“Mr. Charles’s compliments,” announced the gardener, “and he will be glad to see you two gentlemen in the library.”
CHAPTER XI.
With a Given Center, Mr. Bathurst Describes a Circle
Stewart met them at the French doors. “Inspector Goodall and Sergeant Clegg are here already. We shall have to postpone our visit to the Museum Room till later. Come in, will you?” Clegg and Goodall had already got to work.
“Nothing has been touched, sir,” said the former, “since I was first called in. Except for the removal of the dead man, the room is exactly as it was yesterday morning.”
“Good,” replied Goodall. “I’ve read all your notes on the case—the key was in the lock on the inside when the door was burst open, and the bolts of the French doors were securely shot. Darned peculiar!”
Stewart made as if to offer an explanation of something, but the Inspector checked him. “I’m fully acquainted with all the circumstances of the case, sir! I’ve read Sergeant Clegg’s notes thoroughly—not only those concerning the crime itself but also those dealing with the interviews he had with the various people when he was here—so you can write me down thoroughly au fait with the whole business.” Stewart bowed. Goodall took a tape measure from his pocket and walked to the chair where Laurence Stewart had been murdered. “Is this chair exactly in position?” he queried of the Sergeant. Clegg came and surveyed the situation gravely. Then announced his opinion.
“As near as makes no odds, Inspector.”
Goodall first of all measured from the chair to the library door and then from the chair to the French doors. He then examined the lock of the door and the bolts of the other two doors.
“H’m,” he said—then scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The Doctor’s report”—he drew a document from his breast-pocket and perused it for a moment or two—“states that your father was struck three times, Mr. Stewart. The first blow rendered him unconscious, in all probability, Doctor Gunner thinks, and the second and third finished him completely. Mr. Bathurst—you might help me in a little experiment. I’m going to try to reconstruct the crime.” He looked at Anthony and did not wait for his reply. “Sit here, will you, as Mr. Stewart sat. Now you’re Mr. Stewart and I’m the murderer.” He walked back to the French doors, which he opened, and then went outside, pulling them together. He then opened them noiselessly and tiptoed across the heavy pile carpet. He reached Bathurst and raised his hand as though to strike. “Did you hear me?” he asked.
“Not your steps—I heard you breathing—that was all—but of course I was aware that you were advancing on me. I can quite believe the murdered man was taken by surprise in that way and heard nothing.” He rose from the chair. “Congratulations, Inspector.”