The Mystery at Stowe

He shook his head mournfully, and went off to complete his dressing. He did not shave. As he put on his collar he suddenly remembered that Miss Gurdon had not told him why she had gone into the dead woman’s room. He supposed that, like himself, she had heard that extraordinary sound, and the thud. In the light of what he now knew, it occurred to him that the latter noise must have been the sound of Mrs Tollard’s fall. In that case her death must have taken place at the most a few minutes before Miss Gurdon came to tell him that something was wrong.

That this should happen was troubling enough of itself to the good host and kindly friend, but in addition he had a liking for Mrs Tollard. It may have been that her rather pathetic face and air appealed to him; or her habit of speaking to him as if he stood in some protective relation to her. At all events he felt her death deeply.

He was sorry for Tollard too. The man had not seemed very happy of late. Probably there had been some slight marital differences, but these things fade away in the face of death. Ned would be horrified when he learned what had happened.

It was as well that most of the guests slept well that morning. One or two may have heard the doctor’s car drive up, but at that early hour no one thought anything of it. Mr Barley, in a fret of impatience, let the doctor in, asking him to be as quiet as he could.

‘A good many guests,’ he added anxiously.

‘I see,’ said Browne, in a quiet voice. ‘Will you lead the way, Mr Barley.’

Barley took him upstairs. In the passage near the door of Mrs Tollard’s room, Elaine Gurdon stood waiting. Barley whispered an introduction, Browne bowed, looked curiously at Elaine, whom he had heard lecture, and waited till Mr Barley had unlocked the door.

He advanced into the room, and bent down to look at the dead woman. Mr Barley stopped near him, his heavy face quivering. Elaine slipped in, but remained near the door, her face intent.

Dr Browne pursed his lips, studying the face of Mrs Tollard carefully. Something he saw in it seemed to check him in an impulse to lift the body.

‘Just a moment,’ he whispered over his shoulder to Mr Barley.

Mr Barley stepped gingerly over to him, and listened to a few rapid words that Elaine could not catch. But, watching the doctor’s moving lips, she thought she saw them shape the word ‘Poison.’

‘Yes, we had better wait for the sergeant,’ replied Mr Barley.

Through the open window they heard a slight crunch of loose gravel. The doctor stepped over, glanced out, and nodded back at the others. Barley took this gesture to mean that the police sergeant had arrived on his bicycle. He left the room softly, but hurriedly.

Browne looked at Miss Gurdon. She approached him, and put a question in a low voice.

‘What do you think? She was not very well yesterday.’

He shrugged. ‘I prefer to say nothing for the moment.’

She nodded, and went back to where she had stood before. In a very short time Mr Barley ushered in the sergeant, who tried to cover his excitement by looking very grim and important. This sort of case had not come into his hands before.

He and the doctor spoke together in whispers for a few moments. Then, between them, they raised the dead woman into a sitting position, supported by their arms, being careful not to disturb the position of the lower portion of the body.

As they raised her, Dr Browne removed one arm suddenly, and glanced at the sergeant. ‘Something here,’ he said softly. ‘Can you hold her yourself for a moment, sergeant? I felt something against my sleeve.’

The sergeant did as he was bid. Mr Barley stared eagerly at the two men. Elaine drew herself up, and seemed to be frozen by some sudden thought.

Browne put a hand to a spot beneath Mrs Tollard’s left shoulder-blade, made a gentle plucking movement, and stared at something he held between his fingers. It looked to the others like a dark wooden sliver, or long thorn. The sergeant opened his mouth, restrained an exclamation, and fixed his eyes on this strange object.

‘Lay her back again, please,’ said Browne, his voice troubled.

The sergeant complied. Browne rose to his feet, and approached Mr Barley.

‘If you will leave the room, and Miss Gurdon too, please, I will make an examination,’ he said.

‘But what is it?’ stammered Barley.

‘I am unable to say yet,’ said the doctor.

Mr Barley, greatly shaken, advanced to Elaine, and told her that they must both retire. She nodded absently, and went out with him. The door was shut.

He turned to her when they were in the passage. ‘Will you come down to the library, Miss Gurdon? We can’t talk up here. There has been enough noise already.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘But, if I were you, I should telephone to the superintendent at Elterham as well. The sergeant does not impress me.’

‘And to Tollard,’ he assented. ‘Dear me! Dear me! This is indeed a tragedy.’

He went downstairs to the telephone, and Elaine to the library. If it struck her as odd that the elderly and experienced business man’s nervousness contrasted unfavourably with her own poise and practicality, she bestowed no further thought on it.

She was sitting smoking a cigarette when Mr Barley returned.

‘I couldn’t get Tollard at his house,’ he said, ‘but the superintendent is coming at once.’

‘Good,’ said Elaine, ‘the sooner the better.’

He took his favourite attitude before the fireplace, and now his coat-tails positively swung like leaves in a gale.

‘I believe that Browne has discovered something terrible,’ he said. ‘He found something. It may have been some species of weapon, though it was very small.’

‘I had a glimpse of it,’ agreed Elaine.

‘It looked like a splinter, or a long thorn,’ he said.

Elaine did not reply for a few moments. She appeared to be thinking quickly, trying to come to some decision. Then she looked him full in the face, and made an observation.

‘I thought I recognised it. But we can make sure very easily. If I am not mistaken, you put up a trophy of some of my curios in the hall. We’ll have a look at it now.’

He gave her a puzzled look, then nodded. ‘I don’t know what you mean, but we can go there if you think it will help us.’

She rose, threw her cigarette into the grate, and preceded him into the hall.

On one of the walls, at a considerable height from the ground, hung a small trophy of South American Indian arms. Chief among them was a blow-pipe and a little receptacle for darts.

‘Get a step-ladder,’ said Elaine, as he came behind her, and followed her glance upwards.

He stood still for a moment, his brows knotted, then went off. When he came back with a light step-ladder he had got in the kitchen, he began to adjust it.

‘Lucky the servants have their own stairs,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have asked them not to begin cleaning in this part of the house till I tell them. Grover was just coming down when I stopped him.’

She nodded assent, placed the step-ladder near the wall and mounted it before he could, stop her. With a quick hand she detached the miniature quiver for darts, and brought it down.

‘There were six, weren’t there?’ she asked.

He gaped, beginning to see her point, then nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. But surely—’

She took out the darts from the receptacle with the utmost care. ‘I really ought not to have let you have these,’ she murmured, ‘but it can’t be helped now.’