by John Rhode
Jimmy, a silent listener to this conversation, felt the force of Dr Priestley’s criticisms. The lack of apparent motive seemed the only weak point in Hanslet’s theory. He had tried to imagine any possible gain to the Slaters for Mr Knott’s death, and had failed. The superintendent had told him of his inquiries at the offices of Slater & Knott. Something had certainly been learnt as to Mr Knott’s character and habits. But of those who might benefit by his death no hint had been dropped. Mr Grant had believed that his only surviving relative was a married sister, now living in New Zealand. He had no knowledge of Mr Knott having made a will. Since his income would die with him, his heirs, whoever they might be, could only hope to succeed to any capital which he might have saved. And from all accounts, Mr Knott had not been of a particularly saving disposition. Had he really been murdered for the sake of the £750 in notes which he was carrying in his pocket?
But Dr Priestley had resumed his argument. ‘I am still convinced that the true motives of these two crimes have not yet been discovered,’ he said. ‘I am not going to pretend that I have discovered this motive. But, with your permission, Superintendent, I should like to venture a suggestion.’
‘I’d be only too glad if you would, Professor,’ Hanslet replied readily.
‘Very well then. I would recall to your attention the letter alleged to have been written by the general manager of Novoshave to Victor Harleston. With the letter itself I am not at the moment concerned. But you will remember that certain figures had been scribbled on the back of it, presumably by Victor Harleston.
‘Now, that the letter is dated January 18th, and there is reason to believe that it reached Harleston on the following day. That is to say, it did not come into his possession until two days before his death. The figures, therefore, cannot have been scribbled upon it before that time. This, I think, suggests that they relate to something in which Victor Harleston was interested immediately before his death. And that something, if it could be discovered, might prove to be of importance.
‘Now at the time you showed me the letter, I made a note of those figures. Here they are on this piece of paper. I will read them over to you again in order to refresh your memories.
‘Now, what is the significance of these figures? You will say that they are merely a calculation, probably involving some audit upon which Victor Harleston had been engaged. But, if that had been the case, surely he would have wished to have kept a record of the results. Instead of that, the paper on which the figures were written was torn up and made into spills. This seems to indicate that Victor Harleston made the calculation for his own information alone, and that, once made, he trusted himself to remember it.
‘The calculation is an elementary one. The first step in a subtraction of 100 from 20,000. The next two lines show that these figures indicate pounds sterling. One hundred pounds corresponds in some way not indicated to £5 2s. 1d. or 5.104 pounds. This may possibly be a rate of interest to be expected. But the yield is expressed in a somewhat unusual form. If you will consult a table of annuities, as I have done, you will find that £2 2s. 1d. is approximately the income a man of Victor Harleston’s age might expect from the purchase of an annuity of £100. The last line explains itself. If £19,900 were to be employed instead of £100, the yield would be approximately £1,015. It seems to me to be within the bounds of possibility that Victor Harleston meant to employ the sum of £19,900 in the purchase of an annuity. He made this simple calculation in order to verify the annual income which an annuity would yield.’
Both Hanslet and Jimmy looked incredulous at this. ‘But he hadn’t that sum at his disposal, Professor,’ the former exclaimed. ‘He only had a life interest in his father’s estate. He couldn’t dispose of the capital as he liked.’
‘Exactly,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘That is why I believe those figures to be significant. His apparent means would not have justified such a calculation. But suppose, perhaps as the result of some disreputable transaction, he had acquired, or was about to acquire, the sum of £20,000. Less £100, you will observe, and I would particularly direct your attention to that subtraction. Would not such a sum tempt an unscrupulous person to murder?’
Hanslet smiled. ‘There you are, Professor!’ he said. ‘That merely brings us back to his family. Who else but they could have known about this money?’
‘You forget the unidentified individual whom Janet Harleston met on the doorstep. If he indeed existed, he may have seized the opportunity of securing the money while Janet Harleston was out of the house.’
Hanslet looked dubious. ‘It all looks to me a bit far-fetched, if you won’t mind my saying so, Professor.’
‘Hardly far-fetched, I think. I will admit that at present there is no proof of my suggestion. I do not even maintain that it is correct. But where such uncertainty of motive exists, it would surely be good policy to explore all the possibilities.’
‘I won’t forget this one,’ replied Hanslet tolerantly. ‘Meanwhile, I wish you’d give me some idea of how I’m to fix the murder of Mr Knott upon Gavin Slater.’
‘That, I fear, will prove to be extremely difficult. But again perhaps I might venture a suggestion. Shortly before his visit to Torquay, Mr Knott drew certain notes from his bank. You have secured the numbers of these notes and have circulated them to the banks in Torquay. As a result you have succeeded in tracing one of them. Have any of the others been traced?’
‘No, and I don’t suppose that they will be now,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Gavin Slater won’t commit the same error twice. From what Jimmy told us, he’s pretty wide awake, except when he’s had a drink or two. I expect that by now he has destroyed the rest of the notes, or if not, that he’s put them in some place where we shan’t be likely to find them.’
‘That may be,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘But the more astute the criminal, the greater as a rule is his self-confidence. It might be worth your while to circulate the numbers of the missing notes to the banks in London.’
‘Well, it’s worth trying, I suppose,’ said Hanslet. ‘But I’m willing to bet that we shan’t hear any more of them. Of course, if Gavin Slater was such a fool as to cash the lot and we could prove it, it would be almost conclusive proof against him.’
‘No proof can ever be really conclusive in the absence of Mr Knott’s body. The successful disposal of a body is almost certain to secure immunity from punishment for a murder. But it is notoriously a very difficult task to achieve.’
‘Well, it’s been done in this case, Professor. And what’s more, we know how it was done.’
‘You cannot prove how it was done,’ Dr Priestley objected. ‘You have found indications which suggest that Mr Knott’s body was dismembered and thrown into the sea. Local conditions enable you to explain why no part of the dismembered body has been found. But you have no definate proof that the body of Mr Knott, either wholly or in part, does not still remain upon terra firma.’
‘I wish I thought it did,’ Hanslet growled. ‘We’d be bound to find it sooner or later, and then the case against Gavin Slater would be absolutely water-tight.’
Dr Priestley glanced at the clock as though to terminate the interview. ‘I would recommend you to abandon all preconceived theories,’ he said. ‘You are confronted, I believe, with a somewhat unusual problem. But this problem is not so complicated as to be incapable of solution. The essential step is to discover the true significance of the events which have caused it.’
2
Hanslet, reviewing matters in his office at Scotland Yard the next morning, felt that he had reached a deadlock. Here were two murders, each elucidated up to a point, but from the superintendent’s point of view inconclusive.
The case of Victor Harleston had certain points of ingenuity about it. The method employed might have escaped detection but for the praiseworthy perseverance displayed by Jimmy. The motive was also pretty clear. It ought then to be possible to lay hands upon the criminal. In his heart of hearts Hanslet had no doubt that Philip Harleston had
been at the bottom of the affair. It was Philip’s obvious duty to confess and so clear the matter up. But, most reprehensibly, he showed no signs of doing so. And, with the evidence at present available, there was no chance of obtaining a conviction against him.
The case of Mr Knott was slightly different. He had been brutally murdered, the object having been to obtain possession of the money he was carrying. No particular ingenuity had been displayed by the criminal except perhaps in the disposal of the body. There could not be the slightest doubt of his identity. But in the absence of the body no charge of murder could very well be maintained.
Following his usual custom when faced with a perplexing problem, Hanslet had had recourse to Dr Priestley. But for once the Professor had failed him. He had shown no practical sympathy with the superintendent’s difficulties; he had merely talked a lot of theoretical nonsense, which, though sound enough in its way, did not help matters much. His most recent suggestion had been almost puerile. Hanslet wondered if the Professor’s brain could be showing signs of growing old. That fanciful suggestion of Victor Harleston having been possessed of a large sum of money based upon a few figures scrawled on the back of an old letter! It was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as the suggestion that the numbers of the notes drawn by Mr Knott should be circulated to the London banks.
Nevertheless, merely as a matter of routine, Hanslet thought he might as well carry out the latter suggestion. He obtained the numbers of the notes from Jimmy and circulated them through the usual channels. Then he turned his attention to the many other matters which were awaiting his consideration.
Late that same afternoon Hanslet received a telephone message. It was from the West End branch of the City and Suburban Bank. If Superintendent Hanslet would call upon the manager he would be put in possession of certain information which might be of service to him. Hanslet lost no time. He went round to the bank at once and was there introduced to the manager. He could hardly believe his ears when the latter informed him that some of the notes of which the numbers had been circulated had passed through his hands.
‘I would be very glad if you would tell me the circumstances in full,’ he said.
‘That is very soon done,’ the manager replied. ‘On the morning of Saturday, January 26th, we received, by registered post, twenty-five £20 notes. Here are the numbers of those notes, which you will find to correspond with the numbers circulated by you.’
Hanslet compared the numbers given him by the manager with a list which he took from his pocket. There could be no doubt that these twenty-five notes were among those which had been drawn by Mr Knott.
‘Yes, that’s all right,’ he said. ‘May I ask who sent you the notes?’
‘They were sent to us by one of our customers, Mr Stanley Fernside, together with a note requesting that they should be placed to the credit of his deposit account. I have the note here and you may like to see it.’
Hanslet examined the note with considerable curiosity. It was written on letter paper, bearing the heading of the Midland Hotel, Manchester. Its contents were as follows:
‘DEAR SIR,—I should be glad if you would place the enclosed sum of £500 to the credit of my deposit account. I shall be passing through London tomorrow on my way to the continent, where I expect to be detained for some considerable time. As, however, I shall not arrive in London before the bank closes, I am compelled to send the money by post. I should be very grateful if upon receipt of this letter you would send an acknowledgment by hand to my London address.
‘Yours faithfully,
STANLEY FERNSIDE.’
The letter was dated Friday, January 25th.
‘Will you be good enough to tell me what you know about Mr Stanley Fernside?’ Hanslet asked.
‘That won’t take long,’ the manager replied. ‘I know very little about him. He has been a customer of ours for the past three years. My first interview with him was when he called at the bank and asked to see me. He said that he wished to open an account with us. I asked him the usual questions and he told me that he was an agent for a firm of American importers. He also told me that he had a flat in London, of which he gave me the address, 12a Banbridge Road, Kilburn. Although this was his permanent address he was very rarely there except at the weekends. His territory covered the whole of Europe and he spent the greater part of his time travelling, both in this country and abroad.
‘I was not altogether satisfied with this, since Mr Fernside was a total stranger to me. I suggested that he might give me a reference, and he asked what sort of thing I wanted. I replied that the usual procedure was an introduction from some reputable firm, preferably in London. Mr Fernside replied that he was unaware that this formality was necessary and had not provided himself with an introduction. He would, however, obtain one by next day.
‘On the following day he returned. On that occasion he produced an introduction from one of the partners of a well-known firm of accountants, Messrs. Slater & Knott. This introduction stated that the writer had known Mr Fernside for many years and that he had no hesitation in recommending him as a suitable customer to the bank.’
Hanslet concealed his satisfaction at this news.
‘Can you tell me the name of the partner who signed the letter?’ he asked.
‘Certainly. It was Mr Ernest Knott. I am not personally acquainted with the gentleman, but I took the precaution later of ringing him up and asking him if the introduction was genuine. He replied at once that he had written it that morning and that I need have no hesitation in accepting Mr Fernside as a thoroughly reputable person. I had already agreed to open an account with Mr Fernside, and my conversation with Mr Knott removed any lingering doubt which I might have had.
‘Mr Fernside opened his account with notes to the extent of about £200. It was an ordinary current account and it was drawn upon by cheque in the usual way. There was nothing in any way peculiar about it. But some months after the original account had been opened, Mr Fernside came to see me again. He then asked if he could open a deposit account in addition to his current account. I told him that there was no objection to this and he thanked me. Since that time Mr Fernside has paid considerable sums into this deposit account. I may tell you in confidence that the amount now standing to his credit is in excess of £40,000. Curiously enough, Mr Fernside has never entered the bank since his deposit account was opened.’
‘Can you give me any sort of description of him?’ Hanslet asked.
‘No one that would be of very much use, I’m afraid. You see, it’s such a long time ago since I last set eyes upon him. But I can recall one or two impressions. He was a middle-aged man, fairly tall but with a pronounced stoop. I remember distinctly that he had a very unhealthy complexion, he was pasty-faced and covered with spots. Another thing I remember is that he seemed rather slovenly in his habits. His clothes were baggy and didn’t seem to fit him properly. Oh yes, and each time I saw him he was carrying a very remarkable stick. It was made of some heavy dark red wood, and had a massive gold knob on the end.’
‘You have received money from Mr Fernside from time to time?’
‘Yes, but always by post and in the form of notes. And the letters of advice have invariably been dated from various provincial hotels. There was, therefore, nothing extraordinary about the receipt of these notes from Mr Fernside on the 26th.’
‘And yet Mr Fernside takes the trouble to explain why he could not bring them here in person,’ Hanslet remarked.
The manager shrugged his shoulders. ‘People do say a lot of unnecessary things, even in business letters,’ he said. ‘I suppose Mr Fernside wished to let me know that he was going abroad for some time and the mention of passing through London after the bank was closed followed naturally from that.’
‘You have had no communication with Mr Fernside since this letter enclosing the £500?’
‘I have not,’ the manager replied. ‘May I in turn ask why you have thought it necessary to circulate the numbers of these particular not
es?’
Hanslet smiled. ‘You’ve been very good in answering my questions, and I’ll return the compliment,’ he replied. ‘The notes paid in to you by Mr Fernside were among a number drawn by Mr Knott from his bank on the 17th. During the course of that night Mr Knott disappeared, and there is every reason to believe that he was murdered. Mr Knott is the gentleman from whom Mr Fernside secured his introduction. I think you will realise why I am anxious to get on the track of Mr Fernside as soon as possible.’
Hanslet left the bank, taking with him the note written by Fernside from the Midland Hotel at Manchester. He called a taxi and drove to Kilburn Police Station. Here he made inquiries about Mr Fernside and his address. Of the man himself nothing was known. Banbridge Road was a street of quiet shops, each with a small flat above it. The shops were unoccupied at night and the tenants of the flats had access to them by a separate door. The shop No. 12 was occupied by a milliner. 12a was the flat above it. It had been occupied for the past three years and the directory gave the name of the tenant as Stanley Fernside. But nobody at the police station remembered having seen the gentleman.
Hanslet telephoned to Scotland Yard and was shortly joined by an undersized foxy-faced man whom he addressed as Tom. Together they set out for Banbridge Road. Their first call was at the milliner’s. The shop was just about to be shut for the night, but they were fortunate in catching the proprietress. She turned out to be an alert, intelligent woman of middle age. Hanslet questioned her about the tenant of the flat above, only to find that she knew very little about him. To the best of her recollection she had only set eyes upon him about half a dozen times. The flat always seemed to be empty, at least she had very rarely heard anybody moving about above her head. She had once or twice seen a gentleman open the door. Her description of him confirmed the bank manager’s. He was tall, stooped and walked with a slight limp. And his face was all covered with pimples. She had not seen him for several months past. She was in the habit of locking up her shop at one o’clock on Saturday and not opening it again until nine o’clock on the Monday morning. As she did not live in the neighbourhood, she would not have seen Mr Fernside if he had entered or left his flat during the weekend.