“Has Mr. Whymper come back yet?” he asked the stout, good-humoured looking landlady.
She recognised her visitor of the night before and smiled.
“Not yet, sir. But he won’t be long. Will you come in and wait?”
This was, what French wanted. It was better that she should suggest it than he. He paused doubtfully.
“Thanks,” he said at last; “perhaps it would be better if you think he won’t be long.”
“He might be here any time. Will you go up, sir? You know your way.”
French thanked her and slowly mounted the stairs. But once in Whymper’s sitting-room with the door shut behind him his deliberation dropped from him like a cloak and it became the personification of swift efficiency. Noiselessly he turned the key in the lock and then quickly but silently began a search of the room.
It was furnished rather more comfortably than the average lodging-house sitting-room, though it retained its family resemblance to the dreary species. In the centre was a table on half of which was a more or less white cloth and the preparations for a meal. Two dining-room chairs and two easy chairs, one without arms, represented the seating accommodation. A sideboard, a corner cabinet laden with nondescript ornaments, a china dog and a few books, together with a small modern roll-top desk, completed the furniture. On the walls were pictures, a royal family group of the early eighties and some imaginative views of sailing ships labouring on stormy seas. A gilt clock with a bell glass cover stood on the chimney-piece between a pair of china vases containing paper flowers.
French immediately realised that of all these objects only the desk was of interest to him. It was evidently Whymper’s private property, and in its locked drawers would lie any secret documents the young man might possess. Silently French got to work with his bunch of skeleton keys and a little apparatus of steel wire, and in two or three minutes he was able to push the lid gently up. This released the drawers, and one by one he drew them out and ran through their contents.
He had examined rather more than half when he pursed his lips together and gave vent to a soundless whistle. In a small but bulky envelope at the back of one of the drawers was a roll of £20 bank-notes. He drew them out and counted them. They were all twenties. Twenty-four of them—£480.
With something approaching excitement French took from his pocket the list given him by Tarkington of the numbers of the twenty-pound note sent to Starvel. A few seconds sufficed to compare them. Every single one of the twenty-four was on the list!
CHAPTER VI
TALLOIRES, LAC D’ANNECY
Having noted the twenty-four numbers, French hurriedly replaced the notes and with even more speed looked through the remaining drawers. He was now chiefly anxious that Whymper should not suspect his discovery, and as soon as he was satisfied that he had left no traces of his search, he silently unlocked the door and then walked noisily downstairs. As he reached the hall the landlady appeared from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said politely, “that I cannot wait any longer now. I have another appointment. Please tell Mr. Whymper that I’ll call to see him at the church to-morrow.”
The door closed behind him, but he made no attempt to return to the hotel. Instead he hung about the terrace until he saw Whymper approaching in the distance. Then walking towards him, he hailed him as if their meeting was accidental.
“Good evening, Mr. Whymper. I’ve just been calling at your rooms to ask if you could see me at the church to-morrow. One or two points occurred to me in connection with our discussion of last night, and I wanted to get your views on them. Unfortunately, I have an appointment to-night, and cannot wait now.”
Whymper, evidently not too pleased at the prospect, curtly admitted he would be available, and with a short “Good night,” passed on.
French went his way also, but when in a few seconds the shadowing constable put in an appearance, he stopped him.
“Look here, Hughes. I have a suspicion that Whymper may try to get rid of some papers to-night. Be specially careful if you see him trying to do anything of the kind, and let me hear from you about it in the morning.”
He reached the hotel and in his pleasant way had a leisurely chat with the landlord before turning in. But when once he reached his room for the night he lit a cigar and settled down to see just where he stood.
It was obvious in the first place that the evidence which he had obtained against Pierce Whymper would have been considered by most police officers sufficient to justify an arrest. To find a man suspected of the theft with the stolen property in his possession was usually reckoned an overwhelming proof of his guilt. And if to this be added the fact that the accused was seen in the neighbourhood of the crime about the time of its commission, having previously denied being there, and further, that his whole bearing when questioned was evasive and embarrassed, any lingering doubt might well have been swept away.
But French was not wholly satisfied. A ripe experience had made him an almost uncanny judge of character, and he felt a strong impression that Pierce Whymper was not of the stuff of which thieves and murderers are made. That the young man knew something about the crime he had no doubt; that he was guilty of it he was not so certain.
He racked his brains as to whether there was no other statement of Whymper’s which he could check. Then he remembered that the young architect had admitted having seen Roper on the afternoon of the tragedy. This was a point of contact with Starvel, and French wondered whether more might not have passed between the two men than Whymper had divulged. He decided that it would be worth while trying to find out.
According to his own statement Whymper had met Roper outside the church gate at about 5.30 on the evening in question. Next morning therefore French strolled to the church, and getting into conversation with one of the workmen, learned that the sexton was usually waiting to lock up when the men left at 5.15. From the notice board he learned the sexton’s address, ran him to earth and explained that he wished to speak to him confidentially.
To his customary story of the insurance company who wished to discover the cause of the Starvel fire he added some slight embroidery. At the inquest a suggestion was made of contributory negligence—in other words, drink—and his instructions were to find out what he could about this possibility.
Now he had heard that Roper was seen outside the church gate about 5.30 on the afternoon of the tragedy, and he, French, wondered whether the sexton might not have noticed him when locking up.
It was a long shot, but rather to French’s surprise, it got a bull’s-eye. The sexton had seen Mr. Roper. Mr. Whymper, the young gentleman in charge of the renovation, had been ten or fifteen minutes late finishing up that evening, and he, the sexton, had waited by the gate till he should leave. While there he had noticed Roper. The man seemed to be hanging about as if waiting for someone, and when Mr. Whymper appeared, Roper went up and spoke to him. The two men talked together as if Roper were delivering a message, then they separated, walking off in opposite directions. They talked, the sexton was sure, for two or three minutes. No, he did not observe the slightest sign of drink on Mr. Roper. As a matter of fact the man wished him good evening and he could swear he was then perfectly sober.
“Well, I’m glad to know that,” French declared, “though I suppose it is really against my company. But I expect we shall have to pay in any case. Now, I think I’d best see this Mr. Whymper you speak of, and get his confirmation of your views.”
“You’ll find him in the church, probably in the north transept where they’re rebuilding the window.”
French did not, however, go immediately to the north transept of the church. Instead he found his way to the residence of a certain Colonel Fellowes, a prominent magistrate with a reputation for discretion, whose name had been given him by Sergeant Kent. He took the colonel into his confidence, made the necessary formal statement and obtained a warrant for the arrest of Pierce Whymper. Whether or not he would execute it would depend on the
young man’s answers to his further questions, but he wished to be able to do so if, at the time, it seemed wise.
Returning to the church, French found his quarry superintending the resetting of the stone mullions of the beautiful north transept window. He waited until the young man was free, then said that he would be glad if they could now have their talk.
“Come into the vestry-room,” Whymper returned. “I use it as an office, and we won’t be disturbed.”
Of all the sights which the groined roof of the old vestry had looked down on during the three centuries of its existence, none perhaps was so out of keeping with the character of the place as this interview between a detective of the C.I.D. and the man whom he half suspected of murder, arson, and burglary. And yet there was nothing dramatic about their conversation. French spoke quietly, as if their business was everyday and matter of fact. Whymper, though he was evidently under strain, gave none of the evidence of apprehension he had exhibited on the previous evening. Rather had he the air of a man who feared no surprise as he had braced himself to meet the worst. He waited in silence for the other to begin.
“I am sorry, Mr. Whymper,” French said at last, “to have to return to the subject we discussed last night, but since then further facts have come to my knowledge which render it necessary. I think it right to tell you that these facts suggest that you may be guilty of a number of extremely serious crimes. I am, however, aware that facts, improperly understood, may be misleading, and I wish, therefore, to give you an opportunity of explaining the matters which seem to incriminate you. I would like to ask you a number of questions, but before I do so I must warn you that if your answers are unsatisfactory I must arrest you, and then anything you have said may be used in evidence against you.”
Whymper had paled slightly while the other was speaking. “I shall try to answer your questions,” he said in a low voice, and French resumed:
“The main question is, of course, the one I asked you last night: Where did you get the twenty-pound note with which you paid Messrs. Cook? You needn’t tell me that you don’t know. Apart from the improbability of that, I have absolute proof that you know quite well. Now, Mr. Whymper, if you are innocent you have nothing to fear. Tell me the truth. I can promise you I will give your statement every consideration.”
“I have already explained that I don’t know where the note came from.”
French paused, frowning and looking inquiringly at the other.
“Very well,” he said at last, “let us leave it at that for the moment. Now tell me: Did you receive any other money from Mr., Averill or Miss Averill, or Roper or Mrs. Roper within three or four days of the fire?”
“None.”
“There was a matter of a certain £500. It was in Mr. Averill’s safe four days before the fire. All but twenty pounds of it was in your possession last night. Now where did you obtain that money?”
In spite of his being prepared for the worst, Whymper seemed completely taken aback by the question. He did not answer, but sat staring at the inspector, while an expression of utter hopelessness grew on his face. French went on:
“You see, Mr. Whymper, I know all about your having that money. And I know that you were at Starvel on the night of the fire. I know also that your interview with Roper outside the church on that same evening involved a good deal more than a mere exchange of good nights. Come now, I want to give you the chance of making a statement, but I don’t want to press you. If you would like to reserve your replies until you have consulted your solicitor, by all means do so. But in that case I shall have to take you into custody.”
For some moments Whymper did not speak. He seemed overcome by French’s words and unable to reach a decision. French did not hurry him. He had sized up his man and he believed he would presently get his information. But at last, as Whymper remained silent, he said more sternly:
“Come now, Mr. Whymper, you’ll have to make up your mind, you know.”
His words seemed to break the spell and Whymper replied. He spoke earnestly and without any of the evidences of prevarication which had marked his previous statements. “The truth this time,” said French to himself, and he settled down to listen, thinking that if the other really had a satisfactory explanation of his conduct, it was going to be worth hearing.
“I wanted to keep this matter secret,” Whymper began, “for quite personal reasons. The £500 you speak of, of which the money I paid to Cook was a part, was not stolen. It never occurred to me to imagine I could be accused of stealing it. I don’t see now what makes you think I did. However, I see that I must tell you the truth as far as I can, and I may begin by admitting that what I have said up to now was not the truth.”
French nodded in approval.
“That’s better, Mr. Whymper. I am glad you are taking this line. Believe me, you will find it the best for yourself.”
“I’m afraid I can’t take any credit for it. I needn’t pretend I would have told you if I could have helped myself. However, this is what happened:
“On that Wednesday evening of the fire, as I left the church about half-past five, I saw Roper outside the gate. He seemed to be waiting for me and he came up and said he had a message for me from Mr. Averill. Mr. Averill wasn’t very well or he would have written, but he wanted to see me on very urgent and secret business. Roper asked could I come out that night to Starvel and see Mr. Averill, without mentioning my visit to anyone. I said I should be out there shortly after eight o’clock, and we parted.”
Again French nodded. This was a good beginning. So far it covered the facts.
“I walked out as I had promised. Roper opened the door. He showed me into the drawing-room and asked me to wait until he had informed Mr. Averill. He was absent for several minutes and then he came back to say that Mr. Averill was extremely sorry, but he was feeling too ill to see me. He had, however, written me a note, and Roper handed me a bulky envelope.
“I was fairly surprised when I opened it, for it contained banknotes, and when I counted them I was more surprised still. There were twenty-five of them and they were all for £20; no less than £500 altogether. There was a note with them. I don’t remember the exact words, but Mr. Averill said he was sorry he was too unwell to undertake what must be a painful interview, that he didn’t wish to put the facts in writing, that Roper was entirely in his confidence in the matter and would explain it, and that as I should want money for what he was going to ask me to do, he was enclosing £500, to which he would add a further sum if I found I required it.
“Roper then went on to tell me a certain story. I can only say that it is quite impossible for me to repeat it, but it involved a visit to France. Mr. Averill would have preferred to have gone himself, but he was too old and frail, and he could not spare Roper. He asked me would I undertake it for him. The money was for my expenses, if I would go. The matter was, however, very confidential, and this I could see for myself.
“I agreed to go to France, and took the notes. I left Starvel about half-past nine, and walked back to my rooms. Next day came the news of the tragedy. This put me in a difficulty as to the mission to France. But I saw that my duty would be to go just as if Mr. Averill was still alive. So I went, as you seem to know, but I was unable to carry out the work Mr. Averill had wished me to do. Instead, therefore, of spending four of five hundred pounds as I had expected to, the trip only cost me my travelling expenses, and I was left with £480 of Mr. Averill’s money on my hands. At first I thought I had better hand it over to Mr. Oxley, Mr. Averill’s solicitor, but afterwards I decided to keep it and go out again to France and have another try at the business.”
French was puzzled by the story. It certainly hung together and it certainly was consistent with all the facts he had learned from other sources. Moreover, Whymper’s manner was now quite different. He spoke convincingly and French felt inclined to believe him. On the other hand, all that he had said could have been very easily invented. If he persisted in his refusal to disclose his busin
ess in France, French felt he could not officially accept his statement.
“That may be all very well, Mr. Whymper,” he said. “I admit that what you have told me may be perfectly true. I am not saying whether I myself believe it or not, but I will say this, that no jury on the face of this earth would believe it. Moreover, as it stands, your story cannot be tested. You must tell the whole of it. You must say what was the mission Mr. Averill asked you to undertake in France. If I can satisfy myself about it there is no need for anyone else to know. Now, be advised, and since you have gone so far, complete your statement.”
The hopeless look settled once more on Whymper’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he said despondently. “I can’t. It’s not my secret.”
“But Mr. Averill is now dead. That surely makes a difference. Besides, it is impossible that he could wish to get you into the most serious trouble any man could be in because of even a criminal secret. Tell me in confidence, Mr. Whymper. I’ll promise not to use the information unless it is absolutely necessary.”
Whymper shook his head. “I can’t tell,” he repeated.
French’s tone became a trifle sterner.
“I wonder if you quite understand the position. It has been established that some person or persons went to Starvel on the evening we are speaking of, murdered Mr. Averill and Roper and his wife”—Whymper gave an exclamation of dismay—“stole Mr. Averill’s fortune and then set fire to the house. So far as we know, you alone visited the house that night, some of the stolen money was found in your possession, and when I give you the chance of accounting for your actions you don’t take it. Do you not understand, Mr. Whymper, that if you persist in this foolish attitude you will be charged with murder?”
Whymper’s face had become ghastly and an expression of absolute horror appeared on his features. For a moment he sat motionless, and then he looked French straight in the face.
Inspector French and the Starvel Tragedy Page 8
