‘Then it must have been someone else,’ she answered tranquilly. ‘I did see someone; I am sure of that.’ She paused and something like a faint smile fluttered for a moment at the corners of her mouth. ‘I suppose because I was thinking of Mr Lester, I thought it was him. I knew he wasn’t coming to-night but I expect I hoped he might.’ Again Mark looked at her with the same manner of devotion and of delight at her having had such a hope; and again Bobby thought that he could see she was for a passing moment a trifle surprised or even troubled by the emotion that he showed. It was almost as if his feeling for her surprised her, and yet they were an engaged couple, still presumably under the influence of the mutual passion and attraction that had brought them together.
Whether Mitchell also had noticed this Bobby was not sure, but it was quite plain that the Superintendent was a little disconcerted. It was perhaps not altogether surprising that a young girl, just engaged, should jump to the conclusion that any young man she had a glimpse of near the house was her lover coming to visit her – hope, expectation, longing, these soon produce a ‘wish-fantasy’ easily taken for reality. All the same he was not satisfied. So he took refuge in his customary device of a flood of words that however dried up rather more quickly than usual under Brenda’s calm and steady eyes.
Mark said:
‘Well, it wasn’t me Miss Laing saw, but it looks as if that gave you something to go on. If it was the murderer, then you know it was someone about my size and build.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mitchell. ‘Was the person you saw,’ he added to Brenda, ‘wearing a brown tweed lounge suit like this gentleman? Do you remember?’
‘I think he had on a dark coat and striped trousers,’ Brenda answered. ‘You have a suit like that, Mark?’
‘Yes, but I put it aside to send to the cleaners two or three days ago,’ Mark answered. ‘It’s not gone yet.’
‘Interesting,’ murmured Mitchell, and glancing at Bobby saw that he, too, was thinking of the morsel of striped trousering found outside the library window.
Only who was it who had left that behind him? And was it the murderer? And, if so, how had he been able to carry out a murder at one end of the house, a burglary at the other, and yet escape being seen except for this passing glimpse Miss Laing reported? Mitchell shook his head; it seemed impossible to him and yet he did not know what to make of it.
Mark turned abruptly to Brenda. It was a little as if something that had been holding him back had been suddenly slackened, so that for the moment he was freer, as if for the instant his real self was showing. He said with a kind of fierce, almost dramatic intensity:
‘Your father’s murderer shan’t go unpunished. If the police can’t find who did it, by God in his Heaven, I will.’ It was a sudden and unexpected outburst that startled them all.
‘I hope we shall succeed,’ Mitchell said drily, ‘but if we fail, Mr Lester, you’ve taken a great oath there.’
‘Mark,’ Brenda exclaimed, and for once even her superb tranquillity seemed troubled. ‘Mark, you should not have said that. Mark, what made you?’
Mark himself was looking a little surprised.
‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘It came into my mind; it just came into my mind somehow and I had to say it.’ Brenda turned and walked away and Mark followed her. Mitchell did not try to stop them, but he had a very worried air as he watched them cross the hall and disappear into the drawing-room where Peter Carsley and Jennie were still together, unaware till now, presumably, of Mark’s arrival.
‘I’ve a feeling,’ Mitchell said slowly, ‘that there’s more in this case than in any I’ve ever handled – and a whole lot more than any of us has any idea of at present. If it wasn’t that young fellow Miss Laing saw, who was it? Struck me she accepted his denial rather easily. Was that because she believed him at once – or because she didn’t believe him at all? But then again, why should he want to murder the father – stepfather – of the girl he’s going to marry. Though he does seem one of the high-strung, half-loony, artistic, literary type, that’s always liable to go in off the deep end any time almost. Unstable as water, and ready to run in a flood like water any way you give ’em a tilt. Now, if Sir Christopher had objected to their engagement, same as you say he squashed that between Mr Carsley and the other girl – one could see a bit clearer. Bear looking into, though.’
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Bobby. ‘Here is Mr Carsley,’ he added as the drawing-room door opened and Peter came out and walked quickly towards them.
CHAPTER 8
THE HEIRESS
Not without a certain emotion, for it seemed to them both it might be the solution of the mystery that was approaching them, the veteran Superintendent, the youthful constable, watched as Peter came quickly across the hall.
‘Good-looking enough for the pictures pretty near,’ Mitchell muttered to himself, noting the classic regularity of the young man’s features; ‘but all the same that mouth looks as if it would take a lot to stop it,’ and indeed the look of almost fierce resolve stamped upon the young man’s features, the firm lines about his mouth, something as it were of fire shining in his eyes, gave him an air like that he had worn when he had run almost the whole length of the field at Cardiff, clean through the opposing fifteen, to score at last for his side. ‘Made up his mind to something and nothing’s going to stop him. Only what?’
‘It’s the Carsley, sir,’ Bobby said in his ear excitedly; ‘he played for the University when I was there – jolly good man, ought to have been capped for England.’
Mitchell nodded, and was about to follow his usual plan of launching into a long harangue on the subject of sport in general, and Rugby football in particular, when there came a fresh knock at the door. Bobby went to answer it, for by this time Lewis’s slumber was profound. It proved to be the finger-print experts come back to examine the study. So that room had to be left to them, while the other three sat in the hall, and Peter, who had been waiting in a kind of heavy brooding silence, said to Mitchell:
‘There are some things I want to tell you. My name’s Carsley, Peter Carsley. My firm’s acted for Sir Christopher in legal affairs. Before I say anything else, I want to examine his safe. I believe it was found open. I have reason to believe it should contain a bundle of securities and bonds worth about twenty thousand pounds, mostly payable to bearer, all easily disposable of, and also diamonds worth a very large sum.’
‘Then,’ said Mitchell with decision, ‘you may be pretty sure there’s neither securities nor bonds nor diamonds there now. Only if there’s been a burglary to that extent here, why was there murder at the other end of the house? How do you know all this, Mr Carsley?’
‘The securities form part of a trust – the Belfort Trust,’ Peter answered. ‘There has been a change of trustees, owing to a death, and the new trustee, a Mr Belfort, is anxious to assure himself everything is in order. It was arranged he was to examine the papers here to-night. He was to dine here, and Sir Christopher was to go through the papers with him afterwards. It would be a long job, and Sir Christopher thought he could spare the time more easily here in the evening, than during the day in the City. Sir Christopher removed the securities from our care this afternoon – of course, we have his receipt – and he told Mr Marsden, my partner, that he would keep them all night and return them to-morrow.’
‘Did anyone else know of this arrangement?’
‘I suppose so,’ answered Peter. ‘It wasn’t a secret. Our staff would know, and some of Sir Christopher’s very likely, and Mr Belfort himself, of course, and anyone he mentioned it to.’
‘Mr Belfort doesn’t seem to have arrived,’ Mitchell observed. ‘Did Sir Christopher tell Mr Marsden about the diamonds you speak of?’
‘Yes. Marsden asked if it wasn’t rather dangerous to keep such a large sum in securities anyone could dispose of anywhere at any time almost. Sir Christopher said he had had diamonds worth as much in the safe for the last three months, and he thought the Belfort bonds would be all
right for a single night.’
‘Did Sir Christopher deal in diamonds?’
‘Sometimes, as a sort of side line, when he saw a chance of a profitable deal. I believe he put through some fairly big deals at times. And I think he liked to have them as a sort of reserve for days when you never know what’s going to happen to stocks and shares, or even to banknotes. He used to say diamonds and gold were always worth their value, but you could carry a fortune in diamonds in your pocket while you wanted a steam lorry to deal with any really big sum in gold.’
‘Prudent gentleman, Sir Christopher,’ Mitchell mused, ‘even though it’s always the prudent that seem let down the worst in the end, and now neither diamonds nor gold will help him much. I could see Mr Marsden in the morning at your office?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Peter grimly. ‘I don’t know what he’ll do; he may be there for all I know or he may – bolt.’
‘Why bolt?’ asked Mitchell, and Peter said:
‘He told me this afternoon that he had embezzled the money of our clients to a very large amount and that the firm was bankrupt – fraudulently bankrupt.’
‘He did, did he?’ said Mitchell, blinking both eyes, and for once quite taken aback by this abrupt declaration. ‘Well, that’s – well, what did you do?’
‘I don’t think I quite remember,’ Peter answered. ‘It was rather a knock-out – I had never dreamed of such a thing. I didn’t believe it at first, I thought he was just joking. Afterwards I went out and walked about the streets a bit. Then I went to see Sir Arnold Ameson, the K.C. He advised me to ring up the Public Prosecutor and ask for an appointment in the morning. I think he didn’t quite believe it either; he said perhaps Marsden was only trying to frighten me. Then he said I had better go straight to Scotland Yard but I ought to see Marsden first to make sure he meant it. So I started off to do that, and then I thought it was silly, because I was jolly sure Marsden meant it all right enough. I didn’t know what to do, and I walked about a long time, and then I made up my mind to go to Scotland Yard. So I went home to get a wash and change, and something to eat first, because I felt such a wreck, and I found a message asking me to come here. So I did.’
Mitchell looked and felt rather helpless. Here was another big case, superimposing itself, as it were, upon a mystery that already seemed as puzzling as any he had ever dealt with. Before he could say anything, one of the finger-print experts put his head round the study door.
‘You’re wanted on the phone, sir,’ he said to Mitchell. ‘Ah,’ said Mitchell, almost with relief, and went off. He was absent some minutes, and when he came back, he said: ‘They’ve finished in there so we can go back. No luck with finger-prints so far, but then it’s not often they’re much good now – I believe these days when a six-year-old sets out to raid the strawberry jam in his mother’s pantry, he puts on gloves first. It’s what the papers call the spread of popular education. No trace of anything of value in the safe, either, Mr Carsley – no securities, no bonds, and no diamonds.’
He led the way into the study again, and as he settled himself comfortably, waving Peter to one chair and Bobby to another, he added carelessly:
‘I see you’ve hurt your hand, Mr Carsley – how did that happen?’
Peter looked straight at his questioner; and now it was in challenge and in counter challenge, in defiance and in dreadful menace, that their gaze met.
‘I cut it sharpening a pencil,’ Peter said slowly, his eyes still staring straight into Mitchell’s. ‘When I pretty well ran out of the office after what Marsden told me, I was very upset and excited. I was off my head almost. It meant ruin at the best, it might mean public disgrace and prison if I couldn’t clear myself of complicity. I remember thinking I must make some notes of what Marsden had said and pulling a pencil out. It wanted sharpening and my knife slipped and I cut myself. I expect I was a bit shaky. I flung the pencil away and never made any notes after all.’
‘I see,’ said Mitchell slowly, ‘I thought perhaps you might have done it while you were climbing a wall with glass on the top?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Peter answered, his eyes still quiet and steady. ‘What wall? What glass? Why should I climb a wall with glass on it? I have told you how it happened.’
‘I notice you are wearing a blue serge suit,’ Mitchell said. ‘Have you had that on all day?’
‘No. I told you I felt so dirty and untidy and hungry, I went home for a wash and change before going on to Scotland Yard.’
‘Not all our visitors are so particular,’ said Mitchell dryly. ‘I suggest you had another reason for changing your clothes.’
‘What?’ asked Peter.
‘The coat you were wearing showed a stain where it had been hit by a tomato thrown at the man seen climbing the wall next door.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ Peter answered steadily. ‘If you care to send to my rooms, you can look for yourself. So far as I know, though my grey tweed suit is old enough, it shows no stain of any kind on the coat – and certainly no sign of having been cleaned recently.’
‘It doesn’t,’ agreed Mitchell. ‘When I was rung up just now, it was to receive a report from one of my men that a grey tweed suit found in your rooms had been examined and no stain or sign of recent cleaning found.’
‘As I told you,’ said Peter quietly. ‘But does that mean you have had my rooms searched?’
‘It does.’
‘Had you a search warrant?’
‘Oh, come, Mr Carsley, sir, and you a lawyer,’ Mitchell protested gently. ‘It’s a service flat you occupy, isn’t it? Our men only called and asked permission to have a look through your rooms. There were three of them – one in plain clothes and a sergeant and constable in uniform. Numbers always impress, and it’s a funny thing, too, but a uniform counts for a lot with most people – why, most of ’em would think more of a recruit in uniform than of the Commissioner himself in plain clothes. Your housekeeper lady did hum and ha a bit, but there were three men, and two of them in uniform, and people beginning to look already, and then of course it was explained to her that it was all entirely in your interest, and surely she knew enough of your standing and reputation to realize that everything was exactly as it ought to be, only it just happened certain steps were necessary. I don’t know what she thought all that meant, but she agreed to our men having a look round – and if they had found signs of a recent stain on the back of the jacket of your grey tweed suit, Mr Carsley, I am inclined to think it would have been my duty to arrest you.’
‘After which,’ retorted Peter, ‘it would have been my pleasure as a lawyer to try to make things hot for you.’
‘Ah, we shouldn’t have been afraid of that,’ commented Mitchell pleasantly, ‘not as if you were a charming young lady with big eyes and a look of innocence itself – the very devil that sort, have us permanently scared. Another thing. Your housekeeper – she looks after your clothing for you, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘She says you had two suits of grey tweed but only one was found.’
‘I have only one,’ Peter answered. ‘I had two but the other – the newest one – I gave away to a fellow who said he had been at school with me. I didn’t remember him, but he seemed to know fellows I knew, and as he said he had a chance of a job in Birmingham, if he could raise the fare and get there looking decent, I gave him a pound note and a suit of clothes. I daresay he was a fraud.’
‘Very likely,’ agreed Mitchell. ‘When was this?’
‘Two or three days ago.’
‘Then it wouldn’t help us,’ sighed Mitchell, ‘if we found him, and he was still wearing that suit, and it showed a stain on the back of the jacket. Could we find him, do you think?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Peter answered. ‘I was too glad to be quit of the poor devil to ask for his address or anything, and I don’t remember his name – Hicks or Hickson or something like that. He said he would write and tell me if he got the Birmi
ngham job. He hasn’t so far.’
‘Would anyone remember him?’ Mitchell asked. ‘Anyone see him, I mean?’
‘I don’t suppose so. He spoke to me in the street outside my flat and I took him in myself and let him out again. Very likely no one else saw him.’
‘Very likely,’ agreed Mitchell softly. ‘I think that’s very likely indeed.’
‘I’m afraid you don’t believe me,’ Peter said calmly. ‘Well, I’m very sorry, but I can’t help that. But I should like to know what all this means and what you’re talking about?’
‘A strange man,’ explained Mitchell, ‘presumably the murderer of Sir Christopher, though that’s not certain, was seen escaping over the wall of the next door garden. A tomato was thrown at him, hit him on the back, and would presumably stain his coat. He is also believed to have cut his hand on the glass on the top of the wall. He is described as young, active, clean-shaven, and wearing a grey tweed suit. There was no attempt at pursuit because then what had happened was not known.’
‘A pity,’ observed Peter, ‘but doesn’t it occur to you that a good many people are young, active, clean-shaven, and wear grey tweed suits?’
‘That’s our difficulty,’ admitted Mitchell, ‘that’s why we can hardly proceed to immediate arrest. You tell us also that your firm is bankrupt and that large sums, formerly in your charge, are now missing from Sir Christopher’s safe over there?’
‘I may remind you,’ Peter pointed out, ‘that I consulted Sir Arnold Ameson about five o’clock, some time, I suppose, before all this happened. I think it is fairly obvious that if I had contemplated burglary and murder, I shouldn’t have been to see Sir Arnold first.’
‘It’s a point to remember,’ agreed Mitchell. ‘I understand you and Sir Christopher were on bad terms – you wished to be engaged to his daughter and he objected. Is that so?’
‘Yes,’ answered Peter. ‘So we got married three weeks ago.’
‘Eh, what? What’s that?’ exclaimed Mitchell, once again fairly startled. ‘You mean that?’
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