The Stowmarket Mystery, Louis Tracy [best romance novels of all time .txt] 📗

all united in the opinion that New Year’s Eve was a most unlikely time for the hotels to contain casual visitors.

“I was afraid it would be a wild-goose chase from the start,” opined Winter.

“Obviously,” replied Brett; “yet ten minutes ago you produced a man who actually watched the murderer for a considerable time that night.”

Whilst Winter was searching his wits for a suitable argument, the barrister continued:

“Where is Fergusson now?”

“I can answer that,” exclaimed Hume. “He is my father’s butler. When Capella came to Beechcroft, the old man wrote and said he could not take orders from an Italian. It was like receiving instructions from a French cook. So my father brought him to Glen Tochan.”

“Then your father must send him to London. He may be very useful. I understand he was very many years at Beechcroft?”

“Forty-six, man and boy, as he puts it.”

“Write to-morrow and bring him to town. He can stay at your hotel. I will not keep him long; just one conversation—no more. Can you or your father tell me anything else about that sword?”

“I fear not. Admiral Cunningham—”

“I guess I’m the authority there,” broke in Winter. “I got to know all about it from Mr. Okasaki.”

“And who, pray, is Mr. Okasaki?”

“A Japanese gentleman, who came to Ipswich to hear the first trial. He was interested in the case, owing to the curious fact that a murder in a little English village should be committed with such a weapon, so he came down to listen to the evidence. And, by the way, he took a barmaid back with him. There was rather a sensation.”

“The Japs are very enterprising. What did he tell you about the sword?”

The detective produced a note-book.

“It is all here,” he said, turning over the leaves. “A Japanese Samurai, or gentleman, in former days carried two swords, one long blade for use against his enemies, and a shorter one for committing suicide if he was beaten or disgraced. The sword Mr. Hume gave his cousin was a short one, and the knife which accompanied it is called the Ko-Katana, or little sword. As well as I could understand Mr. Okasaki, a Jap uses this as a pen-knife, and also as a queer sort of visiting-card. If he slays an enemy he sticks the Ko-Katana between the other fellow’s ribs, or into his ear, and leaves it there.”

“A P.P.C. card, in fact!”

“You always have some joke against the P.C.’s,” growled the detective. “I never—”

“You have just made a most excellent one yourself. Please continue, Winter. Your researches are valuable.”

“That is all. Would you like to see the Ko-Katana that killed Sir Alan?”

“Yes. Where is it?”

“In the Black Museum at Scotland Yard. I will take you there.”

“Thank you. By the way, concerning this man, Okasaki. Supposing we should want any further information from him on this curious topic, can you find him? You say he indulged in some liaison with an Ipswich girl, so I assume he has not gone back to Japan.”

“The last I heard of him was at that time. Some one told me that he was an independent gentleman, noted for his art tastes. The disappearance of the girl created a rare old row in Ipswich.”

“Make a note of him. We may need his skilled assistance. Was there any special design on the Ko-Katana?”

“It was ornamented in some way, but I forget the pattern.”

“I can help you in that matter,” said Hume. “I remember perfectly that the handle, of polished gun-metal, bore a beautiful embossed design in gold and silver of a setting sun surmounted by clouds and two birds.”

“Correct, Mr. Hume, I recall it now,” said the detective. “The same thing appears on the handle of the sword.”

Brett ruminated silently on this fresh information. Like the other pieces in the puzzle, it seemed to have no sort of connection with the cause of the crime.

“Why do you say ‘setting sun’? How does one distinguish it from the rising sun in embossed or inlaid work?” he asked Hume.

“I do not know. I only repeat Alan’s remark. I gave the beastly thing to him because he became interested in Japanese arms during his Eastern tour, you will recollect.”

“Ah, well. That is a nice point for Mr. Okasaki to settle if we chance to come across him. Don’t forget, Winter, I want to see that Ko-Katana, Whom did you meet at Sleagill, Hume?”

The young man laughed. “Helen, of course.”

“Any other person?”

“No. I told her I might chance to drive out in that direction about five o’clock, so—”

“Dear me! You were not at all certain.”

“By no means. I am at your orders.”

“Excellent! Then my orders are that you shall meet the young lady on every possible occasion. You took her for a drive?”

“Well—er—yes, I did. You do not leave me much to tell.”

“Did she say anything of importance—bearing upon our inquiry, I mean?”

“Nothing. She had not quitted the rectory since we came away. I asked her to pick up any village gossip about the people at the Hall, and let us know at the earliest moment if she regarded it as valuable in any way.”

“That was thoughtful of you. A great deal may happen there at any moment.”

A waiter knocked and entered. He handed a letter to Hume.

“From Nellie,” said David hastily.

He opened the envelope and perused a short note, which he gave to Brett. It ran:—

“DEAREST,—I have just heard from Jane, our under-housemaid, that Mr. Capella is leaving the Hall for London by an early train to-morrow. Jane ‘walks out’ with Mr. Capella’s valet, and is in tears. Tell Mr. Brett. I am going to help Mrs. Eastham to select prize books for the school treat to-morrow at eleven.

“—With love, yours,
“NELLIE.”

“Who brought this note?” inquired Hume from the waiter as he picked up pen and paper.

“A man from Sleagill, sir. Any reply?”

“Certainly. Tell him to wait in the tap-room at my expense.” He commenced to write.

“Any message?” he asked Brett.

“Yes. Give Miss Layton my compliments, and say I regret to hear that Jane is in tears. Ask her—Miss Layton—to get Jane to find out from the valet what train his master will travel by.”

“Why?”

“Because I will go by an earlier one, if possible.”

“But what about me! Confound it, I promised—”

“To meet Miss Layton at eleven. Do so, my dear fellow. But come to town to-morrow evening. Winter and I may want you.”

So the detective sent another telegram to detain that dress suit, and Hume seemed to have quickly conquered his disinclination to visit Stowmarket.

Chapter X The Black Museum

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Winter, who had never seen Capella, was so well posted by Brett as to his personal appearance that he experienced no difficulty in picking out the Italian when he alighted from the train at Liverpool Street Station next morning.

Capella did not conduct himself like a furtive villain. He jumped into a hansom. His valet followed in a four-wheeler with the luggage. In each instance the address given to the driver was that of a well-known West End hotel.

The detective’s cab kept pace with Capella’s through Old Broad Street, Queen Victoria Street, and along the Embankment. At the Mansion House, and again at Blackfriars, they halted side by side, and Winter noticed that his quarry was looking into space with sullen, vindictive eyes.

“He means mischief to somebody,” was Winter’s summing up. “I wonder if he intends to knife Hume?” for Brett had given his professional confrère a synopsis of all that happened before they met, and of his subsequent conversation with the “happy couple” in Beechcroft Hall.

He repeated this remark to the barrister when he reached Brett’s chambers.

“Capella will do nothing so crude,” was the comment. “He is no fool. I do not credit him with the murder of Sir Alan, but if I am mistaken in this respect, it is impossible to suppose that he can dream of clearing his path again by the same drastic method. Of course he means mischief, but he will stab reputations, not individuals.”

“When will you come to the Black Museum?”

“At once, if you like. But before we set out I want to discuss Mr. Okasaki with you. What sort of person is he?”

“A genuine Jap, small, lively, and oval-faced. His eyes are like tiny slits in a water melon, and when he laughs his grin goes back to his ears.”

“Really, Winter, I did not credit you with such a fund of picturesque imagery. Would you know him again?”

“I can’t be certain. All Japs are very much alike, to my thinking, but if I heard him talk I would be almost sure. Why do you ask?”

“Because I have been looking up a little information with reference to the Ko-Katana and its uses. Now, Okasaki is the name of a Japanese town. Family names almost invariably have a topographical foundation, referring to some village, river, street, or mountain, and there may be thousands of Okasakis. Then, again, it was the custom some years ago for a man to be called one name at birth, another when he came of age, a third when he obtained some official position, and so on. For instance, you would be called Spring when you were born, Summer when you were twenty-one, Autumn when you became a policeman, and Winter when you reached your present rank.”

“Oh, Christopher!” cried the detective. “And if I were made Chief Inspector?”

“Then your title would be ‘Top Dog’ or something of the sort.”

Mr. Winter assimilated the foregoing information with a profound thankfulness that we in England do these things differently.

“Why are you so interested in Mr. Okasaki?” he inquired.

“I will answer your question by another. Why was he so interested in the Ko-Katana?”

“That is hardly what I told you, Mr. Brett. He professed to be interested in the crime itself. But now I come to think of it, he did ask me to let him see the thing.”

“And did you?”

“Yes; I wanted all the information I could get.”

“My position exactly. Let us go to Scotland Yard.”

The famous Black Museum has so often been the subject of articles in the public press that no detailed description is needed here. It contains, in glass cases, or hanging on the walls, a weird collection of articles famous in the annals of crime. It is not open to the public, and Brett, who had not seen the place before, examined its relics with much curiosity.

The detective exhibited a pardonable pride in some of them, but his companion damped his enthusiasm by saying:

“This is a depressing sight.”

“In what way?”

“British rogues are evidently of low intelligence in the average. A bludgeon and a halter make up their history.”

“There’s more than that in a good many cases.”

“Ah, I forgot the handcuffs.”

“Well, here is the Ko-Katana,” said Winter shortly.

The barrister took the fateful weapon, not more deadly than a paper-knife in appearance, and scrutinised it closely.

“It has not been cleaned,” he said.

“No, it was left untouched after the doctor withdrew it from the poor young fellow’s breast.”

Brett produced a magnifying glass. Beneath the rust on the blade he thought he could distinguish some Japanese characters in the quaint pictorial script adapted by that singular people from the Chinese system of writing.

He brought the knife nearer to the window and carefully focussed it. Then he produced a note-book and made a pencil drawing of the following inscription: