A mysterious theft and a supposedly haunted house.

The Ghost of Berringdon Hall
October, 1857
"Morning Sir Arthur!" bellowed the doorman of the Tannerbridge Savoy.
"For goodness sake don't screech Simms!" roared Sir Arthur in turn.
Sir Arthur Truscott-Smith, late of Her Majesty's Royal Navy, was a stout, balding man of middle years who made up for his lack of height with a voice that trembled the very mountains.
The Savoy was the principle hotel in the city. Its ornate façade had been rebuilt and repainted countless times throughout the half-century it had stood in almost the exact centre of town. Inside, uniformed porters went to and fro in a business-like rush. The carpets were red throughout the entire building. Ornate light fittings hung from every wall so that, no matter what the time of day, the rooms were bathed in an almost dazzling glare. In each of the ground floor rooms, baskets of flowers had been arranged by the maids to provide the well-to-do patrons a relief from the stench of the lower classes.
Marching purposefully, as he always did, towards his usual table in the lounge of the hotel, Sir Arthur, resplendent in a tweed suit cut in the latest fashion, took out from his brief-case an immaculate copy of the early morning edition of the Tannerbridge Times and carefully opened it at page six. Giving a swift snort as he read of the latest machinations of various world governments, Sir Arthur looked up briefly to see that Walter Davis was bearing down on him in a manner that hinted of some great urgency; for Walter was never one to rush about anywhere unless dire need was upon him.
"Well, my dear Walter," boomed Sir Arthur, "Don't tell me there's some trouble brewing in Whitehall, what?"
Walter slumped heavily into a seat opposite Sir Arthur and ordered a double scotch from the nearest waiter, telling him that any other clients would have to wait if the man wished to continue in his current profession.
His scotch having arrived, Walter downed it faster than appeared humanly possible.
"By god, Arthur!" wheezed the owner of one of the most splendid estates north of the capital, "I feel as if the weight of the very world, mark you, the very world is upon my shoulders."
Sir Arthur placed a friendly hand on Walter's shoulder and leaned over slightly, taking care not to crumple his newspaper, "Now my boy," he drawled, lowering his voice to a less overwhelming tone, "You tell me what's bothering you and we'll see if we can't find a solution."
Walter ordered another scotch and relaxed, the first apparently having some effect already. He leaned closer and spoke in a conspiratorial tone.
"Well, Arthur, you remember that the new wing of Berringdon Hall was completed last week?" Sir Arthur nodded, recalling Walter's sudden announcement that he and his wife would be holding an extravagant dinner party to commemorate the auspicious occasion.
"I'm afraid that I may have to call the whole wretched thing off," wailed the poor man, his head buried in his trembling hands, all attempts at secrecy blown away in seconds.
"My poor, dear friend," gasped Sir Arthur, "But what ever can have happened; why this sudden change of heart my dear fellow?"
Walter looked up ever so slightly to see if anyone was within ear-shot then leaned forward conspiratorially, "The damnable kitchen staff have gone on strike; they say they can't work in such a house as mine."
Flabbergasted by the remark, Sir Arthur motioned Walter to continue, "They say that, unless we get some extra help in for this dinner party we're planning, they'll never be able to get everything ready on time." He went back to holding his head in his hands, "What on earth shall I do? I shall be the laughing stock of Tannerbridge!"
Sir Arthur placed a firm hand on the man's arm and looked him hard in the eyes, "My dear fellow, I shall send you some of my own kitchen staff, lord knows I don't need all of them every night, though," he patted his protruding waistline, "I shall miss their combined efforts over the next week until your little do is over and done with."
Walter managed a weak smile before hurriedly downing his second scotch and then beating a hasty retreat, insisting that he had a luncheon engagement and couldn't possibly be late or he'd be ‘for it.'
The following Wednesday, all of Tannerbridge's social elite had been gathered at Berringdon Hall for Walter and Mrs Davis' dinner party. At eight, dinner had been disposed of with the exception of the port and cigars and the women politely withdrew to leave the men to talk of their latest conquests in the world of finance and power.
A small fire crackled merrily in the fireplace as the gentlemen talked amongst themselves, congratulating each other on their varied triumphs and commenting sympathetically on the few failures that some dared to recount. The servants did their best to clear away the detritus of the final course whilst keeping out of the way of the imperious giants of the social world.
"By George!" chortled Lord Cuthbert Snellings, "I do believe that this evening has certainly been one of the best I've had for as long as I care to remember!"
Several gentlemen nodded their approval amongst cries of ‘Hear! Hear!'
Walter beamed at the compliments paid whilst failing to pretend he had never had any doubts as to the evening's success.
Suddenly there was a piercing shriek from the direction of the drawing room and the gathered gentlemen rushed as one towards the double doors at one end of the dining room. Sir Arthur reached them first, despite his stature, and flung them wide open. The women were gathered in one corner next to the grand piano whilst two of the footmen faced the opposite doors with iron pokers held like rapiers. The atmosphere of the room was decidedly smoky. Sir Arthur would have thought nothing of this, except that there was no fire lit and none of the women were smokers. The lamps on the walls seemed to flicker in some draft of air.
"What in thunder is this!" demanded Walter, "Perkins! Stamford! Drop those preposterous things at once!" the two men did so, though they kept one eye each on the closed doors as if expecting them to spring open as soon as their backs were turned.
Walter strode menacingly towards them, his anger still smouldering, "I want an explanation or you'll both be thrown out into the damned gutter!" He quickly apologised to the women for his language before turning once more on Perkins and Stamford.
It was the former who stammered out his account of the events after the women had withdrawn from the dining room.
"Well, s-sir, we had begun to light a fire so as their ladyships would not catch cold, there being a fearful draft from the chimney sir." Stamford nodded his approval of the story so far.
"We, that is Stamford and myself, were about to leave their ladyships to themselves when one of them screams horribly. I turned round and saw a woman coming through the curtains, all dressed in white. Deathly pale, she looked, and shimmering."
Stamford jumped in, "Me an' Perkins grabbed those pokers by the fireplace and started trying to drive this woman into a corner so we can grab her and bring her to you, sir, but she went through the doors and vanished!"
Whilst the other gentlemen muttered amongst themselves or went to comfort a few of the more hysterical women, Walter harrumphed in disbelief,
"Don't be a pair of utter fools!" he remonstrated; "You mean the door was opened and you lost sight of her when she left the room! And as for the shimmering, I believe you are embellishing your accounts." He turned to his fellows in triumph when the butler, Gibson, raced into the drawing room and cried for Walter's attention.
"Well, out with it man!" his already furious master demanded,
"Sir, it's the gardener, in the great hall!"
Without further ado, Gibson beckoned for the congregation to follow him through into the L-shaped great hall over on the other side of the house. Only two of the lamps had been lit, though when turned up as far as possible, the gentlemen were witnesses of a ghastly sight. Stretched out on the polished floorboards lay the gardener, his eyes wide open, his face contorted into a look of sheer terror. A pair of hedge-trimmers had fallen next to his right arm, leaving a slight wound from which trickled a few drops of blood.
"Ye gods!" exclaimed Walter, "The deuced swords gone!"
Several of the men looked at each other hoping someone might explain. When no answer was forthcoming, Sir Arthur asked "What sword, Walter?"
"My sword!" he repeated as though anyone should know what he meant, "My cavalry sword from when I served under Lord Wellington." Sir Arthur gave a nod of understanding as did others. Walter had been among the few cavalrymen lucky enough to survive the first fatal charge of the Scots Greys at Waterloo, having been chased by a French lancer almost all the way back to the Anglo-Dutch lines.
Sir Arthur looked above the mantelpiece and saw the empty shelf on which the sword had been placed as a centre piece amongst the many paintings of family members and such like.
His fury of the last few minutes dissipated completely, Walter leaned heavily against the cool marble of the fireplace whilst Sir Arthur and Lord Snellings politely, but firmly, led the company back to the drawing room. Sir Arthur returned to find his old friend sitting dejectedly on a window seat looking out onto the lawn. Gibson had lit the rest of the lamps at his master's request and then departed in that rapid, but silent way that all butlers seem to possess.
"Walter?" Sir Arthur shook the poor man's arm gently, "You need to send for the police,"
"What? Oh, yes, the police," Walter struggled weakly to his feet and, supported by Sir Arthur, went to send Perkins out to the police station, he being the only servant who did not reside in the house itself and so possessed a bicycle.
In the mean time, Walter sat in a leather chair in the drawing room whilst the other gentlemen tried to offer advice and condolences. The women had been escorted to another part of the house by Mrs Davies and two of the maids.
A warm blaze flickered over the faces of the assembly whilst Walter listened with half an ear to the many words of advise and condolence.
"If I were you," said Lord Snellings, "I would not let this news reach the public ear,"
"Why on earth should it matter if the public hear of it or not?" asked Humphrey Allington, a little-known businessman who had been invited merely to swell the numbers, though he was known to only a few present.
"Because it could damage our mutual friend's public and political standing if it were to become common knowledge that he had been the victim of such a felony," continued his lordship.
"I see no reason why it should," replied Allington, "It might bring some unwanted attention in the form of curiosity seekers, but I doubt it should have any permanent effects."
Suddenly, Sir Arthur, who had been sitting patiently in a corner deep in thought, leapt up with a cry of "Eureka!" and then hurriedly excused himself. He grabbed his hat, coat and gloves from by the front door and shouted for his driver to bring his carriage round. All the carriage drivers had been left sitting on their seats should they be called upon to act quickly, despite the chilly autumn weather. No sooner had his booming voice roared like a whirlwind across the drive than Sir Arthur was in his carriage tearing down the drive towards the nearest post office, there being only three in Tannerbridge.
Once there, Sir Arthur hastily arranged for a telegram to be sent immediately to the seaside town of Bridewell before returning post haste to the Hall.
It is at this point that Mr Mordecai Andrews became involved in the case of the robbery at Berringdon Hall. Stepping lightly from the train, dressed in a bright yellow waistcoat, white shirt and black trousers, he paused only to check the time by his watch and then accosted the first porter he laid eyes on.
"May I ask, my good man, where I may hail a coach to take me to Berringdon Hall?"
"No need to worry about that, I'll call you one myself."
True to his word, the porter had a brougham standing outside the station. Andrews thanked the porter then turned to the driver and gave him the address with the promise of five shillings if he was there in good time. As the carriage rumbled off up along Doyle Lane, running alongside the river, through the city, Andrews settled into his seat and fished a well-thumbed copy of The Letters of Private Wheeler from his pocket and continued reading from where he had left off. He ignored the sights, sound and smells of Tannerbridge. He was a man who, though he lived by the sea, was used to all manner of environs throughout many countries of the world. He was oblivious to the other vehicles on the roads; he never noticed the merchants with their gaudily-coloured stalls; the cries of men and women fell unheeded on his deaf ears.
With a clatter of hooves and a soft "Whoa!" from the driver, the carriage pulled up outside Berringdon Hall. Andrews, finally disturbed by the lack of motion, alighted and, as good as his word, gave the coachman his five shillings. Before announcing his arrival to the household, Andrews took a moment to scan the building before him.
It was a typical example of the architecture of the previous century except on one side where a new wing had been added only recently. The two original wings were set at right-angles to the main entrance so that the house was an almost perfect square. One side, however, housed a double portico supported by Corinthian columns and decorated by a frieze portraying some great event from antiquity. Walking lightly up the flight of three-dozen steps, Andrews passed under the portico and out the other side. He made his way swiftly to the door, suddenly eager to begin his investigation. The tinkling of the bell was followed a few moments later by Gibson opening the door and enquiring after the name and business of the caller. Andrews was led into the library where he was greeted warmly by Sir Arthur and introduced to Walter. Sir Arthur rose instantly to greet his friend and to introduce him to Walter.
"I shall need to begin with the great hall itself and from there, proceed with questioning all who were here that night," announced Andrews even before Walter could so much as offer his hand. Whipping out a notebook and pencil from his pocket, Andrews indicated the opposite door, "Through here, is it?"
Walter spluttered at this breach of etiquette, but Sir Arthur smiled,
"You'll have to forgive Mr Andrews, Walter," he said, "But he is the perfect man for the job. Just bare with him and you'll see it will all be a relatively painless procedure; except, of course, for the felon who committed the crime."
The tall windows of the great hall offered a grand vista of the city with the cathedral and the castle the more prominent features. The sky was clear and the sun shone through, providing more than enough light to work by. Andrews immediately set to his business examining every nook and cranny, even getting on his hands and knees to pear under the furniture. He took a glass from his waistcoat pocket and carefully looked over the empty space where the sword had been hung on a rack made of stout oak. He ran his finger along the base of the rack and then dropped a few particles of what looked like dust into his open handkerchief.
He then proceeded to prod with his pencil the floorboards under every piece of furniture.
"What on earth are you up to?" asked Walter incredulously,
"Please, Mr Davis," implored Andrews, "If you could at least allow some degree of peace and quiet then I shall be able to help to the utmost of my ability." Whilst he reprimanded his astounded client, Andrews' voice maintained a tone of complete calm.
He resumed his extraordinary activities whilst making odd notes in his notebook. Announcing with a certain amount of satisfaction that he had seen all he required in the great hall, Andrews moved into the drawing room and inspected first the fireplace and then the French windows opening onto a small veranda overlooking the River Tanner.
"Has this building ever fallen victim to fire?" asked Andrews indicating a small patch of ash and a black stain against the exterior wall to the left of the windows.
Walter leaned over for a better look, "Definitely not while I've lived here," he said with an air of certainty, "Though I bought the place from a Frenchman who told me very little of the house's history before he went back to France and later died."
"Well, this is certainly very recent," said Andrews examining the stain with his glass. After a moment or two, he stood and turned to address Walter, "I would like to meet the others who were guests the night of the robbery, how soon can that be arranged?"
Sir Arthur answered before Walter could open his mouth, giving the other a stern look that brooked no argument, "I'm sure we can manage it for the day after tomorrow, though I cannot promise that all will attend,"
Andrews raised an eyebrow, "All must attend; otherwise the one piece of information needed to close the case may slip through our fingers."
At that moment, Gibson arrived to announce that lunch was ready in the dining room and that Mrs Davis would not be joining them as she had been called to visit a friend in the capital. During the meal, Walter was questioned thoroughly by Andrews on every matter concerning the night in question and of the sword itself.
"It is not much more than an ordinary cavalryman's sabre," said Walter, "I see no reason why anyone should wish to steal something so ordinary."
"But you obviously placed great value, perhaps sentimental in nature, on that weapon?"
Walter nodded, "My horse was killed during the last hours of the engagement and my uniform was in such a poor state of repair when we finally reached Paris that it could not be kept. That sword was the only memento of my service during the Great War."
Andrews noted this down in his notebook, "And you know of no man or woman who you have wronged during your life? Someone evidently committed this act in order to hurt you emotionally."
Walter shook his head, "No-one immediately comes to mind, though I shall think on the matter carefully."
When lunch was finished, Andrews and Sir Arthur excused themselves and left in the latter's carriage for the post office.
"What do you surmise, then?" asked Sir Arthur when his companion remained silent,
"I surmise nothing definite at the moment, and I shall not until I am in possession of all the facts. However, I believe that this mysterious woman is in some way connected with the house. Are there any stories of ghosts that concern Berringdon Hall?"
"I do seem to recall Walter telling me of some fanciful story about a murdered lady-in-waiting or some-such nonsense,"
Andrews raised his hand sharply, "Never discard anything, however unlikely, that could help unravel a crime. Whilst I do not believe in ghosts or phantoms myself, it may come to pass that there is some link with the supernatural in all this."
They returned nearly two hours later, having sent off a fortune in telegrams to every guest requesting that they be at Berringdon in two day's time. Later that night, whilst Sir Arthur insisted that he had to return to his own home on the other side of the city, Walter implored Andrews to remain until the case was closed for better or worse.
The sky outside was pitch black, the clouds having drawn across the face of the moon.
Sitting in the lounge in the far wing of the building, they discussed what little Walter knew of the house's history. It turned out that the estate's origins were not entirely clear, but that there was a ghost story, for all stately homes have at least one no matter how far-fetched.
"From what I've been told by the staff who stayed on when I bought the place," Walter was saying, "It appears that there was a serving girl who had been riding back after completing an errand and had stood up on the cart whilst travelling at quite considerable speed, though no-one I've asked is sure why.
            "Something spooked the horses and they went out of control, racing up the drive towards the house. In those days there was supposed to be an arch over a gate a few yards from the steps, though it must have been demolished at a later date. It was all the girl could do to hang onto the cart such was the speed it was moving at. As she turned to sit down again they passed under the arch." Andrews winced as he guessed at the poor girl's end.
"The story is that the girl's spirit was never content to rest and is supposed to walk through the house every night, though what cause she has to remain is anyone's guess." He chuckled lightly, though his guest could detect a note of nervousness in Walter's voice.
Andrews was silent for some time, occasionally muttering under his breath whilst his host patiently waited for some great revelation.
Later that night, both Andrews and Walter were awakened by a fearful moaning that seemed to issue from every corner of the house. Both flung open their doors and stood next to each other in the corridor. Walter threw a questioning look at Andrews who pointed down the corridor behind the other man's back. Turning, Walter beheld a slim woman dressed in a flowing white gown. The spectral visage shimmered noticeably and there was a familiar smell about the corridor but one that neither could place. The woman pointed an accusing finger at Walter and then promptly drifted round a corner and was lost from sight.
"I believe you told Sir Arthur that you do not believe in ghosts," stated Walter matter-of-factly before returning to his room, slightly pale but attempting to present a stolid façade. The next morning, Andrews journey briefly into town to send off an extensive telegram. Later that day, he received an even longer response, the contents of which, the annoyance of Walter Davies, he kept to himself.
Two days later, the guests arrived by train and then carriage or handsome cab. There had been neither sight nor sound of the apparition after that first night, though if Andrews deduced anything from that he kept it to himself. The assembled gentlemen and their wives were collected and herded by Andrews through the billiard room and into the ballroom where chairs had been arranged so that they could be addressed without having to strain too much.
"Ladies and gentlemen," boomed Sir Arthur in that mountain-shaking voice of his, "You are all aware of the events that occurred here a few days ago." There were a few unnecessary nods and murmurs until Andrews, taking over from Sir Arthur, held up his hands for silence.
"I am sorry to have had to call you all out here, but it is necessary that all the facts are gathered together. What one forgets another may remember. I shall conduct interviews in Mr Davis' study and will see each of you in turn. I'm afraid that I must ask none of you to discuss your accounts whilst you are waiting or after you have been seen by myself."
With that he took a seat in the small study and called for the first ‘witness.' The morning wore on slowly and many began to complain that they had better things to do than to wait around all day. Finally all had been interviewed with the exception of Lord Snellings, his wife and Humphrey Allington.
Lord Snellings was called first, Allington last. When he was in the study, His Lordship presented an air of contempt for Andrews and stated quite plainly that he was only agreeing to these proceedings to help a friend.
"May I begin your lordship,"said Andrews, "By asking how long you have known Mr Davis?"
Lord Snellings shifted uncomfortably, "We met in 1809 during the Peninsular campaign under Lord Wellington."
"And Sir Arthur Truscott-Smith?"
"In 1806, he had served as a midshipman at Trafalgar and was visiting my family's home on the coast whilst his ship was in port for a refit."
Andrews took notes as he asked question after question. Lord Snellings' attitude was always contemptuous, though even more so as the line of questioning delved into his military service.
"I don't see what my conduct after Salamanca has to do with the theft of Walter Davis' sword!" he finally ejaculated.
"I'm sorry to have to ask such questions, your lordship, but I need to know exactly how the relationship between you and Mr Davis has developed over the years. It will all become clear in the end; sufficed to say that I must attempt to eliminate all innocents from my line of investigation."
Lord Snellings nodded, "I suppose you have some notion as to what you are about. Very well, Davis and I were both at Salamanca and he was promoted for something that I had done because our names were mixed up, though don't ask me how."
"And you have felt resentment towards him for this oversight?"
"Not after the war was over. He and I patched up our differences when we left the army; the mistake was rectified and I was promoted."
"But Davis retained his own promotion?"
Snellings shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Yes, though I believe he would have achieved it in the end. He was a courageous fellow back then."
Andrews frowned, "But now he is not; is that what you would say?"
"Not at all. He still is a tenacious adversary today, though in the field of politics rather than the field of battle."
"One final question, was Mrs Davis present in the drawing room when you and the other gentlemen returned?"
"She entered from the dining room door shortly after we had; she had been out for a breath of air as she was feeling unwell."
Andrews announced that he had finished questioning His Lordship and then, after briefly questioning Lady Snellings, who could add very little, called for Humphrey Allington.
The powerfully-built Allington took a seat before Andrews and leaned back, feigning composure.
"I think that you will find I have little to add to any evidence you may have already collected," he said whilst absently studying the books on the shelves, "Though I am absolutely willing to answer any questions that I can." This last was added as a rather obvious and hurried after-thought.
"I'm glad that you are willing to cooperate, monsieur," said Andrews, noticing a slight jerk of Allington's head at the foreign form of address.
"I would like to discuss how long you have known Mr Davis and the nature of that relationship."
"Very well. We first met in Paris in 1815 shortly after the surrender of the French forces. He was in need of a billet and so I offered him a room I had requisitioned for the duration of my sojourn in the city. We communicated very little after that, though only due my losing his address."
"Forgive me," interrupted Andrews, "But you do not strike me as a soldier, though please correct me if I am wrong."
"Of course not, I was never a military man. I happened to have been in Paris when the Corsican ogre returned and went into hiding until I could escape to England. Unfortunately it took longer than I expected to prepare any means of escape and by the time I was ready the allied forces were in the city."
"What was your occupation before Napoleon returned to France?"
"I was a waiter in a small Parisian restaurant, the name of which escapes me."
"Forgive me again, but are you married?"
"No, though I am courting a young woman and we hope to be engaged soon."
"I offer my heartiest congratulations!"
Andrews asked a few more questions concerning Allington's time in England after the conclusion of the 1815 campaign and then returned with his final witness to the ballroom. He apologised for the lengthy process but that he would soon be able to bring the matter to a close.
Whilst Walter invited all, at Andrews' discreet request, to stay at Berringdon Hall for dinner, the detective took Sir Arthur into the great hall.
"Look at the rack where the sword was hung, tell me what you see."
Sir Arthur had to stand on his toes, "There are some scratches running along the bottom, like something has cut deep into the wood."
"Good, how recent would you say they were?"
"Not very, perhaps a few days..." he topped in mid-sentence, "My god, do you mean to say that these were made when the sword was stolen?"
"I do. Whoever removed that sword found it heavier than they expected, you will note that the scratches are all linear, yet there are breaks between them."
Andrews took his handkerchief from his pocket and opened it carefully,
"These are bits of dust that I took when I examined the rack yesterday morning; before I removed the rest, I saw that someone had also run their finger along, though they had failed to remove all the dust. Naturally we cannot use that as evidence, but it does support a theory that I am developing."
But what that theory was, Andrews would not say yet.
That night, as there was a heavy fog that prevented anyone from seeing more than a foot in front of them, the gathering was forced to spend the night at Berringdon Hall. After dinner, the servants went through all the spare rooms preparing the beds and making sure everything was in order.
The assembled guests had just finished dinner in the dining room and the women had once more withdrawn to the drawing room. The curtains had been drawn to keep out the miserable night and the gentlemen were discussing the theft of the sword.
"I'm afraid that I must be blunt Mr Andrews," Walter announced suddenly, "But it has been four days and yet you seem to be getting nowhere with this investigation."
"On the contrary, Mr Davis," Andrews replied knowingly, "I am close to uncovering the full nature of the crime, though there remain one or two minor details and then I shall be able to unmask the criminal." He was interrupted by the sound of someone running carelessly down the corridor outside the closed doors.
Sir Arthur glanced towards one of the seats nearest the door opening his mouth to say something to Humphrey, "Where's Mr Allington?" he asked surprised.
By way of an answer, Andrews rose from the table and half-jogged to the doors that led into the corridor. Arriving in the great hall, Andrews saw Humphrey Allington reach under an armchair and remove a bundle wrapped in brown sacking from beneath the floorboards. Walter and the other gentlemen had followed Andrews into the great hall. When he saw what Allington was doing, Walter gave a cry of alarm and advanced on him.
Humphrey rose rapidly and, discarding the sacking, held up Walter's sword.
"Now!" he cried, a mad fire in his eyes, "I've waited too long for this, thief!" With that he drew the sword and lunged forward, Walter only avoiding a fatal wound by leaping to one side. Before he could strike again, Allington was wrestled to the floor by Andrews and Sir Arthur. The sword was knocked from his grip and went skidding over the floor towards one of the windows.
"Mon Dieu!" cried Allington, "Let me go you damned fools, Walter is the real thief!"
Eventually he ceased his struggles and was allowed to stand, though two men held his arms firmly.
"Gentlemen," said Andrews, "Let me introduce you to Monsieur Henri d'Artois, late of Napoleon's Old Guard."
"How did you know?" asked d'Artois, all traces of his assumed English accent vanishing now his disguise was penetrated.
"I must say that at one point I thought you an unlikely suspect," replied Andrews, "Though our interview earlier today convinced me otherwise. You mentioned that you were a waiter in a restaurant, though you could not recall its name. You hoped to throw off any suspicion and you knew that, should anyone attempt to find records of your employment, they would not. They would find that many records had become muddled and even lost during those turbulent times. You thought yourself safe from any suspicion.
            "I'll admit that I sent a telegram to a colleague of mine in the public records office with a list of you names. He confirmed that you, d'Artois, had changed your name on arriving in this country and that you had served in the Old Guard during The War. As a former French soldier I suspected you might have a reason for committing the crime. I have been told how you saw no reason for keeping the matter secret. Indeed, you wanted Walter Davis' tragedy aired in public to force shame on him and make your revenge even sweeter."
Andrews paused briefly to catch his breath after such a long-winded speech.
"I say revenge and revenge it was. You had a reason, one close to your heart, for wishing to see our host humbled; so much I have found from my colleague in London. This reason was your accomplice.
"After dinner, I deliberately mentioned that I was close to catching the thief and that struck fear in your heart. Believing that it would be dangerous to stay here any longer with your disguise at risk of penetration, you slipped from the dining room with the intention of removing the sword from where your accomplice had hidden it and fleeing with them before anyone realised what had happened."
"You mention an accomplice," said Walter, "Who is he?"
Andrews walked over to where the sword lay, "She is in this room at this moment, I believe I can see her shoes beneath the curtains at the far end. Would you kindly present yourself, Mrs Davis."
To Walter's horror, his wife stepped from behind the curtains, dressed in a flowing white gown and holding a white mask in her hand.
"Gentlemen, I also present the ghost of Berringdon Hall. Mrs Davis, Lord Snellings said that you only entered the drawing room after the ‘ghost' had vanished through the door to the great hall. You had to take time to remove your costume and to give some sign to Henri that the deed had been accomplished; you also had to extinguish the fire you had lit to create the ‘ethereal' atmosphere in the drawing room. What you failed to tell anyone was that the old gardener had seen you and suffered from a heart attack when he saw what he believed to be the famed ghost."
"That much is true," she answered in a relaxed monotone, "Though I did not intend the poor man's death."
Andrews chuckled, "Of course you didn't, though I think that your mind may have been occupied with whether or not you should tell Henri.
"I mentioned an atmosphere; there was a draft that night, not from the chimney, but from the open door to the balcony. That is where you made your entrance as it was the only place where you could create the elusion of a shimmering phantom.
"Then, subsequently, when you appeared before myself and your husband that night, you opened the gas valves on the light fittings in order to create the shimmering atmosphere, before creating that terrible noise that roused us from our beds. I must admit that the smell was so familiar that neither of us recognised it at first."
Mrs Davis nodded the look on her face neither surprised, nor angry. She remained calm throughout the whole revelation.
"Before I go any further though," said Andrews, "I would like to unmask one last criminal in this matter." With that, he picked up the sword and placed it on a table nearby. Taking a hammer from his pocket he smashed the handle of the weapon amid the protests of Walter and the other gentlemen in the room.
Triumphantly, Andrews spilled out a small collection of jewels and showed them to the astonished gathering.
"How did you know?" asked Henri, an ironic smile on his face.
"I realised from the scratches on the rack that the sword had been heavier than Mrs Davis expected and so reasoned that something must be concealed within. The handle was the only logical hiding place."
"I believe some sort of explanation is in order," Sir Arthur said, firmly gripping Walter's arm and forcing him into an armchair.
"V-very well," the latter stammered, "On arriving in Paris after the end of the campaign I was robbed by a gang of French beggars who, although they were caught, threw my money into the river. I determined to regain my money by looting one of the banks. The one I chose was empty save for a solitary French soldier, apparently guarding against looters; our esteemed friend here," he indicated Henri, "Tried to stop me and was knocked unconscious during our struggle. I feared he was dead and so hid the body in an alley at the rear of the building. I had found those jewels in the bank; I knew I had to hide them somewhere, so I bullied a French smith to create a cavity in the handle of my sword under the pretence of having it repaired. I planned to exchange the money upon my return to England, but found that the crafty old man had made it impossible to remove the money without smashing the handle. I could not bring myself to do this deed, though why I cannot say.
"My parents, before they died, arranged a marriage of convenience between myself and the daughter of some close friends. I could always see that it was not a happy marriage for my wife."
"She had been engaged to me two months after I came to England," said Henri, continuing where Walter had left off, "However, her parents would have none of it and so they hurriedly married her as soon as they could make your own parents agree." Walter lowered his eyes, shame etched deeply into his features.
"I now had what I believed to be some good fortune," Henri continued, "The thief who had taken the jewels, the theft of which resulted in me being court-marshalled for dereliction of duty, and the man who now had stolen my fiancée were one and the same.
            "You had ruined our lives," he indicated Mrs Davis, "And by God I was damned if I would allow you to bask in the glow of your success!"
Andrews stopped the tirade with a wave of his hand, "I think we have all heard enough. Monsieur d'Artois, you are under arrest," the Frenchman nodded and stood, "Mr Walter Davis, I am also placing you and your wife under arrest."
Walter gave a cry of alarm and threw himself through the windows amidst a shower of glass.
Andrews gave chase, Sir Arthur staying behind to guard Henri.
Racing through the inky black night, Walter knew every inch of his estate and took to a path that led down the river. He could here the faint sounds of pursuit slowly becoming louder and nearer. His name was shouted and Walter recognised Andrews' voice.
With a leap and a bound, he cleared a wide ditch and continued heading for the river. Catching his foot on a tree root, Walter went down with a shout.
Andrews stopped at the sound and then ran on towards the source. He found Walter's dinner jacket on the ground, evidently discarded in a hurry. Not stopping to pick up the garment, he carried on through the trees, the fortuitous appearance of the moon enabled Andrews to run faster without fear of branch or bramble. As he finally reached the bank of the Tanner, the lights on the far bank reflected in its rippling surface, Andrews caught sight of Walter running along towards the nearest bridge over to Doyle street. The mud proved to be slowing Walter down as well as a slight limp from where he must have twisted his ankle. The stones along the bank were slick with the water from the rain that had fallen before the moon came out. As one rock overturned, Walter fell with a ghastly scream into the ice-cold river. Unable to swim, Walter splashed frantically in the hope of catching something buoyant enough to keep him above the water. However, his struggles were to no avail and he went down for the third and final time.
Andrews walked back slowly to the house, sickness brewing in the pit of his stomach. When he reached the rest of the guests and Mrs Davis, Andrews told Gibson to send one of the servants to the nearest police station for a boat to retrieve Walter's body. Later, after the sun had risen on the new day, the body was found and Henri and Mrs Davis were taken into custody by the police.
Andrews caught the mid-day train from Tannerbridge to Bridewell. On reaching home, he discarded his heavy coat and settled down in front of the fire. The gulls shrieked manically outside the window, their wings holding them up in the sea breeze, but inside their cries fell on deaf ears.
Mordecai Andrews, with a blanket wrapped round his shoulders and a large brandy on the table next to him, fell asleep as the last leaves of autumn fell from the tree in the garden.