Death in the Tunnel (13 page)

“I suppose it's possible. But why should they take the pistol and a few cartridges, and leave everything else? There's nothing else missing, so far as I'm aware.”

“
They may have had some particular reason for doing so,” said Arnold significantly. “Is there any way in which the pistol could be identified?”

“It would be identified by the maker's number, which you'll see on the certificate. That's still here. And there's another thing. When I bought the pistol the chap in the shop told me I could have my initials put on it free of charge. So I told him to engrave my initials, S.W., in a monogram. And quite a neat job he made of it.”

“Then the pistol should not be difficult to trace. Now, can you tell me who knew that you possessed it?”

“Oh, pretty well everybody. Lots of people have seen me use it. My chap, of course, and, I suppose, Mrs. Grader. Saxonby knew, for one day when he was here he tried his hand at it, and a pretty good show he made. Irene knows, of course. Richard, because he's seen me use it. Any one who has been here this year, in fact.”

“Have any of the staff of Wigland and Bunthorne ever been here?”

“None of the London staff. A funny old chap called Dredger, who used to run the Manchester office, came and spent the day here a few months ago.”

Was this a fresh link in the chain, Arnold wondered. “Is this Mr. Dredger a personal friend of yours?” he asked idly.

“Oh, dear, no. I'd never met him before. It was Irene who told me about him. It seems that when he retired he thought of taking up poultry keeping, and Irene asked me if I would mind having him down here and putting him up to dodges. So he came along, and seemed quite a decent old chap. But when he saw that there was quite a lot of hard work involved, he gave up the idea. I haven't seen him since.”

“Did Mr. Dredger see the pistol while he was here?”

“Yes, he did. I was telling him that rats were always a nuisance, and he asked me what I did about it. So I took out the pistol and showed it to him.”

Arnold had now learnt as much as he wanted to know for the present. Having secured the remaining box of ammunition, on the pretext that it might assist in the recovery of the pistol, he returned to Scotland Yard.

The firearms experts had completed their examination of the flattened bullet. “We can say definitely that it was fired from the pistol already examined,” they reported. “Enough of the marks of the rifling remains to establish that fact. There happens to be a slight irregularity in one of the grooves of the pistol, and that irregularity is reproduced on the bullet.”

This was satisfactory. The maker's number on the pistol corresponded with that on Wardour's certificate. And, upon being shown the box of ammunition, the experts declared its contents to be exactly similar to those of the other two samples which they had examined.

Arnold sat down to digest the information he had acquired. But, before doing so, he wrote a note to Merrion. He felt that his friend's powers of imagination would assist him in the sorting out of this queer jumble of facts. Then he took pencil and paper and made a few notes of what seemed to him most significant.

“Sir Wilfred was shot with the pistol found in the compartment. This is proved by the identification of the bullet.

“This pistol belonged to Major Wardour. Proved by the maker's number and the initials engraved upon it.

“The pistol was in Major Wardour's possession as recently as November 6th, eight days before Sir Wilfred's death. Wardour was in London during the afternoon of Thursday, the 14th. This information is derived from Wardour's own statement.

“A number of people know of the existence of the pistol, and where it was kept. Among them was Dredger. It would have been a simple matter for any one to have entered Wardour's house during his absence and abstract the pistol.

“On the other hand, there is no evidence that it was stolen. Wardour himself may have taken it and given it to some other person.”

Arnold considered these points for a few moments, then glanced at the clock. It was still early in the afternoon. He picked up a directory, and looked up the Yates' telephone number. On putting a call through, and giving his name, he was informed that Mr. Yates would see him.

Half an hour later he was seated in the lawyer's office in Coleman Street. “I am investigating the death of your client, Sir Wilfred Saxonby,” he said, when he had introduced himself. “As you are aware, it appears on the surface to be a case of suicide. But certain facts have come to the knowledge of the police, making it possible that this assumption is incorrect.”

The lawyer looked at him keenly. “So I guessed, when I learnt that the inquest had been adjourned,” he replied. “I will not embarrass you by asking for an account of those facts. But I should like to say this. I have an intimate knowledge of my late client's private affairs, and I know of no circumstance which might have induced him to take his own life. Of the conduct of his business I know very little. But if he had any worries from that direction I have failed to find any indication of them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Yates. The alternative to suicide can only be murder. I should naturally like to know who may be said to benefit by Sir Wilfred's death?”

“His will is a very simple document. There are legacies to the staff of Wigland and Bunthorne, and to the domestic staff at Mavis Court, on a sliding scale, according to length of service. This scale is, in my opinion, exceedingly generous. There are a few bequests to charities in which my client was interested. Miss Olivia Saxonby receives the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds, free of duty, as a reward for her companionship. Mavis Court and its contents fall to Richard, the son of the testator. The remainder of the estate, which, I anticipate, will be proved at nearly half a million, is divided between the said Richard and his sister, Mrs. Wardour, in equal shares.”

“Would retired members of the staff share in the legacies equally with those still serving?” Arnold asked.

“Certainly. An employee of the firm who had retired after forty years' service would benefit to the extent of five hundred pounds. Mrs. Wardour informs me that this is the case of the late manager of the Manchester office, whose name for the moment escapes me.”

It had not escaped Arnold, who refrained, however, from supplying the deficiency of Mr. Yates' memory. It was remarkable how Mr. Dredger kept coming up! But there was another point upon which the inspector felt a certain curiosity. “Mrs. Wardour, I am informed, is not on terms of complete harmony with her husband,” he said. “This was a source of some disappointment to Sir Wilfred, was it not?”

“To some extent, yes,” the lawyer replied. “He did his best to reconcile them, but without effect. He was fond of his daughter, and he had a genuine regard for Major Wardour. He could never understand why they didn't get on better together. I could have told him. They are both too masterful. Mrs. Wardour takes after her father in that respect.”

Arnold smiled. “Just one thing more, Mr. Yates,” he said. “During the afternoon of Thursday, Sir Wilfred received a visitor at his office, who gave the name of Yates. Did you or your son communicate with him that day?”

“No, we did not. My son and I were engaged together upon a very important matter that afternoon, and neither of us left this office until after six. Nor did we have any occasion to communicate with Saxonby for at least a week before his death.”

“It has been suggested that Sir Wilfred, at the time of his death, may have had some object of value in his possession. Have you any reason to believe that this might have been the case?”

The lawyer shook his head. “None whatever,” he replied. “I know of no such object, nor, up to the present, have I come across any reference to it in his private papers. That suggestion, I take it, has been put forward as an explanation of the possibility of murder?”

“Yes. If Sir Wilfred was murdered, the action was deliberate, and there must have been some motive behind it. Can you offer any suggestion, Mr. Yates?”

“Of why anybody should have wanted to murder Saxonby? That opens a very large question, Inspector. The provocation to murder varies in degree with different persons. Although Saxonby was not generally popular, owing to his rather overbearing manner, I cannot imagine any of his friends or acquaintances receiving such provocation that the only course open to them was murder. On the other hand, members of a certain class of society might consider that they had sufficient grievance to justify such an act.”

“I am afraid that I do not quite follow you, Mr. Yates. To what class do you refer?”

“The class which appears in the police courts. Saxonby, as you are no doubt aware, was the chairman of the local bench. It is not for me to criticise him in that capacity beyond remarking that on occasions he appeared reluctant to temper justice with mercy.”

This aspect of the matter had not occurred to Arnold. He made a mental note to discuss it with Marden, next time they met. Then, after thanking the lawyer for his information, he took his departure.

XIII

Before attempting to arrange these further facts in their proper places, Arnold decided to pay one more call. He took the tube to Hampstead and went to Mrs. Wardour's house. On presenting his card, he was informed that Mrs. Wardour was at home and would see him.

He would have had no difficulty in recognising her as Sir Wilfred's daughter. Her features resembled his, and she had that typical hardness of expression which seemed to be a characteristic of the Saxonby family. She received Arnold without any surprise.

“I have heard of you before, Inspector,” she said. “You have been down to Mavis Court, inquiring about my father's death, I believe?”

“That is correct, Mrs. Wardour,” Arnold replied. “Now I am going to invoke your help in my investigation.”

“You are welcome to what help I can give you, but I know very little about the matter, since I was abroad at the time. But of one thing I'm perfectly certain. My father never shot himself, whatever people may say.”

“Would you mind telling me what makes you so certain?”

“My knowledge of my father's character, and of his views upon suicide. It was a subject upon which he felt very strongly. He held that suicide, under any circumstances whatever, was a crime unpardonable both in this world and the next. Besides, even if he had acted against his principles, a thing which I have never known him do, there was absolutely nothing to make him wish to end his life.”

“He had no worries with regard to business, Mrs. Wardour?”

“The business has never been so flourishing as it is now, and everything is running perfectly smoothly. I can assure you that he can have had no worries, whether about business or anything else.”

There was a short pause before Arnold spoke again. “You realise that the alternative to suicide is a very grave one, Mrs. Wardour?”

“Of course I do. My father was murdered. I realised that as soon as I heard what had happened. And I expect the police to bring his murderer to justice.”

“They will do their best, you may rest assured of that. But can you give me any reason why any one should have murdered Sir Wilfred?”

“I would not have believed that anybody would have done such a thing. No doubt you are aware that several people will benefit by my father's will?”

“You refer, no doubt, to his employees?”

Mrs. Wardour shrugged her shoulders impatiently. “Oh, yes, they get a few small sums, of course. But there is one person who gets a legacy out of all proportion. How my father was persuaded into such a thing, I can't imagine.”

“Who is that person, Mrs. Wardour?” Arnold asked innocently.

“My cousin Olivia. Twenty-five thousand pounds! Why, it's monstrous! My father burdens himself with a girl who is practically a pauper, gives her a home and keeps her in every luxury, and then, when he dies, leaves her all that money. What Richard will say when he hears of it, I don't know.”

“Surely you are not suggesting that Miss Olivia had anything to do with your father's death?”

“I don't suppose that she shot him herself, if that's what you mean. But Olivia is deeper than you'd think. Of course, she wheedled my father into putting that clause in his will. And she's quite capable of having got round somebody else to shoot him. You don't know her as well as I do, Inspector.”

“Not yet, Mrs. Wardour. Now, what can you tell me about Mr. Dredger, the late manager of the Manchester office of your firm?”

It appeared that Mrs. Wardour knew all about Mr. Dredger. But she could tell Arnold nothing that he had not already learnt from other sources. But her suspicions were evidently aroused. “What made you ask me about Mr. Dredger?” she asked.

“Oh, I happened to hear his name mentioned as having received a substantial legacy. He paid a visit to Major Wardour not long ago, did he not?”

“Yes, he did. But what on earth has that got to do with it?”

“Probably nothing. But Major Wardour showed him a pistol on that occasion. You have seen the weapon yourself, I have no doubt, Mrs. Wardour?”

“Oh, yes. I've seen it. He keeps it in a drawer of his desk. I've often asked him to get rid of it, but he never would. My husband is not the sort of man to be trusted with a pistol. He's got the most abominable temper, and I'm always afraid that he'll threaten somebody with it, or even shoot them. I spoke to my father about it once, and he promised to do what he could. Whether he spoke to Stephen or not, I don't know, but if he did, nothing came of it.”

Arnold had no more questions to put to Mrs. Wardour. He returned to Scotland Yard, made a few additional notes, and then went home.

On reaching his office in the morning he found a letter awaiting him from the police at Blackdown. Inquiries had been made locally and a witness had been found who remembered seeing Mr. Dredger on the previous Thursday. This was a bus conductor, working on the route between Blackdown and Medbridge. He knew both Mr. Dredger and his daughter-in-law. On Thursday, just before half-past twelve, his bus had reached the turning leading to Little Hazelbury, on its journey from Medbridge to Blackdown. Mr. Dredger was standing at the corner. He stopped the bus and got in, and travelled as far as Blackdown railway station.

Acting upon this information, the police had interviewed the Dredgers' maid. Her statement was to the effect that Mrs. Dredger had gone away hastily on Thursday morning, she believed as a result of a telegram she had received. She had not returned until the following evening. Not long after her departure Mr. Dredger had gone out, she supposed in his car. He had returned just after one o'clock, but she could not say whether he had brought back the car or not. The garage could not be seen from the house. The maid had gone out about two o'clock. Mr. Dredger was then at home. She saw him again when she returned about ten.

This seemed to put Mr. Dredger's complicity in the affair beyond question. Clearly he had left his car at the ventilating shaft, walked back to the main road, taken a bus, and driven to the station. The times fitted in perfectly. Why had he gone to the station? Because it was a convenient place for an appointment with one of his accomplices, to whom, no doubt, he reported that the car was in position. This done, he returned home at his usual hour for lunch.

A second message awaited Arnold's attention, this time from the police at Plymouth. A telegram addressed to Mrs. Dredger had been traced. It had been handed in at the General Post Office at Plymouth at 8.10 a.m. on the previous Thursday. The wording of the telegram was as follows: “Harold had serious accident come at once Fred.” On the back of the telegram, in the space reserved for that purpose, was the name and address of the sender. “Figgis, Grand Hotel, Plymouth.” The wording of the telegram was in block letters throughout.

Inquiries at the Grand Hotel had revealed that no person of the name of Figgis had been staying there at the time. The clerks at the post office had been questioned, but none of them could give any information as to the person who had handed in the telegram. Both Mrs. Dredger's nephew and his friend had been interviewed. They confirmed Mrs. Dredger's visit to Plymouth, but denied all knowledge of the telegram. There had been no accident.

This was confirmation of Mr. Dredger's statement, up to a point. A hoax had been perpetrated, but by whom? The telegram had obviously been sent to ensure Mrs. Dredger's absence from Blackdown on the previous Thursday. Her absence had been necessary to the scheme, since it was essential that Mr. Dredger's movements should not be observed by inquisitive eyes. To Arnold this was fresh evidence that every detail had been most carefully thought out beforehand. And there was no doubt that several people had been implicated. Was Dredger the mainspring of the conspiracy?

Before the inspector had answered this question to his own satisfaction, Merrion was announced. “Well, I got your message,” he said. “Having nothing better to do, I came up at once. I gather that you've got some fresh light on this Saxonby case?”

“I've found the man who left the car at the ventilating shaft,” Arnold replied. “But it's rather a long story. What if we go out and get some lunch, and I'll tell you what I've been doing since I saw you last.”

During the meal, Arnold recounted his adventures, beginning with his second visit to the offices of Wigland and Bunthorne, and ending with the two messages which he had received that morning. “Well,” he concluded, “and now let's have your comments. You'll observe, by the way, that your theory of the substitution of the wallets falls to the ground. The notes found on Sir Wilfred had been issued to him a few hours before by his own cashier.”

Merrion laughed. “What I like about this case is the delicate balance of evidence,” he replied. “To begin with, there is at least as much evidence in support of the theory of suicide as there is against it. You say that the fact that the pistol did not belong to Saxonby, but to his son-in-law, is conclusive proof that he was murdered. But it isn't. By your own showing, that pistol may have fallen into anybody's hands. Why not those of Saxonby, who was one of the people who had seen the pistol, and knew where it was kept?

“But I won't labour that point. Let's concentrate upon the wallet. This is the evidence in favour of my theory of substitution. First, Miss Olivia Saxonby swears that the wallet found in her uncle's pocket is not the one with which he left home. That, to my mind, is pretty convincing. Then comes the fact that it contained neither the railway ticket nor the letter from Mrs. Wardour. You didn't ask her about that letter, I gather?”

“No. I didn't want to say too much to her, since it seems to me more than likely that her husband is implicated.”

“I see. Now for the evidence against the substitution. Torrance is pretty certain that the wallet found in Saxonby's pocket is the one he habitually used. But then he knew nothing of the stitches which had been put in the lining. We only have Miss Saxonby's unsupported statement for those stitches, by the way. Again, you make that point about the five-pound notes. Why change the wallets, if their contents or some of them had to be changed? And, if they were changed, somebody must have gone to some considerable trouble to secure a second wallet, exactly like the first. Summed up in that way, I think you'll agree that the evidence is pretty evenly balanced. Now, was there an interchange of wallets, or was there not?”

“I'm inclined to think that there wasn't,” Arnold replied.

“And I think there was. I've stated the evidence on both sides, impartially, as you must admit. Now let's examine it. Miss Olivia Saxonby's statement to begin with. She, apparently very much to Mrs. Wardour's annoyance, comes in for twenty-five thousand under her uncle's will. In considering what reliance can be placed upon her statements, that fact must not be lost sight of. But why on earth should she have fabricated that story of the stitches, if it wasn't true? If she knows anything about the affair, it is the very last thing which she would have done. It would be in her interest to prove that no exchange of wallets had taken place, thus supporting the suicide theory. Instead of which she deliberately, and of her own accord, declares that an exchange had been made. This being so, I prefer her evidence to Torrance's.

“Not that I mean to cast any slur upon Torrance's veracity. Wallet number two is exactly similar in external appearance to number one. We have Miss Saxonby's word for that. It is only that he has never handled number one, and therefore he has probably never seen the lining. He judges by outward appearance only, a tendency to which all of us are liable. The five-pound notes suggest an even more delicate point. You consider them to be conclusive evidence against an exchange of wallets. With all deference, I take an entirely opposite view. I believe that they form conclusive evidence that the wallets were changed.”

“Why, how on earth do you make that out?” Arnold exclaimed.

“It's that vivid imagination of mine again. Let me run over the sequence of events. According to the cashier it was on Thursday
morning
that Saxonby cashed his cheque and received the notes. In the afternoon he received this mysterious visitor, whom nobody seems able to identify. Now suppose that for some reason, which we can't yet attempt to fathom, Saxonby gave his visitor those notes. The visitor puts them in wallet number two, knowing that it will be possible to trace them to Saxonby, and thus fabricating what you consider a valuable piece of evidence.”

“Ingenious, but without any shadow of proof,” Arnold remarked. “But, after all, the question of the wallets is a minor one…”

“Don't you believe it,” Merrion interrupted. “However, carry on.”

“The main question is, who killed Sir Wilfred? The man we call A, who travelled from Cannon Street by the five o'clock train, and, we suppose, left it in Blackdown Tunnel. But who is A? He answers to the description of Dredger, who undoubtedly played some part in the business. But I've seen Dredger, who is anything but an active man. And I don't believe that he is capable of the necessary gymnastic feats.

“Was A Major Wardour? There's no doubt that the pistol is his. He reached London at half-past three on Thursday afternoon, and made no statement which could be checked of his movements subsequently. If A was not Dredger, he was made up to look like him. Wardour admits having met Dredger once, and may very likely have met him secretly several times. If so, he knew what he looked like, and would be able to assume the appropriate disguise.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Merrion. “I'd like to make a few observations before you go any further. I agree with you that it is extremely improbable that A was Dredger, for the reason you state. And yet you say that Dredger played some part in the business, that in other words he was an accomplice. Wouldn't it have been rather a dirty trick on A's part to disguise himself as one of his own accomplices?”