by Derek Smith
"He put a kettle on the stove. He also stepped into the bedroom and stunned Turner with his truncheon."
Lawrence interrupted himself. "Don't let me mislead you. The Sergeant did nothing he hadn't already planned. But Craig's presence was a help. It strengthened his alibi, and distracted my attention.
"Leaving old Simon stretched out on the floor, Hardinge came back to the Charge Room. When he left again a few minutes later, he went back to the bedroom, crouched over Turner, and choked him."
There was a tiny silence.
Lawrence mused:
"He'd already prepared some tea in a thermos flask. He poured it into three cups, washed the flask quickly, poured away the boiling water from the kettle, then rejoined Craig and me."
Algy grinned. "Uncle Russ was propounding his theories, and gave Hardinge a momentary scare. He thought we'd guessed the truth. Even then, he didn't lose his head. When, like a sap, I sympathized, he didn't lose the chance. His 'unhappy position' was to be his eventual excuse for resigning from the police force."
Castle growled again.
Lawrence continued:
"At a quarter to six, he got rid of me. As soon as I left, he carried the old man's body back to the cell. He turned to the door and wiped over the lock and handle quickly, to remove Turner's fingerprints."
"What about the scratches inside the lock?"
"I imagine he'd made those previously—and not necessarily with a picklock. An old piece of wire could have made those marks."
Castle frowned. "Why did he bother with the fake at all?"
"Because he was in charge of the keys. He preferred us to think the door was forced… He didn't want to puzzle us with a second sealed room. He didn't even want to confront us with another impossible crime. He simply wanted to provide himself with an alibi."
Lawrence shrugged. "He 'explained' the murder later. That was a mistake, since he had already told us he had found the cell door open. But he hadn't foreseen Shaw's evidence, and anyway—."
"He wanted to confuse you," supplied the Chief Inspector. "So he spun you his yarn about hands at the window. He didn't care whether you accepted the theory or not."
Lawrence nodded. "The point's not important… As things worked out, the killing was proved 'impossible'. But since Hazlitt was convinced of Hardinge's innocence, the Sergeant didn't mind much."
Algy sighed. "There's not a great deal more. Hardinge arranged old Simon's body in much the same position in which it had been lying on the bedroom floor. He didn't want his evidence contradicted by the condition we call 'post mortem lividity'."
The young man finished quickly:
"The stage was set. He straightened up with shaking hands—by this time the strain was telling—and rushed after me into the street.
"Since his alibi depended on the time of Turner's death, he wanted the old man's body examined immediately."
Lawrence gestured. "You know the rest."
Castle blew out his cheeks.
He commented inadequately:
"A complicated affair."
"Not really." Lawrence thumbed the angle of his jaw. "Hardinge had an eye for detail. For example, when he returned the key to Roger's chain, he remembered to press Querrin's fingers over the surface."
"Don't tell me how clever he was, burn it!" The Chief Inspector was irascible. "Tell me how you trapped him."
Lawrence looked unhappy.
He said, slowly:
"Unlike most hunters, I have no taste for the kill. In most cases, I tell you my theories, and leave the police to prove them."
His face set grimly.
"I'm not proud of myself. But this time, I was angry." He shaded his eyes.
"Two men had died. I should have saved them. Perhaps—." He laughed dryly. "Perhaps my pride was hurt. And it's so easy to confuse revenge with justice. For the first time, I wanted the killers to die."
Castle said sharply:
"You did no more than your duty." Lawrence lifted one shoulder.
He said abruptly:
"I took Russell Craig into my confidence. He agreed to help."
There was much that was left unsaid. Uncle Russ, dragged from his bed in the early hours of the morning, had been hard to convince.
Yet Craig soon realized he owed the conspirators a grudge. They had robbed him of a comfortable home, since he had hoped to stay with his niece when she married.
Besides, the old rogue was pleased at the thought of appearing as chief witness in a sensational murder trial. There were, he reflected, commercial possibilities in the situation….
Lawrence preferred not to analyse Craig's motives.
He went on:
"I talked to Colonel Johnson. I needed his co-operation. And, anyway, I wanted to save his face. Hardinge was a member of the County Police. It was only right that they should take the credit for his capture.
"Then I interviewed the Sergeant himself and told him to stay by the telephone.
"I went back to Querrin House. Uncle Russ was waiting. We went up to my room to talk over the final arrangements.
"Craig had already warned Audrey to keep out of the way. Peter, luckily for us, was also in his room.
"Craig 'phoned Hardinge—using my name—and asked him to come out to the house. He met him on the drive, and took him into the room where Roger died.
"I'd been watching from my window. I staged a little comedy for Querrin's benefit."
Lawrence smiled ruefully. "I coaxed open the wound on my forehead, then smeared some more blood over my temple from a cut finger."
Castle interjected: "You also smeared the ferrule of Craig's stick."
"Yes. When I saw Uncle Russ take charge of Sergeant Hardinge, I attracted Peter's attention by crashing backwards over a chair." He winced. "I was too damned enthusiastic… Oh, well.
"I told Querrin that Craig had killed his brother."
Seeing the question in the Chief Inspector's eye, the young man explained:
"My whole object was to confuse Peter and make him lose his head. He was the weaker partner. I thought he'd crack more readily.
"I gave him no time to think. He didn't realize my talk of wills and motives was absolute nonsense." Algy laughed, shortly. "He nearly called my bluff.
"I said that Craig could only have known the fire in the grate had been reduced to embers"—he drew breath— "by being in the room himself.
"That was silly. As Peter nearly admitted, he had told Craig that himself, while waiting to be interviewed by the police. Fortunately for me, Querrin thought he might as well leave me labouring under a delusion."
"Half a mo'," growled Castle. "Why did Peter go out of his way to tell Craig a minor point like that?"
"He didn't." Lawrence was patient. "But Hazlitt herded all his suspects together in the drawing-room. Naturally, they talked. Peter, besides myself, was the only eye-witness. I daresay Uncle Russ indulged in his incorrigible curiosity, and questioned Querrin thoroughly. That's how he found out about the fire."
"Skip it," Castle yawned. "It's a trivial matter."
"Uh huh. I showed Peter the drawer—which I'd forced myself—and told him my gun was missing. Then I rushed him down the stairs.
"Meanwhile, Craig was playing the part of a blackmailer with gusto."
"Was there any truth in the story he told Hardinge?"
"Not a scrap. I primed him with every detail. . . . The shots I fired might very well have roused Craig in time to catch sight of the Sergeant running out from the passage. Actually," Algy grinned, "Uncle Russ remained wrapped in his drunken slumbers."
He rubbed his cheek. "The story seemed convincing. Hardinge believed it. He signed the confession I'd typed myself."
Algy's voice died.
Castle was gentle. "Well?"
Lawrence sighed. "By this time, Peter was nearly off his head. I planned to confront him with his accomplice. Before I could move, Hardinge made a desperate attack on Uncle Russ. Craig was taken off guard. The pistol I'd given hi
m was no protection.
"You know the rest. I defeated the Sergeant, but lost the gun to Querrin.
"Fortunately, Hazlitt and his men were waiting in the grounds. As I'd arranged with the Chief Constable: as soon as I went into the room with Peter, the police moved up to the windows.
"They heard Querrin's confession. And the Inspector saved my life."
He finished dully:
"He didn't save Peter's."
Castle grunted.
Lawrence stood up. He said, more cheerfully:
"That's all, Steve. You can send your man to trial. But," he warned, "Hardinge is tough. He'll fight you, Steve. He'll fight you like the devil."
The Chief Inspector scowled. "He's finished."
"No. He'll put all the blame on Querrin. He'll claim his own confession invalid, since he signed it at gunpoint."
Lawrence repeated:
"He'll fight you like the devil."
Castle's face was stern.
He said, grimly:
"He'll hang."
"Lawrence, my boy!"
Russell Craig hailed the young man as Algy strolled out of the library. Lawrence looked about him and saw the old rogue standing in the passage with one hand clasped round his niece's slim waist.
Lawrence smiled at them both.
"Hallo, Audrey. Hallo, sir. You're none the worse for your experiences this morning, I hope?"
"Indeed, no. I enjoyed them all," lied the old rascal unblushingly. "Though I confess I was relieved to see the Inspector's timely arrival with a revolver."
"You'd never believe," grinned Algy, "the trouble I had persuading the Chief Constable to arm his police."
The girl moved suddenly. She brushed aside their talk impatiently, and said with soft appeal:
"Algy. I'd like to talk to you."
"Of course." He took her arm, and they walked into the drawing-room. She sat down.
Lawrence straddled a chair and gazed at her with polite inquiry.
She said painfully:
"I suppose—I should thank you—for trapping the men who killed my—."
Lawrence shook his head. He said gently:
"No, Audrey. You can't thank me for sending two men to their deaths. We're not made that way, you and I."
He paused. "The man you loved was murdered. But you must think of the future. You can't let your life be corroded with bitterness and hate."
The girl's lips trembled. Then she hid her face in her hands and sobbed.
Lawrence watched her with distress in his lazy blue eyes.
Then he stood up, and gazed down at her shaking shoulders.
He dropped a hand on her sleek red-brown hair and stroked it gently. She looked up with tears streaking her cheeks.
She said:
"Roger died because I loved him."
She cut short his protest with bitter self-reproach.
"No, no. Don't lie to me. You warned me it might be better to continue believing my fiancé died because he challenged the powers of another world. I didn't know what you meant then. But I know now.
"Roger was killed because he wanted to marry me. It's as simple as that. I loved him. And I sent him to his death."
Lawrence replied quietly:
"You're wrong to blame yourself. Roger wouldn't wish it."
He hesitated.
He said, with sudden decision:
"I told you the truth might hurt you. It might also console you."
There was a question in her lovely grey-green eyes.
Algy went on quietly:
"I have something to tell you. It won't help you now, because the pain's too strong. But listen to me. Listen carefully.
"Hasn't it occurred to you, Audrey, that it's a queer brand of evil"—he paused uncertainly—"which makes a man so twisted he plots his brother's death?"
The girl's lips parted.
Lawrence said dully:
"Perhaps that was the curse of the Querrins. Perhaps that was why young Martin turned on old Tom with fury, all those years ago.
"Perhaps the old man told his son that their blood was tainted with madness. Perhaps that was the secret. A scarlet thread of insanity in the weave of a Querrin's soul.
"So one Querrin stabs his son, and another kills his brother.
"But remember. Killers or victims—the taint was in them all."
There was a long silence.
Then the girl said queerly:
"You're right. What you have told me—it doesn't help me now."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"But I think—one day—it might help me, very much…."
Lawrence left her.
Craig was waiting outside. He caught the young man's arm, and asked eagerly: "Is she all right?"
Lawrence responded mildly:
"I think so."
Uncle Russ attempted to pass him. Algy laid a warning hand on the old rogue's sleeve.
He murmured:
"Don't speak to her now. She would rather be alone."
"Very well, my boy."
The two men walked away together.
Craig said suddenly:
"Audrey is very precious to me."
He spoke sincerely, then his instinct for self-dramatization came to the fore again. He said tragically:
"I'm an old man. There is no one else—to care for me. "
Lawrence laughed out loud.
He said rudely:
"Don't you believe it."
"Hey?" The old rogue was thrown off balance.
Algy pursued:
"You're a marked man, Uncle Russ. You may as well give up."
"My boy. I don't follow—"
Lawrence said, with amusement:
"Girls are often attracted to—older men. And one young lady has already demonstrated her affection for you."
Craig looked nonplussed.
"You don't mean—."
"Uhhuh. Susan York." Algy chuckled. "She tried to vamp me last night. And why? Because she wanted me to keep you out of trouble with the police."
He clapped a hand on the old rogue's shoulder.
Uncle Russ turned pink.
Lawrence grinned.
"Too bad," he sympathized. "It seems you're caught at last."
Craig squared his shoulders.
"My boy," he returned expansively, "I am a gentleman. I shall accept my destiny." And he strolled off, jauntily.
The blond-haired young man gazed out the window of his bedroom and let his thoughts wander idly. Then he sighed, and returned to his packing. He thought:
It's less than three days since the Querrins came into my life. And now they're both dead.
He tugged on the zipper viciously.
His mouth was dry with defeat. Hazlitt had told him that the police had discovered traces of Simon Turner's fingerprints in Hardinge's bedroom. Another nail in the Sergeant's coffin….
Lawrence shrugged into his raincoat, then jammed on his hat.
He didn't feel proud. He had brought a murderer to justice, yet blamed himself for failing to prevent his crimes.
He laughed wryly. He thought:
Audrey and I. We're a pair. Is it some sort of conceit which makes our consciences so tender?
He went on thinking about the girl.
Somewhere below him, a horn blasted shrilly. Lawrence picked up his bag and hurried out.
… He stood for a moment on the steps, looking down at the car parked in the drive.
Castle cranked down the window and stared out.
He called:
"Come on, Algy. I want to get back to London before nightfall. Burn it, I only hired this car for a day."
Lawrence nodded. He pulled open the rear door and pitched his bag on the seat.
He gazed back at Querrin House. The figure of a girl appeared at the open door.
The young man's jaw tightened. A thin flush crept up behind his cheeks.
It was as if he had seen her for the first time. He breathed:
"Audr
ey…."
Then he slammed the car door shut and ran towards her, up the steps. He seized her gently by the elbows.
He was very conscious of her loveliness.
"Audrey, my dear. I can't leave you like this. You're alone—and I'm lonely too."
He was clumsy and gauche, but he didn't care. He stumbled on: incoherent, but painfully sincere.
The girl said nothing in return, but emotion welled up round the grief in her grey-green eyes. She drew a deep breath; and there was exquisite beauty in the moulding of her firm young breasts.
"Algy—I—."
He pressed his mouth to hers.
Their heartbeats met and mingled. Lawrence's hands slid over the graceful contours of her hips. The warmth of their bodies was the languor and the sweetness of an innocent intimacy.
He felt her lips open under his. Their tongues met in a long French kiss. Then she pushed him away and cried out desperately:
"It's no use, Algy. It's no use!" She blinked back the tears.
She said, gently:
"Let's not be foolish. You don't love me, and I don't love you."
"Audrey—."
"No, my dear. I belong to Roger still, and you—." She hesitated. "You belong to the lady you've been seeking."
Algy smiled at her tenderly.
He put up his hand and smoothed back a soft tendril of hair which had wisped over her ear. Then he kissed her again, without passion.
He said, softly:
"Good-bye."
She watched him go.
Then, as she had done before, she whispered quickly:
"I hope you find her soon…."
The words were a sad farewell.
THE END