by Roy Vickers
“I can more or less deny that,” offered Jill. “She left London yesterday with a couple of suitcases—and no policeman. I have reason to believe that she has gone abroad.”
“That tallies,” said Stranack. “The London evening papers say that she was dining at Brighton last night with a free lance airman. There’s a private airfield near there. After dinner the police pinched the airman for smuggling. It’s true they didn’t mention pinching Veronica, but they’ll have guessed what the airman was for.”
Jill remembered Maenton’s vague remark suggesting that Veronica might not be using “surface transport”.
“The police might stop her from going abroad, but I don’t see how they could arrest her?” said Jill.
“They have not arrested her,” Eddis was authoritative. “They could only have done so if she had confessed that she was at the lockhouse. She has not confessed.”
“How can you be so sure?” challenged Jill. “Let me telephone her solicitor.”
“The police have told the exchange to stop all calls, in or out,” Stranack told her.
“It is obvious that she has not confessed,” said Eddis. As the others were waiting for proof he went on: “I do not wish to cause offence by making an ex parte statement but if Veronica had confessed I would be alone in this room with Miss Aspland.”
“I didn’t suppose she had confessed,” said Stranack. “She isn’t that sort. Nothing has happened except that they’ve stopped her from leaving the country. But why is Curwen suddenly chucking his weight about? I thought we had got him into quite nice ways.”
It was apparent to Jill that Stranack, unlike Eddis, was ill at ease. Would the innocent man have been ill at ease at some unexpected development? Eddis glanced at her as if he had read her thought.
“Stranack’s anxiety is, of course, natural in the circumstances,” he remarked. “But unnecessary! I have recently put myself to the tedium of reading a police manual. It contains a very large number of golden rules. I learn that a good policeman does not talk—he acts. Curwen is a good policeman and he is coming here to talk. That brings another golden rule into operation. In cases of deadlock a good policeman will confront suspected persons with each other and by a technique of seeming to favour first one then another incite them to defeat each other’s purpose.”
Some ten minutes later Stranack, standing by the side window, announced that there was something coming up the road.
“It’s not a police car, by the look of it … It’s a Daimler!”
Jill crossed to the window and stood beside Stranack. The Daimler drew on to the verge. Out of it stepped Veronica Brengast.
Jill left the room. When she neared the top of the ramp she had a back view of Veronica, who was standing near the local constable, her back towards him, looking towards Renchester.
The constable held up his hand as if he were stopping traffic.
“It’s all right I don’t want to leave. I only want to speak to Mrs. Brengast.”
At the sound of Jill’s voice Veronica turned, hesitated, then came past the policeman on to the ramp. A tailormade suit did no harm to her femininity, but her expression was unattractive.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Jill. I agreed to come here as a special favour to Inspector Curwen and I shall not enter that house until he arrives.”
“That’s for the benefit of the constable, isn’t it? Come to the bottom of this ramp and you won’t have to talk like that.” As Veronica did not move, Jill added: “I expect you’re tired. It’s a difficult journey here from Brighton.”
“So you’ve been spying on me again!”
“No doubt! But the bit about that airman’s arrest for smuggling is in the evening papers: so is your name.”
That shocked Veronica into walking obediently down the ramp.
“Now, try not to waste time brawling with me, and listen. If you want to think of me as spying on you—I have spied to some purpose. I have had proof that you were at this lockhouse with one of those men—”
“‘With one of those men’!” cut in Veronica. “Which one?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know! Then what are we talking about?”
“Your marriage settlement.”
“And you think you’re going to get your hands on it this afternoon. Try!” For a moment the beautiful face lost its beauty.
Jill saw that it would be impossible to obtain any kind of co-operation.
“So you would rather brawl, than hear something I wanted to tell you about your marriage settlement. There would just have been time.”
She had heard footsteps at the top of the ramp. Inspector Curwen, with Benjoy, his aide, and Lyle Canvey, were coming down.
“Miss Aspland!” Curwen looked pleased. “I’ve been trying to find you in Renchester. You’ve come to help us, I hope?”
“I will if I can,” answered Jill and glanced at Canvey.
“A social occasion!” he said, grinning, while his eyes were grave. “One feels inadequately dressed.”
“Yet you may find yourself enjoying the party.”
In Jill’s absence the furniture had been rearranged. The long dining table, still overloaded with possessions, remained useless against the wall; but Eddis had assembled the two packing cases and covered them with a dilapidated apron of green baize. At the head was a wheel-backed chair with two upright chairs at the sides. The other furniture was grouped in a semi-circle round the packing cases.
“Hullo, Veronica!” cried Stranack. “I don’t think you have met my colleague, Mr. Eddis.”
“That is for Mrs. Brengast to say.” Eddis bowed and received a cold stare. “Will you please sit here.” He directed her to the most presentable chair near the side window.
“Miss Aspland, will you take the settee? … I think you will like to sit here, Inspector, where you can see and be seen by everybody. The bamboo stool will hold your papers, if any. Mr. Benjoy—”
“I’m all right, thanks!” said Benjoy who was leaning against the side of the open door.
Eddis having elected himself chairman of the meeting, appropriated the wheel-back chair. Stranack and Canvey sat at the table with him.
Curwen, finding himself unable to object to these arrangements, placed his bag unopened on the bamboo stool and sat where Eddis had told him to sit.
“Before I begin—”
“Before you begin,” said Eddis, “would Mr. Benjoy be good enough to come in or stay outside. Mrs. Brengast is sitting in the draught.”
Benjoy came in and shut the door.
“Before I begin,” Curwen lost his thread, glowered at Eddis and started in a different place. “Look here! You people don’t know anything at all about police work. Not one of you! You may know that our first job is to bring criminals to trial. Quite right! What you don’t know is that—while we are doing our work—we have one great, big headache. And that headache is MONEY!”
Curwen paused—somewhat unwisely.
“Rough luck, old man! I know how you feel!” said Stranack. “But I bet they pay you more than they do us.”
“I was not speaking of personal income,” said Curwen, irritably, then tried again. “Money! Take this little job of yours, f’ r instance. We’ve done enough work already to bring the case into court.”
Again he paused, but this time there was no penalty.
“As we stand at present, we should require more than sixty witnesses. About fifty of ’em would be proving trifles—and making a long-winded job of it. This would run to about four days in court, if there’s no cross-examination. Before we’re done with the main witnesses, it might run to an eight or ten day trial. That means a big outlay of public money! Public money—it’s our duty to help save it when we can.”
“A most interesting sidelight,” murmured Eddis.
“How do we cut into your economy drive?” asked Stranack.
“One of you, abetted by another, killed William Brengast. You can volunteer a statement
—jointly or singly—and save yourselves the misery of coming up day after day on a long trial.”
For the first time there was silence. Curwen let it rest for a few seconds and then:
“Perhaps you would like me to take a walk round the lock with the ladies—while you talk it over?”
“I hardly think that will be necessary, Inspector,” said Eddis. “Frankly, the general feeling seems to be one of disappointment. I understood from Stranack that you would come here this afternoon for what I think you called a ‘showdown’. Instead, you offer us an unsupported statement of your success and a hard-luck tale about your expenses.”
Jill saw that Lyle Canvey wanted to speak and was waiting only until “the chairman” had finished.
“If you are ready to bring the case into court, Inspector,” said Canvey, “you must know which of us is the innocent man. Why not name him?”
“Hear, hear!” cried Stranack. “Cards on the table, Inspector. If you—”
He was interrupted by Eddis striking the packing case with a spanner in the guise of a gavel.
“The Inspector wishes to answer Canvey’s question … Inspector Curwen.”
“If I were to name the innocent man, the other two would keep their mouths shut. And we’d still need those sixty witnesses to convict them. The idea is that the act of confession shall be voluntary. Whether I can save any public money or not I expect to make an arrest before I leave this lockhouse.”
For the first time Curwen had startled his audience. Eddis was the first to recover.
“I hope I may say that we are all deeply impressed by the Inspector’s words.” He looked at Veronica. “Those in favour of a voluntary confession—”
In the silence, Jill observed Eddis himself. At times he appeared to be clowning but the fact remained that he was conducting the proceedings so effectively that Curwen was compelled to accept his preposterous chairmanship.
“No support!” announced Eddis. “I think we have together done our best. Inspector.”
“I don’t know that it matters much what you think, Mr. Eddis,” said Curwen ungraciously. Eddis was putting him out of his stride—and without giving reasonable cause for complaint. “I’ll give you one more chance to co-operate—and this is the set-up. We know that one of you was here with the lady—”
“Do you know who she was, Inspector?” asked Veronica.
Brawling, thought Jill. Curwen continued:
“Two of you three men have given an outline of what we might call the main events that occurred while the lady was here but no one has given a detailed account of the small things—the kind of small things we have found out for ourselves by a close examination of this house. These are our check points.
“I’ll remind you that the Ford left here at, say, eight-thirty, with two men aboard. All those two men can know is what they have read in the newspapers, added to what they saw or heard at the side window just before the girl left.
“Never mind what happened in the small hours. Only the innocent man can know all the small things that the couple did for the first hour the lady was here. That’s what I’m interested in at present—the first hour. So I’m going to give the innocent man a chance to show us—here, on the spot. Make all the small things happen over again. The innocent man will be able to pass our check points without knowing what they are. For this part of the job I am hoping Miss Aspland will help us.”
“Of course—if you will tell me what to do.”
Curwen hesitated.
“I’m afraid it’s rather uncomplimentary, Miss Aspland, but I want you for a dummy—lay figure, I should say—to represent the lady. What I mean is if one of them says ‘she sat on the settee and I sat here’—he sits there and you sit on the settee.”
“Perfectly clear, Inspector,” smiled Jill.
“She’ll do it very well and thoroughly enjoy it,” said Veronica who was suffering from lack of attention.
Curwen opened his bag and took from it a copy of The Prattler. “You’ve all seen that before!” he remarked, and put the glossy on the settee beside Jill. “We’ll start in alphabetical order … Mr. Canvey!”
Canvey rose slowly and with obvious reluctance.
“I don’t think I shall be much good at this, Inspector.”
“There’s no need to be good. All you have to do is make a statement like ‘I picked up the gin bottle’—then pick it up. You can’t go wrong.”
“I hope not,” said Canvey, doubtfully.
“Right!” snapped Curwen. “The first thing—”
“The first thing, Inspector,” interrupted Eddis, “is surely that Stranack and myself, as suspected persons, should retire until this test is over.”
Curwen chuckled.
“Meaning that if Mr. Canvey is the innocent man, all you have to do is imitate his actions?”
“Precisely!” agreed Eddis.
Curwen blinked. He was always disconcerted when these men agreed with him instead of blustering, like the crooks.
“It wouldn’t do any of you any good, as you’ll find out. I’m quite prepared for you all to go on telling the same tale. Now, Mr. Canvey. You’ve told us that the three of you tossed odd man out. You were left behind and the others went off in the Ford. Begin where you heard the engine starting. What were you doing at that moment?”
“Nothing,” answered Canvey. “Presently, I took a rod from the rack and walked over to the other side of the weir. I hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when I saw—” he glanced at Veronica, then looked away—“when I saw her turn the corner … Is this what you want?”
“Good enough! But go on. Did you wave or shout?”
“No. I kept still. I hoped she would go away when she found no one was at home. Instead, she went into the house. So I reeled in and followed, leaving the rod against the side of the house. This door was open and I first saw her close to the telephone.”
“Show us!” ordered Curwen. “Miss Aspland, please … Mr. Canvey, open the door and stand where you were when you saw her.”
As Jill moved towards the telephone she was watching Canvey, feeling disappointment at his lack of eagerness. His manner suggested that he had no hope of convincing anybody, as if he scarcely believed his own statements. He had behaved in much the same way, she reminded herself, when he and she together had tried a similar experiment.
“Go ahead!” invited Curwen.
“We got acquainted and I brought drinks out for us beside the lock.”
“You’re jumping too far ahead.”
“Did she give you some explanation of her presence in the room?” prompted Jill.
“Oh yes! She apologised, explained that she wanted to telephone for a car—and so on.”
“She had a suitcase,” said Curwen. “Where was it?”
“I don’t know.” His tone was querulous. “I never notice things like that. And I can’t remember small exchanges of conversation. I’ve already reported about mixing the drinks and taking them out to her and you told me that they were not my fingerprints that were on the bottles.”
“Never mind what you talked about,” said Curwen. “Tell us what you did and then show how you did it.”
“In the sense of the words, I didn’t do anything … Oh, I’ve just remembered! Her suitcase was outside and as I came in I picked it up. And while she was apologising I put it down by the table—if you call that ‘doing’ something! We sat outside, talked for about an hour and got to know each other. Then—then we came in. I’ve told you all this.”
Curwen looked blank. Canvey was creating a kind of difficulty he had not foreseen.
“Do try to help the Inspector,” urged Jill. “You made a better job of it when we were going over it together.”
“But we didn’t get anywhere, did we! Most of it was what the Inspector already knew—and the rest of it was about her characteristics. The Inspector is asking for small actions which he can check.”
Jill seized a chance.
“Was t
here no—small action—while you were sitting at the lockside?”
“You mean what you call the wedding ring story. I did take the wedding ring from her finger, with her consent—and then I threw it in the lock. But that’s like the story of the drinks. The Inspector has checked and doesn’t believe me.”
“What I believe needn’t worry you,” said Curwen. “You asked her to come outside and have a drink. Show us, with Miss Aspland.”
Canvey frowned in concentration.
“I didn’t ask her to come outside,” he said, thinking aloud. “I was standing—about here. I turned back through the door and picked up a couple of deck chairs which were lying against the wall in the passage, as they are now.” He picked up two deck chairs. “I took them out and she followed me.”
“Miss Aspland will follow you.”
Curwen turned to Veronica.
“Do you wish to see what they do outside the house, Mrs. Brengast?”
“Not in the least!” answered Veronica. “I can’t think why you insisted on my coming here.”
Canvey carried the chairs out and set one up, Jill close behind him. He turned, took her by the arm.
“Good!” she whispered as he lowered her into the chair.
“You got acquainted pretty soon,” remarked Curwen.
“Nothing to do with that!” snapped Canvey. “She was exhausted—unsteady on her feet.”
“Had she been—drinking?”
“She had not, and she had only one drink here. She had been foot-slogging—her shoes were dusty and battered-looking. They were not the sort of shoes for that road.”
“Keep going!”
“There’s nothing to keep going about—that’s the drawback to this stunt of yours. If you want it done in dumb-show—” He set up the second chair and sat beside Jill. “There was a wicker thing in front to hold the glasses. We sat here—I suppose for an hour, but I can’t be exact—there wasn’t much light left when I put on the wedding ring act.”
“And after the wedding ring act?”
Canvey glanced nervously at Jill.
“This is damned ridiculous!” he muttered.
“It’s not ridiculous!” Jill’s voice held entreaty. “Help the Inspector,” she repeated.
