“It certainly wasn’t a flash of genius. You can put that down in your diary as a dead snick.”
“Ah, ad augusta per angusta, then—through trial to triumph? It gives me the greatest pleasure to congratulate you upon a wonderful invention.”
He glanced with evident distaste at the dead rat which Hubbard had dropped on the floor after his inspection. Hubbard, noting the direction of his look, gave the corpse a kick, as though to see if any life still remained.
“It theemth a thound invethtment, Leigh. If you can apply it in war, there’th thure to be money in it.”
“It’s a devilish invention,” snapped the Colonel, who had never appreciated the methods of scientific warfare.
Flitterwick again provided a diversion. He looked at his watch; seemed perturbed; and picked up his hat:
“I must go, I fear. Fugit irreparabile tempus, as Virgil puts it so finely. Time flies, as we say so baldly in English. I have a great deal to do this morning. Many thanks, indeed, for the most interesting experience. Almost an historic occasion; certainly a memorable one. Good-bye, good-bye.”
Flitterwick’s withdrawal left an awkward situation; but Jimmy Leigh seemed determined to ignore any signs of strain between Hubbard and the Colonel. In fact, he deliberately went out of his way to exasperate the older man.
“Oh, by the way, Colonel, would you mind if Hubbard and I play over your links to-morrow morning? I’d rather like to take him on; and your place is the nearest, for both of us.”
The Colonel fumed inwardly; but gave his consent with all the grace he could summon up.
“Thanks awfully, Colonel. Suppose we fix it up now, Hubbard. Ring up your office on my phone and say you won’t be there to-morrow.”
Hubbard agreed, went over to the telephone, which stood in one corner of the room, and rang up. Jimmy rather rudely left the Colonel to his own devices and became engaged in fiddling with some apparatus on one of the benches.
“Hubbard thpeaking. I won’t be at the offith to-morrow. That’th all.”
Jimmy Leigh stopped manipulating his apparatus and came forward as Hubbard turned away from the telephone. For some reason, he seemed anxious to be quit of his guests.
“Mind if I come across to dine with you on the day after to-morrow, Colonel? I’ve one or two things I’d like to talk over, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well,” replied the Colonel. “I’ll ask Cyril too, if you like.”
“Cyril’s playing bridge if I’m not mistaken.”
He turned to Hubbard.
“See you at the first tee at ten o’clock, then?”
And with very little ceremony he bowed them both out.
Chapter Three
The Warrant
COLONEL SANDERSTEAD came down to breakfast in a dissatisfied frame of mind; and as his meal proceeded, he found that his feelings were not improving. Behind his quiet exterior he was acutely sensitive to any slight changes in the social atmosphere; and Jimmy Leigh’s behaviour on the previous night had been unusual enough to set the Colonel thinking. He had been moody and erratic in his talk; and that had disturbed the Colonel vaguely, for although Jimmy was often whimsical, he seldom showed the morose kind of humour which he had displayed so freely on the night before. He had fidgeted and snapped all through dinner, looking at his watch again and again, as though he found the time dragging. His talk had been disconnected; and more than once the Colonel had found him so inattentive that he had had to repeat a sentence in order to make sure that Jimmy had followed his line of argument. And at twenty minutes past eight, Jimmy had put the finishing touch to his ill-manners by gulping down his coffee and departing abruptly, leaving the Colonel to spend the rest of the evening alone. The only excuse he had offered was that he had an appointment with that fellow Hubbard at the Bungalow at 8.30.
The more the Colonel thought over the matter, the less he liked it. He was fond of Jimmy Leigh; had watched him grow up from his perambulator days; and he felt dimly that Jimmy was in some trouble or other. He had meant to draw the boy out a little after dinner and try to get to the bottom of the thing. But Jimmy’s abrupt departure had nipped that kindly scheme in the bud; and the Colonel was left to puzzle over a mystery to which he had no key. What he did surmise about the affair was not encouraging. The association of Jimmy Leigh with a man like Hubbard was in itself astonishing; and Jimmy’s moroseness was enough to hint that the relationship produced no agreeable feelings in him. In fact, as the Colonel thought over things, he recalled one or two phrases which Jimmy had used about Hubbard, phrases that implied anything but kindly feelings. The exact words had slipped out of his memory; but he had a general feeling that they suggested friction of some sort.
Still perturbed, the Colonel had risen from the table and was lighting a cigarette when someone knocked at the door:
“Constable Bolam wishes to speak to you, sir. He says he must see you at once; it’s very important. He’s waiting in your study.”
For the moment, Colonel Sanderstead dismissed Jimmy Leigh’s affairs from his mind. Bolam, the senior constable of Fernhurst Parva, had been an N.C.O. in the Colonel’s command; and he had never shaken off the habits of discipline. Whenever he found himself out of his depth in his official duties, he referred the matter to the Colonel, who was a Justice of the Peace. Colonel and N.C.O.; J.P. and constable: only the names had changed so far as Bolam was concerned; the relative positions remained unaltered in his mind. He brought all his little difficulties up to the Manor for solution; and, to the best of his ability, the Colonel gave him help. Colonel Sanderstead’s decisions were perhaps not always good law; but they were based on the theory that whatever was done must be the thing which would be best for everybody; and hitherto there had been no complaints against the results.
As the Colonel entered the study, the constable came sharply to attention. He was a man about forty, trained under the old Army system; and the Colonel regarded him as an ideal subordinate. “Bolam takes his orders; has enough brains to understand them; and carries them out to the letter,” he used to say, in praise. Colonel Sanderstead, despite his later war experience, had never quite approved of independent thinking by anyone below commissioned rank.
“Well, Bolam, what’s the trouble this morning? Something we can soon set right between us, I hope.”
“Sir, at 8.35 a.m. the telephone rang in the office. I went to the instrument. Captain Norton was speaking from High Thorne. He requested that a warrant should be issued for the arrest of Mr. Hubbard of Swaythling Court on a charge of extorting money by menaces—blackmail, sir. I said that I would consult you on the matter. Captain Norton stated that he would come over here on his motor-cycle immediately. He then rang off.”
The Colonel nodded his approval. That was the proper way to make a report—no long-winded talk, no comments, just a plain statement of the facts. Bolam could be depended on to do things just as the Colonel liked them. Then Colonel Sanderstead allowed himself to reflect on the news. So that was how Hubbard made his money? Blackmail! The dirtiest trade of all. Just what one might have expected from a creature like that.
Then a further implication of the affair struck him. Cyril was applying for a warrant. That seemed strange. Cyril was the last person in the world that one would expect a blackmailer to tackle. The Colonel prided himself on his judgment of character; and he would have been prepared to go into the witness-box and swear that Cyril had never gone off the rails in the slightest degree. What on earth could have happened?
And then an even worse idea invaded his mind. A blackmail case always leaves some dirt sticking, no matter what course it takes; and here was one of the Manor family mixed up in the business. Worse still, the case would have to be tried locally; and the Colonel groaned inwardly when he thought of the effect it might have in Fernhurst Parva. Of course, the villagers would think nothing of it if they were left alone; the Colonel knew well enough that they would not hesitate for a moment in accepting Cyril’s word against that of a stran
ger like Hubbard. The old territorial feeling was strong enough yet. But there was that miserable brute Simon to be reckoned with. The Colonel could imagine well enough what he would make of the story down at the “Three Bees.” He would manage to twist it about and use it as a text to hang some of his modern notions on.
“We shall have to wait until Mr. Norton comes, Bolam. In the meantime, do you know anything about this fellow Hubbard? You must have picked up some information about him in the village from time to time.”
“Sir, nobody likes him. On more than one occasion, sir, my attention has been drawn to his attempting to get familiar with girls. They resented it, sir. His behaviour was very improper. Some of the lads were very angry about it; and more than once, sir, I have had difficulty in avoiding a breach of the peace. It was suggested that he should be taken out of his car and ducked in the pond.”
The Colonel’s face darkened. The Hubbard cup seemed to be filling up. Tampering with the girls of his village!
“Anything more, Bolam?”
“Yes, sir. Once I found him threatening Sappy Morton. It appears that they had had some disagreement over an insect that Hubbard was pursuing. Sappy said it was a friend of his; and Hubbard, not rightly understanding about Sappy’s misfortune, was very rough with him.”
“He seems to be very strong on taking it out of anybody weaker than himself, Bolam.”
“It would appear so, sir.”
The Colonel dismissed the subject. He had learned enough to confirm his conception of Hubbard; and he wished to hear no more.
“Anything new in the village, Bolam?”
“A lady came to the ‘Three Bees’ last night, sir. A Mrs. Vane. She seemed to be a friend of Mr. Hilton’s. He came to see her on his motor-cycle.”
The Colonel made a non-committal sound. He had no desire for gossip; but he shrank from snubbing Bolam, who, after all, was only answering a question. Bolam, however, misunderstood the Colonel’s intention.
“Handsome lady, sir. Very showy.”
“Indeed? Well, I think that’s Mr. Norton’s motor-cycle coming up the avenue. You might go round and let him know that I’m here, Bolam.”
In a few moments, Cyril Norton came into the study, stripping off his driving gauntlets as he entered. Bolam brought up the rear, closing the door behind him. The Colonel looked his nephew over with approval; even in his clumsy motor-cycle overalls he carried himself well. His face betrayed no sign of nervousness; and the Colonel breathed a faint sight of relief. Quite evidently Cyril was not much worried over the blackmail affair; he looked more like a judge than a culprit.
“’Morning, uncle. Sorry to trouble you so early; but I’m afraid I’ve bungled this affair; and there’s not much time to lose if we’re to catch the beggar. My fault entirely for not knowing my own mind better.”
This confession surprised the Colonel. If there was one thing he felt sure about concerning his nephew, it was his tenacity. Once he embarked on a course, it was safe to assume that he would see the thing through to the end. Indecision was not one of his qualities.
Cyril Norton evidently read his uncle’s expression.
“Unusual for me to have second thoughts? It is. But this isn’t my own affair, so I had to look at it on all sides. A mistake, that. I ought to have stuck to my first idea. However, perhaps it may work out just as well in the end.”
“Not your own affair?” queried the Colonel.
“No. Did you think anyone would blackmail me? He’d be a sorry man if he did!”
The Colonel felt an immense relief. Apparently the family of the Manor was not going to be mixed up in this sordid affair after all. At the worst, they would only come into it indirectly through whatever action Cyril proposed to take on behalf of some third party.
“Suppose we get to business,” he suggested. “If there’s any reason for hurry, the sooner things are started, the better. If it isn’t yourself, then whom has Hubbard been blackmailing? And how do you come to be mixed up in the affair?”
A warning glance from Cyril turned the Colonel’s eye to Bolam, standing rigidly at attention near the door. Colonel Sanderstead reflected for a moment. There was no need to bring the constable further into the matter than was absolutely essential.
“Bolam!”
“Sir!”
“I think perhaps you had better go into the winter-garden for a few minutes. I’ll let you know when we need you again. You can smoke there, if you wish to.”
“Very good, sir.”
The constable made his exit; and they heard his steps receding down the corridor.
“Now what’s all this about, Cyril?”
“Jimmy Leigh. I’m looking after his interests.”
Colonel Sanderstead whistled faintly to himself. So that was why Jimmy Leigh had been so peculiar in his manner the night before. He had this business hanging over him. No wonder he seemed a bit down in the mouth. That would account, too, for Hubbard’s familiarity with Jimmy the last time he had seen them together. And it would fit in, too, with the association of two such incongruous people. Jimmy was an erratic youngster; quite possibly he had, unintentionally, gone off the rails at some time or other. One never could tell, with these geniuses. And Hubbard had come across his trail; followed it up; and used his knowledge to squeeze Jimmy. That fitted with the talk about taking shares in the Lethal Ray machine; Hubbard probably meant to get the lion’s share of the profits without having to pay a cent.
Cyril Norton unbuttoned his overall jacket and took a bundle of papers from an inner pocket.
“These are the documents in the case. It appears Hubbard got wind of something that Jimmy would rather hush up. Jimmy volunteered no information to me about it; and I didn’t ask. No business of mine, it seemed to me.”
“I quite agree.”
“Evidently it got a bit on Jimmy’s nerves; and he consulted me about it. He mistrusted his own handling of the business. You know what an erratic devil he is. So far as I could gather, he felt one minute that he had better pay and shut Hubbard’s mouth; and the next minute he was worked up almost to the pitch of cutting Hubbard’s throat. A man in that state isn’t fit to tackle a blackmailer—sure to give himself away. So I persuaded him to let me take over the business; got him to empower me to deal with Hubbard on his behalf. I don’t suffer from nerves much myself; and I thought I could out-manoeuvre a swine like Hubbard easy enough.”
“And how did you go about it?”
“Counter-attack, of course. No use trying defence with that sort of thing. The weak point in Hubbard’s case was that we might cut up rusty; give him away and stand the racket ourselves. Then he would be in the soup instanter, and in quod very soon.”
“And so?”
“As it struck me, the proper game was to give Hubbard the scare of his life; try to frighten him into a bolt, you know. That was the only way I could see which would clear Jimmy and yet let us burke the business, whatever it is. So I set about it on that basis.”
He paused for a moment; and his eye caught the papers which he had laid on the table.
“I’m getting along too fast, perhaps. You’d better have a look at these and see what you think of them.”
The Colonel picked up the packet and unfolded a few sheets of typewritten paper. There was no heading to any of them nor was there any written signature at the foot of the pages. Cyril leaned over and took the last one from the Colonel’s hand, leaving him to read the rest at his leisure. It took only a few minutes for the Colonel to master the contents.
“Well, that’s a pretty collection,” he commented, as he finished his perusal.
“Hubbard was clever enough to draft most of the stuff so that it would be pretty hard to prove what he was really after. If one had a sharp lawyer to help, one could construe almost the whole of it quite innocently. This isn’t Master Hubbard’s first step in blackmail, I’m pretty sure.
“Now when I looked over the stuff, I advised Jimmy to see Hubbard and pretend to have the wind up c
ompletely, but to avoid closing the deal and to go away as if he needed just a last touch to bring him to heel. I thought that would draw Master Hubbard’s fire; he’d think it safe to go in for more direct methods. And he did.”
Cyril Norton handed the Colonel the last sheet.
MY DEAR SIR,
In view of the considerations which were touched upon during our conversations as to the transfer of the rights in your Lethal Ray invention to me, I must demand a deposit of £500 (five hundred pounds) as a guarantee that you will complete the patent formalities. I may say that this offer is open for three days only; and if you fail to close with it you must take the consequences, which I feel sure will be very serious to you.
A WELL-WISHER.
“That’s hooked him, I think, uncle. Threat in the last sentence; demand for £500 in the one before it. He calls it a deposit; but it’s a demand for money, all right; at least, I read it so.”
“So do I,” said the Colonel. “The thing’s clear enough to any reasonable intellect.”
“Jimmy brought me that yesterday, as soon as he got it. It’s just as well he put me in charge; for to tell the truth that letter seems to have been the last straw. He was in a mood for throat-cutting, all right. I’d have been almost sorry for Hubbard if he’d run across Jimmy just then.
“I calmed him down and sent him off home. I knew he was coming to dine with you last night; so I guessed there was no chance of trouble. . . .”
“But there was,” interrupted the Colonel, a sudden illumination making him put two and two together. “He left me immediately after dinner, saying he had an appointment with Hubbard at the Bungalow.”
Cyril seemed slightly taken aback, but not so much as his uncle had expected.
“H’m! This thing’s getting a bit complicated for me. . . . Never mind. It’ll straighten out.”
He seemed to reflect for a moment, then continued his narrative:
“I went over the whole affair again; and then sat down and wrote Hubbard a letter. I told him a warrant would be applied for this morning without fail. I trundled over and dropped that into his letter-box yesterday. And I calculated that that would make him cast off his moorings and sail for ports unknown at no small speed. . . . And now it seems he determined to try one last throw; chance terrorizing Jimmy at the last moment and so getting through. That must have been the appointment that you say Jimmy went to keep. This is really a bit beyond me.”
Death at Swaythling Court Page 5
