‘I ’eard wot they said when they were passing. “I tell you, ’e knows,” she said. “I’m frightened,” she said. “You don’t know ’im. If ’e once thinks you’ve played ’im false ’e’ll make a ’ell of a trouble.” An’ then Pyke says: “Nonsense,” ’e said. “’E’s not that sort. Besides,” ’e said, “’e don’t know anything. ’E knows we’re friends, but that’s all.’ “No,” she said, “I’m sure ’e knows, or ’e guesses anyway. We’ll ’ave to separate,” she said. ’E said they ’ad been careful enough, and then they went past an’ I didn’t ’ear no more.’
‘That all?’
‘That’s all,’ said Beer disgustedly. ‘Ain’t it enough?’
‘Nothing to boast about,’ French replied absently. He remembered that the man had been dismissed by Berlyn and he wondered if this statement was merely the result of spite. He therefore questioned him closely. But he was unable to shake him and he formed the opinion that the story was true.
If so, it certainly had a pretty direct bearing on the theory he was trying to evolve, for there could be little doubt as to who ‘’e’ was. As he considered the matter he was surprised to find how complete that theory was and how much of it had been definitely established. There were gaps, of course, but there was no doubt as to its general correctness.
As French now saw it, the affair stood as follows:
Stanley Pyke and Phyllis Berlyn, friends during childhood, find that they love each other when they renew their acquaintance in later years. But it is then too late for the course of true love to run smooth, and a clandestine attachment follows. Berlyn learns of this some four months before the tragedy and as a result of his interference the two decide to discontinue their meetings—in public at all events. The flirtation with Colonel Domlio is possibly deliberately undertaken by Mrs Berlyn to prove to her husband that her interest in Pyke is over.
But the two find that they cannot give each other up and the intrigue is continued secretly. Berlyn, however, is not hoodwinked. He sees his friend betraying him and he determines on vengeance.
His first move is to get an accomplice to assist in the details. Here French admitted to himself that he was out of his depth. He could not imagine who the accomplice was or why he should have been required. But if Berlyn were guilty, the murder was clearly a two-man job. Simultaneous activities in different places proved it.
The arrangements about the crate are next made. French was aware that these had not yet been properly followed up; other matters had been more urgent. But they represented a second string to his bow which he would develop if necessary.
Then comes the night of the crime. While Berlyn and Pyke are at Tavistock the accomplice drugs the watchman’s food. He then waits for the car. Pyke is sandbagged and his body carried into the works. One of the men then unpacks the crate, and taking the duplicator to pieces, returns the larger parts to stock. He has already doctored the cards as well as the corresponding books. He then strips the recognisable clothes off the body, puts the latter in the crate, smashes in the face, closes the crate and leaves all as before. Finally he escapes with Pyke’s outer clothes and the smaller parts of the duplicator. He has only to get rid of these and his part in the ghastly business is complete.
In the meantime his confederate has driven the car out to a lonely part of the moor, changed the magneto and made the tracks leading from the road.
The facts which pointed to Berlyn’s guilt were six-fold.
1. Berlyn in all probability was consumed by jealousy, one of the strongest of human motives for crime.
2. Berlyn had an unparallelled opportunity for the deed, which only he could have arranged.
3. It was not easy to see how anyone but Berlyn could have handled the magneto affair.
4. Berlyn had the necessary position in the Vida Works to carry out the watchman and stock-card episodes.
5. Berlyn answered the description of the man who had called for the crate.
6. Berlyn had disappeared, an incomprehensible action if he were innocent.
As French thought again over the accomplice he recognised that here was the snag in his theory. Motives of personal jealousy and private wrong leave no room for an accomplice. Moreover, it was incredible that a man who had shown such ingenuity could not have devised a scheme to carry out the crime single-handed.
But though French recognised that there were points in the case as yet unexplained, he saw that his own procedure was clear. He must start the search for Berlyn and he must learn the identity of the accomplice.
The first of these was easy. He had compiled a pretty accurate description of the junior partner and Daw had got hold of his photograph. An entry under the ‘Wanted for Crime’ heading of the Morning Report would start every police officer in the country on the search.
The second problem he found more difficult. Rack his brains as he would he could think of no one who might have helped Berlyn.
He thought his best plan would be an inquiry into the whereabouts at ten o’clock on the night of the crime of everyone whom it was possible to suspect. That, coupled with an investigation as to who was in London when the various letters were posted, should yield results.
The fact that a number of possible suspects had been at Mrs Berlyn’s party from eight to eleven on the fatal evening seemed to rule them out. But French thought he should get some more definite information on the point. Accordingly, he went up to the works and asked for Mr Fogden, one of those whom Lizzie Johnston had mentioned as being present.
‘I heard a peculiar story about Mrs Berlyn,’ he said, a propos of nothing special when they had talked for some time. ‘I was told she had a premonition of Mr Berlyn’s death and was miserable and upset all that evening of the crime. A peculiar thing if true, isn’t it?’
‘Who told you that?’ Mr Fogden asked sceptically.
‘A chance remark in the bar of the Silver Tiger. I don’t know the speaker’s name; nor, of course, do I know if his story was true.’
‘Well, you may take it from me that it wasn’t. I was at Mrs Berlyn’s that evening and there was nothing wrong with her that I saw.’
This gave French his lead. When he left the office he had obtained all the details of the party that he wanted. On the day before the crime Mrs Berlyn had ’phoned Mr Fogden to say that her husband was to be out on the following evening and that she would be alone, and asking if he and one or two of the others would come and keep her company. Eight people had turned up, including himself, Cowls and Leacock from the works, a Dr Lancaster and his wife and two Miss Pyms and a Miss Nesbitt from the town. All these people were very intimate and the party was quite informal. Some of them had played billiards and the others bridge.
This information seemed to French to eliminate Fogden, Cowls and Leacock, as well, of course, as Mrs Berlyn herself. He spent the remainder of the day in racking his brains for other possible accomplices and in thinking out ways to learn their movements on the night in question.
Next morning he took up the matter of the whereabouts of all suspects when the incriminating letters were posted in London.
Fortunately the inquiry presented but little difficulty. A further application to Mr Fogden revealed the fact there was an attendance book at the works which all the officials signed, from Mr Fogden himself down. This book showed that everyone concerned was in Ashburton on the dates of posting. Even Stanley Pyke, who was absent five days out of six on his rounds, had been there. Further, Mr Fogden’s diary showed that he had had interviews with Colonel Domlio on the critical days. From Lizzie Johnston, French learned that Mrs Berlyn had also been at home during the period.
French was more puzzled than ever. It looked as if someone must have been mixed up in the affair, of whose existence he was still in ignorance.
Just as he was about to step into bed that night an idea struck him which gave him sharply to think. As he considered it, he began to wonder if his whole view of the crime were not mistaken. He suddenly saw that the facts
could bear a quite different interpretation from that which he had placed upon them, an interpretation, moreover, which would go far towards solving the problem of the accomplice.
Once again he swung from depression to optimism, as chuckling gently to himself he decided that next morning he would embark on a line of inquiry which up to the present he had been stupid enough entirely to overlook.
13
The Accomplice?
French’s new idea had been subconsciously in his mind from the very first, but probably owing to his theory of the guilt of one of the two men supposed to be lost, he had never given it the consideration he now saw that it deserved.
Suppose that on the night of the tragedy the lines of footprints had not been faked. Suppose that after leaving the car the two men had walked across the moor and reached Domlio’s. Suppose that Domlio was the moving spirit in the affair and Berlyn merely the accomplice.
This idea, French thought, would account not only for the facts which his previous theory had covered, but also for nearly all of those which the latter had failed to meet.
As before, the affair hinged on the fatal attractiveness of Phyllis Berlyn, but in this case Domlio was the victim. Suppose Domlio had fallen desperately in love with Phyllis and that she had encouraged him. So far from this being unlikely, the facts bore it out. Different witnesses had testified to the flirtation and Mrs Berlyn herself had not denied it.
Domlio then would see that there was a double barrier to the realisation of his desires. There was, of course, Berlyn, but if Berlyn were out of the way there was still Pyke. How far Mrs Berlyn loved Pyke, Domlio might not know, but their ‘affair’ was common knowledge and he would want to be on the safe side. If murder were the way out in one case, why not in both? The risk was probably no greater, and once both his rivals were out of the way his own happiness was secured.
His plan decided on, he would approach his friend Berlyn with insidious suggestions as to the part Pyke was playing with his wife. Gradually he would let it be known that he also had occasion to hate Pyke, obviously for some quite different reason. He would feed the other’s jealousy until, at last, Berlyn would be as ready for the crime as he was himself. Then he would put forward his proposals.
Pyke was a cause of misery in both their lives; they would combine to remove his evil influence.
Between them they would obtain and damage the spare magneto, then arrange the visit to Tavistock and the ordering of the crate and crane lorry. Berlyn would require Pyke to accompany him to Tavistock. All could be done without raising suspicion.
On the fatal night Domlio would go to the works and drug Gurney’s supper. Later on, during the run back from Tavistock, Berlyn would stop the car and pretend to Pyke that it had broken down. He would suggest looking up Domlio, who would certainly run them into Ashburton in his own car. A light in the colonel’s study would lead them direct to its French window, and Domlio would admit them without letting his servants know of their call.
Domlio would immediately get out his car and they would start for the town. A sandbag would be in the car and on the way Pyke would be done to death. The two men would then leave the car in some deserted place, and carrying the body to the works, would pack it in the crate. When the ghastly work was done they would return to the car, taking with them Pyke’s suit and the small parts of the duplicator. These they would get rid of later. Lastly, they would change the magneto on Berlyn’s car.
So far, French was well pleased with his new theory, but he realised that it contained a couple of nasty snags.
In the first place it did not account satisfactorily for the disappearance of Berlyn. Presumably Domlio had manœuvred his colleague into such a position that he could give him away to the police with safety to himself. Berlyn would therefore have to do the other’s bidding, which would be to disappear and to get rid of the crate. This was possible, but there was not a shred of proof that it had happened.
Secondly, the theory did not explain how the letters were posted in London. However, though French was not entirely satisfied, he grew more and more convinced that he was on sure ground in suspecting Domlio. At all events his next job must be to test the point.
First he decided to find out what Sergeant Daw could tell him about the colonel, and early next morning saw him at the police station. The sergeant greeted him with a peculiar smile.
‘I suppose, sir, you’ve heard the rumour that’s going round?’ he asked at once.
‘What’s that, Sergeant?’
‘They say you’ve found out that Mr Berlyn murdered Mr Pyke out on the moor that night. Mrs Billing, Pyke’s landlady, is supposed to have recognised the underclothes.’
French smiled.
‘Well, it’s quite true,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Sergeant, but I went off to London as soon as I discovered it. I warned Mrs Billing not to talk, but I hardly believed she could help herself.’
The sergeant was evidently upset.
‘I’m sorry about the whole thing, Mr French. I should have thought Mr Berlyn was the last man who would do such a thing.’
‘You may be right. Indeed, it’s a matter arising out of that very point that I want to see you about. I have a notion there was a second person in it, someone who might even have taken the lead. Tell me,’ French’s voice became very confidential, ‘what sort of a man is Colonel Domlio?’
The sergeant looked shocked.
‘Colonel Domlio?’ he repeated. ‘Surely, sir, you don’t mean to suggest that the colonel was mixed up in a murder?’
‘You don’t think it likely?’
‘I don’t, sir, and that’s a fact. The colonel’s a very quiet man and peculiar in some ways, but he’s well respected in the district.’
‘So was many a murderer.’
The sergeant was clearly sceptical, though anxious to be polite. He said he was sure Mr French would not speak without good reason, but his own view was evident.
‘Well, tell me all you know about him anyway.’
Domlio, it appeared, was a man of about forty-five, short, thick-set and dark. (Not the man who called for the crate, thought French.) He was very well off, and, since his wife had died some six-years earlier, had lived alone with his servants in his house on the moor. He held sufficient Vida stock to give him a controlling interest in the firm, acted as consulting engineer and was usually referred to as the senior partner. Entomology was his pet hobby and it was believed that he was writing a book on the insect life of the moor.
He had four servants. Inside was John Burt, valet, butler and general factotum, and his wife, Sarah Burt, who combined the offices of cook and general servant. Outside was an ex-serviceman named Coombe, who acted as chauffeur and general handyman, and an old gardener called Mee. Mee lived with his wife and daughter in the gate lodge and Coombe boarded with them. All, so far as the sergeant knew, were reliable people of good character.
‘I’ll go out and see the colonel after lunch,’ French announced. ‘Could you lend me a push bicycle? I don’t want all my movements reported on by the driver of a car.’
‘I can borrow one for you, but it’ll not be much use on these hilly roads.’
‘It’ll do all I want.’
A couple of hours later French set out. When near Colonel Domlio’s gate he hid the bicycle in the brushwood and approached the house on foot. It was a smallish, creeper covered building, L-shaped, with thick walls and heavy, overhanging eaves. At least a hundred years old, French thought. It stood some two hundred yards back from the road and was approached by a drive which wound between clumps of stunted trees and shrubs. In front was a small lawn of mown grass, while between the trees to the right French glimpsed the roofs of outbuildings. The place had a cared-for appearance. The woodwork of the house had been freshly painted, the flower-beds were tidy and the grass edges had recently been cut.
The door was opened by an elderly man in butler’s dress, honest and kindly looking, but rather stupid. John Burt, e
vidently. He asked French to step inside while he took his card to his master.
The hall was of fair size, with a large, old-fashioned fireplace and lead lighted windows. French had not much time to observe it, for Burt called him almost immediately into a room on the left of the hall door.
It was long, low and delightfully furnished as a study. Bookcases lined the walls and a couple of deep, saddle-bag arm-chairs stood on the soft Chinese carpet in front of the fireplace. A collector’s entomological cabinet was in one corner, with close by a table bearing books and a fine microscope. The room was evidently in the corner of the house, for there were French windows in adjacent walls. In one of these was a leather-topped desk and at the desk was seated a shortish man with a strong, clean-shaven face, iron-grey hair, and a not too amiable expression. He rose as French entered.
‘Inspector French of Scotland Yard, is it not? I have heard that you were in the town.’
‘That’s correct, sir,’ French answered, taking the chair to which the other pointed. ‘You’ve probably heard enough, then, to guess my business?’
Colonel Domlio squared his shoulders.
‘I heard you were investigating the deaths of Mr Berlyn and Mr Pyke. I don’t know the object of this call.’
‘I’ve come, Colonel Domlio, in connection with my investigation. I want to ask your help in it.’
‘What do you wish me to do?’
‘Two things, sir. In the first place I want any information you can give me about either of the two gentlemen you mentioned or anything which might throw light on the tragedy. Secondly, I would be obliged if you would answer the purely formal question that we inspectors have to ask all who were in any way connected with the victim of such a tragedy, Where were you yourself at the time of the occurrence?’
The colonel raised his eyebrows.
‘Do you suspect me of murdering Mr Pyke?’ he asked dryly.
‘I think, sir, you needn’t take up that line.’ French’s tone was also a trifle dry. ‘I have explained that my question is a formal one, invariably put. You are not bound to answer it unless you wish.’
Inspector French and the Sea Mystery Page 14
