by John Rhode
‘Yes. He always came to me when he wanted legal advice, which was not often. He considered himself fully competent to manage his own affairs.’
‘Are you aware of the provisions of his will?’
‘I think I may say that I am. Some years ago my uncle consulted me about making his will, and told me his wishes. Since these involved my benefit to a small degree, I thought it best that some other solicitor should actually draw up the document. I therefore introduced him to a friend of mine, who took his instructions. I have never seen the will, but I am probably aware of its provisions.’
‘Could you give me an outline of them? I am anxious to know who are the principal beneficiaries.’
‘My cousin Betty—Miss Rissington, you know—inherits the greater part of my uncle’s fortune. His wishes, as he expressed them to me, were these. He told me that his estate was worth between sixty and seventy thousand pounds. Out of this, he wished to leave Betty fifty thousand, free of estate duty.
‘From the remainder of the estate, an annuity was to be purchased for Mrs Markle, his housekeeper, which would yield her not less than two hundred a year. There were various small legacies, to friends, and so forth. My uncle held a mortgage on a house known as High Elms, at Byfleet, of five thousand pounds. The house is owned by George Sulgrave, the son of an old friend of his. It was my uncle’s wish that upon his death the mortgage should be cancelled, without repayment by Sulgrave of the sum advanced.’
Philip paused, and looked at the superintendent significantly. ‘I was not aware until I heard the evidence of Doctor Oldland just now, that my uncle collapsed at the stand occupied by Comet Cars Ltd,’ he said.
‘Does that strike you as being in any way remarkable, Mr Bryant?’
‘Not remarkable, perhaps, but natural. Let me explain. I should not have expected my uncle to visit the Motor Show at all. He was never interested in cars, in fact he definitely disliked them. My cousin Betty was always at him to buy a car, and, to humour her, he promised to think about it. But I am pretty certain that he had no real intention of actually buying one.
‘Now, George Sulgrave is in the motor business. He has a job of some kind in the London showrooms of Comet Cars Ltd. His wife, Irene, is a great friend of Betty’s. Whether there was a conspiracy between the three of them to persuade my uncle to buy a Comet car, I don’t know. But Sulgrave may have asked him to come and look at the Comet stand. And, well, that’s where his death took place.’
So Sulgrave was employed by the Comet firm. Hanslet resolved to add that fact to his notes. There might be something in the apparent coincidence, or there might not. ‘I’m glad of that piece of information, Mr Bryant,’ he said. ‘But to return to your uncle’s will. You said just now that you yourself were a beneficiary?’
Philip laughed, shortly and mirthlessly. ‘Nominally, I am,’ he replied. ‘I forgot to tell you that Betty was to have the choice of anything she liked in the house, furniture and effects, I mean. My uncle would have left her the house itself, but he knew very well that she wouldn’t live in it. I don’t blame her, it’s a beastly uncomfortable place. I’m what is known as the residuary legatee, that is to say that when all the legacies are paid, and estate duty handed over, I get what is left. I don’t know, of course, what the estate will realise, but I very much doubt whether there will be enough to cover all the provisions of the will. In any case, the balance will be so small as to be practically negligible.’
‘You have my sympathy, Mr Bryant. Was your uncle a man who had any personal enemies?’
‘I don’t think he had a real enemy in the world. He could be generous enough when the fit took him, and I think all his friends and acquaintances got on with him pretty well. But he had a way of taking offence over trifles, and that made him vindictive at times. I have recently had an instance of this.’
‘Could you give me the particulars, Mr Bryant?’
‘Oh, the whole affair is ridiculous. My uncle had a very old friend, by name Odin Hardisen, who is a wine merchant at Wells. They were much of an age, had known one another most of their lives, and got on very well together. About a year ago, Hardisen decided to extend his business, and my uncle lent him a thousand pounds for the purpose. And that started the trouble.
‘There was no sort of agreement drawn up between them. My uncle wrote a cheque for a thousand pounds, and Hardisen gave him an I.O.U. in exchange. My uncle told me later that there was a verbal understanding that the sum would be repaid on demand, but Hardisen flatly denied it. He says that the agreement was that he should repay the loan at the end of five years.
‘Some few months back my uncle wrote to Hardisen, I think more as a joke than anything else. He told him that he would buy his wines and spirits from him, if he would allow him a discount of fifteen per cent. Hardisen seems to have taken this seriously, and wrote back rather stiffly, saying that he could manage quite well without my uncle’s custom, on the terms he suggested, but that if he cared to deal with him, he would allow him a discount of five per cent as a special favour.
‘I think it was the tone of the letter rather than its contents that infuriated my uncle. Anyhow, he came up to see me, in a towering rage, and called Hardisen every name that he could think of. He showed me the I.O.U. and told me to write to Hardisen at once, demanding the immediate repayment of the thousand pounds. I tried to point out that this was hardly justifiable, but my uncle wouldn’t listen. Finally, to pacify him, I promised to write the letter.
‘I did not do so, thinking that in a day or two my uncle’s resentment would evaporate. But it didn’t. If anything, it grew more intense. Every time I saw him, he asked me if I had had any reply from that scoundrel Hardisen. I did my best to put him off, but it was no good. Finally, last Sunday, he told me that he had written himself to Hardisen, telling him that he had instituted proceedings for the recovery of the money. And he definitely instructed me to take the necessary steps, without wasting any more time.
‘The whole thing is ridiculous, for if I could have persuaded them to meet and have a drink together, they would have buried the hatchet at once. But I fancy that Hardisen is just about as obstinate as my uncle. There have been other instances of my uncle having been seized with fits of vindictiveness, but he has always got over them.’
Hanslet nodded. ‘This affair seems to have been a storm in a teacup,’ he said. ‘Just one more question, Mr Bryant, and I won’t detain you any longer. When I was at Firlands yesterday, I heard some talk of a Mr and Mrs Chantley. I gathered that your uncle had been very friendly with them at one time, but had seen nothing of them lately. Is this another instance of a sudden dislike on his part?’
Philip smiled. ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ he replied. ‘I’ve heard the Chantleys spoken of, but I scarcely know them, as it happens. Betty could probably tell you more about them than I can.’
‘I am particularly anxious to get in touch with Miss Rissington,’ said Hanslet. ‘I understand that you do not know where she is?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea. Betty has a heap of friends all over the place, and she’s always dashing off to stay with one or other of them. But she’s bound to see the notice of my uncle’s death in the papers. I am arranging for it to appear tomorrow morning. And then she’s certain to go back to Firlands.’
They parted at the door of the court, Philip to return to his office in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the superintendent to Scotland Yard.
CHAPTER V
Hanslet’s visit to Scotland Yard was brief. After a short conversation with one of his subordinates, Inspector Jarrold, he caught a train to Weybridge, and very soon found himself once more at Firlands.
Mrs Markle welcomed him warmly. ‘I’m very glad you’ve come down, superintendent,’ she said. ‘If you hadn’t, I should have telephoned to Scotland Yard, and tried to find you there.’
‘Why, has anything fresh happened?’ Hanslet asked.
‘I’ll tell you. Jessie is much better today, and Doctor Formby says that he th
inks she’ll very soon get over the poison, and that it won’t leave any after effects. I was up in her room talking to her just now. She’s lonely there all by herself, poor girl. And while I was there, it struck me that Miss Betty might have said something to her about where she was going.’
‘That was a good idea, Mrs Markle,’ said Hanslet approvingly. ‘Did Jessie know anything?’
‘I asked her if Miss Betty had said anything to her, and she told me she hadn’t. But Jessie remembered hearing Miss Betty saying something to Mr Pershore about going to stay with her aunt. It was one day last week, when Jessie was waiting at table, but she can’t remember which day it was. She heard Miss Betty say that on Monday, yesterday that would be, she was going to stay with her Aunt Chloe for a few days.’
‘Do you know this lady’s address?’ Hanslet asked eagerly.
‘Oh, yes. She is Miss Betty’s father’s sister, and she married a Mr Capel, who has a large farm near Colchester. Miss Betty often goes to stay with her. So as soon as Jessie told me that, I sent off a telegram to Miss Betty there. That would be about half an hour ago. I hope I did right, superintendent?’
‘You couldn’t have done better, Mrs Markle. What did you say in your wire?’
‘Well, I didn’t want to give Miss Betty a sudden shock, so I just said “Please come back to Firlands at once urgent” and signed it with my own name. I thought I would break the news to her myself when she arrived.’
‘Splendid! Miss Rissington ought to be able to get back here tonight. Now, I want to ask you a few questions, Mrs Markle. I’ve just come from the inquest on Mr Pershore. The doctor who examined him found that he had been shot in the leg, and that this must have happened within the last day or two. Do you know anything about it?’
‘Shot in the leg!’ exclaimed Mrs Markle incredulously. ‘He never said anything to me about it. But, I wonder, now! I thought there was something very funny about it at the time.’
‘Funny about what, Mrs Markle?’
‘Well, Mr Pershore said that I wasn’t to mention it. But, now that he’s dead, there can’t be any harm done. It was last Saturday evening, about nine o’clock. I looked out of my window and saw that it was bright moonlight, and that if there wasn’t a frost then, there would be before morning. I didn’t want any harm to come to the chrysanthemums in the greenhouse, so I went out to see that the windows were properly shut. Once, last winter, the frost got in and spoilt some of the best plants. Mr Pershore was very much upset about it.’
‘I expect he was,’ said Hanslet, as patiently as he could. ‘You went out to the greenhouse?’
‘Yes, and tried all the windows. They were shut, as it happened, and I was just coming back indoors, when I heard something that made me jump out of my skin. It was just as if somebody had let off a firework at the end of the garden.’
Hanslet considered this for a moment. Saturday had been the sixth of November, not the fifth. ‘Did you find out what the noise was?’ he asked.
‘I went down the garden to see. I thought perhaps some boy or other had thrown a squib over the wall. You wouldn’t believe the mischief those boys get up to sometimes. And as I was going down, I met Mr Pershore coming up. It gave me quite a turn, seeing him there in the moonlight. I didn’t know that he wasn’t settled down comfortably in his study after dinner.’
‘Did you say anything to Mr Pershore about the noise you had heard?’
‘I did, and he said it was all right, and that I wasn’t to worry. He said that he’d found a wasps’ nest at the bottom of the garden that morning, and that he’d just been down to blow it up with gunpowder, when the wasps were all inside.’
‘Found a wasps’ nest in November!’ Hanslet exclaimed.
‘Well, I thought it was rather late in the year to find a wasps’ nest. But I didn’t say anything about it. Mr Pershore wasn’t one who liked to be questioned. And he didn’t give me a chance. He told me that he’d had a tiring day, and was going straight to bed, and didn’t want to be disturbed. I saw him go into the house, and then straight upstairs to his room.’
‘Then he didn’t have his dose of medicine and his olive on Saturday evening?’
‘Not unless he came down afterwards and took them. Jessie would know if she found the medicine glass was clean on Sunday morning.’
‘I wonder if you would mind asking her, and letting me know? It doesn’t matter now. Any time before I go will do. What clothes was Mr Pershore wearing at the time?’
‘His ordinary evening clothes, dinner jacket and black trousers. And he had put on an overcoat to go into the garden.’
‘I’d like to see those clothes, Mrs Markle.’
‘Well, it’s queer you should say that. I can’t think what Mr Pershore can have done with them. The coat and waistcoat are hanging up in his dressing-room. But I don’t know what he can have done with the trousers. Jessie always put away his clothes for him, and on Sunday she came to me in a great state and told me that she couldn’t find his evening trousers, or the pants he had been wearing. I told her to have a good look for them, and if she couldn’t find them to put out another pair of pants and trousers. I meant to have a good look round myself on Monday, when Mr Pershore was out, but what with one thing and another, it clean went out of my mind.’
‘We’ll go up to Mr Pershore’s room in a minute or two, and see if we can find the missing garments. Where was Miss Rissington when you heard that noise from the garden?’
‘Miss Betty wasn’t in on Saturday evening. She had gone to dinner with Mrs Sulgrave, at High Elms. She fetched her in her car, and brought her home again about twelve o’clock at night.’
‘You didn’t see Mr Pershore again that evening?’
‘No, I don’t think he left his room again. But not long after he had gone up, I dare say a quarter of an hour or so, there was a telephone call for him. But, as he had told me that he did not want to be disturbed, I didn’t tell him of it till next morning.’
‘Do you know what the call was about, Mrs Markle?’
‘Yes, for I answered the telephone myself. It was a lady’s voice, and she seemed in a great state of mind about something. She asked if she could speak to Mr Pershore, and I said that he had gone to bed, and that I didn’t want to bring him down if I could help it. Then she asked if he was all right, and I told her he was quite all right, only tired, and that I’d spoken to him a few minutes before. And then she rang off before I could ask her who she was and if she’d like to leave a message.’
‘What did Mr Pershore say when you told him about this next morning?’
‘He didn’t say much. Just thanked me, and said whoever it was they’d ring up again if they had anything important to say.’
‘And did this person ring up again?’
‘I can’t say. There were one or two calls on Sunday morning, but Mr Pershore answered them himself.’
‘You didn’t recognise the voice, Mrs Markle?’
‘I didn’t. The lady seemed so excited I couldn’t make out what she said hardly.’
‘It wasn’t by any chance Miss Rissington?’
‘Oh, no! I should have known Miss Betty’s voice. This was quite different.’
‘Or Mrs Sulgrave, perhaps?’
‘Well, I did wonder whether it could be Mrs Sulgrave. And then I thought that perhaps it was Mrs Bryant, Mr Philip’s wife, you know.’
There seemed no point in pursuing this incident any further at the moment. Hanslet changed the subject. ‘Have you by any chance had an escape of gas in the house lately, Mrs Markle?’ he asked.
‘There now! It’s funny you should have asked that. Miss Betty came to me on Sunday evening after dinner and asked me if I had smelt gas anywhere. She said that Mr Philip had told her he thought he smelt something. But she hadn’t noticed anything herself. I went all round the house at once, but I couldn’t find anything wrong.’
‘Well, shall we go up to Mr Pershore’s room and have a look round?’
They went upstairs and H
anslet unlocked the door of Mr Pershore’s bedroom. It was big and lofty, and packed with heavy ornate furniture. A smaller dressing-room, fitted with a bath, opened off it. Hanslet noticed that both rooms were fitted with gas fires, and that their windows were tightly shut. He sniffed vigorously, but could detect no trace of gas.
Mrs Markle followed his example. ‘Seeing that these rooms have been shut up all day without being aired, one ought to smell the gas if there’s any been escaping,’ she said. ‘But I can’t say that I notice anything.’
‘Neither can I,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Did Mr Pershore sleep with his windows shut or open?’
‘He always had them shut. He used to say that the night air was dangerous after one was in bed.’
‘Well, now we’re here, we may as well look for the missing trousers, Mrs Markle. You’ll know best where Mr Pershore is likely to have put them.’
The housekeeper began a search of wardrobes and chests of drawers. Hanslet meanwhile took stock of the room. His attention was caught by an unusual object standing upon the night table beside the bed. It was a metal cup, standing upon three legs, and beneath it was a spirit lamp. ‘What’s this, Mrs Markle?’ he asked.
Mrs Markle looked up from a pile of clothes which she was sorting. ‘That?’ she replied. ‘Oh, that’s what Mr Pershore used to use for his cough.’
‘For his cough?’ Hanslet repeated in a puzzled tone. ‘How did he use it?’
‘Well, you see, he used to be troubled with fits of coughing at night, which kept him awake. He tried every kind of lozenge, one after another, and they didn’t seem to do him any good. And then Miss Betty brought him this home one day, and he was ever so much better when he’d used it.’
‘But how did he use it?’
‘He had a tin of powder, and he used to put a few spoonfuls in the cup. Then he would light the spirit lamp under it, and the powder gave off a sort of smoke which eased the cough wonderfully. The tin is in the cupboard under the washing-stand. I’ll show it you.’