The Blind Spot

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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"You've just come back from Adelaide's funeral,haven't you?" said Sir Lulworth to his nephew; "I supposeit was very like most other funerals?""I'll tell you all about it at lunch," said Egbert."You'll do nothing of the sort. It wouldn't berespectful either to your great-aunt's memory or to thelunch. We begin with Spanish olives, then a borshch,then more olives and a bird of some kind, and a ratherenticing Rhenish wine, not at all expensive as wines goin this country, but still quite laudable in its way.Now there's absolutely nothing in that menu thatharmonises in the least with the subject of your great-aunt Adelaide or her funeral. She was a charming woman,and quite as intelligent as she had any need to be, butsomehow she always reminded me of an English cook's ideaof a Madras curry.""She used to say you were frivolous," said Egbert.Something in his tone suggested that he rather endorsedthe verdict."I believe I once considerably scandalised her bydeclaring that clear soup was a more important factor inlife than a clear conscience. She had very little senseof proportion. By the way, she made you her principalheir, didn't she?""Yes," said Egbert, "and executor as well. It's inthat connection that I particularly want to speak toyou.""Business is not my strong point at any time," saidSir Lulworth, "and certainly not when we're on theimmediate threshold of lunch.""It isn't exactly business," explained Egbert, as hefollowed his uncle into the dining-room."It's something rather serious. Very serious.""Then we can't possibly speak about it now," saidSir Lulworth; "no one could talk seriously during aborshch. A beautifully constructed borshch, such as youare going to experience presently, ought not only tobanish conversation but almost to annihilate thought.Later on, when we arrive at the second stage of olives, Ishall be quite ready to discuss that new book on Borrow,or, if you prefer it, the present situation in the GrandDuchy of Luxemburg. But I absolutely decline to talkanything approaching business till we have finished withthe bird."For the greater part of the meal Egbert sat in anabstracted silence, the silence of a man whose mind isfocussed on one topic. When the coffee stage had beenreached he launched himself suddenly athwart his uncle'sreminiscences of the Court of Luxemburg."I think I told you that great-aunt Adelaide hadmade me her executor. There wasn't very much to be donein the way of legal matters, but I had to go through herpapers.""That would be a fairly heavy task in itself. Ishould imagine there were reams of family letters.""Stacks of them, and most of them highlyuninteresting. There was one packet, however, which Ithought might repay a careful perusal. It was a bundleof correspondence from her brother Peter.""The Canon of tragic memory," said Lulworth."Exactly, of tragic memory, as you say; a tragedythat has never been fathomed.""Probably the simplest explanation was the correctone," said Sir Lulworth; "he slipped on the stonestaircase and fractured his skull in falling."Egbert shook his head. "The medical evidence allwent to prove that the blow on the head was struck bysome one coming up behind him. A wound caused by violentcontact with the steps could not possibly have beeninflicted at that angle of the skull. They experimentedwith a dummy figure falling in every conceivableposition.""But the motive?" exclaimed Sir Lulworth; "no onehad any interest in doing away with him, and the numberof people who destroy Canons of the Established Churchfor the mere fun of killing must be extremely limited.Of course there are individuals of weak mental balancewho do that sort of thing, but they seldom conceal theirhandiwork; they are more generally inclined to paradeit.""His cook was under suspicion," said Egbert shortly."I know he was," said Sir Lulworth, "simply becausehe was about the only person on the premises at the timeof the tragedy. But could anything be sillier thantrying to fasten a charge of murder on to Sebastien? Hehad nothing to gain, in fact, a good deal to lose, fromthe death of his employer. The Canon was paying himquite as good wages as I was able to offer him when Itook him over into my service. I have since raised themto something a little more in accordance with his realworth, but at the time he was glad to find a new placewithout troubling about an increase of wages. Peoplewere fighting rather shy of him, and he had no friends inthis country. No; if anyone in the world was interestedin the prolonged life and unimpaired digestion of theCanon it would certainly be Sebastien.""People don't always weigh the consequences of theirrash acts," said Egbert, "otherwise there would be veryfew murders committed. Sebastien is a man of hottemper.""He is a southerner," admitted Sir Lulworth; "to begeographically exact I believe he hails from the Frenchslopes of the Pyrenees. I took that into considerationwhen he nearly killed the gardener's boy the other dayfor bringing him a spurious substitute for sorrel. Onemust always make allowances for origin and locality andearly environment; `Tell me your longitude and I'll knowwhat latitude to allow you,' is my motto.""There, you see," said Egbert, "he nearly killed thegardener's boy.""My dear Egbert, between nearly killing a gardener'sboy and altogether killing a Canon there is a widedifference. No doubt you have often felt a temporarydesire to kill a gardener's boy; you have never given wayto it, and I respect you for your self-control. But Idon't suppose you have ever wanted to kill anoctogenarian Canon. Besides, as far as we know, therehad never been any quarrel or disagreement between thetwo men. The evidence at the inquest brought that outvery clearly.""Ah!" said Egbert, with the air of a man coming atlast into a deferred inheritance of conversationalimportance, "that is precisely what I want to speak toyou about."He pushed away his coffee cup and drew a pocket-bookfrom his inner breast-pocket. From the depths of thepocket-book he produced an envelope, and from theenvelope he extracted a letter, closely written in asmall, neat handwriting."One of the Canon's numerous letters to AuntAdelaide," he explained, "written a few days before hisdeath. Her memory was already failing when she receivedit, and I daresay she forgot the contents as soon as shehad read it; otherwise, in the light of what subsequentlyhappened, we should have heard something of this letterbefore now. If it had been produced at the inquest Ifancy it would have made some difference in the course ofaffairs. The evidence, as you remarked just now, chokedoff suspicion against Sebastien by disclosing an utterabsence of anything that could be considered a motive orprovocation for the crime, if crime there was.""Oh, read the letter," said Sir Lulworthimpatiently."It's a long rambling affair, like most of hisletters in his later years," said Egbert. "I'll read thepart that bears immediately on the mystery." 'I very much fear I shall have to get rid ofSebastien. He cooks divinely, but he has the temper of afiend or an anthropoid ape, and I am really in bodilyfear of him. We had a dispute the other day as to thecorrect sort of lunch to be served on Ash Wednesday, andI got so irritated and annoyed at his conceit andobstinacy that at last I threw a cupful of coffee in hisface and called him at the same time an impudentjackanapes. Very little of the coffee went actually inhis face, but I have never seen a human being show suchdeplorable lack of self-control. I laughed at the threatof killing me that he spluttered out in his rage, andthought the whole thing would blow over, but I haveseveral times since caught him scowling and muttering ina highly unpleasant fashion, and lately I have fanciedthat he was dogging my footsteps about the grounds,particularly when I walk of an evening in the ItalianGarden.'"It was on the steps in the Italian Garden that thebody was found," commented Egbert, and resumed reading." 'I daresay the danger is imaginary; but I shallfeel more at ease when he has quitted my service.' "Egbert paused for a moment at the conclusion of theextract; then, as his uncle made no remark, he added: "Iflack of motive was the only factor that saved Sebastienfrom prosecution I fancy this letter will put a differentcomplexion on matters.""Have you shown it to anyone else?" asked SirLulworth, reaching out his hand for the incriminatingpiece of paper."No," said Egbert, handing it across the table, "Ithought I would tell you about it first. Heavens, whatare you doing?"Egbert's voice rose almost to a scream. SirLulworth had flung the paper well and truly into theglowing centre of the grate. The small, neat hand-writing shrivelled into black flaky nothingness."What on earth did you do that for?" gasped Egbert."That letter was our one piece of evidence to connectSebastien with the crime.""That is why I destroyed it," said Sir Lulworth."But why should you want to shield him?" criedEgbert; "the man is a common murderer.""A common murderer, possibly, but a very uncommoncook."

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The Blind Spot was featured as TheShort Story of the Day on Wed, Aug 28, 2013

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