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Updated: June 18, 2025
"The inference, in view of what has happened, seems rather that the door was unlocked to-day, and Tufnell stumbled upon the fact by a lucky chance by Fate, if you like. At least it looks like that to me." "And the murderer entered by the door?" "Yes." "I think that is assuming too much," said Caldew.
He flung them back, and saw the open window. "How long has this window been open?" he asked. Miss Heredith gave her reasons for believing that the window was closed when she left Violet to go downstairs to the dining-room. Caldew listened thoughtfully, and nodded his head in quick comprehension when she added the information that the bedroom window was nearly twenty feet from the ground.
Everybody was anxious to get away as speedily as possible, and Caldew was compelled to pursue his inquiries amongst groups of hurrying people, flustered servants, and village conveyances laden with luggage.
"My name is Colwyn; my friend is Detective Caldew, of Scotland Yard," said Colwyn, in response to Mr. Wendover's glance of interrogation. "We are in search of a little information, which we trust you will give us." "That depends upon what ye want to know."
"My sitting-room is a long way from Mrs. Heredith's room. Perhaps that is the reason." Merrington looked at the position of the housekeeper's room on the plan of the moat-house which Caldew had drawn. As she said, it was a considerable distance to her room, which was in the old portion of the house, near the rear, and on the ground floor. "Were you alone in your room?" he asked. "No.
It was by no wish of Detective Caldew that Superintendent Merrington had been brought into the case.
The absence of any attempt to conceal the brooch was proof that its owner was under the delusion that nobody had seen it lying in the death-chamber. Caldew felt a thrill of professional vanity at the success of his ruse. His own name uttered in a peremptory shout from the next room caused him to pick up the brooch and hasten thither.
Musard. She's just got a telegram to say he's coming back." "I thought he was going to France," said Caldew. "Well, he's not. The telegram says he's not. So Miss Heredith's gone to meet him by the evening train. Tufnell's out too. I don't know where he's poked to, but I shan't cry my eyes out if he never comes back." "Have Mr. and Mrs. Weyne been here?" "Yes.
It was a small linen square, destitute of feminine adornment except for a dainty "H R" worked in silk in one corner. The letters were barely visible in the blood with which the whole handkerchief was saturated. "I wonder how she got the blood on the handkerchief?" said Caldew. "Did she try to stop the bleeding after shooting Mrs. Heredith?"
Colwyn, and ye, young man. I wish ye both luck in your search, but my advice is, try the pawn-shops." At the pressure of his thumb on the table the young Jew appeared from the next room, as if summoned by a magic wand, to let the visitors out. "That's a queer old bird," said Caldew, as they walked away. "Do you think he has told us the truth?" Colwyn did not reply.
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