by Roy Vickers
None at all, thought Curwen, but he found himself visualising Mrs. Brengast. Probably because she was the last good-looking woman he had seen—not counting Miss Aspland, who was a different sort.
“How did she come to the lock?”
“I don’t know. As far as I’m concerned she just appeared out of nowhere.”
“Did she tell you why she was all alone on that lonely road at night?”
“Did I ask her the sort of questions a policeman would ask? I did not. I didn’t care where she came from nor why. She doesn’t know I know her name.”
“You say she was expensively got up. Evening dress?”
“No. One-piece dress, yellowish coat over it, the usual thing only better. Hat, straw, small, with flowers all round.”
“What time did she leave you?”
“I told you this morning and you’ve had time to check. Shortly after two—in a car hired from The Hollow Tree.”
“Was she wearing the hat when you put her into the car?”
“By that time I wasn’t noticing things. I didn’t put her into the car. She asked me not to. I say! Can’t we leave her and go on to something else?”
Even Curwen was startled at what seemed a childishly silly remark, until Stranack added: “She won’t let me down. If this wretched business is already in the papers, she’s probably on her way here.”
“Indeed, I hope so!” said Mr. Higstock. “But I must remark that a woman who stays until that hour, alone in a house with a young man she has not met before, is unlikely to be burdened with a civic conscience.”
“You’ve got it all wrong!” Stranack turned angrily on his solicitor. “She’s very well off. She’s what your generation calls a ‘lady’!”
“We’ll concede the girl was there,” said Curwen. “Now tell us something to show you were there with her.”
“How can I? We sat out in deck chairs for a bit and had a drink. She had gin and orange. I had rum. Then we went into the house and—well—eventually we had supper—soup, chicken and new potatoes, peaches—all out of cans. I can’t think of anything else—Oh yes!—she dropped a hint that it would be pretty disastrous for her if our little secret became known. So when she had gone I used a wet towel on anything I thought she might have touched—including the telephone. If your men found any of her finger-prints it’s my fault.”
“Any outstanding incident—something we can check?”
“While she was with me I was not thinking in terms of checkable acts,” grumbled Stranack. “Is this any good? I took her wedding ring off and bunged it into the lock.”
Curwen was slightly shocked.
“What was the sense of that?”
“There wasn’t any sense. Haven’t you ever made an ass of yourself with a blonde?”
“If we were to drag the lock—” Curwen paused as he again visualised Mrs. Brengast, who had been wearing no wedding ring “—a wedding ring in the mud wouldn’t prove much.”
“Of course not! I was merely trying to gratify your passion for checking things.”
“She told you it would be disastrous for her and yet you believe she will show up?”
“She’ll have to, now that I’m in the hands of the police. If she doesn’t, I shall drag her in.”
“Better start dragging now!” snapped Curwen. “Until she clears you we shall have to keep you in custody on suspicion.”
From Mr. Higstock there came a nervous cough.
“Excuse me, Inspector,” he said. “May I ask? What are the grounds for suspicion?”
“They’re as solid as we like them, Mr. Higstock. As you have no doubt had considerable experience in criminal cases, I think you’ll agree with me.” He felt that the last was perhaps an unfair blow, so he relaxed. “Here’s your set-up. These three men had a grievance against the deceased for harshly—as they maintain—withholding monies to which they believed themselves to be entitled. The other directors support the three men’s claims, so that if deceased were deceased they would all three benefit by what I’ve been given to understand would be a considerable sum of money.
“Before—say—nine o’clock last night—note that I said before, Mr. Higstock—these three put their heads together and decided that they would wrongfully remove certain papers from the deceased’s premises. Their Ford car was seen to leave its garage and proceed in the direction of Renchester at the relevant time. There were two men in the Ford. The subsequent movements of that Ford—linked with those of deceased’s Daimler—create a very strong prima facie case that the two men in it killed William Brengast and attempted to conceal the body in a roadside sand-bin.
“Before setting out to get those papers they tossed as to which should stay and keep the lock. Your client says he was the odd man out. Eddis says Eddis was. Canvey says Canvey was. Two of these three men are lying. We don’t care tuppence which. If there’s no rebutting evidence they may be charged with conspiracy.”
“Yes, yes!” exclaimed Mr. Higstock. “The facts are not in dispute. But you said ‘conspiracy’. Conspiracy to do what?”
“Conspiracy to murder Brengast, of course!”
“Untenable!”
The word was rapped out with a sharpness that made Curwen jump. If a turtle dove had snarled and bitten him, he would hardly have been more surprised.
Mr. Higstock was occupied with his client.
“Mr. Stranack, I advise you to submit to detention under protest and leave the Inspector and myself to discuss the matter. If we fail to agree, I shall apply at once for a writ of habeas corpus and you may rest assured that my application is likely to be successful.”
“Good enough, Mr. Higstock! Many thanks! Inspector, I submit to detention under protest.”
Curwen dived into his own extensive experience and came up empty handed.
“I wished to get rid of my client,” simpered Higstock, as the door closed behind Benjoy and Stranack, “because it is necessary to admit that he may—or may not—be a liar. That does not affect the matter of conspiracy to murder.”
Mr. Higstock waited until Curwen had lowered his eyebrows.
“Before a charge of conspiracy to murder can be sustained, you have to establish that the conspirators at least believed that it would be possible to commit the murder. I have evidence—and no doubt you have too—that these young men did not, before nine o’clock last night, believe it possible to set out in that Ford and murder Mr. Brengast, for the simple reason that they believed him to be in Madrid. I have ascertained that no one knew that deceased was paying a literally flying visit to England, except the deceased’s wife. Prove that they were in touch with Mrs. Brengast before that time, and you have your conspiracy. Not otherwise!”
Back to the Madrid story and that cutting from The Times! Curwen mastered his irritation.
“Half a minute, Mr. Higstock! I’m relying on the movements of the Ford car and the lies of the suspected persons.”
“Irrelevant to the charge of conspiracy!” pronounced Mr. Higstock. “You have evidence that the lock was operated. You have no evidence that a fourth man was employed for that purpose. You are therefore compelled to accept their statement that the lock was operated by one of themselves.”
“But what has the lock got to do with the murder?” demanded Curwen.
“Oh, nothing—nothing whatever! That is my point!” said the astonishing Mr. Higstock. “But it has a very great deal to do with whom you arrest. For instance,” he went on, “if you arrest all three you will know for certain that you are arresting one wholly innocent man. You have at present no means of refuting the statements of any one of them that he is the wholly innocent man.”
Mr. Higstock allowed a pause for politeness before continuing:
“May I respectfully suggest, Inspector, that you get in touch with your own legal department and tell them what I have said. I will write down the precedents for you. I hope you will. I really would like to avoid all the bother of getting that writ.”
Curwen grunted. Mr.
Higstock thanked him profusely for the courteous forbearance shown to his client and himself.
“Don’t think me unappreciative of your difficulties, Inspector. It must be very disturbing for you. You are accustomed to searching for the guilty. In this case you already have both guilty men under lock and key.”
Mr. Higstock bowed himself to the door, where he turned.
“But—strictly between ourselves, Inspector—you will have to unlock those doors. You will have to let the guilty men go free until you have found the innocent man.”
Having dropped what he would doubtless have called a “veritable bombshell”, Mr. Higstock slunk away.
Curwen caught Benjoy’s eye and grinned.
“Very well put, if you ask me! Find the Innocent Man. That’s a new one on me.”
“A purely verbal paradox, sir.”
“Eh? Oh no, I wouldn’t call him that! He’s not a bad little bloke when you get to know him. He’s a law-lawyer—knows a hell of a lot about law and nothing about anything else. I’m not sure he hasn’t done me a good turn—even if it hurts. Get me headquarters.”
While the connection was being made, Benjoy wrote a memo of his own.
Summary of Evidence
Conflict: Each states he was alone at the lockhouse. Eddis makes no other relevant statement or denial. On the events of the night there is no joint statement.
Agreement: While denouncing each other as liars, Canvey and Stranack give substantially the same account of events which only one could have witnessed, viz:—
1.
Girl arrived at (say) dusk and left at (say) 2 a.m. (checked)
2.
Love making ensued (not checked)
3.
Girl herself ’phoned for car (checked)
4.
Entered car unescorted (checked)
5.
Girl was young, attractive, of prosperous classes (Checked by driver who described her as “lady”).
Curwen accepted it with the encouraging smile.
“Quite right, boy! Proves that one of ’em is telling the truth—even if it’s only the driver.”
Half an hour later, Curwen paraded the three men and made a little speech.
“You know that you are all under suspicion. Each of you has given me an account of your movements that conflicts with the accounts of the other two. If you wish to avoid being detained in custody, you will report here every day. You will keep me informed of your movements and absences from home of more than three hours and will not change your place of residence.”
“If that means that we’ve all three got to go on living cheek-by-jowl in that lockhouse,” said Canvey, “I’d rather be in custody.”
“I support that amendment,” said Eddis.
Curwen cursed under his breath.
“Have it your own way! I suppose one of you will have to look after the lockhouse, though it’s not my business. The other two must find a new local address quickly. Which of you is going to the lockhouse?”
As a public speaker Curwen had yet to learn the unwisdom of asking a question which nobody need answer. The silence lengthened.
“So it’s like that, is it!” he growled. Headquarters had confirmed Mr. Higstock’s ruling, leaving him without a weapon. “If you can’t make up your minds, why don’t you toss for the lockhouse job?”
“Odd man out!” cried Stranack and banged a coin on the Inspector’s table. The others did the same, then uncovered.
“Tails!” called Stranack.
“Tails!” called Canvey.
“Heads!” called Eddis. “I’m odd man out—again. I wish the police were superstitious.”
“Perhaps the Inspector will be kind enough to find us some good, clean and very cheap lodgings,” said Canvey.
“I can’t afford lodgings,” said Stranack. “I’ll be staying at the Red Lion on tick.”
After they had gone Curwen, working at his desk, gave a routine order to Benjoy and received no answer.
“Wake up, boy! What’s the matter?”
“Sorry, sir! I was thinking about that girl. I mean, if she has already come back to Renchester to spoil the game—and the killers are at large—”
“They aren’t all that at large. They’ll be tailed day and night. Give the local police a spot of exercise. Come to that, I guess the girl will be in no hurry to get her fingers burnt. Gimme that glossy you bought, will you?”
Again he gazed at the photograph of Veronica Brengast. The sort of face that makes you think there’s a lot behind it, when there isn’t. There was that lie about the car ride. That nonsense about not being able to look for her husband! Why didn’t she look for the Daimler? If there were two Daimlers like that in Renchester, it’d be a lot. She might have gone to her sister, for cover, but if she did she started the journey after two ack emma.
“Lovely paper they use for these things! Were there any dabs on that copy at the lockhouse?”
“Yes, sir. Report on your table. Stranack’s. Two clear, the others blurred but not wiped. Copy was handled with gloved hand after Stranack had handled it.”
“Gloves, eh! In the middle of a heat wave. Now’s the time for you to nip along to the lockhouse and find out what they did with that picture of Mrs. Brengast.”
Chapter Five
Walking between Jill and the coroner’s officer, after the identification, Veronica was caught by reporters. She posed for the cameramen: she answered the stock questions graciously and fully. She enjoyed it so much, thought Jill, that she was little the worse for her visit to the mortuary.
“It wasn’t as horrible as I thought it would be,” she said over tea in their sitting-room. “Everyone was so kind. Jill, what d’you think I ought to wear for dinner?”
“A dressing gown if you like, dear. We’ll have it sent up here, of course.”
“Oh—Yes, I suppose we must. I wonder if those snapshots will come out all right. There’s a proper photo of me in The Prattler this week—a whole page—the colour is a bit disappointing, but on the whole it might have been worse—it was part of an interview with poor WillyBee … Jill, you think I’m callous, don’t you?”
“Not exactly! I think you’ve written off WillyBee and intend to forget him, beginning now. I expect I’d do the same if I had married a WillyBee. Not being his wife, I liked him rather a lot.”
“Why, I liked him ever such a lot! He was kind to me, though he did treat me, mostly, as if I were a child. Except sometimes, of course. Then we’d sort of change round, and I had to be the grown-up. I never understood him really, but I could always get him into a good temper, and that helped his business … I know people think I married him for his money!”
“Some do. And they are the ones who will jump on any mistake we make here.”
“You mean if my name gets in the papers in the wrong way?”
“Darling, your name is already in the papers and you would hardly call it the right way!” On the table were three of the early editions which Jill had studied before they went to the mortuary. “The police are sure to come here again—and we don’t want them to spring anything on you. I’ve taken notes of all the snags I can find.”
“But it seems so ridiculous! Surely—”
“Shut up, dear! Listen! Do these names mean anything to you?—Rupert Eddis, Lyle Canvey, Arthur Stranack?”
Jill thought that the last name had produced a reaction. But Veronica’s expression was always a very doubtful guide.
“No,” said Veronica. “I seem to have heard the names somewhere but I can’t place any of them. Who are they?”
“Scientists on WillyBee’s staff.”
“That explains it. He often talked shop to me, not expecting me to take it all in. What about them?”
“They’ve been detained by the police. The three I read out were staying at a lock on the river, near here—Peasebarrow Lock.”
“Why are they detained? They can’t be mixed up with what happened to poor WillyBee!”
&nbs
p; Jill summarised the reported movements of the Ford car. “Apparently, two of them went out in this car, while the third stayed behind to mind the lock. It doesn’t make clear which did which.”
“How could the one who stayed behind at the lock have anything to do with the murder?”
Jill perceived that Veronica was suddenly taking an interest—that she was leaning forward as if anxiously awaiting an answer about the man who had stayed behind at the lock.
“The man who stayed behind at the lockhouse had a girl-friend with him.”
“Is that what the man at the lockhouse says?”
“He’s not quoted as saying anything. A driver from a Renchester garage says he collected a girl from the lockhouse at two in the morning. The girl, of course, has disappeared. The police are asking her to come forward!”
“Why? If the man and the girl were at the lockhouse how could they—?”
“That doesn’t matter to us … I suppose they want to find the girl so that she can tell them which man was at the lockhouse. The bit I’m trying to get to is that you may be required to satisfy the police that you were not the girl-friend.”
“Girl-friend!” echoed Veronica, with distaste. “How do I come into it?”
“This girl was driven from the lockhouse to Wheatley Junction, where she caught the three-fifteen train to Salisbury. Your own route.”
“I don’t see why I should have to suffer for that!” Veronica was making a grievance of it. “I was asleep at Alice’s long before three-fifteen.”
“The papers are doing their best to confuse you with what they call the ‘Mystery Girl’. We can’t prove that you did take the earlier train. Alice will of course confirm your version. But it’s unlucky that she happens to be your sister.”