8-2 8"





THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER





THE MEDBURY FORT
MURDER
BY
GEORGE LIMNELIUS


PUBLISHED FOR
THE CRIME CLUB, INC.
by DOUBLEDAY, DORAN IS COMPANY, inc.
GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK, 1929


COPYRIGHT, 1939
SY DOUBLED AY, DORAN & COMPANY, IITC.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
FIRST EDITION


23 & <£ cr e j~ r—
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Major Preece's Romance i
II. A West African Interlude 23
III. Old Sins Have Long Shadows 44
IV. Medbury Fort (Monday) 61
V. Early Morning (Tuesday) 83
t VI. Murder (Tuesday) 92
0
} VII. Detective Inspector Paton at 108
Work (Tuesday)
* VIII. A Lady Is Alarmed (Wednesday) 129
s IX. The Sleuth in the Village (Wed-
^ nesday) 151
* X. Lady Ronan Takes Steps (Wed-
Q nesday) 174
XI. The Chief Tries His Hand
(Wednesday) 189
XII. The Medical Inspection Room
(Thursday) 206
XIII. A Confidence and a Confirmation 221
XIV. The Butchering Trade (Thursday) 238
XV. The Towpath (Thursday) 255
XVI. Third Degree (Friday) 272
XVII. On the Ranges (Friday) 284





THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER





CHAPTER I
MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE
Major Hugh Preece, Royal Army Medical Corps,
gave a faint sigh of boredom as the staff sergeant
placed a large pile of documents and army forms on
the "In" tray on his desk.
He finished the letter upon which he had been en-
gaged and then methodically commenced wading
through the forbidding-looking stack of papers which
the staff sergeant had deposited on his desk. As he
conscientiously scanned each document before writ-
ing his signature he was aware of an increasing irri-
tation.
He had intended to take his wife and two little
daughters for a drive in the new Boris car after an
early tea. He glanced at the large kitchen clock which
adorned one whitewashed wall of his office. Half-
past four already! Hurriedly he glanced at the tray;
the pile of papers was dwindling rapidly.
For five minutes there was no sound in the room
save the rustle of papers, the scratching of Preece's
pen, and the intermittent buzz of a bluebottle, which,


2 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
braving the strong aromatic odour of Cresol, had
dared to invade the sanitary spotlessness of the senior
medical officer's office in Greenhithe Barracks.
Major Preece scrawled his signature at the foot
of the last army form in the pile in which he certi-
fied that number So-and-So, Private Swansdick, W.,
of the First Mercia Regiment, was in a sufficiently
robust state of health to undergo detention for a
period of ninety-six hours, thereby destroying Priv-
ate Swansdick's cherished illusion that he had
"prop'ly 'ad the blinkin' doctor onl"
Preece threw down the pen with a sigh of relief
and smote the bell on his desk. The staff sergeant ap-
peared.
"There you are, Chudleigh. Anything more?"
Preece rose, and putting on his cap, strolled to the
window. The view across the barrack square, where
the only military activity in progress consisted of a
corporal drilling a solitary defaulter, was not enliv-
ening. The N. C. O.'s barked word of command
seemed to pursue, with maddening persistence, the
lonely figure of a soldier in full marching order.
"Right—turn. Left—turn. Left—turn. About—
turn. Left—turn. Right—turn."
The main block of barracks, with a few wooden
huts in the foreground—derelicts of the Great War
—formed a dreary background to a depressing


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE 3
spectacle. The barrack buildings achieved, Preece
reflected, in their entire disregard of all architec-
tural pretensions, in their straightforward utilitarian
purpose, a certain prim dignity. A pity, he thought,
that the original early Victorian front had been im-
prisoned, in 1880, behind a network of hideous iron
staircases and cement balconies. The chief engineer
of the period had been a "fire protection" fanatic.
As Preece turned to leave the office the staff ser-
geant murmured deprecatingly: "There's an officer
wishing for to see you, sir."
"Damn! What's he want? Who is it?"
"A lootenant of the Mercias, sir. Says he wants to
see you medically."
"Oh! Well, ask him to come in."
The staff sergeant disappeared with the bundle of
papers and reappeared a moment later to announce,
"Mister Leppin, sir," before finally closing the door.
An officer in uniform, wearing belt and sword, en-
tered the room, closed his heels, and saluted.
"Sorry to worry you, sir. My name is Lepean."
"That's all right. What is it?" Preece tried to keep
a note of impatience from creeping into his voice.
It appeared that Lepean suffered from a form of
nasal catarrh. The condition was chronic. Major
Saunders, Preece's predecessor, had given him some
stuff to inhale.


4 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Preece looked attentively at the speaker. Lepean
was not a typical specimen of a subaltern in a line regi-
ment. His mother, Preece learned at a later date,
had been Italian. The dark face, with its habitually
sanguine expression, bold eyes, and full curved lips,
was vaguely repellent—not perhaps to some, even to
many, women. His figure was badly proportioned: the
legs too short, the thighs round and clumsy; but the
neck and shoulders were magnificent.
Preece examined his patient's nose and throat,
asked a few questions, and wrote a prescription for a
nasal douche. He waited for the medicine to be made
up, inwardly fuming at the delay. The light of the late
March afternoon was beginning to fade.
"You've only just come here, sir?" the subaltern
inquired politely.
"Yes, from Bath. Good station, that!"
"But you are close to town here. That's an ad-
vantage."
"Not much use to me," Preece replied.
"Then, of course, there is the famous Greenhithe
Common," returned Lepean with a grin.
"Why famous?"
"Famous for flappers. You know the story of the
Greenhithe flapper who asked her aunt if girls could
have a baby?"
Preece shook his head.


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE 5
"'Yes,' replied her aunt. 'Oh! the damned Harl'
screamed the flapper, and burst into tears."
Preece smiled perfunctorily. He was watching the
other's face with professional interest. Lepean's
cheeks had flushed a dull red colour, the eyelids
drooped; while the mouth had become markedly
humid, the corners slightly turned down.
"The fellow's a genuine satyr, I believe," he
thought, "and where the devil have I seen him be-
fore?"
"Ah!" murmured Lepean, his attention caught by
the desolate figure marching, countermarching, and
turning in the barrack square, "there's my old friend,
Private Swansdick." He gave a chuckle of satisfac-
tion. "I got the beggar that."
"Really? What was his—er—crime?"
"Failing to salute me. Second time he's done it.
Absolutely deliberate. I was in mufti, but he is an
ornament of my own platoon, so the Skipper ran him
up before the C. O."
"Unfix—b'ynets."
The pack drill was over and Private Swansdick's
dejected figure disappeared into the guard room.
Major Preece moved toward the door.
"I must be going," he apologized.
The staff sergeant entered, switching on the electric
light, and handed a bottle to Lepean.


6 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Thank you, sir. Good-afternoon."
"'Afternoon. Let me know how you get on."
Preece walked over to the chair in front of his
desk and sat down. "All right, Chudleigh, you can
go." The staff sergeant withdrew, speculating gloom-
ily upon the inconsistencies of the officer class.
Here was the major half an hour ago apparently
fuming to get away, and now ... he gave it up.
As Lepean had turned and walked out of the door
Preece had remembered. It was unmistakable—that
peculiar walk, the feet clumsily put down, the swag-
gering, overconfident roll of the body—he had only
seen it once, in a dimly lit hotel corridor, but he could
not be mistaken. Major Preece gazed with unseeing
eyes at the desk in front of him while his thoughts
ranged backward.
******
Hugh Preece had been a somewhat serious young
man fifteen years ago when, at the end of six years'
hard work at Cambridge and St. Jerome's Hospital,
he had passed his final medical examination and joined
the Royal Army Medical Corps. After a six months'
course in the military side of his duties at Aldershot
he had been posted, to his disgust, for duty at the
large military hospital at Vauxhall. He had, except
during the period of his medical studies, always lived


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE 7
in the country and loved country pursuits. London
had no attractions to offer him.
At the age of twenty-five Preece had never had a
serious love affair. A few flirtations there had been,
and, inevitably, a few temporary connections of a
more intimate character. It was, therefore, with a
feeling of exasperated dismay that Preece realized,
as he walked homeward along the Embankment, the
only explanation of his seventh visit in a fortnight to
the puerile musical comedy at the Vanity Theatre
must be his interest in a girl playing one of the minor
parts.
Happily, she was on the stage most of the time,
though with little to do. Preece had watched her ab-
sorbedly. In a sense Prunella Lake was ten years
or more in advance of her time. Her type—small
chiselled features, pale skin, and slim boyish figure—
was to become fashionable in the post-war period. She
had even cut her dark sleek hair short, thus antici-
pating the "Eton crop" by twelve years.
"How the deuce to meet her?" Preece had won-
dered. Meet her he must; yet he detested the obvious
course of sending round his card. His fastidiousness
revolted at the idea of employing that banal and
vulgar device. The very next night—a Sunday—by a
most extraordinary stroke of luck, they had met.
Preece had been attending the wife of a corporal of


8 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
horse. After bidding farewell to the grateful cor.
poral—he was married "off the strength" and had no
official claim to medical attendance for his wife—
Preece had decided to walk back to his quarters. He
had only a general sense of direction to guide him.
Presently he debouched on a long straight road. The
rows of houses consisted of two-storied flats inhabited
by clerks and the lesser professional class. Preece, in
his rare excursions in relief of what he ruefully owned
was an almost overpowering physical urge, had visited
similar flats in the neighbourhood of King's Cross.
A hansom cab jingled down the empty street and
stopped on the opposite side of the road near a lamp
post. A slim, dark-coated figure jumped out.
"'Ere! Wot the bloody 'ell's this?"
The slim figure had run up the garden path and
now stood in the shadow of the porch.
"Nah, then, miss! This ain't enuff fur 'arf-pas' one
in the bloody mornin'!"
No reply. The sound of a key being hurriedly
pushed into a lock.
"'Ere! You bilkin' little b !" The cabman
began to scramble off his elevated perch. A faint
scream came from the direction of the porch. Preece
decided it was time for him to interfere. He crossed
the road.


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE 9
"Now then, cabby," he said as the man landed on
the pavement, "what's the matter?"
The figure in the porch advanced halfway down the
path. "I gave him half a crown from Waterloo. Surely
that's enough?"
Preece stared. He could see her small face clearly
in the lamplight. Prunella Lake, beyond doubt. He
turned to the cabman, a big burly fellow now dis-
tinctly inclined to be aggressive. Preece thought
quickly. It would be the devil to have a row with the
cabman. Besides, the man looked a fairly tough cus-
tomer. He took a sovereign from his pocket, and hold-
ing it so that the cabman could see it, but the girl
could not, he spoke sharply.
"Now, cabby, clear outl That's enough, or I'll
knock you down." The threat was accompanied by a
broad wink in the direction of his palm.
"'Ere! 'Ere! 'Ere!" The cabman had begun on a
rising note of surprised indignation.
Preece had quietly passed the sovereign into his
hand, whispering, "Here, you ass ! Take the quid and
buzz off. Can't you see I want to know the lady?"
"Ow, I seel" Comprehension dawned on the cab-
man's face. With a Cockney's adroitness, he played
up: "Don't go fer to 'it me," he whined, "no 'arm
meant, lidy." He swung himself up to his box with a


io THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
final subdued chuckle and a "Good-night, Carpong-
tiairel"
"Not war, perhaps, but how sublime 1" Preece
quoted to himself, as he turned toward the girl.
"Thank you so much." Her voice was low and
held thrilling tones. "Won't you come in for a few
minutes?"
He remembered every second of that first meet-
ing. Her gurgle of amusement when he had crashed
into the umbrella stand in the dark passage, and how
she had caught his hand to avert a similar catastrophe
on the landing. They had sat in the small untidy par-
lour with its astonishing collection of photographs,
each one boldly autographed, "Yours always, Doug-
las Wallace," "Ever thine, Gypsy Bell," and even
"Toujours a Toi, Marguerite de Passon." They
talked in low murmurs "so as not to disturb Mother."
In the little hall again, her pale moth's face lifted to
his, his lips closed, gently, tenderly, on hers. He was
outside, swinging along at a tremendous pace, his
nostrils still carrying the faint, intoxicating scent of
wood violets, violently, deliriously happy, deeply in
love.
Preece stirred uneasily in his chair and, taking out
his case, lit a cigarette. He had been in love with
Prunella, hadn't he? He supposed so. His first
genuine love affair! A slightly bitter smile twisted his


12 THE MEDBURY PORT MURDER
glance from other visitors. Preece felt that pleasing
sense of masculine assurance lent by the knowledge
of being in the company of a supremely desirable
woman in a public place. Her sleek head with its
clean, severe lines contrasted favourably with the
fussy chevelure of the time.
Prunella glowed happily at him across the white
tablecloth, with its pink-shaded lamps. The wine was
champagne. It had seemed to melt that core of
hardness, of inhumanity almost, which Preece dis-
cerned lay ultimately behind Prunella's every action.
His hand touched hers beneath the tablecloth.
"Prunella!"
"Hugh!" Her mouth shaped itself deliciously, in
pronouncing his name, into a sort of O.
"You're smiling—why?" he asked. That inscru-
table smile of hersl How often had he asked him-
self what it meant! A Mona Lisa smile, indeed!
Major Preece impatiently ground the stub of his
half-consumed cigarette into an ash tray. The action
recalled another incident of that autumn night of
—by Jove!—nearly sixteen years ago. Prunella was
twenty at that time, though with characteristic fore-
thought she had already officially advanced the date
of her birth by two years. He knew, happened to
know, because her mother—a nice, homely little
woman—had artlessly informed him. Mrs. Lake


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE 13
normally kept in the background when any of Pru-
nella's young men called for her, but on one occasion
she had opened the door to Hugh. Nervously wiping
her hands on a linen apron, she had asked him in, and
to Hugh's surprise followed him into the little stale-
smelling front parlour. He remembered he had felt
ridiculously embarrassed when he had turned around
to find this thin, faded, untidy-looking little woman
with the diffident manner of one unaccustomed to
social situations regarding him from a pair of shrewd
light-blue eyes. He had wondered, vaguely, if she was
going to ask him "his intentions."
"Honourable but remote,"he thought, with nervous
flippancy, would be the correct reply. Perhaps she
would demand whether he was in a position to sup-
port a wife. He could think of no better answer than
that he would have no objection to his wife support-
ing him. He knew very well that Prunella would
never marry him, for he saw, with distressing clarity,
that Prunella's heart would never sway her head.
To his amazement, as he listened to Prunella's
mother, he found that she was gently and tactfully
telling him what he already knew: that her daughter
would not marry a poor man.
Mrs. Lake in her quiet voice, still—after forty-one
years in a London suburb—with traces of a Dorset
burr—plunged into biographical details.


i4 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Prunella, it appeared, had always been a good
girl, but it became increasingly apparent, as her
mother's recital continued, she had never captured her
mother's heart. Syd, Prunella's only brother and
elder by two years, had done that.
The little woman at last had broken off her mono-
logue to ask anxiously: "You think I'm being unfair to
my own daughter, Mr. Preece?"
Preece disclaimed the suggestion by a gesture which
he felt lacked the robustness of complete conviction.
"She's been a good girl—none better. Never a mo-
ment's fuss or worry with her, and she on the stage and
all, if you follow me, but," Mrs. Lake paused, glanced
round, and picking up a Nottingham lace antimacas-
sar from the back of a plush armchair, made for the
door. Speaking over her shoulder with the door held
ajar, she had completed her sentence, "she's always
looked after herself, sir; don't forget that. She's
Number One all the time. I liked the looks of you.
You're not the sort of silly young 'masher' she gen-
erally has running after her. So you look out! She's a
deep one, is Prue—but—selfish, you know." With a
nod and a glint she had gone. Preece never remem-
bered seeing her again. She was right, though. He had
always known it. Mrs. Lake's confidence merely con-
firmed his own estimate of Prunella's character. He
knew it still; and yet, he reflected grimly, he supposed


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE 15
he loved her—had loved her, certainly . . . still
loved her? Perhaps. Astounding! Never had he been
able to define the peculiar attraction Prunella cast
over him. He saw her steadily, dispassionately, knew
her to be bone-selfish, a skilled exploiter of her own
personality. With her, he was completely at his ease;
they fitted in together. They were made for each
other, he told himself. He understood her, and com-
prehending all, loved her.
With a slightly sardonic smile Major Preece
sighed, abruptly flicking some cigarette ash off his
tunic. His thoughts returned to that last evening with
Prunella before he had sailed for West Africa. They
had had a box at Covent Garden for the Russian
Ballet, whose exotic decor then was thrilling artistic
London for the first time. The speed, precision, and
incredible gusto of the performance excited Prunella's
profound respect. During the Danse Bacchanale
Hugh felt Prunella's thin body pressed toward his
own as the tense, vivid music closed in a crescendo
of pagan violence.
The last scene, Scheherazade, with its mixture of
Oriental passion and cruelty, its riot of colour, and
haunting, insistent rhythms, seemed to have drained
Prunella of her own abundant vitality.
"Let's go home, Hugh," she whispered, when he
would have urged her to have supper at the Savoy.


16 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Passing, in their swaying hansom, through the
dimly lit suburban streets, they had hardly spoken,
nor did she lift her head from his shoulder when the
cab stopped at the little darkened house in the drab
street where she lived.
"We're here, darling," he whispered. She stirred
softly in his arms, holding up her face, like a child,
to be kissed.
Hugh had given the cabman a whacking tip for his
tactfulness in not spying through the trapdoor in the
roof of the hansom.
Inside, Prunella had lit the inverted incandescent
gas burner in the front parlour. She had thrown off
her cloak and was curled up on an uninviting piece of
furniture named, presumably, after the platitudinous
author of Letters to My Son. The air in the room
smelled stale and chilly.
"Give me a cigarette, Hugh," she had murmured.
For a woman to smoke was still considered, in bour-
geois circles, a little "fast." Prunella had a natural
flair for the aristocratic gesture.
Preece, throwing a cushion upon the floor, sat
down, his head upon her lap. He felt a sudden wave
of sick depression as he realized he would not see her
again for over a year. He took her hand, pressing
the soft palm over his mouth and nose in a vain
attempt to fill his whole being with her fragrance,


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE
so that, during his year of exile, he would ever hold
the faint perfume of her body in his nostrils.
"Prunella," his voice was stifled, "I simply can't
leave you—like this. . . ."
"You mean," she had exclaimed in a voice which
had made him look closely at her—her face and neck
had crimsoned—"you mean . . . Hugh, you forget
. . . Mother's upstairs. Besides, I couldn't do that—
ever—even for you."
For an amazed second Preece had stared into her
eyes, then he laughed shortly. "Wouldn't you—
ever?"
Again a crimson tide had swept her neck and
shoulders.
"Hugh . . . I . . . perhaps, when you come
back."
His heart made a curious little jump—a last leap
of freedom, he had supposed. She had misunderstood
him.
"Promise to marry me," he murmured. It was then
she had leaned forward to press the stub of her cigar-
ette into an ash tray. There was a certain air of finality
in the gesture which had sent a chill of fear through
him, but her voice, when it came in reply, was liquid.
"Dear Hugh, we mustn't be rash."
"You will never do anything rash, Prunella," he
had returned sombrely.


18 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
It was two in the morning before he took his leave.
The poignancy of their actual parting stirred him
faintly even now. She had clung to him, at the last,
desperately loath to let him go. In the end he had
gently unlaced her arms from about his neck and car-
ried her to the sofa, and then he had left her, her tear-
stained face turned to the ceiling, her eyes black with
misery. They were both very young, and when you
are very young a year seems eternity. And rightly,
Major Preece reflected, time is most precious to the
young—if they only knew it. Prunella knew it. With
a rare instinct that now, in the first flush of her
young womanhood, were the golden moments, she
savoured each to the full.
Preece recalled the miserable incidents of his de-
parture the next day, or rather, the same day on
which he had said farewell to Prunella. A raw, gray
October morning. A thin rain from low scudding
clouds drove relentlessly across the dull flat plough-
lands of the Midlands, "which are sodden and un-
kind," as the train to Liverpool tore smoothly on its
way.
He roused himself from a dumb stupor of despair
as the train clanked and bumped over the points and
like a rusty serpent wound an intricate path through
wharves and sheds until it drew up by the West


MAJOR PREECE'S ROMANCE 19
African mail ship lying alongside the Prince's landing
stage.
It was certainly not a setting, Preece recollected
with an inward chuckle, calculated to dissipate the
despondency of a love-sick young man.
The ship, the Titnmannee, was little more than
two thousand tons' displacement; she looked dirty.
As the passengers streamed from the train and across
the gangway of the ship Preece took stock of them.
They looked a singularly unprepossessing lot, he
thought. There were only half a dozen women among
the eighty-odd passengers. "Odd" was the wordl
In the crowded saloon Preece had found a tele-
gram: "Love and good luck, Prunella." He crushed
the flimsy paper in his hand. Leaning over the ship's
side, gazing with stony eyes over the gray river to-
ward the slowly receding shore, he could almost have
wished she had sent no farewell message. It had been
so hard to leave her. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."
He grinned at the bathos of it, yet it was true. He
had, by some queer masochistic twist of his nature,
positively enjoyed the ineffable pain of parting. Now
this telegram in his hand forced him to face the
reality; it was the last personal link between them for
a year. Letters? Yes, but Prunella was an indifferent
and dilatory correspondent. She had always displayed
a reluctance to use the written word. This telegram


2o THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
in his hand probably represented the high-water mark
of her ability for literary self-expression.
Preece opened his hand and allowed the crumpled
flimsy to fall slowly into the dirty waters of the Mer-
sey. That was that. He would write to her, but he
would glean nothing from her replies. He would have
to guess, to read between the lines. There would be
devilish few lines to read between!
The Timmanee, nosing her way into the Irish Sea,
met a strong sou'-wester and a cross sea. Preece had
sought his cabin—a wretched three-berth one, haunted
by an unpleasant musty odour. It was some days
before Preece discovered the significance of this
peculiar smell—bedbugs. Thereafter he slept upon
the deck.
His cabin mate, a morose doctor in the West Afri-
can Colonial Service, discouraged any attempt at
friendliness. The voyage was one of increasing weari-
ness and monotony. Everyone seemed to be sunk in
gloom at the prospect of returning to West Africa;
the panacea approved by the majority appeared to be
alcohol in one form or another. Even this cure did
not work too successfully.
At Las Palmas Preece went ashore with a little
trader also on his way to Senegalia. "I'm in oil," he
explained, "up country. Go about all over the place
buying the kernels from the chiefs and send 'em down


MAJOR PREECE"S ROMANCE 2i
to Port Hammo by rail. Never see a white man 'cept
a D. C. now and then. Hell of a life!" He glanced at
Preece from little red-rimmed eyes: "'Palm-oil
ruffians', they call us on the Coast, an' we do all the
trade there is in the blarsted country."
He was quite a decent little man, really. " 'Mara-
mie palaver,' that's the trouble over there," he ad-
vised his companion, clutching his arm confidentially
as they strolled up the shady narrow streets of Las
Palmas. "Black Satin, eh? Don't you 'ave nothing to
do with 'em, though, young feller. It's degradin',
that's what it is. 'Tain't natural, neither. It's difficult,
though," he vented a brief sigh, "in the long hot
nights. . . . Way up in a Bush village, and you lying
sweating in a long chair an' a drum throbbing; you
don't know whether it's in your head or outside, an'
the chief only too willing to give you the pick of the
village for another penny a cord on his kernels. My!
But you're sorry when you comes back there next year
and sees a lemon-coloured brat sprawling in the dust
and chickens outside the chief's hut. But it's easier for
you. It's the coming back time after time. Eighteen
months out, four at 'ome. Don't give you a chance to
marry decent at 'ome; 'course the gov'ment officials
hates us. Says we lowers the prestige of the white
man. Ah! They don't 'ave to go to some of the
places we go, an' they only does a year out at a time,


CHAPTER II
A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE
Preece could not sleep. At two o'clock in the morn-
ing he had fallen into an uneasy doze. Stretching a
cautious hand under the mosquito net, his fingers
closed upon the box of matches on the chair by his
bedside. Raising himself on one elbow, he struck a
match and looked at his watch.
It was four o'clock. He decided to read for an
hour; then, perhaps, in the cool breeze that always
arose half an hour before dawn, he would fall asleep
again. He crept carefully out from under the mos-
quito net, closing it quickly again, and gingerly groped
with his toe for his bedroom slippers; then he struck
another match, shuffled across to a hurricane lamp
which stood on a small table, and lit it. It was inad-
visable to dash at things in this country, he had
learned. One night, leaping incautiously out of bed
in the dark, he had trodden on a centipede. He had
drawn his foot back so swiftly that the large insect—
over eight inches long—had not had time to sink its
poison-injecting legs into his bare foot. In his first
23


24 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
week at the Bush outpost station of Sakene he had
picked up a jigger—a filthy little insect that burrows
under the toenails, causing a painful sore—the result
of walking with bare feet on the mud floor of his
hut. Other creatures, deadlier than centipedes, some-
times wriggled on lithe bellies across the hut. It did
not do to put one's bare foot upon the floor in the
dark.
Preece turned up the lamp, lit a cigarette, and
strolled to the doorway. It is impossible to see out of
the windows of a West African native hut—unless
you are sitting in a low chair—because the thatch
of the roof extends to within three feet of the ground.
At the entrance the thatch is cut back so that without
stooping it is possible to look out.
The outpost station of Sakene, comprising one com-
pany of the West African Rifles, was situated on a
flat, dusty, treeless plateau on the top of a steep
escarpment overlooking the dense jungle country of
the Mongola Valley, across which, fifty miles away,
the great purple mountains of French Equatorial
Africa reared their dark heads.
The men's lines were on that side of the wide
parade ground farthest from the escarpment; the
officers' huts were on the opposite side of the parade
ground.
A few steps from the door of the hut which Preece


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 25
occupied the escarpment fell away in a bare line of
red-faced cliff to the brown waters of the Mongola
River, some eight hundred feet below. Preece remem-
bered vividly his first view over the valley of the Mon-
gola.
From the headquarters station at Sene he had trav-
elled by launch up the Rene River to Port Hammo.
They had started just as dawn was breaking and
the mist hung thick on the water. All day long the
panting launch, piloted by a huge Creole, had pushed
a sinuous path along the narrowing river. Once they
had stuck for half an hour on a mudbank. It was
then, whilst they were waiting for the tide to float
them off again and the native passengers in the stern,
overcome by the midday heat, slept, that Preece had
first experienced the mysterious hush of the West
African bush. It is a quiet so profound that the ear
strains anxiously for any noise, however slight, to
shatter that pool of glassy silence; and the mind
moves uneasily, vaguely conscious of vibrations too
high or too low for the human ear.
From Port Hammo a four days' march brought
him to Sakene. Senegalia is within the tsetse fly belt;
no ponies can live there.
The route from Port Hammo was through thick
bush. After a few miles it became extraordinarily
monotonous. On either side of the narrow bush path


26 THE MEDBURY PORT MURDER
elephant grass grew to the height of eight or ten feet.
From half-past ten in the morning till three in the
afternoon it was impossible to march. The narrow
path between the high grass and shrub formed a veri-
table sun-trap.
The heat during the two hours before and after
midday was terrific. Preece and his string of carriers
would halt in a village, or in a clearing where some
cotton trees lent a grateful shade. After a light lunch
Preece would doze in a long chair while the carriers
and the native escort chattered unceasingly. No ac-
tivities, save those of the gaily painted butterflies,
disturbed the tranquillity of those slow hours.
With the rashness of inexperience, Preece had
marched most of the way instead of using his ham-
mock, so that by the fourth day he was done up,
felt he had a touch of the sun, and was forced to cover
the whole of the last fifteen miles in a hammock.
Tumbling out at last cramped and weary from the
incessant jolt and sway of the hammock, he had
been confronted with the magnificent sweep of the
Mongola Valley. For magnificent it was, "quivering
beneath the noon's intenser ray," or silver and black
under the pale moon. Often, when he was sleeping
badly, he would watch a tornado passing across the
great plain. The panorama would blink, shiver, grow
dazzling white, and vanish utterly.


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 27
As he stood at the door of his hut a tiny little cool
breeze stirred the hair, clammy with sweat, on his
brow. Preece shivered and turned to select a book
from a shelf nailed upon the wall of the inside drum of
the hut. He had forgotten to bring his lamp with him.
He drew hard upon his cigarette, the tiny red glow
swelled till a faint lurid incandescence lit up his mouth,
nose, and chin. He thrust his face, with the cigarette
between his lips, toward the spot where the bookshelf
should have been. He found himself looking straight
into a pair of fierce staring eyes. He recoiled sharply
and his heart missed a beat. Then he laughed, a high
thin cackle. The sound of his own laughter, with its
hysterical note, steadied him.
"By Godl" he murmured aloud, "I'm in a rotten
state. Must be going off it! Have I a temperature?"
He felt his own pulse. "No. Hm! A trick of the
light." He brought the hurricane lamp, and, holding
it up, examined the photograph of Prunella where it
hung on the wall beside the bookshelf. It was a bro-
mide enlargement from a snapshot he had taken
himself. He had liked it. It was so characteristic of
Prunella—that straight, direct look. True, it did not
disguise the fact that her eyeballs were very slightly
protuberant. "Slight exophthalmic goitre, probably
due to adenoids in childhood," Preece murmured
aloud, "but, my dear, you gave me a shock for a


28 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
moment. You looked—Implacable—like an—like—
some fierce Maenad."
With a sigh, he selected a book and, wriggling
neatly through the mosquito net, read until the book
slipped through his fingers and he slept.
******
"No bridge to-night, Doctor, unless you'd like a
game of cutthroat? No? P'raps you're right. How is
our noble C. O. to-night?"
"Quite all right. It's just an ordinary 'go' of malig-
nant."
"You're the outside edge, as we say at Holland
Park Roller Skating Rink," returned the first speaker,
Parsons, the senior of the two subalterns at Sakene,
"with your 'benign' and 'malignant' malaria. If the
patient kicks the bucket you call it 'benign,' and if he
gets over it till the next 'go,' it's 'malignant,' eh?"
"That's about it," admitted Preece wryly. "The
'benign' variety is not recurrent, if you get over it,
that's all. The 'malignant,' though rarely fatal, is
recurrent, hence . . ."
"So now you know, young'f eller, when you get your
first dose of fever you may die a victim of 'benign,' but
never of 'malignant.' Such a comfort to know that!"
The subaltern to whom Parsons had addressed his
last remark was by some years the junior of the three
men present. Victor Wape, like most soldiers who


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 29
volunteer for service in West Africa, had been actu-
ated by the lure of adventure not unmixed with a
desire for the increased pay and generous leave
accorded to those serving in a West African station.
Preece liked the boy. He was only twenty-one years
old, though he looked more. He had a natural healthy
pallor which was accentuated by his jet-black hair and
dark eyes. When Wape had first arrived at Sakene
Preece had scanned him anxiously, fearing that his
unusually pale face was a symptom of pernicious
ansemia. In actual fact, Victor Wape had an extremely
wiry and resilient constitution. He had already been
five months at the outpost station without a single
"go" of fever—no mean achievement.
It was the "small chop" hour, the half-hour before
dinner when, according to the universal custom in
West Africa, shqrt drinks and hors d'ceuvres are con-
sumed.
"I say," Parsons continued, "about time we got up
our next consignment of stores. These stuffed olives
seem to be getting a bit tired; but let us praise the
name of Mr. Heinz and his fifty-seven varieties.
Curse the fellow! He must make a fortune out of us
blokes!"
"Yes," Preece agreed, "there's no doubt Mr.
Heinz's spicy titbits do stimulate the jaded appe-
tite."


3o THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Coo-er! you spoke a mouthful, Doctor! Spill it
again!" Parsons exclaimed.
"Tell him in words of one syllable, Doctor," urged
Wape.
Preece felt a surge of acute irritation. That chap
Parsons's funny-at-all-costs type became a bit trying
after six solid months of it. He sipped his gin and ver-
mouth without replying.
"Boy!"
"Sah," a voice replied from the dimly lit veranda
of the mess hut.
"Play de gramopone—de—er record I done show
you," he commanded in the vile pidgin English which
is the lingua franca of the West Coast.
The gramophone began to disgorge a selection
from the musical comedy, "Love in a Mist."
"How the devil did you teach him to put on the
right record?" Wape asked.
"Put a lump of sealing wax on it."
Preece listened absent-mindedly to the familiar
trivial tunes. That was her duet now:
"All I want is to be with you,
Hold your hand and sometimes kiss you . . ."
"Jolly good!" Parsons applauded when the record
had wheezed to its inevitable conclusion in a coda
entirely devoid of either tune or harmony. "Good


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 31
show, that! I've seen it six times. Come on," he con-
tinued, "let's go and 'chop.'"
Round the two hurricane lamps suspended from
the roof of the mess hut a swarm of varied insects
whirred in unceasing movement.
Preece studied the menu written out in Wape's
neat handwriting:
Ground Nut Soup,
Asperges en Beurre,
Beef a la Fray Bentos,
Pau-pau,
Potatoes,
Sardines on Toast,
Cafe.
"Very good, Victor me lad," he murmured, "a bit
tinny, though."
"Can't help it. No- one's shot anything since the
C. O.'s been sick."
"Wape, old lad," said Parsons from the head of
the table, "I feel distinctly mouldy to-night. Any of
that Perrier Jouet left?"
"One bottle."
"Then let's have it. Buck us all up, what!"
"The nuisance of the Tropics is
The sheer necessity of 'fizz,'"


32 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Preece quoted, removing three flying ants, a small
beetle, and a sausage fly from his soup.
"This most expensive kind of wine
In England is a matter
Of pride or habit when you dine."
"Presumably the latter," Wape continued.
"Beneath an equatorial sky,
You must consume it—
Or you die!"
Preece finished, smiling across at Wape's rather
saturnine countenance.
Parsons gave a cackle of laughter: "That's good!
Very true, too. Here's to your bright eyes !" He raised
his glass filled with the frothing golden wine and
drank. "Hm! We ought to have cooled it in a water
bag. Gods! It's hot to-night!" he went on. "Excuse
me, chaps, but seeing the noble captain is not here,
I'm going to sit in me shirt." He pulled off his white
Eton mess jacket, undid his tie, loosened the neck of
his soft white shirt, and rolled up the sleeves.
"Comfort before conventionality, I agree," re-
plied Preece, as he followed Parsons's example.
Only Wape, a stickler for what was correct, re-
mained properly dressed in the regulation mess kit


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 33
for the W. A. Rifles: white mess jacket, soft shirt,
black tie and low collar, silk kummerbund, white
tennis trousers, and soft suede mosquito boots.
After dinner they dropped again into their long
chairs, smoked cigarettes, talked desultorily, watch-
ing the distant wavering flicker of lightning. They
were all affected by the mental and physical slackness
which the West Coast imposes upon the most
energetic after a few months' sojourn.
"What is it?" said Parsons sharply. The figure of
a black soldier had appeared by his side.
"Court messenger lib, sah? Get book, sah."
"Bring 'urn. What the hell's this?" he added to
Preece and Wape. "That confounded assistant D. C.
at Makompe, I expect."
A Negro in the picturesque uniform of a court mes-
senger—red fez, blue zouave jacket, baggy white
trousers clipped at the ankle—stepped forward,
saluted stiffly, and held out an official-looking missive.
"Boy, bring lamp," Parsons shouted, as he tore
open the envelope. "As I thought, Chisholme thinks
there's going to be a row at Makompe—some dispute
between two chiefs—and wants a half company there
at once. Dash the fellow! Wape, you'll have to go.
Let's see, it's fifteen miles. You'd better start at mid-
night, then you ought to get there by daybreak. Get
busy, old boy, will you ? I'll go and tell the C. O."


34 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"How long will they be away?" Preece asked.
"Oh! a day or two. Chisholme's delivering a judg-
ment to-morrow which he thinks one of the chiefs—
Alimami Soriba—won't like. Chisholme thinks Soriba
may start a 'palaver,' so he wants some soldiers over
in case."
"I'd like to go with Wape. Make a change. I'll
stroll over with you and ask the C. O. if he minds."
A late three-quarter moon was rising, throwing
fantastic shadows across the bush path as the long
column filed off the dusty parade ground. Wape and
Preece marched at the head of the column save for
two files of native soldiers as a "point." For the most
part they walked in silence. The country was com-
paratively open and Preece walked in a sort of dream,
intoxicated by the weird and unnatural beauty of the
night. They halted once for half an hour under a
group of tall cocoanut palms on the slope of a hill.
Wape, Preece, and the white colour sergeant smoked
a cigarette. Some of the carriers swarmed up the
trees, presently to send the nuts crashing to the
ground. In the scramble that followed, Preece's
"boy," grinning delightedly, secured a nut; skillfully
hacking off the tough outside fibre with a machete, he
pierced a hole in the shell and presented it to his
master. Preece put his lips to the hole and drank; the
juice was cool and sweet.


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 35
The column arrived at Makompe just before dawn.
The Assistant D. C. in pajamas, looking pale and
harassed, greeted them with fervour.
"I've got to give this judgment against Soriba,
though I know it's a damn shame. No evidence—can't
be helped. He'll be furious. He's quite a youngster
and a bit hot-headed; moreover, nearly all the men
in his chiefdom have come over to hear the trial and
they hate old Alimami Momo Mendi like poison.
So I thought there might be a row, but it'll be all right
now you're here."
They were sitting at breakfast on the cool wide
veranda of the chief's best hut. Preece, pouring some
more Worcester Sauce into the avocado pear he was
eating, asked: "What's the row about?"
"Oh, rather an unusually dirty bit of work at the
cross-roads on the part of that damned old scoundrel,
Momo Mendi. It appears the lecherous old beast,
though he must be fifty—a good age for a native—
desired the young sister of Soriba to wife. The kid—
she's only fifteen—had not gone through the 'Bundu
Bush' initiation ceremony, but that could be hurried
on. Well, old man Momo goes over to stay with
Soriba and the usual haggle about price commences.
Soriba stuck out for seven, Momo only wanted to
give five cattle. Finally, after a fortnight's argument,
Momo agrees to give seven cattle and returns home.


36 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Directly he's gone, the girl is shoved through the
'Bundu Bush' palaver, in the course of which it is
discovered she is not a virgin. Momo, of course, at
once cries off the bargain. Soriba, furious, interrogates
the girl, none too gently, I suspect. Under pressure the
girl says that old Momo himself is the villain of
the piece, that, in fact, he seduced her—overcoming
her scruples by pointing out he was going to marry
her anyway—while he was staying with Soriba during
the preliminary bargaining. Personally, I believe her
story, but there's absolutely no evidence. Old Momo
has had his fun and gets away with it. Soriba is foam-
ing because, of course, the girl's value is now prac-
tically nothing."
At ten o'clock the court assembled in the chief's
compound. The Assistant D. C. presided. A chair had
been placed for him in the doorway of the chief's hut
out of the glare of the sun, whose rays already fell
almost perpendicularly upon the dusty red earth of
the compound. Seats for Preece and Wape had been
placed on either side of that reserved for the Assist-
ant D. C.
At the foot of the steps leading from the hut, one
on either side, sat the rival chiefs, behind whom
squatted the men of their respective chiefdoms. Be-
tween the two camps, dividing them, a tall court
messenger strode up and down. At the far end of the


38 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
sternness of his expression as he settled himself in his
chair. After the disposal of a few minor cases, the
Assistant D. C. announced, through the interpreter,
that he would now deliver judgment in the dispute
between Alimami Soriba and Alimami Momo Mendi.
"Why doesn't Chisholme speak their lingo ?" Wape
whispered to Preece. Chisholme overheard the re-
mark and replied to it himself.
"Give us a chance! There are no less than twenty-
seven separate languages in the colony. I speak
Timmannee, Fulah, and Bullom. Those blokes both
belong to quite small tribes, actually in the Paramount
Chiefdom of Timmannee, but the two languages are
quite distinct from each other and from Timmannee."
Both the chiefs had risen to their feet to hear the
judgment.
For a few minutes Chisholme sat with his eyes fixed
thoughtfully upon them. Then he made up his mind.
He would give judgment in favour of Soriba. As he
scanned the furtive eyes and lascivious, slobbery lips
of the grizzled old Negro, he thought: "That dirty
old swine Momo will have to stick to his bargain. The
girl's story is true."
The interpreter finished translating. Momo
Mendi's face had turned a strange grayish hue. Soriba
spoke volubly for a few minutes. He was a tall, digni-


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 39
fied-looking man, of a not prominently Negroid cast
of feature.
"What's he say?" Chisholme demanded.
"Say plenty—remarkable fine judgment, sah. Say
you plenty best intentioned judge, sah."
"Ask Momo Mendi if he wishes to say anything,"
Chisholme directed. "It will go off quite peaceably,"
he added in an undertone to Wape. "I'll make Soriba
clear straight out to his own village."
"Alimami Momo Mendi, sah, ask whether that
you final . . . you irrevocable judgment, sah?"
"Tell him, 'yes.'"
The chief nodded slowly. "Now then, we must get
'em away," said Chisholme, turning nervously to
Wape.
What happened next happened with appalling
swiftness. One moment Soriba faced them, tall, up-
right, smiling; the next, his head leaped from his
shoulders and fell to the ground with a kind of
abominable squelching thud; the trunk, spouting
blood, swayed and crashed earthward.
Again the great machete flashed in the sun as the
berserk Negro launched himself straight at Chis-
holme. There was a sharp explosion, a yellow tongue
of flame spurted, and the bloody sword clanged as it
struck the ground, the white-robed figure spun round


40 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
and collapsed into a heap that writhed and then lay
still.
From the revolver in Wape's hand floated a puff of
blue smoke, the acrid, pungent smell of burned cordite
filled the air.
The colour sergeant, holding his rifle at the ready,
walked slowly toward the two still heaps and the
slowly spreading pools of red.
******
The O. C. at Sakene, muffled in a coat "British
Warm"—for he still had a touch of fever on him—
glanced keenly at Preece. "I'm damn glad you were
there, Preece. Of course, Wape will get off—be com-
mended, in fact, for his promptness and presence of
mind—but it's just as well you were there."
"He'll have to be tried, of course?"
"Yes, I believe the governor could dispense with a
trial as the events took place in the protectorate, not
the colony, but he won't. Bad principle."
"Well, it's as clear a case of justifiable homicide
as it's possible to imagine."
"Quite. What beats me is, how did Wape manage
to be so devilish quick on the trigger?"
"I asked him that. He said he was watching the
old devil and half expected something of the sort
to happen."
"Pity he wasn't a bit quicker. He might have saved.


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE
Soriba—a good lad, that. I was shooting hippo in his
country a fortnight ago."
"Funny thing!" Preece leaned forward, dropping
his voice. "Funny thing is, you'd have thought any-
body would have been a bit—upset—killing a man,
after all. Wape wasn't a scrap. Told me he was damn
glad he had the chance to plug Momo. It appears
the fact that Momo had seduced Soriba's sister sort
of 'got' Wape. Touched him up. He told me he
imagined someone playing the same game on his own
kiddy sister. . . ."
"H'm ! Well, he did the old scoundrel in all right."
******
Three months later Preece watched what has been
called the most lovely view in the world, the harbour
of Senegalia, receding in the distance, from the stern
of a ship homeward bound.
As the mountains faded and merged into the banks
of cumulous clouds on the southern horizon, he turned
away, drawing a letter from his pocket. It was in
Prunella's careful, rather childish handwriting. He
read it for the twentieth time:
My dear Boy [it ran]:
/ am so glad to hear you are coming home again
soon. What a nasty time you must have had over


42 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
that wretched trial business. It all sounds too
dreadful and barbaric.
I am awfully excited because Mr. Cohen has
chosen me for "Christabel" in the No. I Company
of "Love in a Mist" on tour. The tour starts in
three weeks, so I shall be somewhere in the wilds
of Lancashire when you get back.
Mr. Ronan drove me down to Brighton and
back the other day in his Renault car. IVe did it in
under three hours each way! Fancy!
Mr. Ronan is paying me attention, I think!! Hi
wants me to go and stay with his people!
Much love, dear Hugh, so excited about seeing
you soon! Yours
Prunella.
Preece sighed as he folded the letter and put it
carefully back in his pocket. There came a faint
breeze from the hidden coast. For the last time Preece
smelled the musty, heavy odour of West Africa. He
closed his eyes and a picture of the Mongola Valley
formed itself in his mind; he saw the great plain
quivering beneath the sun's noonday heat, felt once
more the hot humid air, the soft languorous hush, the
sense of brooding expectancy as if Nature waited,
transfixed, until the sun's declining rays released her
activities once more.


A WEST AFRICAN INTERLUDE 43
Would he ever gaze across that tangled mass of
bush and forest again? By day, the maddening
reiterated drone of the "cicada"; at night, thunder
and the tremulous, incessant flicker of distant light-
ning.


CHAPTER III
OLD SINS HAVE LONG
SHADOWS
Major Preece glanced at the large kitchen clock
hanging over the fireplace in his office; the hands
stood at ten minutes past five.
With an exclamation of impatience, he sprang to
his feet
What the deuce had possessed him to sink into that
long abstracted brooding over scenes and incidents
long past; incidents which, though they lived in his
memory vividly enough, could have no bearing upon
his present or future? They were finished. Better not
probe too closely into the dead ashes of his first love
affair. It might be that those ashes still contained
embers, whose dying glow might yet be fanned into
fierce flame.
Preece's lips curled into a sardonic smile at his own
lack of ingenuousness, his positively pitiful attempt
at self-deception.
He knew very well what had conjured up the train
44


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 45
of thought that had led his memory back to recall
those happenings of sixteen years ago.
There had been a sequel, a definitely—speaking
quite impartially—degrading and dishonourable
sequel.
He smiled now, though it had been agony at the
time, as he remembered their first meeting on his
return to England.
He had travelled straight through from Plymouth
to Preston, and had arrived at the theatre where
"Love in a Mist" was being played, about nine o'clock.
He stood beneath the dingy Corinthian portico, hesi-
tating with a queer foreboding before approaching
the box office. A thin rain was falling. He heard the,
to him, unfamiliar sound of wooden clogs as some
mill girls hurried past. The street was almost de-
serted. An electric tram lurched clumsily along the
centre of the road. The raw damp struck a chill into
Preece. He shivered and pushed open the swing doors.
In the lobby of the theatre it was warmer. Several
photographs of Prunella stood on a large easel close
to the box office.
A telephone bell rang. Preece could not help over-
hearing one end of the conversation through the thin
walls of the box office.
"Royal Preston speaking. . . ." Pause. "No, she's
doing her quick change in the second act now." Pause.


46 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Very well, sir, I'll see to it. Quite, sir. ... To be
handed up ... at the final curtain. . . . Very good,
sir. Good-bye."
Preece realized in a flash that it had been some
"follower" of Prunella's speaking. He would bet
anything it had been that fellow Ronan and he was
arranging for a bouquet, was he? To be handed up
by the conductor. Vulgar brute! Pots of money, of
course.
Preece set his lips into a tight line and walked out.
Luckily, he had found a florist's shop still open. They
had a poor selection of flowers; but Preece saw exactly
what he wanted: a modest little bunch of wood violets.
They must (for it was late autumn) have been grown
under glass, and were, as a matter of actual fact,
very expensive, but they looked unassuming. He
bought them, hurrying back to the stage door, had
them sent up to Prunella's dressing room with his
card.
From his seat at the back of the stalls, when the
final curtain fell, Preece watched an overwhelming,
exotic bouquet handed up to Prunella.
Tight-lipped, almost sick with apprehension, he
waited for her just beyond the radiance thrown by
the light streaming from the stage door.
At last she came. She was holding the bunch of


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 47
violets. His hand captured hers. Hand-clasped, they
stood in that mean alley outside the stage door of a
provincial theatre without speaking. It was a tranced
moment. Then, if ever, she had loved him.
A breathless dresser came hurrying out, bearing
the colossal bouquet. "You've forgotten this, miss,"
she panted.
Prunella had not taken her eyes from his as she
replied: "Give the blooms to the girls. I don't
want it; take it away."
He had been triumphant. Never had he felt so sure
of her. She had read his parable and answered it with
a splendid gesture. They had feasted on champagne
and oysters, talking in low murmurs, until a yawning
waiter began to switch out the lights. Her lips had
been cool and sweet when they had parted in the
dingy hall of the lodging house.
"I love you, Hugh, I love you," she had whispered.
In the succeeding months Preece had gradually
come to realize, afresh, that Prunella was funda-
mentally—expedient.
She would not risk the experiment of marriage on
a strictly limited income. She believed money is a
solvent that can smooth away all the minor and most
of the major difficulties in this world.
Despising himself, but with the despairing hope of
binding her to him, he had at length asked her to go


48 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
away with him. They were sitting on the lawn of the
Garden Club at the White City Exhibition.
The tour of "Love in a Mist" had come to an end
and Prunella was resting.
"Hugh," she had replied, touching his hand, "do
you mean—give myself to you?"
He nodded miserably.
"Hugh, that wouldn't be fair to—whoever I
marry."
"Marry me, then."
"Hugh, I—" she bit her lip—"I—don't know."
"You don't know if you're going to marry that
damn fellow Ronan or not, I suppose," he returned
bitterly. "Has he asked you yet?"
She did not reply and he went on, "If you marry
that fellow you'll have sold yourself to him. Why not
give yourself to me? It would be more generous."
He had turned and met a cold, implacable stare.
"You have no right to say such things to me," she
said angrily.
They had quarrelled then and parted with vows,
on both sides, never to see each other again.
Three days later he was giving her tea at the Carl-
ton. He could not keep away from her.
In June she was playing in London again, this
time in a revue.
They had spent the last evening in which she would


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 49
be free at Earl's Court. Preece had always preferred
the Earl's Court Exhibition to the blatancy of the
White City; it still, a little pathetically, smacked
of the 'nineties; had even a faint flavour of the mid-
Victorianism inevitably associated with the Crystal
Palace. Its charms were a little faded, one could not
look too closely beneath the tinsel and gold; but its
naivete, its ingenuous effort to amuse, had an appeal
far more powerful than the strident vulgarity and
instruction-combined-with-amusement priggishness of
its rival at Shepherds' Bush. They dined at the Chat
d'Or in Soho and drove down after dinner in one of
the taxicabs that, already, had almost driven the
hansoms off the roads.
Prunella was looking white and tired. The re-
hearsals had been strenuous and the weather was
close and thundery. For some time they watched
hilarious boatloads descending the water chute.
Preece had a peculiar affection for the water chute,
since it was connected with one of his earliest childish
recollections. He amused Prunella by relating how,
with his nurse, he had visited Buffalo Bill's Wild
West Show and then, with much inward trepidation,
had demanded to be taken down the water chute (it
was the first erected in England) and how his nurse
would not come herself, but had handed him over to
the care of an attendant.


50 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
He had sat beside the man in the front seat and
had not let out a single yell, even when, "biff," the
punt hit the water and bounded into the air like a
bucking colt, and the attendant had called him a
"brick" and a "pocket marvel," and had pinned on
his coat the gorgeous blue ticket with the words in
gold, "I have shot the Chute at Boyton's" (how
Boyton's came to be mixed up in the affair he did not
know, then or now, but it was so) and how he was a
hero for days and days to all the other little boys
and girls who either could not persuade their parents
to allow them, or lacked the nerve to "shoot the
Chute."
"You must have been a sweet little boy, Hugh."
"Think so? I was in the 'Little Lord Fauntleroy'
tradition: flaxen curls, pink and white, chubby, com-
plete with velveteen suit and lace collar."
She gurgled: "Oh, I would have loved youl"
"Would you like to have children, Prunella?"
"Ye—es. Oh, yes! After I've had a good time,"
with a provocative glance. She was suddenly full of
animation, vivid, stimulating.
He loved her in this mood; she was so intensely
alive; with a zest, an abandon to the moment as it
flew dissolving the clouds of introspection and vague
fears, of which Preece was so frequently the victim.
They went on the Grand Canyon River. Floating


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 51
slowly along the narrow channel, their punt bumping
from side to side through the dimly lit caves of
painted canvas, he pleaded with her, ashamed, yet
desperate. . .
"Let me give you a child, Prunella."
Unexpectedly she wept. "Don't, don't, Hugh. I'm
so worried. I—can't"
When they stepped out of the punt at the garish
exit she was looking strained and pale.
In the taxi, going home, she had lain quietly in his
arms; he could feel her heart and the tremors that
every now and again shook her slight body.
As he sat there, clasping Prunella closely in his
arms, he knew that he had lost his last throw.
"Don't come in," she had whispered, "I'm so tired,
dear Hugh." She had slipped out of his arms and the
door had closed behind her.
One day, toward the end of June, they had spent
the day on the river at Hampton Court. Suddenly she
had raised herself in his arms, drawn his head to her
and, with a rare gesture of passion, kissed him.
"We must go now," she whispered, "only just time
to get back to the theatre." She had gently freed her-
self from his embrace. "Hugh," she had continued,
"as soon as this show is over, in November, I am
going to be married."
"Yes," Preece had returned, "I thought you were."


52 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
He felt numb. At least the die was cast now; the sus-
pense over. Not that he had ever really hoped to
keep her. "Too . . . expensive for me," he thought
bitterly, "... can't stand the pace." "Who is it?"
he asked aloud.
She displayed, he observed with a certain wry
humour, signs of relief at his calm acceptance of her
abrupt announcement.
"Tremayne Ronan."
"Age?"
"Oh, quite young, Hugh; and rather serious-
minded like you."
The next time he saw her she was wearing a circlet
of platinum, with a large solitary emerald, on her
third finger. Inevitably he made love to her, and they
kissed passionately when they parted. The following
day he was suddenly posted for duty at Edinburgh
and by the 14th of August he was in France.
For the first six months of the war he had been
attached—not very deeply—to a base hospital. Then
he was sent off, hurriedly, to join a field ambulance
behind the Marne. In January he had been badly
wounded by a shell splinter, and by successive stages
he arrived at the Duchess of Gainsborough's beauti-
ful house by Vanbrugh, temporarily a convalescent
hospital for officers.
Gainsborough House was the Mecca of every offi-


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 53
cer who had the good fortune to be wounded. The
house and grounds were magnificent; and they did
you "top-hole." Royalty frequently visited the pa-
tients, and the Duchess bestowed upon them the
benediction of her austere beauty and gracious per-
sonality daily. The patients were made to feel they
were her guests, her equals, not the recipients of her
patronage.
The registrar to the hospital, Preece had dis-
covered, when she had come to take the particulars of
his "history" on the morning of his arrival, was Claire
Chisholme—sister of the Assistant D. C. he had met
at Makompe.
Claire was a blonde; dignified, witty, inclined to
plumpness; her face showed strength of character;
her eyes, set wide apart, were steady and kind.
Six months later he had married her. In point of
fact, Claire had made up her sensible mind to marry
Hugh long before he asked her.
The marriage had been a success. She had borne
him two children, both girls, and his original mild
affection had grown steadily to a deep, if not very
passionate, attachment for his cheerful and plucky
little wife.
From Prunella, now Lady Ronan, he had heard no
word for many years. Rarely, he noticed her name
in the society column of the Morning Mail, or saw a


54 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
snapshot in that monumental piece of illustrated snob-
bery, the Prattler. Four years ago he had found, one
morning, a letter in her well-remembered handwrit-
ing, on his desk at the military hospital in Bath where
he was then stationed.
Dear Hugh [it ran]:
/ have just discovered you are in Bath. I often
go down to stay with an old uncle of my husband's
—Lord Harringforth—at Clifton, and pass
through Bath. I am going there next week. Couldn't
I stop of for a few hours at Bath? I should so love
to see you again and have a chat about old times.
Let me know, please.
Yours,
Prunella.
Mawne House,
Mawne, Oxon.
He had been a fool, no doubt; but the thought of
seeing Prunella again had thrilled him. He had replied
with enthusiasm, suggesting they should meet at
Swindon, which was also on her way to Clifton. He
was staying there for a few days, he had explained,
as he was a member of a medical board assembling
in that town.
Swindon, Preece discovered, had few sources of


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 55
amusement. The Royal Hotel was in the worst mid-
Victorian tradition, a gloomy and unfriendly hostelry,
from which, on the night of his arrival, Preece had
fled to the local music hall. On his return he had
wandered into the hotel bar. A young man was talking
to the barmaid. They appeared to be having a
facetious flirtation, bordering on the indecent.
"Men! What are they?" The flaxen-haired young
woman's voice held depths of disparagement.
"Ah! I could show you." The youth leaned across
the counter and whispered in her ear.
"Go on, saucy! Not so much of it."
Whatever the whispered remark had been, evi-
dently the lady had not been seriously offended. The
conversation between the two proceeded in low tones
on her part; on his, in a full and unusually suave voice
for a young man. Preece took him to be not more than
twenty or twenty-three; he noted the short, badly-
shaped legs, the magnificent torso and vulgarly hand-
some features. "What we should have called a 'hor-
rible bounder' in my young days," Preece reflected,
inwardly amused.
"Well, au revoir, my dear," the young man had
stopped at the door, his full lips curved in a sensual
grin, "see you later," he added.
Viewing the barmaid's crimson cheeks and neck,
Preece considered that, in all probability, the state-


56 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
ment was strictly accurate; nevertheless, his opinion
of the bounderlike qualities of the young man were
confirmed. He had bidden the still embarrassed
young woman "good-night" and gone to bed.
Next morning he had received a telegram: "Ar-
riving 4: 30, please meet me. Prunella."
On the station platform Preece's mood varied be-
tween a boyish exhilaration and a conviction that he
was behaving like a middle-aged ass. He had paused
to survey himself critically in a mirror over an auto-
matic machine. Ten years had wrought a change.
Indubitably. He had retained his figure, certainly: but
the still boyish face of twenty-five had hardened.
There were lines now which had not been there when
he had last seen Prunella. His hair, though still thick,
was plentifully flecked with white. He sighed, turn-
ing to scan the carriages as the train slid alongside the
platform.
"Oh, Hugh! Here you are, and here I am!"
She was holding his hand. She looked just the same;
not a day older; only now, Hugh reflected with a
flash of amusement, he could see more of her slim,
silk-encased legs than he had ever done in that sum-
mer ten years ago.
"I'm staying here for the night," she announced.
"I'll stay at the Royal. Why not?"
"Is it wise?"


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 57
"Is it right? Is it kind? Is it wise?" she mocked.
"Come along I No one will ever know. My husband's
away—fishing in Norway. I told my dear old uncle
that I was coming to-morrow, and no one will ever
know I stopped off for one day in Swindon. . . . Just
for one day, Hugh," she pleaded, "to—to pretend."
"A sentimental interlude," he had murmured.
"Don't be cynical," she reproved him.
"My dear Prunella," Hugh laughed, "an instinct
of self-defense."
Of course, he made love to her again. It was habit,
Hugh inwardly supposed, with a grin. There was
nothing else to do with her. They had no other point
of contact. Tacitly, they ignored all that had passed
since their last poignant farewell: his wife and family,
her husband and her secure position in post-war
society.
He had been mad. They had both been mad. No:
she, for some inscrutable reason of her own, had
meant it; had planned the whole scheme. What
astounding creatures women were! He had never
known, never would be quite certain, if it had been a
deliberate plot on her part, or if she, too, had been
engulfed by the waves of a rekindled passion; like
the fires of a dormant volcano, bursting forth, at last,
to a fiery consummation. Yet when he remembered
the fundamental power of cool calculation which


58 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Prunella had possessed he felt confident that the
whole incident had gone strictly according to plan—
to her plan—from start to finish.
For in the following summer Preece had seen an
announcement of the birth of a son and heir to Lady
Ronan, wife of Sir Tremayne Ronan.
From Prunella he heard no word; but one day,
about a month after the birth of her son, he had
found an envelope on his desk, addressed in her
handwriting. Inside was a single curl of silken hair.
That was all.
Her luck had held; there had, obviously, been no
breath of suspicion. One disconcerting incident there
had been, but Preece had never mentioned it to
Prunella. As he had softly closed the door of her
bedroom he had nearly collided with someone who
was walking rapidly down the dimly lit corridor of the
hotel. The light of an electric torch had been flashed
in his face. He had stood stock-still, absolutely non-
plussed; then the light had swept deliberately to the
number of the door through which he had just
emerged. A subdued chuckle, and the figure had re-
sumed its rapid progress along the corridor, turned
the corner and disappeared. The clumsy gait with
its suggestion of confident swagger was unmistak-
able. Preece had seen it again, just now—not two
hours ago.


OLD SINS HAVE LONG SHADOWS 59
The young man of the hotel bar was the same ,
young man whose amorous nocturnal prowlings in a
second-rate provincial hotel had, suddenly, seemed
to debase that wonderful, unreal adventure to some-
thing sordid and lewd; so that Preece had reached
his own bedroom with a feeling of overpowering
guilt and disloyalty.
This young man was, in fact, Lieutenant Lepean
of the First Mercia Regiment.
******
"What's the matter, Hugh?" Claire demanded as
she bent over her sewing. "You look pensive." n
"I was thinking. . . . Would you say men are, by
nature, more sexually promiscuous than women?"
"No, but they have more opportunity," replied his
wife with a smile. "Why?" she continued. "Have you
been promiscuous lately?"
"How typically feminine to apply a generality per-
sonally."
"Dear Hugh! I knew you'd say that."
Hugh stifled a sigh. He always felt unutterably
mean when he allowed his mind to dwell on that
interlude at Swindon. Claire herself was so loyal, so
straight, and so entirely lacking in the essentially
middle-class qualities of jealousy and suspicion. Could
Claire understand? Could any woman understand? It


fo THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
would appear to Claire a deliberate, a wanton, an
inexcusable act of disloyalty and sensuality.
Well, she must never know. Queer coincidence,
coming across that unpleasant fellow, Lepean. For a
moment it had given him a nasty jar. Even if Lepean
had recognized him, what did it signify?
Claire's voice interrupted his musings: "What are
you going to do when I take the children to visit
Mother?"
"When are you going, darling?"
"The last week in May."
"Then I will arrange to go down to Medbury Fort
during the time you will be away. A Company is going
there for musketry and I will go as M. O. Lester can
carry on for me here and I should like the change."
"Good! That fits in splendidly. Now come along,
Hugh, you look tired and worried. Let's go to bed."


CHAPTER IV
MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY)
Medbury Fort lies on the estuary of the Thames,
and had been, until a short while before the Great
War, one of the chain of forts in the Thames and
Medway Defenses. The evolution of coastal defense
artillery had rendered it obsolete. The modern 6-inch
and 9.2-inch guns were now sited at the mouth of the
river, where their increased range could be effectively
employed. The fort was a square, each side being two
hundred yards in length. At each corner was a rect-
angular bastion—relics of an obsolete form of war-
fare—designed to afford mutual protection and
enfilade fire along the outer walls of the fort. In each
bastion was the turntable for the huge 80-ton guns
formerly mounted there; the guns themselves had
gone; the phosphor bronze and other valuable parts
removed, and the barrels sawn into segments by
oxyacetylene flame and, finally, reduced to the basic
metal. They had never fired a shot in anger. Indeed,
the fort itself, from the day of its completion, in
1809, had never played the role which it had been so
61


62 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
carefully and expensively constructed to fulfil. The
massive walls rose a full forty feet above the dyke,
itself twenty feet deep and forty feet wide, which
entirely surrounded the fort. Entrance to the interior
was gained by a drawbridge on the south side over-
looking the river, from the banks of which the fort
was separated by a towpath. At this point the walls
were pierced by an archway. From the interior of this
archway a door led directly to a small room used as
a guard room; on the far side of this room a narrow
stone staircase formed the sole entrance to the officers'
mess and quarters. The quarters were built into the
outer wall of the fort. The mess, consisting of ante-
room, dining room, kitchen, and offices, was on the
opposite side, looking into the interior of the fort.
A block of huts had been erected on the square, so
that the men should no donger be forced to occupy
the damp casemates which formed the original ac-
commodation for the garrison of the fort. The
officers' quarters remained unchanged. The occupant
of one of these quarters obtained a very fair idea of
what life must have been like in a mediaeval castle.
When the fort had been condemned for coastal de-
fense purposes it had been utilized to accommodate
troops during their annual musketry course. The rifle
ranges were situated on the marshy ground immedi-
ately outside the fort, parallel to the river.


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 63
The party now temporarily occupying the mess and
quarters consisted of Major Preece, Captain Wape,
commanding A Company, Lepean, his subaltern, and
Harris, the assistant adjutant of the battalion.
It was an exceptional night for early June. The
big anteroom, with its low ceiling and small, deeply
recessed windows, felt uncomfortably warm as the
four men entered it after dinner. Wape, entering last,
switched on the electric light. Preece crossed over to
the letter rack; the evening post had arrived while
dinner was in progress. There was one letter for him.
Preece glanced carelessly at it. With a slight sense of
disquiet he realized it was addressed in Prunella's
handwriting. He slipped it into his mess-jacket pocket
unopened. He would read it when he was alone, later
on.
Wape strolled over to the letter rack. Only one
other letter had arrived by post, and Wape passed
the envelope across to Lepean.
"Thanks, Skipper." Lepean ripped open the en-
velope and rapidly scanned the contents of the note
inside. For a second he looked disconcerted; then he
slipped the letter into a pocket of his mess jacket and
suggested a game of bridge—"or poker," he added.
"No poker for me, thanks," Harris remarked
drily. Wape raised his eyes from the evening paper
he was reading and shot a keen glance at the speakers.


64 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Dark, with a pale face in which deep lines had been
graven and an habitually sardonic expression, Cap-
tain Victor Wape was, nevertheless, one of the most
popular officers in the battalion. He was a keen and
efficient soldier, below the average height and slight
in build, but in first-rate condition physically. He was
the senior captain in his regiment.
"No, no poker, I think," he observed quietly, "but
what about a rubber? Major, will you play?"
"Certainly," Preece replied absently. It had sud-
denly flashed across his mind that the handwriting
on the envelope of Lepean's letter, of which he had
caught a glimpse, was that of Lady Ronan. He felt
certain he had not been mistaken; the fact was dis-
quieting.
Lepean had an annoying habit of talking while the
hands were being dealt and the players sorting their
cards.
"Did you go down to your ancestral home this
week-end, Skipper?" he asked.
"Don't call me 'Skipper.' Sounds so like a sar-
( dine," murmured Wape. "Yes, I did," he added.
"How's your guv'nor?"
"Ticking over nicely, thanks."
"Sister? She is at school now, I suppose?"
"No. She was at home for the half term. She is
not going back."


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 65
"Expelled?" queried Lepean, with a laugh.
"No," Wape rejoined, directing a sudden piercing
glance at Lepean. "I'll tell you about it sometime.
One heart."
"Is your memsahib away while you're up here,
Major?"
"No, she's not. My mother-in-law decided to have
flu, so the family had to stop at home. One no trump."
At the end of an uninteresting rubber Lepean an-
nounced he must go to bed.
"You're on the ranges at six A. M.," Harris re-
minded him.
"Damn! Major," he said, "come and have a night-
cap in my room?"
Preece, following the subaltern down the echoing
stone passage, wondered if he should try to discover,
in casual conversation, whether Lepean knew Lady
Ronan.
Lepean's room was the first one in the corridor
at the head of the stairs leading to the guard room
below. He took a heavy iron key from his pocket and
unlocked the massive oak door.
"Do you always lock your room?" Preece asked
idly.
"Yes," returned the other, switching on the light.
"Come in, Major. And," he continued, "I always lock
my door at night, too, because I often sleep heavily


66 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
and anyone could get in without disturbing me. By
the same token, I've had an attack of coughing the
last few nights. Do you think you could give me some-
thing to make me sleep? I feel rather done in."
"I can see you're looking fagged. I'll get you some
veronal."
Preece went to his room and returned with a few
grayish tablets in his hand. Lepean had mixed two
whiskies and sodas. The major gave him one of the
tablets: "Put that in your drink. You'll sleep all
right."
"Thanks." Lepean dropped the tablet into his
glass. "Cheerio!"
"A detestable youth!" thought Preece. "Cheerio!
My hat!" Aloud he added, "Here's how!"
"And now, Major," Lepean commenced, "to busi-
ness."
Preece had a horrible premonition of impending
disaster as he watched the other take a letter from his
pocket and smooth it out.
"Listen to this," Lepean continued; his face had
flushed a dull crimson, but his voice had a note of cruel
amusement as if he savoured some hidden jest. Even
in the tension of the moment Preece found himself
thinking: "The fellow's got strong sadistic tenden-
cies."
Lepean read:


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 67
Sir:
/ have received your letter of the 3d June. I
understand your motive in writing to me but I
think a personal interview essential if any business
arrangement is to be made. Please inform me if
you can meet me in the lounge of the Beauchamp
Hotel, Victoria Street, at three P. M. on Thursday,
the 8th inst.
Yours truly,
Prunella Ronan.
"This," Lepean tapped the letter in his hand, "is
in answer to a letter I wrote informing Lady Ronan
that I was aware she had stayed in Swindon on the
night of the 29th September, 1924. I told her I
thought her husband might be interested—especially
as the son and heir was born almost exactly nine
months later. Quite remarkable! They'd been mar-
ried over ten years."
"You infernal young blackguard!" Preece ex-
claimed, "d'you sit there and tell me, in cold blood,
you're trying to blackmail Lady Ronan ? By gad"
Lepean laughed unpleasantly. "Don't bother to
speak softly, Major, these walls are thick." His voice
dropped to a snarl. "I'm not trying to blackmail her,
I'm damn well doing it, and you, tool Now, look
here! You can save your breath if you're going to


68 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
whine a lot of rot about honour to me. We're alone,
no witnesses. I'll explain. I came across this little
romance of yours and Lady Ronan by accident. I
found out whose bedroom you'd been visiting 'after
hours,' so to speak, easily enough, though Lady
Ronan did not sign the hotel register—they're very
slack in some of these provincial hotels. Of course,
she ought to have signed, but they forgot to ask her
to do so at the office and, in the circumstances, she
was only too glad to avoid having to do so. I, by good
luck, happened to know who she was because I'd seen
her photograph in The Prattler. Also, as a kid, I'd
seen her playing in 'Love in a Mist.' In fact, I was
perfectly certain who she was, only—I did not quite
see how to turn my knowledge to account till I met
you the other day. Of course, I recognized you at
once, as you did me, though you tried to prevent my
seeing that you had. I thought it over, and took the
trouble to go to Mawne and make a few inquiries.
Don't suppose you know the place, Major?"
"What the devil "Preece began, half rising.
"Look here, Lepean, I'll have you court-martialled
for this."
"Cut it out, Major," returned Lepean calmly, "and
listen. It's a charming little village. I stayed at the
Ronan Arms—quite a good pub—and the landlord


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 69
was most communicative. Directly I dropped on to
the fact of the kid's existence and that the date of
birth works out exactly right, I knew my time had
not been wasted. I saw the kid, too. Stuck up the
nursery maid in the park. Nice kid! Nice nursery
maid, too," he grinned evilly, and chuckled as at a
luscious recollection. "We became fast friends in no
time. I met her that evening by appointment and
learned something of interest. So did she, but that's
another and a better story." Again that evil glint
appeared in his eyes. "She'd been in the Ronan house-
hold for five years—as a kitchen maid first, and then,
when the boy arrived, as nursery maid. By a piece of
great luck, this girl, Nancy Beasley is her name, had
a sister who was a maid at Lord Harringforth's place.
Now it so happened that on the 30th September,
1924, Nancy's sister chanced to write and, inci-
dentally, mentioned that Lady Ronan had arrived at
Harring Castle that afternoon. Nancy, of course,
knew that Lady Ronan had left Mawne on the 29th
and should have arrived at Harring the same day.
She thought nothing of it at the time, but when I
questioned her about Lady Ronan's movements in
September of that year she produced this interesting
confirmation of the facts. Very useful, as you can
understand, Major, to have an independent witness


70 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
on the spot, who can support my statements if I ever
have to enlighten the unlucky baronet.
"You take the point, Major?" he inquired mali-
ciously. "I thought you would. The kid's name, by
the way, is John Hugh Tremayne. Strangely enough,
Hugh is a family name of the Ronans. Moreover, he's
the dead spitting image of you." Lepean grinned and
emptied his glass.
With a strong effort, Preece had conquered his
first rush of blind rage. He must keep his head. This
incredible young villain was out for blackmail. If
Lepean took his story, easily verifiable as it was once
the trail was pointed out, to Sir Tremayne, it spelled
ruin for Prunella. Sir Tremayne would divorce her
and illegitimize the boy. As for himself, Preece
literally shuddered at the mental picture of the havoc
the disclosure would work on his domestic happiness,
no less than upon his professional career. In these
days, Preece recollected, co-respondents in notorious
divorce cases are made to understand that their
services are no longer required in the Army. But it
was of Claire and his two little girls that he chiefly
thought. That Claire should ever know of his des-
picable act of infidelity and its consequence filled him
with a chill of horror.
This devil must be silenced. Lepean was lolling
back in his chair—so far as it is possible to "loll" in


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 71
a War Department chair, arm, leathered—inhaling
the smoke of a cigarette: "Now, Major, we come to
the business side of the question. I intend to sting
the fair but frail lady pretty severely. My inquiries at
Mawne elicited the further useful information that
the late Sir John rather 'fell for' his son's charming
chorus-girl wife, so the old boy left her a decent slice
of the Ronan millions to her own cheek. Yes, I shall
sting her fairly severely," he added thoughtfully.
"By God ! I'll run you in for attempted blackmail."
"No, you won't, Major. Not on second thoughts.
Think of the sequel. No. You're not rolling in money
yourself, I know. I'll be as reasonable as I can be—
say—five hundred—in two instalments, if you like."
Preece rose. "I must think over what action I shall
take. It is somewhat disconcerting," he added drily,
"to encounter an accomplished blackmailer holding
His Majesty's commission."
"All the charm of the unexpected, eh, Major?"
Lepean grinned.
Preece felt sorely tempted to drive his clenched fist
straight to the point of Lepean's heavy jaw. Useless!
Apart from the fact that in a rough and tumble the
other's stocky build would give him an immense ad-
vantage, he would merely gain the immediate satis-
faction of a physical encounter and lose the slight


72 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
chance which still remained of negotiating a compro-
mise. Besides, he remembered Prunella's letter in his
pocket, as yet unread. He must read that first. Per-
haps she would suggest some plan. Prunella up against
it, he reflected, with a flicker of hope, would be dan-
gerous to whoever threatened her security.
"I'll think it over," he repeated.
"That's right, Major. Sleep on it. If you're writing
to Lady Ronan you might mention we have had a
chat." Opening the door, he added: "By the way,
have you any more of those tablets, Major ? Thanks,"
he said, taking the two tablets Preece held out, "hope
they're not poison! But you would not be so crude,
Major, would you? Good-night, sir."
Preece's room lay at the far end of the passage.
The first door that he passed was that of Harris's
room; then came the room occupied by Wape. The
door of Harris's room opened and the subaltern
looked out.
"Major, would you come in a moment?"
With some reluctance Preece entered the room. He
accepted a cigarette, but refused a whisky and soda
with a gesture. Harris appeared embarrassed and
nervous. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but I'm in a bit
of a hole, and I did not want to say anything to Wape,
as he is Lepean's company commander; so I thought
I'd ask your advice."


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 73
"Lepean?" Preece stared. "What's the trouble?"
he asked.
"Well, sir," Harris stuttered nervously, "it seems
a rotten thing to say about a fellow in one's own
regiment, but Lepean's an out-and-out rotter! I sup-
pose I ought not to squeal, but the fact is, we've been
playing poker—and—of course, all square and that
sort of thing, but I've lost steadily and he's got my
I. O. U. for a hundred pounds."
"You young ass! You can't pay, I suppose?"
"Good Lord, no! I could in time, of course; but
that beast, Lepean, is pressing me. He's threatened
to write to my guv'nor."
"That's bluff! Lepean would not dare to write to
your father. He knows your father would inform the
Colonel and Lepean would get into the devil's own
row for playing poker, especially for high stakes."
"I told him that myself, but the wily devil said he'd
swear it was an ordinary debt: that he'd lent me the
money; and, of course, I've no proof that it was a
poker loss. We always played in his quarters, alone."
"There's no doubt," Preece exclaimed, with a rasp
of anger in his voice, "that damn fellow ought to be
wiped out in the interests of decency. He is really
not fit to live."
A cold ferocity of hatred was rising in his mind
against this callous blackguard. The fellow, appar-


74 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
ently, would stoop to any meanness, however petty;
blackmail on the grand scale, such as Lepean con-
templated with himself and Prunella as victims, had,
at least, the excuse that the stakes were large; but
this petty cheating of a brother officer savoured too
strongly of the bar-parlour sneak thief. It was
nauseating! In his mind's eye Preece saw Lepean
grinning lasciviously into Prunella's eyes, delighted
with the writhings of this pretty victim of his snare.
He wrenched his thoughts away from his own
problem: "Look here, Harris," he said, rising to go,
"I'll think it over and let you know the steps you had
better take to-morrow. Good-night."
"Good-night, sir. Thanks awfully."
"I haven't done much to be thanked for," Preece
reflected as he made his way to his own room, "as
yet," he finished grimly to himself.
/ He undressed quickly, put on a dressing gown, and
drew up an armchair before the fireplace. A fire had
been laid in the grate. It was sometimes chilly in these
early June nights, but Preece did not set light to it.
He smoked thoughtfully. The first shock of Lepean's
announcement had thrown him, momentarily, off his
balance. Now he felt cool and his brain singularly
clear. It was a characteristic trait. Before any danger,
or any action demanding complete imperturbability,


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 75
he was nervous as a cat. Once the actual crisis arrived
he became calm and self-possessed.
Dispassionately, he reviewed the situation. Was
there any means by which he could outwit the black-
mailer? He could see none. No lie that he and
Prunella could invent would stand a moment's in-
vestigation. On the other hand, plenty of evidence
of the truth of Lepean's story would be forthcoming.
The waiter would remember they had dined together.
True, that he had visited Prunella's bedroom could
only be vouched for by Lepean. The birth of the boy
nine months later, together with the history of their
earlier love affair, would be quite enough for the
average jury. No, it was hopeless. If they told the
young devil to carry on and be damned, he would
carry on and they would, unquestionably, be damned.
Preece groaned. Lepean was utterly callous and un-
scrupulous. No use appealing to anything decent in
his nature; he hadn't got anything of the sort in his
nature. This affair of Harris's was illuminating. The
swine would stick at nothing; and he knew he had
got onto a good thing. He was entirely a moral,
lecherous, sensual, sadistic pervert. A lot of good
calling names! The brute ought to be wiped out of
existence, as one smears away some foul insect.
Preece's face hardened; his thin, capable hands—the
hands of a surgeon—clenched.


76 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
He had forgotten the letter from Prunella. He
drew it out now:
Dear Hugh [she had written]:
The most dreadful thing has happened. I have
received a letter from a person calling himself
Charles Lepean. He has found out about us. He
threatens to inform my husband unless he is paid.
Blackmail, in fact. He seems to know the facts,
though I can't imagine how he found out. You
remember I did not sign the register at the hotel,
but if my husband were told, and he put private
detectives on the scent, they would be bound to
discover everything. As you can see, this would be
simply fatal for me.
Now, Hugh, I am not going to stand for black-
mail. I should never have another moment's peace.
This person Lepean must be silenced. Don't forget
you will suffer as much as I shall if all comes out.
This person Lepean writes on notepaper with the
Mercia Regimental crest from Medbury Fort. I
presume he is an officer and must be living in the
same mess as you are. (He told me in his letter he
was seeing Major Preece on the same matter.)
I have replied to him making an appointment
for Thursday, but, as a matter of fact, I have no


78 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
in her path, menaced her position; but she was right.
It was the only avenue by which to escape the results
of his folly and guilt, and he would take it.
A murderer! His resolution faltered as the word,
charged with such sinister and sordid implications,
smote upon his brain. What was the alternative? To
become the prey of a blackmailer. To be bled, ex-
quisitely tortured, never to have a moment's peace
of mind again; tamely to submit, and pay, and pay,
and pay. Again his imagination sought for any feas-
ible avenue of escape; there was none. The face of
Lepean, with its inimical sneering grin, seemed to
bar every loophole. There was only one solution: he
must be the judge in his own cause—and the execu-
tioner also. Once more his resolution, momentarily
shaken, reasserted itself, and a wave of icy determi-
nation swept over him.
He set himself, deliberately, to plan the murder of
Lepean.
The travelling clock on the mantelpiece chimed the
hour: two o'clock. Preece rose stiffly, then paused,
listening. Surely those voices were outside in the pas-
sage? He tiptoed to the door, switched off the light,
and cautiously opened it. At the far end of the pas-
sage Wape and Lepean were talking in low tones.


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 79
Suddenly Lepean turned quickly and entered his
room, closing the door in the other's face. Preece
heard the key click in the lock. As Wape slowly walked
to his own room Preece saw his face under the light
of the single electric lamp which feebly illuminated
the long corridor. It was dead white, and a red spot
burned upon each cheekbone. Softly Preece closed his
door. Curious! Had Lepean got Wape in his toils,
too? Not impossible.
What did it matter, one way or the other? The
point was, would Lepean swallow those tablets now?
The success of his plan depended upon Lepean taking
the tablets of veronal, thus insuring a sound slumber
for at least six hours.
It was no use worrying about it. If he took the
tablets, well and good. The plan could then be exe-
cuted. If not, he would have to postpone it. He must
assume that Lepean would take them, and make his
preparations accordingly.
They were few and simple. He threw open a case
of surgical instruments, fingering some of them
thoughtfully. No, that would not do. The incision
made by any of those specialized knives would be
recognizable to the expert eye at once.
Preece still preferred the ordinary hollow-ground
razor. He opened the case containing his razors.
There were seven of them, each reposing in its own


MEDBURY FORT (MONDAY) 81
cautiously he opened the door a few inches. The razor
was in the right-hand pocket of his dressing gown,
the cotton wool and the rubber gloves in the left.
Behind the slightly open door he stood motionless,
listening intently.
His plan was based upon the recollection of a short
story he had read a long while ago by Zangwill. It
depended for its successful accomplishment, firstly
upon Lepean's sleep being so deep that the noise of
knocking upon his door and the crash of the door
being burst open would not awaken him. Secondly, it
depended upon his own coolness, skill, and power of
acting a part. He designed to rush into the room
directly the door was forced, spring to the bed, and
with one swift movement inflict a mortal wound upon
Lepean—he knew exactly where and how to make the
incision—then he would raise the cry of "murder."
He would, with the authority of a doctor, insist on
everyone leaving the room immediately. He could
count on at least an hour elapsing before the body
was examined by an independent medical man. Before
leaving the room he would find and destroy the letter
Lepean had received from Prunella. The pad of cot-
ton wool upon which he would wipe the razor, the
rubber gloves which he would wear, and the letter
itself, he would burn upon the fire he had just lit in
his own room. There would be nothing to connect


82 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
him with the murder, and Lepean's secret would die
with him. The fire burned up. He bent down and
thrust the missive he had received from Prunella on
the previous evening between the glowing bars. Preece
glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten minutes to five.
The door at the bottom of the stairs which communi-
cated with the guard room grated on its hinges. There
was a clatter of heavy boots on the stone stairs.
"'Ullo, 'Arry, old son! Early, ain't yer?"
"R 'e's on the ranges at six ack emma
s'mornin'."
"Bless 'is little 'eart! Do the perisher good."
"'Arry," the voice from the guard room continued,
"ain't got a garsper on yer, 'ave yer?"
"Naow," replied the other voice, "I'll chuck yer
one of my bloke's dahn in a minit."
It flashed across Preece's mind in the strange way
irrelevant facts obtrude themselves that the voice of
'Arry's interlocutor belonged to Private Swansdick.
He listened tensely whilst 'Arry, hampered by
the two large jugs of hot water he was carrying,
laboriously climbed the stairs, and placing the jugs
on the floor, commenced a vigorous tattoo on the door
of Lepean's room.


CHAPTER V
EARLY MORNING (TUESDAY)
Charles Hepburn Lepean stepped quickly back
into his room with a muttered good-night to his com-
pany commander and closed the door. Almost me-
chanically he turned the key in the lock. He noticed
subconsciously how easily and silently it moved; yet
last night it had squeaked and grated. Dismissing
this trivial fact from his mind, Lepean walked across
to the small table and lit a cigarette. He stood there
frowning a little in thought, drawing deeply at his
cigarette. He was clad in bright blue silk pajamas.
His bare feet were straddled wide apart; his arms
hung by his sides, his hands lightly clenched. The
upper part of his body was splendid, the wide deep
chest, broad sloping shoulders, from which sprang
the strong column of the neck; only the short legs
and rounded womanish thighs spoiled the proportion
of the whole. Nevertheless, he produced an effect of
hidden energy, of potential strength, a certain radia-
tion of virility impossible to ignore.
Lepean was, in fact, far removed from the usual
83


84 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
type of lustful youth of no particular principles,
whose preoccupation with sex renders them as great
a nuisance to themselves as to the unfortunate people
afflicted with their society.
Lepean's passions were controlled and regulated
with a due regard to his general welfare. He never
allowed his lust to imperil his advancement. He
was a complete egotist; but he was no vain fool.
He could think, and he was coldly unafraid of any
destination to which his thoughts led him. He was
utterly unscrupulous. Like all cold sensualists, he had
no friends, nor did he feel the lack of them.
Despite the appeal of those piercing black eyes
and the advantage of a finely shaped, even noble-
looking, head, Lepean had never gone in for pious
hypocrisy. He might have made a success of it; in-
deed, he had often been tempted to exploit his per-
sonality along these lines.
When it came to the point he could not bring him-
self to do so, for with the whole force of his nature
he hated virtue and admired all forms of successful
scoundrelism.
He felt very wakeful to-night. He was a man who
required very little sleep. Apart from attacks of
asthmatic coughing which sometimes gave him a
sleepless night, he would frequently go to bed at
four and rise at eight, feeling perfectly refreshed.


EARLY MORNING (TUESDAY) 85
He had an abundant store of nervous energy, and
when his brain was stimulated, as it was now, he
knew he would not be able to sleep for an hour or
more.
He had a lot to think about: the affair of the Major
and Lady Ronan—a thoroughly good egg that
looked. What about old Wape, though? Awkward,
that. How much did he really know? The Skipper's
daughter—no, little sister! Very nice, too! Only he
must be careful. No profit there, only pleasure. And
Wape obviously suspected—something, and Wape
wanted watching. The old beggar had shot a bloke
somewhere, hadn't he? Sort of fellow who wouldn't
stick at much.
He padded round the room in his bare feet, and
picking up a volume of the collected poems of James
Elroy Flecker, jumped into bed.
Lepean delighted in colourful and picturesque
poetry. He had no use for the more delicate and
subtle tones. Masefield, Swinburne, and Flecker were
his favourites, and he had read all the erotically tinged
portions of Byron.
One half of an admission ticket to the Bitterne
Palais de Danse had been thrust between the leaves
as a bookmarker. Lepean commenced to read the tor-
ture scene from "Hassan."
On the previous Saturday evening Lepean had


86 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
been at a loose end. Wape and Preece were away for
the week-end. Young Harris had a party in town.
After a solitary dinner he had changed into mufti,
told the company sergeant major to answer for him,
and strolled into Bitterne. He hesitated before the
local cinema, but the silent drama had little appeal
for him. He seldom visited a cinematograph; found
it useful, it is true, sometimes, in the early stages of a
contemplated seduction, in the secluded twilight of a
cinema, tentatively to experiment in certain impro-
prieties by which, from experience, he could gauge the
rate of progress it would be safe to adopt in the
prosecution of his design.
He turned to the brilliantly lit entrance of the Pal-
ais de Danse, paid the necessary half a crown, and
found himself in surroundings from which he felt con-
fident he could extract amusement in a very short
space of time. The band was playing a Yale Blues.
Some fifty or sixty couples were performing, with
varying degrees of skill, the graceful intricacies of the
dance. About half the men wore dinner jackets.
Lepean noticed a few naval officers from the destroyer
flotilla. They were unmistakable among the crowd of
bank clerks, shop assistants, and young commercials
who made up the bulk of the male patrons. With an
inward grin of amusement, Lepean recognized the air
of polite condescension toward the men and an almost


EARLY MORNING (TUESDAY) 87
timid deference toward the women by which they were
characterized. Imperceptibly, he had exaggerated
the swagger of his shoulders as he strolled round the
room.
He had spotted a very pretty girl almost at once;
slim, but not flat-chested. He couldn't bear that.
Some of these damn girls—well, you couldn't tell
whether they were boys or girls until you undressed
'em.
Characteristically, he preferred the society of his
social inferiors. They were more easily impressed.
One had not to be on the alert, mentally, with the sort
of girl you met in the Palais de Danse at Bitterne.
Lepean was never entirely at ease in the presence
of a lady. In the effort to attain complete confidence,
he invariably became self-assertive and his natural
tendency to a kind of flamboyant theatricalism be-
came exaggerated.
He had never, up till now, accomplished the seduc-
tion of a girl of his own class. He could not keep his
attention on "Hassan" to-night. Recollections of the
past and plans for the future raced through his brain.
He laid the book down, allowing his thoughts to
wander at will, hoping that he would soon begin to
feel drowsy.
Had Wape suspected anything? Why, though? It
was two months ago—at Easter—he had stayed that


88 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
week-end with Wape's people at Leinster Gardens.
He had made a mistake, of course. That was the
worst of—well—ladies. You could never be quite
sure if it was all right. Was it because Sylvia was a
lady, or because she was such a kid? She was only
seventeen. He had known cases of flappers, just ordi-
nary "pick-ups," when he could have sworn every-
thing was plain sailing, suddenly getting frightened.
But he knew how to deal with that sort, had dealt
with them, in fact, quite successfully. A little smooth
but firm handling was all that was necessary.
Emily—Baxter, wasn't it? That girl he had met at
the Palais de Danse on Saturday. Quite a kid. Sev-
enteen, possibly eighteen. She was that sort. Didn't
quite know whether she meant it or not. But he would
get her up to the starting gate all right. All in good
time. A nice little "bit." He would not forget her.
Annoying part was she was "walking out" with his
batman, Mason. Ohl She was much too pretty for
Mason.
As soon as the company returned to Greenhithe he
would take the first opportunity of running up here
and seeing Miss Emily Baxter again. Too dangerous
to pursue the Baxter line of country while he was
here. Mason would surely get to know of it, and that
wouldn't do.
He wondered if the major were sleeping. He was


EARLY MORNING (TUESDAY) 89
looking forward to his coming interview with Lady
Ronan; had always understood she was a damned
smart piece of goods. Well, you never knew your luck!
Perhaps if she were kind he might let her off lightly;
but he didn't think so. It was too good a thing to
mess up by sentimentality.
He wished he danced better. He had felt rather an
ass lugging that girl Emily Baxter round. She cer-
tainly danced superbly; just the figure for it. Tall,
slim, sinuous, and yet obviously with a figure. He had
noticed her doing a Yale with that pimply-faced
youth from the local bank. Should he put out the light
and try to get to sleep now? He looked at the time.
Ten minutes past three o'clock. He switched out the
light and pulled the bedclothes round his shoulders.
His eyes closed. Suddenly he started up. What the
devil was that? A sound, a sort of rustling hiss, had
roused him.
Switching on the light again, he sprang out of bed,
and padding across the floor to the door, unlocked
it and peered out. No one was there. He closed the
door softly and locked it again. Once more he noticed
how easily the key turned in the lock. He was puzzled.
Someone or something had made that curious sound.
A mouse ? He bent down to look under the bed; he was
seized with a fit of coughing, and flinging himself on
the top of the bed, lay there gasping and panting for


90 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
some minutes until the spasm was over. He seized
two of the veronal tablets, and, first squirting some
soda water into a tumbler, swallowed them at a gulp.
He lay down again in bed, leaving the light burning.
Damn this asthmatic cough! You never knew when
it was going to take you. Very awkward it might be!
Suppose he had had an attack that night in Sylvia
Wape's bedroom I Help ! It was bad enough as it was.
The little fool fainting about the place. Yet he had
thought it was a safe thing. At the theatre her hot
little moist hand had returned his squeeze, and in
the taxi coming home, when she had been wedged
firmly between himself and Wape, he had ventured
bolder familiarities, and on the landing, outside her
room, she had responded to his kiss. Of course, he re-
membered suddenly, Wape had been staying at Leins-
ter Gardens this last week-end and Sylvia was home,
too. Had she told him anything? Wape had certainly
looked devilish queer when he had finally said good-
night—about two o'clock this morning. Unlike him
to come in for a "buk" like that; and he'd seemed to
be—sort of—watching. Hm! Well! There it was.
Awkward to have a row with Wape. Besides, he still
hoped, with any luck, to complete the conquest of
Sylvia. He switched out the light once more and
snuggled down in the bedclothes. What a white, slim
neck and shoulders, and beautiful rounded arms . . .


EARLY MORNING (TUESDAY) 91
"her budding breasts, like ripening fruit" ... all in
good time.
He felt drowsiness stealing over him. Just before
he fell asleep he remembered what that curious noise
which had previously aroused him resembled: it was
exactly like someone suppressing a violent sneeze.
******
All was still in the fort. The sky was overcast and
a light chilly rain was falling. The moon had already
sunk. The yellow gas jet over the archway entrance
threw but a feeble glimmer of light, scarcely sufficient
to illumine the far side of the drawbridge, hardly
sufficient to cast a gleam upon the dark waters of the
river now running out swiftly, gurgling and chuckling,
to meet the sea.
The solitary sentry paced to and fro, his feet re-
sounding with a hollow echo over the drawbridge, and
clicking sharply on the cobblestones under the arch-
way.
A little cold wind sighed along the river bank, stir-
ring some clumps of sedge and hair grass till they
rattled, dismally, like the bones of a skeleton. All
Nature seemed to pause and listen with held breath
for some first fatal movement.
It was the chill dark hour before the dawn.


MURDER 93
"Yes, sir."
"An officer here has been murdered."
"Murdered!"
"Yes. You'd better come up at once."
'I will, sir." He thought rapidly. "This is a big
thing. Must get everything right. This will be a Yard
job." Then aloud into the instrument: "Where's the
body?"
"On the bed in his room where he was found."
"Now, sir, you must leave everything exactly as it
is, and have two men in charge to see that no one
touches anything. I'll come along at once."
The sergeant sprang out of bed and while making
a hasty toilet gave orders that a constable was to be
ready to bicycle with himself to Medbury Fort. Be-
fore leaving he put through a 'phone call to the Yard.
"Very good, Sergeant," the voice from the Yard
replied, "I'll send Detective Inspector Paton as soon
as I can get hold of him. Meanwhile, get up to the
fort yourself as soon as possible and take care nothing
is disturbed."
At twenty-five minutes past six the sergeant, fol-
lowed by a perspiring constable, rode his bicycle over
the drawbridge and dismounted at the door of the
guard room.
The corporal of the guard was on the threshold:
he greeted the policeman with the smug smile of one


MURDER 95
"The door is solid, all right. But we broke into
the room easily enough. You can see the wood was
rotten."
"Now, sir," the sergeant said, "if you don't mind,
I'll examine what's inside by myself, and my con-
stable here will take over from the sentry. I suppose
you posted a man at once?"
"Yes. Two men, in fact."
"Very good, sir. I should like to ask you a few
questions as soon as I've done here."
"Right, Sergeant. I'll wait for you."
Sergeant Nuthall stepped through the doorway and
closed it carefully behind him. The room was large
and lofty; it was equipped with the barrack furniture
"allowed" for an officer's quarters. There was no
carpet on the floor, the fireplace, originally a deep one
which had been bricked up and a small modern grate
substituted, was opposite the door. On the left wall a
narrow window, deeply embrasured, had been pierced
through the thick outer wall of the fort. On the out-
side of this window three solid iron bars were fixed.
To the left of the window was a small iron bed-
stead. The lattice window stood wide open, and the
sun, now beginning to break through the rain clouds,
shot a beam of light into the room; even so, the illu-
mination was feeble, and the sergeant turned to switch
on the electric light. To his surprise, the button of the


96 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
switch by the door was already depressed, but no
light glowed in the lamp which hung by a long cord
from the ceiling.
"Now, that's the sort of point one ought to notice,"
reflected the sergeant, "that's queer, that is. Cur-
rent's off; but who turned the switch on and left it
on? The murderer?" He made a note in his little
book.
This was Sergeant Nuthall's first acquaintance with
a murder case.
As far as he could see it, it was likely to be a "cose
celebray," and the Yard would be here soon. He must
not make any silly blunder. Hitherto he had scrupu-
lously averted his eyes from the object which lay upon
the bed; now he approached warily and looked. It
was not a pleasant sight. Sergeant Nuthall had seen
some nasty corpses in the war; but the appearance
of the murdered officer produced a nausea he had
some difficulty in overcoming.
The body, clad in bright blue silk pajamas, lay on
its right side, the right arm under the head, which
had sagged forward so that the face was partially
hidden. Blood had flowed onto the pillow and sheets
from a terrible wound in the back of the neck. Some
sharp instrument had been forced between two of the
lower vertebrae of the neck, completely severing the
spinal column and cutting the main artery. The knees


MURDER 97
were half drawn up to the fallen jaw, and the left
hand was tightly clenched. Sergeant Nuthall turned
his back on the bed and its gruesome burden and
swept his eyes once more over the room.
Had he missed anything? Some vital clue, per-
haps, staring him in the face? Hal What was that?
He pounced on a small object lying close to the foot
of the bed. It was the broken half of a small imita-
tion mother-of-pearl button. Dropped by the mur-
derer in his hasty flight from the scene of his crime?
Sergeant Nuthall produced his notebook again, and
carefully secreted the button in a pocket of his tunic.
He examined the fireplace. A fire was laid, ready
to be lit, in the grate; but the register in the chimney
was shut. The sergeant poked it open and peered
up the chimney. The actual opening was very small—
about a foot wide—but the chimney into which it led
was at least four feet in width. "Hum," murmured
the sergeant thoughtfully, turning toward the door.
He felt something strike against his foot; looking
down, he saw it was a bayonet, one of those obsolete,
long, curved, French bayonets. He stooped down to
pick it up, then, with a start of horror, drew back
his hand as though he had been stung. A near thing!
What had he been thinking about? Finger prints, of
course. Mustn't touch it.


ioo THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"No enemies?"
Wape smiled slightly and shook his head as he re-
plied: "Not to my knowledge."
"Had he any vallyble jooley, or a large sum of
money, in his room?"
"You've seen the room yourself. Nothing seems to
have been touched. But we can make certain of that."
"Yes, that will 'ave to be gone into," returned the
sergeant ponderously. He felt his questions so far
had not thrown a great flood of light upon the matter.
He glanced at his notes: "I think, sir, I should like to
see Major Preece."
"Very good, Sergeant. I'll see if he's in his room.
Just wait here a moment."
The sergeant, left alone, stared thoughtfully into
the fire. It was a good fire, but it was prevented from
being an even better one by a mass of charred mate-
rial, which looked, on closer inspection, like the re-
mains of a small hand towel. The sergeant, absent-
mindedly, kicked the charred heap with his foot. The
fire burned up. In the increased flame, the fragments
were consumed and disintegrated into dust and ash.
"This is Major Preece."
A good-looking, tall man, with wavy hair, slightly
gray, stood in the doorway.
"I understand, sir, you discovered the deceased?"


MURDER
loi
"Yes."
"Have you examined the body?"
"Yes."
"Not disturbed the position in which it was found,
I 'ope?"
"No."
The sergeant felt irritated at the other's laconic
replies. "Cause of death?" he asked brusquely.
"Deep wound between the third and fourth cervical
vertebra, thus severing the spinal column and causing
instantaneous death from heart failure."
"What kind of weapon would have to be used to
make that wound?"
For the first time the medical officer paused and
appeared to hesitate, as if uncertain, before reply-
ing: "It would have to be something very sharp and
strong; the edges of the wound are quite clean-cut."
"And how long do you think the deceased had been
dead when you found him?"
Again an almost imperceptible pause before Preece
replied: "About two hours—not later than half-past
three."
Sergeant Nuthall closed his notebook.
"Is that all you want to ask me?"
"Yes, sir. I expect the detective inspector will want
to question you, and the police surgeon, too."


102 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"You've informed Scotland Yard, then?" The in-
quiry came from Wape, who had entered the room a
few moments ago.
"Yes, sir. I rang them up at once. The inspector
should be here any minute now. Can I see Mr. Har-
ris?"
"Sorry. He's still on the ranges. He'll be back for
breakfast about nine."
"Then the deceased's servant?"
Mentally damning the sergeant's reiteration of
that word "deceased," Wape answered: "Private
Mason. Yes. I'll get him."
"Bad business, sir," the sergeant commented to
Preece, as Wape left the room.
"Shocking!"
"You look a bit blue, too," the sergeant reflected;
"should've thought a doctor, and an army one at
that, would've been used to nasty sights. Still, war,
that's different." Aloud, he asked: "No views, sir, as
to 'oo could've done it, or how?"
"None. It's a complete mystery."
Wape entered, followed by Private Mason, and
the major, with a stiff "Good-morning" to the ser-
geant, hurried from the room. Sergeant Nuthall
turned his attention to the private soldier.
"Now, then. What do you know about this?"
"Nuffin, sergint," the little, stockily built Cockney


MURDER 103
replied. "Mr. Lepean, 'e told me to call 'im at a quar-
ter to five, so I did. An' when I'd bin knockin' a bit, the
M. O. 'e 'eard, an' 'e kum arnt, an 'e knocked, an'
then Cap'n, 'e kum an' then Mister 'Arris, an'
The sergeant interrupted with a question. "Did
Lieutenant Lepean always lock 'is door before going
to bed?"
"Yes, an' w'en I kums in the mornin' 'e 'as to get up
an' let me in wiv 'is own fair 'ands, so ter sy."
"Did you enter the room when the door was
forced?"
"Yerse. But I didn't 'ardly see nuffink. Maijor
Preece 'ad us orl artside in a jiffy."
Nothing more was to be obtained from this wit-
ness, Sergeant Nuthall decided. "Can I see the cor-
poral of the guard now?" he demanded.
"Mason," Captain Wape ordered, "as you go
down, tell Corporal Penrose to come here at once."
Mason saluted and left the room.
"Do you want me to stay, Sergeant ?" Wape asked.
"No, sir. I expect the detective inspector will like
to put some additional questions to all the witnesses."
"I'll insure that they are all available. Meanwhile,
I'll go and get some breakfast." He left the room, and
presently a knock at the door heralded the arrival
of Corporal Penrose.
"Well, Corporal, take a seat and tell me all you


104 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
know." The police sergeant addressed the corporal
as an equal.
The corporal had already rehearsed his story. It
had begun to assume the familiar orderly room style
of narrative. Later on the present rough version
would be moulded to the complete classical form.
"At Medbury Fort," he commenced, "on the night
of 5th-6th June, I was corporal in charge of the
guard. At about four-fifty A. M. on the 6th June I ob-
served Private Mason passing through the guard
room toward the stairs leading to the officers' quar-
ters. 'E was carrying Lieutenant Lepean's 'ot water
cans. Some three minutes later I became aware of a
continuous 'ammering sound. I opened the door at
the foot of the stairs and climbed up until I could see
down the passage outside the quarters. Private Mason
was knocking on the lieutenant's door. I next see
Major Preece come along. 'E arsk Private Mason
what was the matter, and then 'e starts 'ammering
and calling out. Captain Wape then come out, and
Mister 'Arris soon after. At about five-five A. M. I
heard Major Preece say the door must be broken
open. I then went up, and as I 'ad my boots on, the
captain told me to bust the door open by kicking at
the lock. This I did, the lock being torn out of the
woodwork after a few kicks." The corporal smiled
with a quiet pride and continued: "I entered the room


MURDER 105
after the officers, but I did not see anything owing to
the room being so dark and Major Preece sending
everyone out of the room immediately."
"Didn't anyone turn on the light?"
"They may 'ave done, but the current is cut off at
five o'clock and it was past that."
"Ah!" The sergeant leaned back reflectively. "A
very queer case this," he remarked in a confidential
tone. "First of all, how did the murderer get into
the room, let alone get out?"
The sergeant bent forward eagerly and added:
"Perhaps he got out after the door was burst open?"
The corporal shook his head: "Couldn't 'ave
done," he said. "I posted two sentries just outside the
door at once; shouted over the banisters for 'em to
come up from the guard room. There's bin two men
outside every second of the time till your bloke took
over. . . . Perhaps he's still inside. Did you look?"
The sergeant gasped: "No, I didn't. Come along."
Followed by the corporal, he strode down the cor-
ridor. The constable whom he had posted there was
standing placidly against the door, which stood
slightly ajar.
"No one come out of this room, Evans?"
"No, Sergeant. Nor gone in," replied the constable,
regarding his superior with astonishment.
Sergeant Nuthall pushed open the door and once


io6 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
more entered that dark and silent room. He gazed
round the room, his eyes gradually becoming ac-
customed to the dim light, with intent care. There was
nowhere a man could hide. No curtains to the win-
dows, the fireplace too small to allow anyone, except
a very small boy, to squeeze through into the chimney.
He could see right under the table; the chest of
drawers was flush against the wall. The bed itself?
Ah! His pulse beat a trifle faster as he stooped, and
lifting the blanket which fell over the side of the
bed, peered beneath. It was very dark. He knelt
down.
"What are you looking for, Sergeant?"
With a start which brought the back of his head
smartly into contact with the iron bedpost, Sergeant
Nuthall withdrew his head and scrambled to his feet.
A small, stoutish man, dressed in a gray lounge suit,
was regarding him with a genial smile. Behind him
was a man in a black morning coat who carried a little
black bag.
"Damn!" thought the sergeant ruefully. "What a
fool I look!" He blushed, and aloud asked: "Detec-
tive Inspector Paton?"
The little man nodded. "That's right." He did not
press for an explanation of the attitude in which the
sergeant had been discovered, thereby insuring Nut-
hall's grateful devotion. "I'll see you in a moment,


MURDER 107
Sergeant. Doctor, just one minute before you touch
the body."
"Now, then," thought Sergeant Nuthall bitterly,
"we shall see the master sleuth at work! I don't
think!"
Detective Inspector Paton, hands in pockets,
glanced slowly round the room. Approaching the bed,
he bent and examined the face of the dead man
minutely. He walked, with a leisurely stride, round
the room. Suddenly he stopped. Nuthall perceived
he had come across the French bayonet. He bent
down, felt the blade, and, to Nuthall's amazement,
kicked it carelessly into the fireplace.
"Was the light switched on when the room was
first entered, d'you know, Sergeant?"
"It was, sir."
"No light, though?"
"Current's switched off at five A. M. This half of a
button I found, sir," he added.
The detective regarded the portion of button
thoughtfully. "Yes," he said mildly, "one of Lepean's
pajama buttons is broken in half. This is undoubtedly
the missing half, but I fear it tells us absolutely noth-
ing. Now, Doctor," he continued briskly, "get on with
your examination, will you? Sergeant, we'll just go
outside and you shall tell me what you have been
able to discover about the case."


CHAPTER VII
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR PATON
AT WORK (TUESDAY)
"Now, Sergeant," said the detective, closing the door
upon the police surgeon, "we will just take a walk
round and discover the lie of the land, while you tell
me what you have found out."
The pair walked across the drawbridge, and paced
up and down the path that ran outside the fort be-
tween the moat and the river bank. Inspector Paton
seemed to enjoy being in the open air: he glanced
appreciatively at the waters of the Thames, now
sparkling in the morning sunlight; then, turning his
back upon the river, he stared long and thoughtfully
at the towering walls of the fort.
"That window there is Lepean's, next Captain
Wape's, then Harris's, and then the Major's?" The
sergeant nodded, and Paton continued, "Yes, that's
right. Impossible to scale that wall, or to enter any
of the rooms if one could. Give me the facts, please,
Sergeant."
Sergeant Nuthall, on his mettle, delivered a concise
108


PATON AT WORK 109
account of what he had learned in his investigations.
"Very good," the inspector commented when the
sergeant had finished his narrative, "you've done very
well. Now, just a few points: how long was it from
the time Private Mason began knocking to the time
Major Preece came out of his own room?"
"Five to six minutes, sir."
"Five to six minutes!" repeated the detective
thoughtfully, tapping his teeth with a pencil. "Does
anything odd strike you about that, Sergeant?"
"Well, sir, the batman must have been making a
dickens of a row, or Major Preece may have hap-
pened to have been awake."
"Quite. The fact remains, Major Preece was the
first to be disturbed, yet his room is the farthest
away from that of Lepean. What was the order and
the approximate times of arriving outside the room
of the other officers?"
"Captain Wape came out of his room about four
minutes after Major Preece's appearance on the scene
and Mr. 'Arris about two minutes after that."
"What one would expect. Wape is next door and
Harris next to him. The corporal of the guard was
awake and, in point of actual fact, heard the noise of
knocking first. He was halfway up the stairs when
Major Preece emerged, though he did not join the
others on the landing outside the room until just


PATON AT WORK
in
when the key is left in the lock, that is, not withdrawn;
secondly, the lock and key must be of a peculiar and
now obsolete pattern. The trick is done by employing
an ingenious little instrument: it is a thin hollow piece
of steel on the principle of an adjustable spanner; one
end can be inserted into the keyhole until it fits over
the shaft of the key, then the screw is turned until
the shaft is firmly gripped. A small cross piece on the
instrument enables the key itself to be rotated and
lock or unlock the door, the whole operation being
performed from the outside of the room. I must
examine that key at once," the detective continued,
"because if such an instrument has been used to open
the door of Lepean's room, we shall find marks of
scratching where the shaft of the key was gripped."
"'Ulloal What's this?" The sergeant had picked
up an unusual-looking object which was lying on the
slope of the fort dyke just below the spot where the
two police officials were standing.
It was a long curved piece of steel. Paton bent down
and felt the edge: it was razor sharp. The hilt was
made of woven fibre. Paton picked it up between his
finger and thumb. It was very heavy.
"This has been thrown out of that window," he
observed. "Captain Wape's, eh? H'm."
Sergeant Nuthall, at last feeling that he was dis-
tinguishing himself, told the detective of the charred


in THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
remains of the towel he had seen in Captain Wape's
fire.
"You think?" Paton queried.
"Might've been a bloody towel, sir."
"You mean, of course," Paton murmured, "a
blood-stained towel. Yes. Well, we'll keep this." He
gave it to the sergeant, remarking as he did so,
"Don't let anyone see it. Wrap it up and give it to me
before I go."
The inspector and his companion retraced their
steps and entered the fort. Corporal Penrose was
standing in the guard room door.
"Corporal Penrose."
"Yes—sir," the corporal replied doubtfully.
"Just a few questions, Corporal," Inspector Paton
smiled. "No one can go through that door and up the
stairs to the officers' quarters without passing through
the guard room?"
"They cawn't."
"And there is no other means of reaching the rooms
above?" the inspector insisted.
The corporal shook his head.
"What time," pursued the inspector, "did the mess
servants leave last night?"
"The mess sergeant and the waiter on duty was
the last to leave. They left together about ten past
eleven."


PATON AT WORK 113
"You are sure no one went up during the night?"
"Certain. The first person wot went up them stairs
was Private Mason at four-fifty A. M. this morning."
Feeling satisfied on this point, the detective turned
his attention to another line of exploration. "How
many men on guard?" he asked.
"Only three, and the N. C. O. There's only one
sentry post," he explained, "one sentry on the gate.
That takes three men, two hours on and four off, so
they each does two tours of duty from the time the
guard's mounted—eight P. M. to eight A. M. next
morning."
"So there would always be yourself and the two
men, not actually on sentry, in the guard room all
night?"
"That's right, 'cept for w'en I'm relieving the
sentry; then I takes the relief man with me."
"Ah! Leaving one man alone in the guard room?"
"That's right."
"How long are you away posting the new sentry?"
"Not more'n a couple of minutes. The sentry beat
is just outside the door."
"Did anything irregular or unusual happen during
the night to take you away from the guard room
except when you were relieving the sentry?"
The corporal hesitated. "Well," he said, "there
was nothing ezackly irregular about it, but as a fact,


PATON AT WORK 115
Paton stepped quickly into the room and turned
to extract the key from the lock.
There was no key there.
******
Detective Inspector Paton drained his cup of
execrable coffee with a slight grimace which he was
unable wholly to suppress and, extracting a cigarette
from his case, with a lift of his eyebrows toward the
police surgeon for permission, lit it.
"Cause of death obvious, then? You agree with
Major Preece's finding?"
"Certainly," the surgeon responded, "but I shall
make an autopsy, too. Those tumblers on the table:
one of them smelt of whisky, the other had contained
some drug—probably veronal—as well as whisky."
"You have got the dregs for analysis?"
"Yes."
"As regards the weapon with which the wound was
inflicted, what are your ideas?"
"Must have been a very sharp and unusually long
knife. The cutting blade was drawn across the base
of the neck with considerable skill and force applied
in the correct direction."
"The only weapon I can think of," the surgeon
continued deliberately, as if carefully weighing each


ii6 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
word, "which would indubitably produce such a
wound is a surgical knife."
"Supposing Lepean to have been in a deep sleep-
possibly drugged—would it have been possible for the
murderer to kill him without him knowing it, so to
speak?"
"Undoubtedly. A surgical knife is sharp and highly
tempered. If sufficient pressure were exerted in the
required direction, only a few seconds would elapse
between the initial incision and the complete severance
of the spinal cord."
"In your opinion, does the type of weapon used and
the appearance of the wound point to the murderer
being a person with a knowledge of anatomy and
accustomed to the use of surgical instruments?"
"Rather leading questions," the police surgeon re-
marked with a sardonic smile. "However, I'll en-
deavour to answer them impartially. A surgeon might
have done the job more neatly; but, in point of fact,
the operation was performed neatly enough; more
pressure was applied, perhaps, than would actually
have sufficed, though the incision was made exactly
at the right spot between two of the cervical verte-
bra."
"What time did the death occur?"
"I examined the body at a quarter to eight, and I
/


PATON AT WORK
"7
estimate death had occurred about four hours previ-
ously. You would be safe in saying the murder took
place sometime between half-past three and four in
the morning."
"Thanks, Doctor. I won't keep you any longer.
You'll let me know the result of the autopsy by to-
morrow morning? Thanks. The inquest will be at
Bitterne on Saturday."
"Right. I must just go in and thank Captain Wape
for his hospitality After you."
Detective Inspector Paton, followed by the de-
pressed-looking police surgeon, passed through the
connecting door into the anteroom; a long room with
a low ceiling and, unlike the rooms on the outer wall
of the fort, adequately lit by four windows giving on
to the parade ground.
Preece and Wape were seated on the club fender
talking in low tones. The' only other occupant of the
room was a boyish-looking subaltern whom Wape
introduced to the inspector as Mr. Harris.
"Now, Captain Wape," remarked the inspector,
"I should like to take a walk round. I want to examine
this block of quarters and the mess thoroughly. Per-
haps Mr. Harris will be good enough to accompany
me?"
"Certainly, Inspector," replied Wape. "Harris,"


n8 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
he added, "go with the inspector and let him see
everywhere. All the rooms are open, I think."
The inspector walked rapidly down the cold, dark
corridor toward the murdered man's room. "Let me
see: this room next door to Lepean's is Captain
Wape's? May I go in?" Without waiting for a reply,
he pushed open the door. A cheerful fire was blazing
in the grate. "Ah, yes. All these rooms are identical,
I see," commented the detective. He crossed to the
window, and, kneeling on the deep ledge, looked out.
Directly below was the dyke, a full thirty feet broad;
beyond was the narrow path upon which he and
Sergeant Nuthall had strolled, beyond that the
Thames. Fifty feet to the river banks. Paton doubted
the possibility of throwing an article, such as a knife
or a heavy key, from the room through the awkwardly
placed window in its deep embrasure, with the neces-
sary force and elevation to insure it reaching the
river. He turned to the subaltern and inquired care-
lessly, "Do you happen to know if Captain Wape
ever served in West Africa?"
Harris looked startled. "By Jove!" he replied.
"How did you know that? Yes, of course he did;
Wape did a tour with the West African Rifles. Before
the war. Don't you remember "he broke off
hurriedly, adding, "I can't think how you knew."
"I didn't know," murmured the detective, "but it's


PATON AT WORK 119
of no consequence," he added, dimly feeling like a
character from Dickens.
The inspector glanced into Harris's room, and
then with a cursory tap on the door, entered that of
Major Preece. Here, too, there was a fire burning.
The inspector stood before it while he allowed his
eyes to wander round the room.
"Would you let me have your description of the
bursting of the door and so forth?" he inquired
casually.
"When I went out into the passage"
"Time?"
"Five past five—I looked at my watch which I
kept under my pillow—Major Preece, Wape, and
Private Mason were standing at the door. The major
was beating on it with his fists. Corporal Penrose was
at the top of the stairs. Major Preece said we must
break the door open; so Penrose stood back and
kicked hard at the lock—he was the only one there
with boots on. . . ."
"Had not Private Mason his boots on?"
"No. The batmen—quite irregularly—often wear
'gym' shoes in the morning. About the third kick the
lock began to give, and the next kick burst it open."
"Tell me carefully exactly what happened next.
Every detail you can remember."
"Everyone sort of hung back a second; it was rather


PATON AT WORK
121
"Four or five minutes. Then he came out. He
looked a bit 'dickey,' too. He told us Lepean was
dead and had, almost certainly, been murdered. He
suggested to Wape that the police should be informed
at once and that sentries should be posted on the
room; both suggestions were carried out immedi-
ately."
"Hum! Thank you. A very clear statement."
The inspector examined, with interest, the fine set
of Kropp razors which hung on the wall, beside
Preece's dressing table. A small flat box lying on the
table itself attracted his attention. He flicked open
the lid.
The door was pushed open and Major Preece
entered the room.
"Apologies for looking round your room, Major.
Must see everywhere, you know. I was wondering
why you take your case of instruments about with
you?"
"I don't, usually. In the fort there is not a properly
equipped hospital, so I brought along a small private
set of my own."
"Very wise," agreed the inspector.
"Do you know," asked the inspector, as he and
Harris wandered through the numerous pantries and
cellars with which the mess was provided, "one
Private Swansdick?"


122 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Oh, yes, in my company."
"Good man?"
"Been in trouble lately. Lepean, curiously enough,
was responsible for getting him ninety-six hours' de-
tention the other day."
"What was the punishment for?"
Harris replied unwillingly: "Fact is, it was rather a
rotten business. Lepean 'ran' him for 'failing to
salute'; made a dead set at him. Lepean was in mufti,
on Greenhithe Common with some 'pick-up.' I hap-
pened to know that Lepean had been damned angry
when men had recognized and saluted him in the like
circumstances. I suppose Swansdick knew this, and
thought Lepean would prefer not to be saluted; at
any rate, he ignored him. Lepean ran him in—and—
altogether, rather a dirty business—Lepean was not,
however "Harris broke off abruptly.
"I understand. De mortuis. . . ."
They had arrived at the anteroom once more.
Preece and Wape rose from their seats as the detec-
tive inspector entered the room.
"Well, gentlemen," the latter said, planting him-
self in front of the fire and glancing keenly from one
face to the other, "I shan't bother you much more.
I shall just take another look at the lieutenant's room
before I go. I'll arrange for the removal of the body
as I pass through Bitterne. The inquest will be on


PATON AT WORK
«3
Saturday. You will all be required to give evidence.
There was one more point I omitted to inquire
about"
"Post, sir, letter for you, sir." A mess servant was
holding out a tray to Major Preece. Two letters
reposed upon it. The inspector noticed the peculiarity
that they had both been addressed in the same hand-
writing.
Preece took one of the letters.
"This one, sir, is for Mr. Lepean. What shall I
do with it, sir?" the servant appealed to Wape.
"I will take that." The inspector put out a curiously
slim hand for one so heavily built, and pocketed the
letter. "I was going to ask," he continued, "who last
saw Lieutenant Lepean alive?"
There was a moment's silence, broken by Preece:
"I think I must have done. I went to his room last
night, and stayed chatting and having a drink till
about half-past twelve."
"About the drinks, Major. Two tumblers were on
the table."
"We each had a whisky and soda. At least, I had a
whisky and soda; Lepean had a whisky and soda and
veronal. He used to get asthma," Preece explained,
"and he asked me for something to make him sleep,
as he had not slept for the last two nights. I had been
attending him for some time, and of course, I should


124 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
not have done it in the ordinary way; but I could see
he was done up, and veronal is a specific for asthma,
though it does not cure permanently, so I gave him
two tablets to dissolve in his whisky."
"How much would that be, Doctor?"
"Four grains."
"A fairly stiff dose," commented the inspector.
"Yes, strong, but not dangerous. I wanted to insure
that he would have a good night's rest."
"I see. . . . Well, good-morning, gentlemen, I
shall just go in here for a final look round," the in-
spector murmured to Wape, who was accompanying
him. "Seeing me off the premises," thought Paton,
with amusement. He entered the room, and, taking no
notice of the bed and its grim burden, stepped to the
writing table upon which stood a small attache case.
The detective rapidly went through its contents: an
assortment of bills of every description, tailors',
florists', garages', tobacconists'. An expensive young
man. A recent hotel bill, bearing the stamped head-
ing of the Ronan Arms at Mawne, attracted his at-
tention. Mawne? The letter in his pocket (as yet
unopened) bore that postmark. He drew the letter
out and verified the fact. At the bottom of a pile of
letters, mostly from young women of decidedly
"forthcoming" disposition, he noticed a piece of


PATON AT WORK 125
paper headed "I.O.U." It was for a sum of a hundred
pounds and signed "G. A. Harris." Pocketing this
and the hotel bill, he left the room. As he turned to
bid farewell to Captain Wape before jumping into
the taxicab in which he was returning to London, the
latter said abruptly: "Inspector, I ought to tell you
that I was the last person to see Lepean alive."
The inspector waited.
"Yes," continued Wape, appearing slightly discon-
certed by the inspector's lack of surprise, "I went to
his room about a quarter to one. He was reading in
bed. I stayed talking till about two."
"Did you notice if Lepean had a whisky and soda
by his bed?"
"Yes, he had. In fact, I remarked it must be getting
rather flat, and he said he did not want to drink it till
just before the light was turned out, as it contained
veronal, and he wanted to lie down and go to sleep
immediately after taking it."
"Did he drink it before you went away?"
"No. But I assume he did directly afterward. He
said he was going to turn in at once."
"Thank you, thank you. Yes. Doesn't shed much
light on the mystery, I'm afraid, but thanks."
Wape hesitated, then he asked, stiffly: "Any indi-
cations, Inspector? Any—er—clues?"


ii6 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
The inspector smiled and shook his head, jumped
into the taxi, waving a genial farewell with his slim
hand.
"Yes," he thought, as he bumped over the third-
class road which connects Medbury Fort and the
suburb of Bitterne, "plenty of clues. Too many clues;
but no evidence and no motive. The major, the cap-
tain, the subaltern, or the private—what's his name?
—Swansdick. I don't think it's Swansdick. I don't
think it's Harris, in spite of that I. O. U., or because
of it, rather; for had he done the murder he would
have destroyed it. I'm more doubtful about Wape,
and still more doubtful about Preece . . . but one
of 'em it must be, for it simply cannot be anyone else.
Here! Let's have a look at this letter." He drew out
the single sheet of notepaper and read:
Mawne Park, Dorset,
Monday, 5th June.
Sir:
/ regret I find it impossible to meet you on the
8th inst. as notified in my previous letter, but I
will arrange to see you at the same time and place
on the following day.
Please reply by return,
Yours faithfully,
Prunella Ronan.


128 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
poral Penrose in Captain Wape's room, just a
minute or two before you arrived, sir. The sergeant
told me to give you this, sir," the constable added,
producing a long narrow curved object wrapped in a
sheet of newspaper.
As he was borne swiftly to London the inspector
reflected, with some uneasiness, that this looked as if
it were going to develop into one of those "mystery"
cases, so dear to the journalist, so repugnant to the
best instincts of the professional detective.


CHAPTER VIII
A LADY IS ALARMED
(WEDNESDAY)
Young Lady Ronan—she was known as "young"
Lady Ronan to distinguish her from "old" Lady
Ronan, the widow of the late Sir John, who lived in
the comfortable Dower House across the Park—ran
down the wide staircase and scanned the pile of letters
lying on a side table in the hall.
Prunella Ronan was still described by her friends
as a "charming girl." "Girl" is a term applied, in
these days, to any woman under sixty who does not
show unmistakable signs of senile decay. Prunella
was thirty-six and did not look it. She had retained
her slim and pliant figure; her complexion, with the
slightest artificial aid, truly deserved the adjective
"dazzling." Her bronze hair, neatly waved and
shingled, shone with undiminished lustre. Round the
mouth and eyes faint lines could be traced which, in
another twenty years, would stamp her character
upon her face. She was utterly selfish. Naturally of an
optimistic, gay temperament, she was superficially
129


130 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
popular with both men and women; but she had no
close friends. Fundamentally, she cared for no one in
the world save herself. She abhorred failure, wor-
shipped success. She was an outstanding example of
success herself. From a nobody, a "small part"
musical comedy actress, she had emerged Lady
Ronan. Anyone who threatened her security, her
position, or her happiness she would relentlessly
scheme and fight against.
A slight frown puckered her forehead as she se-
lected an envelope, and, breaking it open, drew out
the sheet of notepaper inside. She read the contents
with absorbed attention.
"'Morning, my dear. Had breakfast? . . . No.
Come on, then!" The speaker was Sir Tremayne
Ronan. He was ten years her senior. A dark man,
getting bald and stout. A noted connoisseur. The ac-
quisition of Eighteenth Century furniture, philately,
and amateur farming were his hobbies. Fifteen years
ago, when they had first met, he had been a rather
objectionable type of man-about-town. Finding it
impossible to possess her on any other terms, he had
asked Prunella to marry him. She had agreed, subject
to his parents' approval, a stroke that had at once
prejudiced old Lady Ronan in her favour. Sir John
had immediately taken a violent fancy to her. Old J
Lady Ronan, watching her shrewdly at a test week-


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 131
end house party (correctly labelled by Prunella a
"try out"), applauded her quiet manner, soft voice,
and diffident air.
"She's got good blood in her, John," she told her
husband, "some Eighteenth Century lord who don't
appear in her pedigree is responsible for that, I ex-
pect. She'll keep Tremayne in order. Might have been
worse."
The prophecy was fulfilled. Prunella did keep her
husband in pretty good order. The man-about-town
dissolved into the dilettant connoisseur and farmer.
Two years after the marriage Sir John died. The
heir, who at that period was in France with a battalion
of Guards, settled down on his estates with con-
siderable satisfaction at the end of the war.
In July, 1925, Lady Ronan had borne a son. "Bet-
ter late than never," old Lady Ronan had com-
mented, "perhaps this is only the start." So far as
Prunella was concerned, it was also the finish. She
had wanted a son, an heir, to complete her success.
She had obtained one.
As she had read that letter from Hugh Preece just
now she had thought, with a flush of intolerable anger
when her husband's complacent voice fell on her
ears: "Now I'm embroiled in all this horrible affair,
and it was for you I did it; to provide an heir for you;
because you couldn't get one yourself, I had to . . ."


132 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
A hot flush mounted her cheek. Abruptly, she walked
into the breakfast room behind Sir Tremayne's bulky
form.
"I'm going up to town to-day, Tremayne," she
announced. "Back this evening. You don't want to
come, I suppose?"
"Lord, no 1 Must go over to old Snagg's sale. He's
got some good stuff. There's a Jacobite engraved
wine-glass I want. There won't be any dealers there.
Wouldn't miss it for anything."
Prunella nodded and, pressing the bell on her way
to the door, left the/room. Crossing the hall, she met
the butler advancing at a dignified walk from the
servants' hall.
"Ripley," she called, "I want to catch the ten-
thirty to London. Order the car at once, please. . . .
Fly!" she commanded, as the butler, with a quiet
"Yes, m'lady," began to retrace his steps in the same
leisurely pace. There was a liberal display of silk-
clad leg as Prunella, with a light laugh, ran quickly
up the stairs. The butler pursued his way to the
servants' hall, a smile of amusement, with a hint of
contempt, curling the corners of his mouth.
"Her ladyship," he told a footman, "wants to catch
the ten-thirty to London. Be so good as to inform
Mr. Gibbons that the Daimler is wanted at once to
go to the station."


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 133
Ten minutes after, Ripley threw open the front
door as Lady Ronan, now dressed in a smart jumper
suit, came down the stairs.
"Funny thing," thought the butler, "she always
looks better in town clothes. In 'er country tweeds
she kind of looks dressed for the part. Where's she
off to now all of a sudden, I wonder? Sly minxl I
should watch her if I were Sir Tremayne. Still! We
might have done worse; she 'asn't disgraced the
family, so far." None of these reflections altered in
the slightest degree the trained impassivity of the
butler's face as he held open the door of the Daimler
sedan. Once more, to his unappreciative eyes alone,
Lady Ronan's legs, in the latest shade of nude, were
generously displayed, as she slipped into her car.
"Oh, Ripley! Send this telegram please, at once."
"Very good, m'lady." The butler stood back as the
big car, purring like a large cat, seemed to be sucked
down the gravel drive as if by some monstrous and
invisible vacuum cleaner. A few moments later he was
telephoning the following message to the village post
office:
Major Preece, Medbury Fort, Essex,
Meet me lunch one-thirty Ladies' Parthenon
to-day without fail.
Prunella R.


i34 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Well, now, that's damned queer," he thought.
Returning to his pantry, he reread with great care all
the Daily Mail had to say about the Medbury Fort
murder.
At about the time that Lady Ronan was stepping
into the London express at Mawne railway station,
Chief Inspector McMaster raised the speaking tube
on his desk and desired a messenger to fetch Detec-
tive Inspector Paton. A few minutes later Paton
quietly entered the room and waited until the chief
looked up.
"Good-morning, Paton. Take a seat."
"Good-morning, sir," replied the inspector, slip-
ping into a chair.
"I've read your report on the Medbury Fort affair.
Now let's hear what you make of it."
"It's a puzzle, sir, and no mistake. This is the way
I look at it."
"One moment, Paton," McMaster interrupted.
"You've arranged that nothing in the room where
the murder was done, except, of course, the body, is
to be touched; the door to be left as it is, and so
forth?"
"Yes, sir. The local police have a man there."
"Good iFire ahead!"
"The murder was committed, according to the


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 135
medical evidence, between three and four A. M. No
one could get to the officers' quarters without passing
through the guard room. There were three men in
the guard room, except for very short intervals which
can be disregarded, the whole night; the only excep-
tion being when Private Swansdick was left alone in
the guard room from about four to four-twenty A. M.
Therefore, during the time that the murder was
done, or as near as makes no odds, only four people
could possibly have had access to Lepean's room:
Preece, Wape, Harris, or Swansdick. I assume the
murderer must be one of those four. How did the
murderer get into the locked room? We have, inci-
dentally, no positive proof that Lepean locked his
door before going to sleep; but it is known he was
in the habit of so doing. There is no doubt in my mind
the murderer possessed a pair of steel tweezers, such
as you know, sir, are used by professional burglars;
with these he gripped the shaft of the key and un-
locked and subsequently relocked the door from the
outside. One of the mysterious points about this case
is the disappearance of the key. My explanation of
this is that the murderer, realizing that the marks
of the tweezers would be left on the key, took an
opportunity of abstracting it. I've questioned Nuthall
and the constable who accompanied him to the fort


136 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
closely on this point. Nuthall is certain the key was
in the lock when he first entered the room. The
constable was posted outside the room immediately.
Wape made a trivial excuse to enter the room for a
moment and is the only person who was in the room
alone, even for a single minute, after Nuthall had
noticed the key in position and before I discovered
it was missing. Logically, therefore, it points to
Wape," the inspector grimaced, "but I confess I
don't follow it. As to the manner of the killing," he
resumed, "it jumped to my mind at once when I saw
the body, 'This was done by a skilled hand.' The
surgeon is of the same opinion. This, of course, points
to Preece. Or to both. Then, again, there's this thing."
Paton drew from under his coat with the air of a
conjuror producing an exceptionally remarkable
rabbit, the long curved sword he had found on the
bank outside Wape's room. He described the circum-
stances under which it had been discovered. "What do
you think it is, sir?" he asked.
"A native weapon of sorts, I imagine."
"Yes, sir, a West African machete. I happen to
know because my wife's brother is a district commis-
sioner on the Gold Coast. It appears a machete is
used as a weapon, an axe, and a sort of general house-
hold implement out there. The natives are very
skilful in using them; they'll fell a tree with it, plant


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 137
kassava, cut off your head, or pare their toenails as
easy as kiss your hand with that same implement."
McMaster balanced the machete on his hand and
gingerly felt the edge of the blade.
"It's very sharp."
"Yes, sir. Captain Wape has served in West
Africa."
"Ah!"
Paton leaned forward. "I've asked the doctor if
that weapon could have produced the wound in
Lepean's neck. He says it might have done."
"H'm! No bloodstains here," McMaster objected.
"True! Those marks on the blade are old blood-
stains. There are no recent stains."
The detective inspector told his chief about the
remains of a towel which Sergeant Nuthall had seen
burning upon the fire in Captain Wape's room.
"The inference being that after killing his brother
officer with this knife, Wape wiped the blade on a
towel, which he burned on his fire. H'm! You don't
want me to tell you that all this is—highly theoret-
ical."
"I know, sir. Still, I mean to explore every avenue.
Now, as to motive"
"Ah, motive! I'm glad you've come to motive.
Find the motive and you've found the criminal. Only
remember, Paton, human beings are queer. Some


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 139
"I think so, too. Lepean was unquestionably a man
who would stick at nothing. I'm going down to Mawne
by the midday train. I shall pump the innkeeper at
the Ronan Arms where Lepean stayed, any of the
servants I can, and if you think it wise, sir, Lady
Ronan herself."
"Yes, better. She may be able to give a perfectly
simple and straightforward explanation."
"Very good, sir, I'll be off," said Paton, rising.
"Just one thing, Paton. How did the various—what
shall we say?—'suspects,' strike you?"
"It's difficult, as you know, sir, to judge whether a
man is reacting normally or not when you see him
for the first time under the stress of some shock. My
impressions were: Preece is a highly strung, nervous
type. He was considerably shaken, more so than you
might expect a doctor and a man who has seen active
service to be. Still, anyone might lose their nerve a
bit under those circumstances. He looked to me—
well—scared. Wape is a man of iron self-control.
He was shaken, but hardly showed it. Harris seemed
a very nice lad. He was upset, of course, naturally,
but I don't think it is Harris. Swansdick I did not
see."
"Right! Get along, then, Paton. Good-morning."
For a long while after his subordinate had gone the
chief remained, his chin cupped in his hand, thinking.


i4o THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
At last he stretched out a hand and touched the bell
on his desk. "I want a car at once," he ordered, when
a constable appeared in answer to the summons, "to
take me down to Medbury Fort," he added. "Tell
Sergeant Mallinson to come and see me, please."
A tall, good-looking man entered the room a few
minutes later. Detective Sergeant Mallinson was
generally looked upon as a coming man for reasons
not altogether easy to define. He was thirty-two years
of age. His face was thin, the mouth a straight line;
high cheek bones and deeply set eyes gave him a
strangely inscrutable appearance. The immobility of
his habitual expression was a mask which he could
throw aside at will; in actual fact, like a professional
actor, he could alter and control his facial muscles in
accordance with any characters he wished to assume.
In the art of disguise and make-up he was a master.
Scotland Yard discourages the detective staff of
the C.I.D. from indulging in disguises unless abso-
lutely essential. When it became necessary for a
detective to assume some character part Detective
Sergeant Mallinson was invariably chosen for the
job. Not only did Mallinson copy the appearance of
the required type, he had the faculty of getting right
into the skin of his part. With, for instance, the out-
ward appearance of a coal heaver, he at once acquired
the mentality of a coal heaver; with the pallid face of


i42 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
the first time we've met since—Swindon, and since her
letter to me about Lepean. What she does not know
yet," he thought grimly, as he responded to her
radiant smile across the little table, "is the imminent
danger of the whole affair being raked out by that
blasted detective."
"Have you seen the morning papers?" he asked,
as they settled themselves at a small table in one
corner of the large dining room.
She gave him a direct look. "Yes. Hugh. Well
done!"
Never, never, never would he understand this
woman. She was ruthless, implacable. She had no
imagination; visual imagination; no power of con-
structing a scene outside the usual scope of her own
experience; no gift for entering into the feelings of
another person. Psychologically, Hugh reflected
grimly, she lived in watertight compartments. She
literally did not allow the right-hand lobe of her brain
to know what the left-hand lobe was thinking. The
facts, first, that she had written a letter urging him
to murder Lepean; and secondly, that Lepean had
de facto been murdered, were entirely disconnected
in her mind. The two facts placed thus in their correct
relation were too unpleasant for her consciousness
to face; therefore, she disconnected them; refused
to admit, even to herself, that she had instigated a


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 143
murder and was, even now, lunching with the mur-
derer.
"That must be the psychological position," Preece
reflected, with that curious faculty of detachment
which he possessed, "or I fail to appreciate how she
can sit there looking so damned cool and pretty and—
provocative."
She insisted upon a bottle of Krug "to buck us up."
"We'll want all we can get," returned Preece.
"Hugh, don't be depressing. I always come through
my troubles because I refuse to be downhearted."
"Or because you are hard-hearted," Preece said to
himself. Aloud, he replied: "Your success is due to
the fact that you always know what you want and go
straight for it."
"That sounds horrid of me."
"It's the secret of happiness; know what you want
and grab it."
"Do I grab?"
"Everything you want."
"Well, I want some champagne, please. What a
filthy lunch! Why can't women run their clubs
decently? I apologize, Hugh, but we can have our
coffee in a quiet corner of the drawing room and be
undisturbed."
"D'you remember that day we were caught in the
rain and had lunch'at that funny little 'pub' in Shere?"


144 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Yes, we sat on the horsehair sofa in the parlour
and held hands. Oh, Hugh! What times we've had
together!"
"It's a queer thing, Prunella," Preece remarked
with a quizzical smile, "but I cannot help making
love to you. Particularly as," he went on, but not
aloud, "I am perfectly well aware what a heartless
little vampire you are—completely and utterly out
for yourself the whole time. Our interests in hushing
up this Swindon episode are, happily, identical; other-
wise"
"Hugh!" Prunella had the grace to blush becom-
ingly, "perhaps it's my fault."
"Both of our faults, no doubt." The champagne
had made him talkative; his temperamental im-
partiality, usually concealed, found an outlet in
speech: "You were made for me to make love to. I
can do it ever so much better with you than with any-
one else—to my wife, for instance, whom I love ever
so much better than I have ever loved you."
"I love you when you become introspective. You
are very attractive, Hugh." She smiled at him over
her brimming wineglass.
"Do other men make love to you pleasantly, Prun-
ella?"
Her smile became enigmatic. She rose. "Coffee and
liqueur brandy in the drawing room," she ordered.


146 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Hugh," she disengaged herself gently from his
embrace, "we mustn't talk like this. We must talk
seriously. This is madness! Now, one lump or two?"
Preece took his coffee without milk and ignored the
liqueur brandy. He was an abstemious man and al-
ready had the uncomfortable feeling that he had
taken enough champagne gravely to imperil the
soundness of his judgment.
"Well, now, Hugh," Prunella began, "you got my
letter and you acted on it promptly." It was a state-
ment, not a question.
Preece paused before replying. They were sitting
side by side on a Chesterfield sofa; he moved a few
inches away from her. For some moments he stared
thoughtfully at the pattern on the carpet; then he
raised his eyes and looked at her.
She was leaning back indolently; her dress dis-
played to perfection the long graceful curves of her
body. Over her very slightly protuberant eyeballs the
thin lids were lowered. Suddenly she raised them and
met his gaze fixed upon her; a slow flush mounted to
her cheeks, then faded, leaving them paler than
before.
"Yes," he replied at last, "I had your letter on
Monday by the last post. That night, or rather, early
the next morning, Lepean was murdered."
A sound escaped her: a sort of hissing sigh, com-


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 147
pounded of relief and horror. She leaned right back,
her head propped against the back of the sofa. Preece
could see the quick rise and fall of her bosom.
He caught a whisper: "Is it all—safe, Hugh ? You
burned my letter, of course?"
"At once," he replied gravely. He hesitated before
going on. Then he added slowly, "Unfortunately,
you sent me another letter. . . . Oh, nothing in it
. . . but I fear it's put the police on the scent. You see,
if all this—about us and Lepean's attempt to black-
mail—comes out, everyone, including the police, will
think I did"
"Hugh, how ghastly!" She leaned back, biting her
underlip, in deep thought. "You mean, if the police
find out about us, and that he was trying to blackmail
me, they will think that you—took measures to
silence him?"
"Naturally, even without your letter, Prunella.
You see, it jumps to the mind. What's worse, they
are on the track of it."
"How can they be?"
"That letter you wrote to Lepean on Monday—
what did you say in it?"
"Only to change my appointment with him from
Thursday to Friday. I told you I meant to keep him
hanging on, to give you—time."
"Might have been worse, but the detective from


i48 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Scotland Yard got hold of it. They're sure to inquire
about it—what the interview was about, and so on."
"I can easily make up a story that will satisfy them.
Anything: that I had heard Lepean had an old Irish
goblet and I was going to buy it for my husband. I'll
think out something."
"Wouldn't do, Prunella. The detective—Paton is
his name—I'm sure saw there was a letter for me in
the same handwriting. That alone connects us. Then,
you have a nursery maid—Nancy Beasley?"
"Yes, why? How do you know?"
"Lepean told me. He was down at Mawne a few
weeks ago making sure of his facts. He discovered
that this girl, by an extraordinary chance, happens
to know you spent a night somewhere—she doesn't
know where, unless Lepean told her, which is unlikely
—on your way to Lord Harringf orth's in September,
1924. She has a sister who's a maid at the Harring-
forthsV
"What deadly luck! But still, how can the police
get on to the track of Nancy?"
"I don't know. I simply do not know how thorough
the police are; but they have got a line on you and
me and Lepean being mixed up somehow; and if they
start investigating in earnest, they may disinter the
whole episode."


A LADY IS ALARMED (WEDNESDAY) 149
"Do you think this detective—Paton—will inter-
rogate me?"
"Undoubtedly he will. The only chance is to put
him right off, at the very commencement, by some
absolutely cast-iron, cut-and-dried yarn accounting
for the connection between the three of us." Preece
shuddered involuntarily. It was all rather sordid and
furtively mean. Prunella's mouth hardened into a
narrow, straight line.
"Very well, I shall be prepared," she said. "Tell
me, did Lepean collect anything?"
"He was a great collector of women," replied
Preece with a grim smile, "though hardly a fastidious
one. I don't think he collected anything else. Wait a
minute, though! I recollect he showed me the other
day a rare stamp. It was a Martinique blue, twenty
cents, first issue; he told me it was worth a hundred
pounds."
"The very thing. I will admit you and I occasionally
corresponded, and even met once or twice, and that
you had mentioned this stamp to me. I shall say I
wanted to buy it for my husband's birthday, which is,
fortunately, next month, and the meeting with Lepean
was to discuss the price, and so on."
"Yes," Preece admitted, "that sounds fairly plaus-
ible. What will you do if the police get hold of your


150 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
nursery maid, and discover the discrepancy between
the time you left Mawne and the time of your arrival
at Harring Castle?"
"I shall say I went up to town and stayed the night
here. I often do stay here and I did somewhere about
that time. None of the club servants could swear, at
this date, that I did not spend the night of the 29th
September here."
"Surely there would be a record in the club books?"
"Don't you remember the club was burned down
about a year ago ? All the books must have been de-
stroyed. It's quite safe. What luck!"
Preece's face lightened. He rose. "The Fates are
propitious," he remarked. "You've got plenty of
nerve, Prunella, and an ingenious invention, I must
admit. You'll be ready for that blighter Paton, any-
way."
She put up her face to be kissed. "Good-bye,
Hugh," she murmured. "Don't worry. Darling
Hugh!" she breathed softly.
As Major Preece left the club and started to walk
to Charing Cross Station a shabbily dressed indi-
vidual who had been engaged in a prolonged scrutiny
of a jeweller's shop window abstracted his gaze and
unostentatiously took up the trail.


CHAPTER IX
THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE
(WEDNESDAY)
When Detective Inspector Paton's taxicab deposited
him at Paddington he had ten minutes to spare before
the departure of his train. After securing a corner
seat, he went to the public call box and rang up the
Yard.
"Has Stevens returned yet?"
"Yes, sir. Hold on and I'll fetch him."
In a few minutes Paton recognized his subordi-
nate's voice in the receiver. "Inspector Paton speak-
ing. Did you get anything, Stevens?"
"I traced the man who used to be stage-door keeper
at the Vanity. He remembered Prunella Lake, of
course, and he also remembered a Mr. Preece who
used to wait for her."
"Did she have any hangers-on?"
"Yes. But apparently this Mr. Preece was the most
regular. The old man recollected him perfectly: said
it was what they called a 'case' at the theatre between
him and the Lake girl."
»5i


THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE 153
"Well, there! Dear me! You don't say that's the
officer been murdered? Well, I said to my wife, 'It's
the same name,' I says, 'and not a common name,
neither. . . .'"
"Yes, that was him. Tell me, Mr. Bridges," the
inspector's voice became confidential, "I'm making a
few inquiries, you understand? From the Yard."
Mr. Bridges blinked. He would have something to
tell them in the bar parlour that night.
"What did Mr. Lepean come here for?"
The landlord braced himself to give the cool and
collected reply he felt the unique occasion demanded:
"Well, sir, I don't hardly know. Not for the fishing,
that's certain, though it's very good. Trout, you
know, and salmon, both wet and dry fly, and not ex-
pensive. There's a stretch of river you can get"
"Quite, Mr. Bridges," interposed Paton firmly,
"but haven't you an idea why Mr. Lepean came here?
Did he call on anybody in the neighbourhood?"
"Not to my knowledge, he didn't. No. He asked
me a lot of questions, though. Come to think of it, he
was particularly interested in the people at Mawne
Park—Sir Tremayne Ronan and his Lady. Very
taken up with them he was. And, yes, I do call to
mind hearing as how he'd struck up with Nancy Beas-
ley—she's nursery maid at the Park—and went for
a walk with her on the Sunday evening. Young Ted


154 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Cooper, who's keeping company with her, was prop-
erly wild about it in the bar here one night."
Paton inquired the way to Mawne Park from the
genial landlord and, bidding him a cordial farewell,
set out. He came to the gates in ten minutes' walking.
A stone dog, holding a shield between its forepaws,
crowned a pillar upon either side of the ornamental
iron gates. The detective passed through them. The
afternoon was fine and not oppressively hot. Paton
slackened his pace, .enjoying the cool breeze, the beau-
tiful wooded park, and the glimpses of the dignified
Eighteenth Century house, seen, ever and anon,
through avenues of trees. The rather short, stoutish
man in his "towny" clothes, bowler hat, and black
boots looked drab and out of place as he marched
stolidly up the gravel drive. Paton himself became
aware of this incongruity and glanced with distaste
at his serviceable blue suit and the umbrella he car-
ried. There was a deeper incongruity, he felt, in the
errand which brought him to this house, with its com-
placent air of security and breeding. What would
the Eighteenth Century Ronan have thought of one
of their race being mixed up with a Bow Street run-
ner? He was feeling well pleased with what he had
learned from the talkative landlord. The decision
to investigate the connection existing between the
murdered officer, Lady Ronan, and Preece was a


156 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
vanced on the tips of his paws, ears flat, teeth bared
to the canines; a compact wiry ball of outraged fury
and suspicion.
"Master John," the nurse shouted, "catch hold of
Hamish quickly."
Paton, wisely, waited till the child had seized the
dog by his collar before advancing. "Nice little chaps,
those Scotties," he remarked, "but they don't like
strangers, do they?"
"No, sir," the girl replied, smiling archly up at
him, "they don't that."
Paton observed her carefully. He reckoned him-
self a good judge of character, and, generally, found
his first impressions surprisingly correct. Village-
trained, a bit of a flirt, ideas above her station, not
altogether a fool, but easily impressed by a strong
personality, was his rapid summing up. He deter-
mined on the direct method of approach.
"I am Detective Inspector Paton of the Criminal
Investigation Department, Scotland Yard," he said.
"Your name is Nancy Beasley." It was a statement,
not a question. The girl's mouth sagged open, her
eyes wavered.
"Yes," she gasped, "how"
"Never mind," Paton's voice was stern, "you knew
Mr. Lepean?"


THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE 1^7
She nodded, unable to speak.
"When and how did you meet him?" the detective
pursued.
"I—I "the girl was almost in tears.
Paton allowed a more genial tone to creep into
his voice as he said: "Don't be alarmed. Just answer
my questions."
"Of—of course, I read about the murder. I
thought it might be 'im, but then I thought it was too
dreadful to 'appen to a gentleman like 'im."
"It was him. Answer my questions, please."
"I met 'im just the once. 'E spoke to me very nice
and proper, quite the gentleman; and we went for a
walk," she gasped.
"What did you talk about?"
"Well "She blushed.
"I don't want to know about the sweethearting,"
Paton hastened to explain.
She gave him an indignant glance. " 'E seemed in-
terested in the family, and Master John there.
Wanted to know when he was born."
"AM And when was he born?" Paton inquired,
looking at the child, now happily playing once more
with the indefatigable terrier. A nice-looking little
chap, Paton thought, something vaguely familiar,
too, about the eyes; or was it the expression reminded


158 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
him of someone? Strange! because he had never set
eyes upon him, or upon any of the Ronan family, so
far as he was aware. He was recalled from the vain
effort to trace the fleeting likeness by the girl's voice
replying to his question.
"His birthday's the same day as 'is father's: 2d of
July. He'll be three years old, then."
"Fine boy for his age," the detective commented
casually. "Anything else Mr. Lepean wanted to
know particularly?"
"Nothing pertikler, I don't think," the girl hesi-
tated uneasily. Paton felt intuitively that she was
withholding some information. He decided to take a
strong line: "Listen to me, my dear," he said im-
pressively, "this little chat is quite informal and un-
official; but if we find out later that you know some-
thing of importance, it may be unpleasant for you.
Come, nowl Let me advise you, as the Americans
say, to come clean."
The girl gave a nervous laugh. "Well, sir," she ad-
mitted, "'e did ask me pertikler about something;
only I didn't want to gossip about my mistress, and
it didn't seem important-like."
"Yes?" .
"About four years ago, well, it was in September,
1924, 'er ladyship went to stay at Harring, near
Bath; she left on a Tuesday, by the morning train,


THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE 159
and, a'course, she should've reached Harring the
same day. She didn't get there till the next after-
noon—by the same train as the one she took the day
before. They all thought at Harring that she had
started on the Wednesday and travelled straight
through; an' she didn't never tell 'em no different:
but my cousin, Amelia, she's in service with Lady
Harringforth, and she 'appened to write and tell me
the day Lady Ronan 'ad come. I did think it rather
queer at the time, but I didn't say nothing to no one,
and then I forgot all about it. The gentleman, Mr.
Lepean, 'e ask me about it—though 'ow 'e come to
know anything about it is a perfect mystery to me—
and a'course though Lady Ronan's been away, visiting
and what not, scores of times, before and after, I did
remember that pertikler occasion w'en 'e ask me."
"I see," said Paton slowly, "then on that Tuesday
night Lady Ronan was thought by the people here to
have been at Harring, and the people at Harring sup-
posed her to be at Mawne?"
"That's it."
"Was Sir Tremayne at home at the time?"
"No, sir. Sir Tremayne was abroad. Norway, I
think, for the fishing."
Paton looked slightly surprised.
"'E come back about a week later and joined 'er
ladyship at Harring," she volunteered.


160 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"And Mr. Lepean appeared to be aware of this
unexplained hiatus in Lady Ronan's movements on
the date in question?"
Nancy Beasley turned a pair of amazed blue eyes
upon the inspector.
"I mean," the inspector amended, "he appeared to
know already what you have just told me?"
"Yes, 'e did, sir, but 'e seemed sort of pleased that
me and my cousin could sort of"
"Confirm the facts?" suggested the other.
"That's right, sir. That was just it."
Paton glanced at his watch; its hands pointed to
half-past four. "Is Lady Ronan at home to-day?" he
inquired.
"She's gone to London, sir, but she's expected back
by the five-forty. Oh, sir!" the girl continued in a
dismayed voice, "you won't tell 'er ladyship?"
"If I do, your name shall not be mentioned,"
Paton reassured her. "At least," he added to him-
self, "not for the present." Aloud he inquired the full
name and address of "Amelia," which he noted in
his pocketbook. "Don't upset yourself, my dear," he
went on. "I don't suppose you'll ever hear another
word about the matter." ("Liar!" he apostrophized
himself.) "Meanwhile, please be careful not to men-
tion this interview to a soul."
"No, sir, indeed I won't," the girl agreed. She


THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE 161
appeared to imagine she had, by a fraction, escaped
immediate arrest.
"Quite a useful impression to leave on the little
silly's mind," Paton reflected. "Good-afternoon, my
dear," he said, directing another searching glance at
the little boy, trying in vain to remember of whose
features the chubby face of Master John Ronan re-
minded him. He embarked upon a facetiousness:
"Farrre well, MacTavish, ma wee braw mannie," he
remarked. The representative of Scotland cocked
one ear, depressed the other, and looked slightly
embarrassed. Master Ronan considered the witti-
cism carefully, and, after a hasty glance at Hamish
to see how he was taking it, decided not to be amused.
Somewhat discomfited, Detective Inspector Paton
resumed his walk to the house, reflecting that humour
was not, on the whole, the strong suit of village
maidens, children, and dogs. "Thank heavens! I am
not a vain man. Good heavens! If I were a vain
man," he murmured, quoting his favourite author.
The butler, looking more like the celebrated char-
acter in the advertisement than Paton would have
believed possible, informed him that Lady Ronan
was "Notatome."
"Then I'll wait, if I may," Paton replied.
For a perceptible second the butler hesitated over
the choice of a room in which the visitor could wait.


162 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Butlers are rarely at fault in a question of social
diagnosis, and the inspector found himself in a pleas-
ant little room leading off the hall, furnished like a
club smoke room, with old caricatures from Vanity
Fair on the walls.
"This is Sir Tremayne's study, sir. Sir Tremayne
won't be home for an hour or two and I think you'll
be comfortable here. Can I get you tea, sir? Or a
whisky and soda?"
"Tea would be very nice, thank you."
The butler himself brought in the tray and, plac-
ing it on a small table by the armchair Paton occu-
pied, indicated a box of cigars and turned to leave
the room.
"Thank you. Just one moment. Would you give
my card to Lady Ronan when she arrives?"
The butler took the slip of pasteboard with a dig-
nified inclination of his head. Paton raised his hand
and arrested the butler's departure once more. "Do
you know," he asked, "a certain Major Preece?"
The man's eyes dropped for a moment, veiling his
clear gray eyes. "No, sir," he replied.
"He's never stayed here?" persisted the detective.
"I 'ave no recollection of anyone of that name,
sir."
Paton gazed, meditatively, at the closed door. "I
wonder," he mused, "if I made a mistake there?


THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE 165
imagine him putting that nosy-Parker in his place!
"Keep your nerve, my dear," she addressed her re-
flection in the big cheval glass, "and you'll be all
right." She threw her hat into one corner of the sofa,
patted her thick, coppery hair, and, with a twirl of
her skirts, seated herself in the other end of the sofa
as Ripley announced: "Mr. Paton—your ladyship."
She felt reassured as the first rapid glance took in the
rather portly little man who stood bowing politely
in the doorway, the traditional bowler hat of the Scot-
land Yard detective held before his stomach.
"Sit down, Mr. Paton," she waved a vague hand
in the direction of a chair and pushed a cigarette box
toward him. "What can I do for you?"
Paton assumed his most disarming air of candour.
"You possibly read, Lady Ronan, of the murder of
Lieutenant Lepean at Medbury Fort?"
"I did."
"This note," the detective drew a piece of paper
from his pocket and passed it to her, "came by the
post on the morning of the murder. We have to pur-
sue every clue, however apparently trivial," he con-
tinued suavely, "that may by any remote chance throw
light on the matter, and so"
"I see. I was negotiating with Mr. Lepean for the
sale of a rare stamp in his possession. I wanted to
give it to my husband for his birthday next month."


166 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"A rare stamp?"
"Yes, first issue blue Martinique. I suppose you
will find it among his effects, and I should be glad to
know if"
"No doubt," the detective interrupted with a cer-
tain lack of manners; he felt annoyed with the woman
putting up this palpable lie. "This interview, then,
was merely in connection with the proposed sale?"
"Exactly," she smiled sweetly. "My husband is
such a difficult man where presents are concerned. He
collects, you know, almost everything: glass, prints,
furniture, and he's a keen phil—phil He collects
stamps, too; so I was very pleased to hear of this par-
ticularly rare specimen, which I happened to know
he wanted."
"May I ask how you knew Mr. Lepean had this
stamp? Were you—acquainted?" the detective en-
quired blandly.
Lady Ronan allowed it to be seen that she con-
sidered the question impertinent. She replied with an
air of humouring a spoiled child, which Paton was
not slow to note and to resent: "A mutual friend—a
Major Preece, a very old friend of mine—told me
about it."
Paton was considerably taken aback. He had not
expected Lady Ronan to admit her long-standing
friendship with Preece so candidly. He was silent, con-


THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE 167
sldering what line to adopt. He felt up against a dead
end. It was a plausible story, yet he profoundly dis-
trusted it. How could it be tested? The stamp? Pos-
sibly, nay probably, the stamp really existed. She had
introduced Preece's name of her own volition. Was
that bluff? Or had he built up an elaborate theory on
too frail a foundation?
"Did Mr. Lepean come down here three weeks ago
in connection with the sale of the stamp?"
For the first time he had pierced her armour of
cool indifference. She had not foreseen the question.
She hesitated. What should she say?
"Yes," she replied at length, "he came up to see
me. We discussed the matter, and the sale was to have
been completed this week. But I think he came for
the fishing, really; the negotiations regarding the
stamp were incidental. It fell out conveniently."
Paton concealed a smile of satisfaction. She had
lied there, at any rate. Lepean had not come for the
fishing, and he had not called at Mawne Park. Lady
Ronan had not known at the time that Lepean was
staying in the village—indeed, she was, at that time,
unaware of his existence. She had, however, obviously
been aware of Lepean's visit when he (Paton) had
asked about him just now. Had she known of it? The
answer flashed across his mind. She had that moment
returned from a meeting with Preece in London.


168 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
That was it. He would confirm his guess as soon as he
reached the Yard. Yes. It all fitted in, but he required
some direct evidence. He determined to try the effect
of a surprise question.
"Where did you stay on the night of the 29th Sep-
tember, 1924?" he demanded curtly.
Lady Ronan crossed one slim leg over the other.
"I'm afraid," she replied coldly, "I don't under-
stand."
Paton felt dashed; this woman was either a con-
summate actress, with nerves of steel, or the episode
had been an entirely innocent one. He had committed
himself too deeply now to withdraw; he felt an abyss
opening at his feet, began to lose his nerve, and rushed
hurriedly on, explaining, with a growing embarrass-
ment: "It has come to light that there was a—an
unexplained gap—between the time you left here in
the morning in question, and the time of your arrival
at Harring"
"Yes? But what is the connection, or what is sup-
posed to be the link between that—fact, and the mur-
der of Mr. Lepean?"
Paton writhed inwardly. He had bungled badly.
"We—er—thought," he stammered, "if—that is—
we are trying to find out if Major Preece"
Lady Ronan sprang to her feet with an exclamation
of angry impatience.


THE SLEUTH IN THE VILLAGE 169
"Exactly! I quite understand," she exclaimed fur-
iously. "I resent your most impertinent implication,
and I shall see that the matter is represented in the
proper quarters. Now I think that is all." She pressed
a bell. "Perhaps," she continued coldly, "it will spare
me any further intrusions if I tell you that on the
occasion in question I stayed the night at my club—
the Ladies' Parthenon—and went down to Harring
the next day."
Detective Inspector Paton; umbrella in one hand,
bowler in the other, strode down the gravel drive in
no very equable temper. In fact, he was furious. Never
in his whole professional career had he been so firmly
put in his place. Ass that he had been! Trying to be
too clever, as the children say. His pace slackened,
and he began in a calmer frame of mind to think over
the late interview. He believed, even now, that he
was on the right track. Lady Ronan had been pre-
pared ; her story made up pat. Could it be true ? Easily
verifiable. The club would have records. Stop ! Surely?
Yes. The Ladies' Parthenon had been completely
destroyed by fire over a year ago. There it was again!
There would be nothing actually to disprove her
story, and yet . . . cunning little devil! Of course,
she knew the books of the club would have been
burned.
His temper was distinctly frayed by the time he


170 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
reached the railway station, and it was not improved
by hearing that the next train for Paddington was a
slow one, in an hour's time. Paton shared the deserted
platform with a gray-haired porter, who, with in-
definable deliberation, was rolling half a dozen milk
churns from one end of the platform to the other.
"You never know your luck," he reflected, "and
I want a drink, anyhow." He approached the porter.
"Can we get a drink anywhere now?" he asked.
"R rr we can," the aged porter eyed him
doubtfully, "ef we're kerful."
"Come on, then, let's go and get it."
"Ted'n raight, you knaw," the porter set down his
mug of ale in the neat parlour of the Station Inn,
whithenhe had led the inspector via the back garden,
"'Tes 'gainst the law."
"It's a stupid law," suggested Paton.
"'Tes vulish, noa mistake, the law. Like they pas-
sengers. Wen some on 'em goos travellin', seems they
leave their wits 't'ome. 'Wen be the next train to
Lunnon, porter?' they asks. 'Oh, my!' they sez, w'en
I tells 'en, 'bain't ther' no train avore that?' 'Noa,' I
sez, 'bain't ther' no train avore the next one on this
line?' I sez. Haw! Haw! 'Not avore the next 'un,' I
«ez.
The porter, feeling that the gentleman's sense of
humour must be slightly deficient, repeated the "nub"


172 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
labelled through.' 'Oh,' she sez, 'I may want to get out
at Swindon and goo on by a later train.' 'Yer luggige,'
I tells 'er, 'will go through an' you can pick it up at
Bath,' I sez. But noa, that wouldn't do for 'er. 'Label
it agen,' she sez, 'for Swindon. I likes to 'ave it under
my eye,' she sez. So I done as she sez. There ! Wimmin
is notoriously pertikler about their traps, you
wouldn't 'ardly bilieve."
"Well," thought Paton, "and if I am not notori-
ously lucky, I don't know who is! I doubt if I have
ever expended eighteenpence in beer to such ad-
vantage."
The immediate problem was to decide whether to
go to Swindon or return to London. Finding from the
aged porter that the next train to Swindon was in
four hours' time, he determined to return to Lon-
don, pick up some more information at the Yard, and
repair to Swindon on the following day. He still had
more" than half an hour to wait for the London
train. He strolled out of the station and, hands in
pockets, sauntered along the road in the opposite
direction to Mawne village.
A milk cart clattered by driving toward the village.
The sun had just sunk below the horizon. A row of
elms, for some hundreds of yards, spread their
branches across the road. Under their shade it was
nearly twilight.


CHAPTER X
LADY RONAN TAKES STEPS
(WEDNESDAY)
Prunella sat very still, her eyes moving sideways
in the direction of the door until she heard the heavy
slam of the front door and Ripley's measured tread
as he retreated to the butler's pantry. Then she sprang
to her feet, and flicking open the lid of the cigarette
box, selected and lit a cigarette.
She was very far from satisfied with the result of
the detective's visit. She had ticked him off—properly;
sent him away with his tail down; but had she con-
vinced him? Had she conducted the conversation
wisely? All very fine to assume the offensive, jump
down his throat and trample on him, but would it
not have been safer, wiser, to have taken a more
suave tone? The man—she took up the oblong of
pasteboard on which his name was printed—"Detec-
tive Inspector Paton, C. I. D.,"—was furious; would
do anything to humble her. It was quite obvious that
he had got the whole story pat; that he had somehow
174


176 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
September? From what source had he got that fact?
With one of her quick, decisive movements, she placed
a finger on the electric bell-push, and held it there
until the butler entered the room.
"Ripley," she inquired, "where has Master John
been this afternoon?"
No sign appeared upon Ripley's impassive face to
show how deeply he deprecated the insistence of the
bell's clamour as he replied: "In the Pawk, m'lady.
They 'ad their tea there, m'lady."
"Oh, yes. They're in the house now?"
"Yes, m'lady."
"Tell Nancy Beasley to come and see me at once,
please."
"Yes, m'lady."
"And—Ripley, did Sir Tremayne say when he was
likely to be back?"
"'E said 'e might dine at Mr. Neville's if 'e met
'im at the sale. You was not to wait dinner for 'im,
m'lady."
"Thank you."
Lady Ronan dismissed the old man with a nod.
She fretted nervously about the room, picking up
some trifle and putting it down again, stopping to
frown thoughtfully at the photograph of her baby
boy. She loathed uncertainty and inaction. With a
sigh of relief, she turned swiftly as the nursery maid


LADY RONAN TAKES STEPS 177
slipped into the room and stood, fidgeting, twisting
and untwisting a corner of her neat white apron, just
within the door.
Prunella's glance swept over the apprehensive
figure in front of her. Nervous, vital, highly strung,
Prunella was invariably exasperated by the leth-
argic, stolid type of country-bred woman; now, the
sight of this big-breasted, wide-hipped, red-faced
young woman, expressing in her every clumsy move-
ment a sort of sullen stupidity, strung Prunella to a
gust of intense fury.
"Nancy," in a voice robbed of every quality save
that of hardness, "I wish to ask you some questions."
"Yes, m'lady," the girl almost whispered.
"You saw a—gentleman (this afternoon in the
Park?"
"Yes, m'lady."
"He questioned you—about me?"
"Yes, m'lady."
"And you told him?"
"Oh, mum—mi lady, I mean—I 'adn't meant to
talk about you to no one—outside the 'ouse, I mean—
on'y the gentleman seemed to know already"
"About what?"
"About that time you went to stay at Lord Har-
ringforth's, m'lady, and I 'ave a cousin in service
there, you see, and so it 'appened"


178 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Quite so. I stayed a night at my club in town on
the way. The whole thing is a gross impertinence on
this—I suppose you know?—detective's part. How-
ever, that does not concern you. Why did you not
refuse to answer any questions about me?"
"Well, he seemed.to know such a lot, m'lady, and
—'e told me I mus' tell the truth, the 'ole truth, and
nothing but the truth, else I sh'd go to prison."
"In fact, you behaved like a perfect little fool,
didn't you? He just frightened you out of your wits
and you'd have told him anything, wouldn't you?
Agreed to anything he chose to suggest, wouldn't
you ? You silly little goose !" she added pleasantly.
The ready tears sprang to Nancy Beasley's eyes;
she was getting through this dreaded interview not
too badly. She didn't mind being called "a silly little
goose" at all, especially when her ladyship was so
pleasant about it; pitying her like. She had no objec-
tion to being thought weak-minded. What she feared
was the deadly venom of Lady Ronan's anger. Ship-
ping a woebegone expression, she allowed the tears
to brim over and course down her plump rosy cheeks.
Prunella rose and stood for a moment with her
back to the whimpering nursery maid, thinking. The
detective had got everything out of Nancy Beasley
that she knew. Was there anything to be gained by
conciliating her? Nothing. Very well, then, she should


LADY RONAN TAKES STEPS 179
have it straight in the neck. Possibly from that aristo-
cratic ancestor postulated by old Lady Ronan, pos-
sibly as the result of an early introduction to a large
London County Council school in a southwestern sub-
urb, Prunella, when roused, commanded a consider-
able power of racy invective. This gift she now
proceeded to exercise upon the unfortunate body of
Nancy Beasley.
"Exactly. And now, what persuasions did the other
—gentleman employ to whom you told this ridiculous
story? Did he threaten you? Or did he use more
agreeable methods? I won't flatter you by asking if
he seduced you. You little slut! How dare you discuss
me with your lovers? Lover!" she gave an exclama-
tion of scorn, "rather a mere partner in your lustful
amusements. I know you village girls, a pack of
filthy . . ."
Lady Ronan (though she did not know it) deliv-
ered a diatribe so extremely Eighteenth Century as
to be impossible to reproduce verbatim.
". . . And now get out of my sight and out of the
house, the sooner the better," she finished.
The girl, now in a semi-hysterical condition, turned,
and fumbling blindly for the door handle, fled from
the room.
Prunella uttered a short laugh. Nancy Beasley
was, after all, poor prey for her hot fit of anger. She


igo THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
frowned, feeling the need of action. She glanced at
the clock. The detective had left the house more
than an hour. It would be safe now to inquire at the
railway station by which train he had gone. She
pressed the bell and when Ripley appeared, told him,
briefly, she wanted her own two-seater brought round
to the front door. Whilst she was changing her frock,
she heard, the scrunch of wheels as the 20-40 Sports
Model Dolores-Gretin arrested itself on the gravel
drive in front of the hall door.
As she adjusted the curls at the side of her temples,
she examined her face carefully. Considering what a
trying day she had undergone, she was satisfied with
the result of her scrutiny. The crow's-feet at the cor-
ner of her eyes were, perhaps, slightly too much in
evidence. The faint line where, at some future and
inevitable date, a double chin would make its appear-
ance, was ever so little more noticeable than usual.
Still, on the whole, pretty good. She dabbed a pow-
der puff over face and neck, and did some rather
cunning work with a lipstick. Stepping back, she sur-
veyed her image in a cheval mirror. Quite good. She
liked the sort of semi-sporting frock she had put on.
She had forgotten to change her stockings. Rapidly
she tore them off and inserted her long, beautifully
shaped legs into a pair of silk and wool stockings with
a faint check pattern. That looked much better, she


LADY RONAN TAKES STEPS 181
decided, twisting this way and that in front of the
glass. The stockings went well with the countryish
frock; beneath the knee-length skirt her legs looked
decidedly attractive.
The Dolores-Gretin swept, with an effect of opu-
lent power, down the drive. It purred through the
Park gates. Prunella swung the wheel to the right
and gently pressed the accelerator. The two miles be-
tween the Park and the village were covered in just
under ninety seconds.
The landlord of the Ronan Arms was standing in
the creeper-covered doorway as the car came to a
standstill outside the little village inn. His little red
face beamed as he hastily ambled down the front
door steps in response to Prunella's beckon.
Mr. Bridges had an eye for a pretty woman. He
touched an imaginary hat and, leaning over the door
of the car, after appreciating, in one divesting glance,
her ladyship's legs so engagingly displayed, turned an
inquiring eye upon their owner.
"Good-evening, Mr. Bridges," Prunella's voice
took on its most dulcet tones.
"'Evenin', m'lady. Wot can I have the pleasure,
m'lady"
"Mr. Bridges," she leaned forward, putting a con-
fidential hand upon his arm, "you had a gentleman
for lunch here to-day?"


182 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"Yes, m'lady. Asked his way to Mawne Park, he
did."
"Ah, yes, I missed him. Do you know where I
could find him now, Mr. Bridges?"
"I saw 'im, y'r ladyship, walking toward the sta-
tion—must be an hour ago; but if he's going to Lun-
non—and he cam' from there—he can't've gone yet."
Mr. Bridges pulled out a large turnip watch and
consulted it.
"Not," he continued, "for another half-hour.
That's the next and the last train to Lunnon to-night."
"You think I'll find him at the station, then?"
"Certain sure, m'lady. I 'ope, m'lady," he pur-
sued, "this Mr. Lepean was no relation?"
The electric klaxon gave a disconcerting hoot. Mr.
Bridges jumped. Lady Ronan apologized with a
smile: "My hand slipped," she explained penitently.
"Yes," she added, "I hardly knew him, but a distant
connection of mine, one of the few he had—poor
manl I suppose the detective—for the gentleman
is a detective, you knew, of course?—wants to ask
me a few questions about him. You must think it
strange Mr. Lepean did not come and see us, or stay
at Mawne Park, when he was down here a few weeks
ago. The fact is, he was rather shy and I had a big
house party at the time."
"Quite so, m'lady."


LADY RONAN TAKES STEPS 183
"Mr. Bridges," the pressure of her hand on his
arm increased, "please don't mention to anyone the
fact that this unfortunate man, Mr. Lepean, was a
sort of cousin of mine. As you know, there is so much
gossip in the village. All sorts of rumours and stories
will be invented. You understand?"
"Of course, y'r ladyship. You can rely on me. I
quite see you don't want your name mixed up in an
affair of this sort."
"Exactly, Mr. Bridges. Sir Tremayne would be
furious."
Mr. Bridges understood perfectly. His lease of
the Ronan Arms would require renewal next spring.
He placed a hand as a bridge between his mouth
and Prunella's ear, while he whispered: "You can
rely on me, y'r ladyship. I 'aven't even told the
missus."
"Good! Then don't, Mr. Bridges," Prunella en-
joined with a brilliant smile, and with a final squeeze
of Mr. Bridges' arm, engaged the first gear. Mr.
Bridges, forgetting in the stress of the moment to
indulge himself in a farewell glance at her ladyship's
slim knees, dropped off the footboard, and the car
glided smoothly forward. The soft purr of the ex-
haust had faded away on the still evening air before
Mr. Bridges remembered, with regret, his failure to
take a final view of her ladyship's attractive limbs.


i84 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
i
As Prunella drove slowly through the village she
thought: "It's all guesswork obviously. He can't
know for certain. There's no real evidence—unless he
finds out, somehow, we stayed at Swindon that night.
Yesterday Lepean was the only person who knew the
whole story—and he's dead. Now, this detective—
Paton—has the threads in his hands. No one else."
She bit herunderlip. There was something, she felt,
fateful in the fact that the one man who knew the
secret had been killed, and immediately, another per-
son became possessed of it.
This succession of individuals eager to pry into the
secret places of her life seemed impossible to stamp
out. An expression of cunning crept into her promi-
nent light-blue eyes. The car, gathering speed, flashed
under the railway arch. A milk cart clattered by go-
ing in the opposite direction. Prunella lifted her foot
from the accelerator pedal and prepared to take the
corner leading to the railway station carefully. As she
was about to swing round, she noticed a figure walk-
ing along the main road under the row of elms some
two hundred yards ahead. There was something
familiar in the bowler hat which the pedestrian was
carrying in one hand. Almost automatically she
brought the car round in a big sweep to the main road
once more. Her right foot pressed down steadily


LADY RONAN TAKES STEPS 185
Until it met the floor boards. With a quiver, the intri-
cate piece of mechanism responded: the car leaped
forward with all that marvellous, swift acceleration
which is the proud boast of the manufacturers. In a
moment the car plunged into the deep shade thrown
by the avenue of elms. A dark, indistinguishable shape
appeared as if by magic directly in front of the bon-
net. Prunella gave a stifled scream. Instinctively she
lifted her toe from the accelerator, pressed hard with
one foot on the clutch, the other on the foot brake,
and pulled desperately upon the hand-brake lever.
Even the cadmium-lined brake blocks shrieked in
protest. The car slithered, rocked, and came to a
standstill. Prunella switched off the magneto. For a
moment she felt a deadly nausea. She dabbed her
moist forehead with a handkerchief, then she opened
the door and sprang down on to the road. In the gath-
ering dusk she could just see the stocky figure of De-
tective Inspector Paton. He was half leaning against
the hedge, one hand grasped the bole of a tree stump.
Her foot struck against some object lying in the road.
She picked it up. It was a crushed bowler hat. Both
wheels of the car must have passed over it. She held
out the shapeless piece of black felt toward the figure
in the deeper shadow of the hedge. Her voice was
cool and firm: "I'm afraid I've spoilt your hat."


LADY RONAN TAKES STEPS 187
imperceptibly tightened. To discover the romantic,
sensual man it is unnecessary to probe very deep. Even
a middle-class, plain, and respectably married detec-
tive is not entirely immune from the occasional in-
dulgence in daydreams in which he plays the dashing
and intensely amative hero.
For a moment Paton was sensibly shaken. Here was
this lovely woman offering herself to him—for the
price of his silence! She was a caution! Five minutes
ago she had done her level best to murder him. Now
she was trying another tack. A married woman, too!
And titled!
It would be gratifying to record that Detective In-
spector Paton put away the temptation of acceding to
Lady Ronan's implied bargain without a second's
hesitation; but, in point of actual fact, it must be ad-
mitted that he did permit his imagination to toy with
the seductive possibilities which her words, and more
than her words, her actions, had conjured up. Then,
fatally for Prunella, he remembered her origin. She
was not a genuine aristocrat. He might have married
just such another as Prunella Lake himself. No! With
hardly the slightest twinge of regret, he put the
temptation from him. It was, in a sense, a triumph
for the moral value of British snobbery.
"Sorry, Lady Ronan. Duty's duty." He got stiffly
out of the car. She was staring at him, he thought,


188 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
almost with a look of despair, as of a gambler who
has lost his last throw.
"Are you going to make inquiries at the Ladies'
Parthenon?" she asked.
What it was that prompted him, he did not know;
perhaps a certain unwilling admiration for her game-
ness; perhaps a sporting sense that it was only fair to
give her a warning.
"No," he replied, "at Swindon."
He caught a last glimpse of her, crouched low be-
hind the rakish steering wheel, her mouth drawn to a
thin, hard line, as the car swished past.
******
Dear Sir: [wrote Nancy Beasley from her
father's cottage in Mawne that evening]:
Referring to our conversation of to-days' date,
it will not of escaped your notice that Master John
does not faver either his father or his mother, and
though I would be the last to make ackinusations,
after wot as occurred to-day, my being dismissed
without notis, I will arsk you to drore your own
conclusions from putting two and two together.
I remain,
Yours truly,
Nancy Beasley.


CHAPTER XI
THE CHIEF TRIES HIS HAND
(WEDNESDAY)
"I must be going in ten minutes," Hugh Preece said.
"Last train to Bitterne leaves at ten-thirty."
"Hugh darling! You look so tired," his wife mur-
mured. Preece had intended to return direct to the
fort after his meeting with Prunella. The train had
stopped at Greenhithe and, on an impulse, he had
jumped out. During the walk from the station to his
house he had endeavoured to screw his courage to
the point of telling the whole truth to Claire. He
had not done so. He tried to tell himself that it was
out of consideration for her, for Claire; she would
be broken-hearted; it would be from a selfish desire
to ease the burden of his own conscience. He could
invent a hundred plausible excuses for keeping his
secret, but he could not deceive himself; the real
reason was "funk." He had no idea what line she
would take. She would not "understand." After all,
he reflected, with a certain savage insight, what was
there to "understand." He had committed this act
189


190 THE MEDBURY PORT MURDER
of unfaithfulness deliberately. It had happened so
easily; there had seemed to be no chance of it ever
coming to light. He still had a sentimental attachment
for Prunella, and he had done it—as nine hundred
and ninety-nine men out of a thousand would have
done. No woman can realize how much less grave,
how much more incidental, sex is to a man; how sheer
vanity often compels a man to accept what is offered.
There is something ridiculous to a masculine view in
the refusal of a sex adventure. . . . Despicable 1 In
a halting narration, how mean, how lustful would
that radiant adventure appear! At all costs Claire
must not learn the truth. That very afternoon, even,
he had been impelled to ask Prunella to bolt with him.
An incredibly futile suggestion, as he had known per-
fectly well when he made it; moreover, a gesture of
the basest treachery toward Claire. It was typical
of his relations with Prunella—as if they were "play-
ing comedy" together, a comedy that only once had
genuinely touched reality. Had Claire heard him
bleating those fatuous words she would never have
forgiven him. Never!
If that damned detective unravelled the story, then,
without doubt, he would be arrested for the murder
jof Lepean and—that would be the end. Nothing, after
all, would be gained by "confessing" to Claire, save
the easement of his own conscience.


THE CHIEF TRIES HIS HAND 191
Claire had greeted him calmly. Her lips when they
kissed were cool and sweet, but her eyes looked
troubled. They had avoided discussing the subject
which was uppermost in their minds till after dinner,
when the delicious coffee of Claire's own brewing had
been carried into the drawing room. Then she had
asked him to supplement the newspaper reports by
his own first-hand knowledge. She listened in silence
while her husband related in detail the tragic events
of the previous morning.
"Could it have been suicide?" she demanded.
"Quite impossible."
"How could a person get into and subsequently out
of a locked room?"
"Seems impossible at first sight," he agreed, "but
I believe there is an instrument which burglars use,
a sort of long tweezers which grip the end of thckey,
thus allowing a door to be locked and unlocked from
the outside, provided the key is in the lock; the key
of Lepean's room was in the lock."
"Not the sort of tool anyone would be likely to
possess."
"True, I gathered, somehow, the detective wasn't
very concerned about how the murderer got in and
out of the room. He, the murderer, must have done it;
and the detective is concentrating, I think, on the


i92 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
question of who wanted to murder Lepean—the mo-
tive, in fact."
"Confining, of course, his inquiries to four peo-
ple?"
"Obviously. The murderer must be one of us four:
myself, Wape, Harris, or Private Swansdick."
Claire frowned in perplexity and distress. "You
were the last person to see him alive?" she asked.
Preece hesitated: "No, I didn't tell the inspector
this—why, I don't know, but I didn't. I was sleeping
very badly last night and about two o'clock I got
up and lit a cigarette. I heard some slight noise in
the corridor. In mere curiosity, I opened my door—I
had not switched on the light—and peeped out. The
corridor is very feebly lit by a single electric bulb, so
that I could not see any detail."
"What did you see, Hugh?"
"Wape closing the door of Lepean's room as if he
had just come out. He was in pajamas and a dressing
gown. I couldn't see at all clearly. Wape seemed to
pause for a moment outside the door, then I heard
him say good-night; he walked slowly to his own
room, entered it, and closed the door. Now, the
strange thing is, that Wape did not tell the detective
of this extremely late visit to Lepean. Under the cir-
cumstances, that strikes me as—queer."


THE CHIEF TRIES HIS HAND
193
Claire nodded her head thoughtfully. "Did you
hear Lepean answer to Wape?"
"Yes. That is—" Preece paused doubtfully—
"thinking it over, I'm not so sure that I did, but it's a
long corridor and Lepean would have spoken through
a closed door, so I might not have heard."
"Captain Wape paused after closing the door?"
"Yes. He seemed to be listening."
"Then he said good-night?"
"Yes."
"Did you hear the key of Lepean's room being
turned?"
"I think so," replied her husband doubtfully.
"But those old-fashioned locks always make a
noise when they are turned," she persisted.
"Yes, they do. It's queer."
Claire puckered her brows thoughtfully: "Hugh,
I've been puzzling over what you said about a sort
of 'tweezer' thing; I remember now. There is such a
thing, and I know where I have seen one. Don't you
remember? When we dined with old Mr. Wape he
showed us his collection of burglar's implements, and
among them I noticed a long tweezer sort of thing.
Mr. Wape took it out and showed me how it worked
on the door of his study."
"Yes, yes, I remember. Hadn't occurred to me be-


194 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
fore. The old man, you know, was one of the admin-
istrative heads of the C. I. D.; so he had ample
opportunity of indulging his hobby."
Claire was silent for a moment. "Do you know if
Sylvia Wape is at home now?" she asked.
"Yes, Wape mentioned she had come home for the
half term and was staying on at 2 Leinster Gardens.
I expect the old man feels lonely, and likes her at home
now."
"Perhaps I will run up and see her to-morrow."
Claire shivered suddenly. "Hugh, darling, there's
something dreadful about this, but you are—under
suspicion yourself. Listen! When you get back to-
night, can you examine that lock?"
"There's a constable on duty, but I expect I could."
"Look! Take this hairpin. Wrap some cotton wool
round it and probe the lock. If it has been oiled re-
cently, the cotton wool will be stained. Let me know
the result by wire to-morrow morning."
"Look here, Claire!" Preece expostulated, "it
seems pretty low down trying to implicate Wape."
"Hugh, darling, don't you realize it may be Wape
or you, and I—I can't bear it."
Claire, the self-contained, reserved, confident
Claire, began to cry softly. Hugh took her in his
arms and presently he felt her shaken body relax.
"Sorry, Hugh," she whispered, "all right now."


196 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
scene of the berluddy murder. Not kermitted," he
added with a wink at the scandalized constable, "this
time wiv' a blunt instrument; naow, wiv' a blinkin'
sharp 'un. Sorred 'is blinkin' 'ead nearly orf!"
"Really!" replied the chief, smiling. "Did you see
the body?"
"Naow. Mason tol' me. Privit Mason—the bloke's
batman—'e sleeps in my barrik room an' 'e tol' me orl
about it w'en 'e come back yes'day mornin'. Must 'a'
bin a gory sight from 'is account."
"Did you want, sir, for to view the scene of the
crime?" the constable interposed hurriedly; but the
garrulous corporal continued, "Proper fed up Mason
were, too, about it."
"He was attached to the lieutenant?" the chief
asked.
"Come orf it," retorted the lance corporal, in
scathing accents, "not much. No one wasn't 'attached'
to the late Mr. bloomin' Lepean. Too much of the
'flash Alf about 'im. Naow; but 'e's lorst 'is staff
job; returned to dooty. W'en I warns 'im, 'e didn't 'arf
curse. 'Never thort o' that,' 'e says. 'Sorry you done
'im in, nar,' I sez. 'R,' 'e sez, 'there's always a catch
somewhere in the blinkin' army.'"
"Yes, I suppose so," replied the chief, reflecting
that the regret engendered by the loss of a "cushy"
job was the most genuine feeling of sorrow anyone


198 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
explanation of this curious little fact. McMaster ex-
amined the slot in the jamb of the doorway into which
both the spring latch and the tongue of the lock
(when the lock was in the "locked" position) fitted.
The slot had been partly torn from the woodwork.
He carefully pushed it back into the socket from
which it had been wrenched. Immediately it became
apparent that the pressure that had torn the slot from
the woodwork had been exerted through the spring
latch, and not through the tongue of the lock. The
explanation was obvious; the door had not been locked
when it was forced open. If the handle had been
turned, the door would have opened. Instead, a pair
of ammunition boots with Corporal Penrose's twelve
stone behind them had been employed in order to
gain admittance to an unlocked room.
Chief Inspector McMaster stepped out into the
passage. The two policemen stiffened to attention.
"Do you know if Captain Wape is in?" the chief
inquired.
"No, sir, he's out, sir. Mr. 'Arris is the only
officer in the fort. 'E's in the hanteroom, sir. Shall I
show you, sir?"
The constable led the way down the corridor and
opened a door on the left. A pleasant-faced young
man in service dress uniform rose, as McMaster en-
tered the room, and waited expectantly.


THE CHIEF TRIES HIS HAND 199
"My name is McMaster. From the Yard. I ex-
pect you are getting quite tired of us?"
"Not a bit, Mr. McMaster. Will you have a cup
of tea? My name is Harris," volunteered the young-
ster, "any—er—clues, yet?"
McMaster sank into a club armchair and smiled.
"Quite a lot, thanks."
"I say," replied the other, flushing, "I didn't mean
to be inquisitive, only"
"That's all right. You are naturally very inter-
ested."
"Yes, of course, de mortuis and all that; but Le-
pean wasn't exactly, you know"
"So I gather; not very popular with his men or his
brother officers?"
"No. Quite a lot of people must have loathed
him. Still, murder"
"People's ideas as to the justification for com-
mitting murder differ. One man's meat, et cetera. In
law, there is no justifiable motive for murder recog-
nized," said McMaster drily.
Harris rose and walked to the window. "Some-
times," he remarked, "there may be damned extenu-
ating circumstances."
McMaster felt secretly amazed. The youngster
was obviously on the brink of a confession of some


200 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
sort. Aloud, he said: "The judge would take that
into account."
Harris wheeled round and faced the chief inspec-
tor. "I think I must tell you that I myself had a damn
good reason for hating Lepean. He had an I. O. U.
of mine for a hundred pounds, and he had threatened
to tell the C. O. about it. It's been on my mind and
I thought I had better tell you frankly."
"Just as well," returned the other, "especially as
we knew all about the matter. We found the I. O. U.
Don't be alarmed ! There will be no need for anything
to come out, and—we do not think that this formed
a sufficient motive for you to have murdered your
brother officer."
"Good. I'm relieved to have got it off my chest,
though."
McMaster finished his tea and prepared to leave.
"By the way," he said, "did you happen to try
Lepean's door yourself before it was broken open?"
"No. I'd heard Lepean's batman rattling the
handle and shaking the door for some time before I
came out of my room."
"Did you notice anyone else try the handle?"
"No. I don't think anyone did actually try it. It
was locked, though, all right. Lepean always locked
his door at night."
"I see. Well, good-bye. Thanks for the tea."


THE CHIEF TRIES HIS HAND 001
Downstairs, in the guard room, the chief collected
the affable lance corporal as a guide and strolled
round the fort. Mounting the steps which led to one
of the old gun emplacements, he walked along the
board summit of the outer wall. He satisfied himself
that there was no possible means of access to the
officers' quarters from this direction. Descending to
the parade ground once more, followed by the lance
corporal, whose stream of chatter had not so far
failed even momentarily, he walked across to the
barrack block at the opposite side of the square.
"This is my room, 'ere," the lance corporal indi-
cated a small barrack room on the ground floor level.
"On'y just four of us, yer see? Meself, Mason,
Swansdick, and Jenkins."
"All here on the Monday night?"
"Monday, let's see! There was only me an' Mason.
Swansdick, 'e was on guard. Jenkins was admitted to
'orspital on Monday. I remember, 'cos w'en I went
for to call the roll at 'lights art,' there wasn't nobody
to call the roll for, 'cept meself."
"What about Mason?"
"'E wasn't there then. 'E was on dooty at the
officers' mess that night."
"When did he come in?"
"Well, I cawn't siy, 'cos I was asleep w'en 'e come
in. I never seed 'im till nex' mornin'; 'e clattered


202 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
abart, wakin' me up outer me beauty sleep, abart 'arf
pas' four; an' then 'e come back 'arf an hour later an'
tells me all abart the bloody murder."
"Half-past four? That's very early."
"Yerse, 'e 'ad to call the bloke quarter to five, I
think."
Before leaving the fort, McMaster climbed up to
the anteroom and took leave of the subaltern.
"By the way," he said as he turned to go, "I won-
der if I could just glance through the—er—docu-
ments of the men in your company?"
In the orderly room several bulky piles of greasy-
looking blue Army forms were presented for his in-
spection.
"Duplicate attestations?" he inquired. "This pile.
Thanks."
He skimmed through the numerous sheets, paus-
ing twice to examine an entry more closely, once jot-
ting down a few words in a notebook.
"Thanks very much," he said, rising. "Quite sur-
prising what a lot of useful information you can dig
out of a soldier's duplicate attestation. I must be off.
Good-bye," and with a pleasant smile, he had gone.
When he reached the Yard the chief learned that
Paton had not returned from his excursion to Mawne.
He stepped across to a room nearly opposite his own
and opened the door.


THE CHIEF TRIES HIS HAND 203
"Good, Doctor, you're in."
"'Afternoon, Chief," returned the police surgeon.
"What can I do for you?"
"Touching this Medbury Fort affair," replied the
other, sinking into an armchair and lighting a cig-
arette, "I want any further details you can give me
about the actual cause of death."
The surgeon pressed the tips of his fingers together
and glanced with surprise at the chief inspector.
"You've seen my report?" he asked stiffly.
"Yes, yes," returned McMaster hurriedly, "most
full and excellent, but the report only describes the
nature of the wound and the cause of death. What I
should like to hear is your opinion as to what weapon
was used and how it was employed."
"All I can say about the probable weapon used is
that it must have been a long knife—not less than
eight-inch blade—very strong and of a razor-edge
sharpness."
"How do you imagine the wound was inflicted?"
"The method is clear from the appearance of the
skin on the sides of the incision: one sweeping cut was
made, the knife being drawn toward the person hold-
ing it; and considerable pressure was exerted."
"Do you think the murderer had a knowledge of
anatomy?"
"Very hard to say. The cut was made between two


THE CHIEF TRIES HIS HAND 205
person absolutely confident of his skill, and thor-
oughly inured to the sight of blood, and so forth, and
to the peculiar feel of a knife cutting through the liv-
ing tissues."
"That is extremely interesting, Doctor. I'm much
obliged,"
McMaster rose to go, when the surgeon con-
tinued: "You understand that is 'opinion'? It would
be difficult for me to give that as evidence in court—
as well as, in the circumstances, extremely unpleas-
ant."
"Quite so, Doctor. Not pleasant to go against a
brother medico ? No. Well, Doctor," he smiled, as he
turned to the door, "I may be wrong, but I don't think
you'll mind giving your 'opinion' in court when the
time comes."


THE MEDICAL INSPECTION ROOM 209
He was sitting at his desk two hours later when
the low purr of a six-cylinder engine's exhaust made
him glance through the window. A rakish-looking car
in aluminum and fire-engine red was sweeping round
the barrack square. It stopped, with a final resonant
boom of its exhaust, at the door of the medical inspec-
tion room hut.
Preece went to the door to greet Prunella. She gave
him her usually confidently alluring smile.
"Come along in!" He held open the door for her
to pass through. "I don't want to be disturbed,
Thompson," he told the frankly gaping orderly.
She had seated herself at his desk and was drawing
off her gloves with quick nervous gestures when he
reentered the room, closing the door behind him. She
looked up. She was pale; there were deep shadows
beneath her eyes; a line, which he had never noticed
before, ran from the corner of her thin mouth to-
ward the cleft in her chin.
"Prunella!"
"Hugh! It's all up. That beast of a detective has
found out—everything."
"How?"
"I don't know exactly, but the fact remains he's
got it all. He's gone down to Swindon to-day, or pos-
sibly last night, and, of course, will trace us easily
enough."


2io THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"You didn't register in the hotel," Preece reminded
her.
"No, but you did. So did Lepean. Besides, the
waiter or the chambermaid, or both, will remember
us."
For a moment Hugh's heart beat at a maddening
speed. He felt a drumming in his ears; the figure of
Prunella became misty. He dug his nails into his
clenched hands and, walking a trifle unsteadily to the
window, threw it wide open and took a few deep
breaths.
"Sorry," he apologized, turning round, "well,
we're—I'm—for it."
"Hugh, did you—murder him ?" she demanded in a
whisper.
His lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "I didn't,
as a matter of actual fact."
"Swear?"
"Of course."
She leaned forward energetically. "Then, Hugh,
listen! Can't you prove you are innocent of the mur-
der? Don't you see? If you can do that—prove your
innocence and, better still, someone else's guilt—Scot-
land Yard won't care a damn about this affair of ours.
They are only interested in it because it supplies you
with a motive for murdering Lepean. Think, Hugh.
If you didn't do it who did?"


THE MEDICAL INSPECTION ROOM 211
"Yes, that's true," he replied dully. He remem-
bered that damning piece of evidence in the drawer
of his desk. Put that clue in Prunella's hands and she
would pursue it with all the tenacity and implacability
of a tigress. How could he? Save himself by putting
a noose round the neck of his oldest friend? Unthink-
able ! Why be needlessly melodramatic? It would not
come to that.
It might save him, though, and, in the end, not
hang Wape. Scotland Yard would jump at it; but they
would never get sufficient evidence to convict and it
might—it would save him. They might—they prob-
ably would think the case against Wape stronger than
that against himself. If so, then, the Swindon story
would never be made public.
He looked at her with a sudden fierce loathing.
All she cared for was her own security. He couldn't
do it; simply, he could not give Prunella this loophole
at the expense of his friend.
"Think, Hugh," she repeated.
In the absurdly incongruous way trifles obtrude
themselves at moments of heightened sensibility, he
noticed, from outside, the well-remembered squeak
of the brakes of a Boris car.
"Nothing doing, I'm afraid."
"'Ere's annuvver laidy askin' for yer, sir," an-


2i2 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
nounced his orderly in pained tones, poking his head
round the door.
A figure clad in a tweed coat and skirt slipped past
him.
"Shut the door and clear out!" Preece ordered
briefly.
"Hugh!" Claire exclaimed, "you're not well, my
poor boy."
She came quickly to his side. Then she saw the
woman seated at his desk.
With a foreboding that disaster upon disaster was
going to overwhelm him, Preece demanded harshly,
"Why are you here, Claire? Anything wrong? The
children?"
"No, Hugh," she replied, "nothing's wrong. I
drove over because you didn't send that wire—but
you're busy. I'll wait outside."
Prunella had risen. She turned to Claire: "It's
Mrs. Preece, isn't it?" she said. "I won't keep your
husband another minute. I'll go right along now. We
have quite finished our little chat." She turned to
Preece with a smile. "I'm sure you're right, Major
Preece. I'll take your advice and consult Sir
let me see, what was the name?"
She had given him his cue. All he had to say was "I
advise you to go to Sir Davis Russell, he's the best
man for your case. Good-bye, Mrs. Clarkson," and


THE MEDICAL INSPECTION ROOM
I was at my club that night. They can't disprove that.
They might suspect, but they couldn't do anything.
You see?"
"Yes, I see—I see *'
"I don't suppose," Prunella continued eagerly,
"they suspect. It's not very likely, after all, that"
Prunella broke off confusedly.
"Not likely that a wife would lie to save the reputa-
tion of her husband's mistress, you would say. I
agree," rejoined Claire. Her mouth curled in a mitter
smile. "Still," she resumed, "I fail to grasp exactly
why you are so horribly anxious this incident should
not be disclosed."
Hugh, watching the two women, felt himself,
mercifully, endowed with a sort of Godlike indiffer-
ence; he seemed to be a spectator, not an actor in a
tense scene unravelling itself before his eyes. He
could not believe that this nightmarish situation—the
confrontation of his wife and mistress—was actually
happening to him, and deep down in his mind a curious
excitement filled him with a half-ashamed sense of
exaltation. To watch this duel between these two
women was—thrilling. He felt exhilarated and an
unspeakable cad.
"I—have my position "the speaker was Prun-
ella.
"Yes. You care for that, of course. You have won


THE MEDICAL INSPECTION ROOM 119
Prunella bit her lips, made an effort to speak,
thought better of it, and crossed to the door.
Hugh opened the door. As she passed him she
raised her eyes and gave him one look; it said, as
plainly as speech, "That's torn it!"
Claire was at the window with her back to the in-
terior of the room. There was something extraor-
dinarily pathetic about her pose. He made an involun-
tary move toward her.
"Don't touch me!"
Within the bare, meanly furnished room complete
silence fell; outside there was crunching of gravel and
the Dolores-Gretin swept superbly by and disap-
peared through the archway of the fort.
"It's all true, I suppose," she demanded, "her son
is—yours?"
"Yes, it's true."
Claire moved slowly to the desk.
"What are you going to do, Claire?" he asked
hoarsely. "I can't bear it."
"No?" she lifted her eyebrows. "You can't bear
it?"
His spirit writhed in utter abasement. "Impos-
sible," he thought, "that I can live through this in-
effable humiliation." (Yet he lived; and even
afterward discovered a keen appetite at luncheon.)
She was speaking again in the slow, monotonous


22o THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
voice, so unlike her usual eager tones: "Did you try
Captain Wape's door?"
"Yes, I This is the result." Hugh opened the
drawer and gave her the hairpin with its wrapping
of soiled cotton wool.
Without a word or glance in his direction, Claire
walked from the room.
He stood beside the little Boris car until it dashed
forward with its usual effect of cheeky impetuosity.
When the cloud of dust in the archway entrance had
subsided once more, he turned and walked stiffly back
to the medical inspection room.


CHAPTER XIII
A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIR-
MATION (THURSDAY)
At half—past three on Thursday afternoon Claire
Preece rang the bell at No. 2 Leinster Gardens. The
taxicab which had brought her from Charing Cross
described a parabolic curve in the roadway and
chugged noisily away. Ever since she had left the
fort that morning Claire had felt numbed, dead. One
thought dominated her mind: Hugh must be saved.
Nothing else mattered. Upon her future relations
with Hugh she had not dared to dwell. She did not
even know what her feelings would be when she re-
covered from the shock of the realization of Hugh's
disloyalty. Now she felt numbed, petrified. Of one
thing only was she sure: Hugh must be saved. That
was vital, paramount. The thought of Hugh's danger
lay upon her heart like a cold lump of ice; it filled
her mind with a passion of fear, and in her deeper
consciousness was the ever-present pain of his trait-
orous disloyalty. What exactly, she asked herself as
she waited for the door to be answered, did she pro-
221


222 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
pose to do? Upon one point she was clear. She in-
tended to see that peculiar instrument in Mr. Wape's
collection—if it was still there—and to examine it.
To her inquiry, the parlour maid replied that Miss
Sylvia was at home, but lying down. Would Mrs.
Preece come in?
Claire was shown into a small drawing room, a
room with its restrained decoration redolent of a
charming and artistic personality. It had been Mrs.
Wape's boudoir and since her death a year ago Mr.
Wape had allowed nothing in it to be altered. Upon
a tiny knee-hole desk of Queen Anne period, which
stood in the bow window, Claire noticed an enlarge-
ment of a snapshot. It depicted the late Mrs. Wape
with her two children, Victor and Sylvia. It must have
been taken about 1918. Victor was in uniform, wear-
ing a major's badges of rank. Claire remembered
that he had been a "temporary" major, and had sub-
sequently had to revert to his permanent rank of
captain. By a fortunate chance, rather than by
technical skill, the photographer had caught his
models in a pose at once significant and touching.
Sylvia—then a child of eight—was leaning against
her mother, one of whose arms'was thrown round her
daughter, while the other held one of her son's. Mrs.
Wape looked extraordinarily young; the group might
have been taken for that of husband, wife, and child.


A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIRMATION 113
The expression of protective love in the mother's pose
as she gazed down upon her daughter was reflected in
the bearing of the uniformed figure. Obviously, both
mother and son adored the little girl. Claire sighed
as she replaced the photograph on the desk.
Behind the fireplace was a door leading into Mr.
Wape's study. Claire listened intently; there was no
sound in the house. She tried the handle; it was un-
locked. Turning the knob, she walked swiftly into
the next room and made straight for a tall cabinet of
wide shelves. She pulled open the top drawer; it slid
out noiselessly. Her eyes roved eagerly over the
varied assortment of files, skeleton keys, masks, and
the queer implements of the cracksman's art, until
they lit upon the object for which she was searching.
Carefully, she took it up in her gloved hand, a thin
piece of steel, hollow at one end and with a butter-
fly screw at the other. She put the hollow end to her
nose: it smelt, faintly, of lubricating oil. For a mo-
ment she paused in thought; then she replaced the
instrument in its cotton-wool bed, closed the drawer,
and returned to the drawing room.
Five minutes later Sylvia Wape ran into the room.
Claire noticed the unusual pallor of her delicate face,
with its habitually rather sad expression. Sylvia was
not a typical representative of the cocktail-drinking,
cigarette-smoking flapper of to-day. Claire knew her


204 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
to be reserved and shy, with none of the self-com-
placency and strident aggressiveness which is the dis-
tinguishing mark of the latest generation to arrive
at years of indiscretion.
The child—she was only seventeen—looked
thoroughly ill; she had a hunted air. Claire felt pro-
foundly sorry for her. She knew that Mr. Wape was
a selfish, when not an indifferent, parent; and that
her brother Victor had tried to fulfil the role which
should have been sustained by her mother.
Sylvia appeared delighted to see her visitor and
chatted with some animation until, her brother's name
being mentioned, Claire interposed a question:
"When did you see Captain Wape .last?"
"Yesterday afternoon. He came here to tell me not
to worry about this dreadful—dreadful"
"Murder at the fort," Claire completed the sen-
tence.
"Yes, murder Oh!" Suddenly the girl's com-
posure gave way. She buried her face in her hands
whilst her thin body was shaken and torn by hysterical
sobs. The elder woman took the slim form in her arms,
comforted and soothed her until, presently, the ter-
rible, harsh sobs ceased and she spoke:
"I'm so sorry, dear Mrs. Preece, but you don't
know"


A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIRMATION 225
"There, there, my dear. Perhaps it would help you
to tell me what is troubling you?"
"Yes, I will. I must. May I?"
Claire felt a commingling of conflicting emotions:
pity for this overwrought child and a faint disgust at
the leap of hope which her words had aroused. Was
it fair to take this trusting and defenseless girl's
confidence? She stilled her conscience with the recol-
lection of Hugh's danger.
"It's about Victor," Sylvia began; "I'm so fright-
ened." Her voice gathered strength as she went on,
but she still spoke hardly above a whisper, so that
Claire had to bend down to catch the words. "Last
holidays Victor brought Mr. Lepean to stay"
Claire felt a convulsive shudder run through the slight
body that was pressed against her own. "He—he
made love to me, and I—I hated him, and yet I was
horribly attracted at the same time. Can you under-
stand that?" she asked pathetically.
"Yes, Sylvia dear, of course I can," Claire returned,
smoothing the little dark head with one hand. "Was
Mr. Lepean good-looking? You know, I never met
him."
"Oh, yes, he was. He had very—bold eyes. I didn't
really like him—I hated himl—but he was over-
whelming. You see, he was much older than I am."


228 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
will give me the one link I require in forging the
chain of evidence against her brother? How despic-
able, how utterly mean to take advantage of this
child's anguish; yet Hugh must be saved. Hugh!
Traitorous, disloyal, and ah ! weak, weak ! What man
would refuse the ineffable flattery of a pretty woman's
offered surrender? Not Hugh. No. She controlled,
with an effort, the trembling of her lips.
"Tell me, Sylvia. You have been brooding about
all this, and magnified some triviality out of its true
proportion."
The girl passed her tongue over her dry lip^bjef ore
she began to speak. 'i« »,
"No, I'm not being 'youngladyish.' It's thl^tfeit
last night of his stay he—came to my bedrooWHe
just opened the door and walked in. I was in bed,
reading. At first, I simply did not know what he
wanted. He came and sat on the bed and* talked. I
told him he must go away. He took no notic^Tl began
to get frightened, but at the same time I fel^ sort of
surge of tremulous—joy, so that I didn't really want
him to leave." She paused, and then, with a sort of
terrible abjectness, she went on in a harsh whisper:
"I think I must have encouraged him somehow—I
know I leaned forward and my nightdress slipvped
off one shoulder—and—the next thing I knew I felt
him kissing me and—pawing me. He whispered—oh!


A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIRMATION 229
abominable things in my ears and—his hands, hot
and moist, on me. I was nearly sick with terror. I
must have fainted for a moment, for he suddenly let
me go and brought me a glass of water from the wash-
hand-stand. I drank a little and felt better. Mr.
Lepean stood looking at me with a sort of horrible
leer. Then he said something—I hardly heard, I was
too dazed—something about 'the age of consent,' I
don't know. All I remember is his grinning face look-
ing down at me evilly; and then he left the room.
Then, I think, I fainted again."
"My poor child!" Claire murmured. "Did you tell
your father?"
"No, no! I told no one. I couldn't bear even to—
think about it. Then last Sunday Victor, who was here
for the week-end, said he had asked.JMr. Lepean to
stay the next week-end. I didn't know what to do, but
I knew i couldn't face meeting Mr. Lepean again;
so I had-to tell Victor why I could not bear to see him
in the house."
Claire drew a deep breath. "How did he take it?"
she asked. .
"You know how frightening Victor is when he's
angry. He gets coldly furious. Oh!" Sylvia cried, "I
was a fool! I think—I know—I was too ashamed to
tell him quietly and calmly what had actually oc-


230 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
curred, and he went away believing that Mr. Lepean
had—had ravished me."
"Are you sure he thought that?"
"Yes."
Claire could not entirely suppress a rather cynical
smile. It was so typical of your high-minded, pure-
souled person to jump to the very worst conclusions.
"Then," Sylvia continued, "when I read of this
murder, I thought Victor "The girl broke off and
shudderingly buried her face in Claire's lap.
******
Claire reached home that evening exhausted, men-
tally and physically. During the long journey in the
local train she had wrestled, unsuccessfully, with the
problem of what action to take. At length she made
up her mind to suppress her knowledge unless Hugh
was in actual danger. The emotions of the day, and
the effort required in order to behave as usual under
the shrewd eyes of her two little girls, had given
Claire a headache. She was in the act of tidying up
before going early to bed when the telephone bell
rang with the insistence that denotes a trunk call.
"Hulloal"
Her husband's voice, transmitted to a thin, metallic
whine, replied: "Is that you, Claire ? Hugh speaking."


A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIRMATION 231
"Yes. What is it?"
"Claire, I rang you up so that you should not be too
alarmed if you hear I am arrested."
"Are you arrested?"
"No, but I'm certain I'm going to be."
"Why?"
"The local police sergeant came up this evening and
took the place of the constable on duty. After dinner I
went for a stroll on the towing path and the sergeant
followed me. I knew at once I was being followed,
though the silly ass dodged about behind bushes, and
so on. Obviously, I am being shadowed."
"I see. Thank you, Hugh. Good-night."
"Claire," his voice sounded desperate.
"Yes?"
"Claire," it was an ultimate appeal.
She could not respond even to that urgent note.
Claire replaced the receiver on its hook and climbed
dispiritedly up the stairs. Her course was clear to her,
much as she disliked—nay, dreaded—the ordeal
which lay in front of her. For Hugh's sake, she would
have done more. No pity for Sylvia or sympathy with
the- motive of Victor Wape could weigh with her
against the safety of Hugh. To-morrow morning she
would go to Scotland Yard.
******


232 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
On Thursday morning Paton arrived at the Yard
at nine o'clock. He listened with satisfaction to the
report of the detective sergeant who had shadowed
Preece on the previous afternoon.
"No wonder," he thought, "her ladyship had her
story pat. She and the major must have fixed the
whole show up at lunch."
An envelope addressed in illiterate handwriting
was lying on his desk. He tore it open and read Nancy
Beasley's letter with a faint grin of amusement.
"Spiteful little devil!" he thought.
After dealing with some routine matters, Paton
took a taxicab to Paddington, leaving a message for
the chief that he was proceeding to Swindon in con-
nection with the Medbury Fort murder case. Paton
bought a first-class ticket and secured a carriage to
himself. During the hour-and-a-half nonstop run he
went over the case against Preece in his mind.
This was how it stood at the moment: Preece and
Lady Ronan—then Prunella Lake—had been in love
sixteen years ago. Possibly they had actually been
lovers. It would be difficult to prove this; but it was
immaterial. What could be proved was that they had
been more than mere acquaintances. In September
they had met at Swindon and, presumably, stayed in
the same hotel. Whether they had registered as man
and wife was an important point which Paton hoped


A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIRMATION 233
to settle. Even if they had not posed as man and wife
the recital of their past relations would inevitably
carry conviction of guilty conduct to the minds of
twelve good men and true. It followed, a most im-
portant corollary, that the heir to the Ronan estates
was not the heir at all; was, in fact, Preece's son and
not Sir Tremayne Ronan's.
Lepean had found out these facts—the nursery
maid, Nancy Beasley, would say that—and was at-
tempting to blackmail Lady Ronan and Preece. There
was nothing in writing. No one knew the whole story,
except Lepean. The nursery maid was too stupid and
didn't know enough; with Lepean out of the way
they were safe. Preece therefore decided to murder
Lepean. Lady Ronan probably knew of the plan,
possibly suggested it; but it will be impossible to
prove anything criminal against her. How did Preece
do it? Very simply. He gave Lepean veronal for his
asthma. He gave him a strong dose to insure that he
slept soundly. He waited till three or four in the
morning, then he went into Lepean's room. How did
he get in ? He must have had tweezers and turned the
key from the outside—those tweezers must be found.
He murdered Lepean with a surgical knife—or a
razor?—wiped the blade on a pad of cotton wool.
The knife and the rubber gloves he wore were a
normal portion of his medical equipment; the soiled


234 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
pad of cotton wool he burned on the fire in his own
room.
The tweezers bothered Paton. He did not feel they
were in the picture. How did Preece come to have such
a curious instrument in his possession? It was the
weak point in the reconstruction of the crime'he had
visualized.
Suppose Preece had murdered Lepean before he
left him that night? He would leave the room, locking
the door behind him, and retaining the key. Next
morning, in the confusion of the discovery, he would
slip the key back into the lock on the inside of the
room. Then why remove it again? Perhaps Sergeant
Nuthall had made a mistake? The key might never
have been in the lock at all. He would cross-examine
the sergeant on the point.
Suddenly Paton remembered Wape's last words to
him. He swore aloud: "Damn ! Couldn't have done it
that way. Wape saw Lepean alive after Preece had
gone to bed. H'ml I've got to find those tweezers,
I'm afraid."
At Swindon Paton hailed a taxi and ordered the
driver to take him to the principal hotels in rotation.
At the fifth, the Royal, he found what he wanted. In
the manager's office the visitors' book for 1924 was
produced. On the 28th September Hugh Preece had
signed the book. The detective turned back a few


A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIRMATION 235
pages and his eyes gleamed as he saw the name of
Charles Lepean. So that, quite clearly, explained how
Leapean had, in the first place, acquired his informa-
tion. The only perplexing point was that he could not
find Lady Ronan's registration. Paton leaned back
and regarded the manager with a smile of satisfaction.
"Do you insure that all your visitors sign the
book?" he inquired.
"We try to, but, of course, it's not like it was in the
war."
"Quite. A person might stay a night and not sign
at all?"
"Might happen," the manager agreed. "I suppose
it's another of these divorce cases," he grumbled,
"giving the hotel a bad name. But what am I to do?
I can't ask people for their marriage lines."
"In this affair the parties did not pretend to be
married; but the circumstances of their staying at the
same hotel is—significant. However, it's not a divorce
question primarily. The Yard has nothing to do with
divorce. Would the chambermaid and the head waiter
be the same as you have at present?"
"Yes. They've both been here a long while."
"May I see them?"
The head waiter remembered the lady. He had not
known who she was. Thought he would recognize her
again. She had dined with a gentleman who was stay-


A CONFIDENCE AND A CONFIRMATION 237
"Oh, no, sir."
"You would recognize her again?"
"I think so, sir."
Paton lunched at the hotel and caught an after-
noon train back to London. He was well pleased with
the results of his visit.
Reaching the Yard about five o'clock, he made at
once for the chief's room, determined to lay the facts
before him and ask for a warrant to arrest Preece.
To his annoyance, McMaster was out. He debated
to himself the expediency of arresting Preece forth-
with, but decided to defer definite action until he
could consult the chief. Before leaving the Yard, he
rang up the Bitterne Police Station and instructed
Sergeant Nuthall to keep Major Preece under close
observation, without arousing his suspicions.
"How does he think I can do that?" the sergeant
muttered indignantly. "Suppose I'll have to go and
see to it myself."
Very unwillingly, the sergeant donned his second-
best suit of plain clothes and, mounting his bicycle,
rode off in the direction of the fort.


CHAPTER XIV
THE BUTCHERING TRADE
(THURSDAY )
Albert Mason, with his ancient "cutaway" of
decent black and a mellowed straw "boater" tilted
over his eyes, looked—which indeed he was—a typical
church-warden. At the first glance, he appeared a
weedy little man. Closer inspection revealed that,
although short, he was of stocky build and had an
amazingly broad chest and long muscular arms. H(
was a butcher by profession; but had retired from
the active practice of his art for some years. A marked
deterioration in his silhouette followed.
Mr. Albert Mason walked from his store in the
Islington Meat Market to the slaughtering sheds in
order to have a last look round before betaking him-
self to the Golden Fleece for his morning drink. He
passed along the alleyway behind the long row of
slaughtering sheds and was pushing open one of the
doors when a voice hailed him.
"'Morning, Mr. Mason"—the speaker was one
238


04O THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
was heavy in the air and for a moment McMaster
felt an urgent desire to be sick. He conquered his
nausea and closely observed the preparation of a fine
bullock for slaughter. The two fore legs and the off
hind leg were roped together securely, and the animal
was then thrown on its right side and its head
stretched forward by means of a rope round the
horns.
"All right, Ikey," one of the butchers shouted. A
tall man of typical Jewish cast of feature stepped
quickly to the head of the bullock. He was dressed
from head to foot in a long white robe and wore on
his head the sort of inverted top hat of a rabbi. In
his hand he carried a very long thin knife; with one
swift movement he slit the bullock's throat, severing
the jugular vein. He stepped back quickly to avoid
the rush of blood and without pausing, turned and
walked out of the shed. McMaster, who was by no
means a sentimentalist, was horrified. The wretched
animal, kicking violently with its free leg and utter-
ing thick, blood-choked cries, was bleeding to death.
"It's orlright," Mr. Mason murmured in his ear,
"go on, Jim, Vs gone." Jim stepped behind the bul-
lock, drawing a thin knife about twelve inches long
from a leather scabbard round his waist. He felt for
a certain spot at the back of the bullock's neck. Then
the knife sank deeply into the flesh and was withdrawn


242 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
port was not very apparent, but the detective was
relieved when the sturdy little man again sat down
with a replenished glass of ruby liquid in his hand.
"How did your nephew come to leave you?" he
inquired casually.
"Wot," Mr. Mason posed a question dramatically,
"is the root of all evil?"
"Popularly taken to be money, I believe."
"No, sir," emphatically rejoined Mr. Mason,
wagging a large finger, "women. Gels. A proper
noosance they is. It was a gel upset my nevvy. Some
little 'bint' from up Tottenham way that he got sweet
on. 'Er father was a klurk, and young 'Any never
let on 'e was in the butchering. Why not, you'll say?
Because this 'ere democratic country is simply riddled
with snobbishness. Butchers is looked down on. Al-
ways has been. Rek'lect 'The Beggars' Opera' ? 'Even
butchers weep?' Well, one day she found out and she
starts laughin' and sneerin' at 'im. Very sensitive he
was always about the butcherin', and this gel laughin'
and despisin' of him near drove him crazy. One
evenin' I met 'im as 'e was goin' out to meet this gel,
all dressed up. 'Ulloa, 'Arry,' I sez, 'wot's that you
got in your 'and?' Well, it was 'is sticking knife. Ah!
Very sensitive and brooding he was. I talked to him
half the night; persuaded him to go straight off and
enlist. 'Get away,' I told him, 'go to furrin' parts. See


THE BUTCHERING TRADE 243
the world in the Army. That'll cure you.' You see,
I bin in the Army meself. Twelve years I did. Finished
up a master butcher. Well, he did it. Went to India,
must be six years ago now. I never heard of him not
more than a picture postcard from Aden. But I'll get
'im back one day when 'is time's up in the Army. A
good lad, only terrible sensitive about the butchering.
Very 'andy he was with that there sticking knife. I
reckon I saved that gel's life that night—and 'Arry
from swinging."
McMaster reached the Yard after a hasty lunch at
the City Cafe, and called for the papers in connection
with the Medbury Fort case. "Where is Inspector
Paton?" he asked the clerk who brought him the file.
"He left word, sir, he was going to Swindon."
For the next half hour the chief devoted himself to
a careful study of the witnesses' statements which
had been collated by Paton. "Yes," he murmured
aloud, pushing the file away from him with an im-
patient movement, "it was possible for that fellow to
have done it; but why should he? What was the
motive? I don't see it. One thing is certain, though,
Paton is after the wrong hare altogether."
Reaching to the mouthpiece of a speaking tube, he
spoke down it: "Is Mallinson in? . . . Very good.
Send him up to see me at once, please."


THE BUTCHERING TRADE 247
helping himself from the decanter the other had
pushed toward him.
"The first point that struck me was the nature of
the wound: it must have been done by a skilled hand,
for instance, a doctor's. That pointed to Preece at
the outset. Then I worked out how he could have
done it. At first I thought he must have used some
sort of cracksman's tweezers to get into the room, and
to lock the room after him when he went out. But I
have discarded that theory because it seemed unlikely
Preece would have such an instrument in his posses-
sion, and because I saw how he could have done the
murder, quite simply, without ever getting into
Lepean's room at all."
"My dear Patonl Really!" expostulated McMas-
ter.
"I know it sounds absurd, sir, but this is how it
happened, in my belief."
"Proceed," returned the chief. "You interest me
strangely."
"You remember that when the door was broken
open Preece rushed in ahead of the others. The room
was in semidarkness. He went straight over to the
bed and cried: 'He's murdered!' and bundled the
others out of the room before they could see anything.
Then he was alone in the room for at least forty
minutes before Sergeant Nuthall arrived. My theory


048 THE MEDBURY PORT MURDER
is that Lepean was alive, though in a heavy sleep,
when the door was burst open. Preece killed him
after the others had left the room."
"But," McMaster objected, "the surgeon put the
time of death at between three and four o'clock in
the morning."
"True! But doctors have to give an opinion. As a
matter of fact, it is impossible to tell within an hour
or two when death actually occurs; and don't forget
Preece had already given his opinion. He told our
man that Lepean must have died not later than three-
thirty A. M., thereby unconsciously influencing our
surgeon's judgment. Besides, you know, these doctors
hate going against each other's opinion."
"Possibly, possibly, Paton. Very ingenious. I seem
to have read something of the sort in a story by Poe."
"Zangwill, as a matter of fact."
"No doubt you are right. But what of a motive?"
"Exactly, Chief. I had a bit of luck there. I've got
the whole thing cut and dried." In logical sequence,
Paton detailed the steps by which he had acquired his
knowledge of the relationship existing between Preece
and Lady Ronan, and the certainty that Lepean had
been trying to blackmail them. McMaster listened at-
tentively until Paton had brought his recital to a
triumphant close. Then he spoke:
"I congratulate you, Paton. A very painstaking and


THE BUTCHERING TRADE 249
brilliant piece of work. And you really believe her
ladyship meant to kill you?"
"I am sure of it, sir, and by God! she damn nearly
did it. Ruined my bowler, anyway. I can't help feeling
a certain degree of admiration for the woman."
"I call that tolerant of you, Paton," McMaster
smiled.
"You see, sir, she has—nerve—obviously. She
must have summed up the situation the moment I left
her. She saw, of course, that she had not put it over
on me, that I would inevitably hit the right trail
sooner or later. I had too many threads in my hands.
She knew she had only momentarily led me astray."
"I trust not even momentarily, Paton," protested
McMaster.
Paton blushed. "Nothing of that sort, sir, of
course, though, however And she was tolerably
sure that I was the only person in possession of the
different links connecting up the whole story. If I were
out of the way she would be safe; in fact, I was in the
same position in which Lepean had been. I doubt if she
actually planned to kill me, but she saw the chance—a
Heaven-sent chance, it must have seemed—and
stepped on the gas."
"Prefer rather 'hell-sent chance,' " murmured the
chief.
"As you say, sir. Nevertheless, she has—nerve.


252 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
Outside the gate McMaster filled and lit a pipe.
He strolled slowly across the deserted Common,
puffing great clouds of smoke which seemed as if
reluctant to disperse in the close air of the June night.
There would be a storm before morning. Lightning
was flickering in the eastern horizon.
He was puzzled. When he had perceived that
Mason was another "possible," he had thought it
just worth while scrutinizing Mason's "documents"
as well as those of Swansdick. The past history of a
man sometimes disclosed an unexpected clue. Swans-
dick's history was entirely colourless; but when he
turned to the perusal of Mason's "Duplicate Attesta-
tion," his interest had immediately been aroused by
the entry, "Previous occupation: Butcher." With
further satisfaction, he had noted the name and ad-
dress of Mason's "next of kin": Albert Mason
(uncle) of the Islington Cattle Market. It had been
a good guess, a long shot. Had it, he wondered, come
off ? Motive ! That was what he was up against. True,
Private Mason was ashamed of his butchering trade
—had a special reason for it, too—and resented
bitterly being chaffed about it. Not surely, though, to
the point of murder? There must be something more
to it. Or the man was a maniac; or, more probably,
McMaster thought wryly, Mason was not the mur-
derer at all. Yet Mason could have done it, if Lepean


CHAPTER XV
THE TOWPATH (THURSDAY)
It was eight o'clock. The light had begun to fade
from the sky; a chill mist was slowly rising from the
river, and spreading in soft wreaths over the water
meadows. "Defaulters"—that dreary call—had been
sounded for the last time. Lance Corporal Twillis
regarded the two private soldiers who had paraded
outside the guard room in response to the bugle's
unmelodious summons with a disapproving eye.
"Nah, look 'ere, you two. This is yer last diy to
barricks, ain't it? Well, down't ferget yer konfined to
barricks till midnight, see? So down't let me catch yer
sneakin' into the canteen to-night. Dismiss!"
A hollow ring of feet upon the drawbridge made
him pause, as he was in the act of turning in the direc-
tion of the canteen.
"'Ullo, wot's up?" he cried. The constable who
had remained at the fort advanced with a sailor cling-
ing to his arm as to a lifebuoy. The sailor smiled
affectionately at the corporal; a slight but persistent
2SS


256 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
hiccough did not appear to cause him any embarrass-
ment; he radiated geniality.
The constable gave a deprecating cough. "Cor-
poral, you might look to 'im. Don't want to make any
trouble, you know, but Vs a bit the worse for wear.
Says 'e's lorst himself."
Lance Corporal Twillis instantly forgot that he
was a member of the Regimental Police and saw only
a brother in distress. The sister Service in trouble.
He caught a glimpse of the screw symbol on the arm
of the sailor's jersey—a stoker. Poor chap! No won-
der they got a thirst shovelling that coal.
"That's orl right, I'll see to 'im." He took the
sailor's arm and led him gently toward the canteen.
"Yer orl right nar, me lad"
The sailor stopped and laid a brawny hand upon
the corporal's shoulder. "I'd have you to know," he
said gravely, "that I am a (hie) leading stoker in
His Majesty's Ship Bellere (hie) phon. So not so
much of the 'me lad,' me lad. But where, oh where,"
he continued, gazing at the corporal with a frenzied
look, "is my ship to-night? Oh where, oh where can
she be?" he bellowed.
"That's orl right, matey," the corporal reassured
him, "we'll look arter yer. I got a bruwer in the nivy
meself."
"You surprise and interest me," returned the lead-


THE TOWPATH (THURSDAY) 257
ing stoker, with much charm of manner, "but the
emotion that absorbs me to the exclusion of all else
at the moment is the desire for a mug of ale."
"'Ere, come orf it. You ain't 'arf a blinkin',
rummy leading stoker. Where d'yer learn it? Wot's
yer nime, mate?"
"My name," the other replied in a mincing tone, "is
Mallinson, Archibald Mallinson; and I am the daugh-
ter—I mean the son—of a clergyman."
"Lor'. Fancy that, nar !" The corporal was slightly
awed. "Gentleman ranker, so to siy, eih?"
They were seated now at a little table in the can-
teen hut. The stoker, with a nod to his companion,
seized his glass of beer and took a long draught. He
set down the half-emptied glass, laughed, and said:
"That's all me eye. Truf is, I was paige boy at the
St. James's 'Otel once. I picked up the torfs' tork and
w'en I get 'squiffy,' I puts it on like. See?"
"Ow, I see," replied the corporal. A romantic
streak in his nature was disappointed. "You ain't no
clergyman's son, then?"
The other began to hum softly: "Me father is a
fireman in an Elder Dempster boat . . . and the
smoake goes up the chimney just the sime," he ended,
and smiled with an air of broad tolerance for human
frailty.
"Ow! I see! Bit of a yumorist, ain't yer ? The beer's


258 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
doin' yer good. Wot was you drinkln', mate, to go all
unsteady on yer flippers like that?"
"Gin. Pink gin. Orl the nivy drinks gin, from the
ward room to the lower deck. Demmycrattic, that's
wot it is!"
"Muvver's ruin, eh? I know me nival bruvver's
very partial to it. 'Ullo, Maison," the corporal called
to a private soldier who had at that moment entered
the canteen, "kum and sit darn 'ere. Meet my friend,
Leadin' Stoker Archibald Mallinson. That's right!
Tell us all about the 'orrible murder!"
"This Medbury Fort?" the leading stoker inter-
jected. "Crumsl You've 'ad a murder 'ere?"
"Yerse," replied the corporal, with no little pride,
"and old Maison 'ere was the bloke's batman, and 'e
fahnd the corpse. Tell us about it, Butcher."
Private Mason shot an angry glance at the corporal
out of his little piglike eyes. He was a short man, very
broad; his arms were exceptionally long. He scowled
suspiciously at Mallinson and then, turning to the
corporal, he grunted: "Chuck it! Ain't I 'ad enuff of
them blarsted Nosy-Parkers jawrin' at me?"
"'Ere, Maison," another private soldier who had
just entered the room had made for Mason and
clapped him on the shoulder. "Emmerley wants to
see yer," the private half whispered. "She's waiting
at the gate."


THE TOWPATH (THURSDAY) 259
Mason finished his beer at a gulp, gave a surly nod
to his informant in acknowledgment, rose, and walked
out.
"Swansdick, come and sit darn in Maison's plaice,"
cried the corporal, his genial Cockney good humour
not in the least disturbed by Private Mason's lack of
response. "Doin' 'is bloke in down't seem to 'ave
improved Maison's temper, do it?"
Mallinson did not know what to do. Should he
follow Mason or stay where he was and try to find
out what he could from Swansdick? He glanced
through the window. Dusk was falling, but the red
glow in the sky forbade the possibility of keeping
closely in touch with Mason and "Emmerley" without
being observed. He decided to stay where he was until
darkness fell, and then try to pick up Mason or—
possibly more profitably—"Emmerley." They could
not go far. Mason would have to be in the fort by
ten and it was now half-past nine. Mallinson stood a
round of drinks, acting the part of a fuddled man
pulling himself together.
"'Oo's yer lidy friend?" he asked, looking know-
ingly at Swansdick.
"Not mine," the private jerked his head toward
the door, " 'is 'n. And," he murmured, with a slight
grin, "the late Mr. bloomin' Lepean's."
Mallinson disguised the intense interest he felt at


i6o THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
those words and asked casually: "Not the bloke wot
was done in?"
"Yerse," the corporal chimed in, "Flash Alf was
an' 'oly terry fur wimmen. Nothin' in skirts didn't
come amiss to 'im. Fency 'im gettin' 'old of Mason's
gel. 'Ow'd yer know that, Swanny?"
Mallinson noticed that Private Swansdick seemed
to regret what he had said; for he replied with a
gesture of reluctance. "Mason told me—last Mon-
day w'en 'e come in."
"'Ow'd 'e find out?"
"Emmerley told 'im. Boasted she knoo 'is orfficer.
Silly little baggage ! Old Maison did'n 'arf get 'is shirt
out abart it."
"Well, that taikes the caike, that do!" exclaimed
Twillis. "I suppose," he continued thoughtfully,
dropping his voice a little, "ole Maison couldn't
'a' done the bloke in? Not reely?"
Swansdick's freckled face flushed a dull red.
"Down't tork silly," he muttered angrily; "wasn't we
all there w'en the door was burst open and the bloke
a stiff'un on'is bed?"
"Yerse, that's right," agreed the corporal, "no
offense, Swanny, I forgot you an' 'im is pals-like.
Funny thing," he added, "I never seed 'im meself that
night, I was sleepin' that 'eavy. Never 'eard 'im come


THE TOWPATH (THURSDAY) 565
"I'll guess."
"Go on, then."
"Esmeralda?"
"Guess again."
"It begins with 'E?"
"Oh! You are clever!"
"Ethel? . . . Emily?"
He had hold of her arm. She wrenched it free with
an abrupt movement, and looked at him with a sud-
den startled inquiry in her eyes.
"How do you know that?" she demanded. They
had stopped in the middle of the towpath. Mallinson
was a tall man and—susceptible. There was, he felt,
as he looked down at her troubled face, something
very intriguing about this striking and handsome girl.
She was very young—younger than he had at first
supposed, probably not more than seventeen, in spite
of her self-possessed air. How the devil, he won-
dered, came a girl like this, obviously superior in
education and birth, to take up with the coarse, full-
blooded Mason?
She was biting her lips to prevent them trembling.
She looked absurdly young and—and, dash it all !—
sweet, he thought. For a brief moment Mallinson
struggled to maintain a strict impartiality in deciding
upon his course of action. The next instant he had
succumbed; it was not often that duty and inclination


266 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
pointed so fortunately in the same direction. She was
too pathetic, poor child! His arms went round her in
what he hoped was a purely protective hug; his lips
brushed her soft cheek, while he murmured:
"Emily, look here, dear, you've got yourself into a
silly scrape, I fear. Just tell me all you know about
Mason and—" he paused—"Lepean." He felt her
body stiffen, then relax and nestle more closely into
his arms. "I'm a detective," he continued, "don't be
afraid. Tell me everything and I'll see no harm comes
to you."
"Oh! I've done nothing wrong. Only I've been
silly, perhaps," the girl whispered. "I've been fright-
ened, imagining things." She withdrew softly from
his embrace, and putting her arm through his with a
gesture of confidence, she continued: "You're all
right, I can tell. I can trust you. More than I could
Mason or—Mr. Lepean."
Mallinson pressed her little hand that lay along his
arm. "Tell me all about it, my dear. First, what's
your name?"
"Emily Baxter, and I live at Hemel, you know,
about half a mile round the bend of the river—17
High Street, a draper's shop. Well," she went on,
with a demure inflection in her voice, "I'm a 'one'
for the boys, but no harm, you know, and I—I met


THE TOWPATH (THURSDAY) 267
Mason out here a few weeks ago. He is rather com-
mon, I know, not my class really, but—he was the
first soldier boy I'd ever had."
"I see. Are you fond of him?" Mallinson asked,
with what he felt to be a ridiculous spurt of jealousy.
She glanced up at him with a shade of mischief in her
intelligent dark eyes.
"No—00. 'Course, I pretended to be a bit, you
know. He got very 'spoony' on me and tried to—to—
paw me about," she said fastidiously. "I stopped that
pretty quick. Well, last Saturday night I met Mr.
Lepean at the Palais de Danse in Bitterne. I was
introduced, you know," she added hastily. "My girl
friend, Sally Peterson, introduced me. I didn't like
him much, poor man—I shouldn't have said that, but
it's a fact, I didn't. Too bold, he was, and sneering.
When he told me he was in the Mercias at the fort I
asked him if he knew Mason, and he told me Mason
was his servant, and then—why, I don't know—he
told me Mason was a butcher by trade."
"Just to put you off and to be spiteful, I suppose?"
"I dare say. Anyway, I'm not a snob and it was
nothing to me; but on Sunday evening when I was
out with Mason—walking along here it was—he
began to get fresh and I got angry, and started laugh-
ing at him and chaffing him, and at last—though I am


268 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
ashamed to think I could do such a mean thing—I
taunted him with being a butcher."
"What happened then?"
"He went on something dreadful! I couldn't Ve
believed it! The things he said and the names he
called me! He went on so awful about me and Mr.
Lepean and what he'd do to him, I got in a real old
funk, but I couldn't get away 'cos he held me by the
arm. Look!" A slight rounded arm was thrust out
for his inspection. Above the elbow was a large cir-
cular bruise.
"Brute!" Mallinson murmured. He felt impelled
to bend his head and gently press his lips against the
soft flesh.
She laughed, half shyly, and then continued hur-
riedly: "I did get away at last—or rather he sud-
denly dropped my arm—and went off, still swearing
horribly." She paused.
"I see," Mallinson said thoughtfully, "then on
Wednesday morning, I suppose, or earlier, you read
of Lepean's murder in the newspapers?"
"Yes. I didn't see it till Wednesday."
"And then," the other queried, "how was it you
saw Mason to-night—and what occurred?"
"I was worried, you see; and I came over specially
to see him. When he came I asked him straight out,
'What about it?' you know. He was quite cool and


THE TOWPATH (THURSDAY) 271
carded clothes making a sodden heap at its foot, lis-
tening to the steady drumming of the rain and the low
rumble of the storm's recession.
And ever the picture of the two figures on the
river's bank obtruded with agonizing persistence upon
her mental vision.
Before Emily Baxter found a troubled sleep that
night, two miles away in the grim fort a figure, stark
naked, had hidden something in his mattress—some-
thing that flashed an answering beam to the faint rays
from the barrack-room lamp—then crept into bed,
listened, half sitting up, to the gentle snores of the
two other occupants of the room. At last, satisfied,
sank down and fell into a heavy slumber.


CHAPTER XVI
THIRD DEGREE (FRIDAY)
McMaster flung the last of a pile of routine papers
into the wire tray on his desk and pressed the bell
push which dangled by a cord from the ceiling.
"Ask Inspector Paton to come and see me, please,"
he directed the clerk who replied to his summons.
"Well, Paton," he cried briskly, as the detective
inspector entered the room, "I am going to Medbury
now. Like to come with me?"
"Yes, sir. With your approval, I propose to con-
front Major Preece with the story of his relations
with Lady Ronan."
"Quite, Paton. I didn't tell you that I sent Mallin-
son down there yesterday afternoon? I did. There's
nothing from him this morning. We will stop at Bit-
terne Police Station. They may have news of him
there; but I can't help wondering why he has not
reported by 'phone."
"A lady to see you, sir."
McMaster took the slip of pasteboard from the


THIRD DEGREE (FRIDAY) 273
constable's hand. He handed it, without comment,
to his subordinate. McMaster glanced at the clock
on his desk.
"Half-past ten. We'd better see what she wants.
Plenty of time to get down to Medbury before lunch
if we start in an hour's time. Let her talk, Paton, and
none of your 'Third Degree' funny business," he
warned him.
They rose as Claire Preece came into the room.
She glanced defensively at the two men. "Mr. Mc-
Master?" she inquired.
The chief bowed. "Won't you sit down, Mrs.
Preece? This is Detective Inspector Paton, who is in
charge of the Medbury Fort affair. I am right in
assuming," he added, "that your husband is Major
Hugh Preece?"
"Yes," she replied, sinking, with a gently repressed
sigh of weariness, into the chair Paton pushed for-
ward.
McMaster offered the traditional opening gambit.
"To what are we indebted for the pleasure ?" he
murmured.
"First, I wish to ask a question," Claire answered
in a low voice. She looked directly at Paton. "Is my
husband suspected of having murdered Mr. Le-
pean?"
It was McMaster who replied gravely: "Everyone


274 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
who slept in the mess building that night is under
suspicion. We can't say any more at present."
"Then I have something to tell you. It concerns
Captain Wape."
Claire told of the oiled lock, the discovery of the
cracksman's tweezers in Mr. Wape's collection, and,
finally, she baldly narrated what had occurred dur-
ing Lepean's week-end visit at Leinster Gardens,
and how, subsequently, these facts had reached Vic-
tor Wape's ears in a garbled form. Her voice, level
and expressionless, ceased. Complete silence fell in
the large, untidy office when she had finished speak-
ing.
McMaster was impressed. Wape had had the op-
portunity, and he had a motive. Then there was the
machete—the weapon Paton had found. Still, he did
not feel satisfied. It fitted in too well. He glanced
admiringly at the woman in the low, uncomfortable
official armchair with her pale, composed manner. A
clever woman! How, he wondered, had she managed
to procure the evidence which knit the case against
Wape together? Could she have concocted the whole
yarn out of her head? No. For she would realize that
it would be tested and the actual evidence must be
forthcoming.
McMaster frowned; a practical difficulty, he fore-
saw, would be to extract Sylvia Wape's story. Very


THIRD DEGREE (FRIDAY) 275
unpleasant for the prosecution. He would not envy
the counsel whose task it would be to make Wape's
sister tell that damning story in court. Again, would
any jury convict? Doubtful. Would, in the first place,
Crown counsel advise prosecution? Quite probably
not. There is no "unwritten law" in England; but the
Crown is always loath to take into court any case in
which the sympathies of the jury would be strongly
with the prisoner.
Paton was speaking into his ear: "Look here, sir,"
he urged, "this story is all very fine, but we must not
lose sight of the fact that Mrs. Preece is out to save
her husband. This tale about Wape may be true and
may not. I won't say till we test the evidence. It hangs
together, certainly. She may have made a lucky shot,
may not."
"I agree."
"Look here, sir," Paton continued urgently, "let me
outline the case against Preece. See what she says."
"Watch her reactions, eh? I don't like it, Paton.
It's not—cricket. What do you expect to gain?"
"Maybe nothing, sir, but if I tell her the truth
about Preece and Lady Ronan, we may get some-
thing. Obviously, she won't lie to shield her husband
if she learns he has been unfaithful to her."
"All right. Try it," assented the other reluctantly.
Paton turned to Claire: "Mrs. Preece," he said,


276 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"you asked us, when you arrived, if we suspected
Major Preece. We do. We have a case against him.
A good one. This is it: for the moment we will not
consider how the murder was done. The police have
a theory, consistent with the facts, of how Major
Preece could have murdered Lepean. The puzzling
feature of this case is not so much how was the mur-
der committed, but why was it. The motive, in fact."
He paused, drew out a small notebook, flicked over
the pages until he came to the page he wanted, and,
keeping a finger inserted between the leaves to mark
the place, he resumed: "I must take you back some
little time. In the spring of 1912, Major Preece,
then stationed in London, met Prunella Lake. During
that summer they met frequently; at least, Major
Preece called for her at the Vanity Theatre on, at
least, twenty separate occasions during the months
of June and July, 1912. Witness: Arthur Brogden,
one time stage-door keeper at the old Vanity. Said
Preece and Lake was a 'case.' In autumn, 1912,
Major Preece went to West Africa. How long the—
friendship between Major Preece and Prunella Lake
continued we do not know. It must, however, have
been interrupted by the outbreak of the Great War.
During the period of the war, Prunella Lake married
Sir Tremayne—then Mister—Ronan. We do not


ON THE RANGES (FRIDAY) 289
sad eyes, was sitting on a chair in front of the tall
desk at which the constable had been wielding a stiff
but conscientious pen. McMaster noticed the dark
shadows below her eyes and in the hollows of her
cheeks. Shop-girl, obviously, he guessed. He lifted
an inquiring eyebrow at the constable.
"This young lady, sir, come 'ere not 'arf an hour
ago with a peculiar deposition which I was in the act
of redoocing to writing, sir, 'aving an important bear-
ing on the murder at the fort."
"Ah!"
"Will I read you the deposition, sir?"
"Er—thanks, do."
Much gratified, the large constable cleared his
throat and began:
"'My name is Emily Baxter. My father keeps a
gent's shop in Hemel. I live at home. I became ac-
quainted with the late Lieutenant Lepean, having
been introduced to him at the Bitterne Palais de
Danse. Previous to this I had become friendly with
Private Mason. Mr. Lepean had informed me that
Mason was his servant. He also informed me that
Mason had been a butcher. Last Sunday, when walk-
ing out with Mason, we quarrelled. In the course of
conversation, I told him he was nothing but a low
butcher. He became very angry and forced me to ad-
mit it was Mr. Lepean had told me. He then used


3oo THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
ludicrous expression of amazed discomfiture upon
his face, the little party turned to the left outside
the fort and walked briskly along the towing path.
Soon they heard the pop-pop of rifle shots and the
harsher stutter of machine-gun fire.
During the walk Paton ventured a remark: "It's
the batman, Mason—the ex-butcher?"
"No doubt of it, Paton," returned the chief.
"But," objected the other, with pardonable ex-
asperation, "why did he do it? Here we've got Preece
and Wape for that matter, both with highly adequate
motives for murdering Lepean. What was Mason's
motive?"
The chief smiled rather grimly. "I warned you,
Paton, at the beginning of this affair to be careful
about motive. What would tempt one man to murder
might appear a mere trifle to another. Mason's mo-
tive was a compound of jealousy, wounded self-
esteem, and a large slice of brutal ferocity. Also, he
had the chance. It was a cunning plan."
Rather ill-temperedly, Paton asked: "How did he
do it? Mallinson, of course, that's obvious. But I fail
to see"
"My theory is that he was in the room the whole
time. Hiding under the bed, probably. As for the
door, it wasn't locked. Mason himself said it was


ON THE RANGES (FRIDAY) 301
locked; but no one else tried it, they all assumed it
was locked. In point of fact, it wasn't, as," the chief
added rather maliciously, "you would have seen if you
had examined the lock and the jamb of the door
carefully."
Paton raised an objection: "But, sir, we know
Mason went through the guard room and up the stairs
to call Lepean in the morning. If he was in the
room all night, how did he manage that?"
"He slipped out during the time the corporal of
the guard and the other men—except Swansdick, who
must have been dozing, or, more likely, did see him
and won't split, Swansdick must be interrogated on
that point—were outside watching that liner. He
went to his barrack room and kicked up a row as if
he were getting up; then he fetched the hot water,
passed through the guard room and up the stairs, this
time being observed by the corporal, which was what
he intended. Purely, my reconstruction of what oc-
curred; but it must have happened so."
By this time the party had struck away from the
towing path and was approaching the cluster of sol-
diers at the firing point. The range ran parallel with
a straight reach of the river. The land was marshy;
unfit, even, for grazing sheep, and in winter, water-
logged. Firing was in progress at the 500 yards'


ON THE RANGES (FRIDAY) 307
up his hand for a moment to interrupt Wape, re-
marked: "Yes, we came across that episode all right,
sir. More, I must admit, by luck than good manage-
ment."
"But I couldn't do it," Wape resumed, "a weak-
ness, no doubt, but—I couldn't do it. I couldn't lift
my arm; it seemed strapped by invisible cords to my
side, and the machete was heavy as lead.
"So I came out again, locking the door once more
from the outside. I'd taken the precaution of oiling
the lock so that it turned easily, the previous day.
When I got back to my room I was deadly cold. I lit
the fire. Psychologically, it's interesting to know that
I felt exactly as if I had killed Lepean. Moreover, I
behaved like it. I loathed the sight of the machete and
flung it out of the window. When you found it, Mr.
Paton, I think it puzzled you not to see any blood-
stains upon it. Not, at least, any recent ones. No
doubt, however, these were duly forthcoming upon
microscopic examination. I had taken a towel into
Lepean's room—to shield myself from blood
splashes. I burned it on the fire—quite unnecessarily,
of course. I wondered if you noticed the charred re-
mains when you examined my room?"
"No," Paton replied, "I'll admit I missed that,
but I'm not one for drawing far-fetched inferences. I
stuck to facts."


308 THE MEDBURY FORT MURDER
"You know my methods, Watson, apply them,"
murmured Wape. "I'm afraid I lied to you, Mr.
Paton," he continued, "when I told you that I had
last seen Lepean at two o'clock. I suppressed the
fact that I had been in his room much later than that
—for obvious reasons. That was why, in the morn-
ing, I made an excuse to go into Lepean's room and
slip the key into my pocket while the sergeant was
interrogating Corporal Penrose."
"What time was it when you made your—bur-
glarious entry into the room?"
"A few minutes before four o'clock."
McMaster nodded his head. "Mason was in the
room all the time and murdered Lepean very soon
after you had left the room. I wonder why Mason
waited so long."
"I can tell you," Wape put in. "Lepean could not
have gone to sleep before about twenty minutes to
four. I was watching the light in his window; it went
out at exactly half-past three. I dare say Mason was
interrupted by me. That must have been a bad mo-
ment for him. He wasted no time once I had gone. It's
all a bit grim."
McMaster nodded his head gravely.
"Certainly a bit grim. I agree. Three persons; in
each of their hearts the will to murder. Mason got in





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