The Crooked House | Page 9

everything into a smashed heap on the floor. So overwhelming was his violence that no one dared attempt to stop him. He dashed the lights to the ground, and rent the flags with appalling ferocity. In a few moments a shattered pile was all that remained of the medley of illumination. He stood on the pile and ground his heels into it.
Then all the energy was snuffed out of him like the switching off of an electric current. The dull heavy cloud descended on him again. He stared vacantly at the others, shrugged his shoulders slightly, and turned his back on them.
The silence remained unbroken until a loud ringing at the front door bell announced the arrival of the police.
CHAPTER V
COPPLESTONE
Detective-Inspector Fay was an able and successful officer, of international reputation, whose achievements had placed a substantial price on his head in most countries sufficiently civilized to possess their criminal organizations. His bag had included many famous law-breakers, and, though now employed in less strenuous directions, he was admitted to be one of the most skilful and reliable of Scotland Yard's unravelers of mystery. But, experienced as he was, the inspector could not suppress his horror and indignation when the mutilated body of Christine Manderson was uncovered to him.
"What, in God's name, was there in this garden to-night?" he demanded, shuddering.
"A madman," the theatrical manager muttered.
The inspector's glance rested on him for an instant, but passed on. He made no further remarks during his examination--but when, concluding it, he carefully replaced the covering and turned again to the others, there was a concentrated gleam in his eyes and a certain set to his face that were known to bode ill to the perpetrators of the deeds that inspired them.
"There can scarcely be a whole bone in her body," he declared, regarding them all intently. "Her face is smashed to pulp; some of the hair has been wrenched from her head; and even the bones of her fingers are broken. It is the most brutal and disgusting crime I have had the misfortune to meet with in the whole of my thirty years experience."
He gave a brief order to an attendant constable, who moved to the door.
"If you will kindly retire with the constable to the next room," he requested, "I will take a separate account from every one. Perhaps Mr. Copplestone will give me his information first."
The constable marshalled them into an adjoining room, which the danseuse filled with complaints at this prolonged detention. Copplestone remained behind. His dullness and immobility had increased almost to a stupor.
"She was engaged to marry me," he said, in a slow lifeless tone, "since yesterday."
Inspector Fay seated himself at a table, and opened his note-book.
"We fully sympathize with you, Mr. Copplestone," he said quietly, "and I am afraid it is poor consolation to promise you that justice shall be done on the inhuman criminal, whoever it may be."
"Justice?" Copplestone returned, in the same weary, monotonous voice. "Of what use is Justice? Can it call her back--or mend her broken body?"
"Unfortunately, it cannot," the inspector admitted. "But it is all humanity can do. Will you answer a few questions, as clearly and briefly as possible? The great thing in a case like this is to lose no time at the beginning."
Copplestone sat down, and passed an unsteady hand across his forehead.
"Go on," he said dully.
"Where and when did you first meet Miss Manderson?"
"She came over from New York two months ago, to play in a new piece at the Imperial. I have an interest in the theater, and saw her there for the first time about a week after her arrival."
"Do you know anything of her life and associations in America?"
"Very little. She was not communicative. She only told me a few of her theatrical experiences."
"So far as you know," the inspector proceeded, "had she an enemy in this country--or was there any one who could have wished to harm her?"
"Apparently there was," Copplestone returned. "I did not know it until to-night."
Mechanically, in the manner of one repeating a lesson, he described the visit of the young millionaire, and his threat against Christine Manderson.
"And the name of this young man?" the inspector asked, bending over his note-book.
"James Layton."
Inspector Fay looked up sharply.
"Layton? The man they call the Mad Philanthropist?"
"I don't know," Copplestone replied wearily. "He may be."
"James Layton is very well known to us," the inspector said slowly. "He is a charitable fanatic, who does more good in the East End than all the Royally Patronized Associations put together. But how in the world did he come to know Miss Manderson?"
"She never mentioned him to me," Copplestone stated. "I had not heard of him until he burst into this house to-night."
The inspector made several notes.
"He has educated and trained as his assistant a particularly wild