寓所谜案29

Twenty-eight

I hurried down the village street. It was eleven o’clock, and at eleveno’clock on a Sunday night the whole village of St. Mary Mead might bedead. I saw, however, a light in a first floor window as I passed, and, real-izing that Hawes was still up, I stopped and rang the doorbell.

After what seemed a long time, Hawes’s landlady, Mrs. Sadler, labori-ously unfastened two bolts, a chain, and turned a key and peered out atme suspiciously.

“Why, it’s Vicar!” she exclaimed.

“Good evening,” I said. “I want to see Mr. Hawes. I see there’s a light inthe window, so he’s up still.”

“That may be. I’ve not seen him since I took up his supper. He’s had aquiet evening—no one to see him, and he’s not been out.”

I nodded, and passing her, went quickly up the stairs. Hawes has a bed-room and sitting room on the first floor.

I passed into the latter. Hawes was lying back in a long chair asleep. Myentrance did not wake him. An empty cachet box and a glass of water, halffull, stood beside him.

On the floor, by his left foot, was a crumpled sheet of paper with writingon it. I picked it up and straightened it out.

It began: “My dear Clement—”

I read it through, uttered an exclamation and shoved it into my pocket.

Then I bent over Hawes and studied him attentively.

Next, reaching for the telephone which stood by his elbow, I gave thenumber of the Vicarage. Melchett must have been still trying to trace thecall, for I was told that the number was engaged. Asking them to call me, Iput the instrument down again.

I put my hand into my pocket to look at the paper I had picked up oncemore. With it, I drew out the note that I had found in the letter box andwhich was still unopened.

Its appearance was horribly familiar. It was the same handwriting asthe anonymous letter that had come that afternoon.

I tore it open.

I read it once—twice—unable to realize its contents.

I was beginning to read it a third time when the telephone rang. Like aman in a dream I picked up the receiver and spoke.

“Hallo?”

“Hallo.”

“Is that you, Melchett?”

“Yes, where are you? I’ve traced that call. The number is—”

“I know the number.”

“Oh, good! Is that where you are speaking from?”

“Yes.”

“What about that confession?”

“I’ve got the confession all right.”

“You mean you’ve got the murderer?”

I had then the strongest temptation of my life. I looked at the anonym-ous scrawl. I looked at the empty cachet box with the name of Cherubimon it. I remembered a certain casual conversation.

I made an immense effort.

“I—don’t know,” I said. “You’d better come round.”

And I gave him the address.

Then I sat down in the chair opposite Hawes to think.

I had two clear minutes to do so.

In two minutes’ time, Melchett would have arrived.

I took up the anonymous letter and read it through again for the thirdtime.

Then I closed my eyes and thought….

 

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