The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(178)

                “Do you surmise, then, that the murder was a planned thing on the part of this young man?”

                “I do. I believe that he wandered about the grounds until Sandy shut himself in for the night, then aroused him by some outside noise, and, when the old man looked out to ascertain the cause, dealt him a blow with a bludgeon or loaded stick, that caused his death.”

                “A cold-blooded crime that, for a boy of nineteen?”

                “Yes. He’s a good-looking, gentlemanly youngster, too, with manners as mild as milk, but from all accounts is as full of wickedness as an egg is full of meat. Now, to come to another point—if, in connection with these ugly facts, you take into consideration the suddenness of his illness, I think you’ll admit that it bears a suspicious appearance and might reasonably give rise to the surmise that it was a plant on his part, in order to get out of the inquest.”



                             “Who is the doctor attending him?”

                “A man called Waters; not much of a practitioner, from all accounts, and no doubt he feels himself highly honoured in being summoned to Troyte’s Hill. The Cravens, it seems, have no family doctor. Mrs. Craven, with her missionary experience, is half a doctor herself, and never calls in one except in a serious emergency.”

                “The certificate was in order, I suppose?”

                “Undoubtedly. And, as if to give colour to the gravity of the case, Mrs. Craven sent a message down to the servants, that if any of them were afraid of the infection they could at once go to their homes. Several of the maids, I believe, took advantage of her permission, and packed their boxes. Miss Craven, who is a delicate girl, was sent away with her maid to stay with friends at Newcastle, and Mrs. Craven isolated herself with her patient in one of the disused wings of the house.”

                “Has anyone ascertained whether Miss Craven arrived at her destination at Newcastle?”

                Griffiths drew his brows together in thought.

                “I did not see any necessity for such a thing,” he answered. “I don’t quite follow you. What do you mean to imply?”

                “Oh, nothing. I don’t suppose it matters much: it might have been interesting as a side-issue.” She broke off for a moment, then added:

                “Now tell me a little about the butler, the man whose wages were cut down to increase Sandy’s pay.”

                “Old John Hales? He’s a thoroughly worthy, respectable man; he was butler for five or six years to Mr. Craven’s brother, when he was master of Troyte’s Hill, and then took duty under this Mr. Craven. There’s no ground for suspicion in that quarter. Hales’s exclamation when he heard of the murder is quite enough to stamp him as an innocent man: ‘Serve the old idiot right,’ he cried: ‘I couldn’t pump up a tear for him if I tried for a month of Sundays!’ Now I take it, Miss Brooke, a guilty man wouldn’t dare make such a speech as that!”



                             “You think not?”

                Griffiths stared at her. “I’m a little disappointed in her,” he thought. “I’m afraid her powers have been slightly exaggerated if she can’t see such a straight-forward thing as that.”

                Aloud he said, a little sharply, “Well, I don’t stand alone in my thinking. No one yet has breathed a word against Hales, and if they did, I’ve no doubt he could prove an alibi without any trouble, for he lives in the house, and everyone has a good word for him.”