The Ginger Cat Mystery (25 page)

“As far as I can see it's not the weapon we want,” remarked Vereker.

“We'll try it out, but I don't think the bullet we've got will give us much information. Whoever fired the shot took care to pick up the ejected cartridge-case which might have told us more. Anyhow, I'm fairly satisfied it's not the weapon we want. Any other surprising news items?”

“Miss Stella Cornell has done a bunk. Her father rang up the Manor while I was busy interviewing Mrs. Cornell. Miss Mayo took the message and told Mrs. Cornell in my presence.”

“Yes, I've heard about that. Mr. Cornell sent his maid down to me and asked me to circularize the Suffolk police to see if they can trace her and bring her home. I've done that by 'phone, but I don't put much stress on her disappearance. I don't think the young lady is likely to go far, though, of course, one can't be certain if she had any hand in the murder of her lover.”

“In my interview with Doctor Redgrave—we walked down the drive together—he told me that the young lady is in what is politely termed ‘an interesting condition' and that she'd doubtless gone away somewhere where she's not known to get over her trouble in peace.”

“That's important,” replied Heather with the first excitement he had displayed during the conversation. “Do you know, I half-suspected something of the sort but couldn't be certain. I'd found out that the doctor had called at the bungalow about half-past ten on the night of the murder and I bluntly asked him why. He merely said it was a professional call and naturally I couldn't expect him to tell me the nature of it. I jumped to conclusions, however, and now things are really becoming clear. The dawn's breaking, Mr. Vereker.”

“Do you think Miss Cornell killed her lover in a fit of anger or revenge?” asked Vereker eagerly.

“No, I don't, though that's quite possible.”

“But how did she get hold of the pistol? Could she possibly have had access to Mrs. Cornell's?” For a moment Vereker sat bolt upright as his thoughts busily took a new trend and then, turning to the inspector, asked, “By Jove, Heather, could she have done it? Is there a conspiracy among all the people in the house that night to shield her?”

“That's a new suggestion,” said Heather as if weighing up the possibility, “but I don't fancy the idea. In our interviews and examination we'd surely have found some discrepancy that would have given the show away. We'll bear it in mind nevertheless. I'm on another line and want to know where the pistol that shot Frank Cornell is.”

“I wouldn't object to knowing that either,” remarked Vereker somewhat disappointedly.

“Mrs. Cornell told me that her husband bought her pistol in Ipswich and I've had very searching inquiries made in that town,” continued Heather. “I've found the gunsmith who sold the pistol to John Cornell, and at the same time I've discovered something far more important.”

“What's that?” asked Vereker with renewed interest.

“That Mr. David Cornell accompanied him and also bought an exactly similar weapon at the same shop.”

“Did he buy it for his daughter?” asked Vereker, surprised at this information.

“Presumably.”

“Then Miss Cornell once more becomes a principal suspect,” commented Vereker.

“I wouldn't say that. The existence of that second pistol throws suspicion on all three members of the bungalow; Mary Lister, Miss Cornell and Mr. David Cornell. I have tested Mary Lister by handing her the little automatic I lent you and on which we've got David Cornell's finger-prints. She clearly knows nothing about firearms and their use. Miss Cornell utterly refused to touch the gun. She had a woman's horror of pistols of any kind. You yourself discovered that David Cornell knows all about automatics. I've not told him I've found out that he bought a pistol in Ipswich some time ago, but I'll have a quiet talk to the old gent and bring the occurrence to his memory. I see possibilities in the interview.”

“Things appear to be definitely on the move now, Heather, but I'm still all at sea. I was at first favourably impressed by Mrs. Cornell and Doctor Redgrave, but if you discount mental impressions in sleuthing you must still keep these two people under suspicion. They may be very subtly hiding the fact that one or other of them committed the crime. The pistol Mrs. Cornell produced may be the weapon that was used. If so, it has, of course, been cleaned since. Its coming to light with such apparent innocence is a devilish clever bit of bluff if either Mrs. Cornell or the doctor is the culprit.”

“There's such a thing as going too deeply into things, Mr. Vereker. Again and again in criminal investigation I've found that the simple explanation is the correct one. Unless a crime is premeditated and carried out by a super-clever criminal, the more obvious explanation is the one to back. The cold-blooded murderer is rarer than the impulsive one and the former is generally a bit cracked. Up to a point he works with amazing cunning and then commits the silliest blunder which eventually brings him to the gallows.”

“Well, following your advice about the inmates of the bungalow, Miss Cornell is the star suspect. All three had access to the weapon. Your pistol tests with the two females may easily be wrong. A guilty person would naturally profess ignorance of the use of firearms. The cardinal factor that points to Miss Cornell is the clue of the ginger tabby. There's only one ginger tabby in Marston and it belongs to Mary Lister. On the afternoon preceding the murder she brought the cat up to the bungalow to let Miss Cornell see it. Miss Cornell fondled the animal. Mr. David Cornell hates cats and we can take it for granted that he didn't touch the tabby. Now, I discovered the hair of a ginger tabby cat on the settee in the music room. Who carried that hair? Either of the three people under discussion may have done so, but the odds are on Miss Cornell.”

“Yes, but an odds-on favourite often fails to win the race. In my little gambling on the turf—I have a couple of bob occasionally on a ‘sure thing'—I've found that the odds-on favourite is generally among the also ran. But it's getting late and I'm going to bye-bye. Good night, Mr. Vereker. I feel we're on the eve of great events as they say in the classics. I hope you won't dream of ginger tabby cats. It's a clue all right, but it wobbles all over the place instead of throwing a steady beam in any direction.”

With these words the inspector rose and quietly left the room. For some time Vereker sat smoking and trying to evaluate Heather's information of David Cornell's purchase of another automatic pistol in Ipswich. It was now clear to him that Heather's suspicions were centred on the blind man, David Cornell. Though the inspector had said nothing about it, Vereker felt certain that before long Heather would make a surprise search of the bungalow in quest of that weapon. There was an air of satisfaction and confidence about the detective's manner with which Vereker was well acquainted. He knew by his remark about being on the eve of great events that the morrow would probably bring forth some startling developments in the Marston Manor mystery. At length he rose from his chair, went quietly up to his room, and before many minutes had elapsed was sound asleep.

Shortly after nine o'clock next morning Vereker called at Marston Manor as Mrs. Cornell had desired him to. Inspector Heather, in his customary way, had risen much earlier and set out immediately after breakfast on his own business. He had left no message for Vereker but the latter had a shrewd suspicion that he would visit David Cornell's bungalow and make a surprise search of the place. When Heather was feeling sure of his facts he lost no time in putting his thoughts into action. On arriving at the Manor, Vereker was at once shown into the drawing-room. There he found Miss Mayo nonchalantly puffing at a cigarette and glancing through the pages of a morning paper. A sheaf of correspondence through which she had waded lay in an untidy heap on the settee beside her.

“Good morning, Mr. Vereker,” she said on the latter's entry into the room. “You're a bright and early bird this morning. I can scarcely call Mrs. Cornell a worm, but I suppose she's what you're after at this unholy hour.”

“She asked me to turn up any time after nine, so here I am. I hope I'm not putting her to any inconvenience.”

“Mrs. Cornell never lets anything inconvenience her, so you're all right. She's busy at the moment but the maid will tell her you're here and I daresay she'll be down shortly if you care to wait. I hope you will because in the interval I'd like to have a chat with you.”

“I've nothing of any importance to tell her, but I think I'd better see her and let her know that the inspector has already instituted inquiries as to Miss Cornell's whereabouts.”

“Please take a seat, Mr. Vereker, and let me talk. I've a bit of a confession to make and I want to get it off my mind. You know, of course, that I was Mr. Frank Cornell's fiancée?”

“Yes, I think it was fairly common knowledge in Marston.”

“Marston always knows everything, even before it's published, but that's neither here nor there.”

“To interrupt you, Miss Mayo, may I ask if Mrs. Cornell is being interviewed by the inspector?”

“Oh, no. She's closeted with her brother-in-law, Mr. David Cornell. He turned up here before breakfast and said he wanted to see her. Mrs. Cornell asked him to join us at breakfast, but he said he'd already had a meal. To pass the time he went into the music room and amused himself strumming on the piano. He calls it improvising, I believe, but it's mainly a regurgitation of other people's work. First a phrase from Beethoven followed by a bumpy hesitation on a couple of chords and then a snatch of Mozart or Dvorak, or any other mothy old composer. I told him one day that he should write his improvisations down and call them ‘Unconscious Memory,' but he didn't like it and sat on me heavily. I daresay I deserved it; my tongue runs away with me at times. To revert to a most important person, myself, I hope you don't think I had any hand in this affair of Frank Cornell's death.”

“You would hardly have sufficient motive, I should say,” ventured Vereker in the hope of eliciting some information.

“No, just the reverse. By his death I've lost a very great deal indeed. I was passionately in love with him,” continued Miss Mayo daintily applying a lace handkerchief to her eyes to remove the traces of swift emotion. “There might be jealousy, of course, but you can disregard that for Frank was simply crazy about me. The important thing with regard to myself was this. Apparently I was the last person to see and speak to him. The inspector so impressed me about the seriousness of my position that he nearly scared me out of my wits.”

“But you've never possessed an automatic pistol?” asked Vereker immediately.

“Not of my own and this is where my confession comes in. Out of sheer funk I've hidden very weighty information from Mr. Heather. When I became engaged to Frank Cornell, I discovered I'd supplanted Miss Cornell in his affections. He'd often spoken to me of his cousin but he had never told me prior to our engagement that they had been lovers. This didn't upset me much because, after all, it's open to every one of us to change in matters of the heart. I was, of course, very sorry for Miss Stella, but I wasn't going to give up Frank on that account. I loved him body and soul and was determined to be his wife. Eventually he had to break the news to Miss Cornell and when he did so, I believe she flew into an uncontrollable passion and said she'd destroy me. I quote the word ‘destroy' because it fairly put the wind up me. I must confess I'm a shocking coward, and when Frank told me the result of his interview, I almost decided to hand him over to my rival. A more courageous outlook followed and I said nothing further about the matter. Events took their course and apparently Miss Cornell became resigned to her fate. Then one day Frank confided in me that he had made a very strange discovery. He had been staying at the Manor, and one morning when on his way to the bungalow he heard several sharp explosions which echoed through the belt of woodland that lies just beyond the north wall of the garden. He wondered what was happening and entering the wood, quietly made his way in the direction from which the sounds had come. As he was proceeding very cautiously there was another sharp report close at hand and through the screen of undergrowth in the wood he saw Miss Cornell practising with a small automatic pistol. She was taking pot shots at an envelope she had pinned to one of the trees. He didn't make his presence known, and after a few more shots Miss Cornell removed her mark from the tree and returned to the bungalow. Frank seemed very much perturbed by this discovery. It was so unusual a thing for Miss Cornell to do, he said. At length he told me about it and remembering the lady's threat to destroy me, I quaked for days after. Although I was in London, I went about in fear and dread and never alone at night. When at last I was asked to come down to the Manor, you can imagine my feelings. It took Frank a long while to persuade me to accept his stepmother's invitation. I'll never forget the occasion when I first met Stella. Mrs. Cornell introduced us and Miss Cornell shot out her hand with a funny jerky manner she has. I simply leapt into the air and almost fainted when I came down again. I pretended on the spur of the moment that I had a spasm of lumbago. It was a bright inspiration and carried me over my embarrassment. But I'm digressing. After accepting Mrs. Cornell's invitation, I began to brood over possible consequences and in a few days looked positively fly-blown. I happened to meet an old friend of mine called Dick Cavenham. He's the actor; perhaps you've heard of him. Dick has always been more or less in love with me, but I couldn't possibly marry him. He hasn't a bean. Besides, he's getting very bald, sniffs objectionably, and won't wear socks suspenders. Still, he's a frightful dear. We lunched together and as I was aching for sympathy I told him my secret trouble. He was too sweet for words and ordered another bottle of fizz to cheer me up. He took a very grave view of the situation indeed and said by going to Marston I was simply walking into the lion's den without as much as a hatpin as a weapon. I didn't fancy a lion's den as a holiday resort, so I asked him what should I do. He hinted that I ought to play for safety and give up Frank to the cowgirl with the pop-gun. I told him that was out of the question. I'd prefer to be chewed up by any number of lions rather than give up the man I loved. This sounds rather melodramatic for me but champagne always makes me feel as if I had a star part at the Lyceum. The only other suggestion he could make was that I also should carry a pistol. This didn't strike me as coruscant but as neither of us could think of anything better, except my wearing bullet-proof corsets, I fell in with the plan. Dick went back to his flat and got me a property pistol he possessed. I asked him if it was a dummy, but he assured me it was the real bumping-off article. I took it and have carried it in my bag ever since.”