“It makes it all jolly difficult.
“Incidentally, are you wondering what will happen when I do get my talk with her to-morrow? No need. A policeman moves in an aura of cold, impersonal officialdom and can be no respecter either of persons or faces. Not to mention that forewarned is forearmed. Or is it his legendary boots that keeps a policeman so solidly planted on the earth?
“Anyhow, it does seem to me that these new developments must of necessity mean that somehow, somewhere, sometime soon, the truth is bound to break out, just as after due period of incubation the chick is bound to emerge from the egg—whether of the domestic fowl or of the ill-omened vulture.
“Can you answer this?
“What connection, if any, between the mysterious visitor from France, the disappearance of the Seagull launch, the appearance of enough money to put Bain Products on its legs again?
“Not too difficult, that one, perhaps, only what light on the Itter Bain murder?
“That’s more difficult, for does the answer to the first question give the motive for the murder or must that be sought elsewhere?
“At the moment, I am inclined to say that every chance there is of bringing the case to a satisfactory conclusion hangs on the question of what has become of the Seagull.
“I needn’t explain where I think it may be, that’s obvious as a possibility. But there is also the other possibility that it may have been smuggled out of the harbour. Mauley Bain may have known something when he talked about a five-pound note being enough to manage that. If so, the launch may have been taken across to the Continent and sold there. Probably there’s a black market in motor launches as in everything else. It certainly needed overhauling, but that may have been done. Then I’m told it could have been taken across under sail by a man who knew how. I got Gregson to inquire if any man capable of handling her under sail was missing. He says, none. A stranger may have been brought in, but that would make any bribery more expensive and much more difficult. The harbour men might accept something to shut their eyes to what a neighbour was up to, but refuse absolutely to do the same for any stranger—five pounds or fifty notwithstanding. Human nature has these odd little quirks, since after all a bribe remains a bribe, whether from friend or stranger. But I dare say that’s a pedantic, official view.
“As I see it, and Lord knows, I’ve been scratching my head hard enough and have increased the paper shortage by nearly a basket full of torn notes, memoranda, theories of one sort and another, the issue has now been narrowed down to these main possibilities.
“(A) Prescott Bain.
“Difficult to think the appearance of the large sum necessary to save Bain Products from the bank’s rationalising scheme is in no way connected with Itter Bain’s death. It seems clear that Prescott would have been the one of the three of the Bain partners who would have been most seriously affected. He had put up most of the capital, and it was his money and position that would have been lost if the bank’s plans had been carried out. I don’t know if it would have meant anything you could call ruin. But certainly a heavy financial loss, which will not happen now. Itter Bain, if he had survived, would have kept his profession and his unusual skill in it. Mauley Bain would have kept his managerial experience and the practical certainty of another job—even under the bank’s new schemes—in the present scarcity of good managerial experience and ability. But Prescott would have lost his chief—only?—asset, his capital. And there is no doubt there had been a good deal of quarrelling among the three of them. But —is this decisive?—there’s his alibi, supported by the unimpeachable evidence of the two bank officials. Unimpeachable, certainly, but relevant? That’s more doubtful, for there may be a flaw in the time element. In any case, an alibi only holds good till it’s busted.
“(B) Mauley Bain.
“A dark, secret, puzzling character, pursuing I think his own hidden aims. What are they? Haile warned me to watch him. Yes, but little good watching when there is nothing on which you can take action. There are, of course, those two details you will remember and that may be significant, but only as indications. But what is he keeping back that came into his mind when I asked about the visitor from France seen here once and never again? What I said about Prescott’s alibi seems to apply to Mauley as well. Good enough to stand up in court—till busted. He puts forward another alibi, too, for the night of the attack on Jane that may have been meant for Helen. But it’s an alibi that rests entirely on his own word. It is true, for I have checked it, that he left for London by train early that morning and that he returned by train, but there’s only his own word for how he spent the interval.
“(C) Henry Haile.
“I don’t see that he can be left out. Is it only a coincidence that he got the job of trying to show Lord Adour was guilty when already he knew the persons concerned and the locality? If he is guilty, to divert suspicion elsewhere would be an obvious move. Why this sudden promise to marry the Lambert girl? Is it genuine? For her sake, I hope so. But it comes immediately after the attack that may have been aimed at Helen and he was clearly in the vicinity at the time. Is the promise to marry Miss Lambert a demonstration that he isn’t interested in or affected in any way by Helen? One can’t help seeing the possibility of a smoke screen. The possibility that the murder was a result of mutual jealousy between two aspirants for Helen’s favour has always to be remembered.
“(D) Wayling.
“Totally unpredictable, with his own twisted ideas of what is permissible and what isn’t. Never actively malicious, I think, but all the same capable of almost anything that happened to suit himself at the moment. The perfect egotist perhaps. If one could understand and follow his own private line of thought, one might I think trust him. But the difficulty is just there. One can’t help noticing that he was remaining in the neighbourhood in the not very exciting job of potman at a pub. He even held the job a few days, which I believe is more than he has ever managed with any other job. What is the idea? To watch what’s going on? Why should he? Again, he was apparently seen coming first thing in the morning either from Kindles or else from this Mrs. Parker’s. If Kindles, what for, what had he been up to? If Mrs. Parker’s—well, no explanation needed! Wayling possesses somehow a great, an inexplicable, bewildering fascination for women. What they see in the ugly, unreliable little brute passes all under-standing. Has Helen come under this spell or charm or whatever you like to call it? Or has she in a way revenged her sex by exercising the same fascination upon him? He threatened once—and I think for the moment he meant it—that he would kill me if I laughed at his feeling for Helen. It impressed me, for somehow that moment seemed to give me a glimpse of something sincere, something very deep down in him and generally entirely overlaid. I suppose psychologists would give it some long name or another. I felt for the moment that I had had a glimpse of the essential man. Later, the thought came to me that possibly he had already killed for Helen’s sake —to save her from some threat or danger or even from some inconvenience. For I am not sure he would not kill even to save her from a cut finger. That was my impression at the time. I do not think he can be left out. A grotesque little man, but it may be much love, an impossible love, has made him mad. Who was it said that men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love? That may be true, but men have killed for love, and Wayling may be of the company.
“(E) Martin Winstanley.
“The dark horse of the case. He was on the spot both when Itter was killed and when Jane was attacked. Why the change apparent in him, the renewed interest he seemed to show in his farm, in life generally? Why did he seem to want to give the impression that it was Jane he was thinking of, not Helen? Camouflage again? Well, all I can say of him is that he is the dark horse you mustn’t forget.
“(F) Lord Adour.
“Two motives seem possible in his case—the father protecting his daughter idea, the association with Itter Bain in some complicated transaction in which Itter Bain and Lord Adour, Prescott Bain, £9,000, the Seagull, the visitor f
rom France, all played a part, and that led finally to some quarrel or danger that had to be met by, or that led to, the killing. I think this aspect of the case is so far advanced that I can now tackle Lord Adour and ask for explanations. If he refuses them or if they are not satisfactory, I shall have grounds for going further.
“(G) Helen.
“She has to be included. A bit startling, but necessary all the same. I know she seems so much a thing apart, so solitary and aloof, so far removed by her strange gift of beauty from all ordinary life, that it is difficult to connect her with the thought of action—especially violent action. She again was certainly on the spot—identity of time and place once more established. She and Martin alibi each other. Is that conclusive? Wouldn’t they in any case? Suppose her father overtook her as he was hurrying back to the house for his camera and told her about the kingfisher? If so, she may have turned back to see for herself. If so again, she may have come across Itter Bain. If so, once more, did he ‘molest’ her, as we say in the witness-box? And was there then perhaps a fatal outcome, with the gun left standing by the oak ready for her to snatch up and fire, though very likely more with the idea of frightening than of killing. It has to be considered. I hope I shall be able to form a better opinion after seeing her to-morrow, as I shall insist I must. I know such violent action is against all one has been told of her goddess-like attitude of aloof indifference to all but her own loveliness. But why is she so careful to avoid me? My failure so far to get a talk with her is due to her own deliberate action, I feel certain.
“Finally—
“(H) [or should it be (X)?]
“The unknown visitor from France, or at any rate from the Continent.
“There’s no proof he was in fact a Frenchman, except that he spoke in French, and did not seem to know English well. Not conclusive. Many from many lands speak French well and English badly. I can’t say much about him for the very good reason that I know nothing about him—except that there is a possibility that he was somehow mixed up in the queer Itter Bain-Lord Adour-Seagull transaction and there may have been quarrelling or ill-feeling, or even threats of blackmail or denunciation whereto a gunshot seemed the only answer.
“Shall I, should I, add one more, a possible addition after my ‘finally’? I will, if you won’t think me quite mad. After all, you have to consider every possibility, even the most unlikely. Well then:
“(J) Commander Seers.
“I suppose that gives you a bit of a shock; and I know as well as you do that there is not so much as a hint of evidence on which to found a ghost of a suspicion.
“All the same, you didn’t see, and I did, how he went what Collier called all ‘goo-goo’ at the mere mention of Helen’s name. Not much, I think, the strange fascination of her beauty would not make him willing to do for her. I can imagine circumstances—but I won’t, for imagination is no help. I do know he was out all that afternoon, on a motor-trip in a high-powered car. I have not tried to check up at all. I have not felt justified and I shall not unless something turns up to give some kind of substantial foundation to what at present is no more than a vague possibility.
“Well, there’s the list of my candidates—though ‘J,’ I think, is less a candidate than a possibility of becoming a candidate some day. I don’t think I should know which would be my favourite, except for those two trifling indications you will remember—one of them does seem as if it might mean something even if the other is almost too trifling for serious consideration.
“What is really bedevilling the whole issue is the effect of Helen’s looks on all who come near her, so that it is difficult to form any opinion or any estimate of how anyone is likely to behave after that apparently upsetting experience. All who see her seem to become straightway moon-stricken, lunatics of love.
“Makes it difficulty especially in a case like this where every clue and indication seems psychological, and there is nothing solid and material—no ‘dabs,’ no shreds of cloth, no direct evidence, nothing on which a case must rest for convincing evidence.
“By the way, Gregson has told me that Commander Seers is still in hospital—malgre lui (excuse the French). It seems to have been a case of the irresistible force (the Commander) meeting the immovable object (the Matron). The immovable object won. But only by promising that if there’s another gale—and the Air Ministry is forecasting the break-up of the recent dead calm spell and lots of gales due in a hurry—and if more of these drifting mines appear off the harbour, then Seers is to be allowed out. I suppose the irresistible force would acquire priority then.”
(Note: The letter concludes with remarks of no public interest.)
CHAPTER XXV
FRESH INFORMATION
When he awoke next morning, Bobby decided that the first thing to do was to pay a visit to Kindles. But as he was starting to get out his car, immediately after breakfast, Haile came up. Bobby nodded a greeting. Haile mumbled some sort of response and stood watching with an uneasy and a troubled air, half sullen, half doubtful, wholly apprehensive. Bobby said something about the weather. It had been a rough and stormy night, but now the wind was beginning to drop. Haile took no notice of the remark, and Bobby went to get a spare can of petrol. When he came back Haile said gloomily:
“You were nosing round the Toad-in-Hole Nursing Home yesterday.”
“So I was,” agreed Bobby. “Have to do a lot of that sort of thing on this sort of job. As ex-intelligence men ought to know.”
“Asking questions,” said Haile, still more gloomily.
“Best way,” explained Bobby, “to get answers. By the way, they told me you and Miss Lambert are getting married soon. Congratulations.”
“Emmy’s a good sort,” Haile said, a little defiantly, a little as if challenging Bobby to deny it.
“Emmy?—oh, Miss Lambert. I’m sure she is,” agreed Bobby warmly. “Much too good for you probably. Normal. They generally are.”
“They know nothing up there,” Haile said.
“That’s what I have to be sure of,” Bobby said. “That’s why I went there—to make sure.”
“I take it you did?”
“No,” said Bobby gravely. He turned away from the car, over which he had been fussing, and faced Haile. “I’m not too clear in my mind about the Toad-in-Hole Nursing Home—or about you.” Haile seemed to consider this, looking gloomier than ever. Bobby felt sure something was coming. He got into the driving seat and made ready to drive away. Haile watched. Then he said: “There’s something I could tell you if you’ll promise to leave Emmy alone.”
“No promises,” Bobby snapped. “God knows I wish you no harm—to you or to her or to the child Mrs. Mack told me was on the way. But I may have to hurt you both pretty badly. And she is in no condition to stand any more worry than she has to. She wouldn’t like to hear you had been arrested even on suspicion. If you’ve anything useful to tell me, your best plan is to tell it. But no conditions, no promises.”
“You make it hard,” Haile said.
“It’s a hard world,” Bobby answered. “God made it so. I don’t know if He made me harder than other people. But I do know nothing’s going to stop me doing what I’m paid to do. There’s no room for sentiment in hunting down a murderer.” He sat silent then, for he was remembering how once his wife had said to him that she thought she had married a hard man, and he knew in a sense that it was true and he wished it wasn’t. At the time the words had stung. He had almost forgotten Haile. He was about to start the car in earnest when Haile said abruptly and as if making up his mind at last:
“Ever hear of anyone called Thibaut?”
“Thibaut?” repeated Bobby. “Thibaut?” The name seemed French and Haile had given it a faintly French accent. Bobby’s mind flew back to the tale of the mysterious visitor from the Continent who had been seen talking to Miss Lambert. “Oh,” he said, “you mean the chap who turned up here before the murder and then vanished. Is Thibaut his real name? We’re trying to trace him. Can you help?
”
Haile looked decidedly disconcerted. He had expected he would be giving Bobby entirely fresh information, opening up an entirely new line of inquiry, and so establish a claim to gratitude and even to some degree of co-operation in the future. Instead, here was Bobby showing no surprise, but talking as if this were no new development, but only something already being worked upon. In a disappointed tone, Haile said:
“Oh, you know about him?”
“Not as much as I would like to,” Bobby said. “How did you come to hear of him?”
“I’m not telling that,” Haile answered defiantly.
“I hope that won’t mean,” Bobby said, “our being obliged to put you in the witness box—or even Miss Lambert. Because, you know, it’s a fairly good guess she told you about the stranger who spoke to her in French and she wondered who he was and what he wanted, and that you’ve worked on that. Another good guess might be that you’ve heard something from your present boss, Mr. Jack Cade Junior. Because I shouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t a good many pals among the Communists in the French Resistance Movement. They could find things out for him.”
“You’re too damn good at guessing,” Haile said sulkily.
“Easy to guess when you know a good deal already,” Bobby told him.
“How much do you know?” Haile demanded.
“And I’m not telling that,” Bobby retorted. “Anyhow, nothing like as much as I would like. Is Thibaut this bloke’s real name?”
“I don’t expect so.”
“Do you know it?”
“No.”
But this Bobby did not believe. He had his share of that sort of instinct by which experienced barristers, judges, police officials, claim to be able to recognize a lie when they hear one.
“A pity,” he remarked. “If we knew his real name we could trace him through his visa. No good if the passport is in another name.”
“No good either if he got here on the Q.T.,” Haile observed. This was another hint and one that Bobby had been on the lookout for, since he had expected that if Haile knew, as was probable, that a landing had been made surreptitiously, then his tendency to show off—a weak point in all of us, and very specially weak in Haile—would make him display his knowledge.
Helen Passes By: A Bobby Owen Mystery Page 20