In At The Death

by Francis Duncan

  Boyce drew a finger thoughtfully along his chin.

  ‘In other words, miss, you’re prepared to give the young man an alibi?’

  ‘I’m prepared to give evidence that Rex couldn’t have been the person who killed Doctor Hardene,’ she corrected him, ‘because he wasn’t anywhere near the place where it happened.’

  ‘I see, miss.’ Boyce cleared his throat. ‘Would you mind telling me where you spent the evening?’

  A slight flush came into her cheeks but she faced him steadily enough.

  ‘Of course not. We went to the Empress—that’s the big cinema in Queen’s Parade. The new Academy Award film is on this week and we both wanted to see it.’

  ‘And afterwards you went straight to your home?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve already been given the address. It’s on the other side of the city. You know it just wouldn’t have been possible for Rex to have got back to the downs by half past ten after he’d left me.’

  ‘I agree that seems to be the answer, miss.’ Boyce did not rise to the bait. He looked at her quite mildly. ‘I appreciate your being so candid with me. It always helps when people say straight out what there is to say. We always find out the truth in the end, of course, in any case, but it saves a lot of unnecessary fuss.’

  She looked at him suspiciously but there was nothing in his tone to arouse a challenge. He went on, casually, as if he had nothing more in his mind than the clearing up of an odd minor matter or so:

  ‘There’s just one more point, miss. Could you tell me just why Mr. Linton and Doctor Hardene had this quarrel of theirs?’

  ‘I thought you already knew the answer to that, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Well, I can—guess,’ Boyce admitted. ‘But it’s always better to have confirmation of these things than to have to rely on guesswork.’

  ‘It was because—because of me,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Rex thought that Doctor Hardene was—well, trying to pay me too much attention.’

  ‘And was he?’

  ‘He asked me to go out with him several times. I refused. I told him that whilst I enjoyed working as his receptionist I didn’t want our relationship to go any further. I—I told him about Rex.’

  ‘But Doctor Hardene,’ Boyce interposed quietly, ‘wasn’t the man to take no for an answer. That it, miss?’

  ‘That was it,’ she agreed. ‘He became rather—insistent. That was why Rex came here. I didn’t want him to do it but he just wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘I suppose that after that things became a little difficult? I mean, working here as receptionist after what had happened.’

  ‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘Doctor Hardene didn’t refer to it and naturally I didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t think about giving up the job?’

  ‘I thought about it—yes. Rex wanted me to leave. But I thought he was making too much of it and I told him so. I liked what I was doing and I didn’t see that there was any need to be silly about things. After all, Doctor Hardene had always treated me quite properly—I hadn’t any complaints.’

  ‘So as far as you’re concerned, miss, you’d found nothing to take exception to, but Mr. Linton—for very understandable reasons—was taking rather a jaundiced view of the matter.’

  She met his glance with a hint of challenge.

  ‘What do you mean by—understandable reasons?’ she said, the colour in her cheeks.

  Boyce shrugged.

  ‘It’s natural that a young man should be quick to resent someone else paying attentions to a young lady of whom he happens to be fond. Especially when that someone possesses rather a doubtful reputation where the ladies are concerned.’

  ‘It still doesn’t mean that he’s likely to commit murder.’

  ‘My experience doesn’t lead me to agree with you, miss,’ Boyce said soberly. ‘And I’ve been concerned with quite a number of investigations in my time.’

  The calmness of his manner clearly disconcerted her. Margaret Royman darted a glance at Tremaine, and that gentleman found himself wishing he was somewhere else. Beauty in distress always unhinged him when he knew that he was barred from offering aid.

  She turned back to the Yard man.

  ‘If you think that Rex had anything to do with it you’re wasting your time. I’ve already told you that he couldn’t have got to the downs in time. Is that all you wanted, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, that’s all, miss. Except that there’s no need for you to start thinking I’m accusing Mr. Linton of anything. In my job I often have to ask a lot of questions that turn out not to have any real importance at all.’

  She gave him a disbelieving glance and went out, ostentatiously closing the door behind her so that the reception room was sealed off from the surgery.

  Boyce swivelled in his chair to face Tremaine.

  ‘She was certainly defending that young man of hers, wasn’t she? Almost as though she thought she had something to defend.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Jonathan,’ Tremaine returned uneasily. ‘It’s natural that she should want to see him cleared of any suspicions. And he is cleared anyway.’

  ‘According to her story,’ Boyce said drily. ‘I wonder whether they can produce any witnesses to verify the time they got back to her home from the cinema?’

  ‘Does she know about the legacy?’ Tremaine asked, more from a desire to evade the issue than from any real eagerness to know the answer.

  ‘Not as far as I’m aware. Odd, isn’t it? Hardene seems to have made a pretty good pass at her and been content to take no for an answer—up to a point, anyway—and yet he left her a thousand in his will. A will, mark you, that doesn’t seem to be outstanding for legacies to his fellow men.’

  ‘Surely it was just a recognition of the fact that he was satisfied with her work for him?’

  ‘Well, it might have been,’ Boyce said, without conviction. ‘What are your plans?’ he went on. ‘I’m here for a while as far as I can see. I’ll need to take a look around and check on this story of our friend the burglar who didn’t get any further than the back door, and then I want to go through Hardene’s papers with Witham a bit more thoroughly. Will you be about, or is there anything you want to do on your own?’

  Tremaine rose to his feet.

  ‘I think I’ll take a walk. If you haven’t any objection that is, Jonathan. I want to sort things out for myself and I’d like to have a better look at the district—in a car you don’t really get a chance to see what a place is like.’

  ‘I daresay I’ll be here for a couple of hours,’ Boyce told him, glancing at his watch. ‘After that we’ll see about a late lunch, and then off to the Chief Constable—who’s certain to want to know what I’ve done about Masters.’

  He chuckled, but it was a wry sound with no laughter in it. He knew that it was unlikely that Sir Robert Dennell would receive the news of his inaction in that quarter with any satisfaction.

  12

  PANIC ON A CLIFF

  TREMAINE LET HIMSELF out of the house and set off in the direction of the downs, some two or three hundred yards distant. Boyce would quite clearly be engaged upon purely routine matters in which he could be of little assistance, and to stay would merely be to wander aimlessly about the house trying to avoid coming in contact with Margaret Royman.

  When he reached the road bordering the downs he turned right and for a few minutes he kept to the pavement before crossing over and walking on the open grass. Although an occasional car went by there were few people about; he appeared to have the neighbourhood to himself except for a man, a small boy, and a dog away in the distance.

  As he had already noticed during his drives about the city with Boyce, the downs consisted for the most part of a comparatively flat expanse of grass, but here towards the river the ground was uneven and broken up by hollows and by clumps of stunted trees and bushes.

  It was clearly a popular strolling place, at least in more favourable seasons of the year, for seats, neatly painted, had been set out at in
tervals of a few hundred yards, as a rule discreetly screened by the rise of the ground or by the bushes.

  He descended the gentle slope of a hollow that lay in his path. It was difficult to believe that he was in the midst of a great city; the houses lining the road behind him were out of sight now and only the sky and the grass remained within his vision. It occurred to him how easily murder might be done in such a place, with human life and activity so near at hand and yet so incredibly remote.

  The far slope of the hollow was steeper. He climbed pantingly and halted for a second or two at the top to recover his breath. He saw that two or three hundred yards away across the grass a man was resting on a seat placed against a clump of hawthorns.

  As he moved nearer he thought he recognized Martin Slade, and then the sight of the sticks lying against the edge of the seat at the man’s side confirmed his first impression. Some distance beyond the hawthorns, where the road evidently took a wide sweep around a curve of the downs, the other’s black saloon car was parked.

  Slade stirred suddenly, and for an instant Tremaine thought the man had seen him. But it seemed that he had only been shifting to a more comfortable position, for his head remained turned away. It was not until Tremaine was no more than a yard or two from him, the sound of his approach now audible, that he looked round.

  Slade’s stare was blank as their eyes met, and then a hint of recognition came into his face.

  ‘Good morning,’ Tremaine said. ‘Mr. Slade, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘My name’s Tremaine. We met yesterday morning—at Doctor Hardene’s house.’

  ‘Oh—of course. Remember you now.’ Slade acknowledged him with a brief nod. ‘You were with those police fellows.’

  He did not seem particularly pleased at their encounter but he could not refrain from asking the obvious questions.

  ‘What’s happening? Have you found out who did it?’

  ‘It’s rather early yet,’ Tremaine said, non-committally.

  ‘Suppose it is.’ Slade sounded a little sour. ‘Can’t expect miracles. Daresay you’ve one or two ideas though.’

  ‘I think the police are working on certain lines of enquiry,’ Tremaine said carefully.

  The crippled man shifted awkwardly in his seat and glanced about him.

  ‘On your own I see.’

  ‘Yes, just taking the air. I thought I’d like a closer look at these glorious downs of yours. I must say I envy you Bridgton people, Mr. Slade.’

  ‘Too many folk use ’em for my liking,’ Slade remarked shortly. ‘Not now, of course—weather keeps ’em away. But back in the summer the place was turned into a rabbit warren.’

  His manner betrayed the fact that he wanted to ask questions, but he did not invite Tremaine to sit down nor did he try to prolong their conversation. He made a gesture beyond the clump of hawthorns.

  ‘If you’re out for a stroll I suggest you try that way—there’s a path that takes you back towards the river. You’ll find the best part of the downs over there.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Tremaine said. ‘I wasn’t going anywhere in particular. I’ll take your advice.’

  He nodded to the seated man, and walked on, taking the direction Slade had indicated. At first he kept determinedly facing the way in which he was going, despite the urge to turn his head, for he sensed that the other was gazing after him; but when he had gone a short distance he glanced around, as though taking casual stock of his surroundings.

  The seat was just visible, but to his surprise he saw that it was empty. He looked for Slade, half expecting that he might see him beginning to make his way across the grass, and then he heard a car start up and when he turned his eyes towards the road he was just in time to see the black saloon moving away.

  He went on thoughtfully. It was true that it was hardly the time of year to be sitting about for long in exposed places, but Slade had given no indication that he intended to leave. He must have started for his car almost as soon as they had parted company.

  He had certainly seemed like a man who didn’t know his own mind. He had wanted to find out just how much the police had discovered, but at the same time he had not been anxious to be drawn into conversation in case he had been tempted into saying more than would have been wise.

  Perhaps that was natural enough. Tremaine recalled their first meeting on the previous day. Maybe Slade was having second thoughts; he was beginning to wish he had not been quite so outspoken and was anxious to keep out of the lime-light whilst the investigations were going on.

  Although his mind was thus active Tremaine still had eyes for his surroundings. Slade had been right when he had said that the path he had indicated would lead to the best part of the downs; the evidence of it was about him.

  Away to the right a line of trees fringed the road leading to the extension of the suburb in which Jerome Masters lived, and through the trees, where the ground fell away, it was possible to catch an occasional glimpse of the sea several miles beyond. In front of him was the river valley, the path curving towards it and running for some distance along its upper edge.

  When he reached the railings he saw that there was an almost sheer drop to the water; the cliff fell two hundred feet or more to the roadway that ran alongside the river. From his vantage point he could look up towards the docks and warehouses at the entrance to the city and down over the meadow land on the far bank that stretched towards the sea.

  It was magnificent but it was also a little terrifying. The railings were widely spaced and they seemed to offer but little protection from that awesome drop. Instinctively, Tremaine drew back.

  As he did so he saw that a man was coming towards him. At this point the main, paved pathway turned away from the river, following the line of the rocks; but the upper part of the gulley thus formed was dotted with trees and bushes and an earthen path ran through it, forming a short cut between the two arms of the curve.

  It was this narrow path through the undergrowth that the newcomer was taking. Tremaine was walking slowly to meet him, unconcerned, when he saw that it was Fenn.

  He stopped, and was surprised and a little annoyed with himself to find that he was feeling nervous. He tried to take himself in hand. Undoubtedly it was a lonely spot, and it was a long way down to the roadway bordering the river, but he was overworking his imagination. There was no reason at all to suppose that Fenn would adopt a hostile attitude.

  He remained unpleasantly unconvinced. There was something menacing about the thick-set figure of the seaman plodding up the path towards him. And Fenn must have had a good look at him when he had been standing at the side of Jonathan Boyce outside Hardene’s house—good enough, anyway, to enable him to recognize him now.

  Tremaine measured the distance between them, glanced at the open downs on his left, and was on the point of breaking into an undignified run when Fenn suddenly left the path and disappeared into the bushes alongside it.

  A moment or two later a brief glimpse of his form through the trees revealed that his purpose was simple enough—he was taking a short cut that would save him a hundred yards or so if, as now seemed the case, he intended cutting across the downs at right angles to the river, making for the heart of Druidleigh.

  Feeling that he had been on the point of making a sorry exhibition of himself, Tremaine put a hand on the railing and stood staring down unseeingly at the river. He was relieved that there had been no one at hand to witness his momentary panic. Far from having any villainous intentions towards him Fenn had in all probability not even recognized him; the man had clearly been engrossed with his own errand.

  Tremaine watched a remote toy barge moving slowly down the river, its wash rippling to either bank, and tried to set his emotions in order.

  After all, what reason was there to suppose that Fenn had any interest in him? Had there been anything about that one brief meeting to cause suspicion or fear?

  He turned slowly away from the railing. He was allowing his imag
ination to run loose; he was becoming too obsessed with seamen.

  He would have to do something about it or Jonathan Boyce would begin to regret having invited him to accompany the murder bag.

  13

  THE CHIEF CONSTABLE DISAPPROVES

  THE ENCOUNTER, DESPITE his efforts to dismiss it from his mind, had effectively dealt with his desire to roam about the downs. Tremaine walked briskly back to the main road and in twenty minutes had once more reached Hardene’s house.

  Boyce was still going over a number of papers with Witham but he had already got through the major part of his work.

  ‘Any developments?’ he asked, as Tremaine came in.

  Tremaine shook his head. He thought that there was no point in mentioning Fenn.

  ‘Nothing worth noting,’ he said carefully. ‘What about you, Jonathan?’

  ‘Well, we didn’t find anything to put us on to Mrs. Colver’s visitor of last night,’ Boyce returned, ‘although she still swears she didn’t imagine him. I’m nearly through now. It’s just as well. I’m beginning to need my lunch.’

  They left the house together, and after a brief but satisfying meal, were taken once more to police headquarters. Parkin and the Chief Constable were waiting for them in the austerely furnished room in which they had had their former conference.

  Boyce began to apologize but Sir Robert Dennell cut him short.

  ‘That’s all right, Chief Inspector. The fact of the matter is that I’m early. Well, shall we have your report? I understand things have been opening out quite a bit.’

  ‘They have that, sir,’ Boyce returned.

  Tremaine took one of the seats waiting for them at the table and glanced speculatively at the Chief Constable. His manner was decidedly more amiable than had been the case at their last meeting. He had a brisker, more cheerful air.

  ‘That gun of Hardene’s seems an obvious lead, of course. There’s no doubt that it was the weapon used to kill Marton. Question is, how did Hardene come to get hold of it?’