Death at One Blow, page 13
‘There’s another motive we have to consider: the motive for abstracting and then concealing the will. Now I just can’t accept the motive Lisa has ascribed to Christopher — in Christopher’s case. On the other hand, Richard would have had much the same motive — except that it would have been entirely personal and not partially vicarious — and no professional inhibitions about yielding to it. He may have had some idea that the clause in restraint of marriage could be set aside, and he evidently knew he didn’t benefit under the previous will.’
‘Yes,’ said Sally, ‘but he’d have to have professional advice on that. He didn’t hear Christopher’s opinion till the next morning, and he told Mason about the will that same evening. That would have been a mad thing to do if he was still thinking of suppressing it. It would have been unwise even if he’d already decided to let it be found; he’d have saved himself a lot of trouble by pretending he’d never seen it.’
‘I know, darling. But we’ve got to remember that he was in an abnormal nervous condition — he ended up by fainting, you know. He may very well have said things he didn’t mean to. He may even have fainted because he realised he was slipping. I don’t suggest he actually staged the faint — I doubt if Mason would have been taken in — but there is such a thing as letting oneself go. He may even have learnt the technique in his prison camp; it’s one way of stopping the torture for the time being. But to return to the will. Supposing Lisa suspected from the first that Richard was the murderer — she’s highly intelligent, as he said himself, and she seems to know him pretty well. She observed his interest in the possibility of setting aside the restraining clause — you remember she said the will was almost the only thing he would talk to Christopher about — and she guessed that he had abstracted it, and why. And then, by a rather bold stroke, she attributed his motive to Christopher. I don’t suppose she really wanted Christopher charged with murder; she just wanted to confuse the issue, and she hoped her story would go from you to me and from me to Mason.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Sally unhappily, ‘she didn’t only suspect Richard.’
‘Yes, he might have told her. But not at all necessarily.’ Johnny lit another cigarette, and then went on.
‘Now we come to George’s death. Christopher could have known George was coming back. But I don’t think George would have agreed to come back just to suit Christopher, and I’m inclined to accept Christopher’s explanation of the ten pounds, with only the reservation that he made the donation with a view even more to sparing Lisa than to sparing Richard. But Richard took a telephone call from Fanchester on Wednesday evening. The caller was apparently reluctant to give his name to Fenton, but said he was a member of Richard’s old squadron — a sure draw for Richard. Richard said afterwards that he was a reporter, and an impertinent call from a reporter might have made him look as grim as he did. But a blackmailing call from George certainly would. And the call came through before seven, so George wouldn’t have been on the bus.’
‘It is water-tight,’ said Sally after a while. ‘But would Richard have asked us to investigate if he’d done it? You said there might be an argument against that.’
‘It’s very difficult to find a good one. But one might argue something like this. It has been generally assumed by the Westwater neighbourhood that George murdered Mark and committed suicide. But there will be no trial and no conviction. The world at large — and possibly some of Richard’s own friends — won’t hear that George did it and may suspect Richard; it did come out at the inquest that he quarrelled with Mark. But if it were to become known, at any rate among his friends, that he didn’t believe George was guilty, and actually set private investigations on foot to disprove it — well, that would weigh quite heavily in his favour. He believes himself safe, because he doesn’t think George’s guilt can be disproved — at any rate by a couple of amateurs — and in any case the mere fact that he’s asked us to investigate should prevent us from suspecting him. One might even argue that if he’d really wanted George proved innocent, he’d have gone to a professional.’
‘Do you really believe this?’ asked Sally.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Johnny. ‘I’m just rather unhappy about it. If we can’t do any better in the next few days, I’m afraid we shall have to report failure and withdraw.’
They reached Westwater just after ten, took the car straight to the stables, and walked through the garden to the terrace. As they approached the lighted windows of the drawing room they raised their voices tactfully. But the effort was wasted, for they heard a man’s voice which wasn’t Richard’s.
He was a plump, elderly man with a round, cheerful face, and he was talking to Lisa and Richard, with a tumbler of whisky at his elbow. Lisa saw the Heldars first and jumped up. To Sally’s astonishment her face was happy.
‘Johnny!’ she said. ‘Richard is cleared! Mr Glover saw him drive out of the north gate just after a quarter to three.’
‘We asked him to stay and tell you about it himself,’ said Richard. He made introductions and got the Heldars drinks. Then he looked at Mr Glover, and Mr Glover smiled and nodded.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’d better give it to you properly. My name is James Glover; I’m an accountant with an office in Fanchester — Carsway and Glover and I live at Rosewood Cottage, Danesfield. On the afternoon poor Sir Mark was killed I was driving into Fanchester. It was the first day of my summer holiday. I had to meet my daughter and her family; they were coming to us for one night, and then we were all going to Shanklin for a week. As I was meeting a train, I was keeping an eye on the time — and so was my wife. We’re both quite sure it was nearly two-forty-five when I left the house — the train is due at three-twenty. So it must have been just after two-forty-five when I came to the north gate of Westwater. Just as I slowed down, a last year’s Armstrong Siddeley Sapphire came out, with Richard driving. I’ve known Richard all his life, and I couldn’t possibly have mistaken anyone else for him. I waved to him, but he didn’t see me. He was going very fast. Too fast for safety.’ Glover smiled again. ‘I was glad I’d slowed down. He turned right — presumably for London — and passed round the bend and out of my ken. I didn’t see him again. But I gather I saw enough of him to give him an alibi. If I’d had any idea it was important, I’d have come forward long before now. But being on the beach at Shanklin, I didn’t hear the local news. We got back this afternoon, and this evening, when I was in my garden, young Betts from the manor came along and stopped for a chat. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a gossip — or so my wife always tells me — and I listened to what he had to say about the murder. Presently it began to dawn on me that Richard’s time of departure was rather important. So I checked my own time of departure with my wife and came up to tell him about it. I shall go and tell Inspector Mason first thing tomorrow morning.’
After that Mr Glover went away. But an hour later Johnny said out of the darkness: ‘This is grand, of course. Absolutely grand. But if neither George nor Richard did the murder, who the hell did?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Sally drowsily. ‘And at the moment, I wouldn’t very much care.’
They went to London again the next day, and Sally tried to make up some more arrears of housework. She was still anxious. Now that Richard’s innocence was proved beyond doubt, she was very much afraid that they had been wrong, and that George was guilty after all. No other explanation seemed reasonable. And if Richard had to accept George’s guilt, it would be a bad blow for him. But at least he was out of it himself, and that was an enormous relief. It was curious how much she and Johnny had come to like Richard, in such a short time.
Johnny had said he would be home for lunch about a quarter to one. He walked in at half-past twelve, and as soon as she saw him Sally knew that something was badly wrong. When he had kissed her, he said quietly: ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some perfectly horrible news, darling. Lisa has just rung me up to say that Mason has arrested Richard.’
‘Arrested Richard? But hasn’t he heard Glover’s evidence?’
‘I’m very much afraid Glover’s evidence may have helped to arrest Richard. Mason told Lisa one or two things — I gather she bombarded him with questions. But there isn’t time to go into details now. She wanted us to come down, and I said we would — at least, I said I would. But I must see Mason on the way. I can at least tell him Richard asked us to investigate, though I dare say Lisa’s told him that already. How soon can we lunch, darling?’
‘Now. It’s cold.’
They started before one o’clock, letting the washing-up go. Johnny didn’t talk until they had left the traffic behind.
Then he said slowly: ‘You remember that when I worked out that scheme, I said that one might make out a case against Richard on the assumption that he used both the Armstrong and the Rover. I didn’t take it very seriously at the time, partly because it involved an accomplice, but chiefly because it seemed to break down on Christopher’s presence. Richard knew Mark was going to fetch Christopher as soon as he’d gone, so he couldn’t have hoped to come back and kill Mark a little later on. Well, I’ve seen a possible answer to that now, and I think Mason must have seen one too. Because, according to Lisa, he’s arrested Richard for committing the murder with George as an accomplice.’
‘George? You suggested Lisa in the scheme.’
‘I know. I thought at that time that the Rover would probably have been used to incriminate George. But in view of the evidence we’ve heard since, Mason’s idea is certainly sounder. I think he’s probably worked it out something like this.’ Johnny paused to collect his thoughts, and then went on.
‘Richard and George together laid a plan of murder. Richard was obviously the brains of the concern, and George was probably persuaded to co-operate by the promise of the land-agency, or a sum of money, or both. Because of Christopher’s presence the plan had to be altered a bit at short notice, but it was carried out substantially as it was laid.
‘At eleven-forty-five or thereabouts, Richard left Lisa’s flat in the Armstrong. Just after that George rang up Lisa and asked for Richard — to prove that he had no idea Richard was going to Westwater, and that therefore there was no collusion between them. At twelve-fifteen or thereabouts — evidence of the publisher type — George left the mews in the Rover. At one-thirty or a little after, Richard arrived at Westwater — and found Christopher there. He realised at once that Christopher’s presence would probably throw his whole plan out. You remember how violently he reacted, and it may not have been only because he knew Christopher was in love with Lisa — though I don’t suppose anyone has told Mason about that. But he probably decided to wait and see how things turned out. It would still have been perfectly possible to call the murder off for that day. In fact, I imagine he was going to give Mark a last chance to agree to his marrying Lisa and kill him only if he still refused. But that depends on his motive for premeditated murder, which is still a little uncertain.
‘In any case, between two-fifteen and two-thirty — evidence of Bill Slater — George arrived at the waterman’s cottage. They allowed two and a half hours for his trip — a little more, because I don’t think Richard could have met him till about five to three — but that’s reasonable enough, because the Rover’s an old car.
‘Now, I think Richard intended from the first to leave Westwater at about a quarter to three. It would be about the earliest moment at which he reasonably could leave, and he wanted all his time, because he had to come back again by way of the terrace, which might involve dodging the gardeners, kill Mark and get away again before, let us say, a quarter or ten to four. Soon after that Fenton would come to the study to announce tea, and from then on, we might be with Mark. But I’m pretty certain that, before he left, Richard was going to make sure of his alibi. Perhaps he was going to say goodbye to us and try to make us see him off. He would also, of course, hope to be seen by Mrs Thorne at the north gate. The best thing would have been to arrange — in addition to all that — for someone to see Mark alive within the next twenty minutes or so. That would have been ticklish, and the witness might have stayed a little too long for Richard’s convenience, but he expected to have a little time to play about with.
‘But in the meantime Mark sprang the will on him. He was extremely angry but didn’t do violence at once. He must have realised that Mark had brought Christopher down to give him the will, and my guess is that that suggested a means of keeping Christopher out of the study long enough for his purpose. I think he begged Mark earnestly to reconsider the will, quietly and by himself, for, say, half an hour. If by the end of that time he hadn’t changed his mind, then he could fetch Christopher and give it to him. I think Mark might well have agreed to that, and if he did, Richard would know he’d keep his word. He might have asked Mark to think it over till tea time, which would have given him more time, but Mark might have refused that. Anyway, I’m inclined to think time was tight, because Richard went away without making any attempt to consolidate his alibi. He was very shaken, of course, by the will incident, and he may just have lost his head.
‘Now according to Glover he turned right at the north gate — presumably for London. He’d have to do that, for the benefit of Mrs Thorne. But you know how the sides of the valley are all seamed with little lanes running up towards the downs. I looked at the estate map the other day, and there’s one which runs off that road half a mile east of the north gate, and links up both with Bill Slater’s lane and with the one just beyond it, which comes out almost opposite the farm lane. They’re tricky driving, of course, and he must have driven fast — as Glover said he was doing. But he knows them inside out, and they’d get him to the farm without touching the village, and almost without touching a road. I say the farm, and not the farm lane, because he’d want to take the car as far as he could, to save time. With luck, I think, he’d be there in ten minutes — at three-fifty-five. And as soon as he got there, George took over the Armstrong and drove like hell for London, getting on to the normal road as soon as he could. He probably wore a hat or a cap, to conceal the fact that he hadn’t got red hair, and perhaps sunglasses.
‘In the meantime, Richard returned to Westwater on foot, across the park. It took us just over a quarter of an hour from the waterman’s cottage, walking at a normal fast pace. Starting from the farm, and really hurrying, I think he could do it in ten minutes. He’d have to go carefully in the grounds, of course, but we know none of the gardeners were between the park gate and the house, or in sight of the terrace. He could have been in the study at five past three. He could have told Mark he’d come back to hear his decision, and Mark could have replied that nothing he could say would alter it. So he killed Mark. It’s possible that he meant to do something more about his alibi — and George’s: smash Mark’s watch, say, so that it stopped at the time of the murder. But either he lost his head again, or he decided that whatever he had meant to do would look too obviously fabricated. He took the will, returned across the park, reached the waterman’s cottage at about three-twenty, and left for London in the Rover, being seen by Danby at the west gate at about three-twenty-five.
‘After this we enter upon pure speculation. But I think George, when he reached London, must have established an alibi. He told us he’d had tea at a Lyons’. He could probably have got to a suitable one by about a quarter to five, and it would be quite easy to be remembered in a Lyons’ if you wanted to be — he could draw himself to the attention of one of the staff, and they’re not very full at that time of day. If he were there at four-forty-five, and if Richard had managed to establish the time of the murder at about three-five, then he couldn’t have done it — assuming, as the police would almost certainly assume, that he’d been driving the Rover.
‘At a guess, I’d say the Lyons’ was not too far from Lisa’s flat, and he left the Armstrong nearby for Richard to pick up — possibly at some point where he hoped the police would soon find it. If they did, that would strengthen Richard’s alibi. I’d say Richard didn’t return the Rover to the mews; it would be somewhere about five-thirty when he got back to town — about the time people come home from work — and someone would be very likely to notice him. He could hardly try to pass himself off as George, because the inhabitants of the mews knew George. I think he’d leave the Rover at some prearranged point where the police were not so likely to find it, for George to pick up and put away later on. Then he’d pick up the Armstrong and give a bobby a fair chance to appear and ask why he’d left it there so long. If that happened, he’d say he’d been having a late tea somewhere. If it didn’t, he’d fall back on the story of having been delayed by nerves. And assuming the bobby didn’t turn up to delay him, he would have reached Lisa’s flat, as he says he did, about five-forty-five.’
‘It’s horribly plausible,’ said Sally.
Johnny gave her a quick glance, which came to her as a shock. She was so used to his habit of theorising, for convenience, in the present indicative, that she hadn’t realised that now, at last, this was what he really believed to have happened. Perhaps he wasn’t dead certain, but he was as certain as made no matter. He had been trying to break it gently. He put a hand on her knee and held it for a moment. Then he went quietly on.
‘And the rest is simple. Possibly Richard reckoned without George’s blackmailing propensities. Of course George couldn’t have given him away without betraying himself. But he may have been getting rather deeper in than they’d expected, and he may have persuaded Richard that he felt his best chance was to turn Queen’s Evidence. Or, more likely, there was no question of blackmail, and they merely met — so George at least believed — to discuss a difficult situation. Richard may have decided he would be safer without George, or he may simply have lost his temper in the course of the proceedings — though the circumstances imply premeditation.
