The Price of Silence

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  The inspector nodded. ‘Yes, sir. There’s no other conclusion possible. The gun Jowett used was a Browning automatic. The housekeeper, Mrs Harrop, said he’d bought a gun at the start of the war.’ He gave a superior smile. ‘Apparently he wanted to be prepared, in case of an invasion.’

  ‘As did many others,’ agreed Sir Douglas, rubbing the side of his nose. ‘There’s no doubt, I suppose, that the gun was his?’

  ‘It’s as certain as it can be,’ said the inspector with a shrug. ‘Mrs Harrop and Eileen Chadderton, the parlourmaid, said they’d seen a gun in Mr Jowett’s desk but couldn’t swear to it being the Browning. Eileen Chadderton thought the gun she’d seen was different, but couldn’t say how. Annie Colbeck, on the other hand, had also seen a gun in the study and was sure that it was the Browning, but you know what women are, sir.’ He laughed tolerantly. ‘A young lad, now, that would be different, but I wouldn’t trust a woman to know anything about firearms.’

  ‘It’s an odd business though,’ said Sir Douglas reflectively. He tapped the report. ‘All Mr Jowett’s friends and acquaintances have said he was the last sort of man to resort to such violence.’

  He leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ve read your official report, Tanner, but I’d like you to give me your own impressions. For instance, what were the relations between Jowett and his wife? And where does Maurice fit into the picture? Hawthorne, the butler, said his name before he died.’

  ‘I know he did, sir, but what he meant by it is anyone’s guess. Maurice is Captain Maurice Knowle, Mrs Jowett’s son by her first marriage. His father was Major-General Knowle, who died in Honduras in 1898. The Jowetts married ten years ago and, as far as I can ascertain, the relations between all three of them were always very good. Having said that, the housekeeper thinks that her mistress had been worried recently and she thinks it was something to do with young Knowle.’

  ‘Has she any idea what worried Mrs Jowett about Knowle?’

  ‘Not really, sir,’ said Tanner. ‘The housekeeper says that Captain Knowle called to see his mother on the morning of the shootings, but he only stayed for half an hour or so. Apparently he seemed unusually anxious, as did his mother, but heaven knows what about.’

  ‘Hasn’t the housekeeper got any idea?’

  Inspector Tanner grinned. ‘She heard them saying something about chocolate, but that’s all.’

  ‘Chocolate?’ repeated Sir Douglas, puzzled. ‘What on earth has chocolate to do with it?’

  ‘Search me, sir. I must say, I felt sorry for Captain Knowle. He seemed a very nervy type, but he’s probably got good cause. He was commissioned into the Royal Artillery a couple of years before the war and received his captaincy in time to take part in the retreat from Mons.’

  Sir Douglas Lynton winced. ‘Poor devil.’

  ‘Exactly. He saw out the winter in Ypres, then sustained a shrapnel wound at Aubers Ridge. His left arm was taken off at the elbow and he’s got a damaged leg. He’s still recovering but he hopes to take up a post at the War Office in a couple of months.’

  ‘Is he hard up?’

  Tanner shook his head. ‘Not as far as I can tell. He has some money of his own. The late Major-General Knowle left both his wife and his son a tidy little sum.’

  ‘Did he, by Jove? That probably accounts for where they live. I would’ve thought a house off Northumberland Avenue was a bit above a bank employee, but if Mrs Jowett had money, that explains it.’

  ‘You’re right, sir,’ agreed Tanner. ‘The house belonged to the Knowle family as did, in a manner of speaking, Hawthorne, the butler. He’d been with the Knowle family all his life.’

  ‘Mr Jowett seems to have done very well from his marriage,’ commented Sir Douglas. ‘Did that lead to any strain between them?’

  ‘Not that I’ve been able to find out,’ said Tanner in a disgruntled way. ‘They seem to have been a devoted couple. Edward Jowett, by all accounts, was a kindly man, popular and well-liked, as was Mrs Jowett. She’s done a good deal of practical welfare work since the war started. She was particularly keen on Belgian relief work. Maurice Knowle is engaged to be married to a Miss Edith Wilson, who’s nursing in Belgium.’

  Sir Douglas grunted in dissatisfaction. ‘And yet this exemplary couple clearly had a violent argument concerning Maurice which ended in murder and suicide.’ He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘I don’t like it, Tanner. As the affair stands, it’s inexplicable.’

  Tanner put his hands wide. ‘We don’t know what goes on behind closed doors, sir, and that’s a fact.’

  ‘I wish we did have some facts,’ said Sir Douglas grumpily. ‘They seem to be like hen’s teeth. We know what happened but we don’t know why. What about Jowett’s colleagues at the bank? What do they have to say?’

  ‘They seem to be as shocked as the rest of the Jowetts’ friends and acquaintances, sir. Having said that, I was a bit unhappy about the bank itself.’

  Sir Douglas looked startled. ‘The bank? The Capital and Counties, you mean? I know it was ailing a few years ago but it seems in perfectly good order now. Why are you unhappy?’

  ‘Jowett was the chief cashier at their head office, in Throgmorton Street, in the City …’ Inspector Tanner paused. ‘It’s not an English bank.’

  ‘The Capital and Counties?’ repeated Sir Douglas. ‘Of course it’s an English bank.’

  ‘It was, sir. It was bought out five years ago by a Chicago concern, the Midwest Mutual and Savings.’

  ‘Well? What of it? London’s the greatest financial centre in the world, Tanner. Naturally the Americans want a hand in it.’

  ‘Do you know the owner’s name, sir?’ Tanner paused significantly. ‘It’s Diefenbach. Rupert Arno Diefenbach. His son, Paul Diefenbach, is the chairman of the London bank. They’re Krauts.’

  Sir Douglas laughed. ‘For heaven’s sake, Tanner! They might have German names, but you said yourself, they’re American.’

  ‘They’re German-Americans,’ persisted Tanner stolidly, unmoved by his chief’s derision. ‘Rupert Arno Diefenbach made a fortune in the Chicago cattle markets and also has considerable interests in oil and railways. He’s a millionaire a good few times over.’

  ‘Lucky beggar,’ commented Sir Douglas. He looked at Inspector Tanner and sighed in half-humorous exasperation. ‘You’re surely not suggesting that this American millionaire, Diefenbach, or whatever his name is, is responsible for the Jowetts’ deaths?’

  ‘Well, no, I wasn’t suggesting that.’

  ‘Was he even in this country when the Jowetts died?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ Tanner grudgingly admitted. ‘I don’t know if he’s ever been to England. I bet he’s been to Germany a few times though,’ he rumbled defiantly.

  ‘What about Paul Diefenbach?’ asked Sir Douglas. ‘The man who actually runs the bank?’

  ‘I wondered about him, sir. Apparently he was very friendly with Mr Jowett. I thought that was odd, as there’s such a difference in age.’

  ‘Have you questioned him, Tanner?’

  ‘I can’t, sir. He sailed for America three weeks ago.’

  ‘That rules him out, however German he is. Paul Diefenbach? The name’s vaguely familiar for some reason.’

  ‘He’s a bit of a character, as far as I can make out. He goes in for motor-racing and mountain climbing and such-like.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Sir Douglas. A memory of a lean-faced, fair-haired man holding a flying helmet, grinning from the pages of an old newspaper, rose to mind. ‘I’ve placed him now. He attempted to fly across the North Sea before the war.’

  ‘Some people have got more money than sense,’ grunted Tanner. ‘It seems an expensive way of trying to break your neck. Apparently that’s why he’s gone to America, to go off on an expedition up the Amazon, to the Matey Grocer or some such place.’

  ‘The Matey Grocer?’ Sir Douglas smiled. ‘I think you mean the Mato Grosso, Tanner.’

  ‘I daresay I do,’ said Tanner, unmoved. ‘It’
s somewhere foreign, that I do know.’

  Sir Douglas laughed. ‘The spirit of adventure evidently doesn’t appeal to you. Like you, I’m surprised he was friendly with Mr Jowett, though.’

  It was an odd friendship, he thought. From the description he’d read, Edward Jowett was a precise, portly and utterly conventional, if kindly, man. ‘He sounds to have been a staid sort of chap for an American daredevil to take up with.’

  ‘Nevertheless, sir, that’s what I was told. They’d often have dinner together. I tell you sir, it’s odd. And I don’t like the bank. It strikes me as all wrong they should masquerade as British when there’s German money behind it.’

  ‘American money,’ corrected Sir Douglas. ‘Look, Tanner, forget about international finance. When I asked you about the bank, what I actually wanted to know was if any of Mr Jowett’s colleagues had noticed any change of mood recently. Was he worried or concerned about anything?’

  ‘He certainly had something on his mind, sir. On the day of the incident, he was noticeably distracted and very much below par. He told his colleagues he felt very seedy, so he went home early. He doesn’t seem to have been himself for about a week or so before he died.’

  ‘Was he sickening for something?’

  ‘If he was, he hadn’t consulted his doctor about it.’

  ‘Then was it something wrong at the bank? Any suggestion of fraud or theft, perhaps?’

  ‘Nothing’s come to light,’ said Tanner.

  ‘So we’re back to something wrong at home. Which, I must say, is where I thought the problem was in the first place. Both Mr and Mrs Jowett were worried in the week or weeks leading up to their deaths. It could be that Mr Jowett had some sort of illness – although, as you say, he hadn’t consulted his doctor – but we’re guessing it had something to do with Maurice Knowle.’

  ‘The servants heard him shout “Maurice”, before the shooting,’ agreed Inspector Tanner.

  ‘Indeed they did.’ Sir Douglas tutted impatiently. ‘And, of course, the butler said “Maurice” before he died.’ He flicked open the report and thumbed through it. ‘Maurice Knowle benefits from his mother and stepfather’s death to the tune of fourteen thousand pounds. It’s a tidy sum.’ He leaned back and steepled his fingers. ‘You’re sure we’re not being led up the garden path?’ he asked abruptly.

  Inspector Tanner was startled. ‘How d’you mean, sir?’

  ‘Are you certain that Mr Jowett shot his wife and then shot himself? You see, Tanner, for one thing, the butler, Samuel Hawthorne, said, literally with his dying breath, that it was his fault. What did he mean?’

  Tanner shrugged. ‘I couldn’t make sense of that, sir. It can’t possibly have been the butler’s fault. Hawthorne was with the other servants outside the study door. The housekeeper, Mrs Harrop, stated that, not only was he in service with the family since he was a boy, he was devoted to Mr Jowett and to Mrs Jowett in particular. I may say that the Jowetts were highly regarded by both Mrs Harrop and Hawthorne. Mrs Harrop has been with the Jowetts for nearly ten years and was very happy with them.’

  ‘The cause of Hawthorne’s death was heart failure, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It was a long-standing condition.’

  ‘What about the other servants? Have they been with the Jowetts long?’

  ‘No, sir. All the rest of the staff have only been in their places a few months, but according to the housekeeper, the Jowetts counted themselves lucky to get anyone, what with the wages these women can earn nowadays in the factories.’ The inspector grinned. ‘Mrs Harrop doesn’t approve of factory work. She’s very old fashioned and hates the idea that Jack – and Jill – are as good as their masters.’

  ‘She’s out of tune with modern thought,’ grunted Sir Douglas. He sighed impatiently. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Edward Jowett seems a kindly, well-disposed man who cared for his wife and stepson. He was a moderate drinker and there’s no history of domestic disputes. And yet this kindly, well-regarded man apparently murdered his wife.’

  ‘We know they quarrelled, sir. The servants heard them.’

  ‘Even so …’ Sir Douglas broke off impatiently. ‘Look, Tanner, not to beat about the bush, was there a third party in the room? A third party who murdered the Jowetts? Furthermore, in light of what the butler said, was that third party Maurice Knowle?’

  ‘It’s not possible, sir.’ There was no doubt in Tanner’s voice. ‘As I’ve stated in my report, the servants heard the argument, heard the shots, and stayed outside the door until it was broken open.’

  ‘Could a murderer have killed the Jowetts, then escaped out of the window before the door was forced?’

  Inspector Tanner shook his head. ‘No, sir. The study is on the third floor, overlooking the front of the house and it’s a sheer drop to the ground. Besides that, there were no marks on the windowsill. Granted his injuries, it would be a complete impossibility for Maurice Knowle, no matter what the butler said.’

  Sir Douglas nodded in agreement. ‘I have to agree with you on that score. You seem to have gone into the thing pretty thoroughly.’

  Tanner looked understandably pleased. ‘I did, sir. In view of the importance of the case, I didn’t want there to be any doubt. PC Coltrane, the officer who broke the door down, left the servants in the room and telephoned the station for instructions. Acting on advice from the inspector of the division, Inspector Carhew, Constable Coltrane remained on duty inside the room until Inspector Carhew arrived with his men. The local doctor, Dr Simmons, arrived before Inspector Carhew. He saw to Mrs Harrop and pronounced Hawthorne and both the Jowetts dead. Although Inspector Carhew was satisfied in his own mind that no third party was involved, in view of the gravity of the case, he called in the Yard. He didn’t want there to be any question that the police had failed in their duties.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ murmured Sir Douglas.

  ‘When I arrived, Inspector Carhew was still there. We naturally discussed the possibility of an intruder but we were able to dismiss the idea.’

  ‘You’re completely certain?’

  ‘Completely, sir. In view of the evidence from the servants, I can’t say I had any real doubts as to the truth of the matter, but, to be on the safe side, I conducted a thorough search.’

  ‘There wasn’t anywhere an intruder could’ve been hiding?’

  ‘Not that I could see, sir. It’s not a big room and there aren’t any cupboards or anything of that nature.’

  ‘I see there were papers on the table. Where were the papers kept?’

  ‘On the bookcase, I presume, sir. There was a box file, the sort of file that’s kept on a shelf. There are bookcases, but they’re solid oak, flat against the wall, and can’t be moved. No one could hide behind them.’

  Sir Douglas drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I wish I knew why the butler said “Maurice” before he died.’ He tapped the report once more. ‘I see that, despite him being a cripple, you did check up on Maurice Knowle.’

  ‘Of course, sir. In view of what Hawthorne said before he died, I felt it my duty to do so. I didn’t know the extent of his injuries, otherwise I’d have probably dismissed him out of hand. He seemed genuinely shaken.’

  Sir Douglas smoothed his moustache thoughtfully. ‘He could have been putting that on, I suppose, but in light of what you say, I don’t see how it’s possible for him to be involved.’ He lit a cigarette and heaved a deep sigh. ‘Is there anything else? Anything, that is, that we haven’t spoken about?’

  ‘Nothing, sir …’ began Tanner, then stopped. ‘There’s just one thing, sir. The housekeeper mentioned it. About a fortnight before the shooting, Mr Jowett complained that someone had been in his study. He was far more upset than the occasion seemed to warrant. It blew over, but it was about that time that Mrs Jowett seemed to become worried, as if she had something on her mind.’

  ‘Was anything taken?’

  ‘No, sir, but I did wonder if someone in the house – perhaps even Captain Knowle – had tri
ed to get hold of confidential bank documents.’

  ‘It’s a thought. Are we certain Jowett wasn’t involved in a fraud?’

  Tanner shrugged. ‘As certain as I can be, yes. Everyone who worked with him has said he was an honest and dedicated man. There’s the other point, too, that no irregularities at the bank have come to light. Mr Jowett’s been dead for the best part of a week. If anything was wrong, it’d have been discovered by now.’

  Sir Douglas nodded. ‘I agree.’ He blew out a cloud of smoke, closed the file and drummed his fingers on the manila folder. ‘So there we have it, Tanner. You seem to have acted very efficiently.’ He paused unhappily. ‘We’re missing something though. Something happened to cause Edward Jowett to lose his temper so completely that he murdered his wife. I wish we knew what.’

  THREE

  It was a week after the three deaths that had ripped the Jowett household apart. With the press dominated by news of the war, the case, which would have merited columns of newsprint before the war, was relegated to a brief recital of facts under the headline of ‘Tragic [or Mysterious or Sudden or Violent] Death of Banker and Wife’.

  Father Emil Quinet read of the deaths as he diligently scoured the papers for news of his beloved Belgium, which was so scarred by war. Then, as habit and training lead him to do, he said a prayer for the souls of the departed, and forgot all about it.

  Behind the screen of the confessional, he yawned and rubbed his face with his hands. He was old, he had slept fitfully, and the church was very quiet, this Saturday lunchtime. From outside, filtered by the thick walls, came the restful, muted, sound of London traffic.

  From outside the confessional came the creak of a pew. He sat up, unconsciously readying himself into a listening pose. Someone was sitting or kneeling down, gathering their thoughts or saying a prayer before entering the small, dark space on the other side of the screen.

  Bless me Father, for I have sinned …

  He had heard those words thousands of times. Would they be spoken in French or English? His English was good but slow and he understood far more than he could speak. At home, in Liege, they had been spoken in French. Here, in London, it was still said, as often as not, in French, as his fellow refugees came to the Belgian priest to whisper their faults and be granted absolution. For the most part the faults were very minor and if Father Quinet’s speech was gentler and his manner more gracious with his unseen Belgian penitents than with the Irish, Italians and English, it was only to be expected that he should favour his fellow Belgians who had suffered so much in this terrible war.