Death in the Tunnel (10 page)

“There's one thing in our favour,” said Arnold. “This isn't just a casual murder, which might have been committed by anybody. Two men put their heads together, and worked out the details in advance.”

“Well in advance. The breakdown lorry had to be arranged for. The peculiarities of the shaft had to be studied. Wallet number two had to be procured. The pistol had to be obtained, and if the initials were not already on it, they had to be engraved. All these things would take time.”

They walked on for some little way in silence, each busy with his own thoughts. “Well, you've certainly shown me something this morning,” said Arnold at last. “I should never have thought of that confounded shaft. Your imagination put you on the right track there. Perhaps the rest of your theories are not so far-fetched as I was inclined to think them yesterday. Anyhow, I'll adopt them as something to begin on, if you don't mind.”

“You're welcome. I don't claim any copyright in them. Might one ask what line you are going to take?”

“I'm going to begin with the pistol, which, after all, is the most tangible clue we've got. By the time I get back to the Yard the experts ought to have found out all about it. Their report may give us a clue. Then I'll tackle the wallets and their contents. Finally, I'll try to find out whether Sir Wilfred did actually receive something of value, your object X, on Thursday. It may be possible to trace the man who called upon him that day, giving the name of Yates.”

“That seems pretty sound,” Merrion replied. “I can't offer to help you, for I must get back home this evening. But I could come up again in a day or two should you happen to want me. Just one thing. Don't forget Major Wardour.”

They travelled back to Charing Cross together, and there they parted.

X

As soon as Arnold reached Scotland Yard he embarked upon the programme which he had outlined to Merrion. The firearms experts had completed their examination of the pistol found in the railway compartment, and at the inspector's request their spokesman joined him in the former's room, bringing the pistol with him.

“It is a very common type of self-loading pistol,” he said. “It is not correct to call it an automatic. An automatic, properly speaking, is a weapon which keeps on firing as long as the trigger is pressed, until the magazine is exhausted. This fires a single shot when the trigger is pressed, loads a second when it is released, fires this when the trigger is pressed a second time, and so on.

“Its calibre is .22, and the magazine holds six cartridges. It is of Belgian manufacture, and was made last year. We have communicated with the makers, giving them the number, which you can see stamped upon it. They believe, but cannot be absolutely certain, that it formed part of a consignment delivered to one of their agents in Brussels. In any case, they are certain that it was not exported by them to this country.

“When it was delivered to us it had recently been discharged, and had not been cleaned since. Its internal condition shows that it has seen some service. Several rounds have been fired from it, as can be seen by examination of the mechanism. But it has been in the hands of somebody who took the trouble to look after it. He had cleaned and oiled it after use, except on the occasion of the last shot fired from it.”

“He hadn't much time for cleaning and oiling on that occasion,” remarked Arnold grimly. “It is pretty certain, then, that this pistol was purchased in Belgium?”

“Apparently. And within the last twelve months or so, if our information from the makers is correct. In any case, not many of these small self-loaders are sold in this country now. They aren't very much good, except at very short ranges. And a man needs a fair amount of practice before he can do any very accurate shooting with them, even then.”

“This pistol would kill a man at point-blank range, if the bullet went through some vital part?”

“Oh, yes. Even a .22 calibre bullet will do a lot of damage. And this particular pistol takes a long cartridge, which means that its muzzle velocity is fairly high. It is certainly capable of inflicting a fatal wound at several yards.”

“Did you examine the cartridges as well?”

“Yes. There were two packets of them, one labelled ‘Found in magazine' the other ‘Found in Sir W.S.'s office.' On comparing the cartridges from these two packets, we found them exactly similar. In fact, I think it is safe to say that they came from the same batch. There is no indication of the maker of the cartridges, but we have formed the opinion, from certain peculiarities which they exhibit, that they are of Belgian origin. One might suppose that they were bought at the same time and place as the pistol.”

“You can't say definitely that they were, I suppose?”

“No. But they and the pistol are of the same country of origin, and approximately the same date. Rather suggestive, isn't it?”

“Yes. You're pretty certain that both packets of cartridges come from the same batch? That's rather an important point, as it happens.”

“As sure as one can be about anything of the kind.”

When his informant had gone, leaving him alone, Arnold frowned. The report of the firearms expert confirmed everything which he had originally conjectured for himself. The pistol had been bought in Belgium, within the last twelve months. Sir Wilfred had visited Belgium during the previous summer. It was rather curious that there was a slight conflict of opinion as to his reasons for doing so. Miss Saxonby believed that he had gone on business. Torrance was certain that business had had nothing to do with his journey. That, however, was a minor consideration.

The cartridges had, in all probability, been bought at the same time and place as the pistol. Those found in Sir Wilfred's filing cabinet were exactly similar to those extracted from the magazine of the pistol. Nobody but Sir Wilfred himself had access to that cabinet. Surely this suggested that he had bought the pistol and cartridges during his visit to Belgium? Further, that since his purchase he had kept the pistol and cartridges in the cabinet. Finally, that he had loaded the pistol and taken it with him on the previous Thursday afternoon.

Why should he have done so? Arnold's original answer had been, because he intended to commit suicide. But the light which had been thrown upon the incident of the tunnel had rather discredited the theory of suicide. Suppose he had not intended to commit suicide, what other reason could he have had for taking the pistol on that particular evening? Arnold remembered Merrion's fantastic theory about the mysterious object which he had called X. If Sir Wilfred had been taking some object of value home with him, was it not possible that he had put the pistol in his pocket as a defence in case of attack?

Quite possible. A very natural precaution. But the attack had actually taken place, it appeared, and Sir Wilfred had been killed with the very weapon which was to afford him protection. How was that to be explained? Did the murderer snatch the pistol from his victim's pocket and shoot him with it? Arnold saw at once the difficulties in the way of this theory. How could the murderer know that Sir Wilfred was carrying a loaded pistol in, say, his right-hand overcoat pocket?

But the second difficulty was not so easily brushed aside. Sir Wilfred, according to Merrion's theory, had determined to take every precaution against robbery. The taxi, the care to secure a compartment to himself. He had, presumably, remained on the alert, even while in the train. It was ridiculous to suppose that he would have allowed a stranger entering his compartment to snatch his weapon and shoot him with it. He would have been far more likely to draw the pistol himself and threaten the intruder with it. Had he done so, and been overpowered? The sound of the struggle might not have been overheard above the roar of the tunnel. But one would have expected the compartment to show signs of it. And of such signs there had been none.

Another explanation passed through the inspector's mind. Sir Wilfred would have taken the alarm at the intrusion of a stranger, but not, perhaps, of somebody he knew. It was just possible that the elderly man with the short grey beard was known to him under that disguise. In that case, there was at least a fair chance that he might also be known to Sir Wilfred's associates. To some member of his family, or to the staff at his office. Arnold made a note to inquire upon this point. Then he realised that all this was based upon the supposition that the pistol had belonged to Sir Wilfred.

Well, everything tended to support that assumption, with the exception of a single detail. The firearms experts had reported that the pistol had seen some service. It had fired several rounds, and been carefully looked after by its owner. Sir Wilfred had at one time been fond of target practice. He might have amused himself with the pistol, and could have been trusted to look after it. But when and where had he used it? In Shrubb Court? Impossible. Then at home? Then, surely, his niece would have known something about it. And to complicate the problem, an old question cropped up again. If Sir Wilfred had bought the pistol as a means of committing suicide, it was understandable that he should not have taken out a certificate for it. But would a magistrate, the Chairman of the local Bench, infringe the law in the case of a weapon used for perfectly legitimate purposes?

It seemed to Arnold that the pistol, instead of furnishing a valuable clue, as he had hoped, was merely an additional complication. He realised that, in spite of his discoveries in connection with the tunnel, he was as far as ever from being able to prove that Sir Wilfred had been murdered. The theory of suicide was not even disproved. He knew well enough what the assistant commissioner would say, when he made his report. However, realising that the report must be made, Arnold went to see his chief.

Sir Edric Conway, the Assistant Commissioner, who, incidentally was a personal friend of Merrion's, listened to Arnold with close attention. “It's a very queer story,” he said. “The obvious thing is that these men, whom you call A and B, held up the train in order to give A the chance of murdering Saxonby and getting away with it. But I needn't point out to you that, obvious as it is, there is no proved connection between the two men and Saxonby's death. Even if we knew who they were, we should have no direct evidence against them. The pistol, you say, doesn't help you. You're quite certain that it is the weapon with which Saxonby was killed?”

No doubts upon this point had occurred to Arnold. “Well, sir, since it was found in the compartment, with one cartridge fired, one can only assume so,” he replied.

“Assumption is no good. You've got to be in a position to prove it. How do you know that Saxonby was not killed with a similar pistol, carried by the murderer? You say that there is a possibility that Saxonby had this particular weapon in his pocket. Very well. The murderer, after shooting him with his own gun, found this one in his pocket, fired a single shot from it, and then threw it on the floor of the compartment. I don't say that's what actually happened, mind. I'm only thinking of the lines the defence may take if we're ever lucky enough to lay hands on our man.”

“The only way to prove that this pistol is the one with which Sir Wilfred was killed, sir, is to find the bullet. The men from the carriage department of the railway company are taking out the upholstery of the compartment to-day, under Inspector Marden's supervision.”

“I was going to suggest that, but I see you've thought of it already. Very well, go ahead, and stick to the job till you find out something definite.”

Following his interview with the assistant commissioner, Arnold paid a visit to Shrubb Court, where he asked for Mr. Torrance. The secretary saw him at once. “I'm always at your disposal, Mr. Arnold,” he said. “If there's anything I can do for you, you've only got to let me know.”

“Thanks, I shan't keep you long,” Arnold replied. “I only want to ask a few questions. To begin with, do you think it possible that on Thursday last Sir Wilfred was taking home anything of value from here?”

“Nothing in any way connected with the firm, certainly. Anything of any value is kept in this room, in that safe you can see in the corner. Sir Wilfred didn't keep a key of the safe, since of recent years he has never had occasion to use it. There are only two keys in existence. Richard Saxonby has one, and I have the other.”

“Where were those keys last Thursday, Mr. Torrance?”

“One of them is at the bank, where Mr. Richard deposited it before he went to America. The other I gave to my assistant on Tuesday evening so that he could open the safe while I was in Manchester. He gave it back to me on Friday morning. As usual, it was only opened twice a day, to take out the petty cash and so forth in the morning, and replace it in the evening. And I can assure you that nothing else was taken out of it in my absence.”

“Six Wilfred might have received something of a private nature during the day?”

Torrance smiled. “I wasn't here, you know,” he replied. “I suppose he might have, but I can't imagine what it could have been.”

“Did you go to Manchester as a matter of ordinary routine?” Arnold asked.

“Well, yes and no. I go there at intervals, but I should not have gone there last week under ordinary circumstances. With both Mr. Richard and Mrs. Wardour away, I am more or less in charge here. But, when he was up here the week before, Sir Wilfred seemed a little uneasy about the new manager we have at our Manchester office. He said he'd like me to go up for a couple of days, and see how he was getting on. And we decided that Wednesday and Thursday would be the best.”

Arnold made no comment upon this. “There is reason to believe that Sir Wilfred had a friend, or at all events an acquaintance, whom I am anxious to trace,” he said. “He is an elderly man, probably between sixty and seventy. He appears to be somewhat infirm, stoops, and walks with difficulty. He wears a short grey beard. Does that description convey anybody to you?”

“Well, I don't know,” replied Torrance doubtfully. “It's a bit vague, isn't it? But it might apply to old Mr. Dredger, who used to be our manager in Manchester, and retired early this year. He is sixty-five, and wears a short grey beard. But he was hardly infirm when I last saw him. However, he has been ill since then, and that may account for it.”

“Can you give me Mr. Dredger's address?”

“Certainly. He lives with his widowed daughter-in-law at 75 London Road, Blackdown.”

It cost Arnold a considerable effort to conceal his amazement at this information. He buried himself in making a note of this address, then changed the subject. “You told me that Sir Wilfred had a visitor on Thursday afternoon,” he said. “A man who gave the name of Yates. You know nothing of him, I think you said?”

“Nothing whatever. And nobody else in the office seems to have seen him before. Somebody who knew Sir Wilfred at Mavis Court, I expect.”

“I wonder if I could have a description of him?”

“Nothing easier. I'll send for the clerk who interviewed him.”

The clerk, upon being questioned, remembered Mr. Yates perfectly. A very pleasant-spoken gentleman, somewhere between twenty and thirty. Tall, dark, clean-shaven, exceptionally well-dressed. Was carrying nothing but a pair of gloves and an umbrella. Since he had an appointment, was not asked his business. Sir Wilfred was evidently expecting him, for as soon as he was announced, he had ordered him to be sent to his room at once. Mr. Yates had not stayed more than a few minutes.

“I can't offer any suggestion,” said Torrance, when the clerk had gone. “Now and then Sir Wilfred had personal visitors when he was here, but they were usually old business friends who dropped in to see him, and of course I knew them all. This Mr. Yates is a new one on me.”