The Hampstead Mystery Part 18

"He had nothing whatever to do with it--he knows nothing about it,"

protested the girl. "If you let him go I'll tell you who murdered Sir Horace."

"Who murdered him?" asked the inspector.

"Hill," was the reply.

CHAPTER XIII

Doris Fanning got off a Holborn tram at King's Cross, and with a hasty glance round her as if to make sure she was not followed, walked at a rapid pace across the street in the direction of Caledonian Road. She walked up that busy thoroughfare at the same quick gait for some minutes, then turned into a narrow street and, with another suspicious look around her, stopped at the doorway of a small shop a short distance down.

The shop sold those nondescript goods which seem to afford a living to a not inconsiderable cla.s.s of London's small shopkeepers. The windows and the shelves were full of dusty old books and magazines, trumpery curios and cheap china, second-hand furniture and a collection of miscellaneous odds and ends. A thick dust lay over the whole collection, and the shop and its contents presented a deserted and dirty appearance. Moreover, the door was closed as though customers were not expected. The girl tried the door and found it locked--a fact which seemed to indicate that customers were not even desired. After another hasty look up and down the street she tapped sharply on the door in a peculiar way.

The door was opened after the lapse of a few minutes by a short thickset man of over fifty, whose heavy face displayed none of the suavity and desire to please which is part of the stock-in-trade of the small shopkeeper of London. A look of annoyance crossed his face at the sight of the girl, and his first remark to her was one which no well-regulated shopkeeper would have addressed to a prospective customer.

"You!" he exclaimed. "What in G.o.d's name has brought you here? I told you on no account to come to the shop. How do you know somebody hasn't followed you?"

"I could not help it, Kincher," the girl responded piteously. "I'm distracted about Fred, and I had to come over to ask your advice."

"You women are all fools," the man retorted. "You might have known that I would read all about the case in the papers, and that I'd let you hear from me."

"Yes, Kincher," she replied humbly, "but they let me see Fred for a few minutes yesterday at the police court and he told me to come over and see you. Oh, if you only knew what I've suffered since he was arrested. Yesterday he was committed for trial. I haven't closed my eyes for over a week."

"So you attended the police-court proceedings?" said Kemp. And when the girl nodded her head he went on, "The more fool you. I suppose it would be too much to expect a woman to keep away even though she knew she could do no good."

"I knew that, Kincher, but I simply had to go. I should have died if I had stayed in that dreadful flat alone. I tried to, but I couldn't. I got so nervous that I had to put my handkerchief into my mouth to prevent myself from screaming aloud."

"Well, since you are here you had better come inside instead of standing there and giving yourself and me away to every pa.s.sing policeman."

He led the way inside, and the girl followed him to a dirty, cheerless room behind the shop which was furnished with a sofa-bedstead, a table, and a chair. It was evident that Kemp lived alone and attended to his own wants. The remains of an unappetising meal were on a corner of the table, and a kettle and a teapot stood by the fireplace in which a fire had recently been made with a few sticks for the purpose of boiling a kettle.

Bedclothes were heaped on the sofa-bedstead in a disordered state, and in the midst of them nestled a large tortoise-sh.e.l.l cat.

"Sit down," said Kemp. There was an old chair near the fireplace and he pushed it towards her with his foot. "What's brought you over here?"

The girl sank into the chair and began to cry.

"I can't help it, Kincher," she said. "I don't know what to say or do.

Fancy Fred being charged with murder! Oh, it's too dreadful to think about. And yet I can think of nothing else."

"Crying your eyes out won't help matters much," replied the unsympathetic Kemp.

The girl did not reply, but rocked herself backwards and forwards on the chair. She sobbed so violently that she appeared to be threatened with an attack of hysteria. Kemp watched her silently. The cat on the sofa-bedstead, as if awakened by the noise, got up, yawned, looked inquiringly round, and then with a measured leap sprang into the girl's lap. She was startled by his act and then she smiled through her sobs as she stroked the animal's coat.

"Poor old Peter!" she exclaimed. "He wants to console me! don't you, Peter? I say, Kincher, I wish you'd give me Peter; you don't want him.

Oh, look at the dear!" The cat had perched himself on one of her knees to beg, and he sawed the air appealingly with his forepaws. "I must give him a t.i.t-bit for that." She eyed the remains of the meal on the table disdainfully. "No, Peter, there is nothing fit for you to eat--positively nothing. Why, he understands me like a human being," she continued in amazement as the huge cat dropped on all fours and deliberately sprang back to the sofa-bedstead. "I say, Kincher, you really want a woman in this place to look after you. It's in a most shocking state--it's like a pigsty."

Kemp made no reply but continued to watch her. Her tears had vanished and she sat forward with her dark eyes sparkling, one hand supporting her pretty face as she glanced round the room.

"Have you a cigarette?" she asked suddenly.

Kemp went into the shop and came back with a packet of cheap cigarettes.

The girl pushed them away petulantly.

"I don't like that brand," she said; "haven't you anything better?"

The man shook his head.

"No? Then here goes--I must have a smoke of some sort." She stuck one of the cheap cigarettes daintily into her mouth. "A match, Kincher! Why, the box is filthy! You must have a woman in to look after you, even if I have to find you one myself."

"I don't want any woman in the place," retorted Kemp. "There is no peace for a man when a woman is about. But let us have no more of this idle chatter. What's brought you over here? I suppose it's about Fred."

"Poor Fred!" The girl looked downcast for a moment, then she tossed her head, puffed out some smoke, and exclaimed energetically, "But he's not guilty, Kincher, and we'll get him off, won't we?"

"Not merely by saying so," replied Kemp. "But you'd better tell me how it came about that he was arrested for the murder. The police gave away nothing at the police court. Bill Dobbs was down there and he told me they let out nothing, except that their princ.i.p.al witness against Fred is that fellow Hill. I always knew he'd squeak. I told Fred to have nothing to do with the job."

The girl's eyes flashed viciously. She tossed the cigarette into the fire-place and straightened herself.

"That's the low, dirty scoundrel who committed the murder," she exclaimed. "He ought to be in the dock--not Fred."

"Was Fred up there that night?" asked Kemp.

"Up where?"

"At Riversbrook, or whatever they call it."

"Yes."

"He told me he didn't go."

"It's because he was up there that the police have arrested him," said the girl. "Hill gave him away. Oh, he's a double-dyed villain, is Hill.

And so quiet and respectable looking with it all! He used to let me in when I went to Riversbrook, and let me out again, and pocket the half-crowns I gave him. And I like a fool never suspected him once, or thought that he knew anything about Fred coming to the flat. He didn't let it out till the night Sir Horace quarrelled with me. Sir Horace found out about--about Fred--and when I went up to see him as usual, he told me that he had finished with me and he called Hill up to show me out. 'Show this young lady out,' he said in that cold haughty voice of his, and the wily old villain Hill just bowed and held the door open. He followed me down stairs and let me out at the side door. There he said, 'I'll escort you to the front gate, if you will permit me, miss. I usually lock the gate about this time.' I thought nothing of this because he had come with me to the front gate before. He followed me down the garden path through the plantation till we reached the front gate. He opened the gate for me and I said 'Good night, Hill,' but instead of his replying 'Good night, Miss Fanning,' as he usually did, he hissed out like a serpent, 'You tell Birchill I want to see him to-morrow, and I'll come to the flat about 9 o'clock. Tell him an old friend named Field wants to see him. Don't forget the name--Field!' Then he locked the gate and was gone before I could speak a word.

"I gave Fred his message next morning--I wish to G.o.d that I hadn't," she continued. "I asked Fred not to keep the appointment, but he insisted on doing so. He said that he and Field had been good friends in the gaol, and that Field had told him that if he ever got on to anything he would let him know. He seemed quite pleased at the idea of meeting Field again.

I told him to beware that Field wasn't laying a trap for him, but he wouldn't listen to me.

"Sure enough, Field--or Hill as he calls himself now--did come over that evening and I let him in myself. I took him into the sitting-room where Fred was, and I sat down in a corner of the room pretending to read a book so that I could hear what our visitor had to say. But the cunning old devil whispered something to Fred, and Fred came over to me and asked if I'd mind leaving them alone for half an hour. I didn't mind so much because I knew I could get it all out of Fred after Hill had gone.

"He remained shut up with Fred for nearly two hours and then I heard Fred letting him out of the front door. Fred came in to me, and I soon got the strength of it all from him. What do you think Hill had come for? To get Fred to burgle Sir Horace's house! And Fred had agreed to do it. I cried and I stormed and went into hysterics, but he wouldn't budge--you know how obstinate he can be when he likes. He said that Hill had told him there was a good haul to be picked up. Sir Horace was going to Scotland for the shooting, and the servants were to be sent to his country house, so the coast would be clear. Hill was to leave everything right at Riversbrook on the afternoon of the 18th of August, and he was to come across to the flat and let Fred know.

"Hill came, as he promised, but as soon as he came in I could see that something had happened. The first words he said were that Sir Horace had returned unexpectedly from Scotland. I was glad to hear it, for I thought that meant that there would be no burglary. I said as much to Fred, and he would have agreed with me, but that devil Hill was too full of cunning. 'Of course, if you're frightened, we'd better call it off,' he said. Fred had been drinking during the day, and you know what he's like when he's had a little too much. 'I was never frightened of any job yet,'

he said, 'and I'd do this job to-night if the house was full of rozzers,'

Hill pretended that he wasn't particular whether the thing came off or not that night, but all the while he kept egging Fred on to do it. Oh, I can see now what his game was. In spite of all I could do or say, it was arranged that Fred should go over, and see if it was quite safe to carry out the job. Hill said he thought Sir Horace was going out that night, and wouldn't be home until the early morning. About 9 o'clock Fred went off, leaving Hill and me alone in the flat together. How I wish now that I had killed him when I had such a good chance.

"We sat there scarcely speaking, and heard the clock strike the hours.

After midnight I began to get restless, for I thought something must have happened to Fred. Hill said in a low voice: 'It's time Fred was back.'