Invisible Weapons
John Rhode
A classic crime novel by one of the most highly regarded exponents of the genre.The murder of old Mr Fransham while washing his hands in his niece’s cloakroom was one of the most astounding problems that ever confronted Scotland Yard. Not only was there a policeman in the house at the time, but there was an ugly wound in the victim’s forehead and nothing in the locked room that could have inflicted it.The combined efforts of Superintendent Hanslet and Inspector Waghorn brought no answer and the case was dropped. It was only after another equally baffling murder had been committed that Dr Lancelot Priestley’s orderly and imaginative deductions began to make the connections that would solve this extraordinary case.
JOHN RHODE
Invisible Weapons
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Collins Crime Club 1938
Copyright © Estate of John Rhode 1938
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1938, 2018
John Rhode asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008268817
Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9780008268824
Version: 2017-01-02
Table of Contents
Cover (#u365b8580-462b-5bad-b7d5-6cc6bf6ab0d8)
Title Page (#uf6e5b9f4-3fbe-52e6-8f70-83164e502c94)
Copyright (#u2683e3e0-81e3-5ccb-8c8d-e13bf740bc33)
Part One: The Adderminster Affair (#ued8e1176-39ed-5349-8bfa-df1a5e593a57)
Chapter I (#ub9b9a75a-e253-5f04-b22a-c2062999a7ce)
Chapter II (#u7c1798a9-43a7-57e0-86f2-6eca22226bfa)
Chapter III (#u9791bb65-5b8c-55b6-a89d-02dddcfb5bbf)
Chapter IV (#u59569978-ac83-51e2-be2b-bd184c2e9a67)
Chapter V (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VI (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VII (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Two: Death Visits Cheveley Street (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter I (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter II (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter III (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter IV (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter V (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VI (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VII (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VIII (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter IX (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PART ONE (#u34dbf89f-eca2-5482-ac80-b4de7b6e871f)
CHAPTER I (#u34dbf89f-eca2-5482-ac80-b4de7b6e871f)
It was very hot in the charge-room of Adderminster Police Station. Sergeant Cload mopped his head with one hand while he held the telephone receiver with the other.
‘Yes, sir, yes, sir,’ he repeated at intervals. ‘Certainly, sir, I will take the necessary steps at once. I’m very sorry that you have been subjected to this annoyance. Good-morning, sir.’
He put the instrument aside and growled. ‘Alfie Prince again!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do about that chap, Linton.’
‘What’s he been up to now?’ asked Constable Linton, the only other occupant of the room.
‘Oh, the same old game. Going round to people’s houses asking for fags and cursing if he doesn’t get them. This time it’s Colonel Exbury. It seems that he went round there and that the colonel had the devil of a job to get rid of him. He’s not a bit pleased and wants to know what we mean to do about it.’
‘I can’t make Alfie out,’ said Linton, scratching his head. ‘He’ll do a day’s job with anybody in the town when he feels like it. And then all of a sudden he’ll take it into his head to go round annoying folk. And it isn’t that he gets drunk, for I’ve never heard of anybody who’s seen him the worse for liquor.’
‘He’s not right, that’s what it is,’ replied the sergeant confidently. ‘I don’t mean that he’s out and out mad, but he comes over all batty now and then. I wonder, now!’
Again the sergeant mopped his face with that enormous pocket handkerchief. ‘Damn this heat!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s enough to drive anyone batty. What I was wondering is whether the folk at the asylum could do Alfie any good if he went in there for a bit.’
Linton shook his head. ‘He’d never go, not unless he was forced to,’ he replied. ‘As it is he’ll never sleep within four walls if he can help it.’
‘I know. That’s just the difficulty. Still, something might be done if we went the right way about it. I tell you what, Dr Thornborough would help us. He’d never mind being asked to do a thing like that.’
‘Like what?’ Linton asked.
‘I’m coming to that. It’s not a bit of good our bringing Alfie before the Bench, for you know as well as I do what would happen. They’d fine him with the option. Alfie’s mother would pay the fine and we shouldn’t be any further forward than we were before. He’d go on pestering folk and giving us a lot of trouble.’
‘We’ll have to do something. It wouldn’t do to upset the colonel.’
‘That’s just it. Now if we could get Alfie put away for a bit it wouldn’t do any harm and might do a lot of good. And that’s just where Dr Thornborough comes in.’
The sergeant glanced at the clock as he continued. ‘It’s just a quarter to one now; the doctor always gets home for lunch round about one o’clock. Jump on your bike and slip up to his place in Gunthorpe Road. I never can pronounce the name of it. Tell him what we think about Alfie and ask him if he can manage to have a quiet chat with him. And then if he thinks that Alfie ought to be put away we’ll know what to do about it.’
This conversation took place on Saturday, June 12. Linton mounted his bicycle and rode through the little town until he reached Gunthorpe Road on its outskirts. He passed the public gardens and museum on his right, and a single small detached house on his left. Thus he reached a new and substantial-looking house which bore upon its drive gates the unusual name Epidaurus.
The gates were open and Linton turned in at the first he came to. He dismounted, left his bicycle at the end of the short semi-circular drive, and walked to the front door. It was opened by a smart and capable-looking parlourmaid who smiled as she recognised him. ‘Good-morning, Mr Linton,’ she said primly.
‘Good-morning, miss,’ Linton replied with official gravity. ‘I was wondering if I could speak to the doctor for a moment.’
‘He’s not back from his rounds yet, though he’s sure to be in before long. Mrs Thornborough is in, if you’d like to see her?’
‘I’d rather wait and see the doctor, if there’s no objection.’
The parlourmaid stood aside to let him enter and, as she did so a young and remarkably pretty woman appeared in the hall. ‘Hullo, Linton,’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s your business? Anything I can do for you?’
‘Thank you, mam,’ Linton replied. ‘But I’ve got a message from the sergeant for the doctor.’
‘Then you’d better wait for him in the consulting-room. Take Linton in there, will you, Lucy, and see that he has a glass of beer while he’s waiting.’
The parlourmaid showed Linton into the consulting-room and a few moments later appeared with a glass and a jug on a tray. ‘Can’t stop and share it with you, as I’m busy,’ she said as she frisked out again. In her haste she omitted to shut the door properly and it remained slightly ajar.
The consulting-room lay at the back of the house, and its window, which was open, commanded a view of the kitchen garden and of the garage at the end of it. Linton noticed that the garage was empty and that its doors were propped back. He poured himself out a glass of beer, sampled it and then sat down.
The door being ajar he could hear sounds of activity within the house. From the dining-room came a subdued clatter of plates and cutlery. Lucy was obviously laying the table for lunch. The kitchen premises were divided from the rest of the house by a baize door, impervious to sound or smell. The notes of a piano, strummed softly but ably, reached Linton from the drawing-room. And then as he took a second draught of beer the soft purr of an approaching car reached his ears. That must be the doctor, of course.
The car entered the drive and stopped outside the front door. Linton wiped his lips and stood up ready to greet Dr Thornborough. But, contrary to his expectations, he did not hear the front door open. An instant later, an electric bell rang insistently somewhere in the back premises.
The clattering in the dining-room came to an immediate stop. Linton heard Lucy hasten with tripping steps to the front door and open it. Next a deep voice which Linton did not recognise, and a heavy step in the hall. A visitor, obviously. Whoever it was, Lucy must have shown him into the drawing-room, for the piano stopped abruptly. Before the drawing-room door closed again, Linton heard Mrs Thornborough’s voice raised in a tone of complete amazement. It seemed, then, that the visitor must be unexpected.
A minute later Linton heard the sound of a car being driven down the carriage way beside the house towards the garage. Was it the doctor’s car this time? No, it wasn’t. As soon as it came in sight Linton saw that. It was a very smart-looking Armstrong-Siddeley limousine, driven by an elderly and rather surly-looking chauffeur. It came to rest inside the garage. The chauffeur dismounted, and walked slowly round it. Then he produced a packet of cigarettes from an inside pocket, chose one and lighted it. Having thrown away the match, he propped himself negligently against the garage door-post.
The drawing-room door opened again and a heavy footstep crossed the hall. Linton heard the sound of another door being opened. It was shut immediately and the click of a lock followed. Somebody left the drawing-room and hurried into the dining-room. This must be Mrs Thornborough, for Linton recognised her voice as she gave instructions to Lucy. Something about it being very awkward. Cook should be asked to hold back lunch for ten minutes. And of course, another place must be laid. Oh yes, and Coates. He must be asked in to have his lunch in the kitchen. Better tell cook about it at once.
Linton heard her go upstairs slowly, step by step, as though upon some errand she disliked. The baize door opened and shut as Lucy went into the kitchen to break the news to cook. From somewhere on the ground floor the faint but unmistakable sound of a plug being pulled.
Followed a silence of a couple of minutes. Then an indeterminate and not very distinct sound, something between a thud and a crash. Linton supposed that cook, flustered by the arrival of this unexpected guest, had dropped something in the kitchen. He took out his watch and looked at it. Seven minutes past one. Something must have detained the doctor, for, as Linton knew, he always tried to get home by one o’clock.
A further silence of two or three minutes, then the sound of Mrs Thornborough coming downstairs again. She went into the drawing-room, leaving the door open behind her.
Then again Linton heard the sound of an approaching car. There was no doubt about it this time. It came straight in and drove rapidly down the carriage-way. Linton recognised the doctor’s car with the doctor himself at the wheel. The car pulled up suddenly just short of the garage, and Dr Thornborough got out. Again Linton looked at his watch, to find that the time was now twelve minutes past one.
The surly-faced chauffeur threw away his cigarette and touched his cap. Dr Thornborough seemed to question him eagerly, to which he gave some replies. Linton could hear the sound of their voices but not what they said. Dr Thornborough hurried towards the house, which he entered by the garden door beside the consulting-room.
At the sound of this door being opened, Mrs Thornborough ran out of the drawing-room and met her husband in the hall just outside the consulting-room door. Linton could not help overhearing their conversation.
It was Mrs Thornborough who spoke first. ‘Oh, Cyril, Uncle Bob’s here!’ she exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me that he was coming?’
‘I know he’s here, for I’ve spoken to Coates in the garage,’ the doctor replied. ‘But how could I have told you that he was coming when I didn’t know myself?’
‘You didn’t know he was coming? But he had a letter from you this morning asking him to drive down to lunch today as you particularly wanted to see him.’
‘My dear Betty! One or both of you must be suffering from delusions. I haven’t written to him for weeks as you know very well. Besides, just now—’
‘I know. It’s absurdly thoughtless of you. I’m very much afraid that there’ll be ructions.’
‘Well, it can’t be helped. We shall have to make the best of it. Where is Uncle Bob, by the way?’
‘In the cloakroom, washing his hands. He’ll be out any minute now, for he’s been there quite a long time. Oh, and by the way, I almost forgot to tell you. Linton’s waiting in the consulting-room to see you. He’s got a message or something from the sergeant for you. You’ll have time to see him before lunch because I’ve asked cook to put it back a few minutes.’
The door of the consulting-room opened and Dr Thornborough walked in. He was tall and slight and looked younger than his age, which was thirty-five. His normally cheerful expression was obscured by a slight frown as he greeted the constable. ‘Well, Linton, what’s the matter?’ he inquired brusquely.
Linton started to explain the situation which had arisen regarding Alfie Prince. But before he had got very far, the doctor, whose attention was obviously elsewhere, interrupted him.
‘Alfie Prince? I saw him just now as I drove in at the gate. But look here. Excuse me a minute, there’s a good fellow. I must see …’ And he hurried out of the room, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Linton heard him go to the door of the cloakroom and rattle the handle. ‘Uncle Bob!’ he called. And then a second or two later, ‘Uncle Bob! Unlock the door, will you? It’s only me, Cyril. I want a word with you.’
Followed a pause in which every voice in the house seemed to be hushed: then Dr Thornborough battered on the door of the cloakroom with his fists. ‘Uncle Bob!’ he called once more.
Silence, broken only by the doctor’s footsteps crossing the hall. He re-entered the consulting-room, frowning more deeply than before. ‘I don’t like it, Linton,’ he exclaimed abruptly. ‘My uncle, Mr Fransham, is in the cloakroom, and I can’t get him to answer me.’
‘He’s been in there a good ten minutes or more, sir,’ Linton replied.
‘Eh!’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘How the devil do you know that?’
‘While I was in here waiting for you, sir, I heard a gentleman go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind him.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, look here. Fransham’s heart is inclined to be dicky. And I’m a little bit afraid this hot weather may have upset him. I’d like to get the door open, but I don’t know how to manage it.’
‘Perhaps there’s a window that you could climb in by, sir?’ Linton suggested.
Dr Thornborough shook his head impatiently. ‘No good!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve thought of that already. The window’s barred, and, if it wasn’t, it doesn’t open wide enough to let anybody through. Do you think you could manage to force the door?’
Linton smiled. He was six foot two, broad in proportion and weighed seventeen stone. ‘I think I might be able to manage it, sir,’ he replied.
‘Come along then.’ They hurried across the hall and the doctor pointed to the door of the cloakroom. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Now let’s see what you can do.’
‘I shall have to break the lock, I’m afraid, sir,’ Linton replied warningly.
‘Oh, damn the lock! Fire away and open the door. That’s all I care about.’
Linton applied his shoulder to the door and gave an apparently effortless heave. With a sound of rending wood the door flew open. Linton entered the cloakroom, Dr Thornborough close at his heels. Just inside the doorway they came to a sudden halt. Stretched on the ground in front of them was the body of an elderly man lying flat on his back.
At that moment the deep boom of the luncheon gong rang like a knell through the house.
CHAPTER II (#u34dbf89f-eca2-5482-ac80-b4de7b6e871f)
Before the reverberations of the gong had died away, Dr Thornborough was on his knees beside the fallen man with Linton standing close behind him. The doctor made a rapid examination.
‘It’s Uncle Bob, and he’s dead!’ he exclaimed without looking up. ‘For Heaven’s sake shut the door, Linton, and fix it somehow so that it won’t open. We don’t want the women crowding in here and seeing this.’
Linton shut the door and managed to jam the broken lock. Then he returned to his station by the doctor’s side, uncertain what he should do. Even his inexperience could tell at a glance that Mr Fransham had not died of heart failure.
The body stretched on the floor was that of a man nearing sixty, grey-headed and clean-shaven. His rugged features and protruding chin proclaimed him to have been a man of strong will. In the front of his head above the middle of his forehead the skin was broken and the bone beneath it fractured. Linton felt assured that Mr Fransham had died as the result of a blow from some blunt instrument. The blood from the wound had trickled down the dead man’s cheek and collected in a small pool on the rubber flooring.
The cloakroom measured about fifteen feet by twelve. Its only entrance was by the door from the hall. The wall on the left of this entrance was provided with a series of hooks, upon which hung an array of masculine coats and hats. Against the opposite wall was a water-closet and, separated from this by a thin partition running half-way across the room, a lavatory basin. In the wall behind the basin was a window, glazed with frosted glass, and between this and the basin a wide window-ledge faced with vitrolite. Only a small panel of this window, less than a foot square, was made to open. It was now open inwards and secured by a rod and pin. The window looked out upon the carriage-way running beside the house from one of the drive gates to the garage. On the outside the window was protected by stout iron bars set about six inches apart. The carriage-way was about twelve feet wide, and it was bounded on its further side by an eight-foot brick wall.
Dr Thornborough rose slowly to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed upon the dead man’s face. ‘This is pretty ghastly,’ he muttered, more to himself than to Linton. ‘Uncle Bob dead like this, and here of all places. I don’t begin to understand it.’ He looked up suddenly and faced the policeman. ‘What are we going to do about it, Linton?’ he asked helplessly.
‘It’s my duty to take particulars, sir,’ Linton replied rather stiffly. ‘To begin with, would you mind telling me this gentleman’s full name and address?’
‘His name is Robert Fransham,’ Dr Thornborough replied. ‘His age is fifty-eight and his address is 4 Cheveley Street, London, SW1. You’ve heard me call him Uncle Bob, but he’s not really my uncle, he’s my wife’s, and the devil of it is that his sister, my wife’s mother, is staying with us at this very moment.’
‘What in your opinion was the cause of death, sir?’
‘You can see that for yourself, I should think. A depressed fracture of the anterior portion of the skull, severe enough to cause immediate death.’
‘Can you suggest what could have caused such a fracture, sir?’
‘I can’t. That’s just the puzzle. The fracture was caused by the impact of some hard body, of course. And that body must have been of a definite shape. You know what a cube is, I suppose?’
‘I think so, sir. It’s the shape of dice or of lumps of sugar.’
‘That’s right. Well, the nature of this fracture suggests that Fransham was struck by the edge of a cube an inch and a half across. And if you can suggest how that happened, you’re cleverer than I am.’
‘Perhaps if we were to search the room, we should find the object, sir.’
‘You’re at liberty to search as much as you like. In fact, it seems to me that this business is up to you. Meanwhile, I’m faced with the particularly unpleasant task of breaking the news to my wife. She and her uncle were devoted to one another, and she’s going to take it pretty badly.’
Dr Thornborough walked slowly out of the room and Linton secured the door behind him. He had no wish to be interrupted at this stage of the proceedings. He was first in the field and meant to take full advantage of the fact.
The dead man was lying flat on his back at right angles to the wall on which the coat-hooks were fixed, and with his arms outstretched. His feet were towards the lavatory basin and a few inches from it in the horizontal direction. The basin itself was half full of soapy water, still warm.
Linton examined the dead man’s hands and found that they were damp and soapy. This, together with the position in which the body was lying, suggested that Mr Fransham must have been actually washing his hands when he was struck. A cake of soap still moist was lying on the floor beneath the basin. Two clean towels hung on a rail nearby. Their appearance indicated that neither of them had been used.
Linton took up his position in front of the basin as though he were about to wash his hands in it. Looking straight in front of him he found that his head was on a level with the open pane of the window. Further, his view of the wall on the opposite side of the carriage-way was not obstructed by the protecting bars. From the centre of the basin to these bars was a matter of thirty inches, measured horizontally.
Linton entered these facts in his notebook and shook his head forebodingly. He didn’t at all like the way in which things were shaping. But for the moment he had done everything that could be expected of him. It was time that he got into touch with his superiors.
He opened the door of the cloakroom and peeped out. There seemed to be nobody about, though he could hear the sound of voices behind the closed door of the dining-room. He went to the telephone instrument which stood on a table in the hall, and rang through to Sergeant Cload, keeping his eye on the cloakroom door meanwhile.
His report to the sergeant was very guarded, since he was not sure who might be listening to him.
‘I’m speaking from Dr Thornborough’s, sir. Mrs Thornborough’s uncle has been found dead under rather suspicious circumstances.’
It took Cload some seconds to realise the full import of this message. ‘What on earth do you mean!’ he exclaimed at last. ‘Let’s have the particulars, man.’
‘I’d rather you came and saw them for yourself, sir,’ Linton replied firmly.
‘Are you trying to hint that there’s been a murder at Dr Thornborough’s?’ the sergeant asked.
‘It looks very like it, sir. But least said, soonest mended.’
‘I see. This is a job for the super. I’ll get on to him at once and tell him what you’ve told me. Meanwhile you stay where you are and see that nothing’s interfered with.’
Linton remained in the hall, awaiting further instructions. From the dining-room came the sound of a woman sobbing and the voice of Dr Thornborough apparently trying to comfort her. From time to time another voice—that of a woman—chimed in. The news of the tragedy had not apparently reached the kitchen, judging by the sounds of merriment which penetrated the baize door. Linton approached this on tiptoe and pushed it gently open an inch or so. He heard two women laughing, apparently at something which was being said by a man with a hoarse voice. The latter was presumably the surly-faced chauffeur and the two women were Lucy and the cook.
Linton had not long to wait for his instructions. Before many minutes had passed a car turned at high speed into the drive and pulled up with a squeaking of brakes outside the front door. Linton, recognising the sound, opened the front door and saluted. Superintendent Yateley, expectant and alert, confronted him. ‘Where?’ he asked.
‘This way, sir,’ Linton replied.
He led the superintendent into the cloakroom and secured the lock behind them. Yateley glanced at the body and then rapidly round the room. ‘Who found him?’ he asked.
‘Dr Thornborough and I between us, sir.’
‘Good. Now tell me what you know about it.’
Linton gave an account of his sojourn in the consulting-room and of the events which followed it. Yateley listened attentively.
‘You’ve done pretty well so far, Linton,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s get the main facts perfectly clear. You heard this Mr Fransham go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind him?’
‘I heard somebody go in, sir, but of course I couldn’t see who it was.’
‘You did not hear the door open or shut again until you broke it down?’
‘No, sir.’
‘There was nobody in the room but the dead man when you broke in?’
‘No, sir. I’m perfectly certain of that.’
‘You have found no trace of any weapon which could have caused this wound?’
‘No trace at all, sir. But I haven’t moved the body to look underneath it.’
‘Quite right.’ The superintendent took a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a line round the body as it lay on the floor.
‘Now help me to lift him on one side,’ he said.
Removal of the body disclosed nothing whatever and Yateley frowned.
‘He can’t have been struck by any sort of missile, or it would be still in the room,’ he said. ‘All right, Linton, you stay here and have another search. Look through all those coats on the pegs, in the dead man’s clothing and everywhere. I’m going to get statements from everybody on the premises. Where’s the doctor, to begin with?’
‘In the dining-room, sir, with Mrs Thornborough and another lady.’
Yateley left the cloakroom, walked across the hall and opened the dining-room door. Dr Thornborough looked up as he did so, and the superintendent beckoned to him. With an anxious glance at his wife, who was sitting bowed in a chair with an older woman bending over her, the doctor stepped out into the hall.
‘Bad business, this, doctor,’ said Yateley sympathetically. ‘I’d like to hear what you can tell me about it, if you don’t mind. Where can we have a quiet talk?’
‘Better come into the consulting-room,’ Dr Thornborough replied, absently running his fingers through his hair. ‘But I can’t tell you anything about it, I’m afraid. It’s as much as I can do to bring myself to realise that it has happened.’
Yateley made no reply until they were both in the consulting-room with the door shut behind them. ‘This must have been a terrible shock to you, doctor,’ he said then. ‘The dead man was your wife’s uncle, I understand?’
Dr Thornborough nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he replied. ‘My wife is naturally terribly upset. She has always been very fond of him.’
‘You told Mr Linton that Mr Fransham lived in London. He drove down here at your invitation, I presume?’
‘That’s just what I can’t understand. He told my wife when he arrived that he had a letter from me asking him to come down to lunch today. But I assure you that I had never written him any such letter. In fact, his coming here this week might have been very awkward.’
‘Why was that, doctor?’
‘Because my wife’s mother happens to be staying with us. Fransham was her brother-in-law, but they never managed to hit it off and they’ve avoided one another for years.’
‘What was the reason for this mutual dislike?’
‘I don’t think there was any real reason. Fransham didn’t approve of his brother Tom’s choice when he married, and that didn’t tend to amicable relations. Then Tom got killed in the war while Robert, my wife’s uncle, stayed at home and made a lot of money in munitions. Robert Fransham didn’t take much interest in his brother’s widow and it was a grievance on her part that he didn’t make her a handsome allowance. Add a certain amount of mutual antipathy to all this and you’ll get some idea of the situation. I may say that my mother-in-law is a woman of decided views and doesn’t mince matters if anything upsets her.’
‘Was Mr Robert Fransham married?’
‘No, he had never been. He was what is known as a confirmed bachelor. Before and during the war he was a partner in Fransham and Innes, Brass Founders, of Birmingham. The firm was always fairly prosperous, I believe, and after war broke out it did extremely well on government contracts. In 1920 Fransham sold the business and retired. He then took over the remainder of the lease of No. 4, Cheveley Street and settled down to live there.’
‘What establishment did he keep up?’
‘He had a married couple, Mr and Mrs Stowell, and a chauffeur, Coates. Coates is here now with the car.’
‘Mr Fransham was in affluent circumstances, of course?’
‘Judging by appearances, he was. But I haven’t the slightest idea what he was actually worth. He never spoke about his money and I’m bound to say that he hated parting with it.’
‘You were not in the house when he arrived, were you, doctor?’
‘No, I hadn’t come back from my rounds. The first I knew of anybody being here was when I saw his car in the garage. I didn’t recognise it, for he had bought a new car within the past few weeks and I hadn’t seen him since. But I recognised Coates, his chauffeur, as soon as I set eyes on him, and I knew that the visitor must be Uncle Bob.’
‘You were surprised to find him here?’
‘I was, very much surprised. Uncle Bob has driven down here often enough, of course, but never without letting us know that he was coming. I asked Coates if Uncle Bob had brought anybody down with him and he said no. Then I came straight into the house where I met my wife. She told me that she had seen Uncle Bob who was then in the cloakroom.’
‘What did you do next, doctor?’
‘I came in here. My wife told me that Linton was waiting to see me. He began telling me something about Alfie Prince. But I’m afraid I hardly listened to him. I was worried about Uncle Bob.’
‘Why were you worried, doctor?’
‘For two reasons. First because my mother-in-law was here. As I told you, she and Uncle Bob have avoided one another for years. I was afraid that if they met unexpectedly in this house neither of them would believe that it was accidental. They’d think that my wife and I had arranged it between us. Family reconciliation and all that. You know what I mean. And both of them would have bitterly resented anything of the kind.’
‘They didn’t meet, as it happened, did they, doctor?’
‘No, my mother-in-law was upstairs when Uncle Bob arrived. My idea was to see Uncle Bob before they met and explain the situation to him. I couldn’t very well turn my mother-in-law out, but Uncle Bob could have gone down to the Red Lion and had his lunch there if he didn’t want to see her. So I went to the cloakroom door and asked Uncle Bob to let me in.’
‘You got no reply, I understand?’
‘I couldn’t hear a sound inside the cloakroom. And that was the second reason for my being worried. I’m not Uncle Bob’s regular medical attendant, but I have looked over him once or twice when he’s been staying here. His heart wasn’t any too sound, though there was no reason why he shouldn’t have lived for years. But I was afraid that the heat might have been too much for him and that he’d fainted. That’s why I got Linton to break the door down for me.’
‘You described the nature of the wound to Linton. Can you suggest what could have caused it?’
‘Only a heavy blow. That blow might have been inflicted by the impact of some missile such as a stone. Or by the stroke of a weapon such as a hammer.’
‘As you drove down the carriage-way towards the garage you passed the cloakroom window. Did you happen to notice whether it was open or not?’
‘I didn’t. By that time I had seen the car standing in the garage and my attention was concentrated upon that, wondering whose it could be.’
‘Where was Coates the chauffeur when you first saw this car?’
‘I saw somebody standing beside the car but I didn’t recognise him at once. The garage is dark and my eyes were accustomed to the bright sunshine. It wasn’t until I got close up to the man that I saw it was Coates.’
‘When Linton told you that he had come to see you about Alfie Prince, didn’t you tell him that you had seen the man himself quite recently?’
‘I did. I saw him in the distance just before I turned into the drive gates. You can’t mistake that old army greatcoat that Alfie always wears. I don’t believe there’s another one so ragged in the whole county.’
‘Where was he when you saw him?’
‘I had come from Mark Farm. Before I turned in at the drive gate, Alfie crossed the road about two or three hundred yards in front of me. He must have come through a gap in the hedge out of that building land that lies on the other side of my wall.’
‘Did you notice where he went to?’
‘I can’t say that I did. I wasn’t at the moment particularly interested in Alfie’s movements.’
‘Thanks very much, doctor. That’s all I want to ask you for the moment. There’s just one suggestion I should like to make. Under the circumstances, wouldn’t it be as well to have another opinion upon the wound? It would serve to confirm your evidence.’
‘That’s a very good idea,’ replied Dr Thornborough readily. ‘I’ll ring up my partner, Dorrington. He’ll come along and tell us what he thinks about it.’
‘I’d be glad if you’d do that, doctor. And now, do you think Mrs Thornborough is in a fit state for me to see her?’
‘I’ll ask her,’ replied Dr Thornborough doubtfully. ‘But you’ll understand that if she doesn’t feel up to it, it might be better to wait.’
He went out, and a minute or two later Mrs Thornborough entered the consulting-room. She was obviously very much upset but she made a brave attempt to smile at the superintendent. ‘I’m ready to answer any questions you like to ask me, Mr Yateley,’ she said.
‘That’s extremely kind of you, Mrs Thornborough,’ the superintendent replied. ‘I can imagine your feelings and I won’t keep you more than a minute or two. To begin with, where were you when Mr Fransham arrived?’
‘In the drawing-room, waiting for my husband to come back. And when Lucy showed Uncle Bob in, I was utterly flabbergasted. He’s never come down here unexpectedly like that and I was afraid that something must be wrong. And that’s the first thing I asked him.’
‘What was his reply, Mrs Thornborough?’
‘He seemed very much surprised. He asked me why I should think anything was wrong when he’d driven down to lunch on Cyril’s express invitation. This puzzled me more than ever, for Cyril had said nothing to me about it. And then Uncle Bob went on to say that he’d had a letter from Cyril this morning asking him to drive down to lunch today for he had something very particular to ask him about.
‘I couldn’t begin to understand this, for Cyril wouldn’t do a thing like that without telling me about it. And I was afraid that mother, who’d gone up a few minutes before to get ready for lunch, would come down any moment. So I told Uncle Bob that if he wanted to wash his hands he knew where to go, and then when I’d seen Lucy I went upstairs to tell mother that Uncle Bob was here. I said that if she didn’t care to meet him she could have a tray sent up to her, but she wouldn’t hear of that. She said that she wasn’t afraid of Uncle Bob or anyone else, and if he chose to make himself unpleasant, two could play at that game. She and Uncle Bob never got on very well, you know.’
‘So the doctor has told me, Mrs Thornborough. What did you do next?’
‘I came downstairs and waited for my husband. When he came in I told him about Uncle Bob and then went into the drawing-room. A minute or two later I heard him calling Uncle Bob through the cloakroom door. Then there was a crash and I wondered if I’d better go and see what was the matter. But before I’d made up my mind mother came downstairs and at the same time Mary sounded the lunch gong. So mother and I went into the dining-room, where we’ve been ever since. And after we’d waited for a few minutes Cyril came in and told us what had happened.’
At this moment Dr Thornborough entered the consulting-room. He went up to his wife and laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Feeling all right, Betty?’ he asked.
‘Not too bad,’ she replied. ‘I’ve just been telling Mr Yateley what happened.’
‘Mrs Thornborough has been most kind,’ said the superintendent. ‘I’ll leave her in your care now, doctor. I wonder if you’d mind asking Coates the chauffeur to come and see me?’
Dr and Mrs Thornborough left the room and a few minutes later Coates appeared. He was a man of about forty-five, with a hoarse voice and a rather surly expression. In reply to the superintendent’s questions he said that he had been with Mr Fransham for five years, during which time he had lived in the house. Mr Fransham had always been a good master to him and very considerate. Mr Fransham never drove the car himself, but liked to go out most afternoons, either to visit friends or for a run in the country. He had very often driven Mr Fransham to Adderminster. Perhaps half a dozen times or more a year. Mrs Thornborough had frequently visited her uncle at No. 4, Cheveley Street, but Coates could not remember that Dr Thornborough had ever done so. It was fifty-three miles by mileage indicator from Cheveley Street to Epidaurus.
‘When did Mr Fransham tell you that he wanted you to drive him down here today?’ the superintendent asked.
‘Just after he had his breakfast this morning, sir,’ Coates replied. ‘He sent for me and told me that he’d have to cancel the orders given me yesterday, for he’d had a letter from the doctor asking him to drive down to lunch very specially.’
‘What orders had he given you yesterday, Coates?’
‘Well, sir, I’d told him that since the new car had done nearly a thousand miles, it was time that the makers looked over her to see that everything was right. So Mr Fransham had told me to take the car round to the Armstrong-Siddeley place in Cricklewood and leave her there over the weekend. But this morning he told me that would have to wait till Monday and said that a hundred miles one way or the other wouldn’t make much difference. So we started away at a quarter past eleven and were here sharp at one o’clock. Mr Fransham doesn’t like being driven too fast.’
‘You’ve heard that Mr Fransham has been killed, of course?’
‘The doctor told me so just now when he sent me in here, sir. And I’m bound to say that it sounds very queer to me.’
‘It is, very queer, Coates. You say that you got here at one o’clock sharp? Tell me exactly what you did when you arrived?’
‘I drove in at the gates, sir, stopped outside the front door, and rang the bell. Lucy opened the door and Mr Fransham went into the house. Then I drove the car round to the garage at the back. I looked round the car, then lit a cigarette. Then I waited where I was, knowing that somebody would come out and ask me into the house. I didn’t like to go in until I was invited, you understand, sir. And while I was waiting the doctor came along and spoke to me.’
‘Were you in the garage the whole time that you were waiting?’
‘Yes, sir, I was expecting somebody to come and call me into the house at any moment.’
‘Did anyone enter the carriage-way leading to the garage during that time?’
Coates shook his head with an air of decision. ‘No, sir, I’m quite sure that they didn’t,’ he replied.
‘How can you be so sure of that? You can’t have been looking down the carriage-way all the time? You told me yourself that the first thing you did after you got here was to look round the car.’
‘That’s quite right, sir. But all the time I was looking round the car I had an eye open for somebody coming out of the house. If there had been anybody in the carriage-way during that time I should have seen them, I’m quite certain of that. And after I’d finished looking round the car, which didn’t take more than a couple of minutes, I just stood inside the garage doorway smoking a fag. And I don’t see how anybody could have come into the carriage-way then, without my noticing them.’
This seemed reasonable enough. The distance from the garage door to the cloakroom window was not more than fifty yards in a direct line. It was incredible that anyone could have approached the window unknown to an observer at the door, himself on the alert for an expected summons. Yateley slightly changed the import of his questioning. ‘When you found the garage empty you guessed that Dr Thornborough was out on his rounds, I suppose?’
‘Well, I thought he might be, sir, but I couldn’t be sure. Sometimes when Mr Fransham was down here with his car, the doctor would leave his own somewhere in the town so as to leave the garage free for Mr Fransham’s car. There isn’t room for both, you see, sir.’
‘You saw the doctor’s car turn in at the drive gate, I suppose?’
‘Yes, sir, I caught sight of it as soon as it came round the corner. The doctor came straight down the carriage-way, stopped just outside the garage and then got out and spoke to me.’
‘Do you remember what he said?’
‘He said, “Why, Coates, I am surprised to see you! Did you drive Mr Fransham down?” I told him that Mr Fransham was indoors and he hurried into the house by the garden door.’
Yateley dismissed Coates and then joined his subordinate in the cloakroom. ‘Well, Linton, have you found anything?’ he asked.
‘Nothing very much, I’m afraid, sir,’ Linton replied. ‘Nothing that could possibly account for the wound, that is. I’ve been right through the room and I can’t find a stone or anything that could have been thrown. Nor is there anything that could have made a wound of the shape the doctor described. There are a couple of walking-sticks, but they are both round with a crooked handle. And there are a couple of lady’s umbrellas, but one has a round ball at the end and the other a plain handle with a strap. I’ve put them out in the corner, sir, for you to look at.’
‘Where did you find these things?’ the superintendent asked.
‘Hanging on the pegs, sir, behind the coats.’
Yateley very soon satisfied himself that the blow could not have been inflicted by any of the walking-sticks or umbrellas. ‘Have you been through Mr Fransham’s clothing?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir, I have, but there’s nothing there. Nothing that could have caused the wound, that is. But I did find something else that I think you’ll like to see, sir.’
He opened his notebook and took out a folded sheet of paper. ‘I found that in Mr Fransham’s wallet, sir.’
Yateley took the paper and unfolded it. It was a single sheet of notepaper embossed with the address Epidaurus, Adderminster. Under this was typed a date, June 11, and a letter, also typewritten, followed:
‘DEAR UNCLE BOB, A situation has arisen here upon which Betty and myself should very much like your advice. The matter is urgent, since a decision will have to be reached upon it by Monday afternoon at the latest. I should have come up to London to see you, but you know how difficult it is for me to leave my practice at a moment’s notice. Could you possibly drive down to lunch tomorrow, Saturday, and we could discuss things afterwards? It would relieve Betty’s mind enormously if you would do this. We shall expect you unless we get a wire in the morning to say that you can’t come. But do try to manage it, for really it’s most important. Yours affectionately,’
The letter was signed in ink, ‘Cyril.’
Yateley frowned as he folded up the letter and put it in his pocket. ‘Have you had your dinner yet, Linton?’ he asked.
‘No, sir, I haven’t.’
‘Well, I’ll see that you’re relieved as soon as it can be managed. Meanwhile, I want you to stay here. If Dr Dorrington comes let him examine the body. But see that nothing whatever is taken from this room, or brought into it, either, for that matter.’
Yateley returned to the consulting-room where he found Dr Thornborough sitting at his desk. The doctor looked up as he came in.
‘Oh there you are, superintendent,’ he said. ‘I’ve been on to Dorrington and he’s promised to come along here as soon as he’s finished lunch.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ Yateley replied. ‘We may find a second opinion useful. I wonder if you could let me have a sheet of notepaper? I want to jot down a couple of notes while they’re still fresh in my mind.’
Dr Thornborough stretched out his hand to a stationery rack which stood on his desk. ‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘I thought you fellows always carried notebooks?’
‘So we do, but for once I’ve left mine behind.’ Yateley scribbled a few words on the sheet of notepaper which the doctor had given him. ‘I shall have to get back to my office now,’ he said curtly. ‘You’ll see me later in the day.’ And with that he left the room.
He went out by the front door and thence by the drive to the carriage-way. It had occurred to him that some trace of the weapon might be found there. But after a few minutes’ investigation he was disappointed. The surface of the carriage-way was of concrete, and smoothly swept. Upon it was no sign of a missile, or of a weapon of any description.
He returned to his car and drove to the police station. His first care was to give orders to Sergeant Cload for Linton’s relief. This done he put a telephone call through to the Chief Constable of the County.
CHAPTER III (#u34dbf89f-eca2-5482-ac80-b4de7b6e871f)
As a direct result of Yateley’s telephone call, Inspector Waghorn, of the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police, found himself in the superintendent’s room at Adderminster Police Station just before six o’clock that afternoon.
Inspector Waghorn, popularly known at the Yard as Jimmy, was a Hendon graduate who had already gained the approval of his somewhat exacting superior, Superintendent Hanslet. It was Hanslet who had suggested Jimmy as the fitting person to answer the call from the Adderminster Police.
‘Go down and see what you can make of it,’ he had said. ‘If it’s all plain sailing, you know well enough what to do by this time. If it isn’t you can get on to me and I’ll come down and bear a hand. Away you go.’
Yateley gave Jimmy a detailed account of what had happened.
‘Those are the facts,’ he concluded. ‘Now, I’m going to be perfectly frank with you, inspector. We didn’t call in the Yard because we wanted any help in tracing the criminal.’
Jimmy smiled. ‘That’s what the CID is usually called upon to do, sir,’ he replied.
‘Yes, I know. But now it’s rather different. In this case, there isn’t the slightest doubt as to the identity of the criminal. The only problem—and that’s a very minor one—is precisely how he did it. To put it crudely, we’ve only sent for you to wash our dirty linen for us.’
‘I appreciate your meaning, sir,’ replied Jimmy solemnly. ‘But perhaps you would be good enough to tell me exactly what you want me to do?’
‘I should have thought you would have guessed that. We don’t want to arrest Dr Thornborough off our own bats, so to speak. He’s made himself very popular while he’s been here, and if we were to take action without calling in the Yard, we should arouse local feeling against us. Whereas if the Yard applies for a warrant, the responsibility can’t be thrown upon our shoulders.’
‘I see, sir,’ Jimmy murmured respectfully. ‘There’s no doubt about Dr Thornborough’s guilt, I suppose?’
‘There’s no room for the slightest particle of doubt!’ Yateley exclaimed. ‘Take the motive, to begin with. Mr Fransham was a total stranger to Adderminster. By that I mean, that although he had visited his nephew and niece several times previously, they were the only people in the town he knew. Nobody else in Adderminster could have had the vestige of a motive for murdering him.
‘Now, had the doctor a motive for murdering him? Most emphatically he had. I happen to know that although he’s got a pretty good practice here as Dr Dorrington’s partner, he’s been living a bit beyond his means. Neither he nor his wife have any money of their own. He built that house of his with the help of a Building Society, and he buys his cars on the hire purchase system. I won’t say that he’s in actual financial difficulties, but I do know that the tradesmen who supply him sometimes have to wait a bit for their money.
‘There’s no doubt that Mr Fransham was a rich man. For one thing he’s just bought a new car which can’t have cost less than a thousand pounds. For another he lives in Cheveley Street, which, as you know better than I do, isn’t exactly an impoverished neighbourhood. Mr Fransham was Mrs Thornborough’s uncle, and there seems very little doubt that she’ll inherit his money. In fact, the motive’s so adequate that it’s almost enough to hang the doctor by itself.’
Jimmy made no comment upon this. ‘You told me just now, sir, that you considered the doctor’s statement unsatisfactory,’ he remarked.
‘I did, and that was the mildest word I could think of. It was definitely misleading. To begin with, he pretended that Mr Fransham’s visit was a complete surprise to him. He maintained this even to his wife, for Linton happened to overhear their conversation. But Mr Fransham told at least two people, Mrs Thornborough and his chauffeur Coates, that the doctor had written to him asking him to drive down to lunch today.
‘As it happens this is one of the very rare cases in which luck plays up on the side of the policeman. By a sheer fluke Linton was sent up to interview the doctor, and was in the house at the very moment the crime was committed. If he hadn’t been there the doctor would have had a chance of removing the most incriminating piece of evidence. That is the very letter of invitation, which Mr Fransham happened to have in his pocket. Here it is, and here is a sample of the doctor’s notepaper which I tricked him into giving me.’
Jimmy compared the two. ‘They seem to me exactly similar,’ he said.
‘Of course they are. There’s not a shadow of doubt about that. You see that the letter is dated yesterday. If it had been posted here yesterday evening, it would have reached London by the first post this morning, and, according to Coates’ statement it was by that post that Mr Fransham received it. Now, what’s your opinion of the typing?’
‘Pretty accurate, sir,’ Jimmy replied. ‘I’m not an expert, but I should guess that it had been typed on one of the smaller portable machines.’
‘Oh, that’s your opinion, is it?’ said Yateley grimly. ‘That’s another nail in the coffin. I happened to notice a Smith Premier portable in the doctor’s consulting-room. Now then, have a look at this.’
He picked up a printed form and threw it across to Jimmy.
‘That’s a medical certificate excusing one of my men from duty,’ he said. ‘It’s signed by Dr Thornborough. Have a look at the signature and compare it with the one on the letter.’
Jimmy did so. The certificate was signed ‘Cyril J. Thornborough, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.’ The writing of the Christian name corresponded very strikingly with the signature of the letter.
‘So much for the doctor’s pretence that his uncle’s visit was unexpected,’ said Yateley. ‘Now we come to another point which also proves the doctor to be a liar. He returned to his house at ten minutes past one or thereabouts. In his statement to me he said that as he turned in at his drive gate, he saw a certain Alfie Prince crossing the road some yards in front of him. The doctor’s house is about three-quarters of a mile from the centre of the town in an easterly direction.
‘Now this Alfie Prince is one of the thorns in our flesh. He can always earn a decent wage by getting work on one of the farms round about. Normally he does so and is perfectly well-behaved, though he won’t stay more than a few weeks in the same place. But every now and then he gets fits of being an intolerable nuisance. He goes round to people’s houses asking for threepence to buy half a pint, or for a handful of cigarettes, or anything that comes into his head. If he gets it, he says “Thank you” very politely. If he doesn’t he uses bad language and refuses to go away.
‘He seems to be in that mood just now, for Sergeant Cload had a complaint about him this morning. In fact it was because of this complaint that Linton was sent up to the doctor’s house. Cload, who knows Alfie better than I do, had come to the conclusion that he’s not all there. He sent Linton to see the doctor about it and ask him to have a talk with Alfie.
‘Now, what I want you to understand is this. This morning’s complaint came from Colonel Exbury, who lives three miles out of the town in a westerly direction. He rang up directly after he had got rid of Alfie, and the call was received here at a quarter to one. If, then, Alfie was seen in the vicinity of the doctor’s house at ten minutes past one, he must have covered three and three-quarter miles in twenty-five minutes. I may as well explain that there is no bus route between the two points and that Alfie has never been known to ride a bicycle.’
‘Mightn’t he have got a lift on a car or lorry, sir?’ Jimmy suggested.
‘He might, but it isn’t in the least likely. No, I’m pretty sure that we shall find that the doctor made a false statement about seeing Alfie for some purpose of his own. Alfie can be questioned, of course, but it’s very difficult to get any sense out of him, when he’s in these wandering moods.
‘Meanwhile I’ve had another report upon the wound. It struck me that it might be a trifle awkward if the only medical evidence at the inquest were given by the criminal himself. So I suggested that Dr Thornborough’s partner should be called in. He came to see me this afternoon and described the cause of the fracture in exactly the same terms as Dr Thornborough had done. Mr Fransham was struck a violent blow by something cubical in shape. That something may have been either the head of a weapon or a missile—it is impossible to say which on the evidence of the wound alone.
‘But we know that it can’t have been a missile. I’m going to remind you once more of the circumstances. Linton was in the house at the time and he is ready to swear to these facts. First, that the door of the cloakroom was not opened from the time when Mr Fransham locked it behind him until Linton himself broke it open. Second, that he and the doctor entered the cloakroom together. Third, that the doctor had no opportunity of picking up the missile unobserved. Fourth, that the room contained nothing capable of having caused the wound at the time of his search.
‘The remote possibility occured to me that a missile, having struck Mr Fransham’s head, might have bounced out again through the window. I therefore searched the carriage-way outside but without result.
‘The possibility of a missile having been employed is thus ruled out, and we are driven back to the theory of a weapon. The doctor must have crept up to the window while Mr Fransham was washing his hands, put his arm through the opening and dealt him a heavy blow with an iron instrument of some kind. That instrument can’t be very far away, and, once it is found, the evidence will be complete.
‘I’ve seen to the usual formalities, of course. I have been in touch with the coroner and he has ordered an inquest at half-past eleven on Monday. And I’ve arranged for the body to be taken to the mortuary this evening. Now, is there anything else you want to know?’
‘How long has Dr Thornborough been in practice in Adderminster?’
‘Seven years. Dr Dorrington took him into partnership then. They’ve got a surgery between them in the town here, and for five years Dr and Mrs Thornborough lived in the house next door. Then a couple of years ago, he built that new house of his in Gunthorpe Road. Why he gave it a ridiculous name like Epidaurus I can’t tell you. Anything else?’
‘Not at present, thank you, sir,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Have you any objection to my visiting the scene of the crime?’
‘Not the slightest. You can’t miss the house. Turn to the right at the bottom of High Street and keep straight on till you come to it. You can’t make any mistake, for you’ll find the name painted on the gate. You’ll find Sergeant Cload on duty up there. He’ll be able to tell you anything else you want to know.’
Jimmy left the police station and walked down the busy little High Street, noticing, as he did so, the brass plate on the surgery door bearing the names of Drs Dorrington and Thornborough. Following the superintendent’s instructions, he turned to the right and found himself in Middle Street, a narrow thoroughfare bordered with shops on both sides. After half a mile or so the pavements came to an end, at which point Middle Street became Gunthorpe Road.
A couple of hundred yards farther on, Jimmy came to an imposing gateway on his right. A notice board affixed to this informed him that it was the entrance to the Gunthorpe public gardens and the Adderminster and District Museum. On the opposite side of the road was a single building, a small house or cottage, apparently of considerable age, and surrounded by a succession of orchards and meadow-lands. Another couple of hundred yards beyond the gateway and on the same side of the road was the first drive gate of Epidaurus.
Jimmy did not turn in here, but walked on until he reached the second drive gate, from which he could see straight down the carriage-way to the garage at its farther end. Jimmy, wishing to acquaint himself fully with the local topography, did not stop here. As he proceeded he found a high but ragged hedge on his right, above which towered an enormous board bearing the words, ‘Building plots for sale.’ Finally, about a quarter of a mile beyond Epidaurus, Gunthorpe Road ended abruptly at a five-barred gate, beyond which a track led to a farmhouse in the distance.
As he turned back Jimmy wondered what sort of a man this Dr Thornborough would turn out to be. One thing was already certain, that he possessed a sense of humour. Epidaurus, the shrine of Aesculapius! What more suitable name could have been chosen for a doctor’s house? Jimmy wondered how many people in Adderminster appreciated the allusion. Certainly the superintendent didn’t. But then the superintendent’s mind was concerned more with material facts than with classical allusions.
This time Jimmy turned in at the gate and walked down the carriage-way. When he reached the cloakroom window he became aware of a rubicund face surveying him through the opening.
‘Good-afternoon, Sergeant Cload,’ he said quietly. ‘My name’s Waghorn, and I’ve been sent down from the Yard to see if I can give you a hand. I’m just going to have a look round, then I’ll come in and have a chat with you. You can let me in without disturbing the household, I dare say?’
‘Yes, sir, I can manage that,’ Cload replied. ‘You come to the window when you’re ready and I’ll open the garden door and let you in that way.’
Jimmy nodded, and went on towards the garage. The two cars were still standing at the end of the carriage-way—Dr Thornborough’s twelve horse-power Masspro outside the garage, and Mr Frasham’s big twenty-five horse-power Siddeley limousine inside. Of the doctor or Coates there was no sign.
Jimmy looked in at the open window of the doctor’s car and glanced swiftly round its interior. Except for a rug folded on the back seat it was empty.
At the end of the garage was a narrow bench upon which lay a few small tools. Nails driven into the wall supported a collection of miscellaneous objects. Three or four old tyres, a suit of overalls and a turn-cock.
Jimmy felt a thrill of excitement as he caught sight of this last object. He knew at once what it was. The key to the cock on the service-pipe by which the water supply to the house could be turned on or off. It was made of three-quarter inch iron rod with a T-shaped handle at one end. At the other end was a roughly cubical box, the hollow of which was designed to fit a square on the end of the cock spindle.
The key so exactly tallied with the superintendent’s description of the weapon which he had imagined, that Jimmy could hardly believe his eyes. He took out his foot-rule and measured the outside dimensions of the box. It was almost exactly an inch and a half either way. But even with a pocket lens he could find no trace of blood or hair upon it. However, that meant nothing, for there had been plenty of time and opportunity to clean it since the crime had been committed.
Jimmy carefully refrained from touching the turn-cock and after a careful inspection of the garage returned to the cloakroom window. A minute later Cload had opened the garden door for him, and the two entered the cloakroom together.
‘You’ve found nothing fresh, I suppose, sergeant?’ Jimmy asked.
‘No, sir, I haven’t,’ Cload replied. ‘I thought I might just as well have a good look round while I was here, but I haven’t found anything that could have made a wound like that poor gentleman’s got on his head.’
The body was still lying on the cloakroom floor and had by now been decently covered with a sheet. Jimmy drew this down and examined the wound. He could see for himself that it had been caused by the blunt edge of a cube with a side of about one and a half inches. Then he stood up and examined the position of the basin in respect to the barred window. He saw at once that no weapon of the size of the key could have been swung as a hammer is swung from outside the window. The opening was far too small for that. On the other hand, it could easily have been jabbed through the window, and the edge of the box would then have inflicted just such a wound as he had seen.
Staring out of the window Jimmy considered the implications of this theory. Whoever had wielded the weapon must have been standing close up to the protecting bars. But how could this be reconciled with Coates’ statement? The chauffeur had declared that if anyone had entered the carriage-way he could not have failed to have seen them. But could this statement be accepted? Jimmy already had experience of the fact that people were apt to declare impossible things which had actually happened. Not from any wish to mislead, but simply from natural conviction. Coates probably thought quite honestly that nobody could have reached the window unobserved by him. But his attention might well have been distracted for a few seconds. While he was lighting his cigarette, for instance. Or while he was looking round the car. He presumably went to the front of it, when the body would obscure his view of the carriage-way. On the whole Jimmy decided not to allow himself to be unduly influenced by Coates’ statement.
And then another idea struck him. It wasn’t necessary for the attacker to have been standing in the carriage-way. He might have been sitting in a car driven close up against the bars. He could quite easily have jabbed the turn-cock through the open windows of the car and the cloakroom. It was an established fact that Dr Thornborough had driven down the carriage-way. Had he paused for a moment outside the cloakroom window and delivered the blow?
There were obvious objections to this theory, but Jimmy thought that they might be overcome. Coates was the first of these. If the doctor’s car had stopped in its progress towards him he would surely have noticed it. Perhaps he had noticed and had his own reasons for saying nothing about it.
The second objection lay in the position of the wound. This showed, beyond question, that when Mr Fransham was struck, his head was bent over the basin. But surely if he had heard a car stop outside the window he would have looked up. Expecting the doctor’s return, as he was, he would have at least have glanced at the car to see whether or not its occupant was his niece’s husband. It was almost unthinkable that he would have continued his ablutions without taking any notice. Unless he was deaf, or had got his eyes full of soap, or something like that.
As Jimmy stared out of the window his view was bounded by the brick wall opposite. It was a good substantial brick wall eight feet high and obviously of the same age as the house. ‘What’s on the other side of that wall, sergeant?’ he asked.
‘Several acres of grassland, sir,’ the sergeant replied. ‘It’s been up for sale in building plots ever since Squire Gunthorpe died three years back.’
‘Squire Gunthorpe? This road’s called after him, I suppose?’
‘That’s right, sir. It was like this, you see. You may have noticed the museum and public gardens as you came along here? That used to be called the Hall when the squire was alive. He’d lived there as long as anyone could remember. There wasn’t any Gunthorpe Road then. Those entrance gates you may have seen, used to stand across the end of Middle Street. What is now Gunthorpe Road was the private drive leading up to the Hall.
‘When the squire died, he left the house and gardens to the town and they’ve been turned into what you see them now. The entrance gates were moved, and the drive was turned into a public road. You may have noticed that cottage standing on the further side a little way up. That used to be the gardener’s cottage standing at the end of the park. It was only the house and garden that was left to the town. The squire left the park to his family and they sold it to a speculator for building. But the only house that’s been built on it so far is the one we’re in now.’
‘How’s that?’ Jimmy asked. ‘Is there no demand for houses in Adderminster?’
‘There’s a demand for houses of the right kind, sir. Plenty of folk want houses that they can get for fifteen shillings a week or so. But that kind of house can’t be built up here. I don’t rightly understand it, sir, but the council stepped in with some sort of town-planning scheme. They won’t allow more than one house in every two acres, and then they’ve got to be built of a certain size. That sort of thing comes a bit too expensive for most folks.’
‘I see. Who lives in the old gardener’s cottage? It appeared to be occupied when I saw it just now.’
‘It was bought by a lady and gentleman from London. They pretty well pulled the inside to pieces and rebuilt it to suit themselves. But they aren’t very often there, for the gentleman has business abroad somewhere and usually takes his wife with him. They aren’t there now, I know for certain, but I did hear that it had been let furnished for the summer.’
‘Do you happen to know who it was let to?’
‘I can’t say that I do, sir. But I believe it’s a gentleman from London who comes down for the weekends. I don’t know that I’ve ever set eyes on him, sir.’
‘Is the vacant building land allowed to run to waste?’
‘No, sir. The farmer at the end of the road rents it for the hay. He should be cutting it any day now.’
Jimmy returned to his contemplation of the wall. Its presence definitely limited the area from which the murderer must have delivered his blow. The head of a normal man bending over the basin would be level with the opening in the window. This horizontal line, if produced, would meet the wall at a point about four feet above its base. Anything projected from or over the top of the wall through the opening would strike the ledge inside the window. It followed, therefore, that the blow, whether inflicted by a projectile or a weapon, must have been delivered from the carriage-way.
Missile or weapon, that was just the point. The theory of a missile involved obvious difficulties. It must have been hard and substantial to have inflicted such a wound. It could hardly have been thrown by hand with sufficient force and accuracy. Some means of projection would have been necessary. The shape and size of the missile precluded the idea of a pistol or gun. A catapult, perhaps. But what catapultist would choose a cubical missile in preference to a roughly spherical one?
Further, if a missile had been employed, what had become of it? After striking Mr Fransham’s head it would have lost its velocity and fallen. Directly beneath the point of impact was the basin, still half-full of soapy water and now quite cold. Jimmy fished through this with his fingers, only to find that the basin contained nothing but water.
Under the faintly amused eyes of Sergeant Cload, Jimmy proceeded to make a thorough search of the room. He did not desist until he had examined everything it contained, including the water-closet. No cubical object of any kind, or, for that matter, anything that could have been employed as a missile rewarded him.
There remained the possibility that the criminal had somehow retrieved the missile. But how? Constant observation had been kept on the cloakroom since Linton had broken down the door. From that moment the police had been either in the room or within sight of the door. It was practically impossible that anyone should have had an opportunity of removing anything.
Jimmy’s fertile mind reviewed other possibilities, only to reject them as impracticable. The criminal might have tied a string to the missile so as to recover it when it had done its work. Or he might have fished for it through the opening in the window with some instrument in the nature of a pair of lazy-tongs. But both these suppositions were ridiculous, for what would have remained an instant longer in the carriage-way, in full view of Coates in the garage only a few yards away, than he could help?
The missile was thus ruled out, leaving the weapon in the field. The turn-cock hanging in the garage fulfilled all the necessary conditions of such a weapon. The box at its end corresponded to the dimensions of the wound. It was so heavy and substantial that, thrust violently, it would inflict considerable damage. Finally, it was amply long enough to reach its objective if wielded by someone standing outside the window. It seemed to Jimmy that his first step must be to have the turn-cock expertly examined. He left the house, took it from its nail in the garage and returned to the police station. He explained his intentions to the superintendent, and caught the last train to London, carrying with him the turn-cock carefully wrapped up in several sheets of paper.
CHAPTER IV (#ulink_a45a93dd-d488-59c0-b4b5-1f85011e8079)
During the journey Jimmy began to piece together the facts which he had learnt.
The first thing to be established was the time at which the crime had been committed. Linton’s presence in the consulting-room had been very helpful here. It was reasonable to suppose that the noise which he had heard and had supposed to have originated in the kitchen had been, in fact, the sound of Mr Fransham’s body falling in the cloakroom. He had looked at his watch immediately after this and had found the time to be seven minutes past one. Again, Linton’s observations had fixed the time of the doctor’s return at 1.12 p.m.
Next, disregarding for the moment the nature of the object with which the blow had been struck, the murderer must have stood in the carriage-way in order to commit his crime. This fact was established by the presence of the brick wall. Therefore, Coates’ statement that nobody could have entered the carriage-way without his knowledge must be set aside as unreliable.
This involved the consideration of a question which Jimmy had already asked himself. Could the chauffeur himself have been the criminal? The relations which had existed between him and his master had not yet been inquired into. It might be discovered that he had some grudge against Mr Fransham. On the other hand, there was Linton’s presence to be considered. He had been in the consulting-room, the window of which overlooked the garage. Could Coates have taken the turn-cock from its nail, struck his employer with it, returned to the garage and cleaned the key, all without Linton having observed him?
It seemed hardly likely, and yet the possibility remained. There was no reason to doubt Linton’s good faith; only the exact accuracy of his statement. Was he looking out of the consulting-room window all the time? His attention must have been diverted at intervals. While he was listening to the sounds within the house, or drinking his beer, for instance? People were so apt to say, ‘I never took my eyes off so and so for an instant.’ Whereas, in fact, they had only looked at it at more or less frequent intervals.
Failing Coates, was it possible to assume the guilt of some unknown person, X? Coates’ statement must in any case be discounted. Someone must have entered the carriage-way and it might as well have been X as anybody else. But X must have entered by the drive gate and departed by the same route. Was it likely that he would have risked doing so in full view of the windows in front of the house? Dr Thornborough had stated that he had seen Alfie Prince crossing the road very shortly after the crime had been committed. Jimmy decided that one of his first moves on his return to Adderminster should be to interview Alfie.
Finally, there remained the doctor himself. Jimmy had not been altogether satisfied with the superintendent’s reasoning. It had seemed to him that Yateley’s conclusions had been based upon insufficient data and that he had closed his mind to any other possibility. But as a result of his own observations he was bound to admit that things looked pretty black against Dr Thornborough. The most plausible theory that Jimmy could evolve pointed to him as the culprit. He had taken the turn-cock with him in the car when he started on his rounds. On his return, he had stopped outside the cloakroom window and delivered the fatal blow. He had left the turn-cock in the car and in the course of the afternoon had seized an opportunity of cleaning it and putting it back in its place.
Jimmy was still pondering the fact when his train reached London. He took a taxi to Scotland Yard, where he handed over the turn-cock for expert examination. He had half-hoped to find Hanslet in his room, but by now it was nearly ten o’clock and the superintendent, not being on duty, had gone home. Jimmy went home to his quarters and after a restless night caught the first train to Adderminster on Sunday morning.
When he got to the police station he found Sergeant Cload in charge. ‘Good-morning, sergeant,’ he said. ‘Any fresh developments since I’ve been away?’
‘Nothing very much, sir,’ Cload replied. ‘The body’s been brought down to the mortuary and it’s lying there now. The super’s given orders that a man is to remain on duty at the doctor’s house until further orders. I think that’s about all, sir, except that we’ve got Alfie Prince locked up in the cells here. I don’t know what we’re going to do with that chap, I’m sure.’
‘What’s he been up to now?’ Jimmy asked.
‘Stealing an overcoat, sir. It was like this. Just after you left last night, Linton was on his way up to the doctor’s house to relieve me. On his way up there he passed Alfie and noticed that he was wearing a brand-new overcoat. He thought that was a bit queer, for Alfie’s never been seen in such a thing before. So he jumped off his bike and asked Alfie where the coat came from and Alfie told him that he’s just found it.’
Jimmy smiled. ‘Not a very likely story,’ he said.
‘So Linton thought, sir. So he brought Alfie back here, took off his coat and had a look at it. He found a label sewn on to it with the name of Murphy’s, the outfitters in Middle Street. They usually have a row of coats hung up outside the shop in fine weather, especially on Saturday evenings. So Linton took the coat round to Murphy and asked him if he’d sold it to Alfie. He said that he hadn’t but that he’d just missed one from the row. So Linton charged Alfie and the super said we’d better put him in the cells till Monday morning.’
‘Did Alfie make any further statement?’
‘Well yes, he did, sir, but he talks in such a rambling way that you can hardly understand him. He said it was quite true that he’d found the coat for he’d seen it hanging up in Middle Street and taken it. When he was asked why he had taken the coat, he said because he wanted a new one as he had sold his old one the night before for half a crown and a packet of fags. Of course, that was nonsense, for you never saw anything so filthy and ragged as his old coat in your life. Nobody would have given him twopence for it, let alone half a crown. But that’s just like Alfie. He’s not quite right, as I’ve said all along.’
‘What’s his job when he feels like doing a spot of work?’
‘He’ll take anything that comes along, sir. He used to work as a bricklayer’s labourer at one time, and got on very well, I’ve been told. But he wouldn’t stick to it, and since then he’s picked up jobs here and there just as suited him. There are plenty in the town who are glad to give him work from time to time, for he puts his back into it while the fit’s on him.’
‘There’s no objection to my asking him a few questions, I suppose?’
‘None at all, sir. But whether you’ll be able to make any sense of what he tells you is another thing. I’ll bring him along in here, if you like, sir.’
Cload went off in the direction of the cells, to reappear a few minutes later with the errant Alfie. The latter was a man of middle height, apparently in the early forties, with a round and rather childlike face. Beneath a tangled shock of red hair was a pair of deep-set blue eyes which seemed to be inhabited by some demon of restlessness. Without invitation he sat down in the nearest chair and scrutinised Jimmy keenly.
‘You don’t come from these parts, master,’ he said confidently.
‘All right, let him be, sergeant,’ said Jimmy. ‘No, I don’t, Alfie, you’re quite right. But I dare say we shall manage to get on all right together in spite of that. Have a cigarette?’
Alfie took the proffered case, emptied it into his hand, and put all the cigarettes but one into the pocket of his tattered coat. ‘I knew you was a gentleman as soon as I set eyes on you,’ he said complacently. ‘And the sergeant, who’s another, will give me a match, I dare say.’
The sergeant having provided the necessary light, Jimmy began his interrogation. ‘Tell us the story of your old coat, Alfie,’ he said encouragingly.
Alfie chuckled as though at the memory of some pleasant interlude. ‘Ah, he was a good one in his time, he was,’ he said. ‘For nigh on twenty years I’d worn him, wet or fine, rain or sun. But all things come to an end, as my old mother says. He was getting as full of holes as a length of rabbit netting, and that’s a fact.’
‘So you thought it time to get rid of him?’ Jimmy suggested.
‘Well, maybe I wouldn’t have parted with him just yet. He’d been a good friend to me, master. But I wanted a fag that badly that I’d have given the cove the very boots off my feet for one.’
‘Who was this cove and where did you meet him?’
‘The night afore last it was. I was walking along down by Weaver’s Bridge and it must have been after hours, because the Shant was closed and I couldn’t get anybody to open the door to me.’
‘Weaver’s Bridge is outside the town, sir,’ Cload explained. ‘It’s about a mile and a half round by the road but rather less if you go up Gunthorpe Road and cut through Mark Farm. There’s a beerhouse there which is always known as the Shant, though its proper name is The Prince of Wales, and closing time in this division is half-past ten, at this time of year, sir.’
Jimmy nodded. ‘Carry on, Alfie,’ he said. ‘You were taking an evening stroll round about Weaver’s Bridge. Is that when you met the cove?’
‘That’s how it was. He comes along towards me smoking a fag, so I says to him, “Good-evening, merry chum,” just like that. “Good-evening, merry chum, it’d be a fine bright night if the moon hadn’t gone to bed with his wife. And perhaps you’ve got a fag or two to spare for a poor man who’s got four little kiddies and not a crust among them.”’
‘And what did the cove say to that?’ Jimmy asked.
Again Alfie chuckled. ‘He didn’t say nothing, and that was the joke of it. Maybe I’d startled him a bit, for it was main dark and he couldn’t see me under the shadow of the hedge, like. He takes one of them dratted flashlamp things out of his pocket and turns it on to me. “Oh it’s you, Alfie, is it?” he says.’
‘He knew you, then?’
The reply displayed the pride of a famous man. ‘There aren’t many folk in these parts who don’t know Alfie Prince.’
‘And did you know him?’
‘How should I know him in the dark? “I’ll give you a packet of fags, Alfie,” he said. “But I want that old coat of yours in exchange, and I’ll give you half a crown into the bargain.” And that’s how it happened, as true as there are angels playing on their harps up above us. The cove went off a-humming of a tune and wearing my old coat, and that’s the last I’ve seen of him.’
‘What did you do then, Alfie?’
‘Why, I got the fags, and funny-tasting things they was. So I come through Farmer Hawkworth’s land and settled down for the night in that field of grass at the end of Gunthorpe Road.’
‘You mean the field that’s for sale in building plots, I suppose?’
‘That’s it. I know of a corner alongside that brick wall at the end. But I missed my old coat, for all that I got them fags and half a crown in my pocket.’
Jimmy nodded to Cload, who thereupon escorted Alfie back to the cell. ‘What did you make of him, sir?’ the sergeant asked on his return.
‘I agree with you that he’s not quite all there. You can tell that by the way he talks. But I’m pretty certain that he didn’t invent that story about his old coat. It’s too circumstantial for that. I’d very much like to know who it was that he met and why he wanted Alfie’s old coat. You know Colonel Exbury pretty well, I expect?’
‘Oh yes, sir, I’ve always got on very well with the colonel.’
‘Then I wish you’d ring him up and ask him if Alfie was wearing his old coat when he came to his house yesterday.’
Cload put the call through and reported the result. ‘The colonel says that Alfie wasn’t wearing the coat, sir. He noticed that particularly for he’d never seen him without it before.’
‘Then Alfie’s story may be true. If so, he spent Friday night within a few yards of the doctor’s house. He said something about his mother. Is she still alive?’
‘Oh yes, sir. She’s a very respectable woman who keeps a little ham and beef shop in Middle Street. Alfie lodges with her when it suits him, but as often as not he sleeps out somewhere, especially in the summer.’
‘She might be able to tell us something about Alfie’s movements on Friday and Saturday. Better get one of your men to go and have a chat with her, sergeant. Linton was on duty last night up at the doctor’s house, wasn’t he?’
‘That’s right, sir. He was relieved by one of the other chaps this morning.’
‘Then he won’t come to the surface again until this afternoon. I’m going up Gunthorpe Road to have a look round, and I’ll be back here before lunch time.’
Jimmy left the police station and went to the doctor’s house. But he did not enter the gate, merely glancing down the carriage-way, noticing that the garage doors were shut and that no car stood in front of them. Then he went on for a few yards until he reached a convenient gap in the hedge bordering the building plot. He passed through this to find himself in a field of standing grass. It was immediately obvious to him that he was not the first to pass that way. The tall grass was trodden down into a track which led along the inside of the hedge until it reached the wall, on the other side of of which was the doctor’s carriage-way. And at the end of this track, in the corner formed by the hedge and the wall, lay a discarded garment. And at the sight of it Jimmy came to a sudden stand. It was a very old army greatcoat, easily recognisable as such, though it was stained and rent in countless places.
Very gingerly Jimmy picked it up. Beneath it lay five cigarette ends which Jimmy collected, packed in a piece of paper, and put in his pocket. Then he noticed a second track at right angles to the first, running along the inside of the wall. He followed this track to find that it ended abruptly fifty-three paces from the hedge.
He returned to the point where he had found the coat, laid it down, and left the field by the gap in the hedge. Then he walked to the drive gate of the doctor’s house and paced fifty-three yards down the carriage-way. The end of this fifty-third pace brought him exactly opposite the cloakroom window.
There must be some significance in the fact that the track in the field terminated exactly level with the window. Could the criminal have used this means of approach? Jimmy had already satisfied himself that Mr Fransham could not have been attacked from the top of the wall. But could his assailant have climbed the wall and dropped into the carriage-way? Such a feat would not have been beyond the powers of an exceptionally active man. But surely Coates, however much his attention might have been distracted at the moment, would have heard or seen something of this performance?
Jimmy began to examine the wall to see if it contained any crevices which might have afforded foothold. But the wall was comparatively new, and the pointing was still almost perfect. It was a nine inch wall, built in English bond with alternate headers and stretchers. And, as Jimmy scrutinised its surface, he noticed that round one of the headers the texture of the mortar was slightly different from elsewhere. He applied his finger to the place, and found that the surface yielded to his touch. A little further investigation proved that the joint was not made of mortar at all, but of plasticine. Jimmy pressed his hand against the header, which immediately slid back.
He left it at that, and hurried back through the gap in the hedge to the farther side of the wall. Here he found one of the bricks protruding an inch or so. It was an easy matter to grasp it and pull it right out. He bent down and looked through the hole thus formed in the wall. Its line of vision passed horizontally through the opening of the window into the cloakroom beyond. When Mr Fransham bent down over the basin, the top of his head must have been exactly in front of the hole.
Jimmy very soon satisfied himself of the way in which the brick had been removed. The mortar round it had been patiently scraped away, probably by some instrument in the nature of a long screwdriver. A few particles of this mortar lay at the foot of the wall among the roots of the grass. The brick had then been taken out and the walls of the cavity scraped smooth. But if the brick had then been reinserted, the absence of the mortar would have left a space all round it, which would have been noticed at once. An ingenious method had been adopted to get over this. The brick had been carefully wrapped in several thicknesses of gummed paper until it exactly fitted the cavity. The ends of this paper had then been masked with plasticine, coloured so as to match the mortar exactly. Upon replacement of the brick no visible sign remained of the wall having been tampered with.
Jimmy examined the paper in which the brick had been wrapped. He saw at once that it consisted of sheets of some periodical. On removing one or two layers, he found a sheet upon which the name of the periodical appeared. It was the British Medical Journal of the preceding May 22.
He put the brick back very carefully in its place. Then he picked up the army greatcoat and made his way back with it to the police station.
Sergeant Cload’s face stiffened as he caught sight of his burden. ‘Wherever did you find that, sir, if I may ask?’ he exclaimed.
‘In the very spot where Alfie says he spent last Friday night,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Bring him along here again for a minute, will you?’
Alfie reappeared and Jimmy held the coat up before his eyes. ‘Did you ever see this before, Alfie?’ he asked.
Alfie’s eyes opened wide in amazement. ‘Why glory hallelujah! If it isn’t my old coat come back to find me,’ he exclaimed. Then he frowned suspiciously. ‘You must be the cove that took it off me,’ he said with an air of finality.
‘Wrong this time, Alfie,’ Jimmy replied. ‘All right, sergeant, take him away.’
By the time that Cload returned, Jimmy was busy drawing a plan in his notebook. He looked up and grinned cheerfully at the sergeant. ‘Jolly case, this,’ he said. ‘It’s absolutely brimful of contradictions. To begin with, how did Alfie’s coat find its way to the corner where its original possessor spent Friday night?’
Cload shook his head. ‘You can’t take any heed of what Alfie says when he’s like this, sir,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was deliberately lying when he told us that story just now. He may honestly have believed that those things had really happened, whereas he had only imagined or dreamt them.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Jimmy, taking the paper containing the cigarette ends from his pocket. ‘I found these lying on the grass under Alfie’s coat just now. Alfie can’t have enjoyed them very much, for in nearly every case he’s left an inch of stump. And if you look closely at them, sergeant, you can see the name of the brand printed on them. Black’s Russian Blend.’
‘Yes, I can see that plain enough, sir,’ Cload replied. ‘But I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of them before.’
‘That’s very likely, for they aren’t sold everywhere. You can only get them at one of Black’s shops in London. It seems to me that those cigarette ends to some extent confirm Alfie’s story of the cove he met.’
Cload looked a trifle dubious. ‘When Alfie’s in these moods, he’ll ask anybody he meets for fags. And it doesn’t follow that whoever gave him these asked for his coat in exchange.’
‘It doesn’t follow, certainly. Your theory, I take it, is that Alfie, following his usual habit, accosted some worthy citizen of Adderminster and was given the cigarettes of which these are the ends.’
‘That’s about it, sir. I don’t somehow believe in the man with the flashlamp who bought Alfie’s coat. Whoever could want such a filthy old thing as that?’
‘Ah, that’s just it! But do you know anybody in Adderminster who smokes Black’s Russian Blend?’
‘I can’t say that I do, sir, but that doesn’t count for much. There are plenty of people in Adderminster who go up to London three and four times a week. There’s nothing to prevent any of them from buying these cigarettes at one of the shops you speak of, sir.’
‘I wonder if Dr Thornborough smokes them?’
Cload shook his head. ‘The doctor only smokes a pipe, sir. I’ve heard him say more than once that cigarettes always make him cough.’
Jimmy glanced at the clock. ‘It’s a quarter to one now,’ he said. ‘If I walk up to Epidaurus, I ought to catch the doctor as he comes home to lunch.’
When Jimmy reached the house, Lucy informed him that the doctor had already returned, and showed him into the consulting-room. Here, a minute later, Dr Thornborough joined him. He looked very careworn, and it was easy to tell that the events of the last twenty-four hours had played havoc with his nerves.
‘Well, inspector?’ he demanded curtly. ‘What’s your business?’
‘My business is concerned with Alfie Prince, doctor,’ replied Jimmy quietly.
Dr Thornborough had clearly expected a very different answer. ‘Alfie Prince!’ he said, wearily passing his hand across his forehead. ‘I’d forgotten all about him. You must excuse me, but this terrible affair has shaken me up pretty badly. What do you want me to do about Alfie Prince?’
‘Nothing, just now, doctor. Alfie’s out of mischief for the moment in one of the cells at the police station. You saw him yesterday on your way home to luncheon, didn’t you?’
‘Not to speak to. He merely happened to cross the road in front of me.’
‘How far away from you was he when you saw him?’
‘Oh, a couple of hundred yards, I dare say. Certainly not less.’
‘Did you notice him particularly?’
‘I can’t say that I did. Seeing that it was Alfie, I didn’t take any further notice of him,’
‘Were you surprised to find him wandering about up here?’
Dr Thornborough smiled a trifle wanly. ‘Nobody in Adderminster is ever very much surprised at what Alfie does. Besides, he’s a sufferer from claustrophobia, and I happen to know that sometimes he spends his nights in the field adjoining this house.’
‘Do you happen to know whether he spent last Friday night there?’
‘I don’t, for I never look to see whether he’s there or not. Officially I know nothing about it, for I suppose that technically he’s trespassing. But he isn’t doing any harm, and from the medical point of view it’s better for him to sleep out than in.’
‘He was coming out of that field when you saw him, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. He crossed the road into the orchard opposite, and I didn’t see any more of him after that.’
‘You’re perfectly certain that the man you saw was Alfie?’
‘Oh, anyone who knew him would recognise him a mile away. He always wears a filthy old army greatcoat, so ragged that it’s literally dropping off him. And as soon as I caught sight of that coat I knew it must be Alfie.’
‘Where were you coming from when you saw him, doctor?’
‘I’d been to Mark Farm. Mrs Hawksworth, the farmer’s wife is one of my patients. I’d been to Weaver’s Bridge and I drove up to the farm from that direction. I was there about a quarter of an hour, I dare say, and then I came home through the gate at the end of the road.’
‘Did you see anybody else besides Alfie?’
‘Not a soul. It’s a dead end, you know, unless you happen to be going to Mark Farm.’
‘Do you happen to know the tenant of the cottage on the other side of the road?’
‘I can’t say that I know him, but he came here to see me about three weeks ago. He cut his thumb rather badly, chopping wood. I bound it up for him, and wrote him out a prescription for a salve. He told me that his name was Willingdon, and that he only came down here for the weekends. I thought he seemed quite a decent young fellow.’
‘I hope I’m not taking up too much of your time, doctor,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’d like to ask you one or two more questions and then I’ve finished. By the way, do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Not a bit,’ replied Dr Thornborough heartily. ‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you a cigarette though, for I never smoke the things myself.’
‘Oh that’s all right, I always carry my own,’ said Jimmy. He produced his cigarette case, opened it and suddenly looked blank. ‘Blest if it isn’t empty!’ he exclaimed. ‘I must have forgotten to fill it.’
‘You cigarette smokers are always doing that,’ the doctor replied. ‘Wait a minute, there are plenty of cigarettes in the drawing-room. I’ll go and get you one.’
Dr Thornborough left the room, to return a few moments later with a silver box which he held out towards Jimmy. ‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘They’re my wife’s. I don’t know whether you’ll care about them.’
Jimmy took one of the cigarettes and lighted it. ‘Black’s Russian Blend, I see,’ he said. ‘I used to have a fancy for them myself at one time. Does Mrs Thornborough always smoke them?’
‘No, she smokes Player’s as a rule. But her uncle, Mr Fransham, sent her a hundred of these last week. I don’t think she cares about them much, though.’
‘They’re an acquired taste. By the way, doctor, why did you have a brick wall built on one side of your property and not the other?’
Dr Thornborough, as well he might, looked slightly astonished at this question.
‘The reason’s a very simple one,’ he replied. ‘On one side of the house, as you may have noticed, are the public gardens. They will never be built upon. But the land on the other side is for sale in building plots. Sooner or later somebody will put up a house there. Hence the wall, which I had put up in order to avoid being overlooked.’
Jimmy smiled. ‘I might have thought of that for myself,’ he said. ‘There’s just one thing I’d like to mention, doctor. It might be advisable for Mr Fransham’s solicitor to be present at the inquest tomorrow.’
‘The same thing occurred to me. I got on the telephone to him yesterday afternoon, and explained what had happened. He promised to come down by the afternoon train today, and should be here about half-past four. Have you formed any opinion as to how this terrible thing can have happened?’
‘I’ve hardly had time for that yet, doctor. Is Coates, Mr Fransham’s chauffeur, still here?’
‘I sent him down with Fransham’s car to the Red Lion. And told him to stay there till further orders.’
‘That’s just as well, for his evidence will probably be wanted at the inquest. Do you happen to take the British Medical Journal, doctor?’
‘Yes, I do. There’s this week’s issue lying on the table in front of you.’
‘I wonder if you could find me the issue of May 22? There’s an article in that number which I’m particularly anxious to read. We policemen have to try and keep abreast of certain branches of medical knowledge, you know.’
Dr Thornborough went to a bookshelf upon which lay a pile of back numbers. He ran through these twice without finding the one which Jimmy had asked for.
‘That’s queer,’ he said. ‘That particular number must have got mislaid. But I’ll have a hunt for it and send it along to you when I find it.’
‘Oh, please don’t trouble. I’ve wasted enough of your time as it is.’
Jimmy left the house, being escorted to the front door by the doctor. He then crossed the road and knocked at the door of the cottage, which stood by itself in a small garden surrounded by trees. After a few minutes the door was opened by a noticeably pale young man, wearing a tennis shirt and a pair of grey flannel trousers, who remained in the dark background of the hall, from which he peered at his visitor disapprovingly. ‘This isn’t my at home day, you know,’ he said.
‘I hoped it might have been,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Are you Mr Willingdon?’
‘Such is my ancestral name. My godfathers and godmothers in my baptism christened me Francis. To the denizens of the low haunts which I frequent I am known as Frank. And who are you that so blithely disturb my Sabbath rest?’
‘I’m Inspector James Waghorn from Scotland Yard,’ Jimmy replied simply.
‘Be sure your sins will find you out!’ exclaimed the other in a sepulchral tone. ‘Where are the minions of justice? Where are the handcuffs and the gyves? Where, in fact, is the Black Maria?’
‘Sorry, I forgot to bring it. But I’d be very glad if you could spare me five minutes of your time, Mr Willingdon.’
‘He calls me Mr Willingdon! Indeed, my offence must be rank. Wherein have I transgressed the King’s Peace? Have I driven thirty and a half miles an hour in a thirty mile limit? Have I consumed alcohol during the hours when such indulgence is not permitted? Have I been so lost to all sense of decency as to loiter with intent? Come inside, and tell me the worst.’
He led the way into a room furnished as a lounge, with the curtains drawn across all the windows. When his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Jimmy perceived that at one end of this room was a table covered with a newspaper, on which was laid a tin can, a loaf of bread and a bottle of beer. A faint but penetrating smell of perfume pervaded the place.
‘Observe the preparations for my frugal meal,’ said Willingdon. ‘Care to join me? I dare say I could find another bottle of beer in the refrigerator.’
‘I couldn’t think of depriving you of it,’ Jimmy replied. ‘You’ve heard, of course, of what happened at the doctor’s house across the road yesterday afternoon?’
Willingdon shook his head. ‘While I am in this rural retreat, I am a temporary anchorite,’ he said. ‘That’s what I come here for. Life in the giddy world is so hectic that even the most pernicious of us want a rest sometimes. Don’t you find that, inspector? Nothing untoward has befallen the doctor, I hope? He seemed a very good fellow the only time I saw him.’
‘His wife’s uncle was found dead in his house soon after one o’clock yesterday.’
‘How very annoying! I should hate any of my well-loved and respected relatives to expire in my arms. Unless, of course, their testamentary depositions compensated for the shock to my nerves. But surely you haven’t come to talk to me about the deceased uncle of the doctor’s wife? Sounds too terribly like a lesson in elementary French.’
‘That’s just what I have come to talk about. It’s just possible that you may have seen or heard something which may throw light upon the man’s death. To begin with, what were you doing between one and a quarter past yesterday afternoon, Mr Willingdon?’
With a gesture, Willingdon indicated the table.
‘Much what I’m doing now, or should have been doing but for the unexpected pleasure of your visit,’ he replied. ‘Replenishing the jaded body with its needful sustenance.’
‘And what did you do when you had completed the process?’
Willingdon pointed to the sofa. ‘I laid myself recumbent on yonder couch,’ he replied. ‘And there I still was when the summons of the door-knocker roused me from my slumbers.’
‘You had a visitor?’ Jimmy suggested.
‘You have divined the truth, inspector. It’s not the first time that people have knocked on the door while I’ve been down here. But, as a rule, I don’t open it and after a time they go away. I had no intention of opening the door yesterday afternoon, imagining that time would abate the nuisance. So it did, but the nuisance reasserted itself. It manifested itself this time by a tapping on the window. I couldn’t stand that, so I got up to see who it was.’
‘What time was this?’ Jimmy asked.
Willingdon frowned. ‘I have always refused to be a slave to that ridiculous convention which you call time,’ he replied. ‘Besides, there’s no such thing, as any of these modern scientific johnnies will tell you. It was sometime in the afternoon, too early for my system to demand the stimulus of tea, and not yet late enough for it to have recovered from its post-prandial somnolence.’
‘Somewhere between two and three o’clock, perhaps?’
‘Very likely. I opened the window, and a husky voice hailed me. “Got any fags to spare, guv’nor?”’
‘What did the man look like?’ Jimmy asked.
‘Nothing on earth. You couldn’t imagine him unless you had read The King in Yellow, which I don’t suppose you have.’
Jimmy smiled. ‘“Songs that the Hyades shall sing, Where flap the tatters of the king,”’ he quoted. ‘Is that what you were thinking of?’
‘Once more you have divined it. There was something kingly in his assurance that his request would not be denied. And the tatters—the yellow tatters! Nowhere but in Carcosa could he have found a garment like that.’
‘Could you describe it?’
‘Words don’t often fail me, as you may have noticed. But for that purpose, I can think of none adequate. It still retained a faint suggestion of military discomfort about the collar, as though some veteran of the Peninsula war had cowered in it behind the lines of Torres Vedras. In colour it was yellow, the yellow of dank and mouldering corruption. It was probably verminous, and most certainly it stank.’
‘Could you describe the man who was wearing it?’
‘Red hair, wandering blue eyes and a pungent aroma of perspiration. Those were my impressions.’
‘Did you give him any cigarettes?’
‘I did. I gave him a handful out of that box you see over there. I thought it was the quickest way of getting rid of him. And he said, “Honourable toff, here’s my best thanks.” I liked that, for he’s the first person who’s ever thought me honourable or considered me a toff.’
‘What happened after that?’
‘“Erupit, evasit, as Tully would phrase it!” He hasn’t troubled me since, I’m thankful to say.’
In reply to further questions Willingdon gave the following information. He had taken the cottage for a month, having seen it advertised in The Times
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