A Murder is Arranged (3 page)
Read A Murder is Arranged Online
Authors: Basil Thomson
“Oh, enough of this kind of talk,” exclaimed Forge, whose nerves were frayed to breaking point. “Three or four of the people upstairs have sent messages that they are leaving this morning. Our party is practically broken up by this catastrophe. You won't be able to leave until this Kingston business is cleared up.”
“No, unless they drag me off to a prison cell on the evidence of those two fools of women.”
“Well, I feel like shutting up the house and packing off to Paris again. Her death would have upset me anyway, but to have been murdered in cold blood like thisâ¦Who the devil could it have been?”
Oborn helped himself to another sausage. Forge looked at him almost with repugnance. “You seem to take the thing lightly,” he said.
“You forget I didn't know the lady.”
“Didn't know her? Why, she told me that she was looking forward to meeting you again. In fact that was one of the reasons why I asked you to come down.”
“Another feminine mistake. Oborn is not a very uncommon name.”
“What is your first name?”
“Douglas.”
“Oh no, that wasn't it. It was an ordinary name like Jim or Jack that she gave meâJim, I'm sure it was.”
“There you are,” said Oborn, shrugging his shoulders. “If you want proof of my name I can show you my motor licence, my A.A. membership card and my passport. Those ought to be good enough.”
“Have you got a second name?” asked Forge.
“I have, but it's a guilty secret I like to keep to myself. My godfathers and godmother conferred on me the name of Cadwallader and I've been trying to bury the name for the past forty years.”
Forge was in no mood for flippancy. He pushed back his plate and went towards the door. “You can amuse yourself this morning, I suppose. I shall be busy.”
“Righto! I've got letters to write and a lot of things to see to. Have I your permission to use your telephone for long-distance calls?”
“Of course; as many as you like.”
Left to himself, Oborn picked up the morning paper and scanned the headlines. His attention was caught by a paragraph relating the facts of the Kingston accident and giving the date of the hearing. The butler slithered into the room unobtrusively, as all good butlers should. After shutting the door and looking round him he came forward and murmured, “Bad business, that accident.”
“Yes, it was unfortunate, but these things will happen.”
“It was a blasted silly thing to do. You'd better have stood your ground. Now, with your bolting like that there'll be a lot more publicityâjust what we want to avoid.”
“Don't you jump to conclusions, my friend: they're not healthy.” Then, with a sudden change of tone due to the entrance of the footman, he said, “Yes, you're right; probably we're in for snow.”
“Yes sir,” responded the butler. “It promises to be quite a Christmas card sort of Christmas.”
The morning was spent in the bustle of departures. All the guests were leaving except those whom the police had warned to remain within call. The inquest had been fixed for two o'clock. Huskisson and Forge lunched early and drove off to the coroner's court together. The popular Press had already contrived to invest the proceedings with mystery; it is astonishing to see how many people can find time to attend any kind of public enquiry if it involves a mystery. The seats allotted to the public in the court were altogether insufficient for the number of people who sought admission, since the space available was much reduced by the presence of reporters from most of the newspapers, both morning and evening. A queue had had to be formed. To gain admission was an easy matter for Mr Forge and Huskisson, who had only to show their subpoenas. Huskisson was subjected to close scrutiny, for the rumour that he had been in love with the murdered woman had already been circulated.
The Surrey coroner was a strong man with a sound belief in the efficacy of police enquiries: he had already made up his mind to direct his jury to return an open verdict, which would leave the police a free hand in carrying out their enquiries. The first witness called was Henry Farnell. He described in laconic sentences how he was passing along Crooked Lane on his way to work when he came upon the body of the deceased lying on her side with her head towards the direction from which he was approaching. Seeing that the body showed no sign of life, he did not touch it but went to the police station to report what he had seen.
The next witness was Arthur Stove, a police constable who had been sent by his superintendent in charge of an ambulance stretcher to bring the body to the village schoolhouse. Judging from the fact that the woman was wearing evening dress, the superintendent surmised that she was one of the guests at Scudamore Hall and he sent the witness to the Hall to make enquiries. Mr Forge then came down to the schoolhouse and identified the body. The superintendent notified the coroner.
Hid you find any weapon, bullet or cartridge case on the spot?”
“No sir. I made a very careful search and found nothing.”
“You found nothing that would give a clue to the identity of the murderer?”
“Nothing, sir.”
The next witness was Dr Treherne, who had made the post-mortem examination. He testified that the woman was aged about twenty-seven or twenty-eight. The cause of death had been a bullet which traversed the brain and he judged from the state of the body that death had taken place not later than midnight.
“Could the wound have been self-inflicted?” asked the coroner.
“In my opinion, no. If that had been the case the weapon would have been found near the body; moreover, the direction of the shot would probably have been upward, whereas in fact it was horizontal.”
“Had she been shot from behind?”
“No sir; the bullet entered on the right side of the head and emerged at about the same level on the left.”
“Were there any signs of a struggle or bruising?”
“None at all.”
The next witness was Walter Forge, who spoke of having identified the body as that of one of his guests at Scudamore Hall. He had met her in a hotel in Paris but he knew nothing whatever about her family or her history.”
“Did any member of your household see her go out that night?”
“No one, but I have since learned from the maid who waited on her that her fur coat is missing.”
“At what hour on that evening did you last see her?”
“As far as I can remember she left the bridge table when I did, at about ten o'clock. I was occupied after that in receiving other guests who had been delayed by the fog.”
“Did anyone else leave the bridge table at the same time?”
“Yes; Mr Huskisson. We left one table and three new arrivals took our places.”
Gerald Huskisson was the next witness. He was essentially what lawyers would call a bad witness in the impression he left on the jury. He hesitated before answering every question as if he feared committing himself by his answer and left the impression on the minds of all who heard him that he had something to hide.
“At what hour did you last see the deceased alive?”
“I suppose that it was about eleven.”
“You left the bridge table together at ten o'clock?”
“Yes, to make room for other players.”
“Did you spend approximately the next hour with her?”
“A good part of it.”
“Where?”
“In the library.”
“Was anyone else in the library at that time?”
“No.”
“Did you have a quarrel?”
“I suppose you might call it a quarrel.”
The coroner leaned forward. “What did you quarrel about?”
“That I must decline to say. It was an entirely private matter.”
The coroner's lower jaw advanced half an inch. He was not accustomed to evasive replies to his questions. After all, the coroner's court, as he knew, was the oldest in the kingdom. He repeated his question. “What âdidâyouâquarrelâabout?”
“Iâdeclineâtoâsay.”
“Very well, then the jury will form their own conclusions. How long had you known Miss Gask?”
“I first met her in Paris about six months ago.”
“Were you on very friendly terms with her?”
“Y-e-s; quite friendly.”
“Did you see much of her?”
“A good deal.”
“Which of you left the library first on that night?”
Huskisson hesitated, as if trying to remember. “I think I did.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went to bed.”
“You didn't join any of the other guests?”
“No.”
“And you left this young woman alone in the library?”
“I did.”
“And never saw her again alive?”
“No.”
The coroner considered for a moment and then began his summing up. He said that the medical evidence left no doubt at all it had been a case of murder and not suicide. He pointed out that so far no weapon had been found and that there was no evidence against any particular member of the house party at Scudamore Hall. “The police are pursuing their enquiries and you may safely leave the question of the perpetrator of this crime to them. My advice to you is to find a verdict of wilful murder by some person unknown.”
Heads went together on the jury benches and after less than three minutes exchange of views the foreman stood up and returned a verdict of wilful murder by some person unknown.
O
N THE
following morning Richardson found lying on his table a typewritten report bearing the signature “Albert Dallas, Detective Inspector.”
“S
IR
,
“In accordance with your instructions I attended the inquest at Marplesdon and was present when the jury returned an open verdict of âmurder by some person or persons unknown', leaving the police a free hand. The evidence of the witnesses called by the coroner threw no further light upon the case other than what I have already reported. The witness Huskisson was unsatisfactory. He gave his evidence with reluctance and it was clear both to the coroner and myself that he was keeping something back. As to the cause of the quarrel between him and the murdered woman, he refused any information and I formed the opinion from his manner and his reluctance that it was not a mere lovers' quarrel. His story was that he left the deceased in the library at 11 P.M. and went straight to bed. In the interviews that I had later with members of the household I found nothing either to confirm or to disprove his statement. The most useful informant was Mary Hooper, the parlour-maid who waited on the lady guests. Her statement was as follows:
“âMiss Gask was a very lively young lady, not reserved like many of them are. She chatted with me freely and told me how much she liked living in Paris. She said she wondered why English girls like myself did not get jobs there so as to learn the language, because they would command higher wages if they spoke French. It was a great shock to me when I heard of her death, because she had promised to give me a lot more information about getting a job in Paris. It is my belief that she must have been wearing her mink coat on the night she was shot. I had often admired it and one day I took it down from the hanger to look for the maker's name, but it had no distinguishing mark of any kind. When I heard that her body had been found lying in a lane on a bitterly cold night with only an evening dress on I went straight to the cupboard to look for her coat. It was not there. She must have had it on when she went out. I helped her to dress for dinner that night and I never saw her alive again.'
“My next interview was with the butler, Alfred Curtis, alias Tommy Wilson. He said, âI saw that you had recognised me, sir, but I hope you won't give me away just when I'm making good.' I said that he'd no reason to fear that provided that he was really making good, but that his record showed that he had had more than one chance since his first release and had abused them all. He assured me that this time I need have no reason to fear. As to the murder, he said that he could throw no light upon it at all. Guests were arriving at all hours that night and he was kept busy answering the telephone, carrying sandwiches upstairs, right up to three in the morning. He did not see any lady go out but the hall door remained unlocked practically all night. From what I know of this man in the past I should attach no importance to anything he said.
“I ought to mention that Mr Forge, the owner of the house, came to me and said, âI've been thinking over things and there is one small matter which I think I ought to tell you. When Miss Margaret Gask arrived she asked me the names of my other guests. I told her that among them a Mr Oborn had been asked but had not then accepted. She said, “Oh, I hope he will; I like Jim Oborn: he's such good company.” On the day of the inquest Oborn told me emphatically that he had never met her and his Christian name was Douglas.'
“I asked Mr Forge what happened when Oborn and Miss Gask met at Scudamore Hall but he could not remember. He had assumed that they knew one another.
“I asked Mr Forge where and when he first met Mr Oborn and he replied that he had met him in a London hotel quite recently.
“I then asked to see Mr Oborn and after a few introductory questions I asked him when he had first met Miss Gask, the murdered woman. He showed surprise at my question and said, âI first met her at this house five minutes before dinner on the evening of my arrival.'
“âWho introduced you?' I asked.
“âNo one. It was a free and easy party and no introductions were necessary.'
“I saw Mr Huskisson in private in the library and asked him point-blank where he had first met the murdered woman. He said, âIn Paris,' and then a little later he contradicted this statement by saying, âWhen I first met Miss Gask in Niceâ¦' I called his attention to the discrepancy in his previous statement and he seemed to be confused. âDid I say Nice? I meant Paris.'”