by John Bude
“When did things seem to take a turn for the worse, Mrs. Arkwright?”
“Ever since about a month ago, sir. It all started of a Saturday night. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Bettle I don’t know how Mr. Prince would have got home that night. Blind drunk he was, sir. Shocking! We had to more or less drag him upstairs to his bed.”
“You couldn’t be more precise on the date, I suppose?”
Mrs. Arkwright thought over this point for a minute.
“Well, it was the week-end afore Annie—that’s my sister-in-law, sir—came over from Troutbeck on a visit. Let’s see now, that would be about the end of March.”
“The 30th or 31st?” suggested Meredith.
“That would be about it, sir, because her boy was a talking about what he’d be up to on April Fool’s day.”
“So the night you and Mr. Bettle had to see Mr. Prince upstairs must have been the 23rd.”
“I suppose it was about then.”
“Now could I have a look at this room of theirs?”
“Well, I haven’t cleared out the grate and so on yet, but if you——”
“Never mind that,” answered Meredith with a laugh. “I’m a family man. I know that everything can’t always be ship-shape in a house by ten-thirty. Go ahead, Mrs. Arkwright.”
“Perhaps you’d follow me, sir.”
Meredith did so and found himself in an unpretentious, plainly-furnished room with a big sash-window giving on to the street. Two wicker arm-chairs were set on either side of an old-fashioned grate, whilst in the centre of the room stood an ordinary kitchen table camouflaged with a red plush table-cloth.
“I can see that your gentlemen are made comfortable enough,” was Meredith’s tactful observation. “By the way, Mrs. Arkwright, what time do you have to clear up the room on Sunday morning? Earlier than during the week, I take it?”
“Gracious, no sir! Mr. Bettle and Mr. Prince never so much as stir from their beds until just on opening time. I always take them up a cup of tea about nine. So there’s no cause for me to worry about this room until eleven or later.”
“Now I’m going to ask you a rather peculiar question,” said Meredith slowly. “On Sunday, March 24th, did you find anything out of the ordinary among the ashes when you cleared out this grate? That was the Sunday, remember, after Mr. Prince had come home so bad. Well, Mrs. Arkwright?”
“It’s funny you should ask that, sir.”
“Why?” demanded Meredith sharply.
“Because that was the very morning when I found a half-crown among the cinders under the grate.”
“A what?” exclaimed Meredith.
“A half-crown, sir. How it got there I can’t say. One of the gentlemen must have dropped it on to the hearth and it had rolled under the grate out of sight. Course I spoke to Mr. Prince about it and he said that it was his right enough, but how it got there he couldn’t for the life of him say.”
“I suppose,” said Meredith, drawing something out of his pocket and holding it out for the landlady’s inspection, “that you didn’t find anything like that, eh?”
Mrs. Arkwright’s eyes seemed to start out of her head. She seemed scarcely able to credit the evidence of her own senses. Twice she tried to give expression to her astonishment and merely succeeded in producing a muffled croak. Then finally she managed to gasp out:
“But where did you get hold of it, sir? I threw it away in the ash-bin! And what made you think that I found it that morning in the cinders along with the half-crown?”
Controlling his exuberance, Meredith hastened to calm the bewildered woman.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Arkwright. I’m not a magician. This isn’t the one you picked up out of the ashes. This is another one like it. Do you know what it is?”
Mrs. Arkwright shook her head, obviously relieved to hear that she had not been the victim of some form of sorcery.
“And I didn’t at the time, sir.”
“It’s a ‘zip’ fastener,” said Meredith. “Ever seen one before?”
“How silly of me! Of course I have, now I come to think of it. Mrs. Grath next door but one has got a hand-bag that opens with one of them things. Fancy me not thinking of it at the time!”
“Did you tell Mr. Prince about this other discovery?”
“No, sir. I didn’t think it was anything of value. I only mentioned the half-crown.”
“I take it that you handed the half-crown back to Mr. Prince?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You found nothing in the nature of a piece of charred cloth among the ashes?” Mrs. Arkwright shook her head. “What did you do with the fastener?”
“As I said before, sir, I threw it away in the ashbin.”
“Which, of course, has been cleared more than once since that date, Mrs. Arkwright?”
The landlady looked surprised. “Oh, no, sir! I don’t empty my ashes into the ordinary rubbish bin. I always shoot them into a separate bin.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Well, sir, to be honest with you, I make a bit of money that way. Not much—but every little helps in these hard times, as you’ll admit.”
“You mean you sell the ashes?”
Mrs. Arkwright nodded. “To Mr. Parsons, my next-door neighbour. He’s got an allotment out near the football ground and he likes the ash for his soil. I think he’s sifting the ash, sir, and using the clinkers for a path he’s making. If you really want to know what he does with them you’d better see him yourself, Inspector.”
“I think I will, Mrs. Arkwright—thanks. Which side of you does he live?”
“At number 8, sir.”
Armed with this further information, Meredith thanked the landlady for her help and warned her, on no account, to make any mention of his visit. Then, thrilled and immensely pleased with the progress he was making, Meredith stepped out into the street and knocked on the door of number 8. In answer to his inquiry, he learnt that Mr. Parsons was to be found at Messrs. Loveday and White’s, the ironmongers in Duke Street. And as he did not return to his dinner until one o’clock, Meredith decided to get in touch with him at the shop.
A brisk walk brought him to the ironmongers. On asking for Mr. Parsons, he was told by an assistant that he was over in the store at the rear of the premises, checking in a new consignment of stock. Meredith, thereupon, pointed out that his business was rather urgent and suggested that he might see Mr. Parsons in the store. The assistant agreed and piloted the Inspector through a series of narrow shelf-lined passages, which eventually opened out into the main stock-room. As soon as the assistant had left, Meredith introduced himself to the storeman and got down to tin-tacks.
“I won’t bother you with the exact reasons for this visit,” explained Meredith glibly. “Suffice it to say that it’s a serious matter—a very serious matter, Mr. Parsons. And I want your co-operation.”
Briefly Meredith set out the information concerning the ashes, which he had learnt from Mrs. Arkwright. This done, he concluded with a request that Parsons should accompany him there and then to the allotment. A word to the manager evinced the necessary permission for the store-man’s absence, and the two men set off at a smart pace for the football ground. Arriving at the allotments, Parsons guided the Inspector through a maze of tiny intersecting paths, until they reached a fair-sized patch of ground, which the store-man proudly indicated as being his own. Meredith noticed, at once, that this particular allotment was all but encompassed by a newly-laid ash path. That the work was not quite completed clearly indicated that the clinker had only recently been dumped there. A fact to which Parsons immediately testified.
“As a matter of fact, sir, I only brought the stuff out a couple of days ago. I borrowed a hand-cart from the shop and brought all the clinker out in one journey.”
“This is all sifted stuff, I take it?” Parsons nodded. “And you use a fairly fine-meshed sieve?” The man agreed. “So if anything like this,” added Meredith, producing the zip fastener which he had detached
from Clayton’s dungarees, “was among the ash it would remain with the clinker?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn’t notice a strip of metal like this, I suppose, when you were doing the sifting?” Parsons shook his head. He was quite certain he hadn’t. “Then we can pretty well assume that if the fastener was among the clinker you had from Mrs. Arkwright, it’s now lying somewhere on this new path of yours?”
“I should say so, sir.”
“Do you mind if I look? It may mean disturbing the surface a bit with a rake or a hoe, but I’m afraid it’s a job that’s got to be done, Mr. Parsons. Sorry!”
Although it was obvious that the thought of having to disturb the carefully rolled surface of his new path was not exactly pleasing to Parsons, he gave in with a good grace to Meredith’s request. Unlocking a small wooden shack, he produced a rake and a hoe and, in a few moments, the two men were hard at work. Starting from the opposite ends of the incompleted rectangle, which encompassed the allotment, Meredith and the store-man hacked up and sifted through every inch of the clinker. To Meredith the moment was one of the most crucial importance. As he saw it, the most critical piece of investigation in the whole of the murder case. Find that second zip fastener and the chain of evidence against Bettle and Prince was complete. Which of the two men actually administered the carbon monoxide it was impossible to say, and if Thompson’s theory was right, it really didn’t matter. For if Prince had administered the fumes, then Bettle must have held the victim while the dastardly job was being done. They were both equally culpable of murder.
But the question remained—was he going to find that final scrap of evidence among the cinders? As foot by foot they covered the rolled surface of the path, Meredith’s heart sank. Another eight feet or so and he and Parsons would be back to back. With feverish impatience, yet with commendable care, the Inspector dug his hoe, again and again, into the compressed clinkers, loosening them and raking them over. Behind him he heard the scratch of Parsons’ rake, now perilously near and every second approaching.
Then, just when he had abandoned all hope and given himself up to despair, there came a sudden, sharp exclamation from his co-worker. Meredith swung round. The store-man was craning over, staring at something which gleamed near the toe of his right boot.
“Good heavens!” cried Meredith. “You’ve found it! No mistake about it, Mr. Parsons! Here, let’s have a look at it. Quick!”
Leaning down, he snatched up the thin, flexible bit of metal and examined it closely. A single glance was enough. Parsons’ find was identical with the fastener which he had ripped from Clayton’s dungarees! It meant that the conclusive proof he had so hankered after was now in his grasp. Literally in his grasp—for with a cry of satisfaction his fingers closed about that commonplace, innocent trifle. A rusted, tarnished scrap of metal which, in all probability, was destined to slip the hangman’s noose round the necks of two unsuspecting men!
So much for that! The second case, like the first, was now at an end! It only remained to make the necessary arrests and set the great wheel of justice in motion and the work of the police would be over and done with. The closing chapters of the crimes would be written by the relentless hands of judge and jury— a relentlessness tempered with all the fairness and common sense of British justice.
After thanking the bewildered Mr. Parsons for his assistance, Meredith found his way to the Penrith police station, where he had parked the combination. Mounting the saddle, he drove post-haste back to Keswick.
One thing, in the midst of so much that was now startlingly clear, remained to puzzle him. That Prince had burnt the dungarees in the sitting-room grate at Mrs. Arkwright’s was now certain. That in his haste and excitement he had overlooked the damning fact that the fastener would not be destroyed with the dungarees was equally certain. As Meredith saw it, he had stuffed the rolled suit into his dinner-basket before he reached the depot. Then, unnoticed by Dancy, he had conveyed this dangerous clue to his lodgings. There, the moment it was safe, probably after Mrs. Arkwright had cleared away the men’s supper, he had thrust the dungarees on to the flames and waited until they were entirely destroyed. Satisfied on this point, he and Bettle had then retired to a nearby pub and drowned their fears in a drinking bout, Prince returning to Brockman’s Row entirely incapacitated. From that day to this he had evidently resorted to alcohol as a means to keep up his courage, in the light of what he had done. Bettle, of a more phlegmatic nature, had apparently taken things more calmly. Meredith imagined that he would be far more callous and less imaginative than his companion in crime.
And the one thing which still puzzled him?
The half-crown. Why the half-crown? Was it coincidence that it had tumbled from one of the men’s pockets and rolled under the grate along with the metal fastener? Had it happened when one of the murderers was leaning over the fire during the destruction of the dungarees? If so, it was a lucky accident from the police point of view. Meredith was quick to realize that but for the half-crown Mrs. Arkwright would have been unable to fix the date of Prince’s drinking bout and the finding of the “zip” fastener with such exactitude. A fact which he considered all-important. But somehow he could not think that the half-crown had got among the ashes by accident. It was almost certain that had it slipped from one of the men’s pockets they would have heard it drop on to the hearth. What then were the alternative explanations? Meredith could see only one that was within the bounds of feasibility. The half-crown must have been in the pocket of the dungarees. But why? The dungarees were part of a disguise, not a normal part of Prince’s attire. What reason would he have for slipping a half-crown into his pocket whilst he was actually wearing those dungarees? Was there any reason?
Meredith ran through the series of events which had taken place during the impersonation. First of all Major Rickshaw and his wife had drawn up at the pumps and——
The combination swerved violently, narrowly missing a farm-cart which was drawn into the side of the road. Fool, thought Meredith. Blind fool! Major Rickshaw had pulled up at the Derwent for petrol. Prince, disguised as Clayton, had served the pump. Rickshaw had paid for two gallons of one shilling and threepenny petrol with a half-crown. Prince had slipped it into his pocket and forgotten it! There was the explanation right enough. Meredith recalled his interview with the Major. He remembered asking particularly about the denomination of the coins he had handed over and Rickshaw had aired his faith in cheap petrol and spoken about the half-crown. So his visit to 9 Brockman’s Row had provided him with two damning clues instead of one! It set the seal on the lorry-men’s fate. From that moment the lives of Prince and Bettle were doomed! The net had finally closed round them—a fine-meshed, entangling net of circumstantial evidence.
That the murder was a cold-blooded, premeditated affair Meredith could not deny, yet now that success had crowned his efforts, he could not help feeling something akin to pity for the men he had brought to justice. It was his first unaided murder investigation and his humaneness recoiled from the consequences of his success. Then he thought of Clayton, about to turn over a new leaf; Lily Reade stricken with the news of her fiancé’s death. Instinctively his jaw tightened and his hands gripped more fiercely on to the handle-bars of his bike. He had only done his duty. Life and property had to be protected. It was right, without any vestige of doubt, that Bettle and Prince should hang!
CHAPTER XXIII
THE LAST ROUND-UP
MEREDITH’S final discoveries at Penrith virtually brought his investigations to an end. After he had put in a report to Carlisle, he was summoned to attend a final conference over at headquarters on the following day. There he learnt that Maltman had succeeded in running to earth the secret labelling and bottling departments in the other five tied houses. In each case the same method had been utilized as in force at ‘The Admiral.’ A false cask gave entrance to a shaft driven through the cellar wall to a point more or less directly beneath the Nonock pump. Each of these hidden vaults w
as crammed with whisky bottles and the necessary apparatus for labelling and diluting the raw spirit.
It only remained, therefore, to organize a wholesale arrest of the miscreants. The Chief had drawn up a comprehensive list of the men for whom warrants were to be issued. First, on two charges, there came Ormsby-Wright. He was to be indicted both for the murder of Clayton, a crime which he had almost certainly instigated, and the running of illicit stills for the purpose of defrauding the Excise authorities. Then, of course, came Bettle and Prince on the major charge, Higgins as an accessory both before and after the fact and for being in possession of apparatus for the distilling of illicit liquor. Wick and the proprietors of the Stanley Hall and Filsam Garages for illicit distilling. Finally there were the proprietors of the six tied houses who had passed out the illicit liquor over the counters of their premises. Coionel Hardwick also anticipated that there might be further arrests when the machinations of the gang had been more fully gone into. In the case of Rose, the manager of the Nonock depot, although at the moment there was no definite case made out against him, he was to be detained on suspicion as being a party to the fraud. It was generally felt that evidence would be forthcoming in the cross-examination of the other prisoners which would definitely incriminate him.
The Chief Constable then turned to the manner in which the arrests were to be carried out.
To prevent any member of the gang from communicating a warning, the arrests were to be made simultaneously. Watches were to be synchronized, so that there would not even be an opportunity for a phone call to be sent out. The Chief had decided that, since they could no longer procrastinate, these plans were to be put into operation at midnight on the morrow. Two plain-clothes constables were to be detailed to each of the four garages and the six tied houses. Two more men were to attend to Rose at his private address. Thompson was to make his own arrangements for dealing with Ormsby-Wright at his Penrith house, whilst Meredith, with the help of a sergeant and two constables, was to tackle Bettle and Prince at Brockman’s Row. Once the arrests had been made, the prisoners were to be conveyed to headquarters at Carlisle. In the case of the three garages which so far had not been fully investigated, an immediate search of the premises was to follow the arrests. As the Chief pointed out, material evidence was naturally needed to back up each of the individual charges. For the same reason, with Dancy’s help, a further search was to be made of Rose’s office. His books and private papers were then to be gone through in the hope of finding material which would give conclusive details of the illicit organization.