Trial and Error

by Anthony Berkeley

  Mr Todhunter thought it best to avoid Mr Chitterwick’s eye.

  For a few minutes lunch progressed in silence. Then:

  “Why’d yer shoot her?” demanded Miss Chitterwick, through duck.

  Mr Todhunter offered a halting explanation.

  “They goin’ to hang yer?” enquired Miss Chitterwick with zest.

  “I’m afraid not,” mumbled Mr Todhunter.

  “Wha’cha mean, you’re afraid not? Should’ve thought it more likely you’d have been afraid they would. Hey, Ambrose? What’s he mean?”

  The two men looked helplessly at each other.

  “You pulling my leg?” demanded Miss Chitterwick.

  “No, no.” Seeing nothing else for it, Mr Todhunter embarked on his story once more.

  Miss Chitterwick heard him to the diffident end. Then she turned to her nephew.

  “Ought to be in an asylum, I should say.”

  “Yes, Aunt,” agreed Mr Chitterwick meekly.

  “That’s where they put people like him when I was a gurl.”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  Mr Todhunter found himself stung into a certain defiance.

  “I suppose you don’t believe a word of what I’ve been saying?”

  Miss Chitterwick looked at him with her shrewd old eyes. “Oh, Lawks, I believe yer. You’re too big a fool to be a good liar.”

  “Yes, that’s just what I think,” chimed in Mr Chitterwick with relief. “I mean,” he corrected himself hastily, “I believe Mr Todhunter too.”

  “But there’s not many who will. And no wonder either,” pronounced Miss Chitterwick.

  “That—er—is precisely the trouble,” lamented Mr Todhunter.

  “You want to get yerself hanged?” asked Miss Chitterwick.

  “I want to take the proper responsibility for what I’ve done and rescue an innocent man, madam,” returned Mr Todhunter with dignity.

  “More fool you, then,” asserted Miss Chitterwick.

  Mr Todhunter suddenly cackled.

  “Yes, but anyhow, taking that for granted, what would you advise me to do in order to get myself hanged, Miss Chitterwick?”

  “Oh, don’t ask me. Better ask Ambrose. He’s the high and mighty one about nowadays,” replied Miss Chitterwick pettishly.

  “But I am asking you.”

  “Oh, you are, are you?” Miss Chitterwick paused. “Well the noospapers call Ambrose a detective nowadays, it seems. I suppose they don’t know what a guffin he is. So why don’t you ask Ambrose to detect your murder for you? Lawks, any guffin—even Ambrose—ought to be able to do that when he knows who the murderer is—hey?”

  “Detect it,” echoed Mr Todhunter, much struck. “From the beginning. Exactly as in an unsolved case. Why, Miss Chitterwick, that’s a very good idea.”

  Miss Chitterwick tossed her ancient head and bridled, but from the way in which the mauve ribbons trembled on her cap her nephew knew that she was pleased; though of course she would rather have died than admit it.

  “Yes,” continued Mr Todhunter. “Of course. That’s exactly what we must do, Chitterwick. That is, if you will be good enough to spare the time. We must detect the murder together. We must—er—visit the scene of the crime, no doubt—”

  “And try to find a witness who saw you there that night,” chimed in Mr Chitterwick with enthusiasm, delighted because his aunt was pleased.

  “And search for my footprints—”

  “And fingerprints—”

  “And prove that the case against Palmer is mistaken—”

  “And enquire who was on the river that night—”

  “And question my servants—”

  “And find someone who heard the shot—”

  “And prove my purchase of the revolver—”

  “And draw out a correct timetable—”

  “And trace my progress step by step—”

  “And find the places where you broke through the hedges—”

  “And—good gracious me, of course you’re perfectly right, Miss Chitterwick. We must go about this matter in a methodical way and prove a convincing case against me. After all, you should be able to do that, Chitterwick, seeing that you know the murderer.”

  “That usual stumbling block is certainly absent,” beamed Mr Chitterwick.

  Mr Todhunter finished the last morsel of duck on his plate.

  “Well,” he remarked with a touch of his old sardonic humour, “well, I hope you really are a good detective, Chitterwick, for it seems that I am an unusually skilful murderer. I’ve baffled the police quite successfully. I only hope I shall not baffle you too.”

  “Surely,” said Mr Chitterwick, “you won’t be able to baffle us both togetht “

  Unless I’ve really committed the perfect murder.”Mr Todhunter cackled again. In spite of the gravity of the situation, the irony tickled him that he should be faced with so much difficulty in detecting the murder he had planned so long and so carefully.

  2

  The difficulty was a real one, for the case against Vincent Palmer was as strong as it was simple. Mr Todhunter and Mr Chitterwick had learned something of its details from the solicitors for the defence, and the main lines had of course appeared during the arguments before the magistrates.

  It appeared that the young man had lied when he told Mr Todhunter, and the police, too, that he had been at home with his wife in Bromley on the evening of the crime. He had not only been in Richmond, he had been in the grounds of Miss Norwood’s house—or so, at any rate, no less than three witnesses were ready to swear. These witnesses had heard the sounds of a quarrel, too, coming from the barn, voices shrill with anger.

  Miss Norwood had then come running up to the house in a state of obvious agitation and, seeing her personal maid, had told her to tell the parlourmaid that no one else was to be admitted that evening. She returned to the garden and, a few minutes later, a shot was heard—by the maid, who at that time had her head out of a window and was listening hopefully for more quarrelling. (Mr Todhunter, remembering Marie, could well believe this.) She did not recognise the noise as a shot but thought it a motorboat misfiring on the river.

  The glass which Mr Todhunter so unfortunately had omitted to wipe was the deciding factor in the case against Palmer. It bore fingerprints which were undoubtedly his. Witnesses may be mistaken, but here was definite proof that Palmer had not been in Bromley that evening but in Richmond; so definite that Palmer had been compelled to admit that he had been there. Why, then, had he lied, if it were not that he had shot Jean Norwood? That the revolver taken from him bore traces of having been recently fired was only needed to clinch the case.

  In face of this evidence, Mr Chitterwick felt it necessary to point out that Mr Todhunter’s coldblooded prudence in removing the fatal bullet had been a terrible mistake. The error about the revolvers would be easily cleared up, for the police would be able to establish with certainty which one had been purchased by Mr Todhunter through the records of the gunsmith at whose establishment it had been bought. But only the bullet could have identified which revolver had killed Miss Norwood.

  Mr Todhunter could only bow his head and agree.

  “You see,” pointed out Mr Chitterwick as the two sat in his room again after lunch was over, Miss Chitterwick having been persuaded back to her own study and the care of Miss Bell, “you see, Palmer’s own revolver appears to be useless as a means of identification. It was his father’s army revolver, used in the war, and no record remains of its number and issue to him.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Mr Todhunter, who had heard the solicitor make that very point. “But as to its having been used in the war that does not necessarily mean that it was ever fired, you must remember. It might never even have been out of England. The man at the shop where I bought mine pointed out that, though it was being sold as secondhand, it had never actually been fired; and he advanced that suggestion when I asked him how a revolver carried in the war could have escaped being fired. I suppose, by the way
, they can tell whether a revolver has been fired or not?”

  “An expert could tell, undoubtedly.”

  “Then,” said Mr Todhunter triumphantly, “the sergeant who examined the revolver in my possession—that is, Palmer’s revolver—was either no expert, or else his evidence exculpates Palmer; because he said that that gun had never been fired.”

  Mr Chitterwick rubbed his forehead.

  “I find this confusion between the two revolvers extremely—er—confusing,” he admitted.

  “So do I,” Mr Todhunter had to agree. “For instance when I exchanged the revolvers surreptitiously with Palmer, I must confess I had quite overlooked the fact that the police could identify mine by the gunsmith’s register. Completely! It was damnably foolish of me.”

  “Then you can state positively that the revolver the police have—the one taken from Palmer—was the one you bought?”

  “Undoubtedly. And I can only assume that it has not been identified as mine owing to the belief that the army revolver of Palmer’s father was unidentifiable.”

  “But even so,” muttered Mr Chitterwick, his plump round face puckered in a puzzlement, “even so it seems very remiss of the police. Quite unlike Moresby. A very conscientious, painstaking man, Moresby.”

  “You know him?” cried Mr Todhunter.

  “Oh yes. Quite well.”

  Mr Todhunter uttered a harsh oath. “Then why didn’t you say so before? He’ll listen to you. We must go and see him at once.”

  “I’m extremely sorry. I—dear me, yes, perhaps I should have mentioned it,” said Mr Chitterwick in distress. “Though indeed, as to listening . . .”

  “Don’t you see,” pointed out Mr Todhunter with a great effort at patience, “that if the revolver in Moresby’s possession is proved by the gunsmith’s register to be mine, the case against Palmer is at end?”

  “Shaken, yes.” Mr. Chitterwick brightened. “Very considerably shaken. There are still the witnesses who saw him there, and—indeed, he now admits to having been there. But of course . . . yes, indeed. The sergeant asserted that the revolver in your possession had never been fired? Dear me, if that is true and the revolver can be proved to be Palmer’s . . . why, yes, I really believe the police could be induced to withdraw the charge against him.”

  “Then the whole thing’s at an end, even without the bracelet? We have our proof already?”

  “So it would certainly appear,”said Mr Chitterwick.

  “Then we must go at once to Scotland Yard.” Mr Todhunter shambled to his feet.

  “Perhaps we ought to go to Richmond first and take that other revolver with us?” suggested Mr Chitterwick, bounding from his chair.

  “No need,” Mr Todhunter replied impatiently. “The police can come back with me again and collect it.” To tell the truth, Mr Todhunter was looking forward quite childishly to another ride in that police car.

  Mr Chitterwick acquiesced. Perhaps he felt himself a trifle overwhelmed by Mr Todhunter.

  3

  “Well, Mr Chitterwick, sir, what can I do for you? Why, you’ve got Mr—let me see, yes—Mr Todhunter with you.”

  “Er—yes,” agreed Mr Chitterwick diffidently.

  “Er—yes,” mumbled Mr Todhunter.

  “Well, sit down, gentlemen. Now, what is it?”

  “Moresby,” said Mr Chitterwick with great earnestness, “you’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  “So Mr Todhunter here told me yesterday,” returned the chief inspector with unimpaired cheerfulness.

  “But you really have. And we can prove it.”

  “What, found that bracelet, have you?”

  Mr Todhunter was filled with a noble anger at the twinkle in the burly official’s eye.

  “No, we haven’t found the bracelet, but—”

  “But we can prove that you’ve got the wrong revolver,” squeaked Mr Chitterwick excitedly. “Truly, Chief Inspector, you must listen to us. The revolver in your possession is Mr Todhunter’s, and the one he has at Richmond is the young man Palmer’s.”

  “Mr Todhunter said something like that to my sergeant yesterday,” assented Moresby tolerantly.

  “Well, we’ve come to give you the name of the gunsmith where Todhunter bought his, and you can prove the fact by his register.”

  Mr Todhunter nodded with severity.

  “Now let’s get this right, sir. You say that the number on the revolver in our possession is the number entered up in the gunsmith’s register as belonging to the revolver sold to Mr Todhunter?”

  “That’s it, exactly.”

  “And that’s the whole of your case?”

  “Er—yes, I suppose so. But I think it’s enough.”

  “Well, sir,” said Moresby with benevolence, “you’re wrong.”

  “What?”

  “As soon as my sergeant got back yesterday he made enquiries on the matter. No need to bother with the gunsmith. He looked up the record of the firearms certificate issued to Mr Todhunter and verified that the number of the revolver sold to him is the number of the revolver now in his possession.”

  There was a short silence.

  “Good God!” observed Mr Todhunter with inexpressible disgust. The disgust was for himself and no one else. A faint fear that had been present ever since the sergeant’s visit had been verified. Mr Todhunter had blundered, and badly: in the confusion of the moment he had never exchanged those revolvers at all.

  “Oh, just a moment, Mr Chitterwick, sir,” said Moresby.

  Mr Todhunter passed out into the cold stone passage alone.

  4

  “And the only evidence—the only incontrovertible evidence as to which revolver fired the fatal shot is now lying at the bottom of the Thames,” lamented Mr Chitterwick.

  Mr Todhunter did not answer. There was nothing to answer.

  In silence the disconsolate pair pursued their gloomy way along Whitehall.

  “What did he call you back for?” suddenly asked Mr Todhunter.

  Mr Chitterwick looked embarrassed.

  “What did he call you back for?” fiercely repeated Mr Todhunter.

  “Oh well . . .” Mr Chitterwick wriggled. “He—that is, he advised me not to—to bother with . . .”

  “Why? Why not?”

  “He thinks you’re mad,” said Mr Chitterwick unhappily.

  Mr Todhunter’s aneurism was only saved by a miracle.

  “But there’s still the bracelet,” Mr Chitterwick reminded him, just in time.

  CHAPTER XII

  “I hope sir,” said Mrs Greenhill austerely and, as it seemed to the exasperated Mr Todhunter, for the thousandth time, “that you don’t think I had anything to do with it.”

  “Of course not. If I did, Mrs Greenhill, I should have said so. We’re simply trying to find out whether you have any information that can explain its disappearance.”

  “I hope, sir, that you don’t think I had anything to do with it” repeated Mrs Greenhill woodenly,

  “No, I told you I don’t think that. But it’s gone.”

  “So you say, sir. But I’m sure I never took it. And I’m surprised, sir, that you should think such a thing of me after so many years.”

  “I don’t think so! But it’s gone!” shouted Mr Todhunter.

  Mrs Greenhill pursed her lips. Edie’s sobs redoubled. The examination, conducted alternately by Mr Todhunter and Mr Chitterwick, had been in progress now for twenty minutes, nineteen of which Edie had spent in tears, protesting her innocence.

  Mr Chitterwick waved his colleague’s wrath aside.

  “Now listen, Mrs Greenhill, please, and you too, Edie,” he began in his most persuasive tones, “the point is—”

  “Stop snivelling, Edie!” shouted Mr Todhunter, maddened beyond control by an extra large sniff and gulp from his wilting housemaid.

  “I—I can’t, sir,” snivelled Edie. “Nobody’s ever said such things to me before, I’m sure.”

  “Nobody has said anything to you, Edie,” interposed Mr Chitte
rwick more sharply, “except that this bracelet has disappeared, which is a fact. If you make all this fuss over a mere fact, we shall soon begin to think there’s something behind it, you know.”

  To Mr Chitterwick’s surprise as much as anyone’s, Edie did stop snivelling.

  “Mr Todhunter thinks I took it,” she said indignantly.

  Mr Chitterwick hastily forestalled another outburst. “For God’s sake, keep calm, Todhunter,” he implored. “Remember, if you burst now—that is, your aneurism—goodness knows what may happen.” He turned towards the guiltless pair and looked as severe as his benevolent countenance would allow. “You must remember, both of you, that Mr Todhunter is in a very precarious state of health, and if you persist in exasperating him in this ridiculous way by pretending that you’ve been accused of something that no one has accused you of, I wouldn’t care to answer for the consequences.”

  “I was only saying that I wouldn’t like Mr Todhunter or anyone else to think that I had anything to do with it,” protested Mrs Greenhill, taken aback as though a tame bxfudgerigar had suddenly nipped a large piece out of her ear.

  “Well, no one does think that,” beamed Mr Chitterwick, looking like a budgerigar once more. “So let’s see what we can find out between us. Now the facts are these. When Mr Todhunter went away on his cruise he left a valuable diamond bracelet in the upper right-hand drawer of his chest of drawers. The drawer was locked. When he came back, the drawer was still locked, but the bracelet was not there. I’ve examined the drawer myself, and it shows no signs of having been forced. But on the other hand the lock appears to be a very simple one, and a skilled thief would have no difficulty in opening it. Now neither you, Mrs Greenhill, nor you, Edie,” Mr Chitterwick continued to beam, “are skilled thieves, so that rules both of you out at once. You quite see that?”

  There was a small chorus of gratified assent.

  “Very well, then. Somebody else took it. That means, somebody who was not a member of the household. Now, Mrs Greenhill, just see if you can remember what strangers visited this house while Mr Todhunter was away,”

  Mrs Greenhill and Edie looked at each other.

  “Why, there wasn’t anyone, sir. No stranger so much as set foot in the house all the time Mr Todhunter was away.”