Six Against the Yard

by The Detection Club

  But curse it all, he told himself, he must know. He must know if he was safe. Up till now he had never for a moment doubted that the explosion would kill Blunt instantaneously. But now fears assailed him. He began to picture the man in a hospital—recovering. And knowing who sent the parcel.

  Haslar stopped the car. He was sweating and trembling. This would never do. He had carried out a perfect plan and he must not wreck it now by lack of self-control. Then he saw that it was all very well to think such thoughts. The thing was stronger than he was. His anxiety was insupportable and he could not hide it.

  As he sat, thinking, he suddenly saw his way. He was still within the limits of Town and he stopped at the first grocer’s he came to and bought a package of common salt. With this he thought he could prevent any suspicion arising.

  Arrived at his home, he garaged the car and went to his room. There with the salt he prepared himself an emetic. Putting it beside him, he lay down on his bed.

  Gina, he knew, had been going out in the afternoon and the absence of her car told him that she had not yet returned. He lay waiting. Then at last he heard the car. At once he drank the salt and water, washed the glass and left it in its place, and lay down again. When shortly afterwards Gina came upstairs, he was just being violently sick.

  She was upset about it, for such an attack was unusual.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he assured her. ‘Must have had something that disagreed with me for lunch. Been feeling seedy all afternoon. I’ll be better now.’

  She wanted to send for the doctor, but this he scouted. Then she insisted on his lying on his bed and not going down for dinner. He protested, but with secret satisfaction gave way. The lowering effect of the sickness had reduced his nervousness so that he really felt practically normal. He was sure his manner was unsuspicious.

  Next morning he found it a matter of extreme difficulty to avoid rushing down the drive and snatching the paper from the newsboy. But he managed to restrain himself. He did not open it till his normal time, and then he forced himself to make his usual comments on the outstanding news before slowly turning away from the centre pages.

  He was on tenterhooks as he searched the sheets. If anything had gone wrong with his scheme and Blunt had escaped, there would be no paragraph. If the plan had succeeded perfectly so that only accident was suspected, there might be no paragraph. Only would a notice be certain if a partial success had taken place: if Blunt had died, but under suspicion of foul play.

  Then on an early page Haslar saw a short paragraph. It was headed ‘FATAL EXPLOSION,’ and read: ‘Through an explosion in his cottage last evening, Mr. Samuel Jamison, Henniker Road, Rickmansworth, lost his life. The report was heard by a passer-by who entered and found Jamison lying in his wrecked sitting-room. The cause of the explosion is unknown.’

  Haslar had now almost as much trouble in hiding his relief as before he had had in covering his anxiety. Cause unknown! This was better than anything he could have hoped for. He had a convenient fit of coughing and by the time it was over he felt himself once again under control.

  All that day he oscillated between exultation and fear. To steady his nerves he went for a long tramp. But he was careful to be back when the evening paper arrived. The only fresh news was that the inquest was to be held that afternoon.

  Another night of suspense and another period of stress in the morning and Haslar was once again turning the sheets of the paper. This time he had less difficulty in finding what he was looking for. Almost at once his eye caught ominous headlines. With a sinking feeling he devoured the report, which was unusually detailed. It read:

  ‘THE RICKMANSWORTH FATALITY

  STARTLING DEVELOPMENT

  ‘At an inquest yesterday afternoon at Rickmansworth on the body of Samuel Jamison, Gorsefield, Henniker Road, who died as the result of an explosion in his cottage on the previous evening, the possibility of foul play was suggested.

  ‘James Richardson said that about six o’clock when walking close to the deceased’s bungalow, he heard an explosion and saw a window blown out. He climbed in and found the deceased lying dead on the floor. The room was wrecked and bore traces of yellow powder. Witness telephoned for the police.

  ‘Mrs. Martha Parrott, who worked for the deceased, deposed that he was between sixty and seventy and had lived in the neighbourhood for some three years. He was solitary in his habits and appeared to have no relatives. She was positive there was nothing in the house to account for the explosion.

  ‘Thomas Kent, postman, said that on his evening delivery just before the explosion he had handed deceased a small brown-paper parcel. It was addressed in block letters and had a London postmark. He had remarked it particularly, as Mr. Jamison’s correspondence was so small.

  ‘Sergeant Allsopp stated that the police were of opinion that the explosive was contained in the parcel, which would suggest the possibility of foul play. The proceedings were adjourned for the police to make inquiries.’

  With a supreme effort Haslar recalled himself to his surroundings. Gina was speaking of the following week-end and he forced himself to discuss with her the arrangements they would make for the entertainment of their guests. But after breakfast he retired to the solitude of his study and gave himself over to considering the situation.

  It really was more satisfactory than it had seemed at first sight. After all, though this idea of the police was unfortunate, he had expected it. An explosion of the kind could not possibly be considered an accident unless there were known explosives in the house. There were none at Blunt’s. Moreover, that cursed picric acid had made yellow stains. For all Haslar knew to the contrary those stains could be analysed and shown to be picric. This would prove the explosive had been sent to the house, and the parcel was the obvious way. No, it was inherent in the scheme that the police should suspect foul play.

  But that would do him, Haslar, no harm. It was one thing to suspect the parcel was a bomb: it was quite another to find the sender. There was nothing by which the police could discover that ‘Jamison’ was the Blunt who had disappeared from Edinburgh—he had never been through their hands. Therefore even if they knew that he, Haslar, was Matthews—which was extraordinarily unlikely—it would get them no further. Besides, even if a miracle happened and the police did suspect him, they couldn’t prove anything. They couldn’t connect him with the purchase of the chemicals or the construction of the bomb or show that he posted the parcel.

  No, it was a dreadfully anxious time, of course, but he was safe. Haslar repeated the words over and over again to himself. He was safe! He was safe! No matter what the police tried to do, he was safe.

  Ex-Supt. Cornish, C.I.D. investigates Freeman Wills Crofts’ Crime

  THE MOTIVE SHOWS THE MAN

  IN MANY UNSOLVED MURDER MYSTERIES, THE TRUE difficulty which has confronted the police is not that of finding the criminal, or the person who is most probably the criminal, but that of proving his guilt in a way which will convince a jury.

  Mr. Freeman Wills Crofts, however, presents the Hertfordshire police with a problem in which, at the point where his narrative ends, there appears to be nothing to point to the identity of the murderer.

  I congratulate Mr. Crofts on his ingenuity in devising what must, at first reading, appear to the ordinary man or woman to be a ‘perfect murder.’ But, in real life, althought the detectives in charge of the case would certainly find it difficult, I am by no means convinced that they would be forced to abandon it as insoluble.

  They begin their investigation with the knowledge of certain facts which suggests a definite line of inquiry.

  The crime was committed by a person with some knowledge of chemistry.

  That person had some very strong motive, which was not robbery, and must be explained by the relations between the murderer and his victim. Therefore, the criminal was known to, or connected with, the dead man in some way.

  The parcel had been posted in London. Possibly, though that was not stated in t
he report of the inquest, the postal district had been noted by the postman. Or the postmark might be reconstructed from the fragments of the box which remained.

  These facts seem little enough, but they would be supplemented very quickly.

  Suppose that I were the detective in charge of the case. I should first examine the body and note any scars or other distinguishing marks. Then I should go through the clothing very carefully. Probably I should first find nothing that was helpful. But either in his pockets, or somewhere in the cottage, which would be thoroughly searched, I should discover the balance of his last monthly payment.

  This was at least £20 pounds and it had been made only a few days previously. The reason Haslar gave for sending the parcel by post had been that he was to be away for a few weeks. The conditions of the monthly rendezvous meant that this could only happen just after a payment. Otherwise, the blackmailer would immediately have demanded his next month’s money.

  I should therefore find quite a substantial sum in £1 notes—perhaps £15, almost certainly not less than £10. And I should learn, on making inquiries, that Jamison had no bank account, that he did no work, and that he paid for everything he bought in cash, but never with notes of a higher denomination than £1. Further, I would ascertain that he had had more money towards the end of his residence at Rickmansworth than at the beginning of it, and that he had recently purchased an expensive radiogram and an assortment of records, again paying in £1 notes.

  Trying to discover the source of his income, I should find myself up against a blank wall. But the mystery surrounding this would itself tell me something. There had been something shady about Jamison and his money.

  One of my main sources of information would naturally be Mrs. Parrott. She would tell me all that she knew, and a good deal that she had guessed. Her guesses would probably be wrong, but if Jamison had had any visitors, or if there was any relative or friend with whom he was in touch, she might be able to assist me considerably. True, I would not get a line on Haslar in this way, because of the precautions he had taken, but I might uncover the secret of Jamison’s identity, which would lead me, in the end, to Haslar.

  In any case, I should discover that Jamison had gone up to town on the first Monday of each month. I might even learn that, on at least some of these occasions, he had gone to Victoria. And I should be inclined to associate these journeys to London with his source of income.

  The possibility of blackmail would be present in my mind. But I would not rule out other forms of crime. In any case it would be useful to know if Jamison had a criminal record. I would have his fingerprints taken and sent to Scotland Yard.

  Haslar had thought there was nothing by which Jamison could be identified by the police as Blunt, the Edinburgh bank clerk—he had never been through their hands. But Blunt had been down and out when he crossed Haslar’s path for the second time, and he had already been a crook, though he had avoided arrest, when he was in Edinburgh. During the thirty-five years’ interval between these two events, had he gone straight? It was hardly likely. And almost certainly, if he had been on the wrong side of the law, he had been found out and been punished.

  In the cottage I should have looked carefully for any letters, diaries, notebooks—any scrap of writing that might help to throw light on Jamison’s past. But even if I found nothing, even if Mrs. Parrott could tell me nothing, it is a hundred to one that, Jamison’s character being what it was, his fingerprints would be in the records. And though he told Haslar that he had changed his name on leaving Edinburgh, he might have been convicted as Blunt, or his identity with Blunt might have been established.

  If this were so, it would be only a matter of time before inquiries by the Edinburgh police would bring to light the story of Matthews and suggest a possible motive for the murder.

  I should still have to trace Matthews and might find that a very difficult and laborious business. But was there no one—no relative or friend—who knew that Matthews had changed his name to Haslar and gone out to Australia? Had no one, before that meeting with Blunt, ever recognised him as Matthews?

  It is at least possible that, even with no fortunate chance to help me, I should be able, in the end, to lay bare the whole story of Matthews’ struggle and success as Haslar in Australia, and of his return to England.

  But there might easily be a short cut to this—the fortunate chance to which I referred above.

  I have so far assumed that, in my search of the cottage, I found no scrap of writing that could throw light on my problem. I have also ignored the possibility of Jamison having been in communication with some relative or friend. Let us say now, definitely, that there was no relative with whom he had been in touch—no one, except Haslar, who knew that Jamison and Blunt were one and the same. There was still one person with whom Jamison had communicated—Haslar himself. In a pocket diary, or on a scrap of paper, I might find Haslar’s address, or—what would be just as good and perhaps more likely, his telephone number.

  It was always by telephone that Jamison made appointments with Haslar. He would probably remember the number after asking for it once or twice, but he would naturally note it somewhere the first time he used it. And while Haslar had a powerful motive for destroying everything that might link him in any way with Jamison, the latter had no such motive where Haslar was concerned.

  When planning the murder, Haslar wondered if, perhaps, the blackmailer had committed his secret to writing. He dismissed the idea because the document might be found by a third party, in which case Jamison would himself have been in an unpleasant position. But a telephone number would give nothing away while Jamison still lived—though it might take on significance after his murder.

  That was a vital point Haslar had overlooked.

  He had also failed to reckon with another possibility. After he had handed Jamison the money to buy his radiogram, we are told that the old man’s demands increased till Haslar was parting with quite a considerable proportion of his income. It is not clear whether the monthly payments were larger or whether there were other and more frequent demands for lump sums, but, beyond the fact that he was drinking more heavily, there is no indication of any change in Jamison’s mode of life, nor are we told of any other large purchase which he made.

  Having regard to all the circumstances, it is possible that Jamison was accumulating a reserve. After all, Haslar, though his junior, was no longer young. He might die. He might be killed in an accident. And with his death Jamison would once more be thrown on his own resources.

  The blackmailer would not keep this reserve in his cottage. He would know that this was too dangerous. He had no local bank account, Haslar was probably correct in thinking that he had no bank account at all. Banks usually want references from a new customer. But there was no reason why he should not rent a strongbox in a safe deposit. There he could place, not only his reserve, but also any papers he wanted to keep in readiness for possible emergencies.

  He need not have written any account of his dealings with Haslar. But suppose he had obtained, from the offices of an Edinburgh newspaper, a photographic copy of the report of Matthews’ trial and had placed that in the safe deposit. It might be useful to show to Haslar one day, if he was inclined to kick against the pricks.

  Say, then, that in my search of the cottage, I found, in the pocket of an old suit, a scrap of paper with a telephone number. No name might be attached to it, but I would soon ascertain whose number it was and, as a matter of routine, Haslar would be interviewed, and asked if he had known Jamison.

  Haslar has been living under an almost intolerable strain ever since his meeting with the blackmailer. His conduct at the time of the murder and immediately afterwards was that of a man who was near to breaking-point. Now, when he has got over his panic, when he thinks he is safe, he is suddenly confronted with a police officer, and realises that, in some way, a connection between himself and Jamison has been established.

  He does not know exactly what the detectives h
ave discovered. He probably thinks their researches are much further advanced than, in fact, they are. His reaction will almost inevitably arouse suspicion. He will betray agitation. Perhaps he will bluster.

  But he will deny all knowledge of Jamison, and his family and servants, when questioned, will do the same.

  Suppose that I have decided that this clue may be important and have gone to Oxshott myself. I have noted Haslar’s agitation. Naturally, I accept what he says. But I tell him-that I am anxious to learn who Jamison actually was—that I have reason to suspect that this wasn’t his real name. Would Mr. Haslar come with me and see if he could identify the body?

  This might conceivably result in the murderer going to pieces altogether, and the whole truth coming out. In any case, by the time that our interview had finished, Haslar would again be in a state of panic, and I would know that he had something to conceal.

  Now if, in addition to the telephone number, I had found a safe deposit key, and the strongbox contained particulars of Matthews’ trial in addition to securities, I would be able to guess what the connection between Haslar and Jamison was, and have a very good idea of the motive of the murder.

  I should therefore have some very interesting questions to put to Haslar at our next interview. The answers would probably be lies, but that wouldn’t matter. He would be definitely under suspicion, and police officers would be detailed to watch his movements. If he attempted to leave the country, he would be detained—and I would know definitely that he was the man I wanted.

  Meantime, every fragment that I had been able to pick up of the box which had contained the explosive and the wrappings in which it had arrived, would have been examined by experts. However small these fragments, they might have a story to tell, and nothing of this would escape the trained scientists who did this part of the work.