“That seems all right, Rudge, as far as you have gone,” the Superintendent said, glancing at his superior.
“Yes,” Major Twyfitt agreed. “I think Rudge has done quite well. And his proposals for carrying on seem sound.”
“Yes, but there’s too much in them for one man,” Hawkesworth decided. “We’ll have to divide them up. Just let’s settle what everyone’s to do and then you, Rudge, can get along with that identification. Now let’s see.” For some moments he scribbled rapidly. “This’ll do, I think,” he went on. “I’ll take on the China affair. I’ll get in touch with the Admiralty and the Foreign Office and that newspaper man and any other place or person I can think of. Then I’ll follow up Denny: I dare say there’s some connection between the two. Sergeant Appleton we’ll put on to Holland: Holland’s doings in this country, that is: Holland in China will come under me. If necessary, Appleton can go up to the Yard and get some help there. At the same time he can find out if those two were really married in town. Constable Hempstead seems to have done well?”
“He certainly has, sir. He’s no fool, is Hempstead.”
“Very well, we’ll give him his chance. We’ll let him search the river, both banks, over the length along which the boat could have floated. He’s to look out for traces of any kind, particularly for footprints on the bank, signs of a struggle, places where the body might have been lifted into the boat, and that missing bit of the painter. That’ll keep him busy. You yourself, Rudge, take Rundel Croft and the people in it, excluding the dead man, who I think will come into my department. That covers things in the meantime?”
“Yes, sir, I think that’s all right.”
“Well, you get along now. Then you’re going to see the coroner? Formal identification and an adjournment of course?”
“Of course, sir.”
Fifteen minutes later Rudge and Dakers reached the public house at Lingham where the body of the deceased was lying. Dakers had recovered his good temper and had chatted pleasantly enough during the drive.
“Well, sir?” Rudge asked, when the solicitor had stared for some moments at the dead features.
Dakers seemed to awake as from a reverie. “Oh yes,” he said without hesitation, “it’s Admiral Penistone right enough. No doubt whatever.” He appeared somewhat touched. “Poor old fellow,” he went on, “I’m sorry to see him like that. We didn’t see eye to eye in everything, but still—judging people as you find them, I could say nothing but good about him.” He turned away with a sigh. “I suppose you want me to give evidence of identity at the inquest?”
“It would save Mrs. Holland,” Rudge pointed out.
“Very well. When does it take place?”
“To-morrow at ten, sir.”
“I shall be there.”
“Thank you, sir. I suppose, sir.” Rudge smiled as if to discount the saying of a stupid thing: “I suppose Mrs. Holland really was the late Admiral’s niece? You see, no one here knows the family. As you are aware, they moved here about a month ago.”
“Of course she was,” Dakers answered testily. “I’m afraid you won’t get far on those lines, Inspector.”
“We have to question everything, sir, as you know. Well, sir, I’m obliged to you for doing the identification. Where would you like to be put down?”
They drove back to the Lord Marshall and Dakers got out. Rudge was turning away, but the solicitor stopped him with a gesture.
“About that consent, Inspector. I’ve been thinking over it and after all I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t see it. I haven’t got it myself at the moment, but when I get it I’ll let you know.”
Rudge thanked him again and the two men parted. Rudge was pleased with his day so far. He was certainly making progress. Already some of his theories had been eliminated and bed-rock fact was beginning to emerge from the mass of speculation in which the case was smothered.
Rudge’s business with the coroner was soon settled. It was obviously impossible to complete the inquest, and Mr. Skipworth agreed that all that was now necessary was to carry on the proceedings far enough to enable a burial order to be given. This procedure had already been tentatively agreed on by telephone, and the meeting was really to run over the required evidence and make sure that no unforeseen factor had arisen.
For the rest of that day Rudge busied himself in trying to glean information about the Rundel Croft household. He did not learn much, it must be admitted, but he initiated a series of enquiries about each member, the replies to which, when received, should prove valuable. Among the Admiral’s papers he found the Cornish address from which the deceased man had moved, and he telephoned to the Superintendent of the district for all available details of the family. He interviewed Elma Holland, though unfortunately without much success. He found out where the servants—the butler and his wife, and Elma’s present maid—had been engaged, and wrote to their former employers for further particulars of them. Lastly, he made a general search of the house, which, however, proved quite fruitless.
At a few minutes before ten next morning Rudge entered the hall where the inquest was to be held. To tell the truth, coroners’ enquiries were formalities which completely bored him. A waste of time, he considered them, indeed worse than a waste, for he believed the time could always be used more profitably in carrying on the normal investigation.
As he had foreseen, the proceedings afforded little of interest. The eleven jurors did not elect to view the body, and as soon as they were sworn, evidence was taken.
Neddy Ware first told in detail of his discovery of the body. Then Mr. Dakers swore that he had seen the body and that he identified it as that of Rear-Admiral Hugh Lawrence Penistone. He gave a short outline of the Admiral’s life, explained how he came to know him, and then stood down. Next Dr. Grice stated the cause of death, a wound in the heart from a knife or dagger with a long thin blade. A post-mortem had shown that the Admiral was in reasonably good health for a man of his years.
This brought the proceedings to a close, the coroner stating that in order to enable the police to make further enquiries he would adjourn the inquest till that day three weeks.
Once again Rudge was struck by the keenness of his reporter friend from the Evening Gazette. The man simply pestered him for news. A growing shortness in Rudge’s manner had no effect whatever, and it was not till he threatened to give anything available to a rival journal, that the man became reasonable.
Another person who developed a surprising curiosity was Mr. Mount. Mount was the first man Rudge had seen on reaching the coroner’s court. This was not surprising in a way, because Rudge had himself told the Vicar that his presence at the inquest would be required. But owing to the decision only to take evidence of identification that morning, Mount had neither been sent a summons to attend, nor been officially informed of the place and hour. But there the man was, and not only so, but he was evidently in an extremely curious as well as apprehensive condition.
On leaving the room Rudge found himself button-holed by the Vicar. Under the thinly veiled guise of a clergyman’s natural interest in his parishioners, Mount made a really blatant attempt to learn the extent of the police knowledge of the case. But Mount was a child in the Inspector’s experienced hands. Rudge replied readily and with a convincing air of candour, while warning the Vicar not to repeat his confidences. But Rudge knew that when the Vicar came to think over what he had been told, he would be hard put to it to find out what those confidences were.
Rudge wondered if he had given enough attention to Mount. Sitting down in his room, he ran through his notes, transcribing anything he had learned about him.
In the first place, Mount was evidently already on intimate terms with the Rundel Croft people. Then it was in his, Mount’s, boat that the dead man had been found, and more significant still, Mount’s hat had been in the boat. Then there had been Mount’s sudden journey to London; there had been his watering of the garden, and now there was this deep anxiety about the case. The mor
e Rudge thought over it, the more he felt impelled to the conclusion that Mount must somehow be implicated.
Rudge considered the above points in turn, but the only one from which he thought fresh light might be obtained was the man’s visit to London. He recalled the details.
It was between twelve and one o’clock that Mount had sent his note saying that he was anxious to go up that afternoon to town on an urgent matter connected with his clerical duties. Now that must have been a very sudden decision. He, Rudge, had been speaking to Mount earlier in the morning, and the man had said nothing about this visit then. Rudge did not know much about ecclesiastical matters, but he doubted that business was done at that rate. Most professional visits to London would mean for clergymen meetings arranged a considerable time earlier, or interviews with dignitaries, also arranged some time beforehand. He was inclined to doubt that the clerical duties in question had much to do with the church.
Rudge wondered what he should do. Mount bore a high reputation for probity, and if the matter were put directly to him, he might give the required explanation. Then Rudge saw that he would probably do nothing of the kind. He, Rudge, had nothing to put which would demand an answer.
Mount had hurried up to town. But so had Elma, so had Holland, so had Denny. Was it possible to believe that there was no connection between all these visits? Suddenly it seemed to Rudge that his best plan would be to try to trace Mount’s movements in town. It shouldn’t take long and it might lead to something vital.
Rudge went in and put his views before Superintendent Hawkesworth. Hawkesworth was impressed, and agreed to release Rudge for a couple of days.
“You’d better advise them at the Yard what you propose to do,” said Hawkesworth. “I’ll ring them up that you’ll call.”
The first question was: How had Mount made the journey? Mount had a car, but most persons of moderate income went by train, rail being so much cheaper for the long distance. Mount had been at the Vicarage at one o’clock, and he had rung up Rudge from the Charing Cross Hotel at nine. There were two, and only two, trains he could have used, the 2.5 from Whynmouth, which reached Waterloo at 5.45, and the 4.25 from Whynmouth, arriving at 8.35.
Rudge began by calling at the office of the local newspaper and getting a photograph of Mount. Then he went to the station and began his enquiries. He learned at once that Mount had been seen on the day in question. He had been noticed particularly by both the booking-clerk and the ticket-collector, and for the same reason. He had, it appeared, bought a London ticket, but he had not travelled by a London train. He had gone by the 1.30 which connected at Passfield Junction with the 11.0 a.m. express from “Waterloo to the west. He had explained that he wished to break his journey and would go on to London by a later train.
As Rudge jogged along in the next train to Passfield Junction, he reminded himself of the lie of the land. The main line of the Western Division of the Southern Railway ran from Waterloo to Devon, past Whynmouth. It did not, however, go through Whynmouth; it ran at this point some ten miles inland. Whynmouth was the terminus of a branch which left the main line at this Passfield Junction, a small roadside station some fifteen miles away in the London direction. The nearest town to Whynmouth on the main line was Drychester. It lay on the Exeter side of Whynmouth, twelve miles away by road. There was no direct rail connection between the two places, the route being by Passfield Junction.
At each of the small stations between Whynmouth and Passfield Junction Rudge jumped out of the train and enquired if the Vicar had been seen alighting on the day in question. But it was not till he reached the junction that he got any information.
Mr. Mount was slightly known to the stationmaster, and he believed he had seen him on that day entering a third-class carriage of the down express. Rudge went at once to the booking-office, and there he learned that only three third-class tickets had been issued by that train—a single to Exeter and two returns to Drychester. From this it seemed pretty clear that Mount had booked to Drychester.
In due course Rudge reached Drychester. But here he had not the same luck. Drychester station was a busy place, very different to the small roadside junction. No one knew Mount and no one had noticed a clergyman resembling him.
It looked, however, as if Mount had reached Drychester at 2.40. If so, he would have been too late to have caught the earlier of the two trains to town, and must therefore have gone by the second, leaving Drychester at 4.50. That is, he would have had two hours and ten minutes in Drychester. What could he have done in that time?
Rudge could form no idea. He thought first of going down to the cathedral and making enquiries of the vergers, but he wasn’t anxious that it should be known that he was making this investigation. At last as a sort of forlorn hope he decided to interrogate the taxi-men at the station, on the off-chance that Mount might have driven to his destination.
Armed with his photograph, Rudge went round the men. He did not expect to get much, and he was therefore agreeably surprised when he suddenly found he had struck oil. But he did not realise, not for a long time after, how deep and how rich was the well he had tapped.
When he showed the photograph to one of the men, a little weazened rat of a fellow, it produced a reaction.
“Aye,” said the man, “I’ve seen the gent all right, I ’ave. But not ’ere. I’ve seen ’im in Lingham.”
“Oh,” said Rudge, “in Lingham, have you? That’s no good to me. I’m looking for traces of him here.”
“I didn’t see ’im ’ere, guv’nor. Never seen ’im but the once; in Lingham.”
Rudge’s fate, Mount’s fate, and the fate of several other persons trembled in the balance. Rudge was about to pass on to the next driver, but fortunately for himself, he didn’t. Fortunately for himself, he asked the fateful question: “When was that?”
“Last Tuesday night,” the taxi-man replied, “at a ’ouse near Lingham, about a ’arf a mile beyond the village, an’ down on the river.”
“Beside the church?”
“That’s right, guv’nor.”
“And what time was that?”
The man paused in thought. “About midnight or a bit after.”
Rudge’s heart gave a sudden leap. Midnight or later on the night of the crime was a very critical hour in the case. At midnight the terrible drama which led to Admiral Penistone’s death must already have been under way. What the Vicar was doing at midnight was something that he would be extraordinarily glad to know.
“Better tell me all about it,” Rudge suggested, carefully keeping the eagerness out of his voice.
But the man’s story, instead of clearing up the situation, seemed only to make it still more incomprehensible. It seemed that on that night, the night of the crime, he had been on duty when the last train arrived from town, the 7.0 p.m. from Waterloo. It arrived at 10.20, and he got a fare from it. It was a lady, a small, middle-aged woman with a bright, quick manner. As far as the taxi-man could see in the somewhat poor light of the lamps, she was elegantly dressed and very good-looking. Quite an attractive lady, he evidently thought. She had asked him to drive her to a house in Lingham which she would point out, wait for her for a few minutes, and bring her back to the Anglers’ Arms at Drychester.
Except that it was rather late to pay a call, this seemed reasonable to Rudge. He knew the trains from town. The last train having a connection to Whynmouth left Waterloo at 5.30. The 7.0 from town did not stop at Passfield Junction, and the only way in which a passenger by that train could reach Whynmouth was by driving the twelve miles from Drychester.
“I follow you,” Rudge said. “Go ahead.”
The man had driven his passenger to Lingham and she had directed him to the house he had mentioned, near the church. She had asked him to wait on the road, so as, she said, not to rouse the children with the sound of the engine. She had said she would not be long. Then she had disappeared in the direction of the house. That must have been a few minutes before eleven.
The taxi-m
an settled down to wait, and wait he certainly did. The few minutes passed three or four times over, and still there was no sign of her. He began to get impatient, and getting out of the taxi, he walked up the short drive till he got in sight of the house, which had been hidden behind a small plantation. The house was dark and silent and no one seemed to be about. The taxi-man grew anxious about his fare, and he went forward and knocked at the first door he came to. Rudge recognised it as the side-door. For a time no one answered, and the taxi-man knocked louder and louder. At last a window opened upstairs and this parson put his head out. What was it: a sick call? The taxi-man gave him clearly to understand it was not a sick call, and the parson said he’d come down. He came down and asked what was wrong. The taxi-man asked would his passenger soon be out, as he had an early job in the morning and he didn’t want to spend the night waiting at the gate. The parson evidently didn’t know anything about the lady, but he asked for a description of her. Then suddenly he seemed to recognise her. He appeared upset for a moment, then he said it was all right, that he thought the lady was a friend of the housekeeper’s, and if the taxi-man would wait a moment longer he would find out when she was leaving. He disappeared for three or four minutes, then he returned to say that the lady had been taken with a fainting fit, and in the excitement the taxi had been forgotten. The lady was not well enough to go back to Drychester that night, but would stay with his housekeeper, and he would pay the taxi. He had done so. The taxi-man had returned to Drychester, and that was all he knew about it.
Here was a fresh complication! Rudge swore. Instead of things straightening themselves out, the tangle was getting worse.
“Tell me,” said Rudge, “you drove through Lingham, didn’t you?”
“Correct, guv’nor.”
“Did you stop there?”
“Not above a minute or two. I stopped and the lady directed me which way to go.”
Here was at least something. This must have been the car Constable Hempstead had seen. So far as it went, Hempstead’s report was corroboration of the story.
The Floating Admiral (Detection Club) Page 17
