‘I shall have all my work cut out for me here,’ Marsden answered with another angry glare at Peter. ‘What I’ve got to do now is to try to keep what clients we have left, if that’s possible. Trying to get more is rather a forlorn hope at present.’
‘Then,’ suggested Mitchell, ‘I daresay you wouldn’t have any objection to our taking care of your passport for you for the present. Mr Carsley has already trusted us with his.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Peter. ‘You took it. You never asked, you took it.’
‘Only because you weren’t there at the moment,’ Mitchell pointed out in quite a pained voice. ‘Anyhow, we’re asking Mr Marsden.’
Marsden looked more scowling and defiant than ever, and Bobby almost thought for a moment that there was going to be an outburst. But then with a sort of hard laugh Marsden produced his pocket-book, took out the passport, and flung it angrily on the table.
‘There it is if you want it,’ he said angrily. ‘Perhaps you would like to take our finger-prints as well.’
‘Ah, finger-prints,’ said Mitchell, slipping the passport into his pocket, ‘finger-prints – oh, it’s only small fry we catch with finger-prints nowadays, and it’s not small fry we are up against in this case. Of course, if we should need them I know we can rely on both you gentlemen. Good morning, gentlemen, good morning.’
Neither of them made him any answer. Leaving them sitting there facing each other with dark and angry looks, Mitchell left the room, and Bobby, since he did not know what else to do, followed.
Outside, Mitchell beckoned to a taxi he saw at a distance. He had not seemed to be aware of Bobby, hovering humbly just behind, but now he remarked to him over his shoulder: ‘Taxis for supers, buses and trams for sergeants and inspectors, and constables can foot it. That,’ said Mitchell with deep appreciation, ‘is discipline.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Bobby respectfully.
Watching the slow approach of his taxi, held up by the manoeuvres of a leading K.C.’s car that seemed nearly as big as the surrounding houses, Mitchell asked:
‘Well, what do you think of all that?’
‘Don’t know, sir,’ said Bobby, who indeed felt completely bewildered by what he had heard.
‘Has Marsden been embezzling his clients’ cash?’ Mitchell went on; ‘is that why he bolted? If so, why did he come back? Was it because he heard of the murder and thought it was safe to return with Sir Christopher out of the way? Then where does Carsley come in? He can’t account for his movements at the time of the murder, says he was walking about the streets. Feeble sort of story, but it might be true, feeble stories sometimes are, most likely because truth’s a feeble growth in this world. But the murder meant a fortune for him and his wife. Adequate motive there, and we know no other. Marsden, according to Carsley, said last night the firm was bankrupt, and now says every claim can be met – is that because he has the missing bonds and diamonds in his pocket? Did he come back because he thought the bigger crime, the murder, would cover the smaller one, the theft? And, anyhow, there wasn’t Sir Christopher to be afraid of any longer. Then there’s the doctor – if the murdered man was dead when he entered the billiard-room, why was he as long giving the alarm as you say he was? Was it to let someone escape? Who was the man seen escaping over the next door garden wall and is it only a coincidence that Carsley’s hand was cut? Who was the man Miss Laing says she saw and why did she think it was Mark Lester at first? Can you make sense of all that, young man?’
‘No, sir,’ said Bobby.
Mitchell surveyed him with a benevolent eye.
‘What I like about you,’ he said, ‘is the way you encourage conversation, always some apt remark to make, some interesting comment to pass.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Bobby.
‘If you want a man to talk, and he don’t,’ Mitchell continued, ‘then, if you keep it up long enough, about the weather and what’ll win, and what possessed the Arsenal directors to pick the team they did last Saturday, or, if it’s a woman, about how well she’s looking and how wonderfully her hat suits her and isn’t Greta Garbo just lovely and is it true Ronald Colman’s eyelashes are artificial – then in the end they’ll start talking, too. Talk, my boy, has loosened more tongues than anything else, except, perhaps, champagne, and do you think you could get champagne for suspects through an expenses list?’
‘I don’t, sir,’ said Bobby.
‘Then you talk and they’ll talk and so it all comes out. Of course, you have to have a kind of natural gift for talk. I have,’ added the Superintendent modestly.
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Bobby.
Mitchell looked at him suspiciously.
‘I suppose someone told you,’ he remarked. ‘After all, there’s only one way to get to know things and that is to wait till someone who knows already comes and tells you. That’s the first maxim in my forthcoming book, The Complete Detective and How to Be It, which will be one of the world’s lost masterpieces because I’ll never write it. But remember that – talk and it shall be talked unto you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Bobby.
‘And in this case, what we want above all,’ continued Mitchell as his taxi at last drew up, having finally succeeded in evading the famous K.C.’s fifty (there or thereabouts) cylinder chariot, ‘is to find out who the revolver belonged to. Keep your eyes and ears open, and if you hear anything new, come along and tell me personally – personally, mind. That is,’ added the great man, chuckling pleasantly, ‘if they’ll let a constable of three years’ service get anywhere within a mile of a superintendent, which it isn’t likely they will, is it?’
‘No, sir,’ agreed Bobby.
‘Not if I know ’em at the Yard,’ said Mitchell with conviction, and climbing into his taxi was driven away, leaving Bobby standing on the kerb.
It was still early, and Bobby had the rest of the day before him; for, partly owing to the fact that he was officially recorded as having been on all-night duty – though part of it had been spent wrapt in comfortable slumber – and partly because his inspector was willing to be amiable to a young man reported engaged in long conversations with the great Mitchell, Bobby had been excused his next turn of duty. He was therefore not due to report again till two p.m. next day.
He felt a little disappointed that the Superintendent had not assigned him to any duty in connexion with the case, for he had entertained a wild and presumptuous hope that that might happen, and that he might find himself transferred to the C.I.D., if only temporarily. But evidently that was not to be, nor had it ever been likely, and he now decided that the excellent breakfast he had been treated to by the favourably-disposed cook at ‘The Cedars’ was worthy of being followed by an equally excellent luncheon.
So he chose a restaurant that looked as if even K.C.s themselves might patronize it – and everyone knows that counsel learned in the law acquire their knowledge by a prolonged course of dinners, thus becoming experts therein – and having there passed an agreeable but slightly expensive hour, set off to walk home, partly that he might not have to face a wasted opportunity at teatime, partly because he thought that a long quiet walk might give him an opportunity to reduce to some sort of logical order the chaos of disconnected facts that seemed to surround the murder of Sir Christopher Clarke.
‘But it wants brains,’ he decided humbly, ‘not my sort, but the kind of brains people like double firsts and bankers and politicians must have.’
He went a little out of his way to pass by ‘The Cedars’, for it was in his mind that he would try to cultivate the further acquaintance of the butler, Lewis, who might, he thought, know more than he had yet told.
Before the house a small crowd was still assembled, in spite of all the efforts of one of Bobby’s comrades, bored but assiduous, to make them move on. Bobby stopped for a moment to chat to this man, learnt that though there had been plenty of coming and going, including several reporters from each and all of the various newspapers in the world – at least, so the constabl
e said – it did not appear that anything new had happened. Nor was Bobby’s soul so lofty but that during this brief conversation he managed to let it be known that he had just come from reporting to Superintendent Mitchell in person, and had orders that, in certain circumstances, he was again to make a personal report. Aware that this news would fly through the whole division as swiftly as ever did the news through any country village that Jack and Jill had been seen kissing down the lane, Bobby nodded a farewell and strolled away. He would, he thought, wait a more favourable opportunity for meeting Lewis. Judicious inquiry at the different public houses in the neighbourhood would soon reveal which one he ‘used’, and then it would be easy to meet him there. Just before turning the corner into the next street he glanced back with some vague idea that he might see Lewis coming out of the house on some errand or another, and saw instead Mark Lester walking down the drive and then turning along the road to where Bobby was standing.
Vaguely interested, Bobby waited, busying himself with a pretence of lighting a cigarette. Coming nearer, Lester saw him and evidently recognized him. He hesitated and then came up and Bobby said:
‘Oh, good day. Mr Lester, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Mark answered. ‘I saw you yesterday, I think.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bobby. ‘I happened to be on duty when Dr Gregory found the body.’
‘I wanted to ask you,’ Mark said. ‘I heard you had been at the gate of the drive for some time so that no one could have passed without your seeing them. Is that true?’
‘Well, not exactly,’ Bobby answered. ‘I had to meet my sergeant there so I had been waiting some time. But I was in the next door garden once for a few minutes, and then anyhow it doesn’t amount to much. Anyone who wanted to could easily get into the garden, and up to the house, either through the hedge, or over the wall, or from the next door garden for that matter.’
‘There’s nothing new turned up, I suppose?’ Mark asked.
‘Not that I know of,’ Bobby answered, ‘but I’m not engaged on the case. It’s the C.I.D. people who take these cases in hand, you know.’
‘Do they know Dr Gregory owed Sir Christopher a good deal of money?’
‘I can’t say for certain,’ answered Bobby cautiously. ‘I understand that’s not so, though,’ he added, knowing well that a contradiction of a fact is generally the best way to get it confirmed, as happened now.
‘Well, it is so,’ Mark retorted with emphasis. ‘I heard Sir Christopher myself bullying Gregory like anything, threatening to sell him up and so on.’
‘Did you?’ said Bobby, not as if he were much interested. ‘Do you know if it was a really large sum or if it had been owing long?’
‘No, Sir Christopher didn’t say, but he was in a tempter because it hadn’t been paid. You know, what you people want to do is to find out who that revolver belonged to.’
‘Ye-es,’ agreed Bobby, as though not quite sure about it. ‘They may be trying to.’
Mark looked very contemptuous.
‘Trying?’ he repeated. ‘They don’t want to try, they want to do. You know all this isn’t very jolly for us – people are saying already it must have been someone who knew the house, and everyone’s heard it’s been said I was hanging about here myself at the time of the murder. Nice for me, isn’t it?’
Mark was evidently a good deal excited. Trying to soothe him, Bobby said:
‘Everything possible will be done to find out the truth, you may be sure of that.’
‘I’m going to have a shot at it myself,’ Mark retorted. ‘I’m not going to trust to you people. I’ve just been telling Miss Laing I’ll find out the truth for myself. Did you know there was someone who had been uttering threats against Sir Christopher? I suppose you don’t, but I do, and I mean to find out who it was.’
CHAPTER 14
AN OFFER OF HELP
‘You mean a little old man, rather shabby, boots down at heel, thin face, long nose, grey whiskers?’ Bobby asked, remembering what Lewis had told him and the description given.
‘You know him?’ Mark asked eagerly, and with evident surprise, and Bobby hesitated.
‘Look here, Mr Lester,’ he said gravely, ‘this is a police matter and a serious one. If you have any information you ought to give it at once to the officers in charge of the case. If you try to take action yourself you may do a great deal of harm; you may be helping the guilty man to escape.’
But Mark only shrugged his shoulders with a very contemptuous air.
‘I did try to talk to one of your men,’ he said, ‘but he wouldn’t listen. Told me if I knew any actual facts to put them down in writing, but they didn’t want theories – ideas, that is. To the official mind, ideas never have any value, all it wants is facts.’
Bobby understood that all this meant simply that there had been some sort of passage of arms between Mark and one or other of the officers engaged on the case. It was fairly plain however that Mark was very much in earnest and Bobby began to think harder and quicker than ever he had done before, and much more clearly than ever he had been able to do in any examination room, where a sort of creeping miasma had always seemed to come over his spirit the moment he entered it. It seemed to him that it would be very desirable to keep some kind of watch on Mark’s activities that might easily become embarrassing to those in charge of the case and yet might at the same time, for detective work is fifty per cent luck and forty-nine percent chance, lead to valuable results. Bobby had to decide, too, whether the information about Dr Gregory was of sufficient value to justify him in undertaking the formidable task of seeking admittance to Mr Mitchell’s presence. But the fact itself was one it was probable was already known to the investigators, and Bobby decided to wait for something more important and less likely to be known before attempting to force his way through to the Superintendent. He had an idea his welcome would be but chilly unless he brought information of real value. He determined, therefore, to make his report this time through the ordinary channels, and all this had passed so swiftly through his mind that Mark was hardly conscious of more than the very slightest hesitation before Bobby said:
‘If you could put your hand on anyone who had really been threatening Sir Christopher, it might mean a lot. If you think you can really manage that, I should think it my duty to carry out any suggestions you make.’
Mark, who had been looking not too good-tempered before, greeted this remark with a very pleased and gratified smile. Evidently, the idea of a police officer placing himself, so to say, under his orders, tickled his vanity a good deal, and Bobby, who had already perceived that Mark had rather more than his full share of that by no means uncommon quality, felt he had gone a long way towards gaining the other’s confidence. It seemed to him Mark was one of those who, if only they are called leaders, are prepared to follow dutifully in the path pointed out to them, and he felt sure that now, at any rate, he could be certain that Mark would get into no mischief and do nothing to hamper the official investigation. For Bobby, too, was young and full of self-confidence, and a little too much inclined to trust entirely in his own abilities and powers.
‘Of course,’ Bobby went on, ‘I’m an officer of police and I must retain my right to inform my superiors any time I feel that’s my duty. But I would promise to consult you before doing so.’
‘That’ll be all right,’ said Mark, quite satisfied with this somewhat vague undertaking.
‘Quite possible,’ Bobby continued, ‘that working on your own lines you may hit on something important. You would have one advantage – if police make an inquiry, that sets everyone talking for miles, and as like as not the guilty man takes alarm at once. Whereas no one takes any notice of any ordinary person asking a question or two. And besides,’ added Bobby carelessly, ‘you might find it useful to have a police-officer following up behind you, ready to come in at once any time you thought fit.’
Mark was evidently impressed by this picture of himself, leading the inquiry with the police waiting i
n the background, waiting his directions and command. Bobby clinched the business by letting out casually that he was a St George’s College man. Once again Mark was impressed and Bobby felt that the conquest of his confidence was complete.
‘I take it,’ he said, ‘what you mean to do, Mr Lester, is to try to identify this man and assure yourself whether his threats amounted to anything. You’ve no idea who he is?’
‘I know nothing at all about him,’ Mark answered, ‘except that I saw him once, talking to Sir Christopher. He was evidently very excited. It was just outside “The Cedars”, and apparently he had been waiting there for a chance to get hold of Sir Christopher. All I heard was Sir Christopher telling him to clear out, and quick about it, if he didn’t want the police sent for, and the old fellow shaking his fist in a fury and spluttering out something I couldn’t catch. Sir Christopher said he had been trying to get money out of him.’
‘Did Sir Christopher seem disturbed or alarmed in any way?’
‘Oh, no, just annoyed, as anyone would be naturally at such a scene. I don’t suppose I should have thought of it again, only Lewis told me the same man had been to the house afterwards and used threats of a vague sort, and I know also that he had turned up at Sir Christopher’s City office and tried to see him there.’
‘Do they know anything about him at the office?’
‘They think his name is Harris or Harrison or something like that, but they aren’t sure, no one took much notice of him. He was just told to clear out unless he wanted to get into trouble. They thought he had been drinking. He seems to have talked in a vague sort of way about making Sir Christopher sorry one day, and getting his own back and so on. There’s no trace of any correspondence in the office with anyone of any name like Harris or Harrison or of any business transaction either.’
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