The Unfinished Clue (20 page)

"Equally, Mrs. Chudleigh, any movement in the study would have caught your eyes - er - irresistibly?" She thought it over. "It might have. I should not like to say definitely. My impression is that there was no movement."

Harding got up. "Thank you, Mrs. Chudleigh; that all I wanted to ask you."

He drove back to the Crown at Ralton, and almost immediately retired to his room. It was not until midnight, however, that he at last put his papers away and went to bed, and by that time he had done much writing, much thinking, and had smoked several pipes.

He visited the police station at nine o'clock next morning, and found the Superintendent in a slightly peevish mood.

"I was expecting you to give me a look up last night," said that worthy austerely.

"Were you?" said Harding. "I hope you didn't wait about for me. Good morning, Sergeant: have you had any bright ideas?"

"No, sir, I can't say that I have," replied the Sergeant. "The more I think of it the more I see that it might have been anybody."

"Well, let's try and work it out a bit," said Harding, drawing up a chair to the table, and opening his dispatch-case. "I'll give you back the statements you took, Superintendent. I think I've tabulated the important points."

The Superintendent took the sheaf of papers, and put them in a drawer. "Of course if you don't want them -"he began in an aggrieved voice.

"They were most valuable. When I got in last night I thought it might help us if I drew up a time-table. Here it is." He laid a neat sheet before the Superintendent and nodded to Sergeant Nethersole. "Come and have a look at it, Sergeant."

"I take it," said the Superintendent ponderously, "that this refers to the morning of the first of July?"

Having received confirmation on this point, he bent his gaze on the time-table, and carefully read it through.

11.30 Geoffrey Billington-Smith left the house.

11.45 The General and Mrs. Halliday returned to the house. Lady Billington-Smith called downstairs; Mrs. Halliday upstairs to her room.

11.50 Lady Billington-Smith into the garden-hall.the General into his study.

?11. 55 Mrs. Halliday on to terrace. Halliday upstairs to their room.

12.5 Halliday's voice heard in study.

12.10 Arrival of Mrs. Twining. No sound from study.

? 12.10-12.15 Mrs. Twining in hall.

? 12.15 Mrs. Twining on to terrace.

12.20 Lady Billington-Smith on to terrace from kitchen-garden. Mrs. Chudleigh on to terrace from house.

12.25 Halliday on to terrace from billiard-room.

? 12.27 Guest left terrace.

12.30 Departure of Mrs. Chudleigh by way of garden path.

12.35 Butler on to terrace with cocktails.

? 12.40 Guest back on to terrace.

? 12.55 Mrs. Twining to the study.

? 1.0 Mrs. Twining back on to terrace.

"You've got a lot of queries," said the Superintendent having mastered the time-table.

"They occur where I've had to guess at the exact time. My figures ought not to be more than a minute or two either way."

"Well, I daresay it's all very nice," said the Superintendent disparagingly. "Not that it leads us anywhere.

"I think it may," replied Harding. "Let us take Lady Billington-Smith first. If you glance at the time-table you'll see that from eleven-fifty till a few minutes before twelve-twenty when she interviewed the gardener, her movements are not accounted for. But at twelve-five Halliday admits to having been in the study, and from twelve-ten to about twelve-fifteen Mrs. Twining was in the hall, and heard no one in the study. That leaves only five minutes for Lady Billington-Smith to murder Sir Arthur, and reach the kitchen-garden at the other side of the house."

"That's as may be," said the Superintendent. "But supposing she did it before twelve-five? What about that?"

Harding looked up. "You are forgetting that Halliday saw the General at twelve-five alive."

The Superintendent, who never felt at his best so early in the day, glared at the Sergeant, and said: "You've only got his word for that, Mr. Harding."

Evidently Harding did not consider it worth while to argue this point, for he passed on to his next suspect. "Now we come to Halliday," he said. "Somewhere round about twelve he entered the study, to give back the cheque presented to his wife. Has the Sergeant told you of that?"

"Yes, Mr. Harding, he has, and to my way of thinking that's our man. If you remember, I said so right from the start."

"I agree with you that a great deal of the evidence points to him. Yet I'm not entirely satisfied. The motive is there, and so is the opportunity. I should say that he is very hot-tempered. I could easily believe in a violent quarrel between him and Sir Arthur, culminating in that blow with the nearest weapon to hand, if it were not for just one thing. On top of the fragments of the cheque in the waste-paper basket were quite a number of other papers. If Halliday committed the murder you would expect to find the cheque uppermost."

Some shadow of emotion crossed the Sergeant's face. "I ought to have thought of that," he said sorrowfully. He stroked his moustache, pondering the question. "You could account for it, sir," he pronounced at length "Supposing it was Mr. Halliday himself who threw them other papers into the basket?"

"I have considered that point," admitted Harding. "It seems to me possible but unlikely. One can argue, of course, that if Halliday had the presence of mind to wipe any finger-prints off the hilt of the dagger he would have had enough presence of mind to throw papers in to the basket on top of the torn cheque. Yet wouldn't it have been a simple matter to have gathered up the pieces of the cheque, and taken them away with him?"

"There is that, of course," conceded the Sergeant, and stroked his moustache anew.

"Similarly, it is possible that during the quarrel with Halliday, Sir Arthur continued to tear up letters and throw them into the basket."

"Yes, that's so," reflected the Sergeant. "What's more he might easily have done so, wanting to get rid of Mr. Halliday."

"To my mind," struck in the Superintendent, "we've got a case against 'Alliday."

"I should hate to arrest him on this evidence," said Harding. "Admitted that there are strong grounds for suspicion, let us take a look at Stephen Guest. On his own showing he left the terrace somewhere between twelve-twenty-five when Halliday appeared, and twelve thirty when Mrs. Chudleigh departed. He says that he was in the house for ten minutes, and possibly alone .When he returned to the terrace attention was called to a blood-stain on his shirt-cuff, for which he accounted by saying that he had cut his hand opening a tin of tobacco."

"I must say, sir, when I heard him give his evidence I suspicioned him strongly," said the Sergeant. "But, come to think of it, that was the effect they all of 'em had on me. It's a nasty-looking case against Mr. Guest, though - seeing as he's in love with her ladyship."

"It is a nasty-looking case," agreed Harding. "And, as I think you said at the time, he's a tough customer. Given two important facts: one, that he loves Lady Billington-Smith; and two, that she wouldn't consent to divorce, things begin to point to him. We have to consider the man himself too. I don't know what impression he made on you, Sergeant - or on you, Superintendent - but he seemed to me a man who knows what he wants, and gets it. He's a strong man, possibly a ruthless one, and certainly which make it difficult for us - a very deliberate one. If he committed the murder I am convinced that it was not done in the heat of the moment, but was carefully planned - and we're going to have the devil of a job - lacking further evidence - to bring it home to him."

"Personally," said the Superintendent, "I hold to that 'Alliday."

"You may be right. There are points against it being Guest. To murder a woman's husband (and, incidentally, your host) with the object of marrying her yourself argues an abnormal degree of cold-bloodedness. To stab him in the back isn't a thing you'd expect a man of Guest's type to do. Further, if he committed the murder he did it between twelve-twenty-seven and twelve-forty. Now I have been to see Mrs. Chudleigh, and although she is most annoyed at the suggestion that she would have looked at the study window I am fairly certain that there can have been no one in the room with the General when she passed. Had there been she must have noticed And, more significant still, the weapon used was the General's own paper-knife, which was always kept in the study, on the desk. That circumstance leads one to suppose that the murder was quite unpremeditated, the knife being snatched up through impulse. At the sane time we've got to remember that Guest, who was connection of Sir Arthur's, frequently stayed in the house, and may easily have known that the dagger was always to be found on the General's desk, and used it deliberately."

"Look here, Mr. Harding," said the Superintendent. affronted. "Seems to me you're arguing away every bit of evidence you find! How are we going to get on if that's what you do?"

"I see you've reached the same conclusion I have," said Harding with not the veriest flicker of a smile. "Following up these suspects is leading us precisely nowhere."

"Eh?" ejaculated the Superintendent, consideralby startled.

"What about Mr. Geoffrey, sir?" asked the Sergeant.

"Still more hopeless. We know he left the house at eleven-thirty and returned considerably after one. According to his tale, he went for a long walk. He must have done so, or he may have slipped back to the house and murdered Sir Arthur. With a youth of his type it's almost impossible to say what he might or might not do. In a rage he might be capable of anything. I would suggest, Superintendent, that you have a few inquiries made. I want to know whether anyone saw Mr. Billington-Smith between eleven-thirty and one on Monday, and if so where, and at what time. I jotted down the route he said he took." He hunted in his dispatch-case, and handed over a slip of paper. "And at the same time, I should very much like to find out whether Captain Billington-Smith was seen in the neighbourhood at any time that morning."

"Captain Billington-Smith?" repeated the Superintendent. "You're on the wrong scent there, Mr. Harding. The Captain left the house at ten-forty-five, as you might see by my notes."

"Yes, I did see it," said Harding. "But I should like those inquiries to be set on foot all the same, please."

"What about the foreign young lady, sir?" asked the Sergeant.

"Somehow I don't think so, Sergeant. We shall have to bear her in mind as a possible suspect, of course, but she doesn't interest me much so far."

"The butler, sir?"

"Extremely unlikely. We have discovered no motive."

"This is all very well," interrupted the Superintendent, ,but what are you driving at, that's what I'd like to know?"

"This," said Harding. "That, at present, investigation into the motives and movements of the various suspects is not getting us any forrarder, because though anyone might have done it, there is no proof that any one of them did. Therefore we must change our plan of attack. Now there are just two pieces of evidence which seem to he totally unrelated to any of the people I've mentioned. One is the slip of paper with the word There scrawled on it, which was found under the General's hand; the other is the fact that there were no finger-prints on the handle of the safe."

The Superintendent looked him over with tolerant amusement. "I thought you'd come to the conclusion, Harding, that this wasn't a murder with robbery thrown in?"

"I had. But I am no longer so sure of that."

"Well, if there weren't any finger-prints on the safe handle - which there weren't, because I was there when our man took them - I don't see what you want to start thinking about robbery for, and that's a fact."

"But there should have been finger-prints," said Harding quietly.

"How do you mean, should have been?" demanded the Superintendent. "Whose finger-prints?"

"The General's," replied Harding. "At eleven o'clock he opened that safe to put something in it, and according to Mrs. Halliday he was not wearing gloves."

"You mean," said the Sergeant slowly, "you mean that someone had hold of that handle after the General touched it? And, what's more, wiped it carefully afterwards?"

"Of course," said Harding.

Chapter Fourteen

At a half past ten Inspector Harding got his car out of the garage at the Crown and started to drive to the police station, where he was to pick up the Sergeant. As he emerged from the inn-yard, sounding his horn, a damsel in a severe linen coat and skirt, and a shirt-blouse with a tie, drew hastily back on to the kerbstone. Inspector Harding recognised Miss Fawcett, and promptly put on his brakes.

"Hullo!" said Dinah. "It's you!"

"Hullo!" returned Harding. "Are you escaping from the clutches of the Inquisition, or just shopping?"

"Shopping. If it weren't for a little matter concerning a licence for my wireless I could face you with a limpid conscience."

He laughed. "Wireless licences don't come under my jurisdiction, you'll be relieved to hear."

"I didn't think they would. I expect you're too big a pot," said Miss Fawcett naively.

"How nice of you!" he said, with a twinkle. "I'm glad you're not escaping."

"Couldn't if I wanted to. The dam' car's just died on me," said Dinah gloomily. "She was giving trouble all the way here - its a rotten little runabout Arthur used to let Fay drive - and she finally conked out in the middle of the High Street. Like a fool, I let the engine stop when I was in a shop, and of course, she wouldn't start again. So there she is, complete Wreck of the Hesperus, waiting for the garage people to take her away and burn her, for all I care. Look here, I mustn't stop: I've got to catch a bus to the station."

"Wait a minute, I'll take you to the station, if you promise not to vanish on the first train."

"Thanks awfully," said Dinah. "I call that handsome I'm not doing a bunk, I swear. All I want to do is to catch Peacock with the big car, so that I can get home. He's gone to meet Mr. Tremlowe on the ten-fifty, you know."

Harding leaned across to open the car door for her. "If that's your reason for going to the station, why bother:' he said. "Won't you let me drive you back to the Grange'."

"Would you mind?" asked Dinah doubtfully.

"No," replied Inspector Harding. "I shouldn't mind at all."

"Well, it's frightfully decent of you, but I ought to warn you that I've got one or two parcels to pick up. I dont want to waste your time."

"Where are these parcels?" inquired Harding, letting the clutch out.

"Waiting for me at Dove's, the big linen-draper's in the High Street. Fay feels she must wear mourning, and as she's only got one black day frock, I've had to get her some on approval. I call it rather rotten, myself, but she's hot on the conventions."

"All right, we'll go and collect them, and they can share the dickey with Sergeant Nethersole. We've got to collect him too. Will you direct me to this shop you want?"

"Straight down the High Street. I'll tell you when to stop." Miss Fawcett settled herself at her ease beside the Inspector, and added chattily: "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all. What is it?"

"Well, do you really wear a god-forsaken badge under the lapel of your coat, and show it to anybody who wants to know who you are?"

"No, of course I don't. I'm not an American!" protested Harding.

"Oh, is it only American detectives who do? I didn't know, but in films they always have hidden badges, and I was wondering whether it was correct. Whoa, that's the shop, just over there."

Ten minutes later, outside the police station, Harding was resolutely avoiding the Sergeant's eye. The Sergeant surveyed him with mingled pain and disapproval, and clambered in amongst the dress-boxes in the dickey. There was no doubt about it, the Inspector was taking a lot of interest in that Miss Fawcett. It wasn't what the Sergeant had expected of an inspector from Scotland Yard, and while he hadn't got anything against the young lady, at the same time it didn't seem to him the right thing at all.

Such considerations did not appear to weigh with Inspector Harding, and the Sergeant, as he carefully balanced one of the boxes on his knees, was grieved to hear him assure Miss Fawcett that it did not matter if Mr. Tremlowe arrived at the Grange before he did.

Then Harding started the car again, and the Sergeant heard no more. He was able, however, to study Miss Fawcett's charming profile, every time she turned her head to speak to Harding, and from time to time he had a fleeting glimpse of Harding's face as well, as the Inspector glanced down at his lively companion. It seemed to the Sergeant that they were hitting it off a fair treat.

He was quite right. Miss Fawcett, never one to be afflicted by shyness, was talking to the Inspector about himself.

"If it weren't for the general grisliness of the whole business," she remarked confidentially, "I think I should rather enjoy seeing a real sleuth at work. It's quite an eye-opener, because till yesterday I'd only met one detective in all my life. He was a man they sent up from the police station when a burglar broke into our flat in town, and pinched a brooch of my mother's, and a couple of plated entree-dishes. He was definitely sub-human. The detective, I mean. I don't mind telling you that I was rather hostile about you before arrived."

"You didn't show it," said Harding. "I thought were very charming, and most efficient."

"Well, of course I saw you weren't in the least noiseome as soon as I set eyes on you," replied Dinah candidly. "As a matter of fact, I never should have guessed you were a detective if I hadn't been told."

"I wasn't always," explained Harding.

"I thought perhaps you weren't. If it isn't a rude question - snub me, if it is - why are you now?"

"Partly because of the war, and partly because I've always had rather a liking for criminology."

"How ghoulish!" remarked Miss Fawcett. "What were you going to be?"

"A barrister. I was reading for the Bar up at Oxford when the war broke out."

"Couldn't you have gone on with it afterwards?"

"Not very well. My father died the year the war ended, and there wasn't any too much money. So I thought I'd better be self-supporting as soon as I could."

"Mouldy for you," said Miss Fawcett with real sympathy.

"Oh no!" said Harding cheerfully. "I didn't mind."

"Well, I suppose it's fairly interesting work in a way, and you'll end up by being the head of Scotland Yard or something."

"I can't imagine anything more improbable. In any case I'm thinking of retiring and rearing chickens or pigs instead."

"There's absolutely no money in chicken-farming unless you do it on a colossal scale," said the wordly-wise Miss Fawcett. "I know several people who tried it, and they all went bust."

"Then it'll have to be pigs," said Harding philosophically.

"Awfully mucky," objected Dinah.

"Chickens on a colossal scale then."

She shook her head. "You'd have to sink a frightful lot of capital in it," she said seriously.

"Never mind, I've come into quite a pleasant legacy, most unexpectedly."

"Well, I shouldn't blue it on fowls," said Dinah.

They were still discussing the disposal of Inspector Harding's legacy when the car swept up the Grange drive, and might, Dinah reflected, as she alighted at the front door, have known one another for years. "Now I suppose you want to get on with this impressive ceremony of opening the safe," she remarked. "I dont know if Mr. Tremlowe knows the combination, but if he doesn't he's about the only person in the house doesn't."

Harding looked quickly down at her. "Is that really so?"

""Yes, of course. It's only a potty affair," Dinah answered. "I've seen Arthur work it myself."

"Have you indeed?" murmured Harding, and followed her into the house.

Mr. Tremlowe had already arrived, and was standing in the hall, talking in shocked and lowered tones to Fay who had evidently come out of the drawing-room to meet him. Dinah at once introduced Harding to him.

"I have just been telling Lady Billington-Smith how more than distressed I am that I should have been out of town on Monday, "said the lawyer in a precise voice. "I trust my unavoidable delay in coming down has not in any way hindered you, Inspector?"

"Not at all," replied Harding. He bowed slightly to Geoffrey, who just then came out of the billiard-room.

"Oh - er - good morning!" said Geoffrey. "Hullo, Mr. Tremlowe! The Inspector wants you to open Father's safe. I suppose Fay and I ought to be there, oughtn't we."

"Undoubtedly," said Tremlowe. "I have also your father's Will with me, which presently I will read to you. I should tell you, Lady Billington-Smith, that I thought it proper to advise Captain Billington-Smith of what has occurred, in case you had omitted, in the very natural flurry of the moment, to do so. As no doubt you are aware, Captain Billington-Smith is one of the principal legatees. I am expecting him to join me here for the reading of the Will."

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Geoffrey. "You don't mean to say Francis is coming back?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Tremlowe coldly. "It is very right that he should be here. Now, Lady Billington-Srnith, if you are ready I am sure the Inspector would like to see the safe opened without further delay."

"Yes, of course," Fay answered, looking nervously towards Harding, and slipping her hand in Dinah's arm. "Come along, Geoffrey."

There was a constable on duty in the study. Harding dismissed him, and shut the door. Fay clung tightly to Dinah's arm, shivering a little, her eyes on the empty chair by the desk. Dinah pressed her hand reassuringly, and adjured her in a whisper to buck up.

"Do you know the combination, Mr. Tremlowe?" asked Geoffrey. "Because if not I can open it for you."

"Thank you, the General deposited the key with me some time ago," replied Mr. Tremlowe, putting on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. He produced a piece of paper from his pocket-book, and advanced towards the safe.

He was checked by Harding's voice. Just one moment, please. Lady Billington-Smith, before Mr. Tremlowe opens the safe, can you tell us what we may expect to find in it?"

Fay withdrew her gaze from the swivel-chair with an effort. "I'm sorry," she said shakily. "What did you say?"

Harding repeated his question. She put up her hand to push the hair off her brow. "I — I don't think I know," she said. "My - my husband never actually showed me. I have an idea he kept certain documents in it, but I'm not really sure."

"Is it likely that there is any money in it, do you think?"

"Yes, quite a wog," replied Miss Fawcett, seeing his sister quite vague on the subject. "Arthur told us he was going to the bank at breakfast on Monday."

"Yes, yes, of course!" Fay said. "It was the first of July wasn't it? I'm sorry to be so stupid, I don't seem to be able to think. My husband invariably paid all the staff and the household books, and any other bills there might be on the first of each month. And there would be money for current expenses too."

"About how much, Lady Billington-Smith? Can you give me any idea?"

She frowned over it, trying to collect her thoughts. "I don't know exactly. About two hundred and fifty pounds. It was usually something like that. Sometimes rather more, sometimes less."

"Thank you. Yes, please open it, Mr. Tremlowe."

The lawyer bent over the lock of the safe; after a few moments the heavy door swung open, revealing a quantity of legal-looking documents, tied up with pink tape, some other papers, and, just inside the safe, abundle of new bank-notes, and some bags of silver. Mr. Tremlowe lifted these up, glancing at the Inspector. "I take it that you would like me to count these before I inspect the rest of the contents of the safe?" he asked.