by Richard Hull
But it had been clever of me to have been apparently reluctant to mention that incident. Now that I did so, the Inspector lapped it down greedily. Direct methods having failed to convince him of the obvious truth, I had at last succeeded by catching him with what he thought was his own cleverness.
It was as well too that I had been quite ready to describe the incident in question, since apparently Hoopington had heard some rumour of it from the staff. In fact he must have been talking to them almost as much as to me. I do not think that, though I knew that he must have spoken to them, I had previously quite realized how much time he must have spent with each.
“Did not Mr. Spencer express some intention of writing an account of it?” he asked.
It was always possible for a reasonably intelligent person to guess what was in Hoopington’s mind. When he adopted the particular tone in which he had addressed that question, I knew at once that he had been told that Spencer had talked of doing so, but that he rather hoped to trap me—though for what reason I could not think, except the general principle that if you can rattle anyone you can get anything out of him that you want. But I was too wary to be caught that way.
“I believe he did have some such idea. But Spencer was always going to do something, was always beginning things and not ending them. He was constantly rushing off in several directions at once and arriving nowhere as a result. In advertising, for instance, he would start to try to obtain half a dozen different clients at the same time, and through lack of concentration on any one, would fail to get any of them.”
“You think then that he started to write this account and then stopped?”
“Possibly. Only if he had done so, wouldn’t you have found it? Perhaps he never began it. Perhaps he began it and destroyed it. I think”—I adopted the attitude of one trying to recall to his memory a half-forgotten trivial detail—“that he did say something about having started it, so I presume he must have destroyed it. I fancy he found English composition rather difficult. But I am only guessing, Inspector.”
“I quite understand. Precisely. The curious thing though, is that when Miss Wyndham took him his tea that afternoon she saw him writing. There were just three words at the top of the paper. She happened to notice them. They were ‘I shall say’.”
“Yes, Inspector?”
“I have not found that piece of paper with that writing on it.”
“Thrown away, I suppose. Spencer was always wasteful with stationery.”
“I fancy, sir, that not everybody is as economical as you.”
I smiled at the compliment while Hoopington went on. “But can you suggest where it went to? It was not in the waste-paper basket, and I am told that that had not been disturbed before I came—unless you moved anything, sir, by the way?”
“I? Why should I?”
“I thought not, sir, but I just asked.”
How like Inspector Hoopington—he just asked! But I thought that it was advisable to give some explanation of the disappearance of the paper which was actually in my possession. “Possibly it would sound a fantastic explanation with anyone else, but with Spencer anything might happen—possibly he took a sudden dislike to it, crumpled it up, and threw it out of the window. That would be quite a typical action and I have seen him do it before. Besides, is there any reason to think that this paper which Miss Wyndham saw is the one to which you were referring?”
“None at all. And from what I hear of Mr. Spencer he might have done something like that. Only unfortunately it did not stay on the balcony underneath like the envelope. If only you had mentioned it at the time I could have had the area and the pavements searched.”
“I should doubt whether you would have found it in a busy street, and even if you had, I cannot help wondering if it would have been any use to you.”
“Very possibly, sir, but I like always to clear up every point.”
As to that I believed the Inspector implicitly; I had had too much proof of it already. But I was interested in his reference to the envelope on the balcony; which I had been meaning to ask him about before. However I did so then.
“Oh, yes, that is quite an interesting feature. It had contained the poison.”
“Then I suppose it was used as a container by Latimer for the crystals he took from my drawer?”
“That seems to me, sir, to assume a great many things.”
“I think, though, that I may say that it confirms the account I have already given you of what happened.”
“Of what you think happened, sir, if I may correct you,” was his annoying reply. “It still has not been proved, and I might say that I have other theories. Murder, you know, sir, is not easy. Nor is the solution of it always as simple as you appear to think.”
How like Inspector Hoopington! Of course I was certain that I had guessed correctly what his theory was (and equally sure that theory was wrong) but it did not seem apparently to occur to him that I might have read his thoughts and he refused to say openly what his ideas were. I, as a mere layman not having the privilege of being in Scotland Yard, however much I might know and however much I might actually assist, must be kept at arm’s length, lest I should be able to claim any credit for having assisted the police! An interesting if a narrow attitude.
Busy though I was, I found this all so intriguing that I made rather full notes on it almost at once.
Chapter Eight
Time passes quickly when one is busy and it was only the periodical adjournments of the coroner’s inquest which called my attention to the dilatoriness of Scotland Yard.
NeO-aD was really busy too. My Galatz-si campaign was being a great success and, in addition, I had no difficulty in getting all the press publicity that I wanted. When the first sensational paragraphs as to ‘Double Tragedy in Advertising Agents’ Office’ came out, I had of course taken care to see that the press were supplied with the fullest details about the company and its capabilities and also the fact that business would in no way be impeded. Our clients, though none of them sufficiently big to be really well known, were numerous, and the list I was able to supply was quite imposing.
The next stage was to let it be known that the ‘tragedy’ had been caused by a new product which we were putting on the market. This required rather careful handling because although publicity was to be had in plenty, it was very important not to allow the impression to be stamped on the public mind that Galatz-si was dangerous. But I have always found that if you handle them the right way, the press are very helpful and of course they especially wish to be so to an advertising agent since it is we who decide in which of them our clients are going to buy space.
With therefore interesting news to tell them and a promise that an advertising campaign was about to be started almost in connection with it, I had the press at my feet. Indeed many free columns were devoted to Galatz-si before I bought an inch of space. It was a great temptation to charge Tonescu with the price of some of them at advertising rates—particularly some of the accounts of the coroner’s enquiry, when I managed to discuss the product in great detail.
But I thought it was not right to take advantage of his ignorance. In the end I contented myself with adding a sum for publicity work. He accepted it so readily that I wished I had asked for double the amount.
When the notoriety gained by the police proceedings was reinforced by the advertising, Tonescu readily obtained magnificent sales. He took offices, raised the price per tin, and accepted my suggestion to extend his campaign to several others of the London dailies. What with the success that he was having and the attention which both that success and the inquest was calling to the agency, I could see a long and prosperous future before me.
The more I contemplated Latimer’s and Spencer’s departure, the more I appreciated the truth of the old adage about ill winds—and the beauty of it was that, under the terms of our agreement, I had been able to buy their interest for next to nothing. Galatz-si had helped me but not them. So great was the success that I
was even able to look with equanimity on Latimer’s account which showed a small balance due to me which would never be paid.
Thinking the matter over, I came to the conclusion that it would be advisable to get a better artist and a better typist—possibly I should need two typists.
At this time, too, I decided to move into the room which Latimer had occupied, which I need hardly say was the best—Latimer might have been trusted to obtain that. Thomas also, I prepared to move, very much against his will, into what had been Spencer’s room. He would be able to work there with no disturbance. My own would be used for a second typist or perhaps for someone who would interview the press representatives for me—a tiresome and rather useless job which took up a great deal of time. At any rate for the present I left it unoccupied.
Thomas was rather troublesome about the move. I thought at first that he merely objected because he was used to being in one place and did not want to change. As for the excuse that he put up, it was palpably absurd. He said that he disliked sitting in a room where anyone had died. He even pretended that his artistic temperament made him psychic and that he expected to see a ghost! That of course was nonsense. Thomas was a second-class commercial designer—good enough, when we could not afford anyone better, but nothing more than that and no more artistic than a black-beetle.
Of course his real reason was that he did not want to be separated from dear Maud, but at the time it had never entered my head that they were married.
As, however, his objections developed into passive disobedience, and then into open refusal, the real reason suddenly dawned on me, and with a flash of intuition, I accused him of being engaged to Miss Wyndham. His hesitation before saying ‘No’ gave him away, and put into my head the idea of asking if they were married.
Once that fact was known the whole situation changed. Of course I made up my mind to dismiss them both at the earliest opportunity. I could not put my reasons so crudely as Spencer, nor are they exactly the same, but I am sure that a married woman’s heart is not in her work and I would have no one in my office who was not wholly devoted to what she was doing. I had for some time been thinking of getting rid of her and this piece of news finally decided it. With her, Thomas would naturally have to go. Apart from anything else, he would be impossible when I had dismissed her.
I came to this decision very easily, but I was prudent enough not to tell them until I had engaged successors. Those who are under notice to go are always lazy—perhaps it is natural. It would be well worth while to delay telling them of my intention until I actually had successors coming the next day.
The only question was whether I should have to pay them a month’s wages in lieu of notice or whether a week would be sufficient. Rather reluctantly I came to the conclusion that a month would be necessary. Even though Galatz-si was bringing in a considerable amount of income to me, I saw no reason to be wasteful. I should try to see if an offer of a fortnight’s wages would not be sufficient.
I have had some difficulty in selecting those who are to take their places without either of them having any idea of my intentions, but I think I have managed it. The dismissal will take place on the day following what I hope will be the final adjournment of the inquest. There will, of course, be no trial if Hoopington has the intelligence to accept the obvious view of the situation which I have put before him. If, on the other hand, he is anxious to prosecute the Thomases, he can do so for all I care. They will no longer be in my employment. Indeed it would perhaps be as well if I were to have dismissed them before they were arrested.
Accordingly, therefore, the next time I saw the Inspector I rather changed my tone. I took the attitude that perhaps I had been wrong in pressing my own view so strongly upon him. Then I went on to say that I was sure that he had formed the theory that Thomas and Miss Wyndham were responsible, and that though I thought that they were not, I had no desire to impede justice in any way.
“By the way,” I went on, “did you know that they were married to each other?”
Now I had hoped that this was a fresh fact to the Inspector—it is a pardonable piece of vanity, I hope, but, in common with many other people, I like my news to be news.
It was therefore rather depressing to find that the Inspector had known it all the time. I upbraided him with having concealed it from me and pointed out that it was very material to me that I should know it. In return I got a rather guarded account of how he had found out the fact, from which, drawing, I must admit, slightly on my imagination, I have described the rencontre with Mrs. Wyndham.
At the end, however, he reverted to my comment that it was so intimately a concern of mine that he ought to have told me. He had not, he said, when he had discussed it with me, realized that I felt in any way so strongly about it. Indeed he seemed quite upset when I explained to him that I had made full arrangements to get rid of both of them.
The information had one unexpected consequence, which makes me doubt Inspector Hoopington’s veracity and sincerity.
He instantly dropped the theory to which I am sure he had been working up, that the Thomases were in any way responsible. Indeed he had the audacity to pretend that he had never contemplated such a possibility and went so far as to say that he had really come to the conclusion that I had been right all the time and that he hoped to satisfy the coroner fully as to that.
I was in reality delighted to hear it. Such a conclusion would settle the matter once and for all, since if the police believed that each murdered the other and the coroner’s jury brought in a verdict to that effect, there could be no subsequent trial, there being nobody to try. But, having by now learned that Inspector Hoopington moved by contraries, I naturally did not say so. Instead I pressed him to make certain that Thomas had not poisoned Latimer while Miss Wyndham poisoned Spencer’s tea.
“In which case, sir, you listened to Mr. Spencer talking to Mr. Latimer after Miss Wyndham had killed him.”
I pretended to consider this seriously. “Unless I mistook Thomas’s voice for Spencer’s.”
“But you heard his voice, I thought, and you heard him go from his room to Mr. Latimer’s.”
“That might have been Miss Wyndham moving about. And I did not hear the voices very distinctly.”
My tactics worked admirably. Inspector Hoopington, though obviously by now completely muddled, only saw safety in sticking to the point to which I wanted him to adhere, namely the double murder.
“The black eye alone, sir, I think is conclusive.” Well, I had always thought so but it had taken Inspector Hoopington a long while to arrive at the conclusion!
Finally he came back rather unexpectedly to the envelope which had been found on the balcony below. “I think that that is a point which, though not decisive, is rather in Miss Wyndham’s favour. It is practically certain that since it contained traces of Galatz-si, it had been used as a container for the portion taken out of your stock. Therefore it was used by the murderer or one of the murderers, who would want to dispose of it as quickly as possible.”
I agreed fairly readily. I was hoping that the Inspector would see that this was Latimer’s doing, but I was anxious not to press it too hard.
“Now Miss Wyndham could have dropped such an envelope out of the window of her own room much more easily, or quite simply could have torn it up and put it into the very full waste-paper basket in her room. She would not have suspected me of having the whole of its contents examined.”
“Which you did?”
“Naturally. But Mr. Latimer would have wanted to get rid of it at once. Therefore it went out of his own window without delay. That it should catch on the balcony below was pure bad luck which he had left out of his calculations.”
This train of reasoning seemed to me to be based on very slender premises and to be composed of facts which did not follow necessarily from each other.
I was anxious that the Inspector should accept it as accurate, but I hoped he would not bring it forward openly. Even a coroner’s jury migh
t fail to find it convincing. Accordingly, partly as a warning and partly to conceal my real desire, I argued against it. But it was no good trying to convince Hoopington. The more I said the more determined he became.
At any rate I had achieved my principal object. When the final adjournment of the inquest is held, there is no doubt what theory Hoopington will produce. And of course I shall adjust my evidence so as to bear it out fully. Indeed there will be no need to ‘adjust’. It will bring it out fully naturally.
Chapter Nine
One more note and my task will be ended.
The coroner’s inquest has gone off admirably and the whole thing is finished and may be dismissed from my mind. When these last few words are written—and they are only written because I am not happy unless I have rounded off my work—I shall be quite free to concentrate on the work before me.
I shall not describe the inquest in detail. It was, I presume, much as all others. On the previous occasions nothing but formal evidence had been given, but now that at long last Inspector Hoopington had completed his laborious investigations and had arrived at the point which I had reached many weeks before, I was asked to tell the full story.
It was to some extent in anticipation of this moment that I had carefully compiled this chronicle, so that I was able to give a very full account, not only of everything that had happened on what the press called ‘the fatal afternoon’, but also of the attitudes and feelings of all concerned.
