Let's Choose Executors, page 26
“Well, that’s what I’d have done, my lord,” said Counsel, suddenly abandoning formality. “My learned friend’s statement,” he added, recovering himself, “concerned matters which can only be regarded as conjectural.” He heard Davenant mutter something behind him, and Vera Langhorne moved uneasily and her breathing became more laboured.
“In that case—” said Halford. He did not look quite happy with the explanation.
“This man knew Nancy Selkirk, and kept his knowledge secret. A man, then, of some local reputation . . . but we all know how easily a reputation can be lost in Chedcombe. We also know that Nancy was pregnant again. Mrs. Randall had visited her, and suspected her condition. She made it her business to discover who the father was. I suppose she felt it her duty.”
“Oh, dear!” said the Judge, looking anxious.
“At that time the girl was hardly a problem to him—a lighthearted child, happy enough with what he gave her. But he knew the old lady too well to think she would keep silent, and in his desperation he could see one way only . . . murder. He was ready for this, no doubt he came prepared. Certainly he came in secret.”
“Mr. Maitland, are you trying to tell us that Mrs. Randall was blackmailing this person?” said Halford, a little querulously.
“Nothing of the kind, my lord. I think she was willing to hear his explanation before making her knowledge public; but when she came to do so she would have been motivated purely by a sense of her obligations to society. From the first I have felt that if I could understand her character . . . and in a way it is true that she was responsible for her own death. There is a poem of Chesterton’s—”
“Spare us the poetry,” muttered Appleton, under his breath. Maitland ignored him; perhaps he did not hear.
“This poem expresses very well what I mean. Chesterton described a lady, in all other respects the antithesis of Mrs. Randall, and said, in effect, that everything might be forgiven her . . . everything except her righteousness.”
“Her righteousness, Mr. Maitland?”
“ ‘But for the virtuous things you do . . . it shall not be forgiven you’,” said Counsel, suddenly apologetic.
“Oh,” said Halford. And then, rallying: “Are you presenting this as another fact, Mr. Maitland?”
“If I may return to Ravenscroft, my lord, I think Mrs. Randall’s visitor found that what he had feared was true: she knew of his association with Nancy Selkirk . . . and he had no good explanation to offer. And so she told him virtuously—that it was not a matter she felt justified in keeping to herself. The digitoxin was still on the tray, and he took an opportunity of adding it to her drink.”
“You are assuming, then, that he knew it would be ready to hand?”
“I think, at least, that he knew when he saw it what the test tube contained. He might well think it a better method than the one he had intended. Or perhaps I am wronging him and there was no premeditation, it was the sight of it that gave him the idea. But, however it may have been, he watched her drink her toddy, and now he knew he was safe, he knew she had taken the poison.”
“We seem to have strayed a long way from the facts, Mr. Maitland. How can you know this?”
“Because, my lord, of the statement Frederick Byron made concerning Mrs. Randall’s visit to his office the day she signed the codicil.” The court was very quiet now. “I have here the copy which accompanied my brief; may I ask my friend to refer at the same time to the one in his possession?”
“If it is here,” said Appleton, but his eyes were on Maitland’s face. Finding the document with commendable speed, his junior put it silently into his hand, and he looked down at it obediently without voicing any further protest.
“There can be no objection to my quoting,” said Maitland hopefully, but it was noticeable that he proceeded rather hastily with his reading. ‘My partner, Mr. Davenant, and my clerk, Miss Barber, attended to witness her signature. In their presence I again endeavoured to question her intentions—apart from my own feelings there could later have been raised the question of her competence—but she repeated that her decision was irrevocable. After the codicil was signed Miss Barber left my office, and Mr. Davenant left a few minutes later.”
“Just a moment.” Counsel for the Prosecution looked up sharply. “There’s quite a lot more to come before that.”
“Then may I ask you to let us hear it?”
Halford’s expression gave no clue to his thoughts, but at least he made no objection. Appleton read slowly: Mr. Davenant was about to leave when Mrs. Randall called him back. She then said that, on reflection, she would like to amplify her remarks about the bequest. In effect, it was a Trust; it was also the first step in putting right a wrong that had been done; a wrong that had led in its turn, as these things will, to further evil. And then she added that we both knew her well enough to realise she would always do her duty, whoever was involved. She said it as though challenging us to disagree with her. I have no idea what she meant.”
“As though challenging us,” Maitland repeated. “Don’t you think it was a little odd, my lord, that so much of the statement was missing when it came to my learned junior’s attention, and to mine?”
“But, Mr. Maitland—”
“Only one person could have had a motive for suppressing that information. It could have no relevance to the prosecution, who have presented so ably a case in which, I am sure, they had complete belief. To the defence it would have formed, at least, a cause for conjecture, a basis for cross-examination. It might well have led me earlier to the motive for the crime.” He paused and looked round the court, and then raised his voice a little.
“Only one person had a motive for suppressing Mr. Byron’s evidence,” he said again slowly. “Only one person could have done so, so far as my colleague and I are concerned. I am speaking, of course, of the man on whose instructions the brief was prepared.”
He heard Tommy Davenant’s movement behind him, and was already turning when he felt the grip on his shoulder, twisting him round. “Damn you!” said Tommy unoriginally. “Damn you to hell!”
Oddly, there was still a hush in the room, the scene was being played in silence. Halford looked rather wildly from Counsel for the Defence to his instructing solicitor, and then at Appleton in a helpless way. Maitland said in a curiously flat tone: “In case you think I’m taking advantage of our position here, Davenant, I am quite willing to repeat my statement in another place, before any witness you like. I think you killed Alice Randall—”
“Just try and prove it!”
“Thank you, I shall.” He shrugged away the restraining hand and turned to face the court again. He was so pale now that Halford suffered a moment’s incongruous anxiety on his behalf. “In the meantime, my lord, if you will not consider my application as it stands, that the case be dismissed, I must put to you our request for a retrial with a change of venue. I must also ask the court to take the rather unusual step of making an order concerning alternative legal representation—”
At that point it became obvious that no one—least of all the Judge—was listening to what he had to say. After a brief hesitation he sat down and rested his head on his hand. He did not look again at Tommy Davenant.
Looking back afterward at leisure, the session that followed in the Judge’s chambers had an unreal, not to say nightmarish, quality. There was no question now that his explanations would be heard, they were being demanded. Halford himself, more worried than ever, but more decisive too; Appleton, no longer openly sceptical, anxious to find the truth; Vera Langhorne . . . he couldn’t tell what Vera was thinking; and Davenant, ready—but not too ready with his answer. “A clerical error, I had no idea—” But Antony was to remember later the look on his face as he spoke.
When the solicitor had left them, Halford said soberly: “You realise this is a serious matter, Mr. Maitland.”
“Only too well.” He sounded tired now. “But as things are, how else could I have dealt with it?”
Beside him, Vera Langhorne came unexpectedly to life. “Only way. Instructing solicitor. . . no precedent,” she said in a militant tone.
“Er—quite so, madam,” said Halford unhappily.
“I could have gone to the police, I suppose, and they’d have found evidence of his motive—at least, I think they would—but that’s not everything. I hoped if I could take him by surprise—”
“Slander,” said Appleton succinctly.
“It may come to that,” Antony agreed, without enthusiasm. “It may be the only way of dealing with the matter.” And again Vera interrupted him:
“Couldn’t risk his continuing to act for Fran Gifford, quite see that. Felt myself he was dragging his feet.” She looked at Halford, noting his indecision. “Why I asked Maitland’s help.”
“You suspected Davenant—?”
“No. No, just thought he wasn’t trying. Because he didn’t believe the girl, you see. Didn’t think I could handle it on my own.”
“But if the accusation is false—” Halford began, and broke off when he met Maitland’s eye. It was only too obvious that the consequences had been weighed and accepted before ever counsel began to speak. “You have done no more than indicate a motive,” he said.
“I was hampered by your lordship’s ruling. If I may now speak more freely—”
The Judge glanced at Appleton, irresolute again. Appleton said nothing, his eyes were on Maitland’s face. “Very well,” said Halford. “Very well.”
“The two deaths must be considered together . . . Mrs. Randall’s and Nancy Selkirk’s.” He looked at Appleton in his turn. “I believe the police would agree to that now.”
“They put rather a different construction on the fact,” said Appleton dryly; but his tone was not unfriendly.
“Yes, I guessed that. I’ll have to start with a completely illogical statement: when I first talked to Fran Gifford I became convinced of her innocence. For a while I was pretty sure Hugo Randall was the guilty party, though even then I didn’t think Fran would thank me for proving it. When Nancy Selkirk spoke to me outside the court on Friday evening, and Miss Langhorne told me something of her history, it seemed fairly clear why Hugo had quarrelled with his grandmother. But there was one big question: who had told Mrs. Randall of his supposed liaison with Nancy?”
“Well, who?”
“I’m coming to that, Judge. The second time I saw him he took the wind out of my sails by offering to tell the whole story at the trial, if it would help matters; I didn’t think it would do any good, but I was beginning to feel he was sincere. I was wondering about Walter Randall at that stage, of course, because of the financial motive; only it seemed such a coincidence, if he was going to poison his mother, that he should decide to do it just then. But that objection applied to almost anyone, except Fran and Hugo.
“So I was casting around for a way out of the difficulty, and after a while I began to wonder if the quarrel between Hugo and Alice Randall might not have been deliberately engineered with the idea of getting him blamed for her death when it occurred. The fact that she disinherited him might or might not have been foreseen; if she did, Walter and Nell would have been the obvious persons to benefit. Walter, with some knowledge of Hugo’s financial affairs, was more likely to have been the mischief-maker; but two other people who were closely connected with the family had to be considered too. Frederick Byron and Tommy Davenant both wanted to marry Nell.”
“And that’s why you went alone to see Nancy Selkirk,” said Vera; and glanced triumphantly at the Judge.
“Yes, that’s why. And when I did all my ideas were turned upside down again. I only saw the kitchen, but it seemed as if there was more money going into the house than Hugo Randall could provide; Nancy told me she liked older men, and it was obvious she was expecting a visitor . . . someone with whom she was on familiar terms. And now I began to see that perhaps I could explain the coincidence that was bothering me. Hugo wasn’t Nancy’s only lover; if the other man was known to Alice Randall, and she had found out in some way . . . well, I went into that in court.”
“You didn’t tell us—”
“She consulted what I am assured is a most reliable firm of private detectives.”
“That still sounds like guessing.”
“Yes, but if I’m right it must be susceptible of proof. Alice went to see Nancy on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas Day she made two very significant remarks to Hugo Randall. She asked him if his relationship with Nancy continued, and when he denied it she spoke about his responsibility for setting the girl on the downward path.”
“So then you think she consulted this firm—”
“Beckhoff and Manning. Yes, I do, and I think she expected them to confirm her own opinion that Hugo was lying, that the second child was his, too. It was probably for this reason that she arranged for their report to be delivered to her at her Bank; she received it and read it on the 30th December, just before her appointment with Byron.”
“You’re saying they named Davenant?”
“No, I shouldn’t think so. There couldn’t have been time for a positive identification. If they’d found evidence from some hotel, for instance. ‘Mr. Smith’ might be anybody. But a description, say, and in particular the make of his car . . . there could easily have been enough in the report to make her suspect the truth.”
“And, as you say, if it is the truth the proof will be there to find.”
“I think you’re right in this, at least,” said Appleton unexpectedly, “those rather cryptic remarks of hers in Byron’s office would have been quite enough to worry a guilty man.”
“Yes, but I wonder now if they really would have put ideas into my head if I’d read the complete statement at the proper time. Davenant wouldn’t know where Mrs. Randall had got her information, of course, but once she was on to him there’d have been confirmation enough. I expect he still hoped he was mistaken when he went to Ravenscroft, but I don’t imagine she left him in doubt for long.”
“But when we digressed,” said Appleton thoughtfully, “you’d only got as far as surmising there was someone else.”
“Yes, but then Nancy said something that sounded as if she had known beforehand that I should be offered the brief; and a moment later she was displaying a rather unusual knowledge of the legal position concerning Alice Randall’s will. That didn’t sound as if her friend was Walter, it sounded like one of the lawyers. But the really interesting thing was that she obviously knew what Mrs. Randall had intended in leaving Fran her money. She said Mrs. Randall had told her, and invented a second visit to throw me off the track, but she wasn’t a good liar; and later Inspector Camden confirmed that what she had said about a second visit from the old lady couldn’t have been true.
“When I heard Nancy was dead I realised I ought to have expected it, the sequence of events was plain enough. She spoke to me on Friday evening, on the steps of the courthouse; that same evening there was an attempt on my life. It seemed rather drastic. Chedcombe hadn’t worked up to violence at that stage. Well, I wasn’t harmed, but you, Judge, insisted on police protection; if someone wanted to prevent Nancy’s talking to me, it was she who was vulnerable, not I. But I didn’t think of that at the time.”
“It is difficult to see how you could have done so,” said Halford seriously. “I’m puzzled, though. At that stage, why did you suspect Davenant rather than his partner?”
“Well, when I began to think about them both I realised that my instructing solicitor, even while he protested that he wanted to do his best for Fran Gifford, was losing no opportunity of ramming her guilt down my throat. Not just the strength of the case against her, which it was his duty to show me; he wanted to convince me.”
“I see.”
“Besides, I got the impression that Davenant might be more sensitive to public opinion than his partner, even though Byron was an older man.” He paused, and added apologetically: “That’s a bit vague, but the question of Byron’s statement really clinched it. He’s an extremely conscientious chap, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if he hadn’t thought I already knew its contents. But I realised then there was something more than I knew about, he was so clearly surprised at my ignorance. And if a mistake had been made in preparing the brief, Davenant must have realised it in the course of our discussions. He’d had plenty of opportunity to put me right.”
“Perhaps if you were to give us the sequence of events again, as you see it. Very briefly, Mr. Maitland.”
Antony hesitated. He thought it must be imagination that there was more sympathy in the Judge’s tone. Or perhaps, if it was there, it was merely regret at his wrong-headedness. “Well, then,” he said, “I think Davenant told Mrs. Randall of Hugo’s supposed association with Nancy—”
“Wait a bit,” said Appleton suddenly. “Wasn’t Hugo her lover?”
“No, that was Mark. He came to see me last night.”
“Everyone’s confidant!” But Appleton’s tone was now more amused than sarcastic.
“He told me about it,” Antony admitted. “Hugo wanted the affair hushed up, but I don’t suppose he’d any intention of taking the blame himself. But when Alice took it for granted—Mark was so young, she never thought of him—he didn’t want to give his brother away.”
“This is all very confusing,” said Halford, with a slight return of his querulous manner.
“I’m sorry about that. My point is that Davenant was now Nancy Selkirk’s lover, and she told him about the payments Hugo made to her, but not the whole truth. He told Mrs. Randall; I was wrong when I thought the idea might have been to frame Hugo, but it wasn’t completely purposeless meddling. If the old lady changed her will, Nell ought to benefit somehow. Or he may have thought, if the quarrel was serious enough, it would result in the three young Randalls leaving Ravenscroft; in which case surely Nell wouldn’t see any further impediment to their marriage.”
