by E.
In the horseshoe-shaped room of the Assistant Commissioner (C for Crime) which overlooks the Embankment from the police palace of Scotland Yard, Sir Edward Allen heard the doctor’s story; and then the result of Kenway’s inquiries. He looked across at the scientist.
“What does it count up to, Harry?” he asked.
“I would not like to say, Edward,” was the thoughtful reply. “I have not seen the woman, Kenway has. He thinks, apparently, that she is of the Amazon stamp who could, in a frenzy, perhaps, pick up Canley and convey him to the line. I have my doubts—not that she could do it, but that she would do it. I do not think that a woman would have the idea of staging so elaborate an accident. A woman’s brain runs in a different groove to that of a man.” He thought for a few moments.
“But there is one circumstance that makes me hesitate before dismissing her from the plot.”
“That being—?”
“The polishing of the glasses and the bottle. Now that is the one thing a woman would think of. Mrs. Andover is a woman, and I gather an intelligent one. There is sufficient in that to make me say that she is worth a little more investigation. Mackenzie, I gather, is probing a little deeper into her various lovers, and I think Kenway here might give him the benefit of his riper experience in such cases.”
Kenway nodded. “There is one suggestion I want to make in reply to what the doctor has said,” he begged. “That is to inquire what the doctor thinks of a theory that there might be two people concerned in the business?”
Doctor Manson sat up. “In what way?” he asked.
“Well, supposing that it is not a woman’s job to carry Canley to the line, which is what we know happened, and it is more like a woman to polish everything up—might not she have done the polishing and her partner the carrying?”
“I have nothing against the idea, Kenway,” approved Manson. “What put the idea into your mind?” he added.
“Something that Mrs. Andover said. She thought that she was being played for a sucker by Canley. What she meant was that he told her he was going to be away for the night, left the cottage with her, and locked it up. He walked with her to the cross-roads, and there they parted. Now, at that junction the buses to and from Esher stop. She thought he was going to Esher, so she steps off with Appleton, who was pretty familiar with her before she took up with Canley.”
“You mean,” Sir Edward looked interested, “that there had been something going on between the woman and Appleton, and that Canley had got wise to it?”
“That, roughly, is the idea, Sir Edward. According to Appleton she was pretty clever at keeping her men apart. As I see it, Canley’s shooing her out of the cottage where she had expected to stay for the greater part of the night, his leaving her at the bus stop of the Esher buses saying that he didn’t know when he would be back, but not before midnight, seems to suggest that he had learned something of what was going on behind his back, and expected her to be on with a new love so soon as his back was turned.”
“And the plan came off,” mused Doctor Manson. “It’s an idea, Kenway.”
“But hardly an excuse for murder, would you think?” Sir Edward challenged the inspector.
“If it was a plan would the couple be content to leave it at that, Sir Edward?” retorted Kenway. “I don’t say that it is a ground for murder. But figure it out this way: Suppose the man and woman, irate at being duped by Canley, get together and decide to have it out with him. They go to his cottage, and in the row Canley gets accidentally rubbed out. Appleton is pretty cute. He could think out the accident theory. He’s lived in the place all his life, and knows the short cut pretty well, in fact he’s one of the men who has always said that some time somebody is going to get killed on that line, and then something would be done about the crossing. That covers up the doctor’s objection to the woman as having taken Canley to the line, and at the same time supports his idea that it is a woman’s mind which would think of the polishing.
“As to details,” went on Kenway. “Mrs. Andover lives alone in her rooms. Appleton lives alone in the rooms over his shop. Both of them say that they did not go out of their places that night. There is nobody to corroborate either of them.”
Sir Edward looked at his inspector. Gratified appreciation showed in his face. “Dash it, Kenway,” he said. “I didn’t think you had it in you. It’s a piece of good logical working out. What do you say to it, Doctor?”
“A very creditable piece of work, I agree, Edward,” responded Manson. “But I think there would have been some evidence of some kind of struggle if such an affray had occurred; and I doubt whether a scared woman—and she would have been scared—could have so completely removed all traces, so as to leave not one suggestion for us to discover.
“At the same time I am concerned over one point that Kenway made—his only real arguable fact—and that is the complete absence of proof that either of the people, Appleton or the woman, can produce any corroboration that they did not, in fact, leave their homes after the incident in the Miller’s Arms. That is a very important point indeed, and I think it all the more important that Kenway should return to Thames Pagnall and pursue investigations into it. Off you go, Kenway,” he invited. “See if you can find any recent association between the woman and Appleton.”
Sir Edward waited until the door had closed behind the inspector before he resumed his conference with his scientific investigator, at the point at which it had arrived before the entrance of Kenway.
“I take it, then, that it is murder, Harry?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. There is no doubt about it being homicide, Edward. And I think it was planned, too.”
The Assistant Commissioner twirled his monocle on its cord. “Which would mean that you don’t accept Kenway’s suggestion of a joint visit and a row?”
“I keep an open mind on that—in certain aspects, Edward. As Kenway postulated it will not bear examination—logical examination, that is.” He waited a comment.
Sir Edward turned the point over in his mind. “You know, I should have thought it might be possible,” he said at length. “They might naturally be expected to go round and ask Canley what was the game. Tempers might flare up in such circumstances—and there you are.”
“Granted, Edward. Tempers all het up, and a devil of a row going on. One of the pair sees red. What does he do? He picks up the weapon nearest to his hand, bats Canley one—and Canley goes west. That I can understand.”
He paused a moment. “But what I cannot understand in such circumstances, is the actual blow which killed Canley—in the only place where the injury could subsequently be hidden by decapitation.”
Sir Edward deliberated the argument. “You don’t think it is likely that seeing where the blow fell, Appleton could suddenly think of the train and the neck?”
“Candidly, I don’t.” Manson drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, a habit of his when he was worried in his deliberations. “There’s another point against it, too, Edward.”
“That is?”
“The weapon. There was nothing in the room except the hefty poker that could have killed Canley by a blow. The poker had not been used for such an attack. Would the pair going to Canley to have a row, but without malicious intent to do violence, have carried some weapon with them?”
“H’m! I see the point. But what do you mean, then, by saying that you keep an open mind on Kenway’s suggestions, Harry?”
“I qualified the verdict by saying ‘certain aspects’, you remember. Kenway, being a little impetuous, has not the logically balanced mind to search round all the aspects before stating a case. The two could have been associated in the murder in one way, and Kenway has the groundwork for that, too, in his suggestion that something might have been happening between Mrs. Andover and Appleton before that night.
“It is possible that they may have plotted to get rid of Canley, in which case they could have gone to the cottage with a plan already prepared. Thus, the woman could have kept the att
ention of Canley fixed on herself while Appleton struck the fatal blow on the spot where it had to be obliterated by the train. That is the reason I told Kenway to trace any possible recent association between the two, and to check, if possible, their presence in their respective homes.”
Sir Edward grunted defeat. “Dashed if I know how you think out these snags, Harry,” he said. “Without seeming to think at all—Come in,” he called, in response to a knock at the door. Inspector Kenway made a reappearance.
“Sorry, Sir Edward, to intrude, but it is rather important,” he proclaimed. He turned to the doctor.
“Mackenzie has just been on the telephone. He says that Mrs. Julian—the Paul Pry, you know—is prepared to swear that Mrs. Andover was not in her rooms last night between nine-thirty and midnight. She says that there were no lights, and the blinds were not drawn. When she popped off to bed at midnight, she gave another peep, and the windows were unchanged. Mackenzie wants to know what we want him to do?”
“Nothing.” Doctor Manson spoke sharply. “We do not want him bellowing all over the place. Tell him to lie low until you get there, Kenway, and you be off as quickly as you can—in a Squad car.”
“It looks as though there is something in the idea, Edward,” he commented, as Kenway left the room. “I’d go down myself except that there are one or two matters I must see to in the laboratory.”
CHAPTER XXI
Mrs. Andover looked from her door in surprise at the renewed appearance of her afternoon visitors. She was dressed for going out, but met the request of the officers for a little further chat by leading the way into her sitting-room.
“What is it now?” she asked, and in less pleasant cadence of voice than she had used on the earlier visit. Kenway appointed himself spokesman.
“There is a little doubt in our minds as to the actual interpretation we each place on what you told us this afternoon,” he explained. “Perhaps you would clear it up.”
“I thought I made it quite clear. But what is it?”
“You said that when you parted from Canley you came home—that is, to this room, and remained there. Is that correct?”
“Quite correct, Inspector.”
“You did not meet Mr. Appleton again? He did not, for instance, come here, and you did not go to him?”
“Certainly not, I had no idea where Mr. Appleton went when he left the Miller’s Arms.”
The reply gave to Kenway the opening gambit for which he had been angling—the introduction to Mr. Appleton’s sudden disappearance from the Miller’s Arms. He had thought it strange that the man should have left so unceremoniously at the entrance of Canley. There seemed no harm in his buying Mrs. Andover a drink in a public house—and certainly not any reason for bolting out of the place. Unless—He decided to make his point.
“You told us this afternoon, Mrs. Andover, that you thought that you were being played for a sucker in that Canley had told you he was going away on business, only to walk into the Miller’s Arms and find you with Mr. Appleton. Can you tell us why he should play such a trick on you?”
Mrs. Andover hesitated. “No,” she said, slowly. “I cannot.”
“Would there have been any rivalry between Mr. Appleton and Mr. Canley, for instance? Suppose that Canley had some suspicion that he would find you with Mr. Appleton. That would make him lay such a trap, would it not?”
“I don’t know what Canley thought, and I don’t care, either,” retorted Mrs. Andover.
“Come now, Madam,” said Kenway, brutally. “Canley was spending money on you. You were his mistress, were you not? You had known Appleton long before you met Canley. Was Appleton also finding you in money?”
Mrs. Andover stood up. Her face coloured. Even the mass of red hair seemed to grow into a more glittering red. She walked, or rather stalked, to the door of the room, and wrenched it violently open.
“Get out,” she ordered, *“Get out!” She was quivering with passion.
The two inspectors rose. “Very well, Mrs. Andover. We will go,” announced Kenway. “But we shall return. There were no lights in this room or in your bedroom, both with uncurtained windows from eight o’clock last night until after midnight. That can be proved.”
The woman stared at him in silence. Then she closed the door and returned to her seat. “All right,” she said. “I did not come back here. I went elsewhere.”
“With Appleton?”
“No. I did not see Appleton. That is exactly as I have told you. I went to someone else.”
“Whom?” demanded Kenway.
“The name I have no intention of giving. He had no connection with Canley, and never has had. He does not even know the name of Canley. And he is not in this village at all.”
Beyond that statement Mrs. Andover would not budge, and after a few minutes of unsuccessful efforts to get from her the name of this new man, the officers left.
The search into the probable movements of Mr. Appleton proved even less satisfactory. There was no available assistance from a Paul Pry; the best that could be obtained was from the local constable.
The two men sought him out at his home. At the sight of them he jumped to his feet, and tried hastily and vainly to get into his tunic. Kenway grinned.
“Don’t worry, Andrews,” he said. “I am sure your inspector doesn’t mind you being in your shirt sleeves in your own home, and I don’t. Sit down and make yourself comfortable.” He turned to Mackenzie. “You know the local ropes, Mac,” he said. “See what you can find.”
Mackenzie eyed his constable. “This is very confidential, Andrews, and mustn’t be mentioned, not even to that wife of yours.” The constable nodded.
“Did you see anything of Mr. Appleton in the village last night, after nine-thirty?”
“No, Inspector. Never saw him at all.”
“He’s on your beat, isn’t he?”
“Yes. I tried his shop door, as is my bounden duty, sir. The shop was locked up.”
“What time would that have been?” asked Kenway.
“The first time at ten o’clock, after I had traipsed round the places on the village green, sir.”
“Any lights in the place. I understand that Mr. Appleton lives above his shop.”
The constable shook his head. “No, sir, there were no lights at all in the place.”
“You said something about the first time you passed his place, Constable. Do I take it that you were in the vicinity later than that?”
“Yes, sir. I returned that way at twelve forty-five, in the early morning, and tried the door again.”
“Any lights that time?”
“No lights at all.”
“Did you by any chance see Mrs. Andover last night?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Just after midnight. She was turning the corner near her lodgings.”
“Rather late for her to be out, wasn’t it?”
The constable smiled slightly. “For a woman, yes sir,” he said. “But I often sees Mrs. Andover about after midnight. She generally comes home about that time.”
“Home from where, constable?”
“I don’t know, sir, of my own knowledge. But if there’s anything in rumour, then it’s generally from Mr. Canley’s cottage—or used to be,” he added, remembering that Canley was no more.
“You didn’t see whether she came from that direction last night, I suppose?”
“No, sir. I just caught a glimpse of her turning the corner. I did not see from which way she came.”
The two inspectors talked the constable’s evidence over as they walked back into the main street of the village. Mackenzie was looking a little anxious at the interest shown in Appleton.
“I’ve known Ted this thirty years,” he explained, “and I shouldn’t like anything to happen to him. He’s a good fellow. But its a bit queer about him saying he was at home, and yet there were no lights in the place either time.”
“Well, Mac, I should say that you can forget the absence of lights at half past twelve. He’d pr
obably be in bed by that time. But the ten o’clock darkness is a different kettle of fish. He wouldn’t be sitting at home at that time on a cold night with no lights. Perhaps we’d better make a few more inquiries.”
Inquiries, however, failed to find anyone who had seen the grocer about the streets, and the landlords of the various inns in the vicinity were quite definite in their statements that he had not been among their clientele at all on that evening.
“That’s a funny thing in itself,” commented Mackenzie, “for Ted is a sociable kind of a chap and generally spends an hour or two of every evening in the locals.”
“Perhaps the experience in the Miller’s Arms had put him off for the night,” suggested Kenway. “In any case, it does not seem really to matter, because they close at ten-thirty o’clock.”
“Perhaps we can get something out of himself,” suggested Mackenzie.
“No, no!” Kenway protested emphatically. “Always wanting to give somebody the works, you are, Mac. We have no evidence to warn him that anything he says may be used in evidence, and we could not question him directly as to his whereabouts and movements without warning him. It was different with Mrs. Andover, because we knew that she had been in the cottage that night. I’ll see what the doctor thinks of what we have learned so far. He may have found something at his end which may confirm what we have obtained.”
Doctor Manson heard the tale of the investigations, as he sat in the study of his flat. He poured out a drink for the inspector, and listened to the end without speaking.
“Very interesting, Inspector; very interesting, indeed,” he commented. “And especially the bit about the other man visited by Mrs. Andover. Any idea who he might be, if it wasn’t Appleton?”
“Mackenzie thinks it may have been a Mr. Betterton, who lives about three-quarters of a mile away, has plenty of money and an amorous reputation.”
After his guest had left, Manson sat silently reviewing the available evidence gathered during the day’s investigations, his brain striving to find the keystone which held all the parts together. The recapitulation did not afford him even a modicum of satisfaction.
