

E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team



THE HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY

BY JOHN R. WATSON & ARTHUR J. REES

1916







TO ARTHUR BLACK IN MEMORY OF OLD TIMES




CHAPTER I


"Hallo! Is that Hampstead Police Station?"

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Detective-Inspector Chippenfield of Scotland Yard. Tell Inspector Seldon
I want him, and be quick about it."

"Yes, sir. Hang on, sir. I'll put you through to him at once."

Detective-Inspector Chippenfield, of Scotland Yard, waited with the
receiver held to his ear. While he waited he scrutinised keenly a sheet
of paper which lay on the desk in front of him. It was a flimsy,
faintly-ruled sheet from a cheap writing-pad, blotted and soiled, and
covered with sprawling letters which had been roughly printed at
irregular intervals as though to hide the identity of the writer. But the
letters formed words, and the words read:

SIR HORACE FEWBANKS WAS MURDERED LAST NIGHT

WHO DID IT I DONT KNOW SO IT IS NO USE TRYING TO FIND OUT WHO I AM YOU
WILL FIND HIS DEAD BODY IN THE LIBRARY AT RIVERSBROOK

HE WAS SHOT THOUGH THE HEART

"Hallo!"

"Is that you, Inspector Chippenfield?"

"Yes. That you, Seldon? Have you heard anything of a murder out
your way?"

"Can't say that I have. Have you?"

"Yes. We have information that Sir Horace Fewbanks has been
murdered--shot."

"Mr. Justice Fewbanks shot--murdered!" Inspector Seldon gave expression
to his surprise in a long low whistle which travelled through the
telephone. Then he added, after a moment's reflection, "There must be
some mistake. He is away."

"Away where?"

"In Scotland. He went there for the Twelfth--when the shooting
season opened."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Yes; he rang me up the day before he left to ask us to keep an eye on
his house while he was away."

There was a pause at the Scotland Yard end of the telephone. Inspector
Chippenfield was evidently thinking hard.

"We may have been hoaxed," he said at length. "But I have been ringing
up his house and can get no answer. You had better send up a couple of
men there at once--better still, go yourself. It is a matter which may
require tactful handling. Let me know, and I'll come out immediately if
there is anything wrong. Stay! How long will it take you to get up to
the house?"

"Not more than fifteen minutes--in a taxi."

"Well, I'll ring you up at the house in half an hour. Should our
information be correct see that everything is left exactly as you find it
till I arrive."

Inspector Seldon hung up the receiver of his telephone, bundled up the
papers scattered on his desk, closed it, and stepped out of his office
into the next room.

"Anyone about?" he hurriedly asked the sergeant who was making entries in
the charge-book.

"Yes, sir. I saw Flack here a moment ago."

"Get him at once and call a taxi. Scotland Yard's rung through to say
they've received a report that Sir Horace Fewbanks has been murdered."

"Murdered?" echoed the sergeant in a tone of keen interest. "Who told
Scotland Yard that?"

"I don't know. Who was on that beat last night?"

"Flack, sir. Was Sir Horace murdered in his own house? I thought he was
in Scotland."

"So did I, but he may have returned--ah, here's the taxi."

Inspector Seldon had been waiting on the steps for the appearance of a
cab from the rank round the corner in response to the shrill blast which
the sergeant had blown on his whistle. The sergeant went to the door of
the station leading into the yard and sharply called:

"Flack!"

In response a police-constable, without helmet or tunic, came running up
the steps from the basement, which was used as a gymnasium.

"Seldon wants you. Get on your tunic as quick as you can. He is in a
devil of a hurry."

Inspector Seldon was seated in the taxi-cab when Flack appeared. He had
been impatiently drumming his fingers on the door of the cab.

"Jump in, man," he said angrily. "What has kept you all this time?"

Flack breathed stertorously to show that he had been running and was out
of breath, but he made no reply to the official rebuke. Inspector Seldon
turned to him and remarked severely:

"Why didn't you let me know that Sir Horace Fewbanks had returned from
Scotland?"

Flack looked