The Hampstead Mystery

by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Rees

  CHAPTER X

  "And so you've had no luck, Rolfe?"

  Inspector Chippenfield, glancing up from his official desk in ScotlandYard, put this question in a tone of voice which suggested that thespeaker had expected nothing better.

  "I've seen the heads of at least half a dozen likely West End shops,"Rolfe replied, "and they tell me there is nothing to indicate where thehandkerchief was bought. The scrap of lace merely shows that it was tornoff a good handkerchief, but there is nothing about it to show that thehandkerchief was different in any marked way from the average filmy scrapof muslin and lace which every smart woman carries as a handkerchief. Ithought so myself, before I started to make inquiries."

  "Well, Rolfe, we must come at it another way," said the inspector."Undoubtedly there is a woman in the case, and it ought not to beimpossible to locate her. Your theory, Rolfe, is that the murder wascommitted by some one who broke into the place while Sir Horace wasentertaining a lady friend or waiting for the arrival of a lady heexpected. Either the lady had not arrived or had left the roomtemporarily when the burglar broke into the house. He had spotted theplace some days before and ascertained that it was empty, and when hefound that Sir Horace had returned alone he decided to break in, and,covering Sir Horace with a revolver, try to extort money from him. Ariskier but more profitable game than burgling an empty house--if it cameoff. With his revolver in his hand he made his way up to the library. SirHorace parleyed with him until he could reach his own revolver, and thengot in the first shot but missed his man. The burglar shot him and thenbolted. The lady heard the shots, and, rushing in, found Sir Horace inhis death agony. She was stooping over him with her handkerchief in herhand, and in his convulsive moments he caught hold of a corner of it andthe handkerchief was torn. The lady left the place and on arrival homeconcocted that letter which was sent here telling us that Sir Horace hadbeen murdered. Is that it?"

  "Yes," assented Rolfe. "Of course, I don't lay it down that everythinghappened just as you've said. But that's my idea of the crime. Itaccounts for all the clues we've picked up, and that is something."

  "It is an ingenious theory and it does you credit," said the inspector,who had not forgotten that he had proposed to Rolfe that they should helpone another to the extent of taking one another fully into each other'sconfidence, for the purpose of getting ahead of Crewe. "But you haveoverlooked the fact that it is possible to account in another way for allthe clues we have picked up. Suppose Sir Horace's return from Scotlandwas due to a message from a lady friend; suppose the lady went to see himaccompanied by a friend whom Sir Horace did not like--a friend of whomSir Horace was jealous. Suppose they asked for money--blackmail--andthere was a quarrel in which Sir Horace was shot. Then we have your ideaas to how the lady's handkerchief was torn--I agree with that in themain. The lady and her friend fled from the place. Later in the night theplace is burgled by some one who has had his eye on it for some time, andon entering the library he is astounded to find the dead body of theowner. Suppose he went home, and on thinking things over sent the letterto Scotland Yard with the idea that if the police got on to his tracksabout the burglary the fact that he had told us about the murder wouldshow he had nothing to do with killing Sir Horace."

  "That is a good theory, too," said Rolfe, in a meditative tone. "And theonly person who can tell us which is the right one is Sir Horace's ladyfriend. The problem is to find her."

  "Right," said the inspector approvingly. "And while you have been makinginquiries at the shops about the handkerchief I have been down to the LawCourts branch of the Equity Bank where Sir Horace kept his account. Itoccurred to me that a look at Sir Horace's account might help us. Youknow the sort of man he was--you know his weakness for the ladies. But hewas careful. I looked through his private papers out at Riversbrookexpecting to get on the track of something that would show some one hadbeen trying to blackmail him over an entanglement with a woman, but Ifound nothing. I couldn't even find any feminine correspondence. If SirHorace was in the habit of getting letters from ladies he was also in thehabit of destroying them. No doubt he adopted that precaution when hiswife was alive, and found it such a wise one that he kept it up whenthere was less need for it. But a weakness for the ladies costs money,Rolfe, as you know, and that is why I had a look at his banking account.He made some payments that it would be worth while to trace--payments toWest End drapers and that sort of thing. Of course, Sir Horace, being acautious man and occupying a public position, might not care to flaunthis weakness in the eyes of West End shopkeepers, and instead of payingthe accounts of his lady friend of the moment, may have given her themoney and trusted to her paying the bills--a thing that women of thatkind are never in a hurry to do. In that case the payments to West Endshopkeepers are for goods supplied to his daughter. However, I've taken anote of the names, dates, and amounts of a number of them, and I want youto see the managers of these shops."

  "We are getting close to it now," said Rolfe, approvingly.

  "I think so," was the modest reply of his superior. "There is one thingabout Sir Horace's account which struck me as peculiar. Every four weeksfor the past eight months Sir Horace drew a cheque for L24, and everycheque of the kind was made payable to Number 365. Now, unless he wishedto hide the nature of the transaction from his bankers, why not put inthe cheque in the name of the person who received the money? It couldn'thave been for his personal use, for in that case he would have made thecheques payable to self. Besides, a man with a banking account doesn'tdraw a regular L24 every four weeks for personal expenses. He draws acheque just when he wants a few pounds, instead of carrying five-poundnotes about with him. I asked the bank manager about these cheques and helooked up a couple of them and found they had been cashed over thecounter. So he called up the cashier and from him I learnt that SirHorace came in and cashed them. As far as he can remember Sir Horacecashed all these L24 cheques. I assume he did so because he realised thatthere was less likely to be comment in the bank than if a well-dressedgood-looking young lady arrived at the bank with them. This L24 a monthsuggests that Sir Horace had something choice and not too expensivestowed away in a flat. That is a matter on which Hill ought to be able tothrow some light. If he knows anything I'll get it out of him. It struckme as extraordinary that Sir Horace should have taken Hill into hisservice knowing what he was. But this, apparently, is the explanation. Heknew that Hill wouldn't gossip about him for fear of being exposed, forthat would mean that Hill would lose his situation and would find itimpossible to get another one without a reference from him. We'll haveHill brought here--"

  There was a knock at the door, and a boy in buttons entered and handedInspector Chippenfield a card.

  "Seldon from Hampstead," he explained to Rolfe. "Don't go away yet. Itmay be something about this case."

  Police-Inspector Seldon entered the office, and held the door ajar for aman behind him. He shook hands with Inspector Chippenfield and Rolfe, andthen motioned his companion to a chair.

  "This is Mr. Robert Evans, the landlord of the Flowerdew Hotel, CoventGarden," he explained. He looked at Mr. Evans with the air of apolice-court inspector waiting for a witness to corroborate hisstatement, but as that gentleman remained silent he sharply asked,"Isn't that so?"

  "Quite right," said Mr. Evans, in a moist, husky voice.

  He was a short fat man, with an extremely red face and bulging eyes,which watered very much and apparently required to be constantly moppedwith a handkerchief which he carried in his hand. This peculiarity gaveMr. Evans the appearance of a man perpetually in mourning, and thiseffect was heightened by a species of incipient palsy which had seized onhis lower facial muscles, and caused his lips to tremble violently. Hewas bald in the front of the head but not on the top. The baldness overthe temples had joined hands and left isolated over the centre of theforehead a small tuft of hair, which, with the playfulness of secondchildhood, showed a tendency to curl.

  "Yes, you're quite right," he repeated huskily, as though some one haddoubted the sta
tement. "Evans is my name and I'm not ashamed of it."

  "He came to me this morning and told me that Hill gave false evidence atthe inquest yesterday," Inspector Seldon explained. "So I brought himalong to see you."

  "False evidence--Hill?" exclaimed Inspector Chippenfield, with keeninterest. "Let us hear about it."

  "Well, you will remember Hill said he was at home on the night of themurder," pursued Inspector Seldon. "I looked up his depositions before Icame away and what he said was this: 'I took my daughter to the Zoo inthe afternoon. We left the Zoo at half past five and went home and hadtea. My wife then took the child to the picture-palace and I remained athome. I did not go out that night. They returned about half-past ten, andafter supper we all went to bed.' But Evans tells me he saw Hill in hisbar at three o'clock on the morning of the 19th of August. He has anearly license for the accommodation of the Covent Garden traffic. He canswear to Hill. A man who goes to bed at half-past ten has no right to bewandering about Covent Garden at 3 a. m. And besides, Hill told usnothing about this. So I brought Evans along to see what you make of it."

  Inspector Chippenfield had taken up a pencil and was making a few notes.

  "Very interesting indeed," he said. Then he turned to Evans and asked,"Are you sure you saw Hill in your bar at three a. m.? There is nopossibility of a mistake?"

  "He is the man who was knocked down outside by a porter running intohim," said Mr. Evans, mopping his eyes. "I could bring half a dozenwitnesses who will swear to him."

  "You see, it's this way," interpolated Inspector Seldon, taking up thelandlord's narrative. His police-court training had taught him to bringout the salient points of a story, and he was naturally of the opinionthat he could tell another man's story better than the man could tell ithimself. "Hill was staring about him--it was probably the first time hehad been to Covent Garden in the early morning--and got knocked over. Hewas stunned, and some porters took him in to the bar, sat him on a form,and poured some rum into him. Some of the porters were for ringing up theambulance; others were for carrying Hill off to the hospital, but he soonrecovered. However, he sat there for about twenty minutes, and afterhaving several drinks at his own expense he went away. Evans served himwith the drinks."

  "Good," said Inspector Chippenfield, who liked the circumstantial detailsof the story. "And you can get half a dozen porters to identify him?"

  "Bill Cribb, Harry Winch, Charlie Brown, a fellow they call 'GreenViolets'--I don't know his real name--"

  Mr. Evans was calling on his memory for further names but was stopped byInspector Chippenfield.

  "That will do very well. And how did you happen to be at the inquest atHampstead? That is a bit out of your way."

  Mr. Evans mopped his eyes, and Inspector Seldon took upon himself toreply for him. "He has a brother-in-law in the trade at Hampstead--keepsthe _Three Jugs_ in Coulter Street. Evans had to go out to see hisbrother-in-law on business, and his brother-in-law took him along to thecourt out of curiosity."

  Inspector Chippenfield nodded.

  "Rolfe," he said, "take down Mr. Evans's statement outside and get him tosign it. Don't go away when you've finished. I want you."

  Mr. Evans, even if he felt that full justice had been done to his storyby Inspector Seldon, was disappointed at the police officer's failure todo justice to his manly scruples in coming forward to give evidenceagainst a man who had never done him any harm. Addressing InspectorChippenfield he said:

  "I don't altogether like mixing myself up in this business. That isn't myway. If I have a thing to say to a man I like to say it to his face. Idon't like a man to say things behind a man's back, that is, if he callshimself a man. But I thought over this thing after leaving the court andhearing this chap Hill say he hadn't left home that night, and I talkedit over with my wife--"

  "You did the right thing," said Inspector Chippenfield, with the emphasisof a man who had profited by the triumph of right.

  Mr. Evans was under the impression that the inspector's approval referredchiefly to the part he had played as a husband in talking over hisperplexity with his wife, rather than the part he had played as a man inrevealing that Hill had lied in his evidence.

  "I always do," he said. "My wife's one of the sensible sort, and when aman takes her advice he don't go far wrong. She advised me to go straightto the police-station and tell them all I know. 'It is a cruel murder,'she said, 'and who knows but it might be our turn next?'"

  This example of the imaginative element in feminine logic made noimpression on the practical official who listened to the admiringhusband.

  "That is all right," said Inspector Chippenfield soothingly. "Iunderstand your scruples. They do you credit. But an honest man like youdoesn't want to shield a criminal from justice--least of all acold-blooded murderer."

  When Rolfe returned to his superior with Evans's signed statement in hishand, he found the inspector preparing to leave the office.

  "Put on your hat and come with me," said the inspector. "We will go outand see Mrs. Hill. I'll frighten the truth out of her and then tackleHill. He is sure to be up at Riversbrook, and we can go on there fromCamden Town."

  While on the way to Camden Town by Tube, Inspector Chippenfieldarranged his plans with the object of saving time. He would interviewMrs. Hill and while he was doing so Rolfe could make inquiries at theneighbouring hotels about Hill. It was the inspector's conviction thata man who had anything to do with a murder would require a steadysupply of stimulants next day.

  Mrs. Hill kept a small confectionery shop adjoining a cinema theatre tosupplement her husband's wages by a little earnings of her own in orderto support her child. Although the shop was an unpretentious one, andcatered mainly for the ha'p'orths of the juvenile patrons of the picturehouse next door, it was called "The Camden Town Confectionery Emporium,"and the title was printed over the little shop in large letters.Inspector Chippenfield walked into the empty shop, and rapped sharply onthe counter.

  A little thin woman, with prematurely grey hair, and a depressedexpression, appeared from the back in response to the summons. Shestarted nervously as her eye encountered the police uniform, but shewaited to be spoken to.

  "Is your name Hill?" asked the inspector sternly. "Mrs. Emily Hill?"

  The woman nodded feebly, her frightened eyes fixed on theinspector's face.

  "Then I want to have a word with you," continued the inspector, walkingthrough the shop into the parlour. "Come in here and answer myquestions."

  Mrs. Hill followed him timidly into the room he had entered. It was asmall, shabbily-furnished apartment, and the inspector's massiveproportions made it look smaller still. He took up a commanding positionon the strip of drugget which did duty as a hearth-rug, and staringfiercely at her, suddenly commenced:

  "Mrs. Hill, where was your husband on the night of the 18th of August,when his employer, Sir Horace Fewbanks, was murdered?"

  Mrs. Hill shrank before that fierce gaze, and said, in a low tone:

  "Please, sir, he was at home."

  "At home, was he? I'm not so sure of that. Tell me all about yourhusband's movements on that day and night. What time did he come home, tobegin with?"

  "He came home early in the afternoon to take our little girl to theZoo--which was a treat she had been looking forward to for a long while.I couldn't go myself, there being the shop to look after. So Mr. Hill andDaphne went to the Zoo, and after they came home and had tea I took herto the pictures while Mr. Hill minded the shop. It was not thepicture-palace next door, but the big one in High Street, where they wereshowing 'East Lynne,' Then when we come home about ten o'clock we allhad supper and went to bed."

  "And your husband didn't go out again?"

  "No, sir. When I got up in the morning to bring him a cup of tea he wasstill sound asleep."

  "But might he not have gone out in the night while you were asleep?"

  "No, sir. I'm a very light sleeper, and I wake at the least stir."

  Mrs. Hill's story seemed to ring true enough, a
lthough she kept her eyesfixed on her interrogator with a kind of frightened brightness. InspectorChippenfield looked at her in silence for a few seconds.

  "So that's the whole truth, is it?" he said at length.

  "Yes, sir," the woman earnestly assured him. "You can ask Mr. Hill andhe'll tell you the same thing."

  Something reminiscent in Inspector Chippenfield's mind responded to thissentence. He pondered over it for a moment, and then remembered that Hillhad applied the same phrase to his wife. Evidently there had beencollusion, a comparing of tales beforehand. The woman had been tutored byher cunning scoundrel of a husband, but undoubtedly her tale was false.

  "The whole truth?" said the inspector, again.

  "Yes, sir," answered Mrs. Hill.

  "Now, look here," said the police officer, in his sternest tones, as heshook a warning finger at the little woman, "I know you are lying. I knowHill didn't sleep in the house, that night. He was seen near Riversbrookin the early part of the night and he was seen wandering about CoventGarden after the murder had been committed. It is no use lying to me,Mrs. Hill. If you want to save your husband from being arrested for thismurder you'll tell the truth. What time did he leave here that night?"

  "I've already told you the truth, sir," replied the little woman. "Hedidn't leave the place after he came back from the Zoo."

  Inspector Chippenfield was puzzled. It seemed to him that Mrs. Hill wasa woman of weak character, and yet she stuck firmly to her story. PerhapsEvans had made a mistake in identifying Hill as the man who had beencarried into his bar after being knocked down. Nothing was more commonthan mistakes of identification. His glance wandered round the room, asthough in search of some inspiration for his next question. His eye tookmechanical note of the trumpery articles of rickety furniture; wanderedover the cheap almanac prints which adorned the walls; but became rivetedin the cheap overmantel which surmounted the fire-place. For, in the slipof mirror which formed the centre of that ornament, InspectorChippenfield caught sight of the features of Mrs. Hill frowning andshaking her head at somebody invisible. He turned his head warily, butshe was too quick for him, and her features were impassive again when helooked at her. Following the direction indicated by the mirror, InspectorChippenfield saw Mrs. Hill had been signalling through a window whichlooked into the back yard. He reached it in a step and threw open thewindow. A small and not over-clean little girl was just leaving the yardby the gate.

  Inspector Chippenfield called to her pleasantly, and she retraced hersteps with a frightened face.

  "Come in, my dear, I want you," said the inspector, wreathing his redface into a smile. "I'm fond of little girls."

  The little girl smiled, nodded her head, and presently appeared inresponse to the inspector's invitation. He glanced at Mrs. Hill, noticedthat her face was grey and drawn with sudden terror. She opened her mouthas though to speak, but no words came.

  The inspector lifted the child on to his knee. She nestled to himconfidingly enough, and looked up into his face with an artless glance.

  "What is your name, my dear?"

  "Daphne, sir--Daphne Hill."

  "How old are you, Daphne?"

  "Please, sir, I'm eight next birthday."

  "Why, you're quite a big girl, Daphne! Do you go to school?"

  "Oh, yes, sir. I'm in the second form."

  "Do you like going to school, Daphne?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I suppose you like going to the Zoo better? Did you like going withfather the other day?"

  The child's eyes sparkled with retrospective pleasure.

  "Oh, yes," she said, delightedly. "We saw all kinds of things: lions andtigers, and elephants. I had a ride on a elephant"--her eyes grew bigwith the memory--"an' 'e took a bun with his long nose out of my hand."

  "That was splendid, Daphne! Which did you like best--the Zoo or thepictures?"

  "I liked them both," she replied.

  "Was Father at home when you came home from the pictures?"

  "No," said the little girl innocently. "He was out."

  Mrs. Hill, standing a little way off with fear on her face, utteredan inarticulate noise, and took a step towards the inspector andher daughter.

  "Better not interfere, Mrs. Hill, unless you want to make matters worse,"said the inspector meaningly. "Now, tell me, Daphne, dear, when did yourfather come home?"

  "Not till morning," replied the little girl, with a timid glance ather mother.

  "How do you know that?"

  "Because I slept in Mother's bed that night with Mother, like I always dowhen Father is away, but Father came home in the morning and lifted meinto my own bed, because he said he wanted to go to bed."

  "What time was that, Daphne?"

  "I don't know, sir."

  "It was light, Daphne? You could see?"

  "Oh, yes, sir."

  Inspector Chippenfield told the child she was a good girl, and gave hersixpence. The little one slipped off his knee and ran across to hermother with delight, to show the coin; all unconscious that she hadbetrayed her father. The mother pushed the child from her with aheart-broken gesture.

  A heavy step was heard in the shop, and the inspector, looking throughthe window, saw Rolfe. He opened the door leading from the shop andbeckoned his subordinate in.

  Rolfe was excited, and looked like a man burdened with weighty news. Hewhispered a word in Inspector Chippenfield's ear.

  "Let's go into the shop," said Inspector Chippenfield promptly. "But,first, I'll make things safe here." He locked the door leading to thekitchen, put the key into his pocket, and followed his colleague into theshop. "Now, Rolfe, what is it?"

  "I've found out that Hill put in nearly the whole day after the murderdrinking in a wine tavern. He sat there like a man in a dream and spoketo nobody. The only thing he took any interest in was the evening papers.He bought about a dozen of them during the afternoon."

  "Where was this?" asked the inspector.

  "At a little wine tavern in High Street, where he's never been seenbefore. The man who keeps the place gave me a good description of him,though. Hill went there about ten o'clock in the morning, and starteddrinking port wine, and as fast as the evening papers came out he sentthe boy out for them, glanced through them, and then crumpled them up. Hestayed there till after five o'clock. By that time the 6.30 editionswould reach Camden Town, and if you remember it was the six-thirtyeditions which had the first news of the murder. The tavern-keeperdeclares that Hill drank nearly two bottles of Tarragona port, inthreepenny glasses, during the day."

  "I should have credited Hill with a better taste in port, with hisopportunities as Sir Horace Fewbanks's butler," said InspectorChippenfield drily. "What you have found out, Rolfe, only goes to bearout my own discovery that Hill is deeply implicated in this affair. Ihave found out, for my part, that Hill did not spend the night of themurder at home here."

  There was a ring of triumph in Inspector Chippenfield's voice as heannounced this discovery, but before Rolfe could make any comment uponit there was a quick step behind them, and both men turned, to see Hill.The butler was astonished at finding the two police officers in hiswife's shop. He hesitated, and apparently his first impulse was to turninto the street again; but, realising the futility of such a course, hecame forward with an attempt to smooth his worried face into aconciliatory smile.

  "Hill!" said Inspector Chippenfield sternly. "Once and for all, will youown up where you were on the night of the murder?"

  Hill started slightly, then, with admirable self-command, he recoveredhimself and became as tight-lipped and reticent as ever.

  "I've already told you, sir," he replied smoothly. "I spent it in my ownhome. If you ask my wife, sir, she'll tell you I never stirred out of thehouse after I came back from taking my little girl to the Zoo."

  "I know she will, you scoundrel!" burst out the choleric inspector."She's been well tutored by you, and she tells the tale very well. Butit's no good, Hill. You forgot to tutor your little daughter, and she'sinnocen
tly put you away. What's more, you were seen in London beforedaybreak the night after the murder. The game's up, my man."

  Inspector Chippenfield produced a pair of handcuffs as he spoke. Hillpassed his tongue over his dry lips before he was able to speak.

  "Don't put them on me," he said imploringly, as Inspector Chippenfieldadvanced towards him. "I'll--I'll confess!"