Collected works of j s f.., p.441
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 441
“I did see him all the same!” she said sullenly. “I might get mixed up about exactly where it was from, but — —”
“Now, where was it from?” asked the Chief Constable. “Come! — you can’t have forgotten that — an important matter!”
But Mrs. Braxfield’s lips again compressed themselves, and in the middle of her pale cheeks, red, angry spots began to show.
“If you won’t speak, I’ll refresh your memory,” said the Chief Constable. “Wasn’t it from the edge of that little spinney near Markenmore Hollow? Come, now?”
“What if it was?” retorted Mrs. Braxfield.
“What were you doing there, at that time of the morning?” asked the Chief Constable.
“That’s my business!” said Mrs. Braxfield with sudden defiance. “What have you to do with it?”
The Chief Constable shook his head.
“Oh, well!” he answered. “If you are going to adopt that tone, Mrs. Braxfield, we must show our hand a little more openly. Now, Mrs. Braxfield, listen to me; we know certain things. You’ve been in the habit of going to that spinney, or round about it, very early of a morning, to have a shot at foxes; the foxes, we hear, have given you trouble about your fowls. Is that so?”
“What if it is?” demanded Mrs. Braxfield. “Do you think I’m going to have my valuable fowls and chickens carried off by foxes? I’m not! — not for all the hunting men in the country! So there! I wish I could shoot every fox that’s running about! As it is, all I’ve done has been to frighten them.”
“You can settle your affairs about the foxes with the Master of Foxhounds, Mrs. Braxfield,” said the Chief Constable good-humouredly. “It’s a truly awful crime to shoot a fox, in the opinion of hunting people, but it’s one that doesn’t come within police regulations. But now, Mrs. Braxfield, what did you use in shooting at the foxes? Was it a rifle, or a sporting gun, or a revolver? Or — was it an automatic pistol? Come!”
Mrs. Braxfield looked from one face to another. Three pairs of eyes were fixed firmly upon her.
“Who’s been telling you all this?” she suddenly exclaimed. “Who’s been — —”
“It was an automatic pistol, wasn’t it?” persisted the Chief Constable. “Come, now, Mrs. Braxfield, why not answer straight out?”
“What if it was?” muttered Mrs. Braxfield.
“Then it was! Very well; now then,” continued the Chief Constable, “where did you get it?”
Mrs. Braxfield, who until then had been standing by the table in the centre of the room, facing her three visitors, suddenly sat down in the nearest chair, folded her hands on her lap, looked calmly from one to the other.
“Look here!” she said quietly, finally fixing her eyes on the Chief Constable. “You no doubt think you’re being very plain, and outspoken, and all that, but if you want any information out of me, you’ll have to be a good deal plainer! And I’ll tell you straight out that you’re not going to get me to incriminate myself! I haven’t said that I had any automatic pistol. You said: ‘Was it an automatic pistol that I used, to scare the foxes?’ I replied: ‘What if it was?’ That isn’t saying that it was, or that I ever had one. I’m willing to give any information that I can, but you’re treating me with suspicion, and I’m not going to be forced into any admission that might be damaging — damaging to me and to others, very likely. You treat me fair, and — —”
“Mrs. Braxfield,” broke in the Chief Constable, “we’ve no wish for anything else than to treat you fairly. But we know certain things, and we’re bound to ask you for some explanation. Now, as you ask me to be more explicit, I will! I may as well tell you that an automatic pistol has been found.”
The Chief Constable stopped suddenly. Mrs. Braxfield, taken unawares, had turned pale to the lips, and her hands tightened. She started palpably.
“Found!” she exclaimed.
“Found, Mrs. Braxfield!” said the Chief Constable sternly. “I needn’t ask you if you have any ideas as to where it was found — I think you have. Now that automatic pistol has, of course, a mark and a number, and it has been identified by a gunsmith in Selcaster as one that he sold, comparatively recently, to Mr. Harry Markenmore — your son-in-law. Now, Mrs. Braxfield, we know beyond any question that you have been in the habit of using an automatic pistol of that particular sort to scare or shoot foxes. Be candid. Was the pistol that you’ve been using given to you by Mr. Harry Markenmore — the pistol that is now in our possession? Come!”
Mrs. Braxfield sat silent for a while. Now and then she looked at her questioner; now and then at the rings on her fingers, which she was mechanically turning round and round. It seemed a long time before she spoke. But when she did, it was to the accompaniment of an unusually dogged and defiant look.
“I’m not going to say another word!” she said. “Bear you in mind, all of you, that I’ve admitted nothing!”
The Chief Constable glanced at Blick and sighed — the sigh of a man upon whom an unpleasant duty is forced, much against his will.
“Very well, Mrs. Braxfield,” he said quietly. “Then there’s nothing else for it — you’ll have to come with us.”
“Do you mean that you’re going to take me to Selcaster?” asked Mrs. Braxfield, with suspicious calmness. “All right! — and you’ll be more than sorry for it, as you’ll see! Very well — I suppose I can go upstairs and make ready?”
“No!” said the Chief Constable. “Not out of my sight, now! You’ve a woman in the house — you can ring for her, and tell her to get all you want. Then — we’ve a cab outside.”
“Ah!” remarked Mrs. Braxfield maliciously. “You’re only doing what you meant to do! All right, Mr. Chief Constable, and the other two of you — you’ll be sorry for this!”
But the Chief Constable silently motioned to Blick to ring the bell for the charwoman.
CHAPTER XXII
MRS. BRAXFIELD’S MOVE
FIVE MINUTES LATER, the charwoman, amazed and lachrymose, and holding a corner of her apron in readiness to apply to her eyes, watched the little procession move away across the garden of Woodland Cottage and over the hill-side to the edge of the grass track whereat the cab was in waiting. She kept her eyes fixed on Mrs. Braxfield until Mrs. Braxfield vanished; but Mrs. Braxfield never looked back. Her eyes were concentrated on the cab in which she was to be carried away. There were two more plain-clothes men in charge of it; one on the box, another by the door, and at sight of them she laughed satirically.
“You came pretty well prepared, I think!” she said with bitter emphasis. “I can see what was in your minds! This is what you call having a talk between ourselves — being frank and candid — and all that! Rubbish!”
“You’ve only got to be candid, Mrs. Braxfield, and there’ll be no necessity to take you away,” said the Chief Constable. “If you’ll only just tell me — —”
“I shall tell nothing!” retorted Mrs. Braxfield, “Nothing at all! — not one word! — until I’ve seen my solicitor, Mr. Crewe. I suppose you’ll not deny me the right of seeing him when I get to wherever you’re going to take me?”
“You shall see Mr. Crewe within ten minutes of reaching Selcaster,” assented the Chief Constable. “I’ll give orders to that effect. My men here will see that you’re quite comfortable, and that you and Mr. Crewe have every facility you want — and I hope, Mrs. Braxfield, for your own sake, that by the time I get back to Selcaster you’ll have thought better of things and been more open and candid with your solicitor than you’ve been with me!”
“That’s my business,” said Mrs. Braxfield. “I can do it without any advice from you. But — aren’t you going back now? Mr. Crewe’ll want you.”
“Not at present,” said the Chief Constable. “You’ll go with my men — Mr. Blick and myself are now going to see Mr. Harry Markenmore.”
Mrs. Braxfield stopped in her progress towards the cab. A curious look came into her eyes.
“You’re not — not going to arrest him?” she whispered. “He — —”
“Just leave us to manage our own business, if you please, Mrs. Braxfield,” said the Chief Constable, “Step in! — you’ll be treated with every consideration, as you’ll see. Marshall!” he continued, turning to the man who had accompanied Blick and himself to the cottage. “As soon as you get to Selcaster, put Mrs. Braxfield in my room, and send Robinson at once to Mr. Crewe, asking him to come round immediately to see her. You know all the rest — I shall be back there as quickly as possible.”
The cab drove away with its burden of three stolid-faced men and a highly indignant woman, and the Chief Constable took off his peaked and laced cap and wiped his forehead.
“Phew!” he said. “Disagreeable business that, Blick! Now, why the deuce couldn’t that foolish woman be candid instead of behaving in a fashion calculated to arouse suspicion? A few words — a proper explanation — and we needn’t have been put to this trouble!”
“She’s a determined and obstinate woman,” answered Blick reflectively. “But as far as I’m concerned no amount of explanation would have satisfied me. I haven’t the slightest doubt that it was she who threw this automatic pistol away down the badger-hole, and if that isn’t damaging to her, I don’t know what is!”
“You think it’s highly probable that she shot Guy Markenmore, then?” suggested the Chief Constable.
“Well, if you want to know, I do!” declared Blick frankly. “It was probably done on the spur of the moment, but I think she did. From what I’ve seen of her, I think she’s a woman who wouldn’t stick at anything. She’s evidently tremendously ambitious about that daughter of hers, and was very keen that she should be Lady Markenmore instead of merely Mrs. Harry. Fransemmery can tell you that Mrs. Braxfield was terribly upset when she found that Guy had left a son, and that Harry hadn’t succeeded to the baronetcy. Whatever may result there’s very strong ground of suspicion against her. She wouldn’t be the first woman who’s resorted to murder for the sake of family advancement — not she!”
“I wonder what made her start when I mentioned that we were going to see Harry Markenmore?” remarked the Chief Constable. “And whatever made her ask if we were meaning to arrest him? Surely, if she was in it, he isn’t — can’t have been an accessory?”
“Can’t say!” answered Blick laconically. “But — she was taken aback. However, there is Harry Markenmore — we needn’t go to the house for him.”
He and his companion had crossed Deep Lane by that time, and were now traversing the park in the direction of Markenmore Court. And there, a little way before them, they saw Harry Markenmore, superintending the labours of three or four men who were engaged in felling a giant elm tree. He caught sight of them at the same moment, and presently came strolling in their direction, his eyes looking a question as they met.
“Good morning, Mr. Markenmore,” began the Chief Constable. “We were just going to the house to see you. The fact is,” he continued, unconsciously lowering his voice in spite of the fact that he and his two companions stood in a solitude, “a very unpleasant situation has arisen in respect of the death of your brother. Now, Mr. Markenmore, you can help us to clear it up, one way or another, if you’ll give us some information: the whole thing may be capable of very easy explanation — anyway, I’m sure you’ll help us if you can.”
“In what way?” asked Harry. He stood, hands in pockets, glancing first at one, then at the other; in Blick’s opinion he seemed to be ill at ease. “What do you want to know?”
“Well, first of all,” replied the Chief Constable quietly, “we better tell you what we do know. Now don’t be alarmed or upset, Mr. Markenmore, by what I have to say — —”
A queer expression suddenly played about Harry Markenmore’s lips, and he gave Blick an equally queer glance.
“Why should I be either alarmed or upset?” he asked. “Scarcely likely!”
“Just so, Mr. Markemnore, just so!” agreed the Chief Constable. “It isn’t at all likely, but you know what I mean. Well, now, in the course of his enquiries Detective-Sergeant Blick has found that some little time ago you purchased a Webley-Fosbery automatic pistol at Widdington’s, the gunsmith, in Selcaster. That’s so, Mr. Markenmore?”
“That is so, certainly,” replied Harry. “No secret about it, either.”
“I felt sure there wouldn’t be,” said the Chief Constable. “Very well — would you recognize that pistol if you were shown it?”
“By its mark and number — yes!” answered Harry.
The Chief Constable turned to Blick, who promptly drew the automatic pistol from his pocket and handed it over. Both watched curiously as Harry examined it.
“That’s it!” he said. “But how — —”
“Mr. Markenmore!” interrupted the Chief Constable. “This is where the unpleasant part of the business comes in! That pistol was found, by Detective-Sergeant Blick himself, thrown away in a hole — a badger hole — behind the bushes in Deep Lane there, last Friday evening. Now, Mr. Markenmore, have you any idea how your pistol came to be there? For it is the automatic pistol you bought at Widdington’s — we’ve identified the number and mark.”
Harry Markenmore, healthy enough in colour until then, had paled, and he was staring at the automatic pistol with a frown that was half angry and half puzzled.
“I!” he exclaimed. “How should I know how it came there!”
“But you’ll know what you did with the pistol when you bought it, Mr. Markenmore!” said the Chief Constable. “I gather from your last remark that it passed out of your possession. Now, Mr. Markenmore, be frank with us! To whom did you give the pistol? — or to whom did you lend it? Anyway, who’s had it?”
Harry Markenmore handed the pistol back, and replaced his hands in his pockets.
“Look here!” he said quietly. “You’d better be frank, too. Are you suggesting that it was a shot from that thing that caused my brother’s death?”
“We think it extremely probable, Mr. Markenmore,” answered the Chief Constable. “We showed it to the police-surgeon last night, and in his opinion, it is just the sort of thing that was used.”
“And whom do you suspect of using it?” demanded Harry. “Come, now?”
He had assumed the rôle of examiner then, and he was watching the two men as keenly as they had watched him. The Chief Constable hesitated.
“I should prefer that you tell us what you did with the pistol,” he began. “I think — —”
“And I prefer that you tell me whom you suspect of using it on my brother,” declared Harry. “Whatever you prefer, I’m not going to say anything that may incriminate perfectly innocent people! That’s flat — and final, too!”
The Chief Constable looked at Blick. And Blick, who was beginning to size matters up, nodded.
“Tell him!” he murmured.
“Very well, Mr. Markenmore,” said the Chief Constable. “I’ll take the lead. We believe there is ground of suspicion against Mrs. Braxfield. We have found out that for some time she has been in the habit of firing an automatic pistol near a spinney on the edge of Markenmore Hollow in order to frighten foxes away from her chickens, and that she has often been seen there at very early hours of the morning. Now, Mr. Markenmore, is yours the pistol she used?”
“What does Mrs. Braxfield herself say?” asked Harry quietly.
“Mrs. Braxfield refuses to say anything,” answered the Chief Constable, “except that she admits firing at the foxes sometimes, at the times and place I’ve mentioned. And the result is that we’ve been obliged to take her off to Selcaster, pending enquiries — —”
Harry Markenmore’s face suddenly became dark with anger.
“What!” he exclaimed. “You’ve — arrested her?”
“Detained for further enquiries,” said the Chief Constable, with a sudden approach to stern formalities. “She has only to give us a satisfactory explanation — —”
“Damnation!” Harry Markenmore suddenly burst out. “Are you aware that Mrs. Braxfield is my mother-in-law? What the devil do you mean by even suggesting that she murdered my brother?”
“Be calm, Mr. Markenmore!” said the Chief Constable. “Help us to clear up this affair of the automatic pistol! Tell us if and why you gave it to Mrs. Braxfield, and if you can account for its being thrown away? Then — —”
But Harry, muttering angrily to himself, suddenly turned and strode off rapidly in the direction of Markenmore Court, and though the Chief Constable called to him, begging him to listen to reason, he marched on without taking further notice. The two men looked at each other.
“Is he to go?” asked Blick.
“What can we do?” answered the Chief Constable. “Hang it all — —”
“I think I should have insisted on his going with us to Selcaster,” said Blick. “If he and Mrs. Braxfield had been confronted — —”
The Chief Constable, however, had turned towards the village.
“Oh, well!” he said. “There’s a way of making him speak! He’ll have to speak of his part in a witness-box. Let’s get to Selcaster, and if that woman hasn’t come to her senses under Crewe’s advice, I’ll charge her, formally, and bring her before the magistrates — they’ll be sitting at eleven o’clock this morning.”
“You’ll go as far as that?” said Blick.
“I will!” declared the Chief Constable. “I shall be justified on what we know already. Come on — we’ll get a trap at the Sceptre.”
Half an hour later, when he and Blick drove up to the police-station, they met Crewe, the solicitor, emerging from it. He gave the Chief Constable a dry, shrewd smile.
“Um!” he said, drawing him aside. “Pretty arbitrary in your treatment of Mrs. B., I think! However, under my advice, she’ll now tell you what you wanted to know. And after that, if I were you, I should just let her go quietly home. She’s pretty furious — and she’s given me certain instructions that’ll possibly help you — though between you and me, I think she’s a fool for doing it!”
“I don’t understand you,” said the Chief Constable curtly.
