Mystery at Olympia

by John Rhode

  ‘That’s better. Shouldn’t care to be arrested. Confounded nuisance. You’ve had the truth. Word of honour.’

  ‘Well, it’s a lucky thing that you didn’t damage Mr Pershore more than you did. Naturally, in the light of what has happened, I’m particularly interested in the woman you saw that night. You are quite sure that you didn’t recognise her?’

  ‘Quite sure. Never saw her face. Pretty dark, remember. Young woman, could tell that. Nothing more. Ran like a deer.’

  ‘You are quite sure that it was not Miss Rissington?’

  ‘Betty? No, it wasn’t Betty. Not her voice. Not her shape. Stouter. Not so long in the limb. Should have known Betty all right.’

  ‘Could it have been Mrs Sulgrave?’

  ‘Irene? Don’t think so. Not her voice, either. Haven’t seen Irene lately. Not for months. Couldn’t swear to her in the dark.’

  ‘But you hadn’t seen Miss Rissington for months, either,’ Hanslet objected.

  Hardisen chuckled. ‘Haven’t I?’ he replied. ‘Who said so?’

  ‘Mrs Markle told me that you haven’t been here since the beginning of the year.’

  ‘Quite true. Nancy’s like that. Never told a lie. Not in her life. But I’ve seen Betty. Managed that all right. Great pals, Betty and I. Came to stay with me. Down at Wells. Last month. Nahum didn’t know. Thought she was with Aunt Chloe. Mrs Capel, you know. Quite proper. No scandal. Got a housekeeper. Regular tigress. Devoted to Betty, though. Betty didn’t know. About Nahum and me, I mean. Couldn’t make out why we had quarrelled. Pestered me with questions. Wouldn’t tell her. Said she’d ask her uncle.’

  ‘She did,’ said Hanslet grimly. ‘And in reply she was told that you were a damned scoundrel.’

  This brought on another of Hardisen’s chuckling fits. ‘Good old Nahum,’ he spluttered. ‘Can’t have been in form that day. Should have expected something stronger. Didn’t want to shock Betty. Must have been that.’

  ‘So Miss Rissington was staying with you last month, was she?’ said Hanslet thoughtfully. ‘Now, look here, Mr Hardisen. I’ve got to find her, and I shall have to put the police on the job, unless I can find out by some other means where she is. You seem to have been in her confidence. Can’t you make any suggestion as to where she may have got to?’

  ‘I might. Not going to, though. Can’t trust you. You’d have her arrested. Something damn silly like that. She’s innocent. Every fool knows it.’

  ‘She may be innocent, Mr Hardisen. But you must admit that her sudden disappearance looks a bit suspicious.’

  ‘Suspicious? Nonsense! Look here. Tell you what I’ll do. I can guess where she may be. What will you do to her? If you get hold of her, that is?’

  ‘I shan’t do anything drastic, you needn’t be afraid of that. I merely want to question her.’

  ‘Third degree, eh? Not on your life. I’ll make a bargain, though. Somebody else must be present. While you question her. Ought to be a solicitor. Don’t trust Philip. What about me, eh?’

  Hanslet considered this for a minute. He would rather have tackled Miss Rissington alone, or in the presence of another police officer. But, after all, Hardisen’s presence could not very greatly complicate matters. ‘I have no objection to that,’ he replied. ‘On condition that you will tell me where to find her, of course.’

  ‘Shan’t do that. Betty shall judge for herself. I’ll do this. Stay in London tonight. Send her a wire. Put the position up to her. Leave it to her. Come back or not as she likes. I know she’ll come. Right away. If so, I’ll tell you. See her together. Is that a bargain?’

  ‘That’s a bargain, Mr Hardisen,’ replied Hanslet promptly.

  Hardisen opened one eye, glanced at the superintendent, and shut it again. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he murmured. ‘Trace the wire. Find out that way. Nothing doing.’

  As a matter of fact, that was exactly what Hanslet had thought. This man Hardisen was a good deal more subtle than his appearance suggested. ‘You must remember that I am a policeman, and must do my duty,’ he replied.

  ‘Right. Most praiseworthy sentiment. Do your duty. Arrest me. Unlawful wounding. That’s what you called it. Silly phrase. What’s lawful wounding? Tell me that!’

  Hanslet capitulated with a shrug of the shoulders. ‘I haven’t the slightest intention of arresting you, Mr Hardisen. And, if you will be good enough to send a wire to the address which you think will find Miss Rissington, I will undertake not to make any attempt to trace that wire for twenty-four hours from now. Will that satisfy you?’

  This time Hardisen opened both eyes. ‘Honest Injun?’ he asked.

  ‘I give you my solemn word.’

  His scrutiny of the superintendent’s face seemed to satisfy Hardisen. ‘I’ll trust you,’ he said ‘You look honest. For a policeman. Betty’s innocent. That’s why I’m doing this. Wouldn’t if I wasn’t sure of it. Keep your eye on Philip. What’s his game?’

  The constant reiteration of this question was beginning to arouse Hanslet’s suspicions. Hardisen openly proclaimed his dislike of Philip Bryant, and his affection for Miss Rissington. It was only natural that he should try to put Philip forward as a scapegoat in the place of his protegée. ‘Why do you suggest that I should keep my eye on Mr Bryant?’ the superintendent asked lightly.

  ‘Because he’s not to be trusted,’ Mr Hardisen replied. ‘Slippery customer. Always was. So was his father. Sharp as a needle. Philip’s mean. Never spends a penny. Not if a halfpenny will do instead. Why has he made this offer? About the estate, I mean?’

  ‘He doesn’t want any of the beneficiaries to suffer, I suppose. It seems to me to be very generous behaviour on his part.’

  ‘Nonsense. All eyewash. You mark my words. He knows the position. You can bet your shirt on that. He won’t have to put his hand in his pocket. The estate will realise enough. More than enough. Like to bet on it?’

  ‘No, I’m not a betting man,’ Hanslet replied. ‘If you’ve no more against Mr Bryant than that, I needn’t waste my time keeping an eye on him.’

  ‘Please yourself. Your job to find out who killed Nahum. Not mine. Glad of that.’

  ‘Well, Mr Bryant can’t have had any hand in that,’ said Hanslet, in a tone of complete conviction. ‘He had nothing on earth to gain by his uncle’s death. In fact, he looks like losing by it.’

  ‘Don’t you be so sure. Philip won’t lose. Not the sort that does. He’ll manage to profit somewhere. Staying down here?’

  The abruptness of the question startled Hanslet. ‘No, I’m going back to London at once.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. Send that wire. You’re to be found at the Yard, eh?’

  ‘If I’m not there, they’ll tell you where I am, or send me a message.’

  ‘Good. Let’s slip away quietly. Don’t want to see Philip, or his wife. You ready?’

  Hanslet nodded, and they left the house. Together they walked to the station, and took a train to Waterloo, where they separated.

  The superintendent spent the rest of the evening at Scotland Yard, making certain inquiries by telephone. This occupied him until eight o’clock, by which time no message had reached him from Hardisen. He informed his subordinates where he was to be found, if this message should come, then went out in search of a meal. When he had finished, he went to Westbourne Terrace to report progress to Dr Priestley.

  He found that he was not the only visitor, for Doctor Oldland had dropped in a few minutes earlier. Dr Priestley welcomed him as though he had expected him. ‘Well, superintendent,’ he said. ‘Did you attend the funeral?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m very glad I thought of it,’ Hanslet replied. ‘I made the acquaintance of a very remarkable character, and learned quite a lot from him.’

  ‘That is very satisfactory,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘Who is this remarkable character?’

  ‘Mr Hardisen, from Wells. The old friend with whom Mr Pershore had quarrelled.’

  ‘And whom he described as a “Damned scoundrel?�
�’ Doctor Oldland inquired.

  ‘That’s the chap. I had the most amazing conversation with him. I’d like to repeat it to you, Professor, if you’ve the patience to listen.’

  Dr Priestley nodded, and Harold Merefield, who was present, prepared to take notes. Hanslet thus encouraged, repeated, in rather less picturesque language, what Mr Hardisen had told him.

  Oldland was immensely amused at the recital. ‘It seems to me that your friend is a pretty shrewd customer,’ he said. ‘Do you suppose that he was telling the truth?’

  ‘His statements are correct, as far as I have been able to check them. He stayed at the hotel he mentioned on Saturday and Sunday nights. He left there, carrying a gun, about seven on Saturday evening, and returned, still with the gun, about half-past ten. He left the gun with the gunsmith whose name he gave me, on Monday morning.’

  ‘Well, it’s one of the queerest things I ever heard,’ said Oldland. ‘I don’t quite understand why he came out with the whole story, on such short acquaintance.’

  ‘I think I do. His principal idea is to shield Miss Rissington, of whom he seems very fond. I rather gave him the impression that I suspected her of having fired the shot. Anyway, that little problem is cleared up. For the rest, he did his best to divert my suspicions from Miss Rissington by throwing out dark hints against Bryant. I tried to draw him out, by appearing to be convinced of Bryant’s innocence, but I wasn’t very successful.’

  ‘Mr Hardisen made one great point in Miss Rissington’s favour,’ Dr Priestley remarked. ‘It is the natural instinct of the murderer to destroy incriminating evidence, as he pointed out. I agree with him that if Miss Rissington were guilty, she would almost certainly have done so before her departure.’

  ‘Well, that’s as may be, Professor. There may be some simple explanation for her failure to do so. You must admit that nobody else had her opportunities, or so much to gain by her uncle’s death. For the moment, I’m more interested in the woman who was with Pershore on Saturday evening. Who was she, and what was she doing?’

  ‘It wasn’t Miss Rissington,’ said Oldland positively. ‘If it had been, Hardisen would have recognised her. And, if he had, he wouldn’t have mentioned the presence of a woman at all. That’s a pretty sound argument, isn’t it, Priestley?’

  ‘Yes, I think that is a reasonable assumption,’ Dr Priestley replied.

  ‘Then if it wasn’t Miss Rissington, it was Mrs Sulgrave,’ said Hanslet. ‘The two were working hand in glove, I’m sure of that. I was making inquiries just now, and I’ve found out that Mrs Sulgrave has a small Comet saloon of her own. That was the car Hardisen saw, no doubt.’

  ‘You can’t be certain of that,’ Oldland replied. ‘There are a lot of those small Comet saloons about. The Comet people made a great feature of them during the last couple of years. Whether they’ll sell so many, now that they’ve adopted this new-fangled transmission, I rather doubt.’

  ‘Speculation, in the absence of definite facts, is apt to be unprofitable,’ said Dr Priestley acidly. ‘There is another aspect of the matter which seems to have escaped your attention, superintendent. How did this woman obtain access to the garden of Firlands?’

  ‘Why, Pershore must have been expecting her, and let her in by the door leading on to the lane.’

  ‘Not necessarily. She may have left the car where Mr Hardisen saw it, and walked round to the front entrance. From there she could have reached the back of the house unobserved, as Mr Hardisen himself intended to do, and tapped on the study window to attract Mr Pershore’s attention. It does not follow that he expected her visit.’

  ‘All the more reason that she should have been Mrs Sulgrave. She knew her way about the place, since she goes there pretty frequently. And Hardisen couldn’t say definitely that it wasn’t Mrs Sulgrave.’

  ‘I am not denying the possibility that this woman was Mrs Sulgrave. I am endeavouring to point out that you cannot assume the fact without further evidence.’

  ‘I don’t see who else it can have been, Professor,’ Hanslet replied obstinately. ‘You must remember that Miss Rissington was dining with Mrs Sulgrave that evening. This, I imagine, is pretty much what happened. Miss Rissington reported that neither the olives nor the inhalant seemed to be having any effect. They hit upon some scheme whereby, if Pershore could be enticed to the Motor Show, he could be finished off there. What that scheme was, I haven’t yet discovered.

  ‘The point was, how was he to be enticed there? Perhaps, if Sulgrave were to send him a ticket, with a personal request to visit the Comet stand, he would consent to go. Better still, if Mrs Sulgrave used her powers of persuasion. So Mrs Sulgrave jumps into the car, and goes straight off to put it to Pershore.’

  Dr Priestley shook his head. ‘I admire the ingenuity of your theory, superintendent,’ he said. ‘But it appears to possess one grave flaw. Why, if Mrs Sulgrave’s errand was so apparently innocent, should she not have driven up to the front door, rang the bell, and asked to see Mr Pershore in the ordinary way?’

  ‘I suppose because she didn’t want anybody else to know she had seen him,’ Hanslet replied, rather lamely.

  ‘She could not ensure that he would not mention her visit. To Mrs Markle, for instance. No, I think it more probable that the interview between Mr Pershore and his visitor was of a definitely clandestine nature. But it need not have had any connection with his death, or with the previous attempts upon his life.’

  ‘You may be right, Professor. But I can’t get away from the idea that it was Mrs Sulgrave. Anybody else, on hearing the shot, would surely have informed the police. But this woman doesn’t. She merely rings up later and asks if Pershore is all right.’

  ‘You do not know what motives she had for keeping her own counsel. If, as I suspect, the interview was of a clandestine nature, the woman would not wish to reveal her presence at Firlands.’

  ‘I gather, Professor, that you do not altogether favour the theory of a conspiracy between Miss Rissington and the Sulgraves?’

  ‘I reserve my judgment upon that. But it is apparent, I think, that it is not the only possible theory. In my opinion, you have laid too much stress upon the obvious motives contained in the provisions of Mr Pershore’s will. Other motives, as yet undiscovered, may have existed.’

  ‘Well, what would you suggest, Professor?’

  ‘I should, were I in your place, widen the field of my inquiries very considerably. I should, for instance, endeavour to secure fuller details of Mr Pershore’s life and habits. Mr Hardisen may be able to help you there. And there is Mr Pershore’s half-brother, with whom Mr Hardisen apparently corresponded.’

  ‘But, dash it all, Professor, he’s in the Argentine!’ Hanslet exclaimed.

  ‘He was in the Argentine when Mr Hardisen last heard from him. Do you know for a fact that he is there now? Even if he is, he may have exerted some influence upon Mr Pershore’s death.’

  Before Hanslet could reply, the telephone bell rang in the hall. Merefield got up to answer it. ‘Somebody asking for you, Mr Hanslet,’ he said as he returned.

  The superintendent went to the instrument. ‘Hanslet speaking,’ he said. ‘Who’s that?’

  Mr Hardisen’s voice replied to him. ‘That you, superintendent? Good. Rang up the Yard. Asked where you were. They gave me a number. Listen to me. Heard from Betty. She’ll be at Firlands tomorrow. Ten o’clock in the morning. Meet you there. Good-night.’

  And before Hanslet could reply, he had rung off.

  CHAPTER IX

  Hanslet travelled down to Weybridge next morning in a jubilant frame of mind. He was quite confident of his ability to get at the bottom of things now. This girl, Miss Rissington, would not stand up long under his cross-examination. And as for Mr Hardisen, her self-appointed protector, well, he was pretty shrewd, certainly. But Hanslet had no doubt which would prove the shrewder of the two, if it came to a battle of wits.

  He reached Firlands shortly after ten, and was shown into the drawing-room. A moment or two
later the door opened again, and a tall fair girl entered, escorted by Mr Hardisen, the top of whose head hardly reached above her shoulder.

  She bowed rather stiffly. ‘Good-morning, Mr Hanslet,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve given you all this trouble. You want to talk to me, don’t you?’ She sat down on the arm of a chair, and nodded to Hanslet to find a seat for himself. ‘Give me a fag, Uncle Odin, there’s a darling,’ she continued.

  As she helped herself to a cigarette from Mr Hardisen’s case and lighted it, Hanslet observed her narrowly. In spite of a very good figure, she could not be pronounced pretty. Her features were too hard for that. But it was a strong face, the face of a girl who knew her own mind, and who probably would not be afraid of expressing her opinions.

  ‘Yes, I have been anxious to talk to you for some time, Miss Rissington,’ replied Hanslet quietly. ‘Ever since the sudden death of your uncle, in fact.’

  She smiled with her lips, but her eyes remained hard and unwavering. ‘Yes, Uncle Odin has told me all about that,’ she said. ‘Naturally you think that as I am his niece and lived in the house with him, I ought to know something about it. Well, I can assure you I don’t. I happened to be crossing the Channel at the time it happened.’

  Mr Hardisen had subsided into the chair nearest the fire. From here he fixed the Superintendent with a baleful glare. ‘That’s right,’ he growled. ‘Easy to prove it. Perfect alibi.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me the reason for your crossing the Channel on Monday?’ Hanslet asked.

  ‘Oh, I’d better tell you all about it, I suppose. I went to stay with some people in Paris. They’re Irene’s friends, really, but they asked me to come too. And I’m afraid we were having such a gay time that we didn’t worry much about the newspapers. I assure you that I knew nothing about Uncle Nahum’s death until I got Uncle Odin’s wire yesterday evening. I came back at once, of course.’