by John Creasey
Grice, looking saturnine in the dimly-lit cellar, nodded for him to continue.
“It was pretty clear that they would need a scapegoat, a man who would take the blame,” Rollison went on. “Guy Slatter was the obvious one. He had been involved: he may or may not have committed the murders, but they could certainly be traced to him.”
“And what motive could he have?” asked Grice. “It would have to be a big one, to be convincing.”
“Oh, that was simple enough,” said Rollison. “He was the heir to Sir Douglas Slatter, who was holding out on the sale of this house and the one next door. Bensoni and Tilford had bought every other piece of property on this block. Once they had the lot, they could sell it for millions—but Sir Douglas had enough millions and didn’t want any more.”
“Very interesting,” said Grice. “But if Guy were going to inherit his uncle’s millions anyway, why should he help Bensoni and Tilford—or whoever was involved?”
“Sir Douglas had strong views about young people who had children without first getting married,” answered Rollison. “Guy’s view was far less rigid—so much so that the evidence of it could have caused his uncle to leave his money elsewhere. One of Guy’s girls was Winifred de Vaux, and I don’t doubt she’d told Webberson. I can only guess that Webberson tried to make Guy influence his uncle. I imagine that was how Webberson and gentle Dr. Brown became involved, and thus, a danger to Guy, who feared disinheritance if the truth came out. Remember how Naomi Smith was so sure their troubles were over—before the murders. Keith may well have told her he could and would bring pressure to bear on Sir Douglas Slatter.”
“Yes,” agreed Grice, hesitantly. “Yes, I suppose it all fits in. You can fill in gaps with your imagination which I can’t fill in without evidence. But there is one piece of evidence which you’ll find very interesting.”
“What is it?” asked Rollison.
“The firm of Bensoni and Tilford is on the rocks,” said Grice. “Labour troubles and the loss of some big contracts led to it. They needed the Bloomdale site desperately. They’ve borrowed to the hilt on the other properties, and Sir Douglas Slatter’s refusal to sell was likely to ruin them. I can tell you another thing,” Grice went on, after a pause. “Guy’s telephone call last night wasn’t from Bensoni. It was from the foreman of the gang which raided your place. Guy, knowing of the impending raid, told him to ring him at the club if it were successful. The man gave Bensoni’s name rather than risk his own. No doubt he invented some inducement to get Guy back to the house, where he intended to murder him. It is possible that it was he who committed one or more of the earlier murders, and Guy knew of it.”
“It could be,” conceded Rollison. “The fatal flaw in criminality, that each must trust the other. Do you—erdo you want me for anything else?”
“No,” said Grice. “Not for a while. Naomi Smith would like to see you.”
“I’d like a word with her, too,” said Rollison. “What about Anne Miller?”
“She’ll be remanded for a week,” Grice said, “and then be bound over as a first offender. She’s lucky, in a way.”
“Yes,” said Rollison. “I suppose she is.”
He went up to the ground floor, a little surprised to see no-one about, tapped at the door of Naomi Smith’s room, went in on her call—and stood aghast on the threshold. For every single one of the girls was there, and every single one rose spontaneously, and began to cheer. Then they rushed forward to surround him, each in turn giving him a demonstrative hug. When at last Naomi had called them off, and they were gone, he was quite breath-less.
“I’ve never known them so happy,” Naomi said. “Never known them so eager to work, either. And they’re quite sure that you’ll get them out of their troubles one way or another. So am I,” she added. “So am I.”
“Naomi,” said Rollison, firmly, “you have always known more than you’ve admitted.”
“Nothing that I believed could affect the case,” Naomi said. “But yes—I did, Richard.” She had never used his Christian name before. “I guessed for instance that Guy Slatter was the father of Anne Miller’s child. She never disclosed that, though she hated him and hated Sir Douglas. I guessed, too, that she had intercepted the letter, and was at my wits end to know how to shield her. Can you help her?”
“Yes,” said Rollison, and told her what Grice had said.
“I’m so very glad,” said Naomi. “So deeply grateful, too. When it began, of course, Keith and George Brown knew Guy was a profligate, and could prove it. They believed that to avoid disclosure, Guy could use his influence with his uncle to renew the lease. Afterwards—”
“You should have told the police,” said Rollison sternly. “Oh, I did,” said Naomi unhappily. “And it was in the letter I wrote to you that Anne intercepted.”
“I see,” Rollison said heavily, and stood up. As he looked down at her, his gaze was kindly and understanding. “How is Douglas this morning. Do you know?”
“I’m told he’s recovered from the shock, and I’m going to see him soon,” Naomi said. “I can only hope that this new shock won’t cause a serious relapse.”
Naomi telephoned Rollison, later, to say that Sir Douglas had taken the blow well.
And Grice telephoned, also, to say that Iris Jay had been found, safe but in hiding, and that Bensoni had confessed complicity but blamed the murders on to Guy and the foreman ganger : sorting the details out was only a matter of time.
And in time, Bensoni was tried and found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment.
So was the foreman, whom Rollison saw for the first time when he went to give evidence at the trial.
And a little later, Rollison went to a very different ceremony, with Angela and Gwendoline Fell, with twenty-five girls including Anne Miller, and with Naomi Smith—who, on that day, married Sir Douglas Slatter. She had solved the problem of the noise and his studies very simply indeed.
Sir Douglas now had his study on the other side of the house, where no children cried.
The End
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Document ID: 6ef4ec48-9fd6-4e05-91a2-e4e5d0b4049f
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Document creation date: 2.8.2011
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John Creasey
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