by Alan Hunter
‘Where’s the weapon?’ he asked.
‘We haven’t found it yet.’
Gently quizzed him in mild surprise. ‘You described it in your report,’ he said.
Hansom threw out his hands. ‘I thought we’d got it when I made the report, but apparently we hadn’t. I didn’t know there was a pair. The daughter told me that afterwards.’
‘Where’s the one you have got?’
Hansom made a sign to the uniformed man standing by. He delved into an attaché case and brought out an object wrapped in cotton cloth. Gently unwrapped it. It was a beautifully ornamented throwing knife with a damascened blade and a serpent carved round the handle. It had a guard of a size and shape to have caused the bruise on Huysmann’s back.
‘Does it match the wound?’ Gently asked.
‘Ask the doc,’ returned Hansom.
The heavily jowled man who sat scribbling at a table turned his head. ‘I’ve only probed the wound so far,’ he said, ‘but as far as I can see it’s commensurate with having been caused by this or an identical weapon buried to the full extent of the blade.’
‘What do you make the time of death?’
The heavily jowled man bit his knuckle. ‘Not much later than four o’clock, I’d say.’
‘And that’s just after your Peter Huysmann was heard quarrelling with his papa,’ put in Hansom, with a note of triumph in his voice.
Gently shrugged and walked over to the wall. The room was of the same size as the sitting-room opposite, but differed in having a small outer door at the far side. Gently opened it and looked out. It gave access to a little walled garden with a tiny summer-house. There was another door in the garden wall.
‘That goes to the timber-yard next door,’ said Hansom, who had come over beside him. ‘We’ve been over the garden and the summer-house with a fine-tooth comb and it isn’t there. I’ll have some men in the timber-yard tomorrow.’
‘Is there a lock to that door in the wall?’
‘Nope.’
‘How about this door?’
‘Locked up at night.’
Gently came back in and looked along the wall. There was an ornamental bracket at a height of six feet. ‘Is that where you found the knife?’ he enquired, and on receiving an affirmative, reached up and slid the knife into the bracket. Then he stood there, his hand on the hilt, his eyes wandering dreamily over the room and furnishings. Near at hand, on his right, stood the open safe, a chalked outline slightly towards him representing the position of the body as found. Across the room was the inner door with its transom light. A pierced trefoil window on his left showed part of the summer-house.
He withdrew the knife and handed it back to the constable.
‘What has the mastermind deduced?’ asked Hansom, with a slight sneer.
Gently fumbled for a peppermint cream. ‘Which way did Peter Huysmann leave the house?’ he countered mildly.
‘Through the garden and the timber-yard.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘If he’d gone out through the front door the maid would have known – the old man had a warning bell fitted to it. It sounds in here and in the kitchen.’
‘An unusual step,’ mused Gently. He turned to the constable. ‘I want you to go to the kitchen,’ he said. ‘I want you to ask the maid if she heard any unusual noise whatever after the quarrel between Peter and his father this afternoon. And please shut all the doors after you. Oh, and Constable – there’s an old chest standing by the stairs in the hall. On your way back you might lift the lid and see what they keep in it.’
The constable saluted and went off on his errand.
‘We’re doing the regular questioning tomorrow,’ said Hansom tartly. Gently didn’t seem to notice. He stood quite still, with a far-away expression in his eyes, his lips moving in a noiseless chant. Then suddenly his mouth opened wide and the silence was split by such a spine-tingling scream that Hansom jumped nearly a foot and the police doctor jerked his notebook on to the floor.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing!’ exclaimed Hansom wrathfully.
Gently smiled at him complacently. ‘I was being killed,’ he said.
‘Killed!’
‘Stabbed in the back. I think that’s how I’d scream, if I were being stabbed in the back …’
Hansom glared at him. ‘You might warn us when you’re going to do that sort of thing!’ he snapped.
‘Forgive me,’ said Gently apologetically.
‘Perhaps you break out that way at the Yard, but in the provinces we’re not used to it.’
Gently shrugged and moved over to watch the two finger-print men at work on the safe. Just then the constable burst in.
‘Ah!’ said Gently. ‘Did the maid hear anything?’
The constable shook his head.
‘How about you – did you hear anything just now?’
‘No sir, but—!’
‘Good. And did you remember to look in the old chest by the stairs?’
The impatient constable lifted to the common gaze something he held shrouded holily in a handkerchief. ‘That’s it, sir!’ he exploded. ‘It was there – right there in the chest!’
And he revealed the bloodied twin of the knife which had hung on the wall.
‘My God!’ exclaimed Hansom.
Gently raised his shoulders modestly. ‘I’m just lucky,’ he murmured, ‘things happen to me. That’s why they put me in the Central Office, to keep me out of mischief …’
CHAPTER TWO
THE TABLEAU IN the study – constable and knife rampant, inspector passive, corpse couchant – was interrupted by the ringing of a concealed bell, followed by the entry of Superintendent Walker. ‘We’ve lost young Huysmann,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid he’s made a break. I should have had him pulled in for questioning right away.’
Hansom gave the cry of a police inspector who sees his prey reft from him. ‘He can’t be far – he’s probably still in the city.’
‘He went back to the fair after he’d been here,’ continued the superintendent. ‘He had tea with his wife in his caravan and did his stunt at 6.15. He was due to do it again at 6.45. I had men there at 6.35, but he’d disappeared. The last person to see him was the mechanic who looks after the machines.’
‘He was going to face it out,’ struck in Hansom.
‘It looks rather like it, but either his nerve went just then or it went when he saw my men. In either case we’ve lost him for the moment.’
‘His nerve went when he saw the paper,’ said Gently through a peppermint cream.
The superintendent glanced at him sharply. ‘How do you know that?’ he asked.
Gently swallowed and licked his lips. ‘I saw it. I saw him do his stunt. His nerve was certainly intact when he did that.’
‘Then for heaven’s sake why didn’t you grab him?’ snapped Hansom.
Gently smiled at him distantly. ‘If I’d known you wanted him I might have done, though once he got going he was moving faster than I shall ever move again.’
Hansom snarled disgustedly. The superintendent brooded for a moment. ‘I don’t think there’s much doubt left that he’s our man,’ he said. ‘It looks as though we shan’t be needing you after all, Gently. I think we shall be able to pin something on young Huysmann and make it stick.’
‘Gently doesn’t think so,’ broke in Hansom.
‘You’ve come to a different conclusion?’ asked the superintendent.
Gently shrugged and shook his head woodenly from side to side. ‘I don’t know anything yet. I haven’t had time.’
‘He found the knife for us, sir,’ put in the constable defiantly, thrusting it under Walker’s nose. The superintendent took it from him and weighed it in his hand. ‘Obviously a throwing knife,’ he said. ‘We’ve just found out that young Huysmann used to be in a knife-throwing act before he went into the Wall of Death.’
‘That’s one for the book!’ exclaimed Hansom delightedly.
�
��All in all, I think we’ve got the makings of a pretty sound case. I’m much obliged to you, Gently, for consenting to help out, but the case has resolved itself pretty simply. I don’t suppose you’ll be sorry to get back to your fishing.’
Gently poised a peppermint cream on the end of his thumb and inspected it sadly. ‘Who was watching Huysmann from the room across the passage this afternoon?’ he enquired, revolving his thumb through a half-circle.
The superintendent stared.
‘You might print the door handle and the back of the chair that stands just inside,’ continued Gently, ‘and photograph the marks left on the carpet. Then again,’ he turned his thumb back with slow care, ‘you might wonder to yourself how the knife came to be in the chest in the hall. I can’t help you in the slightest. I’m still wondering myself …’
‘Well, I’m not!’ barked Hansom. ‘It’s where young Huysmann hid it.’
‘Why?’ murmured Gently, ‘why did he remove the knife at all? Why should he bother when the knife couldn’t be traced to him in any way? And if he did, why did he take it into the hall to hide it? Why didn’t he take it away with him?’
Hansom gaped at him with his mouth open. The superintendent chipped in: ‘Those are interesting points, Gently, and since you’ve made them we shall certainly follow them up. But I don’t think they affect the main issue very materially. We need not complicate a matter when a simple answer is to hand. As it rests, there is no suspicion except in one direction and the suspicion there is very strong. It is our duty to show how strong and to produce young Huysmann to answer it. I do not think it is our duty, or yours, to hunt out side issues that may weaken or confuse our case.’
Gently made the suspicion of a bow and flipped the peppermint cream from his thumb to his mouth. Hansom sneered. The superintendent turned to the constable. ‘Fetch the men in with the stretcher,’ he said, and when the constable had departed, ‘Trencham is going to meet me at the fairground with a search warrant. You’d better come along, Hansom. I’m going to search young Huysmann’s caravan.’
Gently said: ‘I’m still interested in this case.’
The superintendent paused. He was not too sure of his position. While the matter was doubtful, the sudden appearance of Gently on the scene had seemed providential and he had gratefully enlisted the Chief Inspector’s aid, but now that things were straightening out he began to regret it. There seemed to be nothing here that his own men couldn’t handle. It was only a matter of time before young Huysmann was picked up: the superintendent was positive in his own mind that he was the man. And the honour and glory of securing a murder conviction was not to be lightly tossed away.
At the same time, he had brought Gently into it, and though the official channels had not been used, he was not sure if he had the power to dismiss him out of hand. Neither was he sure if it was policy.
‘Stop in if you like,’ he said, ‘it’s up to you.’
Gently nodded. ‘It’s unofficial. I won’t claim pay for it.’
‘Will you come along with us to the fairground?’
Gently pursed his lips. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s Saturday night. I feel tired. I may even go to the pictures …’
The constable left in charge was the constable who had found the knife. Gently, who had lingered to see his finger-printing done, called him aside. ‘You were present at the preliminary questioning?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. I came down with Inspector Hansom, sir.’
‘Which cinema did Miss Huysmann go to?’
‘To the Carlton, sir.’
‘Ah,’ said Gently.
The constable regarded him with shining eyes. ‘You’ll excuse me, sir, but I would like to know how you knew where the knife was,’ he said.
Gently smiled at him comfortably. ‘I just guessed, that’s all.’
‘But you guessed right, sir, first go.’
‘That was just my luck. We have to be lucky, to be detectives.’
‘Then it wasn’t done by – deduction, sir?’
Gently’s smile broadened and he felt for his bag of peppermint creams. ‘Have one,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Thank you, sir. It’s Letts.’
‘Well, Letts, my first guess was that there’d been some post-mortem monkeying because the knife was missing and there was no reason why it should have been. My second guess was that the party who was watching from the other room this afternoon was the party concerned.’
‘How did you know the party was watching this afternoon, sir?’
‘Because the room was cleaned up before lunch and it was cleaned up today before lunch – witness the tulips with dew on them and the absence of dust. Hence the marks on the carpet were made after lunch. My third guess was that the party concerned was an inside party and not an outside party, and that the odds were in favour of them hiding the knife in the house. Now a person with a bloody knife to hide doesn’t waste time being subtle. It could have been in the chest-of-drawers at the end of the passage, but the polished floor in that direction has an unmarked film of dust. The only other easy hiding-place was the chest in the hall. So I guessed that.’
The constable shifted his helmet a fraction and rubbed his head. ‘Then it was all guessing after all, sir?’ he said slowly.
‘All guessing,’ Gently reiterated.
‘And yet you were right, sir.’
‘Which,’ said Gently, ‘goes to show how much luck you need to be a detective, Letts … don’t forget that when you apply for a transfer.’
‘But you’ve given the case a different look, sir. It could be that somebody else was in this job as well as young Huysmann.’
‘Could be,’ agreed Gently, ‘or it may just mean that somebody’s got some pretty virile explaining to do. Remember what the super said, Letts. He was quite right. It’s our job to make a case, not to break it. Justice belongs to the court. It’s nothing to do with the police.’
The hall, which was gloomy enough by evening light, seemed even gloomier when lit by the low-power chandelier which depended from its high ceiling. As Gently passed through it on his way out a tall figure stepped towards him. Gently paused enquiringly.
‘Chief Inspector Gently?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I’m Rod Leaming, Mr Huysmann’s manager. They told me you wanted to see me.’
He was a man of about forty, big, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with small well-set ears and features that were boldly handsome. His voice was rounded and pleasant. Gently said: ‘Ah yes. You were at the football match. How did the City get on?’
There was a moment’s silence, then Leaming said: ‘They won, three-one.’
‘It was a good match, they tell me.’
Leaming gave a little shrug. ‘There were a lot of missed chances. They might have won six-one without being flattered, though of course Cummings was a passenger most of the match. Are you interested in football?’
Gently smiled a far-away smile. ‘I watch the Pensioners when I get the chance. Is your car ZYX 169?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s got mud all over the rear number plate. I thought I’d mention it to you before you were stopped. It’s fresh mud.’
‘Thanks for the tip. I must have picked it up on the car park this afternoon.’
‘It’s a clay mud,’ mused Gently, ‘comes from a river bank, perhaps.’
‘The car park at Railway Road lies between the river and the ground.’
‘Ah,’ said Gently.
Leaming relaxed a little. He pulled out a gold cigarette case and offered it to Gently. Gently took a cigarette. They were hand-made and expensive. Leaming gave him a light and lighted one himself. ‘Look,’ he said, forcing smoke through his nostrils, ‘this is a bad business, Inspector, and it looks pretty black for young Huysmann. But if an outside opinion is any help, I’m one who doesn’t think he’s the man. I’ve seen a good deal of Peter at one time or another and he’s not the type to do a thing like this.’
G
ently blew a neat little smoke-ring.
Leaming continued: ‘Of course, I realize there’s everything against him. He’s been in trouble before and the reason he was estranged from his father is well known.’
‘Not to me,’ said Gently.
‘You haven’t heard? But it’s bound to come out in the questioning and it’s not so very serious. You’ve got to remember that he was the only son; he was brought up to regard himself as the automatic heir to the business. Well, there’s no doubt that Mr Huysmann was a little hard on Peter when it came to pocket money and one day Peter decamped with a hundred pounds or more.’
Gently exhaled a stream of smoke towards the distant chandelier.
‘But that was merely youthful high spirits, Inspector. If Peter had had a proper allowance, it would never have happened. It wouldn’t have happened then if Peter hadn’t fallen in love with an office girl – she’s his wife now – and if Mr Huysmann had treated the affair with … well, a little more feeling. But there it was, he wouldn’t hear of the idea of Peter getting married and though he might have forgiven the embezzlement, he treated the marriage as though it were a personal affront. Poor Peter had a rough time of it after he left home. He wrote to Mr Huysmann on several occasions asking for small sums, but he never received a penny. I’m afraid their relations were very embittered towards the end.’
Leaming paused for comment, but Gently contented himself with another smoke-ring.
‘It got so far that Mr Huysmann threatened to cut Peter out of his will and I believe he meant to do it, if he’d had time, though between you and me it would have been a gross injustice. Apart from his temper – and he inherited that from his father – there was nothing vicious in Peter at all. He’s a very likeable lad, with a lot of initiative and any amount of guts. He’d have made a very worthy successor in the firm.’
