Find the Innocent (20 page)

“That would be very nice,” said Jill. She would have to consult someone. Better Maenton than the police. He had called himself a professional friend. She would give him every chance to befriend Veronica.

At the same restaurant, at the same table he gazed at Jill with deep approval. He could not flit from flower to flower. By temperament he was monogamous—on a short term basis. But he enjoyed dining with an attractive woman. This one was of a very different type, possessing the special charm of being able to follow his conversation at any level—further, she had an accurate appreciation of his professional standing. The story of his early success was given a more sophisticated background. She asked the right questions at the right points—which brought them to the coffee stage.

“I do not know precisely
where
Veronica has gone,” he said without preliminaries. “But I do know
why
she has gone. I think it will emerge that she has gone abroad.”

“Really! I'd have thought the police would have headed her off.”

Intelligent girls always knew too much … You couldn't have it both ways.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. “You'd be surprised at the amount of things clients refrain from telling their solicitor. Sometimes, of course, it has its advantages.”

“Victoria, the porter said. That means Newhaven to Dieppe.”

“Conceivably! That is, if she is using—surface transport.”

“If she pulls it off could they bring her back on an extradition order?”

“I should say not, but I can't be certain. It would depend whether any new evidence crops up.” His tone made the last words a question.

Jill had chose a frontal attack.

“Let's get rid of the mystery of me, first, Sir Edward.” She smiled as she said it and he responded.

“I am so glad you said that, Miss Aspland. I felt sure we could work together.”

“I hope so. It may depend on whether we can clear up this wretched business about that marriage settlement and my being residuary legatee. I don't want Veronica's money. Can we go on from there?”

“We can't go anywhere,” said Maenton. “However benevolently you feel towards her, you cannot cancel the terms of the settlement. In certain circumstances the capital sum passes to the estate. You cannot interfere with that process.”

“But I can promise to give it back to her afterwards?”

“Thereby defeating your uncle's intention?” Maenton went on: “You have in mind to say to her ‘Tell the truth—say which was the innocent man—and I'll give you back your settlement money after it has reverted to the estate'.” He chuckled. “Do you think for one moment that Veronica would believe you would keep that promise?”

“I intended to try this evening. Couldn't you make the promise legally binding?”

“No!” That was emphatic and final. “I don't mean that I personally refuse. Such a document would be invalid.” He added: “Since I saw you last you have obtained proof that she was at that lockhouse.”

“Proof to myself alone. Not evidence—thank heavens!”

He nodded, as if he had expected that answer.

“I know, of course, that you have been tackling those three men on your own. Let me read between the lines. One of those men has convinced you personally—if no one else—that he is the innocent man?”

“That's near enough,” acknowledged Jill. “And I may be wrong. Anyhow, I've come to the end of my tether.”

“And you're very distressed about it!” Maenton stared at her while he developed his own thought. “You are not trying to possess yourself of the money. You are not, I imagine, pursuing an abstract vengeance. You have no great love for Veronica, but would like to protect her for your uncle's sake. That leaves one explanation of your unease. You are determined to prove the innocent man's innocence!”

“Perhaps!” answered Jill. “But I didn't know it until you said so.”

“Human nature!” ejaculated Maenton and then, as if to clinch it: “Woman's Intuition!” He seemed to be waiting for applause. As Jill looked blank, he went on: “They're as real as statutes and precedents. Dammit, no man is a lawyer for twenty-four hours a day! I can't give you any help as a solicitor—can't really discuss the matter. But as a man—flesh and blood—I could possibly give you a tip. Take the human angle.”

“You take it,” smiled Jill.

“Your deep conviction that you know which is the innocent man! Admittedly, you may be wrong. But it's a pretty safe bet that you're right. Take the bet. Concentrate on the other two.”

“I have,” said Jill. “Their tale is just as good.”

“Ignore that!” he invited. “Your mistake was in proposing to bribe Veronica into telling the truth. Bribe the guilty men instead.”

“To confess to a murder?”

“That is not quite accurate—on an overall view. It was not a conspiracy to murder. One of them probably lost his temper and the other stood by his friend. He will be an accessory, if I am right. A comparatively short sentence. When he comes out of prison he'll need money.”

“But I haven't any money!” As he did not answer she added: “Do you mean bribe him with Veronica's money after she has lost it? You do!”

“I do!” agreed Maenton smoothly. “The situation would be the same if you had made a brilliant success of your police work on those three men. As you hoped you would. Veronica would have lost her money just the same.”

“I intended to give it back to her.”

“You could still give it back to her. Less, say, ten thousand or so.” He gave her a little time and then went on: “I suggest—with great respect to yourself in every way—that you have rather muddled the morality of this business.”

He was right, she thought. In the act of entering that lockhouse, she had committed herself to the lockhouse code.

“I feel that I must at least try to take your advice,” she said, guardedly. “It must be in Veronica's interest—or you would not have given it.”

“That is true.” Maenton was weighing his words. “I have impressed on her that she will forfeit the settlement if I, as trustee, am presented with proof that she was at the lockhouse.”

“But surely—”

“I know what you are going to say, and you are wrong. What would your guilty man confess? That he was concerned in the murder. He cannot ‘confess' the identity of the woman at the lockhouse. The question of the woman could not arise.”

“Then Veronica would
not
lose her money?”

Maenton smiled.

“She would not forfeit her marriage settlement.”

“Then how could I pay the ten thousand? Oh, but of course! I've actually inherited ten thousand—I forgot!”

“That is a positively shocking suggestion!” Maenton really looked shocked. “It is immoral to pay for other people's mistakes—apart from the fact that they always hate you for doing it.” When he had calmed himself he continued: “Veronica, in possession of her marriage settlement, would have ample security for a loan. She will ask me to arrange the loan, for a purpose which she will invent and which I shall pretend to believe. I can promise you that she will ask me.”

Shortly after two on the following afternoon Jill arrived at Peasebarrow. The first unusual feature was a local policeman at the head of the ramp. On the Diddington side a car was parked on the verge. She got out and approached the policeman.

“Am I allowed on the lock?” she asked.

“That's all right, miss. I've no orders to stop anybody going in.”

She was probably wasting her time, she thought, but it would be foolish to drive back without making sure. On her way, she glanced through the open window and saw Eddis, who did not see her. She walked on, entered the house and knocked on the door of the sitting-room.

Eddis did not answer but opened the door.

“Hullo!” she said. “Have you relieved Mr. Stranack?”

“No. I'm only a guest. He's underneath the radio set, if you really want him. We are asked to believe that he is mending it.”

“Hullo, Jill!” Stranack extricated himself. “You've come at an awkward moment.”

“I'm sorry—I'll go.”

“You needn't be sorry—”

“And you can't go,” put in Eddis. “I can't go. Stranack can't go. Anybody can come, but nobody can go until Inspector Curwen arrives and that cannot happen until he has finished his lunch. He is coming, I gather, to give us a lecture on police work, with lantern slides and attendant pressmen.”

“I don't particularly want to go, if you can put up with me,” said Jill, “but I would rather like to be told what it's all about.”

There was a silence which was broken by Stranack.

“We don't know. But it can't be anything much.” He added, as if reluctantly. “There's a rumour that Veronica has been arrested.”

“I can more or less deny that,” offered Jill. “She left London yesterday with a couple of suitcases—and no policeman. I have reason to believe that she has gone abroad.”

“That tallies,” said Stranack. “The London evening papers say that she was dining at Brighton last night with a free lance airman. There's a private airfield near there. After dinner the police pinched the airman for smuggling. It's true they didn't mention pinching Veronica, but they'll have guessed what the airman was for.”

Jill remembered Maenton's vague remark suggesting that Veronica might not be using “surface transport”.

“The police might stop her from going abroad, but I don't see how they could arrest her?” said Jill.

“They have not arrested her,” Eddis was authoritative. “They could only have done so if she had confessed that she was at the lockhouse. She has not confessed.”

“How can you be so sure?” challenged Jill. “Let me telephone her solicitor.”

“The police have told the exchange to stop all calls, in or out,” Stranack told her.

“It is obvious that she has not confessed,” said Eddis. As the others were waiting for proof he went on: “I do not wish to cause offence by making an
ex parte
statement but if Veronica had confessed I would be alone in this room with Miss Aspland.”

“I didn't suppose she had confessed,” said Stranack. “She isn't that sort. Nothing has happened except that they've stopped her from leaving the country. But why is Curwen suddenly chucking his weight about? I thought we had got him into quite nice ways.”

It was apparent to Jill that Stranack, unlike Eddis, was ill at ease. Would the innocent man have been ill at ease at some unexpected development? Eddis glanced at her as if he had read her thought.

“Stranack's anxiety is, of course, natural in the circumstances,” he remarked. “But unnecessary! I have recently put myself to the tedium of reading a police manual. It contains a very large number of golden rules. I learn that a good policeman does not talk—he acts. Curwen is a good policeman and he is coming here to talk. That brings another golden rule into operation. In cases of deadlock a good policeman will confront suspected persons with each other and by a technique of seeming to favour first one then another incite them to defeat each other's purpose.”

Some ten minutes later Stranack, standing by the side window, announced that there was something coming up the road.

“It's not a police car, by the look of it … It's a
Daimler!”

Jill crossed to the window and stood beside Stranack. The Daimler drew on to the verge. Out of it stepped Veronica Brengast.

Jill left the room. When she neared the top of the ramp she had a back view of Veronica, who was standing near the local constable, her back towards him, looking towards Renchester.

The constable held up his hand as if he were stopping traffic.

“It's all right I don't want to leave. I only want to speak to Mrs. Brengast.”

At the sound of Jill's voice Veronica turned, hesitated, then came past the policeman on to the ramp. A tailormade suit did no harm to her femininity, but her expression was unattractive.

“I didn't expect to see you here, Jill. I agreed to come here as a special favour to Inspector Curwen and I shall not enter that house until he arrives.”

“That's for the benefit of the constable, isn't it? Come to the bottom of this ramp and you won't have to talk like that.” As Veronica did not move, Jill added: “I expect you're tired. It's a difficult journey here from Brighton.”

“So you've been spying on me again!”

“No doubt! But the bit about that airman's arrest for smuggling is in the evening papers: so is your name.”

That shocked Veronica into walking obediently down the ramp.

“Now, try not to waste time brawling with me, and listen. If you want to think of me as spying on you—I have spied to some purpose. I have had proof that you were at this lockhouse with one of those men—”

“‘With one of those men'!” cut in Veronica. “Which one?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know! Then what are we talking about?”

“Your marriage settlement.”

“And you think you're going to get your hands on it this afternoon.
Try!”
For a moment the beautiful face lost its beauty.

Jill saw that it would be impossible to obtain any kind of co-operation.

“So you would rather brawl, than hear something I wanted to tell you about your marriage settlement. There would just have been time.”

She had heard footsteps at the top of the ramp. Inspector Curwen, with Benjoy, his aide, and Lyle Canvey, were coming down.

“Miss Aspland!” Curwen looked pleased. “I've been trying to find you in Renchester. You've come to help us, I hope?”

“I will if I can,” answered Jill and glanced at Canvey.

“A social occasion!” he said, grinning, while his eyes were grave. “One feels inadequately dressed.”