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As he watched the rapid play of light and shade on the hill, he wondered why the moat-house had been built on the damp unwholesome flat lands instead of on the breezy height. When he descended later, he found Tufnell awaiting him in the hall to conduct him to the breakfast table. In the breakfast-room Sir Philip, Miss Heredith, and Vincent Musard were assembled.
Rath, as the housekeeper, would probably know all about the keys of the household." "Of the ordinary keys yes. But that knowledge was hardly likely to extend to Mrs. Heredith's private keys, unless Miss Heredith told her.
"Yes; a door at the end communicates with a narrow staircase, leading to another door at the bottom. The second door was a former back entrance it opens somewhere near the servants' quarters, I think?" He glanced inquiringly at Miss Heredith. "Those stairs are never used now," she replied. "The entrance door at the bottom of the staircase is kept locked."
"It contained a necklace of pearls which was given to poor Violet by Sir Philip," was the reply. "It is an old family necklace." "Then I agree with Mr. Heredith that the jewel case should be opened." "Very well. As you think it necessary, I will go to my room for the keys." Miss Heredith left the library, and returned in a few moments with a small bunch of keys in her hand.
"I must say I think you have made a terrible mistake," Phil said, striding about the room in a state of great agitation. "Hazel would not she could not have done this thing." He wheeled sharply around, as though struck by a sudden thought. "Are the jewels safe?" he added. "Yes," said Miss Heredith. "We found Violet's jewel-case locked, so I put it away in the library safe."
The wick of the tinder-lighter was an admirable slow match, obtainable in any tobacconist's shop for a few pence, which, by means of this trick, had established a false alibi for the actual murderer by causing the report which had reached the dining-room, and sent the inmates hastening upstairs to ascertain the cause. The shot which had mortally wounded Mrs. Heredith must have been fired before.
There was no doubt about it the image was of the same peculiar material as the trinket he had seen in the murdered woman's room the previous night. As he stood there examining the charm, the murmur of voices not far away fell on his ears. Looking cautiously out of the window, he saw Musard and Miss Heredith walk round the side of the house to the garden, deep in earnest conversation.
He fully realized the difficult task ahead of the police, and his temper was not improved in consequence. "Apparently the murderer has got clean away without leaving a trace behind him?" he said. "Yes." "No sign of any weapon?" "No." "Anything taken?" "No. Miss Heredith says nothing was taken from the room, and nothing is missing from the house."
The invitations had been issued by the Weynes, a young couple who had recently made their home in the county. The husband was a popular novelist, who had left the distractions of London in order to win fame in peace and quietness in the country. Mrs. Weyne, who had been slightly acquainted with Mrs. Heredith before her marriage, was delighted to learn she was to have her for a neighbour.
He had recently returned to England after a year's wanderings in the southern hemisphere, and had arrived at the moat-house on the previous day, bringing with him a dried alligator's head with gaping jaws, a collection of rare stuffed birds and snakeskins for Phil, who had a taste in that direction, and a carved tiki god for Miss Heredith.
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