Crime at Guildford

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Mrs Minter raised her eyebrows. ‘Surely Mr Norne would have told you that if you had asked him?’ she replied. ‘I don’t see why you have come to me.’

  ‘It’s because our business is handled in a less pleasant way than we should like ourselves, madam,’ French answered. ‘Mr Norne has told me what happened, but I am required by our regulations never to take a statement without getting all the confirmation I can. I shall have next to ask the same questions of your maid. I assure you that that doesn’t mean that I doubt what either you or Mr Norne say. It is purely routine and if I didn’t do it I should lose my job.’

  ‘Rather unpleasant that, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think so, madam. Most of our cases get to court sooner or later, and such information is required for court.’

  Mrs Minter nodded. ‘I see. I didn’t appreciate that at first. In any case, I suppose if you ask questions, we have to answer?’

  ‘Not necessarily: you can refuse if you wish to. But that’s unwise because it arouses unnecessary suspicions. When you see that my questions are merely routine, I don’t see why you should object to them.’

  She shrugged with a bored air. ‘Well, what do you want to know?’

  ‘About Mr Norne’s visit, principally from the point of view of time. When did he arrive, Mrs Minter?’

  ‘I can tell you that. His call was so unusual that I looked at the clock. It was just half-past eleven.’

  ‘And when did he leave?’

  Mrs Minter was not so sure of this. She had been upset by the news and not paid much attention to anything else. After thought, however, she was able to give approximate times, not only of when Norne left for the last time, but also of when he went for her sister and brought her back.

  ‘What is your sister’s name and address, please, madam?’

  ‘Have you to see her too?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Our rule is, get every check possible.’

  ‘What a ghastly job!’ Skilfully she managed to convey that it was he, rather than the job, that she thought objectionable. ‘Very well, my sister’s name is Kershaw, Mrs Milly Kershaw, St Neot’s, 25 Upper Broad Walk, Golders Green.’

  French completed the afternoon with the detailed inquiries on which he had dilated to Mrs Minter. On leaving the presence he once again interviewed Martha Belden. She, interested in the matter of the approaching lunch, had kept a wary eye on the clock, and she was able to reply more convincingly, if not more accurately, to French’s questions. As a matter of fact, however, both women agreed fairly closely in their recollections. When he left St John’s Wood he was pretty well satisfied that Norne had arrived at 11.30, had left for Golders Green at 11.45, and had returned at 12.15. On this second call he had not gone in, leaving immediately for Guildford.

  This seemed to be tending towards the conclusion that Norne had not deviated from the path of rectitude on that Sunday morning, but French deliberately forbore to reach a conclusion until he had seen Mrs Kershaw.

  ‘Get a taxi,’ he said to Carter, and when he had given the Golders Green address, he went on: ‘We want to time this run, Carter. Make a schedule, will you, noting traffic delays.’

  Their driver was a smart fellow and they didn’t lose much time. On Sunday morning, of course, the streets would be clearer of traffic, but even so, French did not think that Norne could have gone much quicker. The run took sixteen minutes, including four minutes delay at crossings. French decided to drop a couple more minutes, and take ten minutes as the minimum time Norne could have taken.

  ‘Ten and ten makes twenty, and twenty from thirty leaves ten. Now, if we find that Norne was ten minutes at this place, he couldn’t have visited the office on his way.’

  Indeed, French already knew that he couldn’t have done so in any case. The whole ten minutes would scarcely have allowed it, even if he had made no call at ‘St Neot’s.’

  Mrs Kershaw, however, fully substantiated the call and her statement was confirmed by her servant. As both women seemed reasonably reliable, French had no doubt as to its truth.

  Here then was Norne’s complete Sunday morning. He had left his home at 10.15 and reached Mrs Minter’s at 11.30. An hour and a quarter was obviously a reasonable time to have taken. He could not have called at the office during his stay in Town, and as he had taken about the same time to return to Guildford as he had to come up, this period was equally covered.

  There was then no escaping the conclusion that Norne had not personally robbed the safe. Unless, therefore, he had an accomplice, he was innocent of theft.

  As French returned to the Yard he kept turning the affair over in his mind. What was there against Norne in this matter of the robbery? Why was he a suspect at all?

  There was nothing against him—nothing whatever—except the one thing, the suspicion that he had murdered Minter. If he were proved innocent of that, suspicion of the theft would collapse immediately.

  Was he guilty of the murder? Here again the idea hinged on one thing and one thing only. The fingerprints. If Norne could explain those prints, there would be nothing against him on any count.

  Could he explain them? French wondered if the time had not arrived to ask him.

  When he reached the Yard he rang up Fenning and put the question to him. Fenning, it appeared, had been about to ring up French. The analyst’s report had just come in, together with a further statement from Dr Hawthorn, and as these seemed important to the superintendent, he wondered whether French would care to go down to discuss them. ‘We could then consider interrogating our friend,’ he added.

  ‘I’ll be with you about three,’ replied French and rang off.

  Fenning was ready for them when a couple of hours later French and Carter were shown into his office.

  ‘Good of you to come down, chief-inspector,’ he began. ‘I hope you won’t be disappointed. But it’s much more satisfactory to discuss these things directly than over the ’phone. Here’s the analyst’s report. I suggest we take it first.’

  The document was couched in technical language most of which, in spite of French’s long experience, was beyond him. But the essential fact was as clear and unmistakable as it was unexpected. A short time before his death Minter had had a fairly large dose of a butyl-chloral hydrate sleeping draught.

  ‘So that’s what Norne was giving him,’ French exclaimed. ‘My word, he’s no fool! He has the aspirin bottle and pretends to shake out the tablets from it, and Minter, therefore, takes them without hesitation. But really Norne drops in this powerful hypnotic instead.’

  Fenning glanced at him curiously. ‘That was what I thought when I first read it,’ he said slowly.

  ‘And that explains Minter’s not struggling,’ went on French, not noticing the other’s manner. ‘Before he was suffocated, he was doped.’

  ‘Why, then, should he be tied?’

  ‘Precaution. He was asleep, but he might awake. Norne was taking no chances.’

  ‘The gag?’

  French stared. ‘Hang it all,’ he said presently, ‘I had forgotten the gag. I don’t know. Or, yes, I do,’ he went on in a moment. ‘Norne would gag him before he tied him up, lest he might wake and cry out. Then he would tie him up, lest he might wake and struggle. What about that, super?’

  ‘It’s neat, chief-inspector. It’s very neat, I admit.’ He paused, then added, ‘But I’m afraid it’s not the truth.’

  ‘Not the truth?’

  ‘Well: if it were, it would mean that Minter was murdered after one o’clock, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘After two: for Norne would scarcely act till the house had settled down. Norne doped him at ten, then when the house was quiet by two o’clock, he slipped back into the room and smothered him. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Only that it won’t work.’ Fenning made a gesture of apology. ‘It was a shame not to tell you at first, chief, but there’s a further statement from the doctor—in answer to a question from me. The doctor estimates Minter was murdered about ten.’
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  For a moment French looked annoyed, then he began to laugh. ‘Now, that was too bad, super,’ he exclaimed, ‘to lead me up the path like that! I said already you were as bad as your doctor, and so you are.’

  Fenning laughed deprecatingly. ‘I didn’t mean to pull your leg,’ he declared. ‘I wanted to see if you’d get into the same difficulty as I have. This opinion of the doctor doesn’t seem to work in with anything.’

  ‘They can’t tell the time of a death, these doctors. He may be hours wrong. Is he a good man?’

  ‘He’s the police doctor and as good as they’re made. He seemed pretty sure of it. I was going to ask you to come over and hear what he has to say.’

  ‘I’d like to, but he’ll not convince me.’

  Fenning nodded. ‘You see, if he’s right, it means that Minter must have taken the stuff himself: which would be almost too lucky for Norne.’

  ‘He never did,’ French returned. ‘Minter asked Jeffries to send Norne in about ten o’clock. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d kown he’d be asleep.’

  ‘That’s so. Suppose he took it when Norne was in?’

  ‘Then that gets us back to the difficulty of carrying out the murder without dope.’

  ‘You’re right.’ There was silence for a moment and then Fenning went on. ‘It would look almost as if Jeffries was in it and had given him the dope ready for Norne.’

  French shook his head. ‘I don’t believe that,’ he declared, ‘though, of course, I’ve no proof. Norne may have tricked Jeffries by pretending the butyl-chloral hydrate was aspirin. But I can’t imagine Jeffries party to the affair.’

  ‘I agree. But it’s a bit puzzling.’

  There was silence for a moment, then French spoke.

  ‘Did you have the matter in the glass analysed?’

  ‘Yes: pure water only. But that would obtain whichever tablets were taken, unless they were broken up for quicker action.’

  ‘Were the remaining tablets examined?’

  ‘They were aspirin.’

  French got up and began to pace the room. ‘I don’t think it’s such a puzzle after all,’ he said. ‘The doctor’s mistaken as to the time of death. That’s my belief at all events.’

  ‘What about coming along and seeing him?’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  Fenning got up, but French stopped him with a gesture.

  ‘But look here, super. We’re forgetting the fingerprints on the glass. Norne must have given Minter the dope. Else why the business of the prints?’

  ‘I know, but that only makes it worse. If Norne committed the murder at ten o’clock, why did he bother with the dope, which wouldn’t have had time to act?’

  ‘Oh, damn,’ said French, ‘I don’t know. Let’s go on and see the doctor.’

  Fenning laughed. ‘That’s pretty much the way I feel too,’ he declared. ‘And I don’t know that a dose of Dr Hawthorn is going to cure either of us.’

  ‘The nastier the medicine, the better the cure,’ French grunted. Fenning said nothing, but rang for his car.

  10

  Enter Medical Jurisprudence

  Dr Hawthorn lived in a large detached house on the Epsom Road. He was a tall man with a quiet manner and French took to him instantly. His greeting was curt, but adequate. French felt his statements would be cautious, but reliable.

  He was ready to discuss the case from any angle, but he had little to tell them that they had not already known. Fenning then asked him about the time of death. He was very frank in his reply.

  ‘It’s not a matter about which a medical man can be dogmatic,’ he explained. ‘There are a good many factors to be taken into consideration, but not a single one of them is absolute. What I mean is that everyone of the factors is liable to mislead; exceptions have been noted to every conclusion. I don’t want to go into purely technical details, but I may say that this case is similar to most in that the results arrived at are a compromise of slightly conflicting factors. Briefly speaking, the conclusion I reached from the degree of rigor mortis and hypostasis—body staining, you know—and other indications present, showed death to have taken place slightly later than the approximate time I put in my report. On the other hand, the amount of cooling which had taken place pointed to a considerably earlier hour. Neither indication, as I said before, was necessarily accurate, so what I did was to compromise and give a time mean to the two results.’

  ‘That’s interesting, sir,’ French said. ‘Might I ask you what variation these different sets of indications represented?’

  ‘That I can, of course, only answer approximately, chief-inspector. Had I left the cooling out of account, I should probably have placed the time of death at from ten to twelve. Had I gone by the cooling only, I should have said seven to ten, or earlier. It’s possible, though unlikely, that a death at seven o’clock might have produced the rigor mortis and staining found, but I think it’s scarcely possible that with death at mid-night the body could have cooled as much as it did. It seemed to me reasonable to give a qualified opinion that death occurred between nine and eleven, or say, more or less about ten.’

  ‘One other question, sir. Which set of indications, the rigor mortis lot, or the cooling, would you consider the more reliable?’

  Dr Hawthorn smiled slightly. ‘Another rather difficult question, I’m afraid. On the whole I should say that the cooling was the more reliable. Allowances have to be made, of course, for various factors even here. The temperature of the atmosphere, the amount of clothing or other covering over the body, the build, the health, the cause of death: allowance must be made for these and other matters. For instance, death from asphyxia, as we have here, tends to slow up the cooling, and so on.’

  French shrugged. ‘A bit chancy work, if I may say so, sir,’ he suggested. ‘But there’s one thing we’re very anxious to know. I may ask this, super?’

  ‘Of course, chief. The more we can get to know, the better.’

  ‘Well, we want to know whether the murder was definitely committed before, say, two o’clock?’

  ‘Two? Oh, yes, definitely. When I said it wasn’t possible to be dogmatic about such matters, I meant within reasonable limits. But when it comes to periods of several hours, it’s a different thing. I give it as my deliberate opinion that it was committed before twelve at the very latest. Between ourselves and not to be put into writing, I may say I haven’t the slightest doubt in my own mind.’

  French and Fenning exchanged glances. ‘We couldn’t ask more than that, sir. There is just one other point. Those bruises you mentioned, the wrists and ankles and mouth: were they incurred before or after death?’

  ‘Before death most certainly.’

  This being all they could expect to get from Hawthorn, the two officers returned to the police station. There they turned to the question of whether Norne should be asked to explain the finger-prints. The matter was really one for Fenning, but French felt that anything that he could learn about the members of the Norne firm might help him with his own case, and he was keen to be present.

  ‘What about staying down here this evening, chief-inspector?’ the super ended up. ‘If you can, we’ll go out and see what he has to say.’

  ‘If you’re not satisfied it means an arrest,’ French pointed out.

  ‘I know it does,’ Fenning agreed. ‘I must risk that.’

  It was getting on towards nine o’clock that night when the two officers drove up the Guildown hill to Severno. Fenning had provided himself with the necessary warrant, in case they decided that an arrest was advisable. But both were of the opinion that if Norne could put up any reasonable kind of explanation, they would appear to accept it and try to calm any fears which their visit might have aroused.

  Fenning seemed worried. ‘I’m not happy about this business and that’s a fact,’ he declared with an anxious look. ‘If I arrest this man and don’t get a conviction, it’ll not do me much good: nor you either, chief-inspector, because we can’t hide the fact that
we’re working more or less together in the case. Norne’s a pretty influential man. If I make a mistake now, there’ll be the hell of a row.’

  ‘Are you not satisfied he’s your man?’

  ‘I don’t see how it could have been anybody else. But I’ve no motive: that’s what makes me think. If I had a motive I wouldn’t care: I’d be justified. But I haven’t a case that I could bring into court and I may as well admit it.’

  ‘Let’s hear what he has to say. If he’s guilty we’ll know from his manner, if not from his words.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Fenning agreed dismally.

  Just then they reached Severno and climbed heavily out of the car to put the matter to the test.

  They were shown into the library, where Norne was sitting at the fire. With the curtains drawn and the lights on, hidden lights which filled the room with radiance, though softly and without glare, the room gave an impression of extraordinary peace and comfort. The colour scheme was brown, light almost to biscuit colour on the upper walls, dark almost to jet on the polished mahogany furniture. There were no reflections save from the curved legs of chairs and other woodwork near the blazing log fire. Books covered one complete wall, and had overflowed on to occasional tables and even to the massive desk which stood in the middle of the room. Norne sat reading in a brown leather armchair. He got up on seeing his visitors.

  ‘Good evening, superintendent. Good evening, chief-inspector,’ he greeted them. ‘Won’t you pull forward chairs and sit down? Will you smoke?’ He pushed forward a cigarette box of heavy chased silver.

  ‘Thank you, sir, we don’t smoke when we’re on duty,’ Fenning replied with a slight brusqueness which French put down to nervousness. ‘We’re both sorry to trouble you at this hour, but certain matters have to be cleared up, and we couldn’t get you in the day time. It’s about Mr Minter’s death, of course.’

  As he spoke Fenning took the armchair to which Norne had waved. French at the same time moved a high chair to the desk and opened his notebook. Norne, having taken and lit a cigarette, sat down again where he was before.