CHAPTER ONE
MR. QUIGLEY PREFERS SUICIDE
"MR. ENOCH QUIGLEY?" Mr. Jellipot repeated. "Yes. Show him in."
It was a name which, since he had read the account of the violent end of Phillip Briggs in the Daily Telegraph that morning, he had been expecting to hear.
Mr. Quigley was the general manager of the Southern and General Life Assurance Co. Two months before, Mr. Jellipot had been the medium of insuring a client's life with that office for £20,000, and now that client was dead.
Mr. Quigley would be certain to ring him up - or to call.
Now Mr. Quigley came in. He looked worried. He was well-dressed and groomed, as men successful in the insurance world usually are. But he looked flustered now, and uncomfortably hot, though it was a mild day.
He deposited his top-hat carefully at the side of the comfortable leather chair into which he sank at the solicitor's invitation. He passed a handkerchief over a bald head as he asked: "I suppose you've heard about Briggs? You know he's dead?"
"I read an account," Mr. Jellipot replied, with his usual precision, "in the Daily Telegraph this morning, and I have since had some further details from Inspector Combridge, whom I rang up. On the main fact - that of Mr. Briggs' murder - he confirmed the report."
"Murder? I don't see why he should call it that. The papers only say he was found dead."
"Editors are discreet. . . . Naturally, you would prefer suicide. But I'm afraid there is no doubt."
"A man can cut his own throat."
"Yes. There are some who do. In this case there appears to have been an additional attempt to suffocate him with one of his own pillows."
"I don't gee that that proves anything. He might have tried to hold a pillow down over his own head, and found he hadn't to finish himself to finish himself off that way, and tried something else."
Mr. Jellipot looked surprised at this theory, but he replied politely: "I suppose most things are possible, and some are true which are hard to believe. But there is another difficulty. Mr. Briggs was murdered in his bed, and the weapon - his own razor - with which it was done was found on the dressing-table at the other side of the room."
"How do they know he did it with that?"
"They don't. They know that it was used, because, though it was wiped, that was only done superficially. There are traces of blood, both in the hinge and the sheath."
"I don't see that that proves anything either. We've known of men cutting their throats and walking from one room to another afterwards. He might have done it, and then got back into bed."
"And wiped the razor? And left no trace of blood on that side of the room? I am afraid it will be hopeless to ask even a coroner's jury to accept such a theory as that."
"Well, you'd better get us the best counsel you can. We're not going to pay that money without a fight. Not when the first premium hasn't as much as reached our own bank! We thought, coming from you - - "
He checked himself, aware that he had gone beyond both reason and courtesy in the implications of this exclamation. But Mr. Jellipot took it quietly, though it was a remark he felt no disposition to overlook.
"I hope," he said, "that you do not suggest that I may have cut a client's throat to bring the insurance money to his estate?"
"No, of course not. We know you too well for that. . . . Besides, what benefit would it be to you? And, by the way, who does benefit? That's always an interesting question in such cases."
"Primarily, the creditors of the estate."
"Yes, but beyond that. There'd be a good surplus, with £20,000 thrown into the pool."
"I'm afraid that is more than I am yet able to say."
"But you must have seen that he made a will."
"If he has, it was not drawn by me. In fact, I declined."
Mr. Quigley looked puzzled, and Mr. Jellipot added: "You see, he proposed to leave his estate to me."
Mr. Quigley stared. "I beg your pardon," he said. "Did I understand that - - "
"I think I made myself clear. . . . It was a proposal I did not welcome, and I hope I persuaded him to a more reasonable conclusion. But I believe he went to Redfern & Coote. I am sure that they would give you any information which they properly can. . . . Perhaps, in view of what I have now told you, you would wish that counsel's brief should be drawn by another office than mine?"
"No. Of course not. I'm sure you have our entire confidence. Of course, I see - - Perhaps I ought to consult our chairman. It's a most unusual position." Mr. Quigley got up, looking more flustered than when he had entered the room.
"It is one of those positions," Mr. Jellipot agreed equably, "in which none of us should act with haste. You had better think it over, and let me know."
He shook hands with undiminished affability; and, learning next moment that Inspector Combridge was waiting, he said that he would see him at once.
CHAPTER TWO
INSPECTOR COMBRIDGE HAS NO DOUBT
"I THOUGHT I couldn't do better," Inspector Combridge said, "than to come straight here. I'll say at once that I've come to get information, not to give it. Not that I've got anything to conceal. But there are three men - including Briggs - more or less in the picture who are clients of yours, and I thought you'd tip me off to anything that it may be useful to know. I know I can rely on anything I can get from you, and that's what you can't say about more than one here and there."
"You know the gentleman who must have passed you as he went out?"
"No. I can't say I do."
"He is Mr. Quigley, the general manager of the Southern and General Assurance Co. He would like to hear of an inquest at which a verdict of suicide would be returned."
"Then I can tell him he won't. It's one of the clearest cases of murder I ever saw."
"It would make a difference of £20,000 to his Company."
"That's how the land lies, is it? I suppose Briggs had just insured his life, and - - "
"He insured it through me, about two months ago, for £20,000. The policy contains the usual clause about suicide. If he kills himself within a year, it is void."
"It looks as though, if we know who benefits by that policy, we mayn't have to look much farther."
"I am not sure that I am not the residuary legatee."
"Then that's one switch-off."
"It is kind of you to say that with such promptitude," Mr. Jellipot smiled. "I must hope that others will take the same view."
"They will, if they're not mugs. But I'm not sure that it goes all the way, even if that's how it is. Who suggested him taking the policy out?"
"Gilson."
"Not Ames?" The inspector looked surprised.
"No. Mr. Gilson not only suggested it, but made it an absolute condition of a substantial investment in Briggs & Co. which he has just made."
"Well, that's another gate banged. Ames might have committed the murder - - Of course, that's not saying he did. Gilson couldn't. Not on my present information."
"May I ask why not?"
"He wasn't there."
"Which, in a crime of this character, is surely a conclusive reason. Did the murderer leave any of the usual clues?"
"Not that we've found yet. That's story-book stuff. In real life it's not often they do."
"So I should suppose. It has also occurred to me that the provision of clues of a misleading character must be a simple and elementary precaution that an intelligent murderer might be expected to take. Why should not the trouser-button, with its betraying thread, have been taken from his cousin's trousers, instead of his own? Or a pinch of dust from the same turn-ups that could only have been got where his cousin works?"
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose they might. But - - "
"Well, we must hope that miscarriages of justice, based on such misleading evidence, do not occur."
"I wouldn't gay they don't, now and then. When you once admit a class of evidence that's so easy to fake - - But there's nothing of that sort here, bad or good. There's just a dead man, and another headache for us."
"If you would kindly tell me just how the crime was committed, and why you feel so sure that suicide must be ruled out, I might possibly be able to dissuade Quigley from wasting money on a bad brief."
"That's easy. Briggs used to stay in bed till midday. At half-past eleven his housekeeper, Mrs. Collis, always took him a cup of cocoa. When she went into the bedroom yesterday morning, she got a shock. There wasn't much to be seen of him - he'd got a pillow more or less over his head - but the bed-clothes were in a mess."
"And he was already dead?"
"I should say there's no doubt of that. The murderer must have got hold of his razor first and then put the pillow over his head, and held it down while he cut his throat, which he seems to have clone in such a way that the bed-clothes protected him from the blood."
"The use of the pillow may have been merely to prevent him crying out while he could?"
"It was something more than that. The state of the lungs shows considerable asphyxiation, which must have occurred before death. But it wasn't the cause of death. Dr. Mullins is definite about that. The man was still alive when his throat was cut, and that was about as thorough a job as I ever saw."
"You believe the housekeeper?"
"I don't think she did it, if you mean that. She's about five feet high, the wrong side of seventy, and so frail that she leans on the bannisters when she goes upstairs. She's still dithering from the shock it gave her when she had her first sight of the bed."
"You said Ames might have done it. What makes you think that?"
"Opportunity. He was in the bedroom from nine-thirty for nearly an hour. It's fair to say that there was nothing unusual in that. He used to go to the works for the letters every morning, and then bring them to Briggs to take his instructions upon them.
"Ames says that was more or less a pretence. He used to leave the real management of the business to him. But that was the way they had."
"In that respect," Mr. Jellipot allowed, "I can confirm the accuracy of what Mr. Ames has said. I have heard of this practice, though it had not dwelt in my mind; and it is a fact that Mr. Briggs was not a good business man. . . . But it has no doubt occurred to you that the crime, as you have described it, must almost certainly have been committed by someone who was sufficiently familiar with him to enter the bedroom, pick up the razor (presumably knowing where it could be found), and approach the bedside - even seize a pillow - without his suspicions being aroused sufficiently for him to raise an alarm?"
"Which would fit Ames a lot better than most? But it's not as simple as that. Ames says that, when he left, Briggs used to settle off for another doze. It mightn't mean much if he said it alone, but Mrs. Collis says the same thing. She says when she took up the cocoa she often found him asleep."
"And she didn't let anyone in after Ames left?"
"No. She's certain about that. But here again we don't get very far. She's about as deaf as a post, and the front door wasn't locked. Anyone could push it open, and walk in, as, if we let Ames out, we must suppose somebody did."
"As to Ames," Mr. Jellipot said thoughtfully, "I am disposed to think that you must, for which I see more reasons than one.
"In the first place, it would be a most audacious crime, and Ames has impressed me as a particularly circumspect man. It might have been discovered the moment after he left the house, and what possible defence would he have had?
"The second reason is that he had no motive of which I am aware. On the contrary, it was to his interest that Briggs should remain alive. If you are as sure of Gilson as I am of Ames, I think you'll have to look further afield. But you'll understand that better when I've told you what I know of the business relations between these men, which is what I suppose you came here to learn."
CHAPTER THREE
WHAT MR. JELLIPOT KNEW
"BRIGGS," Mr. Jellipot said, "has been a client for several years. He was, I believe, of good ability both as a chemist and engineer. He was a successful inventor. But he was not a good business man.
"He first consulted me in reference to an action regarding one of his patents which might never have been brought had he kept copies of his own letters. As it was, I was fortunate in being able to settle it out of court, at no great expense to him.
"Ames is his business manager. He is a man of some capital of his own, and has consulted me regarding his own investments on some occasions.
"About a year ago, they saw me together. The business, though profitable, was embarrassed through lack of capital, and some creditors were becoming awkward. Ames then lent Briggs £500, on the understanding that it should be repaid within twelve months, when he would require it to meet calls on some shares he held which were not fully paid.
"I was surprised at the time to learn that the business was in that position, for some of Briggs' patents are certainly of great value, but Ames explained at a second interview, when he came alone, that though the management of the business was nominally left to him, Briggs had insisted on a scale of expenditure for advertising, and in other directions, for which only a large capital could provide, even though it should be ultimately profitable. He then said that the sum he had found would be utterly inadequate to meet the position unless there were a radical change of policy, on which he should insist for his own protection.
"About six months ago they saw me again, when Briggs
agreed that the financial position had become critical, though he professed bewilderment as to how it had been brought about, and I received the impression that his confidence in Ames - whether in his integrity or his business judgment was not clear - had become shaken.
"I will admit frankly that I had a similar doubt, but the course which Ames had taken, and his attitude to the emergency, were beyond criticism.
"He had advertised, on his own initiative, for someone who would take over the management and introduce additional capital, and he had expressed his willingness to accept a subordinate position, or even to sever his connection with the firm, if that should be a necessary condition of securing the assistance which the business required.
"The advertisement had produced several replies, and it was the negotiations arising from these with which they asked me to deal.
"As to them, I need only say that the applicants withdrew, after becoming informed of a financial position which was sufficiently discouraging, with the exception of Mr. Gilson, who expressed the opinion that the business could be saved by economic and energetic management.
"To make a short tale, he found £2000 in cash, and arranged for the postponement of substantial liabilities by seeing the creditors individually and giving his personal guarantee of ultimate payment in full.
"But he made one emphatic condition. He said that he regarded Briggs as the most important asset the business had, and he would do nothing unless he entered into a long-term agreement to give his services to the firm, and insured his life for £20,000."
Mr. Jellipot paused, and Inspector Combridge asked: "You saw nothing suspicious in that?"
Mr. Jellipot's reply was unhesitating, though he, perhaps unconsciously, amended the inspector's conventional misuse of an unfortunate word. "I saw nothing to arouse suspicion in that. Certainly not, or I should have declined to act further in the matter. I should have been particularly careful not to - - " He checked himself abruptly, aware that he had come near to betraying the confidence of other clients, for his thought had been that he knew too much of the financial condition of the Southern & General to place such a risk with them, had there appeared more than the usual remote possibility of an immediate claim resulting. Not that the Southern & General was unsound. But it had experienced a succession of heavy claims during the current year, which had necessitated the realisation of securities through his office. That was indirectly why the first-premium, which he had received as their agent, had not actually been paid over, for which he might otherwise have sent a special cheque, without waiting to the quarter's end. . . . The last thing they would want would be a further reduction of £20,000 in their Claims Reserve Account before their next Balance Sheet should be issued. He understood how Quigley felt about that. . . . But the doctor's report had been good. Otherwise, even at an increased premium, he would not have advised acceptance of the risk. . . . He brought his mind back to the present issue, as Combridge said:
"I can't see anything in what you told me to suggest that either of them would have any quarrel with Briggs, or any motive for killing him. I suppose Ames' position wasn't quite what it had been before?"
"I should say that the difference was not great. Gilson said he didn't want to interfere with the management of the business. He'd got enough to do to attend to his own. . . . He's a stamp dealer in the Strand. . . . He only wanted a financial report, signed by Briggs and Ames, to reach him every week, and if there should be anything in it he didn't like, he'd hare something to say."
"He seems to have shown a singular confidence in the men who, one or both, had got the business into a mess."
"So it appears. But you will remember that the position has only lasted a few weeks. He may hare been waiting for them to give him a text on which he could preach his first sermon. . . .
But he had investigated the business very thoroughly, and it's only fair to Ames to say that he spoke well of him afterwards. His view seems to have been that Ames would be all right, if Briggs didn't interfere on the financial side - Briggs was one of those men who have no sense of the value of money - and he may have felt that he could rely on Ames, knowing he was behind him, to be firm on that. . . . But no doubt you will be seeing Gilson, and what he'll tell you will be better than any guess from me."
"Yes. . . . But it sounds as though I've got to look farther afield, as you said I would."
"So it may be. . . . I suppose that no one, besides the housekeeper, is known to have been in the house when the murder occurred?"
"No. There's a woman who comes in daily for cleaning, but not all the time. She wasn't there till midday yesterday. We can rule her out. And there are two girls - the Misses Reeves - some sort of cousins, who live there more or less. But j they were in Cornwall. They'll be back this afternoon. I wonder Briggs didn't leave anything he'd got to them."
"Well, there might be a simple explanation of that," Mr. Jellipot replied, in a tone which suggested that he knew what it was, but he offered no information upon it. The affairs of his clients were not matters for random communication, even to a member of the C.I.D. who was also a trusted friend.
CHAPTER FOUR
MR. GILSON'S OPINION
INSPECTOR COMBRIDGE. left Mr. Jellipot's office with a feeling that he had made no progress of a positive kind, but without any consequent depression, for he had learnt that the truth is most surely reached by a process of elimination, and that it did not follow that he was on the wrong road because he was not yet in sight of his goal.
"There is one pointer," he thought, "which may alone be sufficient to get me home. The man who wiped that razor, and put it back on the dressing-table, didn't want it to appear to be a case of suicide. Perhaps that's also why he tried with the pillow first. It wasn't merely that he didn't try to make it look like suicide, as most murderers would. He went out of his way to make it plain that it couldn't be." There could be only one motive for that - or only one which the inspector could see. He wanted to make it certain that that insurance money would be paid. That ought to narrow the list of suspected persons to two or three. . . . or, perhaps, one. And it would almost certainly preclude occasion to "look farther-afield."
But suppose, as Mr. Jellipot had so frankly suggested, that he should prove to be the legatee! It was a position at which even Inspector Combridge, who was not disposed to take his work mirthfully, was obliged to smile. . . . And yet, if, under some fantastic combination of circumstances, Mr. Jellipot had felt that the elimination of the inventor would be for the benefit of mankind? Would he hesitate on moral grounds? Or for fear of the law? It was a baffling proposition. The only certainty was that such a murder would not be crudely committed, and it was improbable that it would be easy - perhaps even that it would be possible - to prove. It was professional caution rather than friendly feeling that prompted the half-articulate exclamation: "Heaven save us from that!"
While engaged in these reflections, from leaving Mr. Jellipot's Basinghall Street offices, the inspector had reached Cheapside. Now he thought: "I'll take Gilson next, and see what I can make of him." He mounted a 'bus for the Strand.
Mr. Gilson's office was on the top floor. It was in a large suite of offices to which there was more than one entrance from the street. Its corridors were badly lit. Their doors needed paint. They were not very well cleaned. The whole effect was depressing - faintly sinister to one sensitive to atmosphere, or to whom, like Inspector Combridge, suspicion was an attitude of mind which it was his constant duty to maintain.
But the occupation of sordid offices in the Strand is no evidence of having committed a murder in Antrobus Rd., N.12, and Mr. Gilson's office itself was neat, clean, and in every way consistent with the business which he professed to follow.
There was a small ante-room, crossed by a polished counter, on which was an electric bell-push with the words Please ring in a semi-circle of bright metal letters beneath it. There was no sign of any staff, but when Inspector Combridge touched the bell Mr. Gilson appeared at the inner door, heard his name without any exhibition of surprise or other emotion, said: "I suppose it's something about this tragedy at Antrobus Road," and lifted the flap of the counter.
Inspector Combridge was invited in to a larger room, in the centre of which was a large flat desk, almost entirely clear of papers or other articles, except a large inkstand, and a microscope which he recognized as being of a particularly expensive make. Before the stamp-dealer's chair there was a blotting-pad, on which lay a sheet of white paper, and on it a blue stamp which appeared to have suffered somewhat from dirt and age.
Inspector Combridge, being seated on the opposite side of the desk, was subconsciously aware that numerous cabinets, containing shallow drawers, stood round the walls, with a large cupboard at the farther end, but his mind was upon the man before him - a man suave of voice, mild of manner, and who appeared to be entirely at ease, and free from fear that suspicion of having committed a frightful crime might be hovering at his own door. Yet his first words showed that the idea had, at least, been brought before him, even if it had assumed no serious aspect.
"I must tell you at once that I know nothing of the murder (of which I first heard in this morning's papers), and it is very improbable that I can be of any important assistance to your investigations, but I should add - of which you might otherwise not be informed - that I was in Antrobus Road yesterday morning at about ten-thirty, and should probably have called upon Mr. Briggs had I not been already a few minutes late for an appointment in Buckhurst Road."
Inspector Combridge concealed any surprise he may have felt at this statement. He replied: "You actually passed the house at that time? You did not observe anyone leaving it? Or anything else of a suspicious character?"
Mr. Gilson, however expert and precise he may have been in his knowledge of foreign stamps, evidently lacked Mr. Jellipot's precision of speech. He answered what the Inspector had evidently intended to ask, without appearing conscious that he had not done so.
"No, I can't say I did. I met Mr. Ames, but there was nothing out of the way in that. I believe he went there more mornings than not."
"You spoke to him?"
"Just a few words. I asked how the business was getting on. I might have said more, but I was in a hurry. I am particular about keeping appointments punctually, and I was already a few minutes late."
"You noticed nothing unusual in his manner?"
"No. I can't say I did. Not as though he'd just cut somebody's throat, if you mean that. . . . And, besides, what reason could he have? They got on well enough together, as far as I ever saw. . . . But there was something this morning I didn't like, and I made up my mind I should tell you I'd been past the door, even if I had to ring you Up to do it."
Mr. Gilson paused a moment, as though hesitating over his next words, and Inspector Combridge encouraged him mendaciously with the assurance that it's always best to be frank with the police - always best in the end.
"Ames rang me up this morning to ask several questions as to now the business is to be carried on - about signing cheques, for one thing - all natural questions that he was bound to be bothering about, but he mentioned having seen me near the house in a way that I didn't like, and I wasn't going to have him making anything out of that."
"You mean you thought he might mention it to us, and you'd naturally prefer that we should hear it from you?"
"No. It was the other way round. He brought it up to assure me that he'd be particular not to mention it to you. I disliked the implications of that, and I had no intention of putting myself into a position where I could be blackmailed by him."
"You mean he threatened that?"
"No. That would be going too far. He just hinted that he would be doing me a favour by keeping his mouth shut, and it was one that I preferred not to accept."
"I see. There would be a good deal less blackmail going on if everyone had the wisdom to act in the same way. You will understand that it is a matter of form, and that you are under no obligation to answer, when I ask you if you care to let me know what business took you in that direction?"
"No. There's no secret about that. I had an appointment with a man in Smith's Terrace for ten-thirty to inspect a stamp collection he wants to sell. It's an experience we often have with private collectors. They don't like their stamps to go out of their own sight. I don't blame them for that. There might be abstractions or substitutions that can't be proved."
"Did you buy the collection?"
"No. I was there more than an hour examining it, and haggling over the price. The trouble was that he'd no idea of the value himself, and whatever I'd offered, he'd have been afraid to accept."
"I suppose there really is a rather wide margin between what you sell at, and what you give?"
"Yes. There may be," Mr. Gilson answered frankly. "But it's not as simple as that. Values are all unreal, and they change abruptly. Then, really rare stamps go out of fashion, and you can't sell them at all. It isn't so much that the price drops as that there's no market at all. You just have to wait for them to come back. . . . If there are enough dealers interested, you can make a market again, sooner or later. If there aren't, you're sunk, more likely than not. It's a queer business."
Having got on to the topic that so largely engaged his mind, Mr. Gilson went on, and the inspector let him talk. He felt that he was learning his man, as it was his business to do. "Now, this stamp I was examining when you came in. If it's a forgery, it's one of the best that I ever saw. If it's not - - Well, you can judge for yourself. It comes to me in a parcel of nearly two thousand, which the owner says he's willing to sell for ten pounds. He says he knows what they are worth, and that he won't take a penny less. Now, except this one, the total value to me is about fifteen shillings. They'd mostly go in packets at twenty shillings the thousand, and I'd have to give a big discount on that - or have advertising expenses, which comes to the same thing. But this stamp is a forgery, or worth nearly two hundred pounds."
"And you can't be sure?"
"No. And there aren't many men in the trade who would. I should have passed it as genuine without much hesitation if it had come to me in a different way. But, you see, if it's a forgery, there'll be a lot like it to be got on to the market one way or other, and this is one that's likely to be tried. If I send the packet back, they post it to another dealer, and if I buy it, and then find that the stamp's a forgery, I've got no remedy. The man professes ignorance. And I'm in the position of having tried to get his valuable stamp (for I must have thought it genuine when I bought the parcel) for a tithe of its true value. So, of course, anyone in our business would, if he got the chance; but, all the same, it doesn't tend to promote sympathy for us if we get one in the eye."
"It is evidently," the inspector agreed, "a difficult business; and one which must need a great deal of expert knowledge. I suppose you have been in it for many years?"
"Well, I opened up here about six years ago. I'd been collecting since I was six, and specialised in British Colonies. Some of the stamps that I paid coppers for when I was a boy had become worth enough to give me a good start. And my income tax returns show that I haven't done badly since."
Inspector Combridge agreed as to the conclusive nature of that evidence. There may be a man who, from vanity, or some more exceptional motive, falsely returns profits he does not make, and so renders himself liable to the heavy penalties that are provided for deliberate inaccuracy in such documents, but he would not be easy to find. He brought the conversation back to its immediate subject by asking: "You don't mind giving me the name of the man in Smith's Terrace?"
"No. Not at all. I hope you'll find time to look him up."
"Yes. I shall do that. It is in the interest of all who come in contact, however remotely, with a crime of this kind, that their innocence should be established by full enquiry, and it is often the only way by which the criminal can be discovered with certainty. I wish everyone took it as sensibly as you evidently do."
"Well," Mr. Gilson replied reasonably, "it seems obvious. Someone's done it, and we're all strangers to you."
"Apart from giving me this information regarding your own movements, do you think you can tell me anything which might throw light on the perpetrator of the crime?"
Mr. Gilson did not immediately answer. He looked thoughtful. He said, after a pause which the inspector was too experienced to interrupt: "Of course, I see what you're asking me. You want to know whether I know of any motive Ames might have had? And, in short, do I think it was he?
"Well, I don't like Ames. I think he's deep. If I say crafty, it mightn't be too strong a word. But that's just a feeling. I'm speaking frankly, knowing that you'll take it as confidential. I don't think he's one who'd do such a thing in a fit of temper. He'd need to have a strong motive - a very strong one, I should suggest. And it isn't easy to see what it could be."
"Yes," the inspector replied thoughtfully, "I should say you've summed him up about right, and I'm much obliged to you for being so frank."
He had already seen Mr. Ames, and while lie had felt no inclination to trust him, his expressions of concern, which had been directed more to how the death of one of his employers would affect himself, than to any regret for the dead man, had impressed him as genuine of their kind.
He shook hands with Mr. Gilson in a friendly manner, and it was only as he regained the street that it occurred to him that the innocence of the stamp dealer was still something less than proved.
He had seemed to be less interested in the murder than in the authenticity of a dubious stamp. That might be a deliberate pose. Or it might be the callousness of a criminal mind. But the inspector thought not. Besides, what motive could Gilson have? To get the business more entirely under his own control? It seemed inadequate. All the same, the alibi he had offered must be most carefully probed.
But the probability appeared to be that the crime was not the work of either of the business associates of the dead man.
He must enquire as to his private life, and any possible enmities it might include. He hoped the Misses Reeves could help him in that. He had already made an appointment to see them that evening. And Mrs. Collis might be sufficiently recovered to answer questions more coherently than she had yet done. There was no need to despair.
CHAPTER FIVE
INTERVIEW WITH TWO GIRLS
BEFORE keeping his evening appointment, Inspector Combridge went back to Scotland Yard, to report to Superintendent Roomer the result of the enquiries he had already made, and to compare opinions upon them.
The superintendent did not believe in magnifying difficulties, or giving praise for good work with a liberal tongue. His own promotion had been due to a long course of undistinguished service, in which he may have been fortunate in avoiding error rather than in any outstanding achievement, until he had been entrusted with the elucidation of the great diamond robbery at Devizes, in which he had shown either dazzling genius, or enjoyed luck of almost supernatural quality. The opinion of his brother officers had no hesitation in choosing between these alternatives, but they recognized the inevitability of the promotion which followed. And, after all, was it not luck on which they must all largely depend at last?
"You ought to find this a simple case," he had said, as he assigned Combridge to the investigation, and the inspector, who knew that he was now on the threshold of a promotion which only some egregious blunder could delay much longer, sincerely hoped that he might be right.
Now the superintendent listened to his report without the indiscretion of expressing any decided opinion, unless it were when he commented on the insurance policy: "There may be more than meets the eye there. You'd better see Redfern & Coote first thing in the morning, and find out how the land lies. With these slimy lawyers, you never quite know where you are."
Inspector Combridge ventured the opinion that the adjective could not be applied appropriately to Mr. Jellipot, and the superintendent said: "Perhaps not, but you never know. Why should Briggs be leaving money to him? Can you tell me that?" And Inspector Combridge must admit that it was beyond his power to do so.
The superintendent shifted his ground. "You've eliminated robbery as the motive?"
"As the motive, it seems unlikely. I don't think we can go farther than that.
"We couldn't prove that anything was stolen at all. A signet ring of some value Briggs used to wear was left on the dressing-table untouched, and must have been seen, for the razor was laid down only about six inches away.
"But there was no money in the wallet in the breast pocket of his coat, which hung over the back of a chair by the bed, and Mrs. Collis says that he always had a good supply there.
"Ames confirmed that without hesitation. He says he used to take him ten pounds in cash every Monday, and when he put it away there would usually be a good bit there already. He reckons that Briggs usually had from twenty to thirty in cash in that wallet."
"You don't suppose Ames would murder him to get hold of such an amount?"
"No. It isn't sense. Though there are plenty who would. But he might have taken it to make it look like motive, though that's a long way from saying he did. But I'd say someone did, more likely than not. It isn't the kind of murder that's committed to steal cash from a wallet."
"You may know a bit more when you've seen those young women tonight."
This being indisputable, Inspector Combridge merely gave such assent as politeness to a superior officer will require, and left to interview the young women of whom they spoke. . . .
The Misses Reeves were alike in being young and, attractive girls, and of a style and manner such as the inspector had not expected to see. But when that has been said, similarities are at an end, and differences begin.
The elder, Muriel, was evidently in a frightened, which might easily have developed into a hysterical, state. There was, to the inspector, nothing surprising in that. It is a disturbing incident to be brought back suddenly from Cornwall by the news that your uncle's throat had been most efficiently cut, and there are many women who are nervously disturbed by a visit from the police on more trivial occasions.
But the younger girl, Belle, seemed as cool as her summer frock, and to treat the murder, not indeed with levity, but without emotion or any visible disturbance of mind.
He was introduced to them by the housekeeper, who was formal, in her rather quavering voice, to distinguish: "Miss Reeves. . . . Miss Arabella Reeves," or he might have concluded that Muriel was the younger sister.
Belle opened the conversation. "You want to see us about Uncle's death?" Her brown eyes regarded him with a cool gravity. It was as though he were under examination, rather than the instrument of the probing law. Or, at least, as though he were expected to explain why this murder had not been averted, and why the murderer were still at large. And these young women had kept him waiting for over half an hour, on the pretext that they had only just come in, and must have a meal!
He knew the hour of arrival of the Cornish express, and thought that he had allowed them ample time for that. With this uppermost in his mind, he replied: "I thought you would have got back sooner."
He thought that Muriel looked frightened at this remark. Did she suppose that she might be in danger of some legal penalty, if it could be shown that she had not returned with the utmost haste? She was not unlike her younger sister, but her hair was duller in colour and less abundant than Belle's heavy chestnut waves, and her brown eyes were less brilliant, and less direct. Now she began, in a voice of apology: "We should have - - " and was silenced by Belle's curter and more assured reply: "Well, we didn't. . . . But we'd like to hear what you can tell us now."
"I hoped that I might have been able to get some useful information from you."
"I don't know why you should. It isn't likely when we weren't here."
This was not rudely said. It was with a smile, and Belle's smiles were pleasant to see. But it still held the implication that it was the inspector's part to defend and explain. Her holiday (if such it were) had been interrupted, and it was reasonable to ask how such an event could have been allowed to occur, and to have assurances that it was being efficiently dealt with now.
No detective will rise high in the ranks of criminal investigators if he allow irritation to rule his words. Inspector Combridge was practised in self-restraint. But there was an emphatic curtness in his reply: "Your uncle has been murdered, we do not yet know by whom. It is natural to ask you if you can give us information which will assist us in finding the criminal."
"It was Mr. Ames, of course. I should have thought you would see that."
Muriel's weak interposition: "Oh, Belle, I don't think you should say that," went unregarded as Combridge asked:
"Will you tell me why you are so sure?"
"Because he was with Uncle, and then Uncle was dead."
"You think it is as simple as that? Have you any other reason to think that Mr. Ames might have murdered your uncle?"
"Mr. Ames might murder anybody. . . . Muriel, isn't he just the sort?"
Muriel looked worried, and more frightened than before. She repeated: "Belle, I don't think you ought to say that."
"Why not, if I'm asked? The policeman asked what I thought, and he knows now. You know I say what I think, more times than not."
"Well," Inspector Combridge said, "I'm not objecting to that. I am glad to have your opinion so frankly expressed. But, you know, opinions don't go very far in a court of law. What we need is proof."
"And you can't expect us to give you that when we weren't there."
"No. But you might be able to give me facts which would assist me in the right direction."
"Might we? I don't see how. But if it's too much for the police, I suppose we shall have to take it up, sooner or later. I don't see why he should kill Uncle Adrian and get away with it, as you seem to think he might."
"Really, Miss Arabella, I didn't say that. I expressed no opinion as to who the culprit may be, and I certainly didn't suggest that he will escape the penalty of his crime."
"No, you didn't. And if I may say it without sounding rude, I didn't suggest you did."
The reply was less curt than its record sounds, the girl's smile, and pleasantly inflected speech, taking the edge from incisive words.
Undiscouraged, Inspector Combridge, true to his reputation for pertinacious pursuit rather than any brilliance of intuition, tried another line of approach. "I suppose," he asked, "you have lived with your uncle a long time? You were more or less familiar with his affairs?"
"Oh, we don't live here! Only when we're in London, that is."
"Which is a large part of the year?"
"Sometimes more, sometimes less. It's been six months before now."
"And this has been going on for a long time?"
"Since Mother died three years ago."
"And your father is not alive either?"
"No. He died before that."
"And when you are not here?"
"We are with another uncle in Cornwall - Sir Phillip Reeves. We reckon that's our home more than this."
"I see. But you like to be in London a good deal of the time? May I conclude that your parents left you with means of your own?"
"Really, inspector, I don't see what that has to do with you!"
"No. Perhaps not. Though we like a clear background. But you haven't answered the more important question I asked - how far you may have been familiar with your uncle's affairs?"
"You mean about the business muddles, and about Mr. Gilson coming in? We knew about as much as he did himself. He talked it all over with us. But I wouldn't say it was clear to him."
"You mean he wasn't a good business man?"
"He didn't understand much about money, if you mean that. He was always easy to cheat."
"You mean he may have been cheated?"
"By Mr. Ames? I'd have called it a safe guess. But Mr. Gilson said not. He said he'd trust the business with Mr. Ames, if Uncle would leave it alone, except the inventing part."
Inspector Combridge considered this, and a suspicion arose which had not entered his mind previously. "You don't think that Mr. Ames had met Mr. Gilson previously - before he answered the advertisement?"
Arabella looked surprised at the suggestion. "No. It wouldn't be likely, would it? . . . They weren't friends, if you mean that. Mr. Gilson said Mr. Ames was all right, but Mr. Ames didn't like Mr. Gilson."
"Although he introduced him - or, at least, got him through his own advertisement? . . . Well, that's possible. He may have been jealous of a new man coming in. But that's no reason why he should kill your uncle."
"No. It couldn't have been that."
Muriel's timid voice interposed: "Belle, I think you ought to tell the inspector they wouldn't meet."
"Yes. We did think that, was queer! Uncle tried to get them together here, but they never would."
"You mean that Ames and Gilson wouldn't meet? . . . But I should have thought - - "
"Oh, they must have met often enough! I didn't mean that. But not here. They must have met at the works."
"But they didn't meet your uncle together? What excuse did they make for that?"
Muriel interposed again: "It isn't right to say they. It was Mr. Ames. Mr. Gilson came both times."
"I see," the inspector said, being by no means sure that he did. Vaguely, the information prejudiced him against the too-absent Ames, though its implications were hard to specify. Anyway, he saw that it was evidence offered in a spirit of hostility. The young ladies regarded the business manager without liking or trust. That might be the reputed intuition of women, or it might be no more than a reflection of their uncle's feeling - the unreasonable irritation of a man who sought to blame his manager for his own faults. But it seemed likely that, if these two young women were left to talk the matter over further between. themselves - and perhaps with the housekeeper, who would doubtless speak more freely to them than she could be persuaded to do to the police - there might be more to be learned than there was now. The inspector got up to go.
"I don't think I'll worry you any more tonight," he said. "When you've thought things over, something else may occur to you that I ought to know. It's right to be suspicious of everyone till we get at the truth, but I wouldn't talk as though you are sure that Mr. Ames did it. . . . Not on anything that we know yet."
But though he warned them thus, he was conscious of a strengthening conviction, against which he must warn himself of the necessity for keeping an open mind. And, if it were Ames, what on earth could the motive be?
Well, there was that alibi of Gilson's to be investigated. It was no use trying to add up a column before all the figures were there. It was not more than five minutes walk to Buckhurst Road. He would do it now.
CHAPTER SIX
AN UNINTENDED SURPRISE
SMITH'S Terrace, a cul-de-sac on the east side of Buckhurst Road, about half-way up, is of a quiet respectability suitable to that of the elderly stamp-collector who himself opened the door of his single-fronted semi-detached residence, and received the inspector with a rather nervous affectation of cordiality, which concealed a lively, and perhaps apprehensive, curiosity as to what his business could be.
He led the way into a back living-room, made cheerful by a glow of fire in the grate, though the weather was not cold. There was a table in the middle of the room, with writing materials scattered upon it. It was clear that Mr. Blake had been dealing with his correspondence, sitting with his back to the fire.
He turned his chair round, and invited Inspector Combridge to take a more comfortable one at the side of the hearth. As the inspector passed the table, he noticed that one letter lay sealed and stamped, and that it was addressed to Gilson & Co., Stamp Dealers, Strand, W.C.2. It confirmed, to some extent, the truth of Gilson's statement. But what might that envelope contain, which could scarcely have been meant for him to see?
Anyway, it made a direct opening for the enquiry on which he came. "I can't help seeing," he said, "that you've got a letter to Gilson & Co. ready to post. It was really about that that I came. Am I correct in thinking that Mr. Gilson has seen you recently?"
"Yes," was the ready answer, Mr. Blake showing some relief of manner now that he knew the subject of the call, or, at least, that it appeared to be one in which he would have no direct concern. "He was here yesterday morning. I hope there hasn't been any accident?"
"No. But there was a murder in Antrobus Road. I expect you'll have heard of that? There's nothing against Mr. Gilson, but it's rather important to time everything that happened. Could you tell me - I want you to be as careful as you possibly can - what time he called yesterday, and how long he stayed?"
"Yes. I can tell you that. Or, at least, what time he came. That clock there struck the quarter a quarter to eleven it was - just as I heard the bell and got up to let him in. I always keep it five minutes fast, so that makes it twenty to."
"Was that the time you were expecting him?"
"No. He was to have been here at ten-thirty He was ten minutes late. He mentioned that he'd been hindered for a few minutes talking to someone he met. But I told him it didn't make any difference to me."
"He made a point of telling you that he'd met someone?"
"He just mentioned it."
"And about how long did he stay?"
"Oh, a good while. It couldn't have been much less than an hour, but I didn't notice particularly. Not the time when he went."
"You probably knew Mr. Gilson before yesterday?"
"I've done business with him - buying, not selling. I hadn't seen him before. It had been done by post."
"Satisfactory business, I've no doubt?"
"Yes. I'd no complaint, or I shouldn't have gone to him now. He's always kept his prices up, but he doesn't send out poor quality specimens; and that's what collectors like."
"I expect there'll be correspondence showing how the appointment was made?"
"No. It was on the 'phone. Last Monday. I rang him up and said I'd got a good selection to sell, and would he care to give me a call."
"You sell as well as buy?"
"I haven't done much till now. But I'm giving up. I'm selling the lot."
"But you didn't make a deal?"
"Not yesterday. He offered me a price I wouldn't take. But I've altered my mind since. . . . As a matter of fact, that letter's to say he can have them."
Mr. Blake picked up the letter in a hesitant hand. He looked at the inspector as though querying that which he would not put into words. Inspector Combridge felt that justice required that the doubt should not remain. Ames, on his own statement, had left Briggs' house at about half-past ten. Gilson had been here about ten minutes later. It would be absurd to suppose that he had crept into the house in Antrobus Road during those brief minutes, engaged his victim's attention in such a way that he could approach him without rousing suspicion, cut his throat, and then come along here, calm and ready for the inspection of stamps - - No, it would not do. He said: "I hope you understand that my enquiry does not imply anything whatever against Mr. Gilson. What you have told me confirms what we have already heard. It was just routine work checking it up."
Mr. Blake said he was pleased to hear that, and then added: "But I was sorry to hear of Mr. Briggs' death. I hope you get the devil who did it. He was too good to come to an end like that."
"You speak as though you knew him."
"So I did. Just to speak to, not more. He used to go to the same chapel on Sunday evenings. I've heard say he wouldn't get up early enough for the morning service."
Inspector Combridge rose to go. It did not seem that there was likely to be much profit from discussing so slight an acquaintance. And by doing so he almost missed that which he was to be startled to hear.
"I'm sorry," Blake went on, "for the two young ladies. It must have been a shock to them."
"Yes, I'm afraid it was." The tone was casual. They were in the passage now.
"Pretty girls they are, too. Especially the younger. I saw her only last Monday - - "
Inspector Combridge woke up. "Last Monday? That's scarcely possible. They only came back from Cornwall this afternoon."
But Mr. Blake, without appearing to take much interest in the matter, was unshaken in his reply: "You must be wrong about that. She was in Portman's on Monday."
"You're quite sure?"
Mr. Blake said he was. He revealed that he was the head waiter at Portman's. Did the Misses Reeves know him? No, how should they? Except they might know him by sight, as the head waiter there.
But, anyway, he knew them. The younger in particular. She always did the ordering. Rather difficult to please, but she tipped well.
Inspector Combridge thought he would have something to say to those young women at their next meeting. It might have nothing to do with the murder - it was not easy to see how it could - but he disliked being deceived. And anything that is mysterious in the environment of such a crime is a matter to be followed up till the truth be bare.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHY THERE WAS NO WILL
MR. COOTE was a small suave man with a frankness of manner which gave an effect of candour to measured words.
He greeted Inspector Combridge as though he were a client of opulent purse and litigious dispositions.
"You have come, I have no doubt," he said, "in reference to this sad tragedy at Antrobus Road."
"Yes. I understand that Mr. Jellipot recommended Briggs to you for the drawing up of a will which he was not disposed to deal with himself."
"That was the position. Mr. Briggs proposed to make him his residuary legatee, and he naturally objected to act, in view of that circumstance."
"I suppose professional etiquette - - "
"There is no prohibition. But most solicitors would agree that it would have been unwise. The natural heirs - there are two nieces, as you will know - might have alleged undue influence, or raised other difficulties."
"It seems a bit odd that Briggs should have overlooked them."
"Yes? Perhaps it does. But he told me that they are well provided for already. Their father was an exceptionally rich man. He may also have been influenced by a feeling - possibly quite groundless - that they preferred the home of their paternal uncle, and only made a convenience of him."
"You don't mean that he was on bad terms with them?"
"Not at all. He spoke of them with affection. But he didn't consider that they needed any money from him."
"All the same, it isn't quite usual for a man to leave everything to his solicitor."
"No. It certainly isn't, or most of us would be better off than we are. But I believe Briggs had a particular esteem for Mr. Jellipot, and a sense of gratitude which is also less general than we might like it to be. . . . The trouble was that Jellipot didn't welcome the idea. In fact, he expressed himself on the telephone, when he first spoke to me about it, with exceptional vigour. He said he was a single man, making more money than he found occasion to spend, and if we couldn't persuade Briggs to change his mind, it would probably end in his refusing to accept the benefaction."
"And Briggs made the will although he must have known how Mr. Jellipot felt?"
"Actually, there is no will."
"I thought you said - - "
"I think not. We have been discussing a position which had not fully developed. The fact is that we advised Briggs that, if the benefaction should be refused, the will might become void unless an alternative should be provided.
"After some reflection, he instructed us that, if Mr. Jellipot should feel himself unable to accept his liberality, or if he should pre-decease him (which was not improbable, for he was the older man), the money should be left to the business."
"I don't quite understand that. The business was Gilson and himself. You mean it was to be left to Gilson?"
"Not precisely, though the benefit would have been his. It was to be expended in specific ways, in the development of some of his patented articles, in which Gilson's interest might be less than his own. You will appreciate that Briggs was more interested in his own ideas than in the profit which they might ultimately bring.
"There are legal difficulties in the wording of such a provision which I need not explain in detail, but we did our best with it, and sent the draft will for his approval.
"That was three weeks ago. It could have been engrossed and signed in forty-eight hours, but he objected that he had not made his meaning clear. He insisted on a wording we could not approve, and in the end it was agreed that we should take counsel's opinion upon it. That opinion-reached us yesterday afternoon."
"So he actually died intestate?"
"I have no doubt that that is the position."
"And the Misses Reeves will inherit his property - which is, more or less, the insurance money - which they would have lost if the will had been executed?"
"The money will go to his legal heirs."
"That is saying much the same thing."
"So I should suppose. But you surely would not suggest that they would have instigated the murder for such a motive?"
"No. I should call it highly improbable, even absurd. Though we do come up against some queer things where large sums of money are involved. But I am just trying to get at what the facts were. Should you say that Gilson and Ames knew of the provisions of the proposed will - or that it had not been executed?"
"Ames certainly knew of the provisions. I can't say anything about Gilson. I suppose not. As to whether they had any reason to conclude that it had, or had not, been executed, I know nothing at all."
"If they thought it had, the murder might be of advantage to them?"
"Well, you have the facts. You can judge that as well as I. . . . I know you attach great importance to motive in investigating crimes of this character, but if you rely on that, you might say that Jellipot - if he supposed the will to have been executed - had the greatest motive of all, or the Misses Reeves, if they thought it hadn't, but soon would be. And any of them more than Gilson or Ames. There are only the small points on the other side that they're not the sort of people to do it, and that they weren't there."
"No. But we don't go on motive alone. It's just a weight in the scale. And it needs a lot else to weight the scale down if it isn't there also. . . . Well, I'm much obliged to you. I don't get the picture yet, but the pieces are falling into shape, one by one.
The inspector shook hands, and left. And then, because it was only two minutes walk to Mr. Jellipot's office, and it was too late to do much else before lunch, he looked in there, and found the solicitor disengaged.
"I thought," he said, "that you'd be interested to know that the will wasn't executed." He went on to narrate what he had learned, and Mr. Jellipot listened quietly.
"Personally," he said, "I am glad to know that the question of a will does not arise. But it leaves it an even more intricate problem than it was previously."
"Which is as good as saying that the murderer was whoever thought the insurance money would come to him?"
"To him or her, or perhaps them," Mr. Jellipot amended, with his usual particularity.
"You mean the girls might be in it?"
"It is theoretically possible. It does not follow that it would be a sensible theory."
"Would you say either of those girls could tell a good lie?"
"I have observed that the number of people who will lie on what they consider sufficient occasion (as to which there may be profound differences of opinion) is not small. I suppose they could. I would hazard the opinion that the younger would tell a good one, if she told any at all."
"They were supposed to be in Cornwall when the crime was committed, and to have come back yesterday afternoon."
"So you told me. I know nothing beyond that."
"That's what Mrs. Collis told me. She said she'd wired for them to come back, and I saw the reply. It looked genuine to me. But they weren't there. The younger one was seen in London last Monday."
"That is also interesting, but it is a large assumption that it is any business of the police."
"Oh, we'll make it our business! We've no use for lying in such matters as these. . . . But," the inspector exclaimed, with a sudden change of tone, "I believe you've got a theory of what happened, and don't take much account of what doesn't fit in with that."
"I have," Mr. Jellipot admitted, "had an idea, but it's not one I should care to mention, because it's almost certainly wrong. And if it should be wrong, I should lay myself open to more ridicule than, I admit frankly, I should choose to incur.
"But, if I should be right, it's a matter which the inquest will almost certainly bring to light. Because, if it be true, certain things will almost certainly happen, and, if those things happen, it will be almost certainly true."
Inspector Combridge frowned over this statement, and there was no gratitude in his voice as he replied: "That sounds all right, but as there won't be any inquest - - "
"No inquest? I am surprised. I should have thought - - "
"So should I. But it's not one of those matters that I decide. The Assistant-Commissioner thinks it's a clear case. I expect he'll be asking why I haven't arrested Ames before he goes home tonight. But I'm not sure, and if I make a mistake there'll be all the kicks for me. . . . The coroner's just going to take formal evidence tomorrow, and adjourn sine die, if we haven't made any arrest by then. . . . I think I'll see Ames again. I daresay you're right that if I go after the girls I shall be barking under the wrong tree." With these words, very moodily said, the inspector got up to go.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHAT MRS. FISHWICK SAW
INSPECTOR COMBRIDGE did not see Ames in the afternoon. He looked in at Scotland Yard, and found a message waiting there which turned his thoughts to another track. There was a Mrs. Fishwick living in Antrobus Road, who had information to give. He went there at once.
Mrs. Fishwick lived in a first-floor room almost opposite to the house in which the tragedy had occurred. It was a room which she did not leave.
She had been wealthy once, but her husband had been ruined (she said) through trusting a false-hearted friend.
Having been ruined, he promptly died, leaving poverty and regrets to her.
She did not read the newspapers now. She read the Bible, concentrating on the cursing psalms. Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord. What could be more satisfactory than that?
When she raised her eyes from the portions of Hebrew scripture to which her mind responded, she would watch the quiet road, until there would be little of the exterior movements of her immediate neighbours, and those who visited them, that she did not know.
She had been silently intrigued by the evidences of some exciting disturbance at No. 48, but it had not been her custom to encourage conversation with those who waited upon her. The separating distance was too great. But on the second day, when the usual morning caller did not mount No. 48's three front-door steps, curiosity triumphed, and she heard much from a voluble maid, including efforts of local imagination on which it is needless to dwell, as they went wide both of the facts and what the police at this stage supposed them to be. But their result was to decide Mrs. Fishwick that it was her duty to disclose what she had seen.
She did not rise when Inspector Combridge entered her room, nor was she quick to invite him to take a chair. She remembered a village constable, who had been her cook's nephew, whom the idea of sitting in her presence would have reduced to a red-faced confusion. Inspector Combridge did not resent this attitude. He would have stood, not merely on his feet but his head, if he could have advanced the enquiry on which he was engaged by that posture. But there came a time during the subsequent conversation when he sat down, and the lady did not appear to observe the uninvited liberty.
"You are Mrs. Fishwick?" he began. "I understand you can give us some information bearing on the death of Mr. Briggs at Number Forty-eight, on the other side of the road."
"I didn't ask them to tell you that. I said I could tell you who went in and out of the house the morning before last, if that's when it happened."
"That is what we should very much like to know."
"There was the gentleman who used to call, more mornings than not, at about half-past nine. A rather short man, rather stout, and always looking untidy, as though he didn't know how to brush his clothes."
"That would be Mr. Ames."
"I don't know his name. He usually came out about a quarter-past ten. Sometimes earlier. He didn't come out till half-past ten that morning."
"There was nothing very uncommon in that?"
"No. I've known him later. But he was earlier most mornings."
"Did he appear to be in any particular hurry?"
"No. Not specially. He was often rather in a bustle when he came out."
"And after that?"
"There was a young man who'd been once or twice before. He called about five minutes after the other gentleman left."
"He went in?"
"Yes. He stayed about ten minutes. Not more than that."
"Did you see who let him in?"
"Yes. The old woman who always opens the door."
"And was there anyone after that?"
"No. Not at the front. The butcher called a bit later, but he went round to the back."
"And of course he was there long?"
"No. He was back almost at once."
"Well, I'm much obliged to you. Should you know the young man, if you should see him again?"
"Yes, I think I might. He was quite young. Rather tall, and fair-haired. He didn't wear a hat."
"Well, I'm much obliged to you for the help you've given." He got up to go.
He saw that, if this witness could be believed, the crime was almost certainly committed by Ames. The only others who could possibly have done it were the hatless youth, the butcher, and Mrs. Collis.
The young man must have done his work with astonishing celerity, if it were he; and the butcher with an even greater expedition. (Though it was certainly in his line!) But that must have been by arrangement with Mrs. Collis, which was absurd. It is not an English custom to ask the butcher to slaughter one of the family when he calls with the morning's meat.
Mrs. Collis must be acquitted on other grounds. She was not physically fit for the job. But she must have lied to him when she said she had had no other callers. That made two. Why did women lie so often on non-essential points in these cases, causing so much needless trouble to the police? Well, he supposed their reasons seemed good to them!
He paused a moment to ask: "I suppose you weren't looking out all the time? Someone might easily have called whom you didn't see?"
"No. I was looking out till lunch came. That was at a quarter to one. And the rumpus started before then. Till your car came, there couldn't have been anyone calling I didn't see. . . . I believe that's the same young man coming along now. Yes, he's calling at the house."
"So he certainly is." With little ceremony of leave-taking, Inspector Combridge ran down the stairs.
CHAPTER NINE
SURPRISE FOR MR. JELLIPOT
As he descended to the street, Inspector Combridge thought quickly. He knew nothing of the young man, whose business might be of the most innocent character, and whom, in any event, he might question to little purpose, knowing no more of him than he did now. Would it not be better to watch for him as he would leave the house, follow him without arousing his suspicions, and ascertain his identity before discovering his own knowledge of the call two days earlier which Mrs. Collis had thought too unimportant to mention - or had concealed for a reason of another kind? Anyway, the concealment was hers, and it was almost certainly expedient that she should be tackled first; and he would prefer to know a bit more than he did now, when he put the question.
So he waited, concealed in the porch, watching for the young man, who had been asked in by Mrs. Collis, to reappear. When he did so, the inspector had realised that he might be about to waste time in finding out no more than a simple question would elicit at once, and which would prove to be of no importance to him. But he knew himself well enough to be aware that his reputation had been established by pertinacity of pursuit rather than any brilliance of deductive reasoning, and, though he doubted, his purpose held.
He had not waited long, for the young man came out again within a few minutes, and went off at a rapid pace, looking neither to right nor left. Anyone easier to follow (if quick walking were no obstacle) would not be simple to find.
He walked on briskly for five minutes, till he came to Portman's Restaurant, into which he turned. After a moment of hesitation, Inspector Combridge followed. He would be recognised by the head waiter. He would be recognised by either of the Reeves girls, if they should be there, as he was inclined to expect. But Portman's is free to all who can pay its bills. His curiosity was roused, and he was determined to know more. He went in.
It was too late for lunch. It was far too early for dinner. Portman's, which does not specialise in the serving of teas, was almost empty. He saw nothing of Blake, who was off duty. He saw nothing of Muriel or Arabella, who were not there.
He ordered a coffee he did not want, and observed that his quarry, still appearing unconscious of pursuit, after a moment of impatient hesitation, did the same.
As he drank, he studied the young man, whose eyes were restlessly on the door, but passed over him as though he were not there. Anyone less like a murderous criminal, or an associate of malefactors, it would be hard to imagine; but the inspector reminded himself that there are no criminal types.
More disconcertingly, he was becoming sure - or almost sure - that he had seen the young man somewhere before, though no mental effort would recollect where it had been. . . .
He was going now. It had been no more than a ten minutes' stay. There was some more quick walking to be done next.
But it was not for long. This time, the young man mounted a city bus, and an opportune red light enabled the inspector to join him a moment later.
When they alighted at the stop which is only a few yards from Basinghall Street at its southern end, a surprising, rather uneasy doubt came to the inspector's mind, which changed to certainty a moment later, when the young man, approaching number 72A as one who had been there before, ascended by the lift to Mr. Jellipot's first floor offices.
Inspector Combridge, still disregarded, was so close behind that the liftman delayed for him to enter. But he hung back. He wanted a moment to think it out.
The result of this cogitation was that he decided: "I'll wait till he leaves. I'll find out who he is, and what it means before I make a fool of myself questioning him. There's a simple explanation of course. And yet why did both Jellipot and Mrs. Collis conceal from me that he had been to Antrobus Road that morning? And Jellipot's got a theory I wouldn't believe! No wonder, if he's got knowledge like this that he doesn't share. . . .But I've got more than a theory now. If this young fellow's as innocent as he looks, it's handcuffs for Robert Ames - and there'll be a better reason for not holding the coroner's inquest tomorrow than I expected to be able to show."
But the young man did not come down, and so at last Inspector Combridge went up to Mr. Jellipot's suite, and was confirmed in the wisdom of discretion when he saw the object of his pursuit seated at a desk in the outer office, and recognised him at last as one whom he had casually seen in that room before. This might explain much, but not all.
And so, being still puzzled, and having a very considerable respect for his opponent (if such Mr. Jellipot could be considered), when he found himself next moment in that gentleman's presence, he was still cautious in his approach.
He said: "There's an old lady living opposite number forty-eight, who was watching the door (or so she says) all the morning that the murder occurred. She claims to have seen everyone who went in or out during that time."
"If you think her reliable, you may consider that you have obtained evidence of great - perhaps of decisive, importance, even though it be of no more than a negative character."
"It wasn't exactly negative."
Mr. Jellipot looked surprised. "I will confess," he said, "that on any theory of the crime which I had been able to form, I should have anticipated that its value could only have been of that description."
"Which is saying that you think Ames did the job? . . . Well, I wouldn't say you're far wrong on that. I only meant there were other callers, whom Mrs. Collis didn't mention, which ought to be made a headache for her. And there was one among them I needn't name because you know it already."
Mr. Jellipot looked puzzled. "I can assure you," he said, "even at the risk of appearing duller than I am normally, that I have no such knowledge, nor can I make any guess of what you may mean."
"Well, I mean the young man who's been there again this morning."
"I sent Tudor there this morning, with a message for Miss Reeves. If you are alluding to that - - "
"If he's the young man outside now - - "
"Tudor is a clerk who has been articled to me for the past two years. As to his being outside now, it is open to doubt. But I have none that he was there when you came in."
"Well, he was in the house almost as soon as Ames left. I don't suppose I'm telling you anything you don't know, and I'm not saying he had anything to do with the crime, but I do think I should have been told."
"Obviously so - if it be true. But will you accept my word that, if it were, it was entirely outside my knowledge? Beyond that, I regard it as most improbable. I think it more likely that your old lady witness is suffering from some confusion of mind."
"I don't think it was that. But it's easy to ask him."
"That, unless he have already left, is what I am proposing to do."
Mr. Jellipot picked up the telephone, and said that he would like Mr. Tudor to come in for a moment. Having listened to the reply, he laid it down with the explanation: "I am sorry but he has just left. . . . I should add that, before you came in he had asked to leave early this afternoon on some private business, and I had given that permission. . . . Perhaps you ill now tell me in more detail what you have learned."
Mr. Jellipot listened to the narrative which followed with his usual patient attention. At its conclusion, he said: "And, in view of this lady s evidence, you feel that you would be justified in arresting Ames? Well, I don't say you are wrong. To regard the crime as being the possible act of either Tudor or the butcher would be absurd. That any butcher should cut a customer's throat in an absent-minded moment, from mere force of habit, is, in itself, a proposition which may be held to fail in reasonable probability; and in this particular case there is an absence of any reason why he should have gone up to the bedroom at all. Had it been the housekeeper's throat - but it is a theory which we may put aside. Even that Mrs. Collis should have employed him for such a purpose is of an almost fantastic improbability. And, for quite different, but no less formidable reasons, you may eliminate Reginald Tudor also. . . . My only doubt is as to whether you can be right that Reginald was in Antrobus Road that morning at all, and, in consequence, to what extent you can rely upon the accuracy of Mrs. Fishwick's memory. But if you are satisfied on that point - - "
"Oh, he was there all right."
"Still, you may prefer to have his own account of the matter, and to clear up some other loose ends, however irrelevant they may prove to be, before taking decisive action."
"No. I don't know that I shall. We find things come out a lot faster after we've got the man we want under lock and key. And when we're as sure as I am here - - "
"Yes. I know your theory. It is a matter on which you have more experience than I can claim, and I do not say you are wrong. Do you intend to make the arrest at once?"
"I'd like to know what time he usually leaves the works."
"I suppose he would be there now. It may be more doubtful whether you could get there before he would have left."
"Would you mind having him rung up, and asked to wait for me there?"
"You think mat is wise?"
"You mean he might try a bolt? I shouldn't mind that. It would be just luck for us. He wouldn't get far."
"And he would have demonstrated his guilt to the satisfaction of any probable jury? Again, you may be right. Newman shall telephone him now, and let you know the result."
Five minutes later, Inspector Combridge was on the way to the Kilburn business premises of Messrs. Briggs & Co., electrical engineers and contractors, as rapidly as a taxi could make its way through the London traffic. He had not actually decided upon the arrest of Robert Ames, but he was resolved to invite him to accompany him to police headquarters, which is a distinction the difference of which is not always considerable.
CHAPTER TEN
INVITATION DECLINED
ROBERT AMES sat in the office of the business over which he presided with little supervision, though, until two days before, it had had two proprietors, of whom he was not one.
Twenty minutes earlier, he had learned that Inspector Combridge would be on the way to interview him. Whether he were innocent or guilty of an employer's death, he could not be unaware that suspicion had gathered darkly about his head. He could see it in the eyes of those around him. He could hear it in the things they said, and still more was it silently evident in those which they did not say.
Even Miss Marchant, whom he had taken twice to the pictures in recent weeks, and who may have seen in these occasions a prelude to more significant familiarities - even her bold eyes would not meet his own, and her smile was gone.
Yet he had shown no sign of perturbation at this surrounding atmosphere. He had gone on managing the business with his usual bustling efficiency. He had sustained a previous interrogation from Inspector Combridge without being shaken in any material particular in the statement of his morning interview, as he had first given it, before (if he were innocent) he could have had any knowledge of the tragedy which had occurred. He had said, with a disarming frankness, that he could see that he must be under some measure of suspicion until the murderer should be found, and that he was anxious, for that and other reasons, that the police should prove equal to the discovery of the guilty man. But he owned that he could make no helpful suggestion. It was a baffling affair to him.
Now he had been using the half-hour interval before the inspector could arrive to clear up the details of the day's business, with his usual rather fussy energy. He signed his letters, with particularity in reading them over, and insistence upon a statement of no great importance being verified from the books before he would pass it.
Anything less like the attitude of one who intended to take to perilous flight could not be easily imagined. Had Inspector Combridge been invisibly present, the fear - or rather hope - that he might attempt to avoid arrest by that means would have left his mind.
Having dealt with these matters, he sat a few moments in silent thought. He turned out his pockets, burnt one or two papers, with no care that they should be entirely consumed, examined the contents of his wallet, and having counted the eleven one-pound notes it held, put ten of them into a drawer of the safe which he kept for personal use.
If he had any thought of arrest - which could hardly appear less than possible, even to an innocent man - he did no more than was prudent, in facing a legal system which, while it professes to regard all men as innocent till their guilt be proved, does not therefore protect property which may be on their persons from the prying hands, and temporary detention of the police.
Having done this, and wandered restlessly round the office, as though fearful that there might be something he had overlooked, he sat, in a quietude unusual to him, for the few further minutes which remained before Inspector Combridge arrived.
"Well," he said, offering a hand which the inspector did not refuse, though his response was feeble, "take a seat. I hope you've come to tell me that you've found out what we're all anxious to know."
"I have obtained some further evidence. But I'm sorry to say that it appears to reduce the possibility that anyone who could have committed such a crime called at the house between when you left and when Mrs. Collis entered the room."
Mr. Ames appeared not to observe the implication of this. He said: "I suppose you often have these setbacks, before you get at the truth."
"Well, we usually do get to the truth at last."
Inspector Combridge looked at a man he had disliked from the first moment he saw him, and was disturbed by a momentary doubt of whether he were allowing himself to be biased by that dislike. It was a natural antipathy between two men whose similarities and differences were alike of antagonising kinds.
The inspector's hair was red, and so was that of Ames, though of a more emphatic shade. But the inspector's was close-cropped, and neatly kept. That of Ames looked as though its last combing might be two days, and its last cutting two months, before.
Ames' waistcoat was half unbuttoned. There was no crime in that. But neither was there any suggestion of incongruity. He had the appearance of a man whose waistcoat at any time would be unbuttoned more likely than not. e shall have to ask you," the inspector said, "to sign a statement setting out the facts as you have already given them to us verbally. It is for that purpose that I am obliged to ask you to come with me now. But I ought to warn you that anything you say further, or which you may consent to sign, may be used in evidence."
Mr. Ames' eyebrows rose. "That's putting it straight, isn't it? If it's not saying I killed Briggs, it's going about half-way. . . . But you know, apart from anything else, I hadn't any motive. Not the least. And men don't commit murders without any quarrel, and no motive at all.
"So, however awkward it looks for me, I can tell you that I'm not really afraid. . . . But, of course, I'll sign the statement. I've told you what happened, and I've no more to say, bad or good. If you'll just wait while I get my coat, and a wash - shan't be five minutes - I'll come with you now."
"Well," the inspector replied, "be as quick as you can. I've got a taxi waiting for us outside."
Ames made no reply. He went out of the room, leaving the door carelessly open behind him. Combridge saw him enter a door marked Private, on the opposite side of the passage. As it opened, there could be seen the white gleam of a hand-basin against the wall. The Inspector sat patiently for five minutes. He sat impatiently for three more.
Then he got up. Was the fool committing suicide? He was conscious that his own course of conduct had been such as the occasion required; but, all the same, if such a thing had occurred, it would not be considered a credit to him. He went to the door of the lavatory. He tried the handle, and found it to be bolted or locked. He called: "Mr. Ames, shall you be long?"
There was no reply. He called louder, and then changed his tone. "If you don't answer, I shall break the door."
There was still silence. From a door farther down the passage, two girls came out. They had hats and coats on, evidently prepared to leave. They watched half curious, half afraid.
Inspector Combridge called to them: "Tell someone to bring an axe."
They stood irresolute, and he decided to try what he could do. The door did not look very strong.
He put his weight against it, and felt it give; kicked with his full strength, and a puny bolt gave way, so that the door flew wide open. He looked into a small empty room.
Where could Ames have gone? Not through the window. A boy of ten might have stuck fast in that narrow space. But there was a closed door on the right hand, locked, and with no handle on that side. It appeared to be disused, but was the obvious explanation of the empty room.
It was harder to open, giving way at last to a key from another door, one of those which the young women, whose curiosity had overcome their preliminary hesitation, had collected at his request. But the inspector's mind was now comparatively at ease. He was not surprised to find that the door led to a women's lavatory, which opened on to another passage, with a warehouse on its further side.
He said to the two girls, who were now following in a state of giggling excitement: "You can get off home now. There'll be nothing more doing here tonight."
"We can't go without locking the front door."
"Then you'll have to wait while I 'phone."
With the ready help of one of the girls, he was soon through to Superintendent Roomer, who heard his narrative with a chuckle of satisfaction. "It's a bit of trouble for us now," he said, "but it'll save a lot more in the end."
He rang off to issue the instructions which within half an hour would rouse the whole force of the Metropolitan Police to an alert watch for the missing man, and, a little later, those within a far wider area. He had no doubt that he would see Ames brought in within twenty-four hours, if not twelve. He felt that, short of a written confession, the man had given the police all the assistance he could.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REGINALD SAYS LITTLE
"I HEAR," Mr. Jellipot said, with his usual mildness, "that you called at Mr. Briggs' house on the morning of the murder, and were there for some time."
Tudor flushed slightly, but looked at his employer without flinching as he replied: "If I were, sir, it wasn't on the firm's business."
"And it is therefore not mine, you would like to say? But if it were not on the firm's business, should it have been done in the firm's time?"
"I was working very late on the previous night."
"Or you might have gone then? It is a substantial excuse, though the formality of obtaining my consent need not have been omitted. . . . I might have been content with what you have said, but Inspector Combridge will want to know more"
"Then Inspector Combridge can go to hell."
Mr. Jellipot looked slightly surprised at the emphatic nature of this reply, and even more so did the young man from whose mouth it came.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I didn't mean to speak like that. But it's no business of his."
"It was an irrelevant observation, the final destination of Inspector Combridge not being the subject with which we dealt. You must appreciate that you entered the house, if I be informed correctly, almost immediately after Mr. Ames left, and that a serious crime had just occurred, or would occur there in the next hour. Such a position is certain to arouse the curiosity of the police."
"If I know nothing about it, I can't help them; and if I went there to cut his throat, I'm not likely to say."
"It is less simple than that, there being many intermediate possibilities. You are certainly not obliged to make any statement incriminating yourself. But I do not suppose that that question can seriously arise."
"It would be cock-eyed nonsense to think I went there to kill Briggs."
"Perhaps so. But suspicion is regarded as duty in the efficient ranks of the C.I.D. I have reason to think that I have not been entirely free from it myself, either in the mind of Inspector Combridge or Mr. Quigley."
Tudor laughed. "Well, of course, if they think I did it in office hours, they might suppose it was on instructions from you. But it would be in the diary, if so. I should think there'd be a fat fee to charge up against the client whose instructions we were carrying out."
"It has a humorous side which you are not slow to observe. But it would not have been on the instructions of others, but for my own benefit that I should have been acting. There was an unfortunate possibility that I might have benefited under a will which, I am glad to say, was not made."
"You think - - " the young man checked himself abruptly. "No," he concluded, "I'd say you needn't worry about that!"
"I am not. It might exceed fact to say that I have been worried at all. But I am inclined to think that you know more of this matter than you have yet said."
There was a moment of silence, and then Mr. Jellipot went on with unaltered placidity: "Which you admit when you do not deny. But I will not press you for a confidence which you are reluctant to give. If you have reason to suppose that Mr. Briggs died intestate, I may, however, mention that it is no more than I have known since yesterday morning."
But Reginald still made no reply. His eyes, which had been lifted frankly, were now fixed on the ground.
"Well," Mr. Jellipot concluded, "we must leave it there. But you will treat the inspector with greater confidence, if you will take the advice of an older man. Think it over while you have time."
"Yes, sir, I certainly will."
With this assurance, and some return to his earlier manner, Reginald left the room; and, almost immediately after, Inspector Combridge was announced.
CHAPTER TWELVE
COMBRIDGE HAS NO REPLY
"You haven't caught him vet," Mr. Jellipot commented, as the inspector concluded his narrative of the events of the previous evening, "but you feel confident that you will?"
"It's about a thousand to one. I don't say I'd take it on even at those odds unless I'd got a quid that I shouldn't miss. We'll have his picture in the afternoon papers, and there'll be a few million people besides the police who'll have their eyes on any stranger who comes their way.
"It isn't ever easy hiding from the police, even if a man's got plenty to spend. Ames may have that - I don't know. But he hasn't drawn anything much lately from his own bank. We've found that out already. But even if he has, it doesn't make much difference. Not in a case like this.
"You see, it isn't as though we're after one of the criminal class. They've got friends of their own kind. They know where to go. But he won't. He'll be like a fox with no hole. If he get a week's run he'll be a lot luckier than they often are. Don't they ever have a hiding-place ready beforehand?"
"I never met such a case. And if you think it out, it isn't a likely thing. They don't murder anyone with a plan of bolting, and losing everything. They think they're going to manage a lot better than that. It's afterwards that they get frightened, and lose their nerve."
"I have no doubt you are right. Though how Ames could have clone it, and thought that suspicion would pass him by, is not easy to understand. . . . But you did not come - or did you? - only to tell me this."
"No. I came to have a few words with young Tudor."
"Which it was very natural to wish to do. But does the occasion remain? You consider - I am not suggesting that you are wrong - that Ames has practically pleaded guilty by flight. If - or should I say when? - you catch him, you may obtain a more formal confession. When you have it, will you not be better able to judge whether anything that may have happened later in the morning can be of importance to you to know?"
Inspector Combridge did not answer at once, but he looked stubborn, and Mr. Jellipot went on in his more persuasive manner: "You have some reason to think that both Mrs. Collis and the Misses Reeves have lied to you, whether from the same or quite different reasons is hard to guess. Naturally, you resent this. But if you pursue inquiries which have ceased to be material to your case, and you are further rebuffed, will you not be asking for what you get? . . . In any event, you have no complaint against Tudor, whom you have not interrogated at all."
"And you think I'd better leave it at that? Well, you may be right; and, anyway, it will keep. But all the same - - " He got up, leaving the sentence uncompleted. He had an uneasy feeling that Jellipot had more motive than he disclosed. And yet, was it not sense?
If Ames should offer any explanation or defence which involved the subsequent movements of those people and yet how could he? - there would be time to pursue such enquiries. Until then - -
Changing the subject, he said: "We hear that Gilson's at the Briggs works this morning, taking charge as though he'd been there all his life. He hasn't lost any time."
"With his interest in the business, and being the only one left, it sounds to me to be a very natural and necessary thing to do."
"Oh, of course. I'm not saying anything against him."
"Actually, he has already telephoned that he will be coming to see me. He says there are matters connected with the business on which he will require legal advice."
"Well, he'll be coming to the right place."
"So we must hope," Mr. Jellipot replied, in the tone of one whose mind is on other things. He added: "It is one of the most puzzling cases I ever met."
The inspector looked surprised. "That's how I felt about it till yesterday. But it's straight ahead for us now, with the signal down."
"Yes. It is a natural point of view. But what motive can Ames have had?"
The inspector had no answer to that. Indeed, it's effect was that he went away with a vague disquiet which his reason told him that he had no occasion to feel. But this feeling would have found little relief had he been supernaturally endowed with power to overhear a conversation which was then proceeding, in the confidence of the packing-room which they shared, between the two girls who had given him their assistance on the previous evening.
"Don't you think we ought to tell the police?"
"No, I don't. I think it would be just horrid. I don't want him to get hanged. Anyway, not through me. And, besides, how could we without - - ?"
"Yes. How could they without - - ? The other girl saw that. And, after all, the police should be able to manage their own affairs. They went on packing micrometers with the deft fingers that practice gives.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MORE CALLERS FOR MR. JELLIPOT
MR. GILSON said: "He was a man I never liked. But I can't see now what motive he could have had."
Mr. Jellipot agreed. "But it is a matter which may be cleared up when he has to defend himself."
Mr. Gilson hardly saw that. Was it likely that a man would offer a motive for doing that which he would be sure to deny?
Mr. Jellipot agreed again, but said that it is often through the dissection of lies that the truth will become clear.
Mr. Gilson did not pursue the subject. He had more urgent matters upon his mind. Having disposed of others or more immediate importance, he asked whether Mr. Jellipot had heard anything of the dispositions of the dead man's will.
"I have reason to believe," Mr. Jellipot replied, "that no will was made."
Mr. Gilson looked sceptical. "Ames," he said, "told me differently. I think you will find that a will was executed about a fortnight ago."
"Then I am afraid that he was not accurately informed. My information (which is derived from the solicitors who were acting for Mr. Briggs in that matter) is that there was delay for obtaining of counsel's opinion upon some of its contemplated provisions, and that it was unsigned in consequence. If Ames committed the murder under the presumption that those provisions would be beneficial to himself (which, however inadequate it may seem, is the only motive that can be surmised), it was a most pointless crime."
Mr. Gilson took this information without appearing to be greatly perturbed, though he expressed a natural disappointment.
"I had understood," he said, "that the whole of the insurance money would have been available for the development of the business, which I should naturally have welcomed, but I suppose that it will still benefit to a substantial extent."
"That appears to be so. I have already referred to the terms of the partnership deed, and to the Balance Sheet which was attached thereto.
"The business will, in the first instance, receive the benefit of the insurance money, that being the intention with which you stipulated that the policy should be taken out.
"But your obligation to acquire your partner's interest, if you decide to continue trading, will naturally remain, and the addition of the insurance money to the business assets places it in a position of substantial solvency, in which Briggs' estate must share.
"I estimate that this interest will amount to about £11,500 To that extent the business will lose by the fact that the will was not executed, but it will still benefit by the introduction of over £8,000, and the proprietorship will be entirely yours.
"It is evident that your prudence in stipulating for the taking out of the policy has been justified by the course of events."
"Yes. I should have been in the devil of a mess. I might have had to close."
"You are intending to carry on?"
"Yes. My own business isn't one that ties me down. It's almost all correspondence. I've been used to doing most of it m the evening, and seldom been at the office more than two or three hours a day. And Briggs and Co. will be a good business with that capital behind it. You know I've always had that opinion. I don't say that Briggs won't be missed. He was a genius in his way. But there are as many patents now as anyone could wish to have, and you know he did next to nothing at the works. He sometimes didn't enter the doors for weeks, and Ames did more or less as he liked. . . . There'll be a bit more order and method there now."
"Yes. I expect there will."
Mr. Gilson spoke in the tone of one who opens a window to let in sunshine and better air, and as Mr. Jellipot listened he was conscious of liking him a little more than he had done previously, which had not been much.
He noticed that he spoke of Ames in the past tense. Well, that was natural enough. Even if he should not be convicted of murder, his abrupt departure might excuse the man who would soon be the sole proprietor from continuing to employ him. And Gilson, though he had exonerated Ames from suggestions of financial malpractice, had never liked him. He had made no secret of that. . . .
As Mr. Gilson went out, Mr. Jellipot glanced at the clock. It was already past midday, and so far his time had been entirely occupied with the affairs of the murdered man, to the exclusion of other matters which should not be neglected longer. It was with an exclamation of impatience unusual to him that he heard next moment that Miss Reeves was waiting. "
Show her in," he said, after a second of hesitation, "but if anyone else should call, you will say that I am engaged until after lunch."
Having fortified himself thus against later intrusions, he received Muriel with his usual quiet cordiality. Separated from her sister's more vivid personality, it might not have occurred to anyone to regard her as deficient either in vitality or attractive features.
She had a long envelope in her hand, which she laid on the solicitor's desk as she said: "We thought I'd better bring Uncle's will to you."
"I am afraid," he replied, "that it will be of no legal value, though it may indicate what your uncle's wishes were, and there is always the possibility that those who become entitled to the estate may wish to fulfil them. But I have already heard that it was not legally executed when he died."
"It isn't quite like that. Uncle said if they couldn't do what they were told without all that fuss, he'd see what he could do himself."
As she offered this explanation, Mr. Jellipot had drawn a foolscap sheet from the envelope. He turned it over, and, to his experienced eyes, it had the look of a good will. The signature was certainly that of Robert Briggs. There were the names of two witnesses - Muriel Reeves and Reginald Tudor - under the usual formula of joint presence. He raised momentary eyebrows at the second name.
"Is this," he asked, "Mr. Tudor's doing?"
"No. Nothing at all. Except I asked him to oblige Uncle by signing."
"Do you benefit in any way under the will?"
"No. We didn't want to. Belle or I. We've got plenty."
"I only asked because, had it been otherwise, you would have lost that benefit by being a witness, which sometimes happens when wills are drawn up without legal advice. . . . Well, I will deal with this." He laid the will aside, and continued: "There was the other matter, on which I sent a message to you by Mr Tudor yesterday. It may have become of less importance since the police have decided that Ames is responsible for the crime, and that enquiries in other directions are no longer necessary. But you may like to tell me what the situation was which it may still become necessary to explain."
"It was kind of you to send the message you did, but I don't think there is anything we really need say about it."
"Possibly not. But there is reliable evidence that your sister was in London at a time when she was supposed to be in Cornwall. There is a reasonable presumption that she did not go to Cornwall at all. We may conclude that she was in London at the time of the murder, and that there has been something approaching a conspiracy to conceal that fact from the knowledge of the police."
"I suppose lots of people would think that."
"Which is a polite way of telling me that my interference is not desired? Mr. Jellipot queried, with no reduction in the friendliness of his tone. "May I conclude that that attitude is one in which your sister concurs?"
"Belle said, if anyone tried to get anything out of me, I was to answer in two words. But I couldn't say 'So what?' to you It would sound ruder from me than it would from her."
Mr. Jellipot recognised the truth of that. Spoken with Arabella's bright eyes and smiling lips, and in a voice which it was music to hear, the words might be innocent of offence; but their meaning would still be there.
"Well," he said, "I daresay you can both take care of yourselves. I must see what can be done with this." He shook hands, as he took up the will.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MR. JELLIPOT READS THE WILL
MR. JELLIPOT had no difficulty in deciding that the will was good. It contained one or two phrases at which he winced, but wen in its wording there was little to which criticism could be directed, for most of it was copied from Mr. Coote's draft, and Mr. Jellipot respected that gentleman's legal abilities.
Its provisions were simple in their intention, though difficult to define to the satisfaction of the professional mind. The unusual idea, in the absence of greedy natural heirs, of benefiting a solicitor to whom the testator felt he had cause to be grateful, appeared to have been overcome by the discouragement which it had received. The intention of the present will was that the whole amount which might be realised from the estate should be devoted to the business, not as an investment, but as a donation to be explicitly expended upon the development of the Briggs inventions which it had been founded to produce and market.
Crudely considered, it was a gift to Gilson of over £11,000, in view of the certain value of the inventions with which it dealt. But it was evident that the exact limits of such expenditure would be hard to control, or even define. Mr. Jellipot approved the caution that had declined to accept responsibility without taking counsel's opinion, the exact effect of which is that neither of the legal gentlemen concerned has any responsibility at all.
Mr. Jellipot next observed, without gratitude, that he had been appointed an executor, to act jointly with Muriel and Arabella Reeves, with power to operate the proposed fund. In return for this, he was to receive a legacy of £200. The young ladies received no corresponding benefit. Natural affection for their deceased uncle was, he concluded, to be their sufficient incentive. (But what help, he thought, am I likely to get from them?)
He saw that Briggs, in his posthumous directions, as in his life, showed more interest in the production and perfecting of his creations than in the profits which they might earn. He had been commonly condemned for conduct arising from that attitude. He had been called incurably lazy. (He had certainly been a late riser.) He had been called (with justification) a bad business man. Ames had mentioned that he had once excused himself for not having appeared at the works on a day when he had definitely promised to be there, because it had been too fine a morning. Such were not the actions of prudent, provident men.
Yet Mr. Jellipot saw something here that he could admire. In the cant phrase, Briggs had had the defects of his qualities - and those qualities were not base. The thought deepened indignation at the brutal, unprovoked murder, and shut out any thought of sympathy for the hunted criminal.
There remained the question of who - of how many of those concerned - had known of the existence of this will? It had already become clear that both Ames and Gilson had supposed a will to exist. Gilson had been frank upon that. But supposition is less than certainty. Had Ames known? Had Gilson? Had both? If Gilson had, he had shown himself a good actor at the morning's interview. But more probably he had not.
Mr. Jellipot went out to a late and hurried lunch, feeling that he had given more than enough time to the Briggs affair, and that he must put it aside for the remaining hours of the business day, but when he returned Miss Arabella Reeves was already waiting to see him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ARABELLA EXPLAINS
"I MEANT," Arabella said, "to come with Muriel, but she started without me. I thought I'd better see you about the will."
"I am always pleased to see you," Mr. Jellipot replied truthfully, for she was a girl he liked. "But there was no immediate hurry."
"I expect you've found time to read it?"
"Yes. I know what it contains."
"Is it a good will?"
"Yes. It will almost certainly be legally valid, if you mean that."
"So I was afraid."
"You mean you would like it to be bad?"
"Yes. I wish it were."
"Yet you witnessed it, and consented to be an executrix?"
"I thought I'd like to help you to make things as difficult as I can."
"To make things difficult? Forgive me, Miss Arabella, if I don't look upon it as a very attractive programme."
"Well, it's the best we can do."
"If you would make your intentions clear - - "
"Well, I don't suppose you like Mr. Gilson, do you?"
"I have scarcely considered it necessary to define my feelings. He is a client; and certainly, if I should be acting in any matter in which he would be directly or indirectly concerned, I should not allow such feelings to influence me in either direction."
"Yes. I was afraid of that."
"Feeling so strongly as you appear to do, why did you not oppose your uncle in the making of this will?"
"Because he might have thought we wanted something ourselves.
"I see. And you thought he might make a mess of it, drawing it up himself, and that was the best chance that Ames or Gilson wouldn't get control of the money?"
"I hoped Mr. Gilson wouldn't."
"Why don't you like Mr. Gilson?"
"Well, I just don't. I suppose, if he were the one who killed Uncle, he couldn't benefit from the will?"
"You think he may have done it?"
"I don't know. I told the policeman I wasn't there. I said, ' if he did.'"
"You are right in thinking that the law will not allow a man to benefit from his own criminal act. But the money being left in the way it is, I should not be prepared to advise that, even if Mr. Gilson should be convicted of the crime, it would vitiate the provisions of the will, whatever indirect benefit it might be to him as the proprietor of the business. . . . Yet, under such a supposition - which I suggest that you should be careful not to discuss outside this room - he would doubtless be occupied in other ways."
"Yes. I see that." The girl's voice was as soft and pleasant as ever, but her satisfaction in the thought of how Mr. Gilson might be occupied was not concealed.
"There is just one thing," Mr. Jellipot said, "which I should like to ask while we are together now. You say that you were not there when your uncle was murdered. I have no doubt that that is so. But it is equally true, is it not, that you were not in Cornwall?"
"I was at the Regent Street Hotel."
"Should you think me rude if I ask why?"
"I don't mind telling you. Muriel knows now. Reggie had been chumming up to her, to get in with me. I stayed here to see him, and tell him where he got off."
"Which no doubt you did?"
"He knows a thing or two now."
"I've no doubt he does. . . . And now, if you would explain to me with equal frankness why you suggest that Mr. Gilson is responsible for your uncle's murder, I shall be particularly interested, because, to be frank with you, I had understood from Inspector Combridge that you were disposed to condemn Mr. Ames in the same way."
"Well, I don't see why not."
"You mean that they may both have been partners to the crime, though one alone may have been the actual murderer?"
"And that seems silly to you?"
"I have not said so. It is a matter on which I have a very puzzled, but particularly open mind."
"Well, that's how I feel." Mr. Jellipot made no direct comment upon this feminine attitude. He said: "I understood some months ago that you did not trust Ames, and had tried to arouse your uncle's suspicions. Now you regard Mr. Gilson with an equal distrust. Can you say that you have any valid reason for that?"
"The beast wants to marry Muriel."
It was an unexpected reply, and Mr. Jellipot did not conceal his surprise. He asked: "Is there any reason for anticipating such an event?"
"There wasn't while she thought Reggie was after her. I'm not so sure now."
"I see how you feel. . . . We must hope that the question will not arise in an acute form, and particularly not before responsibility for the murder has been resolved. . . . I will do what I can."
With this promise, which was much for Mr. Jellipot to give, and was to cause him some sleepless hours in the night, he shook hands, and Arabella left with a feeling of relief for which we may fail to see any evident cause.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MR. JELLIPOT HAS A DIFFICULT INTERVIEW
MR. JELLIPOT'S hope that Inspector Combridge would be proved right in his anticipation of the prompt arrest of Robert Ames was not realised.
His continued liberty became a matter to which much newspaper space was devoted, and many theories were advanced among which that which became most generally held, and was most popular at Scotland Yard, was that he must have committed suicide. This may be done in ways by which the discovery of the body may be precarious or delayed, without any reflection upon the vigilance of the police. The search had been so promptly begun, and had been so thorough, that it did not seem possible that it could have been evaded in any other way.
And this theory was supported by the fact that the man seemed to have made no preparations for flight, and to have taken no money with him. It was true that some investments, of no great amount, had been realised within the past year, and that the money they had brought in could not be clearly traced, but, beyond that, his bank account showed little but credits for his monthly salary cheque, and money drawn out each week to a yearly corresponding total. It appeared, and was readily confirmed by Gilson, that the £500 loan to the firm, which had been repaid, had been reinvested in the business, at Ames' particular request. He had explained (Gilson said) that he no longer held the shares in connection with which he had thought that it would be required, and his confidence in the business, after it had received the support of Gilson's capital, had become such that there was no form of investment he would prefer.
Anyway, there it was.
A search of his Bayswater lodgings, which were as untidy as himself, did not suggest that he had taken such things away as a fleeing man would be likely to need. An exhaustive enquiry for relations, near or far, to whom he might have gone, disclosed only two aunts, of whom one was dead, and one was living in Chelsea on a small annuity which he appeared to have given her some assistance in purchasing ten years earlier. Her evidence was of a negative character. She had not seen him for years. She could not give the address of any other living relative. Inspector Combridge, reporting his interview with her to Superintendent Roomer, said unkindly: "She doesn't seem to know anything about him. I should say she knows a lot more about senile decay.
With patient thoroughness, he had examined the business staff, and gained nothing there beyond some light upon how Ames had spent his salary, which, in view of its amount, and his manner of living, had not been simple to see.
He had a hint from Miss Marchant, a young woman to whom the missing man had made such advances as had caused her to calculate, in a cool, avaricious mind, whether she could make a major profit by bidding for matrimony, or would be wiser to take what she could get on mutually easier terms, and who was not pleased to think that it was a throat-cutter to whom she had so nearly confided her very saleable self. She said that the packing-room girls could tell him someth