Death in the Tunnel (14 page)

“Not if the accomplice was in a position to prove that he didn't commit the murder. In that case it would be rather a neat dodge.”

“But Dredger can't prove that he didn't commit the murder, that's just the point. Owing to an extraordinary combination of circumstances, his movements were unobserved during the whole of that afternoon and evening. My next point is this. You think that Wardour may have been A. It certainly seems possible. But the really careful murderer doesn't leave lying about a pistol which can be traced back to him.”

“He thought that it would be assumed to be Sir Wilfred's,” Arnold replied. “However, that doesn't exhaust the possibilities. A may have been any other person, the man who gave his name as Yates, for instance. But, whoever it was, he must have known Dredger very well, since he got himself up to look like him. It all comes back to Dredger, whichever way you look at it.”

“Yes, poor old Dredger seems to be the centre of attraction. This case of yours seems to get more and more involved, the further you go. Have you formed any theory, to use as a working basis, so to speak?”

“I've accepted your theory as to what happened in the tunnel and above it. Sir Wilfred was murdered by A, who was subsequently hauled up the shaft by B. I'm not clear about the motive for the murder, but there seems to have been a conspiracy against Sir Wilfred, in which Dredger, Wardour, the man known as Yates, and almost certainly others were involved. We know the part played by Dredger…”

“We don't, you know,” Merrion interrupted. “You're putting too much faith in the farmer and the bus conductor. Apparently you are prepared to admit that A purposely disguised himself as Dredger in the afternoon. Why shouldn't he have done so in the morning?”

“But, dash it all, there's that telegram from Plymouth! You're not going to suggest that the hoax played upon Mrs. Dredger had nothing to do with the affair? That its occurrence on the day of Sir Wilfred's death was a sheer coincidence?”

“Of course I'm not. But let me propound a theory of my own. What do we know of the murderer? Quite a lot. We have already agreed that he was intimately acquainted with Saxonby. His ability to produce an almost exact replica of the wallet proves that, apart from anything else. I'm still convinced, you see, that the wallet is the crux of the affair. Why should not his intimacy extend to Saxonby's family and his business associates?

“Admitting that this is likely, and, in fact, probable, it follows that the murderer may well have known both Major Wardour and Mr. Dredger. It was common knowledge that the former had a pistol, upon which was engraved a monogram S.W., which could as easily be read W.S. It was also common knowledge that Dredger lived at Blackdown, conveniently near the tunnel. The murderer was already familiar with his appearance, and knew how to get himself up to resemble him sufficiently to pass muster with strangers. The test of resemblance was only submitted to strangers, or comparative strangers. Mrs. Wardour, for instance, would probably not have been deceived for a moment.

“Now our murderer is determined to take no risks of discovery. He stages his crime so that it shall appear to be a case of suicide. And very ably he does so. Had it not been for Inspector Arnold of the Yard, a verdict of suicide would have been returned, and the matter would have blown over. But, not content with that, he establishes a second line of defence. He impersonates a wholly innocent person, whose habits and residence near the scene of the crime was suitable to his purpose. And he contrives that that person shall not be in a position to prove his innocence.”

“According to you, then, Dredger was born under an unlucky star,” Arnold remarked sceptically.

“He was. Now, let's see if we can't follow the murderer's movements. I'm going to call him A once more, for convenience. He has, no doubt, studied Dredger and his habits. He is familiar with the make and appearance of his car, and knows that it is fitted with a set of fairly new Dunlop tyres. He provides himself with an exactly similar car, not a very difficult matter. He knows that Dredger is in the habit of pottering round in his car in the mornings. So he carries out his preliminaries, involving the apparent breakdown of the car at the shaft, and then takes a bus to Blackdown station, secure in the knowledge that if anybody notices him they will take him for Dredger. He has arranged for Mrs. Dredger to be out of the way. I suspect B's hand in that telegram.

“Before we make any further conjecture as to A's identity, let me point out something that strikes me as rather curious. We have mentioned it before, but not in the light of what we know now. A was intimately acquainted, not only with Saxonby, but with Dredger also. In addition, he knew about Wardour's pistol. Who do you suppose fulfils these conditions?”

“Sir Wilfred's son and daughter, who were directors of the firm. And possibly the more confidential members of the staff.”

“Exactly. And of these, at the time of the crime, the son was in America, the daughter in the south of France, and Torrance, as secretary of the firm and the most confidential of the lot, one would suppose, either in Manchester or on his way back from there. And their absences were all due to Saxonby's own suggestion. That's what I can't get over.

“But, in the absence of these people, there is one individual who seems to have been at least on fairly intimate terms with Saxonby. He calls at his office, where he is unknown to the staff. He gives the name of the solicitor who looks after Saxonby's private affairs. He has an appointment, and is immediately admitted to Saxonby's presence. Who was this man, and what was his business?

“It was after his visit that Saxonby took the unusual precautions of a taxi to Cannon Street and a carriage to himself in the train. What can have passed between them? I still adhere to my theory that Yates, as we must call him, brought Saxonby some article of value, and received those three five-pound notes in exchange. And I will go still further, I will suggest that Saxonby knew well in advance that Yates would come and see him last Thursday. Did he send away his son, his daughter and his secretary so that his visitor should not be seen by prying eyes?”

Arnold laughed. “I've never known you at a loss for a theory,” he replied. “But if Sir Wilfred didn't want Yates to be seen, wouldn't it have been simpler to have fixed the appointment at Mavis Court?”

“Under the watchful eyes of Miss Olivia Saxonby and the servants? No, I think not. However that may be, let us see if A and Yates can be made to fit together. Yates, as Dredger, plays his part at Blackdown in the morning. He then goes to the station and takes a train to London, removing the Dredger disguise en route, perhaps. He appears at the office in his own semblance. He reassumes his disguise and takes his seat in the five o'clock train. It fits in all right, you see.”

“Yes, it fits in all right,” Arnold replied reluctantly. “But…”

“Oh, yes, I know. We're a long way yet from proving a case against Yates. But I feel pretty certain of one thing. Find out what his business was with Saxonby and you've gone a long way towards solving the problem.”

XIV

That evening, when Merrion was alone in his rooms, he set his mind to work systematically upon the problem of Sir Wilfred Saxonby's death. He felt it quite safe to assume that he had been murdered. But by whom, and for what reason?

To take the first part of the question. Saxonby had been shot by the man known as A, who had travelled in the five o'clock train in the guise of Mr. Dredger. This man had an accomplice, B, who had carried out the necessary operations at the top of the ventilating shaft. One or other of these men, or possibly both, had an intimate knowledge of Saxonby's affairs, of his family and business.

As to the motive, Merrion still adhered to his theory of a valuable object. It need not necessarily have been of intrinsic value, it might merely have had a special value in the eyes of the murderer. It had probably been handed over to Saxonby by the man calling himself Yates. Considerable secrecy had attached to the transaction, since Yates' visit had taken place when Saxonby had deliberately sent his son, his daughter, and his secretary out of the way. Probably nobody had known of the purport of the visit but Yates and Saxonby. Yates, having handed over the object, had determined to get it back again, and had made his plans for doing so in advance. And, since Saxonby would not willingly relinquish it, the only course open to Yates was to murder him.

This seemed to Merrion a plausible theory, if not correct in detail, at least good enough to work upon. What suggestions did it afford of clues which might be followed up?

First of all, the breakdown lorry. It was a type of vehicle which, though common, was limited in numbers. Only garages, and fairly big garages at that, possessed such lorries. It might be possible to take a census of them and to find out how each was employed on the previous Thursday. Scotland Yard might invite the police throughout the country to make the necessary inquiries.

Next, the visit of Yates to the offices of Wigland and Bunthorne. On the surface this had appeared simple enough. An acquaintance of Saxonby's had made an appointment to see him, ostensibly upon some private matter. He had come, stayed a few minutes, and left again. There was nothing at all out of the way in that. But why the secrecy with which the visit had been surrounded? The only possible answer seemed to be that Saxonby's son or daughter, or Torrance, would have recognised Yates. And Saxonby had his own reasons for concealing the visit from them.

Merrion had not forgotten that ammunition which fitted the pistol had been found in Saxonby's filing cabinet. This fact had strengthened the suggestion of suicide. It seemed to show that Saxonby had kept the pistol and ammunition in the cabinet, and had loaded the pistol and taken it with him on his departure from the office. On the other hand, if Saxonby had been murdered, and the ammunition was part of that taken from Wardour's store, how had it found its way into the cabinet?

The evidence regarding the cabinet was by no means conclusive. According to Torrance it was always kept locked, only Saxonby had access to it, and he alone possessed a key to fit it. But Merrion was sufficiently experienced to be sceptical in such matters. Torrance's statement had been made in perfectly good faith, no doubt. But duplicate keys could be made. Besides, the cabinet wasn't always kept locked. It had been found unlocked on the morning after Saxonby's death. Absent-mindedness on his part, no doubt. But what evidence was there that this was the first time that such a thing had happened? It might have been left unlocked on some former occasion, and advantage taken of this to slip the cartridges into it.

All this was possible. But Merrion's imagination evolved an alternative theory. Yates, if he were the murderer, must have obtained possession of the pistol before his visit to Saxonby. With the pistol he had taken a supply of cartridges. During the interview Saxonby had perhaps opened the cabinet, in order to refer to some document among its contents. It would not have been difficult for Yates to have slipped in the cartridges then.

Next, as to his acquisition of the pistol and cartridges. He must have known that Wardour possessed such a weapon, and where he kept it. He must have been familiar with Wardour's house, and known of his absence abroad. In fact, everything pointed to his being a friend of Wardour's. And it was certain that he was intimately acquainted with Saxonby. How did it happen, then, that he was a complete stranger to the staff in Saxonby's office?

And then Merrion had an inspiration. Hitherto he had concentrated his attention upon Yates, to the neglect of his accomplice. But what if the accomplice had been the originator of the plot? What if he had made all the arrangements, and supplied Yates with the pistol?

What was known of this accomplice, B? Next to nothing. Nobody had so much as seen him. But he must have existed, as the arrival at the shaft of the breakdown lorry proved. Could he have been Wardour himself?

There seemed no practical reason why he should not have been. Yates' secret, whatever it was, might have been known to him. The two might have agreed to murder Saxonby for the sake of the mysterious object. On the whole, Wardour seemed to fit the bill quite comfortably. He would, obviously, be familiar with his father-in-law's habits. He would know by which train he almost invariably travelled. He would be sufficiently acquainted with his wallet to provide one exactly similar. But once more the question arose. Would he have provided his colleague with his own pistol?

The complexities of the problem were maddening. The impersonation of Dredger, for example. That was highly ingenious, but it had been carried too far. Merrion would have been prepared to believe that Dredger had driven his car to the shaft and left it there. That was within the power of a man of his age and infirmity. But to suppose that he had been the passenger in the five o'clock train was ridiculous. He could not have carried out that surprising feat in the tunnel. And since, therefore, he had been impersonated then, he could just as easily have been impersonated in the morning.

But the impersonation was in itself a clue. For one of the conspirators, A or B, must have been familiar with his habits. Not only that, but he must have known of the existence of those bright lads Harold and Fred, and of Mrs. Dredger's affection for the former. Who could be imagined to possess this knowledge, in addition to that already stipulated? Only somebody connected with the firm of Wigland and Bunthorne, surely. Mrs. Wardour, for instance, who seemed to take a particular interest in Dredger. Had she not suggested his visit to her husband's poultry farm?

Could Mrs. Wardour have organised the affair, and then retired gracefully to the South of France while it was being carried out? It seemed an altogether fantastic idea, though not entirely outside the bounds of possibility. She had known all about the pistol, admitted having spoken of it to her father. She had told Arnold that her husband was not the sort of man to be trusted with a pistol. Was she trying to throw suspicion upon him? They appeared, from all accounts, to be at loggerheads. But, Merrion repeated, she must be the very devil of a woman if she engineered the murder of her father and then did her best to get her husband hanged for the crime.

Next morning, Merrion called at Scotland Yard, prepared to share his ideas with Arnold. But as soon as he mentioned the breakdown lorry, he found that the inspector had forestalled him. “Oh, that's a matter of almost automatic routine!” said Arnold. “We sent out a request for information from all the local police forces, days ago, and reports are beginning to come in. Here's a pile of them which came in this morning. I was just going to run through them. You can lend a hand, if you like.”

They proceeded to examine the reports, which were disappointingly negative, until they came to one originating from Plymouth. A second-hand breakdown lorry had been purchased at an auction in the town during the month of October. It had been driven away by its new owner on the evening of November 13th, and had not since been heard of. Further inquiries would be made if desired.

“We've heard of Plymouth before,” said Arnold thoughtfully. “It's where Dredger's daughter-in-law's nephew lives. Wonderful how Dredger's name crops up, whichever way we turn. I've half a mind to run down to Plymouth myself and have a look round.”

“I don't mind coming with you,” Merrion replied. “If we look sharp we can just catch the 10.30 from Paddington. What about it?”

Arnold agreed. They took a taxi, and were just in time to catch the train. During the journey Merrion mentioned the other points which had occurred to him, without producing any very great impression upon Arnold, who seemed to have Dredger on the brain. “He holds the key to the whole affair,” he said. “It's all very fine to say that somebody else impersonated him, but you've got to find that person. I've half a mind to arrest the chap on suspicion, and see if a taste of the cells won't make him speak.”

“You must please yourself,” Merrion replied. “It doesn't strike me as very good policy, though. Have him watched, by all means. But, if it turns out that he really was in the plot, his arrest will be the sequel for everybody else concerned to make themselves scarce. Better see where this clue of the lorry leads to before you decide.”

On arriving at Plymouth they called upon the local constabulary, where they were informed that the information forwarded had been obtained from the manager of the Celtic Garage. They found this to be a large establishment on the outskirts of the town, which seemed to be doing a prosperous trade. The manager, to whom they introduced themselves, offered them every assistance. “I'm anxious to find the fellow who drove that lorry away, for my own reasons,” he said. “He's got a set of my trade number plates, and he's never returned them. But I'd better tell you the whole story.

“For some years now we have held a quarterly sale by auction of used cars on our premises. As I dare say you know, when we sell a new car we nearly always have to take an old one in part exchange, and the problem of getting rid of these is enough to drive one to drink. The best of them we manage, sooner or later, to sell privately, but there's always a lot of junk left over. And these we sell by auction without reserve, simply for the sake of getting them out of the way.

“Now, as it happened, last October we had a breakdown lorry to dispose of. It was our own and had been in use for a couple of years, but we found it hardly powerful enough for our purpose. In a hilly country like this we wanted something with more guts in it. So we bought another and advertised the old one for sale. But nobody seemed to want it, and I decided to put it into the auction with the rest.

“It fetched quite a good price, rather more than I expected. And when the sale was over, the young fellow who had bought it came to see me. He told me that he owned a garage in a small way near London, and had found it time to get a breakdown lorry. But he had nowhere to put it until an extension which he was having built was finished. Would I mind storing the lorry for a week or two? He would be quite ready to pay any reasonable sum for the privilege. He seemed quite a decent young fellow, and I told him the lorry could stay where it was until he was ready. And, if he had no objection to our using it in case of emergency, if we got an urgent call when the new lorry was out, for example, we wouldn't charge him anything. He was perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, and he gave me his card. I've got it in my pocket now.”

The manager produced the card and gave it to Arnold. Upon it was printed:

The Blackdown Garage,
London Road,
Blackdown.

Mr. William Figgis.

Arnold made no comment, but passed the card to Merrion, with a triumphant glance. Then he turned to the manager. “Mr. Figgis collected the lorry later, I understand?”

“He came here on the evening of Wednesday, November 13th, and told me he had come to take his lorry away. And then a difficulty cropped up. The lorry wasn't registered. We had never registered it, for whenever it went out it did so with our trade number plates. Figgis ought to have realised this when he bought it, but apparently he hadn't. So there we were. The lorry couldn't go out unregistered, and it was too late then to take out a registration. Figgis was terribly upset. He said it was absolutely necessary that he should be in Blackdown by the following morning. At last, since he was in the trade, and we all try to help one another as much as we can, I took pity on him. I said that he could drive the lorry home under a set of our trade number plates, on the strict understanding that he sent back the plates by passenger train the first thing next morning. This he promised to do. But the plates have never turned up, and from that day to this I've heard nothing of Mr. Figgis.”

“You must have communicated with him, surely?” Arnold asked.

“I've tried to. I wrote to him on Thursday morning, telling him that the plates had not been received, and asking him to send them back without delay. I sent the letter to the address on his card, and it came back ‘Not known.' Apart from my being short of a pair of number plates, it strikes me that there is something pretty queer about all this.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you,” said Arnold. “Are you quite sure that Figgis left Plymouth with the lorry that evening?”

“He started, anyhow, for I sent one of my chaps with him to show him the best way out of the town. And also, for that matter, in case one of the local police should see a stranger driving under our number plates.”

Merrion had an idea. “Is that chap of yours about?” he asked.

“Yes, I'll send for him,” the manager replied. In due course the chap appeared, round-faced, and betraying no marked symptoms of intelligence.

“Do you remember going out with the gentleman who took away the old breakdown lorry, Tom?” the manager asked. “Wednesday evening last week, you know.”

“Aye, I mind it well enough,” Tom replied. “I went with him out to the Plough, on the Exeter road. And then he said he could find his way all right, and I came back by bus.”