The Sign of the Stranger Part 3

I dashed forward to the spot over which he held his hurricane lantern, saw what he had discovered, and stood appalled, dumbfounded, absolutely rooted to the spot.

The sight presented there rendered the mystery of that evening even more bewildering and inscrutable.

CHAPTER FOUR.

WHEREIN A STRANGE STORY IS TOLD.

For the moment we were both too aghast to speak.

The clump of rank high gra.s.s in the hollow had been beaten down, and in the centre, revealed by the uncertain light of our lanterns, lay a young man, whose white face and wide-open, sightless eyes told us both the terrible truth.

He had been murdered!

As I bent to examine him as he lay slightly on his side, I saw that from an ugly knife-wound in his back blood was still oozing, and had soaked into the ground around him. Both hands were tightly clenched, as though the unfortunate fellow had died in a spasm of agony, while upon one finger something shone, which I discovered to be a gold ring of curious, foreign workmans.h.i.+p, shaped like a large scarab, or sacred beetle, about half an inch long, and nearly as broad--an unusual ring which attracted my curiosity.

The gra.s.s around bore distinct marks of a desperate struggle, and from the position in which the young man was lying, it seemed as though, being struck suddenly, he had stumbled, fallen forward, and expired.

"He's been murdered, sir, without a doubt," exclaimed Warr, at last breaking the silence. "I thought you said you heard a woman's voice?"

"So I did," I replied, much puzzled at the discovery, for, to tell the truth, I had half-expected to find Lolita herself. Even at that moment I could have sworn that the cry was hers. "It seems, however, that I must have been mistaken."

"But who can he be?" exclaimed the innkeeper. "He's an utter stranger to me. I've certainly never seen him in Sibberton."

"Neither have I," was my response. "There's some deep mystery here, depend upon it," I added, recollecting all that Lolita had so strangely told me earlier in the evening.

"And my own opinion is that the fellow who called at my house this evening--Mr Richard Keene, as he said his name was--has had a hand in it," Warr declared as he looked across at me, still kneeling by the young man's body.

"Well, it certainly seems suspiciously like it. Both men are entire strangers, that's evident."

In order to ascertain whether there was not a spark of life still left, I undid the poor fellow's vest and placed my hand upon his heart. There was, however, no movement. The blow had been struck with an unerring hand, while the weapon had been withdrawn and carried away by the a.s.sa.s.sin.

He was well-dressed, dark-haired, with an aquiline and somewhat refined countenance. He wore a slight, dark moustache, and I judged his age to be about twenty-three. His blue serge suit was of fine quality, but was evidently of foreign cut, and his boots were also of foreign shape and make. His hands, I felt, were soft, as though unused to work, yet where he lay, in that damp hollow, I was unable to search his clothes properly to discover a clue to his ident.i.ty.

The spot where he had been attacked had certainly been chosen by some one well acquainted with the park. The hollow, once an old gravel-pit, but now overgrown with gra.s.s, was screened by the trees of the avenue, so that any one in it would be entirely hidden from view, even in broad daylight. Therefore it struck me that the unfortunate victim had been enticed there by the a.s.sa.s.sin, and foully done to death.

Yet after hearing those cries I had certainly detected no movement. The murderer must have crept silently out of the gra.s.sy hollow, and struck straight across the park to the woods half a mile away. Had any other direction been taken, I must certainly have heard his footsteps.

But the woman who had screamed. What of her?

I had, at the moment, little time for reflection. Acting upon the innkeeper's suggestion I went off to fetch Knight, the constable, and my friend Pink, the doctor, while he remained with his lantern beside the victim of the tragedy.

As soon as the doctor saw him he shook his head, declaring that the wound had proved fatal a few minutes after he had been struck, while the constable, alive to the importance of the occasion, commenced suggesting all sorts of wild theories regarding the dead stranger. Disregarding them all, however, we obtained a hurdle, and Warr and Knight carried the body down the dark avenue, a strange and weird procession, our way lit uncertainly by the swing lanterns, our voices awed and hushed in the presence of the unknown dead.

The men deposited their inanimate burden in an outhouse at the back of the village inn to await the inquest which Pink declared would be necessary, and then, with a better light and the door closed against any prying intruder, we examined the dead man's pockets to see whether they contained anything that might throw light on the tragic affair or lead to his identification.

The constable, with the officiousness of his cla.s.s, took out a ponderous note-book and with a stubby piece of pencil commenced to make an inventory of what we found--a pocket-knife, about three pounds ten in money, a gold French piece of twenty francs, a gun-metal watch and plated chain, a few loose cigarettes a box of matches, a p.a.w.n-ticket shewing that a lady's necklet had been pledged in the name of Bond, with a p.a.w.nbroker in the Westminster Bridge Road, about a year ago. Beyond that there was no clue to the dead man's name. We were all disappointed, for the mystery surrounding him was heightened by the absence of any letter in his pocket or name upon his underclothing. Men who go to a p.a.w.nshop do not usually give their real names, hence we knew that Bond was a.s.sumed. Indeed, in p.a.w.nbroking the name of the person offering the pledge is never even asked, the a.s.sistant filling up the voucher in any name that comes to him.

While the others were making careful examination of the maker's name and number of the dead man's watch, I chanced to hold his waistcoat in my hand, when between my fingers I felt something like a letter. In an instant I was prompted to take possession of it secretly, and this I managed to do, first crus.h.i.+ng it into the palm of my hand, then transferring it to my pocket.

Was it possible that the crisp paper so cunningly concealed in the lining of the waistcoat contained a clue? My heart beat quickly, and I longed to escape from the place and examine it in secret. If Lolita had actually been present at the tragedy and had any connection with it, my duty was surely to conceal the fact. She had admitted that she was in deadly peril, and I had promised to a.s.sist her; therefore, by securing any clue and hiding it from the police, I was a.s.suredly acting in her interest.

I had already managed to secure the ring surrept.i.tiously from the dead man's finger before the body had been removed from the spot where we had discovered it, and as neither Warr nor the others had noticed it, I held it as a probable clue which I intended should be my secret alone.

"He was evidently struck with a long thin knife," remarked Pink, a muscular, clean-shaven man who was extremely popular in the district, a keen sportsman and something of an epicure. He had probed the wound and ascertained that its direction had been only too accurate. "Whoever did it," he declared, "knew exactly where to strike. I daresay he fell without a cry. The knife was very sharp, too," he went on, examining one of the black horn b.u.t.tons of the young man's jacket-cuff. "You see it grazed this as he raised his arm to ward off the blow and shaved off a tiny piece, just as a razor might. The coroner will want to see this.

I'll get Newman over, and we'll make a proper post-mortem in the morning."

Pink was a clever surgeon who masked his capabilities behind an easy-going good-humour. His poor patients were often convulsed by his amusing remarks, while at the houses of the county people he was always a welcome guest on account of his inexhaustible fund of droll stories, his shrewd wit, and his outspoken appreciation of a good dinner. His odd ways were the idiosyncrasies of genius, for without doubt he was as expert a surgeon as there was outside Harley Street, and I myself had heard praise of him from the mouths of certain London men with big "names."

The manner in which he examined the unfortunate young man who had so suddenly fallen a victim of an a.s.sa.s.sin showed that he was intensely interested. He grunted once or twice and sniffed suspiciously, and with some gusto took a pinch of snuff from his heavy silver box. Then, having carefully examined the man's right hand, he turned to me again, saying, as he pointed to it--

"That's strange, Woodhouse, isn't it?"

"What?" I inquired, detecting nothing.

"Can't you see. His hand is clenched. He grasped something just at the moment when he was struck."

"Well?"

He held the lantern closer to the cold stiff hand, and pointing to the thumb that was closely clenched upon the fingers, said--

"Can't you see anything there?"

I looked, and then for the first time detected that beneath the thumb was something white--a tiny piece of white fur!

"That's out of a woman's jacket, or boa, or something," he declared, gradually disengaging it, and placing it in the hollow of his hand for closer inspection. "There are one or two black hairs with it, showing it, I believe, to be ermine fur--a woman who wore some garment of ermine."

"Are you certain?" I gasped.

"Almost--but not quite until I put it beneath the microscope. Then I'll be able to tell for certain. But surely it couldn't have been a woman who killed him?"

"It looks very much like it, sir," remarked Knight, who had been gazing eagerly over the doctor's shoulder.

"Then what woman?" asked Warr, glancing across at me.

I held my breath. A silence fell between us. The mystery was of such a character that neither of us dare advance any further theory.

For my own part, however, the discovery of this tiny piece of fur was directly suspicious, and went much to confirm my belief that Lolita had been at the spot where the tragedy had been enacted, for I now recollected that sometimes when she went out after dinner she put on a wide ermine boa with long ends to cover her shoulders, a very handsome piece of fur that had been brought for her from Petersburg when the young Countess of Stanchester went to visit the Grand-d.u.c.h.ess Paul in the previous winter.

Was it possible that the poor young fellow had clutched at it in his dying grasp? Or had he seized the fur garment of some other woman?

Yet, I recollected, furs are not usually worn in mid-August save just to throw over a dinner-gown as protection from chills when the damp is rising after the heat of the day.

On the other hand, I tried to convince myself that the cry was not that of the sweet-eyed woman I loved; nevertheless, such thought was in vain.

I knew that voice far too well to have been mistaken.

For quite an hour Pink continued his investigations as keenly and methodically as any practised detective, for he rather prided himself upon the manner in which he made discoveries about persons, and frequently astounded his patients by his knowledge of their actions and movements, which they believed only known to themselves. At last, however, he exhausted all the points possible to investigate without a post-mortem, and just as the church clock struck three we came forth, Warr locking the door of the outhouse, while Knight left us to ride on his bicycle into Northampton to report to the headquarters of the constabulary.

Pink's way lay past my house, for he lived in a big, square, comfortable house about a quarter of a mile out of the village, on the London road, and as we walked together up the silent street, he suddenly said--