Death-Watch (17 page)

Hadley reached for his briefcase. “I’ve been collecting all the evidence Ames left us about the murder of the shop-walker …”

“Aha!”

“And also the notes of Sergeant Preston, who worked with Ames at collecting the facts before Ames went off on his own. And still what puzzles me most is which of those five women in that house—! They all told such infernally straight stories, Fell! or at least natural stories. It beats me to the extent that I’ve been getting all sorts of fantastic ideas. For instance, I thought, suppose the murderer at Gamridge’s had been a man disguised as a woman?”

Dr. Fell looked at him.

“Don’t gibber, Hadley,” he said, austerely. “I detest gibbering. The men at number sixteen Lincoln’s Inn Fields may have their faults, God knows; but at least none of ’em would be apt to run about dressed up as a woman. Besides—”

“I know, I know. That was knocked on the head straightaway. It seems that when the killer was making a getaway”—he fumbled among his papers and found a typewritten
precis
—“a Miss Helen Gray (address given) made a grab to stop her. The woman was wearing some sort of blouse or jumper arrangement under her coat, and the whole thing was ripped down from the neck when she tore away from Gray. Both Miss Gray and two men near by testify that there’s no question about its being a woman. The men seem enthusiastically positive on this point. Their testimony is—”

“Tut, tut, Hadley,” said Dr. Fell, reprovingly. “Sometimes there is a limit even to the thoroughness of Scotland Yard. What I don’t understand is this. Do you mean to say that—in spite of all this— nobody, those people or anyone else, could give you a passable description of her?”

Hadley made a noncommittal noise.

“Did you ever have any experience with a mob of excited people all trying to testify to the same incident—when there’s a motorsmash, for instance? The more people there are, the more confusing the story is. In this case it’s worse. In the confusion and milling about, each person was describing somebody else and swearing it was the right person. I’ve got a dozen descriptions, and only a few of ’em remotely tally.”

“But what about Miss Gray and the two cavaliers? Are they reliable?”

“Yes. They’re the only real witnesses we have, because they actually saw the murder done.” Hadley glanced down the sheet. “They saw the woman standing near the counter; they were to the right and behind, but they had a good view. They saw the shop-walker come past them, walk up and take this woman’s arm, saying something to her. She instantly whirled with her other hand towards the counter next to the jewellery display, which unfortunately happened to be silverware. There were a number of table sets in boxes lying exposed on the counter—among them sets of carving-fork, whetstone, and carving-knife. They saw her snatch a knife from one; all are positive she had gloves on. Then it happened. They saw some of the blood go out against the glass front of the showcase, which had lights inside it; and saw her drop the knife. She ran, ducking her head, and Gray made a wild grab at her when the shop-walker collapsed. This is our only clear evidence … Just then the screaming and rushing began.” Melson, putting down his cold coffee, felt an ugly shiver. That detail about the blood splashing the lighted showcase … Dr. Fell said:

“Harrumph, yes. It’s nasty. What about their descriptions, aside from the details of physiology?”

“She had her head down, as I told you. Gray says she was a blonde, rather young. Of the two men, one says she was a blonde and the other a brunette; you see, she had a close-fitting hat on. Gray says the hat was dark blue, the two men say black. Further descriptions—” Hadley’s frown deepened as he turned the page. “Gray says she wore a blue-serge tailored-suit business, with a white blouse, and no coat. Of the two men, one thinks she had on a blue or brown coat, rather long; the other isn’t sure which it was. But all agree absolutely on the white blouse that was torn.”

Hadley flung the papers on the table, and Dr. Fell carefully removed the marmalade from their neighbourhood.

“Which,” declared the chief inspector, “is the devil of the whole thing. Almost any woman you could find would be bound to have any or all of those things in her wardrobe. The torn shirt thing might be a lead—could she pin it together in the washroom, or something like that? I suppose so. Also, if she did wear a long coat she could have concealed it easily. I didn’t have these details last night, or it might have helped me a good deal … Well? What is it?”

“I say, Hadley,” the doctor rumbled with an air of suppressed excitement, “were these details in the newspapers?”

“Probably. At least, they’re marked, ‘Bulletin to Press Association may contain, etc.’ Speak up, will you? What the hell’s that got to do with it?”

Dr. Fell was beginning to recover his good-humour. He lit his pipe, and his vast red face was beaming and shining as the breakfast settled. But he closed one eye meditatively as he looked down the pipe.

“The design is forming, my boy. But you’ve already realized since last night, of course, that—if you accept the alibis of Mrs. Steffins and Mrs. Gorson and Kitty Prentice—you have only two remaining suspects?”

“Lucia Handreth and Eleanor Carver. Naturally. I’ve also realized,” Hadley pointed out, with some bitterness, “how neatly this new evidence is divided between them … Last night we saw the Handreth woman wearing a tailored suit. It was grey instead of blue, but suppose business-like young professional ladies have a habit of wearing them? And one of the reliable witnesses says the killer was a brunette. On the other hand, two of the witnesses—one of them Helen Gray, whom I suspect of being the most reliable of the three so far as observing a woman is concerned—say the killer was a blonde like Eleanor Carver, and last night Eleanor was wearing a blue coat. Right. Fine. Pay your money and take your choice.”

“Steady, my lad,” Dr. Fell suggested, benevolently. “You’re willing, then, to accept the alibis and exclude the other three women?”

“I’m not quite so gullible as all that. No, no! It’s unbeatable in a court of law; but, so far as common sense is concerned, an alibi is the most untrustworthy defense of all—because it only takes two liars to make it. I’ll try to break them, of course. But if I can’t … well, I can’t.”

Dr. Fell pushed the tobacco-jar towards him. He continued to smoke meditatively.

“We’ll let it go at that for the moment, then. The next thing I want to ask you, Hadley, is so simple that we’re apt to lose sight of it. Are you absolutely positive that the same person who stabbed the shop-walker also stabbed the police inspector last night?”

Hadley shifted. “I’m not positive of anything … But certainly some sort of crazy thread joins them! What else have we got to go on?”

“As a matter of fact, that was my next question; question three,” said Dr. Fell, nodding owlishly. “What have we got to go on? Well, chiefly we have Ames’s report, which concerns a nameless accuser. Hadley, it’s remarkable just how nameless that person has been from start to finish. Ames is put on the scent from some anonymous source, so that he first takes up quarters in Portsmouth Street to watch the Carver household. For an anonymous suggestion, it must have been very convincing to make Ames go to all that trouble. The same X next visits Ames, and—I don’t have to outline to you the course of the whole ghostlike, intangible affair from there on. And yet now, with another murder committed and the killer still undetected under that one roof, still the accuser hadn’t spoken up! … Have you spent sufficient reflection on the monstrous implications of that?”

“We argued all that last night,” returned Hadley, with something like a groan. “Hang it! You can’t think that somebody was merely pulling Ames’s leg? That would be too fantastic even for this business. And, on the other hand, you certainly can’t imagine that Ames was merely pulling ours! You don’t, do you?”

“No. There may be still a third, and a simple, explanation. I’m trying to suggest it to you by linking up a series of facts by means of questions. I may be wrong,” muttered Dr. Fell, setting his eyeglasses more firmly on his nose, “and, if I am, there’ll be a roar of laughter at my expense that will cave in the walls of Scotland Yard.” He growled to himself for a moment. “But let me indulge the vagary. I have two more questions— numbers four and five. Number four—”

Hadley shrugged. Melson, with his methodical habits, had taken out an envelope and was jotting down the “series of facts.”

“By the way,” Melson said, “talking of things so obvious that nobody has mentioned them: I don’t know anything whatever about the art of detection, but it strikes me that the simplest reason why the accuser hasn’t spoken up may be …”

“Eh?” said Dr. Fell, rather eagerly. “What?”

“That he (or she) is afraid. The woman who stabbed that shop-walker is about as playful as a cobra. She struck so fast once that almost nobody saw her. The accuser might think twice about beginning to intimate in public, ‘I saw So-and-so with a stolen bracelet, or burning a pair of gloves.’ That may be the reason for not being willing to testify until the murderess was in the hands of the police.”

Hadley sat up. “That’s a possibility,” he acknowledged. “If—”

“It’s a possibility of rubbish, I’m afraid,” said Dr. Fell, shaking his head. “Grant everything you’ve said. If fear is behind it all, it works in rather a curious sort of way. If X, the accuser, were originally afraid of the murderess when X saw her burning blood-stained gloves, I should think X would get the wind-up at the possibility of being caught eavesdropping on several occasions, and wouldn’t feel safe until everybody at Scotland Yard
had
been told. But granted X does act in this fashion, and quietly tells Ames. What happens? Ames, the
second-hand recipient of the secret,
is instantly knifed. By this time I fancy X’s case of the wind-up must be blowing a howling hurricane. Still, X doesn’t speak, but goes on peacefully living and sleeping under the same roof with this pet cobra. If that’s the state of affairs I shouldn’t call it fear; at the most modest estimate, I should call it fat-headed recklessness.”

There was a silence. Hadley nodded grudgingly.

“Something in that,” he conceded. “All right; let’s hear the last two points or questions or whatever they are. Then we’ll try to make a sense of the whole.”

“H’mf. Ha. Where was I? AH! Well, I’ve already mentioned my fourth point, but I stress it again so that it can come in the group where it belongs. That’s the little matter of the stolen clock-hands: why this apparently lunatic thief should pinch both hands, and wait until the completed clock was safely locked up instead of getting at it when it was freely exposed. Eh?”

“And the last?”

Dr. Fell chuckled wryly. “The last is in a sense a corollary of the fourth, but it seems even more insane unless properly interpreted by the others. To emphasize it, let me first ask you what articles—all of them—were stolen from Gamridge’s on the day of the murder.”

“I’ve got all that,” said Hadley, looking at him dubiously and then down at the typewritten sheets. “Let’s see. ‘Bulletin to Press— Gamridge Official List—’ Here we are. Pair of pearl pendant earrings, value ten pounds. Opal ring, set with small diamonds, value twenty pounds. And Carver’s watch. That’s the lot.”

“Was Carver’s watch ticketed as such in the display?”

“You mean with his name? Oh yes. There was a little card on each curiosity, with the name of the owner and a brief history …” Hadley’s hand fell with a flat smack on the table, and he sat up. “Good God! Of course! I told you I was losing my grip. I see what you mean. Your last point, then, is, ‘Why should a member of Carver’s household who wanted that watch run the insane risk of shoplifting it in a crowded department store when it would have been much easier to steal it at home?’”

“Exactly. And the more so as Carver’s burglar-alarms weren’t meant for his own household. I suspect he’s glad enough to exhibit his collection to anybody who’ll listen—We’ll test that out, by the way. So what do you make of it?”

After a pause Hadley said: “I don’t know what to make of it.” He shook his head and stared blankly out of the window. “The whole business has now reached the last point of insanity. If you can find a simple little clue that will connect it all up, you’re a better man than I think. These questions of yours … Read out what you’ve got,” he added, abruptly, turning to Melson. “Let’s have the lot. Now I’ve forgotten how they run.”

Melson ran his pencil doubtfully down the list.

“If I haven’t misunderstood, it goes something like this:

“Points to be considered in Department-Store Murder, as Linked up with Murder of Inspector George Ames.

1. That, since the alibis of all others are at present to be accepted, the suspects narrow down to Lucia Handreth and Eleanor Carver as the department-store murderer.

2. That there is no concrete evidence definitely to show that the murderer of Evan Manders, shop-walker, is also the murderer of Inspector Ames.”

“Bravo!” said Hadley, gloomily. “That’s a fine way to begin working up a case against anybody, isn’t it? You first announced that according to the evidence either the Handreth or the Carver woman must have killed the shop-walker. Then you throw cold water on the whole thing by saying that the murderer of Ames might be somebody else … Look here, Fell, don’t ask me to believe that there are
two
murderers in that house, each addicted to walking about and stabbing people; because I won’t believe it. It’s too much. It’s an
embarrass de richesse.
No, no. If I can prove that one of those two women definitely is the department-store killer, I’m not going to have much doubt that she also killed Ames.”

Dr. Fell thundered for a moment, and then toned himself down to mere fiery controversy.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” he declared, flourishing his pipe. “What I want to get through your head is that I’m not trying to make out a case against anybody. Keep repeating to yourself those words, ‘According to the evidence, according to the evidence.’ This is what the evidence tells us, and I’m setting it out because I want you to interpret it and see what the whole devilish business means … Carry on, Melson.”