The Ponson Case

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  The butler’s face fell.

  ‘That’s just the one thing I can’t do,’ he answered. ‘They’re not here. I missed them on Friday, and told Mr Austin. He said they were not comfortable, and he had sent them to be stretched.’

  ‘They were new, then?’

  ‘Yes, he got them in town on Monday.’

  ‘It was curious he should wear them that night if they weren’t comfortable.’

  ‘I suppose he hadn’t found it out. That evening was the first time he had had them on.’

  ‘I see.’ Tanner nodded his head, then continued, ‘What time did he go out, Mr Lewis?’

  ‘About eight or a bit after.’

  ‘And when did he get back?’

  ‘A little before half-past eleven. I brought him some whisky, and when I was coming out of his room the clock struck the half-hour.’

  ‘And he didn’t go out again that night?’

  ‘No, he went to bed about twelve. I heard him go up.’

  ‘I see. And what was the next occasion he wore those shoes?’

  ‘There wasn’t no next occasion. That was the only time he had them on.’

  Tanner considered. This seemed to be pretty conclusive, but he was anxious to obtain even stronger evidence. After a moment he went on again.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not quite clear about the thing yet. What I want to get at is whether anyone else could have got hold of those shoes and made the tracks I saw at the Abbey.’

  ‘If that’s all’s worrying you, you may make your mind easy. Those shoes were in my charge from Monday evening till Mr Ponson put them on on Wednesday after dinner. Then I brought them down to clean before I went to bed that night, and they were there till he took them on Friday. I remarked them particularly because they were new, and if anyone had touched them I would have known. Besides, there was no one about that could do it.’

  ‘What state were they in when you cleaned them?’

  ‘Muddy—very wet and muddy. I couldn’t think where Mr Austin had been to get them into such a condition.’

  ‘One more question, Mr Lewis. You tell me the shoes were not worn except on Wednesday evening. But could someone else not have worn them then? Suppose Mr Austin went out wearing some other pair, and some one else slipped in and got hold of these and made the tracks, and then put back the shoes without your knowing?’

  The butler looked at the other with an expression of pitying scorn.

  ‘Why, Mr Inspector, I’m not altogether a fool. I tell you I saw them on Mr Austin’s feet when he was going out, and I saw them on his feet when he was coming in, so they weren’t in the house for anyone else to take. And what’s more, if that doesn’t convince you, every other pair of Mr Austin’s boots and shoes were in the house that evening. I know because I happened to look over them to see if any wanted mending. So if anyone else had his new shoes he must have been going about himself in his socks.’

  It was enough. This placed the affair beyond doubt, or it would if one other point were settled. Tanner rose.

  ‘I am extremely obliged to you, Mr Lewis, and now I must beg your pardon for having played a little trick on you. I have the shoes. Mr Ponson gave them to me on Friday. Come with me to the hotel and have a drink, and tell me if the shoes I have are the ones you were speaking of, and that’ll be all I’ll ask you.’

  That the butler was suspicious there was more in the questions than met the eye was obvious, but he made no remark, and on seeing the shoes, he identified them unhesitatingly as Austin’s.

  Tanner was pleased with the result of his inquiries. As he summed up the situation it stood as follows:

  Austin had left Halford and returned to it at such hours as would have just enabled him to reach the Abbey in the interval. Therefore, if he did reach it he could not have been at Luce Manor, and if he was not at Luce Manor he was innocent. Footprints were made at the Abbey by a certain pair of shoes. Those shoes were at Austin’s house every moment of the time from their purchase till they came into Tanner’s possession, except during the particular period in question. The tracks at the Abbey must therefore have been made during this period. Further, during this period Austin himself must have been wearing the shoes, as not only had he left his house and returned to it wearing them, but he had no others to put on—the remainder were all at his house. If, therefore, Austin did not himself make the tracks at the Abbey, he must have had no shoes during the time this was being done, in which case he could hardly have been at Luce Manor committing the murder. To Tanner the alibi was complete. Short of seeing Austin at the Abbey, he could expect no stronger evidence.

  Even if the truth of Austin’s story were unlikely, Tanner would have felt compelled to believe it. But, as he had seen from the start, it was by no means unlikely. On the contrary the whole thing was just the kind of plant the real murderer might probably enough devise to shift suspicion from himself to Austin. That it was such a plant Tanner now felt certain.

  And if so, had it not one rather suggestive point? The man who made the plant was familiar with Austin and his affairs. Who, of those who knew the affairs of both Austin and Sir William, had an interest in the latter’s death?

  The answer was not far to seek. One such at least was Cosgrove Ponson. He had both the knowledge and the motive. Tanner felt his next business must be with the cousin.

  And then a more sinister idea entered the Inspector’s mind. What if there was more in the plant than a mere attempt to shift the suspicion off the murderer? What if the plan was to encompass Austin’s death as well? If Austin were convicted and executed it would make a great difference to Cosgrove apart from rendering his position safe. Tanner recalled the terms of the will. If Sir William died Cosgrove received £75,000, but if Austin also should lose his life his cousin would net another £30,000. Here was motive enough for anything.

  Tanner recollected the woman who, Austin had stated, had handed him the note at the Old Ferry. As the latter’s story must now be taken as true, this must be a real woman, and if Cosgrove were the guilty man she must be his accomplice.

  Here was a line of inquiry which might lead to something. Tanner decided he would return to town by the next train, and start this new phase of the case.

  CHAPTER VI

  WHAT COSGROVE HAD TO TELL

  AT three o’clock that same afternoon Inspector Tanner stepped from the train at St Pancras. He had telephoned to the Yard before leaving Halford, and, as a result, one of his men was awaiting him on the platform.

  ‘Ah, Hilton,’ the Inspector greeted him. ‘I want you to go over to Knightsbridge and look up a man for me—a Mr Cosgrove Ponson who has rooms at Number 174B. All you need find out is whether or not he is at home. I’ll follow you round in a couple of hours, and you can report to me there.’

  This arranged, Tanner took a taxi and was driven to his house at Fulham.

  Town was very hot. The sun poured down out of an almost brazen sky, taking the freshness from the air and turning the streets into canals of swimming heat. The narrow courts were stifling, the open spaces shone with a blinding glare. Dust was everywhere, a dry burning dust which parched the throat and made the eyeballs smart. As Tanner looked around him he recalled with regret the green lawns and shady trees of Luce Manor.

  A couple of hours later he emerged from his house, resplendent in a silk hat and frock coat, with well-fitting gloves and a gold-headed cane. Taking another taxi, he drove to Knightsbridge. There he dismissed his vehicle, and approaching his man, Hilton, made him a slight sign. The other responded by nodding his head. Cosgrove, the Inspector understood, had gone out.

  Sauntering leisurely across the road, Tanner mounted the steps of the house and rang. The door was opened by a dark, clean-shaven manservant.

  ‘Mr Ponson is not at home, sir,’ he said in reply to the Inspector’s inquiry, as he reached back for a salver.

  Tanner held out a card engraved ‘Mr Reginald Willoughby, The Albany.’

  ‘I rather wanted to see Mr Ponson
on business,’ he went on. ‘Do you think he’ll soon be back?’

  ‘I think so, sir. He’ll almost certainly be in before seven.’

  The Inspector glanced at his watch.

  ‘I have half an hour to spare. I think I’ll come in and wait.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ the man replied, as he led the way to a large sitting-room on the first floor.

  Left to himself, Tanner began by looking carefully round the room, and noting and memorising its contents. It was furnished as a library, with huge leather-covered chairs, and a large roll-top desk. The walls were lined with bookshelves, relieved here and there by a good print. The air was heavy with the scent of innumerable roses, arranged in bowls of silver and old china. Books and papers, mostly of a sporting character, were littered on chairs and occasional tables. Cosgrove Ponson, it was evident, was not hard up in the sense in which the words are understood by the man in the street.

  Tanner waited motionless for a few minutes, then rising softly, he tiptoed over to the roll-top desk and tried the lid. It was locked. Slipping a small tool from his pocket, he gently inserted it in the lock, and after a few turns he was able to push the shutter noiselessly up.

  The desk was littered with papers. Tanner sat down before it and began a systematic though rapid search. He wanted to find out for himself Cosgrove’s exact financial position as well as, if possible, the names of any lady friends, one of whom might have impersonated Mrs Franklyn’s servant.

  But he had no luck. It seemed likely Cosgrove must have some other desk or sanctum in which he kept his more private correspondence. There were here notes, invitations, bills, a few receipts, and other miscellaneous papers, but no bank-book nor anything to give a clue to his means. Nor were any of the letters from female correspondents couched in sufficiently familiar language to seem worthy of a second thought.

  Considerably disappointed, Tanner pursued his search according to the regular routine he employed in such cases, ending up when he had finished with the letters by drawing a small mirror from his pocket and with it examining the blotting paper. He rapidly scanned the various sheets, and was just about to put them down as useless when his eye lit on the blurred and partial impression of an address. It consisted of three lines. The first he could not read, the second he thought was Gracechurch Street, following an undecipherable number, while the third was clear—the word ‘City.’ He had not noticed this address on any of the papers, and he now remarked it only because it seemed to suggest finance. Thinking it might be worth while trying to decipher the name, he slipped the page out of the blotter and secreted it in his pocket. Then silently closing the desk he tiptoed to the door. After listening for a moment at the keyhole he opened it and stepped stealthily out.

  Several doors opened off the passage, and Tanner stood for a moment wondering which led to the room of which he was in search. At last he selected one, and having ascertained from the keyhole that all was quiet within, he silently turned the handle. It opened into a dining-room. Withdrawing in the same noiseless manner he tried the next, to find himself in a spare bedroom. But the third door led to his goal. It was evidently Cosgrove’s dressing-room, and there at the opposite wall was what he was looking for—a long line of Cosgrove’s boots and shoes. A moment’s examination sufficed. Cosgrove’s foot was too big to have made the tracks of the fifth man at the Luce Manor boathouse. Silently he returned to his seat in the library.

  He looked at his watch. His search had lasted thirty-five minutes. He rang the bell.

  ‘I am sorry I cannot wait for Mr Ponson,’ he told the butler. ‘I shall write to him.’

  That evening he sat down to re-examine the sheet of blotting paper. He studied the second line for several minutes, and at last came to the conclusion his first idea had been correct. It was apparently Gracechurch Street. But the number was quite beyond him.

  Taking a street directory he began to go through the Gracechurch Street names, comparing each with the blot-sheet marks. He had been through about half when he came on one that seemed the correct shape—Messrs Moses Erckstein & Co. And when he saw that Messrs Erckstein were money-lenders, he felt hopeful that he was on the right track. But he was very thorough. He worked through the whole list, lest there should be some other name even more like that on the sheet. But there was none.

  Next morning he called on Messrs Erckstein. He was again wearing his silk hat and frock coat, and with these clothes he put on, to some extent at least, the manners of what our friends across the pond call a club man. He had made inquiries about the firm, and he now asked for the senior partner. After a delay of a few minutes he was shown into the latter’s room.

  Mr Erckstein was stout and dark, with a short black beard and Semitic features. Tanner had found out that, though he had been a German before the War, he was now a Pole.

  He proved an unwilling witness. It was not until Tanner had wasted over an hour, and threatened his informant with a summons to Court, where his books and his methods would be probed mercilessly in public, that he got what he required.

  Cosgrove Ponson, it appeared, was, and had been for many years, heavily in the firm’s debt. Including interest at the exorbitant rate charged, he now owed the money-lenders close on £30,000. Moreover, he had recently been severely pressed for part payment. Tanner, after a lot of trouble, saw copies of the letters sent, the last of which politely but unmistakably threatened proceedings and ruin unless the interest at least was immediately paid.

  ‘Why did you lend such a large sum?’ Tanner asked.

  ‘Because of his uncle, Mr Tanner. Sir William Ponson thought a lot of Mr Cosgrove, and he would have helped him. Now that he is dead we shall get our money. We understand Mr Cosgrove comes into a handsome legacy.’

  When Tanner left the office he was more than satisfied as to the strength of Cosgrove’s motive for the crime. Far stronger it appeared to him than that of Austin. It looked as if he was on the right track at last.

  Hailing a taxi, he handed the driver a pound in advance and instructed him in detail as to what he wished done. Then he stepped into the vehicle and was driven to Knightsbridge.

  Within view of Cosgrove’s chambers the car swung close to the sidewalk and the engine stopped. The driver sprang down, and opening the bonnet, became engrossed with his engine. It was obvious a slight mishap had taken place.

  Tanner sat well back in the car watching the house before him. It was getting on towards one. For more than half an hour the repairs continued. Then the Inspector saw Cosgrove leave his door and hail a taxi. He called softly to his own driver, and the work at the engine being completed at just that moment, the latter mounted and started the car.

  ‘Keep that taxi in sight,’ Tanner ordered as they moved forward.

  The chase was not a long one—down Piccadilly, across the Circus and into Shaftesbury Avenue. There the quarry turned into a narrow lane and Tanner, leaping out of his taxi, saw the other stop at the stage door of the Follies Theatre. He turned back to his own car.

  ‘Pick me up when I sign and follow it again,’ he said to his driver, then, becoming absorbed in a bookseller’s window immediately opposite the end of the lane in which the other car stood, he waited.

  With the corner of his eye he had seen Cosgrove enter the theatre, and after some ten minutes he observed him emerge following a lady whom he handed into his taxi. Rapidly Tanner regained his own vehicle, and as the other swept out of the lane and turned west, his driver took up his former position behind it.

  Once again the chase was short. Reaching the Strand, the leading car turned into the courtyard of the Savoy. As he stepped out of his taxi Tanner was in time to see his victims entering the great building. He followed quickly to the restaurant, and while they were looking for a table, slipped a couple of pounds into the head waiter’s hand.

  ‘I am from Scotland Yard,’ he whispered. ‘Put me beside that lady and gentleman like a good fellow.’

  The head waiter fled him forward and presently he fou
nd himself seated at a small table immediately behind Cosgrove. The lady was on Cosgrove’s right and from where he sat the Inspector could see her without appearing to stare. He recognised her immediately as Miss Betty Belcher, one of the most talented and popular actresses in London.

  She was a woman of about thirty, small, sprightly, and rather inclined to stoutness. Her features were delicate, her complexion creamy, and her eyes large and of the lightest blue. Her lips were just a trifle thin, and in repose wore the suspicion of a pout. But her glory was her hair. It was of a deep rich gold, piled up in great masses above her low forehead. Famous for her play in light, sparkling parts, her vivacity on the stage was unrivalled. But here she was not vivacious. On the contrary, both she and Cosgrove seemed ill at ease. While the waiter was serving them they discoursed on everyday topics, but when he passed on their voices dropped and Tanner could no longer overhear them.

  It was evident from their expressions they were discussing some serious matter, and Tanner strained his ears to learn its nature. For a time he was unsuccessful, but at last during lulls in the general conversation he caught enough to enlighten him. Disconnectedly and without the context he heard Cosgrove use the words ‘inquest adjourned,’ and ‘detective,’ and later the lady said something very like ‘suspicion aroused’ and once again, unquestionably, the phrase ‘the alibi should hold.’

  Inspector Tanner was extremely interested. Obviously they were talking about the Luce Manor tragedy, and from the reference to the alibi they seemed to have very first-hand information of Austin’s affairs. This, however, was natural enough and by no means suspicious. But the expression of anxiety on the lady’s face was not so natural. Tanner wished he was sure of its cause.

  After coffee Cosgrove lit a cigarette, and the Inspector was rather thrilled to notice it was of a light-brown colour. His thought turned to the end he had discovered in the Luce Manor boathouse. If Cosgrove’s case contained the same unusual brand as that found at Luce Manor, his suspicions would undoubtedly be strengthened.