by J. V. Turner
‘Let’s start with the Watson burglary,’ commenced Petrie. ‘It was obvious from the start that the murderer arranged that. The motive was only too obvious. The intention was to throw suspicion on Watson. I studied him carefully, wondered whether he had enough cold nerve and sufficient brain to stage the fake himself, and so throw a red herring across the trail. I was certain he had neither. From that point I didn’t take much interest in Watson as a possible murderer. In any case, he wasn’t the type at all—too nervy.
‘But we did know that if the burglar came from the outside he must be a man of some address, and familiar with the place. You told me that some unidentified drunk who called at the place upset your inquiries. I rather imagine that was our cunning friend, Curtis. He found his way up the back staircase, walked from the back of the flat to the front, passing the bedrooms, in order to place the glass of seeds in the sitting-room. It was the murderer’s most clumsy move. One knew instantly that if Watson murdered Reardon he would not leave strophanthus seeds in full view of everyone’s sight.
‘I think he did it for two reasons. He wanted to throw suspicion on Watson, and he wanted to play on Watson’s nerves. He knew that his victim might crack, talk rubbish, and land himself into a hole. That would act as a smokescreen for the murderer. Watson didn’t help me much. I thought then, and think now, that the man is a complete boob. At that time I didn’t know much about the murderer. But the means by which he committed the crime later told me a lot. There was a deftness about the substitution of that fraudulent section of the Budget speech, a horrible thoroughness in the way in which he gave his victim something to think about while he was being poisoned. The material in the faked portion of the speech, and the way in which it was arranged, showed intimate knowledge. Obviously the murderer was either connected with the Government, or he was in Reardon’s confidence. By the substitution of that fraudulent part of the speech he showed that he was a man capable of swift and decisive action.
‘We’d have been in a poor way if he hadn’t given us some of these indications of character. You never know, we might have hanged the wrong man. If you follow it carefully, though, you’ll find the same tricks of the mind in everything the man did. You most definitely find them in the interview in which he tried to lead me up the garden path. With one exception he never altered the facts. He simply twisted their meaning. Even the exception, when he moved from the facts, I can only prove by inference. He denied entering Reardon’s room. Quiller’s opinion and the other surrounding facts are all we have to pin on him.
‘Curtis was a trifle too cautious. He meant to impress me with his story about the steak. Instead he insisted on it so firmly that I became suspicious, and formed the view that he was making a deliberate attempt to lead me to an alibi that he had already prepared for me. I refused to bite. But that story of the lunch might make trouble for us at the Old Bailey.’
‘Good God! You don’t think he might get off?’
‘I hope not. Still, he’ll always have a bare chance. His defence will be that he wasn’t in the room, and couldn’t have committed the murder. We can use Quiller’s opinion as a weapon against that argument, and a few additional oddments. We can prove that he was in possession of the poison at the material time, because I’m positive we can prove that he burgled Watson’s flat. We can ask him why he wanted to plant those seeds on Watson at all, how this filament came to be in his overcoat pocket, why he destroyed the overcoat, how he came to have a Belgian hundred-franc note in his possession, and we can get the taxi driver to relate the events of that night. And, of course, as I’ll show you in a minute, we’ll prove that he had a most definite motive for the murder.
‘Before we come back to the framework of the crime, let’s take a look at the others. I went to Brockenhurst to eliminate a few of them. I played a trick on Lola Reardon to test her nerve. She crumpled up. She showed she had no more nerve than Watson. People with their mental make-up can’t commit murders of this type. Either might have committed suicide, but murder—never!
‘Ferguson was much more likely. I’ll tell you why. When I told him that he was a suspect he calmly bought me drinks and told me that my job was to get him out of the scrape. I imagined a man like that might well have murdered Reardon. But the time of that burglary at Watson’s flat was emphatically in his favour, and he wouldn’t offer a poisoned speech to Mrs Reardon even as a joke. Added to that, I couldn’t quite see what he was going to gain by it.
‘So now we come to Paling. Let us start at the wrong end by taking Milford first. Every word he spoke about the events there was the truth. His other statements were corroborated in all sorts of ways. For instance, I knew before he told me that Reardon had paid him money this year. It was Curtis who twisted the reason for the payments. Reardon undoubtedly tried to murder him at Milford. And a damned clumsy effort it was. Paling got the arsenic back from him, and they decided that it would be best to disarm suspicion in the hotel. That’s why they faked the stuff about the wine on the following evening—to show the landlady that they had made a mistake on both occasions. They knew nothing about her chemist customer. In any event—and this is vital—Paling had every reason for wishing Reardon to live. It doesn’t matter which way you look at it, that reply can’t be avoided. If he were blackmailing him, he wouldn’t murder the goose that laid the golden eggs. And now we know the truth, the reason for Paling not doing it is even more overpowering.
‘I don’t know now whether he would be committing forgery if he grabs the Hermanos money. That involves a pretty point of law. But I’m sure that at Milford, Reardon told him it would be forgery. And there was something else about his story that impressed me. He was so full of it that he thought it only had to be told to be believed.’
‘Then why didn’t he tell you all about it at the outset?’
‘Because he thought we might not find out about the Hermanos account, and that would have left him with a clear field, since he imagined that the existence of the account was known only to the dead man and himself. He knew that he was innocent of the murder, and never thought for a second that he would be arrested. By talking, by speaking the truth, he had nothing to gain and everything to lose. By Saturday his position had changed. He had spent some time in the cells, and was beginning to be frightened of a murder charge. Then he discovered that I had learnt of the Hermanos account, and after that he had nothing to hide. I am sure that as yet he hasn’t touched a penny of the Hermanos money.
‘Then we began to hear things about Mr Price and Mr Hepworth. If one fact was clearer than any other it was that Paling was not all three. So I looked into the technique of Messrs. Price and Hepworth. It was instructive. Like the murderer, they both worked by creating simple impressions on the mind. When we go round with the photos I don’t suppose we’ll have the slightest difficulty in getting them identified.
‘So, in many different ways, I was driven back to consider the case of Dick Curtis. On Saturday I asked you how Price or Hepworth could exercise their gifts for self-effacement in the House of Commons. Curtis could, being an M.P. The position of Price and Hepworth is vital on the question of motive. I take it that Curtis brought that Belgian note back after making a visit to Brussels as Hepworth. The typewriter here adds to that proof. Just turn this over in your mind—I never had the slightest doubt about the advantage it would be to Price and Hepworth if either, or he, happened to be one of the two executors to the murdered man’s estate.
‘You see, the executors had decided to cover up Reardon’s pre-Budget gambles. Ferguson knew practically nothing about them. He only knew enough to warn the Prime Minister that Reardon had been speculating. The executors wanted to cut the whole thing adrift by turning the estate into cash. What a chance for Curtis—who knew the whole inside workings—to step in and help himself! Ferguson could never tell me what I wanted to know. Therefore I knew that Curtis was the active spirit in the business. All he had to do was cook the accounts for both Price and Hepworth, and also abstract suitab
le rewards.
‘Now what did I know about Price or Hepworth? Several things. The pecuniary relations between the two would undoubtedly help if Price were prepared to act the part of fraudulent executor. I don’t know that Reardon ever heard of Hepworth. I do know that he trusted Price with thirty thousand pounds. Price was transparently the trusted friend, or agent. Don’t worry for the moment about how he got his instructions, or where they met. We’ll come to that. Just consider what I knew about the appearance of the man.
‘Price had, or pretended to have, gout. Therefore he is a man approaching fifty, or one who could be mistaken for that age. But he was not peevish or obviously in pain. He has to talk about the gout to create the impression he wants. The bank manager thinks of him as prosperous, and from the country. A florid complexion is suggested. His manner might have been sardonic, whimsical, or hearty. It would be unsafe to speculate. But there are all sorts of indications, negative indications, about his height and girth. He is not described as tall, short, fat, or thin. “A fine figure of a man, and a perfect gentleman,” and “not much to look at, but a perfect gentleman,” are phrases we hear. He was prosperous, and in a prosperous man of that age we may expect a well-covered frame, with some thickening at the waist, and some thinning of the hair—’
‘You’re describing Dick Curtis,’ interrupted Ripple.
‘Right. So we can turn away from that and look at something else. When Curtis told me that he advised Reardon about his matrimonial affairs he made the point insistently that there was a need for discretion in arranging the interviews. It was a bad move on his part. I thought of it instantly when Ferguson told me about that screen. Can you doubt that when finance, wholesale trickery, abuse of office is added to law as a subject for discussion the need for discretion becomes intensified? Once I got on to that line I found it very fruitful.
‘All through this business Curtis has made one bad mistake. He’s given us too many cross-checks on him. He’s had his fingers in too many pies. He’s been too promiscuous in spattering other people with suspicion. In spite of his horrible ingenuity and his uncanny gift for making other people think and do as he wants, there was something lacking in his mind—and that’s balance. I expect he thought he’d better give us something to think about while he decided exactly what he would do with the money. That’s precisely what he waited for in the case of Reardon. He wanted the man to have something to think about while he substituted his poisoned section in that speech. And that is what happened.’
‘When that Treasury messenger left Reardon’s room?’
‘I thought you might guess it. That’s my view, too. Reardon and Curtis had been in that room talking—probably about the opinion received from Quiller. It was time for Curtis to leave. When that messenger arrived Curtis knew precisely what Reardon would do. It wasn’t done for the first time by many a score. Of that I’m positive. He knew that Reardon would have to see that the coast was clear before Curtis left the room. And, of course, Reardon had only one object in taking that messenger to the door. He wanted to see whether the corridor was empty, whether Curtis could leave as quietly as he had come. Curtis had been behind the screen, waiting, tensed, ready to move, for that space of seconds when Reardon was on the other side of the door. The speech, we know, was on the table. Curtis had the poisoned section in his hand. He knew exactly where to place it. To remove the original sheets—all clipped together—and slip in the fatal chapter would not take more than three or four seconds. By the time Reardon returned to tell Curtis that the coast was clear, that it was safe for him to leave, everything had been arranged, and the original section was in Curtis’s pocket.
‘That was typical of the coolness with which Curtis worked all the way through. Let me tell you one small thing to show you how coldly calculating the swine was. In the House of Commons he caused a burst of merriment by sitting on Tranter’s hat. Why did he do that? So that if any finger of suspicion came his way he could point to the episode and ask whether that was the act of a man who was waiting to see his victim die! Curtis had an abnormal brain.’
‘They ought to do things to that devil before they swing him.’
‘Don’t get venomous about it, little one.’
‘He turns my stomach sour.’
‘He certainly gave us a good run. Just to wind up, Sunshine, I’ll tell you how I see the whole thing in broad outline. Reardon was not being, and never had been, blackmailed. He was naturally avaricious, and had no scruples, no public or political conscience. He knew that he would not last for ever as Chancellor of the Exchequer, so he decided to make hay while the sun shone. If he speculated on his exclusive knowledge of the Budget he would be betting on a certainty. The only difficulty was to secure the services of intermediaries he could trust. He dare not take chances. He had known Paling in Paris, and when he proposed the scheme to him he gained a supporter with money.
‘When the plan got under way—using the name of Hermanos—he tied Paling up in such a way that the man dare not squeal, dare not take any action. Every penny he had invested was at stake. Reardon did not have to trust him. He had fastened the man hand and foot. But Edgar Reardon was both avaricious and cautious. He wanted to gamble on a large scale, but he didn’t want to trust one man too far. He thought his commitments with Paling were heavy enough, and he looked round for another ally. He found one in Dick Curtis.
‘Curtis assumed the name of Price, and Reardon paid £30,000 into that account. He trusted Curtis much more than he did Paling. Curtis was a personal friend, his executor, and a Member of Parliament. So he also had much to lose if the plot happened to be discovered. He didn’t know that Curtis was a bigger twister, a more thorough-paced rogue than he was himself. You can see what happened. Curtis took one long look at the money banked, and later invested, in the name of Price, and decided that there wasn’t going to be a lion’s share for Reardon and a morsel for himself. So he settled down to consider ways and means. He apparently knew about the Hermanos account; he knew that feeling was running high between Reardon and Paling. At last he made his plans, and transferred money from the Price account to the Hepworth account. I don’t suppose for a second that Reardon knew anything about that.
‘The moment he had waited for arrived. While Reardon was thinking of murdering Paling, and Paling was wondering how he could twist Reardon, our friend Curtis stepped in between them and murdered Reardon. After that, satisfied that as executor he could collect the whole of the Hepworth money and a portion of the Price money, he played the part of a grieved friend of the deceased’s, and waited to see what would happen. The only person who might have known enough to make things awkward for him was Paling. And that, my dear Ripple, is why I wouldn’t risk Paling’s life by releasing him until Curtis has been arrested.
‘It only remains to add one thing about Reardon’s attempt at murdering Paling. Since Paling had bought the arsenic, Reardon would have sworn that the man committed suicide before he could stop him.’
A heavy step sounded on the staircase and halted on the landing. There was a double knock on the door. It was a queer knock—not peremptory, like a policeman’s, not timid like a poor relative’s. In some indefinable way it suggested that the knocker was not thinking of what he did.
The Yard man looked towards Amos. The little man nodded his head and rose to his feet. Ripple straightened his shoulders and moved swiftly to the door.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE END OF IT ALL
OUTSIDE stood Sir John Ferguson. He raised a finger nervously and bit his nail when he saw Ripple standing in the room. Both seemed too astonished to speak. The Yard man, torn between disappointment and excitement, lost his head and promptly forgot that he was barking at the President of the Board of Trade:
‘You! What the hell are you doing here?’
Ferguson moved his feet restlessly, too amazed to be annoyed.
‘About the same as yourself,’ he said. ‘Any reason why I shouldn’t be here? You might know, since I arrived
, that I’ve called to see Curtis. It seems to me that everybody connected with this case is going mad. What other reason could I have for coming here?’
‘That’s no answer to my question, and you know it.’
Ferguson elevated his hands and blew violently.
‘Don’t talk to me like that,’ he snapped when he had recovered his breath. ‘I’m really here on your business. I wanted to know what Curtis was doing about Price.’
‘Don’t let the doorman frighten you,’ shouted Petrie. ‘He’s really very harmless when you get to know him. I think he’s only peeved to find that you’re not Curtis. Still, I don’t think you wanted to meet him quite as urgently as we do. Believe me, we really are going to give him a reception. If I hadn’t known that he wouldn’t knock for admission to his own room I’d have come to the door myself to extend a welcome. Please come in. By staying outside you might spoil things for us all—and that would be just too bad. Come away in.’
The President of the Board of Trade was beyond surprise, and he ambled into the room like a man sleep-walking. But his astonishment returned when he saw the disarray caused by the search, and his brows rose upwards as though to meet his scanty hair. For a second he gazed at the oddments collected on the dining-room table.
‘Has this place been looted?’ he asked. ‘Or is Curtis removing?’
Petrie wiped his hands on his handkerchief and smiled towards Ripple. There was an awkward silence.
‘You heard me,’ said Ferguson.
‘I did,’ replied Amos. ‘Mr Curtis is certainly removing, absolutely and definitely removing.’
‘Where on earth is he going to?’
‘To the condemned cell in due course.’
Ferguson was utterly routed. His lips flickered like those of a landed fish, and he slumped into a chair. Then he gaped towards Petrie.