by Richard Hull
I will answer the second question first. I have wished, for reasons of my own, which will hereafter become more plain, to understand the mentality of Latimer, and consequently I have made a careful study of his psychology. I have pieced together what I knew of his mind and of how he reacted to the various events which have been described, and to them I have added the contents of his diary—by far the principal source of information—and the knowledge which came to me after the time that his story ends, but before I wrote it down; finally I have included my own deductions as to the train of thought in his mind and what his intentions were. These latter are only hypotheses, I am aware, but I believe them to be logically drawn and to be substantially accurate.
Briefly, therefore, I expanded Latimer’s diary until it became the chronicle which it now is, as an essay, an exercise, in order to explore in a spirit of almost scientific investigation the recesses of his abnormally vindictive brain. Vindictiveness was a characteristic which even the unobservant Spencer noticed, but I wanted to piece together all the information that I had, so as to be sure of what had happened.
It is a little harder to say why Spencer put his thoughts down. I think it was just done in a moment of impulsiveness to relieve his feelings, to use the type of phrase that he would have adopted ‘to let off steam’. I believe too, that he was genuinely frightened by the accident of the car in the one-way street. Perhaps even he was suffering from shock without knowing it. For my part, it is an incident about which I have never fully made up my mind. I am inclined to view it more in the lines that I have expressed in Latimer’s account and to ascribe most of it to chance, but I may be wrong. At the time I summed up my reactions accurately in the short quotation which has already been included.
At any rate it is quite certain that Spencer told me that he had written such notes. Whether he had told Latimer, I do not know, and for that reason I have made no mention of it in Latimer’s account. Certainly, so far as I can make out, Latimer did not take it into his consideration at all. I should be inclined to assume that Spencer had not told him, were it not for the fact that Spencer had more reason to tell him than me, if the view that Spencer gave of the car incident is taken into consideration. Perhaps Spencer intended to include the subject in the talk that he was preparing for Latimer—curiously enough he does not mention it in the notes he wrote last concerning his oration. Perhaps he did tell Latimer and Latimer just forgot it. He was rather good at forgetting.
But however that may be, I knew that Spencer had written something, and I knew that there had been a scene one evening over the Greyfields Canning Company. I had plenty of reason to be angry myself about that, since, as may be read even between the lines contributed by Latimer (and those I have not altered), I had done more work than anyone else by preparing estimates and investigating the financial possibilities. I thought therefore that it was advisable that I should know what was in Spencer’s mind, and accordingly the next morning, reaching the office first, as generally happened, I looked round in the drawer of Spencer’s table until I found the manuscript. It was at that time written as far as the words: “By George we will—fully and properly.”
It seemed to me that we were in for an exciting few days, but I believed in minding my own business. Latimer and Spencer had better finish their quarrel by themselves without any interference from me. I did not even alter my opinion when I managed at lunch time to read a considerable proportion, though rather hurriedly, of Spencer’s final instalment.
Accordingly that afternoon I took no notice of what was happening, although had I tried very hard, I might have heard what was being said in Latimer’s room.
Punctually at half-past four Miss Wyndham brought me my tea and I continued resolutely with my work—I was, as a matter of fact, preparing some of the copy for the trade press for Galatz-si, since Latimer’s tantrums were causing a dangerous delay. There was nothing unusual in that. I frequently found it necessary to fill in the gaps caused by his idleness.
Next I heard Latimer’s voice speaking to Miss Wyndham. “I want,” he said, “to see the schedule of dates in the Mail booked for Galatz-si.”
“Yes, Mr. Latimer, I will bring it to you directly I have taken Mr. Spencer his tea.”
“That can wait. Mr. Spencer always prefers it cold. Put it down and bring them to me at once.”
“But, Mr. Latimer, Mr. Spencer gets ever so cross——”
“At once, please.”
Well, there was nothing else that Miss Wyndham could do but obey. At that time, it must be remembered, I had no idea that Latimer had any ulterior motive in being left alone with Spencer’s tea. It merely seemed as if here was another petty cause of irritation, a literal storm about a teacup. I expected that the next ten minutes would be stormy, and so, after Spencer’s cup of tea, the third, had been eventually served, and I had heard Spencer going to Latimer’s room, I deliberately refused to listen. To be strictly accurate, I simply ceased to take the necessary steps which would enable me to hear.
Only, however, the completely deaf could have failed to notice something unusual from where I was. So far as the staff were concerned, however, the case was different. I had frequently before considered that it was a fortunate thing that they were out of earshot of our conversations, which at times were not of so friendly a nature as to demand an audience. I was therefore the only auditor—and that an unwilling one—of the sounds of a scuffle and the raised voices which came from Latimer’s room. So far as I could make out, Spencer was delivering his monologue and the black eye had been duly returned.
It was a piquant situation for those who suffer from an inordinate sense of curiosity, but to a busy man who was above that kind of vulgarity, it was merely distressing. I was sufficiently strong-minded to take no notice and to go on with my own work. The only point which intrigued me was whether Spencer’s ingenuity had devised a substitute for mud.
The interview was not a long one. It was indeed rather shorter than I had expected. Before ten to five I heard Spencer return to his own room. Thereafter there was silence.
The minutes went past and still there was no noise. Intent though I was on the work before me, nevertheless I could not help feeling a slight restlessness, a gradual feeling of surprise at the absence of all noise. Usually I could hear Spencer moving about in his room, picking up papers and magazines and throwing them down; he was always a noisy fellow. But now there was not a sound.
Nor was there any movement by Latimer. A possible cause for this occurred to me. Spencer had no doubt hit him fairly hard in addition to forcing him to listen, but I had assumed that he would not leave him so stunned that he could not get up and go home. For if he had, Latimer would be discovered by Miss Wyndham or the office boy, and then obviously his pride would never allow him to continue to work with Spencer any longer. He would not only have been insulted, but the insult had become a matter of public knowledge, not to be concealed by any tale of an accident. I waited therefore for some sound to come. But when the clock began to approach half-past five and there was still no movement, I began to wonder if it were possible that Spencer had actually gone so far, since Latimer usually departed long before half-past five.
Really I had no wish to see either of them, and if I went to Latimer’s room and found everything normal I should look foolish unless I had some reason for having come. I did not want to tell Latimer that I was writing his copy for him, so I had to think of some further excuse. Finally I decided that I could decently remind him of the necessity of the art-work for the first insertion in the Daily Mail being sent to the block makers within the next forty-eight hours, and I was just about to move when I heard Miss Wyndham scream.
I jumped up at once, and at that moment she burst into my room, failing to knock for the first time in her life.
“Oh, Mr. Barraclough, do come quickly. Mr. Latimer——” She stopped and seemed unable to go on.
“Well?”
“Mr. Latimer’s lying in his chair and he’s looking ev
er so funny.”
With that I pushed past her and went into Latimer’s room. I am no doctor, but I had very little doubt that he was dead. It was the first time I had seen his face devoid of its sulkiness. With all expression removed it was almost handsome except for the blackening of the left eye. But, apart from that, there was another circumstance which made me think that Latimer had not merely fainted. On the table and on Latimer’s clothes, and on the floor below him were scattered a number of crystals which I feared (rightly as it subsequently proved) to be some of those which Tonescu had given us to use for experimental purposes.
The combination of circumstances made me almost positive that it would be useless to waste time in further examination. I went out and locked the door and went to tell Spencer. As I went to his room it struck me as strange that he should have taken no notice of Miss Wyndham’s scream.
But when I opened his door I saw at once why he had not been disturbed. He had fallen forward in his chair, upsetting the teacup as he did so, I imagined, since it lay on the floor. In his case, too, I had no doubt that he was dead.
At that moment I heard Miss Wyndham approaching along the passage and, to save her a further unpleasant shock, I called out to her to keep out. Then I gave one more look round the room. There was nothing unusual in it except that Spencer’s description of what had been happening lay on the table. I could see the words ‘I shall say’ scrawled on the top of the page, the sentence left unfinished.
I am not sure that my next action was wise. In the earlier part of his manuscript he had seen fit to give a very inaccurate and misleading description of myself and to imply that I was actuated entirely by avarice. It was possible—I did not know then that it was not so—that he had developed this theme further in what he had written that day, my reading of the instalment he had composed that day having been hurried, as I said. Even if I was not mentioned again, there was already far too much about me in the first part. Such a document in the hands of the police was capable of giving an entirely erroneous impression. I therefore thought that it would be better if the knowledge of its contents were confined to myself. So I quickly picked it up and took it into my own room.
Then feeling that if I was going to take one, I had better take both, I went back to where Latimer was. In his drawer, unknown to me as he fondly thought, was his diary. Actually I had long since possessed myself of the key of that drawer, so that though he locked it carefully every night, I had always been able to know what was in his mind. On the whole I think that it had facilitated the working of the agency.
But, be that as it may, I am by no means sure that I was right to take it. Had it been as complete as I have now made it, I should have had no doubt that it would have been wiser to have left it. But it was not and I knew that it was not. Moreover I had not read it all. There might have been some reference to the fact that Spencer had written something. There might be all sorts of foolishness.
Largely, however, I think that my action was instinctive rather than reasoned. In any case I put it in my pocket as well as Spencer’s manuscript. It was not very bulky and I was glad to see that there was no danger of its being noticed.
After that I telephoned to Scotland Yard.
Chapter Two
If Latimer had really been so obliging as to write fully the account that I have given and if the police had had Spencer’s notes, the matter would have been a simple one for the inspector. But as it was, it was far from easy. In fact I had an unpleasant suspicion that as I was the one of the three who survived, some blundering detective might be so foolish as to consider that I might be responsible for their deaths, especially if he had Spencer’s unflattering description of my character before him.
While, therefore, I congratulated myself on having removed that document, I considered that it might be necessary for me to assist in the solution of what was at that time a mystery. It was then that it occurred to me that it might be necessary for me to analyse and consider Latimer’s thoughts and actions. It would depend on how intelligent the detective appeared to be, but I may now say that these were the reasons of mine (to which I referred above) which made me wish to understand Latimer’s mentality.
When ultimately the representative of Scotland Yard did appear, I was more than ever sure that the course I intended to pursue was right. My assistance would be needed, for Inspector Hoopington filled me with no confidence whatever.
He is one of those moon-faced, stolid, stupid people. I am quite sure he believes in testing every step before he makes the next one, and uses those words to describe the process. He began, for instance, by examining the doors of every room and having fingerprints taken. I have no doubt that he found some excellent examples of those of every person connected with the office—my own should have been particularly clear as I had just opened both doors. Then he repeated a similar process with the windows—including those in my room.
On that I could not repress an exclamation of surprise. It was so far from the point that even the Inspector, whose conversation up to this time had been confined to the smallest possible limits, saw that an explanation was necessary.
“We have to be certain, sir, that no entry has been possible by any other means than the door and that both the windows and the doors have not been forced or tampered with in any way.”
I walked to the window in my room which had just been inspected and looked down to the pavement some distance below. “It would require a very enterprising cat-burglar,” I commented dryly.
“Yes, sir. Nevertheless I must ask you not to touch that window.”
I could barely refrain from laughing at the preposterousness of the remark. What on earth did he think that the window of my room had to do with the deaths of Latimer or Spencer? To hide both the smile and the irritation at his stupidity, I turned away and peered out to the balcony jutting out from the floor below the one we were on. It was then that I made the first discovery which has done so much to help the police.
I was just about to speak when I heard the Inspector’s voice behind me. “Are you in the habit of going to that window, sir, and are you likely to have touched it this afternoon?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact I opened it about three o'clock and looked out for a few minutes. It might interest you to know that the piece of paper lying on the balcony below was not then there.”
“Piece of paper, sir?”
“Yes, on the balcony below the window of Mr. Latimer’s room.”
“Yes, sir. It appeared to me to lie as much under your window as his.”
I looked at it again. “I think not.”
“Very possibly, sir.” The Inspector joined me at the window and saw it, I really believe for the first time. “I think it is an envelope, sir.”
Somehow I found this vaguely irritating, partly because the Inspector’s agreement was obviously merely politeness, and not conviction, and partly because he was pretending to have seen it all the time, which I was perfectly certain he had not. Actually I was almost sure of this because I had to some extent trapped him. It was obviously an envelope, and I had called it a piece of paper to see if he would correct me, and since he had not, I was almost certain that he was bluffing to hide his lack of observation, a characteristic which I dislike.
Of course at that time I had no knowledge that this envelope was of any importance. It was mere chance that had led me to mention it, but as I stood and looked down, the conviction came strongly upon me that it was in some way closely connected with what had happened. Remember my analysis of Latimer’s plan had not yet been worked out. Still, with an instinctive knowledge I urged the Inspector to collect it.
“It might blow away,” I pointed out.
The Inspector merely remarked that there was no wind. Apparently he was not concerned with the possible eddies of air there may be round a high building. Even so simple a thing as the beating of a pigeon’s wings might disturb it, so once more I tried to induce the Inspector to act. But there was not and there never wi
ll be any chance of taking Hoopington out of the rut in which he proposes to travel.
It was in many ways the groove in which one would expect the police machinery to move. The police doctor, who immediately confirmed that both of them were dead, the finger print photographs, the photographs of both the rooms, even of my room—and finally the removal of both Latimer and Spencer for a detailed post-mortem—all this was just as I had expected it to be, even down to the collection of the crystals scattered on the floor of Latimer’s room. Nor was I surprised when Hoopington insisted on locking and sealing up both the important rooms. The only thing that surprised me was the attention he paid to my own desk. In the end I asked him why.
“Because, sir, we are able to lock up the other two, but you will require your own papers and very likely will move them. Therefore, I am examining them now, so that you will not be impeded afterwards.”
The idea of everything on my table being left in status quo was certainly absurd, but still, I did not see why it concerned him, and I said so.
“You never can tell, sir,” was his only comment.
I gave up any attempt to obtain any sense from this bovine creature. “In any case, Inspector,” I contented myself with observing, “the work of the agency cannot continue without some of the material in the other two rooms.”
“We shall do our best to assist you, sir, in that respect. Meanwhile I must examine everything in your room first, so that you shall be entirely free.”
It was useless to protest that he was wasting his time. In fact I realized by now that Inspector Hoopington was determined to waste time. Very possibly he was not busy—in fact I could imagine that Scotland Yard were not in the habit of using him for anything which required to be done quickly. In any case it was his own time that he was frittering away—I was in no hurry—and naturally there was nothing in my room which he was not at liberty to see. The only thing which I thought it was best that he should not have, namely, Spencer’s illiterate scribble and Latimer’s abbreviated diary, were safely in my pocket. Accordingly, I stood by patiently while he solidly and rather ponderously looked at carbon copies of accounts, a précis or two of my researches into various trade papers, rough copy for Galatz-si and others and the normal things which were always on my table or were ready to go out to Miss Wyndham for filing.
