by Henry Wade
The two men lunched at the Jermyn and Eustace found himself more than ever drawn to Julia’s husband. There was no nonsense about him. He did not pretend to ignore the astonishing good fortune that had fallen to Eustace, nor yet the awkwardness of the circumstances attending it. He was both friendly and sympathetic. Eustace asked him what he should do about arranging a loan with his bank and Carr advised him to wait until after the adjourned inquest. Something might come out there which would make his position as heir-presumptive clear without any effort on his part.
Feeling relieved by this sound advice, Eustace returned to his flat and was received by Hamilton with the news that another police-officer had called just before one. The man-servant had explained that his master was at the inquest and might not return till late in the day; Inspector Darnell, as he had called himself, had said that he would wait a while on the chance of Mr. Hendel coming back for luncheon. No effort of Hamilton had been able to dissuade him; he had stayed for half an hour and then taken himself off, promising to call again.
Again Eustace felt that little shiver of disquiet. Another policeman; why another? What on earth was there for the police to investigate? Evidently it was something which they considered important or the man would not have waited all that time. Well, it was no good speculating; he would know soon enough. In the meantime, he was not going to wait in for the fellow. Giving orders to Hamilton about dinner he let himself out of the flat and found a small, neatly dressed man upon the mat.
The man raised a bowler hat.
“Mr. Eustace Hendel?” he enquired.
This was unpleasant. This opportune arrival looked as if the fellow had either waited for him or followed him.
“Yes. What is it?”
“Just a word with you in private, sir; if I may come inside.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Chief-Inspector Darnell
AGAINST his will, Eustace found himself back in the flat and, in another moment, in the sitting-room. On closer inspection, his visitor appeared to be not so small after all; no doubt the excellence of his figure had given that impression.
“I am Chief-Inspector Darnell, sir; Criminal Investigation Department. That is my warrant card.”
‘Chief Detective-Inspector’, it said; Eustace’s knowledge about the higher ranks of the police force was vague, but this sounded a big noise. He handed back the card, with as careless an air as he could muster.
“I have to ask you one or two questions in connection with the death of your cousin, Mr. Desmond Hendel, sir”, he said.
“But there’s already been one of your fellows round here”, said Eustace.
“Ah, yes, sir; that would be the Divisional Detective-Inspector. I am from the Yard.”
An ugly sound, ominous.
“I can’t think what you want to find out from me. I’ve only known Desmond a fortnight. I know nothing about his illness.”
“Nothing, sir?”
“Nothing except what Mrs. Toumlin told me and what I heard to-day at the inquest.”
“You took a great interest in your cousin, I understand, sir—in the last fortnight.”
The words were simple enough, but there was an unpleasant implication behind them. This man, shrewd, quick-witted, was obviously a different proposition to the clumsy Divisional Inspector. It would be no use trying to shirk his questions; better take the bull by the horns.
“You’re asking me the same sort of questions as your colleague asked yesterday”, he said. “It’s quite obvious that there’s something behind them. I think I’m entitled to ask what it is.”
Chief-Inspector Darnell nodded.
“That’s quite reasonable, sir”, he said, “and I’ll be perfectly frank with you. Four deaths—sudden deaths—have occurred in the senior branch of your family within the last two months. As a result of those deaths, from having been, if I am rightly informed, in some financial difficulties, you find yourself the heir to a considerable estate. Now that may be perfectly natural and straightforward, but there are circumstances which compel us to investigate the position. There is nothing to connect you with the death of your cousins in Cornwall, but you alone were present with Captain David Hendel when he met with a very remarkable accident in Scotland, and for the fortnight before his son, Mr. Desmond Hendel, died, you have made repeated attempts to visit him and to see him alone; that last fact in itself is too significant for us to pass it over without investigation. There, sir; I think that puts my cards fairly on the table, as you wished.”
Chief-Inspector Darnell leaned back in his chair and smiled pleasantly at his companion. Eustace was surprised to find that, now that he knew exactly how things stood, he felt quite calm and even confident.
“I see”, he said. “Thank you for telling me. You’ll forgive me if I say that I think you’re talking a lot of nonsense, but I suppose you’re only carrying out your orders.”
“That’s right, sir. Now may I hope that you will be as frank with me as I have been with you.”
This conversation was following a line so different from what he had imagined would happen that Eustace was almost amused.
“But oughtn’t you to warn me that anything I say will be taken down in writing and used as evidence against me?” he asked.
“Not ‘against you’, sir; that’s out of date; ‘may be used in evidence’ is the expression. Oh no, sir; we haven’t reached that stage and I’m sure I hope we never shall. That caution is only given when it has been decided to charge the person concerned. Now I am only making a preliminary enquiry and so there’s no need for me to caution you.”
Rather a cold-blooded procedure, all this. Eustace was not sure that he liked it; it was so impersonal. Still, forewarned should be forearmed. He braced himself for the coming interrogation. Chief-Inspector Darnell, however, seemed to be in no hurry. He looked round the room.
“I took the liberty of looking round your bookshelves when I was waiting this morning, sir”, he said. “I’m interested in books myself; besides, I always think you can learn a lot about a man by the books he reads.”
What on earth was the fellow havering like this for; why didn’t he get down to business?
“I noticed that you’d got a Holt’s Medical Jurisprudence there; I’ve never seen one before, though I’ve heard of it. We’ve got our Taylor, of course, down at the Yard, and we’ve got Smith, but not Holt.”
Hell! Why had he forgotten about that infernal book? He had forgotten all about it since before he went to Scotland. When changing quarters he had crammed all his books into an old trunk and pushed them into his new bookcase without looking at them particularly; he had never noticed the Holt. How on earth was he to explain it?
“Not a new copy, I noticed”, continued the detective blandly; “been in your possession some time, perhaps?”
What was he to say?
“Yes, some time. That is . . .”
But Chief-Inspector Darnell saved him further anxiety.
“No doubt since you were a medical student, Mr. Hendel?”
Eustace stiffened. So they knew that! Of course they would—once they began to make serious enquiries. Lucky he had not lied about it. At least this fellow played fair; he was not trying to trap him.
“That seems a long time to me”, he said, as calmly as he could manage. “I qualified in 1926 and only practised for a year.”
“I see, sir. No doubt you’ll have kept your old books and instruments?”
“Not many.”
“And drugs?”
Danger. From the slight change in the tone of Darnell’s voice Eustace knew that this was the launching of an attack.
“Oh no. No point in keeping them.”
“None at all, sir?”
Quiet, that question, but deadly insistent. He must make no mistake here. Suddenly Eustace remembered the bottle of morphia tablets. It was in his waistcoat pocket at this very moment, unless Hamilton had removed it. It was all Eustace could do not to feel for it with his fingers.
He had meant to get rid of it yesterday, but in the excitement of planning the future with Jill he had forgotten all about it. It was so slight that it must have escaped his notice when emptying his pockets before dinner last night. Now he was wearing the same suit of clothes—his new ones had not yet come. Suppose, after all, that he was arrested now and those tablets found on him!—after he had denied having any! Besides, the police might already know that he had got them. It had been easy enough to get them, when he was planning David’s death; all he had to do was to write his own order for them; he was still on the register. The police, if they really were after him, might have traced that. Better to be frank; it might be that this was a lucky way out of a trap.
These thoughts flashed through Eustace’s brain. There was hardly a perceptible pause before he answered.
“Only morphia. I always carry that. One never knows when it may be wanted if there’s an accident and a doctor is called for. It may save someone terrible agony.”
Eustace spoke quietly. Calmly he put his fingers into his waistcoat pocket. No; yes; there it was; no wonder it had escaped his notice last night. He pulled out the little bottle and handed it to the detective, who took it and examined it carefully.
“Quarter grain tablets, sir. A full bottle. How long would you have had that?”
“Not very long. I lost my last one; only about a month ago, I think.”
“I see, sir.”
Chief-Inspector Darnell handed the bottle back.
“And that’s the only drug you keep?”
“That’s all.”
The detective nodded and looked at his fingernails.
“You’ve had some transactions with moneylenders, I understand, sir?”
God, what these fellows knew!
“I have. No crime in that, is there?”
Darnell ignored the sally.
“I have information that you were in debt to a money-lender named Isaacson and that, at the time of your cousin, Mr. Howard Hendel’s death, he was pressing you for payment of an overdue instalment. Is that correct, sir?”
“That is correct”, replied Eustace sullenly.
“My further information is that, a short time after the death of your two cousins in Cornwall, you called on Isaacson and asked for a further loan, on the strength of your improved chances of succeeding to Lord Barradys’ estates.”
Hell! That fellow Isaacson had been talking—the last thing one would expect from a moneylender. Why had he talked? There was an answer to that question, more sinister than the fact itself. The police had been pressing Isaacson and he had been afraid to get himself implicated in a murder case! Eustace remembered now that Isaacson had refused to see him when he called after David’s death; he had wondered at the time whether the moneylender could possibly have any suspicions. He remembered, too, now that at that interview with Isaacson after Howard’s death he (Eustace) had talked indiscreetly about the chances of his succeeding to the estate. That was after he had decided to kill David and it had suddenly struck him what a foolish thing he was doing to talk like that—that Isaacson might remember it if anything happened to David. And he had remembered it! and had talked to the police.
Eustace became aware that the detective was watching him, waiting, perhaps, for an answer.
“Certainly I did”, he said; “there’s nothing mysterious about that. I was in difficulties and then that accident happened and I played it for what it was worth. I tried to bluff Isaacson and I failed. That’s all.”
Chief-Inspector Darnell nodded.
“I see, sir. And then again, after Captain David Hendel’s death you called once more on Isaacson.”
“He didn’t see me”, put in Eustace quickly.
“That was with the idea of making a fresh application for a loan on the strength of the still further improvement in your prospects?”
“It was.” No use denying it; better put on a bold face. “Obviously my prospects were improved—very materially. Any fool would realize that. What was the point of not taking advantage of it?”
“Quite, sir. And did Mr. Isaacson oblige you?”
“He did not.”
“Why was that, sir?”
“I don’t know. He did not have the courtesy to see me.”
“So you went elsewhere, sir?”
“Why do you say that?”
Chief-Inspector Darnell shrugged his shoulders.
“Within the next day or two, sir, you had taken this very desirable flat and engaged a man-servant. That represents something more definite than an expectation; it represents hard cash.”
Eustace was shrewd enough to realize that Chief-Inspector Darnell was guessing now. He did not actually know about the £500 advanced by the ‘British Loan and Mutual Assistance Society’. Better leave him in ignorance; Eustace remembered talking rather big to Mr. J. Levy; better not have the police questioning him too.
“You seem to have got all the facts for yourself, Inspector”, he said. “I don’t think there’s any more I can tell you.”
The detective looked at him carefully, then shrugged his shoulders.
“I rather thought we were being frank with each other, sir”, he said. “Now, I wonder whether you would care to tell me a little more about your friendship with Mr. Desmond Hendel. That began quite recently, I understand.”
“Yes. I knew practically nothing about that branch of the family until I went down to my cousin’s funeral in Cornwall. Then they were very kind to me, particularly Mrs. Howard Hendel and Mr. and Mrs. Carr. At Mrs. Howard Hendel’s suggestion, I think, I was invited to stay with Captain Hendel in Scotland and I was with him, as you probably know, when he met with his accident. Naturally I was a good deal distressed and I asked Mrs. Howard Hendel, who was there too, about David’s son, whom I had not previously met. She told me about him and urged me to go and see him when I got back to London. I did so. That’s all.”
“You visited him rather frequently in that short time, didn’t you, sir? Was there any reason for that?”
“I liked him. I thought he was lonely. I thought I could help to keep him amused. Other members of the family did the same, particularly Bla . . . Mrs. Howard Hendel and Mr. Henry Carr.”
“Ah, yes; so I understand. Did Mr. Desmond express a wish that you should call often?”
“Not definitely, but I thought he liked talking to me.”
“Did you see him alone?”
“On the first occasion, yes. The second time Mrs. Toumlin stayed with us.”
“So you thought you would go again when she was out?”
Danger again. This was a crucial question. Should he admit it frankly or pretend it was chance?
“On two occasions when I called Mrs. Toumlin told me that Desmond was too tired to see any more visitors. I thought she was being fussy, so one day I went when I thought she might be out shopping.”
“Ah, you admit, then, that you deliberately chose a time when you might hope to be alone.”
Eustace flushed angrily.
“That’s not at all a fair interpretation of what I said,” he protested. “It’s not a question of ‘admitting’ or of wanting to be alone. I say that it is a fact that I went there when I thought Mrs. Toumlin might be out because I wanted to talk to Desmond; I thought it was absurd of her to coddle him so much.”
“I see, Mr. Hendel,” said Darnell smoothly. “And I suppose that, as you had become attached to Mr. Desmond, you took him little presents?”
“Presents?”
“Books? Cigarettes? Or perhaps chocolates?”
Chocolates! Eustace felt himself flushing. Were the police on to that idea too; the idea that he had so nearly tried? Instinctively he looked round the room; that box of Dudeville’s! Ah, he remembered; he had taken it to Jill only yesterday morning. What a bit of luck. But the single chocolate—the peppermint-cream? He had thrown it away; into the waste-paper basket or the grate. Well, there had been a fire last night, and if it had been in the waste-paper basket Hamilton wo
uld surely have cleared it away before now. Still, it was not a certainty and this infernal detective had been in the room for half an hour that morning, nosing about.
Eustace felt his confidence oozing away. They knew so much, these police; they asked such infernally awkward questions. Innocent though he was, he was in a very awkward position.
“I didn’t give him any presents at all.”
“No presents at all.”
Chief-Inspector Darnell stroked his chin, ruminating. After a while he rose to his feet.
“I think that’s all I have to ask you at the moment, sir. Unless, that is, you wish to qualify anything that you have said?”
“Why should I?”
“Something might have slipped your memory, sir. For instance, are you quite certain that morphia is the only drug that you have in your possession?”
“Perfectly certain.”
“Or have had? I must remind you, sir, that it would be a serious matter for you to attempt to mislead the police now. You will realize that it is not impossible for us to find out for ourselves whether you have purchased any other drug.”
Eustace shook his head impatiently.
“I tell you I have had nothing except morphia in my possession since I gave up practising.”
“Very well, sir; then we know how we stand. I’ll wish you good-afternoon, and I must apologize for taking up so much of your time.” He walked to the door, but with his fingers on the handle paused.
“If I may give you a friendly word of advice, sir,” he said, “I suggest that you might consider being represented at the adjourned inquest.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Consultation
AFTER seeing Chief-Inspector Darnell out of the flat Eustace returned to his sitting-room and helped himself to a strong whiskey and soda from the tantalus which he kept in a red lacquer corner cupboard.
The detective’s last words had given him a most unpleasant shock. They had sounded perfectly sincere and Eustace knew that the police were never so dangerous, never so much in earnest, as when they were being perfectly fair. Not only in earnest, but also confident. For some reason or other they believed that he was responsible for Desmond’s death, and though they had not—if Darnell was to be believed—yet reached a stage at which they could charge him, they were going to do their utmost to construct a case against him.