by John Rhode
Bocarmé’s character had been completely revealed at the trial. He had been as ready to commit murder as he had been to run into debt, so long as his own safety was not menaced. He had been sufficiently under the influence of his wife to carry out her designs and to accept her assurance that nobody would ever find out. But when he found himself in the dock he relapsed into panic. In a frantic attempt to save his own head, he threw all the responsibility upon his wife. It was probably correct that she had been the instigator of the crime. But to assert that she had poured the poison into her brother’s mouth, in the face of the evidence of his own bitten hand, must have seemed rather futile. In any case, there was nothing to choose between them. They were both equally guilty. How the countess had come to be acquitted was a mystery beyond Jimmy’s comprehension.
Thus Jimmy pictured to himself the principal actors in the Bocarmé case. As in the case of Hanslet he had been immediately struck by the relationship between them, and the possible application of that relationship to the Harleston family. But his examination of the analogy went further than the superintendent’s. He could see in Gustave a distinct likeness to Victor Harleston. Each had possessed money which, in the case of his death, would pass to his sister. Gustave, as Jimmy imagined him, had not been a very enlivening companion. Victor, it was pretty plain, had been not only mean, but a petty tyrant as well. Gustave had had no particular affection for Bocarmé, as Victor had none for Philip.
Was there also a parallel between Bocarmé and Philip? Jimmy fancied that he could trace one. Bocarmé, not over-intelligent, easily led by his wife. Philip, no doubt an excellent fruit farmer, but not nearly so quick as his sister. But here the parallel ended. Bocarmé’s motive had been a purely selfish one, to free himself from debt. Philip’s motive, supposing him to have been the criminal, had been chivalrous and unselfish. He had murdered his half-brother in order to free his sister from an intolerable situation.
So far, Jimmy’s imagination travelled easily enough. Up to this point the path had been impersonal and detached. But now he found himself faced by a dark and forbidding country which he hesitated to enter. His logic had led him to the point which he had so long evaded. The vision of Janet Harleston was clear, almost inconveniently clear, in his memory. It was, of course, ridiculous to suppose that there could be anything in common between her and the Countess Bocarmé.
Jimmy’s usually firm mouth twitched with irritation. It was ridiculous, he told himself. Janet could be no more to him than a figure in the case. As such she must be viewed dispassionately. But no man in his senses after talking to her could believe her capable of deliberate murder.
Yes, that was all very well. But a recollection of one of the superintendent’s remarks crossed Jimmy’s mind. ‘We’re all bound to form our own opinions,’ Hanslet had said. ‘But they cut no ice until we are in a position to support them by proof. A personal belief in innocence or guilt won’t convince a jury. And the sooner you get that firmly into your head, my lad, the better.’
Try as he would, Jimmy found it impossible even to speculate upon the possibility of Janet’s guilt. He could get no further than the reiteration of the phrase, ‘A girl like that couldn’t do such a thing.’ Philip, if he had been the culprit, must have acted entirely without her knowledge. The Bocarmé analogy broke down. In this case, it had been the man, and not the woman, who had taken the initiative. But was Philip’s apparently simple mentality capable of the ingenuity which had been displayed? Jimmy, from what he had seen of him, was decidedly of the opinion that it was not.
So, by a different route, he arrived at the dilemma which confronted Hanslet. If neither Janet nor Philip were guilty, who was the murderer? Jimmy fully appreciated the difficulties. Who in the world was there who could have had either the motive or the opportunity, let alone both? The man seen by Janet on the doorstep? But that suggestion merely completed the vicious circle. Jimmy was quite prepared to believe Janet’s statement. In her panic at her brother’s sudden illness she had not been in a state to observe the man with any attention. The only impression that she had carried away had been that he had said that he was a friend of her brother. If she had considered this statement at all, she had assumed that the man meant that he was a friend of Victor’s. But that, from all accounts of Victor’s aloofness from his fellow-men, seemed improbable. The only other construction that could be put upon the words was that he was a friend of Philip’s.
If that was the case his presence at the critical moment seemed to drive another nail into Philip’s coffin. Philip himself could not enter the house to destroy the evidence. He would be seen and recognised by his sister and awkward questions would be asked. So he commissioned a friend who was unknown to Janet to do it for him. This friend, in his enthusiasm, exceeded his instructions. He secured the towel and the shaving cream, and poured nicotine into the remains of Victor’s early tea. So far so good. But then, just to improve appearances, he added nicotine to Janet’s eau-de-Cologne. Or perhaps by so doing he had sought to avert suspicion from Philip. Philip, having murdered Victor for Janet’s sake, would never have laid a clue which would cast suspicion upon her.
Jimmy felt his thoughts growing a trifle confused. It was by now long past midnight. He undressed and went to bed, but unlike the superintendent, found himself wholly unable to sleep. After a long struggle he was bound to admit to himself that it was the image of Janet’s face, the sound of her voice in his ears that was keeping him awake. With something of a shock he realised that he was no longer the impartial police officer. He had become, in spite of himself, Janet’s advocate.
This would never do. He switched on the light again and reached out for the pencil and pad of paper which stood beside his desk. Resolutely he bent his thoughts to a more methodical reasoning. What clues were there which could usefully be followed up?
Jimmy, recalling the conversation at Dr Priestley’s house, thought that he could think of one or two. The missing tin of nicotine, to begin with. Here again was a parallel with that confounded Bocarmé case. Before the murder of Gustave, Bocarmé had been known to possess two flasks of nicotine; after the event, these flasks had disappeared. Before the murder of Victor, Philip had admitted having four tins of nicotine in his store. One of these had now disappeared.
But Oldland’s argument that Philip would not have taken a whole tin, but only a small portion of its contents, had impressed Jimmy. Even if he had taken the tin from the store, he would have put it back again after he had used as much of its contents as was necessary. Hanslet’s statement showed that the store, being secured by a very ordinary padlock, could easily have been entered during Philip’s absence about the farm.
There was evidence, though of the vaguest, that some time before Victor’s death Philip had had a visitor who had called upon him in a car. It seemed probable that he had not seen this visitor, since he was at some distance from his cottage when the latter called. Had the visitor taken advantage of this to enter the store and remove a tin of nicotine? In that case, it would be reasonable to suppose that the visitor and the man seen by Janet on the doorstep were one and the same.
Suppose that some stranger had stolen the nicotine, what would he have done with the tin after he had extracted sufficient from it for his purpose? This, Jimmy feared, would be an unprofitable line of inquiry. He certainly would not have kept it as a souvenir. He would have thrown it away, or at all events disposed of it in such a way that it could not be traced to him. But the history of crime showed that nearly all criminals permit at least one act of carelessness. Bocarmé was an excellent example. He had allowed it to be known that he had nicotine in his possession and he had in some way aroused his mother’s suspicions. Might not Victor’s murderer have done something equally thoughtless? Perhaps there were people who knew that he had nicotine in his possession. Perhaps, even, he had retained the tin, confident that it would never be discovered. There was, Jimmy decided, just a faint chance that this clue might prove helpful. He made a first entry o
n his writing pad. ‘Tin of nicotine.’
What else was there? Obviously the letter purporting to have been written by Mr Topliss of Novoshave to Victor. Jimmy remembered that Dr Priestley had displayed considerable interest in the figures scribbled on the back. Were they the work of Victor? It would be easy enough to secure specimens of Victor’s figures and compare them. But even if Victor had written them, what possible light could they throw upon his death? Nevertheless, Jimmy added to his notes the words ‘pencilled figures.’
So much for the clues that existed. Were there any more to be found? Dr Priestley had insisted upon the necessity for exploring Victor’s history. How was that to be done? Janet and Philip could be questioned, of course, but their statements might be prejudiced. Mr Knott had mentioned his partner, Mr Slater, who lived at Torquay. Would an interview with him be worth while? Jimmy, thinking that it might be, determined to suggest it to Hanslet. He made a third note on the paper, ‘Mr Slater.’ This done he switched off the light once more and made a final effort to sleep. In time he succeeded.
2
Hanslet and Jimmy met next morning at Scotland Yard.
‘Good-morning, Jimmy,’ said the superintendent. ‘I hope you enjoyed the edifying conversation you heard yesterday evening? Well, what about it? Are you convinced now that Harleston did it?’
Jimmy hesitated. ‘I hope you won’t mind if I say that I’m not altogether sure,’ he replied.
‘Mind!’ exclaimed Hanslet. ‘Of course I don’t mind. You’re fully entitled to your own opinion. But if he didn’t do it, who did? Tell me that?’
‘I wish I could tell you,’ said Jimmy. ‘But I thought of something last night. What about having a chat with Mr Slater of Slater & Knott? There’s just a chance that we might find out something about Victor’s past life.’
Hanslet grinned. ‘Lives at Torquay, doesn’t he?’ he said. ‘Charming place, I believe. But I’m too busy for a jaunt to the seaside on the off-chance of picking up a piece of gossip. You can run down if you like, but don’t waste more time than you can help. The solution of our problem is to be found nearer London than Torquay, I fancy.’
Having thus obtained the necessary permission, Jimmy travelled down to Torquay. He sought out the address which Mr Knott had given him and found it to be a substantial villa on the outskirts of the town. He rang the bell, presented his card, and asked for an interview with Mr Slater. With very little delay this was granted. He was shown into a comfortably furnished dining-room, and a few moments later Mr Slater joined him.
He was rather a fine looking old gentleman, Jimmy thought. His age appeared to be between seventy and eighty, and from the groping movements of his hands, as though he were feeling his way, it was easy to guess that his sight was nearly gone. He steered himself to an arm-chair, and peered through his very powerful glasses in Jimmy’s direction.
‘Inspector Waghorn?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ Jimmy replied. ‘I hope I’m not intruding. I should be glad to know what you can tell me of Victor Harleston, who was a clerk in your firm.’
Mr Slater nodded. ‘Ah yes,’ he said deliberately. ‘The poor fellow died very suddenly, did he not? Knott wrote to me about it. I can no longer read letters for myself but my daughter reads them to me. The infirmities of old age, Inspector. I never took to the boy from the first, though I knew his father well.’
This sounded promising. ‘You knew his father, sir?’ Jimmy prompted.
‘Yes, I knew Peter when his first wife was alive, before Victor was born. I was only a clerk then, and glad to pick up odd shillings in my spare time. So I used to help small tradesmen with their accounts. That’s how I met Peter Harleston. He was a very good business man in his way. I believe he died worth quite a lot of money.’
‘Of which Victor had a life interest, I understand?’
‘Yes, under certain conditions. He had to provide for his half-sister. Queer chap, Peter. He wouldn’t leave his money outright, in case his children should spend it. He needn’t have had any fears about Victor, though. I never met either of the other two, so I can’t say.’
‘In spite of Victor’s income he was content to remain as a clerk in your firm?’ Jimmy suggested.
‘I don’t suppose the income amounts to very much nowadays. Trustee securities don’t give the yield they used to. Still, I dare say Victor had between £400 and £500 a year of his own. He had his sister to keep, and I suppose he thought that wasn’t enough for the two of them.’
‘How did Victor come to join your firm, Mr Slater?’ Jimmy asked.
‘I took him on at his father’s request. Peter Harleston told me that his son had shown some aptitude for figures and I advised him to train him as an accountant. I said that if he passed his examinations I’d give him a trial. He seemed satisfactory enough, so he stayed on. Long after I had given up helping Peter with his accounts, he and I remained friends. Not personal friends exactly, for I never went to his house. But he would drop in at the office sometimes, and ask my advice. For instance, I helped him to purchase a share in a fruit farm for his other son, Philip. That was the week before I retired from business, I remember.’
‘I gather, Mr Slater, that you were not particularly attracted to Victor Harleston,’ Jimmy suggested.
The old man smiled. ‘I can’t say that I was,’ he replied. ‘He never took the trouble to make himself attractive, if the truth is known. But it wasn’t exactly that. So long as my clerks are efficient, that is all I ask of them. Very early in my association with Victor, I caught him out in what can only be described as a mean trick. That was a long time ago and I needn’t go into details. It will be enough to say that Victor had found a means of defrauding his colleagues of a few shillings, no more. Had it been anybody else, I should have discharged him on the spot. But since the amount involved was so small, I allowed my friendship for his father to influence me. I gave Victor a pretty severe talking to and there it ended.’
‘His conduct was satisfactory after that?’
‘There was no fault to be found with his conduct in the office. As an accountant, he was thoroughly to be relied upon. But I thoroughly disliked his attitude at the time when his father bought his brother Philip a share in Hart’s Farm. He did everything he could to oppose the scheme. In fact, he very nearly persuaded his father to abandon it. His contention was that very little money had been expended upon finding him a job, and that it was not fair that Philip, the younger brother, should be unduly favoured. I imagine that Victor knew that he would inherit a life interest in his father’s estate and he disliked the idea of any spending of the capital.’
‘You were not in favour of his receiving a bonus from the firm, I believe?’
‘I most certainly was not,’ Mr Slater replied emphatically. ‘Our custom has been to grant bonuses only in exceptional cases. For instance, where the recipient has carried out some particularly difficult piece of work, or that his domestic affairs involve a considerable strain upon his income. Neither of these conditions applied to Victor Harleston. When Mr Knott approached me on the matter some weeks ago, I was disinclined to agree to his suggestion. Victor Harleston had been with the firm for some years, it is true. But his services have been no more valuable than those of his colleagues. He had nobody to support but his sister, and for this purpose he had a private income of his own. However, Mr Knott was very insistent and at last I agreed, though reluctantly, I confess.’
‘You were not in any way influenced by your personal dislike for Victor?’ Jimmy asked rather diffidently.
‘Not in the least. In fact, it was because Mr Knott might imagine that was my reason that I finally consented. I hope I am sufficiently impartial to give credit where credit is due; without being swayed by my personal feelings. And entirely between ourselves, Inspector, I had another reason for my hesitation.’
‘May I be allowed to know that reason, Mr Slater?’
Mr Slater hesitated. ‘Well, I suppose one may safely confide in a policeman,’ he r
eplied. ‘My failing eyesight was the reason for my retirement from the business. I found that I was becoming very little use in the office, and my oculist warned me that persistence in my work might result in total blindness. He strongly urged me to retire and to live in some pleasant seaside place such as this. I felt compelled to follow his advice. An arrangement was made whereby Mr Knott took over the active management of the business and I became a sleeping partner. I have never visited the office since the day of my retirement. However, I still keep in touch. Mr Knott comes here at frequent intervals to see me. In fact, I am expecting him this evening.
‘At the time of my retirement the business was extremely flourishing. But I am sorry to say that since then it has steadily gone downhill. I do not mean to suggest that my retirement is in any way the reason for this. It is due entirely to economic conditions, and perhaps, to the growing competition in our profession. This being the case, I considered it hardly a fitting time to grant bonuses to employees who had no earthly need of them.’
Mr Slater, once started, became positively garrulous. ‘There’s no question of the firm being in a critical condition,’ he continued. ‘Profit diminishing steadily from year to year, that’s all. I’m not concerned for myself. There’ll be plenty to last me to the end of my days. But I should like to leave my son and daughter-in-law well provided for. I bought this house for them, you know.’
Naturally Jimmy didn’t know. But he said nothing. He had already learnt a golden rule. If you are interviewing anybody, and they show a disposition to talk, do not on any account interrupt them. In spite of the apparent irrelevance of the remarks, there is always the chance of picking up something which may be useful. So he merely nodded and Mr Slater continued.