by John Creasey
‘I tell—I tell you I was handling an empty bottle, and it had some acid on the outside,’ young Cousins almost sobbed.
‘Bloody liar.’
‘Why don’t you arrest him?’
Roger said mildly but clearly: ‘Because he didn’t touch those formes last night, but we’ll soon know who did. When the men who were on night duty report—’
‘They were asleep.’
‘Lot of sleeping beauties!’
‘Lot of sleeping so-and-so’s, you mean.’
Then Tenterden called quietly: ‘All right, Superintendent, my men are here.’
The men on the platform shambled off. Roger led Tom Cousins down to the floor, and Peter Key brought up the rear. No one made any further attempt to attack Cousins; the arrival of more police had made most of them anxious not to cause trouble. There were four big men, including one whom Roger recognised as Detective Inspector Maidment, who had been in charge last night. The others followed him, a yard or two behind. Maidment was a spare-boned, lean-cheeked man, with a scar over his right eye. He walked with long strides, and he seemed quite unselfconscious as he reached Tenterden.
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Morning, Maidment,’ Tenterden said. ‘Mr West wants to ask you a few questions about last night.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Maidment turned to Roger. At close quarters, it was possible to see the anxiety in his eyes, the obvious fact that he knew something had gone seriously wrong, and that it might be because he had fallen down on his job; that was probably why he was so formal. ‘Good morning, Mr West.’
Roger asked quietly: ‘You were in charge of the squad of police who were on duty here last night, weren’t you?’
His voice carried so that everyone present heard; and now the card-players were on their feet, and men and women and girls were coming into the big shop from several entrances.
‘Yes, sir,’ Maidment answered.
‘Do you know that a man or men entered the premises and did considerable damage?’
‘So I am told, sir.’
‘Do you know who came in?’
Peter Key was standing much more nonchalantly, but his chin was thrust forward, as if defying Maidment to name him. Sir Lancelot’s little Van Dyck beard jutted out and up, aggressively. Paul Key was smiling the sardonic smile which seemed to be part of his expression all the time.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Maidment, ‘and I had no authority to refuse to allow him to enter. He had the keys, too. It was Mr Sydney Richardson.’
Roger saw the consternation on every face; the astonishment on Tenterden’s, even on Paul Key’s. Then whispering began among the work-people, as they realised that Richardson must have been out of his mind to do this thing. It was almost an anti-climax when one of Tenterden’s men came to report that Ragg and the other two men had been picked up, and that Tate had talked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Motive
Three hours later, Roger sat in Sydney Richardson’s chair behind his desk. Tenterden, Brown, and Maidment were standing at one side, the Keys were sitting on upright chairs dotted about the room. The door was closed, and two policemen stood on duty at each, to make sure that no one could come in and that no one could eavesdrop. Peter Key looked dejected and pale, his father was sitting back in a leather armchair, with Paul standing by his side; in this time of acute trouble, Paul seemed closer to his father than the other son.
‘We always knew that whoever did this must have had some assistance, and we now know that three ex-criminals whom he employed were the men,’ Roger said. ‘I’ve had a statement from one man, sent to me by teletype. I’m afraid the statement makes it clear that Mr Richardson paid these men to sabotage parts of the works, at first by making the attacks appear to come from outside, so that neither he nor his hired men could be suspected. Jensen and Doris Blake disturbed them at one of these acts of sabotage, and were killed. Mr Richardson knew of the men’s prison records, of course – that’s why he selected them.’
Sir Lancelot said: ‘It was agreed policy that ex-prisoners should be given work here and after twelve months presumed to have established themselves completely. It was Sydney’s—’ He broke off.
‘I’m afraid there’s very little doubt, gentlemen, that Mr Richardson was responsible for the conception of the crimes, and that he set out to cause the damage and to bring the works to a standstill,’ Roger said. ‘But he didn’t think clearly. All the evidence is that his mind was unbalanced, and that he had one obsession – a distorted desire for revenge. He did not realise that he was putting himself into the hands of the criminals he employed until he was powerless to help himself,’ Roger went on. ‘The murder of Jensen and Mrs Blake threw suspicion on a man whom he hated, so he found it easy to acquiesce in the murders. Then the murderers knew that they had him exactly where they wanted him.’
‘I can’t understand why he waited so long to—to start this revenge, if it affected him so much,’ Sir Lancelot said.
‘I’ve been discussing that on the telephone with a Home Office psychiatrist,’ Roger replied. ‘He assures me that delayed action in a case of repressed bitterness and resentment such as this is not uncommon – nor is the fact that when action did come, it was more violent, ruthless, and reckless. Mind you, I doubt whether we shall ever be able to establish Mr Richardson’s motive strongly enough to satisfy a court, but we don’t have to.’
‘We all know the motive, Superintendent,’ said Paul. He spoke without the slightest malicious inflection or the sardonic twist of his lips.
‘Let Mr West continue,’ his father said.
‘In my report to my superiors, I shall submit the opinion that Mr Richardson lost his mental balance at the time of and immediately after the big strike,’ Roger said. ‘From that time onwards I think he was preoccupied only by one thing: avenging himself on the men whom he believed had betrayed him. He was an ideal employer, and went to extreme lengths to look after the welfare of the employees. Isn’t that so, Sir Lancelot?’
Key said heavily: ‘Yes, it is, Mr West. It was his whole life, and it became obsessional. When the strike came and men whom he believed he could rely on absolutely were unable to do what he thought they should, the obsession took on a different aspect. He wanted to get his own back on everyone who worked in the works. He once actually said as much, but I took no notice, I didn’t dream—’
The older man broke off.
‘Well, he did it,’ Peter said.
After a pause, Paul said: ‘Perhaps the police aren’t such mutton-heads after all,’ but no one took any notice of him.
‘I think we shall find that Mrs Richardson had a pretty shrewd idea about this, and did her best to prevent the situation from worsening,’ Roger said. ‘But it got out of hand with the double murder of Jensen and Doris Blake. Blake was one of the men whom Mr Richardson believed had betrayed him. He had allowed an affaire to flourish at the works between Blake’s wife and the night-watchman, Jensen.’ Roger glanced at Tenterden. ‘No normal employer would have allowed that; it was the first indication that Richardson wasn’t simply being driven off his head with anxiety, but that he had a malicious streak. To protect his hired men, he had to allow Blake to be charged and might have kept silent had Blake been convicted. The man Tate’s statement says that Rose Richardson began to make inquiries which were bound to lead to the truth – it would be fatal for anyone so close to Richardson to start probing. So Tate and his two accomplices kidnapped her, to make sure that she didn’t find out too much. One man says that he thought the kidnapping was simply to make her talk, but there isn’t much doubt that they meant to kill her. As her father had already acquiesced in two murders, they thought it certain that they could make him endure this. His only alternative was to be branded with the truth. Knowing the men, I think it probable that they convinced him that he would be thought guilty of conniving at his daughter’s murder. We now know that in fact the attack on his daughter drove Mr Richardson to final desperation, a las
t act of sabotage, and suicide,’ Roger finished. ‘I don’t think Tate and his accomplices expected this. I do know now that they expected Miss Richardson’s car to sink under the sea, thus drowning her – in fact, Tate himself admits that he reached inside Mr Soley’s car and released the hand-brake. There is another interesting side issue,’ Roger went on, as if anxious to relieve the tension a little. ‘Soley was not only an obvious suspect to us, but an obvious one to Tate and his men. They used to borrow Soley’s car occasionally, and actually had it on the night of the attack on Miss Richardson. It served exactly the purpose they wanted – threw suspicion on Mr Soley.’
‘Thank God Sydney’s dead,’ Sir Lancelot said gruffly.
Peter said jerkily: ‘If you had my uncle in mind, Mr West, why didn’t you have him watched, to make sure that he couldn’t do more damage, and couldn’t kill himself? I disagree with my father; it would have been more just if Mr Richardson had stood trial.’
‘Until we knew that he had come here last night we had no indication of the truth,’ Roger said. ‘Mrs Richardson’s refusal to tell us all she could, Miss Richardson’s reluctance to talk, and the great difficulty we had in trying to make Mr Richardson go into details all pointed to the one thing; the suicide made it evident. I didn’t know that Mr Richardson went from Kemble to the works, and then home. His wife told me that he came straight home and went to bed. She strove to the last moment to try to help him. He’d told her a pack of lies to explain his behaviour and his fears, and I think she pretended to believe them. She told me she did, being so anxious to protect him.’
‘Yes,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I can understand how Mary would believe him, and how loyal she would be. And to think—’ He broke off.
‘My father was about to say that as a family we always disapproved of Mary Richardson,’ put in Paul heavily. ‘It was decreed that Uncle Sydney, as we called him, married beneath him. How snobbish can you get? There isn’t any danger of her being involved, is there?’
‘Not unless new and unexpected evidence turns up,’ said Roger. He stood up, studied the three men for a few seconds, then looked at Tenterden and said: ‘We’d better get off, Arthur. Let me know if there is anything else you want, gentlemen.’ He went off briskly, and got into Tenterden’s car.
A crowd of workers was hovering about the gates, and a man on a soapbox was saying in a loud voice: ‘It’s always the same, the first to suffer are the workers. They needn’t stand a single one of us off, and what I say is, if they stand a single one of us off the rest of us ought to down tools until everyone’s reinstated. They’ve got plenty of money …’
The car moved out of earshot. Tenterden turned down the road towards Corby, passing the spot where Doris Blake had first sensed trouble. The Corby man drove slowly, and halfway towards the town he said: ‘When do you think we ought to have Blake up at another hearing, Handsome? We’ll offer no evidence, and the quicker he’s free, the better.’
‘I’d call an early court tomorrow,’ Roger said. ‘Ragg and the others will be here by then – we can charge ’em at the same time.’
Tenterden said: ‘I’ll fix it as soon as I get back. There’s another thing, Handsome. I ought to make my wife go and eat humble pie before Sam Soley.’
‘Sam needn’t know he was seriously suspected,’ Roger said solemnly.
‘Women!’ said Brown.
‘Did you expect Richardson to kill himself?’ Tenterden demanded.
‘I suppose I ought to admit that it didn’t surprise me,’ Roger said, ‘but it’s easy to have hindsight. What matters now is trying to make sure that the harm he did doesn’t spread. They could have a lot more labour trouble at the works, and it might become chronic. If Sir Lancelot Key’s got any sense, he’ll get Rose Richardson there as soon as the hospital and Arnold will let her go. One appearance would be a good idea. And if I were the Keys I’d take Paul back into the business and turn him on to the Ministry to agree to hold those text-books orders back. I’d stand the men off at half rate, or else find them something to do. Richardson always said that Sir Lancelot and Peter Key were useless with the workers. Paul might be better.’
Tenterden was smiling.
‘If I know Rose, when she hears what’s happened she’ll go to the works if she has to be carried on a stretcher. And if Sir Lancelot talks about standing anyone off, she’ll tell him what she thinks of him. I must say Paul was a surprise to me. Got more about him than I ever thought. May have learned his lesson, and want to get back into the business. There’s another thing, too – now Richardson’s gone, Paul and Rose might get together again.’
‘You never know,’ said Brown.
They pulled up outside the police station, hurried up to Tenterden’s office, and were met by the man who looked rather like Salmon, and who said eagerly: ‘There’s a message in from the Yard, sir. Mr Cope said that there isn’t anything to worry about, Carter’s made a statement, too. All three men will be here by eight o’clock in the morning.’
Tenterden said: ‘That’s just what we wanted to hear, Harry. Now, you go round and see your sister-in-law and your mother. No need to come in again until after the funeral.’
The other said: ‘Thanks very much, sir.’ He turned to Roger, hesitated, and then said quietly: ‘I hope you won’t mind if I thank you for risking your life to try to save my brother’s. We’ll always remember it.’
He put out his hand.
Rose Richardson was looking pale but bright-eyed when she reached the works late the next morning. Paul had driven her from the home of her friend, where she had been staying.
According to the report Roger received afterwards, she spent ten minutes with Sir Lancelot and Peter Key, then came out and announced that if it were necessary to stand anybody off, it would be at half pay. By then, the Composing Room was working at full pressure, stand-by jobs were being run off the machines, and the works had regained the appearance of bustling activity.
Roger stayed the night in Corby, telephoned Janet a little after nine, and went to bed early. He was up at seven next morning, and at the court by eight, when Blake was formally discharged and Ragg, Carter, and Tate charged. Roger went on to the works. Rose Richardson was already there, and the moment she saw Roger she asked: ‘How long will it be before Charlie Blake is back at work, Mr West?’
‘He’ll be home today, anyhow,’ Roger said.
‘I hope you’ll advise him to come straight here,’ said Rose. ‘It will do him good, and heaven knows we need him.’
Blake was back at the works by eleven o’clock.
‘I can’t say I give you full marks for that case, Dad,’ Scoopy West said, that evening. ‘You might at least have kept those machines from running for a fortnight, when we might have had a few days without text-books. Richardson and Key print half of ours.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Richard. ‘They’d give us some old dogeared things just to keep our noses stuck to the print.’ His eyes were glowing. ‘Dad, you ought to have been at school this afternoon, your ears would have burned. I think every chap had something to say about the way you tried to rescue the detective, Salmon. I know one thing, I’m jolly proud to be a son of yours. Aren’t you, Scoop?’
Martin-called-Scoopy looked straight into his father’s eyes, and said: ‘I certainly am.’
‘When all the mush is over, you boys can help lay the table,’ Janet said. ‘I read the papers too, and all I can say is that I’d rather have a live husband than a dead hero.’
‘We’ve heard that old stuff before,’ jeered Scoopy. ‘You wouldn’t have Dad any different, and nor would we. Was it one of the better cases, Dad?’
‘Depends how you mean,’ said Roger. ‘It’s one I nearly muffed badly, and never mind why. If I hadn’t, we might have finished the inquiry early and we might have saved a life.’
Janet said, almost crossly: ‘You’re never satisfied, are you?’
It was a week later when Roger had a letter from Maggie Tenterden, saying that she
hoped he would bring his wife and the boys to Corby for a few days in the Easter holidays. He jumped at the chance, and Tenterden arranged an invitation from Rose Richardson to take the family round the works. When Roger drove between the gates he saw round-faced Gordon, saluting him. In Richardson’s office, Paul Key came forward to welcome the party. Rose soon joined them, looking almost gay, certainly pleased to see them. She took them round the works, where every Monotype machine was click-click-clicking away, the two Linotypes were busy, the spools were whirling on the Monotype casting machines. In the big Machine Shop, the flat-bed machines were humming, the huge rotaries were flying round. Beyond these, the girls were busy at the binding machines, everything was working at full pressure. Charlie Blake was working on the erection of a new colour-printing flatbed, and looked younger and arrestingly handsome. He shook hands warmly, then went back to his job.
‘How did the text-book order go?’ asked Roger.
‘Oh, Paul fixed it,’ Rose said, and glanced at Paul Key, who was talking to the guillotine minder. Richard and Scoopy watched fascinated as the guillotine blade, sliced off the edges of the books.
‘Gossip says Rose and Paul are getting married at Whitsun,’ Tenterden announced, when they had left the works. ‘The place is different altogether, Handsome. Richardson’s death was like the lifting of a shadow. His widow’s twice the woman she was, too.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’ve often thought about it, Handsome. If we’d caught Richardson in time and he’d had to stand trial I doubt whether the works would ever have been quite the same again. If it weren’t for poor Salmon, I’d say that everything worked out for the best. Salmon’s wife’s taking in boarders, you know. Charlie Blake’s given up his cottage and lives at her place.’ After a pause, he added: ‘Can’t have everything, I suppose.’
‘I suppose not,’ echoed Roger heavily.
