A Blunt Instrument ih-4

by Джорджетт Хейер

  "I have had plenty of experience of people who either concealed the truth, or told me only a part of it, if that is what you mean, Mrs. North."

  "I suppose it is," she admitted. "Perhaps you can understand, though, how awkward it was for me, when you - well, exposed my - my indiscretions this morning. I won't attempt to deny that I was badly rattled, not because of the murder, because I had nothing to do with that, but because I'm not the sort of woman my dealings with Mr. Fletcher might have led you to suppose, and - and there could be nothing worse from my point of view than to have an indiscretion - like that - made public. The only idea in my head this morning was to admit as little as I need. You - you do understand that, don't you?"

  He nodded. "Perfectly, Mrs. North. Please go on!"

  "Yes. Well, since I saw you I've had time to think it over, and of course I realise that when it's a question of murder it would be terribly wrong of me to keep anything back. Moreover -' she smiled shyly across at him -'you were so very nice about it, not - not giving me away to my husband, that I feel sure I can trust you."

  "I had better make it clear, Mrs. North, that while I have not the smallest desire to create any unnecessary unpleasantness in connection with this case, my consideration for your feelings cannot interfere with the execution of what I may decide to be my duty."

  "Of course not; I quite appreciate that."

  He looked at her. A few hours earlier she had been nervous to the point of distraction, but she had herself well in hand now. She met his eyes deprecatingly, but quite squarely, and was sure enough of herself to employ little feminine tricks to beguile him. She was a lovely woman; he wondered what the brain behind her soft blue eyes was evolving. She was probably playing a part, but so well that he could not be sure of it. It was easy to believe that she had concealed some of the truth earlier in the day; the reasons she put forward for having done so were quite credible; but it would not be so easy to know how much of whatever revelations were to come was to be believed.

  He said impersonally: "Well, Mrs. North? What is it that you are going to tell me?"

  "It is about what happened after I hid behind that bush, outside Mr. Fletcher's study. I said that as soon as the man who came up the path had entered the house I went away. Actually, I didn't go away."

  His keen eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed! Why not?"

  She began to fidget a little with the clasp of her handbag. "You see, what I originally said about my interview with Mr. Fletcher wasn't true. It - it wasn't amicable. At least, not on my part. Mr. Fletcher, as you suggested this morning, Superintendent, did want something from me which I - which I was more than unwilling to give. I don't want to give you a false impression. Looking back, I feel sure I lost my head over the whole affair, and - and perhaps exaggerated things. Mr. Fletcher was using my IOUs against me, but in a playful sort of way. I expect it was only a bluff, for really he wasn't a bit like that. Only I was frightened, and behaved stupidly. I went round to his house that evening to try to persuade him to give me back my notes. Something he said made me lose my temper, and I walked out of the house in a rage. But while I was hiding behind the bush I realised that losing my temper wasn't going to help me. I thought perhaps I ought to have another shot at coaxing the notes out of Mr. Fletcher, though at the same time I rather dreaded the idea of going back into that room."

  "Just a moment!" Hannasyde interrupted. "What happened in the study while you were hiding behind the bush?"

  "I don't know. You remember I told you that I thought the man I saw closed the window? Well, that was true. I only heard a confused murmur of voices. I don't think he was in the room for more than six or seven minutes. It seemed longer to me, but it can't have been, because the clock in the hall began to strike ten when I finally left the house. But I haven't got to that yet. While I was still waiting, and not knowing quite what I ought to do next, the window of the study was pushed open, and both Mr. Fletcher and the other man came out. Mr. Fletcher had a light, carrying voice, and I distinctly heard him say: "A little mistake on your part. Permit me to show you the way out!"'

  "And the other? Did he speak?"

  "Not in my hearing. Mr. Fletcher said something else, but I couldn't catch what it was."

  "Did he appear to be at all put-out?"

  "No, but he was the sort of man who never showed when he was annoyed. He sounded rather mocking, I thought. I don't think there can have been a quarrel, because he just strolled down the path with the other man quite casually, not hurrying, or anything. In fact, I rather thought that perhaps the man had walked in by mistake."

  "Oh! And then?"

  "Well, you know that the path to the gate twists past some bushes? As soon as they had reached the bend, I slipped from behind the bush, and ran back to the study. I - I had a wild sort of hope that my notes might be in Mr. Fletcher's desk, and it seemed to me that here was my chance to get hold of them. Most of the drawers were unlocked, and I didn't bother about them. But the centre drawer had its key in it, and I happened to know that Mr. Fletcher used to keep it locked. I've seen him take the key out of his pocket to open it. I pulled it out, but I couldn't see my notes. Then I heard Mr. Fletcher coming up the path: he was whistling. I got a sudden panic, and instead of staying where I was I shut the drawer, and whisked myself over to the door. I just had time to open it very gingerly to make sure that no one was in the hall, before escaping that way. There wasn't anyone in sight, and I slipped into the hall before Mr. Fletcher had reached the study. That was when the clock began to strike. As a matter of fact, it gave me a dreadful start, because it's one of those tall-case clocks that make a whirring noise before they begin striking. I

  walked down the hall to the front door, let myself out as quietly as I could, and went home by way of Vale Avenue, which, I expect you know, cuts across the top of my own road."

  There was a short silence after she had finished speaking. Hannasyde moved a paper slightly on his desk. "Mrs. North, why have you told me this?" he asked.

  "But - but isn't it obvious?" she said. "I couldn't let you think that a perfectly innocent man might have murdered Mr. Fletcher! You see, I know that Mr. Fletcher was alive when that man left the house."

  "How long were you in the study, the second time?" he asked.

  "I don't know, but not more than three minutes. Oh, less! I had only time to look hurriedly through that drawer before I heard Mr. Fletcher coming back."

  "I see."

  Something in his voice made her stiffen. "You don't believe me? But it's true: I can prove it's true!"

  "Can you? How?"

  She spread out her hands. "I wasn't wearing gloves. My finger-prints must have been on the door. Look, I'll show you!" She got up, and moved to the door, clasping the handle in her right hand, and laying her left hand on the panel above it. "You know how one eases a door open, if one's afraid of its making any noise? I remember putting my left hand on it, just like this."

  "Have you any objection to having your finger-prints taken, Mrs. North?"

  "No, none," she answered promptly. "I want you to have them taken. That's partly why I chose to see you here."

  "Very well, but there are one or two questions I should like to ask you first."

  She came back to her chair. "Why, certainly!" she said.

  "You have said that Mr. Fletcher was using your IOUs against you. Does that mean that he was pressing for payment, or that he was threatening to lay them before you husband?"

  "He did hint that my husband might be interested in them."

  "Are you on good terms with your husband, Mrs. North?"

  She gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Yes, of course. Perfectly."

  "He had no cause to suspect you of any form of intimacy with Mr. Fletcher?"

  "No. Oh no! I have always had my own friends, and my husband never interfered."

  "He was not, then, jealous of your friendships with other men?"

  "How old-fashioned of you, Superintendent! Of course not.

 
; "That implies great confidence in you, Mrs. North." "Well, naturally… !"

  "Yet in spite of this perfect understanding which you tell me existed between you, you were ready to steal your IOUs from Mr. Fletcher rather than allow the knowledge of your gambling debts to come to your husband's ears?"

  She took a moment or two to answer, but replied at length quite composedly: "My husband very much dislikes gambling. I have always been rather extravagant, and I shrank from telling him about those debts."

  "You were afraid of the consequences?"

  "In a way, yes. It was lack of moral courage, really. If I had foreseen all that was going to happen -'

  "You would have told him?"

  "Yes," she said hesitantly.

  "Have you told him, Mrs. North?"

  "No. No, 1 -"

  "Why not?"

  "But you must see!" she exclaimed. "The whole thing has - has become so distorted! Now that Mr. Fletcher is dead there would be only my word that everything happened as it did. I mean, his getting hold of my IOUs, and my not having till then the least suspicion of his - well, of his wanting me to become his mistress! I know very well how incredible it sounds, and I've no doubt I was a perfect fool, but I didn't guess! But anyone just hearing my account would be bound to think there must have been more between Mr. Fletcher and me than there actually was. If I'd had the sense to tell my husband at once - as soon as I knew Mr. Fletcher had got possession of my IOUs - But I hadn't! I tried to get them back myself, which makes it look as though I were afraid of something coming out about me and Mr. Fletcher. Oh, can't you understand?"

  "I think so," he replied. "The fact of the matter is that you were not speaking the truth when you told me that your husband did not object to your friendship with Mr. Fletcher. Isn't that so?"

  "You are trying to make me say that he was jealous, but he wasn't! He certainly did not like Mr. Fletcher much: he thought he had rather a bad reputation with women. But -'Her throat contracted; she lifted her head and said with difficulty: "My husband does not care enough for me to be jealous of me, Superintendent."

  His eyes dropped to the papers under his hand. He said quite gently: "He might perhaps be jealous of your good name, Mrs. North."

  "I don't know."

  "That is not consistent with the rest of your evidence," he pointed out. "You ask me to believe in a state of confidence existing between you and your husband that was unaccompanied by any great depth of affection, yet at the same time you wish me to believe that it is impossible for you to make a clean breast of the whole story to him."

  She swallowed and said: "I do not wish to be dragged through the Divorce Courts, Superintendent."

  He raised his eyes. "There is, then, so little confidence between you that you were afraid your husband might do that?"

  "Yes," she said, doggedly returning his look.

  "You had no fear that he might, instead, be - very angry - with the man who had put you in this unpleasant position?"

  "None," she said flatly.

  He allowed a pause to follow. When he spoke again, it was with an abruptness that startled her. "A few minutes ago you repeated words to me which you heard Mr. Fletcher utter when he passed down the garden-path with his visitor. How was it that you were able to hear these so clearly, and yet distinguish nothing that his companion said?"

  "I have told you that Mr. Fletcher had a light, rather high-pitched voice. If you have ever been with a deaf person you must know that such a voice has a far greater carrying power than a low one."

  Apparently he accepted this explanation, for he nodded, and got up. "Very well, Mrs. North. And now, if you are willing, your finger-prints."

  A quarter of an hour later, when Helen had left the police station, he sat down again at his desk, and meditatively studied certain notes which he had jotted down on a slip of paper.

  Evidence of PC Glass: At 10.02, man seen coming out of garden gate. Evidence of Helen North: At 9.58, approximately, unknown man escorted to garden mate by Fletcher.

  He was still looking pensively at these scribblings when PC Glass entered the office to report that no trace of any weapon had been found in the garden at Greystones.

  Hannasyde gave a grunt, but said as Glass turned towards the door: Just a moment. Are you certain that the time when you saw a man come out of the gardengate was two minutes after ten?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "It could not, for instance, have been two or three minutes before ten?"

  "No, sir. The time, by my watch and the clock in the room, was 10.05 p.m. when I entered the study. Therefore I am doubly certain, for to reach that room from the point where I was standing was a matter of three minutes, not of seven."

  Hannasyde nodded. "All right; that's all. Report to Sergeant Hemingway in the morning."

  "Yes, sir," Glass replied, but added darkly: "He that hath a froward heart findeth no good."

  "I daresay," said Hannasyde discouragingly.

  "And he that hath a perverse tongue falleth into mischief," said Glass with a good deal of severity.

  Whether this pessimistic utterance referred to himself or to the absent Sergeant, Hannasyde did not inquire. As Glass walked towards the door, the telephone-bell rang, and the voice of the constable on duty informed the Superintendent that Sergeant Hemingway was on the line.

  The Sergeant sounded less gloomy than when Hannasyde had parted from him. "That you, sir?" he asked briskly. "Well, I've got something, though where it's going to lead us I don't see. Shall I come down?"

  "No, I'm coming back to town; I'll see you there. Any luck with those prints?"

  "Depends what you call luck, Super. Some of 'em belong to a bloke by the name of Charlie Carpenter."

  "Carpenter?" repeated Hannasyde. "Who the dickens is he?"

  "It's a long story - what you might call highly involved," replied the Sergeant.

  "All right: reserve it. I'll be up in about half-anhour."

  "Right you are, Chief. Give my love to Ichabod!" said the Sergeant.

  Hannasyde grinned as he laid down the receiver, but refrained from delivering a message which, judging by Glass's forbidding countenance, would not be well received. He said kindly: "Well, Glass, you've been doing a lot of work on this case. You'll be glad to hear that some of the finger-prints have been identified."

  Apparently he was wrong. "I hear, but I behold trouble and darkness," said Glass.

  "The same might be said of all murder cases," replied Hannasyde tartly, and closed the interview.

  Chapter Six

  Hannasyde found his subordinate awaiting him in a cheerful mood. "Any luck your end, Chief?" he inquired. "I've had a fullish sort of a day myself."

  "Yes, I got hold of a certain amount," Hannasyde replied. "Glass could find no trace of the weapon at Greystones, though, which is disappointing."

  "He was probably too busy holding prayer meetings with himself to have time to look for the weapon," said the Sergeant. "How's he doing? I can see he's going to be my cross all right."

  "As far as I can gather, you're likely to be his," said Hannasyde, with the ghost of a smile. "He made a somewhat obscure reference to forward hearts and perverse tongues which I took to mean you."

  "He did, did he? Ah well, the only wonder to me is he didn't call me a hissing and an abomination. I daresay he will yet. I don't mind him reciting his pieces, though it isn't strictly in accordance with discipline, as long as he doesn't take it into his silly head I've got to be saved. I've been saved once, and that's enough for me. Too much!" he added, remembering certain features of this event. "Nasty little tracts about Lost Sheep, and the Evils of Drink," he explained. "It's a funny thing, but whenever you come up against any of these reforming chaps they always have it fixed in their minds you must be a walking lump of vice. You can't persuade 'em otherwise either. What you might call a Fixation."

  Hannasyde, who knew that the Sergeant's study of his favourite subject had led his adventurous feet into a strange realm of bastard words and luri
d theories, intervened hastily, and asked for an account of his day's labours.

  "Well, it's been interesting, but like what Glass said about me: obscure," said the Sergeant. "Taking our friend Abraham Budd first, we come to the first unexpected feature of the case. When I got up to Headquarters this morning, what should I find but his lordship waiting for me on the mat."

  "Budd?" said Hannasyde. "Do you mean he came here?"

  "That's right, Chief. Came along as soon as he'd read the news in the evening paper. They'll start getting the evening editions out before breakfast soon, if you ask me. Anyway, Mr. Budd had his copy tucked under his arm, and was just oozing helpfulness."

  "Do get on!" said Hannasyde. "Does he know something, or what?"

  "Not so as you'd notice," responded the Sergeant. "According to him, he left the house by way of the garden-gate at about 9.35 p.m."

  "That tallies with Mrs. North's account, at all events!" said Hannasyde.

  "Oh, so you got something there, did you, Super?"

  "Yes, but go on with your report. If Budd left at 9.35 he can't have seen anything, I suppose. What did he come to Scotland Yard for?"

  "Funk," said the Sergeant tersely. "I've been reading a whole lot about causations, and that naturally made it as plain as a pikestaff to me -'

  "Cut out the causations! What's Budd got to be frightened of? And don't hand me anything about Early Frustrations or Inhibitions, because I'm not interested! If you knew what you were talking about I could bear it, but you don't."

  The Sergeant, accustomed to this lack of sympathy, merely sighed, and said with unimpaired good humour: "Well, I haven't, so far, got to the bottom of Mr. Budd's trouble. He calls himself an outside broker, and, by what I can make out, the late Ernest was in the habit of using him as a kind of cover-man every time he wanted to put through any deals which, strictly speaking, he oughtn't to have put through. At least, that's the way it looked to me, putting two and two together, and making allowances for a bit of coyness on friend Budd's part."