The Deadly Secret Of Burgh Island
Lorient Montaner
'You've never lived until you've almost died. For those who have fought for it, life has a flavour the protected shall never know.'―Guy de Maupassant
The tide was brisk and had stirred the sea off Burgh Island in Devon, near the English seaside village of Bigbury-on-Sea, when I arrived there in the year of 1902. I was forced to take the ferry, due to the high tide and the cold draught of the coast that could be felt, as I descended through the vestige of the encompassing mist.
I am Jack Cauvain, a chief inspector from London, and the discreet case that had brought me to this small island was called 'The Deadly Secret of Burgh Island'. My destination was The East Shore Hotel, where my first impression was that of a pervading eeriness that caused me to be contemplative, as I stood before the Victorian hotel. I was kindly greeted at the lobby of the hotel by the affluential proprietor.
'Good afternoon, Inspector Cauvain. I am Rupert Davenport, the owner of the hotel. I hope your travel was pleasant, and your unique prowess can solve the mystery of the two murders at the hotel. As you understand, we are a small island and are not equipped to handle such horrendous murders of this nature. Therefore, I place my absolute confidence in your accomplishments and reputation to solve these murders with the utmost efficiency.'
'Indeed, I am flattered by your consideration of me and my proficient ability. I assure you, Mr Davenport, that I shall do my best as always'.
'Good, then you can begin the investigation forthwith!'
'I have perused several times along the trip the few details in the report that was sent to me in London, but there are some interesting questions, whose answers remain inexplicable to my comprehension'.
'Such as?' Mr Davenport queried.
'In the report, the first death, a Mr Breeden, it was stated that he died of a stab wound, yet he was strong as an ox—6 ft 4 in height and over 16 stone. Then the second murder, Mrs Langley, was found dead at the end of the stairway, with a broken neck. However, she had a visible puncture wound to her lung beforehand'.
'Even though it may seem unexpected, the lamentable deaths of these invited guests were declared murders by the pathologist'.
'If so, then why is this hotel still open?'
'That is simple. The remaining guests of the hotel were not informed of the pathologist's actual report'.
'You mean, they don't know the deaths were acknowledged as deliberate murders?'
'To be exact, that is the case!'
'Surely, you are aware that sooner or later the guests will discover the truth. It is intuitive of their human disposition'.
'Admittedly, I am aware of that predicament!'
He paused before introducing the main staff of the East Shore Hotel. They were all standing and obediently listening to Mr Davenport's orders. Each of them stepped forward as their names were mentioned.
'This is the head receptionist, Mr Ainsley. The chambermaids, Mrs Morton and Mrs Warwick. The valets, Mr Harlow and Mr Oakes. The footmen, Mr Huxley and Mr Clifford'.
'Where are the guests? How many are there currently in the hotel?'
'They are waiting for us in the main hall, beyond the lobby'.
'Then let us not keep them waiting any longer!'
We proceeded to enter the main hall, where I met the eight guests of the hotel, who were impatiently waiting in immediate anticipation.
'Inspector Cauvain, I present to you the guests of the East Shore Hotel. This is Lady Hallworth, an heiress from Stafford. Dr Blackwood, a physician from Southampton. Mr Gresham, a barrister from London. Professor Leighton, an archaeologist from Philadelphia. Lord Thackeray, a prominent nobleman from Leicestershire. Miss Tyndall, a nurse from Manchester. Mrs Eaton, a widow from Yorkshire. And lastly, Mr Domenech, a young dapper gent from Barcelona'.
As I met them, I keenly observed their subtle reactions and facial expressions that were noticeably unique. I also had the intuitive thought that from amongst these bidden guests gathered, the killer would ultimately be exposed.
'You are an inspector?' asked Mrs Eaton, the widow.
'Indeed, madam!' I replied.
'You are that famous inspector from London, whose cases the newspapers rave about profoundly?' Lady Hallworth enquired with intrigue.
'I would not pay attention to the newspapers, and I would not equate my numerous cases as mere adventures, my lady'.
'There is no need for presumption or moderation, inspector, when it is obviously clear that there were two deaths', Lord Thackeray interjected.
'You mean murders, Lord Thackeray!' Mr Gresham uttered.
'What are you implying, Mr Gresham?' Professor Leighton asked.
'The good doctor and nurse know the whole truth', Mr Gresham remarked.
'What truth?' Mrs Eaton queried.
'That the two dead guests were murdered!' Mr Gresham responded.
'I don't know what you are talking about, Mr Gresham', Miss Tyndall exclaimed.
'Bloody hell, you have the nerve to unsettle the women in the room, Mr Gresham!' Dr Blackwood rejoined.
I sensed there was unnecessary tension amongst the hotel guests, and I silenced them. 'It is true, the two deaths were not of natural causes, but apparent murders. Now that we are aware of that disturbing revelation, each of you must remain in the hotel. No one will leave until I say so. I know it may appear intrusive and impertinent on my part, but I must proceed with the investigation accordingly. I do not think it politic to express any reservations for now'.
'Of course, inspector! Am I to assume that from amongst us is the calculated murderer?' Mr Domenech asked me.
'Or the prime suspect!' I acknowledged.
'Is that a definite accusation? Surely, you cannot assume that we are to be blamed for the deaths of Mr Breeden and Mrs Langley?' Lord Thackeray interposed.
'I must not only assume the improbable, but I must proceed carefully as well, with the assiduous investigation, Lord Thackeray!'
'If there are no further objections, I suggest we allow Inspector Cauvain to begin his thorough investigation at once!' Mr Davenport said.
There were no objections or ripostes given.
Thereafter, Mr Davenport escorted me to my room on the second storey of the hotel, where I was to stay during my time there. He informed me that he was leaving the island for a week to tend to a private engagement he could not postpone.
Before he left, he thanked me for my involvement and willingness to take the case. I assured him again that I would solve the murders. I began in earnest the investigation afterwards, as I contemplated the details of the established facts of the case with a sedulous observation and attention.
From my experience as an inspector and criminal investigator, my intuition had always led me to the conclusion that the manipulative murderer was never distant from the crime scene and would commit another horrid crime if permitted. Time would reveal that portentous anomaly, with a baneful repetition. I was eager to dispel my first intrigue when I observed the elements of the two prior crime scenes. There was nothing unusual to surmise or any pertinent clues to retrieve.
I realised that it was better to speak to Dr Blackwood, who I learned had performed the autopsies, and Miss Tyndall, the nurse who assisted the good doctor in that important procedure. Oddly enough, I found them both in the lobby, as expected, discussing the murders and their implication. Naturally, they were anxious to know what I had uncovered at the crime scenes.
'I did not see you coming, inspector. Is there something I can help you with?' Dr Blackwood said.
'Did you find any pivotal clues?' Miss Tyndall immediately asked.
'Is there something that you have omitted from your previous deposition, Miss Tyndall, that I should be apprised of?' I replied.
'None that I am aware of!' She responded.
'You must forgive Miss Tyndall—for we have been in a disconcerting state of mind since the deaths of Mr Breeden and Mrs Langley', Dr Blackwood interjected.
'Of course! It is precisely of their deaths that I wish to speak to the both of you, if you are willing to answer my questions and address the issue?'
'Yes!' They both responded, nodding their heads in full compliance.
'Good! Then let us proceed. If I can ask you, Dr Blackwood, you were the pathologist who performed the autopsy on the bodies of Mr Breeden and Mrs Langley? Is that not correct?'
'That is correct!'
'I am curious, Dr Blackwood, and I must assuage this curiosity of mine. What is your expertise?'
'You mean my main practice as a doctor?'
'Yes!'
'You are wondering if I am a pathologist?'
'I am only interested in knowing your background as a professional'.
'I am afraid I don't quite understand your question!'
'It is simple, Dr Blackwood. You see, you altered your version of your account in the first autopsy. Why?'
'Because it was what I had assumed after examining the bodies. As for your question, I am a specialist in the study of human anatomy'.
'Then you are an anatomist, if I am not mistaken?'
'Yes, that is correct!'
'Perhaps, Dr Blackwood, you could resolve my lingering doubt on the second murder in particular'.
'I shall attempt to answer whatever question you may have'.
'I can fully comprehend the nature of Mr Breeden's death of multiple stab wounds. The murder would involve a strong emotion, such as a passionate ire. It would also require perhaps a powerful individual, since Mr Breeden was of an imposing constitution. However, as for the death of Mrs Langley, she was found with a broken neck, but you stated in your first report that she had a punctured lung as well. Is that not factual, Dr Blackwood?'
'The reason for my discrepancy, Inspector, was merely an oversight on my part—one that I have since corrected and acknowledged openly'.
'I commend you for that, but it still does not explain the actual cause of death of Mrs Langley. We know that she was found dead at the edge of the stairway. What remains unexplained is how she received the wound and the punctured lung'.
'Perhaps the same weapon was utilised in the second murder'.
'Then you share the same conclusion I have drawn?'
'Yes'.
'It is absolutely clear to me: we are dealing with a murderer in the East Shore Hotel'.
'Who could it be?' Miss Tyndall interjected.
'That is the one question I cannot answer for the nonce, Miss Tyndall, but rest assured, I shall unravel the mystery of the audacious murderer'.
'Are there any more questions?' Dr Blackwood enquired.
'At the moment, no further questions, but if I have more, you will both be informed'.
After finishing my conversation with Dr Blackwood and Miss Tyndall, I noticed an unusual glance exchanged between them as we spoke. I took notes of my enquiries with the guests, in particular their distinctive and inherited characteristics. I was uncertain whether this was significant to the investigation or to my analytical methods.
The next course of action was to determine the sequence of events and their correlation. I relied on Dr Blackwood's report and my own active perception and forethought to surmise a reasonable presupposition of plausible reliability. The death of Mr Breeden was a logical conclusion, but the death of Mrs Langley intrigued me because her death was attributable not to her consequential fall but to a murder that had transpired before that tragic fall. How were the murders linked, if they had occurred on different days and hours? It was too early to effectuate a probable motive or make the rational determination that the murderer was even an acquaintance of either Mr Breeden or Mrs Langley.
Therefore, I concentrated on the proven facts to support my case and allow me to deduce a sufficient induction. This would be decisive, yet I saw it as a cautionary measure implemented effectively. I continued with my enquiries, and the next person I spoke to was Mr Gresham, who was speaking with Mr Ainsley at the reception desk. Upon seeing me approach, the receptionist excused himself and resumed his administrative duties.
'Have you discovered any vital clues to resolve this intricate case?' Mr Gresham asked.
'Precisely; that is the reason I have come to speak to you, Mr Gresham.'
'About what in particular?'
'About the development of my investigation'.
'Of course! What exactly can I assist you with in your investigation?'
'You are a noted barrister, are you not?'
'Yes, I am, but I fail to understand the relevance of that question'.
'It may appear irrelevant or a mere coincidence. As a man of law, Mr Gresham, you are cognisant of the general application of incontrovertible facts. Is that not an accurate assumption?'
'I would say that is accurate. However, what analogy of yours am I to ascribe?'
'The motive, Mr Gresham! You see, for my investigation to be successful, I must establish a clear motive for these two murders. If you were the murderer, what motive would compel you to kill?'
He was surprised by the question, but his legal experience as a barrister manifested. 'Because this is merely a hypothetical question, I would contemplate greed or a personal vendetta'.
'Personal vendetta, you say, Mr Gresham? Interesting—such as the kind that could provoke one to murder?'
'Perhaps, but we are only speculating—a hypothesis based on an unfounded ulterior motive'.
'True, Mr Gresham, but that ulterior motive must have been sufficient enough to drive one to murder'.
I finished the fascinating conversation and excused myself, leaving Mr Gresham pondering what we had discussed. Whilst walking out of the hotel to refresh my mind, I saw Lord Thackeray playing a game of draughts on the terrace. I approached him, and he seemed to reflect an odd behaviour that was unmistakable to my general impression.
'Lord Thackeray, what a coincidence. Just the man I wanted to converse with'.
'Inspector—ever the inquisitive observer. What can I do for you?'
'Inquisitiveness is a good trait in an inspector, Lord Thackeray—especially when applied to solving the intricacies of a good game of draughts or the origins of several murders'.
'I am absolutely certain that if there is a qualified man who can solve these murders, it is you. Now, will you join me for an intellectual match?'
'That is admirable of you to say, Lord Thackeray. Although I myself prefer chess, I must postpone your challenge for another occasion. I understand that you were the last person to speak to Mr Breeden. Correct?'
'Yes, that is correct'.
'If I may ask, what was the substance of your conversation with Mr Breeden?'
'It was not a lengthy conversation, merely a mild discussion between gentlemen. I am certain you have had your share of such moments'.
'Of course, Lord Thackeray. Then am I to surmise that your mild discussion with Mr Breeden was of an inconsequential matter?'
'Yes. If you must know, we spoke about politics, as do men of our similar backgrounds'.
'That is fascinating, Lord Thackeray, but I suppose it does not answer my question'.
'What is that question?' Lord Thackeray enquired.
'Can a mild discussion on politics be contentious enough to escalate into a heated debate over time?' I replied.
His eyebrows rose, and his eyes lit with passion. 'What are you insinuating?'
'Nothing, Lord Thackeray. There is no need to be so defensive, since it was only a mild discussion, as you indicated. Now, if you will excuse me, I must proceed with my investigation'.
He held back his contempt. 'Do proceed!'
The next person I wished to question was the American Professor Leighton, whom I wanted to speak to about his observations of the dead bodies. I found him in one of the lower chambers' corridors.
'Professor Leighton, it's good that I was able to locate you'.
'What can I do for you, inspector?' He said in his Northeastern American accent.
'You are aware that I am in the midst of an ongoing investigation?'
'I believe so, but how can I assist, since I did not know the two murdered individuals?'
'That I do not doubt. However, there is one thing that obfuscates me, and that is the mysterious death of Mrs Langley. You see, you were the person who found her dead body at the edge of the stairway. It is extremely important to know in what position you found the body. And because you are an archaeologist, perhaps you can dispel an uncertainty I currently have'.
'Dispel an uncertainty, you say? The only thing I can tell you is that the body was lying on its stomach. That is all, Inspector. If I may ask, what does my profession have to do with this investigation?'
'Perhaps nothing—or perhaps everything'.
'What do you mean by that?'
'You see, Professor—correct me if I am wrong—but in your study of bones, particularly human bones, is it not fair to presume that our bones are not as resilient as we might believe?'
'Yes, I concur with that analogy. There are certainly parts of the human skeleton that are more brittle than others'.
'What about the areas of the neck and the lungs?'
‘They are very sensitive areas.’
‘Sensitive areas to be exploited by a murderer to attempt to deceive an investigator?’
He paused as if to reflect on that possibility, then said, ‘In my humble opinion, yes!’
‘That is all the questions for now’.
‘Perhaps Dr Blackwood could confirm that suspicion of yours, inspector, since he was treating Mrs Langley for her recent asthma attack’.
‘Her recent asthma attack. I was not aware of that, Professor. I thank you for sharing this information’.
‘I am glad to assist in your investigation!’
I left Professor Leighton in the corridor and headed upstairs to speak to the widow Mrs Eaton. I had been informed by the dutiful receptionist that she was in the privacy of her room. I knocked on her chamber door, and she promptly opened it. She greeted me with amiable courtesy, and I reciprocated with a cordial salutation.
‘I hope that I am not disturbing you, Mrs Eaton, but I must speak to you about your whereabouts on the nights of the deaths of Mr Breeden and Mrs Langley. You stated you were in your room when Mr Breeden was killed’.
‘Yes, that is true!’ She smiled.
‘However, you were not in your room when Mrs Langley died’.
‘No, I was taking a stroll on the shoreline. I love to see the sunset. That was the reason I was outside at that hour. Have you seen the sunset from the bay of Thurlestone?’
‘A lovely view, no doubt, Mrs Eaton, but I have not been to the bay’.
‘Yes indeed—it fills me with such warmth inside. You must visit the bay in Thurlestone!’
‘I wonder, Mrs Eaton, as a widow, it must be very lonely’.
Her mien changed immediately. ‘So dreadfully lonely! I often wonder, why am I still alive? I do miss my beloved husband, inspector’.
‘I can only imagine the effects of that personal tragedy’, I answered.
I finished the interview and left her chamber, having discussed her absence from the hotel during the murder of the deceased Mrs Langley. The only two remaining guests to be interviewed were Lady Hallworth and Mr Domenech. I found them both in the lounge bar together, chatting. Although I was not certain what they were discussing, their expressions were singularly patent and easily deciphered.
‘Mr Domenech and Lady Hallworth!’
‘Inspector Cauvain!’ Said the fortunate heiress.
‘Perhaps you could join us’, Mr Domenech invited.
‘That is gracious, Mr Domenech, but this visit is not of a convivial nature’.
‘Then I suspect your intention in speaking with us concerns the two recent deaths?’ Lady Hallworth asked.
‘To be precise, my lady, that is the reason’.
‘What exactly do you wish to know?’ Lady Hallworth insisted, and I perceived her unnerving state.
‘According to the receptionist, during the murders you were not in your chamber, Lady Hallworth. Where were you, my lady?’
Her anxiety manifested even more, but Mr Domenech interjected, ‘She was in my company and chamber, inspector!’
I directed my question at Lady Hallworth. ‘Is that true?’
At first, she was embarrassed by the overt insinuation and offered a modest response. ‘Yes, it is true’.
‘There is no need to be ashamed, since our affair is of mutual persuasion and agreement’, Mr Domenech implied.
‘Agreed, Mr Domenech, but I do not involve myself in licentious liaisons. My only concern is solving the murders and arresting the murderer or murderers’.
‘Murderers! Then you believe there were two and not one?’ Lady Hallworth muttered.
‘That remains to be seen’.
‘Are you finished with the informal enquiry or inquisition?’ Mr Domenech asked.
We stared eye to eye, and I replied, ‘Yes, for now’.
Once the impromptu conversation was over, I returned to my room to contemplate the information compiled from my interactions with the guests who were present at the hotel when the murders occurred. I had questioned the hotel staff as well, but no pertinent clues were obtained.
The next morning, I was informed of another tragic murder. This time, the victim was the poor widow, Mrs Eaton, who was found dead outside, at the bottom of the hillside by the hardened crags and high water of the sea. One of the footmen, Mr Huxly, had discovered the body. There was nothing concrete that he could offer as evidence.
Apparently, she had fallen from the top, but upon examining the body, I was not certain if her death was accidental or premeditated murder. I could not prove the latter possibility as accurate. Thus, until I spoke to Dr Blackwood, I had to presuppose that her death was undetermined.
When I finally spoke to the doctor, he was not able to state unequivocally that Mrs Eaton was either pushed to her death by someone or had involuntarily slipped; although the ghastly notion of suicide had to be contemplated. There were no abnormal signs or marks that precluded either option, but I was absolutely convinced that Mrs Eaton was murdered.
Because there was no primary pathologist in the area, Dr Blackwood performed the autopsy on Mrs Eaton. He concluded afterwards that her death was most likely an accidental fall. There was no conclusive evidence that supported that occurrence. I sensed there was something odd in Dr Blackwood’s actual comportment, but I could not make a clear distinction about that obvious peculiarity.
There were then three murders and one or more killers amongst the remaining seven guests. I could no longer base my premise on a logical hypothesis or theory, but rather on the irrefutable facts of the case. I cogitated in my advanced thoughts the explanation of this recent death and its haunting implication.
I had not expected the murder of Mrs Eaton to transpire so suddenly, and a horrific sensation beclouded the investigation. I was forced to indagate a death that was strange in its circumstances, but I was fully prepared to resolve the intangible mystery of the murders of the East Shore Hotel.
I gathered the other guests of the hotel in the main hall to discuss the murder of Mrs Eaton at length. They were extremely restless and wanted to know the process of the investigation. I realised I could not parry their questions nor my necessary responsibility to apprise them of the relevant information I had ascertained.
‘I know that you are all aware of the death of Mrs Eaton, and that is the reason why you are presently gathered here together’, I said.
‘Have you determined that the death of Mrs Eaton was a suicide or a murder?’ Lord Thackeray queried.
‘Actually, I have not yet established her cause of death, Lord Thackeray’.
‘You examined her, Dr Blackwood. What did you determine the cause of death to be?’ Mr Gresham interposed.
‘Yes, I did. It is impossible at this moment to state completely, without doubt, whether Mrs Eaton’s death was accidental or premeditated’, Dr Blackwood responded.
‘Surely, if she was murdered, then a competent physician would know the cause of death by now!’ Lord Thackeray exclaimed.
‘Are you doubting my professionalism, Lord Thackeray? If so, then I shall take your comment as effrontery!’ Dr Blackwood retorted.
‘There is no need for external conflict or expostulation. Everyone is free to voice their opinion, but may I remind you all that there is a murderer still at large!’ I remarked.
‘It is daunting to know that the killer could be amongst us!’ Lady Hallworth said.
‘How are we supposed to know whom to trust or distrust?’ Professor Leighton asked.
‘That is a good question, Professor, and I am certain the inspector could enlighten us with his investigative foresight!’ Mr Domenech interrupted.
‘Is there something pending that you are hiding from us and do not wish to share, Mr Domenech?’
Mr Domenech hushed as I began to relate the status of the investigation. ‘I shall be candid in compliance with the entire facts established. Hitherto, what is known is that three unlucky guests of this hotel have been found dead. Unfortunately, there are scant clues to indicate the pattern of the murders with the individuals who had a deadly encounter with the murderer’.
‘What about the murderer?’ Lord Thackeray enquired.
‘As for the murderer, he or she remains anonymous’, I answered.
‘Then we are precisely at what stage of the investigation?’ Lady Hallworth asked.
‘Nowhere’, Mr Domenech uttered.
‘Then, you are as clueless as we are, inspector?’ Mr Gresham insinuated.
‘Not exactly, Mr Gresham. You see, time is on my side. Since you all have been here at the hotel, no guest has left or come to the hotel’.
‘Good God, then you are absolutely convinced that amongst us guests here is a cold-blooded killer?’ Professor Leighton intimated.
‘Who could it be?’ Mr Gresham asked.
‘For heaven’s sake, let us attempt to be rational!’ Dr Blackwood said.
‘Rational? You speak now, when you have been quiet for much of this distressing conversation, doctor—like the nurse’, Mr Gresham pronounced.
‘How do we know that it was not you?’ Lord Thackeray implied.
‘Yes, he would have the skill and precision to effectuate such an effective manner of execution’, Mr Gresham accused the doctor.
'True, but these murders did not require any great capacity, instead a masterful deception that either one of you here present possess!' Dr Blackwood had reciprocated.
'Enough with the discourse, ladies and gentlemen! I recommend that you all be cognisant of your surroundings and, above all, of the persons you share your space and privacy with'.
Afterwards, each of the remaining seven guests had returned to their dreary chambers individually. I had sensed the instant commotion augmenting between the guests, as they began to not confide their hidden secrets and intimate thoughts with each other.
For the rest of that day, I was immersed in a profound introspection that had left me contemplative in deliberation. Progress was the only recourse accepted and sought by me. I had retraced in my mind and notebook every detail of the murders, but the justifiable inducement was still inexplicable in its normal comprehension. That night there was tremendous trepidation and uncertainty felt amongst the nervous guests.
When I had awakened the following morning, a vociferous scream was heard coming from the chamber of Mr Gresham. When I was fully dressed and had reached the chamber inside, Mr Gresham was stone dead. He had been discovered by one of the chambermaids sitting in a settee, cold and stiff, with his mouth open wide. After examining his listless body, Dr Blackwood and I had concurred that Mr Gresham was poisoned to death by a rare element used, such as thallium.
Indeed, our murderer was devising different manners in murdering the perturbable victims, and was succeeding in ruffling the other guests of the hotel to a great degree. The first two sustainable clues had been either left behind by the brazen killer erroneously or intentionally. What was discovered was a singular piece of jewellery that was adjacent to the body of Mr Gresham and a fragrance of exquisite cologne. I knew that in all my years of meticulous investigation, the murders had followed a credible sequence of events. The commonality of all unsolvable mysteries was the modus operandi employed by the criminal.
Ergo, this was the requisite necessitated for solving the case. I had ruminated on the signification of the jewellery. Because there was no access in this remote area for determining the prints of the forensic evidence retrieved, I had decided to depend on my natural disposition and consectary purview.
These quantitative measures were extremely critical to accomplish my objective, if I was to be ultimately successful. I had started to amass in my thoughts distinctive concepts that best applied to the theory of the murders. Eventually, there was one in particular that I could pursue with such knowledge. This would require an elaborate plan to entice and trap the murderer or murderers. I had my lists of possible suspects, but I was not yet totally convinced who was the main suspect.
I had learnt after speaking with the frightened chambermaid that the last person who was seen speaking to Mr Gresham was Lord Thackeray the nobleman. When I had located him, he was in the main hall with the others. The untimely death of Mr Gresham had unnerved the other guests. There were now six guests in the hotel, along with the staff. They all had recognisable stares and concerns that exceeded the normal state of behaviour. I could not avoid the indubitable thought that one of these guests had to display not only duplicity, but ingenuity also, to be able to clearly accomplish the murders with such a conspicuous veil of secrecy and perceptive eyes.
'I have summoned you in the setting of the main hall to discuss the recent murder of Mr Gresham'.
'Have you discovered who is the murderer?' Lady Hallworth had asked.
'Are you going to make an arrest?' Professor Leighton wondered.
'Well, don't just stand there, tell us what you have discovered, inspector!' Lord Thackeray ejaculated.
'Whoever is the killer, ladies and gentlemen, has a fond preference for French cologne and exquisite jewellery, such as any one of you could have', I asseverated.
'What in bloody hell are you insinuating, that I killed Mr Gresham?'
'I am only stating the facts. According to the chambermaid, you were the last individual seen in the company of Mr Gresham. Is that not accurate, Lord Thackeray?'
He became more fidgety and alarmed. 'Yes, but I was there to play draughts, and we had a few drinks only. I soon left afterwards. Mr Gresham was perhaps drunk, but he was alive when I had left him. Ask Mr Domenech, he saw me leaving the chamber of Mr Gresham. The door was open!'
'Is that true, Mr Domenech?' I had enquired.
'Yes!'
'Then you acknowledge that you were also there at the chamber of Mr Gresham before he was found dead?'
'Yes, but this acknowledgement does not make me a murderer. I was with Lady Hallworth'.
'Is that true, Lady Hallworth?'
'Yes!'
'What were Mr Domenech and you doing at that hour? You seem to be missing an earring, Lady Addington'.
I had shown it to her. 'Does this not belong to you?'
She was dumbfounded. 'Yes!'
'I repeat, what were you and Mr Domenech doing at that hour?'
She hesitated and Mr Domenech had interceded. 'She was with me. Is that not enough?'
'I am afraid it is not!' I said.
'Why don't you ask Professor Leighton? He passed by the corridor earlier before we had reached Mr Gresham's chamber', Lady Hallworth insisted.
'Professor Leighton, what do you have to say?'
'She is telling the truth!' Professor Leighton confirmed.
'What about the staff? Have you interrogated them also?' Mr Domenech questioned.
'I have interrogated them all, and they all have solid alibis, Mr Domenech!' I had replied.
'Where were you, Dr Blackwood and Miss Tyndall?' Lord Thackeray contested.
'Yes, indeed. I would like to know as well!' I uttered.
'I was in the cellar studying the cadavers of the deceased victims'.
'What for?' Lord Thackeray had demanded.
'I was examining the bodies to see whether or not I had neglected to see something that I had failed to see before in my prior autopsies'.
'Such as what, Dr Blackwood?' I had asked.
'Clues, of course, inspector!' He responded.
'You, Miss Tyndall?'
'She was with me!'
'This all seems too coincidental to dismiss as veritable facts', Professor Leighton had declared.
'Perhaps, professor, but for the nonce, until I can solve these senseless deaths, I recommend that we do not divide ourselves for more than a few minutes. I have asked the staff to leave, including the receptionist, Mr Ainsley. We are all alone here—only us!' I had stated.
'But who will tend to the hotel in their absence?' Lady Hallworth asked.
'No one! I must resume my investigation. If there is any evidence that either one of you find, then it is incumbent upon you to disclose that evidence to me, the inspector!'
It was becoming more and more a baffling situation, as each guest had their alibi or version of events to what occurred in the deaths of Mr Breedan, Mrs Langley, Mrs Eaton and Mr Gresham. They had pointed the finger at each other in an attempt to blame the murders on someone else.
There was an undeniable intimation I had perceived in the traits personified by each of the remaining guests that could demonstrate the pattern for murder. I felt I was getting closer to solving the case, and I regarded my intuition and keen discernment as a valuable application.
Another murder occurred later that day, and this time the victim was the American, Professor Leighton, who was found hanging outside his chamber. At first, it all pointed to suicide—perhaps committed out of immense guilt. Dr Blackwood discovered the professor’s body.
Immediately, upon being informed of Professor Leighton’s death, the others accused the doctor of being the murderer. They demanded his arrest, but I quickly dismissed their request and concentrated on whatever evidence I could retrieve from the crime scene. The doctor proclaimed his innocence, and I ordered the other guests to wait in the main hall whilst I interviewed Dr Blackwood.
‘Dr Blackwood, you realise the assumption is that you killed Professor Leighton. You could have easily choked him to death, then hung him outside to make it appear a suicide. You know, and I know, that the marks of strangulation are very similar to the marks inflicted by hanging.’
‘Yes, I am aware of that comparison, Inspector, but you must also consider that perhaps Professor Leighton was indeed the killer and did not want to be apprehended’.
‘That is feasible, Doctor!’
I dismissed him so that he could join the others in the main hall, whilst I continued to search for any further clues within Professor Leighton’s chamber. As I searched from top to bottom, I noticed a mysterious cutting that had fallen to the wooden floor. It appeared to have been torn from a newspaper and was dated 14th July 1878.
The print was barely legible, but what was more striking was a single photograph depicting the guise of an unidentified man, named Addison Beverly, with his family. Was this person truly connected to the unsolvable murders of the East Shore Hotel? The man and the name were unfamiliar to me, but the resemblance was strikingly reminiscent of someone I had seen before. After a closer look, I realised who Addison Beverly was. Of course, in the photograph, the man appeared much younger.
The darkness of the night covered the landscape of Burgh Island, and the only lights visible were those from the hotel. I gathered the remaining guests in the main hall. They stood agog, anticipating my arrival. When I entered, I stared into the eyes of each of them, knowing that among them was the murderer. I was certain there was one killer acting under the bidding of another, more shadowy figure, who had remained indistinct until now. Holding the newspaper cutting in my hand, I began to speak.
‘It is good that you all arrived on time!’
‘What is going on, inspector?’ Lord Thackeray enquired.
‘Yes, that is what I want to know!’ Mr Domenech mumbled.
‘You have discovered who the killer is? Is it Dr Blackwood?’ Lady Hallworth interjected.
‘I am innocent, I tell you!’ Dr Blackwood protested.
‘I shall now expound on a systematic exposition of the notion of a perfect murder. The inimical impulse to murder is aligned with a deadly infatuation with revenge’.
‘What do you mean? We don’t have time for your intellectual discourse!’ Lord Thackeray complained.
‘Lord Thackeray, ever the intellectual, fond of draughts and French cologne, was the last person who accompanied Mr Gresham before his terrible death’.
‘Then he is the killer!’ Mr Domenech proclaimed.
‘Mr Domenech, the dauntless and chivalrous foreigner from Catalonia, whose wits were enough to court and win the affection and approbation of Lady Hallworth’.
‘Yes, it was that foul foreigner!’ Lord Thackeray retorted.
‘Lady Hallworth, the opulent heiress who fell blindly in love with a coxcomb’.
‘She was with that scoundrel, and the jewellery belonged to her!’ Lord Thackeray persisted.
‘Dr Blackwood, you were my principal suspect before I began to piece together the missing elements of this investigation. You, a man of medicine, would know how to kill someone effectively and not be easily detected’.
‘Finally, Miss Tyndall, the obedient and reclusive woman, always attached to the good doctor’.
I paused and then continued. ‘All of you are capable of murder, but there is only one among you who had the most discernible motive’.
The tension grew, as they all looked at each other and then at me, waiting for my response. Just as I was about to pronounce the killer’s name, the chandeliers’ lights in the main hall went out. But by whose doing? There was confusion in the darkness, and the guests grew increasingly anxious. When the lights came back on, one of them was holding a gun and pointing it at us. It was the murderer: the quiet Miss Tyndall.
‘Miss Tyndall, I know the deadly secret of Burgh Island. You cannot get away with murdering us all. I have summoned constables from the nearby village. They should be arriving at any moment, and I have left behind a letter confirming my suspicions of you, with every detail of this case. Your father once owned this hotel, and you blame the hotel for your father’s ruination? Look—it is here in the newspaper cutting I hold in my hand!’
‘Inspector Cauvain, you don’t understand. I have spent many years planning revenge on this hotel and the people gathered here today. My father was a venerable man, prosperous, until he was ruined and forced to sell the hotel!’
‘From what I understand, Miss Tyndall, his ruination was due to his financial losses’.
‘That is what they want everyone to believe. However, I know the whole truth!’
‘She is mad!’ Uttered Lord Thackeray.
‘Shut up, you old fool!’ Miss Tyndall shouted.
‘Are you going to kill us all tonight?’ Mr Domenech asked.
‘You, you coward! You should be the second I kill after that old codger!’
‘Why me? What do I—or any of us—have to do with your father’s decline in fortune?’ Lady Hallworth asked her.
‘Everything, you pompous whore! All of you are relatives of those avaricious leeches who contributed to my beloved father’s ruin’.
‘What are you asserting, Miss Tyndall?’ Lady Hallworth insisted.
‘All of you are as guilty as your kin!’ Miss Tyndall replied.
She then addressed me again. ‘I must commend you for your skill in discovering the truth, but I’m afraid your great adventures as an inspector will end tonight, with your death!’
‘You are a nurse and were the only other person prepared to know how to murder. Is that not correct, Miss Tyndall? I knew you poisoned Mr Gresham, and that you shoved Mrs Langley from the top of the stairway after stabbing her. You also pushed Mrs Eaton off the cliff to make it appear a tragic suicide. As for Mr Breedan, you seduced him and killed him in his sleep. You killed Professor Leighton in his sleep too, then choked him and put a rope around his neck, hanging him outside to look like suicide. You are a strong woman, despite your demure appearance. You found Lady Hallworth’s missing earring and used it for your nefarious plan, as you did with the bottle of French cologne you stole from Lord Thackeray. You wanted me to suspect everyone—except you. Your silence was merely a pretext to disguise your vileness. However, you are not the mastermind behind these murders. It is your father!’
‘You are very clever, inspector, but the evidence will die with you and the others. I suppose each person has only a certain amount of compassion in their heart, and mine has long since faded’.
She pointed the gun at Lord Thackeray and ordered him to take one of the glasses of wine set on the nearest table. There was an hourglass containing sand.
‘The sand in the hourglass will determine how much time you have left to live. When the sand runs out, your time is up, and you will die’.
‘What kind of macabre game is this?’ Lord Thackeray uttered.
‘I assure you, Lord Thackeray, this is far more thrilling than that monotonous game of draughts you play. Now, drink the wine, or I shall put a bullet straight into your head! Do I need to be more direct?’
‘You want to poison me to death, you devious wench. I shall not!’
‘Have it your way!’
Miss Tyndall shot Lord Thackeray in the head, killing him instantly.
She then ordered Mr Domenech and Lady Hallworth to do the same—drink a glass of wine. Seeing what had happened to the irksome Lord Thackeray, they acquiesced involuntarily. First, Lady Hallworth drank, then Mr Domenech followed. We all watched anxiously. The sand in the hourglass was quickly running out. Lady Hallworth appeared unaffected, but Mr Domenech gradually faltered and collapsed to the ground. His wine had been poisoned; he convulsed horribly, frothing at the mouth. But why was Lady Hallworth spared?
‘Now that the old fool and charlatan are dead, that leaves only Dr Blackwood, Lady Hallworth, and you, Inspector Cauvain’.
‘Why did you not poison me?’ Lady Hallworth demanded.
‘You were spared because you chose a glass that was not poisoned!’ I interjected.
‘Precisely! Did you expect to survive, Lady Hallworth?’
‘You murdered Mr Domenech. You are a heartless murderer!’ Lady Hallworth declared.
‘He was a handsome fellow, but he was only interested in your wealth. You might say he was a temporary lover to amuse your carnal whims—and mine. Yes, he too was my lover!’
‘That is a blatant lie. I do not believe you. You are completely mad!’
‘Believe what you wish, Lady Hallworth’.
Miss Tyndall then pointed the gun at Dr Blackwood, forcing him under duress to drink a glass of wine. Fortunately for him, the wine was not poisoned.
‘It appears it is your lucky day, Dr Blackwood—at least for now!’
‘It is your turn, inspector!’
I too was compelled to drink. Like the others remaining, my glass was not poisoned.
‘This has indeed been a fascinating sequence of events. Unfortunately, the game must continue, and there is no interlude. It is time for one of you to die and meet your maker!’ Miss Tyndall declared.
She pointed the gun at Lady Hallworth’s head and demanded that she drink from another glass of wine.
‘Now, take another glass from the table and drink the wine. If you do not, I shall kill you. Am I not clear enough with my words?’
‘Yes, quite clear!’
Lady Hallworth had no other option but to drink the wine. The clock in the hall could be heard ticking as she slowly began to imbibe the wine and convulse like Mr Domenech. After several minutes of vivid agony, Lady Hallworth too was dead.
‘The poor devil. Her good luck has run out, but I do not pity her soul!’
‘You realise you will not get away with these vindictive crimes, Miss Tyndall. You will be arrested!’ I remarked.
‘Perhaps, but you will not live to see that day!’
She then pointed the gun at me and ordered me to drink from the glasses that were still full on the table. ‘Drink, Inspector! Your time is speedily running out. The sand is reaching the bottom of the hourglass’.
Whilst we spoke, Dr Blackwood had gradually reached an object. He threw it at Miss Tyndall’s hand, knocking down her gun. I quickly recovered it as Miss Tyndall ran through the corridor in an attempt to escape. It was futile, as the constables were waiting at the front door. They captured and arrested her. Miss Tyndall was escorted to the local police station in the nearby village, where she would await prosecution for her crimes.
Regrettably, the real Mr Rupert Davenport, the renowned proprietor of the East Shore Hotel, was discovered dead nearby on a lonely footpath. Apparently, he had been murdered by Miss Tyndall before he left the island. Her inimical impulse for vengeance had been inimitable since her arrival at Burgh Island.
Then there was one culprit left: Addison Beverly, the mastermind behind the East Shore Hotel murders. I remained inside, with my gun in hand, steady and judicious. I knew that Mr Beverly, the original proprietor of the hotel, was somewhere within.
The question was, where was he? Was he in the parlour? In one of the manifold rooms? Upstairs? Downstairs? I was at a complete disadvantage, as he could have been anywhere in the hotel. I slowly walked around, checking each possible hiding place. I searched every room downstairs by myself, then gradually headed up the stairway to the second storey.
When I reached the second storey, I sensed he had to be in one of the adjacent rooms I passed. Ahead of me was a room with its door wide open. I walked towards it until I finally reached it. I could hear the melodious music of a phonograph playing.
There, sitting in an Edwardian chair, was Mr Addison Beverly. He smiled at me with impenetrable eyes and an inscrutable countenance. He stopped the music and addressed me with a sarcastic gesture of hauteur.
‘Inspector Cauvain, you are indeed a worthy opponent. I must admit I doubted for a moment that you would be able to solve the mystery of the East Shore Hotel murders. I left you several clues to entertain you, and you must agree that my dearest daughter Agatha was quite the challenge.’
‘That I do not doubt at all, Mr Beverly, but the game is over, and you have lost!’ I spoke.
‘I believe you are correct, inspector, but I shall not concede defeat so easily’.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once’.
‘William Shakespeare,’ I uttered.
‘Death is such sweet revenge’.
‘Perhaps it is irrational on my part to attempt to understand your psychosis, but my curiosity demands answers—why did you involve your tormented daughter in this scheme? Why didn’t you kill us all when you had the chance? Instead, you wasted time on this senseless game of cat and mouse!’
‘I believe it was Voltaire who once said, “Optimism is the madness of insisting that all is well when we are miserable.” My beloved Agatha was always devoted to me, and my vengeance became her boundless obsession! Our plan was brilliantly executed, with the exception of a singular detail. It seems we sorely underestimated your immense acuity’.
He played the music again, then began to twitch and cough, convulsing in horrific agony. I ran to assist him, but it was too late—Mr Beverly was stone dead on the floor. He had laced his wine glass with arsenic and apparently drunk it before my arrival. His eyes were wide open, staring at me in a morbid, haunting gaze.
His body was soon taken to the mortuary, and the case was finally closed.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting its cold light across the cliffs, and the wind roared in my ears like a creature from the depths of the earth, relentless and harsh. I stood alone at the edge, staring out at the vast, turbulent sea below. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks seemed to echo the gnawing thoughts in my mind, as though the ocean itself was as restless as I felt.
I had resolved the case. Miss Tyndall was arrested, and Addison Beverly had met his end in his own twisted game. The hotel that had witnessed so much suffering now stood in silence, its walls cold and indifferent to the lives that had been shattered within them. Yet, as I looked out over the churning water, I found no satisfaction in the resolution. No triumph. Only the endless expanse of the sea, vast and unknowable, much like the complexity of the human heart.
There was a quiet in me now, one that had replaced the urgency and turmoil of the days that had led me to this point. I should have felt relief, but instead, all I could feel was a profound emptiness, as if the answers I had sought had not filled the space inside me, but left it hollow and cold. The case was solved—yet the world, the people involved, were still gone. The finality of it was something I couldn’t quite grasp, as though the resolution was too neat, too clean to be real.
I turned from the cliff’s edge, the wind biting at my face, and walked away, my steps slow, deliberate. The hotel loomed in the distance, its shadow stretching long across the ground. I couldn’t help but glance back at it. It was an empty monument to death and lies, a place that had once been a haven of luxury, now tainted forever by the blood that had stained its floors. I would never forget the faces of those who had perished, the silent screams that would haunt my thoughts for years to come.
I reached the path that led back to the hotel’s entrance, my mind spinning with the countless questions I had asked along the way, the endless pieces of the puzzle I had put together. Yet, even as I walked back towards the place where all the answers had come together, there was one lingering thought that refused to leave me. Had I really uncovered all the truth? Was this the end of it all, or was there another shadow, another unanswered question, lurking just beyond the horizon?
I paused at the door of the hotel, one last look back at the cliffs, at the sea that stretched on without end. The wind tugged at my coat, but it no longer felt like a reminder of the chase. It felt like an omen, a final whisper from the past, a reminder that there would always be more to uncover, more darkness to confront.
As I stepped inside, I closed the door behind me, and the night swallowed me whole. There was no sense of triumph, no victory parade. Just the quiet satisfaction of knowing that I had done my job, that the case had been solved. But as I made my way back into the hotel’s shadowed halls, I couldn’t help but feel that the true nature of the world—the darkness that lived in the hearts of men—was far from over.
And as the door clicked shut, I wondered if I would ever find peace, or if the sea, with its eternal rhythm, would continue to intrigue me.
I left the East Shore Hotel with the complete satisfaction that I had once more resolved an inexplicable case of a most difficult nature. Dr Blackwood was the lone survivor from the original guests. A month later, I received a letter from Mr Ainsley, the receptionist, informing me that the East Shore Hotel was to be sold to a new proprietor who preferred to remain anonymous.
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