by J. V. Turner
‘I thought so,’ he muttered. ‘I thought so. Upon my soul, if it isn’t enough to make a dog sick.’
‘Let’s return thanks,’ said Ingram, ‘that there isn’t a dog here.’ He ceased bantering, and turned to Petrie seriously. ‘Petrie, you’ve been worrying us to death. Partly that’s the result of some of the questions you yourself asked Ferguson. Can you tell us what you have been doing since? We are most anxious to know.’
‘Certainly I’ll tell you,’ said Petrie, calmly, looking closely at the men as he spoke. ‘I have had Paling detained at the Yard.’
‘Whew!’ whistled Ingram. ‘That’s caused it.’
Ferguson ceased parading. The muscles of his face were twitching.
‘What have you against the man, Petrie?’ The smooth question came from the fireplace—from the Attorney General. Even those who did not recognise the mellow voice would have picked him out at a glance as a lawyer. The wig-polished scalp betrayed him. He was small featured, like a woman, with deep-set eyes, dark and glowing, and a mouth that closed as though operated with a zip fastener.
Amos wiped his hands on his handkerchief, his eyes blinked behind the thick-lensed spectacles. The Ministers waited eagerly.
‘He had more opportunity of committing the murder than any other living being. Motive? I can’t say yet. But I’ve found something which suggests intention. I don’t say it isn’t capable of explanation. I know quite well it is. But his explanations so far have not been very satisfactory. If he didn’t commit the murder himself he’s taking great risks to shelter somebody or to hide something.’
‘Hide something,’ snorted Ferguson. ‘He may be trying to hide something that we all want hidden. What is this something?’
Petrie replaced his handkerchief, turned to face Ferguson.
‘If Paling will give me an explanation which is more than a mixture of spoof, chaff and downright lying I may know. Failing that I thought it best to detain him until Inspector Ripple and myself discovered what that something was for ourselves.’
‘Seems rather rough on Paling,’ said Ingram, ‘that you should lock him up on such slender grounds. I take it that you haven’t made up your mind on the question of guilt?’
‘Far from it.’
‘But you’ve got far enough to dismiss Watson from your mind?’
‘No.’ The reply was emphatic.
‘I thought you’d let him out when you detained Paling.’
‘What have you got against Watson?’ inquired the Attorney General.
‘Opportunity, possession of the poison on the day after the murder, a possible motive in passion, and a great deal of foolishness.’
‘You have not, however, thought it necessary to detain him?’
Petrie’s mouth twisted oddly as he smiled.
‘Not yet. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to leave the country without taking the formality of telling me first.’
For a space there was a heavy silence. The Attorney General was the first to speak:
‘Do you mean that you’ve warned him?’
‘I indicated to him that such a move on his part might create an unfortunate position.’
He saw the quick look flash between the Attorney General and the Prime Minister. Willie Ingram nodded.
‘I think we can rely upon Mr Petrie’s discretion,’ he said.
Ferguson nodded glumly. The man appeared crestfallen.
‘Well,’ he remarked sullenly, ‘you all know what my position is.’
The door opened. An M.P. hurried into the room.
‘Joe Manning is up,’ he shouted.
Ingram turned instantly to Ferguson:
‘And you have to reply for the Government.’
‘Oh, damn!’
‘You’d better go,’ said Ingram. ‘They’ll think it looks bad if you’re not there to hear Manning. I don’t expect I’ll be long before I join you. While you’re away I’ll explain the position to Mr Petrie.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Attorney General. ‘I’ll put in a word for you as well to see that you’re treated as well as Watson.’
Ferguson nodded miserably and hurried through the doorway. Ingram clasped his hands together, and motioned Amos to a chair. The little man was smiling cryptically.
‘I’ll explain matters to you, Petrie. Ferguson is worried because he agreed to act as executor under Reardon’s will. I would not have advised it myself. In fact, I don’t know that I’d have permitted it had I known at the time that Ferguson contemplated taking such a step. In his own interests he’d have been better to have kept clear of the whole thing. But the other executor—Curtis—would not act without him, and there might have been a dreadful scandal. I am sure that Ferguson was inspired by the best of motives.’
The Attorney General cut in quietly:
‘I don’t think you need beat about the bush. We know Petrie of old. He’s no fool, so I expect he knows what’s coming.’
‘I have people in the City making inquiries,’ said Amos helpfully.
‘What have they discovered?’ asked Ingram, almost breathlessly.
‘They have discovered,’ replied Petrie deliberately, ‘that there was a good deal of buying in industrials between three weeks and a fortnight before the Budget. I am now waiting’—he paused and slowed down to emphasise his words—‘to obtain the names of the principal buyers.’
The Ministers looked at each other hopelessly. The Attorney General cleared his throat and settled the issue with dramatic suddenness.
‘At the end of your inquiries, Petrie, you will find that under one name and another the biggest buyer of all was Reardon!’
There was an embarrassing silence. Petrie looked from one to the other at the men in the room. Ingram looked worried and ashamed. The Home Secretary was wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead.
‘Let me understand exactly where I stand,’ said Amos slowly. ‘I don’t want any unequivocal answer. Do you want this thing covered up at all costs?’
The Prime Minister looked towards the Attorney General for some guiding lead. Petrie stared at the ceiling and waited. The little man was no longer smiling. His lips had straightened into a thin line.
‘It is not quite as bad as that,’ said the Attorney General. He paused while weighing his words, and then added: ‘We want you to use tact, Petrie, and avoid a scandal if you can.’
Amos shook his head and rapped on the table with his fingers.
‘But the cause of the scandal may be the cause of the crime.’
‘In that case the murderer will hang, and the scandal will have to be made public,’ said Willie Ingram. ‘If Ferguson gets mixed up in the scandal that’ll be his funeral. He can’t blame us.’
‘I take it that our inquiries are to proceed as we think fit?’
‘Don’t misunderstand me, Petrie. We don’t want to shield anyone from any punishment that ought to be coming to him under the ordinary law. If Reardon were alive himself I would conceive it my duty, and make it my business, to see that he not only retired from office, but was booted out of politics altogether, and for ever. But the man is dead. We can’t punish him. The only question is this: Can the demands of justice be met without washing a very great deal of dirty linen in public?’
‘In other words,’ interposed the Attorney General, ‘can you continue to treat the case with the judgment and discretion you’ve already exercised in regard to Watson?’
‘I can certainly do that,’ replied Amos. ‘That’s easy.’
‘It is all we want,’ said Ingram, sighing relievedly.
‘There is one assurance I want,’ remarked Amos. ‘Can I take it beyond all question that once the murderer is found—if he is ever found—there need be, and will not be, any respecting of persons?’
The Prime Minister was so comforted that he lapsed into familiarity:
‘My dear fellow, you can have me arrested if you get any evidence to justify it. We do not bind your hands in any way.’
�
��I am content,’ said Petrie.
‘Thank God that’s settled,’ commented Sam Morgan fervently.
‘Not quite settled,’ remarked the little man. ‘Do you know what I’m wondering? What has all this got to do with any question I asked Mr Ferguson?’
The Attorney General clapped his hands and laughed.
‘I’ve been waiting for you to get to that point, Petrie. It’s been puzzling me all evening, but I left the job of discovery to you.’
The Prime Minister frowned, and looked round the room.
‘I am afraid,’ he said, ‘that I have no very precise information about your question. Ferguson didn’t make it quite clear to me.’
‘It might be very helpful to know,’ remarked Petrie.
‘Well, I can’t very well drag him out of the House while Joe Manning is on his feet. Besides the effect of the interview on Ferguson might be upsetting, and he’s speaking for the Government in a few minutes.’
The Attorney General had a suggestion to make:
‘Suppose I draft a questionnaire, and send it to Ferguson?’
‘What sort of a questionnaire?’ asked Amos.
‘One to which he could give a simple answer.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’ll have to refuse your offer. I cannot put all I want into a questionnaire susceptible of simple answer.’
Again the Attorney General came to the rescue:
‘What about Curtis, Ferguson’s co-executor? Couldn’t he supply all the information you want? We could send for him if you like.’
‘Yes,’ said Amos, after a pause. ‘Curtis might do—so long as you made it plain to him that there is no longer any need to keep me in the dark, and fence with my questions.’
‘I can arrange that without any trouble,’ said the Attorney General. ‘He is in the same boat as Ferguson, and he’s no better pleased with it. It’s rough on them both, of course. They are only doing their best—doing their duty by the House of Commons—in trying to hush up the scandal.’
‘You can see him here if you like,’ assisted Ingram. ‘He’s in the House tonight, and I expect he’ll want to hear Ferguson. But we’ll have him thrown out to you. You’ll have the room quite to yourselves. We’ve all got to go into the House.’
Ingram swept his papers into an attaché-case. Amos smiled again when the Prime Minister slid a bottle of whisky, siphon, and a couple of glasses on the table. As the men were preparing to leave the Attorney General walked over to Petrie.
‘By the way, Petrie, how did our lamented, but rather disreputable, colleague meet his end?’
‘I won’t know until tomorrow,’ replied Amos hesitantly. Then he added: ‘My people haven’t found what I expected, and so it—’
‘I suppose you hope that you won’t have to trouble much about it after tonight? Isn’t that what you’re trying to indicate to me? Well, I hope you’re successful, Petrie. Don’t be too hard on the men who have been uncommunicative in the past. They didn’t really mean to obstruct you. They were simply squirming away from the truth because they didn’t want to take the lid off the story.’
‘I’ll try to bear no malice. We anglers have ample patience. There are times—’ He stopped and turned suddenly to the Prime Minister: ‘I’ve just remembered that I can’t get along without a copy of the Official Debates for Budget Day. Do you think I could have one sent to me immediately? I can pass my time away reading that while I’m waiting for you to throw Curtis into the lion’s den.’
The men grinned. This small, partly wizened, apparently nervous, and soft-spoken man didn’t look much like a lion!
‘Get it without going out of this room,’ said Ingram. He walked over to a pile near the window, picked up his own copy, and handed it to Amos.
‘Do you really think you’ll find out how the murder was done by reading that?’ asked the Attorney General.
‘I hope so,’ replied Amos modestly. The men stared at each other and strolled out of the room. Petrie was ploughing steadily towards a realisation of that hope when Dick Curtis found him later. Reading had thrown three vertical ridges on the little man’s brow. But he was smiling happily as he turned down the page he had reached. Then he closed the volume.
CHAPTER XIV
PETRIE PLODS ON
‘AH, Mr Curtis,’ he said ‘I’m glad you’ve come at last. I have been deputed to offer you some of the Prime Minister’s whisky.’
‘To make me “talking drunk” I suppose?’ Curtis smiled expansively as he walked to the table, and poured out a drink. They toasted each other, and Curtis turned his eyes back to the glass. ‘Coming on top of the lecture I’ve just been listening to,’ he said, ‘this really does taste like an attack on the strings that tie the tongue.’
‘Good barristers should never be tongue-tied. After our last conversation I thought it necessary to ask for some stimulants.’
The corners of Curtis’ mouth twitched as he grinned.
‘Perhaps I did err on the side of discretion. I am afraid your man Ripple must think the same too. But you understand the position now, don’t you?’
‘The Attorney General explained some of the difficulties.’
‘I don’t suppose he’s left anything for me to add. What exactly do you want to know? I’ll be a willing victim this time.’
‘I want to know everything. But tell me this first. Why do the words “Paling” and “money” start everyone thinking of scandal?’
Dick Curtis sipped his second drink before replying:
‘Because there is scandal, and because Paling is the original and true begetter of it.’
The little man shook his head with emphasis.
‘Won’t do, won’t do at all. You’ll have to be more explicit, much more explicit, if you’re going to be of any help.’
Curtis slapped his glass on the table with a gesture of anger.
‘Then I will be explicit, most explicit. Paling screwed about thirty thousand pounds out of Edgar Reardon in just over two years. That was roughly half the Reardon fortune. But Paling even then was not satisfied. He wanted more. Fifty-fifty did not satisfy him. That was what drove Reardon to the courses you’ve been exposing sedulously while we’ve been trying to cover them up.’
‘Do you mean to tell me that it did not occur to you—you, a barrister—that these things might have a definite connection with the murder?’
Dick Curtis laughed softly while Petrie waited for the reply.
‘It did not, my friend. Murder of Paling by Reardon—perhaps. But it certainly did not occur to me that Paling would want to murder his own milch cow. Work that out for yourself, Petrie.’
‘Did Edgar Reardon ever threaten to murder Paling?’
‘Oh, no. Edgar would never have dreamed of such a thing. I merely meant that he was driven half-frantic by his troubles. What he did was inexcusable, I know. But if you knew as much about the circumstances as I do you wouldn’t be surprised that an honourable and public spirited man like John Ferguson is willing to take risks in order to protect his memory.’
‘Then I’d like to put myself in Ferguson’s position by knowing all about these circumstances. Before we come to that can you tell me when you first thought of Paling as a potential murderer?’
‘After they told me that you had detained him.’
Petrie’s eyes blinked as he looked inquiringly.
Curtis amplified: ‘The human mind is a funny thing, Petrie. At tea time I would have laughed at anyone who suggested Paling as the murderer. Now I accept him as a possibility, and I look round for ways in which he might have hoped to make the murder profitable to himself. Yet the only thing that has happened in the last few hours is that you’ve locked him up. Have you ever tried to work out why a man’s mind should jump in that way?’
‘No. I only try to take advantage of the jump. I’d really like your assistance on the question of motive.’
‘Oh, be fair, Petrie. I’ve only been guessing. I’ve nothing to go on.’
‘Never mind. Yo
u can’t commit criminal libel in here. We’ll call the occasion privileged. Let’s have the guess.’
‘I’ll do my best. There was a lawsuit being threatened. I needn’t go into all the details, but there was a question of proceedings being taken to have Reardon’s marriage declared a nullity. You are a solicitor so I need hardly remind you that if a marriage is void, and not merely voidable, a second marriage is not necessarily bigamous. Paling, of course, knew about that threat of a legal action, and in that fact you might find a motive.’
‘But you didn’t take that view of it when you were talking to Mrs Reardon. Why the sudden idea?’
‘I’ve got no excuse. I never dreamed of it when I was talking to Mrs Reardon. It is one of the ideas at which I would have laughed.’
‘Is that so? And what makes you dream of it now?’
‘A sort of Hobson’s Choice. If Paling did commit the murder that’s the only way I can see in which he could have expected to make money by it. Of course, it simply begs the whole question: Did Paling commit the murder?’
‘And it raises the question of whether it was more profitable to kill than to continue the extortions you’ve been talking about.’
‘Quite. It assumes that Reardon grew tired of paying out. But these are questions for you, Petrie. Not for me.’
‘Puzzling questions too,’ admitted Amos, ‘and I can’t hope to solve them without assistance about the facts. Help me with those. Have you any reason to suppose that Reardon had made a stand and refused to be blackmailed further about this French marriage?’
Curtis sipped his whisky, smiled, and shook his head.
‘I have and I haven’t,’ he answered.
‘Let me judge,’ suggested Petrie.
‘Certainly. That’s what I’m here for. But the facts seem to me to cut two ways. Payments made to Paling must have made it obvious to Reardon that a final breach was inevitable. Without full knowledge of the facts I told Edgar myself that he’d have to call a halt, and make a fight of it. He said he would. But he always wanted to put off the fight. So far as I could make out at the time he never took the step to bring it to a head. He didn’t want to fight Paling, because the contest would have put him on the political shelf for two or three years, if not for ever. On the other hand he risked political damnation to retrieve his financial position. And he must have known that it would be impossible to keep Paling satisfied without running over the same course again. The man was a sink for money. Am I plain?’