“Portham itself is a tiny fishing village, and the nearest station is Portham Junction, about two miles off. In the last few years there has grown up a bungalow town, about five miles to the west along the coast. This has been called Portham-on-Sea. Between these two is a wooded headland, and in these woods is situated Reckavile Castle. You will be able to see all this on the spot.
“Now for the crime. On January 14th last, Reckavile returned from one of his periodical journeys abroad. There is no one living at the castle except an old servant, Giles, and his wife, and most of it is permanently shut up. The whole place has run to seed, and there is only a track to the lodge where a gamekeeper of sorts, named Stevens, lives alone.
“On 20th January, at about 7 p. m. the village constable, John Brown, called to see Lord Reckavile about some alleged poachers, who had been hanging about the woods. He thought them poachers at the time, but in view of what has occurred, they may have had more sinister intentions. I suppose Giles and Brown stopped gossiping, and probably drinking the Reckavile beer, and then the servant went to tell his master.
“You must follow this carefully now. He came running back to Brown, saying he could get no answer, and that something was wrong as he heard sounds of quarrelling, though he had admitted no one to the house. He was white and trembling, and very agitated. He almost dragged the constable along, and when they reached the library door, they could distinctly hear two people talking. There were two doors, an outer one of oak, and an inner one of green baize. The constable has been thoroughly examined, though he is not very intelligent, I am afraid. He says they distinctly heard Reckavile say ‘Never, never, only over my dead body!’ The other replied ‘I only want justice and my right.’ They seemed to be angry. There was a confused noise, a sound of a blow, a horrible cry, and then silence.
“They waited a moment and knocked, but there was no answer; there was a heavy oak chair in the hall, and with this they battered down the door. The room was in a state of wild confusion—I use the constable’s words—the furniture overturned, and splashes of blood on the floor and chairs.
“Lord Reckavile was lying across the sofa, face downwards, and an ugly knife was sticking in his ribs. The room was empty, and Brown stayed there while Giles went for help. There is no doctor nearer than five miles off, so the gamekeeper rode off to the village to telephone for the doctor and the police at Ashstead, the nearest town.
“Outside the house, Giles met a certain Mr. Sefton, who was out for a walk. While he was not a qualified doctor, I believe he was a medical student, and Giles thought he might be of some service, so brought him in. He was able to pronounce the man dead—without a doubt.
“That is all. Here are the papers containing the account of the inquest, and of our confidential examinations. The best thing for you to do is to get on to the spot.”
Fletcher had produced a large pocket book, and taken notes. He now turned to them and read them through.
“May I ask a question or two, sir?” he said.