White Wig

by Gerald Verner

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Just about a week, sir,’ she answered. ‘He came on a motorcycle and left it by the gate outside. He said that the council had notified him of the vacancy and that he and his wife were moving in almost directly. He said he’d come over to take measurements, but in his hurry he’d forgotten the key, and he asked if I’d mind, as the house was the same size, if he took a look over it.’

  ‘And I suppose you said yes?’

  ‘What else could I say, sir? I took him over the downstairs part first and then showed him the bedrooms. He said it was the bedrooms he was most interested in, because he’d have to get some new furniture.’

  ‘And were you with him all the time?’ asked Paul as she paused.

  ‘Not quite all the time. He asked me if I had such a thing as a tape measure or a piece of string so that he could get a rough idea of the size of the room. I had a tape measure in the kitchen and I went down and got it for him.’

  ‘Leaving him alone upstairs?’ said Rivington. She nodded. ‘And do you remember which room he was in when you left him?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It was Dick’s room,’ she replied, and Paul smiled, for he had expected no other answer. ‘He was a very nice man, sir,’ she added, ‘and most grateful.’

  ‘I’m sure he was,’ said Paul dryly. ‘And he had a lot to be grateful for!’

  ‘You surely don’t think he took the revolver, sir, do you?’ Mrs. Mace’s rosy face was the picture of dismay.

  ‘I think it’s extremely likely,’ said Paul. ‘Now, apart from his hair, what else can you remember about him? How was he dressed?’

  She screwed up her eyes with the effort. ‘He had on a leather coat,’ she said. ‘One of those motoring coats and a cloth cap, and he wore tinted spectacles. That’s all I can remember about him, except …’ She hesitated.

  ‘Except what?’ he prompted.

  ‘Well, there was a funny smell about him,’ she said a little confusedly. ‘Like spices.’ Paul Rivington sat up quickly. ‘I suppose you’d recognise this odour again if you smelt it, Mrs. Mace?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she replied without hesitation.

  ‘Good. Now, is there anything else about this man you can tell me?’

  ‘No, sir. I can’t recollect anything.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I need bother you any more for the time being, Mrs. Mace,’ said Paul. ‘If there’s anything else I want to see you about, I know where to find you.’

  ‘I’ll be only too pleased to do anything I can, sir, if it’s going to help Dick or my boy,’ she said as she escorted him down to the front door. ‘It’s very lonely here without them. I miss them dreadfully.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ said Paul sympathetically. ‘But don’t worry, Mrs. Mace. Unless I’m very much mistaken, you’ll soon have them back again.’

  5

  Fresh News

  Inspector Robin and Maitland were sitting in the former’s office when Paul got back there, and the round-faced little man looked up as Paul came in.

  ‘I have heard,’ said Paul without preamble, ‘of a man who visited the Maces’ house — a red-haired man, whose hair smelt strongly of spirit gum!’

  Two faces stared at him incredulously. ‘What’s that?’ spluttered Mr. Robin, almost incoherent with surprise.

  Paul gave an account of his interview with Mrs. Mace, and Round Robin’s expression grew more and more interested as he proceeded. ‘It certainly looks as if there was something in your idea after all,’ he muttered when Paul had finished. ‘But why in the world should the man have chosen to disguise himself with a red wig, of all colours? He must have known that it would stick in anybody’s memory.’

  ‘I think it was a particularly clever move,’ said Paul. ‘It proves we’re dealing with a man of intelligence. Do you realise that nobody ever remembers anything about red-headed people except that they’ve got red hair? Our murderer knew that if anyone set enquiries on foot for him, they’d look for a red-headed man. He never expected that we’d find the hairs on the bus and recognise the odour of spirit gum that clung to them, any more than he expected that Mrs. Mace would notice that odour and mention it to me.’

  ‘Yes, I see that.’ Mr. Robin nodded quickly. ‘Oh, and we’ve got some news as well, Paul. While you were away I had a message from the Yard. The firearms experts have reported on the revolver and the bullet.’

  ‘What have they got to say?’

  ‘What I expected them to say. The bullet was fired from that particular weapon. It was what they said afterward that I didn’t expect.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Well, they said that from certain marks on the barrel, they’ve ascertained that the weapon had been fitted with a silencer.’

  Paul’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s interesting — very interesting,’ he murmured. ‘That explains why neither Mace nor Lonsdale heard the shot. It’s also very suggestive.’

  ‘In what way is it suggestive?’ asked Maitland.

  ‘Silencers for pistols aren’t very common in this country,’ answered Paul. ‘One associates them more with America.’

  ‘Well?’ said Round Robin as Paul paused thoughtfully.

  ‘Well,’ Paul continued, ‘Hooper was an American. I would suggest, therefore, that you have an enquiry made into Hooper’s past. Something maybe learned from it that will help.’

  ‘It’s already being done,’ said Round Robin. ‘We cabled America yesterday.’

  ‘Hadn’t he any friends in this country?’ asked Rivington. ‘I tell you what I’m most anxious to know. Why did he make that journey on Blue Moon? I think that’s got a big bearing on the crime.’

  ‘So far as we can find out, he hadn’t any friends in England at all,’ said the inspector. ‘He hadn’t been over here very long, and at the Palace Hotel they say that he was a very quiet, reserved old gentleman who never had any visitors and seldom went out.’

  ‘His solicitors couldn’t help either, Mr. Rivington,’ remarked the divisional inspector. ‘They appear to know as little about him as anybody.’

  ‘Who are his solicitors?’ asked Paul.

  ‘Messrs. Sampson and Renning of Shortes Gardens,’ answered Mr. Robin. ‘At least, they’re the London agents for his solicitors in New York.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve interviewed them?’ said Paul.

  The inspector nodded. ‘Oh, yes. At least, I saw their managing clerk. A fellow called Hallows. Old Renning was out when I called.’

  ‘And he could tell you nothing?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ answered Round Robin gloomily.

  Paul frowned. ‘It’s the motive we’ve got to look for,’ he muttered. ‘If only we could find that, we’d have something to work on.’ He looked up suddenly. ‘Did Hooper leave a will?’

  ‘That’s the first thing I asked the solicitors,’ answered Robin, ‘and they said they didn’t know. They’ve cabled over to the New York firm asking them. They did tell me, though, that Hooper was worth something like two and a half million.’

  Paul Rivington pursed his lips in a silent whistle. ‘Much as that, eh? Quite a respectable sum to tempt a person to do murder, Robin. I’d like to know who inherits the money.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt the New York —’ began Mr. Robin, but he broke off as the telephone rang insistently.

  Maitland picked up the receiver and listened. ‘Yes, he’s here sir,’ he said after a pause. ‘Hold on, will you?’ He looked across at the little inspector. ‘The Yard wants to speak to you.’

  Mr. Robin took the receiver from his hand and held it to his ear. ‘Hello!’ he said gently. ‘Yes, speaking. Oh, yes, sir.’ His voice changed suddenly, and his round rosy face became animated. ‘Would you mind repeating that, sir?’

  Watching, Paul saw him flush with excitement as he listened to the message coming over the wire.

  ‘I’ll be coming back at once, sir,’ he ended, and then he turned to Paul with a peculiar look in his eyes. ‘That was Chief-Inspector Caler,�
�� he said. ‘Messrs. Sampson and Renning have just rung up the Yard —’ He stopped to clear his throat.

  ‘Well?’ said Paul impatiently.

  ‘Well,’ said Round Robin, ‘they’ve supplied us with the motive. Hooper did leave a will, and they’ve just found it. It was made a week ago, and it leaves all his money to Richard Lonsdale!’

  6

  The Second Name

  It was Paul who first broke the silence that followed. ‘How is it that the solicitors have taken such a long time to acquaint you with the fact that this will existed?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Mr. Robin shook his head. ‘I suppose they’d only just found it.’

  ‘I wonder how they found it,’ murmured Paul. ‘It couldn’t have been put in their charge, or they would’ve known about it sooner. I should very much like to know how it is that they’ve only just heard of it.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ enquired the inspector. ‘The main thing is that the will exists, and that it supplies us with the thing we were looking for — the motive for the murder.’

  ‘My God, yes!’ exclaimed Maitland, bringing his big fist down on his desk with a bang. ‘It pretty well clinches the matter, so far as Lonsdale is concerned.’

  Paul raised his eyebrows, and the fingers of his right hand caressed the little moustache that lay along his upper lip. ‘I want to get back to town as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘But before I go, I’d like to see how Lonsdale receives the news that he’s Hooper’s heir. Do you think it would be possible to tell him now?’

  The inspector pursed his lips, hesitated, and looked at Maitland.

  ‘He’ll have to know sooner or later,’ went on Paul, ‘so I can’t see that it will make any difference.’

  ‘All right,’ said Mr. Robin, ‘come along.’ He picked up the key which he had put down on the divisional inspector’s desk after their return from their previous visit, and once more they made their way along to the cell.

  Dick looked rather surprised to see them. Apparently he had been asleep, for he was lying on the truckle bed full length when they entered, and he struggled up, blinking.

  Mr. Robin came straight to the point. ‘Some news has just come through, Lonsdale,’ he said, ‘which we thought you ought to know at once. William Hooper’s solicitors have discovered a will in which he leaves all his property to you.’

  Never in his life had Paul seen such an expression of surprise as that which came into the face of the young man on the truckle bed. His mouth gaped open foolishly, and he stared at the stout inspector as though he had suddenly changed into an animal in front of his eyes. For nearly two whole minutes he remained silently stupefied, and then he found his voice.

  ‘To me?’ he stammered. ‘There must be some mistake.’

  ‘No, it’s perfectly true,’ said Paul. ‘We’ve just had the news over the telephone.’

  ‘But why?’ Dick’s voice was shrill with incredulity. ‘Why should a complete stranger leave me his money?’

  ‘Are you sure that he was a complete stranger?’ put in the inspector sharply.

  ‘Sure? Of course I’m sure,’ answered Dick. ‘I told you before, and can only repeat it — I never saw William Hooper in my life until I got on the bus at Charing Cross on the night he was killed.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case,’ said Round Robin, ‘it seems funny to me that he should’ve made a will in your favour.’

  ‘It’s incredible,’ said Dick. ‘I’m certain that there must be some mistake.’

  ‘We were hoping,’ said Paul, watching him keenly, ‘that you’d be able to suggest some reason why Hooper should’ve made a will in your favour.’

  ‘I only wish I could, Mr. Rivington,’ said Dick with a helpless gesture. ‘But I’m as much bewildered as you are. I can’t even believe it’s true.’

  ‘It’s true enough,’ said Round Robin. ‘And I need hardly tell you, Lonsdale, that this makes things look very black against you.’

  ‘I realise that.’ Dick nodded, and a troubled expression came into his face. ‘I can see exactly how it must look to you, and how it will look to other people, but I can only reiterate that I cannot explain it, and that I had no hand whatever in the death of the poor old gentleman.’

  ‘I believe you, Lonsdale,’ said Rivington. ‘Now I want you to do something. I want you to try and remember anything in your life — even during your boyhood — that might throw some light on this will business. Perhaps some relation of yours knew Hooper and rendered him a service.’

  Dick smiled. ‘I’ve no relations living,’ he answered, ‘so it would be very difficult to find that out. But it’s not an impossible idea, because I was born in America.’

  ‘Oh, were you?’ said Paul quickly. ‘I never knew that.’

  ‘You never said so,’ broke in Mr. Robin.

  ‘Didn’t I?’ answered Dick. ‘I suppose I took it for granted that you knew. I don’t remember anything about it because we came to England, my mother and I, when I was quite a child.’

  ‘This is most important,’ said Paul. ‘It forms a connecting link — rather vague perhaps — between yourself and Hooper.’

  ‘It certainly does,’ remarked the inspector, ‘and I’m not surprised you forgot to mention it, Lonsdale.’

  Dick flushed. ‘What do you mean —?’ he began hotly, but Paul interposed.

  ‘From the point of view of the police,’ he said hastily, ‘you must see that the fact that you were born in America is very damaging; that’s what Inspector Robin means.’

  ‘I can assure you that I never thought of wilfully suppressing the fact,’ said Dick.

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ answered Paul. ‘Were you ever made a British subject?’

  ‘There was no need, Mr. Rivington,’ replied Dick. ‘Both my parents were British. They were only in America on a visit when I was born.’

  ‘I see,’ said the detective. ‘I suppose that Richard Lonsdale is your full name?’

  ‘Well, no, it isn’t,’ said Lonsdale, looking rather surprised at the question. ‘My full name is Richard Warne Lonsdale, but I never use the ‘Warne’.’

  After a few more questions Paul took his leave, offering to drive Mr. Robin up to town and drop him at the Yard, a suggestion which the inspector gratefully accepted.

  All through the journey a vague memory disturbed Paul, and over and over in his mind he repeated ‘Richard Warne Lonsdale, Richard Warne Lonsdale’ until the words blended with the rhythm of the engine. But the elusive memory which the sound of those names in juxtaposition had awakened refused to emerge from the shadows that shrouded it.

  7

  The Reason

  When Paul was shown into the private office of Mr. Renning (Messrs. Sampson and Renning, Solicitors), a grey-haired man who had been seated behind a great desk littered with books and papers rose to his feet. ‘Good morning, Mr. Rivington,’ he greeted. ‘I am acquainted with your name, and I presume that you have come to see me with regard to the murder of poor Hooper.’

  ‘That is quite correct,’ answered the detective.

  ‘I was sure it couldn’t be about anything else,’ said the lawyer, ‘since we are not criminal lawyers.’ He waved his hand towards a chair and, when Paul had seated himself, sat down in a padded chair behind the desk.

  ‘The death of Hooper has been a great shock to me, as you can imagine,’ said Mr. Renning, playing with a pair of gold pince-nez which he wore on the end of a black cord, ‘and the whole thing is most sad — most sad. I presume that you’ve called to see me with regard to this will?’

  ‘Partly,’ said Paul, ‘and also in the hope that you’ll be able to give me some further information about Mr. Hooper.’

  ‘I’m afraid I know very little about the deceased,’ said Mr. Renning, shaking his head. ‘What little we did know concerning him my managing clerk, Mr. Hallows, told the police when they called.’

  ‘Have you any idea why Mr. Hooper made this will leaving the money to a stranger?’
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  ‘No, I must confess that ever since I saw the will I have puzzled over that,’ said the lawyer.

  ‘Did you draw the will up yourself?’

  ‘No.’ Mr. Renning raised his glasses and peered at them as though seeking information. ‘I was completely unaware of its existence until Mr. Hallows brought it to me, and then I immediately communicated its contents to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘How was it,’ said Paul, ‘that there was so much delay in disclosing its contents?’

  ‘There was no delay as far as we were concerned,’ said the lawyer. ‘The will was only discovered this morning.’

  ‘How was that? Where was it found, then?’

  ‘In a safe deposit. Apparently Mr. Hooper had rented a safe in Fetter Lane, and this morning the manager of the safe deposit rang us up and informed us of the fact. Mr. Hallows went along at once and found the will.’

  ‘Were there any other documents?’

  ‘No,’ replied the lawyer. ‘There was a very large sum of money, but that was all.’

  ‘I suppose there’s no doubt that the will is genuine?’ queried Paul.

  ‘Oh, no, not the slightest. It was properly executed, and witnessed by two of the staff at the Palace Hotel. The signature is beyond dispute.’

  ‘When was it made?’

  ‘It’s dated the fourteenth. Nine days ago.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea why Hooper should have left his money to Lonsdale?’

  ‘None at all. I have never heard his name mentioned.’

  ‘The whole thing is most extraordinary,’ said Paul, frowning. ‘I suppose your partner, Mr. Sampson, knows nothing either?’

  A dry smile crinkled the lawyer’s thin face. ‘There is no Mr. Sampson,’ he answered. ‘The last Mr. Sampson connected with this firm died fifty years ago. I am the only surviving member of the firm. My managing clerk, Mr. Hallows — he went down to Bromley, by the way, to identify the body — attends to a great part of our work, and we’ve discussed the matter of the will at length, but he is as much puzzled about it as I am.’