Emelie

I knew who the murderer was. At least at the time I was nearly sure I knew who the murderer was. I just needed to ask a few subtle questions to be certain. It came to me as I was sitting there in the parlor that afternoon, and when I saw that one piece of paper on the sidetable. I picked it up idly, not even realizing what it was at first. The few words scribbled on it just about froze my blood. And as Mr. Campion and Tom sat there discussing the case, I knew they wouldn’t believe me. Especially Tom. He would never believe me. The only bit I could not understand was the motive. Why on earth would this person kill the Colonel? I had to find out. And on my own. Mr. Campion and Tom were too busy talking to notice me, and I slipped out unnoticed. I hurried down to the village, and searched out the town gossips. I needed facts. It took me well an hour to discover what I wanted to know. And what I discovered didn’t entirely surprise me. But I still could not believe it. It was impossible. I hurried back to the house. I had to confront the murderer.

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Tom

When Albert and I finally noticed Emelie was gone, we weren’t at all worried. We simply thought she had grown bored, and run off to do some housekeeping of the sort. Albert, deciding to give his brain a rest, wandered around the house, looking at our family heirlooms. He came back to the parlor shortly, and settled in one of the chairs. I was still seated at the desk, writing down possible motives for each and every one of our suspects. Albert was flipping through some books on the table beside him, when he picked up the most important clue in the entire case.

To me it appeared an ordinary piece of paper, but Albert frowned when he looked at it. Then he jumped to his feet in a surprised manner.

“What is it, old man? A clue?” I hurried to his side. He ignored me, as he stood, pacing back and forth in deep thought.

“Who? Who?” he muttered.

I managed to snatch the paper from his hand, and read the words aloud.

“Whell Quen Dret della avernia.”

I was confused. To me it was just a bunch of gibberish. The scribbles of an absent-minded person.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

“Hmm?” Albert turned to me.

I repeated my question.

“It’s an old kind of code. Used by former criminals. Ah, Lugg!” Albert turned to the man who coughed in the doorway.

“What did you discover?”

“This place is filled t’ high heaven with criminals of all ya can ‘magine! That butler bloke, take ‘im in consideration. ‘e was in Crowneton.”

“I knew it!” Albert crowed loudly.

“Knew what? Our butler is an ex-criminal? That can’t be! He’s been with us for years!”

Lugg sniffed in my direction, “All I know is, ya don’t get yer kind of tongue like whot ‘e has in the countryside! Ain’t whot ‘e says, but ‘ow ‘e says it! ‘e uses Crowneton code too. Even for everyday use.” Here Lugg shook his head in disgust.

Albert was practically gasping with excitement.

“Read this, Lugg, and tell me if it’s what I think it means.”

“Why, blest if it isn’t the Crowneton code!” Lugg exclaimed as he took the paper into his hand.

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

“’ard to make it out. Spellin’s a bit d’fferent from that I know.”

“But can you make it out?”

“Roughly speaking, it looks like someone’s list of poisons. You see that one underlined” Here Lugg pointed out the word ‘avernia’, which was underlined.

“That one is the drug that was used in the killing.”

“Our butler?” I was stunned.

“No,” Lugg shook his head.

“How do you know?” Albert turned to him.

“’e didn’t ‘ave the chance to put the drug into the Colonel’s pipe. I was with ‘im all the time.”

“Who then? Who has been to Crowneton?” Albert pursed his lips in thought again.

I suddenly remembered something. Something that made me gasp aloud.

Albert whirled towards me, “You know! You know!” He said.

I nodded, choking out the name.

“He was gone last year. There was an accident, and for a year he was gone. His family said he was abroad, but he could have been in Crowneton.”

“I need to know for sure.” Albert hurried to the telephone in the hall, and put through a call to Crowneton prison in London. Quarter of an hour past in breathless tension, as we awaited the answer.

And the answer was in the affirmative.

“We know who did it…” Suddenly Albert stopped. “Where’s Emelie?”