“The murderer need not necessarily be Huskisson. Monsieur Goron seems very prone to jump to dramatic conclusions.”
“I suppose you won’t send for Huskisson yourself, sir, and put him through the hoop?”
“Not yet; that may come later. Have you received any report from Spofforth showing the impression that all these people have left upon him?”
“Not since the first one, sir; but he’s been on to me by telephone this morning. He is suspicious of the butler. He may be prejudiced because the man is an ex-convict and therefore his suspicion of him doesn’t carry much weight.”
“What ground has he for suspecting him?”
“The chief ground is that he insists upon taking all letters from the postman with his own hand and on no account allows Spofforth, who as under butler might be given the task, to arrange them on the slab in the hall.”
“I suppose that Spofforth has noticed this because as a detective he would like to look at the letters himself.”
“Exactly, sir; and the butler is very clever in preventing Spofforth from examining the letters when they are on the slab. This is particularly awkward for us just now, when we are anxious to keep an eye upon Oborn’s correspondence: any French postmark might prove useful. Spofforth also told me during our telephone conversation that Oborn and Huskisson seem to be suspicious of each other, and both of them carry their own letters to the post: there is a pillar box at the gate. Spofforth, seeing them going out with letters in their hands, has offered more than once to take them to the box but has always been rather abruptly refused.”
“Well, if those two men are beginning to suspect one another we honest detectives may come into our own.”
Chapter Seventeen
TO THE LEAST acute observer the atmosphere at Scudamore Hall was becoming surcharged with suspicion and discomfort; more than ever was its proprietor disposed to seize upon an excuse for shutting the place up and becoming again a homeless wanderer in foreign hotels on the Continent. He was restrained by the knowledge that both his guests, Huskisson and Douglas Oborn, were debarred from leaving the country and the ban, he felt, was probably extended to him. It revolted him to think of the scene at the docks when a tall polite gentleman would be called up by the embarkation officer and after a whispered conversation would accost him and intimate that he would not be allowed to embark without authority from some mysterious powers in London. He knew too well that bluster would accomplish nothing; that threats to appeal to the home secretary or any other great power would courteously be waved aside, but that if he made any attempt upon the steamer’s gangway a muscular arm would be put out to stop him with the intimation that he was blocking the gangway to the discomfort of the other passengers: he had seen all this happen to a vociferous person who, the rumour spread among the other passengers, was a noted criminal endeavouring to escape from justice. That was not the kind of ordeal that Walter Forge would care to undergo.
At this point in his reflections his ire rose against Spofforth. What the devil was the use of the man if he kicked his heels below stairs hunting for clues for days without finding out anything? Surely by this time he should either have cleared everyone of suspicion or have laid his hand upon the guilty person. In such crime romances as he had read the super-sleuth had only to gain access to the premises to lay his hand upon the shoulder of the culprit. Spofforth was not playing the game according to the rules. Besides, this Spofforth was producing tension between himself and his guests. Since they had discovered Spofforth’s real vocation Oborn scarcely ever failed to refer to him humorously as the “tame sleuth”, while Huskisson had withdrawn himself into a dense thicket of reserve.
That morning Huskisson had broken into open anger because Spofforth had taken a suit from his room, ostensibly for pressing and cleaning.
“But, my dear fellow,” said Forge, “that is the ordinary duty of a valet.”
“That might be all right if Spofforth was an ordinary valet, but we all know that he is not. The suit required neither pressing nor cleaning and, in my opinion, it was taken from my room for searching purposes. Probably the fellow went over it with a reading glass, looking for minute bloodstains.”
Forge was shocked. “What a morbid idea. You must have been reading shockers from the railway bookstalls.”
Huskisson left the room without another word and while Forge was plunged in gloomy reflection Spofforth broke in upon him.
“A gentleman has called to see Mr Douglas Oborn. I have his card here.”
Forge took the card and read:
MR CHARLES OBORN
Solicitor
10, High Street, Salisbury
“This must be a relation. Have you shown him in?”
“The butler showed him in, sir, but he left this card on the table and I thought you might like to see it.”
Forge, to whom nature had denied the more delicate instincts, rose and asked into which of the rooms he had been shown and on hearing that it was the library he bustled off there.
The greeting of the two brothers when Charles was shown in had been cold and formal on both sides. As soon as Douglas Oborn had mastered his surprise he said, “To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit?”
“I scarcely think that you need any explanation. I’ve come to ask a few plain questions and to get plain answers to them if that is possible to a person about whom the police are concerned. I can assure you that it is not very pleasant for a solicitor in practice in a gossipy little cathedral town like Salisbury to have detectives barging into his office with instructions from Scotland Yard to enquire into our family history.”
“You said that you had come to ask questions, but so far you have been giving me nothing but interesting information.”
“To begin with I want to know what you are doing in this house?”
“Oh, is that all. That question is soon answered. I was invited to stay here by the owner, Mr Forge.”
“And Alfred Curtis? Why is he here?”
“He was already installed in the house when I came.”
“Have you told your host that he was at one time employed by us as in indoor servant and discharged for dishonesty and afterwards convicted and sent to prison?”
“Oh, so you are one of those who, when a man is down and trying to make good, must come forward to ruin his chances. That is not my way.”
“Can you truthfully say that you’ve had no dealings with Alfred Curtis during these past years?”
“Are you trying to insinuate that because you find him here as an indoor servant I must have been associated with him in dishonest practices?”
“God knows, no one could blame me for believing anything about you or James. You haven’t forgotten, I suppose, that it was only by sacrificing half my capital that I kept you both out of the dock over that case of the Farnham trust money.”
“And I hope you haven’t forgotten that you inherited all our father’s capital because you were the only one who hadn’t been brought up in our mother’s religion.”
“Father had a stronger reason than religion for the precautions he took to ensure that the practice that he himself had inherited from his father should not suffer by getting into dishonest hands.”
“Supposing that we leave our family history to take care of itself and you proceed with your questions. Let me see: I answered the question about Alfred Curtis. What is the next one?”
“Where is James?”
“I was going to ask you that very question myself. Where is James?”
“If you tell me that you don’t know I must warn you that I shan’t believe you.”
At that moment Mr Forge’s voice was heard outside.
“Ah!” said Douglas Oborn. “That is my host’s voice. No doubt he is coming to be introduced to you and for once I shall really be pleased to see him.”
Mr Forge made his appearance and put an end to further confidences between the brothers. He gave the new visitor a pressing invitation to lunch and it was
accepted, because Charles was determined to have another private conversation with his brother before he left and also, if opportunity served, with the butler, Alfred Curtis.
Chance played into his hands because it transpired during lunch that Forge and Huskisson were leaving in the car for Kingston immediately after the meal.
“By the way,” asked Forge, “how did you find the way down here?”
“That was quite simple. I came up by train to Waterloo and then changed into a Kingston train; from Kingston I took a taxi which nearly ruined me.”
“Yes; Scudamore Hall is a bit remote and no doubt your taxi man took you the longest way round as they always do. Can we give you a lift back to Kingston?”
“Thank you very much, but my brother will drive me if I’m nice to him. I suppose you have your car here, Douglas?”
“Yes, and of course I’m anxious to see the most of you. Say the word and I’ll drive you up to Waterloo.”
“It will be the act of a good Samaritan.”
“Well then, we’ll be off,” said Forge, putting out his hand. “Good-bye, and I hope that this won’t be the last time you come down.”
As soon as Forge’s car had disappeared down the drive Douglas Oborn turned to his brother. “If you’re ready I’ll go round to the garage for the car. You mustn’t think that I’m trying to speed a parting guest, but I have myself some business to do in Kingston.”
“All right. I can defer my questions until we’re in the car. I will start whenever you like.”
Any surprise that Douglas Oborn might have felt at this ready acquiescence would have been dispelled had he seen his brother’s next move. He rang the bell as soon as he was alone and when the butler answered it he drew him out of earshot of possible eavesdroppers.
“It’s a long time since we last saw one another, Curtis,” he said.
“It is, sir.”
“I just want to say that I feel it my duty to tell your employer what I know about you.”
“You always had a high sense of duty, sir; sometimes I used to feel that it might stand in your way. May I remind you, sir, of the saying that one good turn deserves another.”
“I don’t see how it applies in this case.”
“In this way, sir. If your sense of duty compels you to speak to my employer, my sense of duty would compel me also to speak.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your brother’s conduct, sir, has not been quite above reproach and I think that you might find it embarrassing in your profession if it became known…”
“If what became known?”
“Certain strange stories, sir, about which you know nothing at present and it would be wiser for you to continue to know nothing.”
The door flew open and Douglas Oborn stopped on the threshold. “Ah! I see that you’re renewing old acquaintance.”
The butler bowed and withdrew without another word.
“So you are in that rascal’s power,” said Charles. “You make a pretty pair—or trio, I should say, because no doubt James is in it up to the neck.”
Douglas laughed sardonically. “So Curtis has been trying to make a bargain with you? If you tell of me I’ll tell of them. Isn’t that it?”
“Yes,” growled his brother. “Let’s get out of this quick. Where’s your car?”
“At the door awaiting your pleasure.”
Both men were silent during the first mile or so of the drive and then Charles adopted a conciliatory tone.
“Look here, Douglas; we can’t wriggle out of the fact that we are brothers and both of us ought to think of the family name. I happen to be a lawyer and if you’ve overstepped the mark in any direction I’m the man to advise you. You’d better lay all your cards on the table and make a clean breast of everything you’ve been doing.”
“That’s very nice and pretty, but I don’t happen to have any sins to confess—at least nothing that it would do you any good to know.”
“At any rate I feel sure you know where James is; you can at least tell me that.”
“I’ll tell you this much. James has been driving another car with my number on it and the silly fool has had an accident.”
“I saw in the paper that you had been charged with dangerous driving and that you got out of it by proving an alibi.”
“Exactly; the person who had the accident was James. He would have got out of it altogether if he hadn’t been fool enough to take his car over to France with my number on it.”
“Then he is in France at this moment.”
“Yes.”
“Do the police know this?”
“They do, but you as a lawyer know that dangerous driving is not scheduled among the offences for extradition.”
“What on earth is the idea in having your cars labelled with the same number? It was bound to lead to trouble and to set the police wondering what the motive was.”
“Oh, it won’t do the police any harm to have to exercise what they call their brains, which are apt to rot with disuse. You see, I happen to be staying at a house that has come under police observation because a murder was committed there.”
“All the more reason why you and James should play no foolhardy tricks.”
“You can leave me and James to take care of ourselves; but for your peace of mind I’ll tell you this. If James wants to hide in France he can get away from the cleverest sleuths in that country or this: no one could ever find him. By the way, you might have put your foot into it up to the knee if you had mentioned James to Mr Forge—but the Devil looks after his own. Although at one time he was dying to know all about a certain Jim Oborn, by great good luck he didn’t connect you with him. And now we’re getting into the thick of the traffic and you mustn’t speak to the man at the wheel.”
Chapter Eighteen
THE NEXT REPORT from Paris took Richardson by surprise: it had come by air mail and was marked “very pressing.” The word “very” had been added in capitals to the ordinary “pressing” label.
“Having received from the landing officer at Dieppe a report that Arthur Graves had landed and had taken the train for Paris, I called upon M. Verneuil, who very kindly undertook to have a watch kept on the shop of the jeweller, Bigaud, and to have any Englishman who called there followed. The French detective seems to have been very astute, for at about three o’clock I received a telephone message to the effect that the Englishman Graves and the jeweller Bigaud had been detained for questioning and were at that moment at the police office attached to the Grand Palais if I desired to see them. I found Arthur Graves in a high state of irritation at his detention. He had been searched and on his person had been found a pearl necklace of considerable value. He was demanding to see the British consul. When he saw me he asked why he was being detained. I suggested that he should tell us how the pearl necklace came into his possession. After blustering for about five minutes and contradicting himself more than once he said that the necklace had been entrusted to him by the Marquis de Crémont to dispose of in England, but that, owing to the death of Fredman, with whom he had had transactions before, he had brought it back to France to see what Bigaud could do. He confessed that he had done business for the marquis on former occasions and that he understood that he was disposing of family heirlooms. But after close questioning by Verneuil, translated by me, and threats that unless he ‘came clean’ he might be held by the French police indefinitely, he became more reasonable and admitted that although he knew nothing he had guessed that the transactions were not above-board and that he would do well to walk warily. I pressed him for the name of any other confederate of the marquis. At first he disclaimed any such knowledge, but when I mentioned the name of James Oborn he said, ‘If you know so much about these people why ask me? I’m only a messenger.’
“No further questioning or threats could get from him the whereabouts of James Oborn, and I am inclined to think that he knows no more than we do about this. He declared that though he had to meet him from time to time a
t the Hotel de l’Univers he knew nothing about his movements between these meetings and had never had any other address from him. The brother, Douglas Oborn, he had never met; neither had he met Gerald Huskisson. I then questioned him about Margaret Gask and after long prevarication I got from him finally that he had been entrusted by her with jewellery to dispose of to Fredman in England and that he suspected that these articles had not been honestly acquired. The rest of his statement about her tallied exactly with what he had told me at our first interview and I am inclined to believe that it was the truth and that he had not seen her on her last visit to England when she met her death. He could give me no information about any of her associates who might have had a motive for killing her.
“After a very long interrogation I arrived at the conclusion that this man was nothing more than a go-between; that he took to Fredman stolen articles that could not be disposed of safely in France and he took from Fredman to Bigaud things that could not be disposed of in England. For the moment the French police, whose powers are more extensive than ours, are keeping both Bigaud and Graves under preventive arrest. M. Verneuil has a strong suspicion that the pearl necklace is one reported by Mlle Saulnois, the actress, as having been stolen from her villa at Nice; steps are being taken to have an identification made.
“As soon as I received your instructions to trace, if possible, the car brought over by James Oborn I put the matter before M. Goron, who displayed an even greater anxiety to trace the car than I did. He circulated a detailed description of the car to the whole of his force of gendarmerie and promised to communicate any result of the enquiry to me. He seemed to think at first that he would be in a position to report results within a few hours, but so far I have heard nothing from him.
“Meanwhile he has been closely investigating the movements of Huskisson and up to date he has the following grounds for suspicion against him.
“(1) He was for some weeks the inseparable companion of Margaret Gask and was acting as her escort on the night when she ‘lost’ the diamond clip at the Opera House.
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