what age? Does he wear glasses?’
‘I should say somewhere in the thirties, sir. I didn’t see him wearing glasses; he seemed to me like a keen-sighted man, his eye being sort of piercing, as they say, when he looked at you. I can’t think of anything else special about him, except his acting a bit nervous-like—jerky in his movements, if you know what I mean, sir.’
‘What about his expression? Pleasant?’
‘’Ardly that, sir. I should call it severe—not unpleasant I don’t mean, not that at all, but as if he wouldn’t laugh very easy. If I may say so,’ Raught added with an air of cringing slyness, ‘Dr Fairman’s expression is a little bit like your own, sir.’
‘Not unpleasant, eh?’ Mr Bligh said. ‘Well, you ought to know. Now then; apart from his appearance, what else do you know about Dr Fairman?’
‘Nothing, sir, only what I’ve heard mentioned in talk sometimes between Mr Randolph and other parties when—’
‘When your ear happened to be in the neighbourhood of the keyhole,’ Mr Bligh suggested pleasantly.
‘No, sir,’ the valet said, as one making patient allowance for the working of a suspicious temperament. ‘In my position, sir, people’s conversation often comes to my ears without me having to listen for it, even in a big ’ouse like Brinton. And as for a small place like this, you can see for yourself, sir, I’d be bound to hear a good deal of what was being talked about unless it was meant to be private—what with doors left open, or me going in and out about my work. And if I know anything about Mr Randolph,’ Raught added with the first touch of genuine feeling that the inspector had noted in him, ‘anything he wanted to be kept private would be kept private.’
‘And no blooming error,’ Mr Bligh prompted him with the ghost of a smile.
‘You take the words out of my mouth, sir,’ Raught said. ‘But I only mean that the old man—Mr Randolph, I should say—was no fool, if he was kind-hearted to a fault, as the saying is. I do know this, sir—if he wanted to see anybody here without the chance of being overheard, it was his habit to make an appointment for the Wednesday evening, which has always been my time off, and open the door to them himself.’
‘No fool, as you say,’ the inspector observed drily.
Raught ignored this offensive interjection. ‘As for what was said about Dr Fairman, his name has come up in conversation more than once between Mr Randolph and Mr Verney. Mr Verney seemed to think a lot of some special job Dr Fairman was doing at the mental ’ospital; what it was I can’t say. I thought Mr Randolph didn’t seem to think quite so much of it—spoke of it a bit short-like. Once, I remember, he said that the worst of these loony-doctors—’
‘Did he say “loony-doctors”?’ Mr Bligh cut in.
The valet hesitated. ‘He did not, sir; but he used some expression which the meaning of it was obviously that. And he said that the worst of them was that when they often got a bee in their bonnets themselves—that he did say, I’ll swear to it.’
The inspector smiled another wintry smile. ‘I said you were not hard of hearing,’ he commented. ‘Did anything more about this Dr Fairman come to your ears?’
‘Nothing that I can recall, sir.’
Mr Bligh sighed gently. At this hour the much-wanted Fairman, if he had caught the night-boat, as appearances suggested, might still be at his destination in Dieppe. On the other hand, his true destination was more than likely to be elsewhere, and he might be receding each moment farther beyond the reach of the English law’s long arm. The inspector strode to the sitting-room telephone, and soon was in touch with the same official to whom he had spoken before. He repeated briefly, for transmission to Dieppe, Raught’s description of the suspect, and asked that inquiries about him should be made immediately at the Randolph Mental Hospital at Claypoole, where he was one of the medical staff.
‘Now then,’ he resumed, turning to the valet who stood uneasily awaiting his attention, ‘before you went out, you left your master’s evening clothes ready for him?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did you put out his razor?’
‘No, sir. I never knew him need to shave in the evening. I had left the razor on the shelf in the bathroom, with the other shaving things.’
‘Was there a blade in the razor?’
‘I had put in a new blade ready for next morning, sir. Mr Randolph liked to have a new one every day.’
‘And when you found his body, did you see the razor lying on the dressing-table?’
‘No, sir. I was too much upset to notice anything of that sort.’
‘You didn’t even see that there was a lot of brown paper and string on the floor?’
Raught dropped his eyes. ‘Now you mention it, sir, I did notice that—an untidy mess lying under the window, as if someone had been opening parcels. It slipped my memory sir—truly it did. And I never touched it.’
The inspector grunted. He had the impression that the valet was meeting all these inquiries with as much frankness as was in his nature. ‘Do you know,’ he asked, ‘if your master kept any valuables in his bedroom?’
The man hesitated. ‘None, sir, to my knowledge, except studs and links and that. But I—I fancy he had a safe set in the wall by the window.’
Mr Bligh’s face hardened. ‘Yah!’ he said ungracefully. ‘You fancy! Don’t you know?’
‘Well, sir,’ Raught said unhappily, ‘I have seen a keyhole.’
‘Of course you have,’ the inspector said brutally. ‘And the edges of the door too. The question is whether you know what was behind it.’
‘That I don’t indeed, sir,’ the valet protested. ‘And it was never opened in my presence.’
Mr Bligh still surveyed him with a disparaging eye. ‘Now, Raught,’ he said, ‘what can you tell me about this?’ He indicated the engagement-block standing on the Chinese cabinet. ‘Is that the usual place for it?’
The valet appeared genuinely startled. ‘It certainly is not, sir,’ he declared with emphasis. ‘That thing—I never remember seeing it there before. I have seen it often enough, and anyone could tell what it was for, sir, of course. Mr Randolph would often jot down an appointment on it when I was about. But he wasn’t ever communicative-like about his engagements—not that they were any business of mine. And this block, sir, was always treated like something specially private-like. He would always lock it away in a drawer of the writing-table—never once have I seen it left standing about like this. Most peculiar it is, to anyone knowing Mr Randolph’s ways.’ He shook his head portentously.
‘Well, that’s that,’ the inspector remarked after a moment’s rubbing of his chin. ‘Now come upstairs,’ he directed curtly. Raught’s leaden complexion became visibly less healthy as he was shepherded into the room where the body still lay.
‘Now, here’s another peculiar thing I want your opinion about.’ Mr Bligh pointed to the small heap of articles on the dressing-table. ‘Did Mr Randolph usually put the contents of his pockets
