Off the Record (22 page)

‘Yes,’ agreed Ragnall rapidly. ‘Yes, I know it has, Inspector. You mustn’t misunderstand me.’

‘But you’re not convinced?’ asked Rackham quietly.

Hugo Ragnall swallowed. ‘I . . . I suppose I have to be, don’t I?’ Rackham didn’t answer. ‘It’s just it seemed so
probable
,’ burst out Ragnall, spurred into speech by Rackham’s silence. ‘We all knew how badly Professor Carrington had been treated by Dunbar. It’s only human nature that Gerard Carrington should resent it. I think what really bothered me is that Major Haldean’s proof seemed to turn on such a trivial thing. I know Major Haldean is a very clever man, Inspector. I’ve read his stories and they’re very clever, indeed.’ He suddenly smiled, oddly shy. ‘I think I’ve read nearly everything he’s written. An old friend of mine – he’s out in Kenya now – knew him in the war and always had the greatest respect for him. But I do think that very clever people can be misled sometimes.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Rackham, trying to keep his voice non-committal. He didn’t quite manage it. The trouble was, Hugo Ragnall was doing such an excellent job of putting his own thoughts into words.

Ragnall sensed his unspoken agreement. ‘It’s all very well reading this sort of thing, isn’t it? When you actually know the people involved, though, it can be a little difficult to swallow. Ever since Mr Carrington was released, I’ve been conscious that anyone who knew Dunbar has been under a strain. I don’t see how any of us can be implicated, but it’s a strain, all the same. You see, if Mr Carrington isn’t guilty, who is?’

And that, thought Rackham, was the question. ‘We’ve arrested Hector Ferguson,’ he said, his voice as neutral as possible.

Hugo Ragnall nodded eagerly. ‘Which is why I’ve called to see you today. Let me explain. Because Mr Carrington’s temper is so uncertain, Mr Lewis asked his wife to meet him to see how the meeting went. However, that would only give him Mr Carrington’s point of view, so Mr Lewis asked me to look in on Mr Dunbar around five o’clock or so, to see what his reaction to the afternoon’s events had been.’

Rackham sat up. ‘You called on Dunbar? Did you see him?’

Ragnall shook his head. ‘No. I arrived at the Marchmont sometime before five. I’ve been trying to think exactly what time it was. It must have been about twenty to five or so. It was certainly after Mr Carrington left. I thought I might see him. When Mr Carrington was arrested, Mr Lewis asked me if I’d seen him, as it would have established what time he left the hotel.’

‘You never said anything at the time, sir.’

Ragnall shrugged. ‘There wasn’t anything much to say, was there? I didn’t feel what I’d seen could help or hinder your investigation in any way. Besides that, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to admit to being on the spot when a murder’s been committed.’

‘If you’ve done nothing wrong you’ve nothing to fear, sir.’

Ragnall laughed cynically. ‘That doesn’t quite square up with the facts, does it, Inspector? You might not approve, but I thought it best to say nothing. However, when I heard Mr Ferguson had been arrested, I had no choice but to come forward. You see, I saw Mrs Dunbar.’

‘Mrs Dunbar?’ Rackham’s voice was sharp. ‘Did you speak to her?’

‘No.’ Hugo Ragnall’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You have met Mrs Dunbar, Inspector?’ Despite himself, Rackham grinned. ‘In that case, I don’t really have to explain myself. Mrs Dunbar, Inspector, can talk the hind leg off a donkey. I sat down in the lounge of the Marchmont. I wanted a few minutes to get my papers in order and to work out exactly what I was going to say to Mr Dunbar. I must admit, my heart sank when I saw Mrs Dunbar and, although it sounds ungallant, took care to stay out of sight. Not only did I want to avoid her if possible, she could only be there to meet Mr Dunbar, and I really did want to speak to him. I couldn’t cross the lobby to the stairs without her seeing me, so I decided to wait where I was. I assumed it could only be a matter of minutes before Mr Dunbar joined her and I thought the best plan would be to wait for him to arrive, then pretend I’d only just entered the hotel, and ask for a few minutes’ private conversation.’

‘Fair enough. What happened?’

‘I saw Hector Ferguson arrive. He arrived shortly after I got there.’

‘You saw Hector Ferguson?’ repeated Rackham blankly. ‘Why on earth haven’t you said anything before?’

‘For the reasons I’ve already given, Inspector,’ said Ragnall unhappily. ‘I discussed it with Mr Lewis and we decided it was as well to keep quiet, especially as Hector Ferguson didn’t admit to being at the hotel. His story was that he’d gone straight home from work that afternoon and I didn’t want to be the one to contradict him. I knew that would cause problems for him.’

‘You’re probably right there, sir,’ Rackham agreed heavily. ‘Can you tell me exactly what occurred? This is important, you understand.’

‘He talked to his mother for a little while. I got the impression that she wasn’t too happy to see him, as they seemed to be arguing. Not violently, you understand, but they had certainly disagreed about something.’

‘Could you hear what they said?’

Ragnall shook his head. ‘I couldn’t hear much, just the odd word. Mr Ferguson seemed to be very impatient. He looked at his watch a couple of times and I heard him say, ‘I’ll go.’ He left Mrs Dunbar and went up the stairs. From what had gone before, I assumed that Mr Dunbar was late and Hector Ferguson had gone to root him out. I looked at the clock as Ferguson went up the stairs. It was five to five when he went upstairs and I was surprised to see him return almost immediately. I heard the clock strike five as he came into the lobby once more. I was startled by his appearance. He was clearly upset.’ Hugo Ragnall hesitated. ‘He looked as white as a sheet, as if he’d seen a ghost.’

‘You’re sure about the time, sir?’ asked Rackham.

‘Certain. I was looking out for Dunbar, you see. I wanted to be ready to nab him when he came down with Ferguson. There was clearly something wrong. I couldn’t see Mrs Dunbar’s face but I could see his and he looked ghastly. They spoke for a little while – not long – and then they both walked to the hotel entrance. I wondered for a moment what I should do, and decided the best thing was to go to Dunbar’s room myself. I knew which room Mr Dunbar was in, of course, so when Mrs Dunbar and Ferguson were out of sight, I went up the stairs.’

‘Did you go into Dunbar’s room?’

Ragnall shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t. I reached the top of the stairs and I heard the most awful shindig. There was a woman shouting, clearly in distress. That brought me up sharp. There was a door open a little way up the corridor and the noise was coming from there.’ He broke off with a thin smile. ‘It was, of course, Dunbar’s room. I guessed as much at the time and wondered what the devil had happened. As I watched, a chambermaid shot out of the room, yelling her head off. She didn’t see me, but doors started opening all along the corridor. In two ticks the place was going to be seething. I thought of going along to Dunbar’s room to see what all the fuss was about, but all I actually did was turn tail and walk back down the stairs.’

‘Why was that, sir?’

Hugo Ragnall ran his tongue over dry lips. ‘I didn’t want to get mixed up in things. I didn’t know what was wrong but it was obviously something serious. No one had seen me come into the hotel and I thought it was as well if I simply faded away. After all, what could I do? By the time I got downstairs, Mrs Dunbar was back in her seat in the lobby, but I managed to slip past her.’ He put his hand to his mouth and suddenly looked acutely uncomfortable. ‘You see, Inspector, I knew Mr Carrington had been with Mr Dunbar all afternoon.’

Rackham didn’t say anything for a few moments. ‘Did you think Dunbar had been murdered?’ he asked eventually.

‘No,’ said Ragnall, startled. ‘No, of course I didn’t. But I knew something had happened and I knew Mr Carrington had been there. That’s all. I didn’t feel I could help in any way. Mrs Dunbar was on the spot and she was the person chiefly concerned, after all.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘What could I do? When Mr Carrington was arrested, I said nothing. After all, I hadn’t seen him and you must believe me when I say I was sincerely glad when he was released. However, when Mr Ferguson was arrested, that was a different matter.’

Rackham dug a scrap of paper out of the blotter with his pen. ‘And you’re absolutely certain that Hector Ferguson entered the hotel after you?’ Hugo Ragnall nodded. ‘And he was only upstairs for a matter of five minutes?’

‘Less, if anything. I’m certain about that.’

Rackham took the scrap of pink paper from the nib of his pen and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Hugo Ragnall, he realized, was still on edge. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me, sir?’ he asked.

Hugo Ragnall’s gaze shifted to one side and Rackham knew he had touched a nerve. He waited in silence but this time the silence lengthened. ‘Mr Ragnall?’ he prompted. ‘It could be something utterly trivial, perhaps. Something you didn’t attach any weight to at the time.’

‘There isn’t anything else,’ said Ragnall firmly. His eyes met Rackham’s, but Rackham could see his throat muscles tighten. ‘Nothing at all.’

A
couple of hours later, Inspector William Rackham and Jack Haldean were in the lobby of the Marchmont Hotel. Under the rather weary eye of the manager, Mr Sutton, who was observing them from the reception desk, they were engaged in an experiment. ‘That was just shy of thirteen minutes,’ said Jack as Rackham came back down the stairs and into the lobby. ‘Shall I try? Sergeant Hawley’s still up there. We can see if our times match up.’

‘All right,’ said Rackham, taking the watch from Jack. ‘Wait for my signal . . . Off you go.’

Jack walked rapidly across the lobby and climbed the stairs. Arriving at room 206, he knocked at the door. ‘It’s Jack Haldean, Sergeant,’ he called. ‘We’re going through it again. Pretend I’m Hector Ferguson, will you?’

There was the creak of a chair followed by footsteps and Detective-Sergeant Hawley, who, for purposes of reconstruction, was playing the part of Dunbar, opened the door.

‘Hector?’ he said, in deep disapproval, clearly relishing the role. ‘What do you want?’

‘A few moments with you,’ said Jack. ‘My mother’s waiting in the lobby downstairs. You’re meant to be having tea with her, remember? You’re late. But look, before we go downstairs, I need to speak to you. Can I come in?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Sergeant Hawley, standing back.

Jack shut the door behind them. He felt in his pocket and took out his tobacco pouch. ‘Would you mind looking at this, sir,’ he said, adding as Sergeant Hawley took the pouch with a puzzled frown, ‘that’s to get you to sit down and take your attention off me for a couple of ticks. I said that last bit, not Ferguson, of course.’

‘Inspector Rackham just told me to sit down.’

‘Yes, but there must have been some sort of reason why Dunbar sat down. I’m back in character now. I’m Hector Ferguson. Will you look at my mysterious tobacco pouch, sir? If you’d rather, it could be a contract, a will, a map of Treasure Island or a Tibetan monk’s list of the ninety-nine names of God.’

‘Very good, Hector,’ said Sergeant Hawley with a broad grin and in the tones of a stage butler. He walked to the desk and, tobacco pouch in hand, sat down and examined it with as much rapt attention as a housewife scrutinizing a black beetle in the scullery.

‘Now I walk up behind you,’ said Jack, ‘take out a pistol,’ – he aimed an outstretched finger at Sergeant Hawley – ‘and pull the trigger. Bang.’

Sergeant Hawley obligingly gave a heart-felt groan and collapsed on the desk. ‘I’m dead now, sir,’ he said helpfully.

Jack stood stock-still for a moment. ‘No one heard the gunshot,’ he muttered. ‘By jingo, that was lucky. Stay still, Sergeant. I can’t concentrate if you move. Now I need to make it look like suicide. I don’t know why the silly ass didn’t use the pen on the desk but he didn’t.’ He pulled the blotter towards him and took a piece of paper from the stack. ‘What shall I say?’

‘The note said ‘Forgive me,’ muttered the corpse.

‘I think I’ll write ‘Forgive me,’ said Jack, ignoring this voice from Beyond. ‘If I had planned this out, I’d have brought a note with me but the note was written on hotel paper
and
left an impression in the blotter. There we are. One suicide note. Now all I have to do is wipe the gun. I’d better be careful with this bit. I don’t want any fingerprints on it. Put it into his hand and then I’ve done. All right, Sergeant, up you get. You might as well come downstairs with me.’

The two men walked out of the room. ‘Hold on a mo,’ said Jack as the sergeant made for the stairs. ‘I’ve got to lean against the wall and repine. That’s when Mrs Gledburn, the chambermaid, saw me.’ He staggered against the wall and buried his head in his hands. ‘Oh deary me, what have I done? Oh deary me, what have I done?’ He looked up. ‘OK, that’s enough grief. Back we go to England, Home and Mother.’

Rackham looked up as they came back into the lobby. ‘Twelve minutes,’ he said in disgust. ‘Are you sure you couldn’t do it any faster?’

‘Blimey, Bill, we moved like greased lightning. You can’t just barge in, shoot someone and pop off. There have to be some social
pourparlers
and we kept those to a minimum, didn’t we, Sergeant?’

‘We did, sir,’ agreed Sergeant Hawley with a smile.

‘I think, if anything, we undercut the time,’ said Jack. ‘If Ferguson was some hard-bitten gangster then maybe, just maybe, he could do it in the time we took, but he isn’t, is he? The chambermaid saw him looking stricken and Hugo Ragnall said he was as white as a sheet when he came back into the lobby.’

Rackham clicked his tongue in frustration. ‘All right. As we’re here we might as well reconstruct Ferguson’s own version of events.’

‘Shall I be Ferguson again?’ asked Jack.

‘You might as well. Knock off the time it takes to unlock the door. It can only be a matter of seconds or so.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Nearly at the minute . . . Off you go, Jack.’