by Andrew Garve
Haines interrupted him. “It’s very natural for you to take that view, sir, but I dare say if Mr. Hind were here with us he’d be equally reluctant to think that anyone would want to kill him. For that matter, why should anyone have wanted to? Can any of you gentlemen make a suggestion?” He gazed round at the circle of unhelpful faces. Realising that if they had anything to say they’d be much more likely to say it in private, he prepared to close the discussion. “Well, Mr. Ede, it looks as though there may be a long and complicated inquiry ahead of us. I’m afraid you’re going to find us a great nuisance around the place before it’s finished.”
Ede nodded gloomily. “It looks like it, Inspector, but I don’t see how it can be helped. Provided you don’t get in our way while we’re bringing out the paper, we’re at your disposal. I’m sure we’re all as anxious as you are to get to the bottom of this atrocious business. I still find it almost unbelievable.” His pink cheeks had an unaccustomed pallor. “If you need a room to work in, there’s an empty office on the second floor that should house most of your sleuths. Miss Timmins will show you where it is. If you need anything or anyone, just dial 425 on the house telephone and she’ll look after you. Don’t hesitate.”
“That’s exceedingly kind of you,” said Haines.
Dawson Munro produced a large old-fashioned watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Well, Inspector, with your permission, I’ll be off. I’m a very busy man, unfortunately.”
“I should like to have a private word with you before you go, sir,” said Haines. He had no intention of letting his V.I.P. slip away like that. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping down now for a few minutes?”
“Very well, if it’s necessary,” said Munro graciously. He turned to the Editor. “Good-bye, Ede. I’m extremely sorry about all this. Most distressing for you.”
Ede took the clammy hand extended by the Governor. “I’m afraid it’s been anything but a pleasant reunion.”
“Don’t give it another thought, my dear fellow. Things like this can happen in the best-regulated newspaper offices.” Munro gave the Editor an encouraging smile, nodded to Iredale and Cardew, and followed the inspector out. Ede came with them to give Miss Timmins a brief instruction. A few minutes later the two men had been shepherded into the vacant second-floor office.
“Now then, Inspector, what is it?” asked Munro affably as they found seats.
“Well, sir,” said Haines, “in spite of what you said upstairs I can’t help feeling you may be the reason for all this business. You’ve been having some political trouble in your part of the world, haven’t you?”
Munro smiled tolerantly. “My dear Inspector, you’re surely not trying to suggest that one of my Islanders followed me to London to poison me at a luncheon? You said yourself that whoever is responsible must be familiar with this office and is probably a member of the staff, and I agree with you.”
“I know, sir, but you get some queer tie-ups in politics, particularly these days. People like your Islanders have friends and supporters all over the place. Of course, this isn’t my province …”
“Just so, Inspector. You can take my word for it that you’re alarming yourself unnecessarily. If I were you I should stick to fingerprints.”
“I probably would if I had any,” said Haines dryly. “Anyhow, sir, I shall have to make a special report about you. When an important personage narrowly escapes being poisoned at a party, the question of whether or not it was a coincidence that he happened to be there is obviously one of the very first things we have to look into. You haven’t, I suppose, received any specific threats against your life?”
“Nothing specific, no. The police did find a homemade banner with the words ‘Death to the Governor’ on it after they’d dispersed a group of rioters about three weeks ago, but I took that as an indication of political disapproval rather than as a personal threat.”
Haines suppressed a smile. “No doubt you get used to living in that sort of atmosphere and think nothing of it.”
“One becomes philosophical.”
“I suppose so. Apart from these political attacks, there hasn’t been any individual who has at any time made threats against you—either out there or here?”
“Oh, no. At least …” Munro hesitated. “I had a little trouble with one of the planters, but it was a passing affair. I expect he’s forgotten about it by now. In any case, he’s in Port Sargasso so he clearly couldn’t have had anything to do with this business to-day.”
Haines nodded. He was reluctant to consider the more fantastic possibilities at this early stage of the inquiry. “What about people in this country, sir? You don’t, I suppose, happen to know anyone who works in this building?”
“Oh, yes, Inspector,” said Munro. “It hasn’t any relevance to your investigations, I’m sure, but I—er—I used to be on the staff of this newspaper about fifteen years ago. There are still quite a number of familiar faces around.”
Haines eyebrows shot up.
“But as far as I am aware,” added Munro with a smile “none of them would want to kill me.”
“No old scores to pay off, sir?”
“Fifteen years would be a long while to keep an old grudge on ice—and I’m not the sort of person who makes enemies. As far as I can remember, when I left here I enjoyed the goodwill of everyone.”
“And you haven’t been in contact with any of your old colleagues since you left the paper?”
“Not in recent years. Oh, apart from Mr. Iredale, of course—I saw quite a bit of him in the Outward Islands during the recent riots. The paper sent him out there to report on the situation, you know.”
“No, sir, I didn’t know. Were your relations with him quite friendly?”
Munro considered the question carefully. “Fundamentally I think I can say yes. We had—er—superficial differences …”
“About what, sir?”
“Oh, the local situation, you know—the riots …” Munro’s tone dismissed the subject.
“I’d be grateful if you could be a little more explicit, sir. What exactly happened? Was there a quarrel?”
“With a newspaper correspondent? Hardly, my dear Inspector. No—Mr. Iredale became rather difficult and I had to disabuse his mind of certain misconceptions. The political situation in the Outward Islands is very complex, and only those with long experience of the people can really form a balanced judgment.” The Governor launched himself happily into a favourite subject. “To understand it fully you have to go back to the emancipation of the slaves. In the late eighteenth century …”
Haines broke in hurriedly. “May I take it, sir, that Mr. Iredale was not in any way violent? I just want to get his attitude clear.”
“His language was a trifle uninhibited,” said Munro. “I was obliged to reprimand him, and he has a quick temper. However, it all blew over very quickly. You can see that for yourself—otherwise we should hardly have been lunching together.”
“A meal doesn’t necessarily imply amicable relations,” observed Haines. “The plate held olives, if I remember—not an olive branch.”
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Inspector,” said Munro, annoyed. “I see what you’re driving at, of course, but the suggestion that Iredale may have tried to poison me because of a political difference, however acute, is utterly ridiculous. We simply don’t do things like that in this country—and in any case, Iredale’s not that kind of chap. I’m sure he bore me no malice at all.” Munro again pulled out his watch. “And I’m afraid I’ve far too much to do, Inspector, to waste time on such improbable theories.”
“All right, sir,” said Haines, getting up, “I’m sorry to have detained you. By the way, how did you get along with Mr. Hind when you and he were colleagues together?”
Munro looked surprised. “Oh, quite well—he wasn’t a bad sort of fellow. A bit uncouth, perhaps. I hadn’t seen him for years, of course, until to-day.”
“The place must seem strange to you after all this
time,” said Haines. “Did you manage to find your own way to the Editor’s Room before lunch or did someone take you up?”
“I was taken up by a boy,” said Munro stiffly. “Good gracious, Inspector, are you now considering me as a potential murderer?”
Haines was unperturbed. “Some day, sir, when both of us are less busy than we are now, I hope you’ll tell me about the political situation in the Outward Islands, and I’ll tell you about my methods of criminal investigation. I don’t doubt that we shall both learn a great deal.” He accompanied Munro to the door. “Where can I get you in case of need?”
“At my club, the Acropolis. I shall be leaving England on Thursday.”
“I’ll wish you a safe journey, then,” said Haines politely.
“Thank you, Inspector.”
“And if our people do offer to keep an eye on you until you leave—well, I think I should accept if I were you sir. To tell the truth, I don’t like the look of this case at all.”
Chapter Eleven
Nicholas Ede spent most of the afternoon driving into Surrey to break the news of the tragedy to Mrs. Hind. He could have sent a deputy, but he was a naturally considerate man with a strong sense of responsibility for his staff, and he felt it his duty to go. After it was over he was glad that he had done so, but the painful interview left him feeling limp. Back at the office there was no respite. The absent Proprietor had to be informed by cable of what had happened. The rest of the Directors had to be prevented at all costs from rushing up to the office and adding to the confusion. Several appointments had to be cancelled and new ones somehow squeezed in. It was the most rushed and wretched afternoon that Ede could remember.
The inspector had taken Ede very much at his word and was using Miss Timmins constantly. He had mobilised strong forces for the investigation, a fact that was reflected in the increasing dislocation throughout the office. The Process Department had been turned upside down under Ogilvie’s supervision, and it seemed doubtful whether any news pictures would catch the first edition. The people who had figured on the conference list that Ede had given to Haines were receiving special attention, and as they were all key men the effect on work was calamitous. Attendance at the afternoon conference was so thin that Jackson—who had taken over editorial control for the time being—was obliged to abandon it altogether and finish planning the paper in private conclave with the Night Editor. There had been so such upheaval in the office since the day the bomb exploded.
Just after five o’clock a message came through from Haines asking if the Editor could make it convenient to call upon him. Ede went quickly downstairs, trying hard to control his irritation. On the way, he dropped into the News Room to see how Soames was getting along as Hind’s replacement. He found a reporter sitting at the News Desk, and Soames in a corner deep in conversation with a stranger who had all the marks of a plain-clothes detective. In the Reporters’ Room two similar conversations were going on. Work had virtually ceased. Ede went on his way fuming.
Haines greeted him with an apologetic air. “I’m sorry to have to trouble you again quite so soon,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter about troubling me, Inspector, but you’re certainly playing hell with the office. Your men are as thick as locusts. I told you I was anxious to co-operate, but is this invasion really necessary?”
“I’m afraid it is,” said Haines. “You see, sir, the way things are turning out we really have no alternative but to treat every employee of the paper as a suspect. We’re having to interview everyone.”
Ede looked startled. “The whole staff? But, good gracious, there are more than two hundred of them!”
“So the Secretary of the company has informed me,” said Haines ruefully. “What makes it more difficult is that some are on holiday, some are sick—and then, of course, there are others who used to be employed here and aren’t any longer. And it’s all got to be done in a hurry.”
“What exactly are you trying to find out?”
“Primarily, which people have an alibi for that half hour when the olives were taken into the dining-room, and which haven’t. It’s a complicated job, as you can imagine, checking stories against each other. That’s why I’ve got so many men at work.”
Ede still seemed staggered by the magnitude of the effort. “You mean that there’s no shorter way than this mass onslaught?”
“Not that I can think of. You see, Mr. Ede, there are no material clues at all. I haven’t had the detailed report from the Yard yet, but I have to assume that that room won’t tell us anything.”
“Still, where’s this going to get you? When you’ve found out where everyone was, you’ll still have an enormous number of suspects on your hands.”
“I know, sir,” said Haines patiently, “but it’ll be a beginning. This office is like a cul-de-sac—we’re beginning a drive through it towards the dead end, with the whole staff in front of us. As people can prove their innocence, we let them go past us. The alibi is only one test—we shall hope to use others. At last, if we’re very lucky, everyone will have passed through except just one man or woman—and he or she will be the murderer. It’s tedious for us and exasperating for you, but it’s the only possible method. By the way, you’ll be interested to know we’ve checked up on the cyanide. Mr. Iredale was quite right about that.”
“Oh?” Ede sensed more trouble.
“Yes. I’ve just sent a sample of the stuff to be analysed. There’s enough of it in the Process Department to poison the whole of Fleet Street.”
“Surely it’s not just lying about?”
“Well, not quite. It’s stored in a separate room, and it’s supposed to be kept under lock and key when it’s not in use. I’ve satisfied myself, though, that almost anyone in the office could have found an opportunity to help himself to a handful if he’d wanted to.”
“That’s bad.” Ede frowned. The safe keeping of cyanide could hardly be considered an editorial matter, but he wished he’d known about it. “Well, we must see that the precautions are tightened up from now on, Inspector, though it’s rather like shutting the stable door. Was this what you wanted to see me about?”
“Well, no, sir, not exactly. I really wanted your personal assistance. As I mentioned just now, we’ve got to apply other tests to our mass of suspects in addition to the one of opportunity. Motive is obviously going to be of the greatest importance—whoever put that poison in the olives did it for a pretty substantial reason. I want you to tell me whether you know of anyone in the office who disliked Mr. Hind—or any other member of the luncheon party—sufficiently to wish him out of the way.”
Ede was silent for a moment. He had feared all along that this onus would be put on him. “You place me in an extremely difficult position, Inspector,” he said presently.
“A man has been killed, sir.”
“I know, I know. But I’m not sure how far that justifies me in telling you things that throw suspicion on members of my staff—things that may have no bearing on the case at all. You’re really asking me to gossip.”
“That’s it, sir. I know it goes against the grain, but if you don’t, others will—and without your sense of responsibility. I’d sooner have it from the fountain head.”
Ede still hesitated. “A motive doesn’t necessarily imply guilt. I shouldn’t like to think you were going to rush off and arrest the first man who has had trouble with Hind.”
“You’ll have to trust my discretion, sir. We don’t do things like that, you know. An arrest is a very serious matter. Apart from anything else, I have my own reputation to think of.”
“All right, Inspector,” said Ede reluctantly. “I don’t like it, but I’ll tell you. There has been something on my mind since Hind’s death, though I don’t suppose for a moment it’s of any significance. Hind came to me yesterday evening and reported one of his men for a rather serious offence. Arthur Pringle, our Crime Reporter. I dare say you’ve met him on cases.”
“Pringle? The name’s familiar, b
ut I don’t think I’ve ever run across him. We don’t see quite as much of crime reporters, you know, as some of them like to pretend. What’s he been up to?”
“Faking his expense accounts, according to Hind. Of course, as I expect you know, reporters’ expense sheets often have as little foundation in fact as some of their stories. They reckon to make a bit on the side, particularly on out-of-town jobs; it’s a well-understood Fleet Street convention. I don’t much like the practice myself, but within reasonable limits it has to be accepted. If a reporter spends fifteen shillings in a pub standing drinks while he’s on a story, and charges twenty-five shillings for ‘hospitality’ or whatever the current euphemism happens to be, there’s nothing anyone can do about it, after all. But Pringle appears to have overstepped the bounds. Hind discovered that he’s been charging large sums—amounting in all to some hundreds a year—for stories that he hasn’t covered at all. The fact is, I’m afraid, that he’s been given too much latitude, and he’s abused it. It seems that Hind had warned Pringle once before, and this time he felt he couldn’t let it pass. He came to me and said that in his view Pringle was nothing but a crook and should be dispensed with.”
“I see,” said Haines gravely. “You were certainly right to tell me of this. Did Pringle know that he was going to be reported?”
“Yes. Hind told him yesterday afternoon.”
“Do you suppose that he knew to-day that Hind had already mentioned the matter to you, or might he have supposed that it was still in abeyance?”
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea.”
“Have you seen Pringle about it yourself?”
“Not yet. I was proposing to wait until I had a moment to go over his expense sheets and see just what the offence amounted to. Goodness knows when I shall have an opportunity now.” Ede looked very perturbed. “There’s a tradition on the Morning Call that we don’t sack anyone unless we’re left with no alternative, but if Pringle has really gone as far as Hind said, I’m afraid I’ll have to get rid of him. Professionally speaking, he’ll be no great loss. However, that’s of no interest to you. You asked me point blank whether I knew of anyone with a possible motive. Reluctantly, I’ve told you.”