At the same time, the fact that Mr. Wheeler gave such advice led him to the natural deduction that he must feel a comfortable assurance of his client’s ability to convince a coroner’s jury of her own innocence. He could not guess that Mr. Wheeler, after making a £15,000 gesture of belief in the murder theory less than twenty-four hours ago, was now resolved in the privacy of his own mind to get the best counsel that wealth could buy to urge the alternative of suicide when the enquiry should be held.
He could not guess that the basis of his present decision was not confidence, but a lively fear that Lady Denton’s case might not be improved by any further delay.
Meanwhile, Mr. Wheeler (with an anxious eye on the clock) was making some remarks on the uncertain value of circumstantial evidence, to which he was giving less attention than they may have deserved. Mr. Wheeler wanted to go. In ten minutes Lady Denton’s car would be at the door. In twenty minutes his train would be due to leave the station at Beacon’s Cross. Before leaving, he had wanted particularly to have a few words with the gardener’s boy, by which he supposed (concerning which he was right in a way that he did not guess) the whole position might be transformed. And now, after what he had said, he could not move, either for garden or train, till Lady Denton should come down. For it had become vital to inform her that, if the Inspector talked of Redwin’s blackmailing activities, he would be alluding to matters of taxation, and not to a lady’s love letters, concerning which, while he was satisfied that he knew everything, he was not likely to enquire.
In about five minutes Lady Denton relieved his mind by walking into the room. In another five he was on his way to the station, after the necessary words had been spoken in a brief interview in the hall. But he had lost his opportunity of interrogating the gardener’s boy.
CHAPTER XIV.
Inspector Pinkey had not completed his breakfast—indeed, had not intended to have completed it—when Lady Denton sat down.
Mr. Wheeler, reflecting complacently, as his morning express glided swiftly and smoothly through the London suburbs, on the power of the half-truth to deceive with greater safety and certainty than can be expected from any lie, might feel, with some reason, that he had had the best of the verbal skirmish with which he had started his business day. But he may have failed to consider the equal importance of the ancient proverb, Magna est veritas, et praevalebit, which was also destined to take a hand in the game.
Inspector Pinkey, carefully adjusting the facts he had previously assembled to the new ones which Mr. Wheeler had contributed, had no difficulty in believing that Redwin had threatened exposure of a taxation irregularity, nor in supposing that it was on that business that he had seen Messrs. Forbes and Fisher, and they had shown him the door. But, as he recalled his conversation with the discarded secretary, he was unable to accept this as a satisfactory explanation of the hint the man had given that he had anticipated Sir Daniel’s death.
It is true that men have occasionally committed suicide under pressure of taxation difficulties, or when threatened with prosecution for discovered irregularities in the degree of their submission to the shearing process, but such a position had not arisen, even if Sir Daniel would have been likely to meet it in such a manner. Besides, had he been in a condition of desperate panic, he had an available remedy. He could have become reconciled to Redwin, which, however distasteful, was surely a milder solution than that which the pistol offered.
Redwin’s statement might be no more than an empty boast, but if it had any basis of truth (as the Inspector was inclined to believe), it must be found elsewhere than in the incident which Mr. Wheeler had mentioned. The Inspector felt that there was still something he did not know. He resolved that he would make it his next occupation to give Mr. Redwin another visit, and, as he made the usual superficial conversational exchanges with Lady Denton, while these thoughts passed through his mind, he modified a previous decision to spare her the ordeal of further questions, and resolved that he would have the account of Redwin’s departure from her own mouth.
It was fortunate for Lady Denton then that Mr. Wheeler had seen the importance of those whispered words in the hall, and had made opportunity to speak them. When the Inspector remarked casually that he had seen Mr. Redwin yesterday at the Station Inn, and asked, in an equally casual way, when and why Sir Daniel had turned him out, she knew that it was no more than Mr. Wheeler had told already, as he had had it from her.
She answered readily, and the Inspector had no difficulty in believing the tale he heard. But it did not follow that there was no more to be told. He asked, when she finished, in the same casual conversational way, not realizing, from long habit, the baseness of what he did: “Do you know whether Sir Daniel saw or heard any more of him after that?”
If there were anything to conceal, and he could have passed her guard, it was evident that the thrust had gone wide. “No,” she said, instantly and frankly enough. “I don’t think he did. But he didn’t always tell me. No, I should say not.”
She was silent a moment after that, and then added, in a more deliberate way: “I suppose you’re trying to find anything that could connect him with what happened afterwards. Of course, I should be glad if you could. It would be worth anything to get it cleared up. But I think it’s a waste of time, all the same. I don’t see how he could have had anything to do with it, being so far away.”
Was she telling the truth now? There was nothing in word or manner to suggest a lie. But there was a difference. She would talk sometimes in a frank, natural way, which was of an obvious and unstudied spontaneity, as she had done a moment ago. At others, such as these, she became, it seemed, consciously deliberate in the words she chose. What was the significance of the change? Inspector Pinkey, for all his experience, was not sure.
She was saying no more now than he heard from all sides, and had said himself—that it would be very satisfactory in itself to be able to connect Redwin with the crime (he seemed actually dressed for the part!), but it couldn’t be done, and it was time wasted to try.
It had a sound of genuine advice from one who, if innocent, had so much to gain in security and peace of mind, if the murderer could be found; or, if guilty, could have no obvious motive in objecting to suspicion being directed elsewhere.
Inspector Pinkey saw that the advice had the apparent value of that which is against the interest of the one who gives it. Only if Lady Denton were more afraid of something that further questioning of Redwin would reveal than of the present suspicion under which she lay, could her words be interpreted as less innocent than they appeared. It was not a probable supposition, but he determined to investigate it further before he struck Redwin off the mental list of those to whom he still looked to contribute, willingly or unwillingly, to the solution of the problem he had in hand. He would be, as he had resolved already, at the Station Inn again before lunchtime came.
Lady Denton broke the silence, speaking again in her consciously deliberate manner: “Mr. Wheeler tells me that if it’s decided that it was suicide, we may lose £30,000 of insurance money. It’s a dreadful lot, and he wanted me to say that I can’t believe it was that. But I can’t see how it could have been anything else. So I told him, if he doesn’t agree, he’d better not ask me about it at all.”
“Yes,” the Inspector said vaguely, “I suppose that’s the best way.” His mind was on the questions he could frame to make Redwin talk. But, in fact, Mr. Redwin was not disturbed that morning, and he had lunch alone, for Inspector Pinkey had found other business to do.
CHAPTER XV.
If we seek an ultimate cause, we must observe that Mabel was unable to speak clearly when she had a full mouth; and when she had failed three times to give the cook an articulate answer regarding the saucepans which should have been cleaned yesterday afternoon, we cannot wonder, from our previous observation of that excellent woman, that her voice rose in denunciation. Inter alia, she wanted to know where that dratted boy got the money to keep Mabel supplied with so many sw
eets during the past week.
Mabel offered no solution to this problem, which, indeed, she had not considered. She took the tributes her beauty brought (which Tommy had learnt should be something that could be sucked long, without the necessity for too frequent renewals in the midst of the washing up) without awkward enquiries as to how he was able to lay such gifts on her shrine.
But Inspector Pinkey, passing along the passage to go out by the side door, heard the question, and became suddenly aware that it was one which he might have occasion to ask in a more serious way.
Like a dog finding the scent, his body took a new alertness, and his step quickened as he went out on to the sidewalk; and, instead of following his first intention toward the gate, and ultimately to the Station Inn, he turned to the vegetable garden, where he had seen from his bedroom window, a few minutes before, that Mr. Bulger was clearing away the autumn wreckage of the kidney beans.
Mr. Bulger was in a very deaf but very affable mood. He replied so readily to several remarks that he did not hear, and with such misappropriate genialities, that the Inspector was encouraged to ask the direct question—how much was the weekly wage which compensated Tommy for his strenuous toil.
Mr. Bulger, after admitting that it was a good three miles to Loudwater by the upper road, heard the repeated question, and replied readily that the young varmint was getting twice what he was worth. Being invited to convert this answer into English coinage, he replied that it was nine shillings, to which he added the interesting though unsolicited information that his mother let him keep three pence a week for himself, except on those occasions when his father was out of work.
Inspector Pinkey asked no more of Mr. Bulger. He remarked that there was nothing like pulling the bean sticks up promptly, if they were to be used for another year, and having been assured in reply that the duck pond wasn’t as low as it had been a month back, he departed in excellent spirits to make diplomatic purchases at the local sweetshops.
Before midday he had learnt that, on the Tuesday evening of the previous week, being the day on which Sir Daniel Denton’s life had so abruptly ended, Tommy had purchased various sweets to a total weight of about three pounds from Mr. Cobbins’ confectionery stores. His order had been of a varied character, consisting of a quarter of a pound from each successive bottle that pleased his eye, and when about half a dozen of these little parcels had been weighed out, Mrs. Cobbins had declined to proceed further until he gave her an ocular demonstration of his commercial stability. On that he had produced a one-pound note, and when the astonished lady had expressed a natural doubt as to how he could be in honest possession of such a capital, he had replied that it was a birthday present from an aunt at Ealing, she being a lady who wallowed in redundant wealth.
Inspector Pinkey would have given little for the wealth of that probably mythical aunt, but he felt that he himself had struck gold. He had an instant conviction that he would be able to return to London with a more exciting report than a mere endorsement of that which had been done already by the local police. He would have been less than human had he not felt a measure of elation in the fact that he had made discovery of that which had been overlooked by those who had been first over the ground. He may not have allowed sufficiently for the fact that they had not heard the clue proclaimed in the loud voice of the outraged cook.
He considered how best to garner the full fruits of his discovery, and he decided that Tommy should be interviewed suddenly, as he bent over his work, rather than summoned to the police station, and allowed time to think over the probable ordeal that would be before him.
But it was desirable that more than one should be present to hear the first confused replies, the possible lies or contradictions, with which he might attempt concealment of the source of his present wealth. He entered a street-side telephone box, rang up Superintendent Trackfield, and invited him to meet him for lunch in half an hour’s time in the nearby parlour of the Sandy Cow. He said he had an interesting piece of evidence to talk over relating to the Bywater Grange affair, but he would rather not discuss it over the phone. Superintendent Trackfield said that he would be there.
Half an hour later the two officers were seated at lunch together, and Inspector Pinkey narrated his morning’s experiences.
Superintendent Trackfield agreed as to the probable importance of the discovery he had made. He quoted a favourite remark of an old police chief under whom he had served in his younger days, that you can often unlock a large door with a small key.
In the same spirit in which he recognized the probable importance of the discovery, he admitted the ability of the metropolitan officer. It was true that the discovery had its origin in the casual remark which he had overheard as he passed the kitchen that morning. That might be luck. But the idea which it had brought into his mind was the result of his own efficiency. He recognized the superior brilliance of the Yard technique with a generous measure of praise, which concealed some natural annoyance. He knew that, if this clue should prove as important as it promised to be, there would be reflections and comparisons made. And it was so easy to see now that he ought not to have accepted the boy’s assurance so easily.
“I thought,” Inspector Pinkey suggested, “that you might like to come with me when I question him, and then we’d follow it up together. Two heads are better than one, and so are two witnesses to whatever’s said.”
The Superintendent said that he would be pleased to come. Perhaps willing would have been a truer word. It could not give him much pleasure to play second fiddle on his own ground. He quite understood that Pinkey was to do the investigation, and it would be his part to stand by. But, all the same, it was his duty. And Pinkey deserved it too. He got up to come.
They found the boy planting out winter cabbages. He had something in his mouth that impeded speech. The cheerful grin on his face altered somewhat as the two officers approached, but was in fairly good working order by the time they were near enough to observe.
“Tommy, where did you get that pound note that you changed at Mr. Cobbins’ shop on the Tuesday night of last week?”
“Me aunt sent it me.”
The Inspector showed no surprise. He asked: “Was it the aunt over Maidenhead way, or the one at Rochester?”
The boy looked up sullenly. He knew that the Inspector was pulling his leg. He had no aunts.
“Tommy, who gave you that note?”
“It mighta been anyone.”
“It might have been Mr. Gerard.”
“I told yer I picked it up.”
“We didn’t hear that. Now, Tommy, you just listen to me. You’ve told lies enough, and another one might mean that you’ll be locked up for the night. Why did Mr. Gerard give you that note?”
“I didn’t say as ’e did.”
“You didn’t say that he didn’t, which meant just the same. Had he given you one before?”
“No.”
“Then why did he give you one on Tuesday evening last week?”
“He musta thought as ’e would.”
“No doubt he did. And you were to keep your mouth shut as to what you’d seen. Did you see him shoot Sir Daniel?”
“A course not. I were down the bend a’ the drive.”
“But you saw him come out through the window after he’d done it?”
“He come out to speak to me.”
“Then he came out twice.”
The boy’s silence was a sufficient answer. “We’ll have a bit more to say to you later, Tommy.” The two officers went on to the house. They desired to interview Mr. Gerard before he should be aware of the discovery they had made.
CHAPTER XVI.
Mr. Gerard Denton received his visitors with a surface of nervous affability which was too thin to conceal the antipathy which underlay it.
“We’ve come together to see you, Mr. Denton,” the Inspector began, “because you made a mistake. You should have given him half a crown.”
Mr. Gerard looked, and may have
been, genuinely puzzled for a moment by this opening.
“If there’s anyone I ought to give half a crown to…,” he began vaguely.
“I mean the gardener’s boy.”
Comprehension came, and confusion with it.
“I suppose I can give the boy what I choose?”
Mr. Denton was aware, even as he uttered it, of the weak futility of the reply.
“It’s not a question of what you choose to give the boy, but of what explanation you choose to give us. We’ve heard what he has to say.” There was a good-humoured grimness about Inspector Pinkey in these crises of pursuit, such as that of a butcher who enjoys his job. He was apt to become quick and even epigrammatic in retort. The little awkwardness which he had felt on the first occasion when his hostess had suggested that she herself might be cast for the role of criminal would have disappeared very quickly had he once decided to regard her in that light.
Superintendent Trackfield who, up to this point, had been a silent learner of the methods of the central organization, which were reputed to be so superior to his own, thought it right to interpose the remark that Mr. Denton was not obliged to make any reply which would incriminate himself, but, of course, any explanation he could offer.
“The fact is, I got flustered. It was a silly thing to do.”
The reply came in a somewhat more confident tone, responding to that of the warning he had received, but it was Chief Inspector Pinkey who resumed charge of the conversation.
“It’s never wise to get flustered.”
“I didn’t mean that. I mean, it was silly to give the boy any money.”
“It was silly to give the boy as much as you did. He’s never stopped sucking sweets since he got it. Do you mind telling us why you gave him any at all? It’s only fair to tell you, Mr. Denton, that we’ve had his account of the matter.”
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