Death of a Beauty Queen (23 page)

Bobby read it over carefully, and saw that Mitchell was watching him. He folded up the note and gave it back.

‘Does that mean,' he asked, ‘that the two hundred came from Leslie Irwin?'

‘That's what we want to know,' Mitchell said; ‘and, if it did, where he got it from.'

‘Two hundred's a lot of money,' Ferris said. ‘Where could young Irwin get it? Sargent, I say.'

‘Who does she mean by ‘pig thing”?' Bobby asked again, and once more Ferris repeated:

‘Sargent – fits him to a T.'

What about Maddox?' suggested Penfold. ‘Suppose she meant him?'

‘It might be anyone – nothing to show,' observed Mitchell.

‘Anyhow,' Bobby said thoughtfully, ‘it shows she was on good terms with Leslie Irwin – that seems to let him out, doesn't it?' And he always remembered afterwards, as a strange coincidence, that even as he spoke a motor misfired under the window of the room where they were, so that they all started, and Mitchell said, with an unusual show of irritation:

‘Those things... just like a pistol shot.'

Bobby glanced at Iris wrist-watch, and noticed that it was exactly half-past seven. He said again:

‘So far as I can see, that lets Leslie Irwin out all right.'

‘If he really did give her the money, and that's what her “gratefully” refers to,' Mitchell remarked, ‘I still want to know' where he got it from. He had no money of his own, no salary, and apparently his father kept him pretty short.'

‘That's what makes me think it was Sargent,' Ferris persisted. ‘Of course,' he admitted, ‘the letter seems proof she and young Irwin were on good terms, but it doesn't prove the money came from him. How about the money coming from Maddox, and his finding out she meant to double-cross him with Irwin? That would give Maddox a motive.'

‘So far as it's a question of Leslie Irwin's innocence of the murder, I don't see that it matters where the money came from, or who provided it,' protested Bobby. ‘That letter seems proof he had no motive for murder when she was inviting him to join her in Hollywood. I don't see that the money question is relevant.'

‘It may be relevant to other things, or even to the murder itself, as regards someone else,' Mitchell answered, slowly. ‘I've been in touch with Mr Hansum, the manager of the local branch of the City and Suburban Bank, and he's coming along here if there's anything he can tell us.' He added: ‘The Brush Hill Building Society banks with him.'

It was only a moment later when there was introduced into the room a tall, well-dressed man. He had, in fact, arrived by the car which had just announced itself by that loud back-fire one could so easily have mistaken for a pistol shot. Mitchell seemed to know him, and, greeting him as Mr Hansum, apologized for disturbing him so long after business hours, and Mr Hansum explained that by good luck he had chanced to be staying at the office, and so had been there when Mitchell's phone call came through and been able to have it attended to at once.

‘These are the numbers of the banknotes,' he said, ‘and this is the actual cheque on which they were paid out.' Mitchell took the list of the numbers of the notes, and compared it with the numbers of the notes found in Carrie Mears's handbag.

‘They correspond,' he said briefly. Then he picked up the cheque. ‘For two hundred, payable to bearer, signed by Paul Irwin,' he said. ‘Is the signature all right, do you think?'

‘In my opinion, distinctly unsatisfactory,' pronounced Mr Hansum. ‘The I, for instance, is much thinner than normal. Mr Irwin's I's almost cut the paper. There are other ‘points as well. But they only show on close examination, and as I believe the cheque was presented by Leslie Irwin in person, it was quite naturally accepted without any very special attention. I have no doubt that I should have accepted it myself – from young Irwin, that is,' and Mr Hansum evidently felt that now he had cleared his staff from all suspicion of carelessness or lack of attention. He added: ‘At the bank we all knew Leslie Irwin quite well.'

‘Of course,' agreed Mitchell. ‘Am I right in believing a special audit of the books of Mr Irwin's society is taking place?'

‘So I am informed,' answered Mr Hansum cautiously, for he was of those who, by never running a risk, arrive at a sure and comfortable eminence. ‘There is some question of amalgamation with another society, and a certified statement of assets is required.'

‘Would Leslie Irwin have known that was going to take place?'

‘I hardly think so. Mr Paul Irwin, the chairman, myself, and one or two others knew. But we were all pledged to secrecy, and Mr Irwin is very strict in his views, he never interprets any undertaking lightly. I think we may be sure Leslie Irwin would know nothing about it.'

‘If this cheque is a forgery – of course there's no proof yet – but if it is, would it be likely to be discovered by this special audit?'

I think that may be taken as certain,' declared Mr Hansum. ‘Unless, of course, there is gross carelessness on the part of some of the staff engaged,' he added, as one only too wearily accustomed to take that possibility into continual consideration. ‘Mr Irwin's attention would be drawn to it immediately.'

Mitchell asked one or two more questions of less importance, and then expressed profuse thanks for the valuable assistance given, and Mr Hansum expressed, on his side, his readiness always to do his utmost to assist the authorities. Then he departed, and, when he had gone, Ferris said:

‘Well, now we know where the money came from, and how Leslie Irwin got it, but I don't see that it helps us much to know who did the murder.'

‘It clears one suspect, I think,' Mitchell said, slowly and gravely.

Clears him of murder by proving him guilty of forgery, ' Penfold remarked. ‘You know, that's a bit funny.'

‘Nothing's proved yet,' Mitchell reminded him. ‘We can't say it is actually proved till we know if Paul Irwin acknowledges or denies his signature.'

‘He won't deny it, he'll acknowledge it,' Bobby said abruptly.

Mitchell nodded.

‘I expect so,' he agreed, in the same grave tones. ‘We must hear what he has to say as soon as we can. We had better see if he's at home. The sooner he knows his son is innocent of murder the better. Is he on the phone?' Penfold said he thought so, and went to ring up, and, while the others were waiting, Ferris said:

‘I suppose it's knowing about this forgery business has been making his hair go like it has?'

‘If he knew about the forgery,' Bobby remarked, ‘it might make him all the more afraid Leslie was the murderer, too.'

‘Miss Perry told us,' agreed Ferris, ‘the old man was always afraid the boy would turn out like his grandfather. Seems to have been some sort of suspicion of murder in his case, too. It would make the old man nervous, naturally – like grandfather, like grandson, so to speak.'

‘He's made fear his master all his life,' Mitchell said. ‘That's why he's been so strict with himself and everyone else. He's so fond of texts, pity he didn't remember there's one that says, “ Fear not.” The more you're afraid, the more the thing you're afraid of is likely to happen.'

‘Put it this way,' said Ferris. ‘He's dotty on the boy – these kinds of strict, bullying fathers often are. He finds out the boy has done a spot of forging, and he thinks he's still tied up with the girl and there's only one way of saving him from her – so he takes it. After all, his hat was there, in the room, and no explanation how it got there.'

He looked inquiringly at Mitchell as he said this, and Mitchell answered slowly, and with some reluctance:

‘I expect Treasury counsel would think that good enough to proceed on. They could build up quite a strong case on all this – especially if Mr Irwin still refuses to answer questions.'

‘He will,' observed Bobby, under his breath.

Penfold came back into the room. He had dialled Mr Irwin's number, but had been unable to get any reply.

‘Well, we'll have to call round ourselves,' Mitchell decided. ‘Better get in touch with him as soon as possible.'

‘What about this Quin or Greggs, sir?' Penfold asked. ‘It won't do to let him slip through our fingers again, and he seems a slippery customer.'

‘He'll have to do a bit of explaining,' agreed Mitchell, ‘but you'll have seen to that, Ferris?'

‘As instructed, sir,' answered Ferris. ‘Sergeant Jones is waiting at the address given Owen, and has orders to report as soon as Quin returns. Jones has rung up once, to say a man giving the name of Greggs, and coming from Lowfields, took a room there yesterday, slept there last night, and has been out on business all day. Jones has his orders to take all steps necessary.'

A car was in waiting, and therein they all now proceeded to Paul Irwin's residence. When they arrived, Bobby remarked, as they were alighting:

‘Leslie Irwin must be in, anyhow. That's his room over the door, and there's a light in it.'

‘Well, why couldn't he answer when I rang up?' grumbled Penfold.

The light Bobby referred to was the only one showing in the house. They went up the path to it, their feet heavy on the gravel in the quiet of the evening. They knocked, but there came no answer.

Again they knocked, and still there was no answer. Penfold kept his finger on the electric-bell push, and they could hear it filling the house with its shrill, insistent clamour, to which still there was no heed paid, though in the window above the front door the light still showed. Bobby went round to the back. The door there was locked, too, and there, also, he got no answer to his knocking. He even tried one or two of the accessible windows on the ground floor, but found them all securely fastened. He rejoined the others, and reported his ill success, and Penfold said crossly: ‘Well, there's a light. They must be drunk or dead if they can't hear us.'

‘You'll have to tell off another man to wait here till someone comes, Penfold,' Mitchell said, when still more loud knocking produced no reply. He stepped back and looked up at the window. ‘The light's still there,' he said.

I think this is Mr Irwin coming,' Bobby said, who had heard the garden gate open.

They all turned, and saw a slow, stooping figure coming towards them up the garden path, and the light from a street-lamp near shone in the evening gloom upon a bent and silvery head. More slowly still, as if with an infinite reluctance, the new-comer crept nearer, and now it was a ray of light from the lighted window above that fell upon that old white head.

‘Good evening, Mr Irwin,' Mitchell said, as the newcomer approached. ‘We were hoping to see you. We've been knocking, but we couldn't get any answer.'

Paul Irwin offered no comment or reply. He might not have heard – he might not even have been aware of their presence. He passed through them and among them as though they were not there. In silence he opened the door with his key, and, except that he left it open behind him, he still showed no knowledge of them. He went across the hall, never so much as glancing back to see what they were doing, or if they were following, and entered the room, opposite, he used as his study. That door, too, he left open behind him, so that they also could come in, if they wished. He turned on the light, and sat down on a chair by the empty grate.

‘I'm very cold,' he said, ‘but there's no fire here.'

Mitchell, and the others with him, followed Paul Irwin into the room, and there stood for a moment, grouped and silent and a little puzzled. But Mitchell's face was very grave, and Bobby felt heavy upon him a dark expression he scarcely understood.

‘Mr Irwin,' Mitchell said; and then again, since it seemed he had not even been heard: ‘Mr Irwin.'

But the words might not have been uttered for all the effect that they produced. No sign came from Paul Irwin; no least movement did he make, but sat silent and utterly immobile. Penfold muttered impatiently: ‘Drunk – that's what it is. He's been drinking.'

Ferris said: ‘He's dazed – all in a daze. Something's happened.' .

Mitchell moved forward, and laid a hand lightly on the old man's shoulder.

‘Mr Irwin,' he said slowly. ‘We wanted to let you know as soon as we could that new facts we've discovered seem to clear your son, Leslie, of all suspicion of any connection with the murder of Carrie Mears.'

Paul looked up slowly. It was as though the name of his son, and that alone, had penetrated his consciousness.

‘Leslie?' he said. ‘Leslie?... You'll find him in his room at the top of the stairs.'

Mitchell glanced at Bobby and nodded. Bobby understood, and left the room quietly. Mitchell turned back to Paul: ‘Mr Irwin,' he said. ‘You refused to answer our questions before when I saw you, or to give us any information. That has hampered our investigation a good deal. Will you change your mind now we are able to tell you we are fairly well satisfied that your son is innocent?'

‘Innocent? Who? Leslie?' Paul repeated vaguely, and then, with more vigour: ‘What does that matter?' he asked. ‘What do I care?'

The three men looked at each other in astonishment, and Penfold could not prevent himself from exclaiming loudly:

‘You don't care...?'

And Paul answered:

‘He was my son:.. What do you care, innocence or guilt, or what he does, when he is your son?... My son, Leslie.'

His voice had sunk almost to a whisper as he pronounced the last three words, yet to his listeners they sounded as though there cried aloud in them all the sufferings of all the fathers of the ages since the world began. So, as they listened, they were afraid, and they stood silent, looking at each other, till soon Bobby came back into the room. He had a pale and shaken air, nor did this surprise the others, for they thought it natural. He said quickly, and in a low voice, to Mitchell: