“His personal estate?” asked Knollis.
“Also in trust for Mrs. Manchester during the period of her lifetime, and then to the nephews.”
“Thanks,” said Knollis. “Sorry to have troubled you.”
He next went to the bank. The bank manager scrutinised his credentials closely, and then laid before him the information that he needed.
“You ask,” he said, “if many payments have been made to a Mr. Desmond Brailsford. You will see that he has been in receipt of fifty pounds a month from Manchester. He—Manchester—was somewhat profligate with his money, as witness the five thousand pounds he put into Miss Vaughan’s account. He said it was there for her to draw on should she need extra backing for her play. By the way, Colonel Mowbray collected these details a short time ago.”
Knollis controlled himself with difficulty. “I am merely making a routine check,” he said soberly.
Outside in the street he gave vent to an oath.
“What the devil is the old so-and-so playing at? I’m supposed to be investigating the case, and he’s playing behind my back! Probably trying to scoop me! Well, I’ll show him—I think.”
Ellis nodded glumly.
“Not a promising state of affairs, is it? By the way, what do you think of Freeman’s evidence?”
“Well,” Knollis said slowly, “it all points to one probability; that Manchester was planning a third death. Now who was it to be? It looks as if both Vaughan and Brailsford were milking his bank balance. You know, Ellis, I’m not too happy about this case! Oh well, let’s go to the Guildhall and see what old Mowbray has to say for himself.”
“There’s a point that’s worrying me,” said Ellis. “You say that Vaughan and Brailsford were blackmailing him. If they were, then why did Manchester include them in his bequests?”
Knollis had the car door in his hand. The hand fell to his side, and he turned to face Ellis, biting his lip.
“That’s a point,” he said quietly. “Thanks, Ellis, I hadn’t seen it. Now why . . . ? It’s queer, and yet I think I see a glimmering of light. Come on! We’ll get to the Guildhall.”
The Chief Constable was busily engaged with a deskful of papers when they walked in on him. He rescrewed his monocle into his eye, and looked up with an air of triumph. “We’ll go along to Baxmanhurst and pick him up in a few minutes, Knollis. I think I’ve got the case buttoned up this time. In fact I’m sure I have.”
“Pleased to hear it,” said Knollis. He pulled a chair towards the desk, and seated himself. “Perhaps you would explain it all to me,” he added in a humble voice.
The Chief Constable smiled broadly. “The whole point is that you missed the chief clue! Sorry to say it, but I suppose it is because you are at it all the time and get jaded. I’m a fresh mind coming to the case. Further to the point, I have perhaps an advantage over you, inasmuch as I can see the thing from a psychological angle.”
“Very interesting,” Knollis murmured politely.
“I suppose I can assume that your statements—those taken from the various witnesses—are verbatim ones?” Knollis turned to Ellis, slowly lowering the eyelid farthest from the Colonel. “Your statements were taken verbatim, Sergeant Ellis?”
“Verbatim, sir,” said Ellis. “Word for word, comma for comma, and period for full stop.”
“Sergeant Ellis prides himself on his accuracy, sir,” Knollis informed the Chief Constable.
“Good enough,” said Colonel Mowbray. “Now I’ll go over the case very slowly, so that you can follow my reasoning.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged,” said Knollis. The Chief Constable lit a cigarette and watched the smoke through his monocle as it curled and twisted to the ceiling, and then swung into a horizontal path and disappeared through the ventilator.
“It has been Brailsford all along. I suppose you are in no doubt about his having killed his father?”
“There is a suspicion,” said Knollis, “but certainly no proof. However, please do continue, sir. I am most interested.”
“Brailsford killed his father,” Colonel Mowbray said in a dogmatic voice, “and then he arranged for his sister to go on the cruise so that she could meet Manchester—who had money which he needed.”
“We have no proof of that,” said Knollis, “but I agree with the proposition.”
“Brailsford,” went on the Chief Constable stubbornly, “arranged for them to meet, and probably spoke deep into Manchester’s ear about Mildred’s social connections—which were mostly fanciful. Manchester marries her, and Brailsford then proceeds to chisel his sister for money. Now Manchester is giving his wife an allowance which he considers sufficient for all her purposes, and when Desmond has reached the point in his demands where his sister can no longer provide he turns to Manchester and reveals the secret of his sister’s parentage—still suppressing the fact that he is her brother. He tells Manchester—probably—that he knows someone who is going to give the game away and who can only be kept quiet by money. Manchester proceeds to pay up, and Desmond pockets the money.”
The Chief Constable paused for breath, but the light in his eye was no less triumphant. Knollis was regarding him with genuine astonishment.
“Now suppose,” went on the Chief Constable, “that Manchester was considering divorce proceedings.”
“But he wasn’t—as far as we know,” Knollis protested.
“But he was!” exclaimed the Chief Constable. “I got that from his solicitor!”
Knollis rose from his seat, a dangerous look in his, eyes. “You mean to tell me, sir, that you have withheld that information from me!”
Colonel Mowbray wriggled uncomfortably. “Well, I only got the information a few minutes ago. I didn’t know where you were, so I couldn’t very well get in touch with you—now could I?”
“Well,” said Knollis, somewhat mollified, “I suppose you are right there, sir. I’m investigating the case, when all is said and done, and—oh, the information in no way affects my view of the case, so why worry?”
“It only provides the motive,” said the Chief Constable shortly.
“I don’t see that it does, if you’ll allow me to differ from you, sir,” said Knollis.
“You fell down on the main clue,” the Chief Constable said defiantly. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“I wish you would,” Knollis said softly.
“Manchester was not aiming at divorce, but an annulment of the marriage. His story was that his wife had revealed her parentage on the day of the marriage, and that consequently the marriage had never been consummated.
“Now! He tells Brailsford this, not knowing that he is her brother, and Brailsford can see his money-for-nothing going down the drain, and so he plans to kill him before the proceedings are instituted. He drugs Temple, locks him in the woodshed, plants the axe handy, and awaits his chance. He knows that Tanroy is coming to see Manchester, and knows quite well that a row is quite likely, so that the quarrel will be the cause of the crime. Tanroy obligingly clears off early, and Desmond slips downstairs and kills him. Now, what do you think to that, Knollis?”
“I don’t like it,” Knollis said flatly.
“How do you regard it, Sergeant Ellis?” asked the Chief Constable.
Ellis grimaced. “It stinks to high heaven, sir—begging your pardon.”
“What the hell’s wrong with it?” the Chief Constable demanded.
“The main point is that Desmond Brailsford was in his room, and heard a woman talking below his window,” Knollis pointed out.
Colonel Mowbray smiled. “Yes, that is where you fell down! You misinterpreted Brailsford’s statement. As a result of seeing the truth, I’ve sworn a warrant against Brailsford, and we’re now going out to Baxmanhurst to execute it.”
Knollis shook his head sadly. “I do hope you know what you’re doing, sir! It will cause an awful scandal if you are on the wrong person.”
“I hope you aren’t doubting my intelligence, Knollis! I’m not generally re
garded as being a moron.”
He rose, and collected a handful of papers, among which was the warrant for Brailsford’s arrest. “Well, let’s get going!” he said impatiently.
“Before we go, sir,” said Knollis, “would you mind explaining where I slipped up so badly? I hate to be left in ignorance of my own ignorance.”
The Chief Constable turned back to the desk and took up a single sheet of paper.
“Here is an extract from Brailsford’s statement. Somebody was talking under my window about the time that Fred was killed . . . one was definitely Fred’s. The other sounded like a woman’s voice.”
“Well?” said Knollis.
“Nowhere, at no time, in his statements, does Brailsford say that he was in his bedroom! He says there were people talking under his window. Well—he was one of them. Can’t you hear his queer high-pitched feminine voice? The voice that sounded like a woman’s? It was his own!”
The Chief Constable laughed. “He twisted you, my friend, and you fell for it. It was Brailsford himself who was talking to Fred—as he killed him!”
Knollis’s jaw dropped. “My God!” he exclaimed.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE THREEFOLD CORD
Colonel Mowbray stalked into Baxmanhurst as if he owned it. As soon as he reached the study he rang for Freeman and ordered her to produce Desmond Brailsford without delay.
Knollis dallied in the hall until the Colonel was safely out of earshot, when he rang through to Knightswood and asked Sir Giles Tanroy to oblige him by attending him at Baxmanhurst. “You’ll probably have a wish granted,” he added. “Colonel Mowbray is rampant with a warrant.”
He signalled to Ellis, and they joined the Chief Constable in the study.
Desmond Brailsford came round the door furtively, his left eye cocked to the ceiling, and his right one looking ahead. His mouth was twisted so wryly that it was impossible to tell whether it was the normal leer of his unfortunate deformity or whether he was looking cynical.
The Chief Constable stepped forward, one hand extended ready to lay on Brailsford’s shoulder. “Daniel Marlin.”
Brailsford smiled. “So you know me, eh? Not that it matters a jot, although I’ve almost forgotten what the name sounds like.”
“I am placing you under arrest,” began the Chief Constable, but Knollis interposed.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you, sir! You are making a horrible mistake, which may prove expensive!”
Brailsford took a step backward. “You mean that you are charging me with killing Fred Manchester! Some detective you are—or are you making sure that you have a culprit? I’ve heard about the police before. Well, arrest me if you wish. Stick me up at the Assizes, and I’ll make you look the biggest damned fool in England. Come on, Colonel! Arrest me—and break yourself!”
“You can’t bluff me!” the Chief Constable shouted. “I know you for what you are! And threatening to break me, eh?”
“He’s right, you know,” Knollis said sadly. He shrugged his shoulders. “Still, if you insist on going ahead you had better warn him that he is not obliged to say anything in answer to the charge unless he wishes to do so, but whatever he does say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence. We must observe judges’ rules, no matter what kind of a mess you make.”
He turned to Brailsford. “I advise you not to talk until you have seen a solicitor.”
Brailsford nodded his thanks. “Decent of you, Inspector. Let him go ahead. I’ll sue the Crown for wrongful arrest. I am completely innocent. As for talking, I’m prepared to talk as hard as you like. Now, Colonel Mowbray, on what stupid grounds do you base your charge.”
The Chief Constable’s monocle was hanging loose on its black ribbon, swinging violently as he waved his arms. “I’ll tell you! You were responsible for doping Temple on Tuesday last, so that he lay in a drunken stupor for nine hours, his whereabouts unknown, and so that he lay under suspicion for killing his employer.”
Brailsford laughed loudly. “Me? Doped him? Don’t talk so dam silly! How the hell could I dope him?”
“You supplied him with a bottle of beer!”
“Beer is pretty poor stuff these days,” sneered Brailsford, “but I don’t think it would put a cat to sleep. Anyway, I did give him a bottle if that is of any interest to you. Milly gave it to me, and asked me to take it out to the poor hound. Fred had been tearing strips off him that morning, and she wanted to make it up to him. The beer was a sort of gesture of sympathy—or a consolation prize. Call it which you like.”
“Was Temple conscious?” Knollis asked quietly.
“So-so,” Brailsford replied. “I stood the bottle beside him—he was lying on some sacks—and left him to it. Milly had taken the top off, all ready for him.”
“You are sure that your sister gave it to you?” said Knollis.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Brailsford demanded. “I don’t go poking about round the staff quarters, and I’ve told you that about a dozen times up to now. I just wouldn’t dare to invade Mrs. Redson’s quarters for a bottle of beer, and anyway, what the hell are bells, and servants for?”
“Logical enough,” Knollis agreed. “Now answer this for me: Why did you persuade your sister to go on the cruise in the course of which she met Manchester?”
“To meet Manchester,” said Brailsford. “I’ve no hesitation in answering that. Milly wanted money and a spot of peace and security. Freddy wanted a social position, so I planned to bring them together. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out properly.”
“Why did you take the name of Desmond Brailsford?” demanded the Chief Constable. “Was that the work of an honest man?”
“It was the work of a sensible one,” Brailsford replied. “Would you keep your own name if your old man was a public hangman? Have some damned sense! The old boy had caused us enough humiliation as it was, without asking for more. Look at my face! I owe that to him—the swine!”
“I know the story,” Knollis said softly. “Now I want to ask you one more question. You have twice told me that you heard a woman’s voice under your window about the time that Manchester was killed. Did you recognise that voice?”
Brailsford shook his head. “I did not, and that is the truth, Inspector. I can guess at the owner, but I’d rather not, thank you. The voices were mere murmurs to me. One was deep and rumbling, and I’ll lay all I possess that it was Fred’s. The other was high-pitched and feminine—and that is as far as I am going.”
“Did you hear the blow?” asked Knollis. “As you have been cautioned, you are not obliged to answer this or any other question. I think I should warn you, too, that you will be charged as an accessory after the fact, because I can prove that you disposed of the axe after Manchester’s death.”
Brailsford nodded gloomily. “Yes, I did that, and I’ll take what’s coming for it. I wanted to delay the investigation until I had some idea of who was responsible. I bunged the thing in the water-butt, and rescued it later in the evening. You will remember me saying that I wanted to go into town? Well, I had an idea for slinging it in the reservoir on the Trentingham road. I missed the bus, and was stuck at the bus-stop with a bloody axe under my arm. I had to get rid of it somehow. I saw Mrs. Temple trot up the village, so I crept round the back of the cottage and parked it in the dustbin, minus the outside wrapper. It wasn’t a brilliant notion, but I was getting a bit windy. I mean, it wouldn’t have looked too good if one of your bobbies had challenged me to unwrap the parcel. By the way, Inspector, you can keep the sheet of brown paper, but I would like my pants back when you’ve done with ’em!”
Knollis grinned at him. “In due course.”
“Now,” said Brailsford, “you asked me if I heard the blow. I did—and that is obvious, isn’t it? I tried to look out of the window, but as you know from your own tests, it was not possible. So I hopped off downstairs, taking the back stairs for the quickest. I don’t know why I made the next move, but I doubled back through the hall and put my head round
the door of the sitting-room to ask Milly if she had heard anything unusual. She was knitting or mending quite happily, and shook her head, so I nipped through the annexe and found Fred. . . .”
“The man you saw going round the house was a figment of your imagination?” Knollis suggested.
“I’m afraid it was,” said Brailsford.
“You went to Miss Vaughan’s room, and reminded her that she probably would not want to be under suspicion. You regarded her as the possible killer?”
“You’ve got me there all right,” replied Brailsford. “Milly was quite happy in the sitting-room, whereas Dana was just entering her room and closing the door as I started up the stairs. I reckoned that she must be responsible.”
“There is a point which you may not care to clear up for us,” said Knollis, “and you are not obliged to make any statement on it. I refer to the financial assistance accorded to you from time to time by Manchester.”
“Well,” said Brailsford, scratching his ear and leering, “he did lend me money from time to time, as you say. He had discovered who Milly was, and was scared stiff of the fact getting out. He seemed to think that I was capable of showing him up as the husband of a hangman’s daughter, and he tried to keep in with me. Of course, I would never have given my own sister away!”
“Of course not!” said Knollis.
“Fred was handing out money left and right, and I didn’t see why I should refuse fifty quid now and then. He’d got more money than I had, and wasn’t working for it!”
There was a tap on the door, and Freeman appeared.
“Sir Giles Tanroy, sir.”
“Come in,” said Knollis. “Freeman! Will you please ask Mrs. Manchester and Miss Vaughan to oblige me by stepping this way? Now, Sir Giles, I would like to ask you a question. Mrs. Manchester has told me that on Tuesday evening she suggested that you go and have a look at the cactus house in order to satisfy yourself that her husband had not ruined it even though he had chopped down the vines.”
The Threefold Cord Page 21
