"I’ve told you that once upon a time I played some parts in an amateur dramatic show. I was really not bad. And it struck me, after I’d seen you once or twice, Sir Clinton, that I could make myself up into a very fair copy of you. We’re about the same height to start with. I wouldn’t have risked it with anyone who knew both of us; but I’d learned that Avice Deepcar was out of town, and I thought I could manage to take in her maid easily enough.
"So I raided her place, posing as Sir Clinton Driffield—I’d had some notion of the sort in my mind for a while and had cards printed in London all ready: one of these print-’em-while-you-wait places which left no traces behind in the way of an address or an account. In my raid, I got a valuable document."
"It was a clever enough fake, Dr. Markfield," Sir Clinton said reflectively. "But you left one or two things in it that we took hold of easily enough. By the way, I suppose you simply traced Mrs. Silverdale’s writing from some old letters when you put the faked address on the code advertisements you sent to the newspapers?"
Markfield nodded.
"You don’t seem to have missed much," he admitted.
He rose slowly to his feet and put down his pipe.
"I think that’s the whole story," he said indifferently. "If you’ve got it all down now, Inspector, I’ll sign it and initial it for you. Then I suppose it’ll be a case of ringing up the Black Maria or something like that."
He glanced at Sir Clinton.
"You wouldn’t care to tell me how you worried the thing out, I suppose?"
"No," said the Chief Constable bluntly. "I don’t feel inclined to."
Markfield made a gesture as though regretting this decision. He drew his fountain pen from his pocket, unscrewed the cap deliberately, and moved round the table towards the sheets of paper which the Inspector had spread out for signature. A thought seemed to occur to him as he did so, and he bent forward to the apparatus on the tray. His manner was so unconcerned and the gesture so natural that neither Sir Clinton nor the Inspector thought of interfering before it was too late. Markfield put his hand on the tap of the funnel, and as he did so, his face lighted up with malicious glee.
"Now!" he exclaimed.
He turned the tap, and on the instant the whole house shook under a terrific detonation.
. . . The following things seem suggestive, (1) The break-up of the Silverdale ménage, with Silverdale turning to Avice Deepcar whilst Mrs. Silverdale lets Hassendean frequent her openly. (2) Hassendean’s interference with the usual routine of coffee serving after dinner at Heatherfield. (3) The "dazed" appearance of Mrs. Silverdale when she left the house after coffee. (4) The fact that the two shots which wounded Hassendean at close quarters were not fired in Ivy Lodge. (This exonerates Dr. Ringwood, who might otherwise have come under suspicion). (5) The disappearance of Mrs. Silverdale, who was last seen in Hassendean’s company. (6) The words: "Caught me . . . Thought it was all right. . . . Never guessed," which Hassendean uttered before he died. (7) The murder of the maid at Heatherfield, which was clearly done by someone she knew well or she would not have admitted him at that time of night. (8) The ransacking of one particular drawer in Mrs. Silverdale’s bedroom, suggesting that the murderer had full knowledge of her private affairs. (9) The envelope fragment with the date-stamp 1925, which might indicate that the drawer had held letters compromising to the murderer. (10) The old dance programmes on which asterisks stood for the name of some partner, who must have been intimate with her at that period.
The affair can hardly have been the usual social-triangle tragedy: Silverdale surprising his wife with Hassendean. This hypothesis fails to account for (a) the dazed appearance of Mrs. Silverdale, which suggests drugging; (b) the murder and burglary at Heatherfield, Silverdale’s own house in which he could come and go freely without resorting to such extremes; and (c) The expression "Caught me . . ." in Hassendean’s last words, since "Caught us . . ." would have been the natural phrase in the case of the triangle-drama.
Curious that Dr. Markfield should pilot Ringwood right across the town and then drop him at the end of the avenue instead of going a hundred yards or so further, to the very gate of the house. Worth keeping in mind that Dr. Markfield knew Mrs. Silverdale well at one time, though he cooled off later (Ringwood’s evidence). Compare the old dance-programmes?
