Except For One Thing

by John Russell Fearn

  “Sorry, Joyce,” Richard said. “I’ve been through some pretty tough moments behind the scenes — getting rid of entanglements, I mean. But let’s see what we can do to sort it out…This, for instance…”

  He took the ring case out of his pocket and snapped back the lid. This time the girl looked at the circlet of gold and single clawed diamond thereon in fascinated joy.

  “It’s wonderful!” she whispered. “At last we’re engaged for all the world to see!”

  “For all the world to see,” Richard agreed, smiling as he slipped the ring on her finger.

  She drew him across to the divan, forced him to sit down beside her.

  “Don’t mind me,” Prescott said, grinning.

  “Let’s — let’s forget all about this woman, Dick,” Joyce said earnestly. “Let’s talk of other things. Where have you been all day?”

  “Oh, I’ve wandered around. London chiefly.”

  “Tomorrow we can go there together,” she said, sitting back and closing her eyes happily. “Do all the things we should have done today.”

  “Not tomorrow, Joyce — wouldn’t be worth it. It’s Sunday.”

  She opened her eyes and looked surprised. “So it is! I must be in love. No, not tomorrow,” she agreed somewhat ruefully. “Dad and I will be going to church. Has to be done as a regular thing when he gives away so much money to it. Why don’t you come to church, too?”

  “Mmmm — no,” Richard answered, smiling. “I’m no church man, dearest. I’ll be better employed getting on with that garage.”

  “Oh, that again! Anyway, we can go out together all day Monday?”

  “I — I’m afraid not,” he said. “Some business has come up. I may have to keep going up and down to London quite a lot in the next few days — ”

  “There you go again!” Joyce gazed at him in dismay. “You said you’d finished all your business — that you were absolutely free all the way to our wedding!”

  “I know — and I was, before we had our little argument this morning. I ran into some unexpected business in the city today and it’s essential that I give it my attention.”

  “Then it’s more important than I am?” The suspicion of the morning was back in her voice.

  “As if it could be! Joyce, dear, I never expected you’d be so unreasonable…”

  “Ricky…I mean Dick, I’m not unreasonable. It’s simply that as your wife-to-be I think we’re entitled to be with each other a little, especially after you promising. If you love me the way you say you do you will cancel all this business and spend the next few weeks with me. Not necessarily all the time, of course, because I have to help Dad catch up on a lot of secretarial work, but at least don’t make engagements which will keep us apart…”

  Richard was silent. Everything depended on how long Chief Inspector Garth would take to arrive at a complete blank in the Valerie Hadfield case and admit himself beaten. After that…

  “Well, I’ll fix it so that we can be together after Monday,” Richard said finally, patting the girl’s head. “On Monday, though, I’ll have to go through with my appointment, but I’ll see to it that we’re together from then on. And on Monday night we’ll go that new musical comedy at the Regal and then on to the Blue Shadow for supper. How’s that?”

  “That’s more like my own Ricky,” the girl said, getting to her feet; “and I don’t apologise for the usual nickname,” she added, wagging a finger at him as he frowned a protest. “I’ll simply never get out of calling you that. All right then, we’re all fixed for Monday night. Where and when do we meet?”

  “I expect to be in the city until towards tea-time…Might as well have tea at the Blue Shadow if it comes to that. Yes, meet me there at about quarter-to-five. I’ll book seats at the Regal first thing on Monday morning.”

  Richard got to his feet and picked up her coat and held it for her. With a graceful movement of her hand she drew the coppery hair over the collar.

  “I’m so glad we’re not quarrelling,” she said simply. “But don’t think it isn’t a hard sacrifice for me to quell my curiosity over this other woman…But I love you, Ricky, love you so much.”

  She embraced him tightly for a moment and he patted her shoulder.

  “Love makes one do odd things sometimes,” he said.

  He went with her from the room to the hall door, opened it for her. Dr. Prescott came trailing behind them.

  “Glad you two have seen sense at last,” he commented. “Still going to try and finish that garage for when Joyce arrives to take over?”

  “Going to do my best,” Richard acknowledged.

  Prescott sighed, then he headed down the steps to the front path as Joyce turned back to Richard and raised her lips to his.

  *

  At ten-thirty on Monday morning, after booking the Regal Theatre tickets, Richard called to see Chief Inspector Garth. When admitted by Sergeant Whittaker he found Garth at his desk, reading through mail and reports.

  “Hello, Dick,” he greeted, looking up. “You do mean to try and catch me out if you can, don’t you?”

  Richard smiled amiably, and it cost him considerable effort. He had had two bad nights for one thing and he felt nervy for another. All through the previous day as he had worked on the garage he had been haunted by uneasy premonitions. Though nothing was visibly wrong he had a conviction of movement going on below surface, of events conspiring against him, relentlessly, out of reach.

  “Just thought I’d drop in and see if you’re carrying the Valerie Hadfield business on,” he explained. “I can hardly find any mention of it in the papers.”

  “Oh, I’m carrying it on all right,” Garth assured him. “As for the papers, I’ve clamped down somewhat on news. Doesn’t pay to let a criminal know all you’re doing.”

  “Forgive me, Garth, but what are you doing?” Richard asked dryly, holding out his cigarette case and finding it waved away as a cheroot came into view. “Just sitting here at your desk?”

  Garth swung in his chair to face him, cheroot clamped between his teeth. “I don’t have to tear about like a track runner to get my facts, Dick…They come to me, or will do before long. I’m waiting for whatever reports the Twickenham Superintendent has to send — regarding house, furniture, car licensee — and coming nearer home I am waiting for the Home Office report on the tyre-lever which laid Peter Cranston low.”

  “Tyre-lever?” Richard repeated. “You mean that a tyre-lever was used as the weapon to kill him?”

  “No doubt of it. Divisional Inspector Whiteside was on the job all day yesterday, checking and rechecking since the doctor’s report of a blunt instrument. He found a tyre-lever with what might be traces of blood and human tissue upon it…Anyway, we dispatched it to pathology straight away and Dr. Winters is sweating over it at this very moment.”

  Richard settled in the hide armchair by the doorway. The reaction would show Peter Cranston’s blood — no doubt of that. Mentally Richard could see the antisera being added to the blood, could see the faint haze appearing in the test tube…Routine stuff that would not prove anything as far as his own participation in the business was concerned.

  “Doesn’t look like being a very exciting day, then?” he asked, sighing.

  “Plenty may happen yet,” Garth told him. “And if it does we…Oh, good!” he broke off, as the gnomelike, bald-headed Dr. Winters came in with his report.

  “Group O,” Winters said, putting the report on the desk. “Same group as the deceased’s own blood. That doesn’t prove that it is his blood, I know, but taking all things into consideration — wound, type of weapon, and so on — you can be pretty sure that the tyre-lever stunned Cranston and the carbon monoxide did the rest.”

  “Mmmm,” Garth acknowledged. “And the blood on the car was a different group altogether? AB? Bang goes my vague hope — very vague one, true — that maybe Cranston was mixed up in it somehow. Wish I could find a sample of Valerie Hadfield’s blood somewhere. It would help a lot.”

&nb
sp; Winters went out with an impersonal smile and Garth studied the report for a moment or two. Presently he set it on one side.

  “Slow progress this,” he muttered, thumping his broad chest impatiently. “Hell’s bells, if only we could find the body we’d be getting somewhere…”

  “Don’t you mean — bodies?” Richard suggested.

  “No. I cling to the singular. I believe Williams murdered Valerie Hadfield and then her chauffeur. Why he murdered Valerie I haven’t the vaguest idea, but I am pretty sure the chauffeur was wiped out because he knew too much. The maid Ellen has testified that the chauffeur was more in his mistress’ confidence than anybody else. That is understandable since he drove her everywhere and must have seen any companion she had…Possibly even he knew the identity of Valerie Hadfield’s killer.”

  “Logical enough,” Richard agreed. “And you mean to say there were no fingerprints anywhere on the weapon?”

  “Only blurs — and some fingerprints belonging to Cranston himself…And talking of fingerprints, one or two sets have been found in Valerie Hadfield’s flat, that check with those in the back of her Daimler. Somebody whom she knew intimately obviously visited her flat, drove with her, and…” Garth gave a shrug. “Don’t know who, but we’ll find out.” This news was not unexpected. The number of times Richard had been in Valerie’s flat he could hardly expect that he had not left traces…Have to tackle that difficulty when he came to it…

  “I suppose the maid Ellen hasn’t had anything to do with all this?” he asked.

  “No. She has perfect alibis for everything, and her fingerprints don’t lead anywhere conclusive. It’s that man we want, Dick, and we’ve got to find him — ”

  Garth turned as the telephone shrilled. Sergeant Whittaker picked it up and listened.

  “Superintendent Chalfont, sir — for you,” he said.

  “Yes?” Garth put his cheroot in the ashtray and listened. Then he glanced up at Whittaker. “Take this down — Furniture bought from Draycott’s in Brandish Street, Twickenham. Yes, yes — and house bought through Amos Hardisty, Elm Crescent, Twickenham Green…yes, I got it. Car licence owned by Rixton Williams and no private address…Blast! Eh? Yes, of course. Cover note was issued, was it? Car bought from Morgan & Lamvil, second hand dealers, Tithe Street, West Central? Yes, I’ll take over from here. Many thanks.”

  Garth put the instrument down and put the cheroot back between his teeth.

  “Seems we should begin at Morgan and Lamvil,” he said finally. “Not far from here and we can go on to Twickenham later. Let’s be going.”

  Richard wondered for a brief moment if he should abandon accompanying the Inspector in his quest for a solution. He was risking a good deal, he realised, if some stray, unthought-of thing about him happened to betray him as the original Rixton Williams; but on the other hand the whole business had a morbid, deadly fascination for him. It was like being the spectator of an engrossing play. He just couldn’t tear himself away from the scene.

  In the back of the car, Whittaker driving as usual, Garth sat crumpled up and scowling.

  “More I think of this,” Richard said, breaking the silence, “the more I think you’re up against a tough proposition, Garth. This Williams chap seems to have a peculiar genius all his own when it comes to vanishing completely. You’ve got to admit he is clever.”

  “If I’m no nearer in another month I’ll admit it then,” Garth growled, slanting his pale eyes. “So far the thing’s only two days old and I haven’t even started to pull it to bits yet. Williams will eventually have to break cover. If he doesn’t, then the only answer is that he is at large and that he created the character of Rixton Williams on purpose, dropping him like a threadbare overcoat once his usefulness was finished.”

  “Which still makes me wonder — why?” Richard muttered.

  “Only answer to that — without proof — is that Valerie Hadfield did have one man in her life of whom she never spoke, and this one man had his reasons for wanting to be rid of her. No doubt that the chauffeur knew too, and that’s why he’s stretched out waiting for the inquest.”

  “Doesn’t anybody know the chauffeur’s movements before he was murdered?” Richard questioned. “Surely somebody must have seen him?”

  “Whiteside’s checking on that — getting the times from the theatre — the whole dope concerning him. There’ll be some juice to squeeze out of it finally, don’t you worry…Somebody unexpected happens to get up and go to a window to look for a late husband, and sees the murderer leaving the garage. Somebody stops to tie up his shoelace and sees the car entering the garage…Little things that tie up.”

  “If they occur,” Richard said. “You’ve no evidence of it as yet.”

  “And from the look on your face you don’t want me to have,” Garth said, grinning. “You’re itching to discover that this is a perfect crime which has got me licked, aren’t you? Well…we’ll see.” Garth relaxed again, said no more until Whittaker had driven them to Morgan & Lamvil’s. When they entered the big second-hand store Richard noted that it was the same spotless young salesman who had sold him the old saloon.

  “Chief Inspector Garth?” The salesman looked at the warrant card Garth held out and then nodded. “I’ve been expecting you, sir. Superintendent Chalfont of the Twickenham police rang us up. Got to know of us through the licensing authorities when we transferred the log book. You’d prefer to see the manager, I suppose? Unfortunately he’s out just now.”

  “It’s not essential,” Garth told him. “All I want to know is who it was that sold Rixton Williams a car?”

  “I did, sir — and I know what’s happened since. I saw a small bit about it in the newspaper. I hope I’m not likely to get involved in something unpleasant…”

  “No reason why you should. How much did the car cost, and in what manner was it paid?”

  “Sixty-seven pounds, sir, inclusive of licence,” the salesman said. “Naturally we transferred the licence to the new owner along with the log book. The money was paid in one pound notes.”

  “Mmmm,” Garth mused, and Richard, looking on casually, knew the Chief Inspector was disappointed. Five pound or ten pound notes could have been traced…but then Richard knew that too.

  “What did he look like?” Sergeant Whittaker inquired, as his Chief stood thinking.

  “About five feet nine, round shouldered, left foot limp, cap, raincoat, and from his voice I’d say he was a Northerner. Said he wasn’t looking for anything fancy. I gave him cover note insurance until he could get his address fixed. I arranged it so that he could temporarily use our address — ”

  “Which is illegal,” Garth commented.

  “I know, sir.” The salesman shrugged. “The law blinks at that sort of thing as a rule…I mean, live and let live. Nine times out of ten it is convenient to us and the customer. This time, though — ”

  “He did not drop any hints about a lady?” Garth asked.

  “No, sir. Never mentioned one.”

  “You can’t recall anything peculiar about him, can you? Any outstanding physical oddity?”

  Pause, then: “No, I can’t recall anything, I’m afraid — except the limp.”

  “All right, thanks. We’re wasting time here. Let’s get along to Twickenham.” Richard grinned faintly when he sat next to Garth and their car was moving through the congested streets.

  “All right, say it,” Garth invited. “I’m battering my bonny napper against a brick wall!”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  “Mebbe — dammit! In a while — and probably before the month’s out, too — I’ll start admitting that it is clever! Even now I’ll admit that Rixton Williams has made a grand job of covering up his tracks. If I can get nothing out of Twickenham I’ll have the Lancashire constabulary see what they can find out about our friend.”

  Thereafter Garth became moodily silent, gazing out on to the gradually quietening suburban road. Richard no longer sensed those relentless undercurrents. If anythi
ng, he was agreeably surprised at the masterly perfection of the scheme he had woven. The human bloodhound already admitted that he was at a standstill.

  Finally Whittaker pulled up outside the Twickenham police headquarters. They went into Superintendent Chalfont’s private office.

  “Morning, gentlemen,” he greeted, nodding. “Been looking around?”

  “No, because if I get no more damned sense out of it than I have out of the car dealers I’m wasting my time,” Garth retorted, sitting down. “Maybe I can get most of it out of you…What about the estate agent’s? How much did you find out?”

  Chalfont nodded to a half completed report in the typewriter where a sergeant sat waiting before it.

  “I was just getting it ready to send to you, sir. Anyway, I can give you the details. Rixton Williams called in Hardisty’s in his saloon a week last Thursday, October tenth. It was about three-thirty in the afternoon. He paid a cover charge for the key, went to look at the house which he eventually bought and then — ”

  “To blazes with that!” Garth interrupted crossly. “What did he pay in? Cash? For the house, I mean…”

  “No — cheque. The sum of sixteen hundred pounds, drawn on the Sub-District Middlesex Bank. He did not buy the house on the same day as he viewed it. He paid five pounds in one pound notes to hold the place and said he’d bring a cheque next day. That he did, arriving about the same time. In fact, judging from the times he could hardly have put his money in the bank — two thousand in one pound notes — before he paid out sixteen hundred of it for the house. After that — same afternoon, Friday — he paid two hundred and ninety-eight pounds to Draycott’s, the furnishers, by cheque, which is still there…”

  “Two thousand in ones,” Garth murmured at length. “The benighted dimwit!”

  Richard tensed in his chair. All of a sudden the pulses in his throat felt as though they would stifle him.

  CHAPTER XII

  “Yes, a benighted dimwit!” Garth repeated, looking up from his desk. “That’s a tall order for any bank to carry out — supplying two thousand in one pound notes. I can send out a call to every bank in the country and have them try and trace which customer has drawn out two thousand in ones fairly recently. There’ll be a record of it; I’ll gamble on that.”