The 12.30 from Croydon (29 page)

French moved uneasily. ‘Nothing, sir, that I have learned is inconsistent with such a theory, but I must point out that I have no proof of its truth.’

‘Oh, quite, I understand that. I only wanted to know whether it was possible to account for the facts on the basis of the deceased’s innocence of theft.’

‘I think it possible, sir, but entirely unproven.’

‘I understand. That’s quite interesting, inspector.’ The coroner paused, glancing over his notes. ‘I think that’s all,’ he said slowly, then, after a further pause, gave his usual invitation to the jury.

This time the foreman availed himself of it. ‘I should like to ask the inspector if he looked for the jemmy the desk was broken open with, and if so, whether he found it?’

On the coroner nodding, French replied: ‘Yes, to the first part of the question and no, to the second. I made a search for the tool, but didn’t find it.’

This was all the foreman wanted to know and the inspector stepped down.

Dr Gregory was then called. He repeated in more technical language what French had said about the dead man’s injuries, and confirmed his opinion that these injuries could not have been inflicted otherwise than through murder.

This completed the evidence and Dr Emerson summed up, beginning with the same little homily on the duties of the jurors which he had given at the Crowther inquest. As before, he told them they had to state the identity of the deceased and to say how death was caused. Also if they thought that anyone was to blame for what had occurred, they were to say so, and if further they were of opinion that such blame had been incurred by any particular person or persons, they might express that opinion. He thought they would have little difficulty in arriving at a decision on all these points. They had before them definite evidence as to the deceased’s identity and as to the cause of death, and if they believed that evidence they could have no hesitation as to their finding.

So far as he was concerned, he did not see that any evidence had been offered incriminating any person, and if they agreed with that view they would bring in a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown. They would now retire and consider their verdict.

After seven minutes’ consultation the jury found as the coroner suggested.

Little voices were singing in Charles’s mind as he heard their announcement. At last definitely he was safe! The police suspected nothing. So far as he, Charles, was concerned, the whole ghastly affair was closed. Not only was he safe in this Weatherup case, but he was safe in the original Andrew Crowther case as well. And what was more, Peter was now safe also. What Charles had now to do was to forget this dreadful period of his life, and to fill his mind once again with the normal ideas and pursuits which had been so long interrupted. He had been so terribly worried that he had scarcely been able to think even of Una. Now that was past. He would see Una that very day and try to get her to agree to an early date for the wedding.

Peter interrupted his thoughts. ‘We can’t find that he had any relations,’ he said. ‘I don’t know whether to advertise or not. I’m settling the funeral, of course.’

‘I shouldn’t advertise,’ answered Charles, who wanted the affair to be forgotten as quickly as possible. ‘It’s not as if he was a millionaire. That’s good of you about the funeral, but I’m sure you’re doing the right thing.’

Peter shook his head. ‘I won’t advertise if you don’t think it’s necessary. Well, we must be getting along. Come out and see us soon, Charles.’

Charles said he would, then getting his car from the park, drove to the works.

Safe! All nature conspired to shout the word at him. The wheels of his car droned it to him, the klaxons in the street barked it at him; in the meaner streets near the works it came up in the cries of the children at play. Through the open window of his office a bird was singing it: even the muffled rumble of Miss Lillingstone’s typewriter seemed to breathe peace and security. Nothing suspected! With the rolling away of this terrible black shadow which had been darkening his every moment, Charles felt like a boy released from school.

Then came a slight reaction. Of course, in a way, neither case was over. It was said that the police never entirely dropped any case. Further investigations might be made…

But, he asked himself again, what if there were? What could come out? Nothing! No: definitely for him the thing was over! And Una? That very afternoon he would go to see her. Oh, blessed thought! She would understand his apparent neglect. She would see that he had not been to blame. She would perhaps complete his cup of joy by agreeing to fix the date of the wedding.

But in the afternoon Charles received a sharp disappointment. Una was from home. She had gone on a visit to some friends in Gloucester and would not be back for a week. However, he got her address and in the evening wrote her a satisfyingly voluminous letter.

As day succeeded day Charles picked up one by one the threads of his former life. The look of anxiety gradually disappeared from his face and its old expression of easy good humour took its place. The dark episode was being successfully banished from his mind.

Things at the works seemed to have taken a slight turn for the better. The new machines had arrived before the contract date, had been installed, and were now running. Charles was delighted with them, while Sandy Macpherson’s ‘Man, they’re fine,’ showed real enthusiasm. It was a day of excitement when the first costs from their working were available.

‘They’re bringing down the machining on the Standard A model from two-and-threepence to one-and-fivepence-farthing; say ten dee every set up,’ Macpherson declared rapturously. ‘That would ’a’ meant seventy-two pounds knocked off our estimate for that Northallerton job. We’d ’a’ got yon if we’d ’a’ had the machines.’

That very evening the post carried away a revised estimate for a largish job near Leeds, an estimate with nearly a hundred pounds knocked off the previous figure. Some days later the entire staff were overjoyed to learn that they had got the contract; Charles afterwards learned by a margin of some five and twenty pounds.

‘It looks as if you were going to be right about the machines, Sandy,’ commented Charles, who always made a point of giving his subordinates their due.

‘Aye, it’s no’ looking so bad,’ admitted the Scot.

Another thing which gave Charles a new interest in life was a visit paid by an architect to his house. Plans materialized for the addition of another couple of rooms, an enlarged hall, and the installation of all kinds of improved appliances. A landscape gardener also arrived and produced suggestions to improve the surroundings of the improved house. Charles gloated over the thought of laying these plans before Una. Their existence would at least prove that she had not been out of his mind – if such proof were necessary.

Peter also seemed happier than for many months. He had engaged a new butler and was laying plans for market gardening on a larger scale. This new interest was good for him and was shown in his more cheerful outlook upon the world.

In fact, Charles felt that he had entered upon a new chapter of his life, in which all seemed propitious and in which he would have the same chance of happiness as the next man.

Then an incident occurred which brought him up with a jerk and rudely dispelled all his hopes of having left behind this dark period of his life. Once again he was gripped by doubt and distress, while actual panic hovered closer and closer.

It happened that the quarterly dinner of a certain manufacturers’ association was taking place in Newcastle, and as there was an important business meeting before it, Charles went up to attend it. He travelled by train, leaving on the Tuesday morning, sleeping the night and returning the following day. The function proved as interesting as he had expected, and it was in a very good humour that he reached the works after lunch on the Wednesday.

Settled down once again in his office, he rang for Gairns to bring the correspondence which had been received during his absence. This was disposed of satisfactorily, and then Gairns administered the shock.

‘That Scotland Yard officer – French, his name is,’ he said, ‘was here yesterday looking for you. He said you had told him you had gone to London shortly before leaving for your holiday, but that he had mislaid his note of the dates, and that he wanted them to complete his report.’

Charles was completely taken aback. Inspector French still here? What could it mean?

‘Oh, that’s right,’ he said, though in spite of all his efforts there was a little tremor in his voice. ‘He’s welcome to the information. You were able to give it to him, I suppose?’

The old man shook his head. ‘No, sir, I knew nothing about it. I told him he’d better ask yourself.’

Charles actually succeeded in producing a laugh. ‘Think you might give me away to the police, did you?’ he chuckled. ‘I hope it’s not so serious as all that. That all he wanted to know?’

Gairns wasn’t sure. Charles had seldom known him sure of anything. It seemed the inspector had stayed for a considerable time chatting. What about? Oh, everything: bad trade, how the district was weathering the storm; how he, French, compared the conditions in Yorkshire and Lincoln, where he had just been working; whether the works had avoided reductions of staff or wages; whether such had been threatened; when these reductions had been threatened, and when the threat had been removed.

Charles’s heart sank during this recital; however he resolutely concentrated on getting rid of the clerk. ‘That’s what most people talk about nowadays – unfortunately,’ he said as lightly as he could. ‘Well, James, that all? You’ll send that quotation to Armstrong’s by the afternoon post?’

Gairns gathered up his papers and withdrew, leaving Charles to face this terribly upsetting news. French had undoubtedly left Cold Pickerby; everyone was agreed as to that. What had he come back for? Surely, surely the case couldn’t have been reopened? And the
Crowther
case; not the Weatherup case. That question about the dates of his going to London: that was a bit thin. Was it likely that a Yard inspector would mislay his notes? Coming when Charles was away for the day and asking a question like that. Yes, it was thin. The man was after something else.

But what? There was nothing in his questions about the works. It couldn’t be about shortage of money; he, Charles, had made no secret of the fact that for a while he had been short. What, then, was it?

The indefiniteness of the peril terrified Charles. Or was there really any peril? Could it not simply be true what the man had said, that he had to complete a report for filing, and that he really had mislaid his notes?

Charles tried to reassure himself on these lines, but when he went home that night his anxiety grew acute once again. French, it appeared, had been there also. He had interviewed both Rollins and his wife, and with the same story. Rollins, unlike the cautious Gairns, had at once given the information. But French had not seemed satisfied. As at the works, he had remained chatting in an apparently aimless way about Charles and his affairs; asking if he was much from home, to what extent he entertained, and even if he saw much of Una Mellor. He had professed a great admiration of the situation of the house and asked if he might walk round it and see the view from all sides.

Charles could make nothing of it, though the whole thing was excessively disquieting. However, he heard no more from French. Once again the man appeared to have left the town. As the days passed he found himself growing increasingly satisfied that French’s statement about his report had been the literal truth. He, Charles, need not have been so much upset.

Everything indeed did seem to be going well in the days that followed, with one exception: he could get no further with Una. She was pleasant, she let him see her as much as he wanted to, she played golf with him, she looked at the plans for the house and garden, but she would come to no decision. She wouldn’t fix the date for the wedding; indeed, she said once or twice that she had not yet decided whether she would marry him or not. She admired the proposed alterations to the house, but she would not allow them to be put in hand. In a word, she was most tantalizing and unsatisfactory. But Charles had no redress. She intimated that if he forced an answer it would be ‘No’. He had to be content.

Then one evening a dreadful and totally unexpected blow fell.

Charles had had a tiresome day at the works. Owing to the non-delivery of certain materials an important job had been held up and it looked as if it could not be completed in contract time. Everyone was working at high pressure, and worry and frayed nerves were the result. Charles had brought home with him the relevant papers, intending during the evening to draft out a statement of his claim against the defaulting contractor. The matter was not straightforward, and he foresaw trouble and possible litigation.

Charles dined and read the evening paper while he smoked a leisurely cigar. Then about nine he settled down with his papers in the study.

He had the faculty of concentration. Soon he drafted out the main heads of his argument and then turned to give the detailed proof of each. He got on better than he had hoped, and at ten o’clock he thought that another half-hour should see him through.

A few minutes later he heard the rolling sound of a car and a ring at the door. Charles listened to Rollins passing down the hall. Then came the murmur of voices. There were heavy steps and the study door opened. Rollins announced, ‘Superintendent Lucas and Inspector French.’

One glance at their faces told Charles that his hour had come. Both were looking grave and troubled, as if engaged on a distasteful errand. Moreover, though they didn’t seem to move across the room, they were there at his side instantly. Charles stood up uncertainly. Rollins disappeared, closing the door.

Till then neither spoke, but as the door shut the superintendent broke the silence.

‘We’re both sorry, Mr Swinburn, to come on distressing business, but it is my duty to tell you that I hold a warrant for your arrest on a charge of murdering your uncle, Andrew Crowther, and his man, John Weatherup. I must also warn you that anything you say will be taken down and used in evidence. I have a car here and if you will come with us quietly I promise you shall not be inconvenienced more than is necessary.’