by Andrew Garve
“Do you suppose anyone has looked in his bags?” asked Martin.
Anstruther shook his head. “Most unlikely, I should think. Jarvis wouldn’t have had any reason to do so—it was a straightforward accident, and he had no grounds for suspecting Garland of anything. I imagine the bags are still unopened.”
“There might be something,” said Martin.
Anstruther seemed undecided. “It would be rather dangerous, you know, for Garland to have had money deposited for him in Singapore. I’m not quite sure how it could have been done—not in any safe way.”
“You’re hardly an expert, darling,” said Susan. “Couldn’t the contractor man have paid in money for Garland under a different name?”
“I suppose so,” said Anstruther dubiously, “but there’d still be a risk of discovery, I should think.”
“Surely only if suspicions were aroused,” said Martin. “And Garland never expected any inquiries to be made. Don’t you think, sir, the time has come to put all this on an official basis with Jarvis? We’re obviously at the end of our resources. I think we ought to tell him everything we know and leave it to him to make a thorough investigation.”
“You’re probably right,” agreed Anstruther, though with obvious reluctance. He got up. “I must go and talk to H.E. about it first, and if he agrees I’ll see Jarvis.” He turned to Susan, with an odd quizzical look. “You realise, young woman, that this immense superstructure we’ve built up rests almost entirely on your reading of Celeste’s character?”
“That doesn’t frighten me,” said Susan. “I’m sure what I said about Celeste was right. I could never feel she was a very nice person, though I always shall think she was amusing.”
“H’m,” said Anstruther. “I seem to have more in common with Queen Victoria than I supposed.”
Chapter Thirty-three
A long week passed. Martin, back on Tacri, watched with growing exasperation the progress of the futile improvements, and began to wonder as the days went by whether the police would ever produce results. Susan crossed over twice in the launch, and the memorandum was completed. They were going to be married in a month—that, at least, was satisfactory.
There was still no news when Martin went to the mainland to spend the week-end with the Anstruthers; but on the first evening, just as the cocktails were being taken out into the garden, Superintendent Jarvis rang up. If it were convenient, he would like to come round. Half an hour later he was striding up the path. His step was as elastic as ever, but his expression was funereal.
Susan, hardly able to contain her impatience, found him a chair and a drink, and the Superintendent made himself as comfortable as his obvious uneasiness permitted. To him, the whole episode was in the highest degree distasteful. However often he reminded himself that a criminal was a criminal whatever his colour, it was still repugnant to him to have to ferret out the crimes of a man like Garland, a man whom he had always respected, a white man like himself. He felt resentful. One had a right to expect certain standards from the Colony’s white administrators. A part of Jarvis’ limited world had crumbled. He swung his cane restlessly between his thighs and tried to avoid Anstruther’s eye.
“Well, Jarvis,” said the Colonial Secretary, “you might as well get it off your chest. Were we right about the money?”
“Not exactly,” said Jarvis.
“Oh,” cried Susan, with deep disappointment. “You mean you couldn’t trace it?”
“There doesn’t seem to have been any money,” said Jarvis.
“But there must have been—”
“Come on, Jarvis,” broke in Anstruther, a little impatiently. “There’s no need to be so mysterious. Just give us the facts.”
“Well,” began Jarvis, in the tone of a man forced by fate into unpleasant paths, “we opened Dr. Garland’s bags, as you suggested. We went through everything. There were a lot of private papers, but nothing that hinted at any bank account in Singapore. In fact, there was nothing suspicious there at all. We emptied his pockets, but there was nothing at all on paper—not an address or a name or anything that would help us. There was, however, a bunch of keys.”
“Aha,” said Anstruther encouragingly.
“We accounted for most of the keys,” Jarvis went on in a depressed monotone, “by trying them on various locks in the Garland house and in the department. In the end, there were two that we couldn’t explain. They were rather well made, unusual keys—they both had the same number on them, and the name of the manufacturer. I got in touch with the manufacturer, and I found out that the keys had been speciality made for a strongroom and safe deposit company—at Singapore.”
Susan glanced at Martin and her hand stole into his.
“The police in Singapore were very co-operative. So were the safe deposit people. I had duplicates of the keys flown over, and the safe was opened. Inside—”
Three people waited tensely.
“Inside,” said Jarvis, “there was nothing. Nothing at all.”
“But that’s incredible,” said Anstruther.
Jarvis sighed over the duplicity of human nature. “It rather looks,” he said, “as though Dr. Garland was taken in by someone more experienced in crime than he was. We don’t know, of course, what the agreement was, but evidently only a part of it was carried out. The safe was rented in the name of Arthur J. Whiting, with a specimen signature which will no doubt prove to be in Dr. Garland’s handwriting. The keys were dispatched according to promise, but no money was deposited.”
“What a horrible man!” exclaimed Susan.
Martin grinned. “Can you imagine Celeste’s face if she’d arrived in Singapore and found the cupboard bare after all?”
“Can you imagine Garland’s?” said Anstruther grimly.
“The fellow was taking an enormous risk. I suppose he was banking on the fact that Garland wouldn’t dare to make a fuss, but I doubt if a man who’d done at least one murder would have taken such a thing lying down.”
“Rawlins wouldn’t have known that he was dealing with a potential murderer,” said Jarvis. “Anyhow, he took the risk.”
“So where does that leave us?” Martin asked. “Without a nice convincing wad of money, isn’t it going to be difficult to clinch the case?”
“That isn’t quite the end of the story,” said Jarvis, with a gleam of professional satisfaction. “I naturally insisted on some further inquiries. My training at Scotland Yard stood me in good stead. We found out that Rawlins had stayed in Singapore for a couple of days shortly after the Tacri contract was signed. He appears to have visited the safe deposit, and rented the safe. One of the staff there, a woman, thinks she recognises him from the description given.”
“Good,” said Anstruther. “Is there any other evidence?”
“Yes,” said Jarvis. “We’ve had the auditors go through Garland’s private accounts. It’s been done as discreetly as possible, though I’m afraid it won’t be possible to hush everything up.”
“There’s no question of hushing anything up,” said Anstruther sharply.
“I suppose not,” said Jarvis, in a tone of regret. “Well, Dr. Garland’s expenditure in the past few months doesn’t tally with his withdrawals from his bank in Fontego. Evidently he has made very considerable cash payments in addition. We estimate that they amount in all to nearly two thousand pounds. It looks as though he received some money from Rawlins in advance.”
Anstruther nodded. “It seems to be a clear case,” he said.
“I’m afraid so,” said Jarvis. “Dr. Garland appears to have been a quite unscrupulous man. The only question now is whether what has taken place can be brought home to the contractors.”
“You’ll have to leave that to us,” said Anstruther. “On that evidence, incomplete though it is, I very much doubt if they’ll feel like trying to hold us to the contract. Well, thank you, Jarvis. I must say I think you’ve done an excellent job. Scotland Yard would be proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” s
aid Jarvis solemnly.
Anstruther’s eyes twinkled. “And I say, Jarvis—cheer up! This has been a bit of a blow to all of us, but it hasn’t any great significance, you know. There are bound to be white sheep in every community.”
“Of course, sir,” said Jarvis uncertainly. He walked slowly back to his car, trying to puzzle it out.
Anstruther relaxed in his chair when the policeman had gone. “Let’s have another drink, Susan,” he said. “What a business! Still, I suppose you two are feeling very happy.”
“Very,” said Susan, “and full of plans.”
“Oh—what plans?”
Susan laughed. “What plans would you expect a prospective bride to have? Plans for a new leprosarium, of course!”
Copyright
First published in 1950 by Collins
This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world
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Copyright © Andrew Garve, 1950
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