“Oh, well,” said the colonel doubtfully. “Hum…yes…perhaps.”
“For that matter,” Bobby continued, “Blythe might be guilty, and might fake evidence against himself with the idea that the fake, when discovered, would establish his innocence, since it is only against the innocent that faked evidence is required.”
The colonel blinked.
“Oh, well,” he said. Then, clutching at common sense, he said: “You couldn’t persuade counsel to put forward theories like that in court.”
“No, sir,” agreed Bobby. “Juries want evidence, not theories. I quite see that, but I don’t think we can regard Blythe as entirely outside suspicion. We could reconstruct the crime like this. I think it possible he knew more of his partner’s affairs than he admitted to me. Anyhow, he did admit to a quarrel with Anderson about Miss Earle that may have been more serious than he says. There is the possibility that he tried to catch Anderson in the act, so to say. And that a quarrel resulted, ending in murder. If Blythe had been watching Anderson— and Rose Briar Cottage—he might have seen Mrs Jordan hiding Dwight’s pistol and that would account for his possession of a weapon. And I think one has to remember his morbid, almost unbalanced attitude to such affairs.”
“Working on these lines, do you mean you think you could establish a strong enough case to charge him on?” the colonel asked doubtfully.
“Well, sir,” Bobby said, “shall we go on to consider other possibilities? Castles, for instance.”
“Yes, Castles,” agreed the colonel. “Yes. That story of his about his mother’s last word to him on her death bed—‘Remember’. It does rather stick in your mind, doesn’t it? Only he told you about it himself.”
“He did seem to go very near to accusing himself,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “He was certainly in a very queer state, mentally. Brooding on the past. Obsessed by it. Torn between doubt and suspicion and gratitude. That sort of inner conflict might easily lead to a kind of divided personality resulting in very queer actions only half realized at the time. He has no alibi and he refuses to give any explanation of the long solitary walk he took that evening, though he admits something fresh had come to his knowledge. That fresh fact may have clinched his suspicions. It may have been some sort of proof that Anderson had, in fact, betrayed old Mr Castles. If it wasn’t something of that sort, why won’t he say?”
“Exactly,” said the colonel. “Working on those lines you could get up a strong case against Castles, a very strong case indeed.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Bobby. “He was at that time in this abnormal state mentally, and it is very noticeable that now he is, as he says himself, much calmer. A great burden lifted. That’s how he feels, he says. The question is, was it by his own action that that burden was lifted?”
“A very strong case,” the colonel repeated. “But what about young Dwight? Jealousy is one of the strongest of motives for murder.”
“There’s no doubt he was desperately jealous and very bitterly resented the liaison between Anderson and Miss Earle,” Bobby said slowly. “I think, too, from one or two things he let drop that he may have had some sort of romantic notion of avenging a girl’s honour on her elderly seducer. He is the only one we know to have visited the cottage—we have Mrs Jordan’s evidence for that—and the only one we know to have been in possession of a revolver. We have his own admission on that point. He may easily have recovered it from the hedge where Mrs Jordan hid it. Quite a good hiding place so far as searching the cottage went, which is what she was chiefly afraid of. But it had the disadvantage that anyone keeping a watch on the place might see her and guess what she was doing. That applies to everyone, including Dwight. The alibi he put forward is quite useless.”
“Jealousy—that’s a motive,” the colonel repeated. “Strikes me, we need hardly look any further. Dwight is the most likely person, and after all the most likely person—well, the most likely person is the most likely person.”
“I’ve been thinking that, too,” Bobby said.
“Working on those lines,” said the colonel, “I should say we ought soon to have a good enough case.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Bobby. “There’s Roy Green, too. And Miss Harris. After all, they are the only ones we can say definitely were in the habit of meeting near Ends Bridge. They admit that. They say they were in a cinema on the Tuesday night, but a cinema alibi is worth nothing. Unless it’s confirmed, which this one isn’t. They seem to be passionately in love with each other. Anderson was threatening to inform the elder Mr Green of his son’s infatuation. As a result Roy would have been removed and the lovers separated. It is extremely likely as they were in the habit of meeting pretty frequently near the bridge that they had seen Anderson there. If Anderson happened himself to see young Green and the girl together and stopped to ask them what they were up to, and if he renewed his threat to tell the boy’s father, a quarrel might easily have developed— with fatal results. Or the same thing might have happened if Green had recognized Anderson’s car and stopped it with the idea that it would be easier to have things out there rather than at the office.”
“One can believe anything of a boy in love,” agreed the colonel. “Anything at all. Yes, it’s possible. Threatened with what he would think an unfair attempt to separate him from the girl he loved—well, there it is.”
“There is also,” said Bobby, “the fact that it was Green who found Anderson’s glove or says he did. He would have been able to go into the car park at Chief Building since he was known as employed there, and so would have had a chance to get hold of the glove.”
“He tried to get rid of it though by throwing it into the canal. If he hadn’t been seen, we should have known nothing about it.”
“Perhaps,” said Bobby quietly, “he took care that he was seen. Those who are guilty themselves do sometimes try to divert suspicion to others. On the principle that if someone else is hanged, they become safe.”
“Yes, I know,” sighed the colonel. “Yes. That’s so. It’s getting very complicated, isn’t it? But hang it, Owen, you are making out an almost equally strong case against them all.”
“There is still Miss Earle,” Bobby said quietly.
The colonel fairly jumped in the bed.
“You aren’t going to make out a case against her now, are you?” he cried. “Hang it all, man, didn’t you tell me you thought she and Anderson were really fond of each other?”
“They gave me that impression, certainly,” Bobby admitted. “Only there’s always the old saying, isn’t there? ‘Where love is, hate’s close by.’ In these outside the law affairs, there’s often, always perhaps, a sense of insecurity that doubles the risk of jealousy—and its dangers. Another thing, Anderson seems to have made her a present of a large sum of money. A kind of settlement. At least, that’s her story. But there seems no trace of any such gift at the office or among Anderson’s papers. Only the fact that his estate is unexpectedly small. I am wondering if Anderson gave Miss Earle the money in notes or bearer securities, or something like that.”
“In which case,” observed the colonel, “she might have been afraid he would take it back. Dead, he couldn’t. Five thousand pounds. It might be a big temptation.”
“I think it must be remembered,” Bobby said. “There’s another thing. If Roy Green is telling the truth, someone deliberately used Blythe’s glove to draw suspicion to him. Miss Earle is one of the people who work at Chief Building and are known there. She could have gone to the car park without attracting attention and taken the glove from Blythe’s car.”
“All right, all right,” said the colonel gloomily. “She is a possibility, too. I hope to goodness, Owen, you’ve got to the end of your suspects.”
“There’s still another who on the face of it is perhaps the most likely of all,” Bobby said. “Osman Ford. When he came to see me and wanted us to take steps about the trust fund he looked murderous enough. Anyhow, it is clear that he very strongly resented Anderson’s attitude and that h
e had no hope of getting the trust fund released while Anderson was alive. In the event of Anderson’s death he knew he was pretty sure to get it. He admits he was often near the locus of the crime and his story of wanting to know if what he called ‘canoodling’ was going on may be true or may be just an excuse. It’s not too strong. Apparently he has the reputation of being a man of violent temper, and already he has come under suspicion of murder. A rival suitor of Mrs Ford’s—Miss Vigor she was then—was found drowned in the canal in circumstances that seem to have given rise to some gossip. There is also the very odd fact that he seems to have been visiting Rose Briar Cottage.”
“Do you think,” the colonel asked, “that there can have been anything between him and Anne Earle and that Anderson found it out and that is why he was murdered?”
“Well, sir, I had considered that,” Bobby answered, “but there doesn’t seem any evidence, any suggestion indeed, that Miss Earle and Ford ever met. His visits seem to have been only occasional, and usually when Miss Earle was away and only Mrs Jordan was there. You remember, sir, there’s the story the Long Barsley constable told of hearing a quarrel going on between Mrs Jordan and some unknown man. The only two men known to have visited the cottage are Anderson and Ford, and the reference overheard to pushing someone into the canal does rather point to Ford. Though I don’t see at present any other link with the murder.”
“No,” agreed the colonel. “Hand me that pad, will you?” He began to write. “It stands like this then,” he said, reading aloud when he had finished writing.
(1) George Blythe.
Motive. Resentment at intrigue Anderson was carrying on. Fear of resultant scandal. Desire to secure control of the practice. Implicated by discovery of glove near the locus of crime. Known to have very strong emotional reactions to irregular relationships outside marriage. No alibi and doubtful explanation offered.
(2) Arthur Castles.
Motive. Revenge. Admits to strongly divided feelings towards Anderson. Mental state not fully normal. Admits to having chosen that evening for a long solitary walk and refuses to explain why.
(3) William Dwight.
Motive. Jealousy. Evidence he visited Rose Briar Cottage once before, taking a loaded revolver with him. Is the only one of those under suspicion definitely known to have been in possession of a pistol. Puts forward thoroughly unsatisfactory alibi.
(4) Roy Green.
Motive. Fear of being separated from Miss Harris. Admits to having been frequently near the scene of the crime. Claims to have found Blythe’s glove, but instead of reporting the discovery, threw it into the canal. No satisfactory alibi.
(5) Anne Earle.
Motive. Jealousy, complicated by desire to make sure of the money Anderson had apparently not so much settled on her, as placed in her charge. Consequently he could have claimed its return. Noted that she is the last person known to have seen him alive and that she is one of those with access to the car park at Chief Building and so to Blythe’s car from which his glove was taken.
(6) Osman Ford.
Motive. Desire to secure release of the trust fund and resentment at Anderson’s refusal to let it go. Threats made by him against Anderson, and admitted presence near locus of crime.
The colonel ceased reading and shook his head doubtfully.
“What a list,” he commented. “And what’s the good of concentrating on motive, when everyone had a strong motive and all of them different? Anyhow, I take it that’s the lot?”
“Well, sir,” Bobby said hesitatingly, “there’s still Mrs Jordan. She may have been afraid the liaison between Anderson and her niece wouldn’t last and decided to make sure of the money while it was still there. She may have seen Anderson after Miss Earle left him. Miss Earle says Mrs Jordan had gone to bed when she got back from saying good-night to Anderson, but she didn’t actually see her. It’s possible Mrs Jordan was in fact waiting outside for a chance to speak to Anderson, and she is the last person known to have been in possession of the revolver. Also one has to remember that she has behaved rather oddly. She certainly told lies about how she identified Miss Earle as her niece. Though I don’t see quite how that can link up with the murder. But then there’s so much unexplained or that we don’t understand.”
Colonel Glynne took up his pad again and wrote diligently for some moments.
“No. 7, Mrs Jordan, and I hope that completes the list,” he said. “And hardly a bit of solid evidence in all of it. How on earth are we to decide where to make a start?”
“There’s one thing that seems to me important,” Bobby said. “If you notice, £5,000 is always turning up. Mr Blythe guaranteed new buildings at Hopewell House to that extent. £5,000 is the amount of the Mrs Ford trust fund. £5,000 is the amount apparently placed by Anderson in Miss Earle’s charge. And Mr Blythe says that though the Anderson estate will only be a hundred or two, he fully expected it would be about £10,000, which is twice £5,000.”
“Well, I did notice that £5,000 was always being mentioned in one way or another,” the colonel said. “But isn’t it a little fanciful to extend that to Blythe’s expectation that Anderson’s estate would be £10,000 because that is twice £5,000?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Bobby answered thoughtfully, “that there we haven’t the most significant factor of all. I’m not sure, I don’t see very clearly yet, but I feel it may turn out that way. If you put that with one other incident, I think it suggests the very starting point we need.”
“What do you mean?” the colonel asked. “What incident?”
Bobby pointed it out, and the colonel nodded his head thoughtfully.
“Yes,” he agreed, “yes. It’s only a trifle. It may mean nothing. But you think it may be what you want?”
“I should like to take it as our starting point and see where it gets us,” Bobby said. “That is, sir, if you agree.”
“Very well,” said the colonel briefly.
CHAPTER XVI
MRS JORDAN UNEASY
IN EVERY CASE of serious crime, a tremendous amount of work is done of which no one ever hears save those engaged in the investigation. Innumerable statements are taken, countless witnesses are questioned, clue after clue followed up, all with no other result than that the statements are seen to be worthless, the witnesses are found to have nothing to say, the clues to be without significance. Yet in their totality all this apparent waste of time and energy does serve the negative purpose of closing the blind alleys and so allowing attention to be concentrated on the possibly correct path.
So it had been with the inquiry into the death of Mr Anderson. Various lines of investigation had been followed up without result. The inquest, a purely formal affair, had been adjourned ‘to enable the police to complete their inquiries’. The newspapers, occupied with the war situation, gave but small attention to the death of an elderly solicitor. Bobby, seated in his office, glancing once again over the pile of accumulated papers, wondered a little gloomily if the truth would ever be known.
“Not much hope,” he told himself; and then through the open window came a sudden gust of wind, fluttering the papers before him, stirring them and lifting them, as with an invisible hand, bringing to the top of the pile those that had been at the bottom, scattering others on the floor. Sergeant Wright was in the room. He had spent a good deal of valuable time following up a report that a revolver had been found in a lonely spot on the banks of the canal some distance below Ends Bridge. In the end the sergeant had found that the revolver was not a revolver but a child’s pop-gun, probably, since it really was a lonely spot, flung by some child in a temper, or by its mother for a punishment, from a passing barge. In the story told in the nearest public house, the ‘pop’ had first been omitted from ‘pop-gun’, and then the resultant ‘gun’ turned into ‘revolver’, with a few other details added to suggest that it must be the one used by Mr Anderson’s murderer. Just one of those things that are continually turning up in police work, but it had cost valuable time and had
a good deal ruffled the temper of Sergeant Wright, now helping Bobby to collect and re-arrange his scattered papers.
Now, too, in some odd way that stirring, that consequent necessary re-arrangement of his papers had brought to the surface of Bobby’s mind a thought that had been half consciously present in it for some time.
“Wright,” he said, “I suppose you haven’t come across anything to make you think that…that…”
He paused and Wright, not quite sure what his chief was driving at, said interrogatively:
“Yes, sir?”
For that matter, Bobby himself was not quite sure what he meant. Yet somehow or another, from indications too vague to put into words but that had followed the plainer hint of Mr Blythe’s glove, he had formed the impression that someone else was at work, some ‘hidden hand’ to use the old catch-phrase. But with what object, whether to discover the truth or to conceal it, he was not at all sure. Yet he was sure that someone else was actively at work, quietly and in secret. Possibly, he supposed, with indifference to the solution of the mystery, with some entirely different object in view. Who this could be, or what the object, it was, he felt, important to know. When, however, he tried to explain all this to Wright, he did not succeed in making himself very clear—probably because his own mind was not very clear on the point.
“Yes, sir, I quite understand,” Wright assured him in the manner of those who do not understand in the least. “I’ll watch out; and if there’s any amateur messing things up, or any smart Aleck of a reporter trying to hold out on us, I’ll attend to him all right.”
That wasn’t at all what Bobby meant. It was a more secret and a more formidable influence that he vaguely felt to be in action. For still it seemed to him that what had happened so far was but the first act of the tragedy, and that now the play had passed into the control of an unknown producer who meant that henceforth it should develop in his way and not another.
The Dark Garden: A Bobby Owen Mystery Page 17
