Agatha Webb | Page 5

there I cannot believe, or he would
not be sleeping here like a log. Come, let us go up-stairs."
Fenton, with an admonitory gesture toward his subordinate, turned
directly toward the staircase. Mr. Sutherland followed him, and they at
once proceeded to the upper hall and into the large front room which
had been the scene of the tragedy.
It was the parlour or sitting-room of this small and unpretentious house.
A rag carpet covered the floor and the furniture was of the plainest kind,
but the woman who lay outstretched on the stiff, old-fashioned lounge
opposite the door was far from being in accord with the homely type of
her surroundings. Though the victim of a violent death, her face and
form, both of a beauty seldom to be found among women of any station,
were so majestic in their calm repose, that Mr. Sutherland, accustomed
as he was to her noble appearance, experienced a shock of surprise that
found vent in these words:
"Murdered! she? You have made some mistake, my friends. Look at

her face!"
But even in the act of saying this his eyes fell on the blood which had
dyed her cotton dress and he cried:
"Where was she struck and where is the weapon which has made this
ghastly wound?"
"She was struck while standing or sitting at this table," returned the
constable, pointing to two or three drops of blood on its smooth surface.
"The weapon we have not found, but the wound shows that it was
inflicted by a three-sided dagger."
"A three-sided dagger?"
"Yes."
"I didn't know there was such a thing in town. Philemon could have had
no dagger."
"It does not seem so, but one can never tell. Simple cottages like these
often contain the most unlooked-for articles."
"I cannot imagine a dagger being among its effects," declared Mr.
Sutherland. "Where was the body of Mrs. Webb lying when you came
in?"
"Where you see it now. Nothing has been moved or changed."
"She was found here, on this lounge, in the same position in which we
see her now?"
"Yes, sir."
"But that is incredible. Look at the way she lies! Hands crossed, eyes
closed, as though made ready for her burial. Only loving hands could
have done this. What does it mean?"
"It means Philemon; that is what it means Philemon."

Mr. Sutherland shuddered, but said nothing. He was dumbfounded by
these evidences of a crazy man's work. Philemon Webb always seemed
so harmless, though he had been failing in mind for the last ten years.
"But" cried Mr. Sutherland, suddenly rousing, "there is another victim.
I saw old woman Batsy hanging from a window ledge, dead."
"Yes, she is in this other room; but there is no wound on Batsy."
"How was she killed, then?"
"That the doctors must tell us."
Mr. Sutherland, guided by Mr. Fenton's gesture, entered a small room
opening into the one in which they stood. His attention was at once
attracted by the body of the woman he had seen from below, lying half
in and half out of the open window. That she was dead was evident; but,
as Mr. Fenton had said, no wound was to be seen upon her, nor were
there any marks of blood on or about the place where she lay.
"This is a dreadful business," groaned Mr. Sutherland, "the worst I have
ever had anything to do with. Help me to lift the woman in; she has
been long enough a show for the people outside."
There was a bed in this room (indeed, it was Mrs. Webb's bedroom),
and upon this poor Batsy was laid. As the face came uppermost both
gentlemen started and looked at each other in amazement. The
expression of terror and alarm which it showed was in striking contrast
to the look of exaltation to be seen on the face of her dead mistress.

III
THE EMPTY DRAWER
As they re-entered the larger room, they were astonished to come upon
Miss Page standing in the doorway. She was gazing at the recumbent
figure of the dead woman, and for a moment seemed unconscious of

their presence.
"How did you get in? Which of my men was weak enough to let you
pass, against my express instructions?" asked the constable, who was of
an irritable and suspicious nature.
She let the hood drop from her head, and, turning, surveyed him with a
slow smile. There was witchery in that smile sufficient to affect a much
more cultivated and callous nature than his, and though he had been
proof against it once he could not quite resist the effect of its repetition.
"I insisted upon entering," said she. "Do not blame the men; they did
not want to use force against a woman."