Part 16 (1/2)
Quarles undid a small brown paper parcel--I had wondered what he had brought with him--and produced the pierrot's hat.
”That is Henley's, I suppose?”
Watson looked at it.
”Undoubtedly. There is an 'H' in it, you see. We all put our initial in like that so that we should know our own.”
”Now, can you suggest why Henley was wearing his dress?” asked Quarles.
”That has puzzled us all,” Watson answered. ”I am inclined to think the doctor is wrong as regards the time he had been dead. The last we saw of Henley was when we left the tent that night. He was not coming back with us, he was going straight to the station. He was a long time changing, and I told him he would have to hurry to catch his train.”
”Is there such a late train up?”
”Only during the summer.”
”And none of you went down to the tent until the evening of the next day?”
They all replied in the negative.
”We are perhaps fortunate in being able to substantiate the denial,” said Watson. ”We all drove to Craybourne and spent the day there, starting soon after ten and not getting back until six.”
”And in the ordinary way Henley would have gone with you?”
”Certainly. It was only just before the performance that evening that he announced his journey to town. He said it was a matter of business.”
”One more question,” said Quarles, ”a delicate one, but you will forgive it because you are as desirous of clearing up this mystery as any one.
Have you any reason to suppose poor Henley was in love?”
”I have no reason to think so,” said Watson.
”Nor you, Miss Travers?” said Quarles, turning to Sister Penelope.
”He certainly was not in love with me.”
”I ask the question just to clear the ground,” said the professor after a short pause, and rising as he spoke. ”The man whose place Henley took might have fallen in love with one of you young ladies, and if he thought Henley had supplanted him he might have taken a mad revenge. Such things do happen.”
”There was nothing of that sort,” said Mrs. Watson. ”Russell, that was the other man, has gone on a voyage for his health. Only a week ago I had a picture postcard from him from a port in South America.”
”That absolutely squashes the very germ of the theory,” said the professor with a smile. ”Sometime I hope to enjoy your charming entertainment again, and to hear you play, Miss Day. I hope it won't be Bach. Good-by.”
As we walked back to the hotel I asked Quarles why he had not suggested that Henley might be in love with Miss Day instead of Miss Travers.
”My dear Wigan, you have yourself said she is undoubtedly a lady. Can you imagine her allowing a man like the dead man to have anything to do with her?”
”Circ.u.mstances have thrown them into each other's company,” I answered.
”In such a small circle she could hardly avoid him.”
”I am inclined to think the company will get on better without him,”
he answered.
To my astonishment the professor insisted on going back to town that afternoon. No, he was not giving up the case, but he wanted to be in Chelsea to think it out, and to see if Zena had got any foolish questions to ask. This was Sat.u.r.day, and on Monday I received a telegram from him, requesting me to come to town. It was important. Of course I went, and the three of us adjourned to the empty room.