Cosgrove smoked quietly, while Tanner paid his bill and got ready to leave the restaurant. At last the others made a move, Cosgrove dropping the cigarette end into the saucer of his coffee cup. Tanner moved aside, and turned his back till they had passed, then returning to his table as if he had forgotten something, he rapidly picked up the cigarette end, quenched it and dropped it into one of the little boxes he always carried. Then he hurried out after his quarry, and as they took another taxi, re-entered his own.
This time they had a longer run. It was not till they reached Lyme Avenue, Chelsea, that the chase ended. There at the door of a block of flats the two dismounted. But Cosgrove did not go in. When the lady had disappeared he returned to his taxi, and started back towards London. Tanner’s driver had run on towards the end of the road, but he skilfully manœuvred for position, and soon was back in his own place behind the other.
At the door of the Huntingdon Club in Piccadilly, Cosgrove dismounted, paid off his driver and entered the building. This suiting Tanner’s plans as well as anything else, he also paid his man, and after a few minutes followed Cosgrove into the club.
Handing the porter another of his false cards—Mr Percival Hepworth-Jones, The Constitutional—he asked for Cosgrove, and was shown into a waiting-room.
In about ten minutes Cosgrove appeared—a questioning, puzzled look on his thin, good-looking face.
‘I must apologise, Mr Ponson,’ began the Inspector, ‘for sending in a card which is not my own. You are wondering where you have seen me before?’
‘I confess that I am. I know your face, but I can’t recall our meeting.’
‘We didn’t meet, but you saw me at the inquest at Luce Manor. I am Inspector Tanner of Scotland Yard, and I have been put in charge of the case.’
The Inspector, who was watching the other keenly, noticed a sudden look flash across his face and then disappear. It was not exactly a look of alarm. Rather was it that of a man brought suddenly face to face with a danger he had long recognised—a kind of bracing of himself to meet a crisis which was at last at hand. But his manner was free from any trace of anxiety as he motioned his visitor to a chair.
‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘of course. I remember now. My cousin, Austin Ponson, told me about you. So you fear my uncle’s end might have been suicide? It is a horrible idea, and you won’t mind my saying that I cannot but think you are wrong. He was not at all that kind of man.’
‘So I am beginning to think, Mr Ponson. But orders are orders. I have been told to investigate and report, and I must do so.’
Cosgrove agreed and they conversed for some time. Tanner asked a good many questions, but without learning anything of interest. Then at last he came to the real object of his visit. Speaking very much as he had done to Austin, he asked Cosgrove to state his own movements on the fatal Wednesday night. Cosgrove, unlike Austin, got on his high horse.
‘Really, Inspector, I think that’s a little too much. Why should I tell you anything of the kind? What has it to do with the affair?’
Tanner could be direct enough when he saw cause.
‘Why this, Mr Ponson,’ he answered, still watching the other keenly. ‘As you must see, the possibility of suicide involves that of murder also. The question I have asked you is asked in such cases as a matter of course to every one interested.’
Cosgrove started slightly at the last words.
‘Interested?’ he repeated. ‘What do you mean by that? Do you think I was interested?’
‘Mr Ponson, as reasonable men we must both see that you were interested. You will forgive me—I don’t wish to be offensive—but it is common knowledge that you are in low water financially, and that you benefit considerably under the will.’
‘Good Heavens!’ Ponson cried angrily, ‘and do you actually mean to say you suspect me of murdering Sir William?’
‘I mean nothing of the kind, Mr Ponson. I only want to justify myself in asking you the question to which you have just objected.’
Cosgrove did not reply. At last Tanner went on in a courteous tone:
‘Obviously, I cannot force you to answer me, Mr Ponson. But it must be clear to you that should you decline you may raise suspicions which, no matter how unfounded, are bound to be unpleasant. Please don’t think I am speaking threateningly. You can see the matter as clearly as I.’
The Inspector’s moderation appeared to bring Cosgrove, to a decision. He moved nervously, and then replied:
‘I suppose you are right, Inspector, and that I have no cause to resent your inquiries. I haven’t the slightest objection to telling you where I was when you explain yourself as you have just done.’
‘I am much obliged. It will save me a lot of trouble.’
Cosgrove settled himself more comfortably in his arm-chair.
‘I remember that Wednesday night,’ he began, ‘for I did one of the silliest things that night that I have ever been guilty of, and I think I may say without bragging I am usually as wide awake as most people. But I shall tell you.
‘You know, or perhaps you don’t, that I go in a good deal for racing. I have a small stable not far from Bath, and I make a bit off dealing and training as well as on the course. For some time I have wanted another horse, and there was one for sale near Montrose that seemed the thing, so much so that I determined to run down and see it. I have a good many engagements, mostly of a social kind, and I found that the only day I could go was the Thursday of last week—the day after my poor Uncle disappeared. There was an “At Home” at the Duchess of Frothingham’s on the Wednesday afternoon, and a ball at Lincolnshire House on Friday evening, at both of which I wished to be present, so I decided to travel to Montrose by the night train on Wednesday, see the horse on Thursday, return to London that night, and get some sleep on Friday, so as to be fresh for the evening.
‘This programme I carried out, but not quite as I had intended. I was at the Duchess of Frothingham’s till a little after five, when I returned home, dined and drove to King’s Cross to catch the 7.15 for the north. This train was due at Montrose about 5.30 the next morning, and it was my intention to drive the three or four miles out to the training stables and see the horses at their early exercise, returning to town when convenient.
‘I reached King’s Cross in good time, found the sleeping berth which I had engaged was ready for me, deposited my things therein, and began to make myself comfortable. Wishing to smoke I drew out my cigar-case, and then I discovered it was empty. I was considerably annoyed, not only for my own sake, but because I wished to be able to offer a smoke to the man with whom I hoped to deal. I glanced at my watch. It was still ten minutes past seven. Thinking I had plenty of time I seized my hat and ran to the refreshment room, which was close by. As I was selecting some cigars I glanced up at the refreshment room clock. It was pointing to 7.15.
‘“Your clock’s fast, I suppose?” I said.
‘“No, I don’t think so,” the girl answered.
‘I left the cigars on the counter and ran out on the platform. But the clock was right, and all I saw was my train moving off. It was already going too fast to board, and I had to accept the fact that it was gone with my luggage in the sleeping berth.
‘I looked at my watch. It was still showing two minutes to the quarter. It was usually an excellent timekeeper, but in some way which I can’t account for just on the occasion that mattered, it was three minutes slow. Pretty maddening, wasn’t it?’
‘It’s the way things happen,’ said Tanner philosophically.
‘Isn’t, it? Well, I got my cigars, and then I went to the Stationmaster’s Office and asked what I should do. It appeared there was a comparatively slow train to Dundee at 8.30, but the next to Montrose was the express at 10.30. Even by taking a car from Dundee this earlier train would not get me to the stables in time for the morning exercise, so I decided my best plan would be to take the 10.30. I then asked about a sleeping berth. But here my luck was out. All those on the 10.30 were engaged.
‘“And what about my things that have gone on in the 7.15?” I asked.
‘“They will be all right,” the clerk answered. “The first stop of both the 7.15 and the 10.30 is Grantham, and I shall wire the agent there to have your things collected from the 7.15 and handed in to you on the 10.30.”
‘This seemed the best arrangement, and I thanked the man, and having telegraphed to the dealer at Montrose, I strolled out of the station, wondering how I could best put in my three hours.
‘More by force of habit than otherwise I took a taxi and drove back to my rooms. But my little adventure had made me restless, and I couldn’t settle down to spend a lonely evening. I would have liked to go to the Follies and see my friend Miss Betty Belcher, but I knew she was acting all the evening except during part of the second act, say from about 9.30 till 10.00. To pass the time till 9.30 I at last decided to go to the Empire. I did so. I left my rooms almost at once, drove to the Empire, sat there for an hour or so, and then went to the Follies. From about 9.30 till 10.00 I sat with Miss Belcher in her room, then when it was nearly time for her to go on again I made my adieux and returned to King’s Cross. I took care not to miss the 10.30, and at Grantham I got out and found a porter looking for me with my things. I duly reached Montrose about half-past eight next morning. So I trust you won’t any longer suspect me of being at Halford.’
Tanner laughed.
‘How was I to know, sir, what you did until you told me? I am very greatly obliged. You have saved me an immensity of useless work.’
Cosgrove Ponson was quite mollified. He seemed like a man from whose shoulders a weight had been removed. He took out his cigar-case.
‘I don’t know if it will confirm my story,’ he said smiling, ‘but I hope in any case you will smoke one of the actual cigars I bought at King’s Cross.’
The Inspector accepted. He asked a few more questions, obtained the name of the Montrose horse-dealer, and then, with further compliments and thanks, took his leave.
It was obvious to him that, if true, Cosgrove’s story made a complete alibi. If he had been at King’s Cross at 7.30 o’clock, at the Follies Theatre at 9.30, and had travelled from King’s Cross to Montrose by the 10.30 express it was out of the question that he could have been at Luce Manor. Satisfied as Tanner was as to the soundness of Austin Ponson’s alibi, Cosgrove’s was even more convincing, and what was better still, it would be easier to test. Though he did not believe Cosgrove would make such a statement unless it could bear the touchstone of inquiry, Tanner felt his obvious next business would be to check what he had just heard so fully as to remove all possible doubt of Cosgrove’s innocence.
CHAPTER VII
COSGROVE’S TRIP NORTH
ON leaving Cosgrove Ponson, Inspector Tanner walked slowly up the shady side of Regent Street, his mind still running on the statement to which he had just listened. To test its truth was his obvious first duty, and as he sauntered along he considered the quickest and most thorough means of doing so. From the very nature of the story he felt inclined to believe it. Too much independent testimony seemed to be available for the alibi to be a fraud.
And if this was so, he, Tanner, was on the wrong track, and was wasting time. He had already lost nearly a week over Austin, and all the time he was working on these blind alleys the real scent was getting cold. But as he reviewed the facts he had learnt, he felt he could hardly have acted otherwise than as he had.
He considered Cosgrove’s statement point by point. Firstly, was it true he could only have gone to Scotland on the night in question of all others? In answer to this it should be easy to find out if he really was at the Duchess of Frothingham’s on the same afternoon. Then the missing of the train at King’s Cross must be known to several persons—the clerk at the stationmaster’s office, the barmaid who sold the cigars, as well possibly as the sleeping-car attendant, and the telegraph-office clerk, and copies of the wires to Grantham and to Montrose should be available. He was not sure that confirmation of Cosgrove’s visit to the Empire would be obtainable, though some attendant might have noticed him. But there should be ample proof of his call on Miss Belcher at the Follies Theatre. Not only would there be the testimony of Miss Belcher herself, but some of the many attendants must almost certainly have seen him. Then, if Cosgrove was not actually seen leaving London by the 10.30 p.m., he must have been observed in that train at Grantham, where his luggage was handed in to him. Finally, to ensure that he did not leave the train there and return to Luce Manor, as well as to test the genuineness of the whole journey, Tanner could see Colonel Archdale, the horse owner of Montrose.
And then another point struck him. What, he wondered, were the precise relations between Cosgrove Ponson and Miss Betty Belcher? From their demeanour at the restaurant, they were certainly on pretty intimate terms. In this case could Miss Belcher’s testimony to Cosgrove’s call at the theatre be relied on? Here was what undoubtedly might be a flaw in the alibi, and he felt he must handle this part of it with special care.
As he reached this point in his cogitations he arrived at the goal of his walk—a small but extremely fashionable tobacconist’s in Oxford Street. Handing in his card, he asked to see the manager.
He was shown into a small, neatly-furnished office, and there after a few minutes a tall young man in a grey frock coat joined him.
‘Hallo, Tony,’ said the Inspector when the door had closed.
The newcomer greeted his visitor breezily.
‘Why, Tanner, old son,’ he cried, ‘how goes it? You’re a stranger, you are. And what’s blown you in today?’
‘Business as usual. I want your help.’
‘You bet your life! And when you want help you know the right place to come. Tony B won’t see you left, eh?’
‘I know that. You’re not as bad as you look.’
The other winked slowly.
‘And what’s little Albert’s trouble this time?’ he asked.
‘Why this,’ Tanner answered, taking out his two little boxes and shaking the cigarette ends on to the table. ‘I want to know what kind of cigarettes these are, and when they were smoked.’
‘H’m. Think I’m a blooming crystal-gazer, do you? Or one of those Zancigs—what do you call ’em?’
As he spoke he was examining the ends with a strong glass. Then he smelt them, drew out a shred of tobacco from each and tasted it, and finally picked them up and took them out of the room.
‘Sit tight, Albert,’ he remarked as he left, ‘and keep your little hands out of mischief till daddy comes back.’
In a few minutes he re-entered and laid the ends down on the table with beside them a whole cigarette of a dark yellow colour.
‘There you are, sonny,’ he announced. ‘All chips of the old block, those are.’
‘And what are they?’ Tanner queried, examining the little brown tube with interest.
‘Costly rubies, rich and rare,’ his friend assured him. ‘They’re what we call “Muriquis,” and they’re made in Rio by a firm called Oliveira. There ain’t many in this village, I tell you. Who are you trailing now? Is it Henry Ford or only his Majesty the King?’
‘Neither,’ Tanner returned seriously, ‘it’s that Ponson case I’m on.’
‘Never heard of it. But Ponson knows his way about in cigarettes anyway, you bet your life.’
‘And how long since they were smoked? Can you tell me that?’
‘Nope. Not Tony B. This one about an hour; this one about a week at a guess. But don’t you take all you hear for gospel. I don’t know, as the girl said when her lover proposed.’
Tanner, though more bored with his friend’s conversation every time he met him, remained chatting for some minutes. The two men had been at school together, and the Inspector kept up the acquaintanceship because of the valuable information he frequently got on matters connected with tobacco. But as soon as possible he took his leave, breathing a sigh of relief when he found himself once more in the street.
His interest w
as considerably aroused by the news he had just received. The suspicions he had entertained of Cosgrove had been somewhat lulled to rest by the latter’s story. But the fact that the cigarette-end found in the boathouse at Luce Manor was of that same rare kind which Cosgrove smoked revived all his doubts, and made him more than ever resolved to test the alibi to the utmost limit of his ability.
Before leaving Halford, Tanner had written to the photographers whose names he had found on the prints in the drawing-room at Luce Manor, ordering copies of Sir William’s, Austin’s, and Cosgrove’s photographs. The studio was in Regent Street, and hailing a taxi, Tanner drove there. The photographs were ready, and he put one of each in his pocket. Also he selected prints of three or four other men as like in appearance to the cousins as he could find. Then he went on to the Duchess of Frothingham’s house in Park Lane.
He saw her Grace’s butler, and representing himself as a reporter on the staff of a well-known society journal, asked for a list of the guests present at the ‘At Home’ on the Wednesday of the murder, discreetly insinuating that he was prepared to pay for the trouble given. The addendum had the desired effect, and after a considerable delay a copy of the list was in Tanner’s hands. A glance at it showed Cosgrove’s name among the others, and a few judicious questions established the fact that he had actually been present.
Once more in the street, Tanner looked at his watch. It was after six o’clock.
‘A little dinner and then the Empire,’ he said to himself as he turned into Piccadilly. He had decided his first step must be to apply to those sources of information which could not possibly be interested in Cosgrove’s affairs; afterwards, if need be, hearing what Miss Belcher had to say on the same subject.
A couple of hours later he reached the Empire. Here he made exhaustive inquiries, but without finding anyone who had seen his man. But he was not greatly disappointed, as he had already realised that confirmation of this part of the alibi was problematical, if not unlikely.
The Ponson Case Page 10
