The Green Mummy Part 10

"He told me nothing about the case," growled the witness, "but he chatted a lot about Malta, which I know well, having put into that port frequent when a sailor."

"Did he hint at any rows taking place at Malta?"

"No, he didn't."

"Did he say that he had enemies?"

"No, he didn't."

"Did he strike you as a man who was in fear of death?"

"No, he didn't," said the witness for the third time. "He seemed happy enough. I never thought for one moment that he was dead until I heard how his body had been found in the packing case."

The Coroner asked all manner of questions, and so did Inspector Date; but all attempts to incriminate Qua.s.s were vain. He was bluff and straightforward, and told--so far as could be judged--everything he knew. There was nothing for it but to dismiss him, and Eliza Flight was called as the last witness.

She also proved to be the most important, as she knew several things which she had not told to her master, or to the reporters, or even to the police. On being asked why she had kept silence, she said that her desire was to obtain any reward that might be offered; but as she had heard that there would be no reward, she was willing to tell what she knew. It was an important piece of evidence.

The girl stated that Bolton had retired to bed at eight on the ground floor, and the bedroom had a window--as marked in the plan--which looked on to the river a stone-throw distant. At nine or a trifle later witness went out to have a few words with her lover. In the darkness she saw that the window was open and that Bolton was talking to an old woman m.u.f.fled in a shawl. She could not see the woman's face, nor judge of her stature, as she was stooping down to listen to Bolton. Witness did not take much notice, as she was in a hurry to see her lover. When she returned past the window at ten o'clock it was closed and the light was extinguished, so she thought that Mr. Bolton was asleep.

"But, to tell the truth," said Eliza Flight, "I never thought anything of the matter at all. It was only after the murder that I saw how important it was I should remember everything."

"And you have?"

"Yes, sir," said the girl, honestly enough. "I have told you everything that happened on that night. Next morning--" She hesitated.

"Well, what about next morning?"

"Mr. Bolton had locked his door. I know that, because a few minutes after eight on the night before, not knowing he had retired. I tried to enter the room and make ready the bed for the night. He sang out through the door--which was locked, for I tried it--that he was in bed. That was a lie also, as after nine I saw him talking to the woman at the window."

"You previously said an old woman," said the Coroner, referring to his notes. "How do you know she was old?"

"I can't say if she was old or young," said the witness candidly; "it's only a manner of speaking. She had a dark shawl over her head and a dark dress. I couldn't say if she was old or young, fair or dark, stout or lean, tall or short. The night was dark."

The Coroner referred to the plan.

"There is a gas-lamp near the window of the bedroom. Did you not see her in that light?"

"Oh, yes, sir; but just for a moment. I took very little notice. Had I known that the gentleman was to be murdered, I should have taken a great deal of notice."

"Well, about this locked door?"

"It was locked over-night, sir, but when I went next morning, it was not locked. I knocked and knocked, but could get no answer. As it was eleven, I thought the gentleman was sleeping very long, so I tried to open the door. It was not locked, as I say--but," added witness with emphasis, "the window was snibbed and the blind was down."

"That is natural enough," said the Coroner. "Mr. Bolton, after his interview with the woman, would of course snib the window, and pull down the blind. When he went away next morning he would unlock the door."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but, as we know, he didn't go away next morning, being in the packing case, nailed down."

The Coroner could have kicked himself for the very natural mistake he had made, for he saw a derisive grin on the faces around him, and particularly on that of Inspector Date.

"Then the a.s.sa.s.sin must have gone out by the door," he said weakly.

"Then I don't know how he got out," cried Eliza Flight, "for I was up at six and the front and back doors of the hotel were locked. And after six I was about in pa.s.sages and rooms doing my work, and master and missus and others were all over the place. How could the murderer walk out, sir, without some of us seeing him?"

"Perhaps you did, and took no notice?"

"Oh, sir, if a stranger was around we should all have taken notice."

This concluded the evidence, which was meagre enough. Widow Anne was indeed recalled to see if Miss Flight could identify her as the woman who, had been talking to Bolton, but witness failed to recognize her, and the widow herself proved, by means of three friends, that she had been imbibing gin at home on the night and at the hour in question.

Also, there was no evidence to connect this unknown woman with the murder, and no sound--according to the unanimous testimony of the inmates of the Sailor's Rest--had been heard in the bedroom of Bolton.

Yet, as the Coroner observed, there must have been some knocking and hammering and ripping going on. But of this nothing could be proved, and although several witnesses were examined again, not one could throw light on the mystery. Under these circ.u.mstances the jury could only bring in a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, which was done. And it may be mentioned that the cord with which Bolton had been strangled was identified by the landlord and the chamber-maid as belonging to the blind of the bedroom window.

"Well," said Hope, when the inquest was over, "so nothing can be proved against anyone. What is to be done next?"

"I'll tell you after I have seen Random," said the Professor curtly.

CHAPTER VII. THE CAPTAIN OF THE DIVER

The day after the inquest, Sidney Bolton's body was buried in Gartley churchyard. Owing to the nature of the death, and the publicity given to the murder by the press, a great concourse of people a.s.sembled to witness the interment, and there was an impressive silence when the corpse was committed to the grave. Afterwards, as was natural, much discussion followed on the verdict at the inquest. It was the common opinion that the jury could have brought in no other verdict, considering the nature of the evidence supplied; but many people declared that Captain Hervey of The Diver should have been called. If the deceased had enemies, said these wiseacres, it was probable that he would have talked about them to the skipper. But they forgot that the witnesses called at the inquest, including the mother of the dead man, had insisted that Bolton had no enemies, so it is difficult to see what they expected Captain Hervey to say.

After the funeral, the journals made but few remarks about the mystery.

Every now and then it was hinted that a clue had been found, and that the police would sooner or later track down the criminal. But all this loose chatter came to nothing, and as the days went by, the public--in London, at all events--lost interest in the case. The enterprising weekly paper that had offered the furnished house and the life income to the person who found the a.s.sa.s.sin received an intimation from the Government that such a lottery could not be allowed. The paper, therefore, returned to Limericks, and the amateur detectives, like so many Oth.e.l.los, found their occupation gone. Then a political crisis took place in the far East, and the fickle public relegated the murder of Bolton to the list of undiscovered crimes. Even the Scotland Yard detectives, failing to find a clue, lost interest in the matter, and it seemed as though the mystery of Bolton's death would not be solved until the Day of Judgment.

In the village, however, people still continued to be keenly interested, since Bolton was one of themselves, and, moreover, Widow Anne kept up a perpetual outcry about her murdered boy. She had lost the small weekly sum which Sidney had allowed her out of his wages, so the neighbors, the gentry of the surrounding country, and the officers at the Fort sent her ample washing to do. Widow Anne in a few weeks had quite a large business, considering the size of the village, and philosophically observed to a neighbor that "It was an ill wind which blew no one any good," adding also that Sidney was more good to her dead than alive. But even in Gartley the villagers grew weary of discussing a mystery which could never be solved, and so the case became rarely talked about. In these days of bustle and worry and compet.i.tion, it is wonderful how people forget even important events. If a blue sun arose to lighten the world instead of a yellow one, after nine days of wonder, man would settle down quite comfortably to a cerulean existence. Such is the wonderful adaptability of humanity.

Professor Braddock was less forgetful, as he always bore in mind the loss of his mummy, and constantly thought of schemes whereby he could trap the a.s.sa.s.sin of his late secretary. Not that he cared for the dead in any way, save from a strictly business point of view, but the capture of the criminal meant the rest.i.tution of the mummy, and--as Braddock told everyone with whom he came in contact--he was determined to regain possession of his treasure. He went himself to the Sailor's Rest, and drove the landlord and his servants wild by asking tart questions and storming when a satisfactory answer could not be supplied. Qua.s.s was glad when he saw the plump back of the cross little man, who so pertinaciously followed what everyone else had abandoned.

"Life was too short," grumbled Qua.s.s, "to be bothered in that way."

The wooing of Archie and Lucy went on smoothly, and the Professor showed no sign of wishing to break the engagement. But Hope, as he confided to Lucy, was somewhat worried, as his pauper uncle, on an insufficient borrowed capital, had begun to speculate in South African mines, and it was probable that he would lose all his money. In that case Hope fancied he would be once more called upon to make good the avuncular loss, and so the marriage would have to be postponed. But it so happened that the pauper uncle made some lucky speculative shots and acquired money, which he promptly reinvested in new mines of the wildcat description. Still, for the moment all was well, and the lovers had a few halcyon days of peace and happiness.

Then came a bolt from the blue in the person of Captain Hervey, who called a fortnight after the funeral to see the Professor. The skipper was a tall, slim man, lean as a fasting friar, and hard as nails, with closely clipped red hair, mustache of the same aggressive hue, and an American goatee. He spoke with a Yankee accent, and in a truculent manner, sufficiently annoying to the fiery Professor. When he met Braddock in the museum, the two became enemies at the first glance, and because both were bad-tempered and obstinate, took an instant dislike to one another. Like did not draw to like in this instance.

"What do you want to see me about?" asked Braddock crossly. He had been summoned by c.o.c.katoo from the perusal of a new papyrus to see his visitor, and consequently was not in the best of tempers.

"I've jes' blew in fur a trifle of chin-music," replied Hervey with an emphatic U.S.A. accent.

"I'm busy: get out," was the uncomplimentary reply.

Hervey took a chair and, stretching his lengthy legs, produced a black cheroot, as long and lean as himself.

"If you were in the States, Professor, I'd draw a bead on you for that style of lingo. I'm not taking any. See!" and he lighted up.

"You're the captain of 'The Diver'?"

"That's so; I was, that is. Now, I've shifted to a dandy wind-jammer of sorts that can run rings round the old barky. I surmise I'm off for the South Seas, pearl-fishing, in three months. I'll take that Kanaka along with me, if y'like, Professor," and he cast a side glance at c.o.c.katoo, who was squatting on his hams as usual, polishing a blue enameled jar from a Theban tomb.