Except For One Thing

by John Russell Fearn

  There was a movement in the hall behind. Joyce herself came into view as the housekeeper retired back to her duties.

  “Why, Inspector Garth! Of all people!”

  “I’d just like a word with you, Miss Prescott. If you don’t mind — ”

  “Why no, of course not. Please come in.”

  He took off his hat, and followed her across the hall into the study. Her father glanced up in surprise from his desk.

  “This is Chief Inspector Garth of Scotland Yard, dad,” the girl said rather timidly. “You remember me telling you I met him last night when I was with — Dick? My father, Inspector — Dr. Prescott. You see, we — we have no secrets from each other, so whatever you have to say to me can be said before him too.”

  “How are you, Doctor?” Garth shook hands as Howard Prescott came round the desk. “And I may as well tell both of you I don’t exactly like my job at the moment. I wanted to check up on something from you, Miss Prescott…Last night, as you left Dick — I’m calling him that because he is as much my friend as he is your fiancé — did I hear you call him…“Ricky”?”

  “Yes.” Joyce spoke very quietly as she motioned Garth to an easy chair. Then she added, “And he’s not my fiancé any more, Inspector. It’s all over.”

  Garth looked sympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry about that. Just why?”

  As Joyce remained silent, her father said: “You see, Inspector, Joyce here is a girl of most vacillating moods. She has always been that way. All eagerness in one direction, then the next moment she flies off at a tangent and tears everything she has done up by the roots. That’s how it is now. Fortunately she tells me everything, so I can usually straighten her out. Last night she came home with the conviction that Dick is mixed up in the disappearance of this woman Valerie Hadfield, and because of that she’s given the poor chap his ring back and has sworn never to see him again.”

  “What started this idea, Miss Prescott? Was it the name of “Ricky”?”

  She turned suddenly from the window where the weak sunshine made her hair like a copper halo.

  “Yes — it was that really.” She sounded half afraid. “Somehow I — I sort of tied up the name of Ricky with Rixton Williams and then…Oh, I don’t know!” She made a helpless gesture. “Perhaps I am being unforgivably mean towards Dick, but for the moment I had the awful feeling that he caused Valerie Hadfield to disappear.”

  “As to that,” Garth said, “you have only the guide of your own judgement. I’d rather like to know how long you’ve been engaged to him.”

  “Eight months.”

  “Forgive me if I sound indelicate,” Garth said, “but isn’t that rather a long engagement?”

  “There was a reason.” Joyce answered. “Dick was struggling to break an engagement to some other woman during that time…You see, during that period we weren’t officially engaged. The moment he did at last break free of this unknown woman he gave me a ring and sealed the bargain.”

  “When?” Garth asked quietly.

  “Well, when he came to give it to me last Saturday morning we had a bit of a tiff and finally it got to Saturday night before we patched things up…” The girls’ round chin quivered a little but her dark eyes were defiant. “Last night I gave it him back! And until he tells me who the woman is that has been standing between us I won’t ever speak to him again.”

  “So that’s the bone of contention, is it?” Garth asked, a deadly glint in his pale eyes. “He has never told you the name of this former fiancée?”

  “Never — and things have so sort of linked up with Valerie Hadfield that I…” Joyce stopped and shook her head wearily, pressed her finger and thumb to her eyes.

  “Just why do you want to know so much about Richard, Inspector?” Howard Prescott asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Garth was at his blandest as he turned his palms upward. “Nothing at all, Doctor, and even if there were I wouldn’t dare say so.”

  “Then if there’s nothing wrong why did you come here in an official capacity?” Garth looked at the shrewd dark eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses and saw a man far removed from a gentle philanthropist and professor of philosophy-

  “I came,” Garth said deliberately, “to find out whether Miss Prescott said “Ricky” or “Rixy” last night. Between those two names is a world of difference. Had it been the latter it would have been the same name as Valerie Hadfield had for her lover Rixton Williams, and things might have looked rather peculiar for Dick. As it is…Well, you’ve cleared the air nicely, Miss Prescott.”

  “Have I?” she gave a listless smile. “You can put it that way if you want, Inspector — maybe you have to in your job — but I’m as sure as I’m born that Dick’s other woman was Valerie Hadfield, and that only he knows what has become of her!”

  “Careful, dear!” her father warned her.

  “I can’t help seeing it!” she insisted. “And you think so too, Inspector, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And I’ll tell you something else, too,” she went on, colouring emotionally. “Dick said he couldn’t see me for a week just before he gave me the ring. That week was the same one in which Valerie Hadfield and Rixton Williams had their whirlwind courtship. I noticed that when I read the brief accounts in the papers. But Dick could have seen me had he wanted because he was at home at intervals during that week building his garage.”

  “Really?” Garth remained impassive but he cocked a questioning eye on Howard Prescott. The Doctor nodded rather reluctantly.

  “I’m afraid it’s true, Inspector, but it’s understandable. He wanted to get the garage finished in time for Joyce to be able to use it — ”

  “Which is something I just don’t understand!” the girl interrupted. “I have never expressed any particular desire for a garage on the premises. In fact, I can’t recall saying that I ever wanted a garage — or a car — at all. It’s Dick’s idea, and it seems to have become a positive obsession. Anyway, I know what I think, and believe me, Inspector Garth, it doesn’t make me feel at all happy.”

  Garth got to his feet. “Well, I have to be on my way,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m so glad to have met you again, Miss Prescott. As I said earlier, you must use your own judgement in this — er — affair of the heart. Thank you for all you have told me…And good day to you, Doctor. Glad to have made your acquaintance.”

  As he left, Garth knew he had been particularly evasive to two decent, down-to-earth souls who deserved infinitely better treatment, but as a servant of the law he had certain ethics to preserve.

  Thoughtfully he made his way to the Underground station, and returned to his office. As Garth came in Sergeant Whittaker got to his feet.

  “It’s the biggest thing so far, sir!” he declared urgently. “Look for yourself! We couldn’t have had better proof if we’d wanted…It was delivered to Valerie Hadfield’s flat by Kerrigan’s the jewellers, and of course P.C. Gordon sent it on here. Apparently the lid had been smashed and Valerie had sent it to be repaired. Seems they’d have sent it here sooner only they weren’t quite sure of procedure…”

  Without a word Garth raised a silver cigarette box from the desk. Slowly he opened the lid and read the inscription inside — To Val, from Ricky, with all my love.

  “We’ve got him, sir!” Whittaker declared. “We’ve got him because this box was in existence long before Rixton Williams even came into being…”

  CHAPTER XV

  Garth returned the box to the desk, hung up his hat and coat. Slowly he settled down in his swivel chair, his expression one of hurt wonderment.

  “It’s damnable!” he said bitterly. “Dick Harvey is one of the few men I have always admired — for his ability, social standing, his charm of manner…And now we have all the evidence lined up we know that he was the man in Valerie Hadfield’s life. It means I’ve got to hound him to the ends of the earth if need be until I either batter the truth out of him or prove every one of his actions to the hilt. To have to do that to one of one�
�s best friends is tough, Whitty.”

  “Yes, sir,” Whittaker agreed quietly; then added naively, “But we’re police officers.”

  “All right! So we know he’s the man in whom Valerie Hadfield was interested. How far does it get us? Does it prove he killed her? No! Does it prove he killed Peter Cranston? No! Where is Valerie Hadfield? It isn’t murder until we find out…The evidence so far? We know from the fingerprints on the empty glass of brandy-and-soda this morning that the prints on it tally exactly with those in the back of the Daimler and in Valerie’s flat. We knew then that he was the man in her life, but somehow I’ve kept hoping he’d explain it away. I’ve kept the truth from him for that very reason — to lure him out, but he’s refused to be baited. We know, too, about the name “Ricky”, and we know other things. He wangled that two thousand pounds somehow knowing we couldn’t check up, and to allay his suspicions I told him that others had drawn out two thousand in ones…Also I spent half an hour with his former fiancée, Joyce Prescott, this afternoon and that girl has guessed the whole truth if only she knew it. She even admitted that Dick had — or has — another woman in his life and that he only freed himself from her the day after Valerie Hadfield and the bogus Rixton Williams vanished. Yes, it all adds up…”

  Garth went to his overcoat pocket, and took out a ball of blood-stained cotton wool from it.

  “This is from Dick Harvey’s swab-bin,” he said. “I noticed a cut on his wrist and he told me he’d done it in the laboratory. In any event, whether he did it there or elsewhere, the probability struck me that he’d wash the wound in the lab where he keeps all the disinfectant. So, thanks to your fortunate ring on the phone I was able to take a quick look round for traces, and found this. If you hadn’t rung I’d have had to wait and then break in the place later. Anyway, let’s see what we get. Follow me…”

  Before long they were entering the Home Office pathological department and heading towards Dr. Winters as he pored over some abstruse chemical problem at the far end of the enormous room.

  “Oh, hello, Inspector…” Colourless as ever Winters looked up, then took the stained fluff Garth handed to him.

  “Can you test it?” Garth asked. “I’ve reason to think it may match that blood-group we found on the car belonging to Rixton Williams.”

  “Easy enough,” Winters said, and began to busy himself with the preparation of a saline solution into which he finally placed the small wad of cotton wool containing the blood-stain. Then he watched the effect in the ampule as hazy, dirty sediment appeared. Carefully he set the ampule in a rack and waited for the liquid to settle itself.

  “Will it take long?” Garth asked.

  “I’m afraid it will need at least a fourteen-hour steeping,” Winters said. “It’s not a recent stain and I’ve got to have it absolutely clear before using the antiserum controls on the stain extract…Better leave it with me, Inspector, and I’ll let you have my report as soon as I can.”

  “Okay.” Garth had to accept it.

  “What now, sir?” Whittaker asked as they returned to the office. “Confront Mr. Harvey with all you know about him so far?”

  “Partly yes — partly no. I shall certainly let him know that we have proof of his connection with Valerie Hadfield, but what we have to do is to get evidence of what happened to her — and that is going to take some doing because…”

  Garth broke off and his eyes widened momentarily.

  “My God, of course! Another motive, apart from the obvious one of wanting to be rid of a woman who wouldn’t let him go. A perfect crime! Now I know why he was so sure that one could exist! He must have planned it from that very time, and damn me, I’m not so sure that he hasn’t succeeded! Unless he betrays himself somewhere we can never pin anything on him…”

  Garth reached his desk. “My only hope lies in subtlety. Let him think that I still don’t suspect him, until that moment comes when he slips — as they all do finally — and the whole rotten pack of lies comes down in an avalanche!”

  *

  Richard did not stop working on his garage until half-past ten that evening, except for a brief interval for dinner towards eight o’clock. Once the daylight had gone he carried an extension flex and lamp out from the laboratory and continued by its brilliance. He made no attempt to explain his actions to the puzzled Baxters. He no longer considered it necessary to maintain his pose of geniality. What the devil did it matter, anyway? He had lost Joyce, presumably for good; he knew full well that Chief Inspector Garth had strong suspicions, despite his assertions to the contrary…With these major distractions the puzzlement of two old fools like the Baxters simply didn’t signify.

  So by half-past ten that night he had completed the brick walls and laid the timber beams across them which were to form the basis for the ceiling and angled roof. Then he went in the house, washed, and retired to bed and relaxed between the sheets.

  He was commencing to feel the strain of insomnia. His nerves were no longer as steady as they had been. He kept going back and forth over his actions of the past two or three weeks, tearing each act to pieces to see if it would stand up to the acid test.

  He was awake until well after two in the morning, then at last a half-hearted nightmarish slumber did come to him. It was worse than being awake. Valerie Hadfield, thin and elongated beyond all natural dimensions, was helping Chief Inspector Garth to build a garage, and every time he laid one brick he dashed off somewhere to answer a telephone, and returned with a brandy-and-soda. Inchoate, tangled mix-up which ended with Garth falling into a bag of cement powder and emerging as dishevelled as a tramp and white as a wedding cake doll.

  Richard awoke, laughing painfully, and found that it was half-past three. He did not sleep again. He did not even want to. Dream of the dead and be troubled with the living…His father had always believed that, and now he believed it too — bitterly, intensively. In fact it was more than a belief: it was a deadly fear that clung to him through the abysmal dark hours that creep into the grey of dawn.

  Towards six o’clock he got up stiffly, dressed in his old clothes, and went outside to continue with the garage, working until breakfast-time on jobs that made little noise so the Baxters would have no idea what he was doing. After breakfast he went out and hammered the roof-stanchions into position, added the laths that would take the ceiling plaster…Then as he poised high on the crossbeam of the roof he became aware of a figure looking up at him quizzically.

  It was Chief Inspector Garth.

  “Hello, Dick!” he greeted.

  “Soon back, aren’t you?” Richard wriggled his way along the crossbeam and came down the ladder to the ground. Garth’s face was quite expressionless, dough-white from his eternal dyspepsia, a cheroot half-burned down between his teeth.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I am. I’d like to ask you something, Dick…Why didn’t you tell me of your intimate association with Valerie Hadfield?”

  Richard examined his dirty hands, searching his mind frantically to anticipate what might be coming. “What in the world are you talking about?” he asked calmly.

  “I’m talking about a cigarette box inscribed on the lid — “To Val, from Ricky, with all my love”!”

  That infernal silver cigarette box! The one thing he hadn’t been able to fit into his plan because he couldn’t find it…Now, of all times, it had reappeared!

  “I see you’re familiar with it,” Garth commented, digging his hands deep in his overcoat pockets. “The jeweller’s returned it after repairing a broken lid.”

  “I’m not necessarily familiar with it!” Richard retorted. “I’m just plain surprised that you should dig up such a thing and throw it at me in this fashion! What’s “Ricky” got to do with me?”

  “Look here, old man, I’m not a damned fool,” Garth said quietly. “I know your nickname is “Ricky” because Miss Prescott called you that.”

  Richard smiled coldly. “So she’s been blabbing to you, has she?”

  “The matter doesn’t co
ncern her, Dick; it concerns you! You knew — and may still know — Valerie Hadfield. I’ve no proof that she is dead, but you are the one man in her life. Right?”

  “Except for Rixton Williams…yes,” Richard said deliberately. The gloves were off now, and he knew it.

  “You admit that you know Valerie Hadfield then?”

  “I knew her very well, Garth, up to the time of her disappearance that is…” Richard was talking easily now, his mind far ahead of his words, preparing a path through the jungle lying ahead.

  “You didn’t help a fellow much, did you?”

  “Why should I? You were so infernally self-assured I didn’t intend to give you an atom of help until you got things so tied up that I had to. And besides, I didn’t admit my association with her because I realised what a frightful spot it could put me in.”

  “And you risked losing Joyce — in fact did lose her — for the same reason?” Garth questioned.

  “Yes — and you must have done plenty of talking to her to know that I have lost her. I knew she suspected lots of things but I couldn’t admit anything to her any more than to you because I realised she might talk to you, or vice versa, when Valerie vanished — her disappearance coinciding most inconveniently with my own excursions on business out of town — I knew I’d better keep quiet, even at the risk of losing Joyce and exciting your suspicions. As for this mysterious Rixton Williams, I don’t know a thing about him. His name happens to be applicable to my own nickname, and the only solution I can think of is that Val has — or had — a second man in her life and maybe put him up to all this to get me in bad odour when she realised that I wanted to get her out of my system.”

  “So that’s your theory?” Garth gave a fleeting smile. “You think she got somebody to make it look as if you had done it? You suggest that at this moment she still lives and is laughing at you from somewhere?”

  “Knowing Val, yes,” Richard agreed, conscious of agreeable surprise that everything was working out so well.

  “Well, it’s certainly a theory,” Garth admitted, throwing down his cheroot stump and grinding it under his foot. “But how do you explain the death of the chauffeur?”