A Murder is Arranged

by Basil Thomson

  “On my return to M. Verneuil I was handed a letter from M. Goron, asking me to go and see him on a matter which might prove to be important to both of us. Accordingly I went direct to his office and was at once admitted. He quite overwhelmed me with his welcome. He said that he wished to place before me the facts of the murder case on which he was then engaged—the murder of the senator, M. Salmond. The following is a brief outline of what he told me.

  “M. Salmond was a man of between fifty and sixty. He had taken a very prominent part in the recent disorders in the Chamber, always in the interests of the Right, who correspond roughly with our conservative party. Like other French public men, he had been deluged with abusive and threatening letters from his opponents, but he had never been assaulted in the Chamber or in the street and, as far as could be ascertained, had no private enemy. On November seventh he was found dead in the sitting room of his flat, which opened on to the main staircase: he had been shot through the head, the bullet striking him square in the forehead and traversing the brain. Search of the flat showed no sign of robbery; suicide was ruled out by the medical evidence and the police at first came to the conclusion that the assassin had been a person with some private grudge against him. With his will, however, there was a letter to his nephew, who was the principal heir. This letter stated that in the old Brittany cupboard in his sitting room a sum of five hundred thousand francs would be found between the newspaper lining and the shelf: he gave directions where the key would be found. On investigation this cupboard was found to be unlocked; it had been very cleverly forced: not a single franc note was found. This proved that the motive for the murder had been robbery.

  “Without going into details M. Goron assured me that the persons who would have had access to the flat, including the deceased’s nephew, had all been cleared of any suspicion. The notes were impossible to trace, as no numbers were known; they represented the hoardings of years. The flat had not been broken into; obviously the dead man had opened the door himself to the intruder. M. Goron produced for my inspection a number of voluminous reports from his staff to show me how thoroughly he had covered the ground. All tended to show that no stone had been left unturned in the question of the persons who could have known that the murdered man had this hoard of money concealed in his flat and where it was hidden: the result had led to no discovery. It was not positively known even to his relations that he had this money; it was merely conjecture among them, but it was a conjecture that squared with what they knew of his character. Some passing suspicion rested upon a certain Mme Fleuri who had for years been his intimate friend, but in the opinion of M. Goron she had been entirely cleared of suspicion. If she had been in want of money she could have had financial help from him to any extent without resorting to murder to obtain it. In a case of this kind the motive would not have been robbery, but jealousy of some other woman, and there was nothing to show that there was sufficient excuse for murder in any affaire in which the deceased had been concerned. In the course of M. Goron’s investigations Mme Fleuri had admitted that for a time the murdered man had abandoned his habit of visiting her and this had occasioned a certain coolness in their relations, but he had since disarmed all suspicion that there was another woman in the case by resuming his former regularity.

  “I suggested to M. Goron that the temporary break in the relations of these two persons might have been due to some other infatuation on the part of the man and asked him whether the result of his investigations supported this view. He replied that they had received information from a source not wholly trustworthy that M. Salmond had been seen dining with an attractive lady, who was a foreigner. The waiter who had volunteered this information was one of those people who were always ready to come forward with information if it seemed likely to please the person who was making the enquiry. M. Goron then came to the point which explained why he had sent for me. The wardrobe door which had been forced open had been wedged with a folded scrap of newspaper which had since proved to have been torn from the Paris edition of the Daily Mail. The fact that it was printed in English did not at first seem important, as all the drawers were lined with sheets from English newspapers and the concierge had explained that she obtained these newspapers from one of the flats upstairs, occupied at that time by English people; she preferred English newspapers because the ink did not set off and stain white linen as French newspapers do when used as linings to drawers. M. Goron had preserved the little scrap and on thinking the case over it had suddenly occurred to him that this wedge, if the issue of the newspaper could be identified, might afford a valuable clue. Accordingly his wife, who speaks and reads English, set herself the task. It gave no indication of date and therefore the undertaking was a formidable one. However, after some very painstaking work she was able to prove that it had been torn from the issue of the date of the murder. The newspapers lining the drawers were all three months older.

  “M. Goron explained that he had now formed the theory that the waiter had spoken the truth: that M. Salmond had made the acquaintance of a beautiful Englishwoman and had taken her out to dinner, probably several times, and had betrayed, perhaps involuntarily, the secret of his private hoard.

  “I asked him whether he thought that this woman had committed the murder; he said that it was more likely that the actual murderer had been a man but that she had furnished him with the information about the money and that he had used her name to gain admission to the flat. M. Goron went on to elaborate his theory, produced apparently from his inner consciousness and resting upon no evidence, that the murderer of M. Salmond and Miss Gask had been one and the same person. When I confessed that I could see no connection between the two he was surprised. ‘It leaps to the eye,’ he said. ‘Surely you cannot have missed the point? Miss Gask betrayed the hiding place of Monsieur Salmond’s money to a man; this man came to steal the money and shot Salmond; then because Miss Gask knew too much he followed her to England and killed her.’

  “He then asked me about the people who were staying at Scudamore Hall on the night of the murder and we discussed the possible guilt of each one. He had a disconcerting way of ticking off each person on his fingers as if he were checking an inventory. Finally he said, ‘Listen, my friend; my next task will be to ascertain in detail the movements of your Mr Huskisson when he was in Paris.’ When I disclosed to him that Huskisson had introduced the Marquis de Crémont to Mr Forge in order to induce him to buy a stolen emerald he left his seat in his excitement. ‘There, my friend,’ he exclaimed as he walked rapidly up and down the room, ‘there you have it. Crémont—a rascal—consorting with Huskisson, also a rascal and Miss Gask’s closest friend. What more do you want?’ At that moment the telephone bell rang and he was called away. In shaking hands he asked me to come in again the next day.

  “A. DALLAS, Detective Inspector.”

  Richardson laid down the report with a quiet smile flickering on his lips as he realised that Inspector Dallas had caught something of the dramatic fervour of his French colleagues in presenting his report, which was more picturesque than the usual formal report of a detective inspector. He rang the bell and sent a message to Superintendent Lawrence to come to him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WHEN LAWRENCE presented himself Richardson put a simple question to him.

  “Have you any further news of that Austin Twelve car that was taken over to France?”

  “Yes sir; unfortunately our port officer in Dieppe did not get the order in time to stop the car, but he reports that the car left Dieppe with the avowed destination of the Riviera: this information was obtained in the ordinary way when an English car crosses the Channel. I was going to ask you whether we should get Inspector Dallas to drop what he is doing and follow up the movements of that car.”

  “No, you mustn’t do that. Inspector Dallas cannot afford to spare a moment from his present case. We shall have to track that car in another way. Of course you’ve got the owner’s name?”

  “No sir; nothing w
as said about the name in the first telegram, but I wired for it and the reply is due at any moment.”

  “Well, let me have it as soon as it comes in. In the meantime, have you formed any opinion about the coincidence of the two car numbers being identical?”

  “Well, sir, I should say that it was done deliberately, although we have verified the fact that Mr Oborn at Scudamore Hall did really register his car under that number.”

  “Well, couldn’t Oborn be quite innocent in the matter? Couldn’t the other man have taken the number without his knowledge?”

  “Of course that’s possible, sir, but it would mean forgery in the necessary papers and personally, I don’t see how he could do it without Oborn’s knowledge and help.”

  “It seems a very foolish thing to do unless the motive was overwhelmingly strong.”

  “Quite so, sir, but no doubt the motive was a very strong one—to hoodwink the police. Suppose, for instance, one or both of the cars had been employed in robbery or burglary.”

  “Well, one thing stands out: Oborn at Scudamore Hall must not be allowed to leave the country. You will see to putting up the gate against him at the ports.”

  “Very good, sir. That shall be done as it was in the case of Huskisson.” He glanced at the clock. “That telegram should have arrived, sir. If you’ll allow me I’ll go and see where it is.”

  In three minutes he was back with an air of suppressed excitement about him. He had an open telegram in his hand. Richardson took it from him and read, “Name of owner of car James Oborn.”

  “So you see, sir, there are two Oborns.”

  “Yes, that bears out the evidence sent by Dallas from Paris that a James Oborn took out an identity card in that name. We must find out how these two men are related: brothers, probably. And yet Oborn said nothing about a brother when told by Mr Forge that Margaret Gask was expecting to see Jim Oborn.”

  Lawrence pursed his lips. “I think it would be a waste of time to question the man staying at Scudamore Hall: he would have a lie ready to suit his case. He appears to be a clever scoundrel and an educated man. Perhaps, sir, if you could arrange to get him down here and let us go through him we might succeed in tipping him off his perch.”

  “They might be able to trace the birth at Somerset House; you have his approximate age.”

  “Very good, sir; that shall be done and we won’t send for Oborn until we’ve got our information.”

  “Owing to the accident in which that twelve-horse power Austin was involved in Kingston, we know that both James Oborn and Douglas Oborn were in England at the time of the murder of Miss Gask.”

  “And James has now escaped from our jurisdiction by going to France.”

  Richardson remained silent: he was thinking. “As we have Dallas on the spot in Paris,” he said, “and this new information of the name of the man who has taken that car over seems to point to a connection with his present case, I think that he is the man for the enquiry. I’ll dictate instructions for him while you are enquiring at Somerset House. As you go out you might send in young Williams. He’s the quickest of your shorthand writers in Central.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  It was an hour later when Lawrence returned from Somerset House with the information about the brothers Oborn.

  “I have been quite successful, sir,” he said. “James and Douglas Oborn are brothers. The father was Walter Oborn, a solicitor in Salisbury; James is the elder son and was born two years before Douglas; there is a third son named Charles. I have telephoned to the Salisbury police, who tell me that the father died only three years ago; he never had a large practice, but he was above suspicion. Such practice as he had has been taken over by the third son, Charles, whose reputation is as unblemished as his father’s. The Salisbury police have promised to make discreet enquiries about the other two brothers and will furnish us with a confidential report about them.”

  “You have ascertained that there is no criminal record against James Oborn?”

  “Yes sir. Apparently they have never been detected in any illegality and that is why they still use their own name.”

  “You need do nothing more about Douglas Oborn. I will send him an invitation to call upon me: that will bring him unless I’m much mistaken in the gentleman.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  During the afternoon Richardson’s messenger brought him a visiting card. “The gentleman is in the waiting room,” he said.

  Richardson glanced at the card and nodded.

  “Show him in.” The name on the card was Mr Douglas Oborn.

  “Sit down, Mr Oborn. I’ve invited you to come down here in order to save our people a number of tiresome enquiries. I feel sure that you will do your best to help us.”

  If this opening to the conversation was disquieting to the visitor he did not show it. He sat down with an easy smile, saying, “Certainly; ask me as many questions as you like.”

  “Is your brother James in England at this moment?”

  “Ah! That is one of the questions that I should find difficult to answer. I have not corresponded with him for some time, nor have I made it my business to keep in touch with him.”

  “When did you last hear of him?”

  Oh, I should think it must be fully three years ago.”

  “And he was then…?”

  “We met at my father’s funeral at Salisbury and I remember that we lunched with another brother after the funeral.”

  “What is your profession, Mr Oborn?”

  “Technically I suppose I might describe myself as a barrister of the Inner Temple; that is to say, I have been ‘called.’”

  “But you do not practise?”

  His visitor laughed lightly. “No, I do not practise, because such solicitors as I know well have their own counsel, but if work were to come my way I should jump at it.”

  “You have chambers in the Temple?”

  “Yes, in Fountain Court; you’ll find my name painted up in number five and I have the honour of being allowed this privilege by the man who rents the chambers.”

  “I see; so you remain a practising barrister without any practice?”

  “If you like to put it that way. I have on occasion done a little devilling for the man who gives me a seat in his chambers.”

  “That is the extent of your legal practice?”

  “Yes, but you’ll find my name in the law list if you care to look for it.”

  “You spend a good deal of your time abroad, I believe.”

  “Quite true. As you seem to take so much interest in my affairs, I may as well tell you that a few years ago I inherited a little money which has made me lazy.”

  “And your brother James—what is his profession?”

  “You seem to be very much interested in the family, but, after all, we’ve nothing to hide. My brother James was to have entered the priesthood—my mother, as you may know, was a Roman Catholic. He found that he had no vocation for the calling and while he was making up his mind what he should do he, like myself, inherited enough money to make him lazy.”

  “And, like yourself, he spends a good deal of his time abroad?”

  “He does.”

  “You have another point in common, I think. You both carry the same registration number on your respective cars.”

  “There you are better informed than I am. I know nothing about the registration of my brother’s car: my own registration is perfectly in order.”

  “Well, it may interest you to know that your brother’s car is in France at this moment and while we’re waiting for it to return I must ask you not to move yours from Mr Forge’s garage without notifying the police.”

  “I’m hoping to enjoy Mr Forge’s hospitality for myself and my car for some days yet.”

  “When Mr Forge was so mystified at Miss Gask’s reference to a ‘Jim Oborn’ why didn’t you tell him that the Jim Oborn she knew was probably your brother?”

  “I didn’t think it mattered. My brother’s fr
iends are not necessarily my friends—especially his lady friends.” There was a hint of disparagement towards the dead woman in his tone.

  “Thank you, Mr Oborn. What you tell me is quite satisfactory and I need not detain you longer.”

  As the visitor opened the door into the passage he almost collided with Lawrence. He apologised, but Lawrence stood for a moment watching him before closing the door behind him.

  “I see that you’re interested in my visitor, Mr Lawrence,” said Richardson.

  “I am, sir. Was that Mr Douglas Oborn?”

  “That was the name on his card; you see he accepted my invitation to an interview as I thought he would.”

  “Did you get anything useful out of him, sir?”

  “He was so frank in his answers to my questions that I’m beginning to think that there must be something he was anxious to conceal. As we already know, his car registration papers are quite in order and we can do nothing more until we get hold of the brother, whose papers must be the forged ones: we shall then be in a position to judge whether the forgery was done with or without the knowledge of Douglas. I’ve sent the instructions to Dallas and told him that if he wants help you will send someone over; it’s obvious that he can’t leave France just yet.”

  “No sir; that’s quite obvious. If, as Monsieur Goron surmises, the murderer of Miss Gask also killed the French senator, he and Dallas working together may hit upon the solution at any moment.”