And Death Came Too

by Hull, Richard

  The answer failed entirely to soothe her. In fact, she very nearly threw discretion to the winds and telegraphed. Instead she wrote:

  “He was. I am coming over to see you. We had better make it the early hours of the morning.”

  With that she named a time and appointed the same lane in which her car had stood on the night when she had walked down to Y Bryn and became involved in the circumstances surrounding Yeldham’s death.

  At the same time as her letter was delivered, Scoresby received an assorted budget. The makers of the knife were unable to do very much to help him, especially as when he wrote the knife had not been in his possession. They had numerous agents to whom they would write and see if a sale could be traced to any of the people whom he mentioned. They must warn Scoresby, however, that the agents frequently worked through sub-agents.

  The police in London were more definite. Calls had been made on Lansley’s stockbroker, watchmaker and tailor. In each case his presence was verified at about the times which he had stated at the end of his conversation with Scoresby. It had been impossible to prove that he had been to the cinema, but the house that he had named had been exhibiting the film which he claimed to have seen. They had even succeeded in finding the conductor of the bus in which he had travelled. The man happened to remember his remark about the lady being ever so pretty, and certainly his passenger had tried to get off the bus very soon after he had passed the stop just east of Chancery Lane. But he had got off, not at the Gaiety, but by St Clement Danes.

  “Blast these Londoners,” Scoresby muttered to himself. “They always expect you to know every detail of their beastly city. Why am I supposed to know exactly how much difference that makes? I shall have to waste the county council’s money now by ringing them up.”

  When he had done so, he was not quite sure whether he had spent the cost of the telephone call for nothing or not. The distance between St Clement Danes and the Gaiety was quite considerable, and the theatre could not actually even be seen from the bus stop because the Church of St Mary-le-Strand blocked the view, but anyone who knew London best as a place of amusement would know that you were rapidly approaching the Gaiety. It would be in sight in a minute or so’s walk; but that walk would be in the opposite direction to Chancery Lane.

  On the whole, Scoresby did not feel that he had got much further, nor did the numerous further reports about various cars with a registration number often help him much. In fact, all the replies were not yet in, and the police of the district in which Maud Westbury lived were amongst those who had not as yet answered. The omission was not conspicuous, for Salter had not at this time confirmed Lansley’s mention of that lady, and Scoresby could think of nothing better to do except to file them and note that the elimination of several people seemed quite definite.

  His next correspondent was the Secretary of State for War—or rather one of his assistants. The War Office seemed to be quite willing to help the police, but they did manage to imply that it was a favour on their part, and they must not be worried unduly. They would refer the chief constable’s questions to the Record Office, who might be able to supply the answer.

  Then there was the firm for whom Lansley had said that he worked. There was nothing in their report to contradict what Lansley had said, except that his recollection of dates was not absolutely accurate. He had started a few months later than he had said.

  Finally there was another report from the police in London. They had interviewed the solicitors to the governing body of Finchingfield College, and they did not find them particularly communicative. So far, however, as they were prepared to admit anything, it seemed that Salter’s story as to the financial arrangements relating to Yeldham’s retirement was confirmed. As to whether the annuity was to be paid by the college or by Salter, they could not be induced to say anything. It even seemed as if Salter’s claim that it was capable of being argued had some substance in it. On the whole, it looked as if Kinderson had induced the solicitors to trick Salter, and that they were ashamed of having done it and were urging the governing body, or rather really Kinderson, to reconsider the matter. On the other hand, Salter would not have known, except by intelligent guesswork, that there was any chance of the college receding from the strict letter of the contract. But all this latter part Scoresby’s correspondent had to admit was largely guesswork on his part, too, although he thought that his inferences were intelligent.

  Just as Scoresby was finishing digesting this a telephone call came through to him. The makers of the knife were very pleased with themselves. They had succeeded in finding a sub-agent who had sold one of their knives and dispatched it by post. It had been consigned to Miss Patricia Hands at the address which Scoresby had given.

  At first as he had walked up the hill he had been pleased about this. Then he remembered that Patricia had always been quite open about possessing such a knife; that it had been she who had told him of its existence and called his attention to the fact that it was lost, and therefore, perhaps, it was of little importance to know that she had bought it. Still Scoresby liked to make good the ground beneath his feet before taking the next step, and so when he found Salter and Mrs Featherstonhaugh talking to Reeves he was in a better temper than Reeves had expected from his uphill peregrination.

  But he was not in a good temper after trying to interview the elusive Maud Westbury. For that good lady had repeated her previous success. She had once more walked out on him.

  18

  A Journey to London

  It had been quite a simple matter for Maud Westbury to leave. Anxious from the moment when she first arrived to avoid any inquiries, she had allowed local gossip to take any wild course it liked and had paid cash at the time or in advance for anything which she wanted, so that she had had to give no references and had not to advertise her intention of departing by going round asking for accounts. Of course it would have always been possible for her to leave her debts unpaid, but she was glad that she was not being forced to do this. Besides, she felt, you never could tell. It might have been unexpectedly dangerous in some queer way.

  She had originally intended to return after her interview near Trevenant, pack her belongings, and go, calmly leaving the car, her only responsibility, in the station yard and sending a post-card en route telling its owners where they could collect it. It was to be an unobtrusive departure. But as the day wore on she became more and more restless and it seemed to her that the abandonment of the car might be noticed and in itself cause comment. Besides, to dispatch Marie and her luggage would be to do something definite. It would be a sign that she had started and accordingly she hurried on her preparations and, more with the object of filling up time than anything else, drove the car up to London. There would be plenty of time to drive down again to Trevenant and back to catch the boat train, but in case she should be in any way delayed, she bought their tickets and told Marie to go whether she saw her mistress or not. The small case she kept with her would have all she wanted until she got home again.

  Consequently, when Scoresby arrived at the house which she had rented, he found it shut up and deserted, and the car gone. For all Scoresby knew, her departure was temporary, but somehow he was almost sure that it was not. The house had an air of finality.

  What to do next was rather a problem for the sergeant, because, although he was morally certain that she was the woman whom he wanted to interview, he had no proof, except that she had a car number ten, was connected in the past with Finchingfield, and corresponded in appearance to the descriptions which he had had given to him of the visitor to Y Bryn. But in all this, even including her disappearance, and the French maid, whose nationality he now learnt for the first time, there was nothing to entitle him to have her detained.

  All the same, a good deal could be done to stop her—a description of the car could be circulated and with luck its number (now completely known) might be noticed. Again the passport authorities might be induced, if given good cause, to raise some query as to
the propriety of her leaving the country and so gain a little time for him. Accordingly, Scoresby got busy and made such arrangements as he could. It was possible that Miss Westbury might move about England for a while without anyone happening to spot her car—that is, unless he took the extreme step of telling the public as a whole that he wanted to see the owner of car ZGQG10; but it was impossible that she would be able to leave England.

  With a feeling that he had done his best, even if it had not been all that he wanted, Scoresby returned to Trevenant and sat down to think. Almost at once it occurred to him that he had left one precaution undone. If he had met Miss Westbury, or if he did manage to meet her in the future, he had not a positive identification of her, and without that he might be powerless against a bland denial by her that she knew anything of what he was talking about. Consultation with the chief constable, too, showed that an application for a warrant to detain her would not be too easy to get unless she was definitely recognised. There was nothing for it but to enlist the provisional cooperation of one of those who had seen her.

  There was, of course, Reeves, an obvious choice who could be ordered to come whenever he was wanted. Yet somehow Scoresby demurred. He would much prefer to have in addition, if not substitution, someone who was not in the police force. Of the remaining five who had seen the visitor to Y Bryn he mistrusted Hands as the owner of the weapon which had almost certainly caused Yeldham’s death—Dr Vesey’s last report was as near definite as could be expected; he also mistrusted Salter both as the man who had really let her go before, and as the all-too-apt finder of the knife, and in addition as rather a comedian. Nor did he want to take Lansley and hear him repeat his criticisms of Scoresby’s own competence, some of which had touched the detective sergeant’s conscience.

  There remained the two women. Knowing how favourable to Barbara Carmichael were the provisions of Miss Yeldham’s will in the event of Yeldham’s death, he did not greatly desire to ask her, but he saw no reason why Patricia should not help him. It was not the type of request that he liked to make on the telephone, and he decided, although by now it was getting on for seven o’clock, to go round and see her.

  Just as he was about to start, his resolution was confirmed. Car ZGQG10 was believed to have been seen coming out of Charing Cross Station yard. It had not been a very clear view, and it had been lost again in the traffic. A quick inquiry, which had been made in the station hotel, had however yielded positive results. The porter had noticed the car because of the inordinate amount of luggage which there had been. It had contained two women, one of whom he accurately took to be the maid of the other. The maid had stayed with all the luggage, but the other had gone. Several of the suit-cases which were left had the initials “M W” on them. A watch was being kept on the woman who remained, and they would try to find out her name. She had given Mary Smith in the hotel register, which might or might not be accurate—probably not, as the few words she had spoken had been with a French accent.

  With a satisfied feeling that his labours were nearing their end, Scoresby asked Patricia’s leave to come round and see her.

  “I want your help,” he said quite openly when he arrived.

  “You shall have it if I can give it to you,” Patricia had answered at once.

  “It will mean your coming up to London at once with me.”

  “Certainly. I must tell my brother that I’m going.”

  On that Scoresby had hesitated. He would rather have preferred that Martin Hands had not known, but it was a request which was perfectly natural and which it was difficult to refuse, and he had to consent, though with misgivings.

  The doubts were at once justified because Hands promptly began to raise objections.

  “At this time of day?” he said. “Is it really necessary? I mean, it’s a bit hard on Patricia. Won’t tomorrow morning do?”

  “No, sir. I’m afraid that you must take it from me that it won’t.”

  “But what’s it all about? Wouldn’t I do as well as Patricia?”

  That really was rather an awkward one for Scoresby, because really he would. Fortunately Patricia herself came to his rescue by expressing a desire to go.

  “If for no other reason,” she went on, “I should like to do anything which takes me out of here for a bit.”

  “My sister’s been very upset about all this business,” Hands explained unnecessarily. “She doesn’t seem to be able to get over it and settle down.”

  Patricia looked at him a little coldly.

  “I’ll just tell them to put a few things together for me. While they’re doing it, we’d all better have food. Is there any reason to hurry, sergeant?”

  “Not unduly, miss. So long as we are in London first thing tomorrow morning it’ll do. I thought we’d best get up tonight so that you can get some sleep in comfort. We shall probably come back tomorrow.”

  Patricia nodded and went away to see both about packing and as to dinner being provided as soon as possible, and for one extra. Left alone with Scoresby, Martin looked up sharply.

  “A blind idiot could see what you want from Patricia. There’s only one thing she can do for you in London or anywhere else. She can identify this woman who left us in the lurch. But that being so, why don’t you take me?”

  “Is that what she’s going to do?”

  “If you won’t tell me, you won’t; but I wish you wouldn’t take me for a complete idiot. Supposing I insist on coming? For, let us say, the sake of propriety?”

  “Constable Reeves will be in the car too.”

  “A highly efficient chaperon, no doubt!”

  “As a matter of fact, sir, I should say he was. But I do suggest that it’s beside the point.”

  “Of course it is. The fact is that you want to keep me out and I can guess why. But you’re wrong, sergeant.”

  Before the necessity arose for Scoresby to reply, Patricia returned.

  “Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” she said. “What are you two quarrelling about?”

  “Your brother is very anxious to come up to London with us.”

  “Don’t be silly, Martin. Do what Mr Scoresby tells you.”

  For a moment it looked as if the Hands temper was going to rise on both sides. Then suddenly Martin gave way.

  “Very well, Pat. I won’t argue with you. If you insist on going by yourself, go along. But do persuade the sergeant not to be an idiot.”

  A few minutes later Scoresby found himself sitting down to a simple but good meal. It had been a day of odd surprises when the expected had not occurred. It had begun with all those letters. Then there had been Salter’s finding of the knife, a matter about which Scoresby was still not satisfied. Next had come the disappointment of missing the Westbury woman, as he mentally called her, and finally apparently it was to end with dinner with the Hands—an honour he had not foreseen—and a motor journey.

  Perhaps the dinner was the oddest thing. He wondered if his duties would often call upon him to partake of the hospitality of those whom he suspected of being possible murderers and whether there was any etiquette about refusing to do so. Uncomfortably he remembered that his present host had refused food, drink, and even tobacco on one occasion when he was a guest. The thought made him choke. It was a great relief when he got into the car and started.

  “Would it be improper for me to drive?” Patricia asked suddenly as they slowed down to pick up Reeves.

  “There’s no need, miss.”

  “I’m sure there isn’t, and I’m not implying that both of you aren’t perfectly competent, because I don’t know anything about either of your capabilities. I just want to do something so as to be able to stop thinking. Or do I mean so as to think clearly? I don’t know. Or perhaps I do. But I should like to drive for a while, anyhow.”

  “Just as you please, miss.” Scoresby quite amiably saw that the transfer of seats was carried out.

  For some miles they went on in silence through mellow English countryside. The harvest was mostly
in by now and the fields were deserted except for an occasional partridge in the stubble, or a flock of starlings chattering before they settled down for the night. Gradually even these slight noises ceased as dusk fell, and still Patricia drove on steadily and capably. It was quite dark when they reached the outskirts of London, and at last she broke the silence.

  “If you were me,” she asked suddenly, “would you marry Gerald?”

  “I don’t know,” Scoresby answered cautiously. “It’s rather a startling question to put to me, of all people. I think, though, that if I were you I should want to be quite sure before I did.”

  “Exactly,” Patricia nodded. “And I’m not.”

  Reeves’s voice broke in from the back of the car: “Excuse me, miss, but I wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” Patricia flung over her shoulder.

  “Too glib. Seems to agree with everything one says, but it doesn’t always work out as if he had.”

  “Exactly.” To Scoresby’s surprise, Patricia seemed in no way to resent Reeves’s interference, and silence reigned once more while Scoresby slowly recovered from his bewilderment that a young woman of her character should discuss her relations with Lansley so openly. It must, he decided, be due to the nervous state she was in and the very fact that he and Reeves would probably never again obtrude upon her private affairs.

  Again it was Patricia who broke it as they waited for a light to turn from red to green.

  “What was he doing in London last Monday?”

  “Visits to his stockbroker, tailor, watchmaker, and a cinema.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I checked it up.” Scoresby’s voice sounded a little injured.

  “I don’t mean that. I’ve no doubt he did what you say. I mean that isn’t all he did.”

  “He didn’t have very much time for anything else. He saw this Miss Westbury, though, in Chancery Lane. Only his bus carried him on.”