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As the jury were being sworn in Crewe and Chippenfield made their way out of court into the corridor. As they were to be called as witnesses they would not be allowed in court until after they had given their evidence. Mr. Walters in his opening address paid tribute to the exceptional circumstances of the case by some slight show of nervousness.
Some one must have killed Sir Horace after Holymead left, and before Birchill arrived." "Whew! I never thought of that," said Rolfe candidly. "Kemp is a liar from first to last," said Inspector Chippenfield decisively. When they reached Riversbrook they entered the carriage drive and traversed the plantation until they stood on the edge of the Italian garden facing the house.
"It was forced from the outside," continued Rolfe. "I've seen the marks of a jemmy on the window-sill. If it was forced after the murder the murderer was a cool hand." "You can take it from me," exclaimed Inspector Chippenfield with unexpected candour, "that he was a cool hand. We are going to have a bit of trouble in getting to the bottom of this, Rolfe."
I saw they had gone, and as I couldn't see any sign of them about anywhere else I concluded they must have been taken without Inspector Chippenfield knowing anything about it. The reason I came over here to-night was to have another careful look round for them." Rolfe was silent for a moment. "What would you have done with the papers if you had found them?" he asked suddenly.
"Why adopt such precautions as wearing gloves to write a note giving away this startling secret?" "Easy enough," replied Inspector Chippenfield. "The people who wrote the note either had little or nothing to do with the murder, but were afraid suspicion might be directed to them, or else they are the murderers and want to direct suspicion from themselves."
Inside the grounds the Scotland Yard officers encountered a police-constable who was on guard for the purpose of preventing inquisitive strangers penetrating to the house. "Well, Flack," said Inspector Chippenfield in a tone in which geniality was slightly blended with official superiority. "How are you to-day?" "I'm very well indeed, sir," replied the police-constable.
I wish we knew which is the right one. Anyway, it knocks over your theory of a burglary," he added in a tone of satisfaction. "Yes," Rolfe admitted. "That goes by the board." "What is your name?" "James Hill, sir." "That is an alias. What is your real name?" Inspector Chippenfield glared fiercely at the butler in order to impress upon him the fact that subterfuge was useless.
And besides, Hill told us nothing about this. So I brought Evans along to see what you make of it." Inspector Chippenfield had taken up a pencil and was making a few notes. "Very interesting indeed," he said. Then he turned to Evans and asked, "Are you sure you saw Hill in your bar at three a. m.? There is no possibility of a mistake?"
"This dog has tracked him to the window, so he's evidently escaped that way," explained Rolfe briefly. "He's climbed along the window-ledge." Inspector Chippenfield approached the window and looked out.
"It doesn't take a big wound to kill a man." As he spoke the sharp ring of a telephone bell from downstairs reached them. "That's Inspector Chippenfield," said Inspector Seldon, rising to his feet. "Stay here, Flack, till I go and speak to him." "Six-thirty edition: High Court Judge murdered!"
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