by Roger Bax
James nodded patiently. This was not the first case he had handled where in the early stages no one appeared to have seen or heard anything. Memories often improved as time went on. “There’s one point I am quite sure you can clear up for me,” he said. “We discovered that Mr. Hutton had sustained some bad scratches. Do you know how that happened?”
“I believe he caught his hand in some brambles.”
“Both his hands were scratched,” said James.
“Really? I only noticed one.”
“When did you notice it?”
“On Saturday afternoon, while we were sitting under the trees. I asked him what he’d been doing to himself and he said he’d been getting some blackberries. Is it of any importance?”
“It might be. I’d rather like to know exactly when this happened.”
Barbara shrugged. “On Saturday morning, I expect. He certainly did’t have them on Friday, because I spent the whole day with him and I’d have noticed.”
“Yes, of course you would.… There was another small matter I wanted to ask you about. One or two of his fingernails were badly broken. I thought at first that he must have been a keen gardener, but I’m told now that he wasn’t.”
“No, not really. He was very active, though—his nails could easily have got broken. Perhaps he’d started to scrape the boat —he said something about it on Friday. Anyway, I didn’t notice. The last time I saw him we had so much to talk about that I wasn’t in the mood to bother about things like that.”
“Quite so,” said James. “I’m sorry I have to dwell on these rather trivial matters. Well, now, about Dennis Gwynn …”
“Dennis Gwynn?” She looked startled. “How on earth does he come into this?”
“He was up in the church tower at half-past six, Miss Rutherford.”
There was a long silence. “What was he doing there?”
“He says he was making a survey of the structure. He also says that he saw Mr. Hutton setting out across the fields.”
“I expect he did if he was up there,” said Barbara slowly. “I still don’t quite understand what you’re trying to say.”
“Miss Rutherford, I’ll be perfectly frank. I gather that Dennis Gwynn has been in love with you for a long time.”
“Well?”
“He wanted to marry you.”
“Yes, he did, but I couldn’t. He’s a terribly nice person, but I’ve known him all my life and I—I just didn’t feel that way about him.”
“How did he take your refusal?”
“How would anyone? He wasn’t very happy about it, naturally.”
“What were his relations with Mr. Hutton?”
A look of alarm sprang into Barbara’s eyes. “Good heavens, you don’t imagine … ?”
“I don’t imagine anything, Miss Rutherford. I’m simply trying to get as much information as I can. Did he and Neville Hutton ever quarrel?”
“I’m sure they didn’t. I think they only met about twice. If you’re thinking that Dennis was jealous and shot Neville Hutton because of me, you’re quite, quite wrong. He would never have done that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I am sure. He was much too fond of me. He wanted me to be happy—he’d never have done anything to hurt me. He knew how much Neville meant to me. It’s perfectly idiotic to suspect him, just because he happened to be around.”
“Very well—we’ll leave it at that. You must understand that I have to consider all possibilities.” James’s tone suggested that he had no more questions to ask, but he showed no signs of terminating the interview. Instead, he stirred uneasily in his chair. “There’s one other thing before I go,” he said. “I have to tell you something that I’m afraid will be a very great blow to you.” His voice was grave. “About Neville Hutton.”
Barbara gave him a long, stony stare. “You’re going to tell me that he was married already.”
“He may have been,” said James, “but that’s almost a minor thing.”
She looked at him incredulously. “A minor thing? What on earth do you mean?”
“The fact is,” said James gently, “that your fiancé Neville Hutton was a very worthless person. No, please don’t interrupt—let me finish. You see, Miss Rutherford, after I’d heard about Mrs. Thornton’s visit it seemed at least a possibility that Hutton wasn’t all he appeared to be. It was my obvious duty to make inquiries about his past life in case it might throw some light on why he was killed. One of the things I did was to take a set of his fingerprints and a photograph of him to Scotland Yard to see if they could find out anything about him. We have a Record Office there, where particulars are on file of people who have been convicted of serious crimes. I’m sorry to have to tell you that Neville Hutton’s particulars were found in the files—under another name, of course.” James produced the report he had collected from the Yard. “I have his record here.”
The flash of indignant disbelief, the angry repudiation that he had half expected, was not forthcoming. “Couldn’t there be some mistake?” Barbara said in an almost inaudible voice.
James shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid there’s no possibility of that. The photograph and fingerprints are conclusive.” He smoothed out the report. “Perhaps I’d better give you the salient facts. He was born in London, of a quite decent, well-to-do family. He had every chance. He was properly brought up and educated. He went to a good school. He was clever and he had a great deal of charm, but he doesn’t seem to have had any moral sense at all. A born black sheep! His chief weakness was that he didn’t mind how he got money as long as he got it. He was expelled from school after a flagrant case of theft. Later he was sent to an Approved School. His name at this time, by the way, was Eric Carruthers—that’s the name on his birth certificate. He never got a job in the usual sense. When he was nineteen he served three months in prison for obtaining money by false pretenses—a second offense.”
Barbara’s face was hard. “Go on,” she said.
“Well,” continued James heavily, “there’s worse to come. The police lost sight of him for quite a while after he came out of prison, but only because he was growing more skillful, not because he had reformed. He was living on his wits, and living very comfortably, mainly in luxury hotels where there were plenty of wealthy and susceptible women on whom he could prey. He developed expensive tastes, and began to play for high stakes. For a time he was most successful. Then in 1936 he made a mistake, and he was arrested and charged with defrauding an old lady of four thousand pounds. After he’d been found guilty, he was sentenced to five years’ penal servitude. He was released just before the war, and then we lost sight of him again. We may or may not be able to trace his subsequent movements. He may have gone into the Forces, but he certainly held no commission under any name that we know about. It seems more probable that he was busy with his own affairs in the Middle East—there are a lot of wealthy people in Cairo. In view of everything else that we know about him, there is certainly no reason to suppose that Mrs. Thornton’s story is not true.”
James folded up the report and slipped it back into his pocket. “Those are the facts, Miss Rutherford. I felt you ought to know. Oh, there’s just one other thing. While I was at Osier Cottage I went through his papers and found a letter of commendation from Middle East Headquarters. You know about it, of course. The Yard checked on that, and it’s not genuine. Somehow he must have got hold of a sheet of official notepaper, and for a man like him the rest was easy.”
Barbara’s head was buried in her hands, so that he couldn’t see her face. “Oh, God,” she murmured, “What a fool I’ve been.”
“You have nothing to reproach yourself about,” said James. “He was an exceptionally gifted confidence man, and he had all the advantages on his side. He had years of experience behind him. Our records show that he was utterly without feeling, but he was a genius at concealing his true character and none of his victims ever really knew him until it was too late. You were less likely t
han most to see through him, for you were young and intensely loyal, and you were deeply in love with him. You hadn’t a chance.”
Barbara slowly raised her head. “Do you mind … ? I think I’d like to be alone.”
“Of course.” Sadly, James got to his feet. He couldn’t recall a more tragic affair in all his experience. The girl looked utterly broken.
He turned at the door. “You know,” he said, “we all make mistakes. You made a particularly disastrous one, and now you feel miserable and lost, and your pride’s hurt, and you can’t bear to think what people will say, and you don’t feel like trusting anyone ever again. All the same, things might have been worse. You can’t be expected to see that at the moment, of course, but you will in time. You’ve really had a very lucky escape.”
Having delivered himself, the worthy inspector turned abruptly and left her to her thoughts.
Chapter Sixteen
James had no idea which was William Appleby’s bedroom, and turned to the kitchen to enlist Gertie’s help. As he approached the open door he was rather surprised to hear a distinct giggle coming from within. He gave a loud cough, just in case the pretty maid was having high jinks with the milkman, and stuck his head round the door.
“Good gracious!” he ejaculated. “What are you doing here, Sergeant?”
Maddox blushed. “Carrying out your instructions, sir.” He held out an inked pad in corroboration. “I’ve just been taking this young lady’s prints.”
“So I see. You seem to have got one on your face.”
Maddox wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “Incurred in the course of duty, Chief. Had to break down opposition.” He gathered up his kit. “I’ve finished here now, sir. Shall I go in to Miss Rutherford?”
“I suppose so. Gently, though—she’s had a rough time.” He waited while a rather confused Gertie cleansed her inky fingers, and then he sent her up with a message for William. A few minutes later he was entering the old man’s room.
The Ancient was sitting up in bed with a soft shawl round his shoulders and a pillow at his back. An illustrated book of birds was open on the counterpane. On a small table near the bed lay a writing pad and a pen, and beside them a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
William scrutinized his visitor closely from under his thick eyebrows and directed him to a chair with a jerk of his bony wrist.
“Well, young man, what do you want? I suppose you’ve come up here to pick my brains?”
James, unprepared for so aggressive a centenarian and not absolutely sure that it was he who was being addressed, cast a startled glance behind him. No young man there! For once he felt a little uncertain how to proceed. “I should certainly be glad if you could help me, Mr. Appleby,” he said smoothly, his tone a blend of gentleness and deference. “I won’t keep you long.”
“There’s no need to be considerate,” William snapped. “I’ve survived a century of wars, floods, fires, accidents and epidemics, and I’m not likely to be snuffed out by a couple of questions. It was about time you came to see me. I hate things to go on behind my back.”
“It’s a great privilege to meet you, sir. I’ve heard quite a lot about you while I’ve been in these parts.”
“Nothing good, I’ll be bound,” said William. He looked pleased all the same. “I’m a cantankerous old man, Inspector, and a nuisance to everyone. I don’t like staying in bed, that’s the trouble. They will try to pretend I’m not well, confound them, but there’s nothing wrong with me at all. They say all the fuss downstairs would upset me. Bah! I thrive on fuss; and what’s it all about, anyway? You’d think that we’d suffered a great tragedy instead of a merciful release.”
The inspector looked more startled than ever. It would take a little time, he felt, to get adjusted to William. “That’s rather a cold-blooded way of looking at it,” he said reprovingly.“Your great-granddaughter has had an appalling shock. It’s a tragedy for her, a very great tragedy.”
“She’ll get over it. Best thing that could have happened—only don’t tell her I said so. If it hadn’t, there’d probably have been a worse tragedy. The impudent young jackanapes! If I’d been twenty years younger I’d have horsewhipped him. That’s what we did in the old days. A blackguard, Inspector, an out-and-out blackguard!” The purple veins stood out on the old man’s forehead. “Whoever put those shots into him did a public service.”
“You can hardly expect me to subscribe to that view,” said James mildly. He was becoming interested in the violent old man. “From what you say, Mr. Appleby, I take it you believed the story that Mrs. Thornton told?”
“Of course I believed it.”
“Yet you yourself didn’t say very much during the family upset, I gather. I should have expected that in the circumstances you’d have taken a stronger line.”
“What was the use? Anyone could see that Barbara wasn’t open to argument. She acted as though she hadn’t the sense she was born with. Not that I could blame her.” His eyes brightened. “In fact, y’ know, I was proud of her. She showed spirit and she looked a picture—black hair tossing and sparks coming off her like fireworks. You should have heard her telling Thomas what to do with himself.”
“Did you, perhaps, try to have a quiet word with her afterward?”
“No, I didn’t have a chance. I’d have said something later on, maybe, when she’d cooled off a bit—you’ve always got to give an Appleby twenty-four hours to cool off, particularly the women.”
“Do you think she’d have listened to you then?”
William cackled. “She’d have listened—there was never a time when she wouldn’t listen to me, bless her heart—but she’d have gone her own way just the same. She’d have married him all right, and come to her senses afterward. There wasn’t anyone who could have stopped her. So you see, it’s a good thing that she didn’t have the chance.”
“H’m. Well, sir, as it happens you were quite right about Hutton. The man was a scoundrel—much more of a scoundrel than you realize. We’ve been looking up his record.” The inspector proceeded to give the old man a few details from the dossier.
A look of profound satisfaction crept into William’s eyes as the melancholy recital drew to an end. “A criminal, eh? A jail-bird?” He leaned back against his pillow and gave a deep sigh, almost of contentment. “That’s very gratifying. Have you told my Barbara?”
“Yes, I told her just before I came up. It wasn’t very pleasant.”
“Never mind, I’m glad you’ve told her. Brutal, but effective. It’ll help her to get him out of her system. Just a question of time, that’s all. Poor child!” He closed his eyes for a moment and James thought he was going to fall asleep, but apparently he was only resting. “As a matter of fact, Inspector, I’ve had my doubts about him for a long time. Couldn’t say anything, of course. That yarn of his about having done an important job in the war! Poppycock! Why, the fellow didn’t even know how to hold a gun. Always looked as though he was going to shoot himself.”
“Was that why you lent him your gun?” asked James grimly.
“I hadn’t any choice—Barbara got round me.” A fond smile transformed the Ancient’s face. “She always has—she always will. I had to humor her—and after all, I couldn’t use the thing myself. I haven’t been able to do any shooting for twenty years.”
James looked at the gnarled knuckles on the counterpane. “I suppose not.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that,” said William. “I could have held the gun all right. But after I was eighty the family began to make trouble. Said I couldn’t be trusted. Damned impudence!” He cocked an eye at the inspector. “By the way, have you found the gun?”
“Not yet, I’m sorry to say.”
“Well you ought to have—you’ve had plenty of time. Pity—it’ll be ruined. I hate to see a good gun spoiled—and it was a good gun. Specially made for me. Still, I’ve no one to pass it on to. Thomas is no good with a gun. He’s a poor sort of countryman altogether—though I’m not sure he isn’t
right about shooting. You can have a lot of good sport round here—I often used to go out over Rough Fen with George Peckitt till he got laid up with rheumatism—but since then I’ve found it more satisfying to watch the birds than to kill them. There never was such a place for birds as that Fen. Do you know anything about birds, Inspector?”
“Not very much, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, then you’ve missed a lot. Sometimes we’ve had peregrines and buzzards over, and I know a place beyond Judy’s Lode where the bittern used to nest. I’ve even seen a yellow shank there. If I could only get about still, I’d take you down the Fen and show you things you’d remember all your life. Too late now, though—the bottom of the garden is as far as I can get these days. Doddering, that’s the only word for it. The spirit’s willing but the legs are weak. Well, so you haven’t found the murderer?”
“Not yet, but we shall in time.”
William snorted. “From what you tell me about Hutton’s past, there must have been plenty of people with a grudge against him. P’raps that’s why he took Osier Cottage, eh?—to get away from someone, hide his identity? And then he was followed down here and discovered.”
“The only person who seems to have followed him down here,” said James, “is Mrs. Thornton. She had a good motive, of course.” He looked at the Ancient as though inviting comment.
“I dare say,” growled William. He communed with himself for a while. “I shouldn’t think she did it, though. A lot of people had a motive—I had one myself, for that matter. I’d have done any mortal thing to save Barbara from that scamp.”
James savored the phrase. “But you didn’t, in fact, shoot him yourself?”
William stared at him blankly, and suddenly he gave a wicked chuckle. “So you’ve found me out, Inspector! You’ve unearthed my secret. Well, in that case I may as well tell you all about it. The fact is, I happened to see Hutton walking toward the churchyard with the gun, so I raced across the lawn, knocked him out, slung him over my shoulder, vaulted the churchyard wall, threw him into the grave, and shot him.” His white eyebrows twitched. “That’s why I had to take to my bed afterward. All that activity tired me out.”
