CHAPTER XII
"Do you think Hill's story is true?" Rolfe asked Inspector Chippenfield,as they left the Camden Town Police Station and turned in the directionof the Tube station.
"We'll soon find out," replied the inspector. "Of course, there issomething in it, but there is no doubt Hill will not stick at a lie tosave his own skin. But we are more likely to get at the truth bythreatening to arrest him than by arresting him. If he were arrested hewould probably shut up and say no more."
"And are you going to arrest Birchill?"
"Yes."
"For the murder?" asked Rolfe.
"No; for burglary. It would be a mistake to charge him with murder untilwe get more evidence. The papers would jeer at us if we charged him withmurder and then dropped the charge."'
"Do you think Birchill will squeak?"
"On Hill?" said the inspector. "When he knows that Hill has been tryingto fit him for the murder he'll try and do as much for Hill. And betweenthem we'll come at the truth. We are on the right track at last, my boy.And, thank God, we have beaten our friend Crewe."
Inspector Chippenfield's satisfaction in his impending triumph over Crewewas increased by a chance meeting with the detective. As the two policeofficials came out of Leicester Square Station on their way to ScotlandYard to obtain a warrant for Birchill's arrest, they saw Crewe in ataxi-cab. Crewe also saw them, and telling the driver to pull up leanedout of the window and looked back at the two detectives. When they cameup with the taxi-cab they saw that Crewe had on a light overcoat andthat there was a suit-case beside the driver. Crewe was going on ajourney of some kind.
"Anything fresh about the Riversbrook case?" he asked.
"No; nothing fresh," replied Inspector Chippenfield, looking Crewestraight in the face.
"You are a long time in making an arrest," said Crewe, in abantering tone.
"We want to arrest the right man," was the reply. "There's nothing likegetting the right man to start with; it saves such a lot of time andtrouble. Where are you off to?"
"I'm taking a run down to Scotland."
The inspector glanced at Crewe rather enviously.
"You are fortunate in being able to enjoy yourself just now," he saidmeaningly.
"I won't drop work altogether," remarked Crewe. "I'll make a fewinquiries there."
"About the Riversbrook affair?"
"Yes."
With the murderer practically arrested, Inspector Chippenfield permittedhimself the luxury of smiling at the way in which Crewe was following upa false scent.
"I thought the murder was committed in London--not in Scotland," he said.
"Wrong, Chippenfield," said Crewe, with a smile. "Sir Horace was murderedin Scotland and his body was brought up to London by train and placed inhis own house in order to mislead the police. Good-bye."
As the taxi-cab drove off, Inspector Chippenfield turned to hissubordinate and said, "We'll rub it into him when he comes back and findsthat we have got our man under lock and key. He's on some wild-goosechase. Scotland! He might as well go to Siberia while's he's about it."
With a warrant in his pocket Inspector Chippenfield, accompanied byRolfe, set out for Macauley Mansions, Westminster. They found theMansions to be situated in a quiet and superior part of Westminster, notfar from Victoria Station, and consisting of a large block of flatsoverlooking a square--a pocket-handkerchief patch of green which wassupposed to serve as breathing-space for the flats which surrounded it.
Macauley Mansions had no lift, and Number 43, the scene of the events ofHill's confession, was on the top floor. Inspector Chippenfield and Rolfemounted the stairs steadily, and finally found themselves standing on aneat cocoanut door-mat outside the door of No. 43. The door was closed.
"Well, well," said the inspector, as he paused, panting, on the door-matand rang the bell. "Snug quarters these--very snug. Strange that thesesort of women never know enough to run straight when they are well off."
The door opened, and a young woman confronted them. She was hardly morethan a girl, pretty and refined-looking, with large dark eyes, a patheticdrooping mouth, and a wistful expression. She wore a well-made indoordress of soft satin, without ornaments, and her luxuriant dark hair wassimply and becomingly coiled at the back of her head. She held a book inher left hand, with one finger between the leaves, as though the summonsto the door had interrupted her reading, and glanced inquiringly at thevisitors, waiting for them to intimate their business. She was sodifferent from the type of girl they had expected to see that InspectorChippenfield had some difficulty in announcing it.
"Are you Miss Fanning?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Then you are the young woman we wish to see, and, with your permission,we'll come inside," said Inspector Chippenfield, recovering from hisfirst surprise and speaking briskly.
They followed the girl into the hall, and into a room off the hall towhich she led the way. A small Pomeranian dog which lay on an easychair, sprang up barking shrilly at their entrance, but at the command ofthe girl it settled down on its silk cushion again. The apartment was asmall sitting-room, daintily furnished in excellent feminine taste. Bothpolice officers took in the contents of the room with the glance oftrained observers, and both noticed that, prominent among the ornamentson the mantelpiece, stood a photograph of the late Sir Horace Fewbanks ina handsome silver frame.
The photograph made it easy for Inspector Chippenfield to enter upon theobject of the visit of himself and his subordinate to the flat.
"I see you have a photograph of Sir Horace Fewbanks there," he said, inwhat he intended to be an easy conversational tone, waving his handtowards the mantelpiece.
The wistful expression of the girl's face deepened as she followedhis glance.
"Yes," she said simply. "It is so terrible about him."
"Was he a--a relative of yours?" asked the inspector.
She had come to the conclusion they were police officers and that theywere aware of the position she occupied.
"He was very kind to me," she replied.
"When did you see him last? How long before he--before he died?"
"Are you detectives?" she asked.
"From Scotland Yard," replied Inspector Chippenfield with a bow.
"Why have you come here? Do you think that I--that I know anything aboutthe murder?"
"Not in the least." The inspector's tone was reassuring. "We merely wantinformation about Sir Horace's movements prior to his departure forScotland. When did you see him last?"
"I don't remember," she said, after a pause.
"You must try," said the inspector, in a tone which contained asuggestion of command.
"Oh, a few days before he went away."
"A few days," repeated the inspector. "And you parted on good terms?"
"Yes, on very good terms." She met his glance frankly.
Inspector Chippenfield was silent for a moment. Then, fixing his fierceststare on the girl, he remarked abruptly:
"Where's Birchill?"
"Birchill?" She endeavoured to appear surprised, but her suddenpallor betrayed her inward anxiety at the question. "I--I don't knowwho you mean."
"I mean the man you've been keeping with Sir Horace Fewbanks's money,"said the inspector brutally.
"I've been keeping nobody with Sir Horace Fewbanks's money," protestedthe girl feebly. "It's cruel of you to insult me."
"That'll about do to go on with," said Inspector Chippenfield, with asudden change of tone, rising to his feet as he spoke. "Rolfe, keep aneye on her while I search the flat."
Rolfe crossed over from where he had been sitting and stood beside thegirl. She glanced up at him wildly, with terror dawning in the depths ofher dark eyes.
"What do you mean? How dare you?" she cried, in an effort to beindignant.
"Now, don't try your tragedy airs on us," said the inspector. "We've notime for them. If you won't tell the truth you had better say nothingat all." He plunged his hand into a _jardiniere_ and withdre
w abriar-wood pipe. "This looks to me like Birchill's property. Keep thatdog back, Rolfe."
The little dog had sprung off his cushion and was eagerly following theinspector out of the room. Rolfe caught up the animal in his arms, andreturned to where the girl was sitting. Her face was white and strained,and her big dark eyes followed Inspector Chippenfield, but she did notspeak. The inspector tramped noisily into the little hall, leaving thedoor of the room wide open. Rolfe and the girl saw him fling open thedoor of another room--a bedroom--and stride into it. He came out againshortly, and went down the hall to the rear of the flat. A few minuteslater he came back to the room where he had left Rolfe and the girl. Hisknees were dusty, and some feathers were adhering to his jacket, asthough he had been plunging in odd nooks and corners, and beneath beds.He was hot, flurried, and out of temper.
"The bird's flown!" were his first words, addressed to Rolfe. "I'vehunted high and low, but I cannot find a sign of him. It beats me howhe's managed it. He couldn't have gone out the front way without myseeing him go past the door, and the back windows are four stories highfrom the ground."
"Perhaps he wasn't here when we came in," suggested Rolfe.
"Oh, yes, he was. Why, he'd been smoking that pipe in this very room. Shewas clever enough to open the window to let out the tobacco smoke beforeshe let us in, but she didn't hide the pipe properly, for I saw the smokefrom it coming out of the _jardiniere_, and when I put my hand on thebowl it was hot. Feel it now."
Rolfe placed his hand on the pipe, which Inspector Chippenfield haddeposited on the table. The bowl was still warm, indicating that the pipehad recently been alight.
"He must have been smoking the pipe when we knocked at the door, anddashed away to hide before she let us in," grumbled the inspector. "Butthe question is--where can he have got to? I've hunted everywhere, andthere's no way out except by the front door, so far as I can see. Go andhave a look yourself, Rolfe, and see if you can find a trace of him. I'llwatch the girl."
Rolfe put down the little dog he had been holding, and went out into thehall. The dog accompanied him, frisking about him in friendly fashion.Rolfe first examined the bedroom that he had seen Inspector Chippenfieldenter. It was a small room, containing a double bed. It was prettilyfurnished in white, with white curtains, and toilet-table articles inivory to match. A glance round the room convinced Rolfe that it wasimpossible for a man to secrete himself in it. The door of the wardrobehad been flung open by the inspector, and the dresses and other articlesof feminine apparel it contained flung out on the floor. There was noother hiding-place possible, except beneath the bed, and the ruthlesshand of the inspector had torn off the white muslin bed hangings,revealing emptiness underneath. Rolfe went out into the hall again, andentered the room next the bedroom. This apartment was apparently used asa dining-room, for it contained a large table, a few chairs, a smallsideboard, a spirit-stand, a case of books and ornaments, and two smalloak presses. Plainly, there was no place in it where a man could hidehimself. The next room was the bathroom, which was also empty. Oppositethe bathroom was a small bedroom, very barely furnished, offering nopossibility of concealment. Then the passage opened into a large roomykitchen, the full width of the rooms on both sides of the hall, and thekitchen completed the flat.
Rolfe glanced keenly around the kitchen. There were no cooking appliancesvisible, or pots or pans, but there was much lumber and odds and ends, asthough the place were used as a store-room. Presumably Miss Fanningobtained her meals from the restaurant on the ground floor of themansions and had no use for a kitchen. The room was dirty and dusty andcrowded with all kinds of rubbish. But the miscellaneous rubbish storedin the room offered no hiding-place for a man. Rolfe nevertheless made aconscientious search, shifting the lumber about and ferreting into darkcorners, without result. Finally he crossed the room to look out of thewindow, which had been left open, no doubt by Inspector Chippenfield.
The mansions in which the flat was situated formed part of a largebuilding, with back windows overlooking a small piece of ground. Theflat was on the fourth story. Rolfe looked around the neighbouring roofsand down onto the ground fifty feet below, but could see nothing.
He withdrew his head and was turning to leave the room when his attentionwas attracted by the peculiar behaviour of the dog, which had followedhim throughout on his search. The little animal, after sniffing about thefloor, ran to the open window and started whining and jumping up at it.Rolfe quickly returned to the window and looked out.
"Why, of course!" he muttered. "How could I have overlooked it?Inspector," he called aloud, "come here!"
Inspector Chippenfield appeared in the kitchen in a state of someexcitement at the summons. He carried the key of the front room in hishand, having taken the precaution to lock Miss Fanning in before heresponded to the call of his colleague.
"What is it, Rolfe?" he asked eagerly.
"This dog has tracked him to the window, so he's evidently escaped thatway," explained Rolfe briefly. "He's climbed along the window-ledge."
Inspector Chippenfield approached the window and looked out. A broadwindow-ledge immediately beneath the window ran the whole length of thebuilding beneath the windows on the fourth floor, and, so far as could beseen, continued round the side of the house. It was a dizzy, but not adifficult feat for a man of cool head to walk along the ledge to thecorner of the house.
"I wonder where that infernal ledge goes to?" said InspectorChippenfield, vainly twisting his neck and protruding his body throughthe window to a dangerous extent to see round the corner of the building."I daresay it leads to the water-pipe, and the scoundrel, knowing that,has been able to get round, shin down, and get clear away."
"I'll soon find out," said Rolfe. "I'll walk along to the corner andsee."
"Do you think you can do it, Rolfe?" asked the inspector nervously. "Ifyou fell--" he glanced down to the ground far below with a shudder.
"Nonsense!" laughed Rolfe. "I won't fall. Why, the ledge is a foot broad,and I've got a steady head. He may not have got very far, after all, andI may be able to see him from the corner."
He got out of the window as he spoke, and started to walk carefully alongthe ledge towards the corner of the building. He reached it safely,peered round, screwed himself round sharply, and came back to the openwindow almost at a run.
"You're right!" he gasped, as he sprang through. "I saw him. He isclimbing down the spouting, using the chimney brickwork as a brace forhis feet. If we get downstairs we may catch him."
He was out of the kitchen in an instant, up the passage, and racing downthree steps at a time before the inspector had recovered from hissurprise. Then he followed as quickly as he could, but Rolfe had a longstart of him. When Inspector Chippenfield reached the ground floor Rolfewas nowhere in sight. The inspector looked up and down the street,wondering what had become of him.
At that instant a tall young man, bareheaded and coat-less, came runningout of an alley-way, pursued by Rolfe.
"Stop him!" cried Rolfe, to his superior officer.
Inspector Chippenfield stepped quickly out into the street in front ofthe fugitive. The young man cannoned into the burly officer before hecould stop himself, and the inspector clutched him fast. He attempted towrench himself free, but Rolfe had rushed to his superior's assistance,and drew the baton with which he had provided himself when he set outfrom Scotland Yard.
"You needn't bother about using that thing," said the young mancontemptuously. "I'm not a fool; I realise you've got me."
"We'll not give you another chance." Inspector Chippenfield dexterouslysnapped a pair of handcuffs on the young man's wrists.
"What are these for?" said the captive, regarding them sullenly.
"You'll know soon enough when we get you upstairs," replied theinspector. "Now then, up you go."
They reascended the stairs in silence, Inspector Chippenfield and Rolfewalking on each side of their prisoner holding him by the arms, in casehe tried to make another bolt. They reached the flat and found t
he frontdoor open as they had left it. The inspector entered the hall andunlocked the drawing-room door.
The girl was sitting on the chair where they had left her, with her headbowed down in an attitude of the deepest dejection. She straightenedherself suddenly as they entered, and launched a terrified glance at theyoung man.
"Oh, Fred!" she gasped.
"They were too good for me, Doris," he responded, as though in reply toher unspoken query. "I would have got away from this chap"--he indicatedRolfe with a nod of his head--"but I ran into the other one."
He stooped as he spoke to brush with his manacled hands some of the dirtfrom his clothes, which he had doubtless gained in his perilous climbdown the side of the house, and then straightened himself to lookloweringly at his captors. He was a tall, slender young fellow of abouttwenty-five or twenty-six, clean-shaven, with a fresh complexion and arather effeminate air. He was well dressed in a grey lounge suit, a softshirt, with a high double collar and silk necktie. He looked, as he stoodthere, more like a dandified city clerk than the desperate criminalsuggested by Hill's confession.
"Come on, what's the charge?" he demanded insolently, with a slightglance at his manacled hands.
"Is your name Frederick Birchill?" asked Inspector Chippenfield.
The young man nodded.
"Then, Frederick Birchill, you're charged with burglariously enteringthe house of Sir Horace Fewbanks, at Hampstead, on the night of the 18thof August."
"Burglary?" said Birchill "Anything else?"
"That will do for the present," replied the inspector. "We may find itnecessary to charge you with a more serious crime later."
"Well, all I can say is that you've got the wrong man. But that isnothing new for you chaps," he added with a sneer.
"Surely you are not going to charge him with the murder?" said the girlimploringly.
The inspector's reply was merely to warn the prisoner that anything hesaid might be used in evidence against him at his trial.
"He had nothing whatever to do with it--he knows nothing about it,"protested the girl. "If you let him go I'll tell you who murderedSir Horace."
"Who murdered him?" asked the inspector.
"Hill," was the reply.
The Hampstead Mystery Page 12
