There was then the question of the oars. This also had a suspicious look. At first Tanner had accepted without question the boatman’s theory that the boat and oars had become separated in the upper channel and had passed down to the falls through different arches of the road bridge. Indeed, his own inspection of the place had led him to the same conclusion. And this losing of the oars had seemed to explain adequately enough how the accident happened.
But when it was shown that the affair was not an accident at all, the matter of the oars took on a very different complexion. Evidently it was part of the plant—deliberately arranged to create the very impression it had produced. And Tanner now saw that the murderer had overreached himself. Sir William might easily have lost one oar, but he would not have let both go. And it was very unlikely, even if he had dropped both, that they would have separated far enough from the boat to have taken the other archway. Here again one might have done so, but not both. No, Tanner was driven to the conclusion that the boat must have been sent adrift close to the Luce Manor bank of the river, while the oars were taken over to the opposite side in another boat, and there thrown overboard. And Austin had had such a boat down the river that night.
Lastly, and most suggestive of all was Austin’s start and look of fear, when the Coroner had announced the adjournment of the inquest. It was true he had accounted for his apprehension. An investigation might bring up the question of the alibi in which, as he was unable to prove its truth, no credence might be placed, leaving him in an awkward position. But was this a satisfactory explanation? Were these consequences not too remote to be seen with such immediate clearness as to cause an actual start? Did it not involve too instantaneous a perception of the facts? The Inspector thought so.
But he saw as he still smoked and pondered, that it was equally possible that his whole conclusions were erroneous. Austin unquestionably might be, as he pictured himself, the innocent victim of the real murderer’s plant.
His thoughts turned to Cosgrove Ponson. Here was another man who had an interest in Sir William’s death. And from what Mr Arbuthnot had said, his interest might be quite as strong, or even stronger, than Austin’s. When a man about town who had been living a rather fast life got into financial difficulties, he was not usually very squeamish as to how he extricated himself. £75,000 to a man perhaps faced with ruin would be worth taking a risk for. And if Cosgrove had become hardened enough to commit the crime, he would probably not have jibbed at making the plant to throw the suspicion on Austin. Tanner concluded that if Austin’s alibi held, his next work must be the investigation of Cosgrove’s life as well as his movements on the night of the murder.
His whole cogitations therefore simply brought him back to the point from which he had started. Before he did anything else, every point of Austin’s alibi must be gone into with the most meticulous care.
Accordingly, having refilled his pipe, he set himself to go over in detail the story Austin Ponson had told him of his movements on the night of the murder. He wished not only to be clear in his own mind as to the sequence of events, but to make a list of the points upon which he could reasonably hope to obtain confirmatory evidence.
Austin, according to his own statement, left the pavilion of the Halford boat club at about ten minutes before nine. He rowed to the Old Ferry, sat there for about ten minutes, until the maid arrived with the note, then walked to the Abbey and spent a few minutes searching for Miss Drew and her friends. Failing to find them, he went to the Franklyns’ house, satisfied himself it was empty, returned to the Old Ferry, and rowed back to Halford, arriving at the pavilion about quarter before eleven. There he had waked the caretaker to get the boat in. He had walked to the Drews’, stayed with them some ten minutes, going on to his own house, which he reached about twenty minute past eleven. Now, first, as to the checking of these hours.
Tanner took a sheet of paper, and looking up his note of the times it had taken him to walk the various distances, and estimating for the rowing, he made a statement something like a railway time table. When he had finished he found that the total estimated time which the journeys should have taken worked out at practically that mentioned by Austin. So far, then, the story hung together.
Next with regard to outside testimony. What confirmation would it be reasonable to expect?
From the attendant at the boat club pavilion he should be able to learn if Austin did take out a boat, and if so, at what hour. Possibly other persons in the club might have been present, and could substantiate this point. The attendant would also know the hour at which he was called out on Austin’s return. The Drews would certainly have remarked the time of Austin’s call, and lastly, the latter’s own servants would be sure to remember the hour of his return. There should be ample—indeed overwhelming—evidence of the times at which Austin set out with his boat and returned.
So far so good, but it was clear to Tanner that if he could get no further corroboration than this, the whole alibi was worthless. One point—but that a vital point—would remain un substantiated. Austin might have left and returned at the hours he stated, but where was he between them? Did he go to the Abbey and the Franklyns’? If he did, he could not have been to Luce Manor, and necessarily was innocent. How was this to be ascertained?
There were, of course, the footprints. That these were made by Austin’s shoes was beyond question. The fact that the latter were new prevented the marks showing the individuality that might otherwise have been expected, but against that, at one point on the edge of the left sole there was a slight dint—caused possibly by striking a stone—and this dint was faithfully reproduced in the prints. It was too much to suppose that two separate pairs of similar shoes should have similar dints.
But two other points were by no means beyond question. Though it was certain that Austin’s shoes had passed over that ground, how could it be proved that Austin was then wearing them? How, again, could it be known that they were made at the time stated? Could not Austin really have been at Luce Manor on that evening, and have made the tracks to the Abbey at some other time? Tanner was puzzled. He did not see how this point was to be cleared up.
Next morning he began his investigation at the pavilion of the Halford boat club. It was quite a large place, situated on a kind of bay on the river, just below the town. The house was built of red brick, with heavy overhanging eaves, and a kind of piazza in front. Before the piazza and stretching a good way past it in each direction, was the wharf wall, with several broad flights of steps leading to the river. Out on the water were moored some dozen or more boats, and others were in the railed-off space surrounding the house. Tanner pushed open the gate of this railing and entered.
At first he could see no one about, then, as he walked round the house, he came on a youngish man in a cap and a blue jersey, who was washing out one of the boats. He hailed him, and they got into conversation in a leisurely way. Tanner praised the house and general appearance of the place, and then gradually came to the object of his call.
He had no trouble in obtaining the required information. The caretaker remembered Austin taking out the boat on the Wednesday night. He confirmed the latter’s statement on all points, and was quite certain of the hours he had left and returned.
‘Mr Ponson was in a rare old hurry to be away,’ went on the man. ‘The boat he wanted was out, but it was just coming round the bend there, and I told him to wait a moment and he could have it. Well, he did wait, but he was all jumping like a hen on a hot griddle to be off. “Hang it, Stevens,” he says, “are those people going to be all night?” But Mr Brocklehurst, that was him who had out the boat, was sculling in quite fast. Well, sir, I fixed up the boat, and let him have it, and he rowed off like a blooming paddle steamer. I couldn’t but laugh when I watched him going down the river.’
‘What time did you say that was?’
‘It was ten minutes to nine. Mr Brocklehurst got ashore about the quarter, and it took me about five minutes to get the boat squared up.’
‘And you say he rooted you out of bed when he got back?’
‘Yes, sir. It was a quarter to eleven, and I had just put out the light.’
Tanner was nothing if not thorough. He went to the police station, learnt that Mr Brocklehurst was a solicitor with an office in the main street, and promptly called on him. In five minutes he had his information. Mr Brocklehurst had reached the pavilion about quarter before nine, for he recollected that as he had arrived at his house the town clock had struck nine.
The inspector then turned his steps to Elm Cottage, the residence of the Drews. Apart from the question of the alibi, he was anxious to meet Miss Drew and form his own conclusions as to the part she would be likely to play in the matter.
Elm Cottage was a small detached villa, set some twenty yards back from the road, and surrounded by a tiny, but well-kept garden. Tanner sent in his card, and was taken to a low and rather dark drawing-room at the back of the house, from which however there was a fine view of the river. Everything bore traces of culture and taste, but of rather straitened means. The room wanted papering, the carpet was worn, the furniture shabby. But what there was of it was good, there was everywhere neatness and spotless cleanliness, and the otherwise somewhat drab effect was met by means of flowers in bowls and vases. If the room bore the impress of Miss Drew’s character, as Tanner suspected, it showed her a fine girl, bravely determined to make the best of things which she could not remedy.
In a few moments she joined him, and as the Inspector looked at her face, he felt the character he had imagined of her was there. A low, broad forehead crowned by masses of dark hair surmounted two dark, intelligent eyes, which met his own with steady directness. Her nose was small, her lips rather full but delicately modelled, and her chin firm and well-rounded. Indeed, if anything, the lower part of her face might be considered a trifle too much developed for perfect symmetry. It gave her almost too pronounced an appearance of strength and determination, and Tanner felt she would be a person to be reckoned with. But as they talked he became convinced her power would never be used except to further what she believed to be just and right.
‘I have to apologise, madame, for this intrusion,’ he said courteously, ‘but I have been sent down by Scotland Yard to inquire into the circumstances attending the death of Sir William Ponson. Mr Austin Ponson has told me of the hoax which was played on him on the same evening, and we discussed whether there might not possibly be some connection. He mentioned your name, and I ventured to call to ask you if you would please tell me what you know about it.’
‘Did Mr Ponson tell you we are engaged?’
‘He did, Miss Drew, under promise of secrecy. He gave that as his excuse for mentioning your name, also saying he had your authority to do so.’
‘And what precisely do you want me to tell you?’
‘Anything you can about it, please. What, for example, was the first you heard of it?’
The girl did not reply for a moment. Then she answered with another question.
‘Just let me understand you, if you please, Mr Inspector. Do you doubt Mr Ponson’s story, and are you looking for confirmation?’
Inspector Tanner hesitated in his turn.
‘I think, Miss Drew,’ he said quietly, ‘that you would probably prefer me to tell you the exact truth.’
She nodded and he went on.
‘The answer to your question is Yes and No. In the ordinary routine way I asked Mr Ponson where he himself was on Wednesday night. Such a question is always asked under such circumstances, and it has no unpleasant significance. In answer to it he told me about the hoax. The story seemed to me probable, and I saw no reason for doubting it. But that did not absolve me from trying in every way I could to test its truth. You must see that I was bound to do so. And I may be allowed to say that all the inquiries I have made up to the present confirm what Mr Ponson told me.’
‘But why does it matter whether or not his story is true?’
Tanner felt very uncomfortable. Though hardened by a life of contact with crime, he was a good fellow at heart, and he disliked intensely giving pain, especially to women. But as he looked into the steady, truthful eyes of the girl before him, he felt he could not prevaricate.
‘I would rather not tell you,’ he answered, ‘but if you insist, I will.’
‘I insist.’
‘Well, I am sorry to say we don’t exactly understand how Sir William died. There is a doubt that it may have been suicide or even murder. Let me make it clear that this is by no means certain, but I am bound to say that the idea has occurred to us that the murderer, if there was one, hoaxed Mr Ponson to try to throw suspicion on him.’
The girl’s face paled, but she gave no other sign of emotion.
‘I dreaded it,’ she replied in a low tone, ‘and he dreaded it too. We talked the whole thing over on the afternoon of the day the body was found, and we couldn’t see any reason why Sir William should have gone down to the boat of his own accord. And then this hoax looked as if it had been made for just what you say. But I am at least thankful you take that view and don’t suspect Mr Ponson of inventing the whole thing. That, I may say now, was what I really feared.’
‘I can only repeat that all the inquiries I have made up to the present have confirmed Mr Ponson’s story, and I have no reason whatever to think he invented it.’
‘Thank you for that at all events. Now what do you want me to do?’
‘To tell me at what hours Mr Ponson came and left here on the Wednesday night, and what took place while he was here.’
‘He came at eleven—almost exactly. I looked at the clock when the ring came, for we seldom had so late a call. He showed me the two notes he had received, and asked me about them. When I explained I had not written them he told us—my father was present—the whole story of the hoax. As I have said, he did not stay, leaving in about ten minutes.’
Tanner rose.
‘Thank you, Miss Drew. That is all I want to know. I am sorry for having come on unpleasant business, and exceedingly grateful for the way you have met me.’
She also rose and held out her hand.
‘I hope you will let me know how you get on,’ she said.
‘You may trust me,’ he promised, and bowing low, took his leave.
As he walked slowly towards Austin’s villa, Tanner thought over the interview he had just had. He felt sure that the accounts he had heard of Miss Drew—that she was ‘a fine girl’ and ‘a real lady’—were true. He believed she was the kind of girl who would marry neither for wealth nor position, and the fact that she had consented to an engagement with Austin seemed to speak well for the latter.
His thoughts turned back to the point about the alibi which still worried him—whether Austin had really been at the Abbey at the time he said. And suddenly a way in which he might test the matter occurred to him. The shoes which made the tracks Tanner had found had, so Austin had said, been bought by him in London on the Monday. He, Tanner, had got them from Austin after the inquest on Friday. If he could trace the movements of those shoes from Monday to Friday, would light not be thrown on the problem? Tanner thought it worth while trying.
Not far from the door of Austin Ponson’s house a police constable was moving slowly along his beat. The Inspector went over to him.
‘Have you seen Mr Ponson lately?’ he inquired.
‘Yes, sir,’ answered the man, ‘he and Lady and Miss Ponson passed in the car about half an hour ago, going towards London.’
This was a fortunate chance, and relieved the Inspector of a possibly tedious wait, as he wished to make his call at the house when Austin was from home. He now rang at the door. The butler appeared.
‘Is Mr Ponson at home?’
‘No, sir. He went out about half an hour ago. I expect him back about six. What name shall I say?’
‘Tanner. Inspector Tanner of New Scotland Yard. I am sorry Mr Ponson is out as I wished to ask him for a little information, but perhaps if you woul
d be so kind you might be able to give it to me.’
The butler was obviously impressed by the occupation of his visitor, and Tanner felt sure his curiosity would also be aroused.
‘If you will come in I shall be glad to do what I can.’
‘Now, Mr—? I didn’t hear your name?’
‘Lewis. John Lewis.’
‘Well, Mr Lewis, Mr Ponson told me a curious story of a hoax that had been played on him last Wednesday night. I was down, you know, about Sir William’s death, and we got talking. You know about the hoax, I suppose?’
‘Not a word,’ the butler answered, his manner portraying keen interest.
‘He didn’t tell me it was any secret. He got a note on Wednesday evening asking him to go out to meet some friends that night at the Abbey ruin.’
The butler nodded several times.
‘Yes, I remember that note. I found it in the hall-door letter-box. It must have been left by private messenger, for there was no postmark on it. After Mr Austin had read it he came asking me where I had found it. He seemed kind of puzzled about it.’
‘That would be it,’ Tanner agreed. ‘He went out to the Abbey, but when he reached it there was no one there and he had his journey for nothing. Someone had hoaxed him properly.’
‘Bless us all!’ ejaculated the butler. ‘You don’t say?’
‘Mr Ponson asked me when I was here to look into the thing for him and I did. I found some footsteps there that might give a clue, but the worst of it is I don’t know whether they weren’t made by himself. Maybe, Mr Lewis, you would help me there. I would be much obliged, I’m sure.’
‘Certainly, Mr Tanner. I’d be pleased if you’d tell me how.’
‘All I want is to see the shoes Mr Ponson wore on Wednesday night, so as I can compare them with the prints.’
The Ponson Case Page 8