“The rest of the evening passed quietly enough. Mr. Carter drank his strong tea, and then asked my permission to go out and smoke a couple of cigars in the High Street. He went, and I finished my letter to my mother. There was a full moon, but it was obscured every now and then by the black clouds that drifted across it. I went out myself to post the letter, and I was glad to feel the cool breeze blowing the hair away from my forehead, for the excitement of the day had given me a nervous headache.
“I posted my letter in a narrow street near the hotel. As I turned away from the post-office to go back to the High Street, I was startled by the apparition of a girlish figure upon the other side of the street — a figure so like Margaret’s that its presence in that street filled me with a vague sense of fear, as if the slender figure, with garments fluttering in the wind, had been a phantom.
“Of course I attributed this feeling to its right cause, which was doubtless neither more nor less than the over-excited state of my own brain. But I was determined to set the matter quite at rest, so I hurried across the way and went close up to the young lady, whose face was completely hidden by a thick veil.
“‘Miss Wilmot — Margaret,’ I said.
“I had thought it impossible that Margaret should be in Winchester, and I was only right, it seemed, for the young lady drew herself away from me abruptly and walked across the road, as if she mistook my error in addressing her for an intentional insult. I watched her as she walked rapidly along the narrow street, until she turned sharply away at a corner and disappeared. When I first saw her, as I stood by the post-office, the moonlight had shone full upon her. As she went away the moon was hidden by a fleecy grey cloud, and the street was wrapped in shadow. Thus it was only for a few moments that I distinctly saw the outline of her figure. Her face I did not see at all.
“I went back to the hotel and sat by the fire trying to read a newspaper, but unable to chain my thoughts to the page. Mr. Carter came in a little before eleven o’clock. He was in very high spirits, and drank a tumbler of steaming brandy-and-water with great gusto. But question him how I might, I could get nothing from him except that he meant to have a search made for the dead man’s clothes.
“I asked him why he wanted them, and what advantage would be gained by the finding of them, but he only nodded his head significantly, and told me to wait.
“To-day has been most wretched — a day of miserable discoveries; and yet not altogether miserable, for the one grand discovery of the day has justified my faith in the woman I love.
“The morning was cold and wet. There was not a ray of sunshine in the dense grey sky, and the flat landscape beyond the cathedral seemed almost blotted out by the drizzling rain; only the hills, grand and changeless, towered above the mists, and made the landmarks of the soddened country.
“We took an early and hasty breakfast. Quiet and business-like as the detective’s manner was even to-day, I could see that he was excited. He took nothing but a cup of strong tea and a few mouthfuls of dry toast, and then put on his coat and hat.
“‘I’m going down to the chief quarters of the county constabulary, he said. ‘I shall be obliged to tell the truth about my business down there, because I want every facility for what I’m going to do. If you’d like to see the water dragged, you can meet me at twelve o’clock in the grove. You’ll find me superintending the work.’
“It was about half-past eight when Mr. Carter left me. The time hung very heavily on my hands between that time and eleven o’clock. At eleven I put on my hat and overcoat and went out into the rain.
“I found my friend the detective standing in one of the smaller entrances of the cathedral, in very earnest conversation with an old man. As Mr. Carter gave me no token of recognition, I understood that he did not want me to interrupt his companion’s talk, so I walked slowly on by the same pathway along which we had gone on the previous afternoon; the same pathway by which the murdered man had gone to his death.
“I had not walked half a mile before I was joined by the detective.
“‘I gave you the office just now,’ he said, ‘because I thought if you spoke to me, that old chap would leave off talking, and I might miss something that was on the tip of his tongue.’
“‘Did he tell you much?’
“‘No; he’s the man who gave his evidence at the inquest. He gave me a minute description of Henry Dunbar’s watch and chain. The watch didn’t open quite in the usual manner, and the gentleman was rather awkward in opening it, my friend the verger tells me. He was awkward with the key of his desk. He seems to have had a fit of awkwardness that day.’
“‘You think that he was guilty, and that he was confused and agitated by the hideous business he had been concerned in?’
“Mr. Carter looked at me with a very queer smile on his face.
“‘You’re improving, Mr. Austin,’ he said; ‘you’d make a first-class detective in next to no time.’
“I felt rather doubtful as to the meaning of this compliment, for there was something very like irony in Mr. Carter’s tone.
“‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ he said, stopping presently, and taking me by the button-hole. ‘I think that I know why the murdered man’s coat, waistcoat, and shirt were stripped off him.’
“I begged the detective to tell me what he thought upon this subject; but he refused to do so.
“‘Wait and see,’ he said; ‘if I’m right, you’ll soon find out what I mean; if I’m wrong, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. I’m an old hand, and I don’t want to be found out in a mistake.’
“I said no more after this. The disappearance of the murdered man’s clothes had always appeared to me the only circumstance that was irreconcilable with the idea of Henry Dunbar’s guilt. That some brutal wretch, who stained his soul with blood for the sake of his victim’s poor possessions, should strip off the clothes of the dead, and make a market even out of them, was probable enough. But that Henry Dunbar, the wealthy, hyper-refined Anglo–Indian, should linger over the body of his valet and offer needless profanation to the dead, was something incredible, and not to be accounted for by any theory whatever.
“This was the one point which, from first to last, had completely baffled me.
“We found the man with the drags waiting for us under the dripping trees. Mr. Carter had revealed himself to the constabulary as one of the chief luminaries of Scotland Yard; and if he had wanted to dig up the foundations of the cathedral, they would scarcely have ventured to interfere with his design. One of the constables was lounging by the water’s edge, watching the men as they prepared for business.
“I have no need to write a minute record of that miserable day. I know that I walked up and down, up and down, backwards and forwards, upon the soddened grass, from noon till sundown, always thinking that I would go away presently, always lingering a little longer; hindered by the fancy that Mr. Carter’s search was on the point of being successful. I know that for hour after hour the grating sound of the iron drags grinding on the gravelly bed of the stream sounded in my tired ears, and yet there was no result. I know that rusty scraps of worn-out hardware, dead bodies of cats and dogs, old shoes laden with pebbles, rank entanglements of vegetable corruption, and all manner of likely and unlikely rubbish, were dragged out of the stream, and thrown aside upon the bank.
“The detective grew dirtier and slimier and wetter as the day wore on; but still he did not lose heart.
“‘I’ll have every inch of the bed of the stream, and every hidden hole in the bottom, dragged ten times over, before I’ll give it up,’ he said to me, when he came to me at dusk with some brandy that had been brought by a boy who had been fetching beer, more or less, all the afternoon.
“When it grew dark, the men lighted a couple of flaring resinous torches, which Mr. Carter had sent for towards dusk, and worked, by the patches of fitful light which these torches threw upon the water. I still walked up and down under the dripping trees, in the darkness, as I had walked in the light; and once when I was farthest from the red glare of the torches, a strange fancy took possession of me. In amongst the dim branches of the trees I thought I saw something moving, something that reminded me of the figure I had seen opposite the post-office on the previous night.
“I ran in amongst the trees; and as I did so, the figure seemed to me to recede, and disappear; a faint rustling of a woman’s dress sounded in my ears, or seemed so to sound, as the figure melted from my sight. But again I had good reason to attribute these fancies to the state of my own brain, after that long day of anxiety and suspense.
“At last, when I was completely worn out by my weary day, Mr. Carter came to me.
“‘They’re found!’ he cried. ‘We’ve found ’em! We’ve found the murdered man’s clothes! They’ve been drifted away into one of the deepest holes there is, and the rats have been gnawing at ’em. But, please Providence, we shall find what we want. I’m not much of a church-goer, but I do believe there’s a Providence that lies in wait for wicked men, and catches the very cleverest of them when they least expect it.’
“I had never seen Mr. Carter so much excited as he seemed now. His face was flushed, and his nostrils quivered nervously.
“I followed him to the spot where the constable and two men, who had been dragging the stream, were gathered round a bundle of wet rubbish lying on the ground.
“Mr. Carter knelt down before this bundle, which was covered with trailing weeds and moss and slime, and the constable stooped over him with a flaming torch in his hand.
“‘These are somebody’s clothes, sure enough,’ the detective said; ‘and, unless I’m very much mistaken, they’re what I want. Has anybody got a basket?’
“Yes. The boy who had fetched beer had a basket. Mr. Carter stuffed the slimy bundle into this basket, and put his arm through the handle.
“‘You’re not going to look ’em over here, then?’ said the local constable, with an air of disappointment.
“‘No, I’ll take them straight to my hotel; I shall have plenty of light there. You can come with me, if you like,’ Mr. Carter answered.
“He paid the men, who had been at work all day, and paid them liberally, I suppose, for they seemed very well satisfied. I had given him money for any expenses such as these; for I knew that, in a case of this kind, every insignificant step entailed the expenditure of money.
“We walked homewards as rapidly as the miserable state of the path, the increasing darkness, and the falling rain would allow us to walk. The constable walked with us. Mr. Carter whistled softly to himself as he went along, with the basket on his arm. The slimy green stuff and muddy water dripped from the bottom of the basket as he carried it.
“I was still at a loss to understand the reason of his high spirits; I was still at a loss to comprehend why he attached so much importance to the finding of the dead man’s clothes.
“It was past eight o’clock when we three men — the detecting the Winchester constable, and myself — entered our sitting-room at the George Hotel. The principal table was laid for dinner; and the waiter, our friend of the previous evening, was hovering about, eager to receive us. But Mr. Carter sent the waiter about his business.
“‘I’ve got a little matter to settle with this gentleman,’ he said, indicating the Winchester constable with a backward jerk of his thumb; ‘I’ll ring when I want dinner.’
“I saw the waiter’s eyes open to an abnormal extent, as he looked at the constable, and I saw a sudden blank apprehension creep over his face, as he retired very slowly from the room.
“‘Now,’ said Mr. Carter, ‘we’ll examine the bundle.’
“He pushed away the dinner-table, and drew forward a smaller table. Then he ran out of the room, and returned in about two minutes, carrying with him all the towels he had been able to find in my room and his own, which were close at hand. He spread the towels on the table, and then took the slimy bundle from the basket.
“‘Bring me the candles — both the candles,’ he said to the constable.
“The man held the two wax-candles on the right hand of the detective, as he sat before the table. I stood on his left hand, watching him intently.
“He touched the ragged and mud-stained bundle as carefully as if it had been some living thing. Foul river-insects crept out of the weeds, which were so intermingled with the tattered fabrics that it was difficult to distinguish one substance from the other.
“Mr. Carter was right: the rats had been at work. The outer part of the bundle was a coat — a cloth coat, knawed into tatters by the sharp teeth of water-rats.
“Inside the coat there was a waistcoat, a satin scarf that was little better than a pulp, and a shirt that had once been white. Inside the white shirt there was a flannel shirt, out of which there rolled half-a-dozen heavy stones. These had been used to sink the bundle, but were not so heavy as to prevent its drifting into the hole where it had been found.
“The bundle had been rolled up very tightly, and the outer garment was the only one which had been destroyed by the rats. The inner garment — the flannel shirt — was in a very tolerable state of preservation.
“The detective swept the coat and waistcoat and the pebbles back into the basket, and then rolled both of the shirts in a towel, and did his best to dry them. The constable watched him with open eyes, but with no ray of intelligence in his stolid face.
“‘Well,’ said Mr. Carter,’ there isn’t much here, is there? I don’t think I need detain you any longer. You’ll be wanting your tea, I dare say.’
“‘I did’nt think there would be much in them,’ the constable said, pointing contemptuously to the wet rags; his reverential awe of Scotland Yard had been considerably lessened during that long tiresome day. ‘I didn’t see your game from the first, and I don’t see it now. But you wanted the things found, and you’ve had ’em found.’
“Yes; and I’ve paid for the work being done,’ Mr. Carter answered briskly; ‘not but what I’m thankful to you for giving me your help, and I shall esteem it a favour if you’ll accept a trifle, to make up for your lost day. I’ve made a mistake, that’s all; the wisest of us are liable to be mistaken once in a way.’
“The constable grinned as he took the sovereign which Mr. Carter offered him. There was something like triumph in the grin of that Winchester constable — the triumph of a country official who was pleased to see a Londoner at fault.
“I confess that I groaned aloud when the door closed upon the man, and I found myself alone with the detective, who had seated himself at the little table, and was poring over one of the shirts outspread before him.
“‘All this day’s labour and weariness has been so much wasted trouble,’ I said; ‘for it seems to have brought us no step nearer to the point we wanted to reach.”
“‘Hasn’t it, Mr. Austin?” cried the detective, eagerly. ‘Do you think I am such a fool as to speak out before the man who has just left this room? Do you think I’m going to tell him my secret, or let him share my gains? The business of to-day has brought us to the very end we want to reach. It has brought about the discovery to which Margaret Wilmot’s letter was the first indication — the discovery pointed to by every word that man told us last night. Why did I want to find the clothes worn by the murdered man? Because I knew that those garments must contain a secret, or they never would have been stripped from the corpse. It ain’t often that a murderer cares to stop longer than he’s obliged by the side of his victim; and I knew all along that whoever stripped off those clothes must have had a very strong reason for doing it. I have worked this business out by my own lights, and I’ve been right. Look there, Mr. Austin.’
“He handed me the wet discoloured shirt, and pointed with his finger to one particular spot.
“There, amidst the stains of mud and moss, I saw something which was distinct and different from them. A name, neatly worked in dark crimson thread — a Christian and surname, in full.
“‘How do you make that out?’ Mr. Carter asked, looking We full in the face.
“Neither I nor any rational creature upon this earth able to read English characters could have well made out that name otherwise than I made it out.
“It was the name of Henry Dunbar.
“‘You see it all now, don’t you?’ said Mr. Carter; ‘that’s why the clothes were stripped off the body, and hidden at the bottom of the stream, where the water seemed deepest; that’s why the watch and chain changed hands; that’s why the man who came back to this house after the murder was slow to select the key of the desk. You understand now why it was so difficult for Margaret Wilmot to obtain access to the man at Maudesley Abbey; and why, when she had once seen that man, she tried to shield him from inquiry and pursuit. When she told you that Henry Dunbar was innocent of her father’s murder, she only told you the truth. The man who was murdered was Henry Dunbar; the man who murdered him was ——’
“I could hear no more. The blood surged up to my head, and I staggered back and dr............