by Miles Burton
Inquiries at the Grand Hotel had revealed that no person of the name of Figgis had been staying there at the time. The clerks at the post office had been questioned, but none of them could give any information as to the person who had handed in the telegram. Both Mrs. Dredger’s nephew and his friend had been interviewed. They confirmed Mrs. Dredger’s visit to Plymouth, but denied all knowledge of the telegram. There had been no accident.
This was confirmation of Mr. Dredger’s statement, up to a point. A hoax had been perpetrated, but by whom? The telegram had obviously been sent to ensure Mrs. Dredger’s absence from Blackdown on the previous Thursday. Her absence had been necessary to the scheme, since it was essential that Mr. Dredger’s movements should not be observed by inquisitive eyes. To Arnold this was fresh evidence that every detail had been most carefully thought out beforehand. And there was no doubt that several people had been implicated. Was Dredger the mainspring of the conspiracy?
Before the inspector had answered this question to his own satisfaction, Merrion was announced. “Well, I got your message,” he said. “Having nothing better to do, I came up at once. I gather that you’ve got some fresh light on this Saxonby case?”
“I’ve found the man who left the car at the ventilating shaft,” Arnold replied. “But it’s rather a long story. What if we go out and get some lunch, and I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing since I saw you last.”
During the meal, Arnold recounted his adventures, beginning with his second visit to the offices of Wigland and Bunthorne, and ending with the two messages which he had received that morning. “Well,” he concluded, “and now let’s have your comments. You’ll observe, by the way, that your theory of the substitution of the wallets falls to the ground. The notes found on Sir Wilfred had been issued to him a few hours before by his own cashier.”
Merrion laughed. “What I like about this case is the delicate balance of evidence,” he replied. “To begin with, there is at least as much evidence in support of the theory of suicide as there is against it. You say that the fact that the pistol did not belong to Saxonby, but to his son-in-law, is conclusive proof that he was murdered. But it isn’t. By your own showing, that pistol may have fallen into anybody’s hands. Why not those of Saxonby, who was one of the people who had seen the pistol, and knew where it was kept?
“But I won’t labour that point. Let’s concentrate upon the wallet. This is the evidence in favour of my theory of substitution. First, Miss Olivia Saxonby swears that the wallet found in her uncle’s pocket is not the one with which he left home. That, to my mind, is pretty convincing. Then comes the fact that it contained neither the railway ticket nor the letter from Mrs. Wardour. You didn’t ask her about that letter, I gather?”
“No. I didn’t want to say too much to her, since it seems to me more than likely that her husband is implicated.”
“I see. Now for the evidence against the substitution. Torrance is pretty certain that the wallet found in Saxonby’s pocket is the one he habitually used. But then he knew nothing of the stitches which had been put in the lining. We only have Miss Saxonby’s unsupported statement for those stitches, by the way. Again, you make that point about the five-pound notes. Why change the wallets, if their contents or some of them had to be changed? And, if they were changed, somebody must have gone to some considerable trouble to secure a second wallet, exactly like the first. Summed up in that way, I think you’ll agree that the evidence is pretty evenly balanced. Now, was there an interchange of wallets, or was there not?”
“I’m inclined to think that there wasn’t,” Arnold replied.
“And I think there was. I’ve stated the evidence on both sides, impartially, as you must admit. Now let’s examine it. Miss Olivia Saxonby’s statement to begin with. She, apparently very much to Mrs. Wardour’s annoyance, comes in for twenty-five thousand under her uncle’s will. In considering what reliance can be placed upon her statements, that fact must not be lost sight of. But why on earth should she have fabricated that story of the stitches, if it wasn’t true? If she knows anything about the affair, it is the very last thing which she would have done. It would be in her interest to prove that no exchange of wallets had taken place, thus supporting the suicide theory. Instead of which she deliberately, and of her own accord, declares that an exchange had been made. This being so, I prefer her evidence to Torrance’s.
“Not that I mean to cast any slur upon Torrance’s veracity. Wallet number two is exactly similar in external appearance to number one. We have Miss Saxonby’s word for that. It is only that he has never handled number one, and therefore he has probably never seen the lining. He judges by outward appearance only, a tendency to which all of us are liable. The five-pound notes suggest an even more delicate point. You consider them to be conclusive evidence against an exchange of wallets. With all deference, I take an entirely opposite view. I believe that they form conclusive evidence that the wallets were changed.”
“Why, how on earth do you make that out?” Arnold exclaimed.
“It’s that vivid imagination of mine again. Let me run over the sequence of events. According to the cashier it was on Thursday morning that Saxonby cashed his cheque and received the notes. In the afternoon he received this mysterious visitor, whom nobody seems able to identify. Now suppose that for some reason, which we can’t yet attempt to fathom, Saxonby gave his visitor those notes. The visitor puts them in wallet number two, knowing that it will be possible to trace them to Saxonby, and thus fabricating what you consider a valuable piece of evidence.”
“Ingenious, but without any shadow of proof,” Arnold remarked. “But, after all, the question of the wallets is a minor one…”
“Don’t you believe it,” Merrion interrupted. “However, carry on.”
“The main question is, who killed Sir Wilfred? The man we call A, who travelled from Cannon Street by the five o’clock train, and, we suppose, left it in Blackdown Tunnel. But who is A? He answers to the description of Dredger, who undoubtedly played some part in the business. But I’ve seen Dredger, who is anything but an active man. And I don’t believe that he is capable of the necessary gymnastic feats.
“Was A Major Wardour? There’s no doubt that the pistol is his. He reached London at half-past three on Thursday afternoon, and made no statement which could be checked of his movements subsequently. If A was not Dredger, he was made up to look like him. Wardour admits having met Dredger once, and may very likely have met him secretly several times. If so, he knew what he looked like, and would be able to assume the appropriate disguise.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Merrion. “I’d like to make a few observations before you go any further. I agree with you that it is extremely improbable that A was Dredger, for the reason you state. And yet you say that Dredger played some part in the business, that in other words he was an accomplice. Wouldn’t it have been rather a dirty trick on A’s part to disguise himself as one of his own accomplices?”
“Not if the accomplice was in a position to prove that he didn’t commit the murder. In that case it would be rather a neat dodge.”
“But Dredger can’t prove that he didn’t commit the murder, that’s just the point. Owing to an extraordinary combination of circumstances, his movements were unobserved during the whole of that afternoon and evening. My next point is this. You think that Wardour may have been A. It certainly seems possible. But the really careful murderer doesn’t leave lying about a pistol which can be traced back to him.”
“He thought that it would be assumed to be Sir Wilfred’s,” Arnold replied. “However, that doesn’t exhaust the possibilities. A may have been any other person, the man who gave his name as Yates, for instance. But, whoever it was, he must have known Dredger very well, since he got himself up to look like him. It all comes back to Dredger, whichever way you look at it.”
“Yes, poor old Dredger seems to be the centre of attraction. This case of yo
urs seems to get more and more involved, the further you go. Have you formed any theory, to use as a working basis, so to speak?”
“I’ve accepted your theory as to what happened in the tunnel and above it. Sir Wilfred was murdered by A, who was subsequently hauled up the shaft by B. I’m not clear about the motive for the murder, but there seems to have been a conspiracy against Sir Wilfred, in which Dredger, Wardour, the man known as Yates, and almost certainly others were involved. We know the part played by Dredger…”
“We don’t, you know,” Merrion interrupted. “You’re putting too much faith in the farmer and the bus conductor. Apparently you are prepared to admit that A purposely disguised himself as Dredger in the afternoon. Why shouldn’t he have done so in the morning?”
“But, dash it all, there’s that telegram from Plymouth! You’re not going to suggest that the hoax played upon Mrs. Dredger had nothing to do with the affair? That its occurrence on the day of Sir Wilfred’s death was a sheer coincidence?”
“Of course I’m not. But let me propound a theory of my own. What do we know of the murderer? Quite a lot. We have already agreed that he was intimately acquainted with Saxonby. His ability to produce an almost exact replica of the wallet proves that, apart from anything else. I’m still convinced, you see, that the wallet is the crux of the affair. Why should not his intimacy extend to Saxonby’s family and his business associates?
“Admitting that this is likely, and, in fact, probable, it follows that the murderer may well have known both Major Wardour and Mr. Dredger. It was common knowledge that the former had a pistol, upon which was engraved a monogram S.W., which could as easily be read W.S. It was also common knowledge that Dredger lived at Blackdown, conveniently near the tunnel. The murderer was already familiar with his appearance, and knew how to get himself up to resemble him sufficiently to pass muster with strangers. The test of resemblance was only submitted to strangers, or comparative strangers. Mrs. Wardour, for instance, would probably not have been deceived for a moment.
“Now our murderer is determined to take no risks of discovery. He stages his crime so that it shall appear to be a case of suicide. And very ably he does so. Had it not been for Inspector Arnold of the Yard, a verdict of suicide would have been returned, and the matter would have blown over. But, not content with that, he establishes a second line of defence. He impersonates a wholly innocent person, whose habits and residence near the scene of the crime was suitable to his purpose. And he contrives that that person shall not be in a position to prove his innocence.”
“According to you, then, Dredger was born under an unlucky star,” Arnold remarked sceptically.
“He was. Now, let’s see if we can’t follow the murderer’s movements. I’m going to call him A once more, for convenience. He has, no doubt, studied Dredger and his habits. He is familiar with the make and appearance of his car, and knows that it is fitted with a set of fairly new Dunlop tyres. He provides himself with an exactly similar car, not a very difficult matter. He knows that Dredger is in the habit of pottering round in his car in the mornings. So he carries out his preliminaries, involving the apparent breakdown of the car at the shaft, and then takes a bus to Blackdown station, secure in the knowledge that if anybody notices him they will take him for Dredger. He has arranged for Mrs. Dredger to be out of the way. I suspect B’s hand in that telegram.
“Before we make any further conjecture as to A’s identity, let me point out something that strikes me as rather curious. We have mentioned it before, but not in the light of what we know now. A was intimately acquainted, not only with Saxonby, but with Dredger also. In addition, he knew about Wardour’s pistol. Who do you suppose fulfils these conditions?”
“Sir Wilfred’s son and daughter, who were directors of the firm. And possibly the more confidential members of the staff.”
“Exactly. And of these, at the time of the crime, the son was in America, the daughter in the south of France, and Torrance, as secretary of the firm and the most confidential of the lot, one would suppose, either in Manchester or on his way back from there. And their absences were all due to Saxonby’s own suggestion. That’s what I can’t get over.
“But, in the absence of these people, there is one individual who seems to have been at least on fairly intimate terms with Saxonby. He calls at his office, where he is unknown to the staff. He gives the name of the solicitor who looks after Saxonby’s private affairs. He has an appointment, and is immediately admitted to Saxonby’s presence. Who was this man, and what was his business?
“It was after his visit that Saxonby took the unusual precautions of a taxi to Cannon Street and a carriage to himself in the train. What can have passed between them? I still adhere to my theory that Yates, as we must call him, brought Saxonby some article of value, and received those three five-pound notes in exchange. And I will go still further, I will suggest that Saxonby knew well in advance that Yates would come and see him last Thursday. Did he send away his son, his daughter and his secretary so that his visitor should not be seen by prying eyes?”
Arnold laughed. “I’ve never known you at a loss for a theory,” he replied. “But if Sir Wilfred didn’t want Yates to be seen, wouldn’t it have been simpler to have fixed the appointment at Mavis Court?”
“Under the watchful eyes of Miss Olivia Saxonby and the servants? No, I think not. However that may be, let us see if A and Yates can be made to fit together. Yates, as Dredger, plays his part at Blackdown in the morning. He then goes to the station and takes a train to London, removing the Dredger disguise en route, perhaps. He appears at the office in his own semblance. He reassumes his disguise and takes his seat in the five o’clock train. It fits in all right, you see.”
“Yes, it fits in all right,” Arnold replied reluctantly. “But…”
“Oh, yes, I know. We’re a long way yet from proving a case against Yates. But I feel pretty certain of one thing. Find out what his business was with Saxonby and you’ve gone a long way towards solving the problem.”
XIV
That evening, when Merrion was alone in his rooms, he set his mind to work systematically upon the problem of Sir Wilfred Saxonby’s death. He felt it quite safe to assume that he had been murdered. But by whom, and for what reason?
To take the first part of the question. Saxonby had been shot by the man known as A, who had travelled in the five o’clock train in the guise of Mr. Dredger. This man had an accomplice, B, who had carried out the necessary operations at the top of the ventilating shaft. One or other of these men, or possibly both, had an intimate knowledge of Saxonby’s affairs, of his family and business.
As to the motive, Merrion still adhered to his theory of a valuable object. It need not necessarily have been of intrinsic value, it might merely have had a special value in the eyes of the murderer. It had probably been handed over to Saxonby by the man calling himself Yates. Considerable secrecy had attached to the transaction, since Yates’ visit had taken place when Saxonby had deliberately sent his son, his daughter, and his secretary out of the way. Probably nobody had known of the purport of the visit but Yates and Saxonby. Yates, having handed over the object, had determined to get it back again, and had made his plans for doing so in advance. And, since Saxonby would not willingly relinquish it, the only course open to Yates was to murder him.
This seemed to Merrion a plausible theory, if not correct in detail, at least good enough to work upon. What suggestions did it afford of clues which might be followed up?
First of all, the breakdown lorry. It was a type of vehicle which, though common, was limited in numbers. Only garages, and fairly big garages at that, possessed such lorries. It might be possible to take a census of them and to find out how each was employed on the previous Thursday. Scotland Yard might invite the police throughout the country to make the necessary inquiries.
Next, the visit of Yates to the offices of Wigland and Bunthorne. On the surface
this had appeared simple enough. An acquaintance of Saxonby’s had made an appointment to see him, ostensibly upon some private matter. He had come, stayed a few minutes, and left again. There was nothing at all out of the way in that. But why the secrecy with which the visit had been surrounded? The only possible answer seemed to be that Saxonby’s son or daughter, or Torrance, would have recognised Yates. And Saxonby had his own reasons for concealing the visit from them.
Merrion had not forgotten that ammunition which fitted the pistol had been found in Saxonby’s filing cabinet. This fact had strengthened the suggestion of suicide. It seemed to show that Saxonby had kept the pistol and ammunition in the cabinet, and had loaded the pistol and taken it with him on his departure from the office. On the other hand, if Saxonby had been murdered, and the ammunition was part of that taken from Wardour’s store, how had it found its way into the cabinet?
The evidence regarding the cabinet was by no means conclusive. According to Torrance it was always kept locked, only Saxonby had access to it, and he alone possessed a key to fit it. But Merrion was sufficiently experienced to be sceptical in such matters. Torrance’s statement had been made in perfectly good faith, no doubt. But duplicate keys could be made. Besides, the cabinet wasn’t always kept locked. It had been found unlocked on the morning after Saxonby’s death. Absent-mindedness on his part, no doubt. But what evidence was there that this was the first time that such a thing had happened? It might have been left unlocked on some former occasion, and advantage taken of this to slip the cartridges into it.
All this was possible. But Merrion’s imagination evolved an alternative theory. Yates, if he were the murderer, must have obtained possession of the pistol before his visit to Saxonby. With the pistol he had taken a supply of cartridges. During the interview Saxonby had perhaps opened the cabinet, in order to refer to some document among its contents. It would not have been difficult for Yates to have slipped in the cartridges then.