by Vernon Loder
‘That would have been even worse than what you did,’ agreed the inspector. ‘I expect you had a pretty horrid time, wondering what was going to happen in the morning.’
‘You’re right, sir. I wonder my hair didn’t turn white. It was worse than my bit of the war, sir, and I thought that could not be. Anyway, there I was in my box for a long time, holding my head in my hands and having nightmares, when I remembered that I hadn’t hidden my pistol or that carpet square. It did give me a turn, though of course no one would come till the morning.’
‘You mean your own pistol this time?’
‘Yes, sir, the one I bought for protection; Mr Mander being against firearms, with all the alarm gadgets, as he called them. But those were against outside burglars, not ones in the building all the time.’
‘People, not burglars, in the building.’
‘Yes, I mean Mr Mander and the young lady, sir. Well, when I did think of them, I thought too of the trouble there would be next day when the police came. I knew I’d be searched, and couldn’t carry off the pistol or the carpet. I had a rare time trying to think what I would do with them, but at last I got it.’
Jameson was convinced for the first time that Mann was really telling the whole truth. When he had begun his story his nervous hesitation and the way he mentioned each detail had the air of being false. He appeared to be taking time to make up each fresh statement before he made it. But, as he gained courage, he spoke quickly and confidently, and it was easy to see that he was relating actual facts.
Devenish, who had more experience of frightened witnesses, and knew how often terror may make an innocent man present the appearance of one who is guilty, had been able better to judge the man with whom he was dealing. He knew, too, that Mann was mistaken when he talked of staying on in the Store, unless his tale was true. A murderer would have bolted, not bungled. The very confusion and ill-organised attempts to cover up the shooting proved to the inspector’s mind that the watchman had merely taken the part he cast himself for and shot Mander while under the influence of panic.
For, obviously, he had not killed Effie Tumour. To kill her it would have been necessary for him to enter Mander’s flat, and the detectives were quite certain that the lock had not been tampered with. In any case, so far as they were able to judge, Mann had no motive for killing either. It was this lack of motive which would clear him if a charge of murder was brought, and ought, if properly handled, to enable him to evade a charge of manslaughter.
‘Well, let’s hear what you did with the square of carpet,’ Devenish said quietly.
Mann replied at once. ‘You know, sir, there is one of the walls in the big entrance hall of this section of the Stores with a big picture of some warship called the Foudroyer.’
‘The old Foudroyant—yes.’
‘Well, sir, I thought no one would be likely to look up there for anything, so I got a pair of telescopic steps they use for the window cleaning and went up and took the picture down. It hangs where you can’t see it from the side, and leans out a little from the top. I laid it flat on the floor, got some small nails, and nailed that carpet to the back of the frame. Then I hung it up again, and if you look now, sir, you will see it.’
‘That was decidedly smart,’ observed Jameson.
Mann shook his head mournfully. ‘I don’t know that it was, sir, though I thought so at the time. I ought to have told Mr Jameson, I see that now! But when you shoot a man in a fright, and have nerves like me, you’re fairly flummoxed. I’ve had hard luck. If it hadn’t been that someone tampered with the microphone, I wouldn’t have got the wind up thinking a burglar had got in, and I wouldn’t have fired so sharp if I hadn’t had the wind up proper.’
Devenish nodded. ‘I suppose the pistol isn’t up there too, is it?’
Mann assented. ‘Yes, it is. There were two rings for the cords, and I got a bit of string and ran it through the trigger guard, fastened the glove to it, and pulled it taut. You see, sir, there is about five inches clear between the picture and the wall at the top, and quite two inches two feet down. The automatic went in easy.’
Devenish heard him out, then looked at him pleasantly. ‘If you think you can put down that statement, more or less as you have told it, in reply to my questions, I think you had better make a start. Take your time, and don’t get rattled. If your story is true, and I really think it sounds genuine, then that statement will be put in in your favour.’
‘I’ll do it, sir,’ said Mann eagerly. ‘I’ll get a bit of paper and do it now, and sign it before you two gentlemen.’
Devenish got up. ‘I’ll be back in an hour for it,’ he said. ‘Mr Peden-Hythe and I will have a spot of lunch and come back—at least I shall.’
CHAPTER XXVII
JAMESON had insisted on the inspector taking lunch with him at a café called the ‘Vorrey’. As they sat over their food a quarter of an hour after leaving Mann, they discussed the case, and agreed that there now seemed every prospect of its being cleared up rapidly.
‘But what puzzles me is the motive Mander had for killing that young woman,’ remarked Jameson, when he had ordered coffees and a liqueur for Devenish. ‘He was mixed up with her, of course. But what more was there in it, and why take her up to that damned draughty roof to kill her?’
Devenish looked at him thoughtfully. ‘There, sir, we are in no better state than you. The man is dead and the girl too, and the most we can hope for is a theoretical reconstruction of the events of that night that took place in and above the flat. I am pretty certain we know what happened below.’
‘I wish you would reconstruct it for me.’
Devenish smiled. ‘Well, we shall never know in which of the two possible ways the girl came by her death, but we can safely assume there were but two ways—murder or accidental death.’
‘Accidental death, by Jove! How do you make that out?’
Jameson looked eagerly at his companion and offered him a cigar as the waiter came up with their order.
Devenish shrugged.
‘I am almost inclined now to think that is the correct theory, and I base that assumption on what we know of Mander. If it were not for two things, I should plump for it at once.’
‘What things?’
‘The fact that Mrs Hoe declared that the girl knew nothing of’—he paused, and added—‘but you know nothing of that. The fact is that a woman, one of Tumour’s friends, was blackmailing Mander. That woman, who might easily have alleged that Tumour was in the plot, categorically denied it. But, as long as we have no definite proof that she was not also engaged in blackmail, we cannot say that Mander did not murder her to stop her mouth.’
‘Do you think he did?’
‘No. My inclination is the other way, as I told you. In the first place, we know that Mander was a clever, calculating fellow. Now, if he killed Tumour with premeditation, he would certainly have made some arrangements for bolting after. We know he misappropriated a large sum of money, and we know from his passport trick that he intended to bolt eventually. But the money was in a private account, under another name at a bank never used by him officially.’
Jameson nodded. ‘I see.’
‘If he intended to kill her, he would not have left that money where he could not get at it until Monday at least, by which time the murder would have been discovered, and his start far too short to promise escape.’
‘That’s true.’
‘He would not either, I think, have trusted to a stupid weapon like a knife. The knife is what I call the weapon of impulse. It makes such a messy job of it that no one who premeditated murder would use it. It is the sort of thing that may be used in a quarrel or picked up in hot blood. But I cannot imagine Mander doing that. If he had decided to kill the girl, what would be easier than poison? He could pinch that from the chemistry department of the Stores, if he hesitated to go elsewhere and sign the poison-book.’
‘That is true,’ said Jameson, puffing at his cigar, ‘and of course the girl wou
ld not suspect him of an attempt of that kind. He could easily have put it in wine and offered it to her.’
‘Quite. Then there is another point. If murder was in question, he would know that he had from, say, ten on Sunday night to nine, at the latest, on the Monday morning, to get away. But he had made no preparations for packing, and the closest search failed to give us any sign of his having taken tickets abroad. He might have hoped to go by aeroplane, but he would hardly bring in Webley for that, and if he chartered a special in the early hours of the morning, it would have drawn attention to the direction of his flight when the murder was discovered. These omissions to prepare would not be those of a man who, whatever his faults, was cunning, intelligent and far-seeing.’
‘I only see one point against that, Devenish,’ remarked his companion. ‘Why did he put her in the shop window if he did not intend to fly?’
Devenish shrugged. ‘I am merely giving the arguments against premeditated murder. If her death was accidental, he would still have to bolt. He would know that it would not be sufficient to clean up the stained sand on the roof. He would know that, even if he managed to eliminate all traces from the roof and the flat, there would still be the fact of her presence in the building to explain. You see, Kephim gave evidence that he took her up-river that afternoon, and then saw her home. The chauffeur would have given evidence that he was in the habit of calling on Miss Tumour with his master. In other words, the intimacy between Mander and Tumour would have come out, and as Mander lived in the building and had obvious access when he wished to the shop below, suspicion would have fallen on him.’
‘Naturally.’
‘But if her death was the result of accident, or even of a hasty blow, without premeditation, it would be a different matter. The bolt would have to be an improvised one, and as we know, or are convinced, he had no time to arrange anything. Taking the body down to the window, he was shot on his return by the panic-stricken Mann. What he would have done if Mann had not intervened, we do not know. We do know that events prove either accidental death or a hasty murder in hot blood.’
‘But, even then, why put her in the window?’ asked Jameson.
Devenish drew at his cigar, and put it in an ashtray before he replied. ‘I haven’t any theoretical knowledge of the workings of the mind, but I have a practical knowledge which suits me as well. Some scientist said that love was a disease, and in certain cases it presents the symptoms of a disease. I can say that without cynicism. There are some people who react so seriously to the influence of certain drugs that the would-be beneficial medicine becomes a positive danger. Some people—most, I should say—fall normally in love, and are all the better for it. But others, as you can see in the papers every day, fall in love and become maniacally jealous, and eventually homicidal in their jealousy. To explain what I mean in this case, I must remind you that Mander was madly in love with Miss Tumour; gave her this highly paid post because he was fascinated by her; and finally proposed to run away with her. Now you know that, ever since this Store was opened, women have been running after Mander and his supposititious millions—daughters of good families, people of poor but aristocratic circles. In other words, he could have married well. Instead of that, he chooses a girl who has nothing but her beauty to recommend her.’
‘I admit that he must have been madly in love,’ said Jameson.
Devenish nodded. ‘Now, we come to the other side of the shield. I know that the girl was a bit of a gold-digger at first. She led Mander on, so that he would give her a good time, but she had an affection for Kephim, who had been courting her for a considerable period. Now, according to my informant, just lately Tumour began to fall in love with Kephim. I think there is no doubt of that. I have a feeling that she was never Mander’s mistress, but just one of the girls, common enough nowadays, who will bleed an infatuated man for all they are worth; get jewellery and other things; go out to dinner and the theatre, and so on. But Tumour grew tired of the game. Perhaps Mander was growing pressing; perhaps the fact that she was beginning to love Kephim, who had been loyal all along, made her realise that she was playing an ugly part.’
‘I think if she was in love it would,’ said Jameson.
‘At any rate, I know that, after dillying and dallying, she formally accepted Kephim. But she confided to a friend that she did not like to announce her engagement just then, for fear it might react on Kephim’s prospects—it would give Mander a handle against Kephim.’
‘And he was the sort of man to use it.’
‘Absolutely. Well, to get on, Miss Tumour finally told her friend that she had made up her mind to do the straight thing. She intended to tell Mander. If he fired Kephim, she would stand by it. She imagined that other Stores would be glad to get her lover. In any case, she was going to take the risk.’
‘That Sunday night?’
‘On that Sunday night. Well, she said good-bye to Kephim when he saw her home, and later set out for the flat. She was admitted by Mander, who was not in the best of tempers, I should think, as the result of the interview he had had with your mother. That interview must have shown him that he was on thin ice. She went in, took off her hat and coat, and then we must assume that she came to the point. From her confession to Mander that she did not love him and would not go away with him, but loved and was engaged to his manager, Kephim, we must merely theorise. But I think I can assume that this staggering announcement sent Mander into a frenzy.’
‘Can you assume that?’
‘Yes, I can. Whether he killed her or not, there is the fact that he must have used some violence towards her. There were marks on her upper arms that prove she was seized by someone with a strong grip. The surgeon who examined her, and the doctor who conducted the post-mortem, were both agreed on that.’
‘I see. Go on.’
Devenish pursed his lips. ‘Now, we can assume that they were in the drawing-room at the time, for that is where this dagger-like knife was kept. If Mander’s frenzy began there, we can say that she tried to escape him, finally rushed up the passage to the roof, and was stabbed in the back up there, as she tried to evade him. The position of the wound suggests infliction while flying from him—’
‘But wouldn’t his finger-prints be on the handle of the knife?’
‘Unless he had taken pains to clean it thoroughly. Still, I think he had hardly time for that, and I am inclined to believe in the theory of accident. The way I see it is this: Tumour entered the drawing-room with him, in a state of nervous tension. She had an unpleasant confession to make, and could have been under no illusions as to the way he would take it. Mechanically, she takes off her coat and hat, and wishing to get the thing over begins to tell him the state of affairs. She is beginning to draw off her gloves, talking the while, or attempting to reply to his furious accusations. She draws the left glove off first, as every-one does, and then, as I see it, Mander loses his head and either tried to take her in his arms or strike at her. She springs up and evades him. His fury and his despair must have been very obvious. No one can believe that she suggested going, or he either, on the roof at night in November. Her presence up there must have been the result of fright or compulsion.
‘Fright seems the most likely explanation.’
‘I agree. Well, everything points to the fact that Mander was like a maniac with rage. She was alone with him up there, the Stores below were closed; she knew, or might have known, that the servants’ quarters were cut off from the residential portion of the flat by solid walls and a sound-proof door. A girl has no chance in a struggle with a healthy and strong man, and will naturally catch up something with which to defend herself. I suggest that in her attempts to evade Mander, she saw the knife and picked it up. She would pick it up in her right hand, which was still gloved, but having taken it, she would, like every normal person, hesitate to use it—and women do not take kindly to knives. You will see that if you study the statistics of feminine crime.’
‘She would want to threaten him with it
only?’
‘Yes. But he is a madly jealous man. His frenzy has entire possession of him. He ignores the threat and comes on. She sees that she must either stab at him or make a further attempt to get away. She must, in this desperate pass, have thought of the staircase to the roof. She managed to get out of the room and on to this staircase. It seems to me that it was on the staircase that Mander caught her up and seized her from behind by both arms. Now, here we have another bit of medical evidence, this time relating to Mander. He had, when found, two lateral bruises on the shin in front of each leg. It seemed to me that he had bounded up the stairs after her and tripped as he caught her up, bruising the shins against a step, and temporarily releasing her.’
‘So she got away and on to the roof?’
‘Undoubtedly. She got free and ran on to the dark roof. He recovered himself and ran after her. He caught up on her where the pile of sand, to facilitate an easy landing for the gyrocopter, was placed. There she may have come to bay, her hands behind her back, one holding the knife; or he may have sprung at her and driven her violently backwards—he would not be able to judge distances in the dark. But, whether as the result of a struggle, or her falling backwards over the invisible sandbank, Tumour fell on the knife, and died as the result of the wound in the spine. Now that is my theory of the event, and I think it is what actually happened.’