The Red Window Part 21

Bernard looked hard at his friend. "You think it was a trap?"

"I am certain. Was there any signal?"

"A peculiar kind of whistle. Something like this!"

Gore whistled in a kind of ascending scale shrilly and in a particularly high key. The effect on Conniston was strange. He jumped up from his seat and walked hurriedly to and fro.

"Judas," he said. "I remember when I was down here that the little scamp had a kind of whistle like that--something like it. Listen!" Conniston whistled also, and Bernard nodded.

"That's it," he declared; "the whistle was given twice."

"Then the boy was Judas. He used to signal to Victoria in that way when the pair were up to their pranks. Wait!" Conniston opened the door and whistled loudly in the same way. Twice he did this. Shortly after the second time the pattering of steps was heard and Victoria came running up the stairs with a lighted candle in her hand. She looked white and scared.

"Did you expect to see Jerry?" asked her master, blandly.

The girl stared and turned even whiter than she was. "I thought it was Jerry, sir," she murmured, leaning against the bal.u.s.trade. "He used to whistle like that when he came home!"

"I learned it from Jerry," said Conniston, mendaciously, "and I tried to see if it would bring you. Go downstairs, girl. There's nothing wrong."

Victoria stared at Conniston with a suspicious look in her hard eyes, and then with a toss of her head ran down the stairs. d.i.c.k returned to the room and shut the door. "What do you think now?"

"It was Judas sure enough," said Bernard.

"Of course. And the signal was given to someone in the house to intimate that you were outside. Who came out?"

"Mrs. Gilroy?"

"Ah! Then she must have been waiting for the signal. By the way, you always seemed mixed over Mrs. Gilroy. When we first met you said that she didn't like you. Then you said she was your friend. Now which do you think she is?"

"I can hardly say. She always pretended to be my friend. I was never sure of her."

"Then you can be sure of her now. She is your bitter enemy."

"I am afraid so," sighed Gore, remembering the accusation.

"Well," said d.i.c.k, resuming his seat, "what next?"

"Mrs. Gilroy came out screeching 'Murder!' She dragged me upstairs and into the sitting-room----"

"Did you notice if there was a red lamp in the window?"

"No. I was too horrified by the sight of my dead grandfather. I loosened the handkerchief round the throat----"

"That was a bandana, Sir Simon's own, and was produced at the inquest.

What about the one over the mouth?"

"The one steeped in chloroform? I don't know. I had it in my hand when Mrs. Gilroy accused me. Then I lost my head. I must have dropped it."

Conniston looked disappointed. "That's a pity," said he. "I fancied you might have unconsciously taken it with you. You see, it was a white handkerchief and Sir Simon never used one of that color. If there happened to be a name on the corner----"

"It would be that of the a.s.sa.s.sin. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, that is what I mean. The a.s.sa.s.sin must have used his own handkerchief."

"Why do you think that?"

d.i.c.k made an impatient gesture. "Why, it's the most natural thing he would do," was his reply. "He enters the room, and talks with Sir Simon.

In his pocket he has the handkerchief steeped in chloroform and uses it unexpectedly. It's as clear as day."

"Why do you think the a.s.sa.s.sin is a man?"

"I'll tell you that later. Go on."

"There's nothing more to say. Mrs. Gilroy said that I was the a.s.sa.s.sin and tried to hold me. The policeman came and arrested me. Seeing what a fix I was in I bolted."

"You should have stood your ground," insisted d.i.c.k.

Bernard rose and in his turn paced the room. "Man alive, how could I do that?" he said irritably. "The position was dangerous enough to appal the bravest man. Mrs. Gilroy accused me, saying that I had been in the kitchen and had left there about six; that I had returned after ten and killed my grandfather. Also the housemaid Jane recognized me as the soldier who had been courting her. Not only that, but she addressed me as Bernard. Can't you see how strong the circ.u.mstantial evidence was and is? I did not get to Durham's before seven, and I was by myself before that. I can't prove an _alibi_ then, and I left at ten, after which hour Mrs. Gilroy said I had come into the house. In three-quarters of an hour there was ample time for me to kill my grandfather. It is barely a quarter of an hour's walk from Durham's house on Camden Hill to Crimea Square. I could not prove an _alibi_, nor could you or Durham have helped me. I was at Durham's in the evening, but where was I before six and after ten? d.i.c.k, had I stayed I should have been hanged. These thoughts flashed through my mind and I made a dash for liberty, so that I might have time to think out my position. How I gained this refuge you know. And here I have been thinking ever since how to extricate myself from the dilemma and prove my innocence. I can't see how to do it, d.i.c.k.

I can't see how to act."

"Steady, old boy. Come and sit down and we'll thresh out the matter."

He led Bernard back to the chair, into which the poor fellow threw himself with a weary sigh. Conniston could not but acknowledge that the case against his friend was very strong. As he could not prove an _alibi_, the evidence of Mrs. Gilroy, of the cook, and page, and housemaid, would probably hang him. And also a sufficient motive for the crime might be found--by the jury--in the fact that Bernard had quarrelled with his grandfather and had been disinherited. Then, to perplex affairs still more, Judas had disappeared, and the Red Window, on the evidence of Beryl and Mrs. Webber, was non-existent. Certainly the lady declared she saw it, but afterwards she thought she had been mistaken. In the interval someone must have removed the red light. But that was a detail which could be argued later. In the meantime it was necessary to fix, if possible, the ident.i.ty of the soldier who had haunted the kitchen and who apparently so strongly resembled Bernard as to be mistaken for him by Jane.

"It's a plot," said Conniston, at length, while Bernard gazed despairingly into the burning logs. "This fellow who resembled you and who took your name is the a.s.sa.s.sin."

"How do you make that out?"

"Why! He was in the kitchen before six and was sent for by your grandfather. He at once left. Then he came back after ten and was admitted by Mrs. Gilroy, who might have made a mistake."

"She could not mistake another man for me."

"I don't know. This fellow evidently was your double, or at least was made up to resemble you. But that would not be easy," added Conniston, staring at his friend, "for you have no beard or mustache, and it is difficult to make up like another chap without such aids. At least I should think so. And remember the lamp in the hall did not give a very good light--so Durham told me. The housemaid saw you only in that light, and therefore might have mistaken you for the fellow who courted her.

Mrs. Gilroy----"

"She saw me in the full glare of the light in the sitting-room. She recognized me."

"Yes. But according to her evidence she only admitted your double just after ten and introduced him into the sitting-room. She did not see him save under the hall lamp."

"That is true. But my grandfather would soon detect the imposition."

"Quite right," rejoined d.i.c.k, smoothly, "he did, and then the a.s.sa.s.sin murdered him after stifling him with the chloroform."

"But you forget my grandfather was a pa.s.sionate man. He might and probably would have made a scene. Mrs. Gilroy below would have heard the row and would have come up."

"She may be lying when she declares she heard nothing," admitted d.i.c.k.

"On the other hand, the a.s.sa.s.sin may have crossed directly over to your grandfather and have stifled his cries by placing the handkerchief at once over his mouth. Then he could strangle him at his leisure and clear out, as he did."

"And then Mrs. Gilroy runs up, finds the dead, and rushes out to accuse me. I must have been brought in the nick of time," said Bernard, ironically. "No, d.i.c.k, there's more in it than that. Mrs. Gilroy is in the plot whomsoever contrived it."