Part 12 (1/2)

Cleek drew in a quiet breath, and gave his shoulders the very slightest of twitches, to show that he was listening.

”Very interesting, Doctor, as psychological studies of the kind go,” he said, smoothly, stroking his chin and looking down at the bowed shoulders of the man in the arm chair, with something almost like sorrow in his eyes. ”But we've got to get down to bra.s.s tacks, you know. This thing's serious. It's got to be proved. If it can't be-well, it's going to be mighty awkward for Sir Nigel. Now, let's hear the thing straight out from the person most interested, please. I don't like to appear thoughtless in any way, but this is a serious admission you've just made. Sir Nigel, I beg of you, tell us the story before the constable comes. It might make things easier for you in the long run.”

Merriton, thus addressed, threw up his head suddenly and showed a face marked with mental anguish, dry-eyed, deathly white. He got slowly to his feet and went over to the table, leaning his hand upon it as though for support.

”Oh, well,” he said, listlessly, ”you might as well hear it first as last. Doctor Bartholomew's right, Mr. Headland. I did fire a shot upon the night of Dacre Wynne's disappearance, and I fired it from my bedroom window. It was like this:

”Wynne had gone, and after waiting for him to come back away past the given time, we all made up our minds to go to bed, and Tony West-a pal of mine who was one of the guests-and the Doctor here accompanied me to my room door. Dr. Bartholomew had a room next to mine. In that part of the house the walls are thin, and although my revolver (which I always carry with me, Mr. Headland, since I lived in India) is one of those almost soundless little things, still, the sound of it reached him.”

”Is it of small calibre?” asked Cleek, at this juncture.

Merriton nodded gravely.

”As you say, of small calibre. You can see it for yourself. Borkins”-he turned toward the man, who was standing by the doorway, his hands hanging at his sides, his manner a trifle obsequious; ”will you bring it from the left-hand drawer of my dressing table. Here is the key.” He tossed over a bunch of keys and they fell with a jangling sound upon the floor at Borkins's feet.

”Very good, Sir Nigel,” said the man and withdrew, leaving the door open behind him, however, as though he were afraid to lose any of the story that was being told in the quiet morning room.

When he had gone, Merriton resumed:

”I'm not a superst.i.tious man, Mr. Headland, but that old wives' tale of the Frozen Flames, and the new one coming out every time they claimed another victim, seemed to have burnt its way into my brain. That and the champagne together, and then close upon it Dacre Wynne's foolish bet to find out what the things were. When I went up to my room, and after saying good-night to the doctor here, closed the door and locked it, I then crossed to the window and looked out at the flames. And as I looked-believe it or not, as you will-another flame suddenly sprang up at the left of the others, a flame that seemed brighter, bigger than any of the rest, a flame that bore with it the message: 'I am Dacre Wynne'.”

Cleek smiled, crookedly, and went on stroking his chin.

”Rather a fanciful story that, Sir Nigel,” he said, ”but go on. What happened?”

”Why, I fired at the thing. I picked up my revolver and, in a sort of blind rage, fired at it through the open window; and I believe I said something like this: 'd.a.m.n it, why won't you go? I'll make you go, you maddening little devil!' though I know those weren't the identical words I spoke. As soon as the shot was fired my brain cleared. I began to feel ashamed of myself, thought what a fool I'd look in front of the boys if they heard the story; and just at that moment Doctor Bartholomew knocked at the door.”

Here the doctor nodded vigorously as thought to corroborate these statements, and made as if to speak.

Cleek silenced him with a gesture.

”And then-what next, Sir Nigel?”

Merriton cleared his throat before proceeding. There was a drawn look upon his face.

”The doctor said he thought he had heard a shot, and asked me what it was, and I replied: 'Nothing. Only I was potting at the flames.' This seemed to amaze him, as it would any sane man, I should think, and as no doubt it is amazing you, Mr. Headland. Amazing you and making you think, 'What a fool the fellow is, after all!' Well, I showed the doctor the revolver in my hand, and he laughingly said that he'd take it to bed with him, in case I should start potting at him by mistake. Then I got into bed, after making him promise he wouldn't breathe a word to anybody of what had occurred, as the others would be sure to laugh at me; and-that's all.”

”H'm. And quite enough, too, I should say,” broke in Cleek, as the man finished. ”It sounds true enough, believe me, from your lips, and I know you for an honourable man; but-what sort of a credence do you think an average jury is going to place upon it? D'you think they'd believe you?” He shook his head. ”Never. They'd simply laugh at the whole thing, and say you were either drunk or dreaming. People in the twentieth century don't indulge in superst.i.tion to that extent, Sir Nigel; or, at least, if they do, they let their reason govern their actions as far as possible. It's a tall story at best, if you'll forgive me for saying so.”

Merriton's face went a dull, sultry red. His eyes flamed.

”Then you don't believe me?” he said, impatiently.

Cleek raised a hand.

”I don't say that for one moment,” he replied. ”What I say is: 'Would a judge and jury believe you?' That is the question. And my answer to it is, 'No.' You've had every provocation to take Dacre Wynne's life, so far as I can learn, every provocation, that is, that a man of unsound mentality who would stoop to murder could have to justify himself in his own eyes. Things look exceedingly black against you, Sir Nigel. You can swear to this statement as far as your part in it is concerned, Doctor Bartholomew?”

”Absolutely,” said the doctor, though plainly showing that he felt it was no business of the supposed Mr. Headland's.

”Well, that's good. But if only there had been another witness, someone who actually saw this thing done, or who had heard the pistol-shot-not that I'm doubting your word at all, Doctor-it might help to elucidate matters. There is no one you know of who could have heard-and not spoken?”