The Deductions of Colonel Gore

by Lynn Brock

  ‘Elizabeth Penny, waitress at the Excelsior Hotel, said that on Saturday evening last, about half-past five or a little before, she saw deceased in the hall of the hotel. She asked him if he was waiting for his girl, and he said, “No such luck for an old fossil like me, Lizzie.” Just as he said that, a tall, youngish man in a light raincoat came in from the square, and deceased said to him, “I’d given you up,” and went out with him again. That was the last time she had seen deceased alive. She had never seen the man with whom he went out before. He was a tall man, younger than deceased, not very dark nor very fair. She could not say if he had a moustache. She took him for a gentleman by his look. The light in the hall was not very good, because the mantle of the incandescent was broken. The man did not speak to deceased while he was in the hall. Deceased and he went out again immediately.

  ‘The Coroner: You had never seen this man before?—No.

  ‘Had any other man come to the hotel at any time since October 24th to see Frensham? One gentleman came, named Colonel Gore. That was this day week—Monday of last week.

  ‘But this man who came on Saturday last—the man in the light raincoat—he had never been to the hotel before?—No. At least I never see him.

  ‘Mrs Rummer was recalled, and said that when he was in the house at night Frensham would come into the bar and chat with anyone who happened to feel inclined for a chat. There was no one he talked more often to than any of the others. His talk used to be mostly about racing or football or things of that sort, like most of the men who came into the bar. He was very jolly in his ways, but quiet. She never saw him the worse for liquor. She never knew him to have a dispute or a quarrel with anyone in the bar.

  ‘Henry Massingham, tobacconist, Linwood Park Road, said that on October 25th a gentleman who was a regular customer of his and whom he knew to be Mr Barrington, of 27 Hatfield Place, had come into his shop about dinner time with a man whom he (Massingham) believed to have been the deceased. Mr Barrington had been buying some cigars and offered one to the man who was with him, saying: “Try one of these, Frensham,” or “Have one of these, Frensham.” The name Frensham had stuck in his memory because he had been born in Surrey near Frensham Ponds. On the evening of last Saturday, November 18th, this man had come into his shop again to buy some cigarettes. That was some time after six o’clock. He was sure that it was the same man whom he had heard Mr Barrington address as Frensham. The man was alone. He might have had a companion waiting for him outside without his (witness’s) knowledge of it. He bought a twenty package of Virginia cigarettes, and went out again quickly. There were two other customers waiting to be served, but he could not say now who the other customers were. They were strangers. Neither of them, as well as he remembered, answered the description of the man who had called at the Excelsior Hotel to see Frensham that afternoon. Neither of them spoke to Frensham in the shop or paid any attention to him, so far as witness saw.

  ‘Police-Constable Loderby, H147, said that in accordance with instructions he had made a careful search in the disused quarry beneath Prospect Rock on the evening of Saturday, November 18th, while the body of deceased was being removed and afterwards. He produced a knife which he had found at a distance of twenty-eight feet three inches from the spot where the body had been discovered. The spots marked A and B on the plan of the quarry (produced) indicated correctly the respective positions of the body and of the knife when found. The blood on the blade and haft of the knife were still wet when he found it.

  ‘Police-Sergeant Yatt said, in accordance with instructions he had made a careful examination of the ground in the neighbourhood of Prospect Rock and also in the disused quarry beneath it, both on the evening of Saturday, November 18th, and on the morning of the following day. He had found no traces of a struggle in either place, but in both places the ground was splashed and spattered with blood a good deal. A struggle might have taken place on the path at Prospect Rock without leaving any trace of footmarks. The path was very rocky there and would exhibit no marks made by boots such as deceased had been wearing at the time.

  ‘The Coroner: There have been complaints, I understand, made to the police during the last few years that respectable people have been accosted and molested by undesirable characters on this particular portion of the Downs?—Yes.

  ‘The path has been patrolled regularly by the police for some time past?—Three times a day since January of last year.

  A Juryman: At what hour was the path patrolled on Saturday last?—8 a.m., 3.15 p.m., 9.10 p.m.

  ‘The Coroner: So that between the hours of 3.15 p.m. and 9.10 p.m. no policeman passed along this path?—No.

  ‘The Coroner: Of course it is impossible for the police to be everywhere at the same time.

  ‘Lt.-Col. Wickham Gore, D.S.O., stated that deceased had volunteered to assist Mrs Barrington, widow of the late Mr Cyril Barrington, of 27 Hatfield Place, in the arrangement of her husband’s business affairs. At Mrs Barrington’s request, witness had called on the afternoon of Monday, November 13th, at the Excelsior Hotel, to see Mr Frensham in reference to some inquiries which Mr Frensham was making for Mrs Barrington. He knew nothing of deceased’s occupation, but understood from Mrs Barrington, who was an old friend of witness’s, that he came from London.

  ‘The Coroner: I believe you and I have met before, Colonel Gore, under happier auspices?—I believe so, sir.

  ‘The only visit you paid to the Excelsior Hotel to see this unfortunate man was the visit you paid on November 13th?—Yes.

  ‘You did not call at the hotel again to keep an appointment—or to see Frensham, on last Saturday afternoon?—No.

  ‘Police-Sergeant Long produced two bank-books and a cheque-book found in deceased’s suit-case in his bedroom at the Excelsior Hotel. No other papers of any kind were found amongst deceased’s effects. There was nothing to show where he came from or what his business was.

  ‘Herbert Westropp, cashier, Linwood branch of Lloyd’s Bank, said that the late Mr Cyril Barrington of 27 Hatfield Place had a deposit and a current account at that branch. The bank-books and the cheque-book produced had been issued to the late Mr Barrington in connection with his accounts there.

  ‘Police-Sergeant Long, recalled, said that the slips (produced) containing entries of sums of money paid or received on certain dates, were inserted in the pocket of the current-account bank-book produced when it was found by witness in deceased’s suitcase.

  ‘The Coroner: These slips appear to record moneys paid to or received from certain people whose initials only are given in each case. There are a number of these slips—eleven in all—each referring to payments made to or by a person with a different set of initials: J.M., W.G., L.N.P., M.G., F.T., S.McA., R.F., J.R., J.J., T.L., R.T. The payments go back for a considerable time in many cases—in some cases as far back as 1920. The latest date on any of the slips is October 25th. That date appears on the slip headed with the initials R.F. There appears to be nothing to connect that slip definitely with deceased, though deceased’s initials are R.F. It is rather curious, however, that a payment was made either to or by R.F. on October 25th—which, we know, was the day following deceased’s arrival at the Excelsior Hotel, and on which date deceased was seen in the company of the late Mr Barrington.

  ‘Lt.-Col. Gore, recalled, said he could not say definitely whether the late Mr Barrington had had monetary dealings with deceased. He thought it possible. Witness personally had had no such dealings whatever with Mr Frensham. Witness’s initials were W.G.

  ‘The Coroner: Initials which we were very proud of in this part of the world when you and I were learning our cricket, Colonel. I see that the dates of the payments on this slip which is headed with those initials belong to the year 1921. I think I am right in believing that in that year you were in Central Africa?—Yes.

  ‘You had no monetary dealings with the late Mr Barrington?—None.

  ‘Then obviously we must look for some other W.G.

  ‘Police-Sergeant Long, r
ecalled, said that the letter (produced) signed with the initials A. H. was found by him in a pocket of deceased’s overcoat when he searched the body in the quarry, together with a penknife, some peppermints, and a used tram-ticket. No money was found, either on deceased’s person or amongst his effects at the Excelsior Hotel.

  ‘The Coroner: This letter, which is signed A. H., and bears neither date nor the writer’s address, says: “Agree price. Shall be Fountain end of Promenade, 6.30 tomorrow Saturday evening with dogs.’ The handwriting appears to be disguised. The envelope bears the postmark Linwood, Nov. 17, 5.30 p.m.

  ‘A Juryman: The handwriting appears to be a woman’s.

  ‘The Coroner: That is my personal impression also. The police have been unable to trace the writer of this letter so far. I hope that the writer of it—and I trust the press will give prominence to this—I hope the writer of it, if he or she is an innocent person, will come forward without delay and explain it.

  ‘Dr R. Tanqueray Jones detailed the injuries to the body of the deceased. In addition to the extensive injuries caused by the impact of the fall, he found three wounds, all of which, in his belief, had been caused by some narrow, sharp-pointed weapon used with great force. They might all have been caused by the knife found near the deceased. He detailed the nature and position of these wounds, one of which had been inflicted upon deceased’s neck from behind, the other two in the abdomen, probably while deceased lay prostrate on the ground. It was impossible to say with certainty, he thought, whether deceased was dead before he fell or was thrown over the cliffs. It would have been quite impossible for deceased to have inflicted the wound in his neck himself. Any of the three wounds might have caused death after a certain lapse of time. He was of opinion, however, that deceased had probably been still alive when he struck the rocks in the quarry below.

  ‘Upon the application of the police the coroner adjourned the inquiry until Friday next.

  ‘(Photographs of the scene of the tragedy will be found on p. 5.)’

  Below the report of the inquest appeared the following paragraph:

  ‘The name of Lt.-Col. Wickham Gore, whose evidence in connection with the Linwood Down tragedy is given above, will be familiar to many of our readers as that not merely of a distinguished soldier, but also of an explorer of international reputation. Together with Lt.-Col. Armstrong and Sir John Parkett he was employed during the years 1920 and 1921 in collecting materials for that most popular and successful of educational films, “The Heart of Africa.” Lt.-Col. Gore belongs to a family well known for many generations in Linwood and the neighbourhood, and during his army career was perhaps the most brilliant of that brilliant combination of polo-players known to fame as “The Whoppers.”

  ‘(Photograph on p. 5.)’

  CHAPTER XXII

  ON that Tuesday morning Gore was standing waiting for a bus at the upper end of the street when Mrs Arndale went by in a sporting little blue two-seater. She waved a hand to him as she passed, and pulled up a little way along the kerb, signalling him to approach. With the exception, perhaps, of Arndale himself, his wife was the last person on earth whom Gore wanted to talk to just then. But she had seen him standing there, obviously waiting for a bus, and no bus was in sight. He had no choice but to obey her imperious, smiling summons.

  ‘Haven’t they arrested you yet, then?’ she laughed. ‘We’re all simply thrilled to the kernel. Why didn’t you let us know you were to give evidence at the inquest? And why didn’t you tell the old coroner that you were on the very spot when the murder was committed? After all, you were only a few yards away. Just think what excitement it would have created in Linwood. As it is, my cook told me in confidence this morning that she believes you’ll turn out to be the “one as done it.”’

  This was all extremely difficult and not a little puzzling. Gore’s smile was somewhat forced as he asked which of the newspapers had supplied the information that he had been ‘on the spot.’

  ‘Bertie saw you,’ Mrs Arndale laughed. ‘He was there, too. He was behind you all the way from Blackbrothers Hill across the Downs on Saturday evening.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t see him.’

  ‘He saw you. He makes out that the murder must have been just in full swing as he and you were going down Fountain Hill. Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Towards my lunch, really.’

  ‘Let me take you there. Or are you afraid Mrs Barrington will be jealous?’

  As they threaded their way through the traffic she explained that her brother had been playing golf out at Penbury on Saturday afternoon, and had accepted a lift in as far as Blackbrothers Hill, where his friends had dropped him. From there he had walked home to Selkirk Place across the Downs and along the Promenade. Apparently he had been barely fifty yards behind Gore until, at the top of Linwood Park Road, their paths had separated.

  ‘Why didn’t he shout out,’ Gore asked, ‘if he was so close behind?’

  Mrs Arndale made a little grimace.

  ‘Bertie doesn’t love you just at present, Wick, for some reason, I gather. He doesn’t love anyone just now. Perhaps he’s jealous of your devotion to someone— Though I rather think Master Bertie has cooled off a good deal … now that the glamour of an illicit passion—that’s the correct phrase, isn’t it? I’ve never had one, worse luck—may be expected to replace itself by the dullness of legal and respectable possession. I bet Bertie doesn’t marry her—though he keeps on saying that he’s going to—or rather because he keeps on saying so. He comes out nearly every afternoon now to tea to tell me so. If he doesn’t come to tea he comes to dinner. By the way, when do you intend to dine with us—or do you ever intend to dine with us? Please do it before they hang you, won’t you. I’ve asked you twice, and you’ve told me two most shocking whoppers. Oh, that reminds me. Didn’t the old Times and Courier simply spread itself over your career this morning? And what a topping photograph. I never realised, until I saw that photograph, what an absolutely criminal type of face yours was. I wish you’d give me one. I’m so tired of the faces of people who never do things.’

  They were passing Prince Albert Square just then, and Mrs Arndale’s sprightly attention was distracted to the flaring posters of the big cinema theatre there.

  ‘You never go to picture-houses, I suppose?’ she smiled.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘They had rather a topping picture on there last week—“Dust”—Emma Dugdale told me I mustn’t miss it. So I made poor old Cecil take me to the first house on Saturday. Poor old thing. I loved it—but it bored him absolutely stiff. He fell sound asleep as soon as the lights went down, and snored. Snored—I couldn’t make him stop. It was most embarrassing. Fancy falling asleep at half-past six in the evening … and snoring … publicly. Of course he never sleeps a wink at night now, poor old boy, until three or four o’clock in the morning. I’m really getting frightfully worried about him. I’m so afraid he’ll start taking drugs. I’ve a deadly horror of dopes … As it is, I know he’s drinking far more than is good for him.’

  She sighed.

  ‘Some world … Rather a decent little bus this, isn’t she? Cecil’s latest birthday present.’

  ‘Very nice indeed,’ Gore said rather hurriedly, realising that she had turned to glance into his face curiously.

  The first house at that cinema theatre began, he knew, a little after six o’clock and lasted until a little after eight. Was it possible that Roly-Poly was trying to ram an alibi down his throat? Or was it the actual astounding fact that at a quarter to seven on Saturday evening Arndale had been sitting beside her in the cinema theatre, dozing—snoring? She had said the first house …

  ‘You must have found the place very crowded on Saturday evening, didn’t you?’ he asked. ‘Though I suppose not so crowded for the first house—?’

  ‘It was pretty fuggy,’ she admitted, ‘but nothing to what it must have been during the second house. There were two enormous queues right round the fountain, waiting for the second h
ouse, when we came out. And we came away at least a quarter of an hour before the show was over … when the big picture finished.’

  ‘Did your husband stick it out as long as that?’

  ‘I had to pinch him to waken him. Oh … there’s Dr Melhuish … I wonder how Barbara is. Have you heard?’

  ‘Not since Saturday. I dined with Melhuish on Saturday evening. Mrs Melhuish was still in bed then, he told me.’

  ‘Poor dear. I must drop her a line. Wasn’t it perfectly dreadful about the Brooks? You didn’t know them, perhaps?’

  The conversation concerned itself with the accident at the corner of Victoria Street and its fatal results, until they reached the front doors of the Riverside. There Gore undertook to dine with the Arndales on the following Monday.

  ‘No whoppers, mind,’ Mrs Arndale commanded—‘by telephone, telegram, post, or wireless. Swear.’

  ‘I swear. If I don’t turn up,’ he grinned, ‘you’ll know they’ve got me.’

  She laughed as she released her brake.

  ‘I’ll come and see you in your cell. Don’t forget, I want a copy of that photograph. And don’t let Mrs Barrington know you’ve given me one. Monday, at eight—or never again. By-bye.’

  She laughed again as the two-seater slid away and left him looking after her in the sunshine, beneath the interested gaze of Percival and the hall porter. Quite forced, that laugh of hers, he was inclined to think … artificial. Her whole manner had been forced, and … well, too sprightly. Not a good liar, little Roly-Poly. Poor little Roly-Poly … Did she know why she was to tell people that yarn about the picture-house? He hoped not. He had always been rather fond of little Roly-Poly. Nothing much in her, of course, but a thundering good little sort …