by John Rhode
‘Perhaps it might have come in useful on yet another occasion,’ the superintendent replied grimly. ‘Now I’m going to send word that Gavin Slater is to be brought here as soon as he comes home. You needn’t be afraid that he’s bolted. My men have been keeping their eyes on him for the last day or two.’
Little more than half an hour later Gavin Slater appeared at the police station, escorted by a police sergeant. During his absence he had apparently been drinking and his manner was even more truculent than usual. He talked about the outrage to his dignity, and threatened the superintendent with all manner of pains and penalties if he were not allowed to go home immediately. The superintendent waited until he had come to an end of his tirade.
‘You have only yourself to blame, Mr Slater,’ he said coldly. ‘It is our duty to inquire into the disappearance of Mr Knott. We have reason to believe that you are wilfully withholding certain information. You have been brought here in order to answer certain questions which Inspector Waghorn will put to you. And I warn you that your replies will be recorded and may be used subsequently as evidence.’
‘I don’t know any more about Knott than I have already told you,’ replied Gavin Slater violently.
‘That may or may not be the case. Are you prepared to answer the questions that will be put to you?’
The atmosphere of the police station appeared to have a sobering effect upon Gavin Slater. ‘All right, fire away,’ he replied sullenly.
The superintendent glanced at Jimmy, who was already thinking rapidly. It was necessary for him to decide what line he should take with the suspected man. It would not do to let him know the full extent to which the facts had been discovered. He might be sharp-witted enough to think out a line of defence to meet the charge. It might be better to keep him in a state of suspense, unaware of how much was known and how much was not.
Jimmy opened with a question which he thought would shake his confidence at the outset. ‘At the time of Mr Knott’s visit, there was a knife and sheath hanging on the wall of the studio,’ he said quietly. ‘Who did that knife belong to?’
Gavin Slater eyed his questioner insolently. ‘Oh, so that’s where it’s gone to, is it?’ he replied. ‘I thought one of you busybodies must have appropriated it. The knife belongs to me, if you want to know.’
‘How long have you had it?’ Jimmy asked.
‘Oh, two or three years, I suppose. I saw it in a curiosity shop in Exeter and paid ten bob for it. It was just the thing I wanted for a picture I was painting then.’
‘And it has hung on the wall of the studio ever since?’ Jimmy suggested.
‘Until the evening that Knott was with us,’ Gavin Slater replied unexpectedly.
Jimmy was aware of the superintendent’s significant glance. ‘Was it taken down from the wall then?’ he asked.
‘Why, yes. Knott happened to catch sight of it and asked me what it was. He said he’d never seen a knife like that before. So I took it down and drew the knife from its sheath to show him.’
‘How did you withdraw the knife from the sheath?’ asked Jimmy quickly.
‘Why, the natural way, I suppose. I caught hold of the sheath with my left hand and the hilt of the knife with my right and pulled. Strange though it may seem to the mind of a policeman, the knife came out of its sheath without the slightest difficulty.’
Jimmy picked up an ivory paper knife which happened to be lying on the superintendent’s desk. ‘Suppose that this represents the knife in its sheath,’ he said, ‘show me exactly how you held it.’
Gavin Slater took the paper knife. He held the blade of it in his left hand with the little finger nearest the end. His right hand he placed on the handle with the thumb outwards.
‘Like that,’ he said. ‘Anybody who draws a knife does it that way. As soon as it comes out of the sheath, it is in its proper position for action.’
Jimmy nodded. The position of Gavin Slater’s hand corresponded exactly to the fingermarks on the knife and sheath. ‘You showed the knife to Mr Knott,’ he said, ‘what did you do with it then?’
‘I didn’t keep it by me to pick my teeth with, or anything like that. I put it back in its sheath and hung it up on the wall again.’
‘Did you do this in Mr Knott’s presence?’
‘Of course. The thing wasn’t in my hands for more than a couple of minutes. As soon as Knott had seen it, his curiosity seemed to be satisfied.’
‘At what time did this happen?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It was just after Knott and I had gone into the studio after dinner. He walked round for a bit, looking at the pictures and things, and it was then he asked me about the knife.’
‘And you had not touched the knife since you put it back on the wall after showing it to Mr Knott?’
‘No, I’ve had no reason to touch it. It wasn’t until I noticed yesterday that it had disappeared that I thought about it again. It struck me that perhaps Knott had taken it, since he had shown so much interest in it.’
‘Do your guests usually walk off with souvenirs of that description?’ Jimmy asked.
Gavin Slater shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not as a rule,’ he replied. ‘But there’s an overcoat of mine missing since Knott was with us, and I can’t imagine who could have taken it if he didn’t.’
‘What was this overcoat like?’
‘It was a light grey summer overcoat I haven’t worn for some time. But I know that on Thursday afternoon it was in the cupboard where the coats are kept, for I happened to catch sight of it. I thought then of having it sent to the cleaners, but when I went to look for it again on Friday morning, it wasn’t there.’
Jimmy took a full description of the overcoat. And then abruptly changed the subject. The tin of nicotine had until this moment remained concealed under a pile of papers. He produced it suddenly and placed it in full view of Gavin Slater.
‘Where did this come from?’ he asked.
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ replied Gavin off-handedly. ‘What is it? It looks to me like a tin of cigarettes. If so, it isn’t mine. I always buy mine in flat tins.’
‘You are perfectly certain that you have never seen this tin before?’ insisted Jimmy severely.
‘How can I be certain?’ Gavin Slater retorted. ‘All tins of that shape and size are very much alike. And, since you’ve torn the paper off it, there’s nothing to recognise it by. I may have caught sight of it, but I don’t remember doing so.’
Jimmy had a feeling that he was not making much headway. So far Gavin Slater had shown no signs of embarrassment at his questions. Either he was amazingly quick-witted, or he had thought out his line of defence well in advance. Jimmy decided to try to fluster him by a rapid change of ground.
‘What became of Mr Knott’s glass on Thursday night?’ he asked quickly.
But Gavin Slater’s face maintained its sullen half-contemptuous expression.
‘What are you getting at now?’ he asked.
Jimmy retained his composure. ‘You and Mr Knott had a few drinks together in the studio after dinner, did you not?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s right. I don’t think he had more than a couple, though, before he went to bed.’
‘Did you both drink out of the same glass?’
‘Hardly. It is not usual in the circles to which I am accustomed. I carried a tray with the whisky and soda and two tumblers into the studio myself.’
‘Then how do you account for the fact that only one tumbler was found in the morning?’
‘I don’t account for it. It really isn’t any business of mine. I shouldn’t wonder if the girl broke it and threw away the pieces before any questions were asked.’
Again Jimmy shifted his ground with unexpected rapidity.
‘When did you last see Philip Harleston?’ he asked.
Gavin Slater’s expression acquired a note of surprise. ‘I really couldn’t tell you, since I have not the honour of his acquaintance,’ he replied.
‘Oh, come no
w! You’re not going to say that you’ve never heard of the name of Harleston before?
‘I didn’t say anything of the kind. I said that I did not know Philip Harleston, which is perfectly true. I know that a man of that name, who was a clerk in the firm, died the other day. Winifred read to my father the letter in which Knott announced the news. But I had an idea that the chap’s Christian name was Victor, not Philip.’
‘So it was. But you are surely aware that he had a half-brother the name of Philip?’
‘I was not aware of it. I never met the fellow, and his family could be of no possible interest to me.’
Jimmy felt a slight awkwardness as he asked his next question. ‘You didn’t know that he had a half-sister as well?’
Gavin Slater shook his head decidedly. ‘I tell you I know nothing about him or his people,’ he replied firmly.
‘You are in the habit of driving a car, are you not?’
‘Yes, I drive and so does Winifred. We take the old man out for a drive sometimes in summer. And now and then we go for short trips on our own.’
‘Then I expect you know your way about fairly well. How would you drive from here to Maidstone, for instance?’
Jimmy had expected the other to hesitate over his reply to this question. But, to his astonishment, Gavin Slater answered at once. ‘Maidstone?’ he said. ‘I should go up the London Road as far as Salisbury, then through Winchester, Guildford and Reigate. It’s a good long way, well over two hundred miles.’
‘You seem familiar with the road. Have you driven over it lately?’
‘Not for eighteen months or so. Winifred and I drove that way to Folkestone the summer before last.’
‘Did you pass through a village called Lassingford?’
Gavin Slater shrugged his shoulders. ‘We may have done. You can’t expect me to remember the names of all the villages on the road.’
‘Philip Harleston lives at Lassingford,’ said Jimmy sternly. ‘And I have every reason to believe that this tin was stolen from his house there, quite recently.’
‘Well, if it was, I’m not responsible. I don’t go about the country pinching things.’
‘Then why did you hide this tin under the under-clothing in your chest of drawers?’
Gavin Slater’s face darkened. ‘Oh, so you’ve been rummaging in my room, have you?’ he said. ‘May I ask by what authority?’
The superintendent stepped in. ‘By the authority of a search warrant procured for the purpose,’ he said. ‘Come now, Mr Slater. We found that tin in your room. And it’s up to you to explain how it got there.’
‘Somebody must have put it there. I didn’t,’ replied Slater sullenly.
Jimmy renewed his attack. ‘What time did the tide turn last Friday evening?’ he asked abruptly.
But the other remained imperturbable. ‘I don’t know. I’m not a nautical almanack,’ he replied. ‘You’d better ask one of the local fishermen. They’d be able to tell you, I expect.’
‘It’s rather an important point,’ said Jimmy quietly. ‘Suppose, for instance, that anything was thrown into the sea. It would be carried away from shore before the tide turned, and towards it afterwards, wouldn’t it?’
‘I dare say. I’m not in the habit of throwing things into the sea.’
‘But there are occasions when you do, I have no doubt. How many journeys did you make with Mr Knott’s suitcase on Friday morning?’
‘I never touched his suitcase. He left the house before I was awake, as I told you before.’
‘And you still persist that you know nothing about the way in which he left the house?’
‘I don’t suppose that he jumped out of his bedroom window. I imagine that he opened the front door, walked out and shut it behind him, like any rational being would. And if he hasn’t been seen since, it’s not my fault. Can’t a fellow disappear if he wants to without everybody who knew him being pestered in this way?’
During his examination, Jimmy had written down his questions and Gavin’s Slater’s answers. He beckoned to him and handed him a pen. ‘I must ask you to sign your name to what you have just told me,’ he said.
But the other shook his head. ‘Not much,’ he replied. ‘How am I to know what you’ve been writing down? Let me read all that stuff through at my leisure, and then if I think fit, I’ll sign it.’
The superintendent grinned maliciously. ‘You’ll have plenty of leisure for the purpose,’ he said. ‘You will remain here until you have had time to think over the matter.’
He glanced at the sergeant, who removed the witness before he had time to protest.
There was silence in the room for a moment or two after his departure. Jimmy felt that the results of his catechism were not altogether encouraging. ‘The man seems to be as stubborn as a mule, sir,’ he ventured.
‘Well, you did your best, anyhow,’ replied the superintendent cheerfully. ‘I thought you’d be bound to catch him, shifting about from one thing to another like that. He had his story pretty pat, there’s no getting away from that. We’ll try the same old trick as usual, of course. Tackle him again tomorrow. Ask him the same questions in a different form and a different order and compare his replies. Unless he’s a very much cleverer man than I’ve always taken him for, he’s bound to give himself away upon one detail or another. And once we’ve made a small hole in his defence, there shouldn’t be any difficulty in enlarging it.’
Jimmy was somewhat comforted by his superior’s optimism. ‘I hope we shall get a satisfactory statement out of him, sir,’ he replied. ‘Meanwhile, I think I’d better take this tin up to London. Superintendent Hanslet will certainly want to see it. And of course, its contents will have to be identified. I’m pretty sure that the stuff’s nicotine, but the experts will have to confirm that.’
‘Yes, that’s about the best thing you can do,’ the superintendent agreed. ‘I wish to goodness we could find some portion of the body. The tip of a little finger would do. Until then, though we know that Gavin Slater is a murderer, we can’t do much with him. It’s just one of those cases where we’ve got to wait until something turns up.’
III
‘Stanley Fernside’
1
While Jimmy was carrying out his investigations at Torquay, Hanslet endeavoured to verify the theory which he had formulated. His first move was to send a message to Philip Harleston, asking him to come to Scotland Yard at once. He knew that the atmosphere of the Yard would help to be intimidating, and hoped that by skilful questioning the victim might be driven into a corner.
Philip Harleston answered the summons without delay. He was taken to the superintendent’s room, where he was provided with a low chair facing the light. And then Hanslet began a searching cross-examination, covering the familiar ground over and over again. But Philip stuck to the statement which he had already made, and Hanslet entirely failed to entice him into any contradiction.
He then started out on fresh ground, employing much the same tactics as Jimmy had with Gavin Slater. ‘Have you any artists among your friends?’ he asked.
Philip scratched his head. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘I’ve never been mixed up with that set.’
‘But surely you know a Mr Gavin Slater, who is an artist,’ exclaimed Hanslet with stimulated surprise.
Philip looked puzzled. ‘I’ve never met Mr Gavin Slater,’ he replied. ‘He’s Mr Slater’s son, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he is. But if Mr Slater was an old friend of your father’s, you must surely have met his son?’
‘I don’t remember doing so. In any case, I didn’t know he was an artist. And I’ve only met Mr Slater himself once or twice.’
‘You know that your father consulted Mr Slater before he bought you the share in Hart’s farm?’
‘Yes, I know that. My father always had a great belief in Mr Slater’s judgment.’
‘No doubt your half-brother knew Mr Gavin Slater?’
‘I couldn’t say. I never heard him mention
him.’
And in spite of all Hanslet’s persistence, this was all that he could get out of Philip. He dismissed him with a caution that he might be called upon again at any moment. And then, disappointed of his expected confession, the superintendent started to attack the problem from another direction.
Dr Priestley had recommended the most thorough investigation of Mr Knott’s past history. Hanslet decided to follow up this hint. He went to Slater & Knott’s offices in Chancery Lane, where he painstakingly interviewed everybody who could tell him anything about the missing principal of the firm. In this way he pieced together quite a lot of information, but only one point seemed to him of any particular significance. This point he elicited from Fred Davies, quite casually. It appeared that Mr Knott had a friend on the staff of St Martha’s Hospital. This friend had induced him to enrol himself upon the list of volunteers who offered their blood for transfusion, if necessary. Hanslet made a note of this and continued his inquiries. He learnt that Knott had been a companionable sort of person, with many friends and, so far as was known, no enemies. He liked amusement and spent a good deal of money one way and another. But he never allowed his amusements to interfere with business. He had always been a hard worker and a successful one.
In consultation with Mr Grant, the chief clerk, Hanslet learnt that the business was in a very flourishing condition. ‘That is due entirely to Mr Knott,’ said Grant confidentially. ‘In Mr Slater’s time, things were done in rather an old-fashioned way. We had quite a lot of old clients, of course, but no attempt was made to attract new ones. But as soon as Mr Knott took charge, things brightened up a lot. Mr Knott had a way with him. He took the trouble to go out and meet people. He never seemed to have the least difficulty in securing as many new clients as he wanted.’
‘Then the profits of the business must have increased since Mr Slater’s retirement?’ Hanslet suggested.
‘I should imagine they had increased very considerably,’ was the reply. ‘I cannot say by how much, for Mr Knott kept that information strictly to himself.’