Death in the Tunnel (3 page)

“He was wearing his glasses when he was found,” said Marden, as Arnold came to this item. “I found the case in his pocket, and put them into it for safety.”

Arnold nodded, and continued his inventory. A gold cigar-case, engraved with the initials W.S., and containing three cigars of an expensive brand. A gold match-box, containing half a dozen Swan vestas. And finally a leather wallet, with gold mounted corners.

Arnold opened this and ran through its contents. These were not numerous. A few visiting cards, with the address of Mavis Court. A book of postage stamps, of which two or three had been torn out. Three five-pound notes, seven one-pound notes, and two ten-shilling notes.

“Well, if he didn't kill himself, the motive for shooting him wasn't robbery,” said Arnold. “But there's one thing you missed in turning out his pockets, Mr. Marden.”

“What's that?” inquired Marden suspiciously.

“Why, his railway ticket. Unless you've given it up to the company?”

Marden shook his head. “I haven't seen it,” he replied.

Arnold searched the pockets for himself. They were empty, and there was no sign of a ticket. “That's queer,” he said. “Perhaps in that attaché-case of his. I expect one of these keys will open it.”

His guess was correct, and the attaché-case was soon opened. It contained nothing but a few printed papers, reports and statements of accounts, all headed “Wigland and Bunthorne, Ltd., 5 Shrubb Court, London, E.C.3.” Glancing at them, Arnold noticed that Sir Wilfred Saxonby, Bart., J.P., was described as the chairman of the firm. Another name caught his eye. Richard K. Saxonby, Esq., Managing Director.
“
Is that Sir Wilfred's son?” he asked.

“I believe so,” Marden replied. “I couldn't be sure.”

Arnold put the papers back in the case, and locked it again. “There's no ticket there,” he said. “Now, what can he have done with it? It isn't by any chance in his hat, is it?”

Search of the hat, a nearly new bowler, failed to reveal the ticket, and Arnold frowned. “He must have had a ticket,” he said. “They wouldn't have let him past the barrier at Cannon Street without one. It's not here, and he can't have dropped it in the compartment, or we should have found it just now. What's become of it?”

Marden shrugged his shoulders. Clearly he thought that this man from Scotland Yard was attaching undue importance to trifles. Sir Wilfred had shot himself, any fool could see that. What on earth did his ticket matter? He was beyond prosecution for travelling without one. But Marden did not give expression to these thoughts. “He may have dropped it on the platform at Cannon Street,” he replied. “It hardly matters, does it?”

“Details like that have a way of mattering,” Arnold replied. “However, we can leave the ticket for the moment. I'd like a word with Dr. Frant, before we go out to Mavis Court.”

Marden led him to the doctor's house. They found him at home, and quite ready to give information. “Self-inflicted?” he said, in reply to Arnold's question. “Yes, certainly the wound could have been self-inflicted. You found the pistol, did you? H'm. I rather thought you would. A small automatic? Just so, just so. The pistol must have been held horizontally, pointing at the region of the heart, with the muzzle not more than a few inches away. Death, I imagine, was practically instantaneous.”

“If Sir Wilfred had held the pistol, would he not have retained it in his grasp after death?” Arnold asked.

“Not necessarily,” Dr. Frant replied. “The effect of the bullet entering the heart would very likely be muscular reaction, causing the pistol to be thrown, as it were, from the hand.”

“We found the pistol just under the opposite seat of the compartment,” said Arnold.

“Very much what might be expected. A very slight twitch of the muscles would be sufficient to project the pistol that distance.”

Arnold and Marden took leave of the doctor and went to lunch. The meal over, they took a car and drove to Mavis Court.

III

Mavis Court was a beautiful Georgian house, surrounded by an extensive park. Arnold was immediately conscious of an atmosphere of wealth and luxury, which was intensified when they were shown into the drawing-room. And here, in a very few moments, Miss Olivia Saxonby joined them.

Arnold put her down at about forty, and immediately noticed the likeness between her and the dead man. She had the same clear-cut features, the same firmness of mouth and chin. But, whereas these had seemed suitable to Sir Wilfred, the effect in his niece was to make her expression hard and unsympathetic. “Please sit down,” she said coldly. “You have come about the death of my uncle, I suppose?”

“I regret that is the purpose of our visit,” Arnold replied. “You are Sir Wilfred's niece, I understand. He has a son, has he not?”

“Yes, Dick, who is in America just now. I sent him a cable last night, and have a reply that he is returning immediately.”

“Had Sir Wilfred any other children?”

“Yes, a daughter, Irene. She married Major Wardour some years ago; they, too, are abroad, motoring in the south of France. I have wired to their last address, and so far have had no reply.”

“Was Sir Wilfred in the habit of going abroad frequently?”

“
Not of recent years. He went to Belgium for a week or two last autumn, in connection with his business. Since then he has not spent a night away from here.”

“Was he in the habit of going up to London regularly?”

“He went up every Thursday, as a regular thing. Most weeks he went up on some other day as well, usually Tuesday or Wednesday. This week, for instance, he went up on Tuesday.”

“Did he always go and return by the same train?”

“He always went up by the 9.50, and nearly always came back by the 6.7. Three or four times a year, however, he would dine in London, and then he came down by the 10.37.”

“You have lived with your uncle for some time, Miss Saxonby?”

It seemed to Arnold that her expression hardened as she replied. “Ten years next June. Ever since Aunt Mary died. Uncle Wilfred wanted some member of the family to come and live with him, and, since Dick and Irene were both married, I was the next choice.”

“I see. Now, Miss Saxonby, I'm afraid that I shall have to ask some rather distressing questions. During the ten years that you lived with him, you must have got to know Sir Wilfred fairly intimately. You would, I imagine, be the first to detect any change in his health or manner. Did you notice any such change recently?”

Olivia Saxonby shook her head. “I noticed nothing, and Uncle Wilfred was not the sort of person to talk about his health. He seemed just the same, in every way, as I have always known him.”

“You know of nothing which might have disturbed his peace of mind in any way?”

“If anything had disturbed him, I should not have known of it. He never spoke to me of business, or, for that matter, of anything important. My business has been to behave like a cheerful companion, and see that the house was properly run.”

“You saw Sir Wilfred before he left the house yesterday?”

“Of course. I breakfasted with him at half-past eight, and saw him off in the car when he drove to the station.”

“Sir Wilfred had firearms in his possession, had he not?”

“Firearms? Oh, guns and things. Yes, there are some in the gunroom. I'll show them to you.”

She took them through the house to the gunroom. There they found a fine collection of sporting guns, also a rifle and a revolver, both of rather antiquated pattern. They also found a quantity of ammunition, but among this were no cartridges to fit the automatic pistol. Arnold had this in his pocket. He produced it, and showed it to Miss Saxonby. “Have you ever seen this before?” he asked.

She merely glanced at it, and shook her head. “My uncle was not in the habit of showing me his guns,” she replied.

“You see that it has your uncle's initials on it, Miss Saxonby,” Arnold persisted. “Now, it is rather a curious thing that none of these firearms have any initials upon them. Can you suggest why this pistol should have?”

“I can't offer any suggestion. I don't know anything about it. Somebody may have given it to Uncle Wilfred, and had his initials put on it. That's all I can think of.”

After some further conversation, in the course of which they ascertained that Sir Wilfred's regular medical attendant was Dr. Butler, of Helverden, Arnold and Marden left Mavis Court.

“I can't help thinking that Miss Saxonby is not overwhelmed with sorrow at her uncle's death,” Arnold remarked. “However, that's her business, not ours. She wasn't altogether a mine of information, was she? I think we'd better go and see this doctor chap. He may be able to tell us something.”

Dr. Butler proved to be an elderly man of benevolent aspect. He had already heard of the death of Sir Wilfred, and seemed greatly distressed. “He'll be a great loss to the neighbourhood,” he said. “He took the lead in every kind of social work, and his name nearly always headed the subscription list. I have heard very few details of his death, but from those I have heard, it seems to me to have been a very extraordinary affair.”

“Confidentially, doctor, it looks very much like a case of suicide,” Arnold replied. “That's why we've come to see you. Now, I'm not going to ask you to infringe the rules of professional secrecy. But perhaps you can tell me whether or not Sir Wilfred enjoyed good health?”

Dr. Butler considered this question. “He was, in most respects, in perfect health,” he replied. “I do not think that there will be any harm in my mentioning the exception, since many people are aware of it already. Sir Wilfred made no particular secret of it. Many years ago, shortly after his wife died, he complained to me of slight indisposition. I diagnosed this as some form of kidney trouble, and sent him up to see a specialist.

“The report was that the kidneys were undoubtedly affected, but that, with proper care, there was no reason to suppose that the fact would endanger the patient's life. He might live to be a hundred. On the other hand, there was just a possibility that complications might ensue at some time, when the matter would become serious. The specialist recommended a diet, to which Sir Wilfred adhered strictly. So far as I am able to judge, his condition had certainly become no worse than when he first consulted me.”

“When did you see him last, doctor?” Arnold asked.

“On Monday. I made a habit of looking in on Mondays, as I knew I was pretty certain to find him at home. I asked him if he had had any symptoms of trouble recently, and he told me that he had never felt better in his life. I took samples, which, at the specialist's suggestion, had become a matter of routine, and they showed, if anything, an improvement.”

“You knew Sir Wilfred fairly well, doctor. Would you be surprised if it were proved that he had taken his own life?”

“In my profession, one very soon becomes proof against surprise. If you ask me whether I believe that he killed himself as a result of concern for his health, my reply is most emphatically, no! But there are other reasons which might lead a man in his position to such a step.”

“Business worries, for instance?”

“Business worries might be among them. Though of recent years Sir Wilfred had not taken a very active part in business. The actual management of the firm is in the hands of his son, Dick.”

“Sir Wilfred was, to all appearances, a rich man?”

“A very rich man, I should say. Mavis Court has always been kept up regardless of expense. If any cause of which he approved was in need of funds, he was always ready with a generous cheque. I have no doubt at all that his will will be proved at a very high figure.”

“His son and daughter will come into the money, I suppose?”

“I suppose so. But I hope he has remembered Olivia Saxonby. She hasn't had the easiest of lives since she has been with him.”

“Miss Saxonby's parents are dead?”

Dr. Butler nodded. “Her mother has been dead a long time, and her father died a couple of years ago. He was the black sheep of the family. Long ago, when she was quite a young girl, there was a discreditable affair in which her father was mixed up, and he had to leave the country rather hastily, Sir Wilfred made his niece a small allowance, and she lived with friends until Lady Saxonby's death. Then her uncle sent for her to Mavis Court.”

“She must have lived there in considerable comfort, surely?”

“Comfort? Oh, no doubt. But comfort isn't everything, even to a woman. She was, in a sense, her own mistress before she came to Mavis Court. She could, within the limits of her income, of course, go where she liked, do what she liked, see whom she liked. But at Mavis Court she must have found things very different. Sir Wilfred had peculiar ideas, in some ways. You couldn't call him unsociable, for when you got over his reserve, and could interest him sufficiently, he turned out a very pleasant companion indeed. But he hated having people at Mavis Court. Their presence irritated him, I think because he disliked performing the duties of a host. He always said that his time was too valuable to waste in talking nonsense. And, since his niece did not like to go and see people whom she could not invite back again, she often went from one week's end to another without seeing anybody but her uncle and the staff at Mavis Court.”

“She could have left Sir Wilfred, if she found life with him irksome?”

“Oh, yes, she could have left. Her uncle would have ordered the car to take her to the station, I have no doubt. But in his eyes she would have broken her contract. No further allowance would have been forthcoming. And she couldn't possibly afford to risk that.”

“Was Sir Wilfred aware that she was discontented?”

“I have never said that she was discontented. I merely remarked that she must have found life at Mavis Court very different from the freedom which she had known previously. Even had she been discontented, and her uncle had been aware of it, it would have made no difference to him whatever. He was one of those people who always knew what was best for other people. Inspector Marden, here, who has heard him on the Bench often enough, will tell you that. Am I right, Marden?”

The inspector smiled. “Quite right, doctor,” he replied. “And I seem to remember that business of the Floods Relief Committee.”

Dr. Butler made an aggressive grimace. “Yes, that was a very awkward business. We had very serious floods here a few years ago. A lot of damage was done, and some poor people rendered homeless. A fund was got up, and Sir Wilfred became Chairman of the Committee to administer it. But when the wretched sufferers applied for relief, he seemed to consider that unless they ordered their lives in accordance with his ideas, they were not entitled to it, which, not unnaturally, caused a lot of ill-feeling.

“However, we're getting away from the point. I was saying that Sir Wilfred always knew what was best for other people. No doubt he thought that the seclusion of Mavis Court was the best thing for his niece. He had, I fancy, a lurking suspicion that if she were allowed too much rope, she might run off the rails in some way. Hereditary tendency, you know, and that sort of thing. Nobody's affair but her own if she chose to make a fool of herself, of course. I can almost hear Sir Wilfred say so. But he wasn't going to risk a second family scandal, for all that.”

All this, though it had no direct bearing on Sir Wilfred's death, Arnold found very interesting. With a view to encouraging Dr. Butler's confidences he asked provocatively, “Sir Wilfred seems to have been a man who was not afraid of making enemies?”

“Afraid?” the doctor replied. “I don't believe he was afraid of anything, morally or physically. But I'm not so sure about making enemies. We none of us know how we arouse hostility in other people, unless we definitely set out to do so. And that Sir Wilfred never did. For one thing, he had a very strong sense of justice, and, for another, he had no time to waste in quarrelling with people. He was disliked by many people who didn't know him properly, and who took offence at his rather overbearing manner. But I don't believe that he had a really active enemy in the world.”

“
You haven't heard any rumours affecting his financial position, have you, doctor?” Arnold asked.

Dr. Butler shook his head. “Finance and business are a bit outside my scope,” he replied. “I've heard no rumours of the kind, but then it's not likely that they would come to my ears. I gather that you are looking for something to support the idea that he committed suicide?”

“That's about it, doctor. And I should be very grateful for the slightest hint.”

“I can't help you, I'm afraid. You can take it from me that there's no disreputable story behind it. No entanglements with women, or anything like that. For the rest, Sir Wilfred was a man of temperate, not to say frugal habits. You can trust a doctor to know something about his patients' lives. I can tell you nothing about his business activities. But of this I feel sure. If he had a motive for killing himself, you won't find that motive in Helverden.”

A few minutes later, Arnold and Marden left the doctor's house and drove back to Stourford, where Arnold met the local superintendent. “I hardly know what to say, yet,” he replied, in answer to the latter's inquiries. “Everything seems to point to suicide, but so far I haven't been able to get any hint as to the motive. You knew him pretty well yourself, sir?”

“Yes, I've known him for a good many years, and always managed to get on with him. Between ourselves, he was a man I respected rather than liked. He wasn't altogether the sort of character who inspires affection. And I can assure you that he would never have killed himself unless he had some very excellent reason for doing so. In the case of a man like Sir Wilfred, you and I needn't believe in what is charitably known as temporary insanity.”