“That may be. I’ve not seen him since I took up his supper. He’s had a quiet 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 bedroom and sitting-room on the first floor.
I passed into the latter. Hawes was lying back in a long chair asleep. My entrance did not wake him. An empty cachet box and a glass of water, half-full, stood beside him.
On the floor, by his left foot, was a crumpled sheet of paper with writing on 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 the number of the Vicarage. Melchett must have been still trying to trace the call, for I was told that the number was engaged. Asking them to call me, I put the instrument down again.
I put my hand into my pocket to look at the paper I had picked up once more. With it, I drew out the note that I had found in the letter box and which was still unopened.
Its appearance was horribly familiar. It was the same handwriting as the anonymous letter that had come that afternoon.
I tore it open.
I read it once – twice – unable to realise its contents.
I was beginning to read it a third time when the telephone rang. Like a man 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 Hawes. I looked at the crumpled letter. I looked at the anonymous scrawl. I looked at the empty cachet box with the name of Cherubim on 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 in which to do so.
In two minutes time, Melchett would have arrived.
I took up the anonymous letter and read it through again for the third time.
Then I closed my eyes and thought…
CHAPTER XXIX
I don’t know how long I sat there – only a few minutes in reality, I suppose. Yet it seemed as though an eternity had passed when I heard the door open and, turning my head, looked up to see Melchett entering the room.
He stared at Hawes asleep in his chair, then turned to me.
“What’s this, Clement? What does it all mean?”
Of the two letters in my hand I selected one and passed it to him. He read it aloud in a low voice.
“MY DEAR CLEMENT, – It is a peculiarly unpleasant thing that I have to say. After all, I think I prefer writing it. We can discuss it at a later date. It concerns the recent peculations. I am sorry to say that I have satisfied myself beyond any possible doubt as to the identity of the culprit. Painful as it is for me to have to accuse an ordained priest of the church, my duty is only too painfully clear. An example must be made and -”
He looked at me questioningly. At this point the writing tailed off in an undistinguishable scrawl where death had overtaken the writer’s hand.
Melchett drew a deep breath, then looked at Hawes.
“So that’s the solution! The one man we never even considered. And remorse drove him to confess!”
“He’s been very queer lately,” I said.
Suddenly Melchett strode across to the sleeping man with a sharp exclamation. He seized him by the shoulder and shook him, at first gently, then with increasing violence.