Trial and Error (18 page)

Mr
Todhunter could only bow his head and agree.

“You
see,” pointed out Mr Chitterwick as the two sat in his room again after lunch
was over, Miss Chitterwick having been persuaded back to her own study and the care
of Miss Bell, “you see, Palmer's own revolver appears to be useless as
a means of identification. It was his father's army revolver, used in the
war, and no record remains of its number and issue to him.”

“Exactly,” agreed Mr Todhunter, who had heard the
solicitor make that very point. “But as to its having been used in the war
that does not necessarily mean that it was ever fired, you must remember. It might
never even have been out of England. The man at the shop where I bought mine pointed
out that, though it was being sold as secondhand, it had never actually been fired;
and he advanced that suggestion when I asked him how a revolver carried in the war
could have escaped being fired. I suppose, by the way, they can tell whether a
revolver has been fired or not?”

“An expert could
tell, undoubtedly.”

“Then,” said Mr
Todhunter triumphantly, “the sergeant who examined the revolver in my
possession—that is, Palmer's revolver—was either no expert, or
else his evidence exculpates Palmer; because he said that that gun had never been
fired.”

Mr Chitterwick rubbed his forehead.

“I find this confusion between the two revolvers
extremely—er—confusing,” he admitted.

“So do I,” Mr Todhunter had to agree. “For instance when I
exchanged the revolvers surreptitiously with Palmer, I must confess I had quite
overlooked the fact that the police could identify mine by the gunsmith's
register. Completely! It was damnably foolish of me.”

“Then you can state positively that the revolver the police have—the
one taken from Palmer—was the one you bought?”

“Undoubtedly. And I can only assume that it has not been identified as mine
owing to the belief that the army revolver of Palmer's father was
unidentifiable.”

“But even so,” muttered
Mr Chitterwick, his plump round face puckered in a puzzlement, “even so it
seems very remiss of the police. Quite unlike Moresby. A very conscientious,
painstaking man, Moresby.”

“You know him?”
cried Mr Todhunter.

“Oh yes. Quite well.”

Mr Todhunter uttered a harsh oath. “Then why didn't you
say so before? He'll listen to you. We must go and see him at
once.”

“I'm extremely sorry. I—dear
me, yes, perhaps I should have mentioned it,” said Mr Chitterwick in
distress. “Though indeed, as to listening . . .”

“Don't you see,” pointed out Mr Todhunter with a great effort
at patience, “that if the revolver in Moresby's possession is proved
by the gunsmith's register to be mine, the case against Palmer is at
end?”

“Shaken, yes.” Mr. Chitterwick
brightened. “Very considerably shaken. There are still the witnesses who saw
him there, and—indeed, he now admits to having been there. But of course . .
. yes, indeed. The sergeant asserted that the revolver in your possession had never
been fired? Dear me, if that is true and the revolver can be proved to be
Palmer's . . . why, yes, I really believe the police could be induced to
withdraw the charge against him.”

“Then the whole
thing's at an end, even without the bracelet? We have our proof
already?”

“So it would certainly
appear,”said Mr Chitterwick.

“Then we must go at
once to Scotland Yard.” Mr Todhunter shambled to his feet.

“Perhaps we ought to go to Richmond first and take that other
revolver with us?” suggested Mr Chitterwick, bounding from his chair.

“No need,” Mr Todhunter replied impatiently.
“The police can come back with me again and collect it.” To tell the
truth, Mr Todhunter was looking forward quite childishly to another ride in that
police car.

Mr Chitterwick acquiesced. Perhaps he felt himself
a trifle overwhelmed by Mr Todhunter.

3

“Well, Mr Chitterwick, sir, what can I do for you? Why,
you've got Mr—let me see, yes—Mr Todhunter with
you.”

“Er—yes,” agreed Mr
Chitterwick diffidently.

“Er—yes,” mumbled
Mr Todhunter.

“Well, sit down, gentlemen. Now, what is
it?”

“Moresby,” said Mr Chitterwick with
great earnestness, “you've made a terrible mistake.”

“So Mr Todhunter here told me yesterday,” returned the
chief inspector with unimpaired cheerfulness.

“But you
really have. And we can prove it.”

“What, found
that bracelet, have you?”

Mr Todhunter was filled with a
noble anger at the twinkle in the burly official's eye.

“No, we haven't found the bracelet, but—”

“But we can prove that you've got the wrong
revolver,” squeaked Mr Chitterwick excitedly. “Truly, Chief Inspector,
you must listen to us. The revolver in your possession is Mr Todhunter's, and
the one he has at Richmond is the young man Palmer's.”

“Mr Todhunter said something like that to my sergeant
yesterday,” assented Moresby tolerantly.

“Well,
we've come to give you the name of the gunsmith where Todhunter bought his,
and you can prove the fact by his register.”

Mr
Todhunter nodded with severity.

“Now let's get
this right, sir. You say that the number on the revolver in our possession is the
number entered up in the gunsmith's register as belonging to the revolver
sold to Mr Todhunter?”

“That's it,
exactly.”

“And that's the whole of your
case?”

“Er—yes, I suppose so. But I think
it's enough.”

“Well, sir,” said
Moresby with benevolence, “you're wrong.”

“What?”

“As soon as my sergeant got back
yesterday he made enquiries on the matter. No need to bother with the gunsmith. He
looked up the record of the firearms certificate issued to Mr Todhunter and verified
that the number of the revolver sold to him is the number of the revolver now in his
possession.”

There was a short silence.

“Good God!” observed Mr Todhunter with inexpressible
disgust. The disgust was for himself and no one else. A faint fear that had been
present ever since the sergeant's visit had been verified. Mr Todhunter had
blundered, and badly: in the confusion of the moment he had never exchanged those
revolvers at all.

“Oh, just a moment, Mr Chitterwick,
sir,” said Moresby.

Mr Todhunter passed out into the
cold stone passage alone.

4

“And the only evidence—the only incontrovertible evidence as to which
revolver fired the fatal shot is now lying at the bottom of the Thames,”
lamented Mr Chitterwick.

Mr Todhunter did not answer. There was
nothing to answer.

In silence the disconsolate pair pursued
their gloomy way along Whitehall.

“What did he call you
back for?” suddenly asked Mr Todhunter.

Mr Chitterwick
looked embarrassed.

“What did he call you back
for?” fiercely repeated Mr Todhunter.

“Oh well .
. .” Mr Chitterwick wriggled. “He—that is, he advised me not
to—to bother with . . .”

“Why? Why
not?”

“He thinks you're mad,” said
Mr Chitterwick unhappily.

Mr Todhunter's aneurism was
only saved by a miracle.

“But there's still the
bracelet,” Mr Chitterwick reminded him, just in time.

CHAPTER XII

“I hope sir,” said Mrs Greenhill austerely and, as it seemed to the exasperated Mr Todhunter, for the thousandth time, “that you don't think
I
had anything to do with it.”

“Of course not. If I did, Mrs Greenhill, I should have said so. We're simply trying to find out whether you have any information that can explain its disappearance.”

“I hope, sir, that you don't think
I
had anything to do with
it” repeated Mrs Greenhill woodenly,

“No, I told you I don't think that. But it's gone.”

“So you say, sir. But I'm sure I never took it. And I'm surprised, sir, that you should think such a thing of me after so many years.”

“I don't think so! But it's
gone
!” shouted Mr Todhunter.

Mrs Greenhill pursed her lips. Edie's sobs redoubled. The examination, conducted alternately by Mr Todhunter and Mr Chitterwick, had been in progress now for twenty minutes, nineteen of which Edie had spent in tears, protesting her innocence.

Mr Chitterwick waved his colleague's wrath aside.

“Now listen, Mrs Greenhill, please, and you too, Edie,” he began in his most persuasive tones, “the point is—”

“Stop snivelling, Edie!” shouted Mr Todhunter, maddened beyond control by an extra large sniff and gulp from his wilting housemaid.

“I—I can't, sir,” snivelled Edie. “Nobody's ever said such things to me before, I'm sure.”

“Nobody has said anything to you, Edie,” interposed Mr Chitterwick more sharply, “except that this bracelet has disappeared, which is a fact. If you make all this fuss over a mere fact, we shall soon begin to think there's something behind it, you know.”

To Mr Chitterwick's surprise as much as anyone's, Edie did stop snivelling.

“Mr Todhunter thinks I took it,” she said indignantly.

Mr Chitterwick hastily forestalled another outburst. “For God's sake, keep calm, Todhunter,” he implored. “Remember, if you burst now—that is, your aneurism—goodness knows what may happen.” He turned towards the guiltless pair and looked as severe as his benevolent countenance would allow. “You must remember, both of you, that Mr Todhunter is in a very precarious state of health, and if you persist in exasperating him in this ridiculous way by pretending that you've been accused of something that no one has accused you of, I wouldn't care to answer for the consequences.”

“I was only saying that I wouldn't like Mr Todhunter or anyone else
to think that I had anything to do with it,” protested Mrs Greenhill, taken
aback as though a tame bxfudgerigar had suddenly nipped a large piece out of her
ear.

“Well, no one does think that,” beamed Mr Chitterwick, looking like a budgerigar once more. “So let's see what we can find out between us. Now the facts are these. When Mr Todhunter went away on his cruise he left a valuable diamond bracelet in the upper right-hand drawer of his chest of drawers. The drawer was locked. When he came back, the drawer was still locked, but the bracelet was not there. I've examined the drawer myself, and it shows no signs of having been forced. But on the other hand the lock appears to be a very simple one, and a skilled thief would have no difficulty in opening it. Now neither you, Mrs Greenhill, nor you, Edie,” Mr Chitterwick continued to beam, “are skilled thieves, so that rules both of you out at once. You quite see that?”

There was a small chorus of gratified assent.

“Very well, then. Somebody else took it. That means, somebody who was not a member of the household. Now, Mrs Greenhill, just see if you can remember what strangers visited this house while Mr Todhunter was away,”

Mrs Greenhill and Edie looked at each other.

“Why, there wasn't anyone, sir. No stranger so much as set foot in the house all the time Mr Todhunter was away.”

“Really? What, no one came to read the gas meter or see to anything connected with the electric light, or inspect the water connections or mend anything or clean anything?”

“Oh, those,” said Mrs Greenhill in great surprise.

After five minutes patient questioning Mr Chitterwick was in possession of a rough list of meter readers, electricians and so forth, totalling seven.

“And that's all?”

“That's all, sir, so far as I can remember.”

“I see. Well, if anyone else occurs to you, just let Mr Todhunter have a note of it.”

“You don't think it can have been a burglar, sir?” asked Mrs Greenhill as they prepared to go.

“It's a possibility of course,” Mr Chitterwick replied affably. “But I don't see a sign anywhere of a forcible entry having been made, and I'm quite sure that both you and Edie were far too careful to leave any windows open at night?”

“Oh no, sir. You can depend on that. Every window was shut and bolted before we went to bed every night. I saw to that myself.”

“Exactly. Well, if there's nothing else you can tell us, I don't think we need keep you and Edie any longer.”

The pair withdrew, and Mr Chitterwick shook his head.

“Not very helpful, I fear.”

“That precious pair damned nearly killed me,” snarled Mr Todhunter.

“Yes, yes. They were most exasperating. But there! No doubt they felt themselves in a very equivocal position.”

“You don't think it was either of them?” asked Mr Todhunter hopefully.

Mr Chitterwick shook his head. “No, my impression is they are both of them quite honest. But.. .”

“What?”

“I wonder if the elder woman has a husband?”

“Mrs Greenhill? No, she's a widow.”

Mr Chitterwick shook his head. “A pity. I believe with such a woman there is often a ne'er-do-weel husband in the background. That might have suited our investigations very well.”

“Yes, but in the absence of a ne'er-do-weel husband,” said Mr Todhunter impatiently, “what do you imagine has happened to that bracelet?”

“Dear me,” said Mr Chitterwick, looking much distressed. “I'm afraid I can't say. The—the trail is cold, you see. We can investigate all these persons whom we know have been here. They may have had a moment to slip into your room, you see. I suppose,” added Mr Chitterwick diffidently, “that you really did leave that drawer locked?”

“Of course I left it locked.”

“Yes, of course, of course,” Mr Chitterwick said hastily. “It was just. .. yes, of course.”

“And how long,” asked Mr Todhunter with sarcasm, “do you imagine it's going to take to enquire into the movements and problematical guilt of all those persons? A couple of months?”

“It would take time, certainly,” Mr Chitterwick had to admit.

“Then let's pursue some other line,” barked Mr Todhunter, whose nerves were wearing thin. “We've only got five days. Perhaps you're forgetting that?”

“No, no. Oh, no indeed. I assure you I'm not overlooking that.”

“Well, damn and blast it,” shouted Mr Todhunter. “I shot the woman! What sort of detective do you call yourself if you can't prove it in five days when I can tell you everything that happened, from A to Z?”

“Don't distress yourself, Todhunter,” implored Mr Chitterwick. “I do beg of you not to distress yourself.”

“Well, you'd be distressed in my position, wouldn't you?” croaked Mr Todhunter.

“I am distressed in any case,” answered Mr Chitterwick, and from his face it was plain that he spoke the truth.

2

Mr Chitterwick dined with Mr Todhunter that evening, and afterwards they discussed the case for two solid hours, for the most part calmly. Such was Mr Chitterwick's power of soothing that not once was Mr. Todhunter's aneurism endangered. But unfortunately no conclusion was reached nor any very hopeful line of enquiry uncovered. By the time Mr Chitterwick left it had only been decided that the next morning, which was a Saturday, should be spent in traversing, in daylight, the route taken by Mr Todhunter on the fatal evening—and damn the owners of the gardens on the way if they objected!

At 10 a.m. punctually, therefore, on Saturday, December fourth, Mr Chitterwick presented himself in Richmond and the pair set forth. Their faces were stern and set; even Mr Chitterwick's cherubic countenance seemed to be trying to set itself into lines of relentlessness. With long, shambling strides Mr Todhunter strode along the pavement, and Mr Chitterwick trotted at his side, bouncing at every few steps rather like a large rubber ball,

At last Mr Todhunter turned, without hesitation, down a side lane and stopped before a certain place in a 6-foot fence.

“It was somewhere about here that I climbed over,” he said.

Mr Chitterwick regarded the fence with surprise. “You climbed that? Good gracious me.”

“I used to be a good climber. A fence like that presents no difficulties.”

“Yes, but you might have killed yourself.”

“I rather hoped,” confessed Mr Todhunter, “that I should. But I didn't. One can't rely on doctors.”

“You're not going to climb it now?” asked Mr Chitterwick anxiously.

“I am not. If you can find the place where I climbed over before, we will go round and find another way into the garden.”

Mr Chitterwick looked doubtful. “I'm afraid there are hardly likely to be any traces remaining. It was so long ago.” He stared at the fence in a vague and somewhat helpless way.

“I seem to remember that my foot slipped near the top,” persisted Mr Todhunter. “It might have scored the wood. We could at any rate examine the thing.”

“Oh yes,” Mr Chitterwick agreed readily enough. “We'll examine it, by all means.”

They examined it.

After a few minutes Mr Todhunter could have been seen staring at a faint excoriation of the wood about a foot from the top of the fence. Mr Chitterwick joined him.

“That fits with your recollection,” he said, but not too hopefully.

“It could have been made by the toe of a boot?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” said Mr Chitterwick, examining the mark more closely. “But it need not have been. I mean, there's no proof that this is where you climbed over.”

“There may be marks the other side, where I landed,” suggested Mr Todhunter, who appeared unusually sanguine now that the hunt was really up. “Footprints, perhaps. I jumped down, you see.”

“After all this time? Well, it's possible, if there is no cultivated bed the other side, but . . .” Mr Chitterwick, generally so optimistic, was giving the impression that he considered their present quest not far from useless.

“We'll see if we can get into that garden without climbing the fence,” pronounced Mr Todhunter.

They went a little further down the lane. A gate in the fence towards the river end proved to be luckily unbolted. Access to the garden was simple.

Mr Chitterwick had marked the top of the fence above the excoriation, and the two proceeded to examine the ground beneath it in the garden. A hedge of Lonicera nitida ran along the fence and for the distance of a foot or more beyond its roots the ground was hard and had obviously not been broken up for some time. Beyond this caked earth was a gravel path.

Hardly had they bent to their task before Mr Todhunter uttered an expression of jubilation. “What's that?” he asked, pointing a bony forefinger at an undoubted depression in the earth.

Mr Chitterwick plumped down on his hands and knees. “It is the mark of a heel, undoubtedly.”

“Made by someone jumping off the fence?”

“It could have been,” said Mr Chitterwick cautiously.

“What do you mean, it could have been? It was.”

“Oh yes, undoubtedly,” Mr Chitterwick agreed hurriedly.” “Of course.”

“Well, this is satisfactory, isn't it? We're finding what we wanted to find? If we have as much luck at the other hedges, we shall be able to prove the passage of someone across these gardens into Miss Norwood's, whereas it's known that Palmer came in through the front gates.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Mr Chitterwick began to beam, but the worried look did not altogether leave his face.

“Then what's troubling you?”

“Well, you see the only thing is, will the police accept that these marks were made so long ago, even if we are able to make a connected lie of them leading into Miss Norwood's garden? They may hold that they are—er—casual marks, and we have selected them arbitrarily.”

“But we haven't.”

“I'm only trying to put the police answer, “said Mr Chitterwick humbly.

Mr Todhunter snorted. “Come and see if there's anything to be found on the other side,” he said and strode across the lawn.

Mr Chitterwick followed, not without a timorous glance or two towards the house whose privacy they were thus invading. Mr Chitterwick had all the Englishman's horror of committing trespass.

To cut half a morning's work short, it may be said at once that some indication of Mr Todhunter's passage three months ago was found at every barrier; or if not always a definite indication, something that could be interpreted as such—a broken shoot, a bent stem or the like, but no more footprints.

It was while they were examining the very last hedge of all, lining Miss Norwood's garden, that Mr Chitterwick's forebodings were fulfilled. A voice spoke behind them, harshly and loudly, causing Mr Chitterwick to jump nearly out of his overcoat and gravely imperilling Mr Todhunter's aneurism.

“Hey! What the devil do you two think you're doing here?”

A large man with one of those round, red, well-fed faces was looking at them with obvious displeasure.

Mr Chitterwick began to twitter incoherent apologies, but Mr Todhunter, having recovered his breath, took charge of the situation with firmness.

“I must apologise for this unceremonious intrusion, sir, but the matter is urgent. We are examining these gardens for clues.”

“Clues? What clues?”