The Lake District Murder

by John Bude

  “Perfectly, sir.”

  “Very well, then—let’s see what we know.” The Chief picked up a few sheets of paper from his desk and slipped on his reading glasses. I spent yesterday evening tabulating your isolated bits of evidence. The result runs briefly like this. (1) On the night of the crime No. 4 bulk-wagon called at the Derwent. It delivered petrol on its inward journey instead, as one would expect, on the outward. Why? It arrived after dark at the Derwent owing to engine-trouble. Was this engine-trouble faked so that the roads might be reasonably clear of traffic returning from the football match at Cockermouth? After leaving the Derwent we have conclusive proof that No. 4 parked for a few moments up a side-turning. Why? We know that the lorry could not have parked long up the side-turning because just before eight o’clock on the night of the crime a man named Burns saw the lorry speeding through Threlkeld on its homeward run to the depot. So much for the lorry. Now for the next point. (2) The hose-pipe. We know that the length of hose attached to the exhaust of Clayton’s car came from the rubbish dump behind the Nonock depot. Care had been taken to conceal this fact and to suggest that the length had been cut from a hose-pipe hanging in an outhouse at the Derwent. The boot-blacking clue. Are we to infer, therefore, that the murderer was employed by the Nonock Company? (3) The broken glass. A very puzzling factor. Are we to dismiss it as irrelevant or try to find some connection between the broken glass and the crime? Now what do you think about this, Meredith?”

  Meredith pondered the question for a moment before making reply. He was not anxious to commit himself to an opinion, for the simple reason that the clue—if, indeed, it was a clue—had puzzled him quite as much as it had puzzled his Chief.

  “Well, sir,” he vouchsafed at length, “you’ve set me a bit of a poser. I certainly found the glass at a spot where the lorry, in all probability, parked, but it’s beyond me to say if it has any actual bearing on the case. Dr. Burney had an idea that it might have been the shattered remains of some piece of chemical apparatus. Such as a test-tube or small flask or a retort. But I can’t see what chemical apparatus has to do with the crime.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can’t forge a link,” suggested the Chief. “Consider how Clayton met his death. He was asphyxiated by the inhalation of carbon-monoxide fumes. Are those facts in any way suggestive? What do you say, Thompson?”

  The Superintendent smoked for a minute in silence. Then: “I think I can see a way in which we could connect the glass with the crime, sir.”

  “You do. Good. Then let’s hear it.”

  “Your marshalling of the facts has just put the idea into my head, sir. Chemical apparatus. Carbon monoxide. Isn’t it possible that the gas had been manufactured by the murderer and the incriminating apparatus afterwards destroyed?”

  “But why, Thompson? Why manufacture the carbon monoxide by chemical means when there was a perfectly good source of the poison in the exhaust of Clayton’s car?”

  Thompson shook his head.

  “I can’t answer that one, sir, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, we won’t dismiss the idea. Suppose we look up carbon monoxide in the encyclopaedia there, Meredith. On the shelf just above your head. Got it? Now turn to the Cs, and read out what it says about the stuff.”

  “Carbon monoxide,” began Meredith, when he had found the required reference. “Formerly known as carbonic acid. A gas formed during the combustion of—”

  “You can cut that,” broke in the Chief with an impatient gesture. “All we want to know is how it is formed chemically.”

  Meredith ran his finger rapidly down the paragraph.

  “Here we are, sir! It is prepared in the laboratory by the action of concentrated sulphuric acid on oxalic acid.”

  “Good enough,” commented the Chief. “Now, suppose the murderer did prepare the gas in this way. He’d probably have two small flasks. One containing sulphuric and the other oxalic acid. By pouring the contents of one flask into the other he’d get off carbon monoxide, which could be led off through a rubber tube terminating in a face-piece—say the kind used by dentists. He would then be in a position to asphyxiate his victim without having to resort to the exhaust-fumes of the car. But, if he did do this, I can’t for the life of me see why.”

  “There’s another point,” broke in Thompson.

  “Wouldn’t the grass show some sort of stain where you found the broken glass, Meredith?”

  “Not necessarily, sir,” replied Meredith. “The murderer might have emptied the residue of the acids into a drain. He’d probably realize the danger of leaving a clue like that behind him.”

  “Now, gentlemen,” cautioned the Chief Constable, “don’t let’s wander off up side tracks. We’re going to assume that the murderer manufactured that carbon monoxide. What we want to know is, why did he go to all that trouble when there was a perfectly good flow of gas coming from the exhaust? Did he imagine that the car might not start up at the critical moment? Was the apparatus merely a second string to his bow? Or had he some mysterious reason for gassing Clayton first and sitting him in the car afterwards? But before we go into that question, suppose we consider the rest of the known facts. The fourth point on my list is marked—Trional. The keystone of the whole case, as I see it. For if Clayton hadn’t been drugged, we shouldn’t have felt so certain that he’d been murdered. Now the drug had to be administered in such a way that Clayton’s suspicions weren’t aroused. This, I think, is a strong argument in favour of the Bettle–Prince solution. They were both well-known to Clayton. From Major Rickshaw’s evidence, we must suppose that the men were in the office when Clayton served him with petrol. I think we can assume that Clayton returned to the office, was offered a drink of whisky from a pocket-flask and engaged in conversation until the veronal took effect. So much for the drug.

  “My fifth and last point is the motive for the crime. Now I’ve been over the case again and again in an attempt to shake my original theory. But for all that, I’ve found myself unable to supply a more feasible motive. I still hold to my original opinion— Clayton was murdered because the gang valued his silence at a higher price than his life.” The Chief pushed aside his papers, capped them with a paperweight and sprawled back in his chair. “Well, there we are. Those are the known facts. Any questions?”

  Meredith nodded. “About that chemical apparatus, sir. You don’t think it possible that the murderer thought to gain time by using it instead of the exhaust?”

  “I don’t quite see how you mean, Inspector.”

  “This way, sir. If Prince and Bettle did murder Clayton, then the first thing which concerned them was the establishing of an alibi. They had to prove that they were back in the depot at a time which would have made it impossible for them to have committed the crime. In other words—they had to juggle with time in such a way as to make it look as if they left the Derwent earlier than they actually did. If you’ve no objection, sir, I’d like to tabulate the various events which took place on that Saturday night. Chronologically, I mean.”

  “Yes, do, Inspector. I’m still a trifle hazy about the all-important time-factor.”

  At the end of five minutes Meredith had made out a neatly written time-table, which he handed over to the Chief. It ran as follows:

  5.45. Lorry leaves the Lothwaite.

  6 o’clock (circa). Braithwaite postman stops at Derwent.

  6.20 (circa). Driver and fireman see lorry parked on roadside near Jenkin Hill.

  7.20. Major Rickshaw and wife draw up for petrol at the Derwent. Served by Clayton. Lorry standing by pumps.

  7.35. Freddie Hogg cycles past Derwent. Sees Clayton standing in garage entrance. Lorry gone.

  7.55. Frank Burns sees lorry passing at high speed through Threlkeld.

  8.35. Lorry arrives back at depot.

  “I think that makes it quite clear, sir,” said Meredith when Colonel Hardwick had studied the paper. “Yo
u can see at a glance that we’ve got the lorry’s movements pretty well pinned down. We know that it must have left the Derwent at some time between 7.20 and 7.35. And we can fairly safely say that before 7.35 it was parked up that side-turning—otherwise Freddie Hogg would have met it on his way back from the Keswick cinema.”

  The Chief agreed. “So far so good, Inspector, but how do these facts combine with the chemical apparatus supposition? I don’t quite see what you’re leading up to?”

  “This, sir,” explained Meredith. “My first theory was that Prince returned to the Derwent directly after Hogg had gone by, leaving Bettle up the side-turning with the parked lorry. I then reckoned it would take about forty-five minutes for Prince to administer the drug, wait for it to take effect, place Clayton in the car, start the engine and get back to the waiting lorry. This meant that the lorry would not set off for the depot until eight-twenty, arriving there about nine-thirty. But since we learnt from Dancy that the lorry actually arrived at the depot at eight-thirty-five, I immediately dismissed this reconstruction of the crime as impossible. But suppose Prince took advantage of the chemical apparatus? Suppose both Prince and Bettle returned to the garage, and that while Bettle held Clayton, Prince clapped the nozzle of the apparatus over Clayton’s face and gassed him? He would be dead inside five minutes at the most. They then carry him to the car, sit him upright in the seat, start the engine and race back to the bulk-wagon. Say eight minutes to do the double journey between the lorry and the garage. Five minutes to actually commit the murder. Five minutes to arrange their victim in the car and start the engine. In all eighteen minutes. They would then start on their homeward run at about seven-fifty. And since we know that they arrived at the depot at eight-thirty-five, it means they covered the nineteen odd miles in forty-five minutes. The question is, could an empty bulk-wagon keep up an average of”—Meredith made a quick mental calculation—“some twenty-five miles per hour? What do you think, sir?”

  The Chief considered the point for a moment. Then: “Frankly,” he said, “I don’t think it could. The road, if I remember rightly, twists and turns a good bit. It was dark, too, and there are one or two nasty gradients on the run. What do you say, Thompson?”

  “I’m of the same opinion,” answered the Superintendent.

  “And quite apart from the time factor, Inspector, you’ve omitted one important fact—the trional. What about that?”

  Meredith clicked his fingers in annoyance.

  “Confound it, sir! I’d completely forgotten about the drugging! It looks as if I’ve wandered up another of those damned cul-de-sacs!”

  “Not so fast!” returned the Superintendent with a laugh. “I don’t think there’s any need to get disheartened…yet. Your new theory has set me thinking along another line. Let’s reconsider that time-table of yours. When you look into it, aren’t you struck by one very significant fact?”

  Meredith appeared puzzled. “I don’t quite see—?”

  “I’ll explain,” cut in Thompson. “You know roughly the time the lorry left the garage. You know exactly the time it arrived at the depot. But you haven’t the faintest idea as to the time it arrived at the Derwent! You see, what I am leading up to? Isn’t it possible that the murder was committed before the lorry left the garage?”

  “Before!” exclaimed the Chief Constable, astonished.

  “Before!” echoed Meredith, bewildered. “But that’s impossible! What about Hogg’s evidence? He saw Clayton standing in the garage after the lorry had left.”

  “Admittedly. Did he speak to Clayton?”

  “He called out ‘Good night.’ ’’

  “And did Clayton answer?”

  “Yes. He waved his hand.”

  “Exactly!” snapped Thompson triumphantly. “But he didn’t speak! See what I mean? How are we to know for certain that the man Hogg saw at seven-thirty-five was Clayton? I suggest that he thought it was Clayton and that in reality it was Prince disguised to look like Clayton!”

  “And the idea, Thompson?”

  “Simple, sir,” replied the Superintendent. “A gaining of time. As you pointed out just now, Inspector, Bettle and Prince had to suggest that they left the garage earlier than they did. Well, I uphold that they left the garage at the stated time. When they told you that they left at seven-thirty, they were speaking the truth. They did leave at that hour. But when they left, Clayton was already dead and seated in the car.”

  “But what about Major Rickshaw’s evidence?” objected Meredith. “He swears that Clayton served him with petrol at seven-twenty. Surely the drug couldn’t have been administered, the murder committed and the victim placed in the car inside a matter of ten minutes?”

  “Quite. But if Hogg was deceived, why not Rickshaw? He didn’t know Clayton personally. He saw a man who looked like Clayton and since he expected to be served by Clayton, he didn’t trouble to think twice about it.”

  “In that case—?” demanded the Chief.

  “In that case, sir, Bettle and Prince had almost unlimited time in which to commit the murder. We don’t know the exact time they arrived at the Derwent. At six-twenty the train-driver saw them parked at Jenkin Hill, but after that we really know nothing at all about their movements. But suppose, for the sake of argument, we assume that they arrived at the Derwent at six-forty-five.”

  “Quite a reasonable assumption,” commented the Chief. “Go on, Thompson.”

  “Well, sir, I see it something like this. No. 4 draws up at the garage. Prince connects with the pump, whilst Bettle retires with Clayton to the office. There he suggests a drink to keep out the cold. He produces the doped whisky from his hip-pocket. Clayton takes a good swig and Bettle pretends to follow suit. Prince, in the meantime, keeps a good look-out, whilst Bettle holds Clayton in conversation. At the end of twenty minutes the drug takes effect. The time now is about seven-five. Bettle signals to Prince, who hastily disguises himself as Clayton by means of a false moustache, felt hat and buff dungarees. He’d have these ready in the cab of the lorry of course. In the office they produce the carbon monoxide apparatus and asphyxiate Clayton. But the job is only just completed when Major Rickshaw draws up and orders a couple of gallons of petrol. Prince, on the alert, is already outside waiting to serve him. Shortly after seven-twenty Rickshaw drives off. The coast being clear, the two men hurriedly carry the dead man to the lean-to. Higgins has already fixed the hose-pipe over the exhaust, planted the mackintosh and the twine and locked the garage door. The key is hidden in a prearranged place. The murderers place the dead man at the wheel, clap the mackintosh over his head, stick the end of the pipe underneath it and tie the twine round his neck. Retaining the key, but leaving the door unlocked, Bettle pours the chemical residue down the drain, climbs up on to the lorry and drives off, whilst Prince hangs about in the lighted entrance to the garage. This part of their programme is all-important. It’s essential that Clayton should appear alive and well after the lorry had left for Penrith. So Bettle parks up that side-turning, without lights, and waits until he sees somebody pass the end of the lane. Freddie Hogg, as it happens, on his way home from the Keswick cinema. The time now is seven-thirty-five. Hogg cycles by the garage, sees Prince and imagines him to be Clayton.

  “Prince, aware that Hogg has taken a good look at him, waits until he is out of sight, then rushes to the shed and starts up the engine of Clayton’s car. He closes the doors and races along the road to where Bettle, who has now smashed the flasks with a stone, is waiting with the lorry. Time, say seven-forty. The coast being clear, the lorry backs out on to the main road and speeds off on its homeward run. It arrives at the depot at eight-thirty-five—all perfectly normal, of course, since the stated time of their departure from the garage was seven-thirty. That’s my reconstruction of the crime, sir. I don’t know whether you’ll agree with it or not. But it does, at any rate, incorporate and explain away nearly all the known facts.”

&nbs
p; The Chief Constable sat immobile for a moment drumming the rims of his reading-glasses against the desk. It was obvious that he was adjusting his mind so as to view the case from this entirely new angle.

  At length he looked up and observed: “Impersonation, eh? Well, it’s certainly a feasible explanation. You agree, Inspector?”

  Meredith gave an emphatic nod.

  “I do, sir. Wholeheartedly!”

  “Still, it’s very dangerous,” went on the Chief in measured tones, “to accept a theory just because it fits so many of the known facts. You’ll acknowledge that yourself, Thompson. On the other hand, it certainly opens up a new line of investigation. If we follow up these new assumptions, there’s always a chance that we shall find proof to uphold them.”

  “I agree there, sir,” put in Thompson. “For example—the disguise. Prince must have got rid of this incriminating evidence somehow. We might find out how he did it—if he did it.”

  “A job for you, Meredith,” said the Chief, glancing at his watch. “Well, gentlemen, I can’t discuss the matter more fully at the moment. I’ve an appointment at eleven. So I’ll leave you two to thrash matters out on your own account. I feel strongly now that the arrests ought to be held up, pending further investigations. We’ll keep an eye on Ormsby-Wright, also on the four garages and the six tied houses. In the meantime, we’d better arrange for the rest of the hotels to be searched. Maltman will probably help us there. Now that he knows what to look for, I think it would be best for him to play a lone hand, Inspector. There’s less chance of arousing suspicion if he takes in these places as part of his usual round. From now on you’d better concentrate on the murder case. You’ll find plenty of new lines to follow up if you use the Superintendent’s theory as the basis for fresh inquiries. Keep in touch with us here. And remember what I said before—I want results. Good morning, gentlemen.”