Further and more convincingly, the only motive Blunt could have had for making a written statement would be that Haslar had already considered—as a safeguard against foul play. But this safeguard would be inoperative unless Haslar knew of its existence. Now Blunt had never mentioned such a document. This silence seemed to Haslar conclusive proof that nothing of the kind existed.
Reviewing the whole circumstances Haslar felt convinced that nothing had taken place in the past which could possibly connect him with Blunt. So far, so good. But what of the future? Could a method of murder be devised which would leave him equally dissociated?
This wasn’t an easy problem. The more Haslar thought over it, the more impossible it seemed. To murder Blunt involved becoming associated with him. The man would have to be met, personally. Haslar began to visualise picking him up on the Great North Road on the occasion of his next demand, and driving him to some lonely spot where the dreadful deed could be carried out and the body hidden. But this would be horribly dangerous. He, Haslar, might be seen; he might drop something traceable; the car might be observed; the wheel marks might be found. The whole thing indeed was bristling with risks. And if he, Haslar, were asked where he was at the time, what should he say? He could put up no alibi and the absence of one would be fatal.
But was he not going too fast? Had he considered all the circumstances of Blunt’s life? To do so might give him the hint he required.
He had never seen the cottage bought with his money, but Blunt had shown him a photograph and described it. It was a small bungalow with three rooms, which Blunt used as kitchen, sitting-room and bedroom. It had electric light and water, but not gas. It stood in a field alongside a lane, surrounded by trees and with a tiny garden. It was very secluded and yet was within a hundred yards of a main road. Anything might happen there unknown to neighbours or passers by. A shot could even be fired with a fair chance of its being unheard.
Haslar considered paying the place a nocturnal visit. He could park up the lane, knock at the door, hit Blunt over the head when he opened it, and drive back to Oxshott. He might manage that part of it all right. But he could never get secretly away from home. Gina would wake and miss him. The taking out of the car might be heard. … No, that didn’t seem a possibility.
His thoughts returned to Blunt. How did the old man spend his day? Here again his information was scanty. The picture he was able to build up from the few remarks Blunt had dropped was incomplete. And yet he knew so much that he thought he could fill in the blanks.
The first thing which took place in the morning was the arrival of Mrs. Parrott, the daily help. She prepared breakfast and when Blunt came down it was waiting for him. During the morning she cleaned the house, prepared Blunt’s midday and evening meals and left them ready for him to heat, and washed up the previous day’s dishes. She left about noon. Blunt smoked, read the paper, listened to his wireless, went down to the ‘Green Goat,’ pottered in the garden, or went for a bus ride as the humour took him. He warmed up his evening meal and retired to bed, where he read himself to sleep.
He was not, so Blunt had himself said, socially inclined. The ‘Green Goat’ gave him all the companionship he wanted. Seldom or never did he offer hospitality to his neighbours.
It was beginning to look to Haslar as if the only way he could carry out his dreadful purpose was by an evening or night visit. By parking some distance away and walking to the cottage he might manage the actual murder safely enough. But he couldn’t see how to overcome the difficulty of getting away from Oxshott. The more he thought of this, the more insuperable it seemed.
For days Haslar pondered his problem. Under all the special circumstances of Blunt’s life, was there no way in which the man could be removed with secrecy? He could think of none.
And then one morning an idea suddenly flashed into his mind. Was there not, after all, a very obvious way in which a man could be done to death with complete and absolute safety to the murderer?
Haslar’s heart began to beat more rapidly. He sat stiffly forward, thinking intently. Yes, he believed there was such a way. Admittedly it would only work under certain circumstances, but in this case these circumstances obtained.
He went to his table and picked up a book a friend had lent him. It was a popular account of the application of science to detection and told of the use that is being made of such things as fingerprints, the microscopic examination of dust, ultra-violet photography, chemical analysis and criminal psychology. Eagerly he turned the pages. He thought he remembered the details of what he had read, but he must check himself. He found the paragraph.
Yes, he was right. The method he had in mind was very commonly used by criminals. It had been tested a good many times and was fool-proof. Of course he would not use it exactly as it had been used before. He would add his own modification, and it was this modification which would make the affair so absolutely safe.
Safe! By this plan he would be as secure as if he took no action at all. He could never be suspected. But even if he were suspected, even if Blunt left a statement of the secret, he was safe. If the police were convinced of his guilt he was safe. Never, under any circumstances, could they prove what he had done.
If Blunt’s fate had been in doubt before, it was now sealed beyond yea or nay.
IV
To Stewart Haslar his idea as to how Henry Blunt might be safely murdered soon became an impersonal problem like those he had dealt with when managing his chain stores in Australia. Once its thrill and horror had worn off he set to work on it with his customary systematic thoroughness. He began by a general consideration of the details of the plan and then made out a list of the various things he had to do. In the main these consisted of three items: he had to buy or otherwise obtain certain materials; he had to make a certain piece of apparatus; and he had to ensure that Blunt would do nothing to upset the scheme.
The most risky part of the plan was the purchase of two chemicals. One was easy to obtain, the other might be more difficult. He decided to begin by buying these, as if he failed on this point he need proceed no further.
Carefully he worked out two disguises. He invariably appeared in tweed suits and Homburg hats. In a large establishment in the City he bought a readymade suit of black and a cheap bowler, and in a secondhand clothes shop an old fawn waterproof and a cap. He did not wear glasses: therefore in a theatrical supplies shop he secured a couple of pairs of spectacles, both with plain glass, but one with dark rims and the other with light. From a piece of soft rubber insertion he cut two tiny pairs of differently shaped pads for his cheeks. All these, together with a brush and comb, he packed in a suitcase, which he placed in his car.
On the next convenient day he drove to Town, saying he would lunch at his club and do some shopping. He did both of these: lunched with acquaintances, who in case of need could certify that he was there, and bought a number of articles which he could, and afterwards did, show to his wife. But he did more.
In the car he put on the old waterproof, which he buttoned up round his neck. He took off his hat, brushed his hair back from front to rear in a way in which he never wore it, put on the cap and light spectacles, and slipped one pair of the rubber pads into his cheeks. Thus prepared, he set out.
On a previous occasion he had noted two or three large chemists’ shops near Paddington and Liverpool Street respectively. Selecting one near Paddington, he parked in an adjoining street and walked round. As he had hoped, it was well filled with customers.
‘I want a little potassium chlorate, please,’ he said, ‘to mix my own gargle.’
‘Potassium chlorate, yes,’ the assistant returned. ‘About what quantity?’
Haslar made a gesture indicating a package about 3 ins. × 2 ins. × 2 ins. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I suppose about that size.’
The assistant nodded and weighed out the white powder, handed over the little package, gave the change, said ‘Good afternoon’ in the usually politely perfunctory manner, and
turned to serve the next customer. Haslar walked quietly out. The first of his two principal fences was taken!
But this first was easy. The second, which he was now going to attempt, was the most difficult and dangerous item in his whole programme.
Parking outside Paddington, he went with his suitcase into the station lavatory and there changed to his black suit and bowler hat. He rebrushed his hair, put on the dark-rimmed spectacles and exchanged the pads in his cheeks. Then, slipping out while the attendant’s back was turned, he regained the car and drove to Liverpool Street. Again he parked at a convenient distance and walked to another of the chemists.
‘I want some picric acid for burns, please. The powder, if you have it. I like to make up my own ointment.’
The assistant looked along his shelves. ‘We have it, in solution,’ he said, ‘and on gauze. I’m afraid we’re out of the powder.’
This was what Haslar had feared. ‘Then give me the gauze,’ he answered. ‘It’ll do well enough.’
He bought a roll of gauze which he didn’t want, stored it in the car, parked in a new place and tried a second shop. He was prepared to go on visiting shop after shop for the entire afternoon, but to his delight, at this second establishment he got what he wanted. Without any formality or suggestion that his request was unusual, he obtained a small bottle of the brilliant yellow powder. As this seemed scarcely enough, he got a second bottle in another shop.
Six more purchases Haslar made before changing back to his normal garb. One was at still another chemist’s. There he bought a dozen small test tubes, about 3 ins. long by ¼ in. diameter, and a dozen rubber ‘corks’ to fit. The second was at a garage, where he got a small bottle of sulphuric acid, ‘to top up my batteries.’ The third purchase was a couple of sheets of brown paper and the fourth a ball of twine, both at small stationer’s. The fifth and sixth were a steel pen and a cheap bottle of ink, each obtained at a different establishment.
Haslar breathed more freely as he reached home and locked his purchases in his safe. His great difficulty had been overcome. He had obtained everything that he required to complete his apparatus. A mixture of potassium chlorate and picric acid was inert and harmless, but this mixture in contact with sulphuric acid became a powerful explosive. He believed he had enough chemicals to blow half his house to pieces. And he had obtained them secretly. He was satisfied that his purchases had attracted no special attention and that under no circumstances could they be traced to him.
The next step was to make his apparatus. He was something of a carpenter and metal worker and he had a fair outfit of tools in his workshop. Wearing his rubber gloves, he took some 3/8 in. plywood and made himself a small flat box with outside dimensions of about the size of an ordinary novel. One of the long edges he made to open on a hinge and to fasten with a small hook and eye. He was careful not to use a plane or chisel, as he was aware that cuts made by these tools could be identified.
Before fastening on the sides he made and fixed the operating machinery. This consisted of a steel lever some 3 inches long, with one end bent round and chisel-pointed and mounted on a pivot at the opposite end so that the pointed end could swing from close to the lid to near the base. A strong spring coiled round the pivot kept the lever down in the latter position. Fastened to the base beneath the unpivoted end of the lever was a little block of oak to act as an anvil. The arrangement was that if the lever were lifted towards the lid and let go, it would immediately snap its chisel-point down on the anvil.
Through the sides Haslar bored a hole so that if the lever were raised towards the lid, a pin pushed through these holes would keep it in that position. To the lid he fixed a small projecting lug of steel, so that when the lid was closed it would come down in front of the raised lever and prevent it dropping. Above is reproduced Haslar’s original diagrammatic sketch of the apparatus.
Haslar now conducted some tests. First he raised the lever, slipping in the pin to hold it in place. Filling a test tube with water, he corked it and fastened it in the box across the anvil. Then he closed the lid and withdrew the pin. Driven by the spring, the lever slipped forward till it was held by the lug projecting from the lid.
Then Haslar raised the lid. This freed the lever from the lug, it snapped down on the anvil, smashed the test tube into fragments, and spilled the water.
Haslar was delighted. He repeated the experiment several times. Not once did the raising of the lid fail to break the test tube.
Then he put in his chemicals. Having pinned up the lever, he put some sulphuric acid into a test tube and secured it firmly on the anvil. Next he mixed the white potassium chlorate with the yellow picric acid and filled it in, inserting also a number of old bolt nuts to act as projectiles. Thin wooden divisions kept the powder from getting out of place and preventing the lever from falling.
With the utmost care Haslar now closed the lid, hooked it fast and withdrew the pin. Then, taking a sheet of his brown paper, he parcelled up the box, finally tying it with a length of his twine.
One further operation remained, one to which he had given a lot of thought. He must address his parcel. But if it should happen that the parcel fell into the hands of the police, the writing must not be traceable to himself.
A box of sporting cartridges had reached him a few days earlier, of which the label had been addressed in block capitals. He had kept this label, and now, using his steel pen and the cheap ink, he set himself to copy the letters. Slowly he printed:
MR. SAMUEL JAMISON,
‘GORSEFIELD,’
HENNIKER ROAD,
RICKMANSWORTH,
NR. LONDON.
Then he weighed the parcel and put on the required stamps.
Locking away the box in his safe, he proceeded to destroy all traces of what he had done. The remainder of the plywood, the sporting cartridge label, the brown paper, the ball of string and his rubber gloves he burnt, scattering the ashes. The test tubes, the bottles which had held the chemicals, the pen and ink and all the remaining nuts he threw into the nearest river. He was careful to see that nothing he had used in connection with the affair remained.
Nothing left to connect him with the affair! And if the bomb failed to go off, nothing about it traceable and no fingerprints anywhere upon it! So far he was absolutely safe!
The third part of his scheme only remained: to make sure that Blunt would open the box. This he had already arranged. At their last interview he had brought the conversation round to the question of the furnishing of Blunt’s cottage and had learnt that the man was badly off for a clock. Any other small object would have done equally well, and Haslar would have gone on talking till one was mentioned. But a clock was entirely suitable.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I have a clock that I don’t want. It’s a small thin one, little bigger than a watch in a stand, but beautifully made. I’ll bring it along next time I see you. Or rather I’ll send it, for I’m going to be away from home for a few weeks.’
As he had anticipated, Blunt’s greed blinded him to Haslar’s departure from his usual refusal to use the post. Haslar described the sort of parcel he would send and he had no doubt Blunt would immediately open it.
And when he opened it! An explosion! Swift and painless death! Complete destruction of the parcel: perhaps complete destruction of the cottage—a fire might easily be started. And under no circumstances could anything be connected with him, Haslar!
Going again to lunch in Town, Haslar slipped the parcel into the large letter-box of a post office on his way to the club. It would be delivered that evening—when Blunt would be alone in the house.
That evening Haslar would be free.
V
Stewart Haslar had supposed that once he had posted his bomb, his personal interest in the death of Henry Blunt would be over. He soon found he had been mistaken. It was from that moment, when action was over, that his real anxiety began.
While he was lunching at his club things were not so bad. Several hours must elapse befo
re anything could happen, and the conversation of his friends helped him to put the affair to some extent out of his mind. But as the afternoon dragged on and the time for the evening delivery at Rickmansworth drew near, he found he could no longer control his agitation.
On the way home he realised that his excited state of mind could not fail to attract his wife’s attention. This, he saw even more clearly still, would be a disaster. Under no circumstances must she be allowed to suspect that he had anything special on his mind.
For a time he simply tried to force himself to forget what he had done. To some extent he succeeded, but in spite of all his efforts, he found he could not make his manner normal.
His longing to know what had happened grew till it became positive pain. Over and over again he pictured the probable scene. The postman’s knock, Blunt opening the door, a word or two about the weather, Blunt returning to his sitting-room, unwrapping the paper, opening the lid. … And then, what? Was Blunt dead? Was the box and paper burnt? Was the cottage burnt? Had anyone yet discovered the affair? Haslar, his hands shaking, grew more and more upset. For the first time in his life he understood the urge which tends to drive a murderer back to the scene of his crime.
He wondered how he could find out what really was taking place, then sweated in horror that such a thought should have come to him. He couldn’t find out. Above all things, he mustn’t try. He could read the papers he was accustomed to read, and those only. If there was nothing about the affair in them he would have to remain in ignorance.
Six Against the Yard Page 21
