Part 8 (1/2)

The police had brought the divisional surgeon with them, and he made his brief examination while the sergeant questioned Moira and myself. My story was the simple one that I had outlined, and I must say that Moira played up well to my lead. She was naturally upset at what she had gone through, and the sergeant, I fancy, made allowance for this, and attributed any trifling discrepancies between our two stories to this fact. He was one of the politest officials it has ever been my lot to deal with, and he carried out his duties in a way that made me his debtor for life. I was not as shocked by the occurrence as I might have been. I had seen far too much of the rough side of life and the sudden side of death to have any other feeling than a rather natural sorrow at losing a man who had been something more than a benefactor to me; but I did not make the radical mistake of treating Bryce's death too lightly.

I rather flatter myself that I mixed my sorrow and my common sense in just the right proportions. It was different with Moira; she was genuinely distressed, and made no effort to conceal it. It was the first time for many years that I had seen her so unaffected, and natural, and I must say that the sight brought out all that was best in me.

The sergeant took our names and then began a close personal questioning.

He enquired into my past life, asked me how long I had been with Bryce, and then bluntly demanded to know in what capacity I was staying in the house.

”Mr. Bryce,” I said, ”was an old friend of my father's, and naturally there was always a welcome here for me.”

I picked my words carefully, because I was in mortal dread that some stray remark might put him on to that affair on the beach. I knew that if he once got wind of that everything was up with us, and our hastily-built castle of cards would come tumbling to the ground. While I was thinking of this it struck me all of a heap that there was a chance of something leaking out about the burglar of the other day. The only thing I could see was to make a clean breast of it.

”I don't know whether this has got anything to do with the burglary the other night,” I said casually.

”What's that?” the sergeant demanded.

I repeated my remark. ”This is the first I've heard of it,” the man said. ”Why wasn't it reported before? It's over a week ago, you say.”

”About that,” I agreed, ”but it was reported. Mr. Bryce went down himself to tell you.” And here I looked warningly at Moira. She gave no sign that she had noticed my glance, but somehow I felt that she quite understood what was required of her.

”I don't deny he might have come down,” the man ran on, ”but all the same no report has reached us.”

”That's mighty curious,” I said with a.s.sumed thoughtfulness. ”Now I come to think of it, it struck me at the time that you people hadn't followed the matter up. I meant to ask Mr. Bryce about it, but the matter went clean out of my mind, and it was just this moment that I recollected it.

It does seem a bit of a puzzler.”

”If you tell me all that happened, Mr. Carstairs,” the sergeant suggested, ”it might help us a bit. There's something very like a motive in this.”

I gave him a rather sketchy account of the night of the burglar's visit, but, without actually giving a false description of the burglar himself, I so drew him that he would be difficult to recognise. I was swayed by cautiousness more than anything else at the moment, but I fancy that deep down in my mind was a primitive longing to settle with the man without having recourse to the law. At any rate no policeman in the country would have arrested him on the description I gave.

”It's a pity he got away,” said the sergeant when I'd finished. ”It looks as if he's the man. What was taken, Mr. Carstairs?”

”According to Mr. Bryce there wasn't anything even touched.”

”Looks as if Mr. Bryce had a past,” the man said in a half-whisper meant for my ears alone.

I regarded the suggestion with alarm. ”I don't see how that could be,” I told him. ”I've known him for a good many years, and my father knew him before that. But of course I've been in the Islands for close on to four years, and something that I am unaware of may have occurred in that time.”

”Just so,” he agreed. ”We'll see what Miss Drummond has to say.”

”Had your uncle any enemies that you know of?” she was asked.

She answered the question with admirable adroitness. ”My uncle was the kindest of men,” she said. ”I can conceive of no reason why he should have any enemies.”

I suppose our very apparent frankness threw the man off his guard, for I'm perfectly satisfied that he could have tripped us up more than once had he had the faintest suspicion that we were not telling the exact truth. But we strove, rather successfully as it now appears, to twist the truth to suit ourselves without actually telling a downright lie, and we did it in a way that seemed to satisfy him, astute though he was.

I told him but one lie that evening, though as a matter of fact it was much nearer the truth than anything else I had said, so strangely do things fall out.

”Miss Drummond is Mr. Bryce's niece, isn't she?” he asked.

”That's right,” I said, and Moira nodded.

”Now let me see,” he ran on, ticking off the points on his fingers, ”you are an old friend of the family's. That's correct, isn't it?”