he had crossed the foot-bridge, and thrown backward, rolling down the bank into the lake.”

“His shirt-stud has gone,” remarked the detective. “That looks like robbery.”

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

“Why not?”

“Well, do you notice a long green mark there?” I said, pointing to the limp shirt-front. “You see that it runs straight across the stud-hole. By that mark I feel assured there was no robbery.”

“I see the mark,” Bullen answered, “but at the same time, I don’t quite see your argument.”

“That mark was made by a damp branch or bramble. When he fell he tumbled backward into the bushes, and, crashing through them, rolled into the water. One of the branches caught his shirt-stud and broke it out. If you have a strict search made you will find it somewhere near where he fell. His watch and chain and ring are still upon him, you will notice.”

“I quite understand your theory,” he responded. “I will order active search to be made, for it is an important point whether the murder was done by thieves whom he discovered upon his property. It might have been that burglars were lurking there, and, being disturbed by him, they killed him in order to prevent an alarm being raised.”

“I scarcely think that,” I argued. “If they were burglars they would not have attacked him from behind without any ulterior motive. They would have remained in hiding.”

“But how do you account for him wandering about the park at that hour?” asked the detective.

“That point can only be cleared up by his widow,” I exclaimed. “I think we should see Mrs Chetwode without delay.”

With this suggestion he agreed, and having rearranged the body, I left it to the police surgeon to make his post-mortem.

Out in the corridor we met the butler, by whom Bullen sent his card to the widow with the request that she would grant us an interview.

Ten minutes later we were received in the morning-room by a pale, fair-haired, rather fragile woman, the redness of whose eyes told plainly that she had been crying, but whose improvised mourning became her well. She was perhaps thirty, certainly not more, rather handsome, with an air of self-conceit, and a slightly cockney accent in her voice, which told me that she was not quite so well bred as one might have expected the mistress of Whitton to have been.

Bullen apologised for being compelled to intrude upon her privacy, but explained that it was necessary to make searching inquiries into the painful affair, and he would therefore esteem it a favour if she would answer one or two questions.

To this she assented willingly, and, asking us to be seated, sank into an armchair.

The detective had not introduced me, therefore she no doubt believed me to be an emissary of Scotland Yard.

“Have you any idea of the hour at which the Colonel left the house?” asked Bullen.

“No. I think, however, it must have been about half-past ten,” she responded in a hard voice.

I was watching her carefully, and saw by the nervous twitching of her hands that she was striving to calm the conflicting emotions within her. She kept her eyes – beautiful eyes of almost a violet tint – fixed upon her examiner.

“But if he went out as early as that, you would surely wonder why he did not return?” observed the detective.

“Ah, no,” she said quickly. “I was in ignorance of his absence until – until my maid awoke me at a quarter-past five this morning, and told me of the awful discovery.”

She pursed her lips very slightly. That almost imperceptible movement aroused my suspicions. I had been told that she was on bad terms with the dead man, and probably that had prejudiced me against her.

“Then he went out without your knowledge? Will you kindly tell me how you spent the evening?!”

“How I spent the evening?” she asked with a slight start.

“I mean how you all spent the evening,” he said, correcting himself. “You had guests here, I understand.”

“Yes; we had quite a number of people. And after dinner, as usual, the men played billiards and smoked, while we women remained in the drawing-room. About half-past nine the men joined us, a couple of dances were played, some songs were sung, and the evening passed without further event, as far as I am aware.”

“But your husband?”

“Well, about half-past ten he came to me and said that he was not feeling very well, therefore he should go to his room.”