by John Rhode
‘Good man,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Now walk back to the cloakroom window and put your arm through the opening.’
Linton did so, and Jimmy, still in the same position, watched him. From where he stood he had a perfectly clear and unobstructed view of the whole length and width of the carriage-way. It ran straight from the entrance gate to the garage, without any projection behind which a man could hide. Jimmy could plainly see the cloakroom window, and Linton’s burly form as he put his arm through it. He frowned as he realised that the problem was as insoluble as ever. Then he walked down the carriage-way and joined Linton.
‘All right, that experiment’s over,’ he said. ‘Now we’ll go back to the police station and I’ll have another shot at that chap Coates.’
The interview took place in the room which Superintendent Yateley had put at his disposal. Jimmy put Coates in a chair, where the light fell on his face, and sat down facing him. ‘Well, Coates, you’ll be able to start work on that filling station of yours now, won’t you?’ he said cheerfully.
Coates’ expression showed the surprise he felt at this opening. ‘I don’t know about that, sir,’ he replied after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I haven’t given it a thought since Mr Fransham’s death. And Dr Thornborough asked me if I’d care to stop with him for a bit. He said that he’d probably sell his own car and take over Mr Fransham’s.’
‘It’s a much more impressive looking car, certainly,’ said Jimmy. ‘And doctors have to think of appearances, I suppose. But surely you’re not going to abandon that pet scheme of yours, are you?’
‘I don’t know how you came to hear of it, sir, I’m sure.’
‘It’s my job to find things out. But never mind about that. You’ll have a little money to play with now, won’t you? You’ve been with Mr Fransham five years, and surely he’s left you something in his will?’
Coates’ eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know anything about that, sir,’ he replied cautiously. ‘Mr Fransham did say to me once that if I stayed with him I shouldn’t have cause to regret it when he died. But what he meant by that is more than I can tell. It might be a matter of twenty pounds or so, and that wouldn’t be much good to start what I was thinking of.’
‘Possibly not. But you must have saved a bit while you were with Mr Fransham?’
‘You can’t save much in London on thirty-five bob a week, sir. Mr Fransham wasn’t one to pay a higher wage than he could help.’
‘Oh, but you got your board and lodging? To say nothing of the chance of making an extra few shillings a week by monkeying with the petrol bill.’
Coates started visibly at this. ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir,’ he exclaimed virtuously. ‘Mr Fransham never had any cause to find fault with my accounts.’
‘Hadn’t he? Well, that’s perhaps lucky for you. If he’d found out that you’d been cheating him, he might have struck you out of his will altogether. But those accounts of yours are still in existence, I expect, and it may occur to Mr Fransham’s executors to have a look at them. I’d bear that possibility in mind if I were you. Now, let’s get back to last Saturday. You stood leaning against that doorpost from shortly after you arrived until the doctor’s car drove in at the gate. You still stick to that story, do you? Just think it over for a bit before you answer me.’
‘There’s no need to think it over, sir. It’s just the plain truth, and I’m ready to swear to it.’
‘Then you admit that you had an uninterrupted view of the carriage-way and of anybody who came into it?’
‘Yes, sir, that’s just what I’ve said all along.’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘Then it seems to me that you’re in a very awkward position, Coates,’ he said sternly. ‘There’s not a shadow of doubt that Mr Fransham was killed through the cloakroom window. By your own admission, then, you must have seen the person who committed the crime. By withholding information from the police, you become an accessory after the fact, and in the eyes of the law, equally guilty as the criminal himself.’
Coates looked so startled that it was obvious that this aspect of the matter had not occurred to him before. ‘But I didn’t see anybody, sir,’ he insisted.
‘Perhaps because you deliberately looked the other way,’ Jimmy suggested.
Coates shook his head violently. ‘No, sir, once I’d leant against that doorpost I never looked round,’ he replied. ‘You see, sir, I was looking out for the doctor to come home or for one of the girls to come out of the house and call me in. I was watching, as you might say, all the time that I was smoking my fag.’
‘Then you are prepared to swear that nobody entered the carriage-way during that period? Be careful, now. This may turn out to be a very serious matter for you.’
Coates’ face remained perfectly calm. ‘I’m ready to swear that I never saw anybody there until the doctor’s car drove in, sir,’ he replied.
‘Are you equally ready to swear that if anybody had been there you would have seen them?’ Jimmy asked quickly.
‘Yes, sir, I’ll go as far as that. I’m ready to take my dying oath that no one came into that carriage-way the whole time I was standing against the doorpost.’
‘You say that you threw your cigarette away when you saw the doctor’s car turn in at the gateway? What did you do then?’
‘I waited for the car to come up to me, sir.’
‘Did you keep your eyes on it all the time?’
‘Yes, sir, because I wasn’t quite sure at first whether it was the doctor or not. I didn’t recognise him for certain until he was half-way down the carriage-way. It’s not always easy to make out a driver sitting behind a windscreen.’
‘You are perfectly certain that you were watching the car as it passed the cloakroom window?’
‘Quite certain, sir. The car must have been just about there when I recognised the doctor driving it.’
‘If the car had stopped for an instant, you would have noticed it?’
‘I’m perfectly certain that I should, sir.’
‘And if the doctor had put his right arm out of the window of the car you would have noticed that, too?’
‘I couldn’t have failed to see him do that, sir.’
‘And you are ready to swear that you saw neither of these things happen?’
‘I’m ready to take my oath upon it, sir.’
‘Have you done any shooting lately, Coates?’
Coates’ face betrayed nothing beyond a certain bewilderment at this sudden change of topic. ‘Shooting, sir?’ he replied. ‘I haven’t touched a gun since I’ve been with Mr Fransham. In the place I was in before I went to him, the gamekeeper used to lend me a gun sometimes and take me out with him after vermin. That’s all the shooting I’ve ever done, sir.’
Jimmy dismissed Coates, and as soon as he was alone, lighted a cigarette and frowned thoughtfully. His cross-examination had failed to shake Coates’ statement in any material detail. Jimmy, experienced by now in the demeanour of people under interrogation, felt pretty certain that the chauffeur’s statements were true. In which case Mr Fransham must have been killed by a missile projected from behind the brick wall. This, on the other hand, was impossible, for no trace of any such missile had been found.
To rid his mind of such idle fancies, Jimmy left the police station and walked through the town until he reached Gunthorpe Road. He noticed in front of him a man on a bicycle, who dismounted at the gate of the cottage lately occupied by Frank Willingdon. Jimmy hurried after him and caught him up as he was unlocking the front door. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I’m Inspector Waghorn from Scotland Yard. This cottage is unoccupied now, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ the other replied. ‘It’s been let furnished for a month, but the lease expired yesterday morning. The owner won’t be back for another week or two, and I’m just going in to see that everything’s been left in proper order. My name’s Didcot, by the way. I’m in business in High Street as a house agent. Care to come inside with me?’
Jimmy accept
ed the invitation and they entered the lounge together. Willingdon had tidied the place up after a fashion, but there was still a certain amount of litter lying about. Ash-trays with stubs of cigarettes in them, and so forth. Didcot glanced round the room appraisingly.
‘Not so bad as it might have been,’ he said. ‘Willingdon left a quid with me to pay for a charwoman to clean the place up. She’ll soon set it to rights. I’ll see about that at once. Hallo, what’s this?’
He put his hand into the crevice of one of the chairs and pulled out a square of white linen.
‘Lady’s handkerchief embroidered at the corners and scented,’ he continued. ‘I thought as much.’
Jimmy had been examining the cigarette ends, to find that they were all Player’s or Gold Flake. He looked up at the house agent’s words. ‘Was the tenant married, then?’ he asked innocently.
Didcot laughed. ‘Anything but, if you ask my opinion. He told me when I first saw him that he was a student and wanted a quiet place where he could read during the weekends. That was when he came down to see about taking the place, which he’d seen advertised. He seemed a decent sort of chap, but he talked in a queer way that I couldn’t quite understand. I came up here with him and showed him the place, and he told me that it would suit him perfectly.’
‘When was this?’ Jimmy asked.
‘One day towards the end of April or the beginning of May. He arranged to take this place for a month from the 14th May. He said that he would only be able to use it at weekends from Friday evening till Monday morning, for he was attending lectures during the rest of the week. Before I had the chance of asking him for a reference, he told me that he didn’t want to give one, because he was anxious that nobody should know where he was. He said that he was sure that his friends would come and interrupt him if they heard that he’d taken a cottage in the country. And as he forked out the month’s rent then and there I didn’t press the matter.’
‘What was the tenant’s name?’
‘Willingdon. He told me that his father was a manufacturer in a pretty big way in Leeds. He gave me his own address in London. Some address in Kensington it was. The name’s slipped my memory for the moment, but I’ve got it down at the office.’
‘Harlows Hotel, perhaps?’
‘That’s it. You seem to know something about this chap, inspector. He was all square and above board, wasn’t he?’
Jimmy smiled. ‘Up to a point, I fancy,’ he replied. ‘But I’ve reason to suppose that he’s not in the habit of overworking himself with study.’
‘That doesn’t altogether surprise me. I had my doubts the first weekend he was here. I came up on the Saturday morning just to see that he was all right. I rang the bell, but nobody answered it for quite a long time, though I could hear somebody scuffling about inside. But at last Willingdon opened the door an inch or two and peeped out. I asked him if he’d found everything all right, and he told me that he had, but that he didn’t want to be disturbed, as he was frightfully busy. And with that he shut the door in my face. I happened to look up at one of the top windows and caught sight for an instant of a woman’s face peeping from behind the curtains. And a pretty decorative sort of girl she was, too, from what I saw of her.’
‘You didn’t see her again, I suppose?’
‘I haven’t been near the place again till now. It wasn’t really my business if Willingdon chose to take the cottage for the entertainment of his lady friends. The less I knew about it the better, in case people started asking questions. But Willingdon was pretty discreet, I’ll say that for him. He didn’t parade his friends through the town, or anything like that.’
‘Do you suppose that he brought a girl down every weekend with him?’
‘That I don’t know. All I can tell you is that last Friday, on his way here, he stopped at the garage at the far end of High Street to fill up with petrol. I happened to be walking along the opposite pavement, so he didn’t see me. And there was certainly a girl in the car with him then. Whether it was the same one that I saw at the window is more than I can say.’
‘Bit of a lad, in his way. Does he happen to have any friends or acquaintances in these parts, do you know?’
‘I don’t know,’ Didcot said, winking knowingly. ‘But I’ll bet a good deal he hasn’t. His game was to take a cottage in a place where nobody knew him, then there wouldn’t be any risk of anybody recognising him and passing the word to his papa. I’ll send this handkerchief on to him without comment. Would you care to come with me and look round the rest of the house?’
They went upstairs and Didcot opened a door. ‘This is the best bedroom,’ he said. ‘There are only two, as a matter of fact, and the other’s a lot smaller. Um! Fairly tidy. Only wants dusting out and the bed making. Is that what you call incriminating evidence, inspector?’
He pointed to the bed—a large double one. It was laid with two pillows, both of which had obviously been slept upon. And protruding from under one of them was a corner of a pink nightdress.
Jimmy pulled it out and held it up. ‘Hardly the garment to suggest an elderly spinster of prudish disposition,’ he replied. ‘Willingdon’s ladies seem remarkably careless with their personal possessions. You’d better enclose that in the parcel with the handkerchief. Anything else to see?’
‘We’d better look into the other bedroom, I suppose,’ said Didcot, suiting the action to the words. ‘This one hasn’t been used, by the look of it. The bed hasn’t even been made up, you’ll notice. I can’t see any dilapidations, that’s one comfort. I’ll just have a look round the back premises and then I’m through.’
The search of the kitchen and scullery revealed nothing new, but Jimmy could not help noticing the completeness of the domestic arrangements. He remarked upon this to Didcot.
‘Oh, yes, everything here’s absolutely up to date,’ the house agent replied. ‘The cottage wasn’t anything like this in Squire Gunthorpe’s time, of course. The gardener and his wife lived here, and they didn’t trouble much about appearances. But when the estate was sold Mr Whiteway bought the place. And the first thing he did was to pull it about to suit himself. Spent quite a lot of money on it, too, one way and the other. Put in all the latest gadgets—tiled bathroom, latest type of gas cooker, electric refrigerator, coke boiler for constant hot water, pretty well everything else you can think of. It’s what Mrs Whiteway calls a labour-saving house, and she’s about right. But it wouldn’t suit me, for there isn’t a coal fire in the house. That doesn’t matter at this time of the year, I’ll allow, but of a winter’s evening I like to draw my chair up in front of a good blaze. Coal, with a nice ash log on top of it. That’s what I call comfort.’
Jimmy suddenly remembered Dr Priestley’s question. ‘Has Dr Thornborough over the way got water, gas and electricity laid on?’
‘Oh, yes. When this road was made after the estate was sold all main services were laid along it as far as the gate that leads to Mark Farm. Perhaps you’ve noticed that grass field beyond the doctor’s? Well, that’s for sale in building plots, and sooner or later it will be developed. The Council even brought the sewer up here in readiness. There’ll be quite a lot of good-class houses up this way before many years. Talking of the doctor, that was a bad business at his place last Saturday. I dare say it wouldn’t be a bad guess that it’s because of that you’re here?’
‘A pretty good one,’ Jimmy agreed. ‘I’d like to know in strict confidence, of course, what people in the town are saying about that affair?’
Didcot shrugged his shoulders. ‘There’s only one thing to be said, so far as I can see,’ he replied. ‘There aren’t many folk in Adderminster who’ll care to have Dr Thornborough in their houses after this. I wouldn’t myself, for one. I’d rather call in Dr Dorrington, though people do say that he’s getting a bit past his work.’
‘Do you know Dr Thornborough personally?’
‘As well as one ever does a doctor who attends one’s family. He came to see my wife a lot at the latter end
of last year when she had arthritis pretty bad. I liked the doctor, I must say. It seemed to me that he was pretty good at his job. I certainly shouldn’t have expected anything like this to happen.’
‘Then it’s a pretty general opinion that he killed Mr Fransham?’
‘Well, inspector, it’s like this,’ replied Didcot confidentially. ‘I don’t pretend to know the ins and outs of the business. That’s your affair, not mine. But what I say is this: If the doctor didn’t do it, who did? I don’t suppose there was anybody else besides him and his family in Adderminster so much as knew this Mr Fransham by sight. And as for that poor daft chap Alfie Prince, why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, even when he’s in one of those moods of his. They may say he’s balmy, but he’s perfectly harmless, I’ll swear to that.’
The two left the cottage and Jimmy walked across the road to Epidaurus. He spent the rest of the evening examining the house, the garage and the building land behind the brick wall. He had hoped against hope that he would find some clue which had hitherto been overlooked, but in this he was utterly disappointed. No fresh evidence of any kind rewarded his search. At last, utterly dispirited, he returned to the police station.
Next morning, after a decidedly uncomfortable interview with Superintendent Yateley, he returned to Scotland Yard and poured out his troubles to Hanslet.
‘I’m beaten, and it’s no use pretending I’m not,’ he said despondently. ‘And the worst of it is that the local people—Yateley, for instance—obviously think that I’ve let them down. Yateley as good as told me that if he’d kept things in his own hands instead of calling in the Yard he would have arrested Dr Thornborough and had a statement out of him long ago.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to prevent him doing that now,’ said Hanslet. ‘Why doesn’t he get on with it?’
‘Because although he’s convinced that the man’s guilty, he isn’t certain of getting an incriminating statement from him. And without that the case isn’t good enough to ensure a conviction. The prosecution would have to prove how the crime was committed, and that’s exactly what I haven’t been able to find out. In Yateley’s eyes it’s all my fault. But he’s not going to risk the acquittal of a man arrested by him on his own responsibility. And it makes me feel that I’ve made a hopeless mess of things.’
