In a low voice Sir Wilfrid gave the details. They turned out to be almost exactly as Rudge had surmised, except that he maintained that there again he had never really intended murder. Mrs. Mount, hearing the Hollands actually in the next room, had made a desperate attempt to escape, and in the struggle Sir Wilfrid had mechanically tightened his grasp on her and so driven the knife in. There had been no set plan in his subsequent movements. He had just run in sheer panic from one hiding place to another as opportunity offered.
He had nothing else to say.
Major Twyfitt shook his head. “I shouldn’t have let you say anything, until you’d seen your solicitor.”
“My dear fellow,” returned Sir Wilfrid, almost happily, “don’t bother. I shall never face a judge. You heard me cough just before your man arrested me? Under cover of the second one I slipped something into my mouth which I bought for just such an emergency in Paris. I’ve got about ten minutes more to live, I reckon.”
Major Twyfitt sprang forward in consternation, as did the Superintendent. It is a bad thing for the police when a prisoner succeeds in committing suicide under their noses.
Rudge, however, got there first. “Well,” he said, “we’ll put you in safety for that ten minutes anyhow. Will you come with me, please?” Taking the other by the arm he led him from the room.
When he returned the Superintendent was telephoning frantically for a doctor, who was out. “Put him in a cell,” he said briefly. “Don’t worry, sir. We don’t need a doctor. I knew what he’d got in his left-hand coat pocket. I expected it. So I made up another similar packet, and changed them during that collision. Here’s his.” Rudge produced a small twist of white paper.
“But how did you know what his packet looked like?” asked the Chief Constable.
“I did a bit of spying on Sir Wilfrid last night, sir, through the blinds of his sitting-room. I saw him making it up, and I guessed what it was, and I knew it was his left-hand pocket because he had his hand in it when he came in. Sir Wilfrid’s just swallowed three tablets of bicarbonate of soda; that’s all.”
11
Major Twyfitt dropped back into his chair. Everyone seemed to have forgotten Walter Fitzgerald, who still stood by the mantelpiece in a dejected attitude.
“You knew last night it was Denny?”
“Not to say knew, sir. I’d suspected it for some time, ever since I interviewed him in his rose-garden. He seemed very eager to volunteer that he hardly knew the Admiral at all, and then, for a gentleman who lived right on the river, he seemed to know very little about the tides; I couldn’t quite swallow that. Then there were those rumours about bad blood between him and the Admiral, and what with him having been in Hong Kong at the time I thought he might possibly be mixed up in that business on the wrong side; besides, he was a bit too strong against the Admiral having been an innocent party. And though he remembered that Mr. Fitzgerald was handsome, he couldn’t remember whether he had a beard or not.”
“Then you were pulling our legs this morning, when you told us all your suspicions were directed against—someone else?”
“Sir, I never told you. I didn’t mention any name. I was quite sure in my own mind that it was Denny, but what was the good of saying so? I hadn’t any real evidence. At first I thought of arresting—someone else in Sir Wilfrid’s presence, with the idea that if he had done it he’d say so there and then. But that mightn’t have come off. Then last night, when I saw him making up that packet, I knew for certain it was him; so I thought I’d take a chance and arrest him. If it came off, well and good. If it didn’t …”
“You’d have been broken,” said the Superintendent with severity.
“But it did, sir. I thought somehow it would,” admitted Rudge, “if Sir Wilfrid thought he’d got the contents of that packet safe inside him.”
“Very unofficial, Rudge,” pronounced the Chief Constable. “Most unprofessional. But dam’ smart.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So now what about Mr. Fitzgerald here? I think we’d like to ask him a few questions.”
“Fire away,” said Walter, turning round. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Thank God it’s all over. It’s been a nightmare, I can tell you. I knew you were after me.”
“Now …” said Superintendent Hawkesworth, and began to put his questions.
Fitzgerald’s tale of the night’s happenings exactly bore out Rudge’s reconstruction, except that he and Mrs. Mount had not returned to London that night. They had driven about forty miles and then turned the car into a wood and slept in it—so far as either of them could sleep. Mrs. Mount, as the days went by, had been more and more vehement that Denny should give himself up, and had even divulged some of the facts to her husband under the seal of confession; he had promised to join her in urging both Sir Wilfrid and Ware to go frankly to the police and tell them the truth.
Holland had been an innocent party all the time. Elma had known the truth, but Holland did not yet know who had killed the Admiral; he had, quite simply, taken Fitzgerald’s word that he had not done so. The matter of the typewritten consent to the marriage had arisen in this way. Holland had met Fitzgerald in the East, seen that he was drifting, and liked him enough to try to pull him together. Walter, without telling him about the Hong Kong affair, had divulged that there was a charge hanging over him—
“The warrant out against you for forgery?” interposed the Superintendent.
“You know about that? Well, then, yes.”
This charge prevented him from making himself known in England, and consequently from obtaining his inheritance. Holland promised to see what he could do. He interviewed the firm in Hong Kong, who undertook, in view of the time that had elapsed, to withdraw the charge if Walter repaid the money. This he could not do until he had received his inheritance, and he refused to allow Holland to lend him the money, a considerable sum. Holland had therefore undertaken to get in touch with the Admiral in England and try and bring about a reconciliation, so that the money could be advanced by the family; at the same time he promised to see Elma and assure her that everything was coming right at last.
While abroad Walter had always kept in touch with Elma, and when the Admiral tried to stop her communicating with him, Mrs. Mount had gone to the house as Elma’s maid, both to keep a roof over her head and to act as a liaison.
The Admiral received Holland with suspicion, as a friend of Walter’s, and at first would have nothing to do with him. Holland saw that it would take time to make him change his attitude, and settled down to play him as patiently as he could. In the meantime, having seen Elma, he promptly fell in love with her.
It was now Walter’s turn to do Holland a favour. He had arrived in England, and taken lodgings in London. Mrs. Mount hurried up too, and he installed her near him, under the name of Arkwright. Walter was delighted to hear of Holland’s feeling for Elma, for knowing himself, he had always feared that Elma, unless she became attached to somebody of strong character, might become a drifter too. He had strongly urged Elma, who was by no means in love herself, to accept Holland. Finally, seeing how much her brother wished it, Elma consented to do so. The Admiral, however, still proved an obstacle. He would not give his consent to Elma’s marriage with any friend of Walter’s. Holland had already improved his standing, but the Admiral was by no means won over.
In the meantime Elma too was trying to do something for Walter. He and Mrs. Mount had always wanted to get married, but the Vicar would not divorce her. Elma had fancied that Mr. Mount had shown signs of being interested in herself. She deliberately set about strengthening this interest in order to be able to use her influence with him to persuade him to agree to the divorce. It was for this reason that she always took particular trouble with her appearance whenever she was to meet him. Walter did not know of this at the time, but Holland observed with pain his fiancée’s decided set at the Vicar, the reason for which she did not give him. He therefore told Walter that he had come to the end of
his patience; he was going up to London to get a special licence, and he was going to use it, consent from the Admiral or no consent. He went.
Walter knew that this would put the Admiral’s back up more than ever, and Elma would certainly lose the control of her money. He was aware, from his sister, of his uncle’s obsession with regard to the Hong Kong incident, and resolved to use this in order to obtain consent to the marriage. He therefore typed out the form of consent and, taking his courage in his hands, went to see his uncle shortly after tea on the day of his death, lying in wait for him in the garden, so as to keep their meeting secret.
It was the first time he had seen the Admiral for many years, and at first the latter refused to have anything to do with him. When Walter said, however, that he could tell him the exact truth about the Hong Kong episode, the Admiral changed his tune. Walter then put his proposition: the truth in exchange for the consent. The Admiral did not hesitate; he signed on the spot. Thereupon Walter told him everything. He had to sacrifice Denny to do so, but after all Denny was a criminal; he had grossly tricked Walter; and Elma’s marriage, to say nothing of Holland’s happiness, could no longer be jeopardised to save Denny’s face.
The Admiral was beside himself with rage. He raved, he swore, he thundered, he stamped. With the very greatest difficulty Walter calmed him down and made him promise to behave at the Vicar’s as if nothing had happened at all. In the end, however, the Admiral had given this promise and had departed to dress, breathing fiery vengeance for the morrow.
Walter had intended to go across first thing the next morning to West End to warn Denny; it never occurred to him that the Admiral would do anything that night. Concealed, however, in the Vicar’s garden, where he had an appointment with Mrs. Mount, he had seen the Admiral set out with Ware, whom doubtless he had intended to pump on the way, and was perturbed. He felt he must wait till Mrs. Mount came and then, talking it over, decided that they should both go down the river and put off the interview with the Vicar till they got back; this did not matter as there was no appointment, a surprise assault having been intended on the Vicar’s conscience. The details of their departure had been exactly as Rudge had said.
The rest they had heard from Denny himself. When Walter got back to Rundel Croft he had broken the news to his sister that their uncle had been accidentally killed. She was shocked, but pulled herself together and helped him look for the papers.
“There was blood on her dress,” said the Superintendent.
“So she told me afterwards. It must have come from my hand. Anything else?”
“The valerian?” asked Rudge.
Walter nodded. “I put it there. Whether my uncle’s death was justifiable homicide or not (I believe it was) when it came to Celia … I wanted,” said Walter simply, “to put you on the right track. I wanted Denny to hang.”
“Then why didn’t you come and tell us all you knew?” asked Rudge, reasonably enough.
“I could hardly give the fellow away,” retorted Walter.
“Oh!” said Rudge. It was a distinction he could not appreciate.
“Look here,” said the Superintendent suddenly. “What was behind that Hong Kong incident? It was you impersonating your uncle, I suppose?”
Walter flushed. “Yes. This is what happened. Denny had me to dinner one night and made me rather drunk. He suggested it would be a rag if I put on a naval uniform, which he happened to have handy, and went down to some dive and did a song-and-dance; somebody might mistake me for my uncle, and it would be a glorious joke. He knew my uncle hated me, and I hated him—at least, we didn’t love each other. I was tickled to death, being a silly young ass, and agreed like a shot. Denny lent me the uniform and took me down there himself. I didn’t have to act much; I was as drunk as a lord.
“The next day I was to go on a trek into the interior for my firm, miles away from newspapers or anything like that. Denny knew, and that’s why that particular night was chosen. I didn’t get back for some months, and by that time the whole thing was over. Denny put the wind up me. He said it was a fool thing to have done, that I had laid myself open to a criminal prosecution, and that he wouldn’t back me up; the damage was done; I had better lie low and say nothing about it. I thought it was fishy, but I was frightened and agreed to keep quiet.
“I didn’t come on the truth for years afterwards, and then only by chance. This was what lay behind it. There was a big ring of opium-smugglers operating in Hong Kong at that time. Denny was in charge of the customs, and he was in with the ring; they’d either blackmailed or bought him. My uncle had got wind of the ring and was getting close on their track. They had to get rid of him, or beat it; and they hit on that plan. My uncle was lured somehow into that street; a girl decoy, whom a Chinaman was pretending to maltreat, got him into the dive, he was sandbagged and then drugged, and his clothes saturated with whisky and opium. In the meantime I had fallen into it as well, like a child of two. I had a beard in those days too, and a little powder on it and a line or two on my face had made me so much like my uncle that nobody ever suspected that it might not be him—and even he himself had his doubts! Altogether, it was a very pretty little plot.
“Anything else?” He sauntered towards the door.
“We can’t let him go,” whispered the Superintendent urgently.
“But what can we hold him on?” Major Twyfitt whispered back.
“He’s an accessory after.”
“Not to a crime,” smiled Walter, whose ears must have been particularly sharp. “You can’t be an accessory after to justifiable homicide.”
“That hasn’t been proved yet,” said the Superintendent sternly.
“No? Well, you can’t detain me till it has been.” With a quick movement Walter was through the door.
“We must hold him,” muttered Hawkesworth, jumping up. “I don’t know what on, but we must. Get him, Rudge, man! There’s that Hong Kong warrant still out against him anyhow.”
But Walter was already through the charge-room and at the street door. By the pavement stood a car, its engine ticking over. On seeing Walter, the driver thrust in the gear. The car jumped forward, and Walter leapt into the back.
“Walter Fitzgerald,” enunciated the Superintendent, charging through the doorway, “I—”
“Don’t want to lose you, but I think you ought to go,” chanted Walter mockingly as the car gathered speed. “Good-bye, Superintendent. You can send any message through my sister.”
Elma, sitting in front beside Holland, turned round and waved enthusiastic confirmation.
The Superintendent darted for the telephone. “I’ll have that car stopped before it’s gone three miles,” he said grimly.
Major Twyfitt touched him on the shoulder. “Why bother? We don’t really want him, you know. We’ve got the right man. We’ll let him go. It’s my belief that he’s in better hands than ours.”
With an air of disgust the Superintendent relinquished the telephone. “As you say, sir, of course. But we ought to have held him. Yes, Gravestock?”
The burly constable looked scared. “Could you come to the cells, please, sir? I think there’s something wrong with the prisoner Denny.”
The three officers tramped there in silence.
“There’s certainly something wrong with him,” said the Superintendent a minute later. “He’s dead. That’s what’s wrong with him. Rudge!”
In consternation Rudge drew from his pocket the wisp of paper and hurriedly opened it. “No,” he said with relief, “these are his. He had my soda bics—nothing else.”
“Then what did he die of?”
“He just died,” said Major Twyfitt, looking down on the still figure. “He’s old. He knew he was going to die—so he did die.”
There was a moment’s rather awed silence.
“And he never signed his confession,” said the Superintendent disgustedly.
THE END
APPENDIX I
SOLUTIONS
CHAPTER I
By Canon Victor L. Whitechurch
No Solution
CHAPTER II
By G. D. H. and M. Cole
No Solution
CHAPTER III
By Henry Wade
IN 1919, soon after the War, Admiral Penistone (young, rapid promotion for brilliant active service exploits) becomes involved in a disreputable brawl in a house of ill-repute in Hong Kong. Owing to his war services the Admiralty allow him to send in his papers, instead of court-martialling him. There were also involved in this brawl three other Englishmen: (1) Walter Fitzgerald, young and weak-charactered, struggling with drink and drugs; (2) his friend, and partner in a trading concern, Vanyke, an older man; (3) another trader, Holland. During the course of the brawl Fitzgerald is killed by Chinamen, but this is not known to the naval authorities when they deal with Penistone.
Holland, learning of old Fitzgerald’s will, blackmails Penistone, his price being “the hand of your niece, Elma.” Elma, a woman of spasmodically passionate nature, does for a time fall wildly in love with Holland, but cools off and (when the story begins) is backing out of the engagement. This is the real cause of the Admiral’s annoyance with his niece.
Elma is now setting her cap at the Vicar, a handsome and vigorous man, though fifty. On the night in question she persuades him to a romantic trip up the river after she is supposed to have returned home. The Vicar’s “shock” at the news is largely due to his fear that this “adventure” will “come out.”
Penistone, after locking up the boat-house and finishing his cigar out of doors, returns to his study, where he is murdered by the butler, Emery. Emery is in fact Vanyke, who believes Penistone to be morally, if not actually, responsible for the death of his “poor young friend, Walter.” “Emery” puts Penistone’s overcoat back on to the body, to suggest that he was killed out of doors. The newspaper (the one delivered at the house at 9 p.m.) was splashed with blood, so he thrust it in the pocket for the same reason. At 2.30 a.m. he carries the body to the boat-house, unlocks it with the Admiral’s key, rows across to the Vicarage wharf, dumps the body in the boat (in which the Vicar had left his hat on his romantic voyage) and cuts it adrift. (This to suggest murder at the Vicarage—or at least to lay a false trail.) As suggested by P.C. Hempstead, the boat is stranded at slack tide and comes back on the flow. Emery swabs out the Rundel Croft boat for fear of blood-stains.
The Floating Admiral (Detection Club) Page 25
