The Threefold Cord

by Francis Vivian

  Knollis and Ellis were tea-drinking and cake-eating when Freeman appeared, her eyes tear-stained and her hair sadly lacking attention. Mrs. Redson sent her in search of the paper, and poured out a cup of tea in readiness for her return.

  “No news about the nasty business yet, sir?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, we are still in the dark, Mrs. Redson. I don’t suppose you’ve any news for me.”

  “Now what news could I have, sir?” she demanded.

  “You never know,” Knollis replied. “Some of the most valuable information we receive is stuff which people did not consider important.”

  “There now! Would you credit it!” she exclaimed.

  Knollis’s features expressed the same thought as Freeman entered the kitchen with the paper in her hand. “You’ve got it!”

  “Yes, sir. It was in the sitting-room.”

  “You look as if you didn’t want it,” Mrs. Redson commented.

  Knollis looked at the date on the front page. It was yesterday’s issue.

  “I wasn’t expecting Miss Freeman to find it,” Knollis said in a puzzled tone. “You are sure that only one copy is delivered to the house, Mrs. Redson?”

  “That’s right, sir. Isn’t it?” she asked of Freeman.

  “Quite right, sir.”

  Knollis gulped at his tea, as if he needed a stimulant. Then he pushed the cup and saucer on the table. “There must be some mistake.”

  Freeman sat watching him, wonderingly. A light of comprehension came into her eyes. “You mean that you were expecting it to be missing, sir?”

  “Yes, just that,” replied Knollis, and suddenly added: “Why?”

  “Well, I almost forgot. It was missing!”

  “Wha-at?”

  “Smithy brought this one in from Trentingham. You can see how creased it is with being pushed down behind the cushion in the car.”

  “Phew!” gasped Knollis. “Now we can start again. What happened to the copy delivered by Keyson?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Miss Vaughan was asking for it last night, and I remembered that Smithy had brought this and left it on this table, so I took it in to her.”

  “At what time was that?”

  “About half an hour after—after Smithy found the Master. She said she wanted something light to take her mind off things.”

  “That would be about ten-past six, Miss Freeman?”

  “Dead on six, sir. The wireless was pipping, just before the news.”

  “She was in the sitting-room then?”

  “Oh yes, sir.”

  “And Mrs. Manchester was there as well?”

  “She hadn’t moved out of the room, sir.”

  “Hm!” said Knollis. “Thanks!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE AVERSIONS OF SMITH

  Smith was washing down the car in the garage when Knollis and Ellis sought, him. He gave them a more or less cheerful good morning, and then waited as if he was expecting the questions which Knollis had prepared for him.

  “I understand,” began Knollis, “that you have made a statement, and signed it?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Smith. “The Trentingham sergeant took it earlier this morning. He read it through to me, and I signed it as a correct account of my finding of the body of Mr. Manchester.”

  “It was similar to the verbal statement you made to me last evening?”

  Smith looked surprised. “Of course, sir. Did you expect any difference?”

  Knollis shrugged his shoulders as if the question was of no importance. “I merely wondered. Witnesses very often want to amplify their statements, or find that there are parts of it which need qualifying.”

  “No, I don’t think I do, sir,” Smith replied, but he stared hard at Knollis, as if he suspected that there was something behind the mere words.

  “You are sure that you don’t want to change your stated reason for going round to the cactus house last night?” Knollis murmured persuasively.

  Smith’s eyelids flickered. “Why should I?” he demanded almost defiantly.

  “Because you gave the wrong reason,” Knollis replied flatly. “You know that you did.”

  “I—” Smith began, and then clamped his mouth tight shut.

  “Suppose you give me the real reason,” Knollis suggested. “I shall find out, you know, and the truth now will save much time and trouble in the long run.”

  Smith was recovering his balance to some extent, but being incapable of adjusting it to a nicety he became cocky in his manner. “How could I give you a wrong reason?” he demanded. “Why should I tell you a lie—as you’re suggesting? I gave you the right reason.”

  “You could have told a half-truth, or even a misstatement, if you were wanting to shield someone—say, a girl. It has been done in the past.”

  “I told you the truth!” Smith replied hotly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Steady now,” Knollis cautioned him. “I am not talking through my hat, even if you think I am. You told me last night that you went to take a look round the cactus house because the queer plants always fascinated you.”

  “Yes, I did, and it’s the truth,” Smith replied.

  “You know it is not the truth. You hate cacti!”

  Smith threw his car-polisher into a corner, and sought for a cigarette, which he lit, and puffed at angrily.

  Knollis waited patiently.

  “You know, Inspector,” Smith said stubbornly; “this is a lot of rot. I do like cactuses—but even supposing I didn’t, well, what difference would it make? I found Mr. Manchester, didn’t I? You know yourself that I hadn’t a chance to kill him even if I’d wanted to. A man’s a damned fool if he kills the goose that lays the golden eggs, and Manchester was my goose.”

  “Oh yes, you had plenty of time,” Knollis replied quietly. “You have admitted that the doctor arrived fifteen minutes after the finding of the body, and the doctor says that he had been dead about fifteen minutes before he arrived. You could have killed him and then reported the finding of the body. I am not accusing you of doing so, and to be quite frank I don’t think that you did, but I do want to know what led you into the Green Alley!”

  “But I’ve told you at least half a dozen times, Inspector!” Smith persisted. “I went to look at the cactuses.”

  “And yet,” Knollis said very quietly, “both Mrs. Redson and Freeman say that you hated the very sight of them, and were constantly saying that they should be burned out of the way. Don’t you think it is time you made up your mind whether you like them or whether you don’t? You’re adult now, remember!”

  Smith seated himself on the running-board of the car, and looked gloomily at his toes. “So that’s it! You’ve decided I’m lying on the strength of odd remarks made by two women.”

  Knollis crooked a finger. “Come with me, Smith!”

  Smith followed wonderingly, Ellis bringing up the rear. Knollis led them to the cactus house.

  “So you like these quaint little plants, eh?”

  “I think they are—well, cute!” replied Smith. “I’ve taken an interest in them ever since I came to work here.”

  “You’ll probably grow them yourself when the opportunity arises—say, when you’ve married Freeman and have a house of your own?” suggested Knollis.

  Smith wagged his head. “I certainly shall!”

  “Such an interest is admirable,” said Knollis. “By the way, what do you call this one?”

  “Call it?” Smith asked vacantly.

  “The name of it,” Knollis said subtly.

  “The—the name of it?”

  “The name of it. What they call it. Name, brand, type, variety, species, genus, or what have you. They must call it something!”

  Knollis waited for the answer, a queer smile lurking round his lips.

  “I—I don’t know that particular one,” Smith stammered. “Mr. Manchester bought it only a few days ago. It is a new one.”

  Knollis picked out a s
mall wooden label that was pushed into the pot beside the plant. On it was the Latin name of the cactus. “This is Mr. Manchester’s handwriting?”

  “Yes,” Smith replied feebly.

  Knollis turned the label over. “The date is in the same handwriting. He bought it two years and three months ago. Still,” he sighed, “you may not have noticed it before. It is a rather insignificant plant.”

  “I hadn’t noticed it, sir! I’m sure I hadn’t!”

  “Continuing this garden quiz,” said Knollis, “what is the large one at the back of the staging, the one with the tiny red bud?”

  “It’s a—it’s a—it’s a,” said Smith, and moistened his lips with his tongue.

  “Very interesting,” remarked Knollis; “I have never seen an itsa before. A most remarkable plant. It is evident that you are a keen cactus enthusiast, and know quite a lot about them. No wonder you rush here at every available opportunity to gaze on them. All right, Smith, you can go. You’re a pretty poor liar, aren’t you?”

  They left Smith gazing at the cacti, and went back to the kitchen. Knollis smiled on Mrs. Redson, and watched Freeman closely as she helped with the preparations for lunch.

  “I hope you can drive a car, Mrs. Redson,” he said chattily.

  She turned from the table and regarded him with astonishment. “Me? Drive a car? Why, I hardly know one end from the other, sir. I couldn’t drive a scooter.” Then she stared at him. “Why?”

  “We—ell,” said Knollis reluctantly, “it looks as if I’ll have to take Smith back to Trentingham with me. Most disappointing! If only people would tell the truth!”

  Freeman span round, her back against the Welsh dresser, the edge of which she clutched with her hands.

  “Smithy!” she cried out. “Take Smithy! Smithy didn’t do it! I swear he didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it!”

  “Done what?” Knollis asked with feigned surprise.

  “He couldn’t have killed Freddy! I swear that he couldn’t! You can’t take him away!”

  “I’m not saying that he did kill Manchester,” Knollis replied. “I’m going to charge him with obstructing the police in the execution of their duty. He’s holding information, and holding up the investigation. He told me that he found Manchester by accident, and that he had walked round to the cactus house because he liked to look at them, and that they fascinated him—and yet both yourself and Mrs. Redson told me that he hated them and declared that they should be burned out of the way. I mean, it’s two against one, isn’t it?”

  Mrs. Redson’s jaw tightened. “I’m surprised at you, sir. I thought you were a gentleman, and here you go taking the words out of a woman’s mouth and using them against her man!”

  “Mrs. Redson,” said Knollis; “a murder has been committed. This is no time for niceties of behaviour, although I always try to observe them as far as possible. I have to find out why Smith went to the Green Alley, and I intend to find out if I have to charge Smith with his death. In other words, innocent though he may be, he will have to accept the consequences of his own stubborn attitude.”

  Freeman left the protection of the dresser, and slowly walked across the flagged kitchen floor. “I sent him there, Inspector!”

  “Now why would you do that, Miss Freeman?”

  “To—to wait for me. We were going for a walk.”

  “Very natural explanation,” Knollis commented gravely. “You think a great deal about Smith, don’t you?”

  “I’m in love with him,” she replied simply.

  Knollis nodded. “I appreciate that, Miss Freeman. You are so much in love with him that you send him to wait for you in the only spot in the grounds which he detests. Very natural! You are no better a liar than is Smith.”

  “But—” began Freeman, and then put her hands over her face and began to weep softly.

  “Can’t you leave the poor girl alone?” the cook protested angrily. “Hasn’t she had enough without this?”

  “Has she?” Knollis asked with innocently raised eye-brows. “Why, what else has upset her?”

  Mrs. Redson stared at him for a full twenty seconds, and then banged a dish angrily on the table. “Men!”

  “I’m suggesting,” said Knollis, “that Smith knew what he was going to find before he went to the Green Alley—and it wasn’t cacti. I’m further suggesting that you, Miss Freeman, had pre-knowledge of Manchester’s death. Neither of you will tell the truth, and so I’ll have to charge Smith with obstruction, and he will only have himself and you to thank for it.”

  Freeman flopped into a chair and bent her head to the table. “I can’t tell you! I can’t!”

  “So there is something to tell,” said Knollis.

  He turned to Ellis. “I want you to slip back to town and obtain a warrant. . . .”

  Freeman’s tearful face was lifted from the table. “I overheard it. Neither Smithy nor me had anything to do with it.”

  Knollis remained silent, while Ellis made a great to-do of buttoning his coat, clearing his throat, and taking his hat from the chair where he had laid it.

  “I was in the dressing-room,” Freeman said slowly, “and I’m sure that Miss Dana didn’t know that I was there. Mr. Brailsford came into the room. . . .”

  Ellis produced a notebook as inconspicuously as possible, and Knollis said: “Yes . . . ?”

  “I heard him say: ‘Well, the so-and-so has got it at last. He’s lying in the Green Alley with a damned great hole in his neck.’

  “Miss Dana gave an exclamation, and she said: ‘We’d better call the police.’ Mr. Brailsford said: ‘Don’t be a fool, Dana. He’s dead now. Let somebody else discover him—one of the staff. You don’t want to be suspected, do you?’ Miss Dana then said. ‘Why me?’ and Mr. Brailsford gave a nasty sort of a laugh and left the bedroom.”

  “Yes?” Knollis prompted her again.

  “Miss Dana went into the bathroom then, and I slipped downstairs to see Smithy. I told him that something horrible had happened in the Green Alley, and what was to be done about it? He wanted to know what it was, and I told him that I thought somebody had killed Freddy. He wanted to know how I knew, and I wouldn’t tell him because of Miss Dana. He said he would go and look on condition that I told him all I knew about it later. I promised that, and he—he went and—and found him.”

  “And that is the whole truth?” asked Knollis.

  “That’s the whole of it, sir!”

  “You’ve caused yourself a lot of unnecessary worry by keeping this back—and put your Smithy in a very awkward position. You are certain that you’ve told me the full truth?”

  “I’ve told you everything, sir!” Freeman protested. “Honest, I have.”

  Knollis glanced from Freeman to the cook. “Why on earth are all you people in this house keeping so quiet about the affair?”

  Mrs. Redson answered his question in a quiet and dignified voice. “Because everybody hated him, Inspector Knollis. Can’t you see that Freeman thought that Miss Dana was mixed up in it, and was shielding her, and that Smithy thought Freeman was mixed up in it, and was shielding her!”

  “Oh yes, I see all that quite clearly,” Knollis replied, “but I wanted to hear you or Miss Freeman say so. Now, Miss Freeman; I’ll want you to sign a copy of your statement. You’ll be prepared to do that?”

  “Yes, sir.” She nodded. “It’s all the truth.”

  “Good enough,” said Knollis. “I’ll now go and put Smith out of his misery.”

  They returned to the garage, to find Smith sitting with his chin balanced on his hand, and his elbow on his knee.

  “You can relax,” said Knollis. “Miss Freeman has explained the whole affair. When I’ve asked you a few more questions you can go and get her story at first hand. She told you that Manchester was lying dead in the Green Alley. Is that correct?”

  “She’s said that?” Smith asked incredulously.

  “Yes, she’s said that.”

  Smith rose, and brightened as he did so. “Well
, it is the truth of it, sir, only I didn’t know but what she was mixed up in it all, and whether she was or not I was going to keep my mouth shut.”

  “And you had to find a reason for going to the Green Alley!”

  “Well,” said Smith with expressive hands, “of course!”

  “Ellis,” said Knollis, “go find the sergeant and get the statement that Smith signed this morning. I think we should destroy it and start again.”

  “You mean that you won’t do anything about me making a false statement, sir?”

  Knollis granted him one of his rare smiles. “Your motive was a good one, Smith, and such loyalty is rare in the world I move in. I think we can forget the first statement, but this time we’ll need the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That understood?”

  Smith smiled.“Understood, sir—and thanks.”

  “Come back to the kitchen. We’ll check on the times. Ellis—wait for me in the study when you’ve got that statement.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Ellis, and departed.

  Back in the kitchen, Knollis asked Freeman at what time Brailsford had entered Dana Vaughan’s bedroom.

  “It must have been about twenty to six,” she replied.

  “And how long had you been in the dressing-room?”

  “Only a few minutes, sir. There is a boudoir and a dressing-room attached to the bedroom, and of course Miss Dana doesn’t use the dressing-room. I keep some of my clothes in it, in a built-in wardrobe, and I was getting out the dress I was going to wear for my walk with Smithy.”

  “Miss Vaughan wasn’t in the bedroom when you went through the dressing-room?”

  “No, sir. She came in just before Mr. Brailsford knocked on the door.”

  “And went to the bathroom immediately after he left. So that she didn’t know you were there?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think so, anyway.”

  “Mm!” Knollis murmured. “She must not get to know that you were there. Is that understood? I am telling all three of you!”

  They nodded in turn.