The Hampstead Mystery | Page 2

that he had been running and was
out of breath, but he made no reply to the official rebuke. Inspector

Seldon turned to him and remarked severely:
"Why didn't you let me know that Sir Horace Fewbanks had returned
from Scotland?"
Flack looked astonished.
"But he hasn't returned, sir," he said. "He's away for a month at least,"
he ventured to add.
"Who told you that?"
"The housemaid at Riversbrook--before he went away."
"H'm." The inspector's next question contained a moral rebuke rather
than an official one. "You're a married man, Flack?"
"Yes, sir."
"So the housemaid told you he was going away for a month. Well, she
ought to know. When did she tell you?"
"A week ago yesterday, sir. She told me that all the servants except the
butler were going down to Dellmere the next day--that is Sir Horace's
country place--and that Sir Horace was going to Scotland for the
shooting and would put in some weeks at Dellmere after the shooting
season was over."
"And are you sure he hasn't returned?"
"Quite, sir. I saw Hill, the butler, only yesterday morning, and he told
me that his master was sure to be in Scotland for at least a month
longer."
"It's very strange," muttered the inspector, half to himself. "It will be a
deuced awkward situation to face if Scotland Yard has been hoaxed."
"Beg your pardon, sir, but is there anything wrong about Sir Horace?"

"Yes. Scotland Yard has received a report that he has been murdered."
Flack's surprise was so great that it lifted the lid of official humility
which habitually covered his natural feelings.
"Murdered!" he exclaimed. "Sir Horace Fewbanks murdered? You
don't say so!"
"But I do say so. I've just said so," retorted Inspector Seldon irritably.
He was angry at the fact that the information, whether true or false, had
gone direct to Scotland Yard instead of reaching him first.
"When was he murdered, sir?" asked Flack.
"Last night--when you were on that beat."
Flack paled at this remark.
"Last night, sir?" he cried.
"Don't repeat my words like a parrot," ejaculated the inspector
peevishly. "Didn't you notice anything suspicious when you were along
there?"
"No, sir. Was he murdered in his own house?"
"His dead body is supposed to be lying there now in the library," said
Inspector Seldon. "How Scotland Yard got wind of it is more than I
know. We ought to have heard of it before them. How many times did
you go along there last night?"
"Twice, sir. About eleven o'clock, and then about three."
"And there was nothing suspicious--you saw no one?"
"I saw Mr. Roberts and his lady coming home from the theatre. But he
lives at the other end of Tanton Gardens. And I saw the housemaid at
Mr. Fielding's come out to the pillar-box. That was a few minutes after
eleven. I didn't see anybody at all the second time."

"Nobody at the judge's place--no taxi, or anything like that?"
"No, sir."
The taxi-cab turned swiftly into the shady avenue of Tanton Gardens,
where Sir Horace Fewbanks lived, and in a few moments pulled up
outside of Riversbrook. The house stood a long way back from the road
in its own grounds. Inspector Seldon and Flack passed rapidly through
the grounds and reached the front door of the mansion. There was
nobody about; the place seemed deserted, and the blinds were down on
the ground-floor windows. Inspector Seldon knocked loudly at the front
door with the big, old-fashioned brass knocker, and rang the bell. He
listened intently for a response, but no sound followed except the sharp
note of the electric bell as Flack rang it again while Inspector Seldon
bent down with his ear at the keyhole. Then the inspector stepped back
and regarded the house keenly for a moment or two.
"Put your finger on that bell and keep on ringing it, Flack," he said
suddenly. "I see that some of the blinds are down, but there's one on the
first floor which is partly up. It looks as though the house had been shut
up and somebody had come back unexpectedly."
"Perhaps it's Hill, the butler," said Flack.
"If he's inside he ought to answer the bell. But keep on ringing while I
knock again."
The heavy brass knocker again reverberated on the thick oak door, and
Inspector Seldon placed his ear against the keyhole to ascertain if any
sound was to be heard.
"Take your finger off that bell, Flack," he commanded. "I cannot hear
whether anybody is coming or not." He remained in a listening attitude
for half a minute and then plied the knocker again. Again he listened
for footsteps within the house. "Ring again, Flack. Keep on ringing
while I go round the house to see if there