‘Well, come to my room when you’re ready.’
On the previous day Parkes had shown the Inspector over the house, and among other things Tanner had noticed large framed photographs of Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove. Before following the butler he slipped up to the room in which these were hanging and, deftly removing the frames, noted the photographer’s name. Then locking up the library they went to lunch, soon afterwards taking their leave.
Though Tanner’s statement to Parkes that he had made no helpful discovery among Sir William’s papers was true, he had noticed one thing which had puzzled him. He had been turning over the blocks of the dead man’s cheque book, and he had found that on the previous Monday and Tuesday—the two days before the tragedy—Sir William had written two cheques, both payable to self. That dated for the Monday was for £100, and that for the Tuesday for no less a sum than £3000. That the deceased should have required such sums immediately prior to his murder was interesting and suggestive enough, but that was not all. What had specially intrigued the Inspector’s imagination was the fact that below the word ‘self’ was in each case one letter only—a capital X. He looked back through the book, and in every other instance found below the name the purpose for which the money was required. These two sums must therefore have been for something so private that it could be designated only by a sign. It was evidently something quite definite, as the blocks of other cheques payable to self bore such legends as ‘personal expenses,’ ‘visit to Edinburgh,’ and so on. What, the Inspector wondered, could it be?
Considerably interested, he went back through some of the completed books, and at intervals he found other cheques bearing the same mysterious sign. Without a real hope that it would lead him anywhere he had set the sergeant to go back over all the blocks he could find, and make a list of these X cheques, noting the date, number, and amount. He found they had been drawn during a period of four years, were all made out to self, and were all for even hundreds, all excepting the last, varying from £400 down to £100. In all £4600 had been paid.
It seemed to Inspector Tanner that there was here some secret in Sir William’s life which might or might not be important. Was it gambling, he wondered, or perhaps women? From what he had heard of the deceased’s life and character both these suppositions seemed unlikely, but, as he said to himself, you never know. He remembered that Innes had stated Sir William had called at the bank on his way to the train on the Monday morning, and he wondered if this was to cash the cheques. He thought that some inquiries there would do no harm.
He went to the bank as soon as it opened next morning and saw the manager. The cashier recollected Sir William’s visit on the previous Monday. The deceased gentleman had, it appeared, cashed a cheque for £100, and on comparing the number, Tanner found it was that belonging to the X-marked block. He had been paid in Bank of England fives—twenty of them. None of the officials could tell anything about the £3000 cheque which apparently had not been cashed, nor indeed about any of the other X cheques.
Tanner was anxious to learn something of the dead man’s history, see his will, find out who would benefit by his death, and who, if anyone, might have a grudge against him. He had discovered when going through the papers on the previous day that Sir William’s lawyers were Messrs Greer, Arbuthnot & Greer, of Lincoln’s Inn. To call on them, therefore, seemed his next step. From the station he telephoned making an appointment for two o’clock, then, taking the 10.55 a.m. train, he went up to town.
He saw Mr Arbuthnot, a tall, rather stooped man with strongly marked, clean-shaven features, a thick crop of lightish hair slightly shot with grey, and a pair of very keen blue eyes. He bowed his visitor to a chair.
‘We had your message, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I hope there is nothing wrong. We look on you Scotland Yard gentlemen rather as stormy petrels, you know.’ His face as he smiled lit up and became friendly and human. Tanner took an instinctive liking to him.
‘I dare say you can guess my business, Mr Arbuthnot,’ he began. ‘It is in connection with the sad death of Sir William Ponson.’
‘Yes?’
Tanner hesitated for a moment.
‘I think, sir,’ he said at last, ‘if you will treat what I am about to say as confidential, I had better tell you the complication which has arisen.’
Mr Arbuthnot nodded, and the Inspector went on.
‘You know the circumstances, of course, of Sir William’s death? Everything seemed to point to an accident. Well, we are not so sure about it. I am sorry to say there is a suspicion of foul play.’
The lawyer looked up sharply.
‘Foul play?’ he repeated. ‘Good Lord, I hope not!’
‘I’m afraid, sir, there is little doubt of it. The medical evidence points in that direction at any rate.’
Mr Arbuthnot, it seemed, had been more than merely legal adviser to the deceased gentleman. They had been close personal friends, and the solicitor was profoundly shocked by Tanner’s news. It had the effect of eliciting his warm sympathy with the Inspector’s efforts, and he hastened to assure the latter of his cordial help and co-operation. ‘Tell me now,’ he concluded, ‘what I can do for you.’
Tanner thanked him, and went on:
‘I want you, sir, if you will be so kind, to tell me what you can about Sir William—his history, his family, his money affairs, and so on. May I ask first if you act for the remainder of the family?’
‘For Lady Ponson only.’
Tanner bowed, and Mr Arbuthnot, going to a press, took out a despatch box labelled ‘Sir William Ponson,’ from which he removed some papers. Consulting these from time to time for dates and names, he told the Inspector the following history:
Sir William’s wealth and position, it appeared, had come from very small beginnings. His father and mother, Mr Arbuthnot believed, had died while he was quite young, leaving him and his brother John alone in the world. He had got work as an office boy in a small iron-foundry at Gateshead, where, owing to his extraordinary industry and energy, he had worked himself up to the position of manager at the comparatively early age of twenty-nine. Under his guidance the concern, which for years had been moribund, had prospered amazingly, and thirteen years later he was taken into partnership. This consummation had been reached only six years when the former owner died, leaving him in sole control. William then sought out his brother John, who also had prospered, having worked himself up to the chief-engineership of one of the large Cunarders. William took John into partnership with the result that, the mechanical side of the work being reorganised, the firm advanced still more rapidly, the two brothers becoming wealthy men. William next turned his attention to civic affairs. He was elected a member of Newcastle Corporation, and during his time of office as mayor, he received his knighthood on the occasion of a royal visit to the town. When Sir William was some sixty years old his brother John died suddenly, and he, not caring to work on alone, sold his interest in the firm, and moving south, purchased Luce Manor, where he devoted his still abundant energies to experiments in the application of machinery to farming.
With regard to his home life, Sir William, thought Mr Arbuthnot, had been, in his later years at all events, a happy man. He had at the age of thirty married a widow, a Mrs Ethel Dale. It was believed, though Mr Arbuthnot could not vouch for it, that there had been quite a romance about it. According to the generally accepted story, William Ponson, then a clerk in the iron works, and Tom Dale, a traveller for the same concern, had both loved the pretty Ethel Osborne, the daughter of a doctor in the neighbourhood. Dale was outwardly a rather fascinating personality, good looking, always well dressed, and with attractive manners, though at heart he was a rotter. But the serious and somewhat pompous young Ponson had failed to bring his more sterling merits into prominence, with the result that the lady had preferred his rival. She married Dale, and regretted it from the first evening, when he returned drunk to the small seaside hotel at which they were spending their honeymoon. Things went rapidly from
bad to worse. Dale continued drinking, they got into debt, and Ethel began to fear her husband’s dismissal, and consequent poverty. Then, after some three years of unhappiness, Dale was sent to Canada on the business of the firm. He sailed on the Numidian, but off Newfoundland the ship struck an iceberg, and turning turtle, went to the bottom in thirteen minutes. There was an appalling casualty list, but to Mrs Dale it meant release, for her husband’s name was among the drowned.
The lady was left in absolute destitution. Ponson managed to help her anonymously, then after a couple of years he renewed his suit, and some time later she capitulated and they were married. There had been no children to her previous marriage, but now Austin and Enid Ponson were born.
The two children were very different in disposition. While Enid, sweet-tempered and charming, was beloved by all, and was her father’s life and soul, Austin was somewhat difficult. When first he went to a boarding school, it was a relief to all at home. From Rugby he progressed to Cambridge, then, as the Inspector had already learnt, he threw up his studies there and devoted himself to social and entomological subjects. He had gone back at this time to his father’s house at Gateshead, but the two rubbed each other up the wrong way, and Sir William, making his son a handsome allowance, advised him to live elsewhere. Austin had then taken the villa at Halford, amid surroundings suitable to the pursuit of his hobbies.
‘But,’ explained Mr Arbuthnot, ‘you must not think from this Austin is a man of bad or weak character. The separation was due purely to incompatibility of temperament. Austin, so far as I know, is an honourable, kindly man, and I have never heard of him doing a shady thing. He is a hard worker too, and I believe has carried out some quite valuable original research into the distribution of disease by insects. Sir William recognised this, hence the allowance, and the fact that, though they couldn’t pull together, they never really quarreled.’
‘I rather gathered that from the way the servants spoke,’ Tanner answered. ‘But there is another Ponson you haven’t mentioned—Cosgrove.’
‘Cosgrove is the only child of Sir William’s brother John, consequently he and Austin are first cousins. Cosgrove is the least estimable member of the family. He was, I am afraid, a bit of a waster from the first. He did badly at school, and was all but sent down from college. His father kept some kind of control over him during his life, but on his death he inherited a large sum of money, and I fear it had the usual result. He now lives in bachelor quarters in Knightsbridge, and is reported to be in a rather fast set. I happen to know he has run through most of his money, and is now considerably pinched. But he always got on well with Sir William. The old man liked him, and passed over his follies as mere youthful indiscretions. I think his disappointment in Austin rather drove him to make a friend of Cosgrove, but of that of course I can’t be sure. He left Cosgrove a good slice of his fortune at all events.’
‘That was the next thing, Mr Arbuthnot, I wished to ask you—about the financial position of the various members of the family.’
‘Obviously, I can give you only very approximate figures. When the death duties are paid I fancy Sir William’s capital will be worth about £500,000 to his legatees. He has been up to the present allowing Austin £1000 a year, and Miss Ponson and Cosgrove £500 each. His will preserves the same proportion between them—Austin gets £150,000, and Miss Ponson and Cosgrove £75,000 each, the remainder, about £200,000, going to Lady Ponson.’
‘Suppose any of these four should die intestate?’
‘If that question should arise the deceased’s share is to be divided between the survivors in the same proportions as was Sir William’s money. It is a little complicated, but it would mean for example that if Austin were to die without leaving a will, Lady Ponson would get about £90,000 and Cosgrove and Enid £30,000 each of Austin’s £150,000.’
‘Has Austin any means other than this £1000 a year?’
‘Not very much, I fancy. He has written a good deal on social and scientific subjects, which must bring him in something, and he had a legacy of £5000 from his Uncle John. But I don’t suppose he has more than twelve or thirteen hundred a year.’
‘And Cosgrove? You do not know exactly how he is fixed financially?’
‘No, except that from his point of view he is in low water.’
‘Do you happen to know anything about a Miss Lois Drew of Halford?’
‘Yes,’ the lawyer returned with a grimace, ‘I do. The last day Sir William was in here he was telling me about her. It appeared Austin had been smitten by the young lady, and some rumours of it had reached Sir William. He was extremely annoyed at the idea, because, though he admitted that so far as he knew Miss Drew was personally all that could be desired, her social standing was not good. Of course, you and I may think that rather Victorian, but the old man had achieved so many of his ambitions, he could not bear to see his last—that of social position—thwarted. Indeed, he spoke of altering his will if the matter came to a head.’
‘You didn’t know then that they are engaged?’
The lawyer seemed considerably surprised.
‘You don’t say so? No, I did not know. It was a rumour only Sir William spoke of.’
‘Austin told me they fixed it up on Saturday week, but it is to be kept private still.’
There seemed no question, then, about the cause of the quarrel. Indeed, the more Tanner heard, the more essential the most searching test of Austin’s alibi became.
‘There is just one other point, Mr Arbuthnot,’ the Inspector went on, and he told the lawyer about the cheques, marked X. Upon these, however, the latter could throw no light.
‘And you know of no one who had a quarrel with Sir William, or who for any reason might desire his death?’
‘No one. Quite the opposite. Sir William was universally liked and respected.’
Tanner was silent for a moment, considering if he had obtained all the information he was likely to get from the solicitor. Deciding he had, he rose.
‘Well, Mr Arbuthnot, let me express my gratitude for the way you have met me. I am sorry for having been such a nuisance.’
‘All in the day’s work, Mr Tanner,’ the solicitor returned as he shook hands and bowed his visitor out.
Tanner left Lincoln’s Inn, and after making a call at the Yard, took the next train back to Halford.
CHAPTER V
INSPECTOR TANNER BECOMES CONVINCED
AFTER dinner that same evening Inspector Tanner, having lit his pipe, and selected the most comfortable arm-chair he could find, set himself to take stock of his position, and see just where he stood with his new case.
He realised that the lawyer’s communication contained food for thought. Certainly a lot of the information he had gained seemed to point in a rather unmistakable way to Austin. That the latter had murdered his father he felt it hard to believe, and yet he had known men to be convicted on slighter evidence than that he already held. Absent-mindedly pressing down the tobacco in his pipe, he closed his eyes, and tried to view the facts he had learnt in a proper perspective.
Here was a son who had never been able to get on with his father, so much so that they could not live in the same house. To the father he had been a continual disappointment, and no doubt that irritation would show in the father’s manner, and could not but increase the bad blood between them. It was true they had agreed to differ, and Sir William had allowed Austin £1000 a year, but agreeing to differ did not necessarily prevent very unpleasant feelings on both sides, and as for the money, though it seemed handsome at first sight, it was very small compared to what Sir William might have paid without missing it.
From what Tanner had seen of Austin and his villa, he thought the latter must be living at the rate of well on to a thousand a year. That was to say, nearly at the rate of his income. Under these circumstances he falls in love and decides to marry. The lady would have but a small dot, if any. The two of them must therefore live on what had before been enough for Austin only. What does Aus
tin do? He sees his father the day after the engagement, probably to tell him the news, and possibly to ask for an increased allowance. As in the ordinary course of nature a large portion of Sir William’s money would soon become his in any case, this would not be an unreasonable demand. But what does Sir William answer? Tanner could only surmise, but from what the dead man had said to Mr Arbuthnot it was probable he had not only refused the increase, but had threatened altering his will adversely to Austin if the marriage took place. If, as appeared possible from the words overheard by Innes, Sir William had said anything derogatory to the lady, Austin’s feelings, already considerably aroused, would probably reach white heat. At all events, whether the interview between father and son had or had not taken this course, it was bed-rock fact that they had quarrelled about some woman.
Tanner continued his surmises. Assuming he was correct so far, Austin would inevitably be faced with a very terrible temptation. If his father should die without altering his will, it would mean £150,000 to himself. £150,000! Quite a respectable sum of money! There would then be no question of love in a cottage with Miss Drew. He could give her all those things which men delight to give women. And the irritation of the constant unpleasantness with Sir William would be gone. The more Tanner considered the matter, the more powerful he felt this temptation would have been. Many a stronger man than Austin seemed to be had succumbed to less.
Then coming down to details. The murderer had unquestionably known his way about Luce Manor. He had either gone to the library by the side door, and there committed the crime, carrying the body down to the boathouse, or, more probably, he had devised some scheme to make Sir William go there of his own accord. He had also taken the particular oars belonging to the boat used. All the knowledge necessary for this Austin of course possessed.
But more suspicious than that, Austin by his own showing had actually taken a boat down the river on that night, and the hours of leaving and returning were such that he would just have had time to reach the Luce Manor boathouse, commit the murder, and return the boat to the club. Of course, he had claimed to have an alibi for this period, but alibis could be faked, and the very readiness and apparent completeness of this seemed to Tanner slightly indicative of prearrangement.
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