Death at Breakfast

by John Rhode

  Beside the door of the shop was a second door, number 12a. Hanslet pressed the bell push let into the door-post. He could hear the faint tinkle of the bell upstairs in the flat. But nobody answered it. He rang a second and then a third time. At last his patience was exhausted. ‘It’s up to you, Tom,’ he said.

  Meanwhile his companion had been examining the lock of the door. As Hanslet spoke he took a bunch of keys from his pocket. He inserted one of these in the lock and felt it gently. Then he nodded his head as though he had learnt what he had wanted. He looked at the bunch, selected a particular key, and inserted this in the lock. It turned easily and the door opened.

  They stepped inside, to find themselves in a narrow hall at the end of which was a carpeted staircase. They climbed this to the first floor where they were confronted by a second door. Tom made as short work of this as he had of the first. They entered the flat, which was in darkness. Hanslet groped round for the electric light switch, found it and turned it on. Then, in the sudden light which flooded the place he saw a spectacle which made him gasp with astonishment.

  The door through which they had just passed opened directly into the living-room of the flat. This was of a fair size and contained no more than the bare necessities of cheap furniture. But the whole room was in utter confusion. A painted deal table, which had apparently formed the principal article of furniture, lay on its side with the two upper legs broken off short. Three common wooden chairs lay scattered about the room in various states of disrepair. On a packing-case in one corner stood a small safe. This was wide open and empty. The walls were covered with a sickly green distemper which showed several scratches, apparently of recent date. The window was shut, but the heavy curtain which covered it had been half torn down and hung ungracefully. The floor was covered with linoleum, which showed many impressions of nailed boots.

  Tom was the first to speak. ‘Looks as if there’s been a bit of a scrap in here, sir,’ he remarked.

  Hanslet made no reply. He walked across the room to a farther door, which he opened. He found himself in a small kitchen, the contents of which were not in disorder. Two doors opened off the kitchen and he looked through these in turn. The first led into a bathroom and lavatory. The second led into a small bedroom, very plainly furnished with an iron bedstead and a wooden chest of drawers. The bedclothes were hastily thrown aside as though somebody had got up in a hurry. The chest of drawers was empty.

  The superintendent returned to the living-room which he proceeded to examine minutely. The first thing he noticed was what he took at first to be a damp stain upon one of the walls. It was yellowish-brown in colour and of a peculiar shade. Not for some two or three seconds did Hanslet discover that it was a very rudely executed likeness of a pistol. It had apparently been traced by a finger dipped in some colouring matter.

  He turned to the overturned table and moved it slightly in order to examine the broken legs. This exposed to view an object which he recognised at once from the bank manager’s description. It was a walking stick of heavy red wood surmounted by a gold knob. The appearance of the knob attracted his attention. On one side of it was covered with a dark incrustation, to which a few hairs adhered.

  He laid the stick on one side and continued his investigations. On the wall he found a group of small stains of similar colour to the first. These suggested drops, as though the colouring matter had been sprinkled against the wall. On the linoleum close by the safe was a dark stain of considerable extent.

  Hanslet knew well enough that blood stains cannot always be recognised by their colour. But the incrustation on the knob of the stick was unmistakable. It was certainly blood. And that gave the clue to the stains on the wall and the linoleum. These in all probability were also blood. That the room had been the scene of a violent struggle was beyond a doubt.

  With Tom’s assistance he searched every square inch of it. The edge of the curtain bore a dark stain of the shape of a human hand on which the fingers could be distinguished. From the large stain on the floor by the safe a trail of drops led towards the door. Careful search revealed that these stains extended down the stairs. The last of them was perhaps three inches in diameter and lay just inside the lower door. The safe had clearly not been broken open, but unlocked with its own key, since it bore no signs of violence. It was absolutely empty, and Hanslet refrained from touching it, hoping that expert examination might reveal finger marks. In the bathroom was a wash-basin with a dirty brown line running round inside it a couple of inches below the top.

  For the first time Hanslet spoke. ‘You’re right, Tom. There has been a scrap in here,’ he said. ‘And I think I begin to see the hang of things already. However, let’s be thorough while we’re about it. It looks as if there’s been a fire in the grate pretty recently, and it might pay us to rake out the ashes.’

  Hanslet set to work, and his industry was rewarded by two discoveries. The first was a scrap of paper of which the edges were charred. Its appearance suggested that it was all that remained of a newspaper or periodical, the remainder of which had been consumed in the fireplace. This scrap of paper was about ten inches long. Its width varied from three-quarters of an inch to a quarter. It was blank, but for the printed date which appeared on both sides. This date was Saturday, January 26th. The second discovery was still more amazing. As he passed the ashes through his fingers Hanslet felt some hard body. He blew the ashes away until the nature of this body was revealed. It turned out to be a bullet, slightly flattened at the nose, and on the bullet was an incrustation which strongly resembled that upon the gold knob of the stick.

  There was nothing else to be found. Hanslet arranged his finds on the mantelpiece and regarded them with a look of satisfaction. ‘Didn’t somebody say something about sermons in stones?’ he said. ‘I don’t know anything about that, but there’s a complete story in those things there. Now I’m going to make a few inquiries of the neighbours. You’d better stop here, Tom, and see that nobody gets in. I shan’t be long.’

  The superintendent’s inquiries were directed to flats 11 and 13a. He found that the tenants of the former had been away since Christmas and were not expected back for some days. The flat was unoccupied and had been so since their departure. But in 13a he was more fortunate. That flat was occupied by a young couple with a year-old baby. The husband went out to business every day, but the wife very rarely strayed from home. She had known her neighbour by sight, but had never troubled to inquire his name. Her description of him coincided with those which Hanslet had already heard. Tall, stooping, with a palid and pimply face, and invariably carrying a curious-looking stick with a gold knob. She had last seen him on Friday the 18th. She had happened to be looking out of the window about seven o’clock and had seen him enter his flat. He was alone. He was usually a very quiet tenant, and she could never tell whether he was at home or not. Not like the people on the other side of her who had a piano and played it night and day. But for an hour or two on the 18th after seven o’clock she had heard sounds from No. 12a. They had not been very loud and did not last very long. From their nature she had formed the impression that her neighbour was moving his furniture about. Soon after eight o’clock that evening she had heard the door of No. 12a slam. She had looked out of the window and seen the occupant walking away.

  This was not very much to the point. Hanslet was more interested in what had happened on Saturday the 26th. Unfortunately, his informant had gone out to see her mother that afternoon, taking the baby with her. She had returned about six o’clock and had noticed a closed car standing outside the door of No. 12a. At that time there was nobody in it, she was sure of that. She had gone up to her own flat and begun to make preparations for putting the baby to bed. Almost immediately afterwards she heard very heavy footsteps decending the staircase of No. 12a. This was unusual, for the occupant was in the habit of moving about very quietly. She looked out of the window and saw the door open. A man, whose face she could not see, came out. He was carrying on his shoulder a bi
g sack, which appeared to be very heavy. He put this into the car and drove off. She had not given the matter any further thought. But she was quite sure that the man she saw on that occasion was not the occupant of 12a. She had not noticed the car particularly and could only descibe it vaguely as a medium-sized saloon. She had not noticed the number.

  This was enough to be going on with, Hanslet thought. He went back to No. 12a and collected his trophies. Then, leaving a man on guard, he took a taxi to the yard.

  Here he sat down to consider this new and wholly unexpected development. He made a few notes while his observations were still fresh in his memory, and then sent for Jimmy. To him he unfolded the results of his investigations.

  ‘Now then, Jimmy, my lad, let’s hear your explanation,’ he said.

  Jimmy grinned. ‘It’s a bit of a puzzle,’ he replied. ‘But the main facts seem to be fairly clear. Who Stanley Fernside may be or may have been, I’m not going to attempt to guess. The first significant thing about him is that he was an acquaintance of Mr Knott.’

  Hanslet nodded. ‘Yes, that’s the proper starting-point,’ he said. ‘Well?’

  ‘The next thing about him is that he had a balance of some £40,000 at the bank. I think that’s rather important, for a man with all that money doesn’t commit a murder for the sake of a few hundreds. Then we come to the most curious thing about it. Fernside somehow came into possession of the notes which Knott had drawn on Thursday the 24th. These notes he posted from Manchester.’

  ‘Hold on a minute!’ Hanslet interrupted. ‘How do we know he posted them from Manchester? Anybody can walk into a big hotel and pinch a piece of notepaper. He may have posted those notes from Timbuctoo, for all we know. The people at the bank wouldn’t have troubled to look at the postmark.’

  Jimmy smiled. The superintendent had overlooked one small point. He proceeded to draw his attention to it as diplomatically as possible.

  ‘Oh, I thought you said the letter had been registered,’ he exclaimed.

  Hanslet stared at him for a moment and then laughed good-humouredly. ‘Good for you, Jimmy,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’d forgotten that for the moment. Of course, if that letter was posted in Manchester, we shall find a record in one of the post offices. They’ll have the counterfoil of the certificate of posting. I’ll have a message sent to the Manchester police to look for it. That’s one to you. Carry on, my lad.’

  ‘The main question is, how did he come by those notes?’ Jimmy continued. ‘I don’t think it’s any good trying to answer that until the rest of the facts are explained. Fernside mentioned to the bank manager that he would be passing through London on the 26th. It appears that he did so and went to Banbridge Road. It being Saturday afternoon none of his neighbours happened to see him. And it seems pretty easy to guess what happened to him when he got there.’

  ‘It isn’t a matter of guesswork,’ Hanslet replied. ‘The proof positively stares one in the face. He had a safe in his flat, and some gang or other decided that it might be worth their while to crack it. They hit upon a Saturday afternoon for the job, knowing that all the shops would be empty and shut. They worked the usual dodge. Having provided themselves with keys to fit the doors, they drove up in a car. The chap who was to do the job went into the flat, the other chap or chaps kept a lookout. Fernside must have turned up almost immediately afterwards, I think. He let himself into his flat and found the cracksman already in occupation. He went for the fellow with that stick of his and gave him a pretty nasty knock by the look of it. But the other chap whipped out a gun and shot him. But Fernside wasn’t killed outright. He managed to get to the window and tore the curtain aside, I suppose with the idea of calling for help. Then the cracksman closed with him and overpowered him. They made a pretty mess of the furniture between them, I can tell you. Fernside once overpowered and I expect trussed up, the rest was easy. There was no further need to break open the safe. All that was necessary was to take Fernside’s bunch of keys and find the right one. And that’s just about what’s happened. With any luck, we may find some fingermarks on the safe, and if we do, that’ll put us on the track.

  ‘While the safe was being opened, Fernside died of his wounds, I fancy. The cracksman then had to dispose of the body—a difficulty which he had not foreseen. He hadn’t got the sea at his back door, so to speak, like your friend, Gavin Slater. But he didn’t like to leave the body where it was. Anybody might have come upon it and there would have been a hue and cry at once. So he put it in a sack which he had with him. There must have been a good deal of blood on his hands by the time he had finished and he washed them in the basin in the bathroom. Then he carried the sack downstairs with blood dripping from it and put it in the car. And where the body may be now goodness only knows.’

  ‘What about that diagram drawn on the wall which you say looks like a pistol?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Ah,’ exclaimed Hanslet sapiently. ‘That’s a very interesting point. There are some crooks who seem to take a positive delight in leaving their trademarks behind them. It’s not at all uncommon for a criminal to leave a definite mark of identification. You’re too young to remember the chap who gave us such a lot of trouble and who’s never been found to this day. He was a specialist in opening unoccupied houses, and for some reason he had an extraordinary trick of soaking himself in scent. This scent persisted for months, and as soon as a theft was reported, we got in the habit of sniffing for it. Every policeman in London knew it as the thieves’ smell. You would have thought it would have been a very valuable clue, but we never found the fellow in spite of it.

  ‘This chap gives us another example of the same kind of thing. Apparently he’s a bit of an artist and has a fancy for drawing pictures on the wall. We’ll have to search the records and see if in any previous cases a similar picture has been found. Now I’ve had a busy day and I’m going home. It will be good practice for you to set your thinking box to work and tell me in the morning what conclusions you’ve come to.’

  Jimmy was ready enough to exercise his brains on the problem. He regarded the murder of Mr Knott as in a sense his own case, and the extraordinary affair at Banbridge Road was obviously not unconnected with it. The first thing to discover was what connection had existed between Fernside and Mr Knott. That Jimmy thought would be easy enough to discover. Somebody in the offices of Slater & Knott would surely be able to throw some light upon it. The two must have been old acquaintances. Mr Knott, on being applied to for an introduction, had stated that he had known Fernside for many years.

  But as Jimmy had already realised, the most important factor was Fernside’s possession of the notes drawn by Mr Knott. Jimmy could think of several theories to account for this, but they all seemed to him, for one reason or another, highly improbable. The first was that Fernside had murdered Mr Knott. He could only have murdered him while he was staying with the Slaters at Torquay. Could he have followed him there and broken into the house during the night? The idea sounded utterly fantastic. Would a man with a bank balance of such dimensions murder another for the possession of £750? If he had murdered him for some other reason not yet apparent would he have taken the notes?

  A variation upon this theory was that Stanley Fernside and Gavin Slater were one and the same. But the description of Fernside differed entirely from that of Gavin Slater. There was only one point of resemblance between them, and that was a very slight one. One of the witnesses had said that Fernside limped slightly. This question of identity could easily be put to the test. Fernside was known to have been in London between six and seven o’clock on the 18th. If Gavin Slater could have been proved to have been in Torquay during that period, the identity was disproved.

  Had Fernside obtained the notes from Gavin Slater? That opened up an almost unlimited field of speculation. Fernside might have been in the conspiracy against Mr Knott. He had met Gavin Slater in Torquay after the murder. In that case the Slater family must already have known of his existence. Discreet inquiries upon this point might prove
fruitful.

  Finally, there was a theory which vindicated Fernside from all complicity in the murder of Mr Knott. According to this Mr Knott had drawn the notes for the purpose of giving them to Fernside, and had actually done so before his arrival at Mr Slater’s house. Mr Knott might have mentioned in the course of conversation that evening that he had drawn £750 from the bank. But he omitted to mention that he had paid them away. The Slaters had understood him to mean that they were still in his possession and had therefore mentioned the notes to divert suspicion from themselves in case inquiries were made. This seemed fairly plausible. Fernside had sent to his bank notes to the value of £500 only. Perhaps that was the sum which he had received from Mr Knott, who had retained the balance. The note which Gavin Slater had changed had been part of this.

  Fernside’s innocence would explain his letter to the bank and his return to London. But in spite of Hanslet’s explanation the events which followed that return seemed to Jimmy deeply mysterious. The evidence of a struggle having taken place in the flat appeared overwhelming. As a result of it, according to the superintendent, Fernside had been killed and his body taken away. But why should a gang of crooks encumber themselves with a body of which they would eventually have to dispose? Surely they would have left it where it was, to be discovered in due course? The body itself would give no clue to the murderer. And that design upon the wall? Why a pistol of all things in the world? Was it merely a piece of bravado? An intimation that the murderer carried a gun and would not hesitate to use it? It might be so. But Jimmy couldn’t help wondering. It seemed to him that clues so deliberately fabricated were more likely to be misleading than boastful. The design of the pistol naturally suggested a search for an armed murderer. Could this be an attempt to lay a false scent at the start?