CHAPTER V
THE EVIDENCE OF THE CIGARETTE-END
I suppose I have my fair share of self-confidence, but there have been occasions when I have felt intuitively that the only chance of success was to have Quarles with me from the beginning. The Kew mystery was a case in point.
It was half-past nine when the telephone bell rang. At first the inspector on duty at the station could only hear a buzzing sound, followed by a murmur of voices, which might have come from the exchange; then came the single word, "Police!" As soon as he had answered in the affirmative the message came in quick gasps in a woman's voice:
"Hambledon Road—fourteen—come—it's murder! Quick, I'm being——"
There was a faint cry, as though the woman had been suddenly dragged from the instrument.
The inspector at once sent off a constable, who, with Constable Baker, the man on the Hambledon Road beat at the time, went to No. 14. Their knock was not answered very promptly. A servant came to the door, still fidgeting with her cap and apron, as though she had put them on hastily, and she gave a start when she saw the policeman. She said her mistress—a Mrs. Fitzroy—was at home, but she seemed a little reluctant to let the officers walk into the dining-room without a preliminary announcement, which was only natural, perhaps. They entered to find the room empty. Mrs. Fitzroy was not in the house. The servant knew nothing about the telephone call. She said it was her night out, that she had come in by the back door, as usual, and was upstairs taking off her hat and jacket when the policeman knocked.
This was the outline of the mystery which I gave to Christopher Quarles as we walked from Kew Gardens Railway Station to Hambledon Road. The investigation had only been placed in my hands that morning, and I knew no details myself.
"Shall we find Constable Baker at the house?" he asked presently.
"Yes; I have arranged that," I answered.