The Crimson Rambler

by John Russell Fearn

  Carefully, the wire stretching back in a clear uninterrupted copper streak toward the manor, Gossage placed it over the notch on the inside of the branch shaped like a crooked elbow. He smiled to himself, particularly when he saw now that the enamel on the wire was badly scraped.

  Allowing for rubbing on either side, the wire fitted the notch perfectly.

  Removing it from over the tree branch he went about the harder task of rewinding the wire as he returned to the lane, along the drive, and so back to the house. The trio was still in the front doorway, watching, and Blair was leaning out of the window.

  “Okay, sir?” he called.

  “Yes, Harry, okay. Unfasten the end and come on down.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THEORY FORMED

  Almost immediately the writhing end of the wire came flying down in a coil and Gossage wound it on the drum, then he caught Sheila’s eye and motioned her toward him. She said something to the two men and came across.

  “Just what I wanted, Miss Sheila, and thanks very much,” Gossage said, handing it back to her. “You’ll find it’s badly scraped, but it’s remarkably good wire. Where did you get it?”

  “Get it? Oh, Barry gave it to me months ago from his stock. He said there was about half a mile of wire on it. Surplus or something that he couldn’t use. I remember he said something about it perhaps being useful for one or other of my ‘realism’ experiments—or, apart from that, it might come in handy for an on-the-spot radio repair if one were needed.”

  “And did such an occasion arise?”

  The girl shook her blonde head. “No. I’ve kept it in a cupboard in my room from then until this morning.”

  Gossage nodded and went down the drive. The two men in the front doorway returned into the hall.

  “Well, sir?” Blair asked.

  “At least,” the inspector said, “we know at last how the rifle was removed from the house immediately after the murder.”

  “We do? I’m afraid I don’t get it. Something to do with the wire, you mean?”

  “The killer made a continuous wire, double-length, an endless belt, if you will. He looped it round the tree branch and carted it back to the house at an upper window. All he had to do was thread the lower wire through the trigger-guard on the rifle and secure it there, maybe with a bit of string. Or he could have put the wire once round the trigger guard and secured it that way. In fact, he probably did, otherwise we’d have found string still on the trigger guard.

  “Then, the rifle hanging on the lower wire, he pulled the upper wire towards him. Automatically the under wire went away from the house and took the gun with it. It was kept going until it hit up against an obstacle—the tree branch. It being dark, this was the killer’s only guide. Then? Snap the wire and the rifle fell in the pond. After that roll both lengths of wire back on the drum and join to the break with an over-and-over knot. The lower position of Morgan’s Deep as compared to the manor would of course facilitate matters.”

  “Very neat,” Blair said. “And you are sure that that is the wire that did it?”

  “No doubt of it. I didn’t unravel it far enough to find a join, but the length and scratched enamelling is quite enough for me,” Gossage said. “Definitely the wire was used from one of the upper windows facing the drive and Morgan’s Deep and that means the windows of Crespin, Bride, and Mrs. Darnworth. At the time this wire was pulled Sheila was playing the piano, nor had she been out since dusk had fallen.”

  “You mean to fix the wire in readiness?”

  “Obviously it had to be fixed and carried to the room in question—the window thereof, I mean. And somebody went to the pond and eliminated footprints, remember? There’s our proof in that direction.”

  “Crespin went out before his snooze,” Blair mused. “And Bride went out, too, for over two hours. In other words, he was outside long enough and, cannot say explicitly what he was up to. Sheila couldn’t play the piano and fix and move the wire simultaneously. On the other hand, if her piano playing story is really a pack of lies, she could have gone out and fixed the wires and then, knowing Bride was out, could have gone to his room and got rid of the gun from there after the murder.

  “Understand, sir,” Blair went on solemnly, “that I am only considering the disposal of the rifle. All the other problems—the murder, the roof climb, your precious triangle and an so on are not included, though from the way I read that triangle Sheila could just as easily have committed the crime as any other. She certainly couldn’t have done anything through her mother’s room because the old girl and Louise were in there, nor through Crespin’s room since he was having a sleep. That leaves….”

  “Two rooms you haven’t accounted for,” Gossage said. “I mean yours and mine—guest rooms. We hadn’t arrived at that time.”

  “I’d thought of them, but the arm of the triangle doesn’t reach that far.”

  “Good man!” The chief inspector beamed on him in pride, then he refrained from saying any more as the signs of mental struggle appeared on the sergeant’s face. Then at length a gleam came into Blair’s eyes.

  “I mentioned Sheila having perhaps told a pack of lies, sir,” he said. “It was only a casual observation, but now I can see that I might have more there than I thought. Do you suppose that Sheila really didn’t play the piano? In fact, that it wasn’t the piano playing at all!”

  “Eh?” Gossage asked blankly. “But we have everybody’s word for it—”

  “Yes, I know—but there is also a portable gramophone in the house. You told me that there’s one in Mr. Crespin’s room, and, what is more significant, he has a repeater-catch on it, a gadget which will swing the sound box back to the start of the record. Now, suppose that Sheila—knowing in advance what she intended to do, of course—bought a piano solo record of a tune which she is known to play a good deal, and put it on Crespin’s gramophone. He would probably never notice that it had gone when he went in his room for a snooze.”

  “Maybe not,” Gossage agreed. “Well? Go on.”

  “She went in the music room, put on the record, and then went out by the window. During that time the record kept on playing, and you can’t tell with these classical piano pieces where they start or finish. She went outside and did whatever she had to do. Fixed the wire, committed the murder, and rid herself of the rifle.”

  “All on one winding of the gramophone, I take it?”

  “One winding on a portable, if it’s a double spring, will play twelve minutes. It wouldn’t take her any longer to hop to the Deep and fix the wire, and perhaps not much longer to commit the murder, for all we know.”

  “I see. Then what did she do?”

  “She went in to dinner in the usual way and waited until Crespin came down, I’ll wager she’d find an opportunity somehow to get the portable back into his bedroom, The wire she had already put somewhere safe until she could return it to her own room. Maybe she put it in the summer house.”

  “Then why didn’t she leave it there?” Gossage asked.

  “Because she knew that if the house were searched it was better to have things exactly where they had always been.”

  Gossage stood brooding, a faint smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re not doing badly, Harry,” he said presently. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Proof!” Sergeant Blair looked dramatic for a moment. “She had to get rid of that record at all costs, and so what did she do? At the first opportunity she hurried in the cellar and burned it in the grate. The analysis says wax, and that could mean record. The label that didn’t lose its serial number even after burning could have been from the record, one of those plum-labelled ones, which have gilt letters on them. That serial number is a free gift to us, sir. I’ll wager that if we can track it down we’ll find that the record is exactly the tune Sheila was playing during that hour.... Or for most of the time, anyway.”

  “For which exact purpose I’m going out this morning,” Gossage said. “I inten
d to call on various, gramophone companies, find out who issued the record—according to the label—and see what I can pick up. Like you, I too suspect a gramophone record. In the meantime we had better help ourselves a bit by finding out what Sheila was playing during the hour. I should think Preston ought to know since he seems to listen to everything she plays. Incidentally,” the chief inspector added, “you don’t explain the bits of rubber tubing and the hairs?”

  “I can’t,” Blair said moodily. “They’ll probably fit in when we have the gramophone record business sorted out. Maybe they were added as false clues.”

  Gossage nodded seriously though there was still a vaguely humorous twinkle behind his glasses. Then he led the way along the drive and back into the hall. It did not take long to summon Preston and when questioned as to what Sheila had played he did not hesitate for a moment.

  “Yes, sir, it was Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number Three in D Minor.” He smiled rather thinly. “If there’s one I do know, sir, it’s that. Miss Sheila’s always playin’ it—and she plays it beautifully.”

  Gossage nodded. “All right, Preston. That’s all, thanks”

  The handyman went oft and Blair looked supremely satisfied.

  “Just as I said, sir! One of those pieces which you can’t distinguish as either beginning or ending—unless you’ve got an ear for that sort of thing.”

  “Which Preston has,” Gossage observed.

  “I know, but he was upstairs and couldn’t have heard too plainly. Besides, why should he think it curious if Miss Sheila played it once or twice, or even three times? Lots of people do that if they like a piece.”

  “I think,” Gossage said, “you’d better get off to the Yard, Harry, and get some results. I’ll be on my way to the gramophone companies.”

  “But I’ll be using the car, sir. You can’t walk round all the gramophone companies, surely? Not even you!”

  Gossage grinned. “I’ve no intention of being that crazy. There are several cars scattered around this place that I can borrow—Crespin’s, Bride’s, or even the family bus. I’ll be okay. Oh, that reminds me! I want some special information, too….”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  NO ROOM FOR DOUBT

  He went into the study, drew notepaper and envelope to him and wrote a brief note, sealing it. For superscription he put: Sir Leonard Harding, assistant commissioner, department C, Scotland Yard. This done, he returned to the hall and handed it to Blair as he stood waiting in hat and coat.

  “See the old man gets this in a hurry, Harry,” he instructed. “And ask him to ring me here the moment he has any information. Stress the importance of it.”

  Blair went, and Gossage turned into the lounge. Mrs. Darnworth, Louise, Crespin, and Bride were there. Mrs. Darnworth was writing a letter and Louise was sewing. The two men were smoking and looking through newspapers

  Barry Crespin was the first to speak.

  “Mr. Gossage, how long do you intend to keep me a virtual prisoner here?” His voice was angry for once. “I’m losing both time and money, and that’s no way to build up my business! The longer I’m absent the simpler it is for my competitors to get ahead of me. I want to get back on the job.”

  “I can understand that,” Gossage sympathized. “You’re a go-ahead chap with the ambition to own a chain of radio stores. I’m sorry if things are so irksome but I can’t help it. However, I hope to clear matters up pretty soon now and then we’ll be able to turn round a bit.”

  “Can I be certain of that?” Crespin asked.

  “I think so. It’s just a matter of fitting a few final details into place.”

  Mrs. Darnworth stopped writing and Louise lowered the trifle she was sewing. Only Gregory Bride went on reading, then his forehead puckered as something evidently interested him.

  “The sooner I’m allowed to skip out of here the better I’ll like it, too!” he declared. “There’s a chap here who’s got a fairly similar idea to my new helicopter. If I don’t act fast he may beat me to it.”

  Gossage did not comment. He asked a question:

  “Would either of you gentlemen mind lending me your car? Sergeant Blair’s taken mine and I’ve a trip to make.”

  “Use mine if you want to,” Crespin said, still aggrieved at the thought of the business he was missing. “I’ve precious little chance to get about in it myself.”

  “Or take mine,” Bride offered. “It’s only a two-seater, not a whacking big thing like Barry’s. I’m sure mine will be more in your line, inspector.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Bride. I’ll reimburse you for petrol when I’ve seen how much I’ve used. Oh, I shan’t be in to lunch,” he added to Mrs. Darnworth, and she nodded a grave assent as he went from the room.

  * * * * * * *

  It was late in the evening when Gossage and Blair met again.

  “Hello, sir,” Blair greeted, as he saw the chief inspector in the hall. “Shall I put the car in or—?”

  “No. I may be hopping to London myself.”

  Gossage led the way up to his bedroom, and went on talking when they were within it.

  “I borrowed Bride’s car and broke down outside the village. I had Crespin tow me in with his big bus. Bride had gone to meet Elaine as usual.”

  Blair nodded rather wonderingly. He couldn’t be quite sure whether there was a wicked twinkle behind the inspector’s glasses or not.

  “Suppose you tell me how you’ve got on? You gave that note to the A.C.?”

  “I did—and he’ll do as you ask. Report as soon as possible.”

  Gossage nodded and opened the door of his bedroom.

  “I gave the fibres to forensic to keep,” Blair said. “Which they will, as well as analyzing them—But we’ve got bad luck in regard to those hair combings, sir. Neither the hair of Crespin nor Bride matches with the hair in the cellar grate.”

  “Doesn’t, eh?” Gossage did not sound particularly concerned.

  “And,” Blair added. “I think I know why. They belong to Sheila. She’s a blonde and we never took any of her hair specimens.”

  “The hairs belonged to a man Harry. Remember? All the difference in the world. And forensic wouldn’t make a mistake over that.... Y’know, part of your theory about Sheila has already come unstuck so I suggest you remove the eagle eye from the poor lass”

  “Unstuck, sir?”

  “I mean that serial number on the record. It doesn’t apply to a piano concerto. In fact, the serial number beginning with ‘C.G.F.’ never is used for musical compositions. So I’m afraid the idea of a portable gramophone playing while Sheila ‘did something’ is out.”

  “Then what does it apply to?”

  “That I don’t know yet. The Excel Gramophone Co. were the ones who finally identified the label as in their list, but it will take some time to check it back as it’s something special and not often asked for. When they’ve got the details they’ll ring me here.”

  Blair nodded slowly.

  “I could see the one big flaw in the gramophone record theory the moment you trotted it out,” Gossage said. “Preston, up in the corridor, heard the piano quite clearly. Now you can’t compare the playing of a portable gramophone with piano when it comes to volume. A radio, yes, with a volume control, but not a portable gramophone. That ruled it out for me. The walls in this house are mighty thick. You may remember that the idea of a record was brought up when we examined the study? At that time I thought just as you’ve been thinking—then I discarded it. I have all the details I need now, and I think I knew the motive. It is up to the A.C. to verify that point for me. There is also one last detail I want to clear up, and for that I think I’ll pop over to the Yard myself after dinner this evening. Then tomorrow we should be able to go, tie the job up, and get off. Unless, of course, the inquest turns up tomorrow and delays us.”

  At dinner the most troubled looking person at the table was Gregory Bride. He sat musing for quite a time even after the meal had started, then at last he looked across at
Gossage.

  “Barry has been telling me of the trouble you had with my car, Mr. Gossage,” he said. “And I don’t understand it. That battery is a reconditioned one and has served me faithfully. I’ve had a look at it and there are certainly no buckled plates to account fur a short. In fact, it is charging itself again gradually. The hydrometer shows a specific gravity reading of 1,150, which means it isn’t quite flat. You’re sure it cut right out?”

  “Just went dead,” Gossage said, and went on with his meal. “However.” he added presently, “if you do find any particular damage don’t forget to let me know and I’ll pay for it. Don’t see how you can, though, when I never did anything except drive like any sane motorist.”

  Bride shook his head in puzzlement and relapsed into silence. Then with a shrug he commenced his meal.

  “I have something to ask you, Mr. Gossage,” Mrs. Darnworth said. She seemed to have been hesitating over the words for some time—had even seemed glad that Bride had forestalled her—but now she uttered them.

  “I want your permission to leave here.”

  “And go where?” Gossage asked, regarding her.

  “London.” She paused, then went on quietly: “Mr. Brown and I are going to be married there shortly. I went to see him this afternoon and that is the arrangement we came to.”

  Gossage reflected with eyebrow raised then he glanced across at a sudden outburst from Sheila.

  “I’ve tried every argument I can think of, inspector,” she declared, “to try to make mother stay here. But she won’t! I’ve told her that I don’t bear any malice for the way she behaved toward me, that I’m prepared to forget everything and let her remain as she’s always done—but its no use. She insists on going.”

  “Yes, Sheila, I do,” Mrs. Darnworth said firmly. “You will be marrying Barry and this manor is rightfully yours. I would not consent to stay in it when you and Barry have your own lives to make. Very shortly you will be marrying Gregory, Elaine, and you will be leaving here, too. That is as it should be. I intend to catch up on the years I’ve lost. Sheila, my dear, you are very generous—perhaps too generous for your own good sometimes—and I don’t intend to take advantage of it.”