The Ashiel mystery: A Detective Story Page 11

  CHAPTER XI

  Gimblet left the gun-room quietly; and after some more exploringdiscovered the way to the back premises.

  In the pantry he found Blanston, whom he invited to follow him to thedeserted billiard-room for a few minutes' conversation.

  "You know," he told him, "Miss Byrne and your new young master want me toexamine the evidence that Sir David Southern is the author of thisterrible crime."

  "I'm sure I wish, sir," said the man, "that you could prove he never didit. A very nice young gentleman, sir, Sir David has always been; it seemsdreadful to think of him lifting his hand against his uncle. I'm sure itought to be a warning to us all to keep our tempers, but of course it wasvery hard on Sir David to have his dog shot before his very eyes."

  "No doubt," agreed Gimblet. "You weren't there when it happened, Isuppose?"

  "No, sir, but I heard about it from one of the keepers, and Sir David wasvery much put out about it, so he says; and I quite believe it, seeinghow fond he was of the poor creature. Always had it to sleep in his room,he did, sir, though it was rather an offensive animal to the nose, to myway of thinking. But these young gentlemen what are always smokingcigarettes get to lose their sense of smell, I've often noticed that,sir. Oh, I understand he was very angry indeed, sir, but I should hardlyhave thought he would go so far as to take his uncle's life. Knowing him,as I have done, from a child, I may say I shouldn't hardly have thoughtit of him, sir."

  "Life is full of surprises," said Gimblet, "and you never know forcertain what anyone may not do; but, tell me, you were the first on thescene of the crime, weren't you?"

  "Hardly that, sir. Miss Byrne was with his lordship at the time."

  "Yes, yes, of course. But you saw him shortly after the shot was fired.Did you hear the report?"

  "No, sir. The hall is quite away from the tower, and so is thehousekeeper's room; and the walls are very thick. We were just finishingsupper, which was very late that night on account of the gentlemen comingin late from stalking, and one thing and another. I'm rather surprisednone of us heard it, sir."

  "I daresay there was a good deal of noise going on," said Gimblet. "Howmany of you are there in the servants' quarters?"

  "Counting the chauffeur and the hall boy," replied Blanston, "andincluding the visitors' maids, who are gone now, we were sixteen servantsin the house that night. I am afraid there may have been rather a noisegoing on."

  "Were you all there?" asked Gimblet. "Had no one left since the beginningof supper?"

  "No one had gone out of the room or the hall since supper commenced,"Blanston assured him. "We were all very glad of that afterwards, as itprevented any of us being suspected, sir. Though in point of fact I wassaying only last night, when the second footman dropped the pudding justas he was bringing it into the room, that we could really have spared himbetter than what we could Sir David, sir; but of course it's natural forthe household to be feeling a bit jumpy till after the funeral to-morrow.When that's over I shan't listen to no more excuses."

  "Quite so," said Gimblet. "What was the first intimation you got thatthere was anything wrong?"

  "About half-past ten the billiard-room bell rang very loud, in thepassage outside the hall. Before it had stopped, and while I was callingto George, the first footman, to hurry up and answer it, there cameanother peal, and then another and another. I thought something must bewrong, so I ran out of the room and upstairs with the others. When we gotto the billiard-room there was Miss Byrne fainting on a chair, and Mr.McConachan beside her, looking very upset like. 'There's been an accidentor worse,' he says, 'to his lordship. Come on, Blanston, and let's seewhat it is. And you others look after Miss Byrne. Fetch her maid; fetchLady Ruth.'

  "And with that he makes for the library door, at a run, with mefollowing him close, though I was a bit puffed with coming upstairs sofast. Just as we came to the library door, he turns and says to me, withhis hand on the knob, 'From what Miss Byrne says, Blanston, I'm afraidit's murder.' And before I could more than gasp he had the door open,and we were in the room.

  "There was his poor lordship lying forward on the table, his head on theblotting-book, and one arm hanging down beside him. Quite dead, he was,sir, and his blood all on the floor, poor gentleman. We left him as wefound him, and went back.

  "Mr. McConachan locked the door and put the key in his pocket. 'No onemust go in there till the police come,' he says. 'But in the meantime wemust get what men we can together, and see if the brute who did thisisn't lurking about the grounds. It will be something if we can catchhim, and avenge my poor uncle,' he said."

  Gimblet considered for a moment.

  "Are you sure you remember the position you found the body in?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir," replied Blanston, in some surprise. "It was like I told you.His head on the blotting-book and one arm with it. He must have fallenstraight forward on to the table."

  "Thank you," said Gimblet. "One more question. I hear you witnessed awill for Lord Ashiel a day or two before he died?"

  "Yes, sir--I and Mrs. Parsons, the housekeeper."

  "How did you know it was the will?"

  "We didn't exactly know it was, sir, but afterwards, when it came out hislordship had told Miss Byrne he had made one, we thought it must havebeen that."

  "I see," said Gimblet. "Thank you. That is all I wanted to know."

  He sent for the other servants and interrogated them one by one, butwithout adding anything fresh to what he had already learned.

  He went thoughtfully away and sought out Mark in the smoking-room, wherehe found him surrounded by packets of papers, which lay in heaps uponthe floor and tables.

  "There's a frightful lot to look through," said the young mandespondently, looking up from his self-imposed task. "I haven't foundanything interesting yet. How did you get on? Do you think thosefootmarks can possibly be anyone's but David's?"

  "The boot you gave me fits them too well to admit of doubt, I'm afraid,"said Gimblet. And as the other made a half-gesture of despair, "You mustgive me more time," he said; "I may find some clue in the course of thenext two or three days. By the by, is your cousin a short man?"

  "No," said Mark, "he's about my height. Why do you ask?"

  "Oh, I had an idea," said Gimblet evasively. "But if he's as tall as you,I had better begin again. I think I'll take a little stroll through thegrounds," he added, "and then back to Lady Ruth Worsfold's house, and geta bath and a change."

  "I shall see you at dinner-time," said Ashiel. "I am dining at thecottage. Au revoir till then."

  Gimblet went out of the front door, and proceeded to make a tour of theCastle buildings.

  Turning to his left round the front of the house, he passed the gun-roomdoor, and went down a short path, which led to the level of the servants'quarters. These were built on the slope of the hill, so that what was abasement in the front of the house was level with the ground at the back.

  Here more remains of the old fortress were to be seen. The variousoutbuildings that straggled down towards the loch had all once formedpart of old block-houses or outlying towers; and, as the path descendedfarther down the hill, the detective found himself walking round theprecipitous rock from which the single great tower still standing--theone in whose massive shell the room had been cut which was now thelibrary--dominated the scene from every side.

  It had been built at the very edge of the hill which here fell almostsheer to the level of the lake, and the old McConachans had no doubtchosen their site for its unscalable position. Indeed, the place mustalways have been impregnable from that side, the rock offering nofoothold to a goat till within twenty feet of the base of the tower,where the surface was broken and uneven, and had, in places, been builtup with solid masonry. In the crevices up there, seeds had germinated andgrown to tall plants and bushes. Ivy hung about the face of theescarpment like a scarf, and in one place a good-sized tree, a beech, hadestablished itself firmly upon a ledge and leant forward over the pathbelow in a manner that turned the beholder
giddy. Its great roots had notbeen able to grow to their full girth within the cracks and crannies ofthe rocks; some of them had pushed their way in through the gaps in themasonry, and the others curled and twisted in mid air, twining andinterlacing in an outspread canopy.

  Beyond the tower ran the battlemented wall of the enclosed garden, itsfoundations draped in the thrifty vegetation of the rocks.

  At Gimblet's feet, on the other side of the path, brawled a burn,hurrying on its way to the loch, and he followed its course slowly downto the place where it mingled with the deep waters. A little beyond hesaw the point of a fir-covered peninsula, and wandered on under thetrees till he came to the end of it; there he sat down to think over whathe had heard and seen that afternoon. The wild beauty of the placesoothed and delighted him, and he felt lazily in his pocket for achocolate.

  Below him, grey lichen-grown rocks jutted into the loch in tumbled,broken masses, piled heedlessly one on the other, as if some troll ofthe mountain had begun in play to make a causeway for himself. The greatstones, so old, so fiercely strong, stood knee-deep in the waters, overwhich they seemed to brood with so patient and indifferent a dignitythat human life and affairs took on an aspect very small andinconsiderable. They were like monstrous philosophers, he thought,oblivious alike to time and to the cold waves that lapped their feet;their heads crowned here and there with pines as with scattered locks,the little tufts of heather and fern and grasses, that clung to themwherever root hold could be found, all the clothing they wore againstthe bitter blasts of the winds.

  While he sat there a breeze got up and ruffled the loch; the ripplesdanced and sparkled like a cinematograph, and waves threw themselvesamong the rocks with loud gurglings and splashings. The air was suddenlyfull of the noise and hurry of the waters. He got up and went to the endof the peninsula. In spite of the dancing light upon the surface and themerry sounds of the ripples, the water, he could see, was deep and dark;a little way out a pale smooth stone rose a few feet above the level ofit, its top draped in a velvet green shawl of moss. A fat sea-gull satthere; nor did it move when he appeared.

  A little bay ran in between the rocks, its shore spread with grey sand,smooth and trackless. At least so Gimblet imagined it at first, as hiseye roved casually over the beach. Then suddenly, with a smotheredejaculation, he leaped down from his perch of observation, and made hisway to the margin of the water.

  There, scored in the sand, was a deep furrow, reaching to within a footof the waves, where it stopped as if it had been wiped out from a slatewith a damp sponge. Gimblet had no doubt what it was. A boat had beenbeached here, and that lately. A glance at the stones surrounding thebay showed him that the water was falling, for in quiet little pools,within the outer breakwater of rocks, a damp line showed on the granitea full quarter of an inch above the water. By a rapid calculation of thetime it would take for that watermark to dry, the detective was able toform some idea of the rate at which the loch was falling, and he thoughthe could judge the slope of the beach sufficiently well to calculateabout how long it was since the track in the sand had reached to thebrink of the waves.

  It was a rough guess, but, if he were right, then a boat had landed inthat bay some forty-two hours ago. But there were other traces, besides,the tracks of him who had brought the boat ashore. From where Gimbletstood, a double row of footprints, going and returning, showed plainlybetween the water and the stones to which the sand quickly gave place.They were the tracks left by large boots with singularly pointed toes,and with no nails on the soles. Emphatically not boots such as any of themen of those parts would be likely to wear.

  Gimblet bent over the sand.

  When he rose once more and stood erect upon the beach, he saw under theshadow of the pines the figure of a tall thin man with a lean face andstraggling reddish moustache, who was watching him with an eye plainlysuspicious. He was dressed in knickerbockers and coat of rough tweed of alarge checked pattern, and carried a spy-glass slung over his back. Thedetective went to him at once.

  "Are you employed on the Inverashiel estate?" he asked civilly.

  "I'm Duncan McGregor, his lordship's head keeper," was the reply, givenin the cold tones of one accosted by an intruder.

  Gimblet hastened to introduce himself and to explain his presence, andMcGregor condescended to thaw.

  "I should be very much obliged," said Gimblet, "if you would take a lookat the sands where you saw me standing. I'd like to know your opinion onsome marks that are there."

  The keeper strode down to the beach.

  "A boat will have been here," he pronounced after a rapid scrutiny.

  "Lately?" asked Gimblet.

  He saw the man's eyes go, as his own had done, to the watermarks onthe rocks.

  "No sae vary long ago," he said, "I'm thinkin' it will hae been the nichtbefore lairst that she came here."

  "Ah," said Gimblet, "I'm glad you agree with me. That's what I thoughtmyself. Do boats often come ashore on this beach?"

  McGregor considered.

  "It's the first time I ever h'ard of onybody doin' the like," he said atlast. "The landin' stage is awa' at the ether side o' the p'int; it's ayethere they land. There's nae a man in a' this glen would come in here,unless it whar for some special reason. It's no' a vary grand place taebring a boat in. The rocks are narrow at the mouth."

  "Do strangers often come to these parts?"

  "There are no strangers come to Inverashiel," said the keeper. "Thehigh road runs at the ether side o' the loch through Crianan, and thetramps and motors go over it, but never hae I known one o' that kind onour shore."

  Gimblet observed with some amusement that the man spoke of motors andtramps as of varieties of the same breed; but all he said was:

  "Could you make inquiries as to whether anyone on the estate happens tohave brought a boat in here during the last week? I should be glad if youcould do so without mentioning my name, or letting anyone think it isimportant."

  He felt he could trust the discretion of this taciturn Highlander.

  "I'll that, sir," was the reply.

  And Gimblet could see, in spite of the man's unchanging countenance, thathe was pleased at this mark of confidence in him.

  "Could you take me to the head gardener's house?" he asked, abruptlychanging the subject. "I should rather like a talk with him."

  McGregor conducted him down the road to the lodge.

  "It's in here whar Angus Malcolm lives," he remarked laconically. "Goodevening, sir."

  He turned and strode away over the hillside, and Gimblet knocked at thedoor. It was opened by the gardener, and he had a glimpse through theopen doorway of a family at tea.

  "I'm sorry I disturbed you," he said. "I will look in again another day.Lord Ashiel referred me to you for the name of a rose I asked about, butit will do to-morrow."

  The gardener assured him that his tea could wait, but Gimblet would notdetain him.

  "I shall no doubt see you up in the garden to-morrow," he said. "The rosesin that long bed outside the library are very fine, and I am interestedin their culture. I wonder they do so well in this peaty soil."

  "Na fie, man, they get on splendid here," said Malcolm. He liked nothingbetter than to talk about his flowers, but, being a Highlander, resentedany suggestion that his native earth was not the best possible for nomatter what purpose. "We just gie them a good dressin' doon wie manureilka year."

  "Do you use any patent fertilizer?" Gimblet asked.

  "Oh, just a clean oot wie a grain o' basic slag noo and than," said thegardener. "And I just gie them some lime ilka time I think the ground isneedin' it."

  "Well, the result is very good," said the detective. "By the way, haveyou been working on that bed lately? I picked this up among the violas.Did you happen to drop it?"

  He took from his pocket a small paper notebook, and held it outinterrogatively.

  "Na, I hinna dropped it," answered the gardener. "It micht have been someone fay the castel. I hinna been near that rose-bed for fower or fiveda
ys. And it couldna hae been lying there afore the rain."

  Indeed, the little book showed no trace of damp on its green cover.

  "I asked in the castle, but no one claimed it," said Gimblet. "Perhapsit belongs to one of your men?"

  "There's been naebody been workin' there this week. So it disna belongtae neen o' the gair'ners, if it's there ye fund't," repeated Malcolm."There's been nae work deen on that bed for the last fortnicht or mair. Iwas thinkin' o' sendin' a loon ower't wie a hoe in a day or twa. Ye see,wie the murrder it's been impossible tae get ony work done; apairt faythat we've been busy wie the fruit and ether things."

  "I didn't notice any weeds," said Gimblet. "But I won't keep you anylonger, now. Perhaps to-morrow afternoon I may see you in the garden, andif so I shall get you to tell me the name of that rose."