by Sapper
“Everything gone without a hitch.”
Freyder was speaking, and with a gentle sigh of pure joy for work well and truly done Mr Blackton laid down the receiver.
Half an hour later he was strolling along Pall Mall towards his club. A newsboy passed him shouting “’Orrible explosion in ’Ampstead,” and he paused to buy a copy. It had occurred to him that it is always a good thing to have something to read in the cooler rooms of a Turkish bath. And he never went into the hotter ones; there were peculiarities about Mr Edward Blackton’s face which rendered great heat a trifle ill-advised.
Chapter 4
In which Mr William Robinson arrives at his country seat
The report made to Mr Blackton on the condition of the Professor’s house was certainly justified. It looked just as if a heavy aeroplane bomb had registered a direct hit on the back of the premises. And the damage was continually increasing. The whole fabric of the house had been undermined, and it was only at considerable personal risk that the police pursued their investigations. Frequent crashes followed by clouds of choking dust betokened that more and more of the house was collapsing, and at length the Inspector in charge gave the order to cease work for the time. Half a dozen policemen kept the curious crowd away, whilst the Inspector retired to the front of the house, which had escaped the damage, to await the arrival of some member of the Professor’s family. It was not a task that he relished, but it was his duty to make what inquiries he could.
In his own mind he felt pretty clear as to what had happened. The parlourmaid, who appeared a sensible sort of girl, had told him all she knew – particularly mentioning the German Professor’s remark as he left the house. And it seemed quite obvious that Professor Goodman had been experimenting with some form of violent explosive, and that, regrettable to say, the explosive had not behaved itself. When the debris had ceased to fall and it was safe to resume work, it might be possible to discover something more definite, but up to date the sole thing they had found of interest was one of the unfortunate savant’s boots. And since that had already been identified by the parlourmaid as belonging to Professor Goodman, all the identification necessary for the inquest was there. Which from a professional point of view was just as well, since there was nothing else left to identify.
An open Rolls-Royce drew up outside, and the Inspector went to the window and looked out. From the driver’s seat there descended a large young man, who said something to the two other occupants of the car, and then came rapidly up the short drive to the front door, where the Inspector met him.
“What on earth has happened?” he demanded.
“May I ask if you are a relative of Professor Goodman’s?” said the Inspector.
“No; I’m not. My name is Drummond, Captain Drummond. But if you’ll cast your eye on the back of my car you’ll see his daughter, Miss Goodman.”
“Well,” said the Inspector gravely, “I fear that I have some very bad news for Miss Goodman. There has been an accident, Captain Drummond – an appalling accident. The whole of the back of the house has been blown to pieces, and with it, I regret to say, Professor Goodman. There is literally nothing left of the unfortunate gentleman.”
“Good God!” gasped Algy, who had come up in time to hear the last part of the remark. “Have you caught the swine…”
Hugh’s hand gripped his arm in warning.
“How did it happen?” he asked quietly. “Have you any ideas?”
The Inspector shrugged his shoulders.
“There is no doubt whatever as to how it happened,” he answered. “The whole thing will, of course, be gone into thoroughly at the inquest, but it is all so obvious that there is no need for any secrecy. The unfortunate gentleman was experimenting with some form of high explosive, and he blew himself up and the house as well.”
“I see,” said Drummond thoughtfully. “Look here, Algy – take Brenda back to my place, and tell the poor kid there. Turn her over to Phyllis.”
“Right you are, Hugh,” said Algy soberly. “By God!” he exploded again, and once more Drummond’s warning hand silenced him.
Without another word he turned and walked away. Brenda, in an agony of suspense, met him at the gateway and her sudden little pitiful cry showed that she had already guessed the truth. But she followed Algy back into the car, and it was not until it had disappeared that Drummond spoke again.
“You have no suspicions of foul play, I suppose?”
The Inspector looked at him quickly.
“Foul play, Captain Drummond? What possible reason could there be for foul play in the case of such a man as Professor Goodman? Oh! no. He was seen by the parlourmaid immersed in an experiment as she was letting some German professor out – a scientific acquaintance of the unfortunate gentleman. They had been having a discussion all the afternoon, and not five minutes after his visitor left the explosion took place.”
Drummond nodded thoughtfully.
“Deuced agile fellow – the Boche. Did the hundred at precisely the right psychological moment. Would there be any objection, Inspector – as a friend of the family and all that – to my having a look at the scene of the accident? You see, there are only his wife and daughter left – two women alone; and Miss Goodman’s fiancé – the man who took her off in the car – not being here, perhaps I might take it on myself to give them what information I can.”
“Certainly, Captain Drummond. But I warn you that there’s nothing to see. And you’d better be careful that you don’t get a fall of bricks on your head. I’ll come with you, if you like.”
The two men walked round to the back of the house. The crowd, which by now had largely increased in size, surged forward expectantly as they disappeared through the shattered wall, and the Inspector gave an order to one of the constables.
“Move them along,” he said. “There’s nothing to be seen.”
“Good heavens!” remarked Drummond, staring round in amazement. “This is what one used to expect in France. In fact I’ve slept in many worse. But in Hampstead…”
“I found this, sir, on the remains of the table,” said a sergeant, coming up to the Inspector with a key in his hand. “It belongs to the door.”
The Inspector took the key and tried it himself.
“That confirms what the maid said.” He turned to Drummond. “The door was locked on the inside. The maid heard him lock it as she showed the German out, which, of course, was a few minutes before the accident took place.”
Drummond frowned thoughtfully and lit a cigarette. That was a complication, and a very unexpected complication. In fact at one blow it completely shattered the idea that was already more than half formed in his mind – an idea which, needless to say, differed somewhat radically from the worthy Inspector’s notion of what had happened.
“And what of the Professor himself?” he asked after a moment or two. “Is the body much damaged?”
“There is nothing left of the body,” said the Inspector gravely. “At least practically nothing.”
He crossed to the corner of the room by the door, where the damage was least, and removed a cloth which covered some object on the floor.
“This is all we have found at present.”
“Poor old chap,” said Drummond quietly, staring at the boot. There was a patch on it – a rather conspicuous patch which he had noticed at lunch that day.
“It has been identified already by the parlourmaid as the Professor’s boot,” said the Inspector, replacing the cloth. “Not that there is much need for identification in this case. But it is always necessary at the inquest as a matter of form.”
“Of course,” answered Drummond absently, and once more fell to staring round the wrecked room. Three plain-clothes men were carefully turning over heaps of debris, searching for further traces of the dead scientist. But the task seemed hopeless, and after a while he sa
id goodbye to the Inspector and started to walk back to Brook Street.
The whole thing had come with such startling suddenness that he felt shaken. It seemed incredible that the dear, absent-minded old man who had lunched with him only that day was dead and blown to pieces. Over and over again in his mind there arose the one dominant question – was it foul play, or was it not? If it wasn’t, it was assuredly one of the most fortunate accidents for a good many people that could possibly have taken place. No longer any need to stump up a quarter of a million for the suppression of the Professor’s discovery – no longer any need to worry. And suddenly Hugh stopped short in his tracks, and a thoughtful look came into his eyes.
“Great Scott!” he muttered to himself, “I’d almost forgotten.”
His hand went to his breast-pocket, and a grim smile hovered for a moment or two round his mouth as he strolled on. Professor Goodman might be dead, but his secret wasn’t. And if by any chance it had not been an accident…if by any chance this diamond syndicate had deliberately caused the poor defenceless old man’s death, the presence of those papers in his pocket would help matters considerably. They would form an admirable introduction to the gentlemen in question – and he was neither old nor defenceless. In fact there dawned on his mind the possibility that there might be something doing in the near future. And the very thought of such a possibility came with the refreshing balm of a shower on parched ground. It produced in him a feeling of joy comparable only to that with which the hungry young view the advent of indigestible food. It radiated from his face; it enveloped him in a beatific glow. And he was still looking like a man who has spotted a winner at twenty to one as he entered his house.
His wife met him in the hall.
“Hugh, for goodness’ sake, compose your face,” she said severely. “Poor Mrs Goodman is here, and Brenda, and you come in roaring with laughter.”
“Good Lord! I’d forgotten all about ’em,” he murmured, endeavouring to assume a mournful expression. “Where are they?”
“Upstairs. They’re going to stop here tonight. Brenda telephoned through to her mother. Hugh – what an awful thing to have happened.”
“You’re right, my dear,” he answered seriously. “It is awful. The only comfort about it is that it must have been absolutely instantaneous. Where’s Algy?”
“He’s in your room. He’s most frightfully upset, poor old thing, principally on Brenda’s account.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Hugh – he said something to me about it not being any accident. What did he mean?”
“Algy is a talkative ass,” answered her husband quietly. “Pay no attention to him, and don’t under any circumstances even hint at such a thing to Mrs Goodman or Brenda.”
“But you don’t mean he killed himself?” said Phyllis in a horrified whisper.
“Good heavens! no,” answered Hugh. “But there is a possibility, my dear, and more than a possibility that he was murdered. Now – not a word to a soul. The police think it was an accident; let it remain at that for the present.”
“But who on earth would want to murder the dear old man?” gasped his wife.
“The Professor had made a discovery, darling,” said Hugh gravely, “which threatened to ruin everyone who was concerned in the diamond industry. He had found out a method of making diamonds artificially at a very low cost. To show you how seriously the trade regarded it, he was offered two hundred and fifty thousand pounds to suppress it. That he refused to do. This morning he received a letter threatening his life. This afternoon he died, apparently as the result of a ghastly accident. But – I wonder.”
“Does anybody know all this?” said Phyllis.
“A few very interested people who won’t talk about it, and you and Algy and I who won’t talk about it either – yet. Later on we might all have a chat on the subject, but just at present there’s rather too much of the fog of war about. In fact the only really definite fact that emerges from the gloom, except for the poor old chap’s death, is this.”
He held out an envelope in his hand, and his wife looked at it, puzzled.
“That is the discovery which has caused all the trouble,” went on Hugh. “And the few very interested people I was telling you about don’t know that I’ve got it. And they won’t know that I’ve got it either – yet.”
“So that’s why you were looking like that as you came in.”
His wife looked at him accusingly, and Hugh grinned.
“Truly your understanding is great, my angel,” he murmured.
“But how did you get it?” she persisted.
“He gave it to me at lunch today,” said her husband. “And in the near future it’s going to prove very useful – very useful indeed. Why, I almost believe that if I advertised that I’d got it, it would draw old Peterson himself. Seconds out of the ring; third and last round: time.”
“Hugh – you’re incorrigible. And don’t do that in the hall – someone will see.”
So he kissed her again, and went slowly up the stairs to his own room. Most of the really brilliant ideas in life come in flashes, and he had had many worse than that last. There were times when his soul positively hankered for another little turn-up with Carl Peterson – something with a real bit of zip in it, something to vary his present stagnation. But he fully realised that a gentleman of Peterson’s eminence had many other calls on his time, and that he must not be greedy. After all, he’d had two of the brightest and best, and that was more than most people could say. And perhaps there might be something in this present show which would help to keep his hand in. Sir Raymond Blantyre, the bird with the agitated eyeglass, for instance. He didn’t sound much class – a bit of a rabbit at the game probably, but still, something might come of him.
He opened the door of his room, and Algy looked up from his chair.
“You don’t think it was an accident, do you, Hugh?” he remarked quietly.
“I don’t know what to think, old man,” answered Drummond. “If it was an accident, it was a very remarkable and fortunate one for a good many people. But there is one point which is a little difficult to explain unless it was: Hannah, or Mary, or whatever that sweet woman’s name is who used to breathe down one’s neck when she handed you things at dinner, saw the old man at work through the open door. She heard him lock the door. Moreover, the key was found in the room – on the floor or somewhere; it was found while I was there. From that moment no one else entered the room until the explosion. Now, you haven’t seen the appalling mess that explosion made. There must have been an immense amount of explosive used. The darned place looks as if it had had a direct hit with a big shell. Well, what I’m getting at is that it is quite out of the question that the amount of explosive necessary to produce such a result could have been placed there unknown to old Goodman. And that rules out of court this German bloke who spent the afternoon with him.”
“He might have left a bomb behind him,” said Algy.
“My dear boy,” exclaimed Hugh, “you’d have wanted a bomb the size of a wheelbarrow. That’s the point I’ve been trying to force into your skull. You can’t carry a thing that size about in your waistcoat pocket. No – it won’t work. Either the maid is talking through the back of her neck, or she isn’t. And if she isn’t, the old chap was dancing about in the room after the German left. Not only that, but he locked himself in. Well, even you wouldn’t lock yourself in with a land-mine, would you? Especially one you’d just seen carefully arranged to explode in five minutes. Besides, he knew this German; he told me so at lunch today.”
“I suppose you’re right,” grunted Algy. “And yet it seems so deuced suspicious.”
“Precisely: it is deuced suspicious. But don’t forget one thing, old boy. It is only suspicious to us because we’ve got inside information. It is not a bit suspicious to the police.”
“It would be if you told ’em about
that letter he got.”
Hugh lit a cigarette and stared out of the window.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But do we want to rouse their suspicions, old boy? If we’re wrong – if it was a bona-fide accident – there’s no use in doing so; if we’re right, we might have a little game all on our own. I mean I was all in favour of the old boy going to the police about it while he was alive, but now that he’s dead it seems a bit late in the day.”
“And how do you propose to make the other side play?” demanded Algy.
“Good Lord! I haven’t got as far as that,” said Hugh vaguely. “One might biff your pal with the eyeglass on the jaw, or something like that. Or one might get in touch with them through these notes on the Professor’s discovery, and see what happens. If they then tried to murder me, we should have a bit of a pointer as to which way the wind was blowing. Might have quite a bit of fun, Algy; you never know. Anyway, I think we’ll attend the inquest tomorrow; we might spot something if we’re in luck. We will sit modestly at the back of the court, and see without being seen.”
But the inquest failed to reveal very much. It was a depressing scene, and more in the nature of a formality than anything else. The two young men arrived early, and wedged themselves in the back row, whence they commanded a good view of the court. And suddenly Algy caught Hugh’s arm.
“See that little bird with the white moustache and the eyeglass in the second row,” he whispered. “That’s the fellow I was telling you about, who put up the offer of a quarter of a million.”
Hugh grunted non-committally; seen from that distance he seemed a harmless sort of specimen. And then the proceedings started. The police gave their formal evidence, and after that the parlourmaid was put into the box. She described in detail the events of the afternoon, and the only new point which came to light was the fact that another man beside the German professor had been to the house for a short time and left almost at once. First the German had arrived. No, she did not know his name – but his appearance was peculiar. Pressed for details, it appeared that his clothes were dirty, and his hands stained with chemicals. Oh! yes – she would certainly know him again if she saw him. A box had come with him which was carried into the laboratory by two men. They had brought it in a car, and had waited outside part of the time the German was there. Yes – she had talked to them. Had they said anything about the German? Surely they must have mentioned his name. No – they didn’t even know it. The witness paused, and having been duly encouraged by the Coroner was understood to say that the only thing they had said about him was that he was a bit dippy.