The Ginger Cat Mystery (20 page)

“Did he give any satisfactory explanation of the introduction of Tapp into the Cornell household?” asked Vereker.

“No. He declared he had a perfectly satisfactory explanation of his share in that affair, but he wouldn't condescend to discuss it with a dangerous lunatic.”

“What did Mrs. Cornell say to all this?”

“Of course she sided with her lover. I must say she took a kindlier view of my action and in a way tried to argue that as a friend of Frank's I had only thought I was doing my duty, but Redgrave asked her not to try and excuse my behaviour which was downright caddish. At this I lost my wool and said I was now going further in the matter by making a full statement to the detective-inspector in charge of the case of Frank Cornell's death. This brought him up to boiling point and he threatened to break every bone in my body if I did so. I told him he'd better start right away, because it was the only way to prevent me carrying out my decision. We were on the point of settling matters with fists and it was only Jo's presence and intervention that stopped a fight.”

“It's not a bad way of settling a dispute,” was the only comment Vereker could offer to the now thoroughly roused Carstairs.

“I was quite willing to put the matter to the test,” continued Carstairs. “I was dying to punch his film features out of shape, I can assure you. It may come to that yet if we meet again alone. But while we're discussing the case, I may as well tell you, Vereker, of another little item which you ought to know. There was some talk a day or two back about missing keys to the music room. They were found this morning.”

“Oh, and where were they found?” asked Vereker with sharply-roused interest.

“Doctor Redgrave found them, or rather said he remembered that John Cornell had locked them up in a small drawer in his study some weeks before his sudden death.”

“How did Doctor Redgrave know that? Did he say?”

“He frankly avowed he knew all along where the keys were because he was with John Cornell when he locked them away. He said he hadn't heard that there was any question about missing keys or he would have mentioned the fact before. Of course, I am biased against the man, but to me it sounds the lamest story I've heard for a long while.”

“I wonder why he left the house by the music room door on the night of the tragedy?” asked Vereker, almost in soliloquy.

“You may go on wondering. I daresay he has got some ready-made yarn to cover his action, which was an unusual one to say no more. However, it's up to you people to find out all about his movements on that night. To me they appear damned suspicious and it's remarkable how the missing keys should have been found by our worthy leech. While you're about it, I think you ought to make a very rigorous inquiry into the secret history of Redgrave's discovery of Tapp as a valet for old John Cornell. He may be able to give you a satisfactory explanation; it's more than he was willing to give me. If I were in the inspector's shoes, I'd have a good search in his house for any evidence of germ culture. I believe it's a simple process on the whole and malignant germs can easily be injected.”

“You mustn't lose your sense of proportion, Carstairs,” remarked Vereker quietly. “In anger one is apt to say and do irrational things.”

“Perhaps you're right. Once roused, I'm inclined to go the whole hog and it's a dangerous propensity. I beg Redgrave's pardon for the insinuation of germ culture and injection.”

“I think you ought to patch up the peace with him,” suggested Vereker. “After all, you didn't accuse him of introducing Tapp into the Cornell household with any nefarious purpose and he ought to look at the matter in the same light. It was Frank Cornell who caused all the trouble by talking foolishly to Stella Cornell.”

“No, I'm not going to run to Redgrave with a white flag. He was the first to lose his wool. I've said good-bye to Mrs. Cornell and I'm rather sorry I shan't see her again. But these things happen and can't be helped. In any case, I shall be glad to forget all about Marston and the Cornell family.”

“Even Miss Stella Cornell?” asked Vereker boldly.

“Well, no. In her case the boot is on the other foot. She'll be glad to forget me. I've proposed to her umpteen times altogether and been refused. It's not much use my returning to the charge. I've almost decided to quit.”

“You mustn't lose heart. She may yet capitulate,” suggested Vereker sympathetically.

“I'm afraid not. You don't know the lady's temper, Vereker. Once she has decided on a line of action, there's no hope of deflecting her. I've never come across a person of more resolute will. She's the stuff martyrs and fanatics are made of. In some ways, too, she's obstinate and will adhere to a course which she knows is wrong rather than give in.”

“Has she a violent temper?” asked Vereker.

“She has a temper all right, but it's not what I'd call violent. It's an icy cold one which is infinitely worse, because a violent temper is transient and the other type persists and eats away sanity. She only declares it by a frigid light in the eye and the intense pallor of her face. In her favour, I must say it's never roused by trifles, but if she scents injustice or a cruel wrong, she's implacable and would go to any length to redress it. She inherits it from her father who has the same temper in a greater degree. He's a tiger when roused.”

“Your outlook's not too bright, Carstairs, but one never knows what's on the lap of the gods. By the way, is Miss Cornell in any secret trouble or afraid of any secret danger at present?” asked Vereker.

The question put in a quiet, conversational tone had a most unexpected effect. Carstairs suddenly sprang to his feet, his face white, his hands clenched.

“Who, who told you she was in any secret trouble or fear of danger?” he asked eagerly.

“Calm yourself, Carstairs,” interrupted Vereker in a cold, peremptory tone. “No one has told me anything about Miss Cornell. I spoke to her this morning on the Marston road and I thought she looked rather ill and worried. From her distrait manner, I drew my own conclusions and wondered what her trouble might be. As you are an intimate friend of hers I thought you might know. There was nothing more than that in my question.”

“Thank God! I thought you had discovered something that was hidden from me,” said Carstairs with evident relief, and after a brief period of silence he asked with sudden earnestness, “Tell me, Vereker, you surely don't suspect Stella of any hand in Frank Cornell's death?”

“We suspect everyone till we find they're above suspicion. We even consider that you yourself may have had a finger in this unsavoury pie.”

“Of course, of course, I suppose you must work on some method like that. As far as I'm concerned you can wash out all your suspicions. Whoever shot Frank Cornell, I had no hand in the rotten business.”

“I believe you, Carstairs,” said Vereker sincerely. “At present I can see no motive that would drive you to such an act.”

“No motive in the world could drive me to such an act in any case. If a person commits murder, I'm sure it must lie in the hidden character of the person and not in any extraneous thing such as a motive, though a motive is the match that causes the final explosion.”

“Decidedly. Now, if it's a fair question, do you think Miss Cornell could be driven by some hidden motive to shoot her lover?”

“Good Lord, no!” exclaimed Carstairs emphatically and after a few moments' reflection added, “but perhaps I'm not the person to answer such a question. If you love a woman you can think no evil of her and, whatever her character may be, you look at it from quite a different angle to the ordinary observer.”

“Very true, Carstairs, and I agree it wasn't quite fair of me to put the question to you.”

“But surely you don't think Stella did it?” asked Carstairs with a look of surprise and horror on his face.

“Now, Carstairs, you're jumping to rash conclusions. I never think anyone has committed a murder till my observations clearly show me that he did. I don't know enough about this case yet to think definitely about it. If I put Miss Cornell in my list of suspects, I'm looking at the matter from a purely professional point of view—quite a different angle from yours as you've just admitted.”

“Ah, well, that amounts to nothing, anyway. I know Stella has had a damned rough time at the hands of Frank, and his engagement to Valerie Mayo must have been a terrible shock to her pride and self-esteem, but I don't think she'd kill him on that account. Is there anything else I can tell you, because I must finish my packing? It's now four o'clock and I must catch the five train for town. I suppose I'll have to put in an appearance at the adjourned inquest and I'd better leave my London address with you and the inspector.” Carstairs produced his card case and handed Vereker his card. “That's my address, Queensborough Gardens,” he added. “When you're back in town, I'd be glad if you'd look me up any evening. We've met under rather rotten circumstances, but I shouldn't like to think I'd never see you again. Ring me up if you decide to blow round my way.”

“Thanks, Carstairs. I'll certainly drop in and see you if you're sure it wouldn't bore you to entertain me. I'm not a very bright person socially.”

“I'm not a good entertainer but I'll be delighted to see you. I'd like to hear all your theories and conclusions in this case when it's over.”

“We'll take that as fixed,” said Vereker rising and then exclaimed, “Oh, by the way, I've a little note for you from Miss Cornell. I saw her in Marston village this morning and she asked me if I'd deliver it to you.”

Vereker produced the letter and handed it to Carstairs who promptly opened and read it. As his eye ran over the contents, his face paled and a frown gathered on his brow. Vereker stood waiting in the hope that he might hear something from the impetuous lover, but he was disappointed.

“Thanks,” was the only word he could utter and he did this with obvious distress. Then with a sigh of bitter resignation he thrust the letter in his pocket and held out his hand.

“
Au revoir
,” he muttered, and his whole face was expressive of suppressed agony.

“So long,” replied Vereker and added, “I won't forget your invitation.”

When Vereker arrived at the “Dog and Partridge” he found a letter from Manuel Ricardo awaiting him. Tearing it open he read:

Thrusting the note with a gesture of impatience into his pocket, Vereker repaired to the little private room of the inn for tea. There he found Inspector Heather who, having finished his meal, sat smoking in an easy char. His face was thoughtful, almost lugubrious, but on Vereker's appearance it lit up with a good-natured smile.

“I've a bone to pick with you, Mr. Vereker,” he said as he knocked the ashes out of his briar and began to refill the bowl.

“Say nay, say nay, Heather. You were looking rather warlike when I came in. What's all the bother?”

“I had a long statement from Mr. Roland Carstairs this morning. It concerns the man George Tapp.”