was tiresome work, but at last he found what he thought looked like footprints. On the quay not far from the corner of the basin were a number of tiny mud-coloured spots. At first he could not connect these to make a complete whole, but by lying down on his face and using a lens he was able to find several other patches of coagulated sand, which he marked with a pencil; and when he had finished there showed out on the granolithic the nail patterns of two clearly marked heels with the corresponding middle portion of the soles in front. It was evident a man had stood with his back to the door, and facing the basin, and had remained there long enough to allow the moisture from the soles of his shoes to run down the nail heads, and settle on the floor.
It was the work of a few seconds for Tanner to compare these marks with those of the fifth man on the river bank. They were identical.
He resumed his search. There were no more footmarks, and he made but one other discovery. In the left-hand corner of the quay, at the very edge of the basin, and hidden behind the mooring rope of one of the boats, lay the stump of a cigarette. Clearly the intention had been to throw it into the basin, but it had just missed going down, and had fallen unnoticed. Tanner had a good working knowledge of cigarettes, but this one he could not place. The paper was yellow, and the tobacco very dark in colour. He thought it looked South American. But he was pleased with his find, for it seemed to have been but recently smoked, and as he put it away in his pocket, he thought he had perhaps gained a clue.
An examination of the door handles and styles, winch handle, backs of chairs and similar objects with a powdering apparatus revealed several finger prints, but, alas! all too smudged and blurred to be of use. Nor could he find anything else of interest.
He was disappointed that the boathouse had yielded so little. It was true that either the footprint or the cigarette end might prove valuable, but on the other hand neither were necessarily connected with the murder. Both might have got there in a perfectly ordinary and legitimate manner.
He sat down on one of the chairs to consider his next step. There were three lines of inquiry open to him, and he hesitated as to that on which to begin. First, there was the general investigation, the interviewing of the servants, Lady Ponson, Miss Enid, and any others from whom he might gain information, the examination of Sir William’s papers, the tracing of his movements for some time previous to his death, the consideration of his finances, the ascertaining whether anyone might benefit by his death—all routine details, each step of which was suggested by his training, and his experience in similar cases. This work he knew he would have to carry out some time, and obviously the sooner it was done the better.
Next came the testing of Austin’s alibi. Though he had made a beginning with this, a great deal remained to be done before he could feel satisfied as to its truth. And satisfied he must be. The circumstances were too suspicious for anything less than utter certainty to suffice.
As he turned the matter over in his mind he slowly came to the conclusion that he could work on these two points simultaneously. The same information would, to some extent at least, be required for both, and the same people would have to be interviewed.
But there was a third point which, equally urgently, required attention. The man who had made the fifth line of footsteps must be traced. And here, again, no time should be lost in getting to work.
Tanner felt he could not take on this inquiry with the others. There was work in it alone for another man. He therefore decided he would wire for an assistant to whom he could hand over this portion of the case.
But as he was here he might as well begin the interviewing of the Manor servants. He therefore left the boathouse, and walked slowly up to the terrace under the great trees of the lawn, past long herbaceous borders, and through the Dutch garden with its geometrically shaped beds, its boxwood edgings, and its masses of rich colour. Approached from the front, the old house looked its best. Though somewhat heavy and formal in detail, its proportion was admirable, and it had an air of security and comfort strangely at variance with the tragic happening which had overtaken its owner. Tanner labelled it one of the ‘stately homes of England’ as he crossed the terrace to the ornate porch and pulled the bell.
Parkes opened the door. The Inspector introduced himself, and courteously asked for an interview. With equal politeness, and an evident desire to help, Parkes brought his visitor to his own sanctum and told his story. But to Tanner most of it was already known. Indeed, on a very few points only did he add to his knowledge of the case.
The first was that on the previous Friday, five days before his death, Sir William had become depressed and irritable, as if some trouble was weighing on his mind. The change had occurred quite suddenly between breakfast and lunch and had continued until the end. To Parkes the cause was unknown.
The second matter was more interesting and suggestive, but less tangible. When Tanner was interrogating the butler about Austin Ponson he noticed that certain of the latter’s replies were not so spontaneous as those to earlier questions. In particular, when he asked whether during his call at Luce Manor on Sunday evening Austin had seemed worried or depressed, Parkes, though he replied in the negative, seemed so uncomfortable that the Inspector began to doubt if he was speaking the truth. He was not certain, but the thought crossed his mind that the butler knew something which he was holding back. At this stage Tanner was anxious not to arouse suspicion that he was interested in Austin. He therefore changed the subject and made inquiries about Cosgrove. But of him he learnt nothing except that he had not been at Luce Manor for over a month.
From the butler Tanner found out also that neither Austin Ponson nor anyone at Luce Manor smoked dark-coloured cigarettes.
The Inspector next interviewed Innes. Having heard the valet’s statement, which was almost identical with Parkes’s, he began to question him in the hope of learning something further.
‘I wonder, Mr Innes,’ he asked, ‘if you can tell me what upset Sir William between breakfast and lunch this day week?’
The valet stared.
‘You weren’t long getting hold of that,’ he commented. ‘Yes, I can tell you; or partly at least. He got a letter with the morning delivery. I bring them up to him when they come about half-nine. There were about half a dozen, and he took them and looked over the envelopes as usual. When he saw one he sort of scowled, and he tore it open and read it. I don’t know what was in it, but it fairly gave him the pip and he didn’t get over it. He was kind of worried right up to the end.’
‘You didn’t notice the handwriting or the postmark?
‘No.’
‘What letters come by that delivery?’
‘London, but that means all parts.’
‘That was Friday of last week. Now can you tell me Sir William’s movements since?’
‘Friday there was a dinner party on—about half a dozen people—and bridge afterwards. Then Saturday Sir William went up to town. Sunday was a quiet day. Mr Austin dined and stayed the evening. Monday Sir William went up to town again. Tuesday and Wednesday he stayed here alone. He was quite alone, for her ladyship and Miss Enid went up to town on Tuesday.’
‘Were all these things in accordance with Sir William’s custom? To go to London two days running, for example?’
‘He went now and again; I can’t remember him going two days running.’ The valet hesitated, then went on: ‘There was another thing struck me about that, but I don’t know if there’s anything in it. When he did go, it was nearly always in the car. I only remember him going by train when the car was out of order, and then he groused about it. But these two days he went by train though the car was there and the chauffeur doing nothing.’
‘It is curious, that,’ Tanner agreed. ‘Now, Mr Austin’s coming on Sunday. You saw him, I suppose?’
‘Yes, both when he was coming and leaving.’
‘Ah, that is fortunate. You could tell, then, if he seemed just in his ordinary humour, or if anything had upset him?’
‘I only saw him for just a moment. It would be hard to form