"You don't believe he must have anticipated that?" asked Evelyn.
"Quite seriously, I don't think he did," said H.M. "Give the devil fair play. For see what he did. To show that an outsider must have been there, he manufactured evidence (it was bad evidence, but it had to be obvious stuff) in order to show the sash window had been burgled."
"Hold on!" said Stone. "This won't do! You can't have it both ways. You say he got in and manufactured the evidence. All right. You said earlier this evening that the catch on that window was broken from inside, and the scratches made from inside. But you also said that no other window or door in the house showed any sign of being tampered with! In that case, how in the name of Judas did Charters get in to make those marks on the inside? He couldn't have got in."
H.M. again spoke with a sort of lowering mirth.
"Oh yes, son. Anybody could have got in. Anybody could have got in, and left no betrayin' sign on the French window. Anybody, that is, who had at hand a full kit of the finest and most modern burglar's tools. And Charters was the only one who had a kit like that. He lent it to Ken the following night."
After a pause, H.M. went on:
"I tried to show it to you; that was why I hammered the point about that sash-window; and, burn me, Charters almost came out and admitted the truth when he was defendin' the Antrims. He pointed out how both of 'em could have been tellin' the truth when I pressed him. I told you the little things were important. He broke that window from the inside, so it would make little noise; he broke it with a big claspknife — the same clasp-knife, I rather think, that he made you a present of when I sent you to do some burglin' yourself at the Cabot Hotel in Bristol.
"But there was the trouble. Y'see, when he sneaked out that night, Serpos saw him.
"Serpos has admitted that much to me. It supplies the explanation to the last nightmare in the business. I mean the telephone-call to the Cabot Hotel at one-thirty, when someone whispered: `This is L. speaking. Would you like to know the truth about the money?' And then the laugh. It was Serpos speaking for blackmail. It was Serpos speaking — with a hint. It was Serpos speaking — with Charters standin' right beside him. If you got any memories, you'll recall that Antrim looked down over the banisters and saw Serpos loungin' against the edge of the stairs. Uh-huh. But there was somebody else there, too. Somebody bidden from Antrim under the protection of the stairs. Somebody standin' there and sweatin'. Charters."
"Yes," I said, "but how the devil did Serpos come to call up Keppel? Where was the blackmail in that? What made him think of that?"
From behind me I heard a deep growl.
"Ah! That was what I hadda find out from Serpos when I questioned him in front of all of you. I hadda find out how much he knew of what had been goin' on — about Hogenauer's experiment. He admitted he'd guessed about it already. He admitted he got a full account of the circumstances of Hogenauer's death from the copper who brought him back to Torquay. Friend Serpos is a shrewd lad; you've seen that. He knew what was goin' on, and Keppel's parts in it. And he had seen Charters sneak out the night before
"He guessed Charters had-'
"And more. He made a long-shot guess, concernin' the `envelope. folded in half,' that Hogenauer had given poison innocently to Keppeclass="underline" the innocent victim. And thus pleasant little Serpos faces Charters. `You haven't merely killed one man, my friend; you've killed two. Shall I ring up Bristol and prove it? Shall I call the police, too? Or will you protect me and give me some of that money? Eh?
"'Shall I prove it? Listen; they don't answer. Yes, they do. Here they are now. It's a police inspector on the wire. Speak up, my friend, and decide. (This is L. speaking. Would you like to know the truth about the money?)' And Charters, sweatin' blind, decides.
"I've wondered to myself-' said H.M., and stopped. "Do you understand a little better now? If Charters had been a devil, he'd have killed Serpos. I think I'd 'a' done it. And it was twistin' around awful uncertain in my mind as to what he'd do. There was a cliff behind, and a dark night over us. But Charters couldn't do it. He was only stumblin' and blunderin' about in his own mind.
"That was the situation when all of you came back to the house. You can see what I was tryin' to do with my questions now. I didn't pound anybody, except where I knew there was somethin' bearin' directly on the truth to be got. I kept off obvious paths, when I knew they wouldn't lead anywhere. I whittled it all down to showin' Charters in his own mind and soul that I knew the truth. He must have got a nasty shock when he learned L. was dead — from the lips of L.'s own daughter, livin' right here beside him, unbeknownst, all the time. He got a whole coruscatin' whirl of nasty shocks; I saw to that. But he wouldn't see it, or pretended he wouldn't see it. The gentleman murderer gritted his teeth and kept his bat straight.
"It was all neat and sharp and severe; we were fightin' it out between us, and he knew it; until I did what hadda be done. You remember his face when he read that slip of paper? He never kept a stiffer lip or a straighter bat, but you remember his face? He walked out of that house as he'll walk out of your lives. Cheer up. Forget the goblins. For this is the beautiful parish of Hammersmith, and this is your weddin' day."
"There is just one thing," I said, "that you've got to tell us
"Watch out for that truck!" yelled Stone. "Oh, holy —!'
I dodged the oncoming lorry, which was like a charging bull elephant, as Hammersmith traffic engulfed us, and the sky over Hammersmith was serene. But one question I was determined to have answered.
And it stuck in my mind all through the hectic rush that followed. Over most of those events I pass quickly. We had wired ahead for my clothes to be taken to H.M.'s house in Brook Street, so that we should lose no time: Sandy Armitage, my best man, is a reliable sort, and I knew that all the packing arrangements I should have made would be attended to. Things, I admit, took on a somewhat dream-like quality; for a man is inclined to forget murders and the affairs of darkness on his wedding day; but that infernal question stuck in my mind.
I pass over the scene when three grimy, unshaven, unpresentable people deposited the bride on the steps of her own house in Mount Street, just as the triumphant clocks of the wedding day were chiming eleven. Evelyn's father had even come down the steps in such a state of apoplectic rage that no comment could be passed. I say that I pass over the scene, but I cannot help remarking that it is the first time I ever saw a major-general dancing on the pavement. Also, I pass over the scenes at H.M.'s house when we were getting ready. Stone had to have a morning coat, and the only thing that would fit him was one belonging to H.M.'s butler, who is short and stocky. I missed connections with Sandy, but he left a message that all was ready; that he was going on to the church; and that he would like to wring my neck.
Yet the car sped us out again, and down into an effulgent Whitehall. I knew now that we should reach the church before Evelyn.
"We're going to do it!" said Stone, with the tense expression of one waiting for an execution. He pointed to Big Ben as we swept past it. "One minute to the half-hour! We-'
"And before we do," I said, "there's one thing that'll stump you, H.M. There's one thing you can't explain."
"You want to bet?" said H.M., feeling at his collar. He hates formal clothes, and has often been known to say so."What is it?"
"Well, as an example of the cussedness of all human affairs. You said that all the small things in this case, like a kit of burglar's tools and a slip in a phone conversation and a counterfeit note — all those details-had their place in the narrative. But there's one that doesn't."