Dowker knew a good many of these little paradises with their worldly-wise Eves, the existence of whom was not supposed to be known to the polite world, so he felt quite at ease when upon ringing the bell he was admitted to the garden by a solemn-looking man servant. He was well acquainted with Calliston's life both public and private--neither side being very reputable--but then, with such advantages of wrong doing as the world now offers, 'tis hard to be virtuous4.
Calliston had come into the title whilst in his childhood, and, the estate having been well looked after during his minority, he found plenty of money to spend when he came of age, and he certainly did spend it. Horse-racing and yachting were his two principal pleasures, but curiously5 enough his name was never mixed up with any well-known woman, and few of his friends knew except by hearsay6 of the divinity who dwelt in Cleopatra Villa. Calliston had fallen in love with her down in the country some years before, and bringing her up to town installed her in the bijou residence, which she rarely left. Occasionally she went to the theatre, and sometimes drove in the Park, but at such rare intervals7 that few people knew who she was. Calliston was very jealous of her and seldom asked his friends to supper, but she was reported by the few who had been thus honoured to be a very beautiful woman with charming manners. The general opinion was that he would end up by marrying her, when his entanglement8 with Lady Balscombe became known, and henceforward he was seen more by that lady's side than in the neighbourhood of St. John's Wood.
Dowker, from some mysterious source only known to himself, was cognisant of all this, and had now come down to discover what connection the establishment of St. John's Wood had with the murder in Jermyn Street.
He knew that Calliston had gone off with Lady Balscombe, so said he had a message from him and would like to see Miss Sarschine. The servant showed him into a magnificently-furnished drawing-room, where he awaited the appearance of the lady, intending when she entered to ask her all particulars about her maid Lydia Fenny9, with a view to discovering the perpetrator of the crime. Being of an inquiring turn of mind Dowker arose from his seat when the door was closed, and folding his hands behind his back strolled about the room, his lank10 grey-clad figure seeming sadly out of place.
It was not a very large apartment, but luxuriously11 furnished, the walls being hung with pale-green silk draped in graceful12 folds and caught up here and there with thick silver cords. The carpet, also of a pale-green, was embroidered13 with bunches of white flowers, and the window curtains were of soft white Liberty silk. There were two windows on one side in deep recesses14 filled with brilliantly-tinted flowers, white blossoms predominating, and at the end of the room were folding doors opening into a conservatory15 filled with ferns, in the middle of which a small fountain splashed musically into a wide marble basin. There were low velvet-covered lounging chairs all about, tables crowded with bric-a-brac and photographs in oxydised silver frames, whilst here and there on the carpet were skins of bears and tigers. Contrary to the usual custom in drawing-rooms there was only one mirror, a small oval glass over the mantel-piece framed in pale-green plush. In the corners were high palms and other tropical vegetation, with white marble statues peering from out of their green leaves, and in one corner a handsome grand piano on the top of which lay a lot of sheet music. The room was illuminated16 by two or three tall brass17 lamps with bright green shades smothered18 in creamy lace, and just over the piano were a number of quaint-looking weapons arranged in a fantastic fashion. Highland19 broadswords, Indian daggers20, and Malay krisses were all grouped round a small silver shield handsomely embossed, and though at first they seemed somewhat out of place against the rich silk hangings, yet when the eyes became accustomed to them the effect was not unpleasant.
Dowker took a leisurely22 survey of the apartment and then returned to his seat to await the appearance of Miss Sarschine and to think over the curious aspect the Piccadilly case now presented.
His cogitations ran somewhat after this fashion.
The time of the discovery of the body by Mr. Ellersby was about half-past two--the medical evidence at the inquest was to the effect that the deceased had been dead about two hours, so allowing a margin23 for possible inaccuracies the crime must have been committed about midnight, at which time there would be a certain amount of traffic through Jermyn Street. But then the spectacle of a man talking to a woman in the doorway24 of a house would hardly attract much attention, and if the murderer had accomplished25 his purpose by means of poison there was no doubt the fanciful description given by Hash would be tolerably correct. Supposing the assassin to have wounded his victim by means of a poisoned weapon, she would have become confused and giddy, finally passing into a comatose26 state, in which she would quietly expire. Therefore, there would be no screaming to attract the attention of passers-by, and albeit27 in any case lying down would have aroused curiosity, yet the fog was so thick on that night that no one would see the position of the criminal and his victim.
Now, the next question was why did Miss Sarschine not make inquiries28 after her maid--a week had elapsed since the murder, and the girl's absence for that time would certainly seem unaccountable. On her non-appearance her mistress would watch the papers to see if anything had happened to her. She would then notice the Jermyn Street murder, and from the description given would have no difficulty in recognizing her servant. Since though she had without doubt become cognisant of the fact that Lydia Fenny was dead she had not come forward to identify the body, and Dowker pondered over the reason she had for this reticence29.
"She can't have committed the crime herself," said Dowker in a puzzled tone, "as she would hardly do so in such a public place, but why has she been so quiet?--again she couldn't know anything about poisoned weapons--no, she must have some other reason for holding her tongue."
At this moment his attention was caught by the display of weapons on the wall, and with a short exclamation30 he walked across the room and looked sharply at them. They were arranged in a fantastic pattern, each side being the same, but here Dowker noticed with much curiosity that one side was incomplete, a Malay kriss having been removed. He looked at the other side and there were certainly two arranged crossways, but on the other there was only one. Dowker was startled by this discovery as it seemed to point to the fact that the crime had been committed by the missing kriss. He knew the Malays were a savage31 nation, and without doubt poisoned their daggers, so the absence of one of these would argue that this had been the weapon used. He gingerly touched the point of a kriss with the tip of his finger, and then drew it hastily away.
"It might be poisoned," he muttered, looking at his finger to assure himself he had not broken the skin. "I wonder if it is--I'd like to find out."
Glancing hastily round the room to make sure he was alone, he took a kriss from the wall on the other side so that the pattern was now equalised, and trusted to this fact to hide his abstraction of the weapon. Then he took some old letters out of his pocket, and tearing them up into strips carefully swathed the blade of the kriss to prevent possible accidents, and slipped the parcel into his breast pocket.
"I'll go and see a doctor," he muttered to himself as he buttoned his coat, "and try the effect of this on a dog; if the symptoms of death are the same, that will be proof conclusive32 that the missing dagger21 was used to commit the crime. Once I establish that, I'll soon find out the guilty party, as it must have been some one in this house--especially as Lydia Fenny was a servant here."
He walked back again to his chair and had just sat down when the door opened and a woman entered. Not at all pretty, medium height, dark hair and eyes, and a sharp, active-looking face, which, however, was disfigured by marks of the small pox. She was dressed in a well-made dark costume and wore a knot of crimson33 ribbon round her throat. Dowker surveyed this lady carefully and instantly came to the conclusion that this was a fellow-servant of Lydia Fenny--certainly not Miss Sarschine.
"Hang it," muttered Dowker, "he wouldn't make love to that!"
The newcomer advanced as Dowker arose to his feet.
"You want to see Miss Sarschine?" she asked, looking at the detective.
"Yes; have I the pleasure----?"
"No; I am not Miss Sarschine, but I can let her have any message you wish delivered."
"Cannot I see the lady herself?"
"You cannot; she is out of town."
"Oh!" Dowker looked rather blank. This then was the reason Miss Sarschine did not come forward to identify the body.
"From whom is your message?" asked the woman.
"From--from--Lord Calliston," said Dowker, in a hesitating manner.
"That's impossible," replied the woman curtly34.
"Why?"
"Because Lord Calliston is away yachting, and Miss Sarschine is with him."
"Oh, indeed!"
Dowker was beginning to feel rather nonplussed35 as he was now at a loss for an excuse for his presence, so he tried another plan.
"Do you read the papers?" he asked sharply.
"Sometimes; not often," said the woman, somewhat taken aback. "Why do you ask?"
"I have particular reasons for the question."
"I am not bound to answer your question. May I ask your name?"
"Dowker--detective."
The woman started at this and looked a little curiously at him.
"What do you want to know?"
"Are any of the servants of this house missing?"
"No." "Dear me! have any been lately dismissed?"
"No; do you allude36 to any particular servant?"
"Yes; Lydia Fenny."
The woman started again.
"What about her?"
"She is dead. If you had read the papers you would have noticed the Jermyn Street tragedy. She is the victim."
"There is some mistake," said the woman, quietly.
"I don't think so," replied Dowker, coolly taking out the hat from the newspaper. "Do you know this?"
At the sight of the hat the woman became violently agitated37.
"Yes; where did you get this?"
"It was on the head of the woman who was murdered."
The other gave a cry and staggered back.
"Oh, my God!" she said, under her breath, "what does it all mean?"
"Mean? It means that Lydia Fenny is dead."
"No!" she cried vehemently38, "not dead."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am Lydia Fenny."
Dowker stared at her aghast.
"Yes," she went on rapidly, "the hat is mine; how did you find out I was the owner?"
"I went to Madame Rêne and she told me you bought it from her; but who was the dead woman?"
Lydia Fenny again gave a cry.
"I'm afraid to say--I'm afraid to say; how was she dressed?"
"In a sealskin jacket, a silk dress and that hat."
Lydia wrung39 her hands in despair.
"It must be true," she moaned; "it is the dress she wore."
"Who wore?" asked Dowker in an excited tone.
"My mistress--Miss Sarschine."
The case seemed to be more mysterious than ever; instead of the maid it was the mistress. Dowker took a photograph of the deceased and gave it to Lydia.
"Who is that?" he asked eagerly.
"Miss Sarchine," she replied quickly; "but what is the matter with her face?"
"Swollen40 by poison."
"Poison?"
"Yes. On Monday last she was found lying dead in Jermyn Street, killed by a poisoned dagger."
"Last Monday night!" said Lydia with a gasp41, "that was the last time I saw her."
"Look here," said Dowker quietly, "you'd better tell me all about it. I am employed in the case and I want to discover who murdered your mistress; so tell me all you know."
Lydia Fenny, who seemed to possess strong nerves, sat down and began to speak deliberately42.
"I will tell you everything and help you to bring the murderer of my poor mistress to justice but I don't know anyone who would have killed her. She lived a very quiet life and had few friends. Lord Calliston came here very frequently, and she was very much in love with him. Where she came from I don't know, as I have only been with her about a year, but he often told her he would make her his wife, and she was always imploring43 him to do so. About three months ago he met some great lady----"
"Lady Balscombe?"
"Yes, that was the name--and fell in love with her. He neglected Miss Sarschine and she reproached him. There was a lot of trouble and quarrelling between them and Lord Calliston stayed away a good bit. Three weeks ago I went away for a holiday, and when I came back I found my mistress in a terrible state. She had discovered in some way that Lord Calliston had determined44 to elope with Lady Balscombe and go off to the Azores in his yacht. Miss Sarschine was mad with rage; she said she would kill them both; and then thought she'd play a trick upon Lord Calliston and go off with him instead. This was on Monday last."
"The time of the murder," murmured Dowker.
"She went to Lord Calliston's rooms in Piccadilly and found out from his valet that he intended to leave town that evening for Shoreham, where his yacht was lying, and that Lady Balscombe was to follow him early next morning. So she came back here and, waiting till the evening, dressed herself and put on my hat as less conspicuous45 than her own. She intended to catch the ten minutes past nine train from London Bridge Station and go right on board Lord Calliston's yacht and insist upon his sailing and leaving Lady Balscombe in the lurch46. She went out about seven with that intention and since then I have heard nothing of her. I thought she had carried out her scheme and gone off with Lord Calliston to the Azores."
"Did you not hear of the Jermyn Street murder?"
"Yes, casually47, but I never thought of connecting it with my mistress, and all the servants here live very quietly, so they would never think Miss Sarschine was the victim."
"What was she doing in Jermyn Street?"
"I can't tell you. Lord Calliston has rooms in Piccadilly, so perhaps she went there first and then through Jermyn Street on her way to the station."
"You do not know anyone who had a grudge48 against her?"
"No--no one."
Dowker arose to his feet.
"I will call and see you again," he said, "but meanwhile give me Lord Calliston's address in Piccadilly and I will find out if Miss Sarschine was at his rooms on that night."
Lydia Fenny, who was now crying, gave the necessary address and followed him to the door.
"One moment," said Dowker, stopping. "Where is the dagger that used to be on the wall?"
Lydia looked round for the weapons and gave a cry of astonishment49.
"Two are gone."
"I have the one, but the other--where is it?"
"Miss Sarschine took it down on Monday, and said if Calliston did not take her with him she'd kill him."
"Kill him--not herself?"
"No, she had no idea of committing suicide. What are you going to do with the other?"
"Try it on a dog, and find out if the symptoms of death are the same, then I will know the companion dagger to this was the cause of your mistress's death."
"But who would take it from her and use it?"
"That's what I've got to find out. She must have met some one in Jermyn Street who killed her with it."
"It can't be suicide?"
"Hardly. The wound is in the jugular50 vein51 in the neck, so it could hardly have been self-inflicted. Besides, she would not choose a public street to die in."
"When shall I see you again?"
"After I have found out what took place in the Piccadilly chambers52 on Monday last."
And Dowker departed, very well satisfied with the result of his inquiries.
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1
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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7
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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8
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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fenny
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| adj.沼泽的；沼泽多的；长在沼泽地带的；住在沼泽地的 | |
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10
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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12
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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15
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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comatose
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| adj.昏睡的，昏迷不醒的 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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31
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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nonplussed
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| adj.不知所措的，陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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40
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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46
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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jugular
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| n.颈静脉 | |
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51
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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52
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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