So Many Doors, page 10
It was a proposition to which Ferris gave a gloomy and somewhat worried assent.
“If only we knew what it really was happened that night,” he said, and went on more cheerfully, “Pope may be the man we want. Explanations needed when a woman disappears and next day some of her jewellery is pawned by a third party.”
CHAPTER XII
“YOU SPOKE OF MURDER FIRST”
The address given by the obliging landlady proved to be that of a well-known engineering concern—Greater Engineering, Ltd. Here, when they asked to see Mr David Pope, they were shown into a waiting-room, where presently he joined them.
He proved to be a tall, good-looking youngster, fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a rather brusque, self-confident, yet slightly defiant manner, as if he felt the need to assert himself, or at least to be always on the defensive. Bobby’s impression was that here was a youth faced too soon with responsibilities whereto he was not always sure that he was equal. It was an impression strengthened by a certain restlessness, a touch of unease, that seemed to show in those blue eyes of his, where but little appeared of the frankness and candour of youth.
Ferris began by explaining that they were police officers. Miss Winlock’s parents had asked them to make inquiries about her. She had left home without explanation, and they were very anxious about her. Could Mr Pope give them any information?
“I don’t know anything about it,” Pope answered. “Why come to me?”
“We are going to every one we think might be able to help,” Ferris explained. “Privately. There is no wish for undue publicity at present. But Mr and Mrs Winlock are uneasy. There are reasons that can’t be gone into just now. When did you see Miss Winlock last?”
“Look,” Pope said slowly, “I don’t understand this. I don’t know anything, and I don’t quite see why I should say anything if I did. If Miss Winlock chooses to go off on her own for her own reasons, what’s that got to do with any one else? I suppose it’s natural enough for her people to be upset, but it’s a bit thick, isn’t it? to go to the police. What right have you to interfere?”
“Some jewellery disappeared at the same time,” Ferris said.
“You’re not accusing her of stealing it, are you?” demanded Pope indignantly.
“It’s a point to be cleared up,” Ferris told him. “One of the articles missing is a snuff-box.”
“It belonged to her, left her by an aunt,” Pope exclaimed. “She told me so herself.” Evidently it had never even occurred to him that this statement might not be strictly accurate. “She wasn’t very happy at home,” he added. “They didn’t understand her.”
“How did the snuff-box come into your possession?” Ferris asked.
“I haven’t said it did,” Pope retorted.
“Our information is that you pawned it,” was Ferris’s brief reply.
“You seem to know a lot,” grumbled Pope. “I don’t see what business it is of yours. It’s between Miss Winlock and me. Nothing to do with any one else.”
“When a woman disappears,” Ferris answered, “when there are curious and unexplained circumstances about her disappearance, and when jewellery belonging to her is pawned by a third party immediately afterwards, explanation seems called for.”
“Good Lord!” Pope exclaimed impatiently, “you talk as if you think I might have murdered her.”
Neither Bobby nor Ferris answered this, and slowly the young man’s expression changed to one of a bewildered horror. He became very pale. The silence lasted perhaps for a couple of minutes, though to all three of them it seemed much longer. It was as though the air in the room grew heavy with the shadow of an unknown terror. At last Ferris said slowly and quietly:
“You spoke of murder first, not us.”
Pope was still silent. He seemed incapable of speech, he could only stare at them with a kind of bewildered incredulity. They remained equally silent, waiting. At last, in a high, changed voice, he said:
“Oh, that’s absurd! . . . It couldn’t be . . . not that . . . I mean, it doesn’t happen, does it?”
“Yes,” Bobby answered. “Sometimes.” The boy lapsed into silence again, but the doubt and terror in his eyes grew no less. Bobby said: “What made you think of murder so soon: murder that you think doesn’t happen?—not to people you know, I expect you meant.”
“It was what you said,” Pope muttered. “I mean . . . there was a fellow with her once. I saw him look. I mean to say . . . well, of course it was only fancy. I dreamed of him, that’s all. I suppose it made me remember—dreaming, I mean.”
Bobby took from his pocket a copy of the Mark Monk photograph.
“Do you recognize it?” he asked.
“That’s him,” Pope said at once. “I saw him at a dance I went to.”
“At Bexley House, Thameside Village?” Bobby asked, and when Pope nodded, he asked: “Who was he dancing with? Miss Winlock? Was that when you saw him ‘look’? Was there any reason you noticed? any sort of disagreement? Was she refusing to dance with him or anything like that?”
“It wasn’t during the dancing,” Pope answered reluctantly, as if he regretted having said anything. “There were card-tables if you didn’t dance, or wanted a change. Look, you can’t possibly mean . . .” He started to mop at his forehead, where beads of sweat had begun to appear. Now, too, the deathly pallor of his complexion had become intensified. Quite plainly he had been terribly shaken by that word ‘murder’ he had been himself the first to pronounce. He muttered: “Well, now then, I’m not going to believe anything like that. I don’t expect you do either. Not really. It’s not . . . reasonable. Is it?”
“No,” agreed Bobby, “not a bit. It never is.” He did not say what ‘it’ meant, but they all three knew. He went on: “Anyhow, we shan’t be satisfied till we’ve got in touch with Miss Winlock and made sure she is safe and well. About what you were saying. They weren’t dancing, you said. Were they playing cards, then?”
“They were in the card-room, but they weren’t playing: they were talking in a corner out of the way. It startled me, the way that fellow glared at her. I mean the chap you’ve got the photo of. I went towards them. But they started laughing, and I thought it was only my fancy. When I said something to her later on when I got a chance, she told me to mind my own business. She was ratty, did a glare on her own.”
“Had you gone to the dance with her?”
“Oh, no.”
“With Miss Maggie Kerr, then?”
Pope stared at him in a very disconcerted and surprised manner, and he hesitated for a moment or two before finally he muttered:
“Well, suppose I did? What about it? Look, what’s the idea? What’s all this got to do with it? All these questions!”
“It’s very helpful in these cases,” Bobby explained, as he had done before in similar circumstances, “if we can get an idea of the background. There’s generally a sequence, and if we know that ‘B’ happened to-day because of ‘A’ yesterday, we can sometimes get an idea of what sort of ‘C’ is likely to-morrow. That’s all. But it would be helpful if you would be just a bit more candid. I suggest there was more to the card-playing than you’ve told us. Bridge and whist or solo for penny points downstairs; but upstairs, roulette, and probably poker, for a good deal more than penny points. I daresay downstairs there wasn’t much idea of what was going on upstairs. Isn’t that so?”
“Oh, well, you know already, don’t you?” Pope grumbled. “We were all asked to give our word not to say anything.”
“Did you lose heavily?” Bobby asked.
“More than I liked,” Pope admitted. “But not more than I can stand all right, if that’s what you’re after.”
“I take it you work here?” Bobby asked next.
“I’ve a desk here at present, that’s all. We’re an independent firm, but we work in a lot with ‘Greater’ people—subcontracting mostly. I’m looking after our London end at present. My father is our managing director, and he’s pally with some of the Greater directors, so they let me have a desk here till we can get office accommodation without having to pay through the nose for it. Greater wants to take us over, but they aren’t going to, not if I can help it.”
He spoke these last words with an emphasis that made him look older, more responsible, gave him an air, in spite of his youth, of one who knew what he wanted and meant to have it against all odds. For the moment, too, he seemed to forget, as in thoughts of a hard fight before him, those deep terrors and alarms that this questioning had roused in him. But they returned again, and with increase, at Bobby’s next question when he asked:
“About this snuff-box? How did you come to have it?”
“Miss Winlock rang me up and asked me to meet her. She said she was in a bit of a jam for ready money. She didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask; but I guessed, of course, she had been bitten at the Bexley House do. She showed me the snuff-box and asked me if I would buy it or sell it for her. Well, of course I couldn’t buy the thing, and I didn’t want to sell it for her, either. Family heirloom and all that. I turned up what I could manage—about thirty pounds. It left me jolly short. So I thought the best thing I could do was to pawn the thing. I knew it would be safe—as safe as in a bank. And I got some cash—fifteen pounds to carry on with.”
It was a plausible story enough, and for the time, at least, Bobby felt it had to be accepted. He went on to ask how the young man had first met Miss Winlock. There was a certain hesitation about answering. Finally it came out that he had been in the habit of meeting Miss Kerr to have lunch with her. Not regularly by any means, because business claims didn’t always permit, but fairly frequently. So, as Miss Winlock generally came out to lunch about the same time, she and Pope got to know each other by sight, to begin to say ‘good day’, even to exchange a word or two. It also began to appear that Maggie Kerr had not much approved of this growing friendship. Finally, when Pope was staying with his parents at a Cornish hotel, Miss Winlock arrived at the same hotel on a week’s holiday.
“Maggie,” said the young man ruefully, “wouldn’t believe it was just an accident. It was. Miss Winlock was as much surprised to see us as I was to see her. Mother took rather a fancy to her. Said she was so different from the ordinary pushing, slangy modern girl—more like what girls were when she was young, Mother said. But Maggie wouldn’t have it. Seemed to think we had fixed it up together. She didn’t even want to believe I was just there on business because Dad wanted me to help. He had money in tin-mines, and during the war it wasn’t so bad—except for the ‘Round Table’ Mine. That was always a wash-out. Everything always went wrong there. It’s shut down and derelict now, and likely to stay so. Maggie said, why couldn’t my dad see to things when he was there already? But he wanted me to help in clearing up. And I couldn’t refuse when Miss Winlock asked if she might see over the ‘Round Table’. Funny thing, but her people had owned it at one time and dropped a lot of money. Every one always did. Regular hoodoo. Queer stories about it as well, so the local people never go near if they can help. Miss Winlock said she did so want to see where half the family fortune had gone, and ghosts as well. One of her family had seen one there, she said. Well, I couldn’t very well say I wouldn’t take her along, could I? not when I was going.”
“I suppose not,” agreed Bobby, though suspecting the young man had had no very strong objection to the company of a pretty girl on the trip, even though that in his thought had implied no sort, or kind, or hint of preferring her to Miss Kerr, far away in London. “What was your business at the mine if it’s shut down?” he asked.
“To see if there was anything worth salvaging,” Pope answered. “There wasn’t. Empty buildings, that’s all.”
“Are you engaged to Miss Kerr?” Bobby asked next.
“No,” Pope answered, flushing slightly. “She said we must wait a little, till we knew each other better. And would my people approve? Because she wasn’t going to upset things if they objected. She and Mother hadn’t quite hit it off. Mother was a bit snuffy with her, not like she was with Miss Winlock. But I think really Maggie hadn’t made up her mind. And then, when she cut up rough about Miss Winlock just happening to hit on the same hotel as us, well, there was a bit of a row.”
“Thank you,” said Bobby. “Now, could you tell us what you know about Miss Winlock—character, tastes, habits, disposition, anything to help us get in touch with her. Trifles often help. We traced one girl who had left her home because she generally smoked a rather unusual and expensive brand of cigarettes. Tobacconists were asked if they had sold any recently to a new customer, and we heard of her in that way. So we could tell her parents she was all right and safely married, even if to a man they didn’t approve of.”
“I don’t know anything like that about her,” Pope answered doubtfully. “She’s just an ordinary, quiet, shy girl—jolly friendly and amusing if you know her. But if you don’t, you don’t get a word out of her. Rather lost in business—a home bird. That’s what she used to get called. I don’t think her people understood her. Pushed her out to work because they thought she wanted taking out of herself, they said. Wouldn’t believe her when she said she would much rather stay at home. For one thing, she wasn’t used to men. She always says girls are much nicer. You know some women hate each other, but she’s just the opposite. She was awfully upset about Maggie not liking her being at that hotel in Cornwall. You know, I think men rather frighten her at first.”
“Not quite the modern girl?” Bobby suggested.
“Oh, no, very much the old-fashioned sort.”
“I see,” Bobby said impassively. “Do you happen to know if she was a motorist? Could she drive?”
“I think she had her driving licence, but I know she didn’t like driving if she could help it. She told me that once. She was always so afraid of doing something wrong.”
“I see,” Bobby said again, as impassively as before. “Now, can you tell us about your own movements on the evening when Miss Winlock left home. You saw her when she gave you the snuff-box. After that?”
“Well, I went back to the office to clear up. And then, after dinner, I went for a walk. I often do. You have to try to keep fit somehow. It was a lovely night.”
“Where did you go? Was it Bexley House?”
“No, it wasn’t,” Pope retorted. “I started out thinking I might. I was wondering a bit about that snuff-box business. But then I turned back. If she was gambling too much, it wasn’t my affair, and I thought I should only make a fool of myself if I tried to do anything. Besides, there was Maggie.”
“Could you say what time it was when you got back?”
“It was pretty late. I don’t know exactly. After twelve.” He hesitated, looking even more pale and troubled than before. “Is this some sort of alibi idea?” he asked uneasily.
“Merely that we like confirmation, when possible, of anything we are told,” Bobby explained. “For instance, did any one see or hear you when you came in?”
“I don’t know; I don’t suppose so. Why should they? Mrs Hands leaves the door on the latch, and I lock up. They’re all in bed, and I don’t make any more noise than I can help.”
“Thank you,” said Bobby again. “One thing more. What can you tell us about your quarrel with Mr Harper?”
“Oh, that,” Pope said, his manner no less uneasy and dismayed. “I suppose he’s been telling you. We had a bit of a turn up, that’s all. Why?”
“What was it about?” Bobby asked, ignoring the ‘why?’
“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing much. He was a bit offensive. That’s all.”
“Anything to do with Miss Winlock?” Bobby asked. “Come, Mr Pope, I’ve asked you once already to try to be more candid. When two young men, comparative strangers, get fighting, it’s a fairly safe guess that there’s a girl in it somewhere. Harper has given us his version. We would like your side of it, too.”
“It was my dance all right,” Pope said sulkily, “but I couldn’t find Miss Winlock at first, and then I saw her dancing with Harper. He told her he had seen me with another girl. When I tackled him afterwards, he said he hadn’t. So I told him he was a liar and a few other things as well, and he asked me to meet him at a pub in Pimlico. That’s all.”
With that, with only one or two other questions asked of but minor importance, Bobby and Ferris departed, leaving a very disturbed and frightened youth to return to his desk.
CHAPTER XIII
“YOU MUST FIND HER”
Driving slowly and carefully through the crowded City streets, Ferris was silent till they reached the Embankment. Then he said:
“That young man. What do you make of him? Is he the chap we want? Is he deep as hell or is he just the prize mug he lets on he is?”
“Eh?” said Bobby, wakening abruptly from his own thoughts. “What’s that? Oh, no, I shouldn’t say he was a prize mug exactly. Young and a bit unformed as yet, and innocent as a babe when it comes to girls. Takes ’em at face value—literally. A mistake. But plenty of guts at bottom. Put him in a corner and I should say he would fight tooth and nail. Greater Engineering won’t have an easy job taking him over. And he’s not the only mug when it’s a pretty girl, you know.”
“Tooth and nail if in a corner,” Ferris repeated. “Well, suppose he was? In a corner, I mean. And no alibi.”
“First thing a guilty bloke thinks of,” Bobby remarked, “is faking an alibi. He didn’t try.”
“Some are too smart,” Ferris retorted. “According to him, he swallowed everything she said the way a cat laps up cream. Let her palm off the snuff-box on him with a yarn about needing the cash when we know she had drawn five hundred pounds out of the P.O.”
“We must remember that,” Bobby remarked, and Ferris gave him a quick glance.
“Plenty been done in for less,” he said. “It’s a point to remember all right, though it’s apt to get overlooked with all this chatter about girls and what not.”
