“I don’t know anything beyond what’s common knowledge,” Prescott retorted. “Even that old muddled-headed ass of a Commander knows it. Itter has a row with someone and that someone goes out for an afternoon stroll, taking a loaded gun with him. Itter is found dead and the gun can’t be found. It was last seen, according to the story, leaning against an oak where it had been put because there was a bird to be photographed. Circumstantial evidence and you can draw your own conclusions. So can I. Seers says there aren’t any. You don’t catch Seers running in one of his pals if he can help it. Sahibs stick together.”
“Circumstantial evidence is always strong,” Bobby agreed. “Facts can’t lie, but they can easily be misinterpreted. It’s always very dangerous to say, ‘The facts show it must be so,’ because some other entirely overlooked fact may show up everything quite differently. There is satisfactory proof that Lord Adour came running back to the house for his camera, which doesn’t seem the conduct of a man who has either just committed a murder or is meaning to commit one. At any rate, a jury wouldn’t be likely to think so.”
“You mean a jury wouldn’t be likely to think a peer of the realm could commit a murder,” Prescott sneered.
“I don’t much think a jury would require stronger evidence against a peer than against anyone else,” Bobby said. “Anyhow, that’s not the business of the police. All I have to do, all Commander Seers has to do, is to make sure that the evidence is strong enough to justify a charge. That ends our responsibility. You said something about your cousin having had a row with Lord Adour, whose name, by the way, you never mentioned.”
“I know better,” Prescott interrupted bitterly. “You have to be careful how you talk about your betters.”
“Miss Adour’s name has been mentioned,” Bobby went on, ignoring this. “I’ve had hints that Mr. Itter Bain had been paying her attentions that weren’t much appreciated.”
“Oh, yes, that’s so,” Prescott agreed. “He wasn’t good enough for Papa. Told so plainly. We aren’t in the sahib class. Papa rather than the girl. I don’t know what she thinks. You never do. She’s pretty enough to turn anyone’s head. She turned Itter’s all right. Not mine. I’ve more sense, but then, of course, I’m not a thruster like Itter and Mauley. What they want, they think they’ve a natural born right to. So they go and get it. Or try.”
Bobby could not help wondering if Prescott had kept his head quite so thoroughly as he protested was the case. Was it once again “Methinks he doth protest too much”? Bobby said:
“Is Lord Adour generally popular, do you think? I’m told there’s a fairly strong Communist Party here.”
“Oh, yes, strong and growing,” Prescott agreed. “I’m a member. They’ve made me Chairman. Why not? Look at Russia. Put sahibs where they belong, and pay a manager at the rate of eighty times a worker’s basic rate. That’s good enough for me. I don’t draw eighty times what we pay our odd-job men. I wish I did.”
Was this another instance of Helen Adour’s all-pervading influence? Bobby wondered. Was it a sense of a social gulf between them, and a perhaps sub-conscious desire to abolish it, that had made Prescott turn communist? Odd, Bobby thought, if another of this young woman’s remarkable feats had been to turn an ordinary business man into a communist. He left the subject then and asked instead:
“Did Mr. Mauley Bain keep his head, too, or was he another of the lady’s conquests?”
“Better ask him. I don’t know,” Prescott answered, scowling. “He keeps most things, anyway. I can’t say about his head.”
“Do you think,” Bobby asked next, “that the disagreement or row or whatever it was between Itter Bain and Lord Adour went deep? I hear Itter had just bought a motor launch from Lord Adour. So they were on terms to do business together. Lord Adour asked a big price, didn’t he?”
“Two thousand pounds,” Prescott said angrily, “and I never knew a thing till it was done. Two thousand pounds,” he repeated; “and the business needing every penny if we’re to carry on till the peace gets going—if it ever does. Every single war contract down the drain.”
“I know things must be very difficult with such a sudden change,” Bobby agreed. “Impossible to tell where you are. Do you mean the launch was paid for out of company funds, and it wasn’t a private purchase?”
“He had some tomfool scheme in his head. He never said what it really was,” Prescott said, and looked sulkier than ever as at a very sore memory. “He got me to sign the cheque. It’s agreed I sign all cheques. I was pretty sick when I found what he had used the money for. The launch is the company’s property now. You can have it for half what Itter gave.”
“I am afraid thousand-pound motor launches are a bit beyond me, Bobby answered with a laugh. “Very nice to have one, though. Has it anything to do with the ill feeling between you and your cousins?”
“What do you mean?” Prescott asked, looking very startled indeed. “What ill feeling? There isn’t any. Have any of the staff been talking?”
“Not to me,” Bobby assured him. “Not to anyone that I know of. I’ve never even spoken to anyone in your employ. But I do know there have at times been angry scenes between you and Mr. Mauley Bain.”
“Well, there haven’t,” Prescott declared emphatically. “I mean, nothing to speak of. We don’t spend all our time billing and cooing, if that’s what you mean.”
“Very well,” Bobby said. “I suppose you and he are the principal owners of the business now.”
“Except for the Coastal Bank,” growled Prescott. “What’s it got to do with you, anyhow? Are you investigating Itter’s murder, poor chap, or our business affairs?”
“The brother of one of you, the cousin of the other, the partner of both has been murdered,” Bobby answered gravely. “My job is to bring the murderer to justice. Anything, anything at all, I can learn about him may help, may be very important. If it proves irrelevant, you may be sure I shall forget it. We are taught to forget in the police. The elephant never forgets, they say. A policeman never remembers, once his case is over. I am sure you wish to help. I am sure you want your cousin’s murderer brought to justice. I’ll ask you another question. I don’t think you’ve told me all that’s in your mind. Won’t you say what you really believe? Was Itter Bain really infatuated with Miss Adour?”
“I don’t know what I do believe,” Prescott answered. “I don’t think I believe anything—except that Itter’s death puts every thing in the melting pot. What do you mean, infatuated? He wasn’t. Infatuated’s all rot. It wasn’t like that with any of us. Can’t you look at a pretty girl without being told ‘infatuated’? Look. I’ve had enough. You can go and talk to Mauley now. Put him through it like you have me,” and therewith Prescott turned and walked briskly away.
Nor did Bobby try to stop him. Their talk had been interesting, even enlightening. Probably best, though, not to press Prescott any more for the time. But it did seem as if these talks were helping to clarify the picture—or, rather, for there was as yet no picture visible, to dispel a little the surrounding, concealing darkness.
CHAPTER IX
SILENT THREAT
Prescott Bain was soon out of sight, and Bobby entered the office building and asked if he could see Mr. Mauley Bain. He gave his name without explaining his business—he said it was private—and was duly shown into the room whence, as he judged, had come the sound of quarrelling voices he had heard. Mauley Bain, a tall, powerful-looking man, was standing by the window, his back to it; and somehow, even in that simple attitude, managed to convey an impression of a hidden strength of passion, held fiercely in restraint. A capable face, Bobby thought, with strongly-marked features and deep-set, smouldering eyes, but more perhaps emotional than intellectual. A man to beware of, Bobby decided. Best, he was sure, to be wary of any man who could stand so still and so quiet and yet convey so odd an impression of being ready and prepared for instant, angry movement. It seemed as if his every muscle was tense for action. Bobby was reminded again of that
tall, striding figure which had passed him in the dusk the night before, as one seeking a prey, but now waiting a victim. The voice though was a surprise; coming from that deep chest it emerged thin and reedy. As Bobby entered, Mauley said:
“I’ve heard of you. I was expecting you. Don’t they think old Seers any good any more? He strikes me as well on top of his job. There’s nothing much he misses.”
“I’m sure there isn’t,” agreed Bobby heartily. “The utmost confidence is felt in Commander Seers.” (Bobby salved his conscience by reflecting that he didn’t say by whom that confidence was felt, and it certainly was felt by Commander Seers.) “There seems an unfortunate misunderstanding about that. The simple fact is other considerations have arisen, and inquiries have had to be extended in other ways. I am here to co-ordinate them as far as possible.”
Mauley Bain did not look much impressed, nor did he relax for one moment his attitude of tense preparedness. He said abruptly:
“Well, what have you found out?”
“Not much,” Bobby said placidly. “That’s why I’m here. To ask if you can tell me more.”
“No,” Mauley answered. “No,” and thin as was his voice, almost a squeak, he managed to make it sound as though through it distant thunder rumbled.
Bobby decided again that it would be very necessary to go carefully with this man. He was plainly under a considerable emotional strain. Well, that was not to be wondered at. His brother had just been murdered in mysterious circumstances and there had been various indications that all was not well with the business. That, of course, was the case with many businesses, affected by the sudden change-over from war to peace and the abrupt cessation of all war contracts.
“May I sit down?” Bobby inquired amiably, as Mauley showed no sign of either taking a chair himself or offering one to his visitor.
Mauley did not answer, and Bobby, taking silence for consent, lowered himself into a somewhat rickety armchair by the big writing table. He wondered if the armchair was psychological. All the other furniture in the room was good, new, substantial stuff. Most business men like to make their visitors as comfortable as possible, with the underlying idea of coaxing them, as it were, into friendliness and acquiescence. Psychology, of course, though often quite unconscious psychology. Did Mauley, on the other hand, with his aggressive and domineering personality, prefer that his visitors should be less at ease than himself, so as in this way to establish and express his superior status? Psychology, of course, once again, though yet again probably unconscious psychology. Bobby told himself that in Prescott Bain’s room, the chair for visitors was probably of extreme comfort, the best that money could buy. Where Mauley’s inner personality would express itself in an attempt to domineer, Prescott would try to wheedle. Though one had to remember, too, that, as Bobby understood it, Prescott had charge of the business side, and would therefore often have to deal with important and influential people. Mauley was General Manager and would therefore have more to do with the issuing of instructions—and rebukes—to subordinates.
Slowly, and even his slowest movements managed to convey an idea of controlled speed, Mauley moved from the window to take his own place at the other side of the big writing table.
“May I smoke?” Bobby asked.
Mauley opened one of the writing-table drawers and produced a box of cigarettes. Bobby was, however, already lighting one of his own. Without a word, Mauley replaced the cigarettes and closed the drawer. He was still, consciously or unconsciously managing to convey a hint of hidden menace lurking in every movement he made. He had seated himself as if preparing an attack, he had taken out the cigarettes as if producing some lethal weapon, he had replaced them as if seeking some weapon still more deadly. Yet Bobby did not feel there was anything intentional in all this. An unconscious revelation of angry and troubled emotions held still in strong restraint. An interesting and formidable personality, that at least was certain. Bobby said:
“In my experience—I could say in all police experience—people who quite honestly and sincerely believe they know nothing do often in the end provide the most useful and valuable information. I hope you won’t mind if I ask you a few questions, even though you don’t quite see what they have to do with it. What I’m aiming at is trying to get the background clear. It is only against a clear background that a clear picture can be framed and only when a clear picture has been obtained, can one begin to understand what has happened.”
Only the dark, deep-set, intent eyes of the man on the other side of the table showed that what Bobby said was heard. But for those watchful, angry eyes Bobby would have felt as if he were talking to a statue, even if one liable to leap into life at any moment. Bobby went on:
“I think I saw you last night. I was having a stroll round the town. I think you passed me coming up from the harbour?”
“What about it, if I was?” Mauley said. Then he said again: “What about it?” When Bobby, since so far as he knew there was nothing about it, made no attempt to answer, Mauley added: “I had been to have a look at the Seagull—the launch Itter bought from Lord Adour. The engine’s out of order, so I didn’t go on board. Broken down. No use going on board her, if she won’t go.”
“I suppose not,” agreed Bobby. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind answering just one or two questions, it might help. Could you tell me whether Mr. Itter Bain had any enemies? Had he recently quarrelled with anyone, for instance?”
“He was always quarrelling with everyone,” Mauley answered. “The Bain temper was never remarkable for sweetness. Mine isn’t. He and I often rowed. What about it? You don’t murder people because you’ve had a row with them.” He smiled grimly. “Plenty of murders if you did.”
“What about your workpeople?” Bobby asked. “Any ill feeling there?”
“Lots. Against me,” Mauley said, and smiled even more grimly than before. “It’s my job to keep their noses to the grindstone and they hate it, and me, too. If any of them are on the mat, that’s for me again. They all hate Prescott as well. Who wouldn’t? He’s scum. Not so much as they hate me, because they don’t have so much to do with him. If there’s something new they don’t like, it may be Prescott’s idea, but it’s for me to put it across. Of course, there’s the office staff. I expect any of them would gladly murder Prescott any time they got the chance.”
“But it’s Itter who has been murdered,” Bobby remarked. “Itter was as popular as any boss could be,” Mauley said. “The only thing he really cared about was machinery—and money to try out his new inventions. He would talk to any of them—odd job man or foreman—about machinery for hours at a time. They all knew that; and, if they wanted a spell, they would try to get hold of Itter and ask him some fool questions about some gadget or another. Then he would take the blessed thing to pieces as likely as not to show them just what he meant, and then I would come along and curse them both. You can guess which of us was best liked. Itter spent most of his time messing about in his own workshop on the top floor. If he had been more in the other workshops, I don’t believe we should ever have got a contract out on time. Satisfied now? You knew all this before, didn’t you? There was one of your fellows who came poking round here the other day.”
“Who was that?” Bobby asked sharply.
“Haile, I think his name was. Wasn’t he one of your people?”
“Did he say he was? Did he say he came from the police?”
“Well, he said he was carrying out an investigation into Itter’s death.”
“I’ll talk to him as soon as I can get hold of him,” Bobby said ominously. He felt Mr. Haile was going to cause a good deal of trouble. “You have no suspicions against any one person?”
“No,” said Mauley and paused, those dark, deep-set eyes of his fixed on Bobby till he felt them almost physically, so strong was their steady stare.
“Go on,” Bobby said softly. “You mean …?”
“I mean I don’t suspect, because I know,” Mauley answered slowly. “Damn you, I n
ever meant to tell you that.”
“Why not?” Bobby asked. “Who else but me? I stand for the Law.”
“That’s why,” Mauley said, and his unblinking stare never changed or wavered. “The law be damned, and you, too. What good’s the Law? I don’t suspect, because I know. But that’s all. I mean there’s nothing I can show to prove I’m right. I know I know and I know I’m right. I shan’t say anything till I’ve made up my mind what to do. Then you’ll know,” and these last words were said so quietly, in so still and thin a voice, that to Bobby it was as though he heard a deadly threat roaring through them.
Very clearly Bobby remembered the warning Haile had given him. Mauley had sunk into silence, and Bobby was silent, too. Now, silence is a thing few can bear for long. In silence and in stillness lie the dread of the Unknown. Of the Unknown that encircles all human life. Often had Bobby found advantage in remaining silent and still, waiting, waiting till the strain became too great to be further borne. But Mauley Bain seemed unaffected. He sat as still, as silent, as did Bobby himself. But for that unchanging, watchful gaze one might easily have thought that Mauley had lost all consciousness of his surroundings. It was Bobby who at last broke the spell of that strange stillness by a slight movement, and Mauley looked and said:
“That’s all I have to tell you.”
“There’s something rather important I have to tell you, though,” Bobby said. “You told me just now that you wouldn’t say anything till you had made up your mind what to do.”
“Well?”
“There can be no question of your making up your mind what to do. You have only one thing to do. To come to me or some other responsible officer of police and say what you know or think you know.”
“The Law again?” Mauley asked and spoke with deep contempt. “The official view? What do I care? My view is that whoever is responsible for Itter’s death, for my brother’s death, is going to pay, Law or no Law, proof or no proof. If you can do your stuff, well and good. I don’t much expect you will. It may not be possible. I must get my mind clear. What have I to do with the Law? I tell you plainly my brother’s death is going to be paid for, one way or another.”
Helen Passes By: A Bobby Owen Mystery Page 7