Crime at Tattenham Corner (8 page)

“On the other hand,” Harbord suggested, “suppose this was the woman who watched among the trees at Hughlin's Wood?”

“Was there such a woman?” the inspector questioned. “I must confess I'm rather sceptical.”

“The bag seems to me pretty strong evidence,” Harbord persisted.

The inspector thought the matter over for a minute or two. At last he said:

“Are you working on the theory that this unknown woman was the murderess? Because against that there is this fact that, whether Burslem was shot in the car or out of it, no woman could have lifted up a man of his bulk and build and pitched him into that ditch.”

“No, sir, I am not working on that theory or any other,” Harbord answered in an injured tone. “As you have so often impressed upon me, it is fatal to start with a preconceived theory. Besides, so far as I can see, no theory that I can form in any way fits the case. Why should Sir John bring his wife home hurriedly, draw up a will, rush his car to that parking place, and then tear back to Hughlin's Wood and get himself murdered? It sounds quite mad, and yet I suppose it is what really happened.”

“Suppose!” the inspector echoed, looking at his young subordinate keenly. “Not much supposition about it. We know it happened. What bee have you got in your bonnet?”

“Well, I expect you will say it is worse than that.” Harbord dropped his voice, looking round for possible eavesdroppers. “This case intrigues me more than I can say. I think of it all day and lie awake at night trying to think of some possible solution. Last night, like an inspiration, it flashed across me – impersonation. Has that occurred to you, sir?”

“No, I cannot say that it has,” said the inspector in the same low tone. “At least, to be quite candid, I have had such a thought and I have dismissed it as untenable.”

“I suppose it is,” Harbord said reluctantly. “And yet I cannot help saying to myself” – his voice becoming a mere whisper – “supposing an appointment was made for that night of June 2nd at Hughlin's Wood. And supposing – just supposing for argument's sake – that the murderer assumed his victim's identity, drove the car back to town, forged the new will, and left the car in the parking place. On that theory alone can we explain certain happenings.”

“Can we explain them on that theory?” the inspector questioned, his face very grave. “Be careful, Harbord; do you realize what your words imply?” 

“I think so,” Harbord answered, his face distinctly whiter, but his eyes like steel as he faced his superior squarely.

“A man's nearest and dearest have conspired to get him out of the way before now; also a murderer has passed as his victim. You remember that case a couple of years ago when a lawyer was murdered in the Crow's Inn?”

“Perfectly,” the inspector assented. “But the two cases are not on all fours. In the Crow's Inn case no one who knew the victim saw the murderer. In this, if there were any foundation for your theory, there must not only be the complicity of the wife, the drive back to town, but the connivance of the servants who signed the will – which the experts say, though showing signs of being hurriedly written, is undoubtedly in Sir John's writing and on his own notepaper – and the testimony of Dawson, who picked out Sir John's photograph from a quantity of others.”

“I am assuming the complicity of the first – I must,” Harbord said, his tone troubled. “As for the others – well, people can be made up to look like anybody. Fat people can be made to look thin and thin people fat.”

“Possibly,” the inspector said doubtfully. “But I must remind you that there were signs of a struggle at Hughlin's Wood and also in the state of Sir John's clothing. No make-up would stand it!”

“Does not the assumed complicity rather settle that?” Harbord questioned.

“How about the servants? The footman who admitted them, and Ellerby, the valet, who witnessed the will?”

“Would it be possible to examine these two with a view to my possible theory?” Harbord asked tentatively. “Their evidence at the inquest was purely formal, and we have had no opportunity.”

“Inquest!” the inspector broke out irritably. “The deuce, what's the good of an inquest anyway. Just to allow folks to make a nuisance of themselves, to defeat the ends of justice. Even if you do manage to give the coroner a hint and he takes it some damned juryman is sure to jump up and ask the very question you want to avoid answering, and that gives the whole show away. Tell you what, Harbord, we will just take a taxi to Porthwick Square, interview these two men and see what support we can get for this previous theory of yours.”

He put up his hand as he spoke and caught a passing taxi. It was only a few minutes drive to Porthwick Square, and the inspector did not speak. But glancing at his knit brows, Harbord knew that he was revolving some of the knotty problems presented by this new theory.

In Porthwick Square the door was opened by James, the second footman. The butler came forward.

“Mr. Ellerby?” the inspector said inquiringly. “I must see him with as little delay as possible.”

The butler opened the library door. “Her ladyship said that this room was to be at your service whenever you wanted it, inspector.”

“Very kind of Lady Burslem,” Stoddart said as they went in. “Oh, by the way, I should like a word with the young man who admitted us – James, isn't he called? Would you send him in first, please?” The second footman did not, from his appearance, suggest unusual intelligence. As he came into the library he looked thoroughly scared.

The inspector took the chair at the top of the table and motioned James to stand so that the light fell upon his face.

“Just a question or two about the night of June 2nd, or rather the morning of June 3rd. I believe that you opened the door for Sir John and Lady Burslem when they returned?”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“What was Sir John wearing?”

“Just a cap, pulled down pretty well over his ears, a lightish sort of overcoat – it was a warm night, and Mr. Ellerby made the remark that it was too hot for his usual motoring coat. I noticed that he had on a sort of white muffler, though, when he came back.”

“Just tell us in your own words what Sir John did after he came in?”

James fidgeted about from one leg to the other. “He didn't do anything, sir, not that I saw. He came into this room, where we are now, and her ladyship with him. She came out again in a minute – her ladyship – and she says, ‘James, you must call Ellerby. Sir John told him not to sit up, but finds he must have him now.' So I went and called Mr. Ellerby. Pretty cross he was too, to be roused up at that time of night. But he was not long in coming, and then Sir John called us both into the library and he signed some paper and we both signed after him.”

“What did you do next?” Stoddart questioned.

“Well, sir, I came out and waited about, not knowing whether I should be wanted again. But before long Sir John came out and went out to the car that was standing before the door.”

“‘You can go to bed, James,' he called out. ‘I shall not be long and I can let myself in.'”

“Where was Mr. Ellerby?” Stoddart was looking at his notes.

James hesitated. “Well, I don't know, sir. I didn't see him come out of the library again. But then I didn't take much notice, being too sleepy to think of much but going to bed.”

The inspector scribbled something in his notebook. “Were you always the one to sit up for Sir John?”

“Oh, no, sir. Henry, the first footman, he generally did the sitting-up. Not that Sir John wanted much, being an independent sort of gentleman.”

“How long have you been in the situation?” 

“Just over three months, sir.”

“Did you see much of Sir John?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Waiting and that, and valeting him sometimes when Mr. Ellerby was out.”

“I suppose,” the inspector said, keeping his eyes fixed on the young man, “you are quite certain that it was Sir John who came into the house that night – who signed that paper?”

“Certain it was Sir John!” the man echoed. “Why, of course it was Sir John. Who else could it be? Didn't her ladyship and Mr. Ellerby and all see him?”

“We will leave her ladyship and Mr. Ellerby out of it for a moment,” the inspector said quietly. “Are you of your own knowledge prepared to swear it was Sir John Burslem you saw the night of his death?”

The man stared at him. “Why, of course I am prepared to swear that it was Sir John.”

“You saw his face plainly?”

“Yes, sir! At least” – James hesitated and began to stammer – “not so very plainly perhaps, for he kept his motor cap on all the time, which I thought it was rather queer of him to do. And he wore a white choker thing round his neck, muffled up like, because he was going out again. But of course it was Sir John right enough!”

“Well, I think that is all today, my man,” the inspector concluded. “Ask Mr. Ellerby to step this way, please.”

James's face had a bewildered expression as he went out.

They had not long to wait for Ellerby, who was evidently expecting the summons. As he entered the inspector was struck by the indefinable change that had come over him. He looked years older than the man who had come down to Hughlin's Wood to identify his dead master.

“Good morning, Mr. Ellerby,” the inspector began genially. “I am sorry to trouble you, but there are a few little things that are worrying me, and I thought it might make matters clearer if we had a little talk together – you and I and Mr. Harbord. Shall we sit down to it, Mr. Ellerby?”

He drew a chair into position carefully. It did not escape Harbord's keen eyes that the valet, without moving it, twisted himself round so that he had his back to the light.

“I am sorry to see you are not looking well, Mr. Ellerby,” the detective went on sympathetically. “But I am sure you have gone through enough lately to try the strongest man.”

“Yes, that I have, sir,” the valet agreed. “Nobody knows what the strain of this – this dreadful thing has been but those that have gone through it. Sir John, he was as dear to me as if he had been my own son. And to see him like that –”

His voice failed. He drew out his handkerchief and blew his nose vigorously. 

“It must have been terrible for you.” The inspector looked the other way for a minute. “Such a shock too, for you had seen Sir John only a few hours before, hadn't you?”

“Of course I had, Mr. Stoddart, and looking no more like death than you or I do today.”

“Yes, that is a true saying – ‘In the midst of life we are in death,'” the inspector observed sententiously. “I wish you would tell me the story of that night, or rather the early morning of the third of June. I would not trouble you, Mr. Ellerby, but I know you are as anxious as we are to find out Sir John Burslem's murderer.”

“As anxious? My God! I would give my life to have saved him, to avenge him!” Ellerby choked again.

“Take your time, take your time!” the inspector encouraged. “Tell us about that last interview with Sir John and about your signing the paper, in your own words, please.”

“Well, it was like this, although I am sure you have heard it again and again,” Ellerby began in a shaking voice. “Sir John had told me that he and her ladyship were going to Oxley, and he said I need not wait up for him – he often did. A most considerate master was Sir John; we shall never have another like him. So I was rather surprised when James came to tell me that Sir John wanted me. About one o'clock, I suppose it would be. I dressed as quickly as I could and went to the library. Sir John and her ladyship were both there. Sir John was writing at the table and her ladyship stood at the door. ‘Come in, Ellerby,' she says. ‘Sir John wants you to witness his signature.' Then she called to James and we went in together. Sir John signed the paper – the will as we know it was now – and I and James signed after him.”

“What did you do next?”

Ellerby looked a little surprised at the question. “Nothing, sir, there was nothing to be done. Sir John, he told me to go to bed and he went off to take the car to the garage – he wouldn't let anybody touch her but himself, and me and James went to bed. That is all, inspector.”

“Yes.” The inspector turned over two or three pages of his notebook rapidly. “There are two questions I must put to you, Mr. Ellerby. The first is – are you certain that it was Sir John Burslem himself who signed the will?”

Ellerby looked thunderstruck. “Am I sure that it was Sir John himself who signed the will? Why, of course I am sure, inspector. I could swear to it in any court of law in the land.”

“You don't think you can have been deceived by a clever impersonation – that somebody might have dressed up to look like him?”

Ellerby shook his head; a ghastly smile played momentarily round his thin lips.

“There's nobody on earth could have dressed up to deceive me, inspector. It was Sir John himself that signed that will. There can't be any question of that!”

“Oh, well, thank you, that seems pretty conclusive.”

“Now for my second question,” the inspector went on. “Did you go straight to bed when you had signed as a witness of the will?”

“Straight to bed?” Ellerby echoed in an amazed tone. “Why, of course I did, when Sir John said he should not want me again. Pretty tired I was and slept like a log until I was awakened by the phone message just before seven o'clock.”

“That is all then, thank you, Mr. Ellerby.” The inspector closed his notebook and fastened an elastic round it with a snap. “I am much obliged to you.” He got up as he spoke.

Ellerby got up too. “I wish I could do something to help you, inspector. Anything to find poor Sir John's –” His voice trailed off to a whisper as he escorted them to the hall.