Crime at Guildford

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Fenning moved as if reaching a conclusion. ‘Well, I’ll tell you how it would look to me,’ he declared. ‘You think his fundamental motive would have been to get the key?’

  ‘An impression of it. It seems to me that if he couldn’t get money, he couldn’t get Mrs Minter either.’

  ‘You’re assuming also that he had already got Norne’s key?’

  ‘We must assume that, whoever was guilty.’

  ‘Very well. Then his guilt or innocence of the murder would seem to me to hinge on whether he robbed the safe or whether he didn’t.’

  This led to a further argument, but at length it was decided that French should go into the possibilities of Ricardo being guilty of the robbery. According to the results of that inquiry would depend their future conduct of the case.

  When French reached the Yard he found that one, at least, of the difficulties he had anticipated was nonexistent. Carter had rung up Osenden at his home near Ryde and put his question. On Norne’s leaving the room to get his print, Osenden had also gone out for a few minutes, leaving Ricardo alone. When he returned, Ricardo was not there, though he came in just before Norne.

  So far, so good! There had then been an opportunity for the murder. Now for the question of the theft.

  After dinner that night French filled his pipe and sat down to consider his programme for the next day.

  The period of Ricardo’s time which he had to investigate was from about four o’clock on Sunday afternoon, when the man was set down by Sloley at Piccadilly Circus, and ten next morning, when the robbery was discovered.

  For some time he considered whether Ricardo might not have had an accomplice who would have done the actual robbing of the safe. Then he saw that, whether or not, Ricardo would have been present at its opening. What was the universal feeling between conspirators? Distrust! Ricardo would never have allowed his partner in crime a free hand to take what he liked from the safe.

  How, then, were the man’s actions during the critical period to be ascertained? French could only think of one way. He must ask him the question. It would, of course, have the drawback of putting him on his guard, but that couldn’t be helped.

  French uneasily looked at his watch. It was but little past nine. Then with a sigh he went to the telephone and rang up The Counties, Ricardo’s club. Was Mr Ricardo in the building, and if so could he see Mr French, if the latter were to call?

  Ricardo, it appeared, was there, and would expect Mr French. French, thereupon, called up Carter, and half an hour later the two men were shown into a visitors’ room, where presently Ricardo joined them.

  ‘Good evening, chief-inspector. I hope there’s nothing wrong?’

  ‘Nothing fresh, sir. I’m still on my search for information. I must apologise for coming at such a time, but I thought I would probably annoy you less now than if I called in the day time.’

  Ricardo threw himself into an armchair. ‘Sit down and go ahead,’ he invited.

  ‘We have got, sir, to the stage in our investigation at which we ask everyone connected with the company to account for his or her time during the period between the death of Mr Minter and the discovery of the theft. This is routine, but we’re bound to state that no one need answer the questions and that anything said may be used in evidence. I’m sorry to be a nuisance, sir, but I’ve come to ask if you will give this information, of course, under the official warning.’

  ‘Suppose I take advantage of your offer, and refuse to speak?’

  ‘That is open to you, though it has objections. I’m not threatening, of course, but if you refuse to answer we naturally assume you have something to hide, and we then set to work to find it out in other ways; or if that proves impossible, we can take you to court and there you would have to answer.’

  French had been unobtrusively watching the man’s reaction to all this. Ricardo’s manner had changed. Instead of his easy off-hand bearing, he was now looking anxious and wary. For a moment he made no reply, then he shrugged. ‘You’re not threatening, of course. Very well: what do you want to know?’

  ‘You have had the official warning and speak of your own free will?’ French went on imperturbably.

  Ricardo laughed scornfully. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he retorted. ‘Never mind; I’ve heard you. Go ahead.’

  ‘It’s a simple matter, sir. One question, I think, will cover all I want to know. You’ve already told me how you spent your time on that Sunday of Mr Minter’s death up till about four o’clock, when you were set down by Mr Sloley at Piccadilly Circus. Will you please tell me how you spent your time from that hour until, say, ten o’clock next morning?’

  Ricardo continued to look worried. For some moments he sat silent, and when he did speak, it was not to answer, but to grumble about the question.

  ‘I don’t see what business of yours this is,’ he countered. ‘Do you accuse me of stealing the blessed jewels? If so, you shouldn’t ask such a question. If you don’t, what does it matter?’

  ‘I certainly don’t accuse you of anything,’ French returned, hiding as best he could his irritation. How well he knew that gambit! Sometimes it indicated merely a fool with a swelled head, but usually it was to gain time to think out a plausible statement. He answered Ricardo’s objections with patience and politeness, and at last the man gave way.

  ‘I haven’t the slightest objection to telling you where I was and what I was doing,’ he declared testily, ‘but no one likes being jumped into things and made a fool of. Four o’clock, Piccadilly Circus. What I did was this, if you must know. I came straight from Piccadilly here and had tea. Then—’

  ‘Just a moment, sir. You drove through this street on your way to Piccadilly Circus, if I’ve understood you correctly, and set Sir Ralph Osenden down at his club, which is nearly next door. Why did you not get out here?’

  ‘Well, I think you might guess that. I wanted to be alone. Osenden’s a good fellow, and we’re quite friends, but I was fed up with the whole party. If I’d got out here, Osenden would have suggested my having tea with him.’

  ‘You told Mr Sloley you wanted to go somewhere by tube?’

  ‘Yes, I had to explain my destination. It was with the same object.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Please go on.’

  ‘I got here, as I say, and had tea. Then I went up to my room, took up a book, and lay down on the bed, hoping I’d get a bit of a sleep. I was deadly tired, if you understand, but restless also. It was that confounded morning at Norne’s.’

  ‘I can well understand it, sir.’

  ‘Oh, you can, can you? Well, I stayed there till about half-past six. Then I could stand it no longer. I went out for a walk through the streets. Presently I felt I wanted some food. I couldn’t face the heavy club dinner: I wanted something light. I went into the Corner House in Coventry Street and had some coffee and an omelette. Then between eight and nine I came out and was once more at a loose end. For a time I strolled about, and in the end I did what I seldom do, I went to see the show at the Tivoli. I stuck it for a couple of hours, then walked back to the club. I got here about half-past ten and went to bed. Shortly afterwards,’ he concluded with elaborate sarcasm, ‘I became drowsy and presently fell asleep. I slept well and awoke on the following morning, when I got up, dressed, had my breakfast, and went to the office. Does that content you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I think that about covers the ground. Had you a good film at the Tivoli?’

  ‘I don’t know. I arrived after the thing had started, and I never got the hang of what it was all about. As a matter of fact, I didn’t try. I couldn’t get Minter and the smash of our business out of my head, and all those fools plunging about on the screen seemed a sort of anti-climax. I don’t know if you can well understand that?’

  ‘I think I can, sir,’ said French innocently. ‘You walked to and from the club?’

  ‘I said so.’

  French rose. ‘Well, sir, I’m much obliged to you. I think that’s all I require. I may wish you goo
dnight.’

  ‘You may,’ retorted Ricardo, ‘and if you don’t believe what I say, you may ask the club servants.’

  French paused. ‘You mean that, sir?’

  ‘Of course I mean it. And what matter whether I mean it or not? Won’t you do it in any case?’

  ‘I shall, sir. It’s my routine duty. But I’d much rather do it with your will than against it. May I send for your bedroom attendant now? Or perhaps you would?’

  With a bad grace Ricardo rang the bell and told the page to ask Henderson to come down.

  ‘Perhaps, sir, if you’d tell him that we’re trying to get times checked up in conection with a street accident you saw, and then allow me to ask the questions, it would be easier.’

  ‘Tactful, what? Very well, I’ll do so.’

  Presently a highly respectable gentleman’s gentleman entered, and stood just inside the door, respectfully curious.

  ‘Oh, Henderson,’ said Ricardo, ‘this is a chief-inspector of police. He’s been asking me about an accident I saw last Sunday week, and we want to get some times checked up. Can you help me at all? You’d better ask him, chief-inspector.’

  ‘Mr Ricardo isn’t certain of the time he saw the thing,’ French explained, ‘and we are trying to estimate it. We want the time he left the club and arrived back, if you can help us with either. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Ricardo agreed.

  Whether Henderson took this at its face value or suspected something very different could not be learnt from his eminently correct demeanour. He thought he could oblige. Mr Ricardo had left his bedroom at just half-past six, after spending a couple of hours therein. He had returned about half-past ten. His, Henderson’s, box was beside the lift, and he made a point of seeing the gentlemen coming in and going out.

  Thorough always, French next saw the porter. He happened to have seen Ricardo leave and return and he was able to confirm the statements already made. He also certified that Ricardo could not possibly have left the club during the night.

  The critical period was now all accounted for except the four hours from 6.30 to 10.30. But during this time French saw that Ricardo could very well have cut the key and opened the safe. How was he to check those four hours?

  He felt there was little use in making inquiries at either the Corner House or the Tivoli, though he dare not omit to do it. If Ricardo had wanted to find the two places in which his presence would be least likely to be noted, he could scarcely have chosen better. And so it proved. As French had expected, several hours’ work at each place drew blank.

  French was a good deal worried. It wasn’t going to be easy to check the matter up, and yet somehow it must be done.

  There seemed to be just one possible line of inquiry. If Ricardo had cut the key and burgled the safe, he would not have had any too much time to do it in. If so, he would scarcely have walked to wherever he was going. There was no tube station near the middle of Pall Mall. What would he have done?

  He had stated he had walked to and from the building, and this the porter had confirmed. But that would be a natural precaution. As soon as he was a few yards down the street, would he not take a taxi? French thought so. He, therefore, circularised all taxi drivers on the matter.

  For some time there was no reply, and he began to fear that his clue was also petering out. Then, to his surprise and delight, a man called with some information.

  He had, he said, been passing through Pall Mall on the day and at the time mentioned. When about halfway down the street he was hailed by an elderly man of the given description. And on being handed a sheaf of photographs, the taximan obligingly picked out Ricardo’s.

  ‘Where did you drive him to?’ French asked eagerly.

  ‘An ’ouse in Rennington Street, Maida Vale. I don’t remember the number.’

  573 Rennington Street! French felt he ought to have thought of it. That would be his obvious retreat if he wanted to cut the key in secret. ‘Mr Parkinson’ could use his own rooms for what purpose he chose, and there would be nothing to connect his action with Mr Anthony Ricardo of Ely.

  ‘You might drive there again,’ said French, calling Carter and jumping into the vehicle. Instead of starting, however, the man climbed laboriously out of his seat and came to the door.

  ‘Come to think of it,’ he said, ‘I didn’t go direct that night. I called at a restaurant in Piccadilly. The gentleman ’e went in, and then ’e came back with a boy carrying some parcels. They put ’em in and ’e got in and told me to go ahead to Rennington Street.’

  ‘Go to the restaurant,’ said French.

  It proved to be a place in which, in addition to serving meals, cold lunches and suppers were provided ready cooked and packed so that they could be taken away and eaten elsewhere. French produced his photograph, but no one could remember Ricardo’s call. However, this was not very surprising, as the place was large and, so the manager assured French, very busy at that hour on Sunday evenings.

  In Rennington Street they pulled up, as French had expected, at No. 573. French dismissed the taxi and he and Carter rang.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Mickleham,’ he greeted the diminutive landlady. ‘Can I have another word with you?’

  With somewhat less suspicion than on the first occasion, she admitted him and replied to his questions. As he listened to her the misgivings French had been feeling deepened to a sense of profound disappointment. There was no longer any question as to what had occurred.

  On that Sunday evening ‘Mr Parkinson’ had arrived shortly before seven and had carried up several parcels to his rooms. Not five minutes later ‘Mrs Parkinson’ had come. They had remained upstairs until about ten, when they had left together. Afterwards Mrs Mickleham had cleared away the remains of a very dainty supper.

  French thought bitterly that he ought to have foreseen this development. It fully explained Ricardo’s manner and false statements. Not knowing that French was aware of his secret, he would naturally try to keep Mrs Minter’s name out of things. Indeed, considering the time he had had to invent his story, French thought grimly that he hadn’t done badly.

  But it was when he began to consider the bearing of the discovery on the case as a whole, that French grew really despondent. He didn’t wish evil to Ricardo, but he had to find the thief. If he failed, it would count rather seriously against him. His credit and reputation, and, in the last resort, his bread and butter were at stake. He must find not only the guilty man but the stolen jewels. There had been a nasty hitch in the early part of that Southampton Water case, and he couldn’t risk another hold-up.

  That night he settled down to go once again over all the facts that he had so far learned, in the hope that by a miracle he had overlooked some point which might give him a fresh start. For three solid hours he worried over his notes, sifting, comparing, weighing, trying to find some further deduction; but all to no purpose. His usual bedtime came and went, but he threw some more logs on the fire and continued working. And then at last he remembered one point which he had considered previously, but which he had dismissed as unimportant.

  It was a tiny discrepancy between the evidence of Mrs Turbot, the office charwoman, and that of Sloley and Sheen. Mrs Turbot had stated that Minter had arrived at the office first, by himself, and that Sloley and Sheen had come a few minutes later and together. Sloley and Sheen on the other hand had said that they had arrived together to find the office empty, and that Minter had presently joined them.

  At the time French had dismissed the discrepancy, supposing that Mrs Turbot had made a mistake. But now he was in such a state of anxiety over the case, that he determined that even so slight an element of doubt must be set at rest. Next morning, he decided, he would see Mrs Turbot again and try to get the point cleared up.

  His plans for the immediate future settled, French suddenly felt sleepy. Glancing at the clock and finding that it was twenty minutes past two, he muttered an annoyed oath and went up to bed.

 
14

  Enter a Yellow Box

  French was not destined next morning to carry out his plan to see Mrs Turbot. Something quite unexpected occurred to prevent it. A man called at the Yard and said he had been sent to make a statement which might have something to do with the case.

  French smiled grimly when he was told. He knew that sort of statement. Some fool with a cock and bull story which would give any amount of work and lead nowhere! He had been had that way so often!

  More than perhaps in any other walk of life the detective has reason to cry, ‘Save me from my friends!’ In any major case which has taken the fancy of the public, countless offers of help pour in. If a suspect is wanted, he is seen all over the country, perhaps in a score of widely divided places at the same time. Many people have theories of the crime which they are only too ready to furnish to the police. Even the conscientious man is a nuisance, because his well-intentioned, but irrelevant disclosures have to be investigated like the rest, leading to more lost work and time. For the occasional result achieved by publicity the detective officer has to pay dear.

  ‘Who is he?’ French said in an aggrieved way to the announcing constable.

  ‘Gives his name as John Seaton, post office lineman, sir,’ the man replied. ‘Says his engineer sent him along.’

  French made a gesture of resignation. ‘Oh, well, I’ll see him. Send him in.’

  Seaton proved to be a youngish man, respectable and dependable-looking, but with a rather stupid expression. ‘A man who’ll be sure of what he saw or heard,’ French thought, ‘and won’t be full of flights of fancy. So much to the good.’ Aloud he said; ‘Good morning. You’re John Seaton, are you? You think you’ve got some information for me?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It was the boss sent me along.’

  ‘Good,’ French returned cheerily. ‘Then sit down and let’s hear all about it.’

  The man slowly crossed the room, twisting his cap in his powerful hands, and sat down awkwardly on the corner of the chair French had indicated. French was accustomed to these signs. They meant nothing but the general uneasiness which to so many minds accompanied a visit to the police-station.