The Stowmarket Mystery | Page 4

room to attend to the fire. Mr.
David Hume-Frazer was curled up in an arm-chair asleep, or rather
dozing, for he stirred a little when the man put some coal in the grate.
This was at 1 a.m. exactly.
"At 1.10 a.m. the butler thought he heard his master's voice coming
from the front of the house, and angrily protesting something.
Unfortunately he could not catch a single word. He imagined that the
'quarrel' spoken of by David had been renewed.
"He waited two minutes, not more, but hearing no further sounds, he
walked round to the library windows, thinking that perhaps he would
see Sir Alan in the room.
"To his dismay he found his young master stretched on the turf at the
side of the drive, thirty feet from the house. He rushed into the library,

where David was still asleep and moving uneasily--muttering, the man
thought:
"'Come quickly, sir,' he cried, 'I fear something has happened to Sir
Alan. He is lying on the ground outside the house, and I cannot arouse
him.'
"Then David Hume-Frazer sprang to his feet and shouted:
"'My God! It was not a dream. He is murdered!'
"Unquestionably--"
But the barrister's cold-blooded synopsis of a thrilling crime proved to
be too much for his hearer's nerves. Hume stood up. The man was a
born fighter. He could take, his punishment, but only on his feet.
Again he cried in anguish:
"No! It was no dream, but a foul murder. And they blame me!"
CHAPTER II
DAVID HUME'S STORY
Brett closed the book with a snap.
"What good purpose can it serve at this time to reopen the miserable
story?" he asked.
Curiously enough, Hume paid no heed to the question. His lips
quivered, his nostrils twitched, and his eyes shot strange gleams. He
caught the back of his chair with both hands in a grasp that tried to
squeeze the tough oak.
"What else have you written there?" he said, and Brett could not help
but admire his forced composure.
"Nothing of any material importance. You were arrested, after an

interval of some days, as the result of a coroner's warrant. You
explained that you had a vivid dream, in which you saw your cousin
stabbed by a stranger whom you did not know, whose face even you
never saw. Sir Alan was undoubtedly murdered. The dagger-like
attachment to your Japanese sword had been driven into his breast up to
the hilt, actually splitting his heart. To deliver such a blow, with such a
weapon, required uncommon strength and skill. I think I describe it
here as 'un-English.'"
Brett referred to his scrap-book. In spite of himself, he felt all his old
interest reawakening in this remarkable crime.
"Yes?" queried Hume.
The barrister, his lips pursed up and critical, surveyed his concluding
notes.
"You were tried at the ensuing Assizes, and the jury disagreed. Your
second trial resulted in an acquittal, though the public attitude towards
you was dubious. The judge, in summing up, said that the evidence
against you 'might be deemed insufficient.' In these words he conveyed
the popular opinion. I see I have noted here that Miss Margaret
Hume-Frazer was at a Covent Garden Fancy Dress Ball on the night of
the murder. But the tragic deaths of her father and brother had a marked
influence on the young lady. She, of course, succeeded to the estates,
and decided at once to live at Beechcroft. Does she still live there?"
"Yes. I am told she is distinguished for her charity and good works. She
is married."
"Ah! To whom?"
"To an Italian, named Giovanni Capella."
"His stage name?"
"No; he is really an Italian."

Brett's pleasantry was successful in its object. David Hume regained his
equanimity and sat down again. After a pause he went on:
"May I ask, Mr. Brett, before I tell you my part of the story, if you
formed any theories as to the occurrence at the time?"
The barrister consulted his memoranda. Something that met his eyes
caused him to smile.
"I see," he said, "that Mr. Winter, of Scotland Yard, was convinced of
your guilt. That is greatly in your favour."
"Why?"
Hume disdained the police, but Brett's remark evoked curiosity.
"Because Mr. Winter is a most excellent officer, whose intellect is
shackled by handcuffs. 'De l'audace!' says the Frenchman, as a specific
for human conduct. 'Lock 'em up,' says Mr. Winter, when he is
inquiring into a crime. Of course, he is right nine times out of ten; but if,
in the tenth case, intellect conflicts with handcuffs, the handcuffs win,
being stronger in his instance."
Hume was in no mood to appreciate the humours of Scotland Yard, so
the other continued:
"The most telling point against you was the fact that not only the