Naturally there was great excitement over "The White Room Crime," as it soon came to be called. The inhabitants of Troy were shocked, as such a thing had never before happened in their locality. They found their holy quiet invaded by a host of reporters, detectives, policemen, idlers, and morbid¹ folk who wished for new sensations. Mr. and Mrs. Fane left their child at the seaside and came up for the inquest, which was held at a quiet public-house in the neighbourhood. Fane insisted that the body should be taken away from Ajax Villa².  
"It should have been removed at once," he declared. "I don't know the woman. I never set eyes on her. My wife doesn't know her, and I can't conceive how she came to die in my place."
 
"Do you alone own the latch-key?"
 
It was Derrick who asked this question, and he eyed Fane sharply as the reply came.
 
"I alone own the latch-key of my house," said Fane; "it is a peculiar³ lock. No other key but mine will fit it. See!" He produced a long slim key, upon which Derrick, unlocking a drawer, took out of it the key picked up by Mulligan. The two were identical in all respects. "You see," said Derrick in his turn, "a duplicate has been made. I noticed that the strange key was new when Mulligan showed it."
 
"Where did you get this key?"
 
"The young man who lured⁵ Mulligan away from the gate dropped it."
 
"Very strange," said Fane in a puzzled tone. "I can't understand. I don't think the locksmith who made me my key can have made two, as I especially agreed with him that he was not to do so."
 
"Have you his address?"
 
"Yes. It is at my office in the city. I will give it to you. But I am sure the man is to be trusted. A most respectable tradesman."
 
"Hum," said Derrick, scratching his chin. "Respectable tradesmen do queer things for money at times."
 
"But why should this strange woman have been brought to this house--my house--to be murdered?"
 
"I can't say. That is what we have to find out. You don't know this woman?" asked Derrick doubtfully.
 
Fane was a smart, cheery-faced fellow with rather a weak mouth. He looked rather haggard, as he had practically risen from a sick-bed to obey the summons of the law. For the moment he appeared puzzled when Derrick spoke⁶. Then he flashed an indignant look on him, and grew red. "Do you mean to insinuate⁷ that I did something underhand, Mr. Inspector⁸?" he inquired excitedly.
 
"Men admire pretty women," said Derrick dryly.
 
"I do, like all men. At the same time I am faithful to my wife, whom I love very dearly. We are a most attached couple. And if you hint at anything wrong, sir, let me tell you that I was ill with a cold at the seaside when this crime was perpetrated. Also, had I been in town--had I known this woman--I certainly should not have brought her to my own house."
 
"No! no! quite so," said Derrick soothingly⁹. "I don't mean to hint for a moment that your character is not spotless. But this key, sir. Has it ever been out of your possession?"
 
"Never! I carry it, as you see, on a steel chain. It comes off at night and goes on in the morning. Only my wife could have had it in her possession. You are not going to accuse her of taking an impression, are you?" asked Fane scathingly.
 
"Does Mrs. Fane know the woman?" asked Derrick, passing over this ironical¹⁰ speech.
 
"No. She never set eyes on her. No one knows who the woman is."
 
"Strange! Strange! I wonder why she should be killed in your house?"
 
"Don't you know her name?" asked Fane.
 
"No. There is no mark on her linen¹¹; no cards or letters in her pocket. She came out of the darkness into your house, and has been swallowed up by the darkness of the grave. We know no more. At the inquest something may transpire¹²."
 
"I sincerely hope so," said Fane bluntly. "The whole thing is most disagreeable. I shall have to give up Ajax Villa. My wife is quite upset. The affair will put me to great expense. Good-day."
 
"One moment. Do you know a young man with a pointed¹³ beard?"
 
"Not that I can recall," replied Fane after a pause. "But of course I may have met such a person."
 
"Well"--Derrick gave up his questions in despair--"we must wait for the inquest."
 
But here a fresh disappointment awaited him. Nothing came to light at the inquest likely to throw light on the mystery. Geason proved that the unknown woman had been stabbed from behind and had died almost immediately. He was positive that she had been dead five hours when he was called in. If this were so, the woman who sang the song could not be the dead one. Nor could the young man who entered into conversation with Mulligan have been sent to lure⁴ him away so that the murder might take place. When the young man came out of the house the woman must have been dead three hours. The doctor firmly held to this opinion, and thereby¹⁴ perplexed¹⁵ the jury and upset the theories of Derrick.
 
Various were the opinions given by those present during the interview. Some thought this, some that, and every one had his own pet solution of the mystery. But the evidence was scanty¹⁶. Both Mr. and Mrs. Fane stated that they knew nothing of the woman. The husband insisted that the latch-key had never been out of his possession, and the wife asserted that he had been sick in bed miles away at the time the crime was committed. Mulligan described his meeting with the strange young man and the conversation which had ensued; also his discovery of the body, and how he had entered the house. All inquiries¹⁷ on the part of the police failed to prove the identity of the dead. Tracey stated how he had missed his motor-car, and evidence was forthcoming to show that it had been left in the Charing¹⁸ Cross yard. But no one seemed to know who had brought it there. The result of this crop of scanty facts was obvious. The jury brought in a verdict against some person or persons unknown.
 
"It's the only thing to be said," said Derrick to Fane when the crowd dispersed¹⁹. "The woman is dead, and she must be buried. That cost will fall on the parish."
 
"No," replied Fane, who did not seem to be an unkindly man. "The poor creature died in my house, so I will charge myself with her burial. I have consulted Mrs. Fane, and she thinks as I do."
 
"But you know nothing about her."
 
"That is true. However, if you make inquiries, you may learn."
 
The inspector shook his head. "I fear not; I don't know where to look. It is a kind thought of you to bury her, Mr. Fane. Not many men would do that in your place after the trouble you have had."
 
"It's the least I can do, seeing she was murdered under my roof. But you may hear who she is. Why not advertise?"
 
"That has been done. Handbills have been placed round describing her looks, and with a picture. Orders have been sent throughout London to the police to keep their eyes open. I doubt if anything will come of the hunt though."
 
"Surely," said Fane, wrinkling his brows, "a woman can't disappear like this in London?"
 
"London is the very place where people disappear," retorted Derrick. "Those who live in this big city never know how many people vanish yearly and are never heard of again. In this case we have the body of the woman, but who she was, where she came from, and why she was murdered in your house, will probably never be known."
 
"Well," said Fane, with the air of a man dismissing the subject, "if you do intend to make inquiries, please keep me advised of your discoveries. I should like to know how the woman entered the house. I believe you saw my locksmith?"
 
"I did. He swears positively²⁰ that he did not make a duplicate key. More than that, he has not a duplicate of the one he made you."
 
Fane looked doubtful. "I should have thought he would have retained a copy for trade purposes. Suppose I lost the key----"
 
"He would not have been able to make you another, Mr. Fane. However, I am keeping an eye on him. He may be lying for his own ends. One never knows, and I always mistrust respectable men."
 
"From what my sister-in-law told me, Mr. Derrick, you were inclined to mistrust me."
 
Derrick coughed. "The case is so strange," said he; "but I am now quite sure that you had nothing to do with the matter."
 
"Thank you for nothing," said Fane dryly. "It is lucky that with the assistance of my wife I was able to prove an alibi²¹."
 
"Very lucky indeed," replied the inspector cheerfully. "Had you been in town that night, and unable to explain your comings and goings, it might have gone hard with you."
 
"Do you mean to say----"
 
"Nothing--absolutely nothing. But see here, Mr. Fane; put yourself in my place, in the place of any man. A woman gains admittance to your house and there is murdered. You alone have the key. On the face of it, does not that look as though you alone killed her, else, why the use of your key to let her enter the house? It is lucky for you, as you say, that in full open court, and in the ears of all men, you were able to prove an alibi, else nine out of ten would have suspected you of knowing more than you stated."
 
"I said all I knew."
 
"I am sure of that, sir; and you proved--with the assistance of Mrs. Fane--your innocence²². As they say, you leave the court without a stain. All the same, the case is strange. For my part, pending²³ the discovery of the young man who dropped the key, I shall hunt for the woman. In her past life will be found the explanation of her death. I shall let you know how I get on, but I must ask you to also keep me advised of what you see and hear."
 
Fane shrugged²⁴ his shoulders and took out a cigar. "I shall take no further steps in the matter. Once this woman is buried, and I have left Ajax Villa, the thing will be relegated²⁵ to obscurity so far as I am concerned."
 
"Well," said Derrick, with a side look, "perhaps that's natural."
 
He then said good-bye to Fane, and went away thoughtfully. Derrick was not a particularly brilliant mortal, as his conduct of the case shows. As the saying goes, he could not see further than his nose. But he certainly wondered in his own mind, if despite the evidence of Mrs. Fane, her husband might not have something to do with the matter. To save his life, to keep him from shame, she might have kept silence. "But it's impossible," said Derrick aloud. "If he was guilty, she would not lie. If the victim had been a man now. But as it was a woman, a jealous creature like Mrs. Fane would certainly not sacrifice herself to save a man who deceived her. No; Fane is guiltless. But who is the culprit? That's the question." And it was a question which Derrick could not answer, though he tried to do so in his blundering way.
 
So the unknown woman was duly buried. Tracey and Fane went to the funeral, and the body was followed by a large concourse of those who wished to see the last of the victim of this mysterious tragedy. Every one agreed that Fane was behaving very well in thus giving the poor wretch²⁷ decent burial. Fane looked white and worn when the grave was being filled in, and the rumour²⁸ went round of how ill he had been, and how he had come up from a sick-bed to see this matter through. Several people shook hands with him as he left the cemetery²⁹, and he was congratulated on all hands. Then the gates of the burial-ground were closed, and the grave was left to the rain and the sunshine. For all any one present knew, its secret would not be delivered up until the Judgment-day.
 
It was the press that said the last word on the subject. The Daily Budget, always in search of the sensational³⁰, thought the affair strange enough to give it the honour of a leading article. As many people may remember the perplexity of police and public in connection with this murder, it may not be uninteresting to give an extract or two from the article.
 
"The inexplicable³¹ murder in Troy is one of those crimes which at once startle and shock the public. That a woman should be done to death in this manner is bad enough, but that with our wonderful police organisation³², her identity should remain a mystery is nothing less than a scandal and a shame. If the houses of law-abiding citizens are to be made the shambles³³ for unknown assassins, the sooner the police force is reorganised the better. And again, is it not disgraceful that nothing can be found likely to prove who this poor creature is? Have we not newspapers and agents and handbills and all the paraphernalia³⁴ of civilisation³⁵ for the detection of the unknown? Search should be made in the most minute manner in order to prove who this dead woman is. Once her name is discovered, in her past life may be found the reason of her untimely and tragic³⁶ death. This is the opinion of Inspector Derrick, who has handled the case, with all its strange elements of mystery, with but an indifferent degree of success. Not but what we are prepared to admit that the case is remarkably³⁷ difficult and would tax the intellect of a Vidocq to unravel³⁸.
 
"It would seem that the woman went to the house between eight and nine o'clock, and was murdered shortly after she entered the door. Certainly she was seated at the piano, and certainly the song of 'Kathleen Mavourneen' was open before her. But we are sure that she never sang the song. While waiting for some one--perhaps the assassin who struck her down--she may have played for a time. But the woman who sang the song did so some three hours after the death of the unfortunate creature. Mulligan swore that he heard the song about eleven; the doctor declares that the woman was murdered before nine o'clock. On the face of it, it is impossible to reconcile this conflicting evidence.
 
"No one saw the woman enter the house, although many people were about Achilles Avenue during the evening. But in the multitude of people--especially on a Saturday night--would lie the chance of the woman not being observed. Few people knew that Mr. Fane and his family--one little girl--were at the seaside; so even if any one had noticed the woman enter the gate of Ajax Villa such a thing would not be fixed³⁹ in the mind of the observer. All inquiries have been made, but no one appears to have noted⁴⁰ the woman's coming. It is therefore impossible to say if she entered the house alone or in the company of the assassin.
 
"And with regard to the assassin. We are inclined to think he is a man--and that man who spoke to the policeman at eleven o'clock. It might be, that gaining admittance by his latch-key with the woman, he killed her almost immediately he entered, and then watched his chance of escape. That he entered the house with the woman appears clear. We stated above that it is impossible to say if the woman entered the house alone. By this we mean that the man may have come earlier, and may have admitted her before nine o'clock. The poor creature walked into a death-trap. Taking her to the White Room, he lured her to sit down at the piano, which would give him an opportunity of standing⁴¹ behind her to stab her unawares. Then when she was dead, he probably looked out of the window to see how he could escape. Fear evidently kept him within till nearly eleven o'clock. Then he saw the policeman passing, and then he sang the song to make the man believe a woman was singing. Afterwards, when he had lulled⁴² any suspicions the policeman may have entertained, he came out and escaped in the manner described. This is our theory. The singer is described by Mulligan--a remarkably intelligent officer--as having a deep contralto voice; so it is probable the assassin sang in falsetto. That the man killed the woman and thus escaped, we are sure; for only he having the latch-key could have admitted her, and only he could have a reason to lure her into the house. What that reason may be, must remain for ever a mystery."
 
So far the Daily Budget with its gimcrack theory. A rival newspaper promptly⁴³ set to work to pick holes in the case as presented by the paper. This rival journal, the Star of Morning, commented as follows:
 
"Our respected contemporary goes too fast. Evidence was given clearly by Mulligan that the song was being sung while the presumed assassin--in the Daily Budget's opinion--was in conversation with him at the gate. Therefore the young man with the pointed beard could not have sung 'Kathleen Mavourneen' in falsetto. The theory is amusing, but it won't hold water. Our belief is quite different, and we think more real.
 
"In the first place, we think that the young man was the person who admitted the women into the house. So far we agree with our contemporary. We say 'women,' because we believe there were two people, the victim and another woman. These two women came to the house either in the company of the young man or by themselves. In any case, he admitted them, since, however he obtained it, he alone possessed⁴⁴ the latch-key, and was thus enabled to enter the deserted⁴⁵ house. Once in the White Room, and the victim lured to the piano--again we agree--she was murdered. The two assassins--for both the man and the woman are equally guilty, though we are not prepared to say who actually struck the blow--then watched their opportunity to escape. It is a marvel⁴⁶ that they should have remained three hours in the house, perhaps in the room, after the crime was committed. They arrived unseen along with their victim, so it is natural to think that they would have escaped from the house as soon as possible, positive that they would not be suspected. But guilt²⁶ makes cowards of every one, and it made cowards of these two. They waited in the room, watching the gradual desertion of Achilles Avenue. About eleven they decided⁴⁷ to venture. Then the policeman appears. Doubtless to save appearances, the woman sang. The man looking out, went away to lure the policeman. He did so, and then the woman escaped. She saw Mr. Tracey's motor-car standing unwatched at a gate, and forthwith used it to fly, fearful lest she should be followed. If she went straight to Charing Cross she must have arrived about half-past eleven. In the crowd in the yard on a Saturday night, with cabs and other vehicles coming and going, she would easily be able to draw up her car in a quiet corner. No one seems to have noticed her, and women driving motors is such a common spectacle now that no one would remark on the circumstance. We think that the woman then entered the station and left London. She may have escaped to the continent; she may have gone merely to a suburb. At all events, all trace of her is lost, and the deserted car was noted some hours later.
 
"This is our theory, and we think it is a more feasible one than that offered by our contemporary. As Mr. Fane is ignorant of the name of the deceased, it is inexplicable how she came to meet with her tragic death in his house. All the servants of Mr. Fane were at the seaside along with their master and mistress, so no blame can possibly be attached to them. Mr. Fane himself was ill in bed at Westcliff-on-Sea, so he can know nothing. He positively asserts that he alone possessed the latch-key, and the locksmith from whom he obtained it, declares that no duplicate was made. This is not the least strange element in this case. One thing we would draw our readers' attention to--the decoration of the room in which the murder was perpetrated. It was all white, and the black dress of the corpse⁴⁸ must have formed a strange contrast to the snowy desert around when the poor creature was discovered by Mulligan. Quite a picturesque⁴⁹ murder! Mr. Fane seems to be a gentleman with an original turn for furnishing to possess such a room, and the crime adds to its romance. And the secret of this murder will never be discovered. Why the woman should be stabbed, why she should have been lured to that strange room to be killed, how the assassins obtained possession of the latch-key--these things must remain for ever a mystery. But we are convinced that the crime was committed by a man and a woman, and we have given our reason."
 
To this statement--a purely⁵⁰ theoretical one--the Daily Budget retorted in a short paragraph.
 
"We will merely ask our clever contemporary one question. 'If the woman assassin thus invented was singing at the piano before the policeman leaned over the gate, what opportunity had she and the young man to concert their scheme of escape?'"
 
To this demand there came no reply, and the press ceased to comment on the crime. The murder at Ajax Villa was relegated to the catalogue of unknown crimes for quite two weeks. Then a strange thing came to light.