Death in the Tunnel (5 page)

Neither Torrance nor his assistant were acquainted with this man Yates. The latter was of the opinion that he had called upon a personal matter, since Sir Wilfred had made no subsequent allusion to his visitor.

Asked if he had noticed anything unusual in Sir Wilfred's manner during the day, the assistant secretary replied that he had not. He had seemed much the same as usual, except for one trifling incident. At about a quarter to five he had ordered a taxi to be sent for, and had told the man to drive him to Cannon Street Station.

“A taxi!” exclaimed Torrance, who obviously heard this for the first time. “I never knew him do that before. He wasn't ill, or anything? You're sure of that?”

“There didn't seem to me to be anything the matter with him,” replied the assistant secretary. “And I've known him, man and boy, for the last forty years and more.”

“That's peculiar,” said Torrance. “As you know, inspector, it's only a few hundred yards from here to Cannon Street. Sir Wilfred always walked it, whatever the weather was like. I've never known him take a taxi before. It's most unlike him. And now, perhaps, you'd like to come and see his room?”

Arnold agreed, and they went along the passage to a door which Torrance opened with a key. “It's always kept locked,” he explained. “Sir Wilfred had one key, Mr. Richard another, and I have the third. The only person who has been in here since Sir Wilfred left yesterday afternoon is myself. I came in this morning to see if he had left any message for me. But, finding there was none, I touched nothing, and came out at once. That was before I heard of Sir Wilfred's death.”

“How did the news reach you, Mr. Torrance?” Arnold asked.

“Miss Olivia Saxonby telephoned to the office about ten o'clock this morning. She said that her uncle had been found shot in the train. Of course, I asked her for particulars, but she said that she knew no more, but from what she had heard she gathered that he had committed suicide.”

Arnold made no comment upon this, but he wondered what grounds Miss Olivia could have had for her opinion, as early as ten o'clock that morning. Then he remembered that Sir Wilfred's car had been waiting for him at Stourford Station. No doubt the chauffeur had gleaned such scraps of information as were available, and had carried them to Mavis Court.

He turned his attention to the room, thickly carpeted and luxuriously furnished. The most conspicuous feature was a heavy mahogany table, upon which stood a couple of letter trays, holding a few sheets of correspondence. Beside the table was a waste-paper basket, holding a few fragments of torn letters.

“I wonder if you would mind looking for the letter from Mrs. Wardour, Mr. Torrance?” said Arnold.

Torrance ran through the trays, then turned his attention to the waste-paper basket. “I can't see any signs of it, or of the envelope, for that matter,” he reported at last. “I dare say Sir Wilfred put it in his pocket and took it home with him. The rest of this stuff is of no importance, but perhaps you'd like to look through it?”

Arnold did so, without discovering anything that could throw light upon Sir Wilfred's death. Half a dozen letters upon indifferent subjects, as many appeals for subscriptions to various charities. Nor were the carbon copies of the letters dictated by Sir Wilfred on the previous day any more informative.

There was a large filing-cabinet in the room, and Arnold pointed to this. “What's in there?” he asked.

Torrance shook his head. “I don't know,” he replied. “It's locked, and Sir Wilfred is the only person who had a key to it. I have an idea that he used to put his personal letters in it.”

The front of the cabinet was closed by a sliding shutter, fitted with a lock. In order to demonstrate his words, Torrance went up to it, and tried to raise the shutter. “Well, I'm damned!” he exclaimed. “It isn't locked, after all! That's the most extraordinary thing. There certainly must have been something on Sir Wilfred's mind yesterday. I've never before known him to leave this cabinet unlocked.”

“Well, we may as well see what's inside it,” said Arnold. Their search revealed nothing but a mass of correspondence, all carefully filed. As in the case of the other letters, there was nothing in there which could be considered in any way out of the ordinary. But, as Arnold drew out one of the documents, he heard something rattling. He removed the files it contained, and beneath them found half a dozen small metal objects. They were pistol cartridges, exactly similar in appearance to those which had been found in the magazine of the automatic.

Arnold picked them out of the drawer, and laid them on the table. “Can you account for these, Mr. Torrance?” he asked.

Torrance shook his head. “No, I can't,” he replied. “They have probably been there a long time. Years ago, when I first knew him, Sir Wilfred was very fond of target shooting, and was a very good shot, both with rifle and revolver. But recently, I believe, he had given it up. I expect these are the remains of some cartridges which he used to keep here.”

Arnold made no comment upon this. He put the cartridges in his pocket, and helped Torrance to replace the correspondence in the drawer. “By the way,” he remarked, while they were thus engaged, “has your firm got any connections in Belgium?”

“Belgium?” Torrance replied. “We've got connections all over the world, and in Belgium, among other countries.”

“I am told that Sir Wilfred paid a visit to Belgium last summer. Was this on a matter of business?”

“Not to my knowledge. Sir Wilfred liked spending a few days abroad, from time to time. He may have called upon one or two people in Brussels and Antwerp with whom we do business, but only in a friendly way.”

“When do you expect Richard Saxonby?”

“We had a cable from him to-day, saying that he would arrive at Southampton on the 23rd. I presume that Miss Olivia had informed him of Sir Wilfred's death.”

Arnold had no further inquiries to make, and he returned to Scotland Yard.

V

Desmond Merrion happened to be staying for a few days in London, at his rooms in St. James's. He was something of an amateur criminologist, and a friend of Arnold's. So, when he received a telephone call from the Inspector, suggesting that they should dine together that Friday evening, he guessed that Arnold was engaged upon some case which presented points of interest.

But he was rather surprised when he heard that Arnold had been engaged upon investigating the death of Sir Wilfred Saxonby. “I've read what the papers have to say,” he said. “And, to all appearances, it seemed a pretty obvious case of suicide. I'm astonished that the Yard should have been called in at all. The importance of Sir Wilfred's position accounts for it, I suppose?”

“That's about it,” Arnold replied. “I don't think there's much room for doubt that Sir Wilfred shot himself. But the papers don't know quite as much as I do. I'd like to tell you what I've heard, and see what you make of it.”

He described his investigations in detail. “Now, it strikes me that Sir Wilfred planned his suicide some time in advance,” he continued. “He decided that he would shoot himself. He already possessed a revolver, but that was too cumbrous and noisy a weapon for his purpose. A small automatic would be just as deadly, and much more convenient.

“But how was he to get hold of one? As you know, automatic pistols cannot be bought in this country without the production of a firearms certificate. Certainly a man in Sir Wilfred's position would not have had the slightest difficulty in obtaining such a certificate. But secrecy is a characteristic of the intending suicide. Sir Wilfred would imagine that people would wonder what he wanted an automatic for, and would be afraid that they would guess correctly. It would suit him far better to get hold of one without the necessity of applying for a certificate.

“This would be the simplest thing in the world. He had only to go abroad, buy a pistol while there, and smuggle it in. He was probably known to the customs officers at the port where he landed, and they would not make any very extensive search of his baggage. Besides, a little pistol like that could easily be concealed about the person, and with it a dozen rounds of ammunition.”

“You haven't yet traced the purchase of the pistol, have you?” Merrion asked.

“No, but with the help of a firearms expert, I hope to.”

“You're probably on the right track. I have only one comment to make. I can't imagine, somehow, that Saxonby bought the pistol for the sole purpose of killing himself with it. Why should he have his initials engraved upon it, if so?”

“I've got an idea about that. I told you, I think, that none of the other firearms at Mavis Court have initials on them. I believe that Sir Wilfred had them engraved upon the automatic for a definite purpose. He wanted it to be quite clear that the pistol was his, to prevent suspicion falling upon anybody else. Suicides do that kind of thing, you know.”

“Such as leaving letters behind them, explaining their actions. All right, go ahead.”

“Having provided himself with the weapon, Sir Wilfred's next move was to get his family out of the way. I imagine that he hated the idea of any fuss or bother. He would like to be buried and out of the way before his sorrowing relatives could make a scene. At all events, he suggested that his son and his wife should go to America, and his daughter and her husband to the South of France. That, I think, is an indication of what was in his mind.”

“Very possibly,” Merrion replied. “So far as you know, he took no steps to get his niece out of the way?”

“Apparently not. But perhaps he knew that she would not come into the category of a sorrowing relative. From what I saw and heard, I don't think that Miss Olivia is likely to break her heart over her uncle's death. Sir Wilfred's next step was to decide upon the time and place of his suicide. His dislike of fuss would prevent him from shooting himself either at his office or at Mavis Court. Too many people about. They would rush in at the sound of the shot, and possibly disturb his last moments. He knew the line between London and Stourford well enough, and must have noticed how suitable Blackdown Tunnel was to his purpose. If he could get a carriage to himself, he could fire the shot as the train was passing through the tunnel, and it would be very unlikely that his death would be discovered until it reached Stourford.”

“And that, you think, is what actually happened?”

“I'm willing to bet that it is what the coroner and his jury will think. After all, if you find a man dead in a locked railway carriage, with the weapon which killed him within a couple of feet or so, the suggestion of suicide is bound to be pretty strong.

“But, all the same, there are certain objections to the suicide theory. In the first place, I haven't been able to light upon a vestige of reasonable motive. The only hint, so far, is that Sir Wilfred was worried by the disagreement between his daughter and her husband. But I refuse to believe that any amount of friction, however serious, between a daughter and a son-in-law would drive a man to suicide. Certainly not a man like Sir Wilfred. And, after all, the Wardours can't have been on such desperately bad terms, since, apparently, they agreed to go off on a motor tour together.”

“I wouldn't jump too hastily to the conclusion that there was a complete lack of motive,” said Merrion. “Saxonby was a man of many interests, and you may find that something had gone very seriously wrong somewhere. He may have had something on his mind which he shared with nobody else. What are your other objections to the suicide theory?”

“They are so trifling that they are hardly worth discussing. I'll try to put them as simply as I can. Torrance says that there was a letter from Mrs. Wardour waiting for Sir Wilfred when he reached the office yesterday. The assistant secretary says that when he arrived, he selected one of his letters, read it, and laid it aside. I think we may assume that it was the one from his daughter, since he was anxious about her. Now, where is that letter? It was not to be found in his room, and there is no fire there in which he could have burnt it. Torrance suggests that he put it in his pocket. Most likely he did. But why wasn't it in his pocket when the train reached Stourford? Again, we know that he presented his ticket at the barrier at Cannon Street, and we believe that, having done so, he put it back in his wallet. What became of that ticket?

“There are, of course, a thousand possible explanations of the disappearance of the letter and the ticket. For instance, Sir Wilfred may have thrown them out of the carriage window before the train reached Blackdown. But I can't forget that curious and unexplained incident in the tunnel. Whether the driver actually saw those red and green lights, or whether he only imagined them, the fact remains that the train slowed down to about ten miles an hour or less. You can laugh at me, if you like.”

“I'm not likely to do that,” Merrion replied. “But I'd like you to explain the possible significance of that slowing down.”

“It's hopelessly far-fetched. To begin with, the compartment had two doors. One, the left-hand one, looking towards the engine, led into the corridor, and was locked. The other, the right-hand one, led into the open, and was unlocked. Now, in this country, trains follow the rule of the road, and keep to the left. If anybody was in the tunnel as the train passed through, he would be standing on the up line, to avoid being run over by the train, which was on the down line. It would not have been impossible for him to have jumped upon the footboard, and entered Sir Wilfred's compartment by the unlocked door.”

Merrion nodded. “I admit the possibility. We can go further, and say that it would be possible for this man to have shot Saxonby, stolen his ticket and the letter from his daughter, and jumped off the train again. But, apart from the possibility, we are bound to examine the probability of this having happened. And I'm bound to confess that I see a whole host of difficulties in the way. I'll put them to you as they appear to me.

“To begin with, we have the extreme unlikelihood of there having been a man in the tunnel. According to the station-master at Blackdown, that unlikelihood amounts to impossibility. I wouldn't go so far as to accept his statement without further investigation. But, all the same, since he knows more about the conditions than we do, we are bound to attach a certain weight to what he says.”

“It has occurred to me that there are other ways of getting into the tunnel than by entering it on foot,” said Arnold. “One might jump off a train while it was going through.”

“Yes,” Merrion replied doubtfully. “I shouldn't care to do it myself, but I suppose it could be done. But I don't suppose many trains slow up as conveniently as the one in which Saxonby was travelling. However, let's admit the bare possibility of there having been a man in the tunnel, who deliberately slowed down the train so that he would be able to board it.

“Now, we pass on to the next point. In order that he could effect his purpose, it would be necessary that Saxonby should be travelling in a compartment by himself, and that his assailant should know which compartment this was. How could he have obtained the knowledge on either of these points? He might, it is true, have guessed that, for some reason with which he was acquainted, Saxonby would want to secure a compartment to himself. But how can he have known that Saxonby had been successful? Or, if he gambled on the probability of this success, how did he know which compartment it was? He couldn't have seen Saxonby through the window, for that would almost certainly be obscured by the fumes from the engine.”

“Yes, I'm with you there,” said Arnold. “I noticed that for myself, as I was coming through this morning.”

“Good. Now we come to the man's procedure. He provides himself with a pistol upon which he has engraved Saxonby's initials. There's nothing unreasonable about that. But, all the same, if the pistol wasn't really Saxonby's, it is peculiar that you should have found ammunition to fit it in his private filing cabinet.

“We needn't, at present, enter into the question of motive. We don't know enough about Saxonby and his affairs. We may find that he had a reasonable and sufficient motive for committing suicide. It is equally possible that we find that somebody had a reasonable and sufficient motive for killing him.

“Finally, there is the disappearance of the ticket and the letter. Now, I'm bound to admit that the theory of a man boarding the train from the tunnel might be twisted to account for that.

“Suppose this man, having shot Saxonby, did not leave the train again immediately. Suppose he unlocked the door leading into the corridor, passed through it, and locked it behind him. Suppose then that he hid in the lavatory until the train reached Stourford, and then got out? But he would need a ticket before he could leave the station. Foreseeing this necessity, he provided himself with Saxonby's ticket.”

“That's ingenious!” Arnold exclaimed. “I've always admired your imagination, as you know. And I've got a list of all the passengers who were travelling in that first-class coach.”

“You'll probably find that very useful. This imaginary man of ours, having taken the ticket, may also have taken the letter, perhaps because its discovery might have given a clue to his own identity.

“But, in spite of what you choose to call the ingenuity of my arguments, I don't like the theory of the man in the tunnel. It seems to me that the difficulties altogether outweigh the suggestion offered by the ticket. Quite frankly, I don't believe that Saxonby was murdered. I believe that he shot himself. But, if you want a theory of how he might have been murdered, I think I can supply you with one which presents fewer difficulties than that of the man boarding the train in the tunnel.”

The Inspector smiled. “I'd love to hear it,” he said.

“Then so you shall. It is this. The murderer did not board the train in the tunnel. He left it there. That gets round the worst of the difficulties. Our man knew that Saxonby would be going home by the five o'clock from Cannon Street yesterday. No difficulty about that, for he did so nearly every Thursday. He may have been watching the train every Thursday for weeks, awaiting his opportunity. Yesterday he saw Saxonby installed in a carriage by himself, and realised that his opportunity had come.

“He had provided himself with a first-class ticket, and took a seat in another compartment of the coach. As soon as the train entered the tunnel, he went along the corridor, opened the door of Saxonby's carriage, shot him, relocked the corridor door, and slipped out on to the line through the other door, the train having conveniently slowed down to allow him to do so.”

“Well, that's an alternative, certainly,” said Arnold thoughtfully. “It disposes of some of the difficulties, but it raises others. If the man was in the train, and not standing on the line in the tunnel, he can't have waved that red light at the driver. How, then, did he know that the train would slow down? What would he have done if it hadn't?”

“Oh, I'm not defending my theory. I only put it forward as a piece of speculative reasoning. But why shouldn't he have a confederate in the tunnel, who worked the lights to slow down the train?”

“No!” exclaimed Arnold decidedly. “That won't do. In spite of the station-master at Blackdown, I'm prepared to believe in the possibility of one man having slipped in or out of the tunnel unobserved. But you ask me to believe that one man got in, and two came out, and that's going too far.”

Merrion laughed. “My dear fellow, I quite agree with you,” he replied. “I told you that I wasn't defending my theory. But doesn't all this show the difficulty of forming any plausible theory to account for Saxonby having been murdered?”

“I've felt that all along. But I'm bound to think of every possibility, no matter how remote.”

“Of course you are. Well, let's see what possibilities there are. We'll assume that Saxonby was shot while the train was passing through the tunnel. He, or any one else, would naturally choose that time, since the report of the pistol would then be effectively drowned. But I don't think we need assume that the slowing down of the train had any connection with the event. It may have been merely a coincidence, due to hallucination on the part of the driver.