The Ponson Case

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Absently thanking the clerk, he walked with the sergeant back to his car and drove to the police station. As he dismounted an idea shot suddenly into his mind.

  ‘Get the car ready for another run,’ he shouted and hurrying to the telephone, put through a call to Scotland Yard.

  ‘Yes, I’m Tanner,’ he said, when the connection was made. ‘The Ponson Case. That man Douglas I’m after got away on the Vaal River. Sailed from Southampton at four this morning. First call Lisbon. I must be there to meet him. It can only be done if I leave Paris at 12.17 today. None of the ordinary services would get me over in time. Can you arrange with the Air people to give me a plane?’

  He was told to wait, and at six o’clock the reply came.

  ‘The Deputy Chief has arranged for a fast plane to leave the drome near Petersfield as soon as possible. Get there at once and report to Major Forbes. Call at Hendon and we shall have French and Portuguese money for you, as well as the extradition warrant.’

  Tanner was not long in reaching Petersfield, but there was a delay at the aerodome, and he chafed impatiently as the precious minutes slipped away. It was not indeed till a little after seven that the actual start was made. The morning was clear at first, and they made good speed to Hendon, alighting and picking up the money and papers. But as they reached the coast they ran into a haze, which soon developed into a thick fog. The pilot did his best, going straight on by dead reckoning, but when in another hour they got through it, they found they had gone a good deal out of their course in a northerly direction. Tanner swore bitterly, for he found his margin of time was growing less and less. Finally they picked up the main line of the Northern Railway, and following it fairly closely, at last saw creeping up over the horizon the buildings of the capital.

  ‘Down in ten minutes,’ the pilot roared, and Tanner nodded as he looked his watch.

  It was eleven minutes to twelve, and the Inspector recognised he would have to run for it. Soon they were above Argenteuil and crossing the great loops of the Seine, with St Cloud on the right and the vast city stretching away to the left. Now they were planing rapidly down, till with a gentle shock they alighted at the edge of the flying ground at Issy. Tanner leaped out and ran to the entrance as fast as the stiffness of his legs would allow. As he did so twelve sounded from the clock towers. He had seventeen minutes, the Gare Quai d’Orsay was two miles away, and there were no taxis within sight.

  There was but one thing to do and Tanner did it. Some private cars were drawn up on the road just outside the flying ground. Tanner ran his eye hastily over them and selected one, a racing car from which a sporting looking man was just descending. The detective hailed him.

  ‘Sir,’ he panted, ‘I have crossed by aeroplane from England to catch the 12.17 at the Gare Quai d’Orsay, and now I can’t get a taxi. If you would run me till we meet a taxi, I just couldn’t say how grateful I’d be.’

  The man looked puzzled.

  ‘I not speak Engleesh,’ he said slowly, then adding interrogatively, ‘You weesh—aller, aller—go—á la Gare Quai d’Orsay?’

  Tanner nodded emphatically, and taking out his watch, ran his finger from the minute hand, which was now standing at five minutes past the hour, to seventeen minutes past. The man threw up his left hand to signify comprehension.

  ‘Ah, oui,’ he answered. ‘Bon. Montez vite, monsieur. Chomp een.’

  Tanner had obeyed the gesture before the man finished speaking, and the powerful car, swinging round, shot rapidly eastwards along the quais.

  ‘Where you—allez—go?’ jerked out the man as they tore along. Tanner understood.

  ‘Lisbon,’ he called.

  ‘Ah, Lisbonne. Oui,’ the man nodded.

  Suddenly they came to a great building—Tanner did not know his Paris—and the car stopped abruptly. The man jumped out followed by his passenger. As they ran into the concourse of the huge Quai d’Orsay Station, the hands of the clock pointed to fifteen minutes past twelve. Two minutes to get the ticket! Without his new friend Tanner would have been utterly lost. The taking of a ticket seemed a complicated and interminable affair. But at last it was accomplished, and Tanner raced for the bridge across the low level tracks. But just before he reached the inclined plane descending to the platform, the ticket examiner slammed the gate. There was a voluble outcry from the sporting man, but for answer the official shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the roofs of the carriages. The train was already moving.

  Once again Tanner swore bitterly, as he gazed at the disappearing vehicles. But his friend gave him no time for self-commiseration.

  ‘Vite! Vite!’ he cried, signing to the other to follow him, and rushing once more out of the station.

  They threw themselves into the car, which started off at a furious pace eastwards. Then Tanner recollected that the terminus of the Paris-Orleans line had formerly been the Gare d’Austerlitz farther up the river, the Gare Quai d’Orsay being a new station at the end of a recently made extension. All trains, he farther remembered having read, stopped at the Gare d’Austerlitz to enable the electric engine which worked through the extension tunnel to be replaced by a steam locomotive. Evidently his friend thought he could overtake the train at the Austerlitz Station.

  And he did—just. After wringing the hand of the man who had taken so much trouble to help him, he dashed to the platform and climbed into a carriage as the train began to move.

  ‘Lord!’ he said to himself as he wiped his forehead, ‘only for that old sport I’d have missed it.’

  Then began a long tedious journey. Though the train was rapid and luxurious, Tanner was pretty sick of it before he reached his destination. There was a restaurant car forward, and as they raced across the sunny country south of Paris, the Inspector did full justice to an excellent lunch.

  After a time he grew wearied by the monotony of the flat lands, but the scenery became more interesting as they crossed the hills between Poitiers and Angoulême. Bordeaux was passed about seven o’clock, and as darkness fell they were traversing the dreary, desolate, sandy wastes and pine forests of Les Landes.

  They reached Irun just before midnight, changing there into the broad-gauge carriages of Spain, and waiting for customs examination.

  The moon rose as they passed through the rocky country north of Burgos, and it was daylight when they reached the latter town. Then on again through Valladolid to Medina, where the Madrid portion of the train branched off; through Salamanca of legendary fame, but now, for Spain, a considerable railway centre, then into Portugal, where the train hurtled along at considerably over thirty miles an hour. Finally, with brakes grinding, they descended the steep incline tunnelled beneath one of the seven hills on which Lisbon is built, and pulled up, twenty minutes late, in the Rocio Station.

  When Tanner emerged into the brilliantly lighted streets and gazed down the splendid vista of the Avenida da Liberdade, he literally held his breath with amazement. The Portuguese he had always looked on as a lazy, good-for-nothing set, but this great new boulevard made him reconsider his opinion. He booked a room in the Avenida Palace Hotel, and then, crossing the Dom Pedro Square, walked down to the steam-boat offices in the Rua da Alfandega.

  The office was open—every one seemed to be on the move all night—and one of the clerks spoke English. The steamer, it appeared, was due about half-past six. Tanner took the clerk into his confidence, and the latter made arrangements for the Inspector to get aboard with the first boat from the shore.

  At six o’clock Tanner was down on the Praça do Commercio, admiring in the brilliant sunlight the splendid river which flowed before him, and the charming setting of the town on its range of hills. In the river lay several steamers, some quite large, and all tugging at their anchors with their bows upstream. Down seawards, but inside the comparatively narrow mouth of the Tagus, a grey, two-funnelled boat was coming slowly up—the Vaal River—with, as Tanner hoped, William Douglas on board.

  His friend the clerk arriving a moment later, the two
men embarked on a motor launch. As the Vaal River’s anchor fell with a mighty splash, they sheered alongside and made fast.

  When the port authorities had gone aboard, Tanner was allowed to follow. He went straight to the captain, who was still on the bridge, and showing him his card, explained his business.

  ‘And so Mr Walter Donnell’s wanted for murder,’ the captain commented. ‘Guess he’s aboard all right. I thought he had something on his mind. See the chief steward and you’ll find him. What are you going to do with him?’

  ‘Take him back to London.’

  ‘Of course. But how?’

  ‘I don’t know. What would you advise?’

  The captain pointed to a single-funnelled steamer of about 4000 tons lying not two hundred yards on their port quarter.

  ‘That’s the Chrysostom, a Booth liner, due out in about an hour. If you take my advice you’ll get aboard and don’t favour the shore with your presence. I’ll run you over in the launch.’

  Tanner thanked the man warmly.

  ‘Guess that’s all right,’ he answered dryly. ‘I’m as interested in getting him out of my ship as you are in taking him.’

  Finding the chief steward, Tanner explained the matter in hand, adding that he wished to make the arrest as quietly as possible. The man seemed mildly interested and promised his help.

  Douglas, alias Donnell, was, it appeared, still in his cabin, and the two went thither. He was in bed, and rose to open the door. When he saw Tanner his eyes started from his head with amazement, then his jaw dropped and his face went grey. Stepping quickly back, he collapsed on to the cabin sofa and sat staring helplessly.

  ‘William Douglas or Walter Donnell,’ Tanner said solemnly, ‘I arrest you on a charge of being concerned in the death of the late Sir William Ponson, of Luce Manor, Halford. I have to warn you that anything you say will be used against you.’

  The man made a desperate effort to pull himself together.

  ‘My God!’ he gasped. ‘How did you trace me?’ Then, Tanner not replying, he went on with pitiable earnestness: ‘But you’ve made a mistake. I am innocent. I know the circumstances look bad, but I’m innocent, I swear it in God’s name.’

  ‘That will do,’ said Tanner not unkindly. ‘You’ll have every chance to put yourself right if you can do it. But you’ll have to come back to London with me. And for your own sake, the less you say the better.’

  For a moment the idea of making a desperate resistance seemed to cross the prisoner’s mind. Then, apparently realising his hopeless position, he said quietly, ‘I’ll go with you. Let me pack my things.’

  Tanner nodded, keeping a keen eye on the other’s movements for fear he would attempt suicide. But such an idea did not seem to occur to him. He dressed and packed expeditiously enough, and then said he was ready to go.

  The launch was waiting, and in a few minutes they stood on the deck of the Chrysostom, homeward bound. Presently the anchor was hoisted and the vessel, swinging round, commenced her 1200 mile trip to Liverpool.

  Having explained his business to the captain and seen Douglas securely locked in a cabin, Tanner stood leaning on the rail, of the upper deck, watching the pleasantly situated town slip slowly astern. He could see the Cathedral of Belem standing, damaged, just as it was left by the earthquake of 1755. Then out of the mouth of the river and past the picturesque pleasure resort of Mont Estoril, with, just beyond it, the sleepy, old-world village of Cascaes till, rolling easily in the Atlantic swell, they turned northwards. The Burlings Islands, which they passed later in the day, were the last land they saw until, on the third morning, they awoke to find themselves lying in the Mersey. By midday Tanner and his prisoner were in London.

  CHAPTER XIII

  BLACKMAIL?

  WHEN Inspector Tanner reached his office in New Scotland Yard, he found an instruction from Chief Inspector Edgar, informing him that Mr James Daunt, of Lincoln’s Inn, had important evidence to give him relative to the Ponson case. Accordingly, after he had made a formal report on his Portuguese expedition, he called up Jimmy and arranged a meeting. A few hours later he was seated in the solicitor’s office, smoking one of the latter’s best cigars.

  ‘My Chief says you have something to tell me?’ he began, after mutual greetings.

  ‘Why yes,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Did your Chief tell you what it was?’

  ‘Didn’t see him. He’s in Manchester.’

  ‘I fancy you’ll be surprised. You recollect you told me you had suspected Cosgrove Ponson, but that he had established an alibi and so must be innocent?’

  Tanner nodded as he drew at his cigar.

  ‘That’s right,’ he agreed.

  ‘You were satisfied the alibi was sound?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘It’s a fake,’ said Jimmy quietly.

  Tanner took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at the other.

  ‘Get along now, Mr Daunt,’ he answered. ‘You’re trying to pull my leg.’

  ‘No. The thing’s a fake right enough. Cosgrove was at the boathouse that night.’

  Tanner stared incredulously.

  ‘You seem in earnest,’ he said slowly. ‘But you’ve made a mistake. I went into it carefully. There’s no doubt it’s sound.’

  ‘It’s you that have made the mistake,’ Daunt answered pleasantly, and he went on to tell the Inspector what he and Lois had done, and all they had discovered.

  To say that Tanner was amazed and disappointed would be to understate the case. He was woefully chagrined.

  ‘God bless my soul!’ he cried, ‘but that sort of takes a chap down. Here was I looking down on you and that splendid girl as a pair of meddling nuisances, and I’m blowed if you haven’t had it over on me all the time.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jimmy, ‘tit for tat.’

  The Inspector eyed him almost aggressively.

  ‘And what now?’ he demanded.

  ‘Why this. I’ve told you what we did about Cosgrove. Now you tell me what took you to Portugal.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ answered Tanner looking relieved. ‘It’s irregular, but I’m blessed if I care.’ He re-lit his cigar, which in his agitation he had allowed to go out, and beginning with the day of the adjourned inquest, he recounted his adventures in London and in Devon, the midnight run to Southampton, the flight to Paris, the journey to Lisbon, and finally the arrest of William Douglas. When he had finished, James Daunt was nearly as surprised and mystified as the Inspector had been a few minutes earlier.

  ‘’Pon my soul, a most extraordinary business,’ he commented. ‘There’s Austin, first suspected, then cleared, then suspected again and arrested, and now cleared again. Then there’s Cosgrove, first suspected, then cleared, and now suspected again. And now, here’s a third man mixed up in the thing. I suppose the next thing that comes out will clear Douglas!’

  ‘I don’t think,’ Tanner answered. ‘But what do you mean by saying Austin is now cleared again? It’s the first I’ve heard of that.’

  ‘Why, Cosgrove was clearly impersonating him.’

  ‘Not on your life,’ said Tanner with decision. ‘Mark my words, Mr Daunt, they were all there—Sir William and Austin and Cosgrove and Douglas. Every blooming one of them was there. See here,’ he continued as the other showed signs of dissent, ‘there’s evidence against every one of them. Sir William was seen there. Austin was seen too, and there’s no doubt he faked that business about the shoes. Yes, I know,’ as Daunt would have spoken, ‘his story about the shoes seems all right, and it’s very clever, but it won’t wash. He was seen there, and he was there. Then Cosgrove was there, for you’ve proved that. And lastly this man Douglas was there also, for I saw his footmarks on the boathouse floor. Yes, they were all there, and there’s some conspiracy between them.’

  Though Daunt had to admit this conclusion seemed sound, it was by no means what he wished the Inspector to arrive at. His business was to clear Austin, and while the bringing in of first Cosgrove and now this man Douglas had at
the time seemed all to the good, it did not help if it merely led to a conspiracy charge. But Tanner’s voice broke into his cogitations.

  ‘You see,’ the detective said, following on his own line of thought, ‘they were together in London. Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove lunched together—both Austin and Cosgrove denying it, mind you—and then immediately Sir William went to see Douglas. There was some business between the four of them. There’s not a doubt of it.’

  It gave Daunt a nasty shock to recall that Austin had to him also denied having seen Sir William on that Monday. If it could be proved that Austin had lied about this, as apparently it could, what reliance could be placed on any of his other statements?

  There was silence for some moments, and then Daunt moved impatiently.

  ‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ he asked.

  ‘Get the names of that taxi-man and those other witnesses from you,’ the Inspector answered promptly, ‘and check over your conclusions about Cosgrove. Not that I doubt you, of course, but it’s business. Then if I’m satisfied, I’ll arrest him. Among his or Douglas’s papers there’ll be surely something to put us on the track.’

  When Tanner had taken his leave Daunt sat motionless for some minutes, thinking over what he had just heard. And the more he thought, the less he liked the turn affairs had taken. All his doubts as to Austin’s innocence had returned. If his client had really met Sir William on the Monday in question, why had he denied it? It would take an even more ingenious explanation to account for it than that he had given about the shoes.

  To satisfy himself, when his work for the day was finished, Daunt put a photograph of Austin in his pocket and drove to the Étoile restaurant in Soho. But a few moments’ inquiry was sufficient to convince him. Austin had been there beyond question, and therefore his statement to Daunt had been a direct falsehood.

  Sorely puzzled as to what he should say to Lois, Jimmy Daunt returned to his rooms. There after much thought he decided he would see Austin next morning and tax him directly with the lie.