Off the Record

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  Jack reached for the tobacco jar and filled the bowl of his pipe. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. He was more or less bound to be arrested after making a break for it.’

  ‘Absolutely. How’s your nose, by the way?’

  Jack grinned ruefully. ‘Sore. I can’t blame him for lashing out, though. He was pretty worked up. Besides that, he was a fair way to being bottled.’ He hesitated. ‘What’s your opinion?’

  ‘It’s not really a matter of my opinion, is it? I can’t smell out crooks like some sort of Witchfinder-General. My life might be a bit easier if I could. We got hold of Mrs Gledburn, the chambermaid from the Marchmont, by the way. She picked him out as the man she’d seen in the corridor. His alibi is a pack of lies from beginning to end. I’m sorry, Jack. I know he’s a pal, even if he did take a swing at you, but the case against him stacks up, you know. It’s a question of evidence.’

  ‘Yes, I was thinking about the evidence. We know he was on the spot. That’s not in any doubt, but what about the gun? Has he ever owned a gun?’

  ‘According to him, no. Apart from during the war, of course.’

  ‘That’s a definite enough statement. If you can disprove that, you’re in business.’

  Rackham cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘And not otherwise?’

  Jack sighed in exasperation. ‘You’ve got a case. You’ve got a damn good case. Given the amount of bouncers he’s told, I can’t see it going wrong. It’s just that I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t know if Ferguson is capable of planning a murder. I know he can go off at half cock, right enough,’ he added, touching his nose gingerly, ‘but the amount of deliberate planning this involves is something else. And, granted he did plan it, why should he lose his nerve so spectacularly?’

  ‘Because he was frightened.’

  ‘I suppose so. Oddly enough, I can see Mrs Dunbar planning it but not Ferguson.’

  ‘I’ll agree that Mrs Dunbar has a damn sight more to her than I gave her credit for. But if she’s guilty, she’d hardly let her son take the rap, would she? She thinks he’s guilty, I know. He told me as much. It’s a very good case. Jack. Don’t you think you might have got too tied up with how much planning was involved? You placed an awful lot of weight on the fact that no one heard the shot, but that could be sheer chance, you know?’

  ‘It seems pretty unlikely to me.’

  ‘Unlikely? Or impossible? Look, Ferguson hated his stepfather.’

  ‘With good cause.’

  ‘That doesn’t make it less likely, does it? From what he said, I think he had very good cause, but that’s the point. He told you he’d imagined killing him, didn’t he?’

  ‘As a kid, Bill. Be fair.’

  ‘And kids don’t grow up? He dwelt on it at some length when he was talking to me. I know he’d had one over the eight, but once he got launched on Dunbar, it was difficult to stop him. He could have bought a gun at any time. He doesn’t have to see off Dunbar at any particular time or in any particular place. All he has to do is want to kill him. You know that.’

  Jack shifted uneasily in his chair. He did know that.

  ‘Then he hits the bullseye. Dunbar’s in London and his mother’s gearing up for a row. So kindly Hector Ferguson says he’s worried, says he wants to referee the match, and, if Dunbar had kept his appointment, that might have happened. But it didn’t. Instead he has the perfect opportunity to make his dream come true. I’m not saying he’s cold-blooded. I don’t think he is. He had enough sense left to try and make it look like suicide, but he made a pretty poor job of it.’

  ‘That all sounds horribly likely,’ said Jack unhappily. ‘The psychology makes sense, too. He gets what he thinks he wants, but falls to bits when he’s faced with reality. He told me after he knew Dunbar was dead, everyone could be happy again and they’re not, are they? The only thing I would say, is that he was prepared to let Gerry Carrington take the rap and that doesn’t square with what I know of him.’

  ‘He was frightened, Jack. You don’t know what he’d do.’

  ‘No,’ said Jack, in reluctant honesty. ‘I don’t. Poor old Ferguson. It doesn’t look good, does it?’

  Inspector Rackham looked at the sandy-haired man standing by the desk. He was smartly dressed, his light summer coat unbuttoned to show a well-cut grey suit. He was, Rackham reckoned, in his late twenties or early thirties. A professional man, thought Rackham, perhaps a young doctor or an accountant. He seemed nervy and ill at ease, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. Most men felt a little uncertain of their ground on entering Scotland Yard. ‘Mr Ragnall?’ he asked, extending his hand, with a reassuring smile. ‘I’m Inspector Rackham. I gather you want to see me in connection with the Dunbar case.’

  Hugo Ragnall relaxed. ‘That’s so, Inspector. Is there anywhere we can go to discuss the matter?’

  Rackham ushered him into a small room with a table and chairs. Ragnall. The name rang a bell.

  ‘I am,’ said Ragnall, ‘secretary of the Otterbourne New Century Company.’

  That was it! Rackham drew up a chair to the table, looking at Hugo Ragnall with sharpened interest. ‘You’re the man who gave evidence Mr Otterbourne had misappropriated the pension funds, aren’t you?’

  Ragnall looked distressed. ‘That is so, Inspector. I might say that I took no pleasure from having to testify to that account, as I always had the greatest respect for Mr Otterbourne. However,’ he added with a shrug, ‘facts are facts, no matter how unpalatable they are.’

  ‘Exactly, sir,’ agreed Rackham.

  ‘Before I go any further, is it true that Mr Ferguson has been charged with the murder of his stepfather? The account in the newspaper wasn’t clear.’

  ‘He’s been arrested,’ said Rackham guardedly. ‘He hasn’t actually been charged yet.’

  Ragnall seemed pleased. ‘Then perhaps I am in time, Inspector, to prevent a miscarriage of justice.’

  Rackham frowned. ‘Could you explain what you mean, sir?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Ragnall cleared his throat. ‘As I said, I am secretary of Otterbourne’s. Incidentally, I may say that I am here with the full knowledge and support of Mr Stephen Lewis and his wife. Mrs Lewis is the proprietor of Otterbourne’s, although she takes no active part in the business.’ He cleared his throat once more. ‘There is no need, is there, to go through the reasons why Mr Lewis was unable to attend the meeting that should have occurred the day Mr Dunbar was – er – killed, is there?’

  ‘No, sir. I know he was unexpectedly called away to his uncle’s.’

  Ragnall leaned forward. Rackham could sense his anxiety. ‘Mr Lewis was concerned about Mr Carrington. You know they are cousins?’ Rackham nodded. ‘Mr Carrington has an . . .’ he paused. ‘He has an uncertain temper and Mr Dunbar could be a difficult man.’

  ‘We know all about that, sir.’

  Hugo Ragnall smiled suddenly. ‘Mr Lewis was, so to speak, on eggshells that Mr Carrington would completely lose his temper.’ He grew serious. ‘I may say that when it appeared Mr Carrington had lost his temper, uncontrollably, as you might say . . .’

  ‘You mean when it seemed Mr Carrington had murdered Mr Dunbar?’

  Hugo Ragnall swallowed at this plain speaking. ‘Yes. It was a ghastly thing to have happened, but Mr Carrington had very good cause to resent Mr Dunbar. It all seemed cut and dried, Inspector. There didn’t really seem any reason to doubt it.’ Ragnall took a cigarette from the box on the table and struck a match. ‘I didn’t like it,’ he added. ‘Neither did Mr Lewis. You mustn’t think he wanted his cousin to be found guilty, whatever the true facts of the case may be.’

  That, thought Rackham, was an interesting way of putting it. ‘The true facts, Mr Ragnall? Gerard Carrington’s innocence has been confirmed, you know.’ At least as far as the public are concerned, he added in the privacy of his own thoughts.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Ragnall rapidly. ‘Yes, I know it has, Inspector. You mustn’t misunderstand me.’

  ‘But you’re not convince
d?’ asked Rackham quietly.

  Hugo Ragnall swallowed. ‘I . . . I suppose I have to be, don’t I?’ Rackham didn’t answer. ‘It’s just it seemed so probable,’ burst out Ragnall, spurred into speech by Rackham’s silence. ‘We all knew how badly Professor Carrington had been treated by Dunbar. It’s only human nature that Gerard Carrington should resent it. I think what really bothered me is that Major Haldean’s proof seemed to turn on such a trivial thing. I know Major Haldean is a very clever man, Inspector. I’ve read his stories and they’re very clever, indeed.’ He suddenly smiled, oddly shy. ‘I think I’ve read nearly everything he’s written. An old friend of mine – he’s out in Kenya now – knew him in the war and always had the greatest respect for him. But I do think that very clever people can be misled sometimes.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Rackham, trying to keep his voice non-committal. He didn’t quite manage it. The trouble was, Hugo Ragnall was doing such an excellent job of putting his own thoughts into words.

  Ragnall sensed his unspoken agreement. ‘It’s all very well reading this sort of thing, isn’t it? When you actually know the people involved, though, it can be a little difficult to swallow. Ever since Mr Carrington was released, I’ve been conscious that anyone who knew Dunbar has been under a strain. I don’t see how any of us can be implicated, but it’s a strain, all the same. You see, if Mr Carrington isn’t guilty, who is?’

  And that, thought Rackham, was the question. ‘We’ve arrested Hector Ferguson,’ he said, his voice as neutral as possible.

  Hugo Ragnall nodded eagerly. ‘Which is why I’ve called to see you today. Let me explain. Because Mr Carrington’s temper is so uncertain, Mr Lewis asked his wife to meet him to see how the meeting went. However, that would only give him Mr Carrington’s point of view, so Mr Lewis asked me to look in on Mr Dunbar around five o’clock or so, to see what his reaction to the afternoon’s events had been.’

  Rackham sat up. ‘You called on Dunbar? Did you see him?’

  Ragnall shook his head. ‘No. I arrived at the Marchmont sometime before five. I’ve been trying to think exactly what time it was. It must have been about twenty to five or so. It was certainly after Mr Carrington left. I thought I might see him. When Mr Carrington was arrested, Mr Lewis asked me if I’d seen him, as it would have established what time he left the hotel.’

  ‘You never said anything at the time, sir.’

  Ragnall shrugged. ‘There wasn’t anything much to say, was there? I didn’t feel what I’d seen could help or hinder your investigation in any way. Besides that, it’s not the easiest thing in the world to admit to being on the spot when a murder’s been committed.’

  ‘If you’ve done nothing wrong you’ve nothing to fear, sir.’

  Ragnall laughed cynically. ‘That doesn’t quite square up with the facts, does it, Inspector? You might not approve, but I thought it best to say nothing. However, when I heard Mr Ferguson had been arrested, I had no choice but to come forward. You see, I saw Mrs Dunbar.’

  ‘Mrs Dunbar?’ Rackham’s voice was sharp. ‘Did you speak to her?’

  ‘No.’ Hugo Ragnall’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You have met Mrs Dunbar, Inspector?’ Despite himself, Rackham grinned. ‘In that case, I don’t really have to explain myself. Mrs Dunbar, Inspector, can talk the hind leg off a donkey. I sat down in the lounge of the Marchmont. I wanted a few minutes to get my papers in order and to work out exactly what I was going to say to Mr Dunbar. I must admit, my heart sank when I saw Mrs Dunbar and, although it sounds ungallant, took care to stay out of sight. Not only did I want to avoid her if possible, she could only be there to meet Mr Dunbar, and I really did want to speak to him. I couldn’t cross the lobby to the stairs without her seeing me, so I decided to wait where I was. I assumed it could only be a matter of minutes before Mr Dunbar joined her and I thought the best plan would be to wait for him to arrive, then pretend I’d only just entered the hotel, and ask for a few minutes’ private conversation.’

  ‘Fair enough. What happened?’

  ‘I saw Hector Ferguson arrive. He arrived shortly after I got there.’

  ‘You saw Hector Ferguson?’ repeated Rackham blankly. ‘Why on earth haven’t you said anything before?’

  ‘For the reasons I’ve already given, Inspector,’ said Ragnall unhappily. ‘I discussed it with Mr Lewis and we decided it was as well to keep quiet, especially as Hector Ferguson didn’t admit to being at the hotel. His story was that he’d gone straight home from work that afternoon and I didn’t want to be the one to contradict him. I knew that would cause problems for him.’

  ‘You’re probably right there, sir,’ Rackham agreed heavily. ‘Can you tell me exactly what occurred? This is important, you understand.’

  ‘He talked to his mother for a little while. I got the impression that she wasn’t too happy to see him, as they seemed to be arguing. Not violently, you understand, but they had certainly disagreed about something.’

  ‘Could you hear what they said?’

  Ragnall shook his head. ‘I couldn’t hear much, just the odd word. Mr Ferguson seemed to be very impatient. He looked at his watch a couple of times and I heard him say, ‘I’ll go.’ He left Mrs Dunbar and went up the stairs. From what had gone before, I assumed that Mr Dunbar was late and Hector Ferguson had gone to root him out. I looked at the clock as Ferguson went up the stairs. It was five to five when he went upstairs and I was surprised to see him return almost immediately. I heard the clock strike five as he came into the lobby once more. I was startled by his appearance. He was clearly upset.’ Hugo Ragnall hesitated. ‘He looked as white as a sheet, as if he’d seen a ghost.’

  ‘You’re sure about the time, sir?’ asked Rackham.

  ‘Certain. I was looking out for Dunbar, you see. I wanted to be ready to nab him when he came down with Ferguson. There was clearly something wrong. I couldn’t see Mrs Dunbar’s face but I could see his and he looked ghastly. They spoke for a little while – not long – and then they both walked to the hotel entrance. I wondered for a moment what I should do, and decided the best thing was to go to Dunbar’s room myself. I knew which room Mr Dunbar was in, of course, so when Mrs Dunbar and Ferguson were out of sight, I went up the stairs.’

  ‘Did you go into Dunbar’s room?’

  Ragnall shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t. I reached the top of the stairs and I heard the most awful shindig. There was a woman shouting, clearly in distress. That brought me up sharp. There was a door open a little way up the corridor and the noise was coming from there.’ He broke off with a thin smile. ‘It was, of course, Dunbar’s room. I guessed as much at the time and wondered what the devil had happened. As I watched, a chambermaid shot out of the room, yelling her head off. She didn’t see me, but doors started opening all along the corridor. In two ticks the place was going to be seething. I thought of going along to Dunbar’s room to see what all the fuss was about, but all I actually did was turn tail and walk back down the stairs.’

  ‘Why was that, sir?’

  Hugo Ragnall ran his tongue over dry lips. ‘I didn’t want to get mixed up in things. I didn’t know what was wrong but it was obviously something serious. No one had seen me come into the hotel and I thought it was as well if I simply faded away. After all, what could I do? By the time I got downstairs, Mrs Dunbar was back in her seat in the lobby, but I managed to slip past her.’ He put his hand to his mouth and suddenly looked acutely uncomfortable. ‘You see, Inspector, I knew Mr Carrington had been with Mr Dunbar all afternoon.’

  Rackham didn’t say anything for a few moments. ‘Did you think Dunbar had been murdered?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘No,’ said Ragnall, startled. ‘No, of course I didn’t. But I knew something had happened and I knew Mr Carrington had been there. That’s all. I didn’t feel I could help in any way. Mrs Dunbar was on the spot and she was the person chiefly concerned, after all.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘What could I do? When Mr Carrington was arrested, I said nothing. After all, I hadn’t seen him and
you must believe me when I say I was sincerely glad when he was released. However, when Mr Ferguson was arrested, that was a different matter.’

  Rackham dug a scrap of paper out of the blotter with his pen. ‘And you’re absolutely certain that Hector Ferguson entered the hotel after you?’ Hugo Ragnall nodded. ‘And he was only upstairs for a matter of five minutes?’

  ‘Less, if anything. I’m certain about that.’

  Rackham took the scrap of pink paper from the nib of his pen and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Hugo Ragnall, he realized, was still on edge. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me, sir?’ he asked.

  Hugo Ragnall’s gaze shifted to one side and Rackham knew he had touched a nerve. He waited in silence but this time the silence lengthened. ‘Mr Ragnall?’ he prompted. ‘It could be something utterly trivial, perhaps. Something you didn’t attach any weight to at the time.’

  ‘There isn’t anything else,’ said Ragnall firmly. His eyes met Rackham’s, but Rackham could see his throat muscles tighten. ‘Nothing at all.’

  TWELVE

  A couple of hours later, Inspector William Rackham and Jack Haldean were in the lobby of the Marchmont Hotel. Under the rather weary eye of the manager, Mr Sutton, who was observing them from the reception desk, they were engaged in an experiment. ‘That was just shy of thirteen minutes,’ said Jack as Rackham came back down the stairs and into the lobby. ‘Shall I try? Sergeant Hawley’s still up there. We can see if our times match up.’

  ‘All right,’ said Rackham, taking the watch from Jack. ‘Wait for my signal . . . Off you go.’

  Jack walked rapidly across the lobby and climbed the stairs. Arriving at room 206, he knocked at the door. ‘It’s Jack Haldean, Sergeant,’ he called. ‘We’re going through it again. Pretend I’m Hector Ferguson, will you?’