by John Rhode
‘But most significant of all are the events of Saturday evening. These, on the face of them, are utterly inexplicable. Let us examine them dispassionately. Hardisen fires at Pershore and wounds him. Pershore exhibits neither surprise nor resentment. He gives Mrs Markle an obviously false explanation of the noise which he has heard. He does his best to conceal what has happened, and subsequently destroys the blood-stained garments. He is, quite obviously, desperately anxious to hide the fact that he has been wounded.
‘Nor is he alone in wishing to keep the incident a profound secret. There is a witness to it, a woman. Her actions are as inexplicable as Pershore’s. She drives off at once, without making any attempt to inform the police that an armed man of homicidal tendencies is at large in the lane. She limits her activities to telephoning to Firlands, and inquiring after Pershore’s health, refusing to give her name.
‘Now, it appears to me that there is only one rational explanation of these extraordinary facts. This woman was in the habit of visiting Firlands, and of concealing her visits from some third person, possibly her husband. When the shot is fired, both she and Pershore, conscience-stricken, jump to the same conclusion. The armed man could be no other than this third person, who has discovered the intrigue.
‘You see now why each of them acted as they did. They were bound to keep silence, or the relationship between them would be exposed. Pershore dare not confront the injured party. The woman’s instinct would be to get home as soon as possible, in the hope that she had not been definitely recognised, and could deny her presence at Firlands. It would be interesting to know what her feelings were when she discovered that the aggressor was not the person she expected.’
Hanslet considered this with a puzzled frown. ‘I thought at first that the woman was Mrs Bryant,’ he said. ‘Until Bryant told me about that summons, that is. I checked that up, and found it was correct. Her car was certainly standing outside the theatre at nine o’clock on Saturday evening. So I came to the conclusion that it couldn’t have been her. And now I hear about this other car, exactly like hers. So it may have been her, after all.’
Dr Priestley frowned at this inconsequent speech. ‘That is not very clear reasoning,’ he replied. ‘But I think there is good reason to believe that the woman seen by Hardisen was not Mrs Bryant.
‘Consider the curious statements made by Sulgrave, concerning Pershore’s purchase of a car. I am assuming that you will be able to verify these statements tomorrow. The only condition made by the purchaser was that it should be exactly like Bryant’s. It might be argued that he liked Bryant’s car, and wished his niece to possess one like it. But I think that, in fact, he had another reason entirely.
‘Pershore told Sulgrave that the car was intended as a birthday present for Miss Rissington. Her birthday is past, and there is no evidence that she ever received the car. It seems probable, therefore, that it was intended for some other person, whose identity Pershore did not wish to reveal.
‘As I have already explained, there is reason to believe that Pershore was engaged in an intrigue with a woman, who was in the habit of visiting Firlands secretly. The car was purchased, in all probability, in order to enable her to do so without arousing attention. This car, exactly similar to Bryant’s, would be mistaken for his by anyone seeing it in the vicinity of Firlands. I think we may say, with practical certainty, that this was the car seen by Hardisen on Saturday evening.’
‘Well, if I can get the necessary particulars from Sulgrave in the morning, it oughtn’t to be very difficult to trace it.’
Dr Priestley smiled. ‘If you can do that, you should find the answer to many questions,’ he replied. ‘These questions are as follows. Who prepared the poisoned olives? How, and by what agency, were they placed in Pershore’s study? What was the true reason for Pershore’s visit to the Motor Show? And, finally, was he murdered there, and if so, by whom?’
The superintendent looked puzzled. ‘I don’t see how tracing that car is going to answer all those questions,’ he said.
Dr Priestley made an impatient gesture. ‘Then, when you have traced it, you had better consult me again,’ he said. ‘You will forgive me if I point out that it is already eleven o’clock, and that I like to go to bed as early as possible on Sunday evenings?’
So Hanslet said good-night, and left the house. He began his search early the next morning by a visit to the Comet showrooms. Here he obtained full particulars of the car which Pershore had bought, and sent out an army of subordinates to make inquiries. By nine o’clock that evening he was once more in Dr Priestley’s study, triumphant, and eager to make his report.
‘I’ve traced that car, Professor,’ he said. ‘And, as I suspected it would, the trail led me straight back to Philip Bryant. If you meant what you said last night, that the discovery of the car answers all those questions, I’ve got him by the short hairs.’
‘Bryant!’ exclaimed Dr Priestley. ‘I certainly did not expect that he would be involved. Perhaps you will give me further details?’
‘Oh, it was simple enough. I got the registered number of the car from Sulgrave, GW 4229. That’s a London number, and I applied to the registration authorities. They confirmed that this number had been issued in respect of a Comet saloon car, painted blue, the property of Nahum Pershore, of Firlands, Weybridge.
‘Then I sent men round the garages and second-hand shops to look for it. I thought that perhaps, now Pershore was dead, the car might have been put up for sale. And I was right. It was found in the Euston Road, in charge of Bradshaw and Co., second-hand dealers. As soon as I heard this, I went to the place and got the whole story.
‘The car had been brought to them last Tuesday, the day after Pershore’s death, by a gentleman who said he wished to sell it. He produced the registration book and the certificate of insurance. I saw these, and found that they were both in the name of Nahum Pershore.
‘The man who brought the car explained that the owner was dead, and that he represented his executors. A figure was agreed upon, and the firm promised to do their best to sell the car at a price not less than this. It was also arranged that written confirmation of this should come from the executors. The man then cleared out, and nothing has been seen of him since. Nor has anything in the way of confirmation been received from Pershore’s executors.’
‘But surely Bradshaw and Co. asked the man who brought the car for his name?’ Dr Priestley asked.
‘They did. And he gave it to them. Philip Bryant, of Firlands, Weybridge. Now what about it, Professor?’
For some moments Dr Priestley made no reply. And then a queer smile hovered for a moment at the corners of his mouth. ‘Have you mentioned your discovery to Bryant?’ he asked.
‘Not yet. I wanted to see you first. You promised to explain how those questions would be answered, you know.’
‘Yes, when you had performed your part. At present, I do not consider that the car has been adequately traced.’
‘Traced! Why, I’ll show it to you, if you like to come to the Euston Road tomorrow. There’s no doubt about the identity of the car. I’ve looked at the engine and chassis numbers, and they agree with those given me by Sulgrave, and with those entered in the registration book.’
‘I do not doubt the identity of the car,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘But its present whereabouts are of no great importance. Where was it kept prior to Tuesday last?’
Hanslet shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ll very soon find that out,’ he replied. ‘Bryant will have to explain how he came into possession of it. If you’ve nothing more to tell me, I’ll go around to his flat and see him now.’
Dr Priestley raised no objection to this, and Hanslet departed. When he had gone, Dr Priestley gave Harold certain detailed instructions. ‘My deductions may be at fault, but I think not,’ he concluded. ‘If you are successful, telephone at once to me and to Superintendent Hanslet. You had better set to work directly after breakfast tomorrow.’
CHAPTER XIV
Shortl
y before noon next day, Dr Priestley was summoned to the telephone. Harold spoke to him, and his tone was jubilant. ‘I’ve found out where the car was kept, sir. In a garage here at Surbiton. I have already rung up the superintendent, and he will come down by the train which leaves Waterloo at 12.50. He will look out for you there.’
‘Well done, my boy!’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘I will travel down by the same train. You had better meet us at Surbiton station.’
He met Hanslet on the platform, shortly before the train started, and the two entered a compartment which they had to themselves. The superintendent was obviously puzzled. ‘Merefield rang me up, and said he had found out that this confounded car used to be kept in a garage in Surbiton,’ he said. ‘I suppose that you’re behind this, Professor?’
‘Yes. I thought that Surbiton was the most likely place in which to look for it,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘What explanation had Bryant to give of the affair?’
‘He refused to give any explanation. Swore that he knew nothing about the car, and that he had never heard of Bradshaw and Co. And it looks as if he were telling the truth. He offered to go with me to the Euston Road early this morning. The people there were positive that he was not the man who brought them the car for sale.’
‘That is very much what I expected. In fact, I was convinced that this man was not Bryant. You will observe, however, that he was sufficiently aware of Mr Pershore’s affairs to know whom he had appointed as his executors.’
‘That’s all very well, Professor,’ replied Hanslet impatiently. ‘But where does this mysterious woman of yours come in?’
‘That we shall probably learn when we reach Surbiton,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘Until then, it will be useless to indulge in conjecture.’
He refused to say any more, and they completed their journey in silence. Harold met them at Surbiton station, and led them to a garage a short distance away. Here Hanslet introduced himself to the proprietor. ‘I’m told that you know something about a car I’m looking for,’ he said. ‘A small Comet saloon, painted blue, registered number GW 4229.’
‘You’re just a week too late, I’m afraid, superintendent,’ the garage proprietor replied. ‘The car was driven away from here last Tuesday, and I haven’t seen it since.’
‘Who drove it away?’
‘The lady who always drove it. Miss Rissington, her name is.’
This answer was so wholly unexpected that Hanslet could only stare at the man in amazement. The car had been bought for Miss Rissington, then, after all. But she had been in Paris on the previous Tuesday! Or was her alleged visit to Paris merely a carefully planned alibi, arranged between her, Mrs Sulgrave, and Hardisen? Instead of growing clearer, the plot seemed to thicken.
‘You say that Miss Rissington was the regular driver of the car,’ said Hanslet. ‘When did it first come into your charge?’
‘Last June. A lady came in here and said that her name was Miss Rissington, and that she lived with her brother in Surbiton. Her uncle, Mr Pershore, who lived at Weybridge, had bought a car, and she was to drive it for him. She asked if we would garage the car for her, and we agreed. She then gave us a written authorisation from Mr Pershore, for us to collect the car from the Comet showrooms. We did so, and kept it here until last Tuesday. Miss Rissington took the car out frequently, and settled our account for garage, petrol, and so on monthly, in cash.’
‘Did you ever see her uncle, Mr Pershore?’
‘We never saw anybody but Miss Rissington. She was always alone when she took the car out and brought it back. We understood that she picked up her uncle at Weybridge and dropped him there.’
‘What explanation did she give when she took the car away last Tuesday?’
‘She was in mourning, and told us that her uncle was dead. She and her brother were going to stay at Weybridge for a few days, over the funeral, and they would garage the car there until the executors had decided what was to be done with it.’
Having elicited this information, they left the garage. ‘I can’t make head or tail of this,’ exclaimed Hanslet peevishly, as soon as they were outside. ‘There’s only one thing to do, and that is to take the next train to Weybridge and see what Miss Rissington has to say for herself.’
‘I should not be in too great a hurry,’ replied Dr Priestley. ‘Let me see. You said, I think, that Mr and Mrs Chantley live in Surbiton? Mr Chantley will be at his office, I expect. But we might find Mrs Chantley at home.’
‘Mrs Chantley!’ Hanslet exclaimed. ‘What on earth do you want to see her about?’
‘She was at one time a friend of Miss Rissington’s. And, since she lives in Surbiton, she may possibly be able to tell us why Miss Rissington garaged the car here.’
Hanslet did not seem very struck by the idea. But, in the end, he yielded to Dr Priestley’s quiet insistence. They made their way to the Chantleys’ house, Harold being told to await them.
Mrs Chantley had just finished lunch, and received them in the drawing-room. She looked pale and ill under her make-up, and glanced from one to the other nervously. It was left to Hanslet to begin the conversation.
‘I called upon your husband a day or two ago,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I had not then the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Mrs Chantley. I am wondering now if you can help me. You were, at one time, on friendly terms with Miss Rissington, were you not?’
At this question a look, almost that of a hunted animal, came into her eyes. ‘Well, yes, Betty Rissington and I were quite friendly once,’ she replied. ‘But I haven’t seen anything of her for months, you know. She has deliberately avoided me.’
‘This avoidance began about last June, did it not?’ asked Dr Priestley quietly.
Until now Mrs Chantley’s eyes had been fixed upon the superintendent. She seemed half afraid of his imposing bulk and stern inquiring features. Now she turned to this undistinguished elderly gentleman, whose expression was masked by his spectacles. Whoever he might be, his appearance was not alarming. She relaxed into a faint smile.
‘Yes, I think it was about June,’ she replied.
Dr Priestley nodded. ‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘Then perhaps you are not aware that about that time her uncle, Mr Pershore, bought a car for her to drive, and that she kept it at a garage in this town?’
A look of utter horror came into Mrs Chantley’s eyes. She stiffened, and stared at Dr Priestley as though at some ghastly apparition. And when she found words, they were slow and hesitating, as though her lips found difficulty in forming them. ‘A car for Betty? Yes, I did hear something about it. But I don’t know anything for certain.’
‘Oh, I think you do, Mrs Chantley,’ Dr Priestley replied. And then, with a sudden change of manner, ‘You must have been greatly relieved when you learnt that Mr Pershore had not been seriously injured by the shot which was fired at him.’
She stared at him for an instant as though petrified. And then, with a sudden gesture, she hid her face in her hands, and burst into tears.
Hanslet uttered a queer sound, something between a growl and an exclamation of astonishment. But Dr Priestley leant forward and touched her gently on the shoulder.
‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ he said soothingly. ‘I am fully aware of the affection that existed between you and Mr Pershore. You are naturally very much upset by his death. And I am sure that you will only be too anxious to help us to clear up the mystery which surrounds it.’
She nodded, but without looking up. And Dr Priestley continued. ‘You saw a good deal of Mr Pershore. You used to meet him in London, and he bought you a car, so that you could drive over to Weybridge and meet him at Firlands. It was his suggestion that you should keep the car in a garage here, and give your name as Miss Rissington. I think that is correct, is it not?’
She looked up, with a foolish expression of surprise on her tear-stained face. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she replied. ‘But I can’t think how you found out. Nobody but us knew anything about it. Nahum and I were always very careful
.’
‘I’m sure you were. Now, the last time you drove to Firlands was on the Saturday before Mr Pershore’s death. Was he expecting you?’
‘Not exactly, though I told him I would run over then if I could. I only went to give him a message. I wasn’t there more than a few minutes.’
‘You drove over after dinner. Ah, yes, and perhaps you had a key to the door leading from the garden into the lane?’
‘Yes. Nahum gave me one at the time he bought the car. I used to let myself in, walk up the garden, and tap at the study window.’
‘I see. Now, would you mind telling me what the message was that you had for him?’
‘It was about going to the Motor Show. I had asked Nahum to take me one afternoon, and he had promised to do so. But the difficulty was to fix the day. My husband had told me that he wanted to go one afternoon, and, of course, Nahum and I didn’t want him to see us together there. And I couldn’t find out from him what day he meant to go.
‘But at dinner on Saturday my husband told me that he had a business appointment which would take him out of London on Monday, and that he might not be home that night. I thought that this would be the chance for Nahum and me to go to the Show. After dinner my husband went out to play bridge, as he very often does, and I got the car and went over to Firlands to tell Nahum about it. And as I was coming away …’ She broke off, and shuddered.
‘As you were coming away, you saw a man with a gun, and heard a shot fired,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘You did not recognise the man in the dark, but you thought it was your husband, who had laid a trap for you and Mr Pershore. You drove straight back here and telephoned to Firlands?’
She looked at him wonderingly. ‘Yes. I didn’t know what to do. I had to find out what had happened, or I should have gone mad. Nahum had told me never to ring him up, in case somebody else answered the telephone and recognised my voice. But I simply had to risk it, that time.’