by Derek Smith
"It wasn't long after eleven, so Roger raised no objection. It wasn't till later, when the time for his appointment drew nearer, that Querrin told the Sergeant to go.
"Hardinge stepped behind him, and stunned him with his truncheon—."
Castle pushed out a muffled curse.
"—catching him as he fell, so there would be no loud noise. He let him slip to the floor. Then he slid out the dagger from its sheath, and waited."
Lawrence settled himself more comfortably. "Much to the Sergeant's satisfaction, the rain stopped at twenty minutes to twelve. That was a stroke of luck. Previously he had intended his alibi to depend solely upon the windows which Roger had re-locked from the inside. Now he had the unmarked soil of the flower beds to back up his story.
"At ten minutes to twelve, he replaced the goloshes over his shoes—if there was any dried dirt on the soles he shook it into the embers of the fire—picked up the knife, and slid the blade into Roger's back.
"He polished the handle quickly. He didn't want to leave smudges of any kind on the hilt.
"He may have been wearing gloves—of rubber, or thin cotton—or he may have wrapped a handkerchief round his fingers. He turned out the lamp, so no light would escape into the corridor—."
Castle leaned forward attentively.
Lawrence said slowly:
"Using equal care not to obliterate Querrin's prints on the handle, he opened the door—."
"Now wait just a moment!" Steve was exasperated. "We know darn well that's impossible—."
Algy grinned sadly. He said:
"The trick's so simple I'm almost ashamed to explain it. Peter knew there was to be a new lock on that door, so when he came up to London with you, he went along to the manufacturers and bought a new key to the same type of lock—."
Castle swore.
"This key he gave to Hardinge when he arrived at the house that evening, and the Sergeant substituted it for the true key on Roger's chain after he'd knocked him senseless.
"Hardinge unlocked the door, slipped into the passage, then re-locked the door from outside.
"He went noiselessly along the corridor till he reached its solitary window. He climbed through, pulled down the sash once more, and squatted on the upturned box beneath the wide sill.
"Meanwhile, Peter and I had been waiting at the entrance to the passage. Peter had managed to manoeuvre himself into the commanding position, but even if I had looked into the corridor at the wrong moment, it's unlikely I would have seen anything in the blackness.
"Moreover, Querrin was there to divert my attention. The two conspirators were working to schedule, of course. At ten minutes to twelve, Peter began talking loudly, to cover any slight noise of movement.
"At four minutes to twelve, when he was sure his accomplice was out of the way—probably he'd caught the brief flicker of moonlight as Hardinge moved the window curtains—Peter made me go with him into the passage.
"I suggested we check the window. They had expected that.
"Peter pushed the candlestick he was carrying into my hand, turned his back, and put his own hands on the drapes. Pretending to draw them aside, he slipped the catch into position—a tiny movement which I didn't notice; his body shielded his fingers—then showed me the window securely fastened.
"Hardinge was crouched under the sill out of sight. And the candle turned the glass into a mirror, obscuring my vision still more. Besides, my attention was fixed on the catch… I hope that doesn't sound as if I'm making excuses."
"Go on," said the Chief Inspector gruffly.
Lawrence shrugged. "Then Querrin worked the same trick in reverse. I turned away. Under cover of replacing the curtains, Peter released the catch.
"We reached the door to Roger's room. It was twelve o'clock.
"The Sergeant straightened up, rested his hands on the sill, and pressed his face against the window. He screamed—."
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes. Russell Craig, amidst all his nonsense, said a true thing. It's very difficult to locate the course of sound, especially in the dark ... I thought at the time there was something very wrong about that evil, strangled sound. As, of course, there was. It came from behind, not in front of us.
"But Peter gave me no time for reflection. He cried out his brother's name, and the misdirection was complete.
"We smashed open the door.
"Once more, they had the devil's own luck. Roger had regained consciousness. With his last reserves of strength, he was dragging himself towards the door. The effort was too much for him. He died without speaking.
"Peter's hysteria was genuine. The narrow escape, combined with the scene of slaughter, was almost too much for him."
Lawrence paused, remembering.
"Hardinge had been waiting patiently outside. He didn't expect me to shoot open the door, but he didn't lose his head. As soon as I forced my way in, he slid open the window and dropped into the corridor. Peter had stayed in the doorway to block my view of the passage.
"Hardinge locked the window, carefully leaving no prints on the catch. Then he ran quickly along the corridor—the carpet was thick, and muffled his footfalls— through the double doors into the main hall, and then up the short passage to the side door.
"He unbolted the door and hurried through. He ran along the path skirting the house, back to his original position under the trees. He had time to put on his cape, then—."
Lawrence paused.
"I can picture him standing there under the trees, his breath soughing gustily, tensely watching the house. One hand in his pocket, perhaps, nervously fingering the key he had to replace.
"His greatest fear was that I should detect the substitution. I did, in fact, examine the chain in Roger's pocket, but"—he shrugged—"one new key is much like another, and I didn't have time to try it in the lock."
Algy smiled ruefully. "I stepped over to the windows, and signalled the Sergeant. Peter at once offered to let him in. That was to make sure that nobody else examined the side door, which was, of course, no longer locked and bolted.
"Hardinge marched along the path. He was dry when he should have been wet but his cape had been left in the rain, and he brushed against the damp leaves as well."
Lawrence grinned again. He said, with self-reproach:
"Hazlitt noticed the Sergeant was dry enough. I didn't….
"Hardinge had a nasty moment when he saw Roger's key chain spilled on the carpet. He knew I must have examined it, and promptly snapped at me for tampering with the evidence.
"That was a mistake, though I didn't spot it immediately."
"Eh?" Castle pondered. "Oh, I see. If Hardinge was the innocent man he pretended—."
"He couldn't have known I had pulled out the chain. It might have fallen from Querrin's pocket in a struggle. The Sergeant knew that wasn't the case, jumped to the correct conclusion I'd been examining the key, and gave himself away. He was quick witted, though. He saw his error and turned his remark at once. He implied he'd been referring to the curtains by the french windows.
"He had still to replace the key before we discovered that the one on the chain didn't fit. So he told me to wait in the hall, and switched keys before the Inspector arrived. The false one he slipped into his pocket to dispose of later. Any questions?"
"Yes. Where did old Simon fit into this?"
"Ah, Turner was unlucky. He couldn't keep away. Hardinge knew well enough no prowler would venture near the house while he stood guard, but once he was in the room with Roger—."
He shrugged. "Turner came closer, making those confused marks in the ground beyond the path. He heard the scream, and a little while later, saw the Sergeant hurrying back to the trees.
"Old Simon faded away discreetly. He didn't want more trouble. Unfortunately for him, he lingered too long and bumped into Hardinge as they were both leaving in the morning.
"There was a struggle, with no time for comment or explanations. Hardinge would never have arrested him if he ha
d known what old Simon had seen. But Turner was knocked unconscious, and then we arrived, so he had no choice. He put him in a cell.
"They talked. The Sergeant couldn't afford to let the old man's story go any further. Once anybody suspected that Hardinge wasn't the impartial witness he appeared to be—."
Lawrence stopped. "Old Simon had to die."
Castle said nothing.
His friend continued:
"Hardinge found himself on dangerous ground. When Turner was killed in the police station, the Sergeant would inevitably be considered as a suspect. So he had to prove himself innocent."
"He did, too." Castle scowled. "God damn it! Argue how you like—Hardinge couldn't possibly have reached him."
"Impossibilities," replied Algy, "were the Sergeant's speciality. Once more, I was to be the dupe. He called me down to the station—."
"Wait a second. You interviewed old Simon at Hardinge's invitation. How could he risk that?"
"Don't confuse me, Steve. I'll explain in a minute. Before I analyse the second illusion, I'd better explain how I solved the first."
Castle nodded. "You weren't very explicit over the 'phone."
Lawrence linked his hands.
He said dully:
"Hardinge himself gave me the clue. It took me an hour and a half to realize its significance. In that time, another life was lost."
Castle studied his young friend sympathetically.
He said again:
"Don't blame yourself."
Lawrence looked up with a lopsided grin.
"I can only do my best… Oh, well." His tone altered. "Hardinge showed me the fingerprint analysis. Roger's prints had been found, overlying any others, on a number of objects in the room where he died—including the bolts securing the windows."
He paused expectantly. Castle looked puzzled, then caught his breath.
Lawrence nodded. "Yes. I locked those windows myself. The prints you found ought to have been mine.
"Obviously then, Roger had first drawn, then re-shot the bolts after we had left him.
"Why? Clearly, to let somebody into the room from the gardens.
"That could not have been done without Hardinge's knowledge. Therefore his evidence was false.
"Now, Roger wasn't a fool. He knew we were guarding him. He would let nobody into the room, without raising the alarm, whom he didn't know and trust. Only three men besides himself had any business in that place, at that time.
"Peter and I were in the hall. That left only Hardinge. So it was reasonable to suppose the Sergeant was Querrin's visitor."
Castle nodded agreement. He murmured: "Hardinge probably made some excuse about the weather."
"Uh huh. Asked for shelter till the rain stopped. Something of the sort… To continue:
"Once inside, Hardinge could easily dispose of his victim." Lawrence was deliberately banal. He was trying to reduce the blood and the pain to the comfortable anonymity of a newspaper report. "But how could he escape? Through the windows? No. He couldn't hocus the bolts, and he couldn't get back to the path without leaving footprints.
"So—." Lawrence shrugged. "He must have gone through the door. There was only one key, so he must have removed it from Roger's body. Yet I had found it myself, still in the dead man's pocket.
"I saw my mistake. I had found a key. I had only assumed it was genuine… A fake, then. Yet the police must have tested it in the lock. Therefore the real key must have been replaced before they arrived.
"Only the Sergeant had a chance to do that. I had stayed in the room myself, till I left to meet Hazlitt. Nobody could have switched keys while I was watching.
"Next question: How had Hardinge vanished from the corridor? He didn't go through the double doors. He wasn't hiding in the passage. Therefore he must have gone out of the window.
"How could he, without leaving footprints? There was only one answer. He had stood on the box outside.
"That brought me up against another impossibility. The window had been locked… I had examined it myself.
"I reviewed the exact circumstances, and saw how Peter could have—must have—fooled me.
"It all fitted in. Once I was sure of the two men's guilt, every mystery was explained."
Lawrence rubbed his cheek. "There was another point. Put yourself in the Sergeant's place."
Steve looked surprised.
Lawrence went on:
"I set you to guard Roger Querrin. You're waiting in the gardens. You hear a scream, then three shots. The man in your charge is in danger. Quick, now! What do you do?"
"I run forward to the windows, to see what's—."
Castle's voice died slowly. His mouth stayed open. Lawrence said with satisfaction:
"Exactly. You're there to save Roger from harm, not to preserve evidence….
"Naturally, Hardinge wouldn't step on to the flower beds. He didn't want to spoil the illusion. But no innocent person would have had the superhuman control— or the callousness—to ignore an obvious cry for help.
"Only a guilty man could have any reason to stay where he was."
Castle mused: "The curtains were drawn, and he could see nothing. Or he might have been afraid—."
He stopped. "No, those objections are too flimsy. You're right, Algy. Any man's immediate reaction would have been to run forward."
Lawrence inclined his head. "I had just about reached this point in my reflections when I was faced with the news of Turner's death. Frankly, I was stymied.
"It seemed only reasonable to assume that Hardinge had killed him. Yet my own evidence proved it impossible.
"I span round in circles. And then I saw the truth.
"Between the hours of four and six there were only four men in the station: myself, Hardinge, Craig and Turner.
"We had accounted for the movements of three.
"We knew nothing of the fourth."
Castle smacked his knee, suddenly.
"Burn it! Old Simon himself—."
"Right. I knew he'd been in his cell at a quarter past four. I had also found him there at six o'clock. He had been a prisoner, so we automatically assumed he had stayed where he was. Yet who had locked him in? Sergeant Hardinge…."
Lawrence closed his eyes.
"The Sergeant told us he found Turner in his cell at seven minutes to six. There was nothing to prove it."
Castle muttered something.
Algy went on:
"Since two vital pieces of Hardinge's evidence were not confirmed, it was possible to suppose that old Simon had walked out of his cell.
"Now, the door from the passage opens into the Charge Room. Turner's only opportunity to slip through it was during the brief period when I stood on the porch outside the station."
The Chief Inspector groaned. "You don't have to go on. Obviously, old Simon hid himself in the Sergeant's living quarters."
Lawrence said:
"Let's go back to the beginning.
"Turner believed Roger died because he meddled with the supernatural. He didn't realize Hardinge was a murderer. He thought the Sergeant guilty only of neglecting his duty.
"So when he found himself under arrest, he told Hardinge he needed help. He threatened he'd tell the Inspector how the Sergeant had left his post—."
Castle interrupted. "Turner didn't see Hardinge go into the room, surely?"
"No. But he knew nobody was guarding the french windows at midnight. When he saw the Sergeant hurrying back a little while later, he probably assumed that he'd wandered off carelessly."
Lawrence cleared his throat. "Turner knew he'd almost certainly be convicted of assault, even if he persuaded Hardinge to drop one of the charges. So he decided to escape.
"He demanded the Sergeant's help. Hardinge pretended to agree.
"He said: Look here. I don't want my superiors to know I neglected my duty. But I shall get into worse trouble if it's known I let you escape. You'll have to protect me.
"So he told the prisoner his plan. Turne
r swallowed the bait.
"Hardinge 'phoned me, coolly suggesting I provide Peter with an alibi."
The Inspector balled his fist. He growled angrily.
Lawrence said:
"Querrin had to be protected. He was the Sergeant's meal ticket. And I don't imagine he knew then what new danger was threatening.
"I went down to the station. I talked to old Simon.
"Hardinge had warned him to be careful. Even so, he had to cue him twice during the interview.
"We left the old man in his cell. Hardinge pretended to lock the door, but did nothing more than rattle the key in the lock.
"We went back to the Charge Room. As soon as we left the corridor, Turner slipped out of his cell and waited behind the door, listening to our talk.
"As soon as he heard us go out on the porch—Hardinge was speaking rather loudly, as a signal—he hurried through the Charge Room and hid himself in the Sergeant's quarters.
"Then Hardinge 'remembered' my gun, and led me back into the station."
"Wait a minute." Castle was scowling horribly. "Suppose you'd made no move to leave?"
"Then the Sergeant would have taken me into his rooms while Turner slipped out from the corridor and hid himself behind the communicating door. Then the Sergeant would have accompanied me back to the Charge Room, talking still—to divert my attention—and while our backs were turned, old Simon would have slid round the open door into Hardinge's living quarters."
Castle thought for a moment, then nodded. "A dangerous plan. But it might have worked."
"Hardinge wasn't afraid of a calculated risk. And he coached his victim well."
Steve asked:
"How did he fool old Simon?"
"I imagine he told him something like this. Turner was to stay hidden in his rooms till after dark. Then the Sergeant would divert the constable's attention while old Simon slipped out of the station. Thus the prisoner would appear to have escaped while Shaw was on duty, absolving Hardinge from blame."
Castle nodded. "The old man, I'm told, was rather stupid. It wouldn't be hard to fool him with a plausible story."
"Uh huh. Hardinge filled out the yarn with circumstantial detail. Turner suspected nothing.
"He hid himself in the Sergeant's bedroom. Russell Craig arrived unexpectedly. Hardinge, a born opportunist, suggested making tea.