Thomas Godfrey (Ed) (38 page)

“Not in the least. Don’t
interrupt. I’ve known him for twenty-five years. His wife was a neighbor of
ours in Dorset. Isabel Foreston. I brought the children into this vale of tears
and, by jove, in many ways it’s been one for them. It’s an extraordinary
household. For the last ten years Isabel’s condition has been the sort that
sends these psycho-jokers dizzy with rapture. I’m only an out-of-date G. P.,
and I’d just say she is in an advanced stage of hysterical neurosis. Frightened
into fits of her husband.”

“I can’t understand these
holes,” grumbled Fox to Bailey.

“Go on, Meadows,” said
Alleyn.

“I tackled Sep about her
eighteen months ago. Told him the trouble was in her mind. He eyed me with a
sort of grin on his face and said: ‘I’m surprised to learn that my wife has
enough mentality to—’ But look here, Alleyn, I can’t talk about my patients
like this. What the devil am I thinking about.”

“You know perfectly well
it’ll go no further unless—”

“Unless what?”

“
Unless it has to. Do go on.”

But Dr. Meadows hurriedly
withdrew behind his professional rectitude. All he would say was that Mr. Tonks
had suffered from high blood pressure and a weak heart, that Guy was in his
father’s city office, that Arthur had wanted to study art and had been told to
read for law, and that Phillipa wanted to go on the stage and had been told to
do nothing of the sort.

“Bullied his children,” commented
Alleyn.

“Find out for yourself. I’m
off.” Dr. Meadows got as far as the door and came back.

“Look here,” he said, “I’ll
tell you one thing. There was a row here last night. I’d asked Hislop, who’s a
sensible little beggar, to let me know if anything happened to upset Mrs. Sep.
Upset her badly, you know. To be indiscreet again, I said he’d better let me
know if Sep cut up rough because Isabel and the young had had about as much of
that as they could stand. He was drinking pretty heavily. Hislop rang me up at
ten-twenty last night to say there’d been a hell of a row; Sep bullying
Phips—Phillipa, you know; always call her Phips—in her room. He said
Isabel—Mrs. Sep—had gone to bed. I’d had a big day and I didn’t want to turn
out. I told him to ring again in half an hour if things hadn’t quieted down. I
told him to keep out of Sep’s way and stay in his own room, which is next to
Phips’ and see if she was all right when Sep cleared out. Hislop was involved.
I won’t tell you how. The servants were all out. I said that if I didn’t hear
from him in half an hour I’d ring again and if there was no answer I’d know
they were all in bed and quiet. I did ring, got no answer, and went to bed
myself. That’s all. I’m off. Curtis knows where to find me. You’ll want me for
the inquest, I suppose. Goodbye.”

When he had gone Alleyn
embarked on a systematic prowl round the room. Fox and Bailey were still deeply
engrossed with the wireless.

“I don’t see how the
gentleman could have got a bump-off from the instrument,” grumbled Fox. “These
control knobs are quite in order. Everything’s as it should be. Look here, sir.”

He turned on the wall
switch and tuned in. There was a prolonged humming.

“... concludes the
program of Christmas carols,” said the radio.

“A very nice tone,” said
Fox approvingly.

“Here’s something, sir,” announced
Bailey suddenly.

“Found the sawdust, have
you?” said Alleyn.

“Got it in one,” said the
startled Bailey.

Alleyn peered into the
instrument, using the torch. He scooped up two tiny traces of sawdust from
under the holes.

“
’Vantage number one,” said Alleyn.
He bent down to the wall plug. “Hullo! A two-way adapter. Serves the radio and
the radiator. Thought they were illegal. This is a rum business. Let’s have
another look at those knobs.”

He had his look. They
were the usual wireless fitments, bakelite knobs fitting snugly to the steel
shafts that projected from the front panel.

“As you say,” he
murmured, “quite in order. Wait a bit.” He produced a pocket lens and squinted
at one of the shafts. “Ye-es. Do they ever wrap blotting-paper round these objects,
Fox?”

“Blotting-paper!”
ejaculated Fox. “They do not.”

Alleyn scraped at both
the shafts with his penknife, holding an envelope underneath. He rose,
groaning, and crossed to the desk. “A corner torn off the bottom bit of blotch,”
he said presently. “No prints on the wireless, I think you said, Bailey?”

“That’s right,” agreed
Bailey morosely.

“There’ll be none, or too
many, on the blotter, but try, Bailey, try,” said Alleyn. He wandered about the
room, his eyes on the floor; got as far as the window and stopped.

“Fox!” he said. “A clue.
A very palpable clue.”

“What is it?” asked Fox.

“The odd wisp of
blotting-paper, no less.” Alleyn’s gaze traveled up the side of the window
curtain. “Can I believe my eyes?”

He got a chair, stood on
the seat, and with his gloved hand pulled the buttons from the ends of the
curtain rod.

“Look at this.” He turned
to the radio, detached the control knobs, and laid them beside the ones he had
removed from the curtain rod.

Ten minutes later
Inspector Fox knocked on the drawing-room door and was admitted by Guy Tonks.
Phillipa had got the fire going and the family was gathered round it. They
looked as though they had not moved or spoken to one another for a long time.

It was Phillipa who spoke
first to Fox. “Do you want one of us?”

“If you please, miss,” said
Fox. “Inspector Alleyn would like to see Mr. Guy Tonks for a moment, if
convenient.”

“I’ll come,” said Guy,
and led the way to the study. At the door he paused. “Is he—my father—still—?”

“No, no, sir,” said Fox
comfortably. “It’s all ship-shape in there again.”

With a lift of his chin
Guy opened the door and went in, followed by Fox. Alleyn was alone, seated at
the desk. He rose to his feet.

“You want to speak to me?”
asked Guy.

“Yes, if I may. This has all
been a great shock to you, of course. Won’t you sit down?”

Guy sat in the chair
farthest away from the radio.

“What killed my father?
Was it a stroke?”

“The doctors are not
quite certain. There will have to be a
post-mortem.”

“Good God! And an
inquest?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Horrible!” said Guy
violently. “What do you think was the matter? Why the devil do these quacks
have to be so mysterious? What killed him?”

“They think an electric
shock.”

“How did it happen?”

“We don’t know. It looks
as if he got it from the wireless.”

“Surely that’s
impossible. I thought they were fool-proof.”

“I believe they are, if
left to themselves.”

For a second undoubtedly
Guy was startled. Then a look of relief came into his eyes. He seemed to relax
all over.

“Of course,” he said, “he
was always monkeying about with it. What had he done?”

“Nothing.”

“But you said—if it
killed him he must have done something to it.”

“If anyone interfered
with the set it was put right afterwards.”

Guy’s lips parted but he
did not speak. He had gone very white.

“So you see,” said
Alleyn, “your father could not have done anything.”

“Then it was not the
radio that killed him.”

“That we hope will be
determined by the
post-mortem.”

“I don’t know anything
about wireless,” said Guy suddenly. “I don’t understand. This doesn’t seem to
make sense. Nobody ever touched the thing except my father. He was most
particular about it. Nobody went near the wireless.”

“I see. He was an
enthusiast?”

“Yes, it was his only
enthusiasm except—except his business.”

“One of my men is a bit
of an expert,” Alleyn said. “He says this is a remarkably good set. You are not
an expert you say. Is there anyone in the house who is?”

“My young brother was
interested at one time. He’s given it up. My father wouldn’t allow another radio
in the house.”

“Perhaps he may be able
to suggest something.”

“But if the thing’s all
right now—”

“We’ve got to explore
every possibility.”

“You speak as if—as—if—”

“I speak as I am bound to
speak before there has been an inquest,” said Alleyn. “Had anyone a grudge
against your father, Mr. Tonks?”

Up went Guy’s chin again.
He looked Alleyn squarely in the eyes.

“Almost everyone who knew
him,” said Guy.

“Is that an exaggeration?”

“No. You think he was
murdered, don’t you?”

 Alleyn suddenly pointed
to the desk beside him.

“Have you ever seen those
before?” he asked abruptly. Guy stared at two black knobs that lay side by side
on an ashtray.

“Those?” he said. “No.
What are they?”

“I believe they are the
agents of your father’s death.”

The study door opened and
Arthur Tonks came in.

“Guy,” he said, “what’s
happening? We can’t stay cooped up together all day. I can’t stand it. For God’s
sake what happened to him?”

“They think those things
killed him,” said Guy.

“Those?” For a split
second Arthur’s glance slewed to the curtainrods. Then, with a characteristic
flicker of his eyelids, he looked away again.

“What do you mean?” he
asked Alleyn.

“Will you try one of
those knobs on the shaft of the volume control?”

“But,” said Arthur, “they’re
metal.”

“It’s disconnected,” said
Alleyn.

Arthur picked one of the
knobs from the tray, turned to the radio, and fitted the knob over one of the
exposed shafts.

“It’s too loose,” he said
quickly, “it would fall off.”

“Not if it was packed—with
blotting-paper, for instance.”

“Where did you find these
things?” demanded Arthur.

“I think you recognized
them, didn’t you? I saw you glance at the curtain-rod.”

“Of course I recognized
them. I did a portrait of Phillipa against those curtains when—he—was away last
year. I’ve painted the damn things.”

“Look here,” interrupted
Guy, “exactly what are you driving at, Mr. Alleyn? If you mean to suggest that
my brother—”

“I!” cried Arthur. “What’s
it got to do with me? Why should you suppose—”

“I found traces of
blotting-paper on the shafts and inside the metal knobs,” said Alleyn. “It
suggested a substitution of the metal knobs for the bakelite ones. It is
remarkable, don’t you think, that they should so closely resemble one another?
If you examine them, of course, you find they are not identical. Still, the
difference is scarcely perceptible.”

Arthur did not answer
this. He was still looking at the wireless.

“I’ve always wanted to
have a look at this set,” he said surprisingly.

“You are free to do so
now,” said Alleyn politely. “We have finished with it for the time being.”

“Look here,” said Arthur
suddenly, “suppose metal knobs were substituted for bakelite ones, it couldn’t
kill him. He wouldn’t get a shock at all. Both the controls are grounded.”

“Have you noticed those
very small holes drilled through the panel?” asked Alleyn. “Should they be
there, do you think?”

Arthur peered at the
little steel shafts. “By God, he’s right, Guy,” he said. “That’s how it was
done.”