Whatever he had
sought he failed to find, and at last we stood in a desolate apartment
looking out into the tangled shrubbery before the windows. The back of
the garage was visible from there and I viewed it dully, wondering
what evil secret it held, and marveling at the trick of fate which had
made me witness of an act in this gruesome drama.
"Of course, Gatton," I said, "we are all along assuming that Sir
Marcus actually met his death in this house. We must remember that he
may merely have been brought here after the crime."
"Such a short period elapsed," replied the Inspector, "between his
leaving the New Avenue Theater and the approximate time of his death
that it seems unlikely that he visited any intermediate spot."
"But he may not have been in the crate when Bolton and I saw it."
"I don't believe he was in the crate then," replied Gatton, "but I
think he was at the Red House nevertheless."
I stared at him with curiosity.
"You mean that he was in the house at the time that the constable and
I opened the garage?"
"I do. I think he was in that room where supper was laid for two."
"Good God!" I exclaimed; for there was something horrible in the idea
of the man who now lay murdered having been in the house presumably
alive, whilst Bolton and I had stood within forty yards of him; in the
idea that it had lain in our power, except for those human limitations
which rendered us ignorant of his presence, to have averted his fate,
perhaps to have checked the remorseless movement of this elaborate
murder machine which seemingly had been set up in the Red House.
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