Black Widow

by S. Fowler Wright

  “I don’t think I knew that; but it was a very natural thing to do. How does that matter to us now?”

  “She had some of Percy Hudson’s letters with her then. I tried to persuade her to burn them, but she wouldn’t do that. She was afraid to take them with her when she went back. (They made it up at that time.) She said John would find them. In the end, she left them with me, to be taken care of till she asked for them again.”

  “And how does that matter now?”

  “Mr. Redwin took them when he went up to pack. At least, I suppose it was then.”

  “You needn’t trouble about that. After the divorce, and your sister’s death—”

  “Mr. Redwin thought they were written to me.”

  “Do you mean that he tried, or is trying, to blackmail you about them?”

  “He told me that he would send them to Daniel unless I got him to take him back.”

  “Which you very properly refused to do?”

  “No, I tried, but Daniel wouldn’t listen. I didn’t suppose he would.”

  “But if the letters were not for you, I don’t see why you should care.”

  “Daniel mightn’t have believed that.”

  “But the name would have proved it.”

  “They weren’t—I mean, such letters often aren’t written so that you can be sure. It might be just a pet name. Something silly. You know they are, more often than not.”

  “Then there’d be no proof that they were written to you more than to anyone else.”

  Lady Denton seemed to puzzle over this for a moment, as though it were a fact that she had overlooked, and was now unprepared to meet. Then she said: “But he must have known the envelope they were in. They were in a large envelope that had been addressed to me before I used it to put them away.”

  “Who must have known?”

  “Sir Daniel, of course. You keep asking questions, and I’m not telling it the right way. When I went to him, I saw the envelope on his desk.”

  “You mean when he was shot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “I burned it the first chance I got.”

  “I should doubt the wisdom of that. Had anyone seen it beside yourself?”

  “No. No one could, except Gerard, and he wouldn’t have noticed it. Not then. I saw it as he went out at the window to see if the man who shot Daniel was still there. I burned it—all the letters, I mean, just as they were, in the grate here that night.”

  “What do you suggest that this had to do with Sir Daniel’s death?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose nothing at all. But I thought that you ought to know. If Mr. Redwin gets talking to the Inspector, I don’t know what he might say.”

  “Nor do I, but you can be sure there’s one thing he won’t do. He won’t mention those letters. He won’t accuse himself of such conduct as that. Not unless he’s quite mad.”

  Lady Denton accepted this assurance with an expression of some relief, though she may have observed with a natural annoyance that if that judgment were sound, there had been no occasion to expose the incident, even to Mr. Wheeler’s professionally friendly ears. Certainly she would not have told it, but for an uneasy doubt of what story Mr. Redwin might have prepared for the Inspector’s consumption.

  “Well, I’m glad I know,” Mr. Wheeler said, “and I’m not sure but it might be worse. I shouldn’t lose much sleep over that. But I’ll get up in the morning in time to have a good talk with Inspector Pinkey before I go. By the way, was the drawer open or shut? I mean the one from which Sir Daniel, or someone else, must have taken the pistol before he was shot.”

  Lady Denton seemed somewhat confused by the abruptness of this question. “The drawer?” she said. “Oh, open. No, I mean shut. Yes. I’m quite sure about that.”

  “And you’ve really told me everything now?” Mr. Wheeler asked this in a casual, reassuring tone, as though everything were not much. But he looked keenly and somewhat anxiously at his attractive client, for how could he fight her battles, if she kept back half the truth, as he knew that some women will till they are driven back to the last ditch, or even a fatal minute longer than that.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’ve told you everything now. And, so far as I’m concerned, I think it’s enough too.”

  ­CHAPTER XII.

  When Inspector Pinkey parted from Lady Denton’s, solicitor, he did not return to the police station, nor did he descend again upon Mr. Redwin to resume conversation with him. He turned into a quiet lane, the stony surface of which offered some guarantee against the noise and nuisance of motor traffic which it is now so hard to escape within the confines of any civilized land. He felt that he needed an opportunity of reviewing the knowledge which he had gained during the day, and he knew from past experience that he could do this best while taking the quiet exercise of a country walk.

  He did not suppose that all, if any, of the new facts he had learnt would be of any assistance in solving the problem with which he dealt. The interactions of life are too complex and too inconsequent for that. He would be fortunate if none of them should lead him astray.

  But, so far as they might appear even remotely relevant, they must be patiently considered, both in them­selves and in relation to others, with results which were liable, as he had learnt before now, to be sometimes very different from the sum of their separate values.

  There was, first, the light he had gained on Sir Daniel Denton’s financial position. It removed one of the most frequent influences through which men who have no habit of fortitude may be disposed to their own destruction. It therefore reduced the probability of suicide, even apart from the more emphatic negative of the post-mortem evidence.

  He saw also that the information he had gained rendered it improbable that Sir Daniel had been murdered by any member of his own family, with the object of financial advantage to themselves.

  Like Mr. Wheeler, he had a momentary speculation as to whether Sir Daniel might not have deliberately endeavoured to commit suicide so that it would appear that he had died by another hand, which was a logical possibility if he had the terms of the insurance policy in mind, and were anxious to secure it for the benefit of his estate. That would imply, incidentally, that at the moment of self-destruction he must have had Lady Denton’s interests at heart; and that, in its turn, would further narrow the range of possible motives, by eliminating that of any quarrel with her.

  But, like Mr. Wheeler, he put the theory of a deliberately misleading suicide away as too fantastic in itself, and beyond serious consideration, at least so long as he could discover no motive which should have led Sir Daniel to contemplate suicide in any form.

  The one conclusion at which he arrived definitely on these facts was that whatever had happened had not been inspired by financial considerations from any direction. As a murder motive, he could eliminate greed. What remained? Jealousy, hate, and fear.

  His mind turned to the sinister hint which Mr. Redwin had uttered. If it were born of more than a baseless spite, it meant that something had happened in connection with his expulsion from Bywater Grange, or, at least, that something had been known to him which had led him to expect the tragedy. Or had he since done some overt act himself, of which it was an expected consequence?

  Redwin was a man of whom he knew nothing good. He had been warned from two directions to discredit anything he might say. By his own statement, he was now actuated by the basest of human passions. Certainly he would not go far on his unsupported word.

  But, in considering this, he must take account of the hint—it was scarcely less—that Mr. Fisher had given, that Redwin had tried to use his firm to exercise some pressure upon Sir Daniel to which the name of blackmail might be not inappropriately applied. He considered the various forms which this might possibly take, and though he had not the advantage of the information which Mr. Wheeler was receiving from Lady Denton at about this time, yet a wide experience of such activities caused him to include the expo
sure of income tax evasion, and the disclosure of compromising letters, among the probabilities of the case.

  When he considered these, and the other facts which he had patiently accumulated during the day, as bearing upon the first question that he had come there to resolve—that of whether the warrant for Lady Denton’s arrest should be allowed to be issued—he saw that, however vaguely, however slightly, the inferences against her had been increased. And he could see nothing new to be put in the opposite scale. At least, nothing beyond the fact that Mr. Wheeler had so robustly declared her innocence, and had thrown down a stake of £15,000 to declare the sincerity of that conviction. It was true that the money was not his own. But it was also true that it had been a voluntary offer on his part, and one which, it had been quite evident, had not been foreseen by the other side. This also must have its slight but definite influence on the judgment that it was his duty to form. But this judgment could do no more than point him in the right direction, so that he should not waste his time in efforts to construct a case against an innocent man—or woman. Evidence—definite legal evidence—such as can be proved in a court of law, was what he required, and of that he could not say that he had any more than Superintendent Trackfield’s unimaginative methods had marshalled before he came.

  The case against Lady Denton, which had seemed less than sufficient to the Chief Constable’s mind, stood just where it did. He felt that, to justify himself, he must do something better than that.

  Well, he would put it out of his mind now and get a night’s rest. He would meet Mr. Wheeler at breakfast, and hear what he had to say. Mr. Wheeler was Lady Denton’s solicitor. He was not likely to forget that. He did not expect that he would provide him with fresh evidence to prove her guilt.

  But Mr. Wheeler knew the peril in which she stood, and if, after an evening which, the Inspector rightly guessed, would have been spent with her, he could make any suggestion which would direct enquiry away from herself, it was a thing which he would be certain to do.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  Mr. Wheeler talked on indifferent subjects. He said (with truth) that the soles were excellent.

  He was alone with Inspector Pinkey, for breakfast had been brought on early to meet his convenience, and Lady Denton was not down. Gerard Denton’s constitution was understood to be of that delicacy which requires its owner to have breakfast in bed.

  The fact was that Mr. Wheeler had done some thinking during the night, and the more he considered Lady Denton’s position, the less he liked it.

  Even supposing that she had told him all the truth now (which he was quite sure she had not), there was a suggestion of possible motive, weak and ill-defined though it might be, yet sufficient, perhaps, to turn the scale with a jury of uncertain temper. If it came out, if the existence of those letters—letters which she had now destroyed—were to be disclosed, and that they were already brought, or about to be brought, to her husband’s knowledge when his life was so abruptly taken, what ammunition would it not give to a prose­cuting counsel? What deadly difference might it make to the summing up! His best hope lay in the fact that, if Lady Denton kept her mouth shut now (as she surely would), it was not easy to see how they would be disclosed. He decided that Redwin would find it difficult, if not impossible, to reveal their existence without incriminating himself more deeply than he would venture to do.

  But he saw now that he had made a mistake when he had thrown that £15,000 into the scale. He ought to have gone all out for suicide, and let the bank and the insurance policy go by the board. And he must go all out for suicide now—unless the murderer could be found.

  But he had no confidence in that. It was too great a risk, in view of the peril in which his client stood. Suicide it must be, and Sir Lionel Tipshift’s opinion must go hang. After all, Lady Denton was not a poor woman. He knew that sufficient money would secure eminent experts to contradict each other on any subject under the sun. For a suitable retainer, Sir Lansbury Hopkins would give evidence, if desired, that Sir Daniel had been shot by a performing flea. Indeed, he would do it so plausibly that the jury would almost believe at the time, and wake up next morning to wonder why.

  He had made a mistake about that £15,000, but he couldn’t draw back now, if he would. It would be too significant that he should do so after interviewing his client. It would be like proclaiming his belief in her guilt. Besides, he was of the sporting temperament that will stand to any risk that has once been staked. To try to draw back now would be like hedging a bet.

  He did not blame himself for the decision of the previous afternoon. How can any lawyer act for a client who does not instruct him fully? Even now—well, he must do his best for her, whether she had told all the truth or not.

  But he decided that he must be very cautious as to what he should say to the Inspector. There were few aspects of the case which he could discuss without reserve. On the other hand, he must not appear afraid. Perhaps it would be best to say nothing directly concerning it during the first part of the meal—to let Pinkey bring it up if he would.

  His strategy was so far successful that, when the meal was half over, the Inspector, who had his own reasons for desiring to talk on the subject which was in the forefront of both their minds, felt obliged to interrupt some remarks upon a famous draught in the Lord Chief Justice’s Court, to say: “I don’t want to worry Lady Denton more than I need, but there’s some information I ought to have. I wonder whether you could tell me how it really was that Redwin left as he did, and if he were trying to blackmail her or Sir Daniel afterwards.”

  “Yes, I dare say I can tell you all that you need to know. He was dismissed for misappropriating shares, and falsifying the books he kept: systematic theft and forgery, without any excuse. He ought to be in gaol now, but I suppose Sir Daniel didn’t want the worry and expense of a prosecution, as so many gentlemen don’t.

  “As to blackmail—well, it’s a loose word, as we both l know, but I should say there’s no doubt of that either.”

  “Did Lady Denton know that?”

  “Yes, I’ve had it from her.”

  “Then I suppose you know what the ground of the blackmail was?”

  “I’m not clear that I ought to say that. There are some things that may make a lot of trouble, if the idea gets about, even though they’re quite false.”

  “You can trust my discretion not to give it any avoidable publicity.”

  “My difficulty is that I don’t see what it has to do with Sir Daniel’s death. If you could tell me that you’re arresting Redwin for that, I should feel bound to tell you at once. But I don’t see how you could.”

  “No, neither do I. I wish I did. But I should be glad to know what there is against him, if I find he’s mixed up in it at all.”

  Mr. Wheeler, having got the information by that reply which he had himself been anxious to obtain with­out appearing to ask, now proceeded, as he had meant from the first, to impart one of those partial truths which he knew to be more potent for deception than many lies.

  “It’s a difficult position, but Lady Denton said she wished you to have all the help we could give, and I think I ought to stretch a point and trust you not to repeat it without more reason than there is now. It was when Redwin was being turned out. He said something in Lady Denton’s hearing which she understood as a threat that, if he were not kept on, he would make disclosures to the Inspector of Taxes which would cause trouble to Sir Daniel.

  “I dare say there wasn’t a word of truth in it; or, if there were, I should say that Redwin, who kept the books and accounts, had done something wrong on Sir Daniel’s behalf—perhaps without his knowledge at all—to get him into his power if he got found out, as he did.

  “Sir Daniel treated it with contempt, and told him to go ahead if he wanted to end in gaol.

  “I should be sorry for anyone who built a case on anything that man said or did. If you could make him responsible for Sir Daniel’s death, it would be good news all round, but I don’t see how yo
u can.”

  “No,” the Inspector said frankly, “neither do I. But I’m still hoping to find out a few things that I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, you’ll get any help from us that you like to ask. But I’ve been thinking over what passed at Fisher’s office yesterday, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a case where the adjourned inquest ought to be held without more delay. I don’t want to put that view to the coroner over your head. I thought I’d tell you first how it looks to me.”

  “I’m not quite sure that you’re wrong,” the Inspector answered. “And, anyway, I’m much obliged for the information you’ve given me about Redwin. It fits in very well with what I’ve heard from another source.”

  Mr. Wheeler felt that he had done rather well, and that the time had come when the conversation should be gently deflected to other subjects.

  Inspector Pinkey saw that it was a possible thing that it was a question of income tax irregularity which Redwin had alleged against Sir Daniel in Forbes and Fisher’s office, concerning which they had declined to act, though the threat with which he was said to have left them seemed to imply something rather different. For the moment, he might cease to enquire concerning that which he thought he knew, and the risk that he would learn of the stolen letters was reduced accordingly.

  As to the inquest, it was the very proposal that he had intended to put to Superintendent Trackfield, if his own enquiries should fail to produce more than he had already learnt. Why should the police take the responsibility of a doubtful arrest, when the verdict of a coroner’s jury might relieve them of it? Let the police inform the coroner that they did not wish the inquest longer delayed, and, if there were a verdict of suicide, the matter could be closed in that way. If there were one of murder against Lady Denton, she would be arrested on the coroner’s warrant, and their responsibility would be nil. Even if the verdict were murder against some person unknown, they would be no worse off than they were today. Yes, if he could discover nothing more in the next forty-eight hours, let the inquest be held.