The Postmaster's Daughter Read online

  CHAPTER III

  THE GATHERING CLOUDS

  Thus, it befell that Grant was not worried by officialdom until longafter his housekeeper and her daughter had recovered from the shock oflearning that they were, in a sense, connected at first hand with aghastly and sensational crime.

  Like Bates and their employer, neither Mrs. Bates nor Minnie had heard orseen anything overnight which suggested that a woman was being foullydone to death in the grounds attached to the house. As it happened,Minnie's bedroom, as well as that occupied by her parents, overlooked thelawn and river. Grant's room lay in a gable which commanded, theentrance. He had chosen it purposely because it faced the rising sun. Theother members of the household, therefore, though in bed, had quite asgood an opportunity as he, working in the dining-room beneath, of havingtheir attention drawn to sounds disturbing the peace of the night in aquiet and secluded spot. Moreover, none of them was asleep. Minnie Bates,in particular, said that the "grandfather's clock" in the hall strucktwelve before she "could close an eye."

  At last, just as Grant was rising from an almost untasted luncheon, Mrs.Bates, with a voice of scare, announced "the polis," and P.C. Robinsonintroduced Superintendent Fowler. This time Grant did not resentquestions. He expected them, and had made up his mind to give full anddetailed answers. Of course, the finding of the body was again describedminutely. The superintendent, a man of experience, one whose manner wasnot fox-like and irritating like his subordinate's, paid close attentionto the face at the window.

  "There seems to be little room for doubt that Miss Melhuish did enteryour grounds about a quarter to eleven last night," he said thoughtfully."You recognized her at once, you say?"

  "I imagined so. Until this horrible thing became known I had persuadedmyself that the vision was a piece of sheer hallucination."

  "Let us assume that the lady actually came here, and looked in.Evidently, her face was sufficiently familiar that you should knowinstantly who this unusual visitor was. I understand, though, that youhad not the least notion she was staying in Steynholme?"

  "Not the least."

  "How long ago is it since you last saw her?"

  "Nearly three years."

  "You were very well acquainted with her, then, or you could not haveglanced up from your table, seen someone staring at you through awindow, and said to yourself, as one may express it:--'That is AdelaideMelhuish'."

  "We were so well acquainted that I asked the lady to be my wife."

  "Ah," said the superintendent.

  His placid, unemotional features, however, gave no clew to hisopinions. Not so P. C. Robinson, who tried to look like a judge,whereas he really resembled a bull-terrier who has literally, notfiguratively, smelt a rat.

  Despite his earlier good resolutions, Grant was horribly impatient ofthis inquisition. He admitted that the superintendent was carryingthrough an unpleasant duty as inoffensively as possible, but the attitudeof the village policeman was irritating in the extreme. Nothing wouldhave tended so effectively to relieve his surcharged feelings as tosupply P. C. Robinson then and there with ample material for establishinga charge of assault and battery.

  "That is not a remarkable fact, if regarded apart from to-day'stragedy," he said, and there was more than a hint of soul-weariness inhis voice. "Miss Melhuish was a very talented and attractive woman. Ifirst met her as the outcome of a suggestion that one of my books shouldbe dramatized, a character in the novel being deemed eminently suitablefor her special role on the stage. The idea came to nothing. She wasappearing in a successful play at the time, and was rehearsing itssuccessor. Meanwhile, I--fell in love with her, I suppose, and shecertainly encouraged me in the belief that she might accept me. I dideventually propose marriage. Then she told me she was married already.It was a painful disillusionment--at the time. I only saw her, to speakto, once again."

  "Did she reveal her husband's name?"

  "Yes--a Mr. Ingerman."

  The superintendent looked grave. That was a professional trick of his. Hehad never before in his life heard of Mr. Ingerman, but encouraged thenotion that this gentleman was thoroughly, and not quite favorably, knownto him. Sometimes it happened that a witness, interpreting this sapientlook by the light of his or her personal and intimate knowledge, wouldblurt out certain facts, good or bad as the case might be, concerning theperson under discussion.

  But Grant remained obstinately silent as to the qualities of thisdoubtful Ingerman, so Mr. Fowler scribbled the name in a note-book, andwas particular as to whether it ended in one "n" or two.

  Still, he carried other shots in his locker. In fact, Mr. Fowler, had hetaken in youth to nicer legal subtleties than handcuffs and summonses,would have become a shrewd lawyer.

  "We'll leave Mr. Ingerman for the moment," he said, implying, of course,that on returning to him there might be revelations. "I gather that youand Miss Melhuish did not agree, shall I put it? as to the precisebearing of the marriage tie on your love affair?"

  "I'm afraid I don't quite follow your meaning," and Grant's tonestiffened ominously, but his questioner was by no means abashed.

  "I have no great acquaintance with the stage or its ways, but I havealways understood that divorce proceedings among theatrical folk were,shall we say? more popular than, in the ordinary walks of life," saidMr. Fowler.

  Grant's resentment vanished. The superintendent's calm method, hisinterpolated apologies, as it were, for applying the probe, werebeginning to interest him.

  "Your second effort is more successful, superintendent," he said dryly."Miss Melhuish did urge me to obtain her freedom. It was, she thought,only a matter of money with Mr. Ingerman, and she would be given materialfor a divorce."

  "Ah," murmured Fowler again, as though the discreditable implicationfitted in exactly with the life history of a noted scoundrel in a written_dossier_ then lying in his office. "You objected, may I suggest, to thatsomewhat doubtful means of settling a difficulty?"

  "Something of the kind."

  Assuredly, Grant did not feel disposed to lay bare his secret feelingsbefore this persuasive superintendent and an absurdly conceited villageconstable. Love, to him, was an ideal, a blend of mortal passion andimmortal fire. But the flame kindled on that secret altar had scorchedand seared his soul in a wholly unforeseen way. The discovery thatAdelaide Melhuish was another man's wife had stunned him. It was notuntil the fire of sacrifice had died into parched ashes that its earlierbanality became clear. He realized then that he had given his love to aphantom. By one of nature's miracles a vain and selfish creature wasgifted in the artistic portrayal of the finer emotions. He had worshipedthe actress, the mimic, not the woman herself. At any rate, that was howhe read the repellent notion that he should bargain with any man for thesale of a wife.

  "You might be a trifle more explicit, Mr. Grant," said thesuperintendent, almost reproachfully.

  "In what direction? Surely a three-years-old love affair can have littlepractical bearing on Miss Melhuish's death?"

  "What, then, may I ask, could bear on it more forcibly? The ladyadmittedly visits you, late at night, and is found dead in a riverbordering the grounds of your house next morning, all the conditionspointing directly to murder. Moreover--it is no secret, as the truth mustcome out at the inquest--she had passed a good deal of her time while inSteynholme, unknown to you, in making inquiries concerning you, yourhabits, your surroundings, your friends. Surely, Mr. Grant, you must seethat the history of your relations with this lady, though, if I may usethe phrase, perfectly innocent, may possibly supply that which is atpresent lacking--a clew, shall I term it, to the motive which inspiredthe man, or woman, who killed her?"

  P.C. Robinson was all an eye and an ear for this verbal fencing-match.It was not that he admired his superior's skill, because such finessewas wholly beyond him, but his suspicious brain was storing up Grant'sadmissions "to be used in evidence" against him subsequently. His ownbrief record of the conversation would have been:--"The prisoner, afterbeing duly cautioned, said he kept company with the deceased aboutthree years ago, but quarreled with her on hearing that she was amarried woman."

  The superintendent seldom indulged in so long a speech, but he wasdetermined to force his adversary's guard, and sought to win hisconfidence by describing the probable course to be pursued by thecoroner's inquest. But Grant, like the dead actress, had two sides to hisnature. He was both an idealist and a stubborn fighter, and ideality hadbeen shattered for many a day by that grewsome object hauled in thatmorning from the depths of the river.

  "I am willing to help in any shape or form, but can only repeat thatMiss Melhuish and I parted as described. I should add that I have never,to my knowledge, met her husband."

  "He may be dead."

  "Possibly. You may know more about him than I."

  "Even then, we have not traveled far as yet."

  Fowler was puzzled, and did not hesitate to show it. He believed, notwithout reasonable cause, that this young man was concealing some elementin the situation which might prove helpful in the quest for the murderer.He resolved to strike off along a new track.

  "I am informed," he went on, speaking with a deliberateness meant tobe impressive, "that you did entertain another lady as a visitorlast night."

  Grant allowed his glance to dwell on Robinson for an instant. Hitherto hehad ignored the man. Now he surveyed him as if he were a viper.

  "It will be a peculiarly offensive thing if the personality of a helplessand unoffending girl is brought into this inquiry," he cried. "'Broughtin' is too mild--I ought to say 'dragged in.' As it happens, astronomy isone of my hobbies. Last evening, as the outcome of a chat on the subject,Doris Martin, daughter of the local postmaster, came here to view Siriusthrough an astronomical telescope. There is the instrument," and hepointed thro
ugh P.C. Robinson to a telescope on a tripod in a corner ofthe room. The gesture was eloquent. The burly policeman might have been asheet of glass. "As you see, it is a solid article, not easily liftedabout. It weighs nearly a hundred-weight."

  "Why is it so heavy?"

  The superintendent had a knack of putting seemingly irrelevant questions.Robinson had been disconcerted by it earlier in the day, but Grant seemedto treat the interruption as a sensible one.

  "For observation purposes an astronomical telescope is not of much useunless the movement of the earth is counteracted," he said. "Usually, thedome of an observatory swings on a specially contrived axis, but that isa very expensive structure, so my telescope is governed by a clockworkattachment and moves on its own axis."

  Mr. Fowler nodded. He was really a very well informed man for a countrypolice-officer; he understood clearly.

  "Miss Martin came here about a quarter to ten," continued Grant, "andleft within three-quarters of an hour. She did not enter the house. Shewas watching Sirius while I explained the methods whereby the distance ofany star from the earth is computed and its chemical analysisdetermined--"

  "Most instructive, I'm sure," put in the superintendent.

  He smiled genially, so genially that Grant dismissed the notion that theother might, in vulgar parlance, be pulling his leg.

  "Well, that is the be-all and end-all of Miss Martin's presence. It wouldbe cruel, and unfair, if a girl of her age were forced into a distastefulprominence in connection with a crime with which she is no more relatedthan with Sirius itself."

  The older man shook his head in regretful dissent.

  "That is just where you and I differ," he said. "That very point leads usback to your past friendship with the dead woman."

  "Why?"

  "Surely you see, Mr. Grant, that Miss Melhuish might be, probably was,watching your star-gazing, especially as your pupil chanced to be, shallI say, a remarkably attractive young lady ... No, no," for Grant's angerwas unmistakable--"It does no good to blaze out in protest. An unhappycombination of circumstances must be faced candidly. Here are you and apretty girl together in a garden at a rather late hour, and a woman whomyou once wanted to marry spying on you, in all likelihood. I've met a fewcoroner's juries in my time, and not one of them but would deem thecoincidence strange, to put it mildly."

  "What in Heaven's name are you driving at?"

  "You must not impute motives, sir. I am seeking them, notsupplying them."

  "But what am I to say?"

  "Perhaps you will now tell me just how Miss Melhuish and you parted."

  The fencers were coming to close quarters. Even P. C. Robinson had toadmit that his "boss" had cornered the suspect rather cleverly.

  Grant realized that there was no room for squeamishness in this affair.If he did not speak out now, his motives might be woefully misunderstood.

  "We parted in wrath and tears," he said sadly. "Miss Melhuish could not,or did not, appreciate my scruples. She professed to be in love with me.She even went so far as to threaten suicide. I--hardly believed in hersincerity, but thought it advisable to temporize, and asked for a fewdays' delay before we came to a final decision. We met again, as I havesaid, and discussed matters in calmer mood. Ultimately, she professedagreement with my point of view, and we parted, ostensibly to remain goodfriends, but really to separate for ever."

  "Thank you. That's better. What _was_ your point of view, Mr. Grant?"

  "Surely I have made it clear. I could not regard my wife as purchasable.The proposed compact was, I believe, illegal. But that consideration didnot sway me. I had been dreaming, and thought I was roaming in anenchanted garden. I awoke, and found myself in a morass."

  The superintendent nodded again. Singularly enough, Grant's somewhathigh-flown simile appeared to satisfy his craving for light.

  "Do you mind telling me--is there another woman?" he demanded, with oneof those rapid transitions of topic in which he excelled.

  "No," said Grant.

  "You see what I am aiming at. Let us suppose that Miss Melhuish never, inher own mind, abandoned the hope that some day the tangle wouldstraighten itself. Women are constituted that way. If her husband is nowdead, and she became free, she might wish to renew the old ties, but,being proud, would want to ascertain first whether or not any other womanhad come into your life."

  "I follow perfectly," said Grant, with some bitterness. "She would beconsumed with jealousy because my companion in the garden last nighthappened to be a charming girl of nineteen."

  "It is possible."

  "So she went off and got someone to kill her, and tie her body with arope, and arrange a dramatic setting whereby it would be patent to themeanest intelligence that I was the criminal?"

  Mr. Fowler smiled, and looked fixedly at P.C. Robinson.

  "No, no," he said, quite good-humoredly. "That would be carrying realismto extremes. Still, I am convinced, Mr. Grant, that this mystery is boundup in some way with your romance of three years ago. At present, I admit,I am working in the dark."

  He rose. Apparently, the interview was at an end. But, while pocketinghis note-book, he said suddenly:--

  "The inquest will open at three o'clock tomorrow. You will be present, ofcourse, Mr. Grant?"

  "I suppose it is necessary."

  "Oh, yes. You found the body, you know. Besides, you may be the onlyperson who can give evidence of identity. In fact, you and the doctorwill be the only witnesses called."

  "Dr. Foxton?"

  "Yes."

  "Has he made a post-mortem?"

  "He is doing so now. You see, there is clear indication that thisunfortunate lady was struck a heavy blow, perhaps killed, before she wasput in the river."

  "Good Heavens! Somehow, I was so stunned that I never thought of lookingfor signs of any injury of that sort."

  Grant's horror-stricken air was so spontaneous that it probably justifiedthe severe test of that unexpected disclosure. He was so unnerved by itthat the two policemen had gone before he could frame another question.

  Once they were in the open road, and well away from The Hollies,Robinson ventured to open his mouth.

  "He's a clever one is Mr. Grant," he said meaningly. "You handled him abit of all right, sir, but he didn't tell you everything he knew, not bylong chalks."

  The superintendent walked a few yards in silence. Even when he spoke, hisgaze was introspective, and seemed to ignore his companion.

  "I'm inclined to agree with you, Robinson," he said, speaking veryslowly. "We have a big case in our hands, a very big case. We must treadwarily. You, in particular, mixing with the village folk, should listento all but say nothing. Don't depend on your memory. Write down what youhear and see. People's actual words, and the exact time of an occurrence,often have an extraordinarily illuminating effect when weighedsubsequently. But don't let Mr. Grant think you suspect him. There is nooccasion for that--yet."

  Mr. Fowler could be either blunt or cryptic in speech at will. In onemood he was the straightforward, outspoken official; in another thepotential lawyer. P.C. Robinson, though unable to describe his chief'serratic qualities, was unpleasantly aware of them. He was not quitesure, for instance, whether the superintendent was encouraging orwarning him, but, being a dogged person, resolved to "take his ownline," and stick to it.

  Grant passed a distressful day. Work was not to be thought of, andreading was frankly impossible. His mind dwelt constantly on the tragedywhich had come so swiftly and completely into his ordered life. He couldnot wholly discard the nebulous theory suggested by SuperintendentFowler, but the more he surveyed it the less reasonable it seemed. Theone outstanding fact in a chaos of doubt was that someone haddeliberately done Adelaide Melhuish to death. The murderer had beenactuated by a motive. What was that motive? Surely, in a place likeSteynholme no man could come and go without being seen, and the murderermust be a stranger to the district, because it was ridiculous to imaginethat he was one of the residents.

  Yet that was exactly what a dunderheaded policeman believed. P.C.Robinson had revealed himself by many a covert glance and prick-earedmovement. Grant squirmed uneasily at the crass conceit, as there was nodenying that circumstances tended towards a certain doubt, if no more, inregard to his own association with the crime.

  The admission called for a fierce struggle with his pride, but he forcedhimself to think the problem out in all its bearings, and the folly ofadopting the legendary policy of the chased ostrich became manifest.What, then, should he do? He thought, at first, of invoking the aid of abarrister friend, who could watch the inquest in his behalf.

  Nevertheless, he shrank from that step, which, to his super-sensitivenature, implied the need of legal protection, and he fiercely resentedthe mere notion of such a thing. But something must be done. Once themurderer was laid by the heels his own troubles would vanish, and thestorm raised by the unhappy fate of Adelaide Melhuish would subside intoa sad memory.

  He was wrestling with indecision when a newspaper reporter called. Grantreceived the journalist promptly, and told him all the salient facts,suppressing only the one-time prospect of a marriage between himself andthe famous actress.

  The reporter went with him to the river, and scrutinized the marks, nowrapidly becoming obliterated, of the body having been drawn ashore.

  "The rope and iron staple, I understand, were taken from the premises ofa man who lets boats for hire on the dam quarter of a mile away," hesaid casually.

  Grant was astounded at his own failure to make any inquiry whatsoeverconcerning this vital matter. He laughed grimly.

  "You can imagine the state of my mind," he said, "when I assure youthat, until this moment, it never occurred to me even to ask where thesearticles came from or what had become of them."

  "I can symp
athize with you," said the journalist. "A brutal murder seemshorribly out of place in this environment. It is a mysterious businessaltogether. I wonder if Scotland Yard will take it up."

  Grant surprised him by clapping him on the back.

  "By Jove, my friend, the very thing! Of course, such an investigationrequires bigger brains than our local police are endowed with. ScotlandYard _must_ take it up. I'll wire there at once. If necessary, I'll payall expenses."

  The newspaper man had his doubts. The "Yard," he said, acted in theprovinces only if appealed to by the authorities directly concerned. ButGrant was not to be stayed by a trifle like that. He hurried to the postoffice, hoping that Doris Martin might walk back with him.

  The girl and her father were busy behind the counter when he entered. Henoticed that Doris was rather pale. She was about to attend to him, butMr. Martin intervened. It struck Grant that the postmaster was purposelypreventing his daughter from speaking to him.

  For some inexplicable reason, he felt miserably tongue-tied, and wascontent to write a message to the Chief Commissioner of Police, London,asking that a skilled detective should be sent forthwith to Steynholme.

  Mr. Martin read it gravely, stated the cost, and procured the requisitestamps. In the event, Grant quitted the place without exchanging a wordwith Doris, while her father, usually a chatty man, said not a syllablebeyond what was barely needed.

  As he passed down the hill and by the side of the Green he was aware ofbeing covertly watched by many eyes. He saw P.C. Robinson peering frombehind a curtained window. Siddle, the chemist, came to the shop door,and looked after him. Hobbs, the butcher, ceased sharpening a knife andgazed out. Tomlin, landlord of the Hare and Hounds Inn, surveyed him fromthe "snug."

  These things were not gracious. Indeed, they were positively maddening.He went home, gave an emphatic order that no one, except Miss Martin, ifshe called, was to be admitted and savagely buried himself in a treatiseon earth-tides.

  But that day of events had not finished for him yet. He had, perforce,eaten a good meal, and was thinking of going to the post office in orderto clear up an undoubted misapprehension in Mr. Martin's mind, whenMinnie Bates came with a card.

  "If you please, sir," said the girl, "this gentleman is very pressing.He says he's sure you'll give him an interview when you see his name."

  So Grant looked, and read:--

  MR. ISIDOR G. INGERMAN

  _Prince's Chambers, London, W._