The Ponson Case

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  ‘Place too hot to hold them?’

  ‘In Edward’s case, I think so. Edward was the younger. He was in debt heavily, I know, and he slipped off quietly one night to the States, and was never heard of again.’

  ‘And the other?

  ‘The elder brother, Tom, was a bad lot too. He had a tragic end. He was drowned. But I don’t think anyone mourned for him. He had well-nigh broken his young wife’s heart in the three years they were married.’

  Tanner was like a bloodhound on a hot scent. This was very interesting. He remembered that Sir William Ponson had married a Mrs Dale from this part of the country, whose husband had been drowned on his way to Canada. It looked like as if the Tom Dale of whom Mr Clayton had been speaking might have been this man.

  ‘What was the business of the Dale brothers?’ he asked.

  ‘They were both in the same firm—the Eagle Ironworks. You know it maybe—in Gateshead? It was Peter Howard’s then. I remember young Ponson joining it—poor fellow, he’s gone now—it was he that made it. When he started as office boy there was just one small shed and about a dozen men, and now it’s a company employing over a thousand hands. A wonderful change.’

  ‘Wonderful indeed, Mr Clayton.’

  ‘Ay. A man of my years can look back over great changes. That’s more than a young fellow like you can do, eh, Mr Tanner?’

  ‘It’s true, sir. And you say Tom was drowned?’

  ‘Yes. He got a sudden call. He was in the Numidian. You wouldn’t remember about her?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No, it would be before your time. A terrible business it was. The Numidian was a big boat, big for those times, I mean. She was running from Glasgow to Quebec, and she struck a berg. Went down off the banks in a few minutes. Nearly every soul on board was lost, and Tom Dale was one of them. A sudden call, it was.’

  ‘A terrible affair. I do remember hearing of it.’

  ‘Ay, no doubt. A sudden call for Tom, that it was.’

  ‘You said he nearly broke a good woman’s heart, Mr Clayton?’

  ‘Ay, and so he did. Little Ethel Osborne was fool enough to marry him. And it wasn’t long till she was sorry for it. They say she saw him drunk for the first time the night after the wedding. But it wasn’t the last, not by a long chalk. He was a bad boy all through, was Tom.’

  ‘Then his death must have been something of a release to her?’

  ‘Yes, poor soul. But she had more sense the second time.’

  ‘The second time?’

  ‘Ay, she did what she ought to have done at the start—married young William Ponson.’

  ‘Never neglect the smallest clue!’ thought Tanner triumphantly, as he recalled his doubt of the wisdom of following up the photograph. The connection between Douglas and Sir William was strengthening. Doubtless he was on the right track at last, and maybe if he questioned him skilfully, this old man would let something drop which would give away the secret.

  Mr Clayton was glad to talk—the old gentleman seemed lonely—and presently the whole story came out. Substantially it was the same as that Tanner had already heard from Mr Arbuthnot, the late manufacturer’s lawyer. Mr Clayton told of William Ponson’s start in life as office-boy in the Eagle Ironworks of John Howard; of his rapid rise to the position, first of manager, then partner, and finally of sole owner; of his taking his brother John, Cosgrove’s father, into the concern; of their extraordinary prosperity; of William’s municipal life, culminating in his knighthood, and of John’s death, followed by Sir William’s sale of the business, and retirement to Luce Manor.

  With all of this Tanner was familiar, but he found Mr Clayton was able to give him rather more details of the manufacturer’s family affairs than he had yet learnt.

  It seemed that when the deceased knight was aged seven-and-twenty, he had fallen deeply in love with a Miss Ethel Osborne, the daughter of a Gateshead doctor. Miss Osborne was a pretty, though not very brilliant girl of some twenty summers, with a placid, pleasure-loving disposition, and a little money. The Dale brothers at this time held positions in the firm, Tom, the elder being a traveller, and his brother Edward a clerk. Tom was a handsome youth with rather fascinating manners, He was considerably below middle height, had delicate features, small and beautifully shaped hands and feet, and dark, passionate eyes.

  When William Ponson began to press his attentions on Ethel Osborne, he soon found he had a rival in Tom Dale. For a long time the young lady was unable to decide between her two admirers. For Ponson she had more respect, and she felt that as his wife she would have an assured position and a comfortable home. But Ponson was ‘stodgy.’ His thoughts were centred in his work, and his own advancement, and he had forsworn that lighter side of life—theatres, dances, excursions—which the young girl found so attractive. With Dale she believed her prospects might be less secure, but life would certainly be pleasanter. He seemed to understand her, and respond to her moods better than the other, and he was a delightful companion. And who shall blame her if she sacrificed material prosperity to the joy of life, rather, who shall not praise her?

  In due time she married Dale, and at once, on the very self-same day, her disillusionment began. That night, as has already been mentioned, he returned drunk to the Scottish hotel at which they were to spend the honeymoon. And that was only the first occasion of many. Soon she learned of an entanglement with a barmaid which had been going on at the very time of the wedding. It was not long before their numerous quarrels led to an open rupture, and Dale made no secret to his wife of the fact that he had married her for her money. Matters went from bad to worse, till debt began to fasten on them its horrid shackles, and ruin stared them in the face. The one alleviating circumstance was that there had been no children from the marriage.

  All this William Ponson watched, grieving for Ethel, but of course helpless. Then it became necessary for the firm to send a representative to Canada, and the choice fell on their traveller, Tom Dale. Whether or not Ponson had any say in this decision was not known, but at all events Dale sailed for Quebec in the Numidian. As will be remembered, the vessel was lost off the coast of Newfoundland, a mere handful of her complement being saved. Dale’s name was amongst the lost. Ethel Dale therefore found herself not only without assets, but called upon to meet a considerable crop of debts. Her father having died since her marriage, she was thus absolutely destitute.

  It was believed to be owing to William Ponson’s efforts that a small pension was granted her by the firm, and the debts were wiped out by a presentation from some of the employees. She took a small house, and by letting rooms contrived to make a living.

  William Ponson, though he had acted throughout in a strictly honourable manner, had never ceased to love Ethel. He bided his time for over two years, then, calling on the widow, he told her of his love and boldly pressed his suit. She then realised that she had loved him all along, and though at first she refused to consider his proposal, his steady insistence wore down her opposition and in 1887, five years after he had first loved her, he obtained his desire, and they were married. The trouble through which she had passed had profoundly modified her character, sobering her and bringing out all that was best in her, and her life with William Ponson, though quiet, had been truly happy. Two children were born, Austin and Enid.

  ‘And you said the other Dale went to the States, I think?’ asked Tanner, when he had learnt the above facts.

  ‘Edward? Yes, he got into difficulties too. He was a born gambler. He was owing money everywhere, and the place got too hot for him. He went to the States shortly after Tom was married.’

  Tanner felt he had done well. Almost first shot he had found this Mr Clayton and obtained information which must prove of the utmost value. But he had stayed chatting to and pumping the old man for an unconscionable time, and he began to express his thanks, preparatory to taking his leave. And then an idea flashed into his mind, and he sat motionless for some moments, thinking.

  ‘Wha
t was the Dale brother, Edward, like in appearance?’ he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

  ‘Like enough to his brother Tom, but not so good looking, nor with such good manners by a long chalk. But passably well looking for all that.’

  ‘But was he a small man?’

  ‘Small? Ay, that he was—like Tom. Both were small men.’

  Could it be? Edward Dale, a little man with small hands and feet, knowing all about William Ponson’s youth—knowing probably a good deal more than Mr Clayton had told or perhaps knew—Edward Dale, a clerk, had gone to America and disappeared. William Douglas, a little man with small hands and feet, and apparently knowing intimate facts about Sir William Ponson—William Douglas, a clerk, had come from America, his youthful history being unknown. Could they be one and the same?

  The more Tanner thought over this theory, the more likely it seemed. As he sat smoking with Mr Clayton in the pleasant garden, he went over in his mind all that he had learnt of each man, and was unable to recall anything inconsistent with the hypothesis.

  But how could he test it? He must make sure. But how?

  There was of course one obvious possibility. Mr Clayton, if confronted with Douglas, might recognise him as Edward Dale. Or Douglas might recognise Mr Clayton, and so give himself away. It was not a certainty, but it would be worth trying. The Inspector turned to his host.

  ‘I believe, sir,’ he said, ‘that if I told you just what was troubling me, you might be able to help me out, if you would. I was asking you about Edward Dale, but I did not tell you much about the man we arrested. In the first place, Douglas, as he says his name is, came to England from New York, where he was employed as a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway for several years. We have traced his movements back to 1892, previous to which we can discover nothing whatever about him. Now, you tell me Edward Dale left for the States about the year 1882, and has since been lost sight of. That is coincidence Number One.’

  Mr Clayton nodded without speaking. He was listening with eager attention.

  ‘Next,’ continued Tanner, ‘I did not tell you whose murder the man Douglas was suspected of. It was that of Sir William Ponson.’

  ‘God bless my soul!’ cried the other, ‘you don’t say so? A terrible affair that. And you think you’ve got the man, do you? All I can say is, I’d like to see him hanged.’

  ‘It seems clear from various things,’ Tanner went on, ‘that the trouble originated before Douglas went to America. Now Edward Dale knew Sir William in those days. That is coincidence Number Two.’

  ‘You said, I think, that Douglas’s history could not be traced before he became a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway? How then do you know he left England prior to that?’

  ‘We don’t absolutely know, but we think it for two reasons: first, he can speak with a North of England accent, and secondly, that in an old book of his we found the photograph of the Dales’ grave.’

  The other nodded.

  ‘That photograph,’ continued Tanner, ‘is coincidence Number Three. Few men would have such a photograph unless it represented something connected with their own families. And coincidence Number Four, Mr Clayton, is this. Douglas is a very short man with very small hands and feet.’

  ‘God bless my soul!’ Mr Clayton exclaimed again. ‘But this is most interesting. Go on, Mr Tanner.’

  ‘Well, sir, that leads me up to a very obvious question. You must have guessed it. You have known Dale intimately in the past; could you identify him now?

  Tanner sat back in his chair and drew at his cigar. The other did not answer for a moment. Then as he slowly refilled his pipe, he said hesitatingly:

  ‘I hardly like to say. Thirty-eight years is a long time, and a man might change a lot during it. I think I would recognise Edward if I saw him, but I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘Then, sir, my second question follows naturally. Will you come up to London and try?’

  The other smiled.

  ‘It’s a long journey for a man of my years,’ he said, ‘but I imagine I have no choice. You Scotland Yard people are so autocratic.’

  Tanner smiled in his turn.

  ‘If you will come at our expense, sir, you will confer a great favour on us. Do you prefer day or night travel?’

  ‘Day. When would you like me to go?’

  ‘The sooner the better, sir. Tomorrow, if it would be convenient.’

  ‘One day is much like another to me. I will go tomorrow, if you like.’

  They sat on for some time longer smoking and chatting. In spite of his years Mr Clayton’s mind remained active and vigorous, and he had kept himself well abreast of recent events. He evidently enjoyed exchanging ideas with the Inspector, and the latter exerted himself to entertain the old gentleman, relating several of the adventures he had met with in his professional career.

  In the afternoon Tanner called at the Eagle Works. But there he got no help. The firm’s official records did not go back far enough to include the Dales’ names, and none of the office staff recalled the brothers’ affairs.

  On the following day the Inspector and Mr Clayton travelled up to town together, and the former saw his new friend to an hotel. The interview with Douglas was to take place next morning.

  Inspector Tanner delighted in a dramatic situation, especially when he was the deus ex machina. In the present instance he thought he was sufficiently sure of his ground to risk an audience. After consulting his chief, he accordingly rang up James Daunt.

  ‘I think I am on to a clue at last,’ he said. ‘As you and Miss Drew are interested and have helped so much I will stretch a point from strict etiquette and invite you both to be present while we test it tomorrow.… Yes, here at the Yard at eleven o’clock.’

  At the time appointed a little group sat in the Inspector’s room. There was first of all Miss Drew, dressed quietly in a navy blue coat and skirt, and a small hat. Her kindly, dependable face was pale and somewhat drawn, as if the strain of the last few weeks had taken its toll of her. But she was calm and pleasantly courteous as usual, and did not betray by word or deed the anxiety which was gnawing at her heart.

  Jimmy Daunt, who sat beside her, seemed the more nervous of the two. He was extremely dissatisfied at the way his case was going, and eagerly anxious to learn in what direction the Inspector’s fresh information would tend.

  Mr Clayton, who sat next to Daunt, was anxious too. He devoutly hoped that after all the fuss and trouble of his visit to London, he should be able to give a decided opinion—to say definitely whether the man he was to see was or was not Dale.

  On the other side of Tanner sat Chief Inspector Edgar. On Tanner reporting what he proposed to do, the latter had expressed a desire to be present. He it was who had suggested having the meeting at the Yard, in order to avoid the necessity of Miss Drew’s visiting the prison. But he took no part in the proceedings, Tanner conducting all the business.

  When the visitors had been introduced to each other, Tanner rose, and bowing to Miss Drew and her cousin, said:

  ‘I have taken the liberty of asking you to be present this morning, as I know the keen interest you take in this case. Following a certain line of inquiry, with the details of which I need not now trouble you, I had the good fortune to come across Mr Clayton here. From what he told me there seemed a reasonable probability that the man whom I arrested in Portugal, and who gave his name as William Douglas, was not so named at all, but was a certain Edward Dale, a clerk in the late Sir William Ponson’s Ironworks, who emigrated to the States in the year 1882. Mr Clayton has been good enough to come up all the way from Newcastle to put this theory to the test. I propose now to confront Douglas with Mr Clayton, so as to see whether the two men recognise each other. I may add that if Douglas has to admit he is Dale, it is more than possible he may make a statement explaining the whole affair. Now, Mr Clayton, might I ask you to sit here at my desk with your head bent as if writing, and when I sign to you, to move round so that Douglas may see your face sudde
nly.’

  A roll top desk was placed at right angles to the wall beside the large double window, and Mr Clayton crossed over and sat down on the swing chair, bending forward as if to write. Anyone entering would see only his stooped shoulders, and the back of his head, but when he swung round his features would be fully lighted from the window. The others placed themselves with their backs to the light, and in view of the door. When he was satisfied as to the position of each, Tanner pressed a bell and a sergeant of the police entered.

  ‘You may bring him in now.’

  The man withdrew, closing the door, and silence came down on the little group. To Lois Drew such scenes were new, and on her expressive features there was a look of compassion for the unhappy man for whom the trap was set, and whose life might depend on his actions during the next few moments. To her the whole business was evidently extremely distasteful, and it was not hard to conclude that only the possibility of helping her lover had induced her to continue to take part in it.

  Tanner’s emotions were evidently far otherwise. The eagerness of the hunter showed in his eyes, and his whole body seemed on the stretch. He was by no means a cruel man, but he had pitted his wits against the other, and the issue between them was now about to be joined.

  A knock came to the door, it was thrown open, and William Douglas entered.

  The man seemed to have aged since Tanner had first seen him at his house at Yelverton. His face was paler, his hair seemed greyer, and he was even smaller and more stooped. Innocent or guilty, he was already paying for his connection with the crime.

  ‘Take a seat, Mr Douglas,’ said Tanner, moving forward and placing a chair where the full light from the window shone on the other’s face. ‘I have asked you to meet my friends here, to discuss some points about this case. But I have to repeat my warning that you are not bound to make any statement or to answer any questions you may be asked unless you choose. This lady is Miss Drew, a friend of the Ponson family; this gentleman,’ he indicated Daunt, ‘is Mr Austin Ponson’s solicitor, and this,’ he waved his other hand, ‘is Chief Inspector Edgar. I think you already know our friend at the desk.’