by Roger Bax
“Neither did I,” said Cross, “when those chaps pinched my car.”
Geoffrey grunted.
Presently there were more sounds outside. Geoffrey put his head round the door. Two policemen were taking the body away on a stretcher; another was swabbing the floor with a cloth and a pail. In a few moments, the ambulance drove away to the mortuary, and James and the Superintendent came back into the lounge.
James sat down. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, “it’s a bad business. There’s very little to go on at the moment. All we know is that someone called, killed Mr. Hollison with a blunt instrument, rang for help, and disappeared. There’s no sign of any weapon, no useful finger-prints, nothing disturbed in the house.”
“No prints on the telephone?” asked Cross.
The Inspector sighed. “There are confused prints all over the telephone, of course. They probably belong to everybody in the household, and to the young lady who called the police. There are also marks of gloves. They’ll be the murderer’s.”
“I suppose gloves don’t leave distinctive marks,” said Cross.
“I’m afraid not,” said the Inspector.
“What time did it happen?”
“According to Miss Whitworth,” said the Inspector slowly, “she was rung just after eight. She found the door open, and the body in the hall. Mr. Hollison must have opened the door himself to the murderer, because the lock wasn’t broken. Well, you’ll have to leave it to me, gentlemen – we’ve only just begun our inquiries. Don’t worry – we know the ropes. Now do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Not in the least,” said Geoffrey. “Go ahead.”
“The usual question first, then. Did your father have any enemies? Can you tell me anything at all that would be likely to help me?”
“I’m sure he didn’t,” said Geoffrey. “He wasn’t the sort to make enemies. He was the most kindly man I’ve ever known – sympathetic, generous, treated his workpeople well. I think everybody liked him.”
“Is that your view, Mr. Cross?”
“I agree absolutely,” said Cross. “As a matter of fact, in the six months or so I’ve been working with him since I was demobbed, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him exchange a cross word with anyone.”
“I understand you lived here with him, Mr. Hollison? And there’s a housekeeper?”
“That’s right,” said Geoffrey; “Mrs. Armstrong – she’ll be back soon. Thursday’s her night out. It’ll be a dreadful shock for her.”
“So as far as you know,” pursued the Inspector, “there was nothing in his life which could have accounted for this tragedy. You understand, I’m relying upon you to tell me if there is. No mysteries, no – complications, money, anything like that? No secrets?”
Geoffrey shook his head. “I’d help you if I could, Inspector, willingly, but his life was an open book – this last six months, anyway. I’m sure I’d have known if he’d had any worries. We were very close to each other. I’m positive there was nothing. He enjoyed life enormously. He was almost always cheerful, his health was good, he was absolutely normal in every way.”
“No strange callers, ever? – nothing that seemed odd at the time?”
“Nothing!”
“Was he away from home at all?”
“Not recently. I believe in the war he occasionally went on short business trips but there was never anything unusual about them, as far as I know.”
“No letters that upset him, Mr. Hollison? Nothing in his past life – domestically? Forgive me trespassing like this, but it has to be done.”
“I can’t help you, Inspector,” said Geoffrey emphatically. “To the best of my knowledge, there was nothing at all. I’ve always understood that he got on excellently with my mother – he was very grieved when she died and he has treasured her memory. Frankly, I doubt if you could find anywhere a less complicated life.”
“Well, that’s that,” said James. “It makes it all the more difficult for us. As you know, in these matters we always have to look for a motive. If a man has lived a tangled life, there are often all sorts of hidden motives. In this case ... Anyway, let’s get on. What about theft? The Superintendent tells me you had a look through the house at his suggestion. You’re sure there was nothing missing?”
“Nothing of any significance, I’m sure,” said Geoffrey, “or I’d have noticed. There are a few jewels of my mother’s – he was keeping them in case I ever married – they’re all intact in a dressing-case in his room. His bureau has not been disturbed, his clothes are all in order, everything seems just as it always was. As you can see for yourself, Inspector, this is a comfortable, but not a luxurious, house. My father didn’t go in for objets d’art or anything like that. His main interests were his business and his boat – he’s got a motor cruiser on the river, you know. He didn’t collect anything – no valuable silver, no pictures. It’s hardly conceivable he could have been knocked down for the money in his pocket?”
“He wasn’t,” said the Inspector. “There were several notes still in his pocket book.”
“Another thing,” said Geoffrey eagerly, “how would a thief, a complete stranger, dare to take the chance of finding him alone?”
“A stranger might have known the family habits, I suppose,” said the Inspector, though without conviction. “He might have seen Mrs. Armstrong go off, and felt confident that the coast was clear.”
“Pretty dangerous,” said Cross, “considering Geoffrey and I were both on our way here.”
‘“Why would a stranger telephone a doctor directly he’d committed a murder?” said Geoffrey.
“Why would anyone, for that matter?” said the Inspector. There was a moment of silence. “And why would a complete stranger bother to wear gloves, unless of course he had a record already and knew that his finger-prints were at the Yard?”
“As far as I can see, Inspector,” said Geoffrey suddenly, “this ‘stranger’ theory doesn’t make any sense at all. I’m sure you don’t believe in it.”
“It’s early days, Mr. Hollison,” said the Inspector cautiously. “Tell me about Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Good heavens,” ejaculated Cross, “you surely don’t suspect her?”
James looked at him severely. “Mr. Cross,” he said, “don’t please get the idea into your head that everyone I ask questions about is a suspect. I’ve got to know everything about this case. It’ll be Mr. Hollison’s turn soon – and yours. How long had Mrs. Armstrong been housekeeper here?”
“Oh, years and years,” said Geoffrey. “Twenty-five years, I should think. She’s a most respectable and admirable lady, I assure you. She came in answer to an advertisement after my mother died. She had been at a hospital or nursing home or something – anyway, a most respectable place. She has devoted herself to my father. She’ll be dreadfully upset. Besides, she’s been at her sister’s all the evening – always does go there on Thursdays, it’s a regular thing. She’s bound to have a complete alibi.”
“That’s all right,” said James. “I don’t doubt it for a moment. What about this other young woman – what’s her name – Miss Whitworth? The girl who was called in. Know anything about her, either of you?”
“Not I,” said Cross. “I never saw her in my life until I met her going out tonight.”
“Nor did I,” said Geoffrey. “She seemed very charming and competent. I’m sure my father didn’t know her. He may have known of her – Dr. Whitworth was his doctor, and no doubt they chatted. Not that Father needed much doctoring – it must be ages since Dr. Whitworth was here. Mrs. Armstrong would know more about that. Anyway, Inspector, it’s ridiculous – this isn’t a woman’s crime.”
The Inspector grunted non-committally. “There are women and women,” he said. “I’ve not seen the young lady yet. She sounds as though she had her head screwed on tight.”
Cross put in a word. “Didn’t the position of the body tell you anything? I mean, was the blow struck from behind? I’m trying to visualize the sce
ne. If it were a stranger ...”
“It couldn’t have been a stranger,” said Geoffrey angrily.
“... But if it were, Uncle would hardly have turned away from him. On the other hand, if it were somebody he knew well ...”
“The blow,” said the Inspector, “was struck from behind. It looks as though he invited somebody in. It’s difficult to be sure.” James pulled out a curly briar pipe and began to fill it. “There’s one other thing – again I must ask you to forgive me for raising a rather sordid topic, but the sooner I know all the relevant details, the sooner I’ll see the picture clear. Was your father a very wealthy man, Mr. Hollison?”
“I always gathered that he was, Inspector. There was nothing ostentatious about him, though – he didn’t spend a great deal.”
“No doubt that’s why he was wealthy,” said the Inspector dryly. “Of course, I shall be able to get details from his solicitor. You might give me the name of the firm before I go. Do you know who – er – inherits? I suppose you do.”
Geoffrey looked worn out. “You’re bound to find out, Inspector, anyway, so I may as well tell you that – as far as we know – we both inherit. Arthur and I. We don’t know the proportions, but my father made a new will just after we got back to England, and he told us he was dividing his estate between us. He gave us to understand that there’d be plenty for both of us. Personally, I don’t give a damn, but there it is.”
“Thank you for being so frank,” said James. “I may tell you, in return, that we never jump to rash conclusions. Somebody always inherits. Anything to add, Mr. Cross?”
“Nothing,” said Cross. He had always known that this financial motive would stand out bleakly in an otherwise motiveless desert. And so it did, whatever the Inspector might say.
“Right. Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to know just what you two gentlemen were doing throughout the evening. You don’t have to tell me, of course, if you don’t want to, but – well, you’re not under suspicion so I’m not giving you any formal warning.”
“I don’t like the way you put it, all the same, Inspector,” said Cross.
“If you can think of a pleasanter way of putting it, Mr. Cross,” said the Inspector, mildly, “just re-phrase the question to suit yourself.”
“That’s all right,” said Cross.
James turned to Geoffrey. “Well, Mr. Hollison, I gathered from the Super here that you were lecturing at the Naval College. Can you tell me your movements briefly?”
“Very briefly,” said Geoffrey. “I dined in the Mess at seven, and I left at seven-thirty. That’s a good deal earlier than I usually leave, but I knew I should be delayed in the fog and the old car wasn’t running too well. I wanted to get home.”
“You actually got home just before eight-thirty – almost an hour. Does it usually take so long?”
“No, Inspector – I can usually do it in half an hour. But you know what the fog was like – and the engine let me down. I had to stop under a lamp and clean the carburettor.” His tone was a little defiant.
“Let me look at your hands,” said the Inspector sharply.
Geoffrey, taken aback, held out his large strong hands, palms upwards. Then he smiled wanly. “I’m afraid I had too much on my mind to wash my hands. You’re smart, Inspector.”
“Routine, Mr. Hollison – please remember that this is all routine, all of it. As a matter of fact, you could quite easily have made your hands dirty if you had wanted to – it wouldn’t have taken you a moment. But if you had washed – well, I should have been rather surprised. Let’s get back to your movements. You say you took an hour to do what would normally have been a half-hour journey, because of the fog and your car. Did you speak to anybody on the journey? Can you think of a single incident which would – well, corroborate your account. I wonder if anyone saw you tinkering?”
Geoffrey shrugged. “In the fog? Perhaps, but I didn’t see them. I didn’t stop for petrol anywhere. I didn’t talk to anyone. Surely, Inspector, you don’t think I killed my father?”
James threw up his hands. “Mr. Hollison,” he said. “I don’t think anything. My mind is practically a blank. All I want is information. I know you’ve had a fearful shock tonight, but please refrain from drawing these dramatic conclusions. Now where were we?”
“You were asking me for corroboration,” said Geoffrey.
“Well, we’ll leave that for the time being. If you think of anything, let me know. Now, tell me, do you recognize this paper?” He held out the single blood-stained sheet so that Geoffrey could inspect it.
Geoffrey stared at it, puzzled. “How did it get blood on it?” he asked. “What is this, Inspector?”
“I’m asking you.”
“It’s a page of notes for my lecture at the College today. The second half of the course started today – I was at home this morning preparing the first lecture. Actually, those notes are about a particular operation I was engaged on in the Pacific – Okinawa. It’s all to do with the direction of fighter planes by radar from carriers. Do you want me to go into details?”
“Heaven forbid!” said James. “I take it you had to do without this page of notes today – or did you? I want the truth, Mr. Hollison, quickly and plainly. Did you or didn’t you?”
“Of course I had to do without them,” said Geoffrey. “Look, Inspector, I was working this morning over there by the telephone, where the Superintendent is sitting. I had quite a lot of papers – a whole wad of notes, and one or two maps – all spread out. When I’d finished, I thought I collected all the notes together but I must have left one sheet – this one – with some other papers on the telephone table.”
“I wonder if Mrs. Armstrong would have seen it?” said the Inspector.
“You can ask her, but I doubt it. The girl had already done this room before I settled down. I don’t suppose anyone would come in again.”
“When did you miss this page?”
“When I was actually lecturing. I turned the previous page over, quite happily, and came to the gap.”
“What did you do – stumble, break down?”
“I didn’t burst into tears, if that’s what you mean! I don’t know whether I gave any sign or not – I tried to remember what was on the paper, and skipped a few details – perhaps someone noticed. You’d better go along to the College and conduct an examination, Inspector.”
“Perhaps I will,” said James. “You see, it’s rather important. This paper was found – by me – underneath the body. If you left it at home this morning it could hardly have got there without someone putting it there deliberately – perhaps to get you into trouble. It’s often done, I believe – though usually it doesn’t get the murderer anywhere, except into a mess. On the other hand, if you didn’t leave it at home, if you used it for the lecture, and brought it back with you at about eight o’clock – as on a normal day you could have done – it’s just conceivable that you could have dropped it in the hall under your father’s body – before he fell ... Now don’t say it, Mr. Hollison ... this is all supposition and I’m making no accusations of any sort. We’ll go into the matter further.” The Inspector wiped his forehead with a large white handkerchief. “Now, Mr. Cross, it’s your turn. Just an outline, if you don’t mind.”
Cross, who had listened tensely to the conversation between Geoffrey and the Inspector, now sat back in his easy chair quite composed. “Well, Inspector, I left my flat at about a quarter past seven on my way here. It’s become a regular thing for the three of us to get together on Thursday evenings. You know what the fog was like. I got lost at the roundabout – the Super knows where it is. Talk about the wide open spaces! I stopped the car, and thought I’d see if some pedestrian could put me on the right turning for Welford Avenue. Then a couple of people drifted by – they were lost too – they wanted to go to Hailey Crescent, which was more or less my way.”
The Inspector looked at the Superintendent, and the Superintendent nodded to show that the story made sense so far.
“So we all three got lost together!” Cross went on. “We had a terrible time. Just after eight, we found ourselves at a place called Hamley Avenue. Miles off the route. I stopped and went into a house to ask the way, but it was a bombed house. I didn’t realize it at first – I knocked and called ‘Anyone at home?’ and then I stumbled over something and put my hand out to save myself and jabbed it on to some broken glass. It wasn’t funny.” He half held out his hand, still wrapped in a handkerchief.
“Yes, I saw you’d cut yourself,” said the Inspector sympathetically. “Better let me have a look.” Cross unwrapped the handkerchief, and the Inspector tut-tutted. “Couple of nasty jabs, Mr. Cross. Better put some iodine on. There’s all sorts of muck about in these bombed houses ... I suppose you didn’t have a torch?”
“I’d left it in the car,” said Cross. “Anyway, the fog was so thick it wouldn’t have been much use. After that, we stooged around a bit and then I began to recognize the road and we got back to the roundabout and finally found Hailey Crescent. I dropped my passengers – very late for their dinner date, I’m afraid, but it couldn’t be helped. I rang up here to explain why I was so late, heard the news from Geoffrey, and came right on as fast as I could. I got here – oh, about nine, I suppose. And that’s all.”
“Most lucid,” said James. “So, in fact, two people were with you all the time from about seven-thirty until about eight-thirty. Do you know who they were?”
Cross smiled ruefully. He was doing nicely. “I’m afraid I don’t, Inspector. Now if I’d known they’d be wanted as witnesses ... I know the man was called Charles – he was a University type, something in the Foreign Office, I imagine. Oh yes, of course, I know where they were going to spend the evening. They were dining with Sir John Lutimer – he’ll be able to tell you who they were. What’s more, Inspector, in case you want to hear their story, they’re leaving by plane for South America tomorrow morning – so the chap said.”
“Ah!” said the Inspector, “I’m glad you told me. You’d better get on to them right away, Super. Tell them I’m coming round, and ask them to be so good as to wait. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, tell them.” He stood up.