Dead Man Twice

by Christopher Bush

  At that moment there was a question on the tip of Wharton’s tongue, and had he asked Usher what he saw, things might have ended differently. What stopped his asking it was the fact that the valet, in his recital, seemed to be actually visualising the scene, but a scene that was far too pregnant with moment to be interrupted.

  “Then Mr. France said, ‘No, but it upsets me, darling, when you keep worrying like this. How can Peter ever know anything? There won’t be anybody likely to chatter. And you say you can rely on Mary?’ Then she said, ‘Mary will do anything for me. She’d kill herself if I asked her!’ There you are then!’ he said and then he must have done something—put his arm round her, I thought, sir—because she suddenly spoke out loud, much louder than what they’d been doing. ‘Don’t be foolish, Michael!’ angrily, like that, sir. Then he whispered something I couldn’t catch and then she said, ‘You’ll be tired of that after to-morrow night!’”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Not to a word, sir, but what it means. And that was the first time I ever heard her call him Michael.”

  Wharton grunted.

  “Then he said, ‘I shan’t have a chance to see you again, darling. Are you sure you know what to do?’ I had to listen very close for what’s coming, sir, because though they were on the chesterfield, they were talking very quiet. Then she repeated what they’d most likely been talking over.

  “‘If the fog keeps on, I’m to say I’m not going—’

  “‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but you’ve to have the bag ready.’

  “‘Oh, yes!’ she said. ‘I forgot that. I’m to have the bag ready and say I don’t think I shall go unless the fog clears and then, just after nine, I shall make up my mind and say I’m going after all—by Tube to Paddington—and Archer is to carry the bag to the station and then I go—’

  “‘You’ve forgotten something!’ he said.

  “‘Oh, yes!’ she said. ‘Archer is to get the ticket and see me into the train. Then I go to Baker Street and wait there a bit and take care I’m not seen and then come back here, and you’ll be waiting.’ And then there was some whispering I couldn’t hear, sir, and then he said, ‘The fog’ll be absolutely priceless—if only it holds up.’ And then she suddenly thought of something else, sir. She said, ‘Who’s this man Franklin, Kinky’s bringing along to-night?’ and he said, ‘Just a friend of his, darling. Awfully good sort, I believe.’”

  “Did you know to what they were referring?”

  “No, sir, I didn’t. But when she said that, I had a notion I hadn’t better stay there any longer so I nipped out by the lounge window and that was lucky for me, sir, because he’d just pushed the bell for Somers and told him to send me in, so I made as if I’d been upstairs. When I reported, he told me to escort Mrs. Claire home through the fog and that was a curious thing, sir, because you’d have expected him to do that himself. It could only have meant that he didn’t want to run the risk of being seen with her. At any rate, I did it, sir, and very foggy it was, and when I got to the main gate she thanked me and gave me half a crown. Then when I got back Mr. France was still there and he said, ‘Usher! don’t mention that Mrs. Claire was here to-night!’ and I said, ‘Very good, sir! Certainly not, sir!’ and when I got to the kitchen I found he’d given Somers the same instructions.”

  “And did Mr. Hayles come in again?”

  “Not till later, sir—about half-past six I should say it was. I heard him in the hall and he said he’d just called to get something. He sprinted upstairs, sir, and when he came down he said he’d a good chance of being late for dinner.”

  “Could Mr. Hayles enter without you hearing?”

  “Quite easily, sir… if he wanted to.”

  “Exactly! Well, go on, Usher.”

  “As soon as I got back to the house, sir, I told Somers I wanted some cigarettes and slipped out to the telephone box across the road and tried to get Mr. Claire I got him first go, sir—at his house—and told him what had happened. I couldn’t form any idea how he was taking it, sir, because all he said was, ‘Quite!’ and ‘Yes!’ Then at the very end he said, ‘Right! Let Hanson know you’ve finished with the case. To-morrow morning you’re to give a week’s notice and if you can get his back up so that he sacks you on the spot, there’ll be a tenner for you that Hanson knows nothing about. And keep your mouth dead shut!’ he said, ‘and there may be another tenner to that!’”

  “And what happened when you gave notice?”

  “I was as rude as I dare be, sir, and I told him I was fed up and it wasn’t fit for a dog the life I had—and he took no notice! He just laughed, sir! taking everything easy like, as he always did. ‘You’re a bit liverish, Usher!’ he said, like that, sir, and walked out of the room, humming to himself—the lounge it was, sir.”

  “And what did you tell Mr. Claire last night when you rang him up?”

  Usher looked hard at Wharton before he answered that.

  “Go on!” Wharton told him. “No hard thoughts, Usher. The slate’s clear.”

  “I told him what we’d found here, sir.… Then he said I was to let Hanson and Maude know at once and he’d tell them to keep their mouths shut about me and I was to keep mine shut about him.… Only I didn’t have a chance to slip out again, sir… it was risky enough as it was!”

  “What’d he say when he came round this morning?”

  “Not a word or sign, sir.”

  “Hm! And when did you first know you were all going down to Martlesham?”

  “Early in the week, sir—as soon as the news arrived about the big fight.”

  “I see. And tell me. Isn’t there a big flying camp down at Martlesham?”

  “Yes, sir. About a mile away from us, sir.”

  “Could Mr. Hayles have induced a friend of his to have picked him up with a plane and slipped him into town on the Saturday night without you being aware of it?”

  “He might, sir… but he didn’t! He was sound asleep at one o’clock because I was up with toothache and passed his door and he was snoring.”

  “No possibility of mistake?”

  “No, sir. It was Mr. Hayles all right. He occupied that room alone… and he was there, sound asleep, when I took him in a cup of tea just after seven-thirty.”

  “I see. Now to go back a bit. You said Mr. Claire had a key to this house. It’s his house, I understand that. But isn’t it unusual for a landlord to have a sort of right of entry to his tenant’s house?”

  “It wasn’t that, if you’ll excuse me, sir,” said Usher hastily. “I don’t think I can have expressed myself very clearly, sir. Mr. Claire only came in when he knew there was somebody in. He and Mr. Hayles always carried on as if they were relations, sir. They all did as they liked with each other’s things.”

  “I see. Only I doubt if Mr. France or Mr. Hayles had a key to number three?”

  Usher smiled. “Well, sir, that’d be different. For one thing, there’d always be servants there, whereas sometimes we weren’t here and I understood from Somers that when the others were away, Mr. Claire’d pop in and arrange to send on letters and so on. Or he’d send his butler, sir.”

  “And all that other information you gave us was perfectly correct? Let me repeat the questions. Somers was a fit man, bodily and mentally? Mr. Hayles was most annoyed at not being able to get away from Martlesham earlier? A woman called here last Tuesday, as reported?”

  Usher nodded. “Everything correct, sir—as reported.”

  Wharton nodded heavily once or twice, frowned, then toyed with his pipe. Then he leaned over to Usher and pointed it straight at him.

  “You prepared—with Mr. Hanson’s full permission—to do a job of work for me? A job that’ll need tact, and a still tongue?”

  “Most decidedly I am, sir.”

  “Right! Then first thing of all you must let Mr. Claire know, ostensibly on the quiet, that you haven’t been able to get away from here, because I want you to look after us—and of course we pay. Tell him I said you might go w
hen your official notice was up. If he wants to know how things are going, tell him everything’s O.K., but tell me what he says. As for the other job of work, it depends on what happens to Mr. Franklin tomorrow morning.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Some time later this evening I shall want you to go over things again.” He glanced at his watch. “Whew! Gone six-thirty! Right-ho, Usher! I’ll give you a holler when I want you… and thanks very much.”

  The General took off his spectacles and beamed down his nose on Norris.

  “Things seem to be moving!”

  Norris beamed back. “Certainly looks more like business, sir.… He’s a wily bird, that Usher!”

  Wharton grunted, replaced the spectacles, then shuffled off to the lounge and the telephone.

  CHAPTER XII

  TRAVERS GET A BACK SEAT

  As they came out of the gate, Franklin turned to the left. Travers, who had made a step or two to the right, recovered his lost distance.

  “Sorry! But isn’t this the way to the station?”

  “Wharton wants to see me at once,” explained Franklin. “It was he who rang me up. You’d better come along and chance your arm. He can’t very well kick you out once you’re there.”

  “Do you think so? Well, I don’t mind taking the risk. Claire didn’t seem to take all the rather blatant hints I threw out.”

  “May be all the better in the long run,” said Franklin mysteriously. “We’ll get you a front seat—Claire or no Claire.”

  “Splendid!… By the way, I wonder if I know why Wharton rang you up.”

  “Bet you fifty cigarettes!”

  “Of course that’s rather intimidating,” said Travers. “However, here goes! It was to ask you to get preliminary details about Claire’s alibi.”

  Franklin shot a look at him. “How’d you guess?”

  “Well—er—it was a long shot. The footman said you were wanted on the’ phone; then when you came back you hadn’t been talking a couple of minutes when you suddenly asked, ‘What was the fog like where you were this week-end?’ And that’s all there is to it.”

  “Good Lord! Was I as obvious as that?”

  “I don’t think you were, really. But I’ll tell you what I did think—as an onlooker who’s supposed to see most of the game. I thought Claire was overjoyed to be asked the question. He was bursting to tell you where he’d been, in spite of that bored air of his. And the details he gave you—all ready to be examined and found correct!”

  Franklin laughed. “Come, come, Ludo! Show you a murder case and you’re ready to suspect your aunt! Claire isn’t that sort of chap.”

  “You’re prejudiced,” retorted Travers, “and that’s a paralysing thing for a detective—the one man who’s bound to view things dispassionately. I think Claire’s quite an excellent fellow in many ways, but that doesn’t prove he wouldn’t commit murder.”

  “Prejudice be damned! Surely you’ll allow me to have an elementary psychological sense?”

  Travers smiled to himself. “I don’t know that I do. The poet warned mankind against elementary knowledge years and years ago. In matters of true psychology, detectives have more to learn than to teach.”

  “You’re too elusive for me,” said Franklin. “By the way, what excuse did you give Claire for calling round this afternoon?”

  “I got him to ask me round—just rang him up and wondered if he could give me any information about the value of a Brooklands’ test of the springing of my car, in view of giving her a first-class run.”

  “Hm!” said Franklin. “Wish I could lie like you amateurs. However, here we are. Mind your P’s and Q’s.”

  Norris let them in and by the time they’d got their backs to the fire, Wharton made an appearance from the lounge. Travers happened to be one of the few people for whom he had an intense admiration, and that wholly unconnected with the fact that the Chief Commissioner was his uncle. One reason was that he really liked him; the other was a whimsical kind of inversion. Wharton, in short, had once bought a copy of The Economics of a Spendthrift, assuring himself that such highbrow stuff was bound to be above his head, and then had found to his amazement that he’d thoroughly enjoyed it. The trouble on this occasion was, however, that the General had no intention of letting personal likings get the better of his sense of duty. But he shook hands as if welcoming a very dear friend.

  “Well, Mr. Travers! This is a pleasure, sir!”

  Travers smiled. “It’s good to see you. How’re things going? Pretty well?”

  Wharton looked inscrutable. “Slow! Very slow!… By the way, you can make yourself comfortable here by the fire for a minute or two. We’ve just got a small job to do… in the lounge.” He nodded reassuringly and sidled away, with a final word at the door. “Usher’ll get you a cup of tea if you ask him.”

  Inside the lounge, Franklin fired his shot first. “Travers happened to be calling on Claire when I got there and we came away together. You wouldn’t have him go one way and me another! And what was the idea of ringing me up for Claire’s alibi?”

  Wharton told him, or rather, Norris read out the story as related by Usher. Franklin, every pre-formed theory gone wrong and that newly-found world of charming acquaintances dissolving into air, looked disconsolate.

  “Do you know, it’s incredible to me. She’s the last woman in the world I’d have thought of like that.” Then a flash of inspiration. “But her hair isn’t golden! It’s black… and she’s close-cropped!”

  “I know. Usher told us that.… And you don’t think she’s that sort?”

  “I don’t!” Franklin was indignant, then maybe remembered Travers’ comments on prejudice. “Of course, you never know. Women can be very secretive at times.”

  “Protective colouring,” said Wharton gently. “And what about the alibi? Get anything?”

  “The whole bag of tricks. But you were lucky. We were just going when you’re call came.”

  “Right! Norris! you’d better take it down.… Now then, let’s have it!”

  “Some of it you’ve already heard. Claire took what he calls his own car—I suppose he means not a racing car—down to Lingfield, leaving at about eleven when the fog was a bit thinner. He said it took him about an hour to get clear of London and he missed the first race. By the way, he gave me a tenner over that horse of his because he got fives on the course before the price shortened. His course bookie is Rossler, of Coventry Street. He stayed there till three-thirty, then started for town, only the fog got so bad that he garaged the car and ’phoned his butler to send the chauffeur for it in the morning. Then he came on by train to his club—the Wanderers’, Pall Mall—where he met a Captain Utley whom he should have met at Lingfield, only when he got there he found a wire from this chap saying he daren’t risk it on account of the fog and he’d see him in town instead. Then about seven they rang up Liverpool Street about trains and found the Company was putting on a special for Cambridge at eight, so they caught it. From Cambridge they went by car to Paddenham—a village near Royston—and spent the night at Utley’s place—the Hall—”

  “Excuse me a moment,” said Norris. “You remember that question we agreed to ask Usher, sir, about a flying camp at Martlesham? Isn’t there one at Royston?”

  “Yes, there is,” said Franklin. “At least it’s about four miles on—Newmarket direction.”

  “Coincidence probably,” said Wharton. “Carry on, John!”

  “Then, yesterday morning, Claire inspected a couple of yearlings—racehorses—which Utley had for sale privately. All this Royston business was previously arranged. Then Utley, who had to come back to town in any case, brought Claire along. The fog had just eased up a bit before noon, you remember, and they got as far as Euston, where Claire was dropped and then came straight on to Regent View. After that he was in the house till he went to bed. That’s the lot.”

  “And enough too. What do you think, Norris? Better do it yourself?”

  “Just as you like, sir.�
�

  “Right! Wait till Mr. Franklin’s gone, then get straight off—to Royston, if you can.” He turned to Franklin. “I suppose you weren’t lucky enough to get anything about Mrs. Claire?”

  “Oh yes, I was! Claire happened to say how upset they all were, so Travers said, ‘How’s Mrs. Claire keeping?’ Then Claire said, ‘Oh! she’s frightfully upset. I thought she was going to be really ill, so I sent her down to—to Mar…’ Mar something.”

  “Marfleet?”

  “That’s it!”

  Wharton nodded. “Marfleet Parva—Reading. That’s his country place. He keeps his racing cars there and dabbles in horse breeding. Any other news?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Nothing bearing on the case in any way?”

  “I don’t know that there was. Of course we talked a lot about France. Claire said he couldn’t understand it at all. He was the last man in the world who ought to have committed suicide. He seemed very upset—relatively of course. People of that kind don’t gush about things.” Wharton smiled ironically. “And he was sorry about poor old Somers too. He’d known him for years and his opinion was that he was temporarily deranged—sort of shock on seeing France’s body—”

  “You discussed theories then?”

  “Certainly we did! Aren’t the papers full of ’em? He said Somers thought the world of France. Oh! and France won’t leave any money, so that motive’s missing. His uncle gave him an annuity while he was at Cambridge and though he’d picked up some pretty hefty sums at times, his expenses were heavy. Claire financed him and he said the way France lived was excellent publicity. Also Claire reckons that if France had gone to America he’d have won easily—and scooped in best part of a quarter of a million into the bargain. He’d have made a young fortune himself.”