by E.
With Canley’s cigar now destroyed Porter looked round for that which he himself had been smoking. It was not in the ashtray, nor was it on the table. His eyes searched the floor where it might conceivably have fallen when he struck Canley. There was no sign of it.
Porter panicked. For three long minutes which seemed to him almost an eternity he searched in every place in which he could conceivably have stood since he lit the cigar. At the end he was without any clue to its whereabouts.
Beads of perspiration stood out on his brow, and he was trembling violently. Fantastically, the thought passed through his anxious mind that he should thus be so greatly disturbed by the loss of a cigar whereas he had felt no emotion whatever when he had first looked down at the body of the man he had murdered. He unconsciously analysed the reason. In the missing roll of tobacco he saw a menace to his plan which had up to now, he thought, worked with the preciseness of a clock movement. If this simple part of his plotting had gone wrong, then other points, not so simple, might also go astray. His safety would be imperilled.
Porter steeled his nerves, and stood striving for calmness in which to recall all his actions up to the moment when he had struck Canley down; thinking introspectively, he realized, might lead him to the missing cigar.
It was at this moment that searching round the room he caught sight of the reflection of himself in the mirror on the wall with which he had tested the breathing of Canley. He was shocked into utter and complete surprise. Then a laugh, which was almost a sob of relief, came from his throat.
The cigar was in his mouth!
With a hand trembling in nervous exhaustion he took it thankfully from his lips and placed it carefully on the mantelpiece.
Porter sat down heavily in a chair and passed a hand over his wet brow. The incident had left him still trembling like a leaf. So stupid an action on his part, as the cigar showed him to be capable of, made him fear for the safeguards he had planned. The cigar was a safeguard that had very nearly gone wrong. Was there another safeguard in danger? Despite the fact that minutes were passing and that he had a time-table to work to if his method of disposing of Canley was to be carried out, Porter sat down and reviewed, as far as his brain would allow, all that he had so far done.
Forcing himself to take things quietly and unhurriedly he went over the points of his plan—they were imprinted on his memory—and compared them with the murder and the aftermath so far achieved. After groping cogitation he convinced himself that the cigar incident was a solitary incident; apart from that he had left nothing undone, and that he was safe so far as he had gone in the matter of the disposal of Canley. The reviewing had taken him several minutes and he was now behind with his timing. He had to hurry faster than he really wanted, and almost too fast to be consonant with the meticulous care that safety demanded.
The destruction of Canley’s cigar had been intended, of course, to leave in existence only one of the two cigars smoked, in order that it should be quite clear that Canley, and none other than Canley had been in the cottage that night—in fact, that Canley had been alone and without visitors. This led him now to what he regarded as one of the two most important of his operations—the removal, completely, of any evidence of his presence in that cottage.
The disposal of Canley’s body in the way he had in mind meant that an inquest would have to be held on the man. An inquest meant police investigation into the death. The presence of two people in the cottage would be bound to be discovered, and if the second person did not come forward to give an explanation to the police, then suspicion against him was certain to be aroused. At the moment there was undoubtedly evidence of two people in the two glasses from which he and Canley had drunk. One of the glasses had implanted on it the fingermarks of Canley, and the other bore the fingermarks of himself (Porter). In fact, both might have imprinted the fingers of Porter on their surface, for he was not sure that he had not handled the glass of Canley, when he had poured out that last drink.
For such a possibility Porter had come prepared. From a jacket pocket he took out a large piece of mutton-cloth—the soft woven material which most motorists use for polishing their cars. Lifting the two glasses from the table one at a time he rubbed them vigorously all over with the cloth, afterwards thoroughly polishing them. Inspection obtained by holding the glasses up against the light showed them to be completely clear of any fingermarks or even stains of any kind. One of the tumblers Porter replaced on the table; the other he carried to the sideboard, where he stood it on a shelf.
Next article to be treated was the bottle of whisky. Porter exercised the greatest care in polishing the entire expanse of glass. Finally, the carafe of water was similarly cleared of all impressions.
The next phase of the plot was one to which Porter in his planning had given much thought. Though it was, of course, essential that there should be no traces of his (Porter’s) fingerprints about the place, necessity demanded that there should be prints of the fingers of Canley. A bottle of whisky, a glass and a carafe of water all on the table without the impress of a hand upon them would hardly coincide with the supposed story of Canley drinking to himself in the room, and walking out, probably half-drunk, to his death, in a manner which was so obviously accidental.
Even a common or garden detective of the lowest constabulary rank would examine the drinking necessities for fingerprints—it was now a formal precaution in the Force, as Porter realized. And such an officer would take a decidedly jarring interest in the absence of any. Nobody could drink, naturally, from a glass without leaving the imprint of a finger on the glass. That was where the cleverness of Porter and his plot was to be demonstrated.
The tumbler which he had placed on the table after its polishing he now lifted, holding it by the base with the mutton-cloth as protection. Crossing to the body lying in front of the roaring fire he knelt down, and keeping his face averted from that of the dead man, lifted the right hand.
The flesh was warm and natural to the touch despite its lifelessness. The action of the arm was still flexible, which surprised the man holding it. Porter manipulated the limp hand into a certain position, inspected it in relation to the tumbler which he was holding in his left hand, and shook his head in a negative decision. He released the hand which dropped at once to the side of the corpse. Slightly changing his position by the side of Canley, Porter once again raised the hand. Once more he flexed the wrist and opened the fingers. This time a nod of satisfaction escaped him. Gently, he lowered the glass into the dead man’s hand, and then with his right hand pressed the thumb and fingers of the hand of Canley round the surface of the glass. The operation required considerable dexterity to ensure that the prints gave the appearance not of a fellow fumbling for the glass, but of a firm picking up by a holder who wanted a drink, and knew that he wanted it.
Rising, Porter held up the glass to the light and inspected the impressions made by the dead hand. They appeared to him to be quite natural and in the position which the hand of a man picking up the glass to consume its contents would naturally assume. With a chuckle of appreciation of his dexterity Porter stood the glass on the sideboard. Then, with the same careful and sinister caution, he repeated the operation with the bottle of whisky and the carafe of water. In the case of the former, he imprinted the dead man’s fingers about half the way down the bottle surface. To ensure accuracy he had himself gone over the action of picking up the bottle and noting where his hand had taken natural hold of it. He had then to re-polish the glass surface before pressing the hand of Canley similarly round it. The carafe of water he caused to be seized by the dead man by the long neck of the vessel. In each case he had been meticulously careful to hold the article through two thicknesses of the mutton-cloth.
The result was that he now possessed three articles—the tumbler, the whisky bottle and the water carafe—all bearing the marks of having been used by Canley—and by nobody else. Thus he had, simply and emphatically, realized his safety plan of leaving behind the story of a
man who had poured himself out a tot of whisky, drank it, smoked half-way through a cigar and had then, still alone, left the house, never to enter it again.
Porter surveyed the scene with mental and physical satisfaction. So far so excellent! But still more work remained to be done in the way of fingerprints. There was also the table to arrange to present an emphatic confirmation of the picture drawn by the prints impressed on the drinking vessels. He turned his next efforts to the table.
Taking it in sections he proceeded to polish with the mutton-cloth every square inch of the surface. As each section was completed he peered along it at table level to make sure that there remained no vestige of marks. The detailed nature of his planning was evidenced by the fact that he polished equally thoroughly the edges of the table, and even the underside of the edges.
Similarly, he treated the two chairs on which Canley and he had sat. Here again he was sufficiently cautious to wipe with the cloth the underside of the chair which he had used; he recalled having read in a detective story of a man whose presence was proved by an inspector from prints made on the undersides of a chair which he had drawn towards him while still sitting in it. Porter had tried the experiment himself, and found that the natural way of so moving a chair was to grasp the edges of the seat, partly lift oneself and then jerk the chair forward. He remembered that he had several times moved the chair backwards and forwards while with Canley. He accordingly wiped the underside of the seat thoroughly.
This operation completed, he sat in Canley’s armchair letting his hands rest on the upholstered surface of the arms. It tickled him thus to leave marks—secure in the knowledge that no such marks or prints could be identified or taken from the rough tapestry! From his vantage point he let his eyes wander round the room, dwelling slowly and thoroughly on each article of furniture, and deliberating with himself whether he had at any time touched it since he entered the cottage. Not until he had surveyed everything at least twice, and had finally wiped the poker with which he remembered he had stirred the ashes of the burnt cigar, did he feel satisfied with his work.
The time had now arrived in accordance with his prepared time-table, for him to leave for any investigation which might be undertaken a picture of the last hours of the life of Canley—a picture that would be easy to read, and he was sure, impossible to be misunderstood by any police officer.
Holding the whisky bottle by the rim with the mutton-cloth, and taking care not to smudge the prints of Canley, he poured a little whisky from it into the tumbler, also bearing the prints of Canley’s fingers. This he swished round inside the glass. The inference to be drawn from a subsequent investigation was that the glass had been filled and drunk from. Placing the tumbler on the table, Porter proceeded to carry from the sideboard to the table the carafe of water and the whisky bottle, arranging them in a casual manner just behind the tumbler, as they would be to a person wanting them near his hand for the purpose of drinking a nightcap.
Then came something which had not originally been in his plan. It came spontaneously, a sudden idea that raised a smile on Porter’s face despite the corpse that lay, still and warm in front of him; a regular ornament for the mise en scène. Lifting the tumbler once more with the mutton-cloth he moistened the base with whisky and rested it on the table top. He proceeded to lift and rest it again several times, making the resting places overlapping each other. Every time a ring of moisture was left on the polished surface.
Simple but ingenious. The rings would dry but still leave their marks on the table. They would tell now emphatically the story of Canley in the house. Four or five drinks of whisky which he must have taken. If it led to the belief that Canley was pretty well under the weather, so to speak, when he went out of the cottage on that night, then it would be of incalculable help to the plan. Porter regarded it with great satisfaction, and with no little pride at the thought of it.
He proceeded further to set the final scene. The chair which he had used during his talk to Canley and which he had polished free of all prints, he placed against the wall at the side of the room, whence Canley had pulled it forward on his arrival. Canley’s chair he placed by the side of the table, in front of the drinking requirements, but pushed slightly sideways as a chair would be if a drinker rose from it to go out of the room.
Stepping back he surveyed the setting. It looked to him quite natural; he saw nothing that could be said to be out of place.
He nodded his head contentedly. He was quite satisfied now that he had eliminated all traces of Jack Porter from the room.
It now remained to make perfectly certain that the room was equally clear of all traces of Jack Edwins. Wrapping his fingers in the utilitarian mutton-cloth he pulled the papers and wallet from Canley’s pocket and looked through them. There were bills, a demand from a bookmaker for the settlement of an account within seven days—apparently, said Porter to himself, that was the reason for the request for the £100 to be brought tonight. The remainder of the contents of the pocket were a cheque book and a few letters. Porter pushed them back into the pocket and crossed to a desk standing in front of the window. In its recesses and drawers were more letters, a bank statement of account, photographs, racing form books and bookmakers’ accounts. There was also an accounts book which seemed to refer to Canley’s income and payments out.
Nothing in them, so far as Porter could see linked him with Canley. Not that he had expected to find anything, but he had to make sure. The least suspicion pointing in his direction, or in the direction of Jack Edwins, might prove disastrous.
Upstairs in the bedrooms the same security seemed assured. The drawers in the dressing-table and in the tallboy contained only the usual things to be found in such places. There was nothing in the pockets of other suits of Canley which were hanging in the wardrobe.
Mutton-cloth in hand to take hold of any article requiring investigation, Porter wandered through the remainder of the house, searching for danger. The kitchen showed nothing within of peril for himself, the other room in the house, with a door opposite the room in which was Canley, had no furniture in it. He had been in no other place.
The time had now come for the final stage in the death of James Canley. Glancing at the clock Porter saw that it showed 11.10 p.m. He had twenty-five minutes left. He walked back into the hall and lifted his overcoat from the hallstand. It was then he realized that it was possible that in hanging up the coat his fingers might possibly have come into contact with the wood of the stand. That must be made negative. He polished the stand with the mutton-cloth. Then carrying his overcoat over one arm, he lifted down the overcoat of Canley and went alertly and determinedly back into the room.
In just under twenty minutes’ time the last train of the night on its way to the terminus station down the line would be passing over the bridge within sight of the cottage.
That train was to end Canley’s life for the second—and last—time!
CHAPTER IX
Jack Porter had now reached the last stage of his plan. Though the other stages had been of great importance, this final preparation represented the crowning point, the high spot of the murder. So far he had eliminated all evidence of himself, or of his other self, Jack Edwins, from the house and from the actual contact with Canley. But that was not sufficient; he had now in the final move to eliminate any other person of any kind, or any suspicions of another person in the company of Canley, or any suspicion, however slight, of foul play in connection with the death. He flattered himself that nobody could have evolved a simpler, yet completely watertight way of achieving those two ends than the way he had worked out.
It had been decided upon only after long and logical consideration of the position from every angle. The outcome of it was that Canley’s body would be found on the railway line next morning. The cause of death would be obvious to everybody; the victim, crossing the lines by a short cut, had been caught by the train in the darkness, knocked down and killed. It would be given in evidence that people were in the ha
bit of using the short cut despite the warning of the railway company. Should the question of how he came not to see the train and thus be knocked down arise, that would probably be answered by the evidence shown in the living-room of the cottage. It would disclose that the man had been indulging in alcohol, was evidently half-drunk and had failed in his fuddled state to notice the train, or alternatively had seen the train but not realizing how close it was, or misjudging the speed, had tried to cross ahead of it, and had been trapped.
Reviewing his activities during the past three-quarters of an hour Porter convinced himself that all had gone well. The worst was now over. What had to follow was—Porter thought round for a suitable word—was tricky but not really dangerous. He saw very little difficulty about it, so long as he kept his head should certain unforeseen circumstances arise, and provided that he did not fall down on any detail of his planning. Since he had gone over this part of the plan not once, but a hundred times until he knew them as well as a moneylender knows his interest tables, there was little danger of his failing to do that.
With a cheerful but subdued chuckle at the thought that the long night was at last nearing its end, Porter began these final preparations. Canley himself was to renew an active role in them.
Porter’s first actions, however, were peculiar. He sat down in Canley’s armchair, unlaced his shoes and kicked them off. He started a little at seeing a bare toe protruding through one of his socks, grinned, and examined his toenail. A psychologist, doubtless, would find some explanation for the incongruity of the incident; but Porter himself could not, for after a moment he stared at the toe in amazement. ‘What the hell does it matter?’ he asked himself, ‘What’s come over me?’
