The Hog's Back Mystery (12 page)

Nurse Henderson had none. To her the disappearance was a tragedy. Terribly upset as at a personal loss, she admitted her dread that her friend must be dead.

“Oh,” said French, “don't say that. We have no information so far to warrant such a conclusion.”

“You have her disappearance,” the young woman returned. “How else can you explain it?”

French did not repeat his explanation. He busied himself without much success in trying to get further information about the missing woman.

According to Nurse Henderson, Helen Nankivel was happy and contented in her job. She had a little money, not enough to live on, but enough to make her reasonably comfortable when added to her nurse's salary. She had no worries, or none of any magnitude. Her health was good. She was not unhappy through any affair of the heart. In fact, she had no reason to take any drastic action with a view to changing her lot.

French was slightly puzzled as he rode back to Farnham to have his talk with Sheaf. No one who had known Nurse Nankivel accepted his theory of her having gone off with Dr. Earle, but none of these people gave any reason for their belief other than that they did not think she was that kind of woman. Moreover, while he had expected to have been able to trace communications between the two missing persons, he had so far failed to do so. On the other hand, no theory other than his own had been put forward, nor could he himself think of an alternative.

Having fortified himself with a cup of tea—it was just five o'clock—French reached the police station and went in to see Sheaf.

Chapter XI

What Sheaf Thought

The superintendent was expecting him. “Well, French,” he greeted him, “you want to have a talk about the case?”

“Yes,” said French, sitting down and producing a new box of cigarettes, which he absent-mindedly opened as he spoke. “I'm not sure that I haven't gone far enough with the thing, and I wanted to discuss the point with you. I admit the affair is not properly finished, but it seems to me so clear what has happened that I question if it's worth spending any more time and money on it.”

Sheaf took and lit a cigarette, nodding heavily as he did so. “Go ahead,” he said briefly.

Slowly and with extreme care French in his turn selected a cigarette, while he marshalled his facts in his mind. Then he began to speak. He briefly recounted everything that he had done and learnt since he took over, but without commenting on the facts. “Now, super,” he went on, “it's your shot. Will you let me know what's been done locally?”

For answer Sheaf pressed a bell. “Find Sheepshanks, will you,” he directed.

The sergeant was evidently in the building, for he turned up in a few seconds. “The inspector wants to know what you've done, sergeant,” Sheaf said. “You might repeat what you told me a little while ago.”

“We've made enquiries on the lines you suggested, sir,” Sheepshanks answered, turning to French, “but we've got nothing. We've done the roads and the buses and any cars we could hear of and the railway stations and the houses in the neighbourhood. We've made all the enquiries we could possibly think of, without a single result. If Earle went away by road, either voluntarily or involuntarily, no one saw him. Of course that's not so surprising as it looks at first sight. St. Kilda is a lonely place and he might have left a dozen times without anyone being a bit the wiser.”

“Yes, French, that's quite true what Sheepshanks says,” Sheaf agreed. “Because the man wasn't seen is really no argument that he didn't walk away openly from the house. I agree that we had to make the enquiries, but I'm not surprised at the result. I didn't hope for anything different.”

“I suppose you're right,” French agreed. “All the same, it does seem a bit surprising that no one saw him. But of course what you say is correct. The place is very exceptional.”

Sheaf moved impatiently. “Well, you wanted to discuss it,” he grunted. “Suppose you go ahead and let's hear your ideas. Then if there's anything left to discuss, we'll discuss it.”

French grinned. “I like your suggestion that when I've dealt with it there'll be nothing more to say,” he declared, then as Sheaf opened his mouth to reply, he went on hastily: “Very well, I'll give you my conclusions, and if you think I'm not right, stop me.”

“You'll not get far on those terms,” the super muttered, while Sheepshanks grinned painfully.

“I'll go on as long as I'm allowed.” French became serious. “So far then as I've been able to see, there are four possibilities in this case, which I, or rather we, have investigated to some extent. I say ‘to some extent' because admittedly these enquiries are not complete. I suggest we take these possibilities in turn.”

Sheaf settled himself in his chair with an air of virtuous resignation, and Sheepshanks, who had been told to sit down, with one of interest.

“I begin with Earle,” French went on, “and to make the statement complete, I presume you agree that we may eliminate accident and suicide and confine ourselves to voluntary disappearance and murder?”

“I agree. That's proved by the disappearance of the body.”

“Quite. Then let's take murder first, in which of course I include kidnapping, because frankly it's the case I don't believe in.”

Once again Sheaf nodded.

“Now as to possible murderers. Julia Earle is the first. I don't know that I need go over the case against her; you know it as well as I do. The home was unhappy; she was running after this man Slade; the husband presumably was after this Nurse Nankivel; there was a very real fear that he might change his will and leave her comparatively poor: you know all that?”

Sheaf put in his customary nod.

“Then she had opportunity. She could have drugged her husband at supper and she could have knocked him over the head in the drawing-room or outside. Or she could have poisoned him. All that was possible,
but
there were two snags. First, Could she have murdered him without the sister's knowledge? and second, Could she have got rid of the body? I decided, rightly or wrongly, that she could have done neither. That's my first possibility.

“My second is, Could the sister, Marjorie Lawes, have been party to the thing? On the whole, I thought not. She didn't seem to me to have the character for it; she had no motive, and even with her help I did not believe the women could have got rid of the body. It is true that if they had taken out their car they might have disposed of it, but you, sergeant, felt the radiator when you got out and it was cold, and I made sure the water hadn't been changed. So they hadn't taken the car out. I came to the conclusion Marjorie Lawes was also innocent. That's my second possibility.”

“I never believed those two were guilty,” Sheaf declared, while the sergeant nodded his approval.

“I'm glad you both agree,” French returned. “My third possibility was Slade: Slade either alone or in partnership with Mrs. Earle. Slade had motive. He was running after Mrs. Earle, and doubtless he wanted Earle out of the way. And if he had had any hint of Earle's goings on in London, as almost certainly he must have, he also would want to prevent Earle altering his will. Moreover he was on bad terms with Earle: they had had at least one quarrel. Again, Slade had the necessary opportunity. He could have left his house unseen and knocked at the window of Earle's drawing-room, got Earle out and killed him. But in Slade's case the same snag arose: what could he have done with the body?”

“A car,” Sheaf suggested.

“No,” said French, “that's just the point. I went into that and Slade could not have got a car,” and French recounted the evidence of the chauffeur and his wife. “So I eliminated Slade, my third possibility. That covers, so far as I can see it, the case for murder.”

“Then, by elimination, voluntary disappearance only is left?”

“I think so, but there's more in it than that. Take it conversely. Suppose Earle was murdered. Very well then, what about the nurse?”

Sheaf grunted. “There's something in that,” he admitted.

“There's a good deal in it,” French declared. “I take it that no one's going to suggest that the nurse was murdered too? Even if Mrs. Earle or Slade or both were guilty of killing Earle, they could have had no animosity against the nurse. Then where does she come in? Why should she disappear? I can conceive no reason.”

“Nor can I.”

“On the other hand,” French went on, “if Earle disappeared voluntarily, the nurse's action is accounted for at once. If they were attracted to one another, they might easily go off together. It's not hard to make a case for their doing so: he would want peace and she security. I needn't labour the point: you'll both see it as clearly as I can.”

“Yes, that's all right.” Sheaf was lounging back in a bored manner, but his expression showed that he was listening with the keenest attention and interest.

“Now,” went on French, “the more we consider this theory of voluntary disappearance, the more confirmation we find. First take the question of the absence of shoes and hat and coat and the failure to secure an uninterrupted period before the hue and cry is raised. From one point of view these may be eliminated, because they remain unchanged on any theory. I mean, whether the affair was murder or voluntary disappearance, these difficulties have to be met.

“At the same time their most
likely
solution is that Earle previously hid shoes and a hat and coat outside his house and put them on as soon as he left. He would only have had to carry the house slippers, which he could easily have put into his pocket. Knowing the district, he could have made his way unseen, say, to Guildford station, where he was unknown, and where by mixing with the crowd, he could have reached the London train unnoticed. And of course he might have taken these precautions to make it seem unlikely that he had gone off with a woman.”

“Same with the raising of the hue and cry?”

“Same with the raising of the hue and cry.”

“That's all obvious,” Sheaf agreed. “If the man had wanted to get away on the quiet, he could have done it. What do you say, sergeant?”

Sheepshanks, delighted to be asked, emphatically agreed with his chief.

“Then there's another strong point for voluntary disappearance: Earle's book. Apparently this was an important work about which he was extremely keen. I told you the manuscript had vanished. Now if Earle were murdered, should the manuscript not be there? On the other hand, if Earle went off secretly, would he not have taken it with him?”

“I suppose, sir,” Sheepshanks said diffidently, “it's out of the question that the doctor could have been murdered for the manuscript?”

This was evidently a new idea to Sheaf. He nodded approvingly. “Yes; what about that, French?”

“I thought of it,” French returned. “As a matter of fact, I wondered if Campion could have killed him for it. But Campion was in the drawing-room with his sisters and Miss Stone at the time of Earle's disappearance. I couldn't think of anyone else who might have done it.”

“Besides,” Sheaf added, “there remains the nurse. For the moment I forgot her.”

“That's right, super. To say that either Campion or anyone else murdered Earle doesn't explain what happened to the nurse.”

“Very well. Then, as I said, if we eliminate murder, only voluntary disappearance is left?”

“That's my view,” French agreed. “So far I think the thing may be summarised by saying that there's no direct evidence for murder, and that the murder theory creates certain rather grave difficulties, while there
is
evidence for voluntary disappearance, and this theory fits all the facts and meets these difficulties. Do you agree so far, super?”

“I do, but there are difficulties in the disappearance theory too,” Sheaf pointed out.

“I know there are: I'm coming to them. There are no less than five as I see it, but only two of them are serious.”

“Let's have 'em, anyway.”

“Well, the first is financial. I've not been able to trace that Earle got any money to go away with. There's nothing surer than that if he went off with the nurse he had money to do it: not merely a lump sum, but a steady income arranged somehow. As I think you know, I put out a circular with a photograph of Earle to all banks in the hope of tracing a second account in some other name, but without any success. I feel sure that if Earle had had such an account, I should have heard of it. Then I made enquiries from the companies in which Earle had his money. His holdings had not been sold out. Moreover, the man was not known to have had other resources.”

“You're right about that being a difficulty,” Sheaf declared, grinding out the stub of his cigarette and lighting another. “If you ask me, it's a pretty hefty snag. And the nurse had no money either?”

“No, not so far as I can learn.”

Sheaf nodded again. “Right; go ahead.”

“The second difficulty is that neither of these two sent any message to their respective friends. To me, super, this is an even greater difficulty than the first. It doesn't seem to me in the character of either of them. Mrs. Earle was convinced that if her husband could have let her know his movements, he would have done so, and that sister at the nursing-home said exactly the same about the nurse. One can understand that they mightn't say anything about it beforehand, but when the thing had actually been done, there could be no reason against, and many for, relieving their friends' anxieties.”

“Curse it,” said Sheaf, “you're right about that. I hadn't thought of it. Well, never mind; go on.”

“The other difficulties are of less importance, but still I think they must be taken into account. The third is that no one who knew the nurse will believe that she would have acted as we are supposing: they all say she ‘was not that kind of woman'. Incidentally the same applies to some extent to Earle also. These general opinions may not perhaps be very convincing, but they should have some weight.”

“Not a great deal,” Sheaf declared.

“Not a great deal, but some. The fourth difficulty is that no information as to their leaving can be obtained. The entire police force of the British Isles is on the look-out for these two persons, and neither has been seen.”

“Nothing in that, French. All sorts of people disappear and are never found, in spite of police search. You should know that better than I.”

“I do know it,” French admitted, “but this should count when added to the other facts.”

“Very well, let it go. Next point?”

“Passports,” said French. “Earle had a passport, but he had not taken it. I found it in his desk. And Nurse Nankivel had never applied for one. Of course they might both have applied under false names, but they would scarcely have succeeded in getting them. Police supervision over this matter may not be very rigorous, but it would be enough to stop that. And neither would have known how to get a forged copy. I take it then that they did not mean to go abroad. But if they remained in this country, their identity would be almost certain sooner or later to become known.”

Sheaf rubbed his forehead. “I don't think there's much in that. What do you make of it, Sheepshanks?”

The sergeant held definite views. He thought they might remain hidden in London or some other big city. “Earle could fake an illness,” he pointed out, “and grow a moustache. He'd probably never be recognised then. And if people have only seen the nurse in her uniform, they mightn't recognise her in ordinary clothes.”