Rope's End, Rogue's End

by E. C. R. Lorac

  “He’s lost his head at last: gone plumb crazy, with the excitement of his own inventions.”

  Cool-headed himself, Macdonald found time to think as he followed the other through dark echoing rooms which smelt of mildew and rotting wood – the man in front of him must be past thinking. He was just intent on flight – flight through the cellars of Wulfstane Manor.

  Because the rooms were strange to him, and he could only hazard a light in brief faint flickers, Macdonald was some way behind his quarry when the final room of the east wing was reached by the latter, and the door to the cellars opened. Macdonald heard the thud of the falling bodies as Reeves went down with his captive, and reached the top of the steps as the last shot roared its echoing, earsplitting report. It was the light of Macdonald’s torch which blazed in Reeves’ eyes for a second as consciousness left him.

  When the fugitive saw the light and realised that another pursuer was at his heels, he turned and fled again, through the open door by which Reeves and Beding had come. Macdonald heard Beding’s voice from the floor, “If he takes the right fork he’s done – it’s blocked that way… Simmonds and Yates are on guard outside the garden.”

  Macdonald was up the next flight almost on the heels of the fugitive: the two reached the fork in the cellar passage almost neck to neck, but the fugitive swerved to escape capture and raced down the right-hand passage in the darkness.

  Macdonald called up his final effort of speed, knowing only by the sound of running footsteps that he was very close to his quarry. He sprang forward with all the force in his powerful well-trained body, gripped the other squarely and forced him down by sheer impact. The two went down with a thud on the stone floor, but the C.I.D. man. was uppermost.

  It was the end of the struggle. The other’s head struck the flag-stones with a force which left him limp and unconscious. When Beding crawled along with a torchlight he found Macdonald applying handcuffs in the darkness.

  “Which of them is it?” asked Beding. “Paul?”

  “No. Paul’s dead. This one’s Richard. He nearly got away with it, only brother Martin cramped his style by disappearing. Martin had the evidence needed, only his mind was too confused to formulate it. They’ve all got a screw loose somewhere, these Mallowoods.”

  Beding chuckled. “There was method in this one’s madness, though. Do you know where he was leading you when you caught him? To the vault of the old keep. There’s a well there, God knows how deep­”

  “Pleasant fellow,” said Macdonald. “Martin for the madhouse, me for the well. He’s saved me a lot of trouble by this night’s work, all the same. Hard to plead not guilty after this little performance.”

  Beding rubbed his head thoughtfully. “You say this one’s Richard, and Paul’s dead. Where’s Martin?”

  “Upstairs, I hope, with Veronica.”

  “And where’s Basil?”

  “Somewhere in northern Africa, travelling under the name of Brownleigh. That’s a guess, but I’ve a feeling that it’s a good guess. They’ll catch him before long.”

  ***

  An hour later, Macdonald was talking to Martin and Veronica Mallowood. In a few terse sentences Macdonald gave them his own interpretation of the Wulfstane case. Then he said to Martin:

  “When you saw the Rolls Royce drive away that morning, something gave your mind a shock, and you have been worried ever since because you could not remember what happened. Wasn’t it really a fact that you were afraid that your sister was involved in what had happened? If I assure you now that I know your sister had nothing to do with it, will you tell me just what you have remembered?”

  “I did forget. I get muddled, when things happen,” said Martin slowly. “I remember now. It wasn’t Paul I saw drive away. It was Basil. I found Paul upstairs, between those doors. He was dead.”

  “No. He wasn’t dead. He was unconscious,” replied Macdonald.

  Veronica looked at him with her intent frowning gaze.

  “How do you know I had nothing to do with it?” she asked abruptly, and Macdonald replied:

  “What I have heard and seen this evening has proved it. I’ll tell you later on just what really happened. It was a matter of fitting bits together, here a little and there a little.”

  He left her then with Martin. As Macdonald turned away he heard the latter saying again, “I got muddled, Ronnie. I was afraid…”

  Macdonald had guessed just what fear it was that had temporarily unhinged Martin’s mind.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I ALWAYS said it looked a straightforward case, but the facts just didn’t make common sense.”

  It was Inspector Long who spoke. He had taken a “busman’s holiday,” and driven down to Wulfstane to see Macdonald there on the day after the tussle in the cellars. Long wanted to see “exactly how the blighter had pulled it off,” and he had come to see the actual premises again so that he could grasp the facts clearly when Macdonald explained the tenor of his own researches.

  “From the point of view of first appearances, there seemed to be only one conclusion, and that was that Basil Mallowood had shot himself about five minutes before you found his body,” said Macdonald.

  “Exactly, and I didn’t trust appearances,” said Long, “only I was slow in thinking things out. One thing was obvious enough. The dead man had died only a few minutes before we found his body. I knew that was a hard fact and nothing could alter it. Then, when I began to consider it, I realised what a marvellous opportunity it was for Basil Mallowood to have done a bolt with Paul’s papers and passport, leaving Paul dead in his place – only it wouldn’t work, because if Basil had left England on that plane at 10.0 o’clock, he just couldn’t have been at Wulfstane to shoot Paul at 12.30. Apart from the difficulty of working out the mechanics of the shooting, the time of it contradicted the theory. Basil could not have done it.”

  “That’s the size of it,” agreed Macdonald, “There were also these facts to trip up on. The letter found in the room by the body was written in Basil’s writing. We couldn’t get away from that, and yet, if Paul himself had not left by plane at 10.0 o’clock, then who had impersonated him? Basil and Paul were very much alike, and Basil was obviously the man for the impersonation. It wasn’t only a matter of satisfying the airport people that the man who left by plane was the man whose photograph was on the passport: it was a matter of satisfying the gardener at Wulfstane and the village folk that it was Paul who had left. The man who drove away in the Rolls Royce wore Paul Mallowood’s clothes, moreover, the noticeable suit of russet tweeds. I was pretty certain all along that Basil Mallowood left Wulfstane dressed in Paul’s clothes, and that he was accepted as Paul by Higgins and the villagers.”

  “That meant that Basil couldn’t have shot Paul, then,” said Long. “I kept on tripping up over that infernal snag. In addition was the fact that Basil was seen after the Rolls Royce had driven off. The maid, Ada, who took his letters up, swore she had seen and spoken to Basil at 10.0 o’clock – Paul in the plane, Basil in his bedroom. Nice and alliterative, but the devil of it was there were the two of them, alive and well at 10.0 o’clock.”

  “Yes. That was a neat arrangement,” said Macdonald. “As murders go, this was a very well thought out effort. Actually the murderer forgot nothing, and the evidence was all very convincing. This was the little problem: one Mallowood, in Paul’s clothes, with Paul’s passport, in the plane: another Mallowood, in Basil’s clothes, with Basil’s farewell letter, at Wulfstane. It was easy enough to suspect that Basil had got away, leaving Paul dead in his place, but all the evidence contradicted that assumption. The first problem was to decide on the identity of the dead man. Richard and Veronica both said that deceased was Basil. The clothes were Basil’s, the suicide letter was Basil’s, and Basil had every motive to shoot himself. The method of shooting seemed clear proof of suicide, and there wasn’t a single tangible proof to invalidate that theory.”

  “No, but we were both convinced that the suicide was phoney,”
said Long, and Macdonald went on:

  “When I took Paul Mallowood’s clerk to Croydon to interview the airport people, I was more than ever convinced that Basil had impersonated Paul. He noticed every detail about his brother – the damaged finger, the birthmark on his face, Paul’s gestures and cough and habits of speech. Basil had also travelled on the same plane before, and left an envelope with Paul’s name on it in his place. All very convincing, at a first glance.”

  “But not convincing once your suspicions were aroused,” said Long, and Macdonald nodded and continued:

  “Now as to the fingerprint evidence. Take that ‘suicide letter,’ written by Basil only a few hours before it was found. If the handwriting were Basil’s, and the corpse wasn’t, the fingerprints on the letter ought to have demonstrated the fact. Not at all. The only fingerprints on the letter were those of deceased. Next, as to Basil’s toilet articles, in Basil’s suitcase. The clothes in the case were Basil’s all right. The ebony brushes and other articles had Basil’s initials on them – and they were covered with fingerprints of deceased. They’d obviously been used by deceased. As a matter of fact, they were deceased’s. Now we couldn’t get hold of any fingerprints of Basil’s either at his flat or at his office. He’d been damned careful. The only papers he left were papers which would be worked over in the inevitable audit, and in that working over all Basil’s prints were rendered smudged and illegible – quite useless from our point of view. That was obviously a carefully calculated effect, and it worked both ways. It prevented us proving that the corpse was not Basil’s, but it also put us on our guard by warning us that Basil had taken precautions about his fingerprints being identified.”

  Long nodded. “Yes. I saw all that, but it was a facer when you found the same conditions applied in Paul’s case.”

  “No, not quite the same conditions,” said Macdonald. “Paul had virtually retired from his city business. He was planning to live a life of leisure, and his tour abroad was the token of his changed manner of living. There was nothing really suspicious or unnatural about Paul’s decision to have his flat totally redecorated in his absence from England. It was a sensible arrangement. He would come back to a freshly painted and papered flat without having any of the unpleasant part in the smells and general upheaval. As for his method of putting all his valuables and books and papers into safe deposit, that seemed to me to be characteristic of a man in whom suspicion was second nature. Suspicion seems to be inbred in the Mallowood family – they’re all tarred with the same brush in that respect.”

  “All the same,” put in Long, “the fact that you couldn’t get Paul’s fingerprints either made him look damned fishy.”

  “Agreed. I had an open mind about Paul – but the problem at the outset was this. We had no handle against Paul, so to speak. Taking into consideration the plain facts you had elicited, it seemed obvious that Paul could have had nothing to do with Basil’s death. I was not justified in asking for a search warrant to examine Paul’s private papers at his office when I had no evidence against the man at all. If you think it out now you’ve got to admit that we had nothing against Paul. We had suspicions about Basil’s suicide, but we hadn’t a spot of real evidence to justify them. You say that you distrusted appearances, and you were right – but more than that was needed to take action.”

  Long grinned. “Yes, and that was where you took over.”

  Macdonald nodded, and got up and began to pace the room. The two men were sitting in the playroom on the top floor of Wulfstane Manor, Long lounging against the old table where the young Mallowoods had carved them names long ago.

  “The first thing that occurred to me when I read your report was that if the shooting were indeed a murder and not suicide, then we were up against someone with imagination,” went on Macdonald. “Coupled to that imagination was foresight and a sense of detail. I used my own imagination a good deal to formulate any theory at all – and it was a useful factor. However, to get down to brass tacks when I took over: I agreed with you that the impossible seeming facts were that Basil had got away abroad – in Paul’s clothes, with Paul’s papers – and that Paul (in Basil’s clothes) was the man who was shot in this room at 12.30 on the Wednesday morning. That assumption involved the fact that Basil could not have shot Paul himself. However it was done, somebody else did the shooting. Query, who, and how?”

  “Martin, Veronica, or Richard?” queried Long, “and, how?”

  “Wait a bit for the method. First, as to the culprit. It seemed to me, at a first glance, that all three might be involved. I was very anxious to avoid precipitate action, because it would have been so easy to involve Martin and Veronica in suspicions which could never have been disproved. They were very near to being in a hopeless situation, because it was so easy to argue that they were both involved. Start from my assumption that Basil went away and that Paul was killed. Richard gave evidence that he saw Paul off in the car. Martin was seen by the gardener to wave good-bye to the man who drove off in the Rolls Royce. Veronica gave evidence that she heard Basil speak to her after 9.0 o’clock the same morning­”

  “And the maid gave evidence that she saw Basil in his bedroom at 10.0 o’clock,” burst out Long, and Macdonald replied:

  “That was to me the crucial point – the point where the play was over-acted, the plot too much underlined. On the assumption that it was Basil who had gone away by plane – and I was convinced that such was the truth – then somebody acted the part of Basil to hoodwink the maid. She said that she saw Basil in his pyjamas, shaving, the lather still on his chin. She didn’t see Basil at all. She saw Richard in Basil’s pyjamas, his face lathered, his hair on end. She expected to see Basil, and she swore she had seen Basil, but she hadn’t. You look into the time-table. Richard had plenty of time unaccounted for just then. He slipped into Basil’s bedroom, and played Basil’s part, very convincingly. He proved that Basil was still in his bedroom when the letters were taken up at 10.0 o’clock.”

  Macdonald paused a moment and then went on:

  “That was the only explanation that made sense. I was prepared to believe that Basil could impersonate Paul at Croydon and on the plane: very few other men, if any, could have played that impersonation, because although the Mallowoods resemble each other closely, they are very unordinary types: their features and eyes and build are very characteristic. Now as to the impersonation of Basil to hoodwink the maid. Martin could not have done it. His fair head, weedy build, and inclination to stutter would all have given him away. Richard could have done it easily enough. Moreover, if the assumption on which I based my argument were valid, and it was Basil who drove away in the Rolls Royce, Richard must have known it. It was Richard who saw the car off. It must have been Richard who disposed of Paul in the interval between the time when the maid took his breakfast up at 7.0 o’clock and the time that Basil drove off at 7.50. You remember that the maid saw all three brothers just after 7.0 – Paul in bed, Richard going into Paul’s room, and Basil in the passage, coming away from the bathroom. Of course, there was always the possibility that Martin and Veronica were involved too. Of that I couldn’t be certain. My feeling was that Veronica would not have involved herself in a crime in association with Basil, whom she was known to have detested when she was younger, and with Richard, whom she had not seen since the famous family row over the will.”

  Long nodded. “I think that was sound reasoning. If Veronica had committed a crime – and the Lord knows, she looks quite capable of any crime – she’d have played a lone hand. No family plots for Veronica.”

  “Well, here was my reconstruction,” went on Macdonald. “That it was based on imagination I’m quite willing to admit, but in the absence of direct evidence the only thing to do was to work out a hypothetical case and see if it fitted the facts. I began with the assumption that Basil had got away on Paul’s papers. It followed, therefore, that somebody other than Basil had shot Paul, working in connivance with Basil, the latter point being proved by the fact
that Basil wrote that ‘suicide letter’ before he left the house. I worked out the following possibilities. Basil and Richard had worked out this plot between them, when Basil had got wind of Paul’s impending retirement and tour abroad. Basil could have learnt about the latter facts from Mrs. Lorne, who was in touch with both brothers. She denied having passed on the information to Basil, but I think that was because she had some inkling that that information was somehow used for nefarious purposes.”

  “Then you argued that the plot was pre-arranged, and had been hatching for some time?” asked Long.

  Macdonald nodded. ” Undoubtedly. It couldn’t have been done on the spur of the moment. Probably Basil and Richard met abroad, in the south of France or in Tunis, to discuss possibilities. When final arrangements were to be made, Paul’s date for departure having been settled, some exchange of communications would have been necessary between Richard, in Alexandria or wherever he was, and the plotter or plotters in England – but I’ll return to that point later. I want to carry on with my own argument about events on that Wednesday morning.

  “Paul was taking his breakfast in bed. Richard went in to chat to him – and knocked him out, rendering him unconscious, but not killing him. After that must have followed a hectic half hour. Basil dressed in Paul’s clothes. Richard hid Paul temporarily in the space between the communicating bedroom doors of Paul’s room and the oriel room. Basil took Paul’s luggage with him, and left his own, of course, at Wulfstane. The only properties he exchanged were Paul’s ebony hairbrushes, which resembled his own. These he left among his own luggage, so that there was proof that the fingerprints of the corpse were identical with fingerprints in Basil’s luggage. Incidentally their initials were the same. Paul Blaise de Lisle Mallowood and Basil Philip de Lisle Mallowood. P. B. de L. M. and B. P. de L. M. make ciphers which are indistinguishable in monogram form.”