Mystery at Olympia

by John Rhode

  CHAPTER XII

  ‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Hardisen?’ said Dr Priestley courteously. ‘And perhaps you will allow me to offer you some refreshment. You will find whisky on that table.’

  ‘I’ll sit down,’ Hardisen replied. ‘Glad to. But not whisky, thank you. Not in the evening. No body to it. Only one thing to drink after dinner. Vintage port.’

  Dr Priestley nodded to Harold, who slipped out of the room. Hanslet took the opportunity of drawing his chair up to Hardisen’s. ‘I don’t understand you, Mr Hardisen,’ he said. ‘You can talk quite freely here. These gentlemen know the outlines of the Pershore case. How is this cable evidence against Mr Bryant?’

  Hardisen glanced at him witheringly. ‘Ever asked Philip about Micah?’ he said.

  ‘I did so yesterday, and he told me that he knew nothing whatever about him.’

  ‘Then he’s a liar. Look at the paper. Plain as a pikestaff. Micah dead. Dies last Thursday week. Cable to Capes Bryant and Capes. That’s Philip’s firm. Eh?’

  ‘Why do you suppose Mr Bryant denied all knowledge of Mr Micah, then?’

  ‘Why? Any fool could see that. Philip is Nahum’s residuary legatee. Know what that means?’

  ‘I don’t see what that has to do with Mr Micah Pershore’s death, Mr Hardisen.’

  ‘You don’t? Listen to me. Micah wasn’t a young man. Had a hard life. Before he made his pile, that is. Never told me he was ill. Might have been, for all that. Queer, that last letter of his. Asking about Philip. Whether he acted for Nahum. Couldn’t make it out. See it all now, though.’

  At this moment Harold returned, bearing a bottle in a wicker cradle and a wine glass. Mr Hardisen watched him anxiously. ‘Careful, my boy!’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t disturb it. Can’t be too careful. Not with old port. Ruin it in a moment. Ah!’

  He took the glass which Harold handed to him, and sipped it with the air of a connoisseur. ‘First-class wine,’ he murmured. ‘Congratulate you, Dr Priestley. On your wine merchant. Knows his job. Like to meet him. I’m a wine merchant myself.’

  ‘I have no doubt that could be arranged, Mr Hardisen,’ Doctor Priestley replied. ‘You were speaking of Mr Micah Pershore’s last letter to you?’

  ‘That’s right. Why did he want to know about Philip? Not for Philip’s sake. He knew all about him. I’d told him. Conceited ass. Too big for his boots. Not like his cousin Betty. She’s a good girl.’

  Mr Hardisen sipped his port approvingly. But Hanslet had no patience with these dilatory methods. ‘Why did Mr Micah want to know whether Mr Bryant was Mr Nahum’s solicitor?’ he asked.

  ‘Ought to guess that. I can. Remember what I said? Blood’s thicker than water. Micah feels the end coming. What about his money? Who’s to have that? Thinks of his family. Half-brother still alive. Nearest relation. Makes a will in Nahum’s favour. Says nothing about it. Too proud for that. Doesn’t want any communication. Not while he’s alive. No last minute reconciliation. Micah wasn’t that sort. Instructs his man. Out in the Argentine. Cable Bryant when he dies. Tell him about the will. Got it now?’

  Dr Priestley anticipated Hanslet’s reply. ‘Fill up Mr Hardisen’s glass, Harold,’ he said. ‘You think that Mr Bryant knew, before last Monday, of Mr Micah Pershore’s death, and that he had made a will in Mr Nahum Pershore’s favour?’

  ‘Sure of it,’ Mr Hardisen replied confidently. ‘Explains a lot of things.’

  ‘The position then, would be this. Since Mr Micah died on the fourth, Mr Nahum, at the time of his death on the eighth, had already inherited his money. Mr Nahum’s estate will thus be increased by the amount of Mr Micah’s bequest to him.’

  ‘You’ve got it,’ Mr Hardisen replied. ‘That’s where Philip comes in. Couldn’t make out that offer of his. Make up the deficiency. Why should he? Not for love. Too mean for that.’

  ‘Mr Bryant’s actual position is this. If the yield of his uncle’s estate was as expected, he, as the residuary legatee, had little prospect of benefit. But if that estate is increased by Mr Micah’s bequest, he will benefit by probably the whole amount of that bequest.’

  Hardisen nodded. ‘That’s right. See Philip’s game? He knew of Micah’s death. And of his will. Kept it dark. For this reason. As soon as Nahum heard, what then? I know. He’d have altered his own will. Increased Betty’s legacy. Didn’t mean Philip to get the lion’s share. Not he.’

  By this time Hanslet had got a grasp of the situation. ‘By Jove, there’s Bryant’s motive!’ he exclaimed. ‘He had to kill his uncle before he learnt the terms of Micah’s will. He was the one who stood to gain the most, all along, though nobody knew it.’

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Mr Hardisen murmured. ‘Keep your eye on Philip. That’s what I said. First time we met. Didn’t I now?’

  ‘You did, Mr Hardisen. Do you think that Mrs Bryant was in the secret?’

  ‘Ellen? Damned if I know. Shouldn’t think so. Philip’s too close for that. Wouldn’t trust a woman. Not even his wife. Why?’

  ‘Because I have reason to believe that the woman who came out of the Firlands’ garden last Saturday evening was Mrs Bryant.’

  Hardisen shrugged his shoulders. ‘Shouldn’t wonder. Might have been her. Always making up to Nahum. Betty told me. Wanted to get her finger in the pie. Not the first time she’s met him like that, I dare say. On the quiet. Through the garden. Into the study. Snug little tête-à-têtes. Betty guessed something was up. Didn’t know it was Ellen though.’

  ‘I should be interested to know what Miss Rissington guessed,’ said Hanslet eagerly.

  ‘Servants’ gossip. Told me about it. When she was at Wells. Happened just before then. Parlourmaid found it. One that was poisoned. What’s the girl’s name? Jessie, that’s right.’

  ‘What did Jessie find, Mr Hardisen?’

  ‘Coming to that. Thought it was Miss Betty’s, naturally. Showed it to her. Betty said it wasn’t hers. Where did it come from? Jessie told her. In Nahum’s study. When she was dusting that morning. Behind a chair. Woman’s handkerchief. Lace-edged and all.’

  ‘Did Miss Rissington know the owner of the handkerchief?’

  ‘Not she. Wasn’t hers, that’s all. Asked Nancy Markle. She didn’t know. Couldn’t understand it. No woman been in there. Not that would use a handkerchief like that. Not so far as she knew.’

  ‘I suppose nobody thought of asking Mr Pershore if he could account for the handkerchief?’

  ‘Not likely! Who would have asked him? Betty? Nancy Markle? He’d have jumped down their throats. Asked them how he was to know. They’d let some woman into the room. While he was out. I can just hear him.’

  ‘And what is your own opinion about this handkerchief, Mr Hardisen?’ Dr Priestley asked.

  Hardisen glanced at him and winked vulgarly. ‘One of Nahum’s little games. Fond of women. Just how fond I can’t say. How did he spend his time? Not at his office. Went to see his friends. Didn’t know he encouraged them at Firlands, though. Not till I saw that woman the other night. Getting late. Time I went home to bed.’

  He finished his glass of port and refused Dr Priestley’s invitation to another. Harold rang for a taxi for him, and saw him off the premises.

  ‘Well, superintendent, what about it now?’ asked Oldland, who had been an interested listener to the conversation.

  ‘It’s a perfectly clear case against Bryant,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Whatever may have been the reason for Mrs Bryant’s secret visits to Pershore, it’s her husband who took the final step. I suspected him all along, and now we’ve got his motive all cut and dried.’

  ‘Hardly that,’ Dr Priestley objected. ‘So far it is only a matter of conjecture that Mr Micah made a will in his half-brother’s favour, and that Mr Bryant knew this.’

  ‘I’ll soon find that out, Professor,’ Hanslet replied. ‘I’m going to have another interview with him, first thing in the morning. And I shall have a warrant for his arrest in my pocket.’

  ‘What will you charge him with?’ O
ldland asked. ‘You’ve got no definite proof that he punched his uncle in the tummy.’

  ‘I shall charge him with attempted murder, by means of the faked inhalant. That will do to be getting on with. The actual murder charge can follow later. And now I think I’ll follow Hardisen’s example and get off to bed.’

  Thus only Oldland remained of Dr Priestley’s visitors. ‘Well, what do you really think of it all?’ he asked.

  Dr Priestley took off his glasses, wiped them deliberately, and replaced them. ‘I think that the superintendent is acting with undue precipitation,’ he replied.

  ‘Do you? It seems to me that Bryant is undoubtedly the man.’

  ‘Very possibly,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘On the other hand, the innocence of the other persons involved has not been established. And I am by no means certain that the real motive of the crime, if indeed a crime has been committed, has yet been discovered.’

  Hanslet was as good as his word. The next day being Sunday, he felt pretty certain of finding Philip at home. He called at the flat at ten o’clock in the morning, and demanded an interview.

  Philip was obviously displeased at his visit. ‘Well, superintendent, what is it now?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘I’ve got a cable from the Argentine that I should like to read to you, Mr Bryant,’ Hanslet replied. ‘It refers me to your firm for certain information.’

  Philip grew suddenly white. ‘A cable from the Argentine!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t understand you. We have no dealings with anybody in the Argentine.’

  Hanslet took the cable from his pocket, and, without mentioning the address, read it out slowly. ‘I’d like your comment upon that, Mr Bryant,’ he said.

  For a few seconds Philip made no reply. Hanslet, watching him, saw that he had received a severe blow, and that he was striving desperately to recover from it. ‘Who sent you that cable?’ he asked at last, in a harsh strained voice.

  ‘It was not sent to me, but to Mr Hardisen. Perhaps you didn’t know that he has been for many years in correspondence with Mr Micah Pershore?’

  ‘Hardisen!’ exclaimed Philip, in a tone of utter amazement. ‘Good Lord, I never thought …’ He checked himself, and laughed weakly. ‘He’s been pulling your leg, superintendent. You can’t believe a word a chap like that says. Why, you know very well that he and my uncle had become bitter enemies. I’ve had my suspicions, all along, that he had something to do with my uncle’s death. This cable is part of his game. Can’t you see that?’

  Hanslet shook his head reprovingly. ‘Now, you’re a sensible man, Mr Bryant,’ he said. ‘You must realise that it is no good trying to play with me. You know as well as I do that you need not answer my questions. And you also know that it can do you no possible good to answer them falsely. I ask you when you received information of the death of Mr Micah Pershore?’

  ‘I know nothing whatever about Micah Pershore, alive or dead,’ Philip replied angrily. ‘I told you that a couple of days ago, if I remember rightly.’

  ‘You did, I am sorry to say, Mr Bryant. But, unfortunately, I have evidence that that statement was false. I have been to the office of the cable company and searched their files. Among the copies of messages received was one from a firm of lawyers in Buenos Aires, addressed to Capes Bryant and Capes, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London. This cable was despatched on the fifth of this month. The wording is as follows, “Micah Pershore died yesterday stop Nahum Pershore of Firlands Weybridge sole legatee stop confirmation follows next mail.” Now, Mr Bryant, do you still persist in your statement?’

  Philip’s face turned a sickly yellow. But he made a final effort to defend himself. ‘A cable from an unknown source has no legal authority,’ he replied. ‘I am bound to await confirmation before I can place any reliance upon the information it contained.’

  ‘That is beside the point. You will admit that you received this cable?’

  ‘What if I did? I cannot see that it is any business of yours.’

  ‘My business is to investigate the attempts made upon your uncle’s life, Mr Bryant. In the course of that investigation, I am bound to consider the question of motive. Your knowledge of Mr Micah’s death, and of the provisions of his will, supplies a very potent motive for you to desire your uncle’s death.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Philip exclaimed. ‘That’s sheer nonsense. Where’s the motive?’

  ‘Come now, Mr Bryant,’ replied Hanslet impatiently. ‘Let me ask you once more to be reasonable, and not to waste the time of both of us like this. If your uncle died before he had time to alter his will, you, as his residuary legatee, would inherit the bulk of Mr Micah’s fortune.’

  ‘That’s preposterous! Why should my uncle have altered his will?’

  ‘That you should know better than I. You, evidently, were not prepared to risk it. Your preparation of a mixture of zinc filings and chalk, and your substitution of this mixture for your uncle’s inhalant, sufficiently proves that.’

  Hanslet spoke accusingly, and this second blow told. It was obvious to the superintendent that Philip had hoped all along that the faked inhalant had not been discovered. Faced with this knowledge, so convincingly expressed, his resistance broke down completely. He slumped forward in his chair, and covered his face with his hands.

  But Hanslet, as was his duty, pursued his advantage relentlessly. ‘You substituted your mixture for the inhalant some time during last Sunday,’ he said. ‘The necessary evidence of your having done so is in my possession. But, in your own interests, I suggest to you that it may be to your ultimate advantage to make a full statement.’

  Philip raised his head and stared dully at the superintendent. ‘What do you want to know?’ he asked.

  ‘I won’t trouble you to give details of the inhalant dodge. I know all about that already. But that was not the only attempt you made upon your uncle’s life. You prepared a bottle of poisoned olives, and you placed, or caused someone else to place, these olives in the cupboard in your uncle’s study.’

  Philip shook his head feebly. ‘I confess to the faked inhalant,’ he replied. ‘I was a fool not to take greater precautions than I did. But I swear by everything I hold sacred that I know nothing whatever about the olives.’

  ‘Then you place me under the painful necessity of charging Mrs Bryant with that crime,’ said Hanslet sternly.

  ‘Ellen! She knows nothing of it. I have never breathed a word to her about it. Besides, how could she have put the olives in the cupboard? She never went to Firlands for at least a fortnight before my uncle’s death.’

  ‘That is hardly correct. You must be aware that Mrs Bryant visited your uncle in the evening of last Saturday week. And you will hardly deny that she was in the habit of visiting him secretly?’

  ‘I do deny it, most positively. What could have been the object of those visits?’

  ‘Their ultimate object was persuasion. You and Mrs Bryant wished to influence your uncle to alter his will in favour of one or both of you.’

  ‘Damn you!’ exclaimed Philip fiercely. ‘Ellen was jealous of Betty and allowed herself to let it be seen. I know that. But to say that she had secret interviews with my uncle is merely ridiculous. He wasn’t fond enough of her to allow that.’

  Hanslet shrugged his shoulders incredulously. ‘Can you prove that Mrs Bryant was not at Firlands, having driven there in her car, at nine o’clock on the evening of the thirteenth?’

  A momentary gleam of triumph came into Philip’s eyes. ‘You could have proved it for yourself, superintendent,’ he replied. ‘She has been served with a summons for leaving her car unattended outside a theatre in Chiswick, from eight o’clock until eleven that evening. You can see the summons for yourself, if you like. And your position will enable you to elicit the facts from the policeman who took the particulars.’

  This was a check, but not, Hanslet assured himself, a very serious one. ‘Mrs Bryant’s presence at Firlands that evening is not essential to the matter,’ he said. ‘I ha
ve reason to believe that the olives were put in the cupboard at an earlier date than that. You have admitted that you placed the faked inhalant in your uncle’s bedroom. You will not ask me to believe that some other agent, entirely unknown to you, made an independent attempt upon your uncle’s life by means of the poisoned olives?’

  ‘I ask you to believe nothing, superintendent,’ Philip replied, rather more calmly. ‘You have accused me of attempting to murder my uncle. I confess to having tampered with the Hewart’s Inhalant in his bedroom at Firlands, some time between one and half-past last Sunday afternoon. Since the effects of the false inhalant in no way contributed to my uncle’s death, you cannot bring a very serious charge against me. And I most emphatically deny that either I or my wife have any knowledge whatever of any other design upon my uncle’s health or comfort.’

  ‘Well, we won’t press the point of the poisoned olives,’ said Hanslet. ‘No doubt my inquiries will enable me to trace the agency by which they were placed in the cupboard in your uncle’s study. You told me that you owned a Comet car, did you not?’

  ‘Yes, in common with a good many other people. It’s a popular make, you know.’

  ‘As the owner of a Comet car, your principal interest at the Motor Show would naturally be the Comet Stand?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that. I went to Olympia to see several things that interested me.’

  ‘Among them, no doubt, was the new transmission shown on the Comet Stand?’

  ‘George Sulgrave told me, before the show opened, that his firm had something sensational up their sleeve. When I went to Olympia on Monday, I intended visiting the Comet stand, but the crowd was so great that I could not get near it without waiting for a considerable time. And this I was not prepared to do. I knew that I had only to wait until the show was over to see the demonstration chassis in the London showrooms. I could then have had it explained to me in comfort.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of buying a Solent car?’

  ‘George Sulgrave will take very good care that I buy nothing but a Comet, so long as he is employed by that firm. In any case, I don’t think I’m particularly drawn towards the Solent.’