Black Widow

by S. Fowler Wright

  The Inspector was not in the habit of making outside reflections upon the local police whom he might be called in to assist, but he felt that the position justified him in remarking: “I’m sorry if anything’s been allowed to happen which you have good ground to resent. I only came down yesterday afternoon.”

  “Well, it wasn’t any too soon.” The words were ungracious, but the tone was somewhat friendlier than before, and encouraged the Inspector to a further approach: “It must have been a shock to you when you heard of his death?”

  “I couldn’t say I was over surprised.”

  “Do you mean you had any reason to expect such an event?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. But I might have made the right guess.”

  “Do you mean you had reason to think that he’d shoot himself after you’d gone?”

  “No, why should he?”

  “You don’t think it was suicide?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Do you mean you had reason to suspect that he might be murdered?”

  Mr. Redwin seemed about to reply, and then pulled himself up, as though wondering whether he might be saying too much.

  “Inspector,” he said, after a time, “you’re asking me a good many questions. Do you mind if I ask you one for a change?”

  “Not at all. Of course, I can’t promise to answer till I’ve heard what it is.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel about yours. But what I’d like to know is whether there’s any law against slandering people to the police, because if so I’d rather not say any more. I’ve had trouble enough.”

  “If you’ve any honest suspicion that you can’t prove, you can tell it to me in full confidence that I shall not let it go further until it’s been properly verified and confirmed. And if you’ve got such a suspicion, I need scarcely say that it’s your duty to speak.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s what you’d be expected to say. But I’m not so sure. They might say it was malice, coming from me, and I don’t know where it might end. A man can have thoughts that he doesn’t speak. Not that I ever heard, anyway. I think I’ll just sit back and watch how the game goes.”

  Inspector Pinkey controlled a natural irritation to say quietly: “I don’t think we can leave it there, Mr. Redwin. It seems to me that you’ve said too little, or else too much.

  “I’ve told you that I’m sorry if you’ve been annoyed by any enquiries that the police felt it their duty to make, but you must see, if you look at it fairly, that you brought it more or less on yourself. Unless people are saying things about you now that are not true, you had made threats in public places against Sir Daniel that brought suspicion on you inevitably when he was found shot as he was.

  “I’ve told you that we’re not accusing you, as we know you were here at the time, but if things stand as they do now when the inquest’s resumed, there may be evidence that these threats were made, and there’ll be a vague suspicion against yourself that you’ll find it hard to shake off. I suppose you know how people talk, without troubling to get the facts straight. And if that kind of talk once begins, it gets worse as the years go on.

  “It seems to me that you’ve got more interest than most in getting it properly cleared up, and the truth proved, whatever it may turn out to be.”

  Mr. Redwin listened to this argument with an expressionless face. Then a slight smile of derision came to his lips as he asked: “And you want to make me believe that you can’t see through it without my help? Well, you may be right about that. But I don’t know—”

  The sentence stopped abruptly as a bucolic couple, delayed at the local cattle market, noisily and hastily entered the room.

  The Inspector cursed inwardly, and then considered that there might be no loss on either side if there should be an interval for reflection on that which had been said already.

  He rose and called for his bill.

  “Well,” he said, with as much geniality as he felt able to show, “you might think it over, and we’ll have another chat later.”

  He held out a hand, which was somewhat reluctantly taken, and went out to face the two-mile walk back to the police station. He felt that he would be glad of the quiet opportunity of reviewing a suggestive and yet rather baffling conversation. And after that he would have another talk with Trackfield. He saw that he was not likely to go back tomorrow. There was more in this than appeared. It was unfortunate that he could form no opinion as to what it might be.

  CHAPTER VII.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since before lunch,” Superintendent Trackfield began, as Inspector Pinkey entered his office, and before he could commence the narrative of his own experiences. “I had Forbes and Fisher on the phone just before noon. They wanted to know when the adjourned inquest would be likely to be held, or if there were any other developments in connection with Sir Daniel’s death. They seemed to want to know more than they liked to ask, and when I told them that you were down here, and had the case in hand, they were anxious to speak to you, if possible, before three o’clock, when they have an appoint­ment with another solicitor, who’s arriving here from London on the two-fifty.”

  “Any idea what it’s about?”

  “I asked that, of course. I told them that we should be more likely to be able to help them if we knew why the information was required. They were very guarded in their reply, but I gathered that it is some financial question regarding Sir Daniel’s estate. I didn’t press it beyond that, as I felt the matter was in your hands. I rang up Bywater Grange, and learned that you were staying there over tonight, but that they weren’t expecting you back until late, so I thought you’d be likely to look in here before long. I promised Fisher I’d ring him up again at two-thirty, and let him know if I’d been able to get in touch with you.”

  “What did you say the name of the firm is?”

  “Forbes and Fisher. They’re the leading firm in these parts. It’s a branch office here.”

  “Didn’t you mention them once before?”

  “Did I? Oh yes. It was they whom Redwin asked to take up his case, and they turned him down.”

  “But he surely wouldn’t have gone to Sir Daniel’s firm? He couldn’t have been his secretary for three years without knowing who his lawyers were.”

  “They didn’t act for Sir Daniel, as far as I’ve heard. His lawyers were a London firm—Scarf, Scarf, and Wheeler. I don’t know how Forbes and Fisher come on the scene now.”

  “Well, we soon shall. And if they want information from us, I think I’ll invite them to say what Redwin asked them to do for him, and why they refused.”

  “You don’t think he was concerned in Sir Daniel’s death?”

  “No, I don’t. But I’ve had lunch with him, and I’ve seldom met anything more suggestive than the things he hints, and won’t say. I haven’t done with him yet.”

  “He must have seen a good deal, living in the house for three years. But we’ve got to remember that he’s a malicious and discredited man.”

  “There’s no doubt he’s malicious. As to being discredited, I should say we ought to reserve opinion till we know more about how he came to leave the house in that sudden way. I shall be interested to hear Lady Denton’s account of that.”

  “You haven’t got anything specific from him so far?”

  “No. He wasn’t easy to handle at first, and the conversation was broken off when some men came into the room. He professed to be very bitter about the enquiries concerning his own movements which you very properly made. I told him that he brought them on himself, and he’d always be under some vague suspicion unless the matter were properly cleared. I can’t say he opened up after that. But he made it plain that he thought it was murder, and that he wasn’t surprised—that was the significant point—that it should have happened soon after he left. He hinted that if we were any good, we should be able to manage without his help.”

  “Well, perhaps we shall. You haven’t been down here for twenty-four hours y
et, and things are beginning to stir.”

  It was a generous speech, as Inspector Pinkey could not fail to perceive. The Superintendent might still wonder in his own mind whether it might not have been as well to arrest Adelaide Denton at once, as he had decided to do, and how things might have gone then.

  But he knew that whatever development there might now be would be ascribed—perhaps justly—to the superior technique and wider experience of the Metropolitan officer. Only in one event—if he should ultimately come to the same conclusion as to Lady Denton’s guilt—would Superintendent Trackfield be confirmed in the Chief Constable’s eyes as being adequate to the office he held. He did not exactly desire her conviction. She was an attractive lady, against whom he would have said that such an accusation was absurd a short fortnight ago. But he would not have been normally intelligent—and he was something better than that—had he not seen the position in which he stood.

  Inspector Pinkey was moved to reply with equal generosity, and partial truth: “You mustn’t thank me too much for that. I’ve done no more at the Grange than to confirm what you’d done before. And whatever these lawyers are going to spill, you’d have got without help from me. I shouldn’t wonder if I’m back in London in a couple of days with no more to report than that you were taking the right course when you decided to give the lady a rent-free lodging.”

  “Well, it still points to her. If we could get something more in the way of motive than we have now….”

  “Yes—if, as you say. We may be coming to something we haven’t guessed, and we can’t tell where it’ll point. But it’s about time we gave these gentle­men a ring up.”

  A moment later the Inspector was informed that Mr. Fisher’s voice was at the other end of the wire.

  “Yes,” he said. “Inspector Pinkey from Scotland Yard.”

  “Could you tell me if the adjourned inquest on Sir Daniel Denton is likely to be held at an early date?”

  “I am afraid I can’t give you any information unless I know why it’s required.”

  “It is in connection with an important point which has arisen in the course of the realization of Sir Daniel’s estate.”

  “Realization? Isn’t it rather early for that? I shouldn’t have thought you’d have had time even to prove the will.”

  “Well, perhaps it wasn’t quite the right word. I should explain that we are not the solicitors for Sir Daniel’s estate. We are acting for other interests. The question of proving the will does not arise.”

  “Can’t you be rather more definite?”

  There was a moment of silence before Mr. Fisher replied, with a note of hesitation in his voice: “I’m afraid not, not on the telephone, anyway. Would it be too much, Inspector, if I ask if you could give me a call?”

  “No, I’ll do that. When would you like it to be?”

  “At once, if you can. I should like to see you before—well, straightway, if you can.”

  The Inspector turned from the instrument to ask: “How far off are they? They want to see me now. Can I get a car?” The heat of the afternoon was increasing, and he felt he had walked enough.

  Being reassured on these points, he replied that he could be with Mr. Fisher in five minutes, and hung up the receiver.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Mr. Fisher was a small, precise man, with little indication of age or youth, except in the greying of his close-­cropped hair. He had a formal and somewhat hesitant manner, springing rather from habitual caution in the choice and use of words than any lack of confidence in his own capacity.

  “I must thank you, Inspector Pinkey,” he began, “for your courtesy in calling upon me at such short notice, and on so vague a pretext. I am expecting several gentlemen here in about twenty minutes, and I shall be glad to give you a short explanation before they arrive of the business which calls them here, and, I hope, receive such information from you as will simplify the position.”

  “Are you asking me to meet these gentlemen?”

  “That must be for you to decide. I hope it may not be necessary.”

  “Well, I expect you’re right. We’d better not decide that till I understand what the trouble is. I need scarcely say that I shall be glad to give you any help I can consistently with my own duty. In fact,” he added, “I was going to ask a somewhat similar favour from you.

  “There’s a man named Redwin hanging about here who used to be Sir Daniel’s secretary (by the way, I wonder what he wanted a secretary for?), and was kicked out, so it is said, a few days before the death occurred. I’m rather anxious to learn anything I can about that.”

  Mr. Fisher hesitated. He glanced at the clock. It was evident that he was unwilling to be diverted from that which was on his own mind. But it was a difficult request to rebuff, in view of that which he had to make.

  “I need scarcely say,” he replied, “that I shall be glad to give you any help that I can. I believe Mr. Redwin actually came to see us. He would have seen our Mr. Weedon—our managing clerk at this branch. I do not know much of what passed, but I can tell you definitely that we are not acting for him.”

  “So I was told. Perhaps if I could have five minutes with Mr. Weedon? We should still have time for a talk before the other gentlemen are due to arrive.”

  Mr. Fisher hesitated again. He looked once more at the moving hand of the clock, which was now at two forty-five. “If you will excuse me a moment,” he said, “I will ascertain whether he is here now.”

  Having said this, he did not ring for the information, though there was an office telephone on his desk, but went out of the room. The Inspector judged that the probability that he would be introduced to Mr. Weedon before the coming interview was not great.

  He was left alone for about three minutes, when Mr. Fisher returned alone.

  “Weedon,” he said, “is engaged with a client, but I have had a few words with him. We will do all we can, of course, but your request places us in a rather difficult position. My view, with which I hope you will agree, is that if certain information is communicated to us with a request that we will act professionally upon it, such information is confidential, even though we may decline the business. It is confidential up to the moment when we decline to act, and remains so up to that point.”

  “And there it naturally ends?”

  “That is a reasonable presumption.” He paused, and added with an impressive deliberation: “Mr. Redwin, after having been told that we were not prepared to act for him, made the gratuitous remark that we could please ourselves, but she’d be sorry before he’d done.”

  “She?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meaning Lady Denton, of course?”

  “It is a natural deduction, which I am not prepared to dispute.”

  “I may conclude that he had some plan of black­mailing her, with which a firm of your reputation naturally declined to be mixed up?”

  “That must be your own conclusion. It is not a question to which I am in a position to give a negative reply.” He added, as though fearing that he had said too much: “Blackmail is, of course, a particularly vague word. I am not sure that a legal definition exists. If I may offer a word of probably quite needless advice, I would suggest that anything coming from that source should not be lightly believed. I am told that he has been heard—outside this office—to express a strong animosity against Lady Denton, and I should suppose that he is a clever and unscrupulous man.”

  He glanced at the clock again, which was now at six minutes to three. “Will you permit me now,” he asked with a slight smile, “to put another matter before you?” The Inspector was not clear that he had gained much, though it might be another pointer on the right road, and, in any case, as much as Mr. Fisher could fairly give. He felt that he could no longer delay to listen to the business which brought him there.

  “Yes,” he said, “it was kind of you to let me in first.” And as he settled himself to listen, a clerk came in with a strip of paper which Mr. Fisher read, and then said: “As
k Mr. Strange to wait a few minutes; and Mr. Wheeler, and Mr. Borman, if they get here before I ring.”

  He commenced at once, as the clerk went out, speaking rather more rapidly than his habit was, though still with some deliberate precision.

  “I must be brief, and come to the point by a shorter road than I meant to take. There is a question arisen in an acute form regarding a certain clause in an insurance policy under which Sir Daniel Denton’s life was covered for a large amount. It is a matter which immediately concerns the local branch of the London and Northern Bank, whose manager is waiting to see me now. Mr. Borman, the solicitor to the bank (whose country agents we are), is on the way here, and I have asked Mr. Wheeler, Sir Daniel’s own solicitor, to be present also, as I suppose he will be acting for Lady Denton, whose interests may be at stake.”

  “I suppose the question is whether he committed suicide?”

  “Yes, in the first place—yes.”

  “And that implies that his life was insured for some large amount within twelve months of his death?”

  “Yes, but there is an explanation of that. Of course, the verdict of a coroner’s jury is final on such a point. We understand that the inquest is now adjourned sine die. If you could assure me that it is likely to be held within fourteen days—”

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t do that. But I think I can go as far as to say that, on Sir Lionel Tipshift’s evidence, it’s unlikely—extremely unlikely—that any jury could return a suicide verdict. I should say that the policy will be almost certainly paid.”

  “I was inclined to anticipate that reply. Unfortunately, that conclusion only raises a further question of a more delicate kind. There is a rumour that reached the bank yesterday—I am not at liberty to say how, but you know how important it is that a bank should be fully informed, and how numerous their sources of information are—a rumour which is probably quite baseless, and which I should not mention but that it is unavoidable, that there was a suspicion that Sir Daniel had died by his wife’s hands—that, in fact, a warrant had been already issued for her arrest.”