“Then I switched off the lights, got out of the window again, closed it behind me in case it should attract a passer-by. I used my handkerchief to grip the hasp when I closed it, so as not to leave any fingerprints there. In fact, as I walked down to my car, I felt I’d done remarkably well on the spur of the moment.
“As I drove in toward Westerhaven, I conned things over: and it struck me I’d be none the worse of seeing someone as soon as I could. My housekeeper was away nursing a sick relation, so no one could swear whether I’d been at home in the evening or not. If I could drop in on someone, there was always the chance of creating some sort of alibi. The bother was, I knew I wasn’t quite normal. That was only natural. But if I called on someone who saw me every day, they might spot that I was a bit on edge and that might lead to anything, you know. Then it flashed into my mind that Ringwood had come here lately. I hadn’t seen him for years. He wouldn’t see anything funny in my manner, even if I was a bit abnormal.
“I drove to his house, and there I had a bit of luck—a perfect gift from the gods. From a telephone message he got while I was in the room with him, I learned that Silverdale was out that night, one of his maids was in bed, and the maid wanted Ringwood to call at once. One’s mind works quickly, as I told you, and I saw in five seconds what a chance I’d got. I offered to pilot Ringwood over to Heatherfield. That meant I’d a perfectly sound excuse if I was seen in the neighbourhood of the house.
“I dropped him at the end of Lauderdale Avenue, as I expect he told you. During the run, I’d had time to think over things. There was only one solution that I could see. I had to get hold of these letters, cost what it might. I calculated that Ringwood’s visit wouldn’t be a long one; and as soon as he’d gone, I meant to drop into Heatherfield, silence the maid, and get the packet of letters.
“I must have run a bigger risk than I intended; for evidently I got into Heatherfield between Ringwood’s visit and yours. Can you wonder I was a bit pleased with my luck, when it all came out? I made the tourniquet while I was waiting about. Then I went up to Silverdale’s house, rang the bell, and asked for Silverdale. Of course he wasn’t there; but the maid knew me and let me in to write a note for him. Once she’d seen my face and recognised me, it was all up with her. One’s own skin comes first. I might have risked it if it hadn’t been that the drawer was locked and I had to burst it open. That meant leaving traces. And, since she knew me, that meant losing the game. So . . .”
He made a gesture as if using the tourniquet.
“I went home after that and destroyed these letters. Then I sat down to do the hardest bit of thinking I’ve done in my life. Time meant a good deal to me just then, for I had to have everything cut and dried before any questions were asked.
“Then the notion of a double game came into my mind. Why not follow up the cigarette-holder move and do my best to throw discredit on Silverdale. It was up to him to clear himself. That gave me the notion of anonymous letters. And obviously if I wanted any attention paid to them, I’d have to make a good start. That suggested giving the police the earliest information about the bungalow affair. If they got that from ‘Justice’ then they’d pay real attention to anything else he liked to send them. So I hit on the telegram idea as being the safest and the quickest. And, as a sequel to that, the obvious thing was to make a show in public of being on Silverdale’s side, so that you wouldn’t suspect me of having any possible connection with the anonymous letters.”
“You overdid it just a trifle,” Sir Clinton commented in a dry tone.
Markfield made a non-committal gesture, but did not argue the point.
“Then,” he continued, “just as I thought I’d fixed everything neatly, this creature Whalley descended on me. He’d taken the number of my car at the gate and faked up a yarn about an accident, so that he could get me identified for him. He called on me and started blackmail. I paid him, of course, to keep him quiet. But naturally I couldn’t let him stand in my way after all I’d gone through safely. He wasn’t a very valuable life at the best, I gather.
“Anyhow, I got him up here one night—my housekeeper was still away—and throttled him without too much trouble. Then I took the body down into the garage, put it into my car, and drove out the Lizard-bridge Road a bit before tipping him into the ditch. I left the tourniquet beside his body. It was a specially-contrived one, meant to throw some more suspicion on Silverdale. I forgot to say that I borrowed Silverdale’s lab. coat to wear during the operation, in case of there being any blood. And I tore off a button and left it in Whalley’s hand. Then I put the torn jacket back on Silverdale’s peg, ready for the police.
“Naturally I was quite pleased to hear that Silverdale had been arrested. That was his look-out, after all. And he seemed to be in trouble over an alibi, which was better news still. The next thing was to clinch the business, if possible.
“I’ve told you that once upon a time I played some parts in an amateur dramatic show. I was really not bad. And it struck me, after I’d seen you once or twice, Sir Clinton, that I could make myself up into a very fair copy of you. We’re about the same height to start with. I wouldn’t have risked it with anyone who knew both of us; but I’d learned that Avice Deepcar was out of town, and I thought I could manage to take in her maid easily enough.
“So I raided her place, posing as Sir Clinton Driffield—I’d had some notion of the sort in my mind for a while and had cards printed in London all ready: one of these print-’em-while-you-wait places which left no traces behind in the way of an address or an account. In my raid, I got a valuable document.”
“It was a clever enough fake, Dr. Markfield,” Sir Clinton said reflectively. “But you left one or two things in it that we took hold of easily enough. By the way, I suppose you simply traced Mrs. Silverdale’s writing from some old letters when you put the faked address on the code advertisements you sent to the newspapers?”
Markfield nodded.
“You don’t seem to have missed much,” he admitted.
He rose slowly to his feet and put down his pipe.
“I think that’s the whole story,” he said indifferently. “If you’ve got it all down now, Inspector, I’ll sign it and initial it for you. Then I suppose it’ll be a case of ringing up the Black Maria or something like that.”
He glanced at Sir Clinton.
“You wouldn’t care to tell me how you worried the thing out, I suppose?”
“No,” said the Chief Constable bluntly. “I don’t feel inclined to.”
Markfield made a gesture as though regretting this decision. He drew his fountain pen from his pocket, unscrewed the cap deliberately, and moved round the table towards the sheets of paper which the Inspector had spread out for signature. A thought seemed to occur to him as he did so, and he bent forward to the apparatus on the tray. His manner was so unconcerned and the gesture so natural that neither Sir Clinton nor the Inspector thought of interfering before it was too late. Markfield put his hand on the tap of the funnel, and as he did so, his face lighted up with malicious glee.
“Now!” he exclaimed.
He turned the tap, and on the instant the whole house shook under a terrific detonation.
Chapter Nineteen
EXCERPTS FROM SIR CLINTON’S NOTEBOOK
Written after the murder at Heatherfield.
. . . The following things seem suggestive, (1) The break-up of the Silverdale ménage, with Silverdale turning to Avice Deepcar whilst Mrs. Silverdale lets Hassendean frequent her openly. (2) Hassendean’s interference with the usual routine of coffee serving after dinner at Heatherfield. (3) The “dazed” appearance of Mrs. Silverdale when she left the house after coffee. (4) The fact that the two shots which wounded Hassendean at close quarters were not fired in Ivy Lodge. (This exonerates Dr. Ringwood, who might otherwise have come under suspicion). (5) The disappearance of Mrs. Silverdale, who was last seen in Hassendean’s company. (6) The words: “Caught me . . . Thought it was all right. . . . Never guessed,”
which Hassendean uttered before he died. (7) The murder of the maid at Heatherfield, which was clearly done by someone she knew well or she would not have admitted him at that time of night. (8) The ransacking of one particular drawer in Mrs. Silverdale’s bedroom, suggesting that the murderer had full knowledge of her private affairs. (9) The envelope fragment with the date-stamp 1925, which might indicate that the drawer had held letters compromising to the murderer. (10) The old dance programmes on which asterisks stood for the name of some partner, who must have been intimate with her at that period.
The affair can hardly have been the usual social-triangle tragedy: Silverdale surprising his wife with Hassendean. This hypothesis fails to account for (a) the dazed appearance of Mrs. Silverdale, which suggests drugging; (b) the murder and burglary at Heatherfield, Silverdale’s own house in which he could come and go freely without resorting to such extremes; and (c) The expression “Caught me . . .” in Hassendean’s last words, since “Caught us . . .” would have been the natural phrase in the case of the triangle-drama.
Curious that Dr. Markfield should pilot Ringwood right across the town and then drop him at the end of the avenue instead of going a hundred yards or so further, to the very gate of the house. Worth keeping in mind that Dr. Markfield knew Mrs. Silverdale well at one time, though he cooled off later (Ringwood’s evidence). Compare the old dance-programmes?
Written after the discovery of the bungalow tragedy.
This is clearly the second half of the Hassendean business. Obviously Hassendean prepared the bungalow beforehand for the reception of Mrs. Silverdale. Either she consented to go there willingly; or else, as seems more likely, he drugged her after dinner and took her there without her consent. In any case, it was premeditated on his part. Evidently he overshot the dose of the drug and killed her. His subsequent shooting the body suggests that he meant to leave an obvious cause of death, which might divert attention from the poison altogether and cause it to be overlooked in a P.M. examination. In that case, it’s likely that he meant to take the body elsewhere in his car and leave it—meaning to suggest that she committed suicide. Of course the shooting may have been done accidentally or by a third party who did not know she was already dead. But this seems unlikely on the face of things.
Four people at least were at the bungalow that night: Mrs. Silverdale, Hassendean, and the two watchers at the windows. One of the watchers must be this fellow “Justice,” who had the first news of the affair. One of them was probably the murderer of Hassendean, since he entered the room. The second watcher may have seen the murder committed, though this is not certain.
Apart from the general state of the bungalow, the only clues of interest are the cigarette-holder and the signet-ring on Mrs. Silverdale’s finger.
Silverdale denies that he gave her the ring; and as the date 1925 in it belongs to the period of dissociation in the Silverdale ménage, it seems probable that he is speaking the truth. The initial “B” engraved in the ring evidently indicates the donor, and it may stand for either a real initial or the initial of a pet name. Possibly the donor was the person indicated by an asterisk on the dance-programmes and (or) the person who burgled Heatherfield to get hold of letters which perhaps compromised him.
The cigarette-holder found at the bungalow is undoubtedly Silverdale’s, but that does not necessarily prove that Silverdale was ever there. Someone else, who had a chance of laying hands on his cigarette-holder, may have left it to mislead us. All that it tells is that someone associated with Silverdale was at the bungalow. Both Hassendean and Mrs. Silverdale fit this description.
As to Silverdale, it’s evident that he wanted to get rid of his wife and marry Miss Deepcar. But that does not prove he was prepared to go the length of murder to gain his ends. He has no alibi for the period of the bungalow affair; but few of us could produce an alibi for a given time on the spur of the moment.
Miss Hailsham had a grudge against Hassendean, but there is no evidence connecting her with the bungalow affair.
The maid at Heatherfield seems a mere pawn in the game. Silverdale might have used her to drug the coffee; but Hassendean’s unusual interference with the normal serving of the coffee (coupled with his preparations beforehand at the bungalow) point to him as the administrator of the drug.
As to the drug, Hassendean must have had easy access to it. It’s a mydriatic drug, since the eye-pupils were expanded. Miss Deepcar mentioned hyoscine when she came into the room at the Croft-Thornton Institute, so that evidently they have it on the premises there. Hyoscine narcosis has one special peculiarity: it obliterates from the patient’s memory all recollection of what may have happened while the drug was acting. At least that’s what they say about the “Twilight Sleep” treatment. This would be the very drug Hassendean would require for his purpose. Mrs. Silverdale would wake up from the narcosis with only the very faintest recollection of what had happened.
A preliminary hypothesis seems possible. Hassendean resolved to drug Mrs. Silverdale with hyoscine and take her to the bungalow while under the influence of the narcotic. He prepared the place beforehand and got her there successfully. But he overshot the dose he gave her, and she died in his hands at the bungalow. He then shot her in the head, meaning to take her away in his car and leave the body somewhere, arranged as though it were a case of suicide. He might hope that in these circumstances the drug might not be spotted and thus he would be completely clear. But someone else saw the shooting and, being keenly interested in Mrs. Silverdale, shot Hassendean in revenge. On the face of things, this third party must be either “Justice” or the second watcher. Then, if this third party had been intimate with Mrs. Silverdale, there might be letters in her possession which would bring out their relations; and these letters it might be essential to secure. Hence the murder of the maid and the burglary at Heatherfield. Very sketchy, of course, but it seems suggestive.
If it be the truth or near it, then the murderer must have known when to strike at Heatherfield, for usually there were two maids on the premises, which would be too big a job for a single assailant. But, from Ringwood’s evidence, Markfield learned the state of affairs at Heatherfield that night from the ’phone call which came through when he was at Ringwood’s house. And at once he offered to pilot Ringwood through the fog—which gave him a perfectly sound excuse for being in the neighbourhood of Heatherfield if anyone happened to recognise him. Further, he deliberately avoided taking Ringwood up to the Heatherfield gate, but dropped him at the end of Lauderdale Avenue. This would avoid any chance of his being directly connected with Heatherfield that night; and after he left Ringwood, he could easily drive round to the back of Heatherfield and watch his chance to enter the house.
Written after reading Hassendean’s Journal.
Three things emerge from Hassendean’s M.S. (1) He seems to have excited Miss Hailsham to the extent of a loss of control when he jilted her; but that does not in itself prove anything. (2) Mrs. Silverdale obviously led him on and continually disappointed him. This fits in with the hypothesis I made. (3) His remark: “Only I shall know of my triumph,” agrees very neatly with the memory-blotting property of hyoscine. As a whole, then, the hypothesis, seems justified.
As to Markfield, I notice he makes a parade of intense reluctance if he is asked to give evidence involving Silverdale; but when he is actually induced to talk, he says things which tell heavily against his colleague. As he’s by no means a fool, this seems worth attention.
It is possible that the moneylender might wish to ensure that young Hassendean’s death should be proved to be due to murder; but I doubt if a firm doing so well (as appears from their office, which Flamborough describes as opulent) would be likely to go the length of murder itself for the sake of a mere £5,000. And if Spratton had no hand in the actual murder, it is hard to see how he could get the first news of it. On the face of things, it’s unlikely that he was “Justice.” And it is practically impossible to fit him into the affair at Heatherfield, which is interlo
cked with the bungalow tragedy. Renard’s story of Mrs. Silverdale’s inheritance may have some bearing on the affair—but only if Silverdale is the murderer; and that won’t fit in with the Heatherfield business on any reasonable assumptions.
One point certainly tells badly against Silverdale’s credibility. He must have told a deliberate lie when he said that on the night of the bungalow murder he was working late at the Croft-Thornton Institute. This tale seems completely exploded by the evidence which Flamborough unearthed.
Silverdale, however, is not necessarily a murderer because he has been trapped in a lie. He may have used his lie to cover up something quite other than murder; and since he was obviously being suspected of murder, his motive for lying must have been a strong one or he would have made a clean breast of the affair. The only factor of sufficient importance seems to be a woman whom he hoped to shield by his lie; and the only woman in the case, so far, whom he has a clear interest in is Miss Deepcar. One can easily imagine circumstances in which he might find it politic to lie.
Written after the identification of hyoscine in the body.
As I expected, hyoscine was the poison. That fits in with Hassendean’s journal entry and with the hypothesis I made before. Hassendean, like most people at the Croft-Thornton, had access to the hyoscine in the store. The over-dose which he used gave me some trouble at first, but I think that’s cleared up. All the available evidence shows that Hassendean was a careless and inaccurate worker. From his notebook, I found that he used the abbreviation gr. for “gramme,” whereas Markfield uses gm. It seems probable that Hassendean looked up the normal dose of hyoscine in a book of reference, found it given in apothecaries’ weights as “1/100 gr.,” and copied this down as it stood, without making a note to remind him that here gr. meant “grain” and not “gramme.” When he came to weigh out the dose he meant to give to Mrs. Silverdale, he would read “1/100 gr.” as the hundredth part of a gramme, since in laboratory work the metric system is always used and chemists never think in terms of grains. Thus Hassendean, weighing out what in his carelessness he supposed to be a normal dose, would take 0.01 grammes of hyoscine. (The reference books state that serious poisoning has been caused by as little as 0.0002 gramme of hyoscine). As there are fifteen grains in a gramme, his quantity would be fifteen times the normal dose, which fits fairly well with the amount found in the body. He had no reason for killing Mrs. Silverdale, provided that the hyoscine obliterated her memory of that evening’s proceedings; and it seems most improbable that he deliberately planned to cause her death.
The Case With Nine Solutions (A Clinton Driffield Mystery) Page 23
