by Vernon Loder
‘I believe not, sir. But I thought you might prefer to interview him yourself.’
Devenish agreed, left for the club, and was there within a quarter of an hour. It was a free-and-easy club mostly frequented by young men with sporting proclivities, and the standard of membership was not too high.
When the inspector asked if he might see Mr Jameson Peden-Hythe, he was asked to wait. The messenger returned to say that Mr Peden-Hythe was in his bedroom and had had tea sent up to him about six.’
Tea seemed a strange drink at six o’clock to a man who was reputed to be addicted to alcohol. But it turned out that the young man had gone to sleep and only waked at six. He was still lying down, clad in shirt, trousers and a gorgeous silk dressing-gown, when Devenish entered the room.
He was very tall, very thin, and very pale, but not unhandsome. He had a sulky air, and was very terse in his remarks too. Either he had been drinking heavily or had slept little during the past few days.
Devenish stated his business, and added that he had been told that the young man had stayed the night of Sunday at Sir William Lefort’s.
‘So I did,’ was the reply. ‘Take a gasper!’
‘You are sure of that, sir?’
Jameson stared, murmured to himself, and shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t. Thought of it, that’s all.’
‘You spent the night here instead?’
The young man raised himself on his elbow, peevishly. ‘What are you up to?’
Devenish looked stern. ‘You must know, sir, that official inquiries like mine are meant to be taken seriously. I shall be obliged if you will think carefully before you reply.’
‘Carry on!’
‘I want to know your movements last Sunday, sir. I am aware that Mr Mander visited Parston Court, and that you left when he arrived.’
‘So I did—Beastly bounder!’
‘Nominally, to go to Sir William’s,’ said Devenish. ‘But where did you actually go?’
‘Came here—do take a gasper! Smoke your own if you don’t like mine.’
Devenish shook his head. ‘Not at present, thank you.’
‘Then would you mind ringing the bell? I want a drink.’
‘Excuse me, sir, but you must really concentrate on my questions.’
The young man felt for his cigarette-case and matches, and lit up, ‘Go on!’
‘Where did you go after that?’
‘Took this room here, then went into the park.’
‘For how long?’
‘Back at six. No; I went to see a fella. Left him at seven, and had to see another fella. Then I had dinner here.’
‘And after that, sir?’
Mr Jameson Peden-Hythe looked exceedingly wise. ‘Damned if I know.’
‘But you must surely know?’
‘Surely don’t! Both fellas hospitable, and all that, and I had a spot or two with my dinner. Went somewhere after, and had a spot or two. I was damn spotty I must say.’
‘Drunk, you mean?’
‘Stewed! What do you think?’
Devenish frowned. ‘I am rather anxious to know where you were on Sunday evening, all the same,’ he said slowly. ‘Can’t you think back? No one seems to have noticed that you were as drunk as that, when you came in here that night.’
‘Perhaps no one saw me,’ said Jameson exhaustedly.
Devenish dropped that; tried him from a new angle. ‘Perhaps you can give me some idea of Mr Mander’s character. I know you disliked him—’
‘Like hell!’
‘And that being so, I must discount a certain amount of prejudice.’
Jameson Peden-Hythe sat up suddenly, and delivered himself of the longest speech of his life. ‘That fella! I ask you—what was he? Jumped-up lawyer’s clerk, gift of the gab, cunning as monkeys—I say, he could talk a cook into doing a twelve-course dinner on her evenin’ out. The trouble is that the mater’s impressionable. Damn good business woman; but impressionable. He had a programme, all cut and dry. He convinced her—what? That swab; getting away with it, hocussing her from top to bottom. And no use me talking! I’m not a business man. What do I know about it? Nothing! Wasting the family substance in riotous livin’!—Me? No, not me; Mander. But, as I say, it was no use talking.’
He lay back on the bed, exhausted, and inhaled deeply, staring up at the ceiling.
Devenish had nothing to go on here, and knew it. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said, rather contemptuously. ‘You can’t remember.’
‘That’s right.’
Devenish went down to the hall-porter, and asked the man if he had noticed the condition in which Mr Peden-Hythe had come in on the Sunday night. He showed his card, and the man whistled.
‘Nothing out of the ordinary, inspector,’ he replied.
‘What is the ordinary?’
‘I should think he had had a few, sir, but nothing to speak of.’
‘It wouldn’t have struck you that he was incapable, or anything like that?’
‘No, sir. He seemed in a bad temper, but that was about all.’
‘Did he come in a taxi?’
‘I don’t think so, sir, though he may have paid one off near at hand.’
There was an inconsistency somewhere, but even that did not prove that Peden-Hythe was connected with the case. It was obvious that he did not wish it to be known where he was on the Sunday evening, but a dubious visit somewhere and association with a murder are not necessarily linked.
Jameson evidently suspected that Mander had been swindling, or about to swindle, his mother out of some money, and naturally resented this large wasting of the family funds. On the other hand, would he have spoken so strongly against the dead man if he had been concerned in his death? There was no convincing answer to that question. A guilty man will sometimes find it to his account to do something the rules suggest he would not have done.
Devenish thought it all over while he had supper in a restaurant. There appeared to be nothing subtle about Jameson, but you never knew. That idle, weedy, debilitated sort of man was sometimes as tricky as the devil.
When he had finished his meal, Devenish hurried back to the Stores, and this time collected Sergeant Davis, and went straight up to the flat. They sat down in the drawing-room and smoked, while Devenish talked over the evidence with his assistant.
‘Since there were no holes or slits in the costumes the two wore, we can be quite sure they were dressed up after death,’ the inspector began, ‘but we want to know where those things came from.’
‘The dongarees, I mean the blue overall, was one he used to wear when he was tinkering in his workshop up there, sir.’
‘I suspected that. It fitted him too well to be a chance find. But there were an even number of wax models in that window—all paired off. Since Mander was not in fancy-dress, Miss Tumour was odd one out. Did you find where the fancy cloak she wore came from?’
Davis nodded. ‘Up here, sir. It seems the designers submitted ideas and models to Mander. That was one which he turned down, but the butler knew it. He said Mander left it lying about.’
Devenish frowned. ‘Very well. That places both up here. Now there is that wound the woman had. I am not very satisfied about it. Did it seem to you—I mean to say, if you were going to stab anyone, would you choose that spot?’
The sergeant considered. ‘No, sir, I don’t think I would. The instinct would be to strike either at the throat or down between the shoulders—I wondered too.’
‘Push up that window and sit on the sill, looking this way,’ Devenish commanded.
Davis got up and obeyed. Devenish went through the pantomime of shooting, tried his assistant in various positions, and sighed.
‘This place is so much higher than any building near at hand,’ he said. ‘Still, we had better be thorough and go through with it. Fired at this angle, the bullet would hit somewhere within a radius of a thousand yards at most, whether Mander was sitting or standing. We must inquire at every building near. A broken window, or c
hipped plaster or stone, would show. We might also get some photographs from here with a telephoto lens and see if they show anything. See to that tomorrow, will you?’
Davis assented, and sat down again, after shutting the window to keep the damp cold air from the dark beyond.
‘I can’t help thinking, sir, that there is something fishy about Mr Kephim,’ he said tentatively.
‘Why do you think so?’
‘There was a pretty young lady came to see him today, sir. Corbett saw her go in, looking pretty serious. She stayed over an hour, and he says she came out again smiling, as happy as anything.’
Devenish laughed. ‘If that is all, Davis, a good many men in town are suspect.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t only that, sir, her going to see Mr Kephim. But Corbett followed her home, and made inquiries, and it seems she was a great friend of Miss Tumour’s.’
The inspector started. Could this have been Mrs Hoe? She knew Kephim, of course, but could she be getting materials for the Press, or was there a personal motive behind her visit?
‘There may be nothing in it,’ he replied, ‘but have an eye kept on Mrs Hoe—if it was she. I interviewed her, and she impressed me favourably; but gave me an idea that she was not as fond of her friend as she wished me to believe.’
‘I will keep an eye on her, sir,’ said Davis, ‘but there is another thing I wanted to know. That gadget at the Stores, to let the watchman hear anyone moving about the departments at night, was cut by Mann perhaps. I wonder what he did it with.’
‘It is easily cut,’ said Devenish; ‘what interests me is the fact that it is cut so that it would not be seen if the microphone attachment was only cursorily inspected.’
‘Yes, sir, that is true.’
‘Well, there is a job for you. The man may be a sleepy devil, who wanted to snooze between whiles. That microphone would make a beast of a noise if cars passed in the street too.’
‘There is that,’ the sergeant agreed. ‘Quite a lot of them look on a night job as easy money.’
‘Then please have another talk with him, and also find anything you can about him round where he lives. Also see if Mr Kephim or Mr Cane, or anyone in this show, was in touch with him. Now I am going on the roof. Got your torch?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As they went up the stairs, Devenish remarked that the missing sparking plugs puzzled him as much as anything.
‘If it wasn’t the gyrocopter descending, it was the engine on the bench in the workshop that made the noise,’ he said. ‘If it was the engine in the workshop, then the murderer removed the sparking plugs after he had done with it.’
‘I don’t quite follow you, sir,’ said Davis.
Devenish shrugged. ‘If a gyrocopter didn’t land here, and yet there were wheel-tracks on the roof, it was to give the impression that a landing had been made. But, to help out that impression, there would have to be the sound of an aero-engine, wouldn’t there? So the murderer must have run it to make the sound, and then removed the sparking-plugs to prove that the engine on the bench couldn’t have made it.
He took a torch from his pocket as he stepped out on the flat roof. Davis also switched on his.
‘All the evidence we have in the way of bloodstains suggests that the two people were killed below,’ said Devenish, ‘but we have against that the missing bullet, and that, to my mind, is the real crux. Now, up here, we have all the apparatus necessary, and I want to go into it. I may be wrong, but I have a feeling that we are warmer here than down below. How many men are there in the Stores now?’
‘We have seven on various jobs below, sir.’
‘Right. Bring them up here quickly. No, send a couple of them into the hardware department first, and let them scrounge a sieve apiece. These sand-buffers for the aeroplane landing would be the very thing to stop a bullet.’
‘You’re right, sir,’ said Davis, starting. ‘I never thought of that.’
Devenish pondered. ‘It’s a chance. The bullet went somewhere. Get off now, sergeant.’
Davis hurried down the stairs. Devenish approached one of the long piles of sand at one end of the roof, and focused the beam from his torch upon it.
‘If it was here, it narrows it down a bit,’ he said to himself, pulling up the collar of his coat against the chill night air, ‘but what the dickens would they be doing up here in winter?’
He was leaning against the parapet, smoking and thinking, when the sergeant returned, with seven men. He had had the foresight to scrounge torches as well as sieves, and there was plenty of light on the sandbanks when the men set to work.
The sandbanks were deep and thick, and torches gave out and were replaced with others from the Store as time went on. It is a long job sifting and inspecting tons of sand, and two hours had passed before Devenish was satisfied that the first bank contained nothing to interest them.
At midnight he went down to the flat and asked the butler to make them some hot coffee while they began to tackle the second bank. Ten minutes rest, while they drank the coffee, and they went at it again with fresh zeal.
But Devenish as he saw the bank being gradually worked through began to feel pessimistic. His conviction had been strong that the sand might cover the secret of the murder, and the reaction was all the greater when they had sieved one bank, and half of the second, without any results.
‘Short cuts don’t save distance it seems,’ he remarked to Davis.
As he said that, a detective to his extreme right gave an excited cry.
‘Look at this, sir!’
CHAPTER X
‘THERE is no doubt that it is blood,’ said Devenish, after he had examined the red stained sand pointed out to him by the detective. ‘But leave that bit, and the rest of you stop work till we have a better look. Davis, do you think we had better leave it till daylight? I mean this part. I intend to have a look for the bullet the other side of the bank.’
Davis nodded. ‘I think it might be better, sir. This blood is on the inner side, and if Mander was killed by a bullet fired from a little distance, then the firer must have stood on the inner side, not the parapet side.’
‘And the bullet would pass through a certain amount of sand before it was stopped,’ Devenish nodded. ‘Here, you fellows, get round to the parapet side, opposite where I am standing now. I just want two of you.’
While the surplus men concentrated their torches on the bank, and two moved round the sandbank, Devenish stared at Davis.
‘Do you remember if there was any wind on the night of Sunday?’ he asked. ‘I think there was a breeze when I went to bed. Of course we can soon settle the point if you are not sure.’
Davis nodded.
‘Yes, sir. There was a strongish wind from the west.’
‘That would blow across this roof then?’
‘It must, sir.’
‘I shall have to inquire how a gyrocopter lands,’ said Devenish half aloud, and turned again to the men who waited. ‘Sieve the sand very slowly and carefully for about six feet on your side, taking my position as the centre, and working inwards. Don’t move the bank generally any more than you can help.’
All the torches were now concentrated on the sandbank, and the two men went very carefully to work. Devenish told them to be very thorough, then went down with Davis to the flat below and, opening the door communicating with the servants’ quarters, got the butler, and asked him if he had any lamp oil.
‘We want more light up there,’ he explained.
The butler proved useful. He explained that he had heard there were some new petrol lamps on show below, and, as there was a daily demonstration, no doubt the lamps would be filled.
‘They’re the new, safe kind, sir,’ he said.
Devenish despatched Davis to bring two lamps up, and returned to the roof. He was thinking as he went that the secrecy which Mr Mander’s manoeuvres required had not only made it easier for the murderer to operate, but also fogged the path of the law. This private staircase, an
d the care Mander had taken to see that no one spied on his actions, enabled the murderer to take his time over the job, replace the sand over the blood, and clear up before he left.
‘There is one thing that may help,’ he mused. ‘If anyone concerned in the case tries to leave London in a hurry, we may get a clue. If I gave it out that the sand was to be cleared from the roof, it might provide a scare, but I’ll leave that for the present.’
Davis had returned and set up the lamps before either of the two detectives with sieves made another discovery. But, five minutes after fresh light had been thrown upon the scene, the bullet came into view.
At once all work was stopped. Devenish took the bullet in his palm and produced a pocket magnifier, while his assistants stood round, eagerly staring.
‘That’s the ticket,’ said Devenish. ‘Just the kind of bullet we were looking for. Now then, two of you loot the Store again and bring up tarpaulins, or dustcloths; anything you can get suitable—waterproof sheets would be best, perhaps. And one of you had better stay here on guard till four, when another man will relieve him.’
‘Are we closing down for the night then, sir?’ one of the subordinates asked.
‘As regards this; yes. I want the superintendent and Mr Melis to see this when it is light. It must be covered up now as it stands, and not touched. By the way, no one outside is to hear that anything has been found on the roof. Do you understand?’
Having made that clear, he and Davis went back to the late Mr Mander’s drawing-room and sat down to examine the bullet in turn. When they had both stared at it closely, Devenish put it away.
‘Now how do you think an aeroplane lands?’ the inspector asked his sergeant.
‘Head to wind, sir, I believe,’ said Davis. ‘Just as a bird does.’
‘That was my idea, and I think it is correct. Now if the wind was westerly on Sunday night, that is blowing across the roof, and the gyrocopter did land here, how does it come that the tracks of the wheels lie running between the sandbanks, length-ways?’
‘But we thought it did not land here, sir. That that was a plant?’
‘True, but even a badly arranged fake may give hints. Say a sailor was trying to make it appear that one of the other sailors had bound a man with rope. He would use the best knots sailors are expert at, wouldn’t he?’