“Then Julian’s out of the summer-house; double quick, and down to the boat. Tells his sister it’s all right—he’s got the letters, and she’d better get back quick to the house. She doesn’t want to go so quickly, and perhaps delays him a minute or two. But he explains, I daresay, that the sleeping-draught will work off soon, and gets her to go. She hands over the bottle in which he’d sent her the sleeping-draught the day before. He locks the gate as soon as she has gone up. He gets back into the boat, and sets off round the corner, and along the coast, and when he gets into deep water drops overboard the key and the bottle. And so back to the hotel in the evening.
“The girl doesn’t go straight to the house. She looks in at the summer-house. No wonder she doesn’t give the alarm. She realises her brother’s committed a murder. You can imagine her feelings. She just staggers out, and runs into young Shipman, all ready to play tennis. She says she can’t, and he conducts her back to the house. Then in comes Trent, and after him Shipman, as I told you at lunch. You see, it fits the time-table I’d worked out. At 2.35, the girl gets the Professor to drink the lemonade ; 2.50, or so, Julian turns up—say five to three. By five past three he’s done it, and is back on the steps with his sister. And when the butler surveys the lawn and terrace, he sees no one—naturally. Ten minutes past, the girl has seen the Professor’s body. Fourteen past, she’s with Shipman on the upper terrace, going to the house. Sixteen past, Trent has been in the summer-house and is back in the walled garden, camera in pocket. Eighteen past, Shipman sees him there. Then 3.20 to 3.30 Shipman spends in arranging the summer-house to make the murder look like a suicide, and at half-past he settles down, cool as you like, with Mrs. Arkwright. And, with all that arranging, they all missed one thing—the flag. The girl ought, of course, to have hauled it up after her brother went. Perhaps that’s what she was going to do when she went back to the summer-house, and it was he who forgot that bit of the plan. She suddenly sees the—irony is the word, isn’t it ?—when the tea-party rushes down, and, on the top of everything else, it gives her hysterics—and no wonder.”
“By Jove ! Superintendent, it all hangs together,” the Chief Constable began, but Guest indicated that he had not finished.
“Let me just round it off, sir,” he said. “This Julian of course is Dr. Cummings. You’ll see that he used the disguise both to get the drug and to lose the key—that ingenious suggestion that Dr. Cummings doped him too, in order to get it. I don’t mind saying that I almost swallowed that myself. But—as you heard this afternoon—no one but the night porter saw Dr. Cummings ; Julian pretends he saw the night porter and Dr. Cummings at once, but the porter didn’t see Dr. Cummings and Julian at the same time. And Julian said the Doctor wore a light.coat—not a dark one. Why ? Because the Doctor wore Julian’s coat—and it’s unquestionably dark. And, lastly, we reach ‘ motive.’ I’ve said there are the letters ; I don’t think it signifies whether they were from someone in Julian’s own firm—if he’s got a bit of the fanatic in him, like his uncle had, he’d steal on principle, so to say, not out of personal interest. But, mark you, it’s possible the murder was deliberate : he inherits a fat sum under the will. That’s one of the gaps which must be filled in—what is Julian’s financial position ? That’s what I’d like time for, but—well, time is what I can’t have. So there we are.”
To signify that he had really ended his exposition, he asked, “Well, sir : agree to the arrest ?”
“There are gaps, certainly,” said Major Dillon slowly. “But —well, I think you’ve made a strong case. Certainly strong enough for an arrest. I suppose you’ve kept Julian under observation ? No risk of his having——”
“No, sir, that’s all right,” Guest interrupted confidently.’
“Very well, then. Get the warrant, and execute it. And set to work on those gaps as fast as you can.”
CHAPTER XXII
CONCERNS A CONFESSION
The matter of the warrant and the arrest was delegated to Sergeant Grimmett, who could be trusted to put it through with expedition and efficiency. The Chief Constable departed home, whence he intended to telephone to the mysterious Powers in London who were showing so much interest in the case, in order to assure them that the help of Scotland Yard was not needed. And the Superintendent was left to his own thoughts and to the task of “filling in the gaps.”
“All this hustle,” he said bitterly to himself. “Window-dressing, that’s all they want. That’s politics all the time. Bah !”
He rang his bell and gave orders that the plain-clothes men who had been devoting their time to shadowing Mr. Julian Paley were to be sent to him in turn, as they reported. For one of them was on duty of course until the arrest was an accomplished fact, and his relief would soon learn without disappointment that his turn of duty was cancelled.
Then he relapsed into silent and concentrated thought. For his pretty theory had its Achilles Heel, as he saw clearly enough ; and he really did not see how to dip it into the Styx of circumstantial evidence.
And there was that American. True, the Superintendent was quite satisfied that he could not possibly have got into the garden : ingress from either side or from the sea was out of the question, and it was no less sure that he had not passed through or round the house until Richards conducted him out to the tea-table on the occasion of his second visit. But, for all that, the Superintendent had an uneasy feeling about him.
Could it merely be prejudice against all these foreigners, whether of Nordic race or not? Or against an Adam’s apple that bobbed up and down a throat like any apple in a bucket at a gymkhana ? Or was there something really stealthy about the little man ? Had he something up his sleeve all the time ?
And yet he’d rather taken a liking to him that evening when he’d talked to him in the hotel. The proverb about “second thoughts being best” was all very well, but it was always very difficult to know which were first and which were second, or even third, thoughts. However——
He found that several people had come forward to testify that they had seen a man answering to the description of Mr. Quirk walking on the cliffs on the afternoon in question. They were all respectable residents of Torgate : their evidence seemed quite reliable : it tended to show beyond the possibility of dispute that Mr. Quirk had given a true account of his movements.
None of these witnesses had noticed anything about the flag. Still, the point was no longer of much importance ; and there was nothing strange in the absence of evidence, because the view of the summer-house from the cliffs was very much restricted and obscured by the trees. But, on the other hand, Mr. Tremlett, a retired grocer of substantial girth and fortune, had noticed a motor-boat emerging from the “dead ground” (or should it be “dead sea”) below Cliff’s End : the description seemed to indicate that this was Julian Paley, and the time seemed to fit in well. It suggested that he had left the Cliff’s End landing-stage at something like ten minutes past three.
As for the two other “broadcast” enquiries, nothing helpful had come in. No one, apparently, had seen a bearded or any other brand of stranger emerge from the Grand Hotel on the night of Dr. Cummings’ arrival; the negative report of course served to buttress Guest’s theory of the Doctor’s identity.
The lack of news about Julian Paley’s afternoon occupation did not matter now ; the patriarchal Tom Cluse had amply accounted for this problem.
The Superintendent spent some time in wading through these reports, though his mind was subconsciously busy with that tiresome Achilles Heel. He had hardly finished when he was told that Sergeant Grimmett was back, and ready to report.
“All O.K., Sergeant ?” he asked, when he had entered the room and was standing stiffly beside the desk.
“Yes, sir. The accused was in the hotel ; or I should say in the hotel garden. With an American gent, sir. The accused was duly warned. All he said was, ‘ Well, I’m rather glad,’ and ‘ So long, Mr. Quirk.’ That was to the American, sir.”
“Right, Sergeant !
Good !”
The other hesitated and cleared his throat.
“Well ?” asked Guest.
“I should say, sir, that the American seemed a bit upset, sir. Not so as to create a disturbance, but more taken queer, as it were.”
The Superintendent again thanked the Sergeant and dismissed him. Then he rang and enquired about the “shadows.” They were both there now—the second had just come in.
They entered the room together, and proceeded to perform a sort of comedy duo, the gist of which seemed to be : first, that Mr. Paley had evidently been perfectly aware that he was under close supervision, and, secondly, that he had been at pains to make the policemen’s task easy for them, by staying in or about the hotel practically all day long.
“Once he telephoned, sir—it will be in my report,” one performer stated. “To Cliff’s End, as I ascertained. Not more than a couple of minutes. And the young lady who works the hotel exchange made a note of the conversation, acting under my instructions.”
“Well?”
He produced a notebook, licked his thumb, and rapidly flicked over the pages.
“Mr. Paley asked to speak to Mrs. Arkwright. The lady came and spoke to him. He asked if he should come up to the house, and she said no. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she would rather wait till after the funeral and that. Then he asked if she was all right and if there was anything he could do. And she thanked him and said no. Then he asked if Cynthia—that’s the sister, sir——”
“Yes, yes. I know. Go on.”
“Sorry, sir. He asked if Cynthia was better. Said he’d like to see her. The lady answered that Cynthia was better, but still very much upset. She was still in bed, and had better keep quiet and not get excited. She said she was very sorry, but Cynthia had been very upset just by the suggestion that she should see Mr. Paley. So then he said thank you, and rang off. And the young lady—the operator, that is—said he seemed very much upset. And he then came out into the garden again and ordered a drink.”
There seemed nothing else of interest in the report of either detective, except perhaps that Mr. Quirk and Mr. Paley seemed to have struck up a friendship ; Mr. Quirk had stayed in the hotel like Mr. Paley, and had kept him company most of the time.
The Superintendent, when he was alone again, was once more about to tackle his tiresome problem when word was brought to him that Mr. Julian Paley wished to speak to him : wished to make a statement.
The young man wore a very haggard air. His clothes were dapper enough, but his eyes and hands were restless. He was very white, and the dark rings under his eyes suggested a period of strain rather than a shock. He briefly, even curtly, repeated his desire to make a statement.
“Hadn’t you better wait till you’ve seen your solicitor, sir ?” the Superintendent suggested, with a kindness and caution in excess of his duty. But he really felt sorry for the man, and for the whole family. And there was still that Achilles Heel, confound it !
But Julian Paley was quite firm in his determination.
“No. I’d rather tell all I know at once. It’s the truth. I can’t do more than that. If the truth isn’t good enough—well, I’d rather do without lawyers or anything else. I only wish I’d come out with it all that night you talked to me in the hotel. But the news was such a shock that I hardly knew where I was.”
“Half a minute,” said Guest. “If you really want to make a statement, we’ll have the stenographer in. When it’s typed, you will initial and sign it. But, mind you—I shall ask him to make a note of my warning.”
“Oh, all right,” said the young man wearily.
The stenographer came in and seated himself in readiness. Guest indicated a suitable preface, which included a recognition that he, Julian Paley, had been duly warned and so forth.
“Now.” Guest turned to the prisoner.
And Julian Paley proceeded to relate how he had heard, from a source which he would not divulge, of the famous armament letters ; how he had conceived it his duty as a good citizen to prevent their publication ; how he. had in advance persuaded his sister to help him. He had not told her his scheme for covering his traces through the Doctor Cummings disguise, to which he frankly confessed.
“I’ve always had a taste for amateur theatricals,” he said, “but seldom have had a chance of more than an impromptu charade in a house-party. I thought it would be rather a joke, that part; if I’d known it was to get mixed up in a tragedy, I should have thought twice about it.”
He went on to admit that he had used the disguise for the dual purpose of securing the sleeping-draught and also of pretending to steal the key of the sea-gate from himself.
“And I must say that I only expected to use that to convince my uncle that I’d had no hand in the business,” he remarked. “I didn’t bargain for police and detectives and things !”
He had assured his sister that the drug was harmless. As she was very reluctant about the whole affair, this had been particularly important. He himself believed it to be true—on good authority, which again he would not divulge. The rest of the plan had been exactly what the Superintendent had conjectured : the flag to be lowered—not to half-mast especially, just lowered —as a sign that the lemonade had been drunk by the unsuspecting Professor. Then he set off, timing himself to arrive after the drug would have taken effect. His sister met him, and took charge of the boat while he ran up to the summer-house, took the keys from his uncle’s pocket, and opened the safe. He had to hunt very quickly through the papers : or, rather, he had not to hunt much as the bundle of letters was pretty easily found, but time was of vital importance. Then he ran back to the boat; he stayed and talked for a few minutes to his sister to reassure her that all was well, and then he started up his engine and went on his way.
The Superintendent interrupted to ask :
“Did you wear gloves ?”
“Yes,”
“All the time you were in the summer-house ?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to leave any traces.”
“H’m,” said Guest meaningly. Julian Paley looked at him in a startled way, but asked for no explanation.
“Well,” he said, “I came back about five, I should say. And by the time I’d got back, I’d disposed of a lot of things out at sea : namely, my disguise as Dr. Cummings, the bottle I’d sent to my sister, and the bottle I’d bought from the chemist, the key of the sea-gate—and the letters. I tore them into tiny pieces and threw them overboard as I went along. And that’s all. When you came into the Grand, I was just reading that telephone message, you remember. You can imagine what a shock it was. I had a fearful thought that that drug had not been harmless. Or that I’d used a wrong amount, only I was sure it couldn’t be that. And then I learnt he—had been stabbed to death. It was a relief for the moment, and then I began to see that I was on the edge of a precipice. I ought to have made a clean breast of it at once. But—I suppose I funked it. So I’ve just been waiting for—this.”
While he had been speaking, he had lost some of his nervousness. He seemed almost to be repeating a lesson which he had learnt by heart. No doubt, thought Guest, he’s been rehearsing this on and off for the last two days.
The recital over, his nervousness returned like a tidal wave, and the Superintendent, who had one or two questions to put to him, did so very sharply, thinking thereby to pull him together.
“Now here are one or two questions. Don’t answer if you don’t want to. Think carefully before you answer, if you do want to. First of all, how was your uncle sitting ? Facing the safe, or facing the window ?”
“Facing the window, as if he’d leant back from his writing.”
The sharp tone had its effect, and the answer came readily and firmly enough.
“Did he move at all while you were in the summer-house ?” “No. Apart from breathing, of course.”
“I didn’t mean that. Very well: he didn’t move. Was the door open when you arrived ?”
“Yes.”
“Y
ou could see your uncle from outside then, but only his back ?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know he was asleep ?”
“I whistled gently, then called him.”
“If he’d not been asleep, what would you have done ?”
“I don’t know. Produced a yarn about returning the key, I suppose. But I was pretty sure he would be asleep.”
“Did you leave the door open or shut ?”
“Open.”
“Did you see a knife or dagger in there ?”
“Yes. On the desk. He always kept it there. He used it as a paper-knife and to play with, more or less.”
“What do you mean ?”
“Oh, he used to quote that epigram of Oliver Wendell Holmes, that the nation which shortens its swords lengthens its boundaries. And my uncle used to say that if all the nations made their swords into paper-knives there’d be no need for boundaries at all. At least he used to say that. Of course it’s some time since I was—one of the family, so to speak.”
“Last question. Did you step in the water as you landed from the boat ? At Cliff’s End, I mean.”
Julian Paley took some time to answer this, either because he suspected a trap or because he couldn’t remember.
“Yes,” he said finally, “I think I did. The stage was partly awash. I think I put one foot in a bit.”
“Well, that’s all so far as I am concerned,” said Guest. “If you want to add anything, let me know. And now I take it you’d like us to let your solicitor know——”
Julian Paley nodded, and gave the name of a less imposing firm than the Professor had employed .
“And shall I tell them at Cliff’s Endn?”
“It’s very decent of you, Superintedent. I’d like to say I appreciate the way you’re treating me. But don’t worry about Cliff’s End. Mr. Quirk will let them know. Not that they’re likely to worry much,” he added bitterly, and not very justifiably, thought Guest ; still, a man couldn’t be expected to be altogether balanced, in Paley’s position.
Half-Mast Murder Page 20