A Case of Suicide in St. James's

by Clara Benson

  ‘Careful, old girl. I told you not to have that third glass of champagne,’ said Freddy. They went outside, and he gave a grimace. ‘Damn! Of all the rotten luck. Why didn’t I think to tell her to keep it quiet? Now he’ll know we’re after him and he’ll hide the thing as soon as he can.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ said Gertie. ‘That’s why I stole his keys. Now we can go and search his workshop.’

  Freddy regarded her in astonishment. Sure enough, she was holding up a bunch of keys and looking very pleased with herself.

  ‘Good Lord! Is that what you were doing when you were lumbering about in there? Picking his pocket?’

  ‘Rather a good job on my part, don’t you think?’ said Gertie.

  ‘Remind me to introduce you to a friend of mine,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Who’s that? Never mind, there’s no time. Let’s go!’

  ‘What, now? You’re not exactly suitably dressed for breaking and entering.’

  ‘Nor are you, for that matter, but we haven’t a minute to lose! We have to get the notebook before Penbrigg does.’

  Before he could object she had flagged down a taxi and jumped in.

  ‘Take me to the aeroplane factory,’ she said grandly. ‘I don’t know where it is.’

  The taxi driver turned an appealing gaze on Freddy.

  ‘Hammersmith,’ said Freddy.

  ‘And make it quick,’ said Gertie.

  The taxi pulled away, and in a very short time they had reached their destination. The driver set them down on King Street, since they did not wish to draw attention to themselves, and they alighted and set off on the short walk to the factory.

  ‘How are we going to get in through the gate?’ said Gertie as they walked. ‘I expect there’ll be a night-watchman.’

  ‘Yes, and I don’t suppose he’ll just let us in through the front door.’ Freddy was trying to remember what he had seen on his last visit. Penbrigg’s workshop had been in a back yard surrounded by high walls. ‘I think there might be a back gate,’ he said. ‘We’ll just have to hope one of these keys fits.’

  They had now passed into a quiet area which was unlit by street-lamps. It was dark, but the moon was not long past full, which allowed them to see where they were going. They arrived at the front gates of the factory and peeped through. The windows were in darkness, but one light had been left on over the entrance.

  ‘Can’t see anyone,’ said Freddy at last. ‘Let’s go and find a back gate. This way.’

  They turned right and entered a tiny alley which skirted the boundary of the factory. Here the moonlight could not penetrate and it was much darker. After a few yards Freddy stopped.

  ‘I think the workshop is about here,’ he said. He looked up. ‘Hmm. An eight-foot wall with broken glass along it. Nothing doing there. Now, is there a gate or not?’

  ‘Of course there’s a gate,’ said Gertie. ‘There must be.’

  They carried on along the alley and then turned left, still following the factory wall. Here the alley became a narrow path, bounded on one side by thick bushes.

  ‘There it is!’ she hissed.

  Sure enough, a little farther ahead, the wall was broken by a solid wooden gate, which was firmly shut. A man in a uniform and peaked cap was leaning against the gate, idly playing a torch over the bushes and smoking a cigarette. As they watched, the torch beam headed towards them, and they ducked hurriedly back into the alley.

  ‘Bother!’ whispered Gertie. ‘Now what do we do?’

  ‘Wait for him to finish his cigarette, I suppose.’

  They waited. After a minute or two, Freddy peeped around the corner, and to his shock and dismay saw that the night-watchman was only a few yards away, heading towards them. He had approached so quietly that they had not heard him. He withdrew his head immediately and grabbed Gertie’s arm, then indicated with frantic gestures that it was time to retreat. Gertie gave a silent gasp and glanced towards the entrance of the alley, preparing to make a run for it. But there was no time: the darkness was already becoming thinner as the torch beam approached, and they could hear the man clearing his throat. He could not be more than a few yards away. It was too late to escape now. There was no alternative; desperate measures were required. Without ceremony Freddy pulled Gertie towards him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said hastily, and kissed her.

  The night-watchman rounded the corner, gave an appreciative snigger as he passed, and walked off, breaking into a cheery whistle as he did so. Freddy let Gertie go. There was a short, breathless silence.

  ‘Are you quite sure it wasn’t Mungo?’ she said at last.

  ‘I suppose it might have been,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Do it again, just to make sure.’

  Freddy obliged.

  ‘Well, this is all splendid fun, but we are here for a reason,’ she said after a little while. ‘Hadn’t we better go and try the gate before he comes back?’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Freddy, recollecting himself.

  The night-watchman was nowhere to be seen, so he let her go and they returned to the gate, Gertie smoothing down her frock and fighting an inclination to giggle. She brought out the keys from her handbag and they picked the one that looked most likely. Freddy tried it, and after a little struggle it turned in the lock. Gertie beamed at him in excitement and pushed at the gate, which creaked slightly. On the other side was the overgrown yard which Freddy had already seen on the day he visited Penbrigg.

  ‘It’s over here,’ he whispered. He took her hand and they crept across to the low building inside which was Penbrigg’s workshop. The keys were produced again and an entry effected. The waning moon cast a thin light through the small windows, and as far as Freddy could see in the dim light, the place was as untidy as ever.

  ‘A torch would be preferable, but I’m afraid we’ll have to make do with the moonlight,’ he said. ‘Be careful where you put your feet.’

  ‘I see what you mean about all the scraps of metal on the floor,’ said Gertie, picking her way gingerly across the room. ‘Now, where shall we look first?’

  ‘I suggest the drawers.’

  It was not easy to search in the near-darkness, but they did their best. Most of the drawers were not locked, but there was such a jumble of things inside them that it quickly became clear it would be almost impossible to find anything in the time available to them, unless they had a stroke of good luck. After a fruitless search lasting several minutes, Gertie began trying the doors of the cupboards. She opened one and found it was full of piles of loose paper, jars of screws, twisted bits of metal and machine parts, but nothing that looked like a notebook. She tried the next one.

  ‘Oh, this one is locked,’ she said. ‘Do we have the key to this cupboard?’

  Freddy looked up from the drawer he was searching and came over to see. There was a small key which looked as though it might fit. He tried it, and it turned easily in the lock. He opened the door, and gave an exclamation.

  ‘Well, well, what do we have here?’ he said, bringing something out. It was a pair of men’s shoes.

  ‘Doug’s shoes!’ said Gertie.

  Freddy turned them over and took them across to the window to examine the soles.

  ‘I rather wonder sometimes whether I’m not a genius,’ he said.

  Gertie looked. Wedged tightly into the heel was a small piece of metal, with the word ‘Westray’ clearly stamped on it.

  ‘Sparking plug electrode,’ said Freddy. ‘He said they kept snapping off. I don’t suppose the police would have had the sense to realize that Douglas must have picked it up that evening since the shoes were new, but he couldn’t take any chances.’

  ‘Now for the notebook.’ Gertie went back to the cupboard and rummaged around. ‘Nothing,’ she said, disappointed. ‘Is there anything on the top shelf? I can’t reach.’

  Freddy put his hand up and felt about, then brought down a sheaf of papers. In among them was a battered old notebook without a cover. He took it across to th
e window and squinted at it closely. The paper was squared, and was covered with drawings and diagrams and notes. He flicked through the pages.

  ‘Good old Finkley,’ he said at last. ‘He’s even dated his ideas. Aha! Look at this.’

  Gertie peered at the page he was indicating.

  ‘What is it? An aeroplane wing?’

  ‘With a slot,’ said Freddy. ‘And some equations that I shall pretend to understand. And—most importantly of all—a date of August two years ago, some time before the Woodville Prize.’

  Gertie took the notebook and began to look through it, then started violently and looked around.

  ‘What is it?’ said Freddy.

  ‘Did you hear that noise?’ she whispered.

  ‘Which noise?’ he said, lowering his voice.

  ‘I don’t know. A sort of scraping sound. It came from quite nearby.’

  They listened, but heard nothing. Gertie glanced towards the door to Penbrigg’s office and pointed. It was slightly ajar. They looked at one another.

  ‘Is it Penbrigg?’ whispered Gertie.

  Freddy shook his head. There was not time for Penbrigg to have got there before them.

  ‘Just a mouse, I expect,’ he said. ‘I forgot about that office. I wonder if there’s anything else in there we ought to see.’

  He went across and pushed the door open, then started back as a shadow loomed up in the darkness.

  ‘You’d have done much better to keep your nose out of things,’ said a voice. There was a click and a lamp was switched on, and they gasped as a familiar figure came towards them.

  ‘Captain Dauncey!’ exclaimed Gertie.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dauncey was not looking his usual smart, polished self. He had been in hiding for several days now, and appeared tired and slightly unkempt. They were not paying attention to his appearance, however, but to the revolver that was in his hand. He looked astonished when he saw who his intruders were.

  ‘You! What are you two doing here?’ he said, but did not lower the gun.

  ‘Well, we weren’t looking for you!’ said Gertie. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding. Does Penbrigg know you’re here?’

  ‘Of course he does,’ said Freddy. ‘Well, this is a surprise. I had no idea the two of you were in league. I suppose you’ve been covering up for him, have you? Or perhaps you even carried out the murder yourself. I assumed it was Penbrigg, but if you’re working together then either one of you might have done it.’

  Dauncey frowned.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he said. ‘I haven’t murdered anyone. Who’s been murdered?’

  ‘Doug,’ said Gertie. ‘It wasn’t suicide—he was killed deliberately, and if it wasn’t you then it was certainly Leslie Penbrigg.’

  ‘Rot,’ said Dauncey. ‘Douglas killed himself all right.’

  ‘No he didn’t, and we have proof!’ said Gertie. ‘When you next see Penbrigg, ask him why he’s hiding Doug’s shoes in his cupboard, and how exactly he got hold of them. And while you’re at it, ask him how Hector Finkley died. He’ll probably tell you it was an accident, but we know better.’

  Dauncey was looking at something over her shoulder.

  ‘Is this true?’ he said, and they whirled around to see Leslie Penbrigg at the door, still in his evening things. He came into the workshop, and his face was as bland and pleasant as ever.

  ‘I’ve come to get my keys back,’ he said. ‘Rather rude of you to steal them and ruin my evening out. I’ll take that, if you don’t mind.’ He went across to Dauncey and took the gun from him. ‘Kind of Alida to give the game away. Women can be useful occasionally. Now, my keys, please. And I see you’ve found the notebook, too. Give it to me.’

  Gertie was still holding it. She looked at Freddy.

  ‘You’d better give it to him,’ said Freddy.

  She grimaced, but stepped forward and handed it to Penbrigg, who glanced at it and tucked it into his side pocket.

  ‘You know, you’d have been much better off keeping out of it, for all our sakes,’ said Penbrigg. ‘I have a lot to do, and I don’t have time for this sort of thing.’

  ‘Just as you didn’t have time for Doug,’ burst out Gertie. Her voice was a little wobbly, and Freddy was astonished to see tears in her eyes. She set her jaw and went on, ‘He was nothing but an inconvenience to you, so you swept him out of the way.’

  ‘He was a nuisance and a bore, yes,’ agreed Penbrigg. ‘I had plans, you see, and he wanted to stop me, but I couldn’t let him do that. If he’d only kept out of it then he’d still be alive. Goodness knows I don’t like killing people, but sometimes it simply has to be done.’

  ‘He was a dear, and he didn’t deserve what you did to him—he certainly didn’t deserve to have everyone thinking he’d killed himself when he did nothing of the sort. And poor old Finkley—you pushed him off that balcony, didn’t you? Just so you could take the credit for the wing slot idea. And you killed his wife, too, who probably knew nothing about it.’

  Penbrigg shrugged carelessly and did not even bother to reply.

  Dauncey had been listening closely.

  ‘Is this true?’ he said to Penbrigg. ‘Did you kill Douglas?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ said Penbrigg dismissively. ‘He was a fool!’

  This seemed to be a revelation to Dauncey.

  ‘So this is the sort of person I’m allying myself with, is it? And just when I thought I couldn’t sink any lower. As a matter of fact, I rather liked Douglas. We were friends at one time, but that all stopped when I did something that offended him. He was very protective of Lois, and quite the gentleman—unlike me, you’ll say, and rightly so. I’m not exactly proud of it, but I was in desperate need of money. I’m afraid it lost you the Woodville Prize, old chap,’ he went on, addressing Penbrigg. ‘But from what I hear now it was never yours to lose anyway. What a fine pair we are!’ He gave a short, sardonic laugh. ‘A second-rate inventor who murders his rivals, and a second-rate pilot who takes advantage of women for money.’

  ‘Don’t call me second-rate!’ snapped Penbrigg. It was the most animation he had shown so far. ‘Who got you out of trouble when you needed somewhere to hide?’

  ‘Oh, you did,’ Dauncey said. He still had that sardonic look on his face. ‘And I assure you I’m more than grateful. I’ll get you out of the country, just as I promised, and you can sell your inventions—if they are your inventions—to Salmanov for as much as he’s prepared to pay you. He’s generous enough with his funds.’

  ‘Good. Then we leave tonight, as agreed.’

  ‘But what about Alida?’ said Gertie.

  Penbrigg’s brows drew together in a discontented frown.

  ‘She never took me seriously. Nobody ever took me seriously. Not at school, not at Westray, not anywhere. I was always that silly ass Penbrigg who blew things up for fun. People laughed at me, but I knew I should do great things one day. And I did, too.’

  ‘No you didn’t,’ Freddy said. ‘The wing slot was Finkley’s idea.’

  ‘But I improved on it,’ said Penbrigg heatedly. ‘Finkley’s plan was all very well, but I made some adjustments he’d never thought of, and made it altogether better. And besides, what does it matter if one takes a few short-cuts? I’ve plenty of ideas of my own, too. But nobody appreciates clever chaps here in Britain. I shall go abroad where they give more credit, and pay much better too.’

  ‘And what about you?’ said Gertie to Dauncey. ‘Are you really going to go with him? He’s a murderer, but you’re not. Why associate with him?’

  ‘What else can I do?’ he replied. ‘My reputation’s in tatters now, and I’ve nothing to stay for. I’ve sold my honour to the highest bidder, and I can’t buy it back.’

  ‘But you can put things right. You can face up to what you’ve done. Most people still think you’re a hero after what you did in the war. Go and take your medicine, and they’ll forgive you.’

  He laughed bitterly.

 
; ‘I’m afraid it’s too late, Gertie. I’m a spy and a traitor. They wouldn’t forgive that.’

  ‘I hope you’re not thinking of changing your mind,’ said Penbrigg sharply. ‘We’ve promised them the Nuthatch and we can’t let them down.’

  ‘No, I’ll do the job all right,’ said Dauncey.

  ‘Good, then let’s go. We’re just wasting time here.’ Penbrigg turned to Freddy. ‘Well, it’s been simply marvellous to see you again, but now it’s time to say goodbye.’ He raised the gun. ‘Sorry and all that, but we need a head start, and you two are getting in the way.’

  ‘Do you mean you’re going to kill us?’ said Gertie, taken aback. ‘That’s not very polite. Can’t you just tie us up instead?’

  ‘Look here, old man,’ said Freddy. ‘Shoot me if you like—I dare say I irritated you enough at school, because Lord knows I irritated everyone else—but leave Gertie alone. She’s done nothing.’

  ‘Very chivalrous of you, but impossible, I’m afraid,’ said Penbrigg. ‘She’d talk.’

  ‘What does it matter? You’ll be long gone by the time they find us.’

  Penbrigg merely smiled blandly and raised the gun again.

  Dauncey said suddenly:

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What?’ said Penbrigg.

  ‘There’s someone outside.’

  Dauncey strode over to the door and out into the yard. There came the sounds of a scuffle, and Dauncey returned, hauling with him a protesting Corky Beckwith, who, unknown to himself, was a welcome arrival for perhaps the first time in his life.

  ‘Freddy, old chap! Fancy seeing you here,’ he began, but Freddy was not listening, for he had seen his opportunity. At the commotion Penbrigg had lowered the gun and was off his guard momentarily. Without a second’s hesitation Freddy launched himself at his old school-friend and grabbed his wrist in an attempt to get the gun off him. Penbrigg was caught by surprise, but was stronger than he looked. He kept a firm grip on the revolver, but the impact of Freddy’s attack had knocked him off balance, and they both fell heavily against the wall. There was a sharp report as the gun went off, and Corky bleated in terror. Dauncey cast him aside and went to assist Penbrigg, who had dropped the gun, just as Penbrigg lifted his elbow and jabbed it with some force into Freddy’s stomach. Freddy fell to his knees, winded. Meanwhile, Corky had seen the gun and was reaching towards it, but Dauncey got to it first and clapped Corky on the side of the head with it. Corky collapsed sideways and began whimpering.