Invisible Weapons

by John Rhode

  ‘But what about the girl he had with him, sir?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘The evidence of the lady’s presence at the cottage on that particular Saturday fails to convince me,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘There is no doubt that Willingdon wished to create the impression that he had taken the cottage for the entertainment of his lady friends. The subsequent discovery of feminine apparel supports this view. According to Mr Didcot, the house agent, a lady was seen with him in his car on the Friday afternoon. But there is no evidence to prove that he did not drive her back to London that night.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what to make of all this, professor,’ said Hanslet doubtfully. ‘Unless Willingdon is a criminal lunatic, I utterly fail to see why he should have murdered Mr Fransham. But after what you’ve told me, I shall certainly send Jimmy up to Leeds to interview him.’

  ‘A very sensible proceeding,’ said Dr Priestley approvingly. ‘I could suggest several questions which might be asked him. Why, for instance, his father’s firm hired a motor-van from the Peregrine Transport Co., for a period of three weeks, during part of which time at least the van was accommodated in the garage belonging to No. 4 Cheveley Street. One moment, superintendent, before you make any comment. Harold, would you be good enough to repeat the conversation which you had with Mr Gilson last Saturday morning?’

  Harold complied with this request, and the superintendent listened to his story with close attention. ‘That’s very extraordinary,’ he said, ‘and it certainly wants looking into. But I don’t see that it connects young Willingdon in any way with Mr Fransham’s death.’

  ‘The connection is indirect, certainly,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘But it seemed to me that the presence of this van in the garage belonging to No. 4 called for further investigation. The first and most obvious question was: How had the driver obtained access to the place? To that question there were many possible answers. If the van had been placed in the garage before Sir Godfrey Branstock’s death, it might have been with his full knowledge and consent. He might have offered the use of the garage to the driver and given him the key. But if the proceedings had been as straightforward as this, why should the driver have found it necessary to make a false statement as to his movements to Mr Gilson?

  ‘The alternative, and to my mind, the more likely answer to the question, was that some person had made use of the garage without authority. As I have already pointed out to Harold, there are several people who at one time or another could have provided themselves with a duplicate key to the front door of No. 4. Anyone of these people could have let himself into the house with such a key and abstracted the key of the garage from its hook.

  ‘Bearing the possibility of unauthorised entry in mind, I could not fail to be struck by another curious circumstance. According to Stowell, the communicating door at the time he left the house had not been opened for years, and the bolts were so rusted that he made no attempt to move them. We have hitherto had no reason to doubt Stowell’s statements. Yet when Harold and I visited the house on Saturday morning, we found that the bolts and locks of this door moved with remarkable ease. There is very little room for doubt that the door had been put in usable condition during the intervening period.

  ‘Now, the sole purpose of that door is to form a passage between the house and the garage. If an unauthorised person had access to the house, it was only reasonable to suppose that it was he who had opened the door. But why had he done so? Certainly not to enable him to remove objects from the house to the van, for practically everything portable had already been taken away.

  ‘I had better explain at this stage that I have never been altogether convinced that Sir Godfrey Branstock’s death was accidental. I am perfectly ready to admit that accumulations of foul air in cellars due to escapes of sewer gas have occurred, and will probably occur again. But it seemed to me rather curious that Sir Godfrey’s death should have taken place shortly after the vacation of No. 4. And with the incidents of the van and the communicating door in my mind, I began to seek for some alternative solution. With the help of a trade directory, I compiled a list of firms, and at my request Harold visited these in turn. Will you tell the superintendent what you discovered, my boy?’

  ‘It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon that I got on the track,’ Harold replied. ‘I had made inquiries at the offices of three or four firms, asking one particular question, and had received negative replies. My question was whether a cylinder or cylinders of carbon dioxide had been collected between July 26 and August 4 by a young man driving a thirty hundredweight Comet van, bearing the name of the Peregrine Transport Co.’

  Oldland made a sudden movement in his chair, but said nothing.

  ‘Eventually I found my way to a firm called Industrial Gases, Ltd.,’ Harold continued. ‘Their place is in Silvertown, and they deal in the various gases which are used for manufacturing purposes. I interviewed the manager and put my usual question to him. After some inquiry he told me that six cylinders of carbon dioxide had been collected from them on July 27 by a van which answered to my description. The empty cylinders had been returned on the morning of August 16.

  ‘At my request the manager gave me further particulars; on July 23 he had received a telephone inquiry as to the current price of carbon dioxide. The caller asked for a quotation for six cylinders, and this was given him. He accepted this quotation, explaining that he had bought a small soda water factory in South London. He said that on the following Tuesday he would send a van to collect the cylinders, which would be paid for by the driver. On that day the driver appeared, paid for the cylinders in cash and signed a receipt in a book for them. The manager produced this book and showed me the signature, which appeared to be W. Coates. On August 16 the empty cylinders were brought back by the same van and driver. The deposit on the cylinders was returned to the driver, who gave a second signature similar to the first.’

  ‘That’s damned queer!’ Hanslet exclaimed. ‘But I’m blest if I can quite understand it now.’

  ‘I will do my best to explain the theory that I have formed,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘In the first place, Harold’s investigations have established the possibility that a van containing six fully charged cylinders of carbon dioxide was standing in the garage belonging to No. 4 at the time of Sir Godfrey Branstock’s death. The driver of that van had access to the house and could therefore open the communicating door and pass through at his pleasure.

  ‘The distance from the back of the garage, through the harness room and the connecting door to the cellar door of No. 4, is approximately twenty feet. In the harness-room Harold and I observed a length of stove pipe and a bend which would fit on to the end of this. The cellar door is in such a dilapidated state that the stove pipe could be pushed through the gap in the panel. It would then reach to the bottom of the cellar, leaving the bend on a level with the basement floor.

  ‘My theory is that the van driver drove into the garage very shortly after he had collected the cylinders, placed the stove pipe in the position which I have described, and then awaited his opportunity. It was known to several people that Sir Godfrey Branstock proposed to give a dinner party on his birthday, which occurred on Wednesday, August 4. Following his invariable custom, he would go down to the cellar that evening between seven and eight o’clock and select the wines he required. The man, whom we will continue to call the driver since we do not at present know his name, determined to take advantage of this.

  ‘It was perfectly easy for him to fill the cellar of No. 3 with a lethal concentration of carbon dioxide. In order to avoid the necessity of moving the heavy cylinders, he probably led a piece of rubber tubing from the bend of the stove pipe to the nozzle of each cylinder in turn. He thus directed a stream of carbon dioxide into the cellar of No. 4. The gas rapidly found its own level in the cellar of No. 3 through the aperture in the dividing wall.

  ‘I have no doubt that he was actually in the basement of No. 4 when Sir Godfrey entered the cellar of No. 3. If so, he could probab
ly hear his victim’s footsteps descending the stone stairs. When he failed to hear ascending footsteps, he would know that his plan had been successful.

  ‘But he had a further point to consider. Sooner or later a search would be made for Sir Godfrey, and his body would be discovered. If the cellars were left full of gas, other victims would possibly succumb, and an immediate investigation would probably follow. That, I think, is the significance of the buzzing noise, which in my opinion was actually heard by Mrs Quinton. I observed an electric point in the basement of No. 4, close to the cellar door. I think it extremely probable that the driver had connected some sort of exhaust fan to this point. As soon as he was satisfied that Sir Godfrey was dead, he applied this fan to the end of the stove pipe and by this means drew the greater part of the gas out of the cellars. He then returned the stove pipe to the harness-room and closed the communicating door. Unless the garage of No. 4 were to be searched, no trace of his crime remained.’

  There was a silence of a few seconds after Dr Priestley finished speaking. Then Oldland spoke. ‘That’s a damned ingenious theory,’ he said. ‘And I’m bound to say that it fits in with the facts as far as we know them. It gets over the difficulty of the gas finding its way from the sewer through the debris which choked the gully. And it also accounts for the dust on the floor on the cellar of No. 4 not having been disturbed for ages. There’s only one possible criticism that I can make. When I went down into the cellar of No. 3 that evening I didn’t detect any trace of sulphuretted hydrogen. Nor did the Home Office analyst next day. But the Borough Surveyor did when he inspected the cellar of No. 4 on the following Monday. How do you account for that?’

  ‘By the fact that the inquest had been held on the Friday,’ Dr Priestley replied quietly.

  Oldland stared at him. ‘What the devil has that got to do with it?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just this. The driver had not thought of sewer gas as a possible explanation until the coroner suggested it. But the idea having been put into his head, he saw the advantages of adopting it in its entirety. So, before the time of the Borough Surveyor’s visit, he contrived that there should be a trace of sulphuretted hydrogen in the atmosphere of the cellars. Perhaps I had better explain for the benefit of the superintendent that the production of sulphuretted hydrogen is an exceedingly simple matter. If he will place some ferrous sulphide in a saucer and pour a little dilute sulphuric acid over it he will be rewarded by the characteristic aroma of the gas.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it, professor,’ said Hanslet. ‘According to what I’ve been told, the stuff smells abominably. What I want to know is why this man you call the driver left the van in the garage for such a long time after Sir Godfrey’s death?’

  ‘For two reasons. First, because he had nowhere else to put it. He had hired the van for three weeks, not knowing, when he did so, exactly when his opportunity would occur. If he had returned it before that period had expired, questions might have been asked. Second, because he did not care to take the risk of removing the van until he was assured that all inquiries into Sir Godfrey’s death were safely at an end.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable enough,’ Hanslet agreed. ‘Now let me see if I’ve got this right, professor. According to your theory, this young chap Francis Willingdon murdered both Mr Fransham and Sir Godfrey Branstock.’

  ‘I feel convinced that both murders were carried out by the same hand,’ Dr Priestley replied.

  ‘But what on earth was his object? I suppose it is possible that in some way we haven’t yet discovered, he derives a benefit of some kind from one of these murders. But I utterly refuse to believe that he can have profited from both of them. All our investigations have failed to establish more than a mere acquaintance between the two men.’

  ‘I hardly think that we are yet in a position to discuss the question of motive,’ Dr Priestley replied, with a faint smile. ‘But I think you will agree that circumstances warrant a further interrogation of Francis Willingdon.’

  ‘Oh yes, we’ll interrogate him right enough,’ said Hanslet grimly. ‘Since Jimmy knows him already he’d better have the job. He’ll make it his business to go up to Leeds by the very first train in the morning.’

  CHAPTER VIII

  Jimmy reached Leeds shortly after eleven o’clock next morning and made his way at once to the police station. Here he explained his errand to the inspector on duty and asked his advice.

  ‘Francis Willingdon?’ the inspector replied. ‘Oh yes, your people asked us some time ago to keep an eye on him. Our information is that he’s kept his nose pretty hard to the grindstone since that little escapade of his two or three months ago. He’s working in his father’s office, and he hasn’t left this town since he came back from London about the middle of June.’

  ‘Are you quite sure of that?’ Jimmy asked. ‘We have very good reason to believe that he was in London on at least one day in July and two in August.’

  The inspector laughed. ‘I don’t know what your reasons may be, but I fancy that our information’s sound enough. One of our men is on particularly good terms with the cook at the Howdahs, where the family live. And you may be sure that he hasn’t any difficulty in keeping himself abreast of the domestic arrangements.’

  ‘Well, that’s as may be,’ said Jimmy doubtfully. ‘Anyway I should like a few words with him if you’ve no objection. Where is this office you talk about?’

  ‘Not more than a couple of hundred yards away. I’ll ring up and find out if he’s there, if you like. For the matter of that, I’ll ask him to come round here and see me. I know him slightly and he won’t think that there’s anything unusual up.’

  Jimmy agreed to this course. The inspector put a room at his disposal and went away to put through the necessary call. A few minutes later he returned, accompanied by a pale-faced and immaculately-dressed young man. ‘Let me introduce you to Mr Francis Willingdon,’ he said.

  Jimmy stood up and looked searchingly at the new arrival. Several weeks had passed since his one and only short interview with Francis Willingdon in the cottage at Adderminster. During that period his duties had brought him into close contact with so many different types that he hardly remembered the details of Willingdon’s appearance. Only the noticeable pallor of the young man’s face aroused a chord of memory.

  ‘Good-morning, Mr Willingdon,’ Jimmy said briskly. ‘I expect you remember our last meeting, don’t you?’

  Willingdon shook his head languidly. ‘You’ll forgive me, I know,’ he replied. ‘My mental processes refuse to react to the stimulus of your features. Didn’t somebody once say that memory was a treacherous jade? I really can’t locate your portrait in the gallery of my acquaintances. Perhaps upon some jovial occasion you were a boon companion of my cups?’

  ‘Perhaps my name will recall me to your memory,’ said Jimmy quietly. ‘I am Inspector Waghorn from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Bless my soul!’ Willingdon exclaimed, ‘the very fact of meeting you in a police station might have made me suspect something of the kind. And what message has the guardian of the law for the humble transgressor?’

  Jimmy frowned at this untimely levity. ‘In the first place, Mr Willingdon, I have to warn you that any statement you may make may be used subsequently as evidence,’ he said sharply.

  Willingdon opened his eyes wide at this, but it seemed to Jimmy that his equanimity remained undisturbed. ‘How too terribly thrilling!’ he exclaimed. ‘Evidence in support of what, may I ask?’

  ‘Of murder,’ Jimmy replied swiftly. ‘Of the murder of Mr Robert Fransham in June last and of Sir Godfrey Branstock three weeks ago.’

  Willingdon rubbed his nose thoughtfully with his forefinger. ‘You’ve mistaken your environment, inspector,’ he said. ‘This is Leeds, not Delphos. There may be cells in this police station but I very much doubt that they’re prophetic. And I’m certainly not the pale-eyed priest. As for the defunct gentlemen you mention, I never had the honour of their acquaintance. But I seem to remember
the name of Fransham. Wasn’t he the bloke who was knocked on the head in the cloakroom of his nephew’s house in the country somewhere?’

  Jimmy made a gesture of impatience. ‘That won’t do,’ he said sternly. ‘You know very well that you were living in Adderminster at the time of Mr Fransham’s death, and that I interviewed you on the subject next day.’

  ‘Living in Adderminster!’ Willingdon exclaimed. ‘You’ve got hold of the jammy end of the spoon this time, inspector. I assure you on my honour as a faithful beer-drinker that I never heard of the place in my life. Wait a minute, though. Yes, I have.’

  ‘How did you come to hear of it?’

  ‘Through a silly joke played on me by some facetious ass. Without rending the veil which covers my murky past, I may whisper into your sympathetic ear that a brief idyll of light-hearted dalliance led to my temporary banishment from this salubrious city. Shortly after my return I received a package, in which was enclosed a letter from a house agent in this place of yours. The package contained an article of lingerie to which clung a faint memory of all the scents of Araby. And the letter suggested that I—I mark you, the innocent blue-eyed boy—had left this flimsy but compromising garment in a residence which I was alleged to have inhabited.’