The Boathouse Riddle

by J. J. Connington

“Bring Ferrers here.”

  In a minute or two, Severn returned and ushered the valet into the room. Ferrers seemed momentarily surprised to see the number of people present; but he did not lose his coolness and came forward as though he were almost at his ease. Wendover noticed, however, that he threw a quick glance at the girl, as though to gauge what had been happening.

  “Sit down, Ferrers,” Sir Clinton said, pointing to the chair in front of him. “I’m going to put my cards on the table. You’re a clever fellow—I’m not ironical—and we’ll get on quickest, that way.”

  The valet gave a noncommittal nod, but made no vocal answer. It was evident that he was desperately puzzled to know what had taken place before he came into the room. He glanced again at the maid, as though hoping to read on her face some indication of what evidence she had given.

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” Sir Clinton pursued in an even tone, as though merely stating facts of common knowledge, “you were one of Cincinnati Jean’s gang before she went to prison. We’re going to look into your record and I’ve no doubt we’ll find that. You were not directly concerned in the frame-up by which she proposed to victimise Mr. Keith-Westerton; but you were in her confidence about that scheme. I gather that from the fact that you had a copy of the American advertisement purporting to announce her death. When Mr. Keith-Westerton’s engagement was made public, Jean was in Aylesbury. You saw it might be convenient to have some one on the spot, since Jean’s plans were coming near the climax as soon as the engagement took place. You saw a chance of getting your finger into the pie, which was bound to be a juicy one if things went without a hitch. So you managed to secure the post as valet—forged references, I suppose.”

  Ferrers listened intently to Sir Clinton’s statement, without betraying anything by his expression until the newspaper cutting was mentioned. At that point, he glanced up sharply, as though taken by surprise; but almost instantly the mask fell again into place.

  “You knew, of course, all about Jean’s affairs,” Sir Clinton went on. “She had kept on her flat, and you could send letters there if necessary; though that was of no use till she came out of Aylesbury. Meanwhile, you had met Miss Sandeau here and had got engaged to her. In order to spend evenings in her company even when it was wet, you had taken an impression of Mr. Keith-Westerton’s key of the boathouse and had got a similar key cut for your own use.”

  Ferrers seemed slightly disturbed by this stroke. He threw a swift glance at the maid; but Wendover, watching keenly, judged it to be a look of inquiry rather than of reproach.

  “You knew the date of Cincinnati Jean’s release from Aylesbury,” Sir Clinton continued, as though narrating something so commonplace that it interested him only slightly. “You wrote a letter, addressed to her flat so that it would reach her immediately on her release on licence. That letter informed her of the state of affairs and explained that Mr. Keith-Westerton was ripe for plucking. It contained also, I think, some topographical details: a sketch map of the district with the boathouse marked. You had decided that the boathouse was the most suitable place for an interview between the blackmailer and his victim. To cut a long story short, you planned the whole affair and you gave Jean full directions what to do. In fact, you made yourself indispensable, so as to make sure of a good share of the loot.

  “Things worked out just as you planned. Jean arrived, rang up Mr. Keith-Westerton, arranged the meeting at the boathouse, and managed the whole affair with her usual adroitness. In fact, by accident, she bettered your plan, for she had the luck to run across Mrs. Keith-Westerton also and blackmail her as well as her husband.

  “Meanwhile, you had gone out for a walk with Miss Sandeau. I suppose your object was twofold. You wanted an alibi for the time when the blackmailing interview was fixed, just in case trouble arose; and you had to open the boathouse door so that Jean could get in there and wait for Mr. Keith-Westerton.

  “You had arranged a signal with Jean—the boathouse lights—so that you would know when the coast was clear. Naturally you wanted to know how the interview had gone. When you saw the signal, you got rid of Miss Sandeau rather clumsily. If it interests you, I may tell you that your lapse from finesse there led to the real trouble. But probably you know that already, since you’re an intelligent person.

  “You went up to the boathouse, where Jean was waiting for you; and probably both of you were in high glee at the way things had worked out. Another home threatened; another poor devil under the harrow; another girl’s happiness wrecked; and some very dirty money on its way to your pocket. Excellent! You went off through the woods, whistling to yourself in pure contentment. Naturally you and Jean would not leave the boathouse together. You might have been seen in company and that would never have done.”

  Wendover had no difficulty in seeing that under the mask the valet’s coolness was ebbing away. This succession of accurate details was evidently more than he had expected; and he was clearly deeply perturbed as to how much Sir Clinton was holding in reserve.

  “Your simple enjoyment was disturbed,” Sir Clinton went on, with the irony in his tone very slightly enhanced, “for Miss Sandeau overtook you with the news that your confederate was dead. An awkward business, especially as your hands were not quite clean. I’m not analysing your motives, but possibly your affection for Miss Sandeau had something to do with your subsequent actions. She said that she had killed Cincinnati Jean, and she was quite unable to explain the situation—which is hardly surprising.

  “You are a clever man, Ferrers, and you seem to be a quick thinker. By the time you got to the boathouse, you had your plan cut and dried. The only people who knew of Jean’s presence at the boathouse were yourself, Miss Sandeau, Mr. and Mrs. Keith-Westerton. You and Miss Sandeau could be trusted to keep quiet. Mr. and Mrs. Keith-Westerton would not publish the news; and if Jean simply disappeared, they could be trusted to make no awkward inquiries about her. Ergo, if you could dispose of the body, even temporarily, the whole business would be covered up. That was how it struck you, I think?”

  Sir Clinton paused as though he expected to draw a reply from the valet, but Ferrers stared sullenly at the carpet and gave no indication that he had heard. Quite obviously, he was thinking hard.

  “How to get rid of the body: that’s always a troublesome problem for any one left with a corpse on their hands. In your case, it was simplified considerably. You had the lake. All you needed was a weight to tie to the body so that it would sink. But you knew Mr. Wendover’s orderly habits. It wouldn’t do to take the first heavy object that came to hand, for he would be almost certain to notice its absence when he visited the boathouse—and that might be on the following morning, for all you could tell. Then the gramophone caught your eye. The motor and horn were heavy enough to act as a temporary sinker. Unless the instrument was actually used, no one would spot that they were missing. So you got a screwdriver from the workshop and unshipped them. You overreached yourself when you pitched the screwdriver into the lake. You ought to have cleaned off any fingerprints and replaced it on its clip. Then you’d have left no trace.

  “You picked up the pearls which had scattered themselves over the floor, and you put them in your breast pocket, I should think. You missed one of them. And that was your second mistake. You didn’t stuff them well down into your pocket—Mistake Number 3. Then you got the body into the boat and rowed out towards Friar’s Point, where you meant to sink the thing in deep water. Most unfortunately, Horncastle happened to be on the shore there and saw fairly well what you were doing. He waited till you were finished and then he shouted to you, I expect. Well, you knew Horncastle. He was a vindictive person. He had good cause to hate both you and Miss Sandeau. There was no chance of persuading him to shut his mouth about what he had seen. But his mouth had to be closed somehow. So over went the boat to the shingle where he was standing.”

  Sir Clinton’s voice dropped as though he were bored by this tale. Then, in a fresh key, he recommenced.

  “I’m jus
t going to recall a point of law to you, Ferrers,” he said in a businesslike tone. “There are four ways in which a person can be concerned in a felony. The principal in the first degree is a person who commits the actual felony. That’s your case in the Horncastle murder. Miss Sandeau is quite free from that charge, you’ll be glad to hear. Then there’s an accessory before the fact, who procures, advises or aids some one else to commit a felony, but who is not actually present when the crime is done. That’s obviously not Miss Sandeau’s case—she did not plan this Horncastle affair with you beforehand, obviously. Then there’s a principal in the second degree, who helps at the actual moment when the felony was committed. That person is liable to the same penalty as the principal in the first degree. And, finally, there’s an accessory after the fact, who, knowing that a felony has been committed, helps or succours the felon in such a way as to assist him to escape from justice. The penalty for that is a light one, and in certain circumstances the accused may get off scot-free.”

  Sir Clinton paused and glanced for a moment at Louise Sandeau, who was listening intently to what he said. She seemed to be making an intense effort to follow the bearing which these statements had upon her own case.

  “Now,” continued Sir Clinton, “so far as the death of Cincinnati Jean is concerned, I don’t think there’s a case against Miss Sandeau. No jury would look at it. You understand that, Ferrers?”

  The valet looked up for a moment and nodded.

  “The Horncastle murder is in a different class,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “As things stand, I don’t see how Miss Sandeau can escape being treated as a principal in the second degree. She was on the spot with you in the boat when you went over to Horncastle. It’s a question whether she helped or not. I’m using ‘helped’ in its widest sense, of course; I don’t mean that she actually pulled a trigger, or anything of that kind.”

  He paused to let this sink well home.

  “There’s only one person who can clear her: yourself. She hasn’t given you away. I’ve been careful not to question her on the Horncastle murder. You’ve nothing to gain or lose in the affair; for I may as well tell you that I’ve enough evidence now to convict you out of hand. You’re done for, Ferrers. But there’s no use in dragging the girl down with you if she’s innocent. You can clear her easily enough if you’ll make a plain statement. Think it over. I won’t hurry you.”

  But Louise had grasped Sir Clinton’s meaning clearly enough. Suddenly she threw herself on the ground at Ferrers’ knees.

  “Oh, Danny! Please tell them the truth; please, please tell them. You know I wasn’t there when you shot him. You know I was taking the boat back across the lake, then. Tell them I’d no idea you were going to kill him. Tell them! Tell them, Danny! I can’t bear to die. I’d nothing to do with it, nothing, nothing. I never said anything against you. They had it all ready before they questioned me at all. Please, Danny! Oh, I’m so terrified!”

  Ferrers lifted his face and looked across at Sir Clinton over the girl’s head.

  “That’s torn it!” he said. “But anyhow, I wouldn’t have let her suffer.”

  His hand went out in a caress to the girl’s shoulder. She had dropped her head on his knee and was sobbing hysterically.

  “It’s all right, Louie. I won’t let you down.”

  He soothed her for a moment or two, but she showed no signs of mastering her emotion.

  “Here,” said Ferrers, at last, turning to the priest, “you take her away. I can’t stand much more of this. I can trust you to look after her; she thinks a lot of you. And you know just how it was. She told me she’d confessed it all to you.”

  For a moment, Wendover caught a glimpse of a new Abbé Goron, as the priest gently led the weeping girl from the room.

  “And now,” Ferrers said, with a fair attempt at coolness, “you’ve jockied me fairly. If you don’t mind my saying so, you must be a damned smart man, for I thought I’d got away with it. I can take my gruel, so long as you leave Louie alone. She’d no share in it. I’ll make a statement that’ll put that clear enough. Where do you want me to begin?”

  “You can give us the whole story from the time you left the house, if you like; or, if you’d prefer it, the Inspector will write out the gist of what I told you, up to the point when you pushed off in the boat, and you can sign that as a voluntary statement, after you’ve read it over. If you do that, then you can start afresh at that stage now.”

  “All right,” Ferrers agreed. “I’ll do anything to keep the girl out of it. The time we got into the boat, you say. We pushed out on to the lake with the body. I thought she’d killed Jean in a fit of passion, you know. I hope that’s right, and that you really aren’t going to touch her for that business.”

  Sir Clinton’s nod reassured him.

  “That’s a relief, anyway. Well, we pushed out towards what I knew was deepish water and we put the body overside. It was bright moonlight, and I was a bit nervous about being seen, at the last moment, of course. Then, just as we’d got rid of the thing, Horncastle came out on to the shingle and called over to know what we were playing at. I hoped he hadn’t really seen what we were after; but in any case, he was dangerous. He’d only got to mention what he’d seen, and somebody would have wanted to drag the lake, just to see what we’d been sinking.

  “I rowed ashore. I hadn’t got any clear idea in my mind except that Horncastle’s mouth had to be shut somehow and shut for good. As soon as the boat grounded, I jumped ashore, passed my gloves to Louie, and told her to take the boat back. I didn’t want her mixed up with Horncastle. We’d had trouble enough with him before. She took the oars and I pushed the boat off, with Horncastle standing grinning beside me. He was a malicious devil, and as soon as I turned round and saw his face clearly, I knew it was him or us—nothing else would do.

  “I wanted Louie to get well away, so I held him in talk for a minute or two. He just stood and jeered. He’d seen the whole affair and he meant to go off to the police, straight, and give the whole show away. I was thinking hard; in my line you have to have quick wits and keep them handy. He had his gun. If I gave him half a chance, he’d have me at a disadvantage. I’d Louie to think about. I took him when he wasn’t expecting it, got him fair on the point of the jaw, and down he went on his back on the shingle, a devil of a smash. He lay there, clean knocked out, and I expect he hit his head as he went down. I’d got him where I wanted him. I’ve never done quicker thinking than I did then. The whole thing seemed to jump into my mind.

  “I lifted him up; I expect it was when I was stooping over him that these damned pearls slipped out of my pocket, for when I counted them afterwards, some of them were missing and I hadn’t the full number. I hoisted him up the bank, after I’d made a scrape on the earth so that it would look as if he’d slipped and shot himself. By that time a cloud had come over the moon and I had to strike matches to make sure of what I was doing. I shot him with his own gun. Then I cleaned my fingerprints off it. After that I walked over to the road and on the way I tramped clean through a water splash in the dark and soaked my shoes through and through. Then I went home through the Grange grounds.”

  He paused, as though thinking that this was sufficient.

  “Go on,” Sir Clinton suggested. “You haven’t told us how you tried to cover up your trail.”

  “Oh, you mean Mr. Keith-Westerton’s shoes and so on? Well, next morning you can guess how I was taken aback when you dropped straight in here. That was a bit too close a shot; but luckily I’d got in first. I didn’t know what track I might have left in the dark; and I thought it would be just as well to confuse things a bit. So I suppressed my own wet shoes, put Mr. Keith-Westerton’s pair under the tap till they were soaked, inside and out, and then handed them over to be dried. That was before you came.

  “Then the pearls began to look important. I’d hidden the balance of the string; I’ll show you the place, so that Mr. Keith-Westerton won’t lose by that. Of course, I knew pretty well what was behind
Mrs. Keith-Westerton’s trip to town. Jean had told me all about the interview, and the rest was easy. Then you put a guard on the boathouse and prevented me fishing up Jean’s body at night. I’d meant to do that and then take it away in the car, and dump it in some field, far enough away. If I’d managed that, there’d have been no detectable motive in the Horncastle affair and you’d have been side-tracked. But you did me there, by putting on the guard and then by fishing up the body yourself. Once Jean turned up again, the trouble was doubled; because, you see, Louie was mixed up in the affair directly. She’d killed Jean, she said.

  “Well, on thinking it out, it seemed to me the best thing to do was to give you a fresh tree to bark up; and only two other people could be dragged into the business on that side. If the bigamy affair could be disclosed somehow, then there would be a fine trail straight to Mr. Keith-Westerton. So I put a couple of the pearls into his coat pocket—you seemed keen on the pearls and I knew they’d attract attention if they were found, for the whole village was buzzing with talk about them. And old Mrs. Tetbury always cleared the pockets of any clothes she bought, for she told me she did. So along with the pearls, I put in that newspaper cutting about the supposed death of Mr. Keith-Westerton’s wife. That was a bit of evidence that Jean faked herself, and she gave me a copy. It was a real advertisement. She’d sent a dying woman into hospital under the name of Keith-Westerton, all right. Very thorough, Jean.”

  “You forgot one thing, though,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “Mr. Keith-Westerton’s fingerprints weren’t on that cutting, as they would have been if he’d handled it recently.”

  Ferrers had recovered his coolness.

  “That was damned smart, if you don’t mind my saying it,” he said, with no malice in his tone. “I didn’t expect to be up against you, or I’d have been more careful, I guess. All I wanted was to bring out the bigamy affair and make it look as if Mr. Keith-Westerton had a motive for getting rid of Jean. I didn’t expect you’d be able to prove it; but I thought it would put you clean off the scent of Louie and me. And that’s the whole story.”