Death in the Tunnel (8 page)

“Adjourned for further evidence,” Marden replied. “I think the coroner was a bit surprised when we made the suggestion. Nobody about here has any doubt that Sir Wilfred shot himself.”

At this moment the telephone bell rang, and Marden answered it. He held a short conversation, then turned to the others. “That was Miss Olivia Saxonby,” he said. “She wants to drive over here and see me at once. A matter of some importance, she said. I told her to come along. Perhaps you gentlemen would like to be present at the interview?”

“Thanks,” replied Arnold. “We may as well. Have you any idea what she wants to see you about?”

“None whatever. I sent Sir Wilfred's clothes and things to Mavis Court this morning. That may have something to do with it.”

While awaiting their visitor, they discussed the new aspects of the case. The vital point now was to discover the identity of the man with the beard. But they had reached no conclusion when Miss Saxonby was announced. She showed no trace of excitement, or, indeed, of any other emotion. Having been accommodated with a chair, she produced a wallet, which Arnold recognised as the one which had been found in the dead man's pocket, and laid it on the table. “That didn't belong to Uncle Wilfred,” she said.

“But it was the one which was found in his pocket, Miss Saxonby,” Marden replied. “How can you be sure that it did not belong to him?”

“Perhaps I expressed myself badly. It may have belonged to him, though I have never seen it before. It certainly is not the wallet which he took with him on Thursday morning, though, it is exactly like it.”

“Are you sure that it is not the same, Miss Saxonby?”

“Quite sure. Uncle Wilfred had a wallet exactly like this, which was given to him by my cousin Dick last Christmas. Since then he always used it, carrying it about with him in his pocket.

“On Wednesday afternoon, at tea time, he took it out and showed me where the silk lining had gone torn. I told him that I thought I could stitch it up for him. He emptied the wallet, and gave it to me. I mended it as best I could, and gave it back to him. As you see, the lining is of light blue silk. I hadn't any thread exactly that colour, and had to use a darker shade, which made the stitches show.

“Just before he left Mavis Court on Thursday morning, he took his wallet from his pocket to give me some money, and I noticed the stitches then. So the wallet which he took to London was the one which I had mended. If you look at this one, you will see that though the lining is frayed in places, it is not torn, and there are no stitches in it.”

This was certainly the case, but the significance of the fact was not immediately apparent. It was left to Merrion to ask the next question. “Do you happen to know where your cousin bought the wallet which he gave to your uncle?”

“I haven't the slightest idea,” she replied. “You can ask him when he gets back from America.”

“You found all the rest of Sir Wilfred's possessions correct, Miss Saxonby?” Arnold asked.

“So far as I know. But, of course, I can't tell exactly what he had in his pockets or his attaché-case when he went up to London.”

She rose, and Marden escorted her from the room. Merrion smiled. “If she's telling the truth, and if Saxonby was murdered, I believe that we're beginning to get an inkling of the motive,” he said.

VIII

It was not until he and Arnold were alone, in the train going back to London, that Merrion deigned to explain himself.

“If that isn't the wallet which Saxonby took with him to London, where did it come from?” he asked. “You will have observed that it does not appear to be new. Both the leather and the silk lining are worn. That, I think, disposes of our theory. Saxonby's aesthetic taste may have been displeased by the stitches put in by his niece. He might have bought another wallet to replace his own, while he was in London. But then he would have bought a new one. And it is in the highest degree improbable that he possessed two exactly similar wallets, which could only be distinguished by the lining of one of them being torn.

“May I remind you of the railway ticket and the letter from Mrs. Wardour? Their disappearance has puzzled us, and now that we believe that a man left the train in the tunnel, instead of boarding it, my ingenious theory to account for the ticket won't do. To these missing articles we have to add Saxonby's wallet. Do you mind telling me again what were the contents of the wallet found in his pocket?”

Arnold referred to his note-book. “A few of Saxonby's visiting cards, a book of stamps, with two or three torn out, three five-pound notes, seven one-pound notes, and two ten-shilling notes.”

“Nothing, in fact, particularly intimate. Nothing that anybody might have procured for himself. Even the visiting cards could have been copied from one given to somebody by Saxonby. But we have reason to believe that, when Saxonby started on his journey home, his wallet contained also his daughter's letter and his ticket. Are you beginning to see daylight?”

“No, I'm blest if I am,” Arnold replied. “I haven't the least idea what you're driving at.”

“Very well. Now, suppose that Saxonby's wallet, which we will call number one, contained, besides all these things, some valuable document. A certain person decides to possess himself of that document. With that end in view he works out a scheme for murdering Saxonby in Blackdown Tunnel, in such a way as to make it appear that he committed suicide.

“The very essence of his scheme is speed. He dare not remain in Saxonby's compartment an instant longer than he can help, for fear that somebody passing along the corridor may see him. He must choose the moment when the train is travelling at its minimum speed. Then he must enter the compartment, shoot his victim, secure the document, and get off the train. And all this must be done within a few seconds.

“This rapid programme allowed no time for looking through wallet number one, which may have contained a quantity of letters and papers. Nor could he just take the wallet and leave nothing in its place. Its absence would arouse suspicion as soon as the body was found. So he evolves rather a neat scheme. He provides himself with a second wallet, which we will call number two, exactly similar, so far as he knows, to number one. And in this wallet he puts things such as Saxonby habitually carried about him. Visiting cards, a book of stamps, and a fair amount of money. What he can't put in is the return half of a railway ticket to Stourford, and Mrs. Wardour's letter. The ticket, because it was a day return, and he would have had to purchase it at Stourford, and the letter, for obvious reasons. Wallet number two he had all ready with its contents. All he had to do when he had killed Saxonby was to take number one, and put number two in its place.”

“I don't understand…” Arnold protested, but Merrion cut him short. “Of course you don't. Nor do I, yet. But I'll bet you I'm right. Saxonby was murdered by somebody who wanted to secure something that he had in his wallet. If that's the case, we can deduce quite a lot of things about that somebody. He was intimately acquainted with Saxonby, to such an extent as to know the exact appearance of his wallet. And that seems to me to show a remarkable degree of intimacy. We've known one another several years. I habitually carry a wallet, which you must have seen me produce a hundred times. Could you go and buy one exactly like it?”

Arnold shook his head. “I remember that it is brown, and made of crocodile skin. But I couldn't tell you what colour the lining is, for instance.”

“Exactly. Now, what else do we know about the supposed murderer? He was aware that Saxonby would be carrying the valuable document, or whatever it was, on Thursday evening. And people don't carry a thing like that about with them all day and every day. They keep it in a place of safety. Another suggestion, I think, that Saxonby's murderer knew a great deal about his victim's private affairs.”

“That's all very well,” said Arnold. “But you are building up a theory upon a supposition that is pure guess-work. You have assumed the existence of this valuable document without, so far as I can see, the slightest grounds for doing so.”

“Not altogether. You may remember that we considered Saxonby's actions, and agreed that they fitted in very well with the theory of suicide. He sent the members of his family to a distance, for instance, and gave a large tip to Turner for the privilege of having a carriage to himself. We have now abandoned the theory of suicide, but the actions remain. Can we find, supposing now that Saxonby was murdered, any other theory to account for them? I think we can.

“Suppose that Saxonby knew that on Thursday last he would receive an article, X. I won't call it a valuable document, if you think that is assuming too much. X was of such a nature as to be carried in his wallet. It was of considerable value, intrinsic or otherwise. It would be delivered to him at his office, and would need to be conveyed to Mavis Court. Its receipt must not be known to Saxonby's son or daughter, both of whom are directors of Wigland and Bunthorne, and might be in the offices at any time. What would Saxonby do? Why, just exactly what we know him to have done. He disposes of his possibly inquisitive family, on different pretexts. You said, I think, that the secretary, Torrance, happened to be in Manchester last Thursday. I shouldn't wonder if it turned out that he went there at Saxonby's suggestion.

“You also said that Saxonby had a visitor, who gave the name of Yates, and was a stranger to the staff. Was he the man who brought X? In any case, we will suppose that Saxonby obtained this mysterious object in the course of the day, and put it in wallet number one. When the time came to go home, his chief concern was lest his pocket should be picked. So he takes all precautions. Instead of walking to Cannon Street, he sends for a taxi, a thing, apparently, which he has never been known to do before. Arrived at the station, he secures, at considerable expense, a carriage to himself, and sees that the door is locked. He fancies then that he is secure. He can't be expected to divine the deep-laid schemes of the old man with the short grey beard.”

“Upon my word, Merrion, your imagination gets more vivid every day!” Arnold exclaimed. “Don't let any doubting attitude on my part cramp your style. Can't you deduce the identity of the murderer in the same brilliant fashion?”

“Do you know, I'm almost tempted to make a guess? You don't happen to have that automatic in your pocket by any chance, do you?”

“No, I left it at the Yard for the experts to report upon.”

“You said it had initials engraved upon it. Can you describe them?”

“Yes, W.S., in rather ornate letters in the form of a mono-
gram.”

“A monogram! Then how do you know that the initials are W.S. and not S.W.?”

“For the simple and fairly obvious reason that Sir Wilfred's initials were W.S.”

Merrion smiled. “Saxonby's daughter married a Major Wardour. Have you ever inquired what his Christian name is? What would you say if it turned out to be Samuel?”

“Dash it all, that's going too far!” Arnold exclaimed. “I can swallow a good deal, but not that. There isn't the slightest reason to suspect Major Wardour. Besides, he's in the South of France, or was when Sir Wilfred was killed.”

“So we are told. And, since at present there isn't the slightest reason to suspect anybody in particular, we may as well begin with Wardour. Let's see how he fits in. I've shown you how the murderer must have been somebody with an intimate knowledge of Saxonby. Wardour, as his son-in-law, may be supposed to have that knowledge. There seems to be some sort of trouble brewing between Wardour and his wife, in which, apparently, Saxonby took his daughter's side. The two men may have been on bad terms in consequence. If I were you, I'd try to find out rather more about Wardour than you know at present.”

Arnold grunted. “I've got to find out a lot more about several people, it seems to me,” he replied. “Your suggestions are stimulating, my friend, but for the present I find them a bit bewildering. I'd rather stick to plain facts. As I see it, this is pretty much what happened.

“A certain individual was already seated in the train at the time when Sir Wilfred secured his solitary compartment. This individual appeared to be elderly, bearded, and somewhat decrepit. Until the train started, he kept a careful watch upon the platform. To explain this, he deliberately gave Mrs. Clutsam and her daughter the impression that he was expecting somebody to join him. Just before the train entered the tunnel, he left the compartment.

“I think we may assume that he was elaborately disguised. The next question is, what became of him? He did not enter any of the compartments occupied by the surviving first-class passengers. He may have entered Sir Wilfred's compartment, but he was not there when Turner looked in, at which time the train was gathering speed again. He cannot have left the first-class coach by unlocking one of the doors at the end of the corridor, for Turner and his assistant were approaching the coach from opposite directions, and one or other must have seen him.

“I can think of only two possibilities. He may have gone into one of the lavatories, and there removed his disguise. Later, he may have gone along the train, and taken a seat in one of the thirds, whose occupants were not questioned. Or he may have left the train as it slowed down in the tunnel. Since it was slowed down intentionally by some unauthorised person, that seems to me the most likely theory.”

Merrion nodded. “So it does to me. And subsequently two men, carrying a heavy battery between them, left the tunnel without being spotted. And that seems to me to need a devil of a lot of explanation.”

“Explanation or no explanation, they must have left it. They weren't there yesterday afternoon, as we know well enough. And I think we may take it that they weren't there when the railwaymen looked through the tunnel on Friday morning. Now, people don't hold up trains just for fun, at least not in this country. Nor do they jump off them in tunnels just because they feel they'd like to stretch their legs a bit. There must have been some very good reason for these happenings. One naturally concludes that the shooting of Sir Wilfred constituted this reason.

“But, as you probably realise as well as I do, there is no conclusive evidence to prove that the man with the beard was the murderer. We don't know that he entered Sir Wilfred's compartment and shot him. We only believe that he had the opportunity of doing so. And as for your motive, the wish to secure the object X, that's pure guess-work.”

“It's rather more than that, if it's correct that the wallets were interchanged,” said Merrion thoughtfully. “You've got the numbers of those five-pound notes, I suppose? It's a very faint hope, but there's just the chance that you may be able to trace them.”

“Yes, I've got the numbers. Hallo, here we are at that confounded tunnel again! Well, I'd rather go through it in the train than the way we did yesterday.”

“So would I. I thought I was going to be suffocated before we got half-way through. Half-way through? By Gad, I believe I've got it!”

“Got what?” Arnold demanded.

“The essential brainwave. No, I'm not going into details now. It may be one of those flights of my imagination which don't come off somehow. What are you doing to-morrow morning?”

“I meant to take the day off, but I'm not sure now that I can.”

“Oh, yes, you can. I'll show you a way of combining business with pleasure. We'll take an early train to Blackdown, and then go hiking together. Oh, yes, we will. It'll do you all the good in the world. Besides, there are some very good pubs in those parts, I believe. So we'll take it as settled.”