The Loss of the Jane Vosper (28 page)

‘I’m afraid what you’ve asked won’t be easy to answer,’ he said. ‘This material was popular when it first came on the market some five or six years ago – indeed, it still sells – but I may tell you we’ve made a good many overcoats of it.’

‘I’m sorry for giving you the trouble,’ French apologized, ‘but I’m afraid nothing but a complete list would be any use.’

The manager saw this for himself, and said that the search would mean a considerable amount of work, though it could be done. French asked how soon he could get the results.

‘Well, we’ll start at once,’ Domlio replied without enthusiasm. ‘I’ll ring up the Yard when we’ve finished.’

There was nothing for it but to leave the matter to him, though French would much have preferred setting to work on the job himself. But should Domlio’s clerks fail to supply information leading to Rice, he decided he would have a look over the firm’s books with his own staff.

Next morning, however, there came a return from Domlio which from its businesslike appearance suggested that the search had been well and truly made. In the last six years twenty-nine overcoats had been made of the tweed, nearly all in the first two years.

French pondered each name and address as he came to it, and as he did so his hopes faded. Not a single one, so far as he could see, could possibly belong to Rice. The districts in which the purchasers lived indicated men of a better social standing than the builder. Of course, this was far from conclusive, but the suggestion was not encouraging.

But a discouraging prospect did not mean that French could relax his efforts. Every one of the twenty-nine men must be interviewed, and before he gave up the investigation he must be satisfied that none of them was in any way connected with Rice. It meant a lot of work, but he couldn’t help that. It was the only line which held any possibilities at all.

He began by drafting a circular, to be sent to the police of the areas in which the twenty-nine men lived. In each case he would be obliged for a confidential description of the personal appearance of Mr Blank Blank, of Blank Terrace, Blank, and if possible a note of whether he was at home between the previous 1st August and 15th October.

This enquiry involved another delay, and French found his temper wearing thin as he tried to busy himself with other work. But next morning the answers began to come in, and in dealing with them he recovered his poise.

First taking up the descriptions, he speedily eliminated twenty-two men out of the twenty-nine. One of the seven remaining might or might not be Rice. He made a list of the seven names.

Then he turned to the question of those who had been living at home during the critical period. On this point the returns were not complete, the police of some areas having replied that the information could not be obtained secretly.

As far as the reports went, however, French saw that all but four men had been at home. The information had been obtained from railway ticket collectors, police on beat, and maids. He made a second list of the four.

The next step was obviously to compare the lists. Only one name was common to both – that of Mark Cruttenden, of 27 Holywell Crescent, Pinner.

This man, it seemed, was a bachelor and lived with a housekeeper in a small house in one of the best parts of the district. He had been from home, off and on, during most of the period mentioned, and indeed was still away. He was believed to be something in the City, but it was not known what. In normal times he went in most days by rail, and had a first-class season ticket.

All of this except the two points of appearance and absence from home was exceedingly unpromising. This did not seem to be the type of man who would rent a shed in the East End and drive a lorry, personally loading up into it timber and other heavy objects.

As French was considering the point another possible test occurred to him. The paper burnt in the shed, if it had come from Blake & Newington at all, had certainly come from them recently. When did Cruttenden buy his coat? If a long time ago, he could scarcely be the wanted man.

A telephone call to Domlio soon brought the answer to this question. Cruttenden was one of the first to buy a coat of the given tweed. His account was five years and four months old.

French swore. So that was that! He had been wasting his time. He was being too clever and finding clues and connections where none existed. He must start again somewhere else.

But, try as he would, he couldn’t see where else to start. And, try as he would, his thoughts still returned to Cruttenden. Cumulative evidence again! Cruttenden was something like Rice in appearance: in itself, nothing whatever. Cruttenden and the man who had stolen the explosives – Rice by hypothesis – had overcoats of the same tweed and had probably dealt with the same tailor: again nothing whatever. Cruttenden was away from home at intervals during the period Rice was at the Kelvin Hotel, also at intervals. Here again the facts proved nothing.

But was it not somewhat different when these three sets of facts were put together?

French felt he could not dismiss Cruttenden from the enquiry without further investigation. It would not do to depend on probabilities. He must be sure.

Then a further idea flashed into his mind. The coat had been purchased over five years earlier, and the bill for it could not, therefore, have been furnished during the time Rice occupied the shed. But was that the only transaction Cruttenden had had with the tailors? Had a bill or other document been recently sent him?

To obtain an answer to this question was again only the work of a few moments. On ringing up Domlio French learnt that Cruttenden was a regular customer, that he had bought a new suit a short time previously, and that the bill had been sent him early in September. On the 16th September he had paid by cheque, and the receipted bill had been returned on the following day.

This bill sent to Cruttenden might then have been that burnt in the shed. More firmly than ever French felt that he could not eliminate the man until all these doubts had been cleared up. Further, he must clear them up at once, so that his progress in the case should not be impeded.

The first thing was to get hold of someone who could identify Rice. After some thought he decided on Duckworth & Crozier’s clerk, the man who had taken Rice to see various sheds before the letting was arranged.

For once leaving Carter behind, French went down to the house agents in Fenchurch Street. Mr Duckworth’s manner had undergone a complete change since French’s first visit, and he was now evidently anxious to help the police in every way possible. He at once agreed to give the necessary leave.

The clerk, Archibald, was obviously delighted at the prospect of a holiday and thrilled at the way in which it was to be spent. Anxious to put the expedition beyond doubt, he had earnestly assured French that if he saw Rice he would instantly recognize him.

In due course they reached Pinner and found their way to Holywell Crescent. No. 27 was small, as the local police had stated, but it looked well furnished and as if Cruttenden was comfortably off. It was detached and was surrounded by a tiny area of garden and shrubbery, rather conventionally arranged, but tidily kept. In the rear was a small garage.

‘I understand this Cruttenden is not at home,’ French explained to his companion. ‘I shall ask for him, and you listen to what you’ve got to do.’

Archibald nodded eagerly.

‘If he turns out to be at home, you say to me, “Well, if you’re going in, I’ll be getting along,” and you’ll go to the railway station and wait for me there. If he’s not at home I’ll try and get into the house, and you come with me and keep your eyes open.’

The door was opened by an elderly woman with a peering air, very thick glasses and a rather stupid face. French took off his hat.

‘Is Mr Cruttenden at home?’ he asked politely.

Mr Cruttenden was not at home. He was in Paris, and the housekeeper didn’t know when he would be back.

‘That’s unfortunate for me,’ French went on. ‘I was rather anxious to see him. But you might be able to tell me what I want, and if not perhaps I might write a note and leave it for him?’

The woman hesitated. The invitation for which French was hoping did not seem to be materializing.

‘I think,’ he added, ‘I should tell you who I am.’ He produced his official card and handed it over. She held it up to her eyes while he explained that he was a police officer from Scotland Yard. ‘I wanted to see Mr Cruttenden about an accident that we believe he saw, in the hope that he could give me some information about it. But perhaps you could help me?’

She seemed troubled by the suggestion, but otherwise reacted admirably.

‘Won’t you come in?’ she invited. ‘But I’m afraid I know nothing about any accident.’

‘No,’ said French, ‘of course not. But you might be able to tell us if Mr Cruttenden was at home on the day it happened. If not, there is no use in our troubling him on the matter.’ As he spoke he moved into the hall, adding, ‘Thanks, it’s easier to talk when one’s sitting down.’

French had imagined she was going to keep them in the hall, but she could scarcely do otherwise than accede to his suggestion. To his delight he found himself leading the way into what was evidently Cruttenden’s sitting-room.

It was plainly but comfortably furnished, with a small rolltop desk in one corner, a well-stocked bookcase along the wall beside it and two deep armchairs before the fireplace. A small table with books and papers stood in the centre, and in the corner behind the door was a fair-sized safe. One or two not very interesting pictures hung on the walls, and on the chimney piece were some photographs in frames.

But though French took in these details, he was more interested in the reactions of Archibald than in the room. The clerk, throwing himself wholeheartedly into the role of Dr Watson, gave a sharp look round the room on entry. His gaze passed systematically over the furniture, and in due time reached the chimney piece. There it halted. He stared at one of the photographs, while expressions of doubt, surprise, satisfaction and excitement followed one another in rapid succession across his face. Finally he got behind the old lady, who was indicating chairs, pointed to the photograph, and nodded with deep meaning.

French was very nearly as excited himself. The photograph depicted a group of bowling men surrounding a silver cup. One of the members was an elderly man with heavy features, clean shaven but for a small moustache. French leaned over towards the clerk. ‘Sure?’ he breathed
sotto voce
as he thanked his hostess for the chair. Archibald nodded emphatically.

In spite of himself French grew still more excited. To have traced Rice thus far could only mean that he would shortly get the man himself. And if he had the man himself…Did that mean the end of his case? Could he actually prove that Rice was guilty of the murder…?

Well, this was not the time to consider these questions. What he must do now was to see that no suspicion of his real business penetrated to the mind of the housekeeper, so that if and when Cruttenden returned he would not guess that the authorities were on his track.

‘We have a lot of trouble about street accidents,’ French went on when they were seated, ‘and, as you can understand, we’re always glad to find anyone who has seen one happen, so as to get first-hand information as to what really did take place. Now we understand Mr Cruttenden was passing when an accident took place down near the station. Our informant was not certain that it was Mr Cruttenden, and we came up to find out. Perhaps you could tell us when Mr Cruttenden was here and when away, as, if he was away when it happened, of course, it must be someone else that we’re looking for.’

French was banking on the fact that the housekeeper was stupid looking. And he was justified. She did not ask when the alleged accident had taken place, as any wide-awake person would have done. Instead, she began to answer his question.

French, indeed, found himself in greater luck than he could possibly have expected. She found she could not remember the dates, and excused herself to go for a diary from which she could ascertain them.

She was scarcely out of the door when French had the photograph frame on the table and was deftly opening the back. Fortunately for him – he was having an almost terrifying streak of luck – the photograph was held by four tiny brads, not by a sheet of pasted paper. In less time than it takes to tell it French had the brads out and the wooden backing removed, and had noted the photographer’s name. With equal haste he replaced the fittings, and when the old lady returned he was seated as before in his chair and the photograph stood unaltered in its place.

‘A good photograph of Mr Cruttenden in that group,’ he remarked conversationally as she reseated herself.

‘It’s an old one, but it’s not bad,’ she agreed, in a preoccupied tone, producing her book and beginning to point to certain items.

French now settled down to find out in detail when in August and September Cruttenden had been at home and when away. The housekeeper did not appear to notice the strange way in which the accident altered its date, nor did she question its connection with Cruttenden’s friends and callers, and other details of his activities. French was careful to end his conversation on the question of dates, which made it easy to get up and profess disappointment. It was evident that Mr Cruttenden had been in France on the day of the accident and therefore it could not have been he who saw it. His, French’s, informant must have been deceived by a casual likeness. He was extremely sorry to have troubled the housekeeper to no purpose.

His first action when he left the house was to compare the two lists of Cruttenden’s movements he had received, this one which the housekeeper had just given him, and that of the manager of the Kelvin Hotel in Whitechapel Road. And then at last the doubts which had been worrying him were dispelled! The two series almost exactly dovetailed. When Cruttenden had been at Pinner Rice had been absent from the hotel, and when Rice had been at the hotel Cruttenden was away from Pinner. With one outstanding and magnificent exception! On the night on which the explosives had been stolen from the Llandelly quarries, both Rice and Cruttenden were away from home!