The Judas Window

'No,' said Hume calmly. 'I need only tell a plain truth.'

'Comin' from you -'

'No, that will not do,' said the other, and raised one finger with a critical air. 'It was established this morning, you know, that this is not a court of morals. Because Mary went the way of all flesh, it is no reason why her testimony about a murder should be discredited. Because I intended bloodlessly and painlessly to put a blackmailer where he belonged (a much less heinous offence to British ears, I assure you), that is no reason why my testimony about a murder should be discredited.'

'Uh-huh. If you hate blackmailers so much, why try a spot of blackmail on me now?'

Dr Hume drew a deep breath. 'I honestly and sincerely am not. I merely tell you - don't call me as a witness.’

Your whole case has been based on a missing piece of feather. You have repeatedly and even monotonously thundered at every witness: "Where is that piece of feather?"' 'Well?'

'I've got it’ said Dr Hume simply. 'And here it is’

Again he took out his cigarette-case. From under a line of cigarettes he carefully pulled out a piece of blue feather, some inch and a quarter long by an inch broad. He put it on the table with equal care.

'You'll notice’ he continued, during the heavy silence while H.M.'s face remained as impassive as ever, 'that the edges are a bit more ragged than those on the other piece. But I think they'll fit fairly well. Where was this piece of the feather? God love you, I had it, of course. I picked it up off the floor of the study on the night of the murder. It was no instinct for clues; it was simply an instinct of tidiness. And why didn't I show it to anyone? I can see you getting ready to ask that. My good fellow, do you know the only person who has ever been at all interested in this feather? That's you. The police weren't interested in it. The police never thought greatly about it - like myself. To be quite honest, I forgot all about it. But, if that feather is submitted in evidence, you will readily see the result. Have I convinced you?'

'Yes’ said H.M., with a broad and terrifying grin. 'At last you have. You've convinced me you really did know about the Judas window after all’

Spencer Hume rose rather quickly to his feet, and his hand knocked to the floor the cigarette on the edge of the table. With an instinct of tidiness he had automatically put his foot on it when there was another knock-on the door. This time the door opened more precipitately. Randolph Fleming, ducking under the low lintel, brought his aggressive red moustache into the room - and stopped in mid-sentence.

'I say, Merrivale, they tell me that you – hullo!'

As though disconcerted at being put off his stride,

Fleming stood staring at the doctor. In his own quiet way he was as great a dandy as Spencer Hume: he wore a soft grey hat whose angle just escaped being rakish, and carried a silver-headed stick. His withered jowls swelled out as he regarded Spencer; he hesitated, with an embarrassed air, and ended by making sure that the door was closed behind him.

'Here, hang it!' he said gruffly. 'I thought you had -'

'Cut and run for it?' supplied H.M.

Fleming compromised with a blurred statement' to Spencer Hume over his shoulder: 'Look here, won't you get into a lot of trouble if you turn up now?' Then he faced H.M. in an evident mood to get something off his mind.

'First, like to say this. I'd like to say no offence; I don't hold it against you for pitching into me yesterday in court. That's your business, and all in the day's work. Lawyers and liars, eh? Always has been. Ha, ha, ha I But here's what I want to know. They say - for some reason I don't understand - I may be called as a witness for your side as well. What's up?'

'No,' said H.M. T think there'll be a clear enough identification from Shanks. Even if you do get asked anything, it'll only be a matter of form. I got a cross-bow I want to get identified as belongin' to Avory Hume. Shanks should be able to do that pretty well.'

'The odd-jobs man?' muttered Fleming, and brushed up his moustache with the back of his gloved hand. 'Look here, would you mind telling me -'

'Not at all,' said H.M., as the other hesitated.

'Not to put too fine a point on it,' said Fleming, 'do you still think poor Hume was killed with a cross-bow?'

‘I always did think so.'

Fleming considered this carefully. 'I don't admit anything to go back on my opinion,' he pointed out, after a glowering look. 'But I thought I was bound to tell you one thing. I tried some experiments last night, just by way of making sure. And it could be done. It could be done, provided the distance was short enough. I don't say it was, but it could be. Another thing -'

'Get it off your chest, son,' suggested H.M. He glanced over at the doctor, who was sitting very quietly, and making noises as though he were trying to clear a dry throat without having the sounds become too audible.

'I tried it out three times - shooting arrows from a crossbow, I mean,' insisted Fleming, with an illustrative gesture. 'The guide-feather does tend to get stuck in the teeth of the windlass, unless you're damned careful. Once it stuck and pulled the whole feather off the shaft of the arrow when the bow was released. Another time it cut the feather in half - kkk! - like that. Like the one you showed us in court. Mind you,' he wagged his finger, 'not, as I say, that I'd take back one word I said. But things like that worry me. I'm damned if they don't. I can't help it. I thought to myself: If there's anything fishy in this, I ought to tell 'em about it. Only decent. If you think I like coming here and telling you, you're off your chump; but I'm going to warn the Attorney-General about it too. Then it's off my mind. But still, between ourselves, what did happen to that infernal piece of feather?'

For a short time H.M. looked at him without speaking. On the table, almost hidden by the dishes, lay the piece of blue feather Spencer Hume had put there. Spencer made a quick movement as Fleming spoke, but H.M. forestalled him. Scooping up the feather, H.M. put it on the back of his hand and held it out as though he were going to puff at it.

'It's a very rummy thing about that,' remarked H.M., without looking at Spencer. 'We were just discussin' the point as you came in. Do you think, for instance, that this could be the missin' piece?'

'Where'd you find it?'

'Well ... now. That's one of the points under debate. But, as an expert on the subject, would you just look at this little joker and decide whether it could be the one we want?'

Fleming took it gingerly and rather suspiciously. After, a suspicious look between H.M. and Spencer, he carried the feather to the window and examined it in a better light. Several times his sharp little eyes moved round during his examination.

'Rubbish!' he said abruptly.

'What's rubbish, son?'

'This is. I mean, any idea that this is the other part of the feather.'

Spencer Hume drew a folded handkerchief out of his breast-pocket, and, with an inconspicuous kind of gesture, he began to rub it round his face as though he were polishing that face to a brighter shine than it already had. Something in the expression of his eyes, something that conveyed doubt or misery, was familiar. I had seen just that expression somewhere before, and recently. It was too vivid for me to forget the slide of eyes or hands; but why was it so familiar?

'So?' asked H.M. softly. 'You'd say pretty definitely it couldn't be, eh? Why not?'

'This is a turkey-feather. I told you - or rather you got it out of me - that poor old Hume didn't use anything except goose-feathers.'

'Is there much difference?'

'Is there much difference! Ho!' said Fleming, giving a fillip to the brim of his hat. 'If you go into a restaurant and order turkey, and they serve you goose instead, you're going to know the difference, aren't you? Same with these feathers.' A new thought appeared to strike him. 'What's going on here, anyhow?'