The Weight of the Evidence

by Michael Innes

  The hammer had pulverized the man; it was extremely awkward. In a sense the thing was pure accident, for I had certainly not the remotest conscious intention of killing him. But I had knocked him under this terrible machine and by an inadvertent movement I had released the mechanism. What Freud has called the psycho-pathology of errors was plainly involved; that obscure mechanism of the mind which makes the unconsciously suicidal man cut his chin while shaving!

  Here then was Pluckrose dead – a prosecuting barrister would doubtless say neatly and ingeniously despatched – and through the instrumentality (shall we put it?) of one with whom he could very probably be proved to have been involved in a dispute. I do not think that I have ever been in a more awkward situation – in ‘so tight a place’, to use the popular expression.

  For the very tolerable ingenuity of the dispositions that I proceeded to make I am disposed to claim little applause. I acted as a man in a dream, and yet with the most efficient calculation and despatch. It seems likely that the same powerful and hidden forces which I must admit as having been a factor in Pluckrose’s death were continuing to operate – and with a similar automatism.

  The leading principle was obvious. It was half past ten and Pluckrose had just been killed. I must give to the fatality the appearance of having taken place at some other hour – an hour at which, demonstrably, I could not be involved. I have gathered from Appleby that this is called constructing an alibi; the Latin is indifferent but the meaning clear.

  There was a tarpaulin which must have been used to shroud some mechanism of the engineers; and in this I bundled the body. I carried it across the Wool Court – no mean feat – and set it in a deck-chair directly under the turret and hard by Lasscock. A newspaper which I had in my pocket I placed over the crushed torso, so that glimpsed only for a moment Pluckrose would not appear too obviously dead to a sleepy man. For I knew that Lasscock would be awakened by the eleven o’clock bell and all my plan turned on that. I took back the tarpaulin. There was a mess in the forge room. I had to risk that for a time.

  I went round the building and up the tower. This must have been only minutes after Pinnegar came down; and during everything that followed Evans was resting, or lying exhausted, in the top storey. By how much would the terrors of the affair have been increased had I known of this extraordinary circumstance!

  There was an extension ladder in the store-room immediately above ground level; I took the two parts of it up separately and assembled it; it stretched from the window-sill to the hoist.

  I got hold of the iron sink – and then I saw the meteorite.

  It was plainly that. But only something like clairvoyance can explain all that I immediately knew about it. For I knew at once that Pluckrose himself had hidden it here, and in furtherance of a plan of the most extreme ingenuity and malice. Mr Pickwick, when at Cobham, discovered an inscription which he rashly declared to be of extreme antiquity – but a little analysis showed that it read BILL STUMPS HIS MARK. Pluckrose had possessed himself of a meteorite well-authenticated as having only recently arrived on earth. He proposed to remove all but the inobvious traces of the thing’s being indeed a meteoric stone; to do this and then to fake an inscription which I might later be induced to accept as genuine ancient work. And then Pluckrose would spring his mine: the Greeks or Romans or whoever it might be had, then, contrived to carve an inscription on a body thousands of millions of miles away in interstellar space!

  So you can see why I took the meteorite and not the sink; you can see, perhaps, two reasons. ‘’Tis the sport to have the engineer hoist with his own petard’ – and I was certainly in a position to do that. But it also occurred to me how inevitably a meteorite sets one thinking in terms of impact from above; and this I had to enforce by any subtle power of suggestion I could command. So I got hold of the meteorite – rudis indigestaque moles – and heaved and levered it on the ladder. It was a terrific weight, and yet not, I suppose, capable of doing at all the damage that the drop hammer had done. In fact the weight of the meteorite might have been awkward evidence. And I suppose Cruckhorn to have had something of the sort in mind when, according to Appleby, he said something about a fifty-ton meteorite.

  And now mark the situation. One end of the ladder lay on the window-sill and the meteorite lay on the ladder. The other end of the ladder lay on, and was tethered to, the hoist – the hoist raised some eighteen inches above floor level. And the hoist could be controlled from the dark-room.

  You will see that there is little more explaining to do. I hurried to the dark-room, taking care that Atkinson should note the time: ten fifty. And that, just on the ringing of the eleven o’clock bell, I set the hoist a few feet up, and so tipped the meteorite out and down. It was a curiously godlike sensation: eripuit caelo fulmen. But there followed a period of some strain. I had to wait in the dark-room until the news was brought to us. I had to trust that, in the general consternation, no one would think to go up to the tower until I could slip up myself and dismantle the ladder. I had to trust, too, that I should then be able to get round to a still-deserted forge room and clean up the hammer. The fact that Lasscock simply made off without giving any alarm considerably increased at least the second of these risks – and the stress of the situation generally. And later, of course, it appeared for a time as if his continued silence might upset my ‘alibi’ altogether. All these matters, however, fell out well enough in the end.

  But I had reckoned without Appleby – and it is curious that I should have had a tendency to confuse him with Merryweather and Grant, persons, it must be recorded, of but mediocre mind. It is pleasant to reflect that the concentration and efficiency with which he has brought his natural talent to bear upon the case may be due in some measure at least to his pursuance as an undergraduate of the grand old fortifying classical curriculum. I did not see a great deal of him in those days, but I recall that he brought me essays from time to time, and it is possible that I did a little to assist him in the business of straight thinking.

  And now, with apologies for claiming your indulgence thus long,

  I am,

  My Lord Duke,

  Your Grace’s obliged and humble servant,

  S RUTGERSIUS HISSEY.

  His Grace the Duke of Nesfield, KG

  Nesfield Court

  England

  Note on Inspector (later, Sir John) Appleby Series

  John Appleby first appears in Death at the President’s Lodging, by which time he has risen to the rank of Inspector in the police force. A cerebral detective, with ready wit, charm and good manners, he rose from humble origins to being educated at ‘St Anthony’s College’, Oxford, prior to joining the police as an ordinary constable.

  Having decided to take early retirement just after World War II, he nonetheless continued his police career at a later stage and is subsequently appointed an Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard, where his crime solving talents are put to good use, despite the lofty administrative position. Final retirement from the police force (as Commissioner and Sir John Appleby) does not, however, diminish Appleby’s taste for solving crime and he continues to be active, Appleby and the Ospreys marking his final appearance in the late 1980’s.

  In Appleby’s End he meets Judith Raven, whom he marries and who has an involvement in many subsequent cases, as does their son Bobby and other members of his family.

  Appleby Titles in order of first publication

  These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  1. Death at the President’s Lodging Also as: Seven Suspects 1936

  2. Hamlet! Revenge 1937

  3. Lament for a Maker 1938

  4. Stop Press Also as: The Spider Strikes 1939

  5. The Secret Vanguard 1940

  6. Their Came Both Mist and Snow Also as: A Comedy of Terrors 1940

  7. Appleby on Ararat 1941

  8. The Daffodil Affair 1942

  9. The Weight of the Evidence 1943
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  10. Appleby’s End 1945

  11. A Night of Errors 1947

  12. Operation Pax Also as: The Paper Thunderbolt 1951

  13. A Private View Also as: One Man Show and Murder is an Art 1952

  14. Appleby Talking Also as: Dead Man’s Shoes 1954

  15. Appleby Talks Again 1956

  16. Appleby Plays Chicken Also as: Death on a Quiet Day 1957

  17. The Long Farewell 1958

  18. Hare Sitting Up 1959

  19. Silence Observed 1961

  20. A Connoisseur’s Case Also as: The Crabtree Affair 1962

  21. The Bloody Wood 1966

  22. Appleby at Allington Also as: Death by Water 1968

  23. A Family Affair Also as: Picture of Guilt 1969

  24. Death at the Chase 1970

  25. An Awkward Lie 1971

  26. The Open House 1972

  27. Appleby’s Answer 1973

  28. Appleby’s Other Story 1974

  29. The Appleby File 1975

  30. The Gay Phoenix 1976

  31. The Ampersand Papers 1978

  32. Shieks and Adders 1982

  33. Appleby and Honeybath 1983

  34. Carson’s Conspiracy 1984

  35. Appleby and the Ospreys 1986

  Honeybath Titles in order of first publication

  These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  1. The Mysterious Commission 1974

  2. Honeybath’s Haven 1977

  3. Lord Mullion’s Secret 1981

  4. Appleby and Honeybath 1983

  Synopses (Both Series & ‘Stand-alone’ Titles)

  Published by House of Stratus

  The Ampersand Papers

  While Appleby is strolling along a Cornish beach, he narrowly escapes being struck by a body falling down a cliff. The body is that of Dr Sutch, an archivist, and he has fallen from the North Tower of Treskinnick Castle, home of Lord Ampersand. Two possible motivations present themselves to Appleby – the Ampersand gold, treasure from an Armada galleon; and the Ampersand papers, valuable family documents that have associations with Wordsworth and Shelley.

  Appleby and Honeybath

  Every English mansion has a locked room, and Grinton Hall is no exception – the library has hidden doors and passages…and a corpse. But when the corpse goes missing, Sir John Appleby and Charles Honeybath have an even more perplexing case on their hands – just how did it disappear when the doors and windows were securely locked? A bevy of helpful houseguests offer endless assistance, but the two detectives suspect that they are concealing vital information. Could the treasures on the library shelves be so valuable that someone would murder for them?

  Appleby and the Ospreys

  Clusters, a great country house, is troubled by bats, as Lord and Lady Osprey complain to their guests, who include first rate detective, Sir John Appleby. In the matter of bats, Appleby is indifferent, but he is soon faced with a real challenge – the murder of Lord Osprey, stabbed with an ornate dagger in the library.

  Appleby at Allington

  Sir John Appleby dines one evening at Allington Park, the Georgian home of his acquaintance Owain Allington, who is new to the area. His curiosity is aroused when Allington mentions his nephew and heir to the estate, Martin Allington, whose name Appleby recognises. The evening comes to an end but just as Appleby is leaving, they find a dead man – electrocuted in the son et lumière box which had been installed in the grounds.

  The Appleby File

  There are fifteen stories in this compelling collection, including: Poltergeist – when Appleby’s wife tells him that her aunt is experiencing trouble with a Poltergeist, he is amused but dismissive, until he discovers that several priceless artefacts have been smashed as a result; A Question of Confidence – when Bobby Appleby’s friend, Brian Button, is caught up in a scandalous murder in Oxford, Bobby’s famous detective father is their first port of call; The Ascham – an abandoned car on a narrow lane intrigues Appleby and his wife, but even more intriguing is the medieval castle they stumble upon.

  Appleby on Ararat

  Inspector Appleby is stranded on a very strange island, with a rather odd bunch of people – too many men, too few women (and one of them too attractive) cause a deal of trouble. But that is nothing compared to later developments, including the body afloat in the water, and the attack by local inhabitants.

  Appleby Plays Chicken

  David was hiking across Dartmoor, pleased to have escaped the oppressively juvenile and sometimes perilous behaviour of his fellow undergraduates. As far as he could tell, he was the only human being for miles – but it turns out that he was the only living human being for miles. At least, that is what he presumed when he found a dead man on top of the tor.

  Appleby Talking

  Arbuthnot is paying for a rash decision – he recently married a beautiful but slightly amoral girl whose crazy antics caught his rather cynical professional interest. His wife has taken a lover, Rupert Slade, and Arbuthnot wants nothing more than to see him dead – but the last thing he expected was that he’d walk into his living room and find just that!

  Inspector Appleby shares the details of this and many other fascinating crimes in this un-missable collection.

  Appleby Talks Again

  Ralph Dangerfield, an Edwardian playwright who belonged to the smartest young set of his day, kept a scandalous diary recording the intimate details of his own life and those of his friends. After his death, it was believed that his mother had burnt the incriminating evidence, but fifty years later, a famous collector of literary curiosities claims to have the diary in his possession and threatens to blackmail fashionable London with belated secrets about people now in respectable old age. Sir John Appleby reveals how he uncovered this unscrupulous crime and talks about his key role in seventeen more intriguing cases.

  Appleby’s Answer

  Author of detective novels, Priscilla Pringle, is pleased to find that she is sharing a railway compartment with a gentleman who happens to be reading one of her books – Murder in the Cathedral. He is military officer, Captain Bulkington, who recognises Miss Pringle and offers her £500 to collaborate on a detective novel. To everyone’s surprise, Miss Pringle is rather taken with Captain Bulkington – is she out of her depth?

  Appleby’s End

  Appleby’s End was the name of the station where Detective Inspector John Appleby got off the train from Scotland Yard. But that was not the only coincidence. Everything that happened from then on related back to stories by Ranulph Raven, Victorian novelist – animals were replaced by marble effigies, someone received a tombstone telling him when he would die, and a servant was found buried up to his neck in snow, dead. Why did Ranulph Raven’s mysterious descendants make such a point of inviting Appleby to spend the night at their house?

  Appleby’s Other Story

  During a walk to Elvedon House, palatial home of the Tythertons, Sir John Appleby and Chief Constable Colonel Pride are stunned to find a police van and two cars parked outside. Wealthy Maurice Tytherton has been found shot dead, and Appleby is faced with a number of suspects – Alice Tytherton, flirtatious, younger wife of the deceased; Egon Raffaello, disreputable art dealer; and the prodigal son, Mark Tytherton, who has just returned from Argentina. Could the death be linked to the robbery of some paintings several years ago?

  An Awkward Lie

  Sir John Appleby’s son, Bobby, assumes his father’s detective role in this baffling crime. When Bobby finds a dead man, in a bunker on a golf course, he notices something rather strange – the first finger of the man’s right hand is missing. A young girl approaches the scene and offers to watch the body while Bobby goes for help, but when he returns with the police in tow, the body and the girl are missing.

  The Bloody Wood

  An assorted party of guests have gathered at Charne, home of Charles Martineau and his ailing wife, Grace, including Sir John Appleby and his wife, Judith. Appleby’s suspicions are soo
n aroused with the odd behaviour of Charles, and the curious last request of Grace – who desires that upon her death, Charles marries her favourite niece, Martine. When Charles and Grace die on the same day, foul play is suspected.

  Carson’s Conspiracy

  Businessman Carl Carson decides to make a dash for South America to escape the economic slump, leaving his home and his barmy wife. But he has a problem – if his company were seen to be drawing in its horns, it wouldn’t last a week. His solution is his wife’s favourite delusion – an imaginary son, named Robin. Carson plans to stage a fictitious kidnapping – after all, what could be more natural than a father liquidating his assets to pay the ransom demand? Unfortunately, Carson has a rather astute neighbour – Sir John Appleby, ex-Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.

  A Change of Heir

  George Gadberry, ‘resting actor’, packs his bags and heads for obscurity when the Tax Inspector beckons. Then he receives a mysterious invitation and a proposition that could lead to enormous riches. Wealthy imbiber, Nicholas Comberford, wants George to impersonate him in order to secure a place in the will of fabulously affluent Great-Aunt Prudence, who lives in a Cistercian monastery and won’t allow a single drop of liquor in the place. Gadberry’s luck seems to have changed – but at what cost?