Austin agreed and they discussed the matter further, arranging terms and other details.
‘Now, Mr Ponson,’ said Jimmy when these were settled, ‘I have to give you a very solemn warning. Your very life may depend on how you heed it. It is this. You must tell me the truth. I don’t mean refrain from falsehood only, but tell me everything—everything you know. It is only fair to say that if you hold anything back I can no longer help you, and you may be signing your own death warrant. Do you realise that?’
‘I certainly do. You need not be afraid. I’ll be only too thankful to tell you. Now ask your questions.’
‘You forget I know nothing of the case as yet. Just tell me the whole business from beginning to end and with all the details you can.’
Austin sat motionless for a moment as if collecting his thoughts, then, settling himself more comfortably, he began to speak.
He opened by explaining his relations with his father, and his mode of life in Halford, and then described his friendship with Lois Drew, culminating in his proposal and the engagement. He told of the note he had received on that fatal Wednesday evening, his taking the boat to the Old Ferry, the self-styled servant of Mrs Franklyn, her message, his walk to the Abbey, his visit to the Franklyns’ house, and his call at the Drews. Then he recounted the circumstances of Sir William’s death, the call from Innes, the inquiries at Dr Graham’s, the search for and discovery of the body, the subsequent inquest, the interview with Tanner, the latter’s questions, and the demand for the shoes, and finally, the medical evidence at the adjourned inquest, and his arrest. He stated he had no idea what the discovery was which led to this culmination.
It was clear to Jimmy Daunt that he must hear Tanner’s side of it before he knew where they stood. Nothing more could be done that night. He therefore told his new client to keep his heart up, took his leave and went home.
The proceedings next morning were purely formal, evidence of arrest only being given. Austin was remanded for a week, bail being refused.
Daunt made it his business to see Lady Ponson, Enid, and Cosgrove, all of whom expressed themselves as being heartily in agreement with Austin’s selection of advice. It was decided that if the case went on to trial, Sir Mortimer Byecroft, K.C., one of the most eminent criminal experts at the bar, should be retained for the defence.
When Daunt received the depositions of the crown witnesses, he saw at a glance that he was up against something very much stiffer than he had anticipated. The motive suggested for the crime was horribly adequate. In the face of Austin’s story of his visit to the Abbey ruins, the evidence of Lucy Penrose and young Potts was almost overwhelmingly damaging. But when Daunt read of the purchase of the two identical pairs of shoes, and grasped the theory of the faked alibi which this seemed to support he was genuinely aghast. ‘Heavens!’ he thought, ‘if the fellow hasn’t an explanation of this, he’s as guilty as sin!’
Accordingly, Daunt lost no time in again seeing his client, and at his interview he did not mince matters.
‘Look here, Mr Ponson,’ he said. ‘There are two bad bits of evidence against you and I want to hear what you have to say about them. About 9.30 that night you tell me you were half-way to the Abbey. Is that so?’
‘Certainly. I was on the path between the Abbey and the road.’
Daunt leant forward and watched the other keenly, as he spoke slowly and deliberately.
‘Then how do you account for the fact that you were seen rowing a boat up to the Luce Manor boathouse at just that hour?’
Austin Ponson started and his face grew dead white. He sat motionless for several seconds gazing with terrified eyes, at his questioner, and apparently unable to speak.
‘What’s that you say?’ he gasped at last, licking his dry lips. ‘Impossible! I—I wasn’t there.’ He dropped his head into his hands while the sweat stood in drops on his forehead. Daunt waited silently. His doubts were becoming confirmed. The man surely was guilty.
Presently Austin raised his head.
‘This is awful news,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I can only say I wasn’t there. I swear it. There is a mistake. There must be. Who is supposed to have seen me? And from where?’
In Daunt’s opinion the answer was unconvincing. The man’s manner was shifty. Unless Jimmy was greatly mistaken he was lying. He replied somewhat coldly:
‘Two people in Dr Graham’s wood at the other side of the river are prepared to swear to it.’
‘Two?’ Austin groaned. ‘My God! How can they? They must have seen someone else, and mistaken him for me.’
‘Suppose it was proved there was no other boat down the river that night but yours. What will you say then?’
‘What can I say? I don’t understand it. That could not be proved—unless someone took my boat from the Old Ferry,’ He sat up eagerly and a gleam came into his eye. ‘Could that be it, Mr Daunt? Could whoever worked the trick on me have been watching at the Old Ferry, and have taken my boat when I went ashore? What do you think?’
This was an idea which had not occurred to Daunt, and he instantly saw that it might account for the whole thing. Suppose the real murderer, knowing of Austin’s financial relations with his father, had seen how that fact could be used as the basis of a case against the son, and had added details to strengthen it. Suppose he had forged notes, getting Austin to bring a boat to the Old Ferry, and, leaving it there, go to the Abbey. Meanwhile he himself, made up to represent Austin, might have taken the boat to the boathouse, committed the murder and returned the boat to the Old Ferry before Austin arrived back? Daunt felt that this was a possibility which must not be overlooked. It might at any rate be a line of defence.
Then he remembered the shoes. No. If Austin had deliberately made a fake with the shoes, he must be guilty. He spoke again.
‘Unfortunately, there is another very serious point. Your alibi depends on the fact that the prints made at the Abbey were made by shoes which it can be proved you were wearing on that Wednesday night and at no other time. Isn’t that so?’
‘That is so.’
‘How many pairs of that kind of shoe had you?’
‘One pair.’
‘Then how do you explain the fact that you bought two pairs on the Monday before the murder?’
This time Austin showed no signs of embarrassment,
‘I bought two—yes,’ he answered readily, ‘but I only brought one home. I lost the other.’
‘Lost the other? Just how?’
‘Very simply. I went that Monday to Hunt’s shoe shop in Piccadilly and there I bought a pair of shoes. I had them carefully fitted, and was pleased with them. The shopman gave me a card with their number, in case I should want to replace them. I took them with me, as I was hurrying to catch the 3.25 train from St Pancras. I had to call at a shop in Regent Street, and I walked there. But as I stepped off the footpath to cross the street, a lorry I hadn’t seen came quickly up, and I had to jump back out of its way. I was startled, and I unfortunately dropped the shoes. As luck would have it they were run over by the lorry, A hawker picked them up and returned them, but one was badly torn, so, as they were no further use to me, I made him a present of them. That left me without any, so I decided to replace them. I noticed another of Messrs Hunt’s shops close by, and I went in and asked for shoes of the number on the card. That saved me from a troublesome refitting. By the time my purchase was complete I was late for my train. I therefore waited till the 5.15. Does that make the matter clear?’
Daunt was relieved, but somewhat puzzled by what he had heard. Unquestionably, Austin’s explanation was plausible, and he could see no reason why it should not be true. If the hawker who got the shoes could be found it would set this part of the matter at rest, but Daunt feared he would be untraceable. He felt doubtful and dissatisfied in his mind about the whole affair, but he saw that Austin’s statements provided a line of defence, though whether the best available he was not yet certain.
Still turning the idea over in his mind he
went down the next Saturday to Halford, to spend, on the earnest invitation of Lois, the weekend with the Drews.
CHAPTER X
A WOMAN’S WIT
AFTER dinner on that Saturday evening, Lois Drew had a long conversation with her cousin, James Daunt. She waited until he was seated in the most comfortable chair in the drawing-room with his cigar well under way, and then she spoke of the subject next her heart.
‘Tell me, Jimmy,’ she begged, ‘just what you really think. I want to understand exactly what we have to meet.’
He told her. Directly and without any attempt to gloss over the uglier facts, he told her all he knew. She listened in silence for the most part, but occasionally interjected shrewd, pertinent questions. Jimmy, who knew and respected his cousin’s intellect, yet marvelled at her grip, her power of letting go irrelevant details, and the unhesitating way in which she went straight to the essential heart of the various points. When he had finished she remained silent for a considerable time.
‘It seems to me then,’ she said at last, ‘that Austin’s suggestion must be the truth—that the murderer forged the notes purporting to be from me, and which brought Austin to the Abbey that night, that he waited for Austin’s arrival at the Old Ferry, that either he had an accomplice there or he himself was disguised as Mrs Franklyn’s servant, that on Austin’s leaving for the Abbey he made himself up to look like Austin, that he rowed to the boathouse, committed the murder, and returned the boat to the Old Ferry before Austin got back. What do you think, Jimmy?’
‘It seems a possible defence.’
‘It seems more than that; it seems to be what happened. If so, let us consider what that teaches us about the murderer. Several things, I think. Tell me if I go wrong. Firstly, he must have had a strong motive for Sir William’s death. Secondly, he must have known all about the family—Sir William’s habits, the lie of Luce Manor, the household arrangements, and that sort of thing. Thirdly, he must have been acquainted with Austin, and his house and habits, and fourthly, he must not only have been aware of my existence and friendship with Austin, but he must have had my handwriting to copy. Surely there can’t be many persons in the world to whom all these conditions apply?’
‘One would say not,’ Daunt returned slowly. ‘It’s very unfortunate, of course, but you must see how the prosecution will use all these points you bring up—every one of them can be turned against Austin.’
‘I know, but that’s only wasting time. The fact that Austin’s innocence rules him out surely makes the search for the real murderer easier?’
‘Why, that is so, I suppose.’ Daunt tried to make his voice cheery and sanguine.
‘Very well. I came to that conclusion days ago. Now Jimmy, it’s a horrible thing to say, but who is the only other person we know of that fits the conditions?’
Daunt looked up swiftly. It was suddenly evident to him that Lois was speaking with a more direct object than he had thought.
‘I don’t know, Lois,’ he answered. ‘Who?’
‘Who but the cousin—Mr Cosgrove Ponson?’
‘Good Heavens! That never occurred to me. But does he fill the bill?’
‘I have thought so for some time, but it’s a matter for you to find out. But just consider. Mr Cosgrove benefits by the will—Austin told me so. He knew Sir William and all about Luce Manor; he knew Austin and all about him; he was like Austin in appearance; and lastly he knew me—he has dined here with Austin.’
‘Your handwriting?’
‘I wrote to thank him for sending me the name of an English pension at Cannes—a friend of mine wanted to know.’
‘When was that?’
‘About two months ago.’
‘Seems rather a long time. And when did he dine?’
‘About a week before that. I happened to mention about the pension, and he said he had some addresses and would look them up.’
‘And what kind of man is he personally?’
Lois did not reply for some moments.
‘That’s hardly a fair question,’ she said at last. ‘I have to admit taking a dislike to him. But it’s not a question of my likes or dislikes. I think it is essential that you should find out something about him. Find out where he was on that Wednesday evening.’
Daunt smoked in silence. He was thinking that if Austin were out of the way as well as Sir William, Cosgrove’s gains would not improbably be considerably increased. There might be something in this idea of Lois’s after all. A few inquiries would do no harm at any rate.
‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘I’ll do as you say. I’ll find out something about him.’
They continued the discussion, and it was arranged that as soon as any information was forthcoming, Lois would go to town, and they would have another talk.
As Sir William Ponson’s will was to be one of the factors in the Crown case, Daunt had no difficulty in obtaining a copy. That, and a few judicious inquiries convinced him of the importance of Lois’s suggestion. There seemed no question that Cosgrove’s motive for the deed was at least as strong as Austin’s.
For some time Daunt puzzled over the best way to get hold of his information. Then it occurred to him that so wide-awake an official as an Inspector of Scotland Yard would certainly have foreseen and considered all that he and Lois had discussed. As Cosgrove had not been arrested, there must be some flaw in the case he was trying to make. He decided to see Tanner once more, in the hope of gaining some information.
With a man like Tanner there was nothing to be gained by any but the most direct methods. Daunt could ask for what he wanted, and either get it or be refused, but he felt he could not obtain it by a trick. To try his luck he called at the Yard and inquired for the Inspector.
‘I want to get some information, Mr Tanner,’ he said, when they had conversed for a few moments. ‘I’m going to ask you for it in confidence, but you may not consider it proper to give it to me, and if so, there is of course no more to be said. It’s not directly about the case.’
‘What is it, sir?’
‘It’s this. In going into this matter it has struck me that the nephew, Cosgrove Ponson, had as much to gain by his uncle’s death as the accused. It is obvious that that must have struck you also. I wondered if you would tell me why you acquitted him in your mind?’
‘Now don’t you get astray on that notion, Mr Daunt. It won’t wash. I went into that, and I may tell you for your private information Cosgrove is as innocent as you are.’
‘So I gathered from your action, in the matter, but if you could see your way to give me particulars, I should be greatly obliged. You see, it’s Miss Drew. She’s got it into her head Cosgrove was the man, and I’d like to be able to clear the thing up to her.’
Tanner thought for some moments.
‘I’d like to oblige both you and Miss Drew,’ he said, ‘but I’m not just sure that I ought. However, as you say, it’s not exactly on the case, and if you give me your word to keep the thing to yourself I’ll tell you.’
‘I promise most gratefully.’
‘Very well, The man has an alibi,’ and Tanner repeated Cosgrove’s story of the visit to Montrose, the missing of the 7.15, the return to his rooms, the call at the theatre on Miss Belcher, and the final journey north by the 10.30. Then he explained how he had checked Cosgrove’s statements, and produced his calculation of times and distances, showing that Cosgrove could not have motored to Luce Manor.
To Daunt the whole thing seemed utterly conclusive. Apart from the mere fact that it had satisfied Tanner—no mean test—he could not himself see any possibility of a flaw. With considerable apprehension of the disappointment Lois would feel, he telephoned to her and arranged their consultation for that evening.
She heard his story almost in silence. But she did not show the chagrin he expected.
‘If the thing was obvious,’ she said in answer to his comment, ‘Cosgrove would have been arrested and not Austin. But I feel absolutely certain that that alibi of Cosgrove’
s is a fraud. He has tricked Inspector Tanner. How he has done it is what you’ve got to find out.’
‘My dear girl,’ Daunt remonstrated, ‘it’s all very well to talk like that, and I’ll do my best of course, but you know, if Tanner with all his opportunities was taken in, it’s not too likely I shall find the flaw.’
‘It’s quite likely,’ she declared. ‘Inspector Tanner was not specially looking for a flaw; you are. Don’t you see—there must be a flaw. Look at it like this. A man resembling Austin was met by Sir William at the boathouse on that Wednesday night. It must have been Cosgrove, because no one else is sufficiently like Austin to be mistaken for him. No kind of facial make-up will meet the case, because Sir William himself evidently was satisfied. Therefore Cosgrove’s alibi must be false. Don’t you agree with me?’
‘It seems reasonable,’ Jimmy admitted. ‘But the alibi certainly looks right enough too.’
‘I admit that. It may be so good that we’ll never find the flaw. But we must try. Oh, Jimmy,’ she turned to him beseechingly, ‘remember what is at stake—his life—both our lives. You will try, won’t you?’
‘Of course I’ll try, and what’s more, I expect to succeed,’ Jimmy lied bravely. And he spoke in the same confident tone as, after dinner, he went to the station with her, and saw her off by the 9.30 to Halford. But his secret feelings were very different.
Two days later he had another call from Lois.
‘You needn’t be frightened,’ she smiled at him; ‘I am not going to haunt the office and make your life a burden to you. But I have been thinking over our problem. I want you, Jimmy, to begin an investigation. Will you?
‘Why certainly, if I can. What is it?’
‘If you haven’t time yourself, and I don’t expect you will have, employ a private detective. But get a good man who will do the work thoroughly.’
‘Yes, yes. But what exactly is to be done?
‘This. The evidence seems to me overwhelming that Mr Cosgrove missed the 7.15 at King’s Cross on that Wednesday night, and went to Montrose by the 10.30. But what did he do in between?’
The Ponson Case Page 15
