by John Rhode
On the other hand, there was that curious story of the two wills which Mayland had unfolded. The significance of the situation had not escaped the superintendent. He had very little doubt that Sir Godfrey had told Nancy Lanchester that he had drawn up a will in her favour. But it was most unlikely that he had revealed to her that he had been persuaded by his solicitor not to sign it until after the wedding. She, believing the will to be already valid, would thus have a motive for getting Sir Godfrey out of the way, and so avoiding the necessity of marrying a man very many years older than herself. For it was quite obvious to Hanslet that her object had been not Sir Godfrey himself, but his money.
But, once embarked on this line of thought, he recalled to his memory the details which Dr Oldland had given him of the affair. Nancy Lanchester and her two cousins had been in the house at the time of Sir Godfrey’s death. That in itself was a suspicious circumstance. And, although the medical evidence as to the cause of Sir Godfrey’s death had been unquestioned at the time, the bare possibility remained that a mistake had been made. Was it too fantastic to imagine that he might have been over-powered and suffocated, and his body subsequently deposited in the cellar?
But even if this wholly unsupported theory could be maintained, Dr Priestley’s suggestion remained as obscure as ever. What connection could be established between the two murders? On the one hand Dr Thornborough could not possibly have contrived Sir Godfrey’s death, nor had he any conceivable motive for wishing to do so. On the other hand, though by a stretch of the imagination it might be possible to suppose that Nancy Lanchester and her friends could have contrived the death of Mr Fransham, what possible object could they have had in doing so?
Nor was there any similarity in the causes of death in either case. Even allowing for errors of detail in diagnosis, there could be no doubt that Sir Godfrey had died of suffocation. It had been established with absolute certainty that Mr Fransham had died as the result of a fractured skull. How the injury had been inflicted was still a mystery, but that did not alter the fact.
That afternoon a reply came to the message which Hanslet had dispatched to Adderminster earlier in the day. Superintendent Yateley reported that he had made inquiries as requested. The result of these showed that at the time that Epidaurus was completed Dr Thornborough had had a refrigerator installed there. It was the pattern known as the ‘Icicle’, Type 15. The refrigerator had now been removed from the house together with the rest of the doctor’s belongings. A refrigerator was also installed in the cottage owned by Mr Whiteway. This was a ‘Snowflake’, Type Z7.
Hanslet called upon Dr Priestley that evening and gave him an account of his activities during the day.
‘You see how it is, professor,’ he said. ‘There’s only about one chance in ten thousand that Sir Godfrey’s death was due to foul play. His bedroom and dressing-room are on the same floor as the lounge where his guests were assembled that evening. I suppose it’s just within the bounds of possibility that he was attacked and suffocated in one of these rooms. Nancy Lanchester and her two cousins might have been capable between them of carrying his body down to the cellar. But how on earth they could have done so in a house full of servants is more than I can imagine. And the only other alternative is that his death was due to sheer accident.’
‘I do not think that is the only other alternative,’ Dr Priestley replied gently. ‘However, that point need not detain us at present. I understand that Mr Mayland and Stowell are in exact agreement as to the keys of No. 4 handed over to Sir Godfrey?’
‘Their statements coincide exactly,’ Hanslet replied.
‘Then we may, for the present, accept them as correct. Again, the evidence that the cellar of No. 4 had not been entered for some considerable period before Sir Godfrey’s death appears to be incontrovertible. We have Stowell’s statement to that effect, which appears to be confirmed by the dust observed by the district surveyor. Really, superintendent, I envy you an investigation which offers so much scope for pure detection.’
Hanslet laughed. ‘There’s no question of any official investigation into the cause of Sir Godfrey’s death,’ he replied. ‘The coroner’s jury brought in a verdict of accidental death, and up to the present I’ve found no cause to disagree with that verdict. So that if you envy me the job, there’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t take it over.’
‘Do you mean that seriously?’ Dr Priestley asked.
‘Perfectly seriously, professor.’
‘In that case I may possibly do so,’ said Dr Priestley quietly. ‘Did you ascertain Mr Mayland’s intentions regarding No. 4?’
‘He means to sell both houses,’ Hanslet replied. ‘And he told me that if I knew of a likely purchaser, he’d be glad if I’d send him along. And there’s just one more thing, professor; you remember that test question of yours last night about the refrigerators. Well, just to demonstrate that the police are always in a position to find out details, no matter how unimportant, I’ve got the answer for you. Not only can I tell you which of the houses were fitted with refrigerators, but I can supply the make and type.’
‘I congratulate you, superintendent. Can you repeat the particulars?’
Hanslet took a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Here they are,’ he replied. ‘There was no refrigerator in No. 4, apparently because Mr Fransham was too mean to buy one. Sir Godfrey in No. 3 had a “Storfresh”, Type A.D. Dr Thornborough at Epidaurus had an “Icicle”, Type 15. Mr Whiteway in the cottage at Gunthorpe Road has a “Snowflake”, Type Z7. You were apparently quite right about the popularity of the domestic refrigerator. Three out of these four houses had one installed.’
‘That is most interesting,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘Perhaps you will allow Harold to copy those particulars?’
‘He needn’t trouble about that,’ Hanslet replied. ‘He can have this paper that I’ve written them down on. And now if you don’t mind, professor, I’ll be getting back to the Yard. Having been out all the morning, I’ve got some arrears to make up before I go home.’
CHAPTER VI
Anthony Mayland had barely finished his breakfast next morning, Saturday, August 21st, when Grace, the parlourmaid at No. 3, brought him a card on a silver salver.
‘There’s a gentleman just called, sir,’ she said. ‘And he’d like to see you if it’s convenient.’
Mayland picked up the card and looked at it. ‘Never heard of him,’ he replied, ‘but I’d better see him, I suppose. All right, Grace, show him into the study and tell him that I’ll be along in a moment.’
A couple of minutes later he entered the study to find his visitor standing in the middle of the room. ‘Good-morning, Mr Merefield,’ he said. ‘Won’t you sit down? That’s right. Now, what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?’
‘I’ve called on behalf of my employer, Dr Priestley,’ Harold replied. ‘Superintendent Hanslet, whom I believe you know, has told him that you are anxious to sell the house next door.’
‘Yes, I know the superintendent,’ said Mayland. ‘He was here yesterday, and I told him that I wanted to sell both houses. Am I to understand that Dr Priestley is interested in No. 4?’
‘He thinks from what the superintendent has said that it might suit him. Between ourselves, I think he’s rather keen. Anyhow, he’s waiting outside in a taxi now. He sent me in to ask you if you would allow him to look over the house.’
‘I’d be delighted,’ Mayland replied with a glance at the clock. ‘The only thing is that I’ve got an appointment at my solicitor’s in half an hour, and I can’t possibly spare the time to show you over the place. But if you like to take the keys and look over the house by yourselves, you’re quite welcome. You can hand them back again to my maid when you’ve finished. But I warn you that the place is in a bit of a mess. I was contemplating certain alterations, and so did not trouble to have the place cleaned out after the last tenant left.’
‘Dr Priestley won’t mind that,’ said Harold. ‘I’d be very glad of the loan of the key
s, and they shall be returned as soon as we’ve seen over the place.’
Mayland took the three keys from the desk and gave them to Harold. ‘It doesn’t matter which you use,’ he said. ‘They all fit the front door. When you’ve done with them, just ring the bell and hand them into the parlourmaid, will you?’ He escorted Harold to the door and glanced at the taxi standing outside No. 4. He could see the somewhat severe face of the elderly gentleman sitting in it.
Dr Priestley got out of the taxi, which drove away after Harold had paid the driver. ‘You saw Mr Mayland?’ he asked.
‘Yes, sir. Unfortunately he has an appointment which prevents him from showing us over the place himself. However, he gave me the keys. Here they are.’
Dr Priestley took the keys and approached the front door. It was characteristic of him that he should try each key in the lock in turn to find that they opened it with equal facility. He and Harold entered the house and shut the front door behind them. They then proceeded to inspect the house in complete silence, beginning at the top floor. Dr Priestley did not seem inclined for conversation, and Harold naturally respected his wishes.
It was not until they had completed their tour of the ground floor that Dr Priestley made any remarks. ‘A very comfortable house of the old-fashioned type,’ he said. ‘Its main disadvantage, of course, is that the kitchen premises are situated in the basement. Sir Godfrey Branstock was well advised when he had his own house modernised. However, while we are here we had better inspect the basement and ascertain its possibilities.’
Access to the basement in No. 4 was, as in the case of No. 3, obtained by means of a door in the hall, beyond which was a flight of stairs. Indeed, the internal arrangement of the two houses was exactly similar. Dr Priestley and Harold descended these stairs, to find themselves in a wide passage off which several doors opened. They inspected in turn, the kitchen, the servants’ hall, the scullery, the pantry and the larder, to find these all empty. Only three doors then remained unopened. One by the foot of the stairs and one at each extremity of the passage. All these three doors were locked, with the keys in position. The two latter were bolted as well.
Dr Priestley turned his attention to the first of these doors, which had been heavily made of thick boards and fitted with a massive lock. But age and the dampness of the basement had done its work, and at the bottom of the door the wood had rotted away in places from the nails which secured it. Dr Priestley, investigating this, found that at one place the boards could be pushed away from the framework of the door, leaving an orifice several inches wide. Through this orifice could be seen, by the help of an electric torch produced by Harold, a flight of stone steps. This, then, was evidently the door giving access to the cellar.
Harold was about to turn the key, but Dr Priestley restrained him. ‘We need not open that door,’ he said. ‘We have ascertained that it leads to the cellar, which is sufficient for us. It is possible, though extremely unlikely, that there may still be some foul air present. We will make a note that this door needs repairing. We will now turn our attention to the other two.’
As could be seen through a small window beside it, the door at the farther end of the passage led into the area. Dr Priestley, after glancing at the bolts which secured it, shook his head.
‘We need not open that,’ he said. ‘But the door at this end of the passage should lead into the mews, and I particularly wish to inspect the accommodation available there. Unfortunately, according to Stowell, this door was never used in Mr Fransham’s time, and we may therefore find difficulty in opening it.’
‘I’ll have a shot at it, anyhow,’ Harold replied. He applied himself to the upper bolt, which drew back with surprising ease. Nor did the lower bolt offer any greater resistance. He turned the key, which moved smoothly in the lock. Finally, at a pull upon the handle, the door swung open noiselessly upon its hinges. ‘It looks to me, sir, as though the fastenings of this door have been oiled not very long ago,’ Harold exclaimed.
‘And what does that suggest to you, my boy?’ Dr Priestley asked good-humouredly.
‘That someone was in the habit of using it to get in or out of the house secretly, sir. Probably, I should think, Coates the chauffeur. We know that he had a key of the front door, but every time that he came in or out of that way he would be pretty sure to be seen. Whereas he could slip through this door into the mews without anyone being the wiser.’
Dr Priestley made no comment upon this. ‘Let us see what is beyond the door,’ he said.
They passed through the doorway and found themselves in what had originally been the harness-room of the stabling. It contained a tortoise stove, which had long ago been dismantled and pushed away in a corner. Beside it lay a six-foot length of four-inch stove pipe, very rusty, and a couple of bends. During Mr Fransham’s occupation of No. 4, this room had evidently been used by Coates as a place in which to deposit unwanted rubbish. Lying about the floor, or hanging up on various projections from the wall, were a number of empty oil drums and half a dozen disused motor-car tyres.
The harness-room possessed three doors in all. These were: the one communicating with the house, by which they had entered the harness-room, a second outside door leading into the yard of the mews, and a third opening into the coach-house lately used as a garage. The second of these was locked, with the key in position on the inside, and the third was open. A flight of wooden steps led from the harness-room to the floor above. There was no interior connection between the stalls which stood beside the coach-house and the rest of the stabling.
They proceeded first to investigate the coach-house, which was large enough to contain two cars of medium size. Dr Priestley directed his attention to the double doors leading into the yard. One of these doors was secured by internal fastenings, and the other was locked to it, but the key was not in the lock. Having satisfied himself of this, Dr Priestley examined the floor as though searching for some object. He found nothing, for the floor presented a surprising contrast to the unkempt appearance of the rest of the establishment. It was, in fact, remarkably clean, as though it had been washed not very long before.
Dr Priestley called Harold’s attention to this. ‘It is curious that the garage should have been cleaned out, and the harness-room left in such a terribly untidy state,’ he said. ‘But what is even more curious is the absence of the key of the coach-house door. The dimensions of the lock indicate that it must be of considerable size. It is unlikely, therefore, that it has been overlooked. Yet neither Mr Mayland nor Stowell have made any mention of it having been handed over to Sir Godfrey Branstock. Would you be good enough, Harold, to mount that flight of wooden steps in the harness-room and explore the floor above?’
Harold returned from his explorations to find Dr Priestley still standing in the coach-house, apparently absorbed in thought. ‘There is nothing to be seen upstairs, sir,’ he reported. ‘There are two good-sized rooms, both completely empty. And, judging from the thick layer of dust covering the floor, I should say that nobody had been into them for ages. You remember that we were told that Coates lived in the house itself.’
Dr Priestley nodded. ‘I should like to inspect the yard,’ he said. ‘We could reach it by unlocking the door in the harness-room, but perhaps it is better not to do so. We will re-enter the house by the way we came.’
They did so, Dr Priestley insisting that the intercommunicating door should be left exactly as they had found it. Harold therefore bolted it and turned the key. They then left the house by the front door and walked down the approach between Nos. 4 and 5 into the mews.
A couple of chauffeurs were standing in the yard, smoking cigarettes and exchanging reminiscences. Dr Priestley walked up to them. ‘Do either of you know a man called Coates?’ he asked abruptly.
The chauffeurs stared at this elderly gentleman, who had so unceremoniously interrupted their conversation. ‘Coates, sir?’ one of them replied. ‘Yes, if you mean him that used to drive the car for the gentleman in No. 4. I knew him
well enough, and a surly sort of chap he was. It was as much as he could do to pass the time of day with anyone. But he’s not here now. He left soon after his guv’nor was killed. And to the best of my belief he went down into the country somewhere.’
‘You have not seen him about here since then?’
‘The chauffeur shook his head. ‘There wouldn’t be any occasion for him to come back,’ he replied. ‘His guv’nor’s car was never brought back here, and I don’t suppose the garage belonging to No. 4 has been so much as opened for a couple of months or more.’
The second chauffeur, who had not yet spoken, took his cigarette out of his mouth.
‘That’s just where you’re wrong, Jack,’ he said complacently. ‘There was a car, or a van rather, in that garage not a week ago.’
‘Well, I didn’t know that,’ said the one who had been addressed as Jack. ‘A van, you say? Bringing over some builder’s stuff, likely enough. I’ve heard it said that now No. 4’s empty they’re going to alter it the same as they did No. 3.’
‘That’s just what I thought when I saw the van draw out. Last Sunday morning it was, round about four o’clock, just as it was getting light. You remember that terrible toothache I had, Jack? When I went to see the dentist about it on the Monday morning he said I’d got an abscess.’
‘Of pain, no doubt,’ said Dr Priestley politely. ‘You have my hearfelt sympathy. But you were saying something about a van?’
‘That’s right, sir. It was owing to the toothache that I came to see the van, as I was going to tell you. What with the pain, I couldn’t sleep a wink all night and when I heard an engine start in the yard I got up and looked out of the window. I sleep over the garage that belongs to No. 2, if you understand me, sir. And Jack here, who’s employed at No. 5, sleeps over his garage the same as I do. We’re the only two who sleep on the mews, for No. 1 and No. 6 don’t keep cars. No. 4’s empty, and the garage belonging to No. 3 has been done away with, as you can see for yourself, sir.’
