Half-Mast Murder

by Milward Kennedy

  “Certainly,” said the manager, “I’ll just ring for the maid.” He stepped towards the bell, and as he did so caught sight of Mr. Paley, who had followed them into the room and now stood vacantly by the door. “Perhaps we may go through your room, Mr. Paley ?” he suggested.

  “What ? Oh, certainly. Of course.”

  “Oh, does Mr. Paley’s room give on to that balcony ?” Guest enquired. For answer, the manager led down the passage to the second door on the right, where he stopped whilst Mr. Paley produced the key.

  “Funny thing, the fellow was only a couple of doors away from me,” said the latter, “though my room is 325. Might be Piccadilly, mightn’t it, the way you do your numbering ?”

  Mr. Paley’s room boasted a french window opening on to the balcony. It was open and Guest glanced out through it. Iron bars to right and left marked the boundaries of Mr. Paley’s portion of the balcony, and a bathing-dress was hanging over the balustrade itself, like a flag of sovereignty.

  Guest looked along to the right.

  “Any harm in my climbing over in front of the next room ?” he asked the manager, who said he would just like to make sure that the occupant was not at home. “It’s a maiden lady,” he explained, with a smile, and departed. The sound of knocking came from the corridor.

  Guest turned quickly to Mr. Paley.

  “I hear you overslept yourself the next morning, sir,” he observed. “No, never mind the how and the why for the moment. I’d just like to know whether you missed anything from your room when you woke up.”

  “No,” said the young man, apparently in surprise. “My watch and money you mean, and so on. No, they were all here.”

  “No papers ? Nothing ?” Guest insisted.

  “As a matter of fact, now you mention it—but it couldn’t be that.” His embarrassment was obvious.

  “Come, sir. Are you sure ? Have you missed something ?”

  “Missed. Yes, or lost. But nothing valuable. In fact—a key. One I don’t use, but—well, it wasn’t really mine and I’d only got it by accident, and I’d meant to return it to its owner.”

  “You don’t mean,” said the Superintendent very sharply, “the key to the gates of the steps at Cliff’s End ?”

  “Well—yes,” said Julian Paley faintly. “It’s gone.”

  “Quite all right.” The Superintendent as well as Mr. Paley jumped at the words ; they had not heard the manager re-enter the room.

  “What d’you mean ?” demanded Mr. Paley, quite fiercely.

  “Why, Miss Hartley is not in her room. You can climb to your heart’s content, Superintendent.”

  CHAPTER XII

  TABULATES TIMES

  Without more ado, the Superintendent, followed by the other two, stepped out on to the balcony. He climbed the partition rail and followed the balcony past the two windows of the next room, to its far end. It projected beyond the corner of the building and slightly round it.

  Above and beyond it was the window of the room which the mysterious “doctor” had (or had not) occupied, and Guest decided that his original opinion was a sound one. It would not be a matter of great difficulty for an active man to climb from the open window to the balcony : it would be a good deal more precarious to climb up again, on to the narrow window-ledge with a few hand-holds above it.

  Mr. Judson and Julian Paley were watching him curiously. He rejoined them and led the way back into Julian’s room. He made no attempt to satisfy their curiosity, but thanked the manager and intimated that he did not want any longer to detain him from his duties.

  “Just a word with Mr. Paley, and then I’ll call on you downstairs again for a couple of minutes,” he concluded.

  The manager withdrew, somewhat disappointed.

  “Now, Mr. Paley.” Guest turned to him when they were alone. “You were saying that you’ve lost the key which opens that door on the steps leading from the sea to the garden. Can you say when you lost it ?”

  “Er—yes. At least, I suppose so. It’s like this. I am pretty sure I brought it down with me, because I meant to return it to—to my uncle. I’m sure it was on my dressing-table. Next morning—the day before yesterday, that is—it had gone.”

  “You told the manager ?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t. I really didn’t like to. I mean, it was of no value, and of course I might have mislaid it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it now, only—well, you wanted to know if I’d missed anything.”

  “Quite so, sir. I understand. And you meant to return it to your uncle ? Personally ? I understand that you and he——”

  “No, not personally. I don’t mean to say we were on such bad terms—but I shouldn’t have gone out of my way to meet him like that.”

  “Then how did you mean to give it back ? To—your sister ?” The question came sharply, but the other hesitated before he replied.

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “I think you told me you hadn’t seen her ?” ·

  “No. I haven’t; that’s partly why. I mean, it seemed rather silly not to have it; she’d particularly asked me to bring it down. Of course I may have left it behind in my flat in London. I’ve written to my man to find out. I ought to hear to-morrow.”

  The Superintendent thought this a good opportunity to note down the London address, and also secured a promise to’ be informed of the “man’s” reply.

  “But I’m practically sure I had the key, and that it was on the dressing-table,” Julian Paley added.

  Guest turned to another topic.

  “Now about that whiskey and soda, Mr. Paley. I understand from Mr. Judson—the manager, you know——”

  “Oh, is that his name ? You surprise me.”

  “Yes. Mr. Judson told me you took the stuff to be analysed.” Julian Paley smiled.

  “I admit I told him I was going to, but—I don’t mind admitting that I did nothing of the sort.”

  The Superintendent regarded him interrogatively.

  “You know how it is, Superintendent,” he answered the look. “You have a row in a hotel, say, and you get led on a bit further than you mean and say you’re going to do something or other. And then when it comes to the point—you don’t. Like the telephone service, you know—you complain to the Supervisor when they’ve given you the wrong number four times, and then the Supervisor gives you another brand new wrong number, and you say you’ll have a word with the Postmaster-General about it. And that’s the end of it.”

  “Yes, sir, I think I understand. Still,” he added, thoughtfully and partly for himself, “it’s a pity you didn’t do what you said, this time.”

  “It’s usually a pity you don’t speak to the Postmaster-General,” the young man retorted. “I once heard of a man who by chance did get on to that dignitary’s private and personal line —and I believe that was the last wrong number he got for quite a number of weeks.”

  Mr. Julian Paley seemed to have thrown off his depression and his nervousness. They rather returned, however, when the Superintendent pressed him to give further and fuller particulars of the way in •which he had spent the previous afternoon. He could not help much. He had gone off directly after lunch and had taken out a boat ; and could not say from which of the numerous boatmen. Did it matter, he asked ? If the Superintendent meant to suggest that he had gone to Cliff’s End, the people there—the butler and so on—could enlighten him.

  Guest assured him that no such idea was in his mind, and took his leave, thanking him for the help which he had given.

  As he opened the door, a dark coat which hung on it caught his eye. He paused, his hand on the door-knob.

  “The coat that bearded stranger was wearing, Mr. Paley. Was it about the colour of that ?”

  “Which ? Oh, that one of mine. No, a good deal lighter, I should say.”

  With a final word of thanks, the Superintendent departed to seek out the manager as he had promised. Here too he wasted little time, but hurried back to the police station. There were several small jobs which h
e wished to apportion amongst his assistants.

  There was, first and foremost, the finding of this Dr. Cummings. Since he had been seen not only by the night porter at the hotel (by the way, that porter must be interviewed), but also by young Mr. Paley, he evidently existed ; but Guest was more than ever inclined to think that beard and glasses and bandages were mere disguise. A bandaged hand was convenient when you did not want to produce a recognisable handwriting ; and inconvenient when you wanted to perform acrobatics out of a third-floor window. It was therefore doubtful whether many traces would be found of a man answering to the description of Dr. Cummings; but a negative report would strengthen the “disguise” theory, and it would be worth while to enquire how some of the party at Cliff’s End had occupied themselves on the day and night preceding the murder.

  Next, the Superintendent had a number of What in his own mind he called “political questions” to be answered. For this, he had recourse to the Chief Constable. It occurred to him that the firm who had published the late Professor’s books might have some idea of the possible contents of the next one ; it would be foolish to neglect the possibility that in the book, or the material collected for it, lay an important clue. And then, again, that talk by Mr. Trent about “the making of nations”—and in the Balkans too, if Guest had understood him aright—suggested all sorts of possibilities to the longshore Superintendent, who supposed that foreigners were naturally inclined to be bad lots. And then there was this Mr. Quirk : his identity might be established.

  The Chief Constable promised that these problems should be carefully examined. The idea of the publisher was a good one, he thought; he had heard it said that a good publisher spent a good deal of his time inventing books and then finding authors to write them. . . .

  The Superintendent was fortunate enough to be on friendly terms with a science master at the local training college—the sort of man who enjoyed working out tricky little problems on the border-line of science and of mathematics. He was induced to accompany a sergeant to Cliff’s End, in order to try to establish the time at which that snapshot had been taken of Mr. Trent in the walled garden.

  And after the sergeant had, so to speak, chaperoned the scientist, he was to have a chat with the gardener ; there was a remote chance that he, or the “boy,” would have some idea when the flag on the summer-house had been lowered to half-mast. Guest had observed on his visit that morning that the halyard was made fast to the outside wall of the summer-house ; he was a good deal puzzled—perhaps “intrigued” would more accurately describe his sentiment—by that flag. Its lowering sounded like a morbid joke ; and the time of its perpetration, if it could be established, might do something to fix the time of the murder. In addition to the gardener, it was possible that someone on the cliffs had seen the lowering of the flag—or even, Guest suddenly thought, someone out in a boat. In fact, the chance of it having been seen from the sea seemed brighter than from the land, where the trees largely screened the roof of the summer-house.

  Suitable notices, therefore, were to be drafted, asking persons who had been on the cliff on the previous afternoon to notify the police : probably a good many would come forward, and, whether or not they had noticed anything peculiar about the flag, there was a possibility that they would have seen little Mr. Quirk. And, lastly, Mr. Julian Paley’s movements had better be studied. Enquiries, therefore, were to be instituted amongst boatmen, on the one hand, to try to discover whether Mr. Paley and the Riley car had been seen during the afternoon, and, on the other, in case any of the boatmen had been out and in sight of Cliff’s End. It was a good deal more likely that a boatman would have noticed a flag at half-mast, than any amateur sailor or fisherman.

  Having completed this disposition, the Superintendent turned almost with relief to this long-promised, self-appointed task of tabulating the movements on the previous afternoon of the inmates of Cliff’s End, according to their own account of them. He lit a pipe and studied his notebook. From time to time he made a note on a sheet of paper on his desk ; and from time to time he gave a little grunt, perhaps of surprise, perhaps of satisfaction.

  It took him about half an hour of concentrated work to arrive at the following table :

  2.15 (say) : Lunch over.

  2.15 : Mrs. Arkwright, Miss Paley, Mr. Shipman : coffee indoors.

  2.15 (?)-2.30 : Professor Paley and Mr. Trent walking in garden.

  2.30 (?) : Professor in summer-house : Trent in walled garden. Mrs. Arkwright and Mr. Shipman upstairs in house.

  2.35 : Miss Paley takes down lemonade on tray.

  2.40 (say) to 3.10 (say) : Miss Paley on the terrace znd tennis-lawn.

  3.0 (approx.) : Mr. Quirk calls.

  3.10 : Mr. Shipamn meets Miss Paley on terrace. Miss P. goes indoors and upstairs : Shipman remains on lower terrace, visiting entrance to walled garden : sees Trent there.

  3.30 : Mrs. Arkwright, having seen Miss Paley in her room, joins Shipman on lower terrace.

  3.30-4.45 : Mrs. Arkwright and Shipman remain on lower terrace and see no one pass the “cross-roads,” by which alone the summer-house can be approached.

  4.45 : Tea. Mr. Trent returns from walled garden, Miss Paley from the house.

  4.50 (approx.) : Mr. Quirk’s second call.

  5.0 (approx.) : Discovery of the body of Professor Paley.

  The Superintendent regarded this production with the satisfaction of an artist. It certainly seemed to narrow the “questionable time” down to the hour between half-past two and half-past three. Throughout that time it appeared, from their own statements, that either Miss Paley or Mr. Shipman had been in a position to see anyone who passed the “cross-roads” ; certainly no one could have come down unobserved from the house. Or could they ? Through the walled garden, for instance, and then a quick and lucky dash across the open space to the cover of the trees and bushes. But that approach was guarded by Mr. Trent. He might have been asleep, perhaps, but it would have been a very rash deed for the intending murderer to assume that he was indeed asleep, or, if he were, that he would not wake up at the wrong moment.

  Guest added four memoranda below his table :

  (a) Approach from steps down to sea ?

  (b) Trent from walled garden ?

  (c) Miss Paley alone from 2.40 to 3.10.

  (d) Shipman alone from 3.10 to 3.30.

  He considered each of these attentively. As to the first : there was that duplicate key, previously in the possession of Mr. Julian Paley. Or did that adverb give a wrong impression ? Had Mr. Julian Paley been quick enough to use the mysterious Dr. Cummings, and the fact that on the morning of the murder he himself had overslept, to create a story of the theft of the key ?

  At any rate, Mr. Julian Paley had better be put under police supervision ; and the Superintendent gave rapid orders to that effect, hoping fervently that he had not delayed the measure too long.

  He returned to his tabulation and his notes. First, then, it seemed just possible that someone possessing a key of the gate on the steps could have crossed that open space, despite the presence of Miss Paley or Mr. Shipman. And could have retired by the same route.

  Then (b) : Mr. Trent equally could have made the dash. If so, the time narrowed down ; for some time between 3.10 and 3.30 Mr. Shipman had actually seen him in the walled garden.

  In Mr. Trent’s favour, Guest reflected that he could never be sure that someone would not burst into the walled garden and discover his absence. As against this he made a note : “Mem. : quarrel between Trent and Professor previous night.”

  He came then to Miss Paley. There were already two large question-marks against her in the Superintendent’s mind : Lemonade ? Half-mast ?

  He filled another pipe and lit it. He held the lighted match between finger and thumb, and drew hard at the glowing tobacco, and stared at his inkpot. The match burnt his fingers, and he threw it away and shook his hand ; and in his agitation shook some burning tobacco on to the sheet of paper before him. He swore and brushed th
e ashes away. The tabulation had not suffered. He took up a blue pencil, and at the appropriate place in the table added the words : “Butler sees no one on terrace or on lawn.”

  Determined to jump to no hasty conclusions, he contemplated his fourth memorandum. Shipman’s twenty minutes, he reflected, were slightly reduced by his visit to the walled garden. Then he gave vent to another half-smothered ejaculation : what if the purpose of that stroll to the walled garden had been for the express purpose of making sure that Mr. Trent was safely and peacefully sleeping there ?

  The Superintendent gazed at his tabulations, and sighed. Should he or should he not add a fifth note—the possibility of extensive collusion between members of the house-party ?

  Decisively he drew a line across the bottom of the sheet. All that he had done was to throw some light on the problem “Who had the opportunity ?” and he might have already formed three possible answers. There might be more, if, for example, he learnt some more about that duplicate key. His table was anything but final.

  Still, he thought that his time had by no means been wasted. He could now begin to concentrate on a preliminary effort to sift the evidence on two other points ; if a harmonious pattern ran through all three sections, it ought to lead him to the criminal. Next, then, for motive, and for the discovery and identification of Dr. Cummings.

  Sad to relate, the Superintendent swore again at this stage in his rumination. He had still to discover how the summer-house came to be locked, with the key inside : and the meaning of the bunch of keys in the safe and. . . . He shut his notebook with a snap, knocked out his pipe, and locked his tabulation in the drawer of his desk.

  CHAPTER XIII

  LIGHTS ON A LEGAL LUMINARY

  The Superintendent was not destined quietly to pursue his theorising. Hardly had he switched his thoughts to that preliminary problem of how the summer-house got its door locked, and the key on that inaccessible table behind the door, when the telephone rang.