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Updated: July 8, 2025
What do you think of it?" "It sounds convincing enough." "It would sound more convincing to me if it was entirely consistent with the other facts of the case. Have you those sheets of unfinished writing which were found in Robert Turold's study?" Dawfield produced two sheets of foolscap from his desk. Barrant laid them on the table, and examined them with a magnifying glass.
I have been examining those marks on Robert Turold's arm again, and I have come to the conclusion that they were made by somebody in a violent passion." "I have the photographs here," said Dawfield, rummaging in a drawer. "They do not help us at all. There are no finger-prints nothing but blurs." Barrant glanced at the photographs and pushed them aside.
He promised to do so, and when the door of the study was broken open he took an opportunity to drop the key on the floor, in order to suggest the idea that Robert Turold had locked himself in his room before shooting himself, and that the key was jolted out of the lock when the door was burst in. It was an infernally clever thing to do. That's the case against the girl, Dawfield.
Pendleton was staying. When Barrant learnt from the trembling lips of Mrs. Pendleton that she had not seen her niece since that morning, his first step was to get Sisily's full description, and call up Dawfield on the hotel telephone with instructions to have all the railway stations between Penzance and London warned to look out for her.
Inspector Dawfield bade him good-day, and added the information that his companion was Detective Barrant, of Scotland Yard. Pengowan greeted Barrant with the respect due to the name of Scotland Yard, and took a humble seat at the back of the car. They went on again, and in a few minutes the car stopped at the end of the rough moor track, close to where the black cliffs dropped to the grey sea.
I will take him by surprise later on, when he is off his guard, and if he is keeping anything back I may be able to get it out of him. But we must not be too quick in drawing the conclusion that those marks were made by him." "What makes you say so?" asked Inspector Dawfield. "Thalassa has a long bony hand, with fingers thickened by rough work.
I will get the warrant for her arrest backed at Bow Street, and put a couple of good men on the search before returning here. You had better have the inquest adjourned until I come back. This is no suicide, Dawfield, but a deep and skilfully planned murder." "I should think the flight of the girl makes that pretty clear," said Dawfield, as he made a note on his office pad. Barrant shook his head.
She had repressed all mention of her brother's announcement of his daughter's illegitimacy, but afterwards she tried to persuade herself that it slipped her memory at the time. "It's common enough for servants to listen at doors," remarked Inspector Dawfield. "In this case it may seem to have a sinister interpretation because of what happened afterwards.
The door had to be smashed before we could get in, and the key wasn't in the door then, you know." Dawfield nodded thoughtfully. "Who has charge of the keys in your brother's house? This servant with the strange name Thalassa, is it?" "Yes, and he was upstairs in my brother's room last night, after we came down. And when we got there he was ready to go out, with his hat and coat on.
Sergeant Pengowan does not strike me as the kind of man capable of bringing to light any mystery which may be hidden behind my brother's supposed suicide. He does not look at all intelligent. I thought of sending a telegram to Scotland Yard, but I decided to see you first." The hint was not lost on Inspector Dawfield, but it was unnecessary.
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