by Clara Benson
‘We don’t know they were, yet,’ replied Angela. ‘As I said, he may have gone in through the study door and merely left that way, then climbed back in through a window.’
‘How did he know to leave the window open then, if he was not intending to kill?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Angela. ‘There are lots of things that don’t add up about this business. But one thing we can say for certain is that if Hugh is the one responsible, then he must have done it after eleven o’clock, as he was in the drawing-room with the rest of us for most of the evening. It’s just that somehow I can’t see Hugh as a murderer.’
‘It all makes perfect sense to me. I can see it all now. This is what I think happened: after everyone else has gone to bed MacMurray, desperate to keep his inheritance and get back into Sir Neville’s good books, creeps downstairs and knocks on the study door with a view to pleading his case. After he has been admitted, things go badly wrong, they have a row, MacMurray kills Sir Neville and arranges the body, then leaves through the French windows.’
‘But how did he know Neville would be there, if everyone had gone to bed?’ said Angela. ‘And how did he get back into the house?’
I thought.
‘In that case, it must have been premeditated. He went downstairs with murder in mind, making sure first that he would be able to lock the study door behind him, leave through the French windows and come back into the house through a window. It’s the only possible way. And I wonder,’ I continued, ‘whether Gwen mightn’t have been part of the whole plot. She started the row with Joan, if you remember. Perhaps that was deliberately cooked up between them, in order to drive everybody to bed early. I don’t know how they could be so sure that Sir Neville would still be up, though. That’s the only flaw I can think of.’
‘What you say is quite plausible,’ admitted Angela. ‘But somehow I’m not convinced by it. I think there is something we have missed but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
We went downstairs together and parted in the hall. I stood for a moment to let the servant whom I had seen going into the study earlier pass me, then went down the passage and into the room where Sir Neville had died. I looked about me. Nothing about the place gave any suggestion of the violent event that had taken place there only a few days earlier. I moved over to the desk and tried one of the drawers, then jumped violently as someone coughed softly behind me. I swung round.
‘Were you perhaps looking for this?’ said Inspector Jameson.
THIRTEEN
The inspector held out a telegram.
‘Where did you get that?’ I asked, when I finally found my voice.
‘From that drawer,’ he replied.
‘You shouldn’t look through people’s private things,’ I said, rather lamely.
He gave a small smile.
‘I’m afraid it is a regrettable part of my job,’ he said.
‘I gather you’ve read it.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then it contains all the information you require and I have no more to say on the matter,’ I said with emphasis and made as if to leave.
‘Oh, come now, Mr. Knox,’ said Jameson. ‘I have here in my hand a telegram from Sir Neville’s agent in South Africa, bringing to Sir Neville’s attention the fact that, three years ago, a Mr. Charles Knox was tried for the murder of one Franklin Watson of Johannesburg. I myself am investigating a murder, so naturally this fact is of great interest to me.’
‘As you will see from the telegram, I was tried and acquitted,’ I said stiffly.
‘Suppose you tell me about it. Shall we sit down?’
I sat.
‘Very well, since it seems I have no choice,’ I said. ‘What is it you wish to know?’
‘First of all, who was Franklin Watson?’
‘He was my business partner. It is to him that I owe all my good fortune in the mining business. I had gone out to South Africa to try my hand at farming and was making a pretty poor fist of it when I met old Frank. He had been out there for years and had finally struck gold but needed a partner to help him exploit it. He chose me. I shall always be grateful to him for that.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He was found one morning in his hotel room, lying on his bed with his head staved in. One hand was clutching a half-empty bottle of whisky.’ As soon as I said it, I bit my tongue. ‘But the circumstances were quite different in this case,’ I went on hurriedly. ‘Frank liked his drink—liked it rather too much. If he had managed to lay off the stuff, then he wouldn’t have needed an able-bodied partner to help him in the business. He was a very capable man when sober. The whisky was certainly his; it wasn’t just spilt around to lay a false scent. I don’t know who killed him. I wish I did. The mining business attracts a lot of transients and a rich man a lot of enemies and it could have been any one of them.’
‘Then why did the police arrest you?’
I shifted uncomfortably. Would those horrible events of three years ago continue to haunt me for the rest of my life?
‘We had had a row the night before and had been overheard by several people. One man swore in court that he had heard me threatening to kill Frank: it’s not true, I tell you. Every one of those witnesses was a drunkard and a wastrel. The whole thing was a trumped-up charge against me, anybody could see that. The jury certainly did.’
I realized I was becoming heated and relapsed into moody silence.
‘I see,’ said Inspector Jameson. ‘So you were acquitted. Now we come to the events of the past few days. This is not the first time you have attempted to enter the study since Sir Neville’s death, my men tell me, so, unless there is something else we have missed in our searches I think we can safely assume that you knew the telegram was here and were trying to get it back before we found it and jumped to conclusions. I therefore deduce that Sir Neville had spoken to you about it. Would you be so kind as to tell me the details of that conversation?’
‘There’s not much to tell. I returned home to England a little over a month ago and had begun informal negotiations with Sir Neville and Bobs—Mr. Buckley’s father, Lord Haverford, about some prospecting rights back in Jo’burg. Sir Neville must have made inquiries of his agent about me and the agent telegraphed back the reply you have in your hand. He asked me directly whether it was true that I had been tried for murder and I hope I convinced him that I was an innocent man unjustly accused.’
‘Is that all? He did not, for example, threaten to expose you to your friends? Pardon me, but some people might take a dim view of your past—er—misfortunes.’
‘No, he did not,’ I replied firmly. ‘On the contrary, he shook my hand and said that as he had no reason to doubt my word he would keep the matter quiet for my sake.’
‘Did that include keeping the matter from Lord Haverford?’
‘That is how I understood it, yes.’
‘Mr. Knox, did you kill Sir Neville Strickland?’
‘No, I did not kill him. If I had, then I should have taken good care to remove that telegram.’
‘Is there anything at all you can tell me that might shed light on Sir Neville’s murder?’
I hesitated.
‘I’m not sure,’ I replied at last. ‘During our conversation, Sir Neville said that somebody had been scheming against him, or something of the sort. At first I thought he must be talking about me, as he shortly afterwards showed me the telegram, but the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that he was referring to someone else. The murder trial is a shameful episode in my past—I admit it—and I have kept very quiet about it as you know, but I could hardly be accused of scheming against him.’
‘That’s very interesting,’ said Jameson. ‘Can you remember his exact words?’
I thought back.
‘I think he said something about troubles all coming at once and that somebody had deceived him and he was upset about it. Yes, and he certainly said that he felt he was surrounded by liars and schemers. Those were his word
s, if I recall correctly.’
‘And you have no idea to whom he was referring?’
‘None at all.’
The inspector must have detected a note of hesitation in my voice, because he said:
‘Are you quite certain of that, Mr. Knox?’
I relented.
‘Well, it has occurred to me since then that he might have been referring to the MacMurrays. As you know, he asked Mr. Pomfrey to come to Sissingham because he wanted to change his will and write Hugh MacMurray out of it. What reason could he have had for doing that if not the discovery of some misdeed on MacMurray’s part? But that idea only occurred to me long after our conversation; I mean to say, it was not an impression I got at the time.’
‘I see,’ he said again.
‘Is there anything else?’ I asked.
‘Just one thing. I would like to ask your permission for my men to have a look through your belongings.’
‘My belongings?’
‘Not only yours,’ he corrected himself. ‘I have asked all the guests the same thing. It is a matter of routine.’
‘Searching for evidence?’ I said. ‘Well, of course it will look very suspicious if I say no, so I suppose I shall have to say yes, even if I don’t like it.’
‘Thank you Mr. Knox. That will be all for the present.’
I rose to go.
‘Will it be necessary for you to tell anybody about what we have just been discussing?’ I asked.
‘I see no reason to do so at the moment. I shall be discreet as far as possible,’ he replied.
I left, my mind in a turmoil. I had remained more or less composed while answering the inspector’s questions but had felt deeply uncomfortable all the while. And I had not been entirely truthful when I said that Sir Neville had shaken my hand. He had made as if to do it but then had thought better of it at the last minute and covered up the movement with a cough. At that moment, I had known that he still doubted my innocence.
I returned to the drawing-room to find Gwen protesting loudly at the very idea of the police searching through her things.
‘No, I tell you, I won’t allow it!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is treating us all like common criminals, when we all know that Simon did it. Why should I let a stranger snoop through my clothes?’
‘We don’t know that Simon did it,’ said Rosamund. ‘And as you are innocent, of course the police won’t find anything, will they?’ she continued in her most persuasive tones. ‘And that will eliminate you from their inquiries and they’ll stop bothering you. Now darling, do say yes like the rest of us.’
‘All right then, but I don’t like it,’ said Gwen sulkily.
‘Where have you been?’ Sylvia asked me in a low voice. ‘You’ve missed all the fun.’
‘Talking to Inspector Jameson,’ I muttered. ‘What happened?’
‘Come outside and I’ll tell you.’
It was a dull, chilly day and a dank mist hung low over the park.
‘It’s all looking rather bad for MacMurray,’ I remarked.
‘That’s exactly what I was going to say,’ said Sylvia eagerly.
‘Why, what happened?’
‘After you went out, Hugh came back looking rather dazed and before Gwen could stop him, blurted out the whole story. Apparently, the police have discovered why Neville intended to disinherit him.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes,’ she went on. ‘It seems that a friend of Neville’s took him aside one day and said did he know that Hugh had been chucked out of his club for disreputable conduct—something to do with illegal gambling, or running a book, or something. Neville did a bit of investigating on his own account and found out that it was true and confronted Hugh with the facts. Hugh admitted it, said that it had just been a harmless game among friends and promised to stick to the straight and narrow from now on. He must have lapsed back into his old ways, though, as not long afterwards the suspicion arose at another club that he was running some betting operation in concert with someone called Myerson, who is apparently the absolute end, although I’ve never heard of him. When Neville found out he went into fits.’
I whistled in astonishment.
‘Not really? Clem Myerson? Surely you must have read about him in the newspapers? He is one of the most notorious criminals in London. He is thought to have a finger in every pie: guns, drug-running, illegal gambling and worse. Many of his gang are already behind bars, although the police have not been able to touch him—it is thought that he pays his associates handsomely to take the blame and rules over his men by a combination of persuasion and fear. He has a taste for better things, though, and is often seen mingling with some of the more disreputable elements of high society. If MacMurray has been consorting with Clem Myerson then it’s no wonder that Sir Neville decided to disinherit him!’
‘Goodness!’ said Sylvia. ‘Anyway, Hugh was accused of acting as Myerson’s “inside man” in clubland, giving him access to lots of people with plenty of money.’
‘If he has admitted all this, then why didn’t Inspector Jameson arrest him immediately?’
‘He didn’t admit it. The inspector confronted him with the accusations that had been made against him and he denied them, although of course he couldn’t deny that the accusations had been made. His story is that he had met Myerson a few times but knew nothing of his reputation, and that Neville had made a mistake. He is convinced that he would have been able to persuade Neville to change his mind if Neville hadn’t been killed.’
‘Do you think his story is true?’
She shrugged.
‘Who knows? I’ve always thought that Hugh was a bit of an ass but harmless enough.’
‘But what about the murder? He hasn’t been arrested, so presumably no-one has been able to find any evidence against him.’
‘No, he hasn’t been arrested—yet,’ she said. ‘But the police are searching through all our belongings now. I wonder what they are looking for.’
I told her about the conversation I had had with Angela Marchmont earlier, about the police’s new theory regarding the windows and the time at which the murder had happened.
‘I expect they are examining the knees of our trousers and suchlike, for signs that someone has been clambering about the place,’ I said.
‘It wasn’t me, anyhow,’ said Sylvia. ‘By the way, what did Inspector Jameson want to speak to you about?’
‘Oh, he merely wanted to ask me whether I knew of any reason why someone would want to kill Sir Neville,’ I said airily. ‘Of course I said no.’
Sylvia turned to look at me.
‘Charles, do you really think Hugh did it?’ she said.
‘Who else could it have been?’
She did not answer.
‘He is the most obvious suspect. After all, he had the motive and the opportunity.’
‘If what you say is true, then we all had the opportunity,’ she said.
‘But nobody else had such a strong motive, you must see that. Sir Neville was about to disinherit him, so he had to act fast.’
‘We don’t know that nobody else had a motive. Hugh’s is just the one we know about. There are all kinds of reasons for killing someone and money is only one of them. The murderer might have acted out of—oh, I don’t know—out of love, or jealousy, or fear, or even just pure hatred.’
‘True but money seems to be the most obvious motive in Sir Neville’s case. I think we can discount love and jealousy as reasons and I don’t know who could have feared or hated him enough to kill him.’
‘Well someone killed him.’
‘Tell me, then, who do you think did it?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I don’t like it, Charles. I hate all this sneaking around and talking in corners and looking sideways at my friends wondering which one of them is a murderer. I wish—’
‘Yes?’
She said nothing for a moment, then burst out:
‘I wish we’d left well alone and never gone snooping
around in the study. Then Neville could have been buried decently and we could all have gone about our business as before. Nothing will ever be the same again now.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ I said. ‘We weren’t the only ones to be suspicious—it was the doctor who raised the alarm, remember, when he arrived with Mr. Pomfrey.’
‘Oh, damn and blast the man, why couldn’t he have kept his suspicions to himself?’ she said. ‘Mr. Pomfrey didn’t want to say anything, I could tell. It was Dr. Carter who had to go and spoil everything.’
After my bruising interview with Inspector Jameson, I was beginning to share her feelings. At first, I had been only too keen to see the killer brought to justice and had been surprised at the reluctance to call the police displayed by Sylvia, Mrs. Marchmont and the solicitor. But of course then there was no suspicion that the crime had been committed by someone in the house. I began to see the enormity of what had happened. Sylvia was right. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Sylvia shivered.
‘I’m cold,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back inside.’
We returned to the house in silence. Sylvia looked glum—as did I, probably. Little as I liked the man, I had no wish to see Hugh MacMurray hanged for murder or his wife arrested as an accessory, but it now looked inevitable. All that was needed was some evidence, which I had no doubt the police would soon find. In fact, as it turned out, the evidence was provided by MacMurray himself.
FOURTEEN
We were greeted in the hall by a beaming Joan.
‘Have you heard the good news?’ she demanded breathlessly. ‘They’ve found Simon! And he’s all right!’
We duly expressed our surprise and satisfaction.
‘Where did they find him?’ asked Sylvia.
‘Well, they found the car first of all, on the beach near Aldeburgh with the waves lapping around it. They thought the worst at first but it was just that the silly ass hadn’t thought to leave it out of the reach of the high tide. He was found a little way away, sitting on the sand and staring out to sea. His mother lives nearby, you know, in one of those rest homes for decayed gentlewomen. I believe she’s quite ga-ga now, poor old thing. That’s what made them think he might be there. Anyway, he must have been having one of his nervous attacks, as they couldn’t get a word out of him for hours. Poor Simon! I hope the police are being kind to him.’
