‘Interesting, eh?’ a voice said behind him, and Bobby, turning sharply, jumped to the salute as he recognized Mitchell.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Very narrow footprint for its length, too, sir.’
‘What about it?’
‘The elderly man I reported as appearing interested in the house yesterday evening, shortly before the murder, had very long narrow feet,’ Bobby answered. ‘I noticed them particularly.’
Mitchell regarded Bobby with a very pained expression.
‘Sort of Hoodoo you are, aren’t you?’ he complained. ‘As soon as I get a working theory going, you turn up with some new fact and knock it endways.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Bobby.
‘Anything happen last night after I left?’
‘The two young ladies and Mr Mark Lester came out and joined Mr Carsley in the hall. They talked a little.’
‘Did you hear what they said?’
‘Yes, sir. The study door was open and I think they forgot I was there.’
‘I thought they might,’ Mitchell remarked. ‘Anything interesting in what they said?’
‘Mr Carsley said he was suspected and it was natural enough. Miss Jennie – Mrs Carsley that is – said they must refuse to take her father’s money, it must go to charity as if he had had time to sign the new will. Mr Lester said that would be silly and at any rate Miss Brenda ought to have what had been meant for her. Miss Brenda said she wouldn’t touch it. They were all very excited and a bit hysterical, I thought. If any of them knew anything, there was nothing to show it in what they said. Mr Carsley stayed the night here with his wife. Mr Lester said the police were no good, that he would find the murderer himself, and the first thing was to find out who the revolver belonged to. He talked as if he really thought he had some private information. I thought he rather frightened Miss Brenda. She seemed nervous, and as if she were afraid something might happen to him, too. After Mr and Mrs Carsley went upstairs, Mr Lester and Miss Brenda talked about their private affairs.’
‘Go on,’ said Mitchell. ‘There are no private affairs in a murder case.’
‘No, sir,’ agreed Bobby. ‘I thought they both seemed in a very emotional state, very highly strung and over-wrought. They talked in an excited sort of way, not the way people generally talk. It seemed as if Miss Brenda had got engaged to him without meaning it very much, just because he was there and her stepfather wanted it. The servants in the house here say the same, they say it was Sir Christopher did it all.’
‘I wonder why,’ mused Mitchell; ‘generally it’s the women are the matchmakers. Seems as if he wanted to get rid of her.’
‘That’s what the servants think,’ Bobby answered. ‘They all seem to be a little afraid of her, they don’t seem to know why themselves, just a vague general feeling. I’ve noticed myself she has a sort of way of imposing herself, when she’s there you’re half the time wondering what she’s thinking and what she’ll do. Anyhow, they say Sir Christopher wanted to get rid of her and practically put the engagement through himself.’
‘Doesn’t seem consistent,’ observed Mitchell, ‘bad psychology somewhere – on one hand, she’s such a determined, strong-minded young lady that everyone goes in awe of her. She only has to stand there to make you feel her force. On the other hand, she’s a meek, obedient, little thing who lets her stepfather choose a husband for her, and does just what she is told. Picture don’t fit.’
‘No, sir,’ agreed Bobby. ‘But from what they say in the house, it seems Mr Lester has always been pretty keen and perhaps that accounts for it. And last night, hearing her talk, both of them, it was as if the murder had made her realize her own feelings, that really she had cared for Mr Lester all the time but was only just beginning to understand it.’
‘Let loose her emotions in a way,’ Mitchell remarked, ‘let them loose on both sides perhaps. That might explain it.’
‘I made a shorthand note of their talk as well as I could,’ Bobby added. ‘I have not transcribed it yet.’
‘Do that,’ said Mitchell; ‘then change into plain clothes and bring the longhand note to me personally.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Bobby, and Mitchell noticed with approval that the young man did not ask for instructions how and where he was to find his Superintendent – he was evidently prepared to manage that part of it for himself, and Mitchell had a preference for young men who did not want too much dry nursing.
‘You could identify the elderly man you reported seeing and think made that footstep, if you were to see him again?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Bobby.
‘Good. Did Mr Lester strike you as meaning it when he said he was going to have a try on his own account to find the murderer?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then he’ll have to be watched,’ said Mitchell with decision. ‘We don’t want any amateurs mucking about, upsetting things, especially one who may himself be the man we want.’
Bobby offered no comment on this, and Mitchell, who had expected one, went on after he had waited a little:
‘Did you hear anything else of interest while you were talking to the servants?’
‘They are all quite sure,’ Bobby answered, ‘that Miss Brenda was playing the piano in the drawing-room all the time and therefore can’t have left the room. They all say they heard the playing going on all the time without a stop. One of the maids seems to know quite a lot about music and she says she knows quite well the piece Miss Brenda was playing, and is sure there was no break in it.’
‘What about Miss Jennie?’
‘She was lying down in her room. She can hardly have come downstairs without being seen by Lewis, who was in his pantry, except once when he came out to post a letter. But that was about six and the cook says she heard Miss Jennie moving about in her room after that.’
‘She gains a fortune and Miss Brenda loses one by Sir Christopher’s death,’ Mitchell mused, ‘but apparently the Jennie girl knew nothing about the will then, and anyhow it would need pretty strong evidence to convict a young girl like her of parricide.’
‘Very strong indeed, sir,’ agreed Bobby. ‘They all say she is a very gentle, quiet girl.’
‘Sometimes they’re the worst when they kick over the ropes,’ Mitchell remarked. ‘Anything else?’
‘The cook says she doesn’t believe Sir Christopher had a revolver at all, and so the one found near his body can’t have been his. Apparently, if he had one, no one has ever seen it. It was supposed to be kept in a locked drawer in his room and he talked about it sometimes. But both the cook and Lewis seem to have an idea that it was bluff on his part.’
‘I wish we knew,’ Mitchell said. ‘They told us that, too, but the two young ladies seem always to have taken it for granted he really had one. But we found the drawer in which it was supposed to be kept still locked, there’s no sign of its having been opened, there’s no sign of a revolver having been kept there or anywhere eke, no ammunition or anything. And he certainly had no licence, though that doesn’t go for much. Half the people with pistols haven’t got a licence, and don’t know they’re liable to heavy penalties if they are found out. If Sir Christopher had it in his pocket, why was that? And how did his murderer get hold of it? If we can clear up that part of it, we should be a long way to clearing up the whole. Any more information?’
‘Sir Christopher went to the billiard-room about six. One of the maids saw him go. He was still there at a quarter past six because he rang for something he wanted and she brought it him. He was alone. He had a cue in his hand and was apparently practising strokes. Lewis says he often did that and that he used to say he cleared his mind and solved his business worries and problems like that, just as some people say a game of patience helps them to think things out. The maid says that going back from the billiard-room she heard someone moving in the study and wondered who it could be, but did not go in. She says she never thought of burglars in broad daylight. She thought it wasn’t her business and went on.
If what she really heard was the thief at work, then that’s when the robbery took place, about six fifteen. I think it’s believed the murder took place at six thirty?’
‘That’s when you saw – or didn’t see, when the caretaker next door saw – a man in a grey tweed suit running away. Also Sir Christopher’s watch stopped at two minutes past the half hour. He is said to have been particular to keep it right.’
‘Seems to suggest, sir,’ said Bobby, ‘that the theft in the study and the murder in the billiard-room are not connected – can’t imagine a man robbing a safe and then waiting a quarter of an hour to commit a murder at the other end of the house.’
‘And it was about a quarter past six apparently,’ commented Mitchell, ‘when Miss Laing saw some man she’s quite sure now was not Mr Lester go past the drawing-room window. At least she thinks that was the time, but by now she’s not too sure of that either.’
‘The safe was opened with a key,’ Bobby went on, ‘and apparently by someone who had some knowledge of the house and of Sir Christopher’s habits. There is a large sum missing apparently. Mr Carsley says his partner has embezzled money and has run for it. Mr Marsden, as Sir Christopher’s lawyer, would know his habits, and might have provided himself with a key of the safe some time or another.’
‘We’ve thought of that,’ said Mitchell. ‘Marsden was seen in Piccadilly Circus soon after half past six. That gives him a good alibi for the murder but not for the robbery – you can get to Piccadilly from here in a quarter of an hour easily by tube. He didn’t go home last night. We are looking for him. Better get those shorthand notes of yours written out as quickly as you can and then bring them to me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Bobby, saluting and went off to carry out the instructions given to him.
CHAPTER 11
MARSDEN RETURNS
It was still fairly early when Bobby presented himself at the Lincoln’s Inn office of Marsden, Carsley, and Marsden, where this morning not much work was being done.
Neither partner had yet arrived and even the managing clerk, who was so much the managing clerk that he was a trifle inclined to think he was the firm as well, was not undisposed this morning to permit and even to share in conversation on the thrilling topic of the murder of one of the firm’s principal clients.
‘What you want to stop this sort of thing,’ he declared, ‘is the “cat”; a good dose of the “cat” all round and we shouldn’t hear so much about bandits and burglars.’
And in this sentiment all cordially agreed, for they had all read the same thing in the paper that morning and naturally therefore they all believed it. Indeed, the managing clerk waxed quite eloquent on the merits and virtues of the ‘cat’; and if anyone had told him that what really roused his enthusiasm for flogging was a primeval love of cruelty lurking in his sub-consciousness he would have been most indignant. For indeed he did not know himself that what moved him was the pleasure and excitement it gave him to think of a naked back, its flesh torn and bloody and scarred with the strokes of a whip.
On the virtues, merits, and advantages of flogging, as a kind of universal Pink Pill for all moral ailments, the managing clerk was still holding forth to a thrilled and sympathetic audience when Bobby made his appearance. At Scotland Yard they had told him that the Superintendent would probably be found or heard of at Mr Carsley’s office, and he had therefore come along with the transcript of his shorthand notes. But he was informed that Mr Mitchell had not been there, and that nothing was known about him, and a little puzzled and not quite sure what to do next, Bobby was going away again when he saw Peter approaching.
‘Shaved badly,’ Bobby thought to himself, ‘eyes bloodshot, hasn’t slept much, bit of a wreck altogether – can’t wonder, I suppose.’
Peter evidently recognized him, too, though he had not seemed to notice him much the night before, and though Bobby had then been in uniform, and was now in plain clothes. Stopping, Peter said harshly:
‘This is what you call shadowing a suspect, I suppose, is it?’
‘I have had no instructions of the kind,’ Bobby answered.
‘Got my passport anyhow,’ growled Peter. ‘I suppose suspects are always shadowed – part of the routine. But you aren’t very clever about it, I think.’
‘I don’t even know if you are a suspect, as you call it,’ retorted Bobby. ‘I’ve not been put in charge of the case yet and I don’t know much about it. I’m looking for Mr Mitchell, that’s all.’
‘Well, he’s not here,’ Peter said, ‘but there’s something I want to tell you people, and as you’re here I may as well tell you. I don’t know that it amounts to much; I had almost forgotten all about it till now.’
He led the way into the office and Bobby followed.
‘Mr Marsden not here, I suppose,’ Peter said to the managing clerk as he entered with Bobby close behind. ‘I thought not. You must just carry on as usual at present, God knows what’s going to happen, but get on with the work the best way you can.’
He beckoned to Bobby to follow him into his private room and there said to him:
‘I want you to tell your Mr Mitchell this. Somebody or another left two stalls here for the Regency Theatre for Sir Christopher yesterday.’
‘Yes?’ said Bobby, supposing there was more to come, for that fact in itself didn’t seem to him to be of much interest.
‘That’s all,’ said Peter.
‘Well,’ said Bobby, ‘I’ll tell Mr Mitchell if you wish me to, but I expect he’ll rather wonder why.’
‘Well, there’s this as well,’ Peter said, ‘but it’s only an idea, not fact like the other. Sir Christopher seemed a good deal upset and worried to receive them – I don’t know that frightened would be too strong a word.’
‘Frightened?’ repeated Bobby. ‘What at?’
‘It’s because I don’t know and can’t imagine that I’m telling you,’ snapped Peter. ‘Also it seems two tickets for the same theatre were left at his City office the day before and two more tickets at his house the day before that.’
‘For the same theatre still – the Regency?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s where they always put on classical things, isn’t it?’ Bobby asked. ‘Shakespeare and so on.’
‘I believe that’s the idea at present,’ Peter answered, ‘and it’s taking very well just now. The “Silver and Grey” production they call it, and I’ve heard people say it’s the best Hamlet that’s been seen for years.’
‘Two stalls left for him here yesterday,’ Bobby repeated, ‘two more in the City the day before and two more at his house. Doesn’t seem any sense to it, unless there’s someone very keen on the production and keen on his seeing it, too.’
‘Three nights running,’ Peter said. ‘Why should they be?’
‘It might be someone wanting to meet him privately,’ Bobby remarked. ‘If his murder had been planned before, it might be that the theatre was thought a good place to get him, and only because he wouldn’t go was the murder carried out where it was. But that seems a bit far-fetched. Possibly it was only that someone wanted to talk to him privately. It’s a trick played sometimes when people want to see each other without attracting attention. Both go to the same theatre and then they get a chance to talk during the intervals. It may have been something like that.’
‘If so, it was someone Sir Christopher had no wish to meet,’ Peter said. ‘He didn’t go, he seemed upset at the idea, worried, indeed. In any case, he wouldn’t have gone for pleasure, his taste in the theatre didn’t run to Shakespeare, he always said he liked something tuney and leggy, or a good farce. But not Shakespeare.’
‘It does seem a bit rummy,’ Bobby agreed. ‘I’ll report to Mr Mitchell, but I can’t see myself that it can have anything to do with what’s happened. Of course, you can never tell, any trifle may give the clue you’re looking for and clear up everything, only there are so many trifles and only one that hides the clue.’
The managing clerk himself
put his head in at the door, though that was a little below his dignity. But, though a managing clerk, he was also human, and was burning with curiosity.
‘Gentleman from Scotland Yard wants to see you, Mr Peter,’ he said. ‘Says his name is Mitchell.’
‘Ask him to come in,’ said Peter, and Mitchell accordingly appeared, and lifted his eyebrows at the sight of Bobby.
‘I was told you might be here, sir,’ Bobby explained, ‘and so I came with the transcript of the shorthand notes you said you wished to see. Mr Carsley said he wished to give some information for me to report to you.’
‘What information?’ Mitchell asked.
Peter repeated his story whereto Mitchell listened with interest.
‘Bear looking into,’ Mitchell decided when Peter had finished. ‘Don’t see any sense to it, don’t see what it can mean, but it’ll bear looking into. May I use your phone?’
He picked it up as he spoke, and, calling Scotland Yard, gave instructions for inquiries to be made at the Regency to find out if possible who had bought the tickets, if they had been used, and if Sir Christopher’s name had been mentioned.
‘Another long report that’ll mean,’ he sighed. ‘Nearly a foot high in this case already. I don’t know how many men we haven’t working on it and they all send in reports and I have to read them all – what a life. Well, Mr Carsley, heard anything about your partner – Mr Marsden’s the name, isn’t it? Any fresh developments?’
‘Only that I went round to the Public Prosecutor’s office before I came here,’ Peter answered. ‘They are sending round two men to go through the books and find out how things stand. I shan’t touch a thing myself. Excuse me.’
The phone had just rung. He answered it, listened, and then said:
‘That’s all nonsense. I can’t say any more at present, except that we hold Sir Christopher Clarke’s receipt for all papers connected with the Belfort Trust as handed over to him in good order yesterday. You can tell your client that from me, but he’ll have to be a bit patient for the present. Scotland Yard has the case in hand. Of course, you will be informed of anything fresh. Mr Belfort was to have dined with Sir Christopher last night. Did he go?... oh, I see. Well, he needn’t worry, but I can’t say anything more at present.’
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