The point that the door had been locked from the outside puzzled me considerably. But a fresh suggestion arose within me—namely, that after every one had retired, a servant, remembering that the window was open and the door unlocked, had gone down and seen to them. Yet she would in that case have found her master in the room, with the light still burning. No: the only explanation was that the key had been turned by one of the servants while passing along the corridor after her master’s return there, and while on her way to bed.
Yet, however one viewed the tragic affair, it was full of most remarkable features. There was mystery—a great and inexplicable mystery—somewhere.
And that mystery I now intended, at all hazards, to solve.
With that object in view, I interviewed the housemaid who found the body of her young master, and listened to her story from her own lips. Probably the whole household considered me to be highly inquisitive; nevertheless, I pointed out to them the earnest necessity of clearing up the matter to everybody’s satisfaction, and both to the housekeeper, a witty woman, and to the other servants, I declared that the facts were full of grave suspicion.
The inspector of County Constabulary was not highly intelligent, and as soon as the medical men had given their opinion he ceased to take any further professional interest in the affair. It was a sudden death, and with such occurrences the police have only to attend the inquest and formally report.
The officer was, I think, rather piqued at the persistency of my inquiries, for when I pointed out to him the suspicious circumstance of the locked door, he point-blank told me that the medical declaration was quite sufficient for him.
The girl, Kate Hayes, who discovered her master—a dark-haired, good-looking maid, about twenty-six—had been eight years at Titmarsh Court. It was Mr Guy’s habit always to read his paper before going to bed, she told me, as we stood in the long servants’ hall.
“I often find the library door unlocked before I go to my room, sir, and the night before last it was unlocked.”
“Did you lock it?” I asked quickly.
“No, sir. I once locked Mr Guy in, so I always look inside now, before securing it,” she replied. “I looked inside, and found Mr Guy there. He was then taking a book down from one of the shelves near the window. I apologised for intruding, and wished him good-night. ‘Good-night, Hayes,’ he replied, and I closed the door and left him. I heard nothing in the night. But when I went to the library door next morning I found it locked. I recollect it was locked, because at first the key would not turn. At last I succeeded in opening the door, when the first sight that met my eyes in the faint grey light through the chinks of the shutters was poor Mr Guy lying crouched up, his knees nearly touching his chin and quite dead.”