Chapter VI.What Cosgrove Had to TellAt three o’clock that same afternoon Inspector Tanner stepped from the train at St Pancras. He had telephoned to the Yard before leaving Halford, and, as a result, one of his men was awaiting him on the platform.‘Ah, Hilton,’ the Inspector greeted him. ‘I want you to go over to Knightsbridge and look up a man for me—a Mr Cosgrove Ponson who has rooms at Number 174B. All you need find out is whether or not he is at home. I’ll follow you round in a couple of hours, and you can report to me there.’This arranged, Tanner took a taxi and was driven to his house at Fulham.Town was very hot. The sun poured down out of an almost brazen sky, taking the freshness from the air and turning the streets into canals of swimming heat. The narrow courts were stifling, the open spaces shone with a blinding glare. Dust was everywhere, a dry burning dust which parched the throat and made the eyeballs smart. As Tanner looked around him he recalled with regret the green lawns and shady trees of Luce Manor.A couple of hours later he emerged from his house, resplendent in a silk hat and frock coat, with well-fitting gloves and a gold-headed cane. Taking another taxi, he drove to Knightsbridge. There he dismissed his vehicle, and approaching his man, Hilton, made him a slight sign. The other responded by nodding his head. Cosgrove, the Inspector understood, had gone out.Sauntering leisurely across the road, Tanner mounted the steps of the house and rang. The door was opened by a dark, clean-shaven manservant.‘Mr Ponson is not at home, sir,’ he said in reply to the Inspector’s inquiry, as he reached back for a salver.Tanner held out a card engraved ‘Mr Reginald Willoughby, The Albany.’‘I rather wanted to see Mr Ponson on business,’ he went on. ‘Do you think he’ll soon be back?’‘I think so, sir. He’ll almost certainly be in before seven.’The Inspector glanced at his watch.‘I have half an hour to spare. I think I’ll come in and wait.’‘Very good, sir,’ the man replied, as he led the way to a large sitting-room on the first floor.Left to himself, Tanner began by looking carefully round the room, and noting and memorising its contents. It was furnished as a library, with huge leather-covered chairs, and a large roll-top desk. The walls were lined with bookshelves, relieved here and there by a good print. The air was heavy with the scent of innumerable roses, arranged in bowls of silver and old china. Books and papers, mostly of a sporting character, were littered on chairs and occasional tables. Cosgrove Ponson, it was evident, was not hard up in the sense in which the words are understood by the man in the street.Tanner waited motionless for a few minutes, then rising softly, he tiptoed over to the roll-top desk and tried the lid. It was locked. Slipping a small tool from his pocket, he gently inserted it in the lock, and after a few turns he was able to push the shutter noiselessly up.The desk was littered with papers. Tanner sat down before it and began a systematic though rapid search. He wanted to find out for himself Cosgrove’s exact financial position as well as, if possible, the names of any lady friends, one of whom might have impersonated Mrs Franklyn’s servant.But he had no luck. It seemed likely Cosgrove must have some other desk or sanctum in which he kept his more private correspondence. There were here notes, invitations, bills, a few receipts, and other miscellaneous papers, but no bank-book nor anything to give a clue to his means. Nor were any of the letters from female correspondents couched in sufficiently familiar language to seem worthy of a second thought.Considerably disappointed, Tanner pursued his search according to the regular routine he employed in such cases, ending up when he had finished with the letters by drawing a small mirror from his pocket and with it examining the blotting paper. He rapidly scanned the various sheets, and was just about to put them down as useless when his eye lit on the blurred and partial impression of an address. It consisted of three lines. The first he could not read, the second he thought was Gracechurch Street, following an undecipherable number, while the third was clear—the word ‘City.’ He had not noticed this address on any of the papers, and he now remarked it only because it seemed to suggest finance. Thinking it might be worth while trying to decipher the name, he slipped the page out of the blotter and secreted it in his pocket. Then silently closing the desk he tiptoed to the door. After listening for a moment at the keyhole he opened it and stepped stealthily out.Several doors opened off the passage, and Tanner stood for a moment wondering which led to the room of which he was in search. At last he selected one, and having ascertained from the keyhole that all was quiet within, he silently turned the handle. It opened into a dining-room. Withdrawing in the same noiseless manner he tried the next, to find himself in a spare bedroom. But the third door led to his goal. It was evidently Cosgrove’s dressing-room, and there at the opposite wall was what he was looking for—a long line of Cosgrove’s boots and shoes. A moment’s examination sufficed. Cosgrove’s foot was too big to have made the tracks of the fifth man at the Luce Manor boathouse. Silently he returned to his seat in the library.He looked at his watch. His search had lasted thirty-five minutes. He rang the bell.‘I am sorry I cannot wait for Mr Ponson,’ he told the butler. ‘I shall write to him.’That evening he sat down to re-examine the sheet of blotting paper. He studied the second line for several minutes, and at last came to the conclusion his first idea had been correct. It was apparently Gracechurch Street. But the number was quite beyond him.Taking a street directory he began to go through the Gracechurch Street names, comparing each with the blot-sheet marks. He had been through about half when he came on one that seemed the correct shape—Messrs Moses Erckstein & Co. And when he saw that Messrs Erckstein were money-lenders, he felt hopeful that he was on the right track. But he was very thorough. He worked through the whole list, lest there should be some other name even more like that on the sheet. But there was none.Next morning he called on Messrs Erckstein. He was again wearing his silk hat and frock coat, and with these clothes he put on, to some extent at least, the manners of what our friends across the pond call a club man. He had made inquiries about the firm, and he now asked for the senior partner. After a delay of a few minutes he was shown into the latter’s room.Mr Erckstein was stout and dark, with a short black beard and Semitic features. Tanner had found out that, though he had been a German before the War, he was now a Pole.He proved an unwilling witness. It was not until Tanner had wasted over an hour, and threatened his informant with a summons to Court, where his books and his methods would be probed mercilessly in public, that he got what he required.Cosgrove Ponson, it appeared, was, and had been for many years, heavily in the firm’s debt. Including interest at the exorbitant rate charged, he now owed the money-lenders close on £30,000. Moreover, he had recently been severely pressed for part payment. Tanner, after a lot of trouble, saw copies of the letters sent, the last of which politely but unmistakably threatened proceedings and ruin unless the interest at least was immediately paid.‘Why did you lend such a large sum?’ Tanner asked.‘Because of his uncle, Mr Tanner. Sir William Ponson thought a lot of Mr Cosgrove, and he would have helped him. Now that he is dead we shall get our money. We understand Mr Cosgrove comes into a handsome legacy.’When Tanner left the office he was more than satisfied as to the strength of Cosgrove’s motive for the crime. Far stronger it appeared to him than that of Austin. It looked as if he was on the right track at last.Hailing a taxi, he handed the driver a pound in advance and instructed him in detail as to what he wished done. Then he stepped into the vehicle and was driven to Knightsbridge.Within view of Cosgrove’s chambers the car swung close to the sidewalk and the engine stopped. The driver sprang down, and opening the bonnet, became engrossed with his engine. It was obvious a slight mishap had taken place.Tanner sat well back in the car watching the house before him. It was getting on towards one. For more than half an hour the repairs continued. Then the Inspector saw Cosgrove leave his door and hail a taxi. He called softly to his own driver, and the work at the engine being completed at just that moment, the latter mounted and started the car.‘Keep that taxi in sight,’ Tanner ordered as they moved forward.The chase was not a long one—down Piccadilly, across the Circus and into Shaftesbury Avenue. There the quarry turned into a narrow lane and Tanner, leaping out of his taxi, saw the other stop at the stage door of the Follies Theatre. He turned back to his own car.‘Pick me up when I sign and follow it again,’ he said to his driver, then, becoming absorbed in a bookseller’s window immediately opposite the end of the lane in which the other car stood, he waited.With the corner of his eye he had seen Cosgrove enter the theatre, and after some ten minutes he observed him emerge following a lady whom he handed into his taxi. Rapidly Tanner regained his own vehicle, and as the other swept out of the lane and turned west, his driver took up his former position behind it.Once again the chase was short. Reaching the Strand, the leading car turned into the courtyard of the Savoy. As he stepped out of his taxi Tanner was in time to see his victims entering the great building. He followed quickly to the restaurant, and while they were looking for a table, slipped a couple of pounds into the head waiter’s hand.‘I am from Scotland Yard,’ he whispered. ‘Put me beside that lady and gentleman like a good fellow.’The head waiter led him forward and presently he found himself seated at a small table immediately behind Cosgrove. The lady was on Cosgrove’s right and from where he sat the Inspector could see her without appearing to stare. He recognised her immediately as Miss Betty Belcher, one of the most talented and popular actresses in London.She was a woman of about thirty, small, sprightly, and rather inclined to stoutness. Her features were delicate, her complexion creamy, and her eyes large and of the lightest blue. Her lips were just a trifle thin, and in repose wore the suspicion of a pout. But her glory was her hair. It was of a deep rich gold, piled up in great masses above her low forehead. Famous for her play in light, sparkling parts, her vivacity on the stage was unrivalled. But here she was not vivacious. On the contrary, both she and Cosgrove seemed ill at ease. While the waiter was serving them they discoursed on everyday topics, but when he passed on their voices dropped and Tanner could no longer overhear them.It was evident from their expressions they were discussing some serious matter, and Tanner strained his ears to learn its nature. For a time he was unsuccessful, but at last during lulls in the general conversation he caught enough to enlighten him. Disconnectedly and without the context he heard Cosgrove use the words ‘inquest adjourned,’ and ‘detective,’ and later the lady said something very like ‘suspicion aroused’ and once again, unquestionably, the phrase ‘the alibi should hold.’Inspector Tanner was extremely interested. Obviously they were talking about the Luce Manor tragedy, and from the reference to the alibi they seemed to have very first-hand information of Austin’s affairs. This, however, was natural enough and by no means suspicious. But the expression of anxiety on the lady’s face was not so natural. Tanner wished he was sure of its cause.After coffee Cosgrove lit a cigarette, and the Inspector was rather thrilled to notice it was of a light-brown colour. His thought turned to the end he had discovered in the Luce Manor boathouse. If Cosgrove’s case contained the same unusual brand as that found at Luce Manor, his suspicions would undoubtedly be strengthened.Cosgrove smoked quietly, while Tanner paid his bill and got ready to leave the restaurant. At last the others made a move, Cosgrove dropping the cigarette end into the saucer of his coffee cup. Tanner moved aside, and turned his back till they had passed, then returning to his table as if he had forgotten something, he rapidly picked up the cigarette end, quenched it and dropped it into one of the little boxes he always carried. Then he hurried out after his quarry, and as they took another taxi, re-entered his own.This time they had a longer run. It was not till they reached Lyme Avenue, Chelsea, that the chase ended. There at the door of a block of flats the two dismounted. But Cosgrove did not go in. When the lady had disappeared he returned to his taxi, and started back towards London. Tanner’s driver had run on towards the end of the road, but he skilfully manœuvred for position, and soon was back in his own place behind the other.At the door of the Huntingdon Club in Piccadilly, Cosgrove dismounted, paid off his driver and entered the building. This suiting Tanner’s plans as well as anything else, he also paid his man, and after a few minutes followed Cosgrove into the club.Handing the porter another of his false cards—Mr Percival Hepworth-Jones, The Constitutional—he asked for Cosgrove, and was shown into a waiting-room.In about ten minutes Cosgrove appeared—a questioning, puzzled look on his thin, good-looking face.‘I must apologise, Mr Ponson,’ began the Inspector, ‘for sending in a card which is not my own. You are wondering where you have seen me before?’‘I confess that I am. I know your face, but I can’t recall our meeting.’‘We didn’t meet, but you saw me at the inquest at Luce Manor. I am Inspector Tanner of Scotland Yard, and I have been put in charge of the case.’The Inspector, who was watching the other keenly, noticed a sudden look flash across his face and then disappear. It was not exactly a look of alarm. Rather was it that of a man brought suddenly face to face with a danger he had long recognised—a kind of bracing of himself to meet a crisis which was at last at hand. But his manner was free from any trace of anxiety as he motioned his visitor to a chair.‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘of course. I remember now. My cousin, Austin Ponson, told me about you. So you fear my uncle’s end might have been suicide? It is a horrible idea, and you won’t mind my saying that I cannot but think you are wrong. He was not at all that kind of man.’‘So I am beginning to think, Mr Ponson. But orders are orders. I have been told to investigate and report, and I must do so.’Cosgrove agreed and they conversed for some time. Tanner asked a good many questions, but without learning anything of interest. Then at last he came to the real object of his visit. Speaking very much as he had done to Austin, he asked Cosgrove to state his own movements on the fatal Wednesday night. Cosgrove, unlike Austin, got on his high horse.‘Really, Inspector, I think that’s a little too much. Why should I tell you anything of the kind? What has it to do with the affair?’Tanner could be direct enough when he saw cause.‘Why this, Mr Ponson,’ he answered, still watching the other keenly. ‘As you must see, the possibility of suicide involves that of murder also. The question I have asked you is asked in such cases as a matter of course to every one interested.’Cosgrove started slightly at the last words.‘Interested?’ he repeated. ‘What do you mean by that? Do you think I was interested?’‘Mr Ponson, as reasonable men we must both see that you were interested. You will forgive me—I don’t wish to be offensive—but it is common knowledge that you are in low water financially, and that you benefit considerably under the will.’‘Good Heavens!’ Ponson cried angrily, ‘and do you actually mean to say you suspect me ofmurderingSir William?’‘I mean nothing of the kind, Mr Ponson. I only want to justify myself in asking you the question to which you have just objected.’Cosgrove did not reply. At last Tanner went on in a courteous tone:‘Obviously, I cannot force you to answer me, Mr Ponson. But it must be clear to you that should you decline you may raise suspicions which, no matter how unfounded, are bound to be unpleasant. Please don’t think I am speaking threateningly. You can see the matter as clearly as I.’The Inspector’s moderation appeared to bring Cosgrove, to a decision. He moved nervously, and then replied:‘I suppose you are right, Inspector, and that I have no cause to resent your inquiries. I haven’t the slightest objection to telling you where I was when you explain yourself as you have just done.’‘I am much obliged. It will save me a lot of trouble.’Cosgrove settled himself more comfortably in his arm-chair.‘I remember that Wednesday night,’ he began, ‘for I did one of the silliest things that night that I have ever been guilty of, and I think I may say without bragging I am usually as wide awake as most people. But I shall tell you.‘You know, or perhaps you don’t, that I go in a good deal for racing. I have a small stable not far from Bath, and I make a bit off dealing and training as well as on the course. For some time I have wanted another horse, and there was one for sale near Montrose that seemed the thing, so much so that I determined to run down and see it. I have a good many engagements, mostly of a social kind, and I found that the only day I could go was the Thursday of last week—the day after my poor Uncle disappeared. There was an “At Home” at the Duchess of Frothingham’s on the Wednesday afternoon, and a ball at Lincolnshire House on Friday evening, at both of which I wished to be present, so I decided to travel to Montrose by the night train on Wednesday, see the horse on Thursday, return to London that night, and get some sleep on Friday, so as to be fresh for the evening.‘This programme I carried out, but not quite as I had intended. I was at the Duchess of Frothingham’s till a little after five, when I returned home, dined and drove to King’s Cross to catch the 7.15 for the north. This train was due at Montrose about 5.30 the next morning, and it was my intention to drive the three or four miles out to the training stables and see the horses at their early exercise, returning to town when convenient.‘I reached King’s Cross in good time, found the sleeping berth which I had engaged was ready for me, deposited my things therein, and began to make myself comfortable. Wishing to smoke I drew out my cigar-case, and then I discovered it was empty. I was considerably annoyed, not only for my own sake, but because I wished to be able to offer a smoke to the man with whom I hoped to deal. I glanced at my watch. It was still ten minutes past seven. Thinking I had plenty of time I seized my hat and ran to the refreshment room, which was close by. As I was selecting some cigars I glanced up at the refreshment room clock. It was pointing to 7.15.‘ “Your clock’s fast, I suppose?” I said.‘ “No, I don’t think so,” the girl answered.‘I left the cigars on the counter and ran out on the platform. But the clock was right, and all I saw was my train moving off. It was already going too fast to board, and I had to accept the fact that it was gone with my luggage in the sleeping berth.‘I looked at my watch. It was still showing two minutes to the quarter. It was usually an excellent timekeeper, but in some way which I can’t account for just on the occasion that mattered, it was three minutes slow. Pretty maddening, wasn’t it?’‘It’s the way things happen,’ said Tanner philosophically.‘Isn’t it? Well, I got my cigars, and then I went to the Stationmaster’s Office and asked what I should do. It appeared there was a comparatively slow train to Dundee at 8.30, but the next to Montrose was the express at 10.30. Even by taking a car from Dundee this earlier train would not get me to the stables in time for the morning exercise, so I decided my best plan would be to take the 10.30. I then asked about a sleeping berth. But here my luck was out. All those on the 10.30 were engaged.‘ “And what about my things that have gone on in the 7.15?” I asked.‘ “They will be all right,” the clerk answered. “The first stop of both the 7.15 and the 10.30 is Grantham, and I shall wire the agent there to have your things collected from the 7.15 and handed in to you on the 10.30.”‘This seemed the best arrangement, and I thanked the man, and having telegraphed to the dealer at Montrose, I strolled out of the station, wondering how I could best put in my three hours.‘More by force of habit than otherwise I took a taxi and drove back to my rooms. But my little adventure had made me restless, and I couldn’t settle down to spend a lonely evening. I would have liked to go to the Follies and see my friend Miss Betty Belcher, but I knew she was acting all the evening except during part of the second act, say from about 9.30 till 10.00. To pass the time till 9.30 I at last decided to go to the Empire. I did so. I left my rooms almost at once, drove to the Empire, sat there for an hour or so, and then went to the Follies. From about 9.30 till 10.00 I sat with Miss Belcher in her room, then when it was nearly time for her to go on again I made my adieux and returned to King’s Cross. I took care not to miss the 10.30, and at Grantham I got out and found a porter looking for me with my things. I duly reached Montrose about half-past eight next morning. So I trust you won’t any longer suspect me of being at Halford.’Tanner laughed.‘How was I to know, sir, what you did until you told me? I am very greatly obliged. You have saved me an immensity of useless work.’Cosgrove Ponson was quite mollified. He seemed like a man from whose shoulders a weight had been removed. He took out his cigar-case.‘I don’t know if it will confirm my story,’ he said smiling, ‘but I hope in any case you will smoke one of the actual cigars I bought at King’s Cross.’The Inspector accepted. He asked a few more questions, obtained the name of the Montrose horse-dealer, and then, with further compliments and thanks, took his leave.It was obvious to him that, if true, Cosgrove’s story made a complete alibi. If he had been at King’s Cross at 7.30 o’clock, at the Follies Theatre at 9.30, and had travelled from King’s Cross to Montrose by the 10.30 express it was out of the question that he could have been at Luce Manor. Satisfied as Tanner was as to the soundness of Austin Ponson’s alibi, Cosgrove’s was even more convincing, and what was better still, it would be easier to test. Though he did not believe Cosgrove would make such a statement unless it could bear the touchstone of inquiry, Tanner felt his obvious next business would be to check what he had just heard so fully as to remove all possible doubt of Cosgrove’s innocence.
At three o’clock that same afternoon Inspector Tanner stepped from the train at St Pancras. He had telephoned to the Yard before leaving Halford, and, as a result, one of his men was awaiting him on the platform.
‘Ah, Hilton,’ the Inspector greeted him. ‘I want you to go over to Knightsbridge and look up a man for me—a Mr Cosgrove Ponson who has rooms at Number 174B. All you need find out is whether or not he is at home. I’ll follow you round in a couple of hours, and you can report to me there.’
This arranged, Tanner took a taxi and was driven to his house at Fulham.
Town was very hot. The sun poured down out of an almost brazen sky, taking the freshness from the air and turning the streets into canals of swimming heat. The narrow courts were stifling, the open spaces shone with a blinding glare. Dust was everywhere, a dry burning dust which parched the throat and made the eyeballs smart. As Tanner looked around him he recalled with regret the green lawns and shady trees of Luce Manor.
A couple of hours later he emerged from his house, resplendent in a silk hat and frock coat, with well-fitting gloves and a gold-headed cane. Taking another taxi, he drove to Knightsbridge. There he dismissed his vehicle, and approaching his man, Hilton, made him a slight sign. The other responded by nodding his head. Cosgrove, the Inspector understood, had gone out.
Sauntering leisurely across the road, Tanner mounted the steps of the house and rang. The door was opened by a dark, clean-shaven manservant.
‘Mr Ponson is not at home, sir,’ he said in reply to the Inspector’s inquiry, as he reached back for a salver.
Tanner held out a card engraved ‘Mr Reginald Willoughby, The Albany.’
‘I rather wanted to see Mr Ponson on business,’ he went on. ‘Do you think he’ll soon be back?’
‘I think so, sir. He’ll almost certainly be in before seven.’
The Inspector glanced at his watch.
‘I have half an hour to spare. I think I’ll come in and wait.’
‘Very good, sir,’ the man replied, as he led the way to a large sitting-room on the first floor.
Left to himself, Tanner began by looking carefully round the room, and noting and memorising its contents. It was furnished as a library, with huge leather-covered chairs, and a large roll-top desk. The walls were lined with bookshelves, relieved here and there by a good print. The air was heavy with the scent of innumerable roses, arranged in bowls of silver and old china. Books and papers, mostly of a sporting character, were littered on chairs and occasional tables. Cosgrove Ponson, it was evident, was not hard up in the sense in which the words are understood by the man in the street.
Tanner waited motionless for a few minutes, then rising softly, he tiptoed over to the roll-top desk and tried the lid. It was locked. Slipping a small tool from his pocket, he gently inserted it in the lock, and after a few turns he was able to push the shutter noiselessly up.
The desk was littered with papers. Tanner sat down before it and began a systematic though rapid search. He wanted to find out for himself Cosgrove’s exact financial position as well as, if possible, the names of any lady friends, one of whom might have impersonated Mrs Franklyn’s servant.
But he had no luck. It seemed likely Cosgrove must have some other desk or sanctum in which he kept his more private correspondence. There were here notes, invitations, bills, a few receipts, and other miscellaneous papers, but no bank-book nor anything to give a clue to his means. Nor were any of the letters from female correspondents couched in sufficiently familiar language to seem worthy of a second thought.
Considerably disappointed, Tanner pursued his search according to the regular routine he employed in such cases, ending up when he had finished with the letters by drawing a small mirror from his pocket and with it examining the blotting paper. He rapidly scanned the various sheets, and was just about to put them down as useless when his eye lit on the blurred and partial impression of an address. It consisted of three lines. The first he could not read, the second he thought was Gracechurch Street, following an undecipherable number, while the third was clear—the word ‘City.’ He had not noticed this address on any of the papers, and he now remarked it only because it seemed to suggest finance. Thinking it might be worth while trying to decipher the name, he slipped the page out of the blotter and secreted it in his pocket. Then silently closing the desk he tiptoed to the door. After listening for a moment at the keyhole he opened it and stepped stealthily out.
Several doors opened off the passage, and Tanner stood for a moment wondering which led to the room of which he was in search. At last he selected one, and having ascertained from the keyhole that all was quiet within, he silently turned the handle. It opened into a dining-room. Withdrawing in the same noiseless manner he tried the next, to find himself in a spare bedroom. But the third door led to his goal. It was evidently Cosgrove’s dressing-room, and there at the opposite wall was what he was looking for—a long line of Cosgrove’s boots and shoes. A moment’s examination sufficed. Cosgrove’s foot was too big to have made the tracks of the fifth man at the Luce Manor boathouse. Silently he returned to his seat in the library.
He looked at his watch. His search had lasted thirty-five minutes. He rang the bell.
‘I am sorry I cannot wait for Mr Ponson,’ he told the butler. ‘I shall write to him.’
That evening he sat down to re-examine the sheet of blotting paper. He studied the second line for several minutes, and at last came to the conclusion his first idea had been correct. It was apparently Gracechurch Street. But the number was quite beyond him.
Taking a street directory he began to go through the Gracechurch Street names, comparing each with the blot-sheet marks. He had been through about half when he came on one that seemed the correct shape—Messrs Moses Erckstein & Co. And when he saw that Messrs Erckstein were money-lenders, he felt hopeful that he was on the right track. But he was very thorough. He worked through the whole list, lest there should be some other name even more like that on the sheet. But there was none.
Next morning he called on Messrs Erckstein. He was again wearing his silk hat and frock coat, and with these clothes he put on, to some extent at least, the manners of what our friends across the pond call a club man. He had made inquiries about the firm, and he now asked for the senior partner. After a delay of a few minutes he was shown into the latter’s room.
Mr Erckstein was stout and dark, with a short black beard and Semitic features. Tanner had found out that, though he had been a German before the War, he was now a Pole.
He proved an unwilling witness. It was not until Tanner had wasted over an hour, and threatened his informant with a summons to Court, where his books and his methods would be probed mercilessly in public, that he got what he required.
Cosgrove Ponson, it appeared, was, and had been for many years, heavily in the firm’s debt. Including interest at the exorbitant rate charged, he now owed the money-lenders close on £30,000. Moreover, he had recently been severely pressed for part payment. Tanner, after a lot of trouble, saw copies of the letters sent, the last of which politely but unmistakably threatened proceedings and ruin unless the interest at least was immediately paid.
‘Why did you lend such a large sum?’ Tanner asked.
‘Because of his uncle, Mr Tanner. Sir William Ponson thought a lot of Mr Cosgrove, and he would have helped him. Now that he is dead we shall get our money. We understand Mr Cosgrove comes into a handsome legacy.’
When Tanner left the office he was more than satisfied as to the strength of Cosgrove’s motive for the crime. Far stronger it appeared to him than that of Austin. It looked as if he was on the right track at last.
Hailing a taxi, he handed the driver a pound in advance and instructed him in detail as to what he wished done. Then he stepped into the vehicle and was driven to Knightsbridge.
Within view of Cosgrove’s chambers the car swung close to the sidewalk and the engine stopped. The driver sprang down, and opening the bonnet, became engrossed with his engine. It was obvious a slight mishap had taken place.
Tanner sat well back in the car watching the house before him. It was getting on towards one. For more than half an hour the repairs continued. Then the Inspector saw Cosgrove leave his door and hail a taxi. He called softly to his own driver, and the work at the engine being completed at just that moment, the latter mounted and started the car.
‘Keep that taxi in sight,’ Tanner ordered as they moved forward.
The chase was not a long one—down Piccadilly, across the Circus and into Shaftesbury Avenue. There the quarry turned into a narrow lane and Tanner, leaping out of his taxi, saw the other stop at the stage door of the Follies Theatre. He turned back to his own car.
‘Pick me up when I sign and follow it again,’ he said to his driver, then, becoming absorbed in a bookseller’s window immediately opposite the end of the lane in which the other car stood, he waited.
With the corner of his eye he had seen Cosgrove enter the theatre, and after some ten minutes he observed him emerge following a lady whom he handed into his taxi. Rapidly Tanner regained his own vehicle, and as the other swept out of the lane and turned west, his driver took up his former position behind it.
Once again the chase was short. Reaching the Strand, the leading car turned into the courtyard of the Savoy. As he stepped out of his taxi Tanner was in time to see his victims entering the great building. He followed quickly to the restaurant, and while they were looking for a table, slipped a couple of pounds into the head waiter’s hand.
‘I am from Scotland Yard,’ he whispered. ‘Put me beside that lady and gentleman like a good fellow.’
The head waiter led him forward and presently he found himself seated at a small table immediately behind Cosgrove. The lady was on Cosgrove’s right and from where he sat the Inspector could see her without appearing to stare. He recognised her immediately as Miss Betty Belcher, one of the most talented and popular actresses in London.
She was a woman of about thirty, small, sprightly, and rather inclined to stoutness. Her features were delicate, her complexion creamy, and her eyes large and of the lightest blue. Her lips were just a trifle thin, and in repose wore the suspicion of a pout. But her glory was her hair. It was of a deep rich gold, piled up in great masses above her low forehead. Famous for her play in light, sparkling parts, her vivacity on the stage was unrivalled. But here she was not vivacious. On the contrary, both she and Cosgrove seemed ill at ease. While the waiter was serving them they discoursed on everyday topics, but when he passed on their voices dropped and Tanner could no longer overhear them.
It was evident from their expressions they were discussing some serious matter, and Tanner strained his ears to learn its nature. For a time he was unsuccessful, but at last during lulls in the general conversation he caught enough to enlighten him. Disconnectedly and without the context he heard Cosgrove use the words ‘inquest adjourned,’ and ‘detective,’ and later the lady said something very like ‘suspicion aroused’ and once again, unquestionably, the phrase ‘the alibi should hold.’
Inspector Tanner was extremely interested. Obviously they were talking about the Luce Manor tragedy, and from the reference to the alibi they seemed to have very first-hand information of Austin’s affairs. This, however, was natural enough and by no means suspicious. But the expression of anxiety on the lady’s face was not so natural. Tanner wished he was sure of its cause.
After coffee Cosgrove lit a cigarette, and the Inspector was rather thrilled to notice it was of a light-brown colour. His thought turned to the end he had discovered in the Luce Manor boathouse. If Cosgrove’s case contained the same unusual brand as that found at Luce Manor, his suspicions would undoubtedly be strengthened.
Cosgrove smoked quietly, while Tanner paid his bill and got ready to leave the restaurant. At last the others made a move, Cosgrove dropping the cigarette end into the saucer of his coffee cup. Tanner moved aside, and turned his back till they had passed, then returning to his table as if he had forgotten something, he rapidly picked up the cigarette end, quenched it and dropped it into one of the little boxes he always carried. Then he hurried out after his quarry, and as they took another taxi, re-entered his own.
This time they had a longer run. It was not till they reached Lyme Avenue, Chelsea, that the chase ended. There at the door of a block of flats the two dismounted. But Cosgrove did not go in. When the lady had disappeared he returned to his taxi, and started back towards London. Tanner’s driver had run on towards the end of the road, but he skilfully manœuvred for position, and soon was back in his own place behind the other.
At the door of the Huntingdon Club in Piccadilly, Cosgrove dismounted, paid off his driver and entered the building. This suiting Tanner’s plans as well as anything else, he also paid his man, and after a few minutes followed Cosgrove into the club.
Handing the porter another of his false cards—Mr Percival Hepworth-Jones, The Constitutional—he asked for Cosgrove, and was shown into a waiting-room.
In about ten minutes Cosgrove appeared—a questioning, puzzled look on his thin, good-looking face.
‘I must apologise, Mr Ponson,’ began the Inspector, ‘for sending in a card which is not my own. You are wondering where you have seen me before?’
‘I confess that I am. I know your face, but I can’t recall our meeting.’
‘We didn’t meet, but you saw me at the inquest at Luce Manor. I am Inspector Tanner of Scotland Yard, and I have been put in charge of the case.’
The Inspector, who was watching the other keenly, noticed a sudden look flash across his face and then disappear. It was not exactly a look of alarm. Rather was it that of a man brought suddenly face to face with a danger he had long recognised—a kind of bracing of himself to meet a crisis which was at last at hand. But his manner was free from any trace of anxiety as he motioned his visitor to a chair.
‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘of course. I remember now. My cousin, Austin Ponson, told me about you. So you fear my uncle’s end might have been suicide? It is a horrible idea, and you won’t mind my saying that I cannot but think you are wrong. He was not at all that kind of man.’
‘So I am beginning to think, Mr Ponson. But orders are orders. I have been told to investigate and report, and I must do so.’
Cosgrove agreed and they conversed for some time. Tanner asked a good many questions, but without learning anything of interest. Then at last he came to the real object of his visit. Speaking very much as he had done to Austin, he asked Cosgrove to state his own movements on the fatal Wednesday night. Cosgrove, unlike Austin, got on his high horse.
‘Really, Inspector, I think that’s a little too much. Why should I tell you anything of the kind? What has it to do with the affair?’
Tanner could be direct enough when he saw cause.
‘Why this, Mr Ponson,’ he answered, still watching the other keenly. ‘As you must see, the possibility of suicide involves that of murder also. The question I have asked you is asked in such cases as a matter of course to every one interested.’
Cosgrove started slightly at the last words.
‘Interested?’ he repeated. ‘What do you mean by that? Do you think I was interested?’
‘Mr Ponson, as reasonable men we must both see that you were interested. You will forgive me—I don’t wish to be offensive—but it is common knowledge that you are in low water financially, and that you benefit considerably under the will.’
‘Good Heavens!’ Ponson cried angrily, ‘and do you actually mean to say you suspect me ofmurderingSir William?’
‘I mean nothing of the kind, Mr Ponson. I only want to justify myself in asking you the question to which you have just objected.’
Cosgrove did not reply. At last Tanner went on in a courteous tone:
‘Obviously, I cannot force you to answer me, Mr Ponson. But it must be clear to you that should you decline you may raise suspicions which, no matter how unfounded, are bound to be unpleasant. Please don’t think I am speaking threateningly. You can see the matter as clearly as I.’
The Inspector’s moderation appeared to bring Cosgrove, to a decision. He moved nervously, and then replied:
‘I suppose you are right, Inspector, and that I have no cause to resent your inquiries. I haven’t the slightest objection to telling you where I was when you explain yourself as you have just done.’
‘I am much obliged. It will save me a lot of trouble.’
Cosgrove settled himself more comfortably in his arm-chair.
‘I remember that Wednesday night,’ he began, ‘for I did one of the silliest things that night that I have ever been guilty of, and I think I may say without bragging I am usually as wide awake as most people. But I shall tell you.
‘You know, or perhaps you don’t, that I go in a good deal for racing. I have a small stable not far from Bath, and I make a bit off dealing and training as well as on the course. For some time I have wanted another horse, and there was one for sale near Montrose that seemed the thing, so much so that I determined to run down and see it. I have a good many engagements, mostly of a social kind, and I found that the only day I could go was the Thursday of last week—the day after my poor Uncle disappeared. There was an “At Home” at the Duchess of Frothingham’s on the Wednesday afternoon, and a ball at Lincolnshire House on Friday evening, at both of which I wished to be present, so I decided to travel to Montrose by the night train on Wednesday, see the horse on Thursday, return to London that night, and get some sleep on Friday, so as to be fresh for the evening.
‘This programme I carried out, but not quite as I had intended. I was at the Duchess of Frothingham’s till a little after five, when I returned home, dined and drove to King’s Cross to catch the 7.15 for the north. This train was due at Montrose about 5.30 the next morning, and it was my intention to drive the three or four miles out to the training stables and see the horses at their early exercise, returning to town when convenient.
‘I reached King’s Cross in good time, found the sleeping berth which I had engaged was ready for me, deposited my things therein, and began to make myself comfortable. Wishing to smoke I drew out my cigar-case, and then I discovered it was empty. I was considerably annoyed, not only for my own sake, but because I wished to be able to offer a smoke to the man with whom I hoped to deal. I glanced at my watch. It was still ten minutes past seven. Thinking I had plenty of time I seized my hat and ran to the refreshment room, which was close by. As I was selecting some cigars I glanced up at the refreshment room clock. It was pointing to 7.15.
‘ “Your clock’s fast, I suppose?” I said.
‘ “No, I don’t think so,” the girl answered.
‘I left the cigars on the counter and ran out on the platform. But the clock was right, and all I saw was my train moving off. It was already going too fast to board, and I had to accept the fact that it was gone with my luggage in the sleeping berth.
‘I looked at my watch. It was still showing two minutes to the quarter. It was usually an excellent timekeeper, but in some way which I can’t account for just on the occasion that mattered, it was three minutes slow. Pretty maddening, wasn’t it?’
‘It’s the way things happen,’ said Tanner philosophically.
‘Isn’t it? Well, I got my cigars, and then I went to the Stationmaster’s Office and asked what I should do. It appeared there was a comparatively slow train to Dundee at 8.30, but the next to Montrose was the express at 10.30. Even by taking a car from Dundee this earlier train would not get me to the stables in time for the morning exercise, so I decided my best plan would be to take the 10.30. I then asked about a sleeping berth. But here my luck was out. All those on the 10.30 were engaged.
‘ “And what about my things that have gone on in the 7.15?” I asked.
‘ “They will be all right,” the clerk answered. “The first stop of both the 7.15 and the 10.30 is Grantham, and I shall wire the agent there to have your things collected from the 7.15 and handed in to you on the 10.30.”
‘This seemed the best arrangement, and I thanked the man, and having telegraphed to the dealer at Montrose, I strolled out of the station, wondering how I could best put in my three hours.
‘More by force of habit than otherwise I took a taxi and drove back to my rooms. But my little adventure had made me restless, and I couldn’t settle down to spend a lonely evening. I would have liked to go to the Follies and see my friend Miss Betty Belcher, but I knew she was acting all the evening except during part of the second act, say from about 9.30 till 10.00. To pass the time till 9.30 I at last decided to go to the Empire. I did so. I left my rooms almost at once, drove to the Empire, sat there for an hour or so, and then went to the Follies. From about 9.30 till 10.00 I sat with Miss Belcher in her room, then when it was nearly time for her to go on again I made my adieux and returned to King’s Cross. I took care not to miss the 10.30, and at Grantham I got out and found a porter looking for me with my things. I duly reached Montrose about half-past eight next morning. So I trust you won’t any longer suspect me of being at Halford.’
Tanner laughed.
‘How was I to know, sir, what you did until you told me? I am very greatly obliged. You have saved me an immensity of useless work.’
Cosgrove Ponson was quite mollified. He seemed like a man from whose shoulders a weight had been removed. He took out his cigar-case.
‘I don’t know if it will confirm my story,’ he said smiling, ‘but I hope in any case you will smoke one of the actual cigars I bought at King’s Cross.’
The Inspector accepted. He asked a few more questions, obtained the name of the Montrose horse-dealer, and then, with further compliments and thanks, took his leave.
It was obvious to him that, if true, Cosgrove’s story made a complete alibi. If he had been at King’s Cross at 7.30 o’clock, at the Follies Theatre at 9.30, and had travelled from King’s Cross to Montrose by the 10.30 express it was out of the question that he could have been at Luce Manor. Satisfied as Tanner was as to the soundness of Austin Ponson’s alibi, Cosgrove’s was even more convincing, and what was better still, it would be easier to test. Though he did not believe Cosgrove would make such a statement unless it could bear the touchstone of inquiry, Tanner felt his obvious next business would be to check what he had just heard so fully as to remove all possible doubt of Cosgrove’s innocence.