Ask For Ronald Standish

by Sapper

“That I don’t know. But they were not Charles Sinley’s. And” – he paused impressively – “they were made after it was broken. They point towards the hook and not away from it.”

  “Well, I’m damned,” said Ronald, getting up and going to the sideboard. “This requires alcohol. What do you make of it, Mac?”

  “That the verdict was wrong. That someone murdered Sinley. That, in view of what Miss Darby has told you, that someone was Tranton. But how he did it I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Then, my dear Mac, the sooner we have an idea the better. If between us we can’t solve the matter we’ll go into the country and grow tomatoes. Can we get into Carimer Terrace?”

  “We can. Very fortunately Mr Tranton is staying with friends in the country.”

  “Then,” said Ronald, “we might avail ourselves of his absence.” He rang the bell. “Bates – a taxi.”

  A small crowd of morbid sightseers was standing round the door as we drew up, though it was now three days since the tragedy.

  “Can’t get rid of ’em, sir,” grumbled the irate hall porter, touching his cap to MacAndrew. “Though wot the ’ell they think they’re going to see, I dunno.”

  “I’m going up to Mr Tranton’s flat, Johnson,” said the inspector. “We think something may have been lost out of Mr Sinley’s pocket when he was carried in,” he continued, winking at Ronald. “Can you lend me the master key?”

  “Certainly, sir,” and thus armed we proceeded up in the lift.

  “Grossly irregular,” said the inspector with a chuckle. “But there are times when one must take the law into one’s own hands.”

  The lift stopped and we stepped out on to a narrow landing about four feet wide. On our right was a big window overlooking Carimer Terrace, whilst immediately in front of us a small pane of glass which could not be opened was let into the wall.

  “That,” said the inspector, pointing to it, “is the window of the cloakroom in Tranton’s flat.”

  Close beside it, and about a foot to the left was an open ventilator covered with the usual metal grille; and two yards more to the left was the door of the flat facing the top of the stairs.

  “The body,” said the inspector, “was lying with the head towards the lift and diagonally across the landing. The gun was by the right side; the bits of china were scattered all over the place, but no fragment was more than a yard from the body. Now, if you’ll come inside, Mr Standish, you can get the layout of the flat: then you can put on your thinking cap.”

  He opened the door and we entered a small hall. In front of us ran a passage, and the inspector led the way along it.

  “This,” he said, pointing to a door on the right, “is the room in which the body was put. And this,” as we came to the next one, “is the drawing-room, in which the whole party was sitting when the shot was fired. With the door shut,” he added.

  “Draw a rough sketch, Bill,” said Ronald, as he studied the room. “Get your measurements approximately right. Now look here, Mac,” he continued, “let us sum up so far as we have gone at the moment. The absence of any fingerprints on the gun is conclusive proof that Sinley didn’t bring it with him.”

  “Practically conclusive,” agreed MacAndrew.

  “Then someone must have placed it beside him after the shot was fired, and that someone was wearing gloves, or using a pocket handkerchief, to prevent his own finger-marks appearing.”

  “Agreed,” said the inspector.

  “Since the fingerprints on the china are not Sinley’s it is clear that he didn’t bring the mask either. And as the prints on the china were made after it was smashed, it seems a fair assumption that whoever put the gun there touched the china. The fact that there are prints on one and not on the other could be accounted for in many ways. He was flustered and replaced his handkerchief in his pocket after arranging the gun; then for some reason he picked up this one broken bit of the mask with his bare hand.”

  “Quite feasible, but far from proven,” said MacAndrew. “Still we can take it as a working hypothesis But who fired the gun, because he must be the man who did the rest? Unless we assume a confederate. And if I’m not going dippy that lets out Tranton. You can’t fire a gun through a door and round four corners. Apart altogether from the audience.”

  “Come, come, Mac. Many a gun has been fired when the stock has not been against a man’s shoulder. No one is suggesting that the shot was fired from this room.”

  “Well, where was it fired from?”

  “Obviously somewhere near the lift. That’s our hunting ground. Come on.”

  I followed them to the landing outside, where for a quarter of an hour Ronald prowled about muttering to himself.

  “Must have been a place to which Sinley would certainly go… About his own height… He wouldn’t be stooping… Not cloak- room window or, glass would have been broken… Not… Hullo! Hullo!”

  He whipped out a magnifying glass and focused it on the plaster above the ventilator. Then with a match he began probing gently.

  “Mac,” he cried, “come here. There’s been a nail in this plaster. And the hole has been filled in recently. It’s still soft. And, ye Gods, man–look at this.” His voice was vibrating with excitement. “The top of this ventilator is scorched. The shot was fired through there.”

  MacAndrew was equally excited.

  “But – how, man – how?”

  “Steady,” said Ronald. “Don’t let’s go too fast. The nail. Supposing the mask had been hung over that ventilator? Supposing Sinley, his attention caught by such a bizarre object on the wall, stopped a moment to examine it, and at that moment the gun was fired? Does that meet it?”

  “Yes – but…”

  “Wait a moment. Just supposing – does that meet it? The mask was hit from the inside and shattered. Sinley was killed. The big bit of china attached to the nail did not come off the wall. The man who placed the gun beside the body saw it and took it off himself. What about it, Mac?”

  “But who fired the gun?” persisted the inspector stubbornly.

  “The murderer,” grinned Ronald. “Let’s consider that later. Does that meet it, so far as it goes?”

  “So far as it goes, I suppose it does,” admitted MacAndrew cautiously. “In fact I believe you’re on the right track. There’s no doubt the top of the ventilator is scorched; and there’s no doubt a nail has recently been removed from the plaster. But we’re still a long way from home, Mr Standish. Are you suggesting the murderer was in the cloakroom the whole time? For that again lets out Tranton, at any rate, as the actual murderer.”

  “Supposing the gun had been previously fixed in position and was fired electrically?”

  “How would he know when to fire it?” demanded MacAndrew. “He was in the drawing-room.”

  “Arrangement of mirrors,” said Ronald tentatively.

  “But the door was shut, man. The drawing-room door was shut. You can’t see through walls.”

  “Supposing he’d fixed up some system of wires,” persisted Ronald, “by which he could know in the drawing-room when the lift reached the top?”

  “You mean ring a bell, or show a light? Think of the risk. All his guests would have heard it or seen it, and then immediately after there’s a shot, and a man is killed. Besides think of the practical difficulties. I’ll give you that he can play about with his electrical gadgets as much as you like inside his flat, even to the extent of firing the gun electrically, and no one will be any the wiser. But not outside in a public passage. A thing like that can’t be fixed up in a minute… What are you grinning at?”

  “Mac – we’re being too clever. I’ve got it, Bill – go downstairs, and come up in the lift. Mac – come back to the drawing-room with me.”

  They went into the flat, closing the door behind them, and I descended the stairs. Then I went up in the lift, and sent it down again.

  “Hoyo!” I called out. “Let me in.”

  The door opened slowly, and I saw Ronald looking distinctly cre
stfallen.

  “Not a sound,” he said glumly. “I expected to hear the damn thing, or at any rate the gate shutting. But not a sound.”

  “And we weren’t talking,” remarked MacAndrew. “He had a party, and the wireless going into the bargain.”

  “Couldn’t you hear anything at all?” I asked.

  “Not the hint of a whisper,” answered Ronald. “It’s absolutely silent. And yet, Mac, we must be on the right tack: we must.”

  Once again he studied the ventilator and the nail mark above it.

  “It all fits,” he went on. “Look, you can even see that that metal grille has been recently moved. There’s a fresh scratch on the plaster. We’re hot, Mac; we’re hot. Don’t you think so yourself?”

  “I do. But how did he know when to fire?”

  “You’ll admit, won’t you, that if he knew when to fire he could have done it from the drawing-room?”

  “Ye-es. I’ll admit that.”

  “Therefore that is what the problem narrows down to. Assuming for the moment it was Tranton, how did he know when to fire? Mirrors – out of the question: a system of wires on the lift giving some signal inside the flat – possible, but I admit very dangerous; the noise of the lift – nothing doing. What is left? Damn it, you fellows – surely three sane men can hit on the solution between ’em?”

  He was walking restlessly up and down the room as he spoke. Tastefully furnished, it left no doubt in one’s mind that Tranton was a man of means. Even the wireless was of the super type that combines itself with an electric gramophone capable of playing a dozen records on end, and mechanically I switched it on. Somewhat to my surprise nothing happened, and looking inside I saw that one of the valves was missing. And I had just mentioned the fact when there came the sound of a key in the front door; Raymond Tranton had unexpectedly returned. Undeniably the situation was awkward, as he stood in the passage staring at the three of us.

  “May I ask to what I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he remarked coldly. “Johnson told me you were here. I was always under the impression that a warrant was necessary before you entered a man’s house. I presume you have one, Inspector?”

  “I have not,” said MacAndrew calmly. “But we had reason to believe, Mr Tranton, that a very vital paper had been dropped from Mr Sinley’s pocket when he was carried in here, and we assumed you would have no objection to our looking for it.”

  “Indeed! And who are these two gentlemen?”

  “Friends of Sinley’s,” said Ronald promptly. “What a sad affair.”

  Tranton’s eyes narrowed momentarily.

  “We were talking to him the very evening it happened,” lied Ronald cheerfully, and I could have laughed at the effect of the bluff. Tranton was obviously rattled; and why should he be if everything had been as he said?

  “Of course, any friend of poor old Charlie’s is welcome here,” he said after a pause. “Did he tell you he was coming to see me?”

  “He said he had an engagement at ten-thirty,” answered Ronald. “And he mentioned something about that strange china mask.”

  “Really! What did he say?”

  I glanced at MacAndrew; the situation was intriguing. Tranton was fencing blind; could Ronald get through his guard?

  “I suppose I must have misunderstood him,” said Ronald. “I gathered he was going to have a look at one belonging to his host. Have you got one yourself?”

  We had drifted back into the drawing-room.

  “I?” cried Tranton. “No.”

  “Strange. I certainly got that impression.”

  “As you say, you must have misunderstood him,” said Tranton. “Well, gentlemen, if you have seen all you want to…”

  He paused, his hand on the door knob.

  “Just a minute, Mr Tranton,” said the inspector quietly. “You were a great friend, I believe, of Mr Sinley’s.”

  “I was.”

  “Well, it may interest you to know that we have come to the conclusion that the verdict at the inquest was quite wrong”.

  “Indeed!”

  “Mr Sinley was murdered.”

  “Murdered! Good God! Who by?”

  “That is what we are trying to find out. You know of no one, I suppose, who had a grudge against him?”

  “Good heavens, no. Charlie was a very popular man.”

  “I ask you particularly,” continued the inspector, “because, amazing though it may seem, we think the murderer must have been in your flat.”

  “Impossible,” cried Tranton. “The flat was empty save for the party in here. But in any case, what on earth makes you think that he was here?”

  I was watching him narrowly, and I gave him full marks for his manner. If our suspicions were right, and he was implicated in the matter, no trace of guilt showed in his face.

  “Certain indications,” said MacAndrew. “But before I go into them there is one rather important little point that might help us. When you found all that broken china lying near the body, did you pick up any of the pieces?”

  “Quite positively – no. I touched nothing.”

  “And Major Vrowson touched nothing either?”

  “I can’t actually swear to that, but I am convinced he didn’t. But surely that is a detail. What I want to know is how Charlie could have been shot by someone who was in this flat, seeing that he met his death on the landing outside.”

  “Through the ventilator in your cloakroom,” said MacAndrew quietly.

  Tranton laughed.

  “Really, Inspector, this sounds like detective fiction gone mad. Are you seriously suggesting that a man was concealed in the cloakroom with a twelve bore? Why, I should have seen him leaving the flat.”

  “You went straight outside, Mr Tranton. He might have remained there unnoticed and escaped later when you went back to the drawing-room.”

  “What about the gun?” cried Tranton. “It was beside the body when I got there.”

  “He might have passed that through the ventilator,” answered the inspector.

  “That is true,” agreed Tranton. “But if I may say so, it all seems most unlikely.”

  “When you think of it, no more unlikely than Mr Sinley coming to see you with a loaded double-barrelled gun.”

  Tranton shrugged his shoulders.

  “I agree; that was inexplicable. Well, gentlemen, if you are right I trust you discover this man. I can’t help thinking myself that the verdict was correct, and that it was just one of those amazing accidents that can never be accounted for. May I offer you a drink?”

  “Thank you,” said MacAndrew. “I should like one. Whisky, please.”

  “Say when,” remarked Tranton, going to the sideboard and holding up a glass.

  “Just right,” said the inspector, as he took it. “Sorry to have intruded in this way, but we thought perhaps we might find some litter or paper which would throw light on this man.”

  “My flat is at your disposal any time you wish,” said Tranton politely. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see poor Charlie’s murderer caught, if indeed he was murdered.”

  And a few minutes later we were in the street.

  “A cool customer, Mr Standish, if he’s guilty,” remarked MacAndrew. “I’ll let you know the result of the fingerprints shortly.”

  “What’s that, Mac?” said Ronald, staring at him.

  “I’ve got the glass in my pocket,” said MacAndrew with a wink. “What do you suppose I had a drink for?”

  But it was not until six o’clock that we saw him again.

  “You’re right, Mr Standish,” he greeted us gravely. “The marks on the glass and the china are identical. Further, I took advantage of his absence this afternoon to pay the flat another visit. The metal grille of the ventilator is loose, and there are the same fingerprints on that. Tranton did it: but how? How? How did he know when to fire the gun? Until we can find that out he’s got us euchred. A clever counsel would tear our case to shreds. And I confess I’m beat. Can’t you thin
k of anything, Mr Standish?”

  Ronald stretched out his legs.

  “A possibility has occurred to me, Mac.” he said. “A bare possibility. When can we get into his flat again?”

  “He’s away this weekend,” said Mac Andrew. “But what’s your idea?”

  “So vague that I’ll say nothing about it at the moment,” answered Ronald “There’s just one thing we haven’t tried. I propose to do so.”

  And not another word would he say.

  I did not see him again till the following Monday.

  “Like to be in at the death, Bill?” he said. “We’ve got him. My bare possibility was a bull’s-eye.”

  “How did he do it?” I cried eagerly.

  “You wait and see, old boy,” he grinned. “Come to my rooms at nine.”

  I found MacAndrew there, who was as much befogged as I was.

  “I’ve got a warrant,” he said. “But I’m still completely in the dark.”

  And at that moment Ronald entered carrying a small parcel.

  “Leave him to me, Mac,” he said. “The fish is hooked, but the tackle is light. He’ll require careful playing.”

  He was surprised to see us, was Tranton, and not too pleased.

  “Surely,” he cried irritably, “you don’t want to search the flat again. I have an engagement.”

  “We shan’t keep you long, Mr Tranton,” said Ronald quietly. “But some further facts have come to light. Now,” he continued, when we were in the drawing-room, “I want to reconstruct the whole thing. You were in the drawing-room with the door shut talking to your friends when the shot was fired. You dashed out, and along the passage; you went to the front door and there you found Sinley lying dead. Do you mind if we do that? A substitute is taking the part of Sinley.”

  “This is absurd,” said Tranton. “However, if it affords you any satisfaction, I will.”

  We followed him to the landing outside, where a constable lay sprawling on the floor with the gun beside him, and broken china lying about near him.

  “That’s right,” said Tranton, and suddenly gave a little gasp. I glanced at him; his face was dead white. He was staring like a man bereft, at the ventilator, where the top bit of the broken mask hung on a nail.