Masters was breathing heavily.
‘Are you trying to tell me I wasn’t there?’ he demanded.
‘All I’m saying, sir, is that we haven’t been able to find anyone who’ll confirm it. You’re a prominent man in Bridgton and you’re well known at the Venturers’ Club. It seems rather—odd—that no one seems to be able to say that you were there.’
‘Plenty of people make use of the place. Nothing very strange about nobody being able to remember me in particular out of all the others who were there.’
‘The queer thing is, sir,’ Boyce went on levelly, ‘we can account for every night in the preceding week. It’s only that one night that seems to be giving trouble.’ He paused. His grey eyes rested on the other man’s face. ‘You wouldn’t care to reconsider what you told me the other day, sir? After all, mistakes do occur and when you’re suddenly asked to account for your movements it’s very easy to say the wrong thing.’
Tremaine saw the emotion struggling for expression in the coarse, fleshy face. He thought for a moment or two that Boyce was going to produce results, and then Masters brought his fist down with a thump on his desk.
‘I’m not the kind of man to forget where I was, Chief Inspector! What’re you driving at?’
‘Am I to take it then, sir, that you persist in your statement that you were at the Venturers’ Club that night?’
‘Whether anybody remembers seeing me or not,’ Masters said thickly, ‘that’s where I was. If you’re prepared to take the word of a pack of addle-pated idiots in preference to mine, Chief Inspector, that’s your affair. But if that’s the way you’re going to conduct the case you’d better look to your job.’
Boyce rose to his feet.
‘I realize that you’re not quite yourself, Mr. Masters, and that’s why I’ll say no more about it. But I think you’d be well advised not to repeat the remark you’ve just made.’
He left it at that but his tone was curt enough to strip Masters of his bluster. They left him glowering at his desk, in an ill temper but well aware that he had gone as far as he dared.
As they passed through the hall the frail, grey-haired woman who was the builder’s wife came forward to meet them, briskly in spite of the stick on which she leaned.
‘I was told you were here, Chief Inspector,’ she said, ‘and I decided to have a word with you before you left.’
Boyce stopped.
‘Yes, Mrs. Masters?’ he said enquiringly.
‘I imagine you’ve just come from my husband,’ she said, in an incisive tone that contrasted oddly with her slight form. ‘How did you find him?’
‘I don’t quite understand,’ Boyce said, playing for time.
‘My dear Chief Inspector, they don’t appoint fools to jobs like yours. You understand me perfectly. Did my husband strike you as a man who is behaving normally?’
‘He seemed rather—distressed,’ Boyce told her cautiously. ‘But, after all, that’s only to be expected under the circumstances.’
‘Nonsense! Jerome isn’t a weakling. D’you think he’d have got where he has if he was anything of the sort? He hasn’t been to his office for two days—won’t take any telephone calls. It’s all over this business of Doctor Hardene’s murder. Because they didn’t like each other people have started whispering things about Jerome. They’d accuse him openly if they dared.’
Boyce searched the determined face looking challengingly up into his own.
‘Assuming all this to be true—and I’m not by any means agreeing that it is—what action do you suggest that I should take?’
‘The police can do a great deal. For instance, they can let it be understood that there’s no suspicion attached to my husband. A hint or two in the right quarter will soon get around. In a city like this it doesn’t take long for things to become known. You’ve seen for yourself how upset he’s getting and you know that he couldn’t have had anything to do with Doctor Hardene’s death.’
‘Do I?’ Boyce said quietly.
‘Surely my husband told you that he spent that night at the Venturers’ Club and that he came straight home?’
‘Yes, he told me that.’
‘Then your duty is quite plain, Chief Inspector,’ she told him. ‘I shall expect to hear that you’ve taken the necessary steps to see that my husband’s name is cleared. Good day to you.’
She did not wait to find out whether Boyce intended to make a reply. She crossed the hall to press a bell and in a moment or two the maidservant who had admitted them made her appearance.
It occurred to Tremaine that the girl looked disappointed. He wondered whether she had expected to see her master escorted from the house in handcuffs.
Walking down the drive Boyce drew a deep breath.
‘Not much doubt about where we stand with that good lady. I don’t remember the last time I was shown the door so pointedly.’
‘She’s more on top of the situation than her husband seems to be,’ Tremaine observed. ‘All that bluster of his was a sign that he’s on edge about something.’
‘He means to bluff it out, anyway,’ Boyce said. ‘Well, we’ll see. Our Mr. Masters is riding for a fall.’
Tremaine noted that Jonathan seemed unperturbed by the act that Jerome Masters was making things difficult. He was, in fact, humming a light-hearted little tune.
16
AFTERNOON CALL
IT WAS A fine afternoon, although cold with a hint of winter to come, and Tremaine decided to walk the comparatively short distance to Red Gables rather than wait for an uncertain bus.
Boyce raised his eyebrows when he mentioned his destination but made no comment.
The way led over the bridge spanning the river. Tremaine stopped for a few minutes when he reached the centre of it and gazed out over the city stretched below him, with its factories, houses, railway sidings, and its network of docks and waterways, looking from this height like parts of a child’s expensive toy.
Turning, his eyes followed the steep face of the rock that rose up from the water to the point where he had been standing when he had encountered Fenn. From the bridge, one’s view unhindered, it was possible to appreciate the full grandeur of the gorge through which the river had cut its way.
The sight was also inclined to make one a little dizzy. He moved back from the rail that protected the edge of the bridge and walked slowly towards the far side. The road here ran through a wooded area bordering the river, with a sprinkling of detached houses each set in its own small clearing around which the trees and bushes gathered.
Red Gables proved easy enough to find. As far as he could tell without walking on it was the last house in the road and was isolated from its neighbours by a strip of ground, overgrown with bushes, which had seemingly been reserved for an intervening residence that had never been built.
He gave his name to the pleasant-faced elderly woman who answered his ring and was shown into a comfortably furnished lounge in which Martin Slade was resting upon a couch.
‘Hullo, Tremaine! Glad you took me at my word and decided to come!’ Slade pulled himself into an upright position. ‘Forgive my not getting on my feet. I’m afraid it’s rather a tricky business with these legs of mine.’
‘I quite understand,’ Tremaine said. ‘Please don’t let me disturb you.’
‘Find yourself a chair,’ Slade told him. He glanced at the elderly woman who had shown his visitor into the room. ‘I think a cup of tea is indicated, Mrs. Sheppard.’
As the door closed behind her Tremaine lowered himself into a big easy chair facing the couch and looked about him appreciatively.
‘You’ve a very inviting place here.’
‘It’s adequate,’ Slade returned. ‘It’s adequate. I try to make myself as comfortable as I can. No point in doing otherwise.’
‘That was your housekeeper who went out just now?’
‘Yes. Mrs. Sheppard. Don’t know what I’d do without her. She and her husband run the place for me between them. He looks after
the gardens and sees to things that need doing on the outside, and she handles the internal affairs.’
‘It sounds a very convenient arrangement.’
‘It is. Especially for an awkward individual like me. I’d find it difficult to get hold of ordinary servants who’d be willing to take me on. That’s why I give them a fairly free hand. As long as everything’s being run smoothly I don’t bother them much. It suits me and they seem to like it.’
‘From what I saw of Mrs. Sheppard,’ Tremaine observed, ‘she struck me as being the right type from your point of view.’
Slade did not make a direct reply. He shifted himself into an easier position on the couch and regarded his visitor shrewdly.
‘Well, all right, now that we’ve got the introductions over, go ahead.’
Tremaine looked puzzled.
‘Go ahead?’ he asked, and the other smiled.
‘We both know that you didn’t come here just to make a social call. You’re out on business. What is it you’d like to know?’
Tremaine hesitated, a little disconcerted by the frontal attack, and Slade’s smile grew wider.
‘I’m not offended, man! Far from it. I knew that if you came you’d want to make the most of it and I don’t blame you. In fact, I’ve been rather hoping you’d have some leading questions to ask. After all, I knew Hardene and I’m as interested as anybody in finding out who killed him. If there’s anything I can tell you that’ll make the job easier, don’t hesitate to ask me about it.’
‘I appreciate your attitude, Mr. Slade,’ Tremaine said, his manner relaxing noticeably. ‘I must confess that when I decided to take advantage of your invitation and call on you I did have in my mind that a chat with you might be useful.’
‘I’m not going to pretend that there isn’t any ulterior motive on my part, too,’ Slade told him. ‘Because there is. The chance of getting in on the inside of a murder investigation is too good to miss. Especially when someone like yourself is involved. You are the Tremaine who’s been mentioned in the newspapers in connection with other cases, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I am,’ Tremaine admitted. ‘But you won’t spread the news, I hope?’ he went on anxiously. ‘You see, I’m here more or less unofficially. I don’t mean that the Commissioner and the local Chief Constable don’t know anything about me, but I don’t want the newspapers to print anything that might make things awkward. You know what they are for exaggeration.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll not give you away. If you want to keep your light under a bushel you can rely on me not to say anything.’
‘Thank you,’ Tremaine said gratefully. ‘I’m sure you understand that publicity wouldn’t be at all welcome.’ It was, he thought, time for a change of topic and he embarked upon the first line of enquiry he had mentally prepared. ‘I’m right in saying that you didn’t see a great deal of Doctor Hardene outside your professional contacts?’
‘You’d be right in saying that I didn’t see anything of him. I believe I mentioned that our politics weren’t the same and in any case I don’t lead much of a social life—for obvious reasons.’
‘His social life seems to have been somewhat—involved,’ Tremaine said carefully.
‘You mean because of his getting mixed up with women?’ Slade nodded. ‘Yes, I did get to know something about that. Always struck me that he was running a lot of unnecessary risk—being a doctor.’
‘I wonder,’ Tremaine said ruminatively, ‘who the women in question were?’
‘That’s rather out of my depth, I’m afraid. Although I had a feeling that he was interested in that receptionist of his—Miss Royman.’
‘Did she seem to reciprocate?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Anyway, I fancy she has a young man already and I don’t suppose he’d be likely to take kindly to the thought of Hardene cutting in on him.’ Slade broke off suddenly and eyed his visitor with a new shrewdness. ‘You’re not trying to tell me that something of that sort did happen?’
Tremaine drew a deep breath and took the plunge.
‘Would it surprise you to learn that Margaret Royman was left a considerable sum of money in Doctor Hardene’s will?’
The expression on Martin Slade’s face answered the question plainly enough.
‘You’re not serious? I can understand a nominal legacy, of course, but you don’t mean it was something more?’
‘Something very much more—considering the total size of the doctor’s estate, that is. Something that certainly makes it appear as though their relationship was closer than that of employer and secretary.’
‘It does make things more complicated, doesn’t it? Perhaps I was wrong in thinking that she didn’t give him any encouragement. It might have been just an act of hers to put everybody off the scent. After all, she and young Linton might even have been in it together.’
Slade sounded as though he was going to develop the theme, and then he frowned and shook his head determinedly.
‘No, I just can’t believe that. It’s too fantastic. She’s always seemed to me to be too nice a girl for anything of that sort. The whole business was just an unlucky accident. Hardene ran across some tramp who lost his head, as I said this morning. That must be the explanation. The other is too—too unbelievable.’
‘Nothing is unbelievable,’ Tremaine said, ‘when it comes to murder.’
‘No, I suppose not. You’ve had the experience, of course. But still——’
Slade relapsed into silence. Tremaine said, after a moment or two:
‘Does the name Elaine mean anything to you?’
‘No,’ Slade returned slowly. ‘No, I can’t say it does. Should it?’
‘Not necessarily. Hardene was evidently the type who believed in keeping his private affairs to himself. But Elaine is the name of a lady with whom he seems to have been on very special terms at the time of his death.’
‘Oh—I see.’ Slade wrinkled his brows. ‘It doesn’t convey anything to me. I suppose it couldn’t have been a code-name? If he wanted to keep his business as secret as all that he might have used the wrong name deliberately, just in case somebody heard it.’
‘That’s a possibility, of course, although I somehow don’t think that he did.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not being of much help to you,’ Slade said ruefully. ‘I did point out, though, that Hardene and I weren’t exactly on intimate terms.’
‘It helps just to talk about things,’ Tremaine told him. ‘Discussing it with someone else is a way of sorting a case out in one’s own mind even if it doesn’t lead to anything new. Just one last question. Do you happen to know a man called Fenn?’
Slade shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
‘A blank again. What does he look like?’
‘Thick-set sort of fellow. Gives you the feeling he’s seen plenty of rough spots in his time.’
‘Is he supposed to have had something to do with Hardene?’
‘He landed at Bridgton a few days ago and asked for Doctor Hardene at the Seamen’s Mission.’
‘Did it go any further than that?’
‘That’s just the trouble,’ Tremaine said with a sigh. ‘We don’t know.’
Slade looked puzzled.
‘But surely the police can clear up a problem of that sort without any difficulty? If this chap Fenn’s in Bridgton all they have to do is to ask him a few questions. They’ll soon trip him up if he tries any fairy-tales.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s true enough.’
Tremaine was feeling uncomfortable. He had taken a risk in telling his companion about the legacy to Margaret Royman; he shrank from passing on in addition the information that Fenn had given his shadowers the slip.
If the news got back to the Chief Constable that gentleman was unlikely to receive it with any favour. The thought of the jeopardy in which he might be placing Jonathan’s promotion filled him with uneasiness.
Fortunately he was saved further embarrassment by the arrival of Mrs. Sheppa
rd with the tea for which Slade had asked, and for the next ten minutes or so they talked on general topics and the subject of the murder was not raised again.
Slade was clearly doing his utmost to act the courteous host, and Tremaine felt that the situation demanded that he should respond to the other’s friendliness. When the teapot was empty and the home-made cakes which had accompanied it had been disposed of, Slade regarded his visitor contentedly.
‘I daresay you’d like to see something of the place before you go. I’m sorry I can’t do the honours myself, but Mrs. Sheppard will be delighted to show you round. Nothing pleases her more—probably because she doesn’t often have the opportunity,’ he added with a chuckle.
‘I hardly like to feel that I’m running away from you——’
‘Nonsense! I’d like you to make the most of your visit now that you have come to see me. After all, I don’t suppose you’ll be staying long in Bridgton once you’ve cleared up this business, so it’s a case of getting in as much as you can.’
Under the housekeeper’s direction Tremaine was given a comprehensive tour of the premises. It was evident that she had been primed beforehand; Slade was clearly proud of his house and had intended that his visitor should be impressed.
Duly—and with honesty—Tremaine produced the opinion required of him.
‘It’s ideal,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Big enough to live in and not so large that it’s uncomfortable.’
They were standing in the garden, where the housekeeper’s husband, a grizzled, cheerful-faced man of about her own age, was engaged in tidying the hedges. He nodded as Tremaine spoke.
‘Aye, it’s a rare good spot, sir. Mr. Slade not being able to get about like ordinary gentlemen it makes him take more of an interest in things like.’
Tremaine glanced around him. The roadway leading to the bridge was just visible beyond the hedge bordering the garden.
In At The Death Page 16