The Mad Hatter Mystery dgf-2

by John Dickson Carr

  Oh no. He wouldn't have been called unless he turned up some evidence hearing on the murder.' The chief inspector rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes. `Voices! Bah. The man's as neurotic as an old woman. And all the time that confounded manuscript's been only a red herring., Well, I'm glad he didn't complicate matters by trying to identify the murderer's voice.'

  `So am I,' said Dr Fell.

  `Well, it's all over,' Hadley remarked, in a tired voice. `The poor devil took the best way out. A few routine questions to go over, and we close the book. I've had a talk with the wife… '

  `What do you do with the case, then?'

  Hadley frowned. His dull eyes wandered about the hall. `I think,' he said, `it will go down officially as "unsolved." We'll let it die down, and issue a bulletin to the Press Association to handle it lightly. There's no good in the stink of a public inquest, anyway.'

  `By the way, where is Sir William?'

  `In his room. Hobbes got his door; open and waked him up. Did he tell you?'

  `Have you told him about?'

  Hadley took a nervous turn about the hall. `I've told him a little. But he can't seem to grasp it; the opiate hasn't worn off. He's sitting by a fire in his room, with a dressing-gown over his shoulders, as stupid as an image. All he kept saying was, "See that my guests have refreshments."'

  `What are you going to do, then?'

  `I've had to send' for Dr Watson, the police surgeon. When he gets here I'll have him fix something to wake the old man up; and then' Hadley nodded grimly — ‘we'll share the duty of telling him everything."

  They could hear a night wind muttering in the chimneys. Rampole thought of that portrait, the white eagle face, standing with shoulders back, in the library. And he thought again of a lonely man in a lonely house; the old war-eagle now, huddled in a dressing-gown before a low fire in his room, and counting armies in the blaze.

  Hobbes emerged from the rear of the hallway.

  `At Sir William's suggestion, gentlemen,' he said, `I have prepared some sandwiches and coffee in the library, and there is a decanter of whisky, if you should care for it..’

  They moved slowly along the hall, back to the' library, where a bright blaze was licking up round the coal in the grate, and a covered tray stood on a side-table.

  `Stay with Sir William, Hobbes,' Hadley directed. `If he wakens, come down after me. Admit the police surgeon when he arrives, and show him upstairs.'

  They sat down wearily in the firelight.

  `I got the final proof,' Hadley declared, as the doctor did things with a tantalus, `when I talked to Mrs Bitton a few minutes ago.. She said she'd been down here and spoken' to you. She said that you were convinced her husband had killed Driscoll….'

  `Did she? — What did she think about it?'

  `She wasn't so sure, until I told her the full story; that's what took me so long upstairs. I couldn't get much out of her. She seemed almost ass drugged as the old man. Her idea was that Bitton was quite capable of it, but that he'd be more likely to walk into Driscoll's rooms and strangle him rather than waylay him in a dark corner with a crossbow bolt. And she couldn't reconcile his putting the hat on Driscoll's, head. She was willing to swear he didn't think along those lines; he wasn't an imaginative type…. Hadley frowned. `It bothers me, Fell. She's quite right about that, unless Bitton had unsuspected depths.'

  The doctor, who was mixing drinks with his back to Hadley, stopped with his hand on the syphon.

  `I thought you were satisfied?'

  `I am; I suppose. There's absolutely no other person who can fit the evidence. And what makes it certain… Did you know Bitton had a gift for mimicry? I didn't, until she told me.'

  `Eh?'

  `Yes. His one talent, and he never employed it nowadays; he didn't think it was — well, fitting. But Mrs Bitton said he used to burlesque his brother making a speech, and hit him off to the life. He could easily have put in that fake telephone call''

  There was a curious, sardonic expression on the doctor's face as he stood up.

  `Hadley,' he said, `that's an omen. It's coincidence carried to the nth degree. I couldn't have believed it, and I'm glad we didn't hear it at the beginning of the investigation; it would only have confused us.'

  `What are you talking about?'

  `Let's hear the full outline of what Bitton did, as you read it.,

  Hadley settled back with a chicken sandwich.

  `Well it's fairly plain. Bitton had made up his mind to kill Driscoll when he returned from the trip. He was a little mad, anyhow, if his behaviour tells everything, and it explains what happened afterwards.

  `I don't think he intended at first to make any secret of it. His plan was simply to go to Driscoll's flat and choke the life out of him; and he made up his mind to do it that morning. He was determined to see Driscoll, you know. He borrowed Sir William's key to be sure he could get into the apartment.

  `He arrived there, and Driscoll was out. So he prowled through the apartment. In all likelihood he was looking for incriminating evidence against his wife and her lover. You remember the oil and the whetstone on Driscoll's desk? The oil was fresh; Driscoll had probably been working on that crossbow bolt, and it was lying there conspicuously. Remember that the bolt had a significance to Bitton; it was one which he and his wife had bought together….'

  Dr Fell rubbed his forehead. `I hadn't thought of that,' he muttered; `the omens are still at work. Carry on, Hadley'

  `And he found the top-hat. He must have surmised that Driscoll- was the Mad Hatter, but that didn't interest him so much as a recollection of Driscoll's wish to die in a tophat. You see the psychology, Fell? If he'd merely run across a top-hat of Driscoll's, the suggestion mightn't have been so strong. But a hat belonging to his brother — a perfect piece of stage-setting…’

  `Suddenly, his plan came to him. There was no reason why he should suffer for killing Driscoll. If he stabbed Driscoll at some place which wouldn't be associated with Lester Bitton, and put the stolen hat on the body, he would have done two things: First, he would have put suspicion on the Mad Hatter as the murderer. But the hat-thief was the man he was going to kill!… and consequently, the police could never hang an innocent person for murder.

  Secondly: he would have fulfilled Driscoll's bombastic wish

  `Further, from his point of view the choice of that bolt as a weapon was an ideal one. It had its significance. to begin with. And, though Driscoll had stolen the bolt secretly from his house, he didn't know that. Seeing the bolt on Driscoll's' desk, he naturally imagined that Driscoll had got it openly asked for it and that anybody in his own house would know it was in Driscoll's possession. Hence suspicion would be turned away from his own house! He couldn't have been expected to think that Driscoll had carefully concealed a theft of that trumpery souvenir, when it could have been had for the asking. Can you imagine what must have been his horror, then, when he found us suspecting his wife?'

  The doctor took a long drink of whisky.

  `You've got a better case than I' thought, my boy,' he said. `The Gentleman who pulls the cords must have been amused by this one. I am listening.'

  `So, in his half-crazy brain, he evolves a new plan. He knew Driscoll was going to the Tower at one o'clock, to meet Dalrye, because he had heard it at breakfast. He didn't know his wife was going there, of course. His one idea was to get Driscoll alone. If Driscoll went to the Tower, he would be certain to be with Dalrye; and a murder might be devilish awkward.’

  `You can see what he did. He took the hat and the bolt home with him, and left the house early; before one o'clock. He phoned Dalrye from a public box, imitated Driscoll's voice, and got Dalrye away. At one o'clock he was at the Tower. But Driscoll didn't appear; Driscoll was twenty minutes late….'

  Hadley drank a mouthful of scalding coffee and set down the cup. He struck his fist into his palm. `Do you realize, man, that, if we look back over our times in this case, Driscoll must have walked into the Tower of London no more than a few minutes,
or more likely a few seconds, before Laura Bitton did? Driscoll was late; she was early. And as soon as Driscoll got up to General Mason's rooms he looked out of the window and saw Laura Bitton by Traitors' Gate… In other words, Lester Bitton, lurking about for a suitable opportunity to kill Driscoll as soon as he could, saw both of them come in. He hadn't bargained on, her. There was to be a meeting, clearly. For fear of detection, he couldn't strike until it was over.

  `He waited. As he had thought, a person of Driscoll's wild and restless nature, wouldn't sit cooped up' in General Mason's rooms. He would wander about, in any event. And he would certainly come down now, for his rendezvous with Laura…. Fell, when Driscoll came downstairs and met Laura at the rail, Bitton must have been concealed under the arch of the Bloody, Tower, watching them.'

  The doctor was sitting back, one hand shading his eyes. The fire had grown to a fierce heat now. -

  `He saw the interview, with what rage we can imagine. He heard Laura Bitton say she loved him..:. and then, a thing which must have crazed him by its perverse irony, he saw Driscoll leave her, hurriedly and almost contemptuously, and walk towards him under the arch of the Bloody Tower. Driscoll had done more than loved his wife; he had scorned his wife. And now Driscoll was walking towards him in the fog, and the crossbowbolt was ready in Bitton's hand.'

  Dr Fell did not take his hand away from his eyes; he parted two fingers, and the bright eye gleamed suddenly behind his, glasses.

  `I say, Hadley… when you, talked to Mrs Bitton, did she say Driscoll really did go under the arch of the Bloody Tower?'

  `She didn't notice. She turned away and walked in the roadway — where, you remember, Mrs Larkin saw her, walking with her back to the Bloody Tower…. '

  'Ah!'

  `She didn't conceal anything,' Hadley said dully. `I thought, when I spoke to her, that I was talking to an automaton — a dead person, or something of the sort. Driscoll went under the arch. It was all over in a moment: Bitton's hand over his mouth, a wrench and a blow, and Driscoll died without a sound. And when Mrs Bitton walked through the arch a, few seconds later, her husband was holding against the wall the dead body of her lover. When they had gone, he took off Driscoll's cap, opened the top-hat — it was an opera-hat, you know, and collapsible, so that it was easily concealed under a coat — and put it down over Driscoll's eyes. He went out quickly and flung the body over the rail, where it got that smash on the back of the head. Then he went out by one of the side gates, unobserved.'

  When Hadley had finished, he did not immediately go on eating his sandwich. He stared at the sandwich queerly, put it down; and they were all very quiet. Over their heads, now, somebody was pacing with slow steps. Back and forth, back and forth.

  They heard a clock strike a musical note; then, faintly, voices in the front hall, and the boom of the big door closing.

  It echoed hollowly through the house. The steps upstairs hesitated, then resumed their slow pacing….

  `That'll be the police surgeon,' said Hadley. He rubbed his eyes drowsily and stretched stiff muscles. 'A bit more routine work, and I'm going home to bed.'

  `Excuse me,' interrupted a voice at the door. `May I see you a moment?'

  The tone was such that Hadley spun round. It began levelly, and then gave a sort of horrible jerk. Coming out of the shadows they saw Dalrye. His eyes, as he moved them from one to the other of these men, were glazed.

  `Don't say anything!' Dr Fell suddenly boomed. `For God's sake keep your mouth shut! You will think better of it — you'll…'

  Dalrye put out his hand. `It's no good,' he said. His eyes fixed on Hadley.

  `I wish to give myself up, sir,' he said, in a clear voice. `I killed Philip Driscoll.'

  20. The Murderer Speaks

  In the utter and appalled silence of that library, even thee footsteps upstairs seemed to have stopped as though they had heard him Dalrye mechanically yanked open his collar. His eyes were on the fire as he went on

  `I didn't mean to kill him, you know. It was an accident. I shouldn't have attempted to conceal it afterwards; that was the mistake. I shouldn't have told you at all if it hadn't been for your suspecting Major Bitton… and then his killing himself, and your being sure he'd done it…. I couldn't stand for that. He was — a - real friend, Phil never thought about anybody but himself. But Major Bitton He fumbled at his eyes. `I've lost my glasses, and I can't see very, well without them.'

  He stumbled over to the fire, sat down, and as he spread out his hands they saw he was shivering.

  `You young fool,' Dr Fell said, slowly. `You've ruined everything. I've been trying to cover you all, evening, ever since I saw that girl, of yours. There wasn't any sense in your telling. You've only brought more tragedy on this house.'

  Hadley straightened himself up, almost as though he were trying to recover from a blow in the face.

  `This isn't real,' he said. `It can't be. Are you telling me, as a police officer, without any joking…'

  `I've been walking the streets for an hour,' the young man answered. `When I kissed Sheila good-night over at her friends' place I knew it was the last time I'd ever see her outside the dock. And so I thought I couldn't tell you. But I realized I couldn't go on this way, either.' He put his head in his hands. Then an idea seemed to strike him and he peered round, `Did somebody say he knew it already?'

  `Yes,' snapped Dr Fell, grimly. `And if you'd had the sense to keep your mouth shut….'

  Hadley had taken out his notebook. His fingers were shaking and his voice was not clear. `Mr Dalrye,' he said, `it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be taken down….'

  `All right,' said Dalrye. He peered blindly at the drink Rampole was holding out, and clutched it. `Thanks. I can use that…. I, suppose there's no good telling you it was an accident, is there? He really killed himself, you know; that is, he jumped at me, and in the fight… Christ knows, I didn't want to hurt him. I only — I only tried to steal that damned manuscript….’

  He breathed noisily for a moment.

  `This may be true,' the chief inspector said, studying him queerly. `But I hope it's not. I hope you can tell me how you answered the telephone in Driscoll's flat at a quarter to two, and killed Driscoll at the Tower of London a few minutes later.'

  Dr Fell rapped his stick against: the edge of the mantelpiece. `It's out now, Hadley. The damage is done. And I may as well tell you that you've put your finger on the essential point. It's where your whole case went wrong… You see, Driscoll was not killed at the Tower of London. He was killed in his own flat'

  `He was… Great God’ Hadley said, despairingly. `All this is nonsense!'

  `No, it isn't,' said Dalrye. `It's true enough, Why Phil came back to his flat 'I don't know; I can’t imagine. I'd taken good care he should be at the Tower. That was why I faked the telephone call to myself. But I–I only wanted to keep him out of the way so that I could steal the manuscript.'

  His trembling had almost ceased now; he was only dull and drowsily tired.

  `Suppose we get this thing from the beginning,' said the chief inspector. `You say you wanted to steal the Poe manuscript…. '

  `I had to,' the other said.

  `You had to?'

  `Oh!' muttered Dalrye. His hand went to his eyes automatically, and found no glasses. `Oh yes. I didn't tell you. It was all on the spur of the moment. Bing. Like that. I don't think I should ever have thought of stealing it out of the house here. But when he telephoned me early Sunday evening at the, Tower he told me that when he'd pinched his uncle's hat he'd stolen the manuscript with it.'

  `You knew Driscoll was the hat-thief?'

  `O Lord’,said Dalrye, with a sort of feeble irritation. `Of course I did. Of course he'd come to me. I helped him. He — he always had to have help. And of course, you see, he'd have told me, anyway. Because one of his choicest ideas was to get a Yeoman Warder's hat from the Tower of

  London. '

  `By God and Bacchus!' muttered Dr Fell. `I overlooked that. Yes, ce
rtainly., Any, respectable hat-thief would have tried to…'

  `Be' quiet, will you?', snapped Hadley. `Listen, Mr Dalrye. He told you about it..'.?’

  'And that's when I got the idea,' Dalrye nodded — absently. `I was pretty desperate, you see. They were after me, and it would have come out, within a week. So I told Phil over the telephone to hang on to that manuscript; not to stir until I found him a plan and to go round to the house Sunday night and find out what he could before he acted. And in the meantime… ' He sat back in his chair. `I knew where Arbor was, over the week-end. I'd been out with Sheila Saturday night, and so of course I knew. I wouldn't have dared phone him if he'd been in this house…'

  `You phoned Arbor?'

  `Uh. Didn't he tell you? I was afraid he had recognized the voice, and I was panicky tonight when I heard he was coming in….'

  Hadley stared sharply at Dr Fell. `What did Arbor mean, then? I thought you told me he said he was sure it was Driscoll…?'

  `He did,' said the doctor. `But I'm afraid you didn't pay close enough attention to what Miss Bitton said to-night, Hadley. Don't you remember her telling us about how, Driscoll had played jokes on her, by telephoning and telling her he was Dalrye here; and she believed it? You've' got a voice very much like Driscoll's, haven't you, my boy?'

  `If I hadn't had,' muttered the other, `I couldn't have put this thing over. I'm no actor, you know. But if he could imitate me, then I could imitate him, and talk to Parker on the telephone to change the appointment and send myself up to his flat.'

  `Hold on!' snapped Hadley. `This is getting ahead of me. 'You say that first you phoned Arbor and offered him the manuscript, when you didn't have it yet, and then… But why? Why did you want to steal it?'

  Dalrye drained his glass. `I had to have twelve hundred pounds,' he said, evenly.

  Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the fire.

  `Let me tell you a little about it,' he went on. `My father is a clergyman in the north of England, and I'm the youngest of five sons. I got an education, but I had to work for my scholarships, because I wasn't one of those tremendously bright chaps. If 'I had anything, it was imagination, and I wanted — some day — and this is funny… no, I won't tell you what I wanted. It was something I wanted to write. But imagination doesn't help you in passing examinations, and it wasn't easy going to keep at the top. I'd been doing some research work on the Tower of London, and I happened to meet General Mason. He liked me, and I liked him, and he asked me to become his secretary.