by John Rhode
‘We shall probably never know what passed between Sir Godfrey and Mayland after the announcement of the former’s engagement to Miss Nancy Lanchester. The terms of his second will suggest that Sir Godfrey thought that since Mayland had been established in a profession at his expense, he was amply provided for. In any case, Mayland must have guessed that on his stepfather’s second marriage his own prospects as his sole heir would be at an end. He therefore decided to murder his stepfather before this event could take place.
‘I need hardly point out how exactly Mayland fulfils the conditions of knowledge of which I spoke just now. He had at one time lived in Sir Godfrey’s house, where he had met Mrs Thornborough before her marriage. He would, of course, have become aware of her husband’s name and where they lived. He would also know that Mr Fransham was in the habit of visiting them. Although he was well acquainted with Mrs Thornborough, it is probable that he had never met her husband, for we have been told that the doctor very rarely visited No. 4 Cheveley Street. From his own observations or from Sir Godfrey’s conversation, he would learn that Mr Fransham kept a car. Mayland himself told the superintendent that Sir Godfrey had been recommended to Black’s shop in Knightsbridge by Mr Fransham, who therefore presumably bought his own tobacco there.
‘Since Mayland for many years resided in his stepfather’s house and was a frequent visitor there subsequently, there is no need to labour the matter of his knowledge of Sir Godfrey’s habits. But we may profitably examine his opportunity of providing himself with a duplicate key by which to gain admission to No. 4. According to his own statement, which again is almost certainly true, Sir Godfrey gave him the original keys shortly after the house was vacated in order that he might inspect it with a view to modernisation. While the keys were thus in his possession no doubt he had a duplicate cut.
‘A further point concerns the termination of the lease of No. 4 by agreement. To anybody but Mayland the murder of Mr Fransham might have proved ineffectual. Sir Godfrey might well have refused to terminate the lease before it expired in due course on Christmas day. In which case Mr Fransham’s executors might have occupied it until then, or sub-let it for the remainder of the period. But Mayland, as an architect, was in a position to represent to his stepfather the desirability of taking advantage of Mr Fransham’s death, and of terminating the lease as soon as possible so that the proposed alterations could be carried out in time to secure a fresh tenant in the New Year.
‘Finally, you will not fail to have realised that the method employed in the murder of Sir Godfrey Branstock depended entirely upon the existence of the aperture between the two cellars. And, surely, Mayland was more likely to be aware of this than anyone else. He had supervised the alterations to No. 3 and in all probability he made the discovery while the work was being carried out. It meant nothing to him then, but he remembered it later when he was seeking the means of taking his stepfather’s life.’
Dr Priestley, having come to the end of his explanation, leant back in his chair and closed his eyes wearily. His interest in the matter was at an end. The problem had been solved to his own satisfaction; he had no concern in bringing the criminal to justice.
The two policemen rightly interpreted his silence as a sign of dismissal and quietly took their departure.
CHAPTER IX
On the following morning, Saturday, August 28, eleven weeks after Mr Fransham’s murder, two taxis pulled up at the door of No. 3 Cheveley Street. Hanslet descended from the first and rang the bell. The door was opened by Grace, the parlourmaid, who immediately recognised her visitor.
‘Is Mr Mayland at home?’ the superintendent asked.
‘Yes, sir, he’s in the study,’ Grace replied with a welcoming smile. ‘If you’ll come in, sir, I’ll tell him you’re here.’
A few moments later Hanslet was shown into the study and Mayland rose to greet him. ‘Hullo, superintendent, back again?’ he said. ‘What can I do for you this time?’
‘I want you to meet two friends of mine,’ Hanslet replied. ‘They’re waiting in a taxi outside and I should like you to come and speak to them for a moment.’
Mayland glanced at him sharply. ‘Not Nancy Lanchester or any of her friends, I hope?’ he asked.
‘So far as I know, my friends are not even acquainted with her,’ Hanslet replied.
‘In that case I’ll certainly go out and speak to them,’ said Mayland.
The two left the house by the front door, and Hanslet led the way to the second taxi. The blinds were pulled down, and Mayland could not see the occupants of the vehicle until Hanslet flung open the door.
‘Miss Bayne, whom I think you have met before at Harlow’s Hotel,’ he said. ‘And my colleague, Inspector Waghorn, whose visit to you at Adderminster you may possibly remember.’
Mayland recoiled swiftly but Hanslet’s hand was already on his arm. As he did so, Miss Bayne’s voice greeted him from the interior of the taxi. ‘Why, Frank!’ she exclaimed. ‘I never expected to meet you. Why haven’t you been to see me all this time?’
Mayland went deadly pale. ‘There’s some mistake here,’ he stammered. ‘My name isn’t Frank.’
‘But you told me yourself that it was, Mr Willingdon,’ Jimmy replied quietly. ‘Don’t you remember, that day in the cottage in Gunthorpe Road?’
‘I think you had better come with me, Mr Mayland,’ said Hanslet.
Mayland allowed himself to be led unresistingly into the first taxi. Hanslet took his seat beside him and the taxi drove to the police station.
During the period of remand ordered by the magistrate, the case against Mayland was swiftly built up. He was confronted with the true Willingdon, who recognised him at once. During his stay in London, Willingdon had met him several times at a bar in Leicester Square, and had learnt that he was known there as Tony. They had had several conversations together, and Willingdon remembered that his new friend had been very sympathetic over the details of his misfortune. He had given him a full account of the circumstances, and Tony had told him that if ever he wanted a small loan to help eke out his meagre allowance, he had only to ask for it. But curiously enough, once Tony had received his confidences, he had never reappeared at their meeting place.
Dr Thornborough identified Mayland as the patient who had called upon him under the name of Willingdon. On being questioned by Hanslet he gave further particulars of the incident. The wound though not very serious had bled freely, and some of the blood had dried on the surrounding parts of the hand. The doctor had taken his patient into the cloakroom and washed his hand there before applying the dressing. After the dressing had been applied, Mayland had been left alone in the consulting-room for a few moments while the doctor went to look for his pen in order to write out the prescription. On the occasion of Mayland’s call Mrs Thornborough was not in the house, having gone out to lunch with Colonel and Mrs Exbury.
Mr Didcot the house agent recognised in Mayland the tenant of the cottage in Gunthorpe Road.
The exertions of the police unearthed a lady who declared that her name was Gabrielle Sutherland. According to her she had, some time during April or May, made the acquaintance of a young gentleman whom she knew as Frank or Frankie. This acquaintance had rapidly ripened, and she had spent three weekends with him in a cottage at a place called Adderminster. On each occasion Frank had driven her down on Friday afternoon or evening and brought her back to London on Monday morning. A fourth weekend had been intended, and Frank had, as usual, driven her down to Adderminster. But on reaching the cottage he had found a letter waiting for him which announced that his mother was arriving on the morrow to spend the day. It was agreed between them that Miss Sutherland’s presence might be somewhat difficult to explain, so she had returned to London by train that same evening. The date of this annoying occurrence was established as June 11. She had not seen Frank since, but she recognised him immediately when she set eyes upon Anthony Mayland.
Investigation threw a revealing light upon Mayland’s circumstan
ces. It was perfectly true that he was a qualified architect, and had an office in an imposing building in Kingsway. But the most painstaking inquiries failed to discover that he had any clients. He appeared to have lived entirely upon a generous allowance made to him by his stepfather. But this had not sufficed him, and he had run heavily into debt. His creditors had begun to press him and only Sir Godfrey Branstock’s death had enabled him to stave them off. According to Mr Emscott, who confirmed Mayland’s story of the two wills, Sir Godfrey during the last few months of his life had begun to suspect that his stepson was wasting his time, and not attending so assiduously to business as he made out.
In the course of a search of Mayland’s office, a typewriter was found and handed over to the experts at Scotland Yard. According to them it was in all probability the machine on which had been typed the letter found in Mr Fransham’s pocket, and also the postcard to Black’s ordering the cigarettes. In the office were also found two plans, showing the basement and cellar of No. 3 and No. 4 respectively. On the plan relating to No. 3 the connection between the two cellars was clearly shown.
Mr Gilson, of the Peregrine Transport Co., attended an identification parade, in the course of which he picked out Mayland as the self-styled representative of Messrs. Ernest Willingdon & Sons. He recognised him as the man who had taken out the van on July 26 and returned it on August 16. The manager of Industrial Gases, Ltd., also attended this parade, and identified Mayland as the purchaser of the six cylinders of carbon dioxide.
A search of Mayland’s rooms resulted in the discovery of the key of the garage belonging to No. 4 Cheveley Street.
Mayland was duly committed for trial, and in spite of the earnest contention of his counsel that the evidence against him was purely circumstantial, was found guilty and condemned to death.
THE END
About the Author
John Rhode was a pseudonym for the author Cecil Street (1884–1964), who also wrote as Miles Burton and Cecil Waye. Having served in the British Army as an artillery officer during the First World War, rising to the rank of Major, he began writing non-fiction before turning to detective fiction, and produced four novels a year for thirty-seven years.
As his list of detective stories grew, so did the public’s appetite for his particular blending of humdrum everyday life with the startling appearance of the most curious kind of crimes. It was the Sunday Times who said of John Rhode that ‘he must hold the record for the invention of ingenious forms of murder’, and the Times Literary Supplement described him as ‘standing in the front rank of those who write detective fiction’.
Rhode’s first series novel, The Paddington Mystery (1925), introduced Dr Lancelot Priestley, who went on to appear in 72 novels, many of them for Collins Crime Club. The Priestley books are classics of scientific detection, with the elderly Dr Priestley demonstrating how apparently impossible crimes have been carried out, and they are now highly sought after by collectors.
By the same author
Death at Breakfast
Mystery at Olympia
Death at Breakfast
‘One always embarks on a John Rhode book with a great feeling of security. One knows that there will be a sound plot, a well-knit process of reasoning and a solidly satisfying solution with no loose ends or careless errors of fact.’
DOROTHY L. SAYERS in THE SUNDAY TIMES
Victor Harleston awoke with uncharacteristic optimism. Today he would be rich at last. Half an hour later, he gulped down his breakfast coffee and pitched to the floor, gasping and twitching. When the doctor arrived, he recognised instantly that it was a fatal case of poisoning and called in Scotland Yard.
Despite an almost complete absence of clues, the circumstances were so suspicious that Inspector Hanslet soon referred the evidence to his friend and mentor, Dr Lancelot Priestley, whose deductions revealed a diabolically ingenious murder that would require equally fiendish ingenuity to solve.
‘Death at Breakfast is full of John Rhode’s specialties: a new and excellently ingenious method of murder, a good story, and a strong chain of deduction.’
DAILY TELEGRAPH
Mystery at Olympia
‘Readers know well what to expect from John Rhode, and in this story they will not be disappointed … The tale is neat and clear and logical, and there are no loose ends.’
TIMES LITERARY SUPPLEMENT
The new Comet was fully expected to be the sensation of the annual Motor Show at Olympia. Suddenly, in the middle of the dense crowd of eager spectators, an elderly man lurched forward and collapsed in a dead faint. But Nahum Pershore had not fainted. He was dead, and it was his death that was to provide the real sensation of the show.
A post-mortem revealed no visible wound, no serious organic disorder, no evidence of poison. Doctors and detectives were equally baffled, and the more they investigated, the more insoluble the puzzle became. Even Dr Lancelot Priestley’s un-rivalled powers of deduction were struggling to solve this case.
‘Mystery at Olympia is, of course, admirably pieced together. One expects that of Mr Rhode; but it also marks an advance in the psychological treatment of his characters.’
ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS
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