Appleby File (23 page)

‘As a matter of fact, that wouldn’t work. The police surgeon examined his mouth this morning. Teeth perfect – Elwin probably hadn’t been to a dentist since he was a child. But, of course, the matter’s merely formal, since there can’t be any doubt of his identity. I didn’t know him well, but I recognize him myself, more or less – even with his face like that.’

‘I see. By the way, how does one bury a naked corpse? Still naked? It seems disrespectful. In a shroud? No longer fashionable. Perhaps just in a nice business suit.’ Appleby turned to the bed. ‘I think we’ll dress George Elwin that way now.’

‘My dear fellow!’

‘Just rummage in those drawers, would you?’ Appleby was inexorable. ‘Underclothes and a shirt, but you needn’t bother about socks or a tie.’

Ten minutes later the body, still supine on the roof, was almost fully clothed. The two men looked down at it sombrely.

‘Yes,’ the Chief Constable said slowly. ‘I see what you had in mind.’

‘I think we need some information about George Elwin’s connections. And about his relatives, in particular. What do you know about that yourself?’

‘Not much.’ The Chief Constable took a restless turn up and down the flat roof. ‘He had a brother named Arnold Elwin. Rather a bad-hat brother, or at least a shiftless one, living mostly in Canada, but turning up from time to time to cash in on his brother George’s increasing wealth.’

‘Arnold would be about the same age as George?’

‘That’s my impression. They may have been twins, for that matter.’ The Chief Constable broke off. ‘In heaven’s name, Appleby, what put this hoary old piece of melodrama in your head?’

‘Look at this.’ Appleby was again kneeling by the body. Again he turned over the left hand so that the strap of the wristwatch was revealed. ‘What do you see on the leather, a third of an inch outward from the present position of the buckle?’

‘A depression.’ The Chief Constable was precise. ‘A narrow and discoloured depression, parallel with the line of the buckle itself.’

‘Exactly. And what does that suggest?’

‘That the watch really belongs to another man – someone with a slightly thicker wrist.’

‘And those clothes, now that we’ve put them on the dead man?’

‘Well, they remind me of something in
Macbeth
.’ The Chief Constable smiled faintly. ‘Something about a giant’s robe on a dwarfish thief.’

‘I’d call that poetic exaggeration. But the general picture is clear. It will be interesting to discover whether we have to go as far as Canada to come up with–’

Appleby broke off. The Chief Constable’s chauffeur had appeared on the roof. He glanced askance at the body, and then spoke hastily.

‘Excuse me, sir, but a gentleman has just driven up, asking for Mr Elwin. He says he’s Mr Elwin’s brother.’

‘Thank you, Pengelly,’ the Chief Constable said unemotionally. ‘We’ll come down.’ But when the chauffeur had gone he turned to Appleby with a low whistle. ‘Talk of the devil!’ he said.

‘Or, at least, of the villain in the hoary old melodrama?’ Appleby glanced briefly at the body. ‘Well, let’s go and see.’

As they entered the small study downstairs, a lanky figure rose from a chair by the window. There could be no doubt that the visitor looked remarkably like the dead man.

‘My name is Arnold Elwin,’ he said. ‘I have called to see my brother. May I ask–’

‘Mr Elwin,’ the Chief Constable said formally, ‘I deeply regret to inform you that your brother is dead. He was found on the roof this morning, shot through the head.’

‘Dead?’ The lanky man sank into his chair again. ‘I can’t believe it! Who are you?’

‘I am the Chief Constable of the County, and this is my guest Sir John Appleby, the Commissioner of Metropolitan Police. He is very kindly assisting me in my inquiries – as you, sir, may do. Did you see your brother yesterday?’

‘Certainly. I had just arrived in England, and I came straight here, as soon as I learned that George was going in for one of his periodical turns as a recluse.’

‘There was nobody else about the place when you made this call?’

‘Nobody. George managed for himself, except for a woman who came in from the village early in the morning. His manner of life was extremely eccentric. And solitude was the very last thing that a man of his morbid temperament should have allowed himself.’

‘It was a suicidal temperament?’

‘Of course it was. And what point is there in dodging the thing? George had made one attempt on his own life already.’

‘That is true. May I ask whether you had – well, a satisfactory interview with him?’

‘Nothing of the kind. George and I disagreed. So I said good day to him, and cleared out.’

‘Your disagreement would be about family affairs? Money – that kind of thing?’

‘I’m damned if I see what business it is of yours.’

There was a moment’s silence, during which the Chief Constable appeared to brood darkly. Then he tried to catch Appleby’s eye, but failed to do so. Finally he advanced firmly on the lanky man.

‘George Elwin–’ he began.

‘What the deuce do you mean? My name, sir, as you very well know, is Arnold Elwin, not–’

‘George Elwin, by virtue of my commission and office I arrest you in the Queen’s name. You will be brought before the magistrate, and charged with the wilful murder of your brother, Arnold Elwin.’

Appleby had been prowling round the room, peering at the books, opening and shutting drawers. Now he came to a halt, and spoke with distinguishable caution.

‘It may be irregular,’ he said to the Chief Constable. ‘But I think we might explain to Mr Elwin, as we can safely call him, just what is in our minds.’

‘As you please, Appleby.’ The Chief Constable was a shade stiff. ‘But be good enough to do it yourself.’

Appleby nodded, and then spent a moment in thought.

‘Mr Elwin,’ he said gravely, ‘it is within our knowledge that Mr George Elwin, the owner of this house, was, or is, subject to phases of acute melancholia. Last year, one of these attacks led him to an actual attempt at suicide – to which, indeed, you have just referred. That is our first fact.

‘The second is this: the wrist watch found on the dead man’s hand was not fastened as it would normally have been fastened on the wrist of its owner. The dead man’s is a slimmer wrist.

‘A third fact connects with the second. The clothes in this house are too big for the dead man.’ Appleby paused. ‘But the Chief Constable and I are obliged to reflect that they would fit you very well.’

‘You’re mad!’ the lanky man got to his feet again. ‘There’s not a word of truth–’

‘I can only give you what has been in our minds – emphasize the tentative nature of what I am advancing. Having said so much, I come to a fourth fact. George and Arnold Elwin were not readily distinguishable. You agree?’

‘Of course I agree. George and I were twins.’

‘Or Arnold and you were twins – for we must continue to bear an open mind. And now, what I shall call our hypothesis is as follows: you, George Elwin, living in solitude in this house, were visited by your brother Arnold, just back from Canada. He demanded money or the like, perhaps under some threat of damaging disclosure. There was a violent quarrel between you, and you shot him dead – at hideously close quarters.

‘Now, sir, what could you do? The wound was compatible with suicide. But who would believe that Arnold had arrived here, gained possession of your gun, and shot himself?

‘Fortunately there was somebody who
would
readily be believed to have committed suicide, since he was known to have made an attempt at it only a year ago. That somebody was yourself, George Elwin.’

Appleby paused for a moment – not, it might have been perceived, for the sake of effect, but in the interest of achieving concentrated statement.

‘So you, George Elwin, arranged the body of your brother Arnold, and arranged the weapon you had used, in such a way as to suggest something fairly close to a repetition of that known attempt at suicide. You strapped your own watch to the dead man’s wrist. The clothes in the house would hang loosely on him – but he would be found naked, sunbathing in a fashion you were known to go in for – and who would ever be likely to notice the discrepancy with clothes tidily laid away in their wardrobes and drawers?

‘The dead body, maimed in the face as it was, would pass unquestioned as
yours
: as George Elwin’s, the owner of this house, that is to say. And that’s all! You had abruptly lost your true identity. And, ceasing to be George, you had lost what is probably a substantial fortune. But at least you had an identity to fall back on – that of your brother Arnold, whom you had killed – and you weren’t going to be charged and convicted of murder.’

‘But it’s not
true
!’ The lanky man seemed to be in blind panic. ‘You’ve framed me. It’s a plot. I can prove–’

‘Ah,’ Appleby said, ‘there’s the point! If you are, in fact, George pretending to be an Arnold who is really dead, you’ll have a very stiff fight to sustain the impersonation. But if, as you claim, you are really Arnold, that’s a different matter. Have you a dentist?’

‘Of course I have a dentist – in Montreal. I wander about the world a good deal, but I always go back to the same dentist. At one time or another he’s done something to nearly every tooth in my head.’

‘I’m uncommonly glad to hear it.’ Appleby glanced at the Chief Constable. ‘I don’t think,’ he murmured, ‘that we ought to detain Mr Arnold Elwin further. I hope he will forget a little of what has been – well, shall we say, conjectured?’ He turned back to Elwin himself. ‘I’m sure,’ he said blandly, ‘you will forgive our exploring the matter in the interests of truth. You arrived, you know, when we had not quite sorted out all the clues. Will you please accept our sympathy on the tragic suicide of your brother George?’

‘You mean to say,’ the Chief Constable asked half an hour later, ‘that I was right in the first place? That there was no mystery?’

‘There was none whatever. George Elwin’s gloom was deepened by the visit of his useless brother, and he killed himself. That’s the whole story.’

‘But dash it all–’

‘Mind you, up to the moment of your charging that fellow with murder, I was entirely with you. And then I suddenly remembered something that didn’t fit – that £5,000 you found here in an unlocked drawer. If George had killed Arnold and was planning to
become
Arnold – or anybody else – he’d certainly have taken that money. So why didn’t he take it?’

‘I can see the force of that. But surely–’

‘And then there was something else – something I ought to have seen the significance of at once. The dexamphetamine in the medicine cupboard. It’s a highly efficient appetite depressant, used for dieting and losing weight. George Elwin was slimming. On this occasion, I imagine, he’d come down here principally to do so. It was the latest expression of his hypochondria.

‘He could lose fourteen pounds in a fortnight, you know – which would be quite enough to require his taking up one hole in the strap of his watch. And in a month he could lose thirty pounds – which would very decidedly produce your effect of the giant’s robe on the dwarfish thief. George Elwin’s first call, had he ever left here, would have been on his tailor – to get his suits taken in.’

The Chief Constable was silent for a moment.

‘I say!’ he said. ‘We did give that unfortunate chap rather a bad fifteen minutes.’

Appleby nodded soberly.

‘Perfectly true,’ he said. ‘But let us be thankful that one of Her Majesty’s judges isn’t burdened with the job of giving somebody a bad fifteen years.’

‘The Pellows,’ Appleby said, ‘are all eccentric. Charles Pellow was a case in point. He was just beginning to make a name for himself on the stage when he threw up the career for no reason at all and took to meddling in archaeology. Then he did some exploring. And after that he bought himself a hotel.’

‘Pots of money,’ I said.

‘Well, there was certainly money in the family. Charles’ father, Adrian Pellow, was a very wealthy man indeed, and it was understood that Charles was his heir. I don’t doubt that the old gentleman had put up the money for this rather grand pub. Father and son were certainly on quite good terms, and Adrian would come down from time to time, quartering himself in a self-contained flat in one wing. That was the position when I happened to go down there myself for a couple of weeks’ sea fishing.’

‘It was a seaside hotel, with that sort of thing laid on if you wanted it?’

‘Yes – a pleasant enough place on an unfrequented and rather rocky stretch of the South Coast. I enjoyed my fortnight’s holiday very much. But it had an unexpected ending.’

‘Connected with the eccentricity of the Pellows?’ I asked.

‘Most decidedly.’

‘Adrian Pellow,’ Appleby went on, ‘was a picturesque old chap with a flowing white beard. He didn’t very often emerge from his own quarters. When he did, it was mostly to go for solitary walks along the coast, poking about among the rockpools. He wasn’t exactly unsociable, but at the same time he had an odd impulse to keep his distance. It seems he believed the country to be on the verge of anarchy, and full of thugs, toughs, muggers, and violent criminals generally. He was liable to wave his stick in a threatening way if any perfectly harmless stranger showed signs of approaching him. Even with his acquaintances he would quite often converse at shouting distance.’

‘Wasn’t that rather tiresome?’

‘Yes, it was. And the old gentleman had violent political convictions. Every now and then he would stride through the lounge, or appear at a window or on a terrace, and bellow a sentence or two directed against the Government.

'Behaviour of this sort must have been a little awkward for his son Charles, who naturally didn’t want his guests embarrassed. After a few days, as a matter of fact, it struck me that some of them were getting edgy. And I concluded that it had struck Charles that way too. He seemed to be taking the
hôtelier
’s first and almost instinctive precaution in such circumstances.’