‘A—criminal record? Doctor Hardene? It isn’t—true?’
‘I’m afraid it’s perfectly true, Mrs. Colver. It’s also more than a possibility that Doctor Hardene knew something about the murder of the seaman named Marton who was found shot dead upon the downs.’
She appeared to be shocked and horrified.
‘But surely—if the doctor knew something about the murder, wouldn’t he have gone to the police?’
‘He didn’t go to the police,’ Boyce said grimly, ‘for the best of all reasons—because he killed Marton himself.’
She gave a gasp.
‘Doctor Hardene a—a murderer? Oh no——’
‘That’s the way the evidence is pointing. You can see that it provides a very good reason why he should have kept at least one of those two sets of cuttings. What I’m interested in finding out now is why he kept the other set—the cuttings about the pawnbroker. That’s where I’m hoping you’ll be able to help us.’
‘You mean—you think Doctor Hardene committed that murder, too?’
‘Well, that’s rather leaping ahead,’ Boyce admitted. ‘Let’s say that all I’m looking for at the moment is a connection between the doctor and the pawnbroker.’
He waited, looking at her. She was breathing quickly.
‘I don’t know whether it will help you,’ she said, breathlessly, ‘but I did see him with a pawnticket once. I thought it was strange because I knew that he wasn’t the sort who’d need to pawn anything. It was one day when I came into the surgery when he wasn’t expecting me. He was looking at a cigarette case. I hadn’t seen it before. I had a feeling that the pawnticket and the case were connected.’
‘Did Doctor Hardene make any reference to it?’
‘No. I don’t think he was very pleased about my coming in. He put the case away in his desk, almost as though I’d caught him doing something wrong.’
‘Did you ever see him with the cigarette case after that?’
‘Not as far as I remember. That was strange, too, because I got to know most of his things. He was very fixed in his habits and I could always tell what he was going to wear or what he would carry in his pockets.’ She was speaking more confidently now. Her words were coming more easily, as though some barrier had been broken down. ‘I don’t think it was the case that was important. There was something inside it. A letter I believe it was.’
‘A letter, eh?’ Boyce pursed his lips. ‘Sounds interesting. Pity you didn’t get a chance to have a look at it.’
She was clearly tempted but she did not rise to the bait.
‘He put the case away too quickly. And he never spoke to me about it.’ There was a reluctant note in her voice. It was as though she was aware of an opportunity that was slipping away from her and was loath to relinquish it despite its dangers. ‘But now I come to think back it’s true that he was afraid. There were all sorts of little things—like—like asking whether any strangers had called and being anxious sometimes when the postman was in the road and hadn’t reached the house with the letters. Of course, I—I never dreamed there was anything like this.’
She broke off, looking up at Boyce from beneath lowered eyelids waiting for him to make the next move. He didn’t make it, and although she made the effort she was unable to restrain herself.
‘You said that the doctor had a—a criminal record. What had he done? Why should he have wanted to kill that man Marton?’
‘That’s a long story, Mrs. Colver, and I’m still trying to piece it together.’
She tried to conceal her disappointment and braced herself visibly to put the next question.
‘Do you think the doctor’s being killed had anything to do with his being a criminal?’
‘It’s a possibility we can’t overlook. That’s why I’ve been interested in finding out whether he had any visits from strangers not long before he was murdered.’
An expression that might have been relief crossed her face.
‘You mean that someone who knew about him—someone like Marton—might have called here? I—I’m sorry. I didn’t see anyone. But it doesn’t mean that no one did come.’
‘No,’ Boyce said. ‘No, it doesn’t. In fact, it’s very likely that Doctor Hardene did meet a stranger to the district, although the meeting may not have taken place here.’
His glance remained fixed upon her face, neither accusing nor unfriendly but at the same time offering her no encouragement.
‘Is there anything else you can tell us, Mrs. Colver?’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘You’re quite certain?’
‘Quite—certain,’ she returned steadily.
‘All right,’ Boyce said. ‘That’s all, Mrs. Colver.’
He stood up. After a brief hesitation, she, too, rose to her feet.
‘You don’t want me—for anything else?’
‘Suppose we say that for the moment I’d be glad if you’d arrange to stay in the house. Then if I should need to ask you anything further there’ll be no difficulty.’
Boyce’s tone was dispassionate but edged with authority. She looked at him doubtfully, but he added nothing to what he had said and she was forced to accept her dismissal.
When the surgery door had closed behind her Boyce thrust his hands into his pockets and glanced at Tremaine.
‘She’s still holding out on us.’
Tremaine pushed at his pince-nez.
‘Yes, I know. At first you had her scared, Jonathan. She thought the game was up. And then she changed her mind and decided there was still a chance of getting away with it. So she told you as much as she dared without betraying herself. All that about the cigarette case was probably the truth.’
‘Yes, that’s the way I see it, too,’ Boyce agreed. ‘Marton came over and started blackmailing Hardene, either on his own or as part of a plan he’d fixed up with this chap Fenn who was still doing his stretch at that time. Hardene decided he’d had enough and shot Marton, but it didn’t end his troubles because Marton had put down what he knew in writing and planted it where he’d thought it would be safe.’
‘In a cigarette case,’ Tremaine said, ‘which he’d pawned. For a man who doesn’t go in for theories, Jonathan, it’s a neat little piece of deduction.’
Boyce grinned.
‘Must be infectious. It’s being with you so often. Daresay Marton told Hardene what he’d done—probably thought it was a kind of insurance policy to tell him. He didn’t reckon on Hardene being so desperate. Anyway, that’s where that poor devil of a pawnbroker came in. Hardene went after that cigarette case because he knew that as long as the statement it contained was in existence his neck was in danger.’
‘It’s possible that the murder of Wallins wasn’t just an accident because he happened to hear Hardene break in,’ Tremaine remarked. ‘Hardene had the pawnticket but he didn’t know just where the case was likely to be among all the scores of other unredeemed pledges. He might have awakened Wallins to make him get the case for him and when he was sure he’d found what he’d come for he picked up that statue and struck the old man down to make sure he didn’t talk.’
‘And then,’ Boyce said, ‘the housekeeper found out what he’d been up to and put the black on him. She was playing with fire all right. With two murders against him he wouldn’t have troubled much about a third.’
‘He wouldn’t have hesitated if he’d thought it was necessary. But it wouldn’t have been quite as easy as the others.’ Tremaine pursed his lips. ‘With Marton and Wallins there was nothing to link Doctor Hardene of Druidleigh with the murders, but with his own housekeeper concerned he would be bound to become the subject of enquiries, and once the police had their eyes on him he couldn’t be sure how much they’d uncover. Besides, Mrs. Colver doesn’t seem to have been too exorbitant in her demands. He probably thought his best policy was to pay up, although it might have been a different story if she’d tried to squeeze him.’
Boy
ce nodded.
‘Once she’d taken his money she was in it as deep as he was and he was the sort who wouldn’t have forgotten that. She isn’t really the blackmailing type—that’s the devil of it from our point of view. It’s clear enough, of course, what made her do it. That was what you meant, wasn’t it, when you said that it was love that made a woman determined?’
‘Yes, that’s what I meant, Jonathan. What are you going to do about her?’
‘I don’t know,’ Boyce said, frowning. ‘I know what I ought to do, of course. She’s an accessory after the fact. No doubt about that. But with her son like he is—’ He broke off, almost savagely. ‘Why the devil is she still holding out on us? It isn’t just that she’s trying to save her skin. There’s more in it than that.’
Tremaine eyed his friend reflectively. Jonathan was on the right track; as usual he had not missed the significant point. But he wondered just how far along that track he had progressed.
‘Maybe we’ll get somewhere when the locals lay their hands on Fenn,’ Boyce was saying. ‘He might talk—if there’s anything for him to talk about. We’ll just have to wait for news of him, that’s all.’
The Yard man’s tone implied that the wait was likely to be a long one, but it proved to be of no more than ten minutes duration. At the end of that time the telephone rang. Boyce went to answer it and Tremaine heard him speaking in clipped phrases and curt monosyllables.
The door opened. Boyce stood there, a wry expression on his face.
‘Well,’ he announced, ‘it seems that they’ve found him. But he won’t be doing any talking. He’s dead.’
Without apparent emotion he passed on the information he had been given. The body of the man who had called himself Fenn had been discovered by two trespassing small boys lying among the tangle of bushes at the foot of the rocks where the cliff fell almost sheer to the river.
From the appalling nature of his injuries he must have fallen the whole distance of that terrible drop and in the opinion of the police surgeon he had been dead for some forty-eight hours.
20
THE CHIEF CONSTABLE GOES OUT TO TEA
IT WAS TREMAINE who suggested a conference over a cup of tea and it was Inspector Parkin with his local knowledge who suggested the setting. He led the way to an attractively designed restaurant of sun verandahs and coloured awnings built on the edge of the downs and almost overlooking the bridge.
In summer it was no doubt a popular rendezvous, but as had been the case with the Canyon, at this time of the year it was occupied only by a handful of people. They chose a table on the upper floor, from the wide windows of which it was possible to look out over the river valley, and in a far corner where it seemed likely that they would be able to talk undisturbed.
Parkin waited until the tray was set in front of them and then he leaned back and faced Jonathan Boyce. He seemed in a contented mood, like a man from whom the cares had rolled away.
‘This seems to be it, sir. Just a matter of clearing up the odds and ends and the job’s over.’
A smile crinkled the corners of the Yard man’s eyes but he did not offer agreement.
‘All right, let’s begin the inquest. How did it happen?’
‘He knew we were after him, of course,’ Parkin said, ‘and he was hiding out on the edge of the downs—plenty of rough ground there for a man to sleep out, especially over by the river. It looks as though something startled him—might have been one of our men on patrol—and he went too near the edge, lost his footing in the dark and went over. There was nobody about to see what happened and he might have been lying in the bushes still if those boys hadn’t been playing around where they had no business to be.’
‘Isn’t that part of the cliff a well-known place for suicides?’ Tremaine said.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Parkin returned. ‘There’ve been quite a few. Suicide Corner we call it.’ He stopped suddenly and his eyes narrowed. He gave Tremaine a sharp glance. ‘What made you ask?’
‘You don’t think it could have been suicide in this case?’
‘I suppose it could have been. There’s nothing in the doctor’s report against it. But why should he have killed himself?’
‘He might have thought the game was up. He knew he didn’t have a hope of getting away and took the easiest way out.’
Parkin gave a nod.
‘That might have been it. Although I’d have thought he wasn’t the kind to put himself under. After all, he’d been on the run before.’
‘But not for murder.’
‘I see what you mean,’ Parkin admitted. He grinned. ‘As a matter of fact, I’d like to believe it was suicide. It would tie everything up. Fenn came over after his revenge, murdered Hardene, found he couldn’t get away with it, and chucked himself over the cliff before we could catch up with him and hand him over for the hangman.’
‘You think it’s certain,’ Boyce said, ‘that Fenn was the chap who was double-crossed?’
‘We’ll have to get his prints checked, of course, but I think that’s who he was all right. Don’t you, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Boyce agreed, ‘I do.’
He sounded convinced but not satisfied. Parkin regarded him doubtfully. He thought for a moment or two.
‘I look at it this way, sir,’ he went on, painstakingly, as though he was desperately anxious that the Yard man should be persuaded. ‘We’ve cleared the ground now—or rather, you have. We know that it wasn’t Masters, and neither Miss Royman nor young Linton had anything to do with it. I’ve run the rule over Linton and he comes out all right. Nothing against him, except that he took a poor view of Hardene’s making up to the girl—and I can’t say I blame him for that. There isn’t much choice left except for Fenn, and he does fit with everything we know about Hardene.’
‘There’s Mrs. Colver,’ Tremaine observed.
‘The housekeeper?’ Parkin looked taken aback. ‘You don’t mean you think that she did it?’
‘We don’t know,’ Tremaine countered gently, ‘that she didn’t.’
He glanced out of the window. A grey saloon car was drawn up outside the restaurant. It stirred his memory and he frowned.
Parkin’s voice brought his attention back.
‘Why the housekeeper?’ he was saying. ‘What motive could she have had?’
‘She might have had a disagreement with Hardene—about something that hasn’t yet come to light. And after all, she hasn’t a real alibi.’
‘I suppose not. Nothing to say that she didn’t go out after him.’ Parkin sounded disappointed, almost like a man seriously disturbed. He made a determined effort to bring the cheerful note back to his voice. ‘But she doesn’t fit the whole story—not like Fenn. She doesn’t explain what Hardene’s car was doing with its lights out, where he’d obviously parked it himself, as though he’d gone to meet somebody. You’re just having your little joke, sir, aren’t you? The only thing that’s still really doubtful is whether it was an accident or whether it was suicide, and I don’t suppose we’ll ever be certain about that now.’
Tremaine did not appear to be listening to him. He glanced around the room like a man to whom memory had suddenly returned, and then, as if he had failed to find something for which he had been searching, he rose to his feet.
‘If you gentlemen have finished, shall we go?’
Jonathan Boyce looked up at him in surprise, but the urgent note in Tremaine’s voice stifled the question that came to his lips. He pushed back his chair, and Parkin, equally surprised but feeling himself in the minority, followed suit.
The bill had been paid when their tea had been brought to them. Tremaine made for the staircase leading to the ground floor and went down briskly, his companions close behind.
At the foot of the stairs he paused. His glance travelled over the sprinkling of people occupying the room, and then went to the door. A tall, soldierly man, accompanied by a woman, was just going through to the pavement.
Tremaine hurried forward and re
ached the pair just as the man’s hand was going out to the door handle of the grey saloon.
‘Good afternoon, Sir Robert.’
Sir Robert Dennell turned. He recognized the speaker.
‘Oh—good afternoon.’ He saw Boyce and Parkin coming out of the restaurant, and his expression became both frigid and wary. ‘I see you aren’t alone.’
‘No,’ Tremaine said, as if he was completely unaware that he was being shown that his presence was unwelcome. ‘We’ve been in conference. Following the news about Fenn,’ he added, after the slightest of hesitations.
‘Fenn,’ the Chief Constable said. ‘Yes, of course.’ He looked at Boyce. ‘Well, it looks as though you’re nearly through, Chief Inspector.’ His grasp tightened on the handle of the car and then relaxed. ‘Congratulations. You haven’t taken long.’
It was a palpable afterthought. Boyce met it coolly.
‘A certain amount of luck, Sir Robert. In any case, although Fenn’s turned up it isn’t quite over yet.’
A flush of antagonism showed in the Chief Constable’s face. His voice betrayed the irritation of a man not used to being thwarted who suspected opposition.
‘No? I would have said that there wasn’t any doubt.’
Tremaine was looking at the Chief Constable’s companion. She was a good twenty years or so younger, still pretty in an immature doll-like fashion. There was a trace of weakness in the over-full, too heavily made-up lips, and there were shadows of strain under her eyes. She was standing nervously at the side of the car, clearly anxious to be gone but hesitating to assert her own personality.
Sir Robert Dennell noticed his significant glance. His lips tightened and he frowned. But there was little he could do about it now.
He half turned and placed a hand on his companion’s arm.
‘This is my wife,’ he said, reluctantly. ‘You know Inspector Parkin, of course, my dear. These two gentlemen are Mr. Tremaine and Chief Inspector Boyce.’
She did not say anything, but her eyes darted to Boyce in a frightened fashion. Sir Robert Dennell released his light hold on his wife’s arm and opened the car door with a significant gesture.
In At The Death Page 20