The Shop Window Murders

by Vernon Loder

  ‘But I thought it was impossible that this could be murder and suicide, inspector.’

  ‘Well, we have to try out all our theories,’ said Devenish, ‘but we’ll leave that for the moment. Have you seen Mrs Hoe lately?’

  Kephim coloured a little. It was easy to see that the pretty little woman had sympathised with him very successfully.

  ‘Oh, yes, several times, inspector. She has been very kind. I saw something of her when Effie was alive, but I never—’ he checked himself and coloured still more highly.

  ‘I see. What does she think was behind this intrigue with Mander? Or has she not mentioned it to you?’

  ‘I am afraid he thinks Effie meant to bolt with the man.’

  ‘She has no other theory to account for it?’

  ‘She has not mentioned any, I am sure.’

  Devenish felt sure that Mrs Hoe was implicated in the case somewhere. She had not mentioned the fact to him that she and Tumour had been at school together, a vital suppression. Then, why was she following up Mr Kephim? Was it because she suspected him of the murder, or simply because she had fallen in love with him? There was some point in the latter theory, since Mrs Hoe had spoken slightingly of Tumour while affecting to admire her and like her. Jealousy might have been behind that; the inconvenient spectre which lurks uneasily behind many apparent friendships.

  But Devenish did not wish Kephim to attach too much importance to that part of their conversation which dealt with Mrs Hoe. He might repeat it to the woman herself, which would be highly inconvenient. He turned the subject abruptly.

  ‘Now, Mr Kephim, I need not tell you that your lack of an alibi on Sunday night, and the fact that your fiancée was carrying on an intrigue with Mander, rather complicates your position. If you had nothing to do with the crime, as I am inclined to believe, it is still possible that a third party knew of the intrigue and would not be averse from throwing the blame on you.’

  Kephim stared. ‘I don’t know anyone who would play me a foul trick like that, I must say so. Why, it would be worse than trying to murder me in cold blood.’

  ‘You have no enemies then?’

  ‘Not that kind, thank God.’

  ‘I understood from Mr Crayte that you were not on good terms with Mr Cane?’

  Kephim nodded. ‘That is true. Cane is a cad, and a damned snob. I can’t stick him at any price. Just because he went to a public school and then into the army—’

  Devenish interrupted. ‘You feel strongly about him?’

  ‘I do,’ Kephim leaned forward, and struck one palm into the other. ‘Cane is a swine, but I would never believe him a swine of that kind. I’ll never believe that of him.’

  Devenish was about to reply when the telephone bell rang. Kephim excused himself, and went out into the hall. He shut the door behind him and Devenish was about to get up and go to the door when he returned hastily, his face white and anxious.

  ‘She cut me off,’ he said. ‘I can’t understand what has happened.’

  ‘Who?’ Devenish demanded sharply.

  ‘Mrs Hoe. When I went to the telephone she began to tell me something about the police; would I come over? Then she said in a wild sort of voice: “They’re here!” and then she rang off, and I couldn’t get on again.’

  Devenish nodded. ‘I’ll try again for you in a few minutes,’ he said quietly. ‘If it is the police, they will give me an answer.’

  Kephim rubbed his hands nervously together, and seemed much agitated. It was obvious that, if he was not the murderer of Mr Mander—which would account for his fright—he was anxious about Mrs Hoe.

  ‘But what do the police want with her, inspector? And why should she speak in that frightened way about them? She has less reason to fear your people than I have, since I may be suspected, but I don’t cry out wildly when you come.’

  ‘Women are naturally more nervous about the police,’ said the inspector. ‘Sit down, sir, and don’t worry too much.’

  ‘But Mrs Hoe is a great friend of mine. She has been most kind since that terrible thing happened—’

  ‘I know, sir. I quite appreciate your feelings, but our people may merely be anxious to question her about Miss Tumour.’

  Kephim, however, was not satisfied. ‘That is certainly all they could do. They have no reason to do more.’

  Devenish spent a few minutes trying to calm him. At the end of that time, he got up.

  ‘Well, sir, I’ll telephone to her flat now, to reassure you. Wait here till I come back, please.’

  He had no difficulty in getting through to Mrs Hoe’s flat, but the voice which replied to him was the familiar one of his colleague from the Yard.

  ‘Oh, that is you, Devenish? Good! Who was it she rang up a few minutes ago?’

  ‘Mr Kephim,’ replied the inspector. ‘I know, because he is with me now. This is his flat I am speaking from. I don’t suppose you have had enough time to discover anything yet, but—’

  His colleague replied jubilantly. ‘Oh, yes, we have. She got the wind up when we came in, and, instead of taking it quietly, dashed from her telephone into her bedroom.’

  ‘Silly of her.’

  ‘I should say so. I made a rush, and just managed to prevent her from chucking an envelope on to the lead-flat underneath.’

  ‘Oh, good! Papers in that society case you were on, eh?’

  ‘No. We haven’t come on those yet, and I don’t suppose she thought that was so pressing. She’d had this envelope under the register of the fireplace.’

  Devenish became highly excited. ‘Not my case, by any chance?’

  The voice replied cheerfully. ‘Looks like it I must say! No names named, only the initial M. But I’ll put you wise later, or if you would like to come over here—’

  ‘Don’t let her get away,’ said Devenish. ‘Put a man on, back and front, when you leave. I can’t get away just now, and we can’t hold her. My case isn’t complete enough, and in your case the matter is to be hushed up.’

  The other detective chuckled. ‘Right. I’ll see that she doesn’t give us the slip. Amazing sort of woman she is too. Carried out a good many callous cases of blackmail, and when we get the goods on her nearly goes into hysterics. Hates taking nasty medicine, but didn’t mind giving it. Mean, callous little cat, she is!’

  Kephim had not been able to restrain his anxiety any longer. As Devenish hung up the receiver, he came out into the hall.

  ‘I hope it is all right?’ he asked hastily.

  Devenish led the way back into the room and closed the door.

  ‘It is not by any means all right,’ he said slowly. ‘Now, Mr Kephim, I want you to promise me that you will not visit Mrs Hoe, or allow her to visit you here until I give permission. I don’t think it would do her any good, or you either.’

  ‘But what is up?’ Kephim cried distractedly.

  Devenish shook his head. ‘I am not at liberty to tell you yet. I will be glad to tell you at the first minute possible.’

  Kephim seemed thunderstruck. He put his head in his hands, and glared down. Then he looked up again.

  ‘It has nothing to do with the case, of course?’

  ‘It has enough connection with the case to make it inadvisable for you to visit her at present, or have any communication with her,’ the inspector replied gravely. ‘If you do, it may lead to trouble. Now I must get along,’ he added, and rose.

  Kephim nodded, but did not get up. Innocent or guilty, he looked utterly crushed by the new development.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  ON the following morning, Sergeant Davis came back to London and had an interview with the inspector. He had made close investigations into the conditions at Gelover, and was quite certain that no gyrocopter had left the Manor or its vicinity on the previous Sunday night.

  ‘I don’t think Webley is quite as straight as he might be, sir,’ he added, while Devenish pursed his lips dubiously, ‘but I am sure he was not flying that night.’

  ‘Can you be sure?’
asked Devenish.

  Davis nodded. ‘Well, I think so. He seems to be mixed up in some way with Mr Cane, sir, but unless we can get something against him, and get him into court, he won’t talk.’

  Devenish considered. ‘I think I had better see Mr Cane again, and if I can get a hint from him, I’ll see Webley myself. By the way, Mrs Hoe is implicated somewhere, and I want you to watch her. Two men are on the job now, under Inspector Hemp, but I shall tell him you will take over.’

  ‘Mrs Hoe, sir?’ cried Davis, with a startled look.

  He looked still more startled as Devenish explained the latest development, and added: ‘Inspector Hemp’s case was unofficial in a sense. He can’t bring it into court. So we’ll take over.’

  Davis went away ten minutes later, and Devenish went to call upon Mr Cane.

  Cane had just breakfasted, late as it was, and was preparing to go out into the country. His two-seater was standing outside when the inspector turned up and told him that he wanted a talk with him.

  ‘Shall you be long?’ Cane asked, smiling. ‘I had planned a circular day’s tour in Sussex, and ought to start now.’

  ‘It depends upon you, sir,’ replied the detective. ‘We never keep people long if they answer our questions readily.’

  Cane offered him a chair, lighted a pipe, and looked at him mockingly. ‘So the great brains of the Yard haven’t solved the problem yet!’ he said. ‘I am rather surprised.’

  ‘Ah, that is just the question,’ remarked Devenish dryly. ‘I think we have a bit of evidence here and there, and we should have had more if all the people we had interviewed had told us the truth and kept nothing back.’

  He looked hard at Cane, and Cane, after a few moments, looked back at him earnestly.

  ‘Present company excepted, of course, inspector?’

  Devenish shrugged. ‘I am not at all sure of that. Sergeant Davis had just been down seeing Webley, and he is frankly sceptical about your purpose in visiting the man last Sunday.’

  ‘Is your man bound to accept Webley’s version against mine?’ asked Cane incautiously.

  Devenish raised his eyebrows. ‘So there are two versions, are there?’

  Cane saw that he had made a mistake. He bit his lip.

  ‘There ought not to be. But you are suggesting that Webley’s story of our interview does not agree with mine.’

  Devenish shook his head. ‘I am not suggesting anything, sir. Webley has made certain statements.’ He paused to let that sink in, though he did not say what those statements were. ‘It seems to me, sir, that there is some question about the ownership of the gyrocopter—or rather the rights of the inventor. Mr Mander took out the patents, though he did not invent the machine.’

  ‘What has this to do with the murder?’

  ‘That is a question we hope to answer with your help, sir. The rights in this invention may be very valuable—’

  ‘They will be—’ began Cane.

  ‘If Webley can prove that he was the inventor,’ said Devenish. ‘It seems to me that Mander, during his lifetime, took advantage of the man’s ignorance of business to cheat him over the terms. That is, if he was the inventor.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Devenish smiled-faintly. ‘You don’t seem to realise, sir, that your very indefinite alibi on that night, which we have not been able in any way to confirm, together with certain pieces of evidence in the Stores, makes your position a very difficult one. There may have been a conspiracy against Mr Mander’s life, and the motive may have been something to do with these patent rights. If you can prove that your visit to Webley was quite an innocent one, I may be able to clear you. If you try to confuse us, then we shall be compelled to take sterner measures.’

  Cane did not know what he knew, or, as Devenish would have put it sardonically, the real depth of his ignorance. It seemed to him that Webley might have said something to the detective that contradicted his own statement. He considered for a minute or two, very worried now, and secretly rather alarmed.

  ‘What did Webley say?’ he asked at last.

  ‘That, sir, is our business. But you need not tell me that you went on Sunday to see this man with no other reason than the one you gave. I am a busy man, and I can’t spare the time to bandy questions and answers. Webley, as I say, has made certain statements. It is your business to make a statement to me. If it squares with Webley’s, and satisfies me, then it’s all right.’

  Cane frowned. ‘Did your people come on any papers referring to me when they searched Mr Mander’s flat?’ he asked, after a long pause.

  ‘No, sir. None at all.’

  ‘Did Webley say he was the inventor of the gyrocopter?’

  ‘You are to make a statement, sir, not me.’

  Cane bit his lip.

  For all he knew, Webley had explained the thing to the police. It would be dangerous to assume that he had not. In the circumstances, safety lay in perfect frankness.

  ‘Then I admit you are right, inspector,’ he murmured. ‘I was an ass to tell you what I did. If I had really thought you suspected I had any hand in the murder, I should have told you the truth at once.’

  ‘Perhaps you will tell it now, sir.’

  ‘Do my best anyway,’ Cane observed bitterly. ‘The fact is that when Mander opened here I was broke to the wide. After I left the Service, I started a flying school. I made some profits out of it, and those I put into an experimental machine.’

  Devenish grew tense. He fixed his eyes on Cane’s face and nodded to him to go on.

  ‘The gyrocopter, in fact,’ Cane added in a low voice. ‘I was working two years at it, and when I had put all my money in the job, my flying school bust up, and I did not see where I was going to get the money to carry on. I had cut everything down to the bone, and when I went round to get finance, I found that no one was going to touch an experimental machine unless I practically gave it away—and not very many even proposed to do that.’

  ‘Had you patented it, sir?’

  Cane shook his head. ‘I hadn’t. I am not a business man. I had an idea that people could look up the patent-office journal, and copy or adapt my invention. I hadn’t the money to fight a case if my rights were infringed. And I was afraid to show my designs to financiers for the same reason.’

  ‘Did you expect them to buy a pig in a poke?’

  Cane shrugged. ‘I wanted to get hold of a chap who was honest. Damn it all, inspector, everyone knows what inventors are. A fellow brought up for the army isn’t trained to that sort of thing.’

  ‘Go on, sir.’

  ‘Well, I footled about a long time, and then Mander started these Stores. All the papers were talking about the genius he was, and how he saw possibilities that no one else did, and the money he had behind him. Then there was an article by him in one paper in which he talked of the possibilities of the mail-order business (I didn’t know what that meant then) and how aeroplanes could be used. I did not know either that it was mostly hot-air, written up for him by a journalist to prove that he was going to be a bally pioneer. But it struck me I had the goods with my folding gyrocopter, which could be used to fly anywhere and land in a place where there was no proper landing-ground.’

  ‘It would be adapted for that.’

  ‘Nothing half as good, inspector. Well, I had hardly a bean at that time, and jobs were sticky; so many fellows being out of work, so I tootled round to see Mander and put my case before him. He struck me as being a bounder, but an honest bounder. I told him all I could, and when it came to brass tacks, he asked me if I thought he was mad. I said I didn’t, but I knew what was coming. I had heard the “pig in the poke” jest often enough by then to anticipate it. To my delight Mander stopped short of it and asked me what my record was. I told him, and he seemed a bit impressed. Then he asked me if I realised what a lot of money it cost to put a new machine on the market.

  ‘He had me on the hip, of course, for I was pretty well all in, and he was my last court card, if you know what
I mean. When he had gone into figures I didn’t understand, I saw that it was all U.P. I had a fine machine, but no damn chance of getting it put on the market unless I was willing to sing small. He asked me then what I thought I would have made out of it. Two years before I should have said a million. As it was I said it ought to bring me in at least a thousand a year for the period of the patent rights. Mander said he was very doubtful about that, for the press propaganda would be very expensive, and everything considered, the machine might flop, as many good things had done before, owing to public apathy. But he was prepared to make me a proposal on different lines.’

  Devenish nodded. ‘You seem to have had the usual experience of inventors, sir.’

  Cane frowned. ‘You bet I had. Well, I told Mander to give it a name, and he said he was going to start a department to sell aeroplanes, and might make me manager. But a job like that, with fifteen hundred a year to start, was a plum that many ex-pilots would fight for. As a quid pro quo I was to have the gyrocopter flown secretly, and if it was a success, or seemed anything like it, he would patent it, and give me a royalty on sales.’

  ‘But surely you did not give the thing away on his bare word?’

  ‘Not I! But that’s where the cunning of the old devil came in. He said whatever happened I should not lose, and if I would put my proposal on paper and sign it, he would make out and sign a contract engaging me for ten years as the manager of the aeroplane department in the new Stores at fifteen hundred a year, rising to two thousand; which sounded as if I was on velvet. I was counting, of course, on the additional royalties from the plane.’

  ‘Did he not mention that in the contract?’

  ‘No. You see he said it would be useless at that time, as the machine might not be a success, but the royalty later would be ten per cent, if it went well. I was so bucked at the chance of getting fifteen hundred a year, and so pleased to meet a man who was giving me a chance to make good after all my disappointments, that I signed like a bird. I never thought of any sharp practice.’

  Devenish nodded. ‘You are not the only one it seems, sir.’