by E.
“His greatest friend was the major,” interjected Penryn. “And his greatest friend was ruined. Given what appeared to be a foolproof opportunity, he might avenge his friend.”
“True,” commented Sir William. “Anything further against Sir Edward?”
There was silence.
“Right. Then we’ll take Emmett.”
Sergeant Merry broke the silence that followed the Chief Constable’s question. “Well, of course, he had a row with the colonel on the water and he DID threaten to throw him in.”
“And admitted it in the hotel before we discovered the death,” commented Burns.
“That might be viewed as a very good idea in casting away suspicion,” put in Doctor Manson, grimly. “Who would expect the man who did it to admit the fact before the corpse was discovered? I am only pointing out snags in assuming innocence,” he hastened to explain.
“A quarrel over poaching isn’t a good enough motive for murder, do you think?” asked Penryn. “Though, of course, as against that, Emmett might have thrown him in during a struggle and the colonel might in that way have been accidentally drowned.”
“If the colonel had fallen in where we assumed at first, I should have viewed Emmett with grave suspicion,” Superintendent Burns contributed. “The argument might very well have led to blows in the heat of the moment, and the colonel might have gone down into the water. But the evidence of the wound, and the fact that the colonel was not drowned at the spot, removes that possibility.”
“On the grounds that the most likely murderer is the one least likely to have done it, I should plumb for Emmett,” said Merry, jokingly. “That’s the detective story method.”
“Now we’ve got Trepol.” The Chief Constable leaned forward. “I don’t like Trepol’s part in this. He lied right and left about being down on the river. And only the Doctor’s damned good work on those lenses threw him down. The motive there is plain; the colonel was messing about with his daughter. And he now admits that he went down to the river to have it out with the colonel. He says, at last, that there was a struggle in the copse place. All the marks were there, as the Doctor says. His glasses were broken there. And the colonel died there.”
Superintendent Burns urged agreement with this view. “I feel that there is a very strong case against Trepol,” he said. “How do YOU feel about it, Doctor?”
Manson surveyed the ceiling for a few moments as if collecting his thoughts. His fingers were beating their invariable tattoo. Then, his eyes dropped and completed a circle of the faces of his companions. Placing his finger-tips together, he conjured his thoughts into words. “Let’s take the objections first,” he said. “The colonel’s death we have placed as between two o’clock and four o’clock. Trepol, according to his statement, saw the colonel about one o’clock. He left Tremarden at twelve-thirty. That makes the times about right. He was back in Tremarden, in his workshop at one-thirty, and produces a Mr. Westlake to prove it. They were discussing cupboards at one-thirty by Trepol’s clock. Now I don’t pay too much attention to that. Clocks can be put backwards or forwards. There was an excellent example of this in a recent West End play, and it gave clock alibis away for all time very nicely. The point to bear in mind about that is whether Westlake can be sure that Trepol’s clock was, in fact, right. It should be easy. He ought to remember whether, when he arrived at lunch, the time was earlier or later than he expected, having regard to the time Trepol had told him it was. But, if the time was correct, then you will have to eliminate Trepol, because there is confirmatory evidence of his absence from the scene at the time of death.”
“What evidence?” Sir William asked.
“The wound on the head, which was anterior to the drowning. The wound was inflicted half to three quarters of an hour before the colonel was drowned. But the bruise on the chin, which Trepol admits having caused, was inflicted at least twenty minutes before the wound on the head. The condition of the two bruises at the post-mortem proves that beyond doubt. If, therefore, Trepol’s fist caused the chin bruise, and Trepol was back in his workshop at one-thirty o’clock, he could not possibly have caused the other bruise. Ergo, he could not possibly have killed the colonel.”
The scientist paused for comment. The only one came from Sergeant Merry. “There is a further confirmation which the Doctor has, perhaps, overlooked,” he suggested.
Manson looked across inquiringly.
“If Trepol was back in his workshop at one-thirty o’clock, and he left two or three minutes after his daughter, then she was not the woman the major says he saw at the end of the Avenue at two o’clock. Ergo, again, Trepol could not have been there at the time of the tragedy. Who WAS the woman?”
“Mrs. Devereux, if you ask me,” retorted Superintendent Burns.
“Right!” The Chief Constable wrote the last of the names down on his pad. “We will look now into Mrs. Devereux. Motive, gentlemen, please.”
“Unknown,” replied Manson. “We have not found a motive. But I have no doubt that there is a possible motive. What do you think about that, Penryn? You know more of Mrs. Devereux than any of us.”
“I think there is something fishy about Mrs. Devereux, Doctor,” the inspector replied. “She knew the colonel before she came to Tremarden. She must have known him on the day she reached the hotel and saw him. Yet she gave no sign of recognition. Why? They dined at different tables and never so much as a glance passed between them. That is the evidence of the waiter. Again, I ask why?”
Manson eyed the inspector. “One explanation springs to the mind,” he said. “She might, I only say might, have given no sign of surprise or recognition because she knew she would meet the colonel there.”
The Chief Constable jumped. “Do you mean that it was an arranged meeting?” he asked.
“It might well have been,” the scientist retorted. “It seems to me the only possible explanation if they had known each other before.”
Penryn nodded his head slowly, as he met Manson’s gaze. “In which case, of course, the meeting as strangers might have been arranged. The fact that they knew each other is pretty evident from Ann Trepol’s story of their quarrel over something or other. The girl just couldn’t have invented that.” Penryn consulted his notes. “Here is the passage I mean,” he said.
Mrs. Devereux: Don’t drive me too far, or I’ll have to find a way out.
The colonel: You’ll be advised not to, my lady. I’m not such a fool as to leave things so that you could get away with it. It’s in black-and-white.
“Find a way out of what?” asked Penryn. “There, to my mind, is the motive.”
Manson was thinking. The wrinkles were again creasing the high, broad forehead. “There is one phrase in the colonel’s retort that strikes me as curious,” he said, after a few moments. “And that is: ‘You’ll be advised not to, my lady!’” He stressed the words. “Now, what did he mean by that? Was it, for instance, a phrase such as the working classes use? Such as: ‘You wait till I get you home, my lady,’ or ‘All right, my fine lady.’ Or was it a veiled reference to Mrs. Devereux’s approaching marriage to Sir John Shepstone? I would have liked to have heard the tone of voice in which the colonel said it.”
“You mean that, if he used the words in the latter sense . . .” The Chief Constable paused.
“That the motive may be associated with Mrs. Devereux’s approaching marriage,” the scientist completed. “Was the colonel the type of man to use ‘my lady’ in the working class way?”
“I thought she rather gave herself away when she said she never had liked the colonel,” commented Burns. “Her later explanation of the words was a little lame.”
“Suppose we agree for a moment that the colonel’s ‘my lady’ did have reference to her approaching marriage with Sir John, how do we stand then?” The Chief Constable let his monocled eye rove over the company.
Superintendent Burns took up the point. “Well, sir,” he said, “taken in conjunction with the phrase ‘Don’t drive me too f
ar, or I’ll have to find a way out,’ might it not be inferred that the colonel had it in his power to prevent her from becoming ‘my lady?’”
“It might,” Manson agreed. “But I must point out that it is all theory. However, let’s proceed with it, for once. What, then, could the colonel hold over her to prevent the marriage? We might as well carry the theorising forward to that extent. Something may emerge which will give us a line on which to work.”
“The colonel knew she had a lover.” The suggestion came from the Chief Constable.
“She may have been concerned in something shady,” put in Merry.
“I don’t think the former would count with Sir John,” Manson complained. “He knew that she had been married before. The second suggestion is likely, perhaps. Something shady might affect Sir John—particularly if it is concerning money. But I do not see that we can get any further with motive at present,” the scientist decided. “We shall have to make inquiries into the woman’s life at Mentone and Monte Carlo. She lived there after leaving India, and it was there that she met Sir John. I’ll have a word with the Yard’s Society man. He will know of a ‘regular’ at Monte who can spin any gossip there is going. Then, I should point out that we have not yet examined the personal belongings of the colonel in his town flat, or at his bankers. That should help. He said, did he not, that ‘it’—whatever ‘it’ is—is in black-and-white?”
“That’s an idea.” The Chief Constable frowned. “We ought to have thought of that.”
“I did, Sir William.” Manson smiled slightly at the idea that so important a point could be overlooked. “The flat is sealed awaiting examination. I propose to look after that part of the case myself.”
“Any more ideas?” the Chief Constable looked round. “None? Well, that disposes of the motive end. Now, we come to opportunity. Perhaps we had better take the names in the same order. Emmett is first. Could he have done it, motive omitted.”
“I doubt it,” declared Penryn. “If the original spot had been the place where the colonel died, I would have said ‘yes’ to Emmett. He would have been the only person near to the colonel for a couple of miles. But up at the Pylons! How would Emmett get there and back unseen?”
“How did the person who brought the colonel’s fishing-rod down from the Pylons to the colonel’s beat get there with it unseen?” asked Manson.
“By George! That’s true!” The Chief Constable stared. “Might it have been Emmett on the way back to his beat after the murder, Doctor?”
“Not unless he had another pair of brogues, Sir William. Remember the projecting nails.”
“That is so. Well, we will assume that Emmett had no motive, so far as is at present known, and no opportunity either, eh?”
Unanimous nods registered agreement.
“Now there is the major. I feel that I should say here that I take a very grave view of the major. We know that he had good cause against the colonel; and he was fishing close to the spot which we now know was the real scene of the death. His beat, as we all know, came almost to the Pylons; in fact, the copse was definitely in the field on his beat. We know that the colonel, Trepol and Trepol’s girl were all there at some time. Smithers says he saw nobody except some woman—he took her to be Mrs. Devereux—at two o’clock. Yet, there seems to have been a procession of people there. Even a farm labourer saw two of them. Ann Trepol was there somewhere about one o’clock. We have only the major’s word that there was a woman there at two o’clock, round about the time that the colonel was killed. And I ought to emphasise the point that if a woman was there at two o’clock she is a mighty fine alibi for the major.”
Superintendent Burns ended the silence which followed the Chief Constable’s statement of the case against the major. “If I might point out, sir?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“If the major was at the top end of his beat—he’d start at the bottom, being a dry-fly fisherman, and would be half-way up at one o’clock—he would be wading, and for a considerable time would be wading below the height of the bank. It is feasible that he would not see anyone who might be walking about in the field. Eh, Doctor?”
Manson nodded agreement. “I should say probable rather than possible. But I agree that there is strong suspicion attached to Major Smithers. He is the only one of whom we have definite evidence that he was actually near the scene of the murder.”
“Now we have Sir Edward Maurice?” the Chief Constable pointed out. “The only motive we have ascribed to him is that the major was his friend. What opportunity had he?”
“He was on the next beat to the major, and could possibly have seen the colonel. On the other hand, he may only have guilty knowledge.” Inspector Penryn proceeded to elaborate his thesis: “Suppose the major had confided in him that he had killed the colonel, or suppose that he had come on the scene and actually witnessed the deed. I have no doubt that the colonel having done what he had, Sir Edward would do all that he could to protect his friend. Now, we have no clue to the identity of the person who made the false marks on the bank where the colonel was thought by us to have fallen in the stream. But Sir Edward has told us at the end of his day’s fishing he walked back along the river to the farmyard to his car, and did not see the colonel or anybody else. Might he not have taken the colonel’s fishing rod back with him, and have made the bank markings at the same time? And he could very easily have slipped the colonel’s landing net into the hotel lounge umbrella stand. Who better than a fisherman could carry a net into the place. He’s expected to be seen with a net.”
“Again—his brogues have no nails which would fit the marks,” pointed out Burns.
The Chief Constable came out of the brown study into which the inspector’s ideas had sent him. “That is dashed interesting, Penryn,” he said. “Now about the brogues. Suppose he had a spare pair? Ought we to drag the river there for boots which may have been thrown in, Doctor?”
Manson inclined his head. “Yes, Sir William, it should certainly be done. I had not, I must confess, thought of that.”
“The only objection I have to the implication of the major and Sir Edward is this:” Merry leaned forward and pointed a finger impressively at the company. “How could either of them have known that the colonel would be up at the copse or even near the Pylons? That was Mrs. Devereux’s beat, and for all they knew, Mrs. Devereux was fishing it. If, then, they did not know that the colonel was there alone, so to speak, it seems to me there is no evidence of opportunity against them. The major would hardly be likely to go about murdering people under the eyes of a Mrs. Devereux who might turn up at any moment.”
A surprised ejaculation caused the others to turn their glance in the direction of Doctor Manson. He was looking what, in anybody else, might have been called startled. “Something struck you, Doctor?” asked the Chief Constable.
“Yes—and it has struck pretty hard, Sir William,” was the reply. He smiled at his waiting colleagues. “I’ll speak of it later. Go on, now, to Trepol.”
Superintendent Burns put the case for opportunity on the part of the undertaker in a nutshell: “He was there. He quarrelled with the colonel. He hit him. He could have done it, except for one thing.”
The superintendent paused and looked at Doctor Manson. “Trepol has an alibi for one-thirty o’clock onwards. The bruise he made on the colonel’s chin is an alibi for about half an hour earlier. If the pathological deductions of Doctor Manson and the Home Office expert are correct—and I have no doubt that they are—Trepol was miles away from the scene when the colonel was killed.”
“Well and truly spoken, Burns,” said Manson. “The same goes for Ann Trepol. Now, we are left, I think, with Mrs. Devereux. Any developments in the testing of her suspicious alibi?”
“Not so far, Doctor.” Penryn replied to the query. “I have three of my best plain-clothes men on the job, and they are being helped by the Tavistock police. They are trying to trace her between the times she left the tea rooms at 12.45 after lunch and 4.
45, when she came back to tea.”
Manson nodded. “It is important because of the very interesting point which Merry raised a few minutes ago. He asked, you remember: ‘How would Major Smithers and Sir Edward know that the colonel would be at the copse? For all they knew, Mrs. Devereux was fishing her beat. Now that is a very vital point in the investigations and one which I ought to have seen before now. What Merry said is quite true. But he might very well have added that, for all the colonel himself knew, Mrs. Devereux was fishing the beat. How, then, did he come to be at the copse at all? How, indeed, unless he had been invited to be there? Now, who would be the person to invite him there, and when he was there to kill him? There are, as I see it, two possibilities, and two only; either someone who knew Mrs. Devereux was not fishing that water, or . . .”
Manson looked, one by one, at the company listening with keen interest to his reasoning.
“. . . Or the one and only person to whom whatever happened there would not matter, if proof could be forthcoming that she wasn’t there at all! In other words, Mrs. Devereux, who could invite the colonel on to that beat, and to whom, we can logically assume, knowing the things we do, the colonel would respond.
“This investigation, gentlemen, has now become to my mind, the investigation of Mrs. Devereux’s alibi.”
CHAPTER XVIII
JULY THE 15TH
Doctor Manson and Sergeant Merry arrived together at the Yard after an all-night journey from Tremarden. A sleeping compartment in the train, with breakfast, had left them refreshed after the journey, and after a chat in the Doctor’s laboratory they parted Merry to probe out Mrs. Devereux’s life on the Riviera, and Manson, with the aid of Inspector Rawlings, to go through the late Colonel’s belongings with the fine comb of the Law.
At Tremarden, at the same hour, Mrs. Devereux had set out with rod and line to fish the very water where, three days before, the colonel had met his death. Seeing her on the river, where he had himself gone to visit the copse in order to have a picture of it in his mind, Superintendent Burns, somewhat aghast, meditated whether any woman could possess the nerve to fish the water where, if the evidence accumulating in her dossier at police headquarters was correct, she had killed a man so recently. He had half a mind to talk the case over with her; but on second thoughts put the temptation aside, lest he might say something which would put the woman on her guard. He was in the difficult position of not knowing exactly what was in the mind of Doctor Manson; and again, anything that either of the two scientists found in London might be negatived by an unwise phrase or remark he might make to Mrs. Devereux in Tremarden. So, beyond passing the time of day, and wishing her “Good Killing”—he chuckled within himself at the grim humour of the fisherman’s greeting—he said nothing.