think this is what killed Lord Comstock, do you, Easton?”
“I think so, sir. One chamber has been discharged, and that quite recently, by the look of the fouling. But, as far as I have been able to make out, sir, there are no finger-marks.”
The Commissioner rose and stepped to the desk. “You had better take charge of this, Shawford,” he said. “The sooner it is examined by the experts the better.”
He was about to pick up the pistol, when Sir Philip waved him aside. “No, let it stay there for the present,” he said. “Now, let’s get this clear, Easton. You say that Lord Comstock was lying on the floor, and that the pistol was on the desk. Did it occur to you that Lord Comstock might have shot himself?”
“It did occur to me, sir. But if he had been sitting in his chair at the time, I don’t see how the pistol could have fallen to where I found it. It was on the other side of the desk, sir.”
“When you found it, perhaps. But other people must have entered the room before you reached the house. Several other people, I dare say?”
It was the Commissioner who replied. He was evidently anxious to atone for his slight faux pas over the pistol. “Two at least, Sir Philip. Comstock’s secretary and his butler. They are waiting in the next room. Shall I bring them in?”
“All in good time,” said Sir Philip. “I expect that Easton has more to tell us yet. I should like more light on the point of whether Comstock could have shot himself. There are no finger-prints to be seen on the pistol. The inference is that whoever handled it last wore gloves or else it has been wiped over. Was it as hot in the study at Hursley Lodge as it is in here?”
“It was certainly very warm, sir.”
“I expect it was. It’s one of the hottest June days I remember. I say, Hampton, would you mind putting one of those candlesticks on my desk?”
He nodded towards the mantelpiece, on which stood a pair of silver candlesticks. The Commissioner walked up to the nearest one, picked it up, and laid it down beside the pistol.
“Thank you, Hampton. Now, Chief Constable, will you look at that candlestick and tell me if you can see any finger-prints on it?”
Shawford gingerly picked up the candlestick and breathed on it. “They are very plainly visible where Sir Henry Hampton touched it, sir,” he said solemnly.
“That settles the point, I think,” said Sir Philip briskly. “If anybody had touched the pistol with their naked hands this morning they must have left finger-marks upon it. Comstock would not be wearing gloves indoors. We can leave it at that for the present. Now, Easton, what did you do after you had looked round the study?”
“The first thing I did, sir, was to telephone to my Chief. I thought he would want to know at once what had happened. When I had done that, sir, I asked Mr. Mills to send for the doctor who usually attended his lordship.”
“By his Chief, Easton means the Chief Constable of Southshire, sir,” the Commissioner put in. “Colonel Graham. He rang me up about half-past one, and repeated what Easton had told him. He wanted the Yard to take charge immediately. I thought it best that you should hear all the circumstances at once, and I therefore put a call through to Hursley Lodge. Easton answered it, and I told him to come here as quickly as he could, bringing with him all available witnesses.”
Sir Philip nodded. “Sit down over there in the corner, Easton,” he said. “You’ve done very well. Ah, wait! one point—when did you reach Hursley Lodge? 1.15? Right. Now you can produce your witnesses, Hampton. One at a time, of course.”
The Commissioner went to the door, and beckoned. “This is Mr. Mills, Lord Comstock’s secretary, sir,” he announced.
A young man, somewhere near the thirty mark, entered the room. He was elegantly, a little too elegantly, dressed, his coat cut to suggest a slimmer waist than in fact he possessed. His hair was curly and shone with an odorous ointment. His narrow eyes roamed round the room, his expression a mixture of alarm, bravado, and surprise, and settled finally upon the inexpressive countenance of the Home Secretary.
“Sit down, Mr. Mills,” said Sir Philip briskly. “I want to hear what you can tell us about Comstock’s death. I saw him in London not many days ago. How long had he been down at Hursley Lodge?”
Mills moistened his lips. It seemed as if he spoke only by a great effort. “Only since the day before yesterday, sir,” he replied.
“Had he any particular reason for leaving London just now?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir. He often went down to Hursley Lodge for a few days at a time. He could work there without being interrupted, or he could, as a rule, sir.”
“Did you always accompany him on these occasons?”
An unpleasantly sly look came into Mills’ eyes at this. “Not always, sir. But on this occasion he told me to come, as he would probably want me.”
“I see. Now please tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened this morning.”
Again Mills moistened his red lips. He hesitated, and seemed at a loss where to begin. Then all at once he seemed to make up his mind, and spoke rapidly in a harsh and monotonous voice.
“Lord Comstock came into the dining-room as I was finishing breakfast, sir. I did not expect him so early, as at Hursley Lodge he rarely appeared before half-past nine. Nine was just striking as he came in. He asked me why I wasn’t at work, and without waiting for my answer told me that he would be in his study all the morning, and that he wasn’t on any account to be disturbed. I suppose that he was anxious to think over the policy of the newspapers.”
“By which you mean the ‘Back to Paganism’ movement, and the attack on the police, I suppose?” the Commissioner inquired.
“It was probably the latter, Sir Henry. He had that cause very much at heart! Yesterday he was very much upset when he learnt that Mr. Littleton had refused to give the crime expert of the Daily Bugle certain information in connection with the Little Cadbury case. He said that the police were deliberately practising a policy of obstruction, entirely contrary to the interests of justice.”
Sir Philip glanced at the Commissioner. “Do you know anything of this?” he asked.
Hampton shook his head, but Shawford cleared his throat apologetically. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I think I know of the incident to which Mr. Mills refers. Mr. Littleton had given orders that no information was to be given to the press for the present. The case concerns the body of a girl who was found murdered in a wood near Little Cadbury, sir. We have a clue, which is being followed up, but we can only succeed if complete secrecy is maintained.”
“I see. You’re probably right, Mills. Comstock was no doubt looking for a stick with which to beat Scotland Yard. He gave orders that he was not to be disturbed, you say. Was there anything unusual in this?”
“Nothing at all, sir. It was the rule that Lord Comstock never saw anybody at Hursley Lodge unless he sent for them. He would occasionally ring up one of his editors on the private line to Fort Comstock, and tell him to come down at once. But he very rarely had any other visitors, at least when I was with him. I was all the more surprised when I was told that there was somebody to see him this morning.”
“One
