Chapter XIII.Blackmail?When Inspector Tanner reached his office in New Scotland Yard, he found an instruction from Chief Inspector Edgar, informing him that Mr James Daunt, of Lincoln’s Inn, had important evidence to give him relative to the Ponson case. Accordingly, after he had made a formal report on his Portuguese expedition, he called up Jimmy and arranged a meeting. A few hours later he was seated in the solicitor’s office, smoking one of the latter’s best cigars.‘My Chief says you have something to tell me?’ he began, after mutual greetings.‘Why yes,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Did your Chief tell you what it was?’‘Didn’t see him. He’s in Manchester.’‘I fancy you’ll be surprised. You recollect you told me you had suspected Cosgrove Ponson, but that he had established an alibi and so must be innocent?’Tanner nodded as he drew at his cigar.‘That’s right,’ he agreed.‘You were satisfied the alibi was sound?’‘Absolutely.’‘It’s a fake,’ said Jimmy quietly.Tanner took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at the other.‘Get along now, Mr Daunt,’ he answered. ‘You’re trying to pull my leg.’‘No. The thing’s a fake right enough. Cosgrove was at the boathouse that night.’Tanner stared incredulously.‘You seem in earnest,’ he said slowly. ‘But you’ve made a mistake. I went into it carefully. There’s no doubt it’s sound.’‘It’syouthat have made the mistake,’ Daunt answered pleasantly, and he went on to tell the Inspector what he and Lois had done, and all they had discovered.To say that Tanner was amazed and disappointed would be to understate the case. He was woefully chagrined.‘God bless my soul!’ he cried, ‘but that sort of takes a chap down. Here was I looking down on you and that splendid girl as a pair of meddling nuisances, and I’m blowed if you haven’t had it over on me all the time.’‘Well,’ said Jimmy, ‘tit for tat.’The Inspector eyed him almost aggressively.‘And what now?’ he demanded.‘Why this. I’ve told you what we did about Cosgrove. Now you tell me what took you to Portugal.’‘Oh, that,’ answered Tanner looking relieved. ‘It’s irregular, but I’m blessed if I care.’ He re-lit his cigar, which in his agitation he had allowed to go out, and beginning with the day of the adjourned inquest, he recounted his adventures in London and in Devon, the midnight run to Southampton, the flight to Paris, the journey to Lisbon, and finally the arrest of William Douglas. When he had finished, James Daunt was nearly as surprised and mystified as the Inspector had been a few minutes earlier.‘ ’Pon my soul, a most extraordinary business,’ he commented. ‘There’s Austin, first suspected, then cleared, then suspected again and arrested, and now cleared again. Then there’s Cosgrove, first suspected, then cleared, and now suspected again. And now, here’s a third man mixed up in the thing. I suppose the next thing that comes out will clear Douglas!’‘I don’t think,’ Tanner answered. ‘But what do you mean by saying Austin is now cleared again? It’s the first I’ve heard of that.’‘Why, Cosgrove was clearly impersonating him.’‘Not on your life,’ said Tanner with decision. ‘Mark my words, Mr Daunt, they were all there—Sir William and Austin and Cosgrove and Douglas. Every blooming one of them was there. See here,’ he continued as the other showed signs of dissent, ‘there’s evidence against every one of them. Sir William was seen there. Austin was seen too, and there’s no doubt he faked that business about the shoes. Yes, I know,’ as Daunt would have spoken, ‘his story about the shoes seems all right, and it’s very clever, but it won’t wash. He was seen there, and he was there. Then Cosgrove was there, for you’ve proved that. And lastly this man Douglas was there also, for I saw his footmarks on the boathouse floor. Yes, they were all there, and there’s some conspiracy between them.’Though Daunt had to admit this conclusion seemed sound, it was by no means what he wished the Inspector to arrive at. His business was to clear Austin, and while the bringing in of first Cosgrove and now this man Douglas had at the time seemed all to the good, it did not help if it merely led to a conspiracy charge. But Tanner’s voice broke into his cogitations.‘You see,’ the detective said, following on his own line of thought, ‘they were together in London. Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove lunched together—bothAustin and Cosgrove denying it, mind you—and then immediately Sir William went to see Douglas. There was some business between the four of them. There’s not a doubt of it.’It gave Daunt a nasty shock to recall that Austin had to him also denied having seen Sir William on that Monday. If it could be proved that Austin had lied about this, as apparently it could, what reliance could be placed on any of his other statements?There was silence for some moments, and then Daunt moved impatiently.‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ he asked.‘Get the names of that taxi-man and those other witnesses from you,’ the Inspector answered promptly, ‘and check over your conclusions about Cosgrove. Not that I doubt you, of course, but it’s business. Then if I’m satisfied, I’ll arrest him. Among his or Douglas’s papers there’ll be surely something to put us on the track.’When Tanner had taken his leave Daunt sat motionless for some minutes, thinking over what he had just heard. And the more he thought, the less he liked the turn affairs had taken. All his doubts as to Austin’s innocence had returned. If his client had really met Sir William on the Monday in question, why had he denied it? It would take an even more ingenious explanation to account for it than that he had given about the shoes.To satisfy himself, when his work for the day was finished, Daunt put a photograph of Austin in his pocket and drove to the Étoile restaurant in Soho. But a few moments’ inquiry was sufficient to convince him. Austin had been there beyond question, and therefore his statement to Daunt had been a direct falsehood.Sorely puzzled as to what he should say to Lois, Jimmy Daunt returned to his rooms. There after much thought he decided he would see Austin next morning and tax him directly with the lie.Another point had been worrying him. He recalled his surprise at the manner in which Austin had received the news of his and Lois’s discovery that Cosgrove had been at the boathouse on the fatal night. Austin had professed incredulity, but all the same had seemed terribly shocked. He had ridiculed their idea that Cosgrove could have been impersonating him, and utterly refused to sanction a defence on these lines.At the time Daunt had put this down to cousinly affection, but in the light of Tanner’s theories it seemed to take on a more sinister interpretation. What if Tanner were right, and both cousins were involved in the murder? Would not that make a horribly complete explanation of Austin’s attitude? Might the latter not fear that the bringing in of Cosgrove might be a step towards the elucidation of the whole affair? It was therefore with foreboding that Daunt set out next morning to see his client.He had determined to try a little test. He conversed at first as on previous visits, and then when the other’s mind was occupied and he was off his guard, he said suddenly, but as carelessly as he could, ‘By the way, William Douglas has been arrested.’The effect on Austin surpassed his most gloomy prognostications. Surprised out of himself, the accused man started back, his face paled and he gave vent to an exclamation of what seemed to Daunt to be veritable consternation. Then rapidly controlling himself, he tried to simulate indifference.‘William Douglas?’ he repeated questioningly, ‘I have heard my father speak of him. An old gardener, wasn’t he? What on earth has he been doing?’Daunt felt instinctively the reply did not ring true.‘That’s what I’ve come to ask you,’ he retorted. ‘What were you and he doing at the boathouse on that Wednesday night?’‘My dear fellow,’ Austin answered—he was evidently shaken, but still spoke with a certain dignity—‘you forget yourself. You have no right to ask me such a question.’‘Then I withdraw it and ask you another. You told me, I think, that the Sunday evening when you dined at Luce Manor was the last occasion on which you saw Sir William alive?’‘Certainly.’‘And you repeat that now?’‘Why, of course I do.’Daunt leant forward and spoke impressively.‘Then how do you explain your having lunched with him on the next day at the Étoile in Soho?’Again Austin started. Daunt was sure that the shot had told. But the other only said:‘It seems to me you have mistaken the side you’re on. Are you taking prosecuting counsel’s place?’‘Good Lord, Ponson, don’t play with words,’ cried the solicitor angrily. ‘It’s far too serious. If I’m to act for you, I must have an explanation of these things. Why have you denied being there when you were?’‘Who says I was?’‘Everyone concerned. The manager, two waiters, the porter—all agree. There’s no mistake. I saw them myself. Tanner knows all about your lunch there with Sir William and Cosgrove, and about Sir William’s visit afterwards to Douglas.’Austin was pale, and a look of positive dread showed for a moment in his eyes. But he preserved his calmness and only replied:‘They were mistaken. I was not there.’Daunt dropped his detached air, and spoke with all the earnestness at his command.‘Look here, Ponson,’ he said. ‘What the truth in this wretched business is I don’t know, but I do know that for you to go on like this means a certain verdict of “Guilty”. That’s as sure as you’re sitting there. If you don’t care about yourself, for God’s sake think of that girl that’s giving up her all for you. You must tell her the truth—in common honour you must tell her. Your actions must look suspicious to her as well as others. If you can explain them, for Heaven’s sake do so, and if not, don’t let her commit herself too far to get out.’Austin slowly raised his head and smiled unhappily.‘You’re a good fellow, Daunt,’ he said. ‘God knows I’m ten times more anxious for Lois than for myself. But all I can tell you is to repeat what I have already said; I was not there. There must be some ghastly mistake.’Daunt felt his anger rising.‘It’s a mistake that will cost you your life if you don’t rectify it,’ he answered sharply. ‘If you can’t be open with me I must give up the case.’‘Then you don’t believe me?’‘Believe you? How can I believe you? I show your photograph to four separate men at that café and all identify you without hesitation. But see here’—he spoke as if a new idea had occurred to him—‘the thing can be easily settled. If you weren’t at the café with Sir William where were you? Tell me that?’‘I lunched that day at the Savoy.’‘For three hours?’‘Well, no. I sat and smoked in the lounge. Then I got one or two things—tobacco and those two pairs of shoes.’Jimmy Daunt did not believe him, but all the persuasion of which he was a master failed to induce Austin, whatever he might or might not know, to supplement or vary his statement. But the latter consistently scouted the idea that the trial could end in a conviction, stoutly maintaining that there was no evidence to lead to such a conclusion.At last Jimmy took his leave, intensely dissatisfied with the result of the interview. As had been arranged between them, he sent a wire to Lois asking her to come to town that afternoon, though he looked forward to the meeting with anything but pleasure.It was nearly five when she arrived. He greeted her with no hint that his news was bad, and as before insisted on an immediate visit to the quiet restaurant. Over a cup of tea he told her all of Tanner’s adventures and discoveries, with the single exception of his learning of the meeting between Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove at the Étoile restaurant. But when they had returned to his office, he became more serious.‘I’m frightfully sorry, Lois,’ he began, after seeing that she was comfortably seated, ‘but I haven’t told you all the news yet, and I’m afraid the rest of it is not too good.’Her expressive face became clouded and anxious, but she did not speak. Then Daunt told her as gently as he could of the lunch at the Étoile, and Tanner’s theories resulting therefrom.‘But that’s not such bad news,’ she said with evident relief. ‘Inspector Tanner must have made a mistake. Austin said he didn’t see his father after the Sunday evening.’Daunt moved uneasily. It was a confoundedly awkward job, and he wished he was through with it.‘Dear Lois, it sounds a perfectly horrible thing to say, but that is just the difficulty. In spite of Austin’s denial, Tanner is convinced the meeting took place. I believed he was mistaken, so I went down to the restaurant myself. I took Austin’s photograph, and the manager, two waiters, and the porter recognised it instantly. All four are prepared to swear Austin was there.’‘Did you tell Austin?’‘Yes. He stuck to his denial.’Daunt had expected and feared an outbreak from Lois on hearing the news, but though her face showed extreme pain, she spoke very quietly.‘There is no reason to suppose the four men in the cafe are dishonest. They couldn’t have been bought to swear this?’‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I fear there’s no evidence of it, and even if it were true, we would never get evidence.’‘In that case, as Austin wasn’t there, they must have been mistaken.’She looked steadily in Jimmy’s eyes as if challenging him to contest her statement. He marvelled at the faith a good woman will show in the man she loves, and he felt if Austin had by word or deed deceived her, hanging would be too good for him. He hesitated in replying, and she went on:‘You understand what I mean? Austin was supposed to have been seen at the boathouse, and as he wasn’t there we deduced an impersonator. We find, in my opinion, the same thing here—probably the same man.’‘In the boathouse case we imagined Cosgrove was the impersonator. Here it could not be Cosgrove, as he was present also.’She nodded.‘That is true certainly. Tell me honestly, Jimmy, what you think yourself.’Jimmy hedged.‘It’s not what I think, Lois, or for the matter of that, what you think, or even what Tanner thinks; it’s what the jury will think; and as you’ve asked me the direct question, I must tell you I greatly fear they will disbelieve Austin.’‘I fear so too,’ she answered quietly. He felt she was conscious he had not answered her question, and was thankful she was going to let it pass. But his relief was shortlived.‘You thought he was’—she hesitated for a moment—‘not telling you all he might?’Jimmy hated doing business in opposition to a clever woman. Again and again he had found that except for their own purposes they seldom considered either his words or actions, but always his quite private and secret thoughts. He realised that Lois knew exactly what was in his mind regarding Austin.‘To be strictly truthful,’ he answered, ‘I admit he did give me the impression that he was holding something back. But of course it was only an impression, and I may have been wrong.’She nodded slowly and then said, ‘I think, Jimmy, I must see him myself.’This was what her cousin had feared, and he felt he must exert all his powers of diplomacy to prevent it.‘Well, you know, Lois,’ he answered truthfully, ‘I had that in my mind. I hardly liked to suggest it. But undoubtedly if he does know anything, he would tell you when he mightn’t tell me.’She looked at him in unveiled surprise, but only said:‘Can you arrange an interview for tomorrow?’‘I would try if you thought that would be best. But I was going to suggest waiting until Tanner has investigated the affairs of Douglas. He believes, and I agree with him, that there was some private business between Douglas and Sir William, which, if we knew it, would clear up the whole affair.’‘Ah,’ said Lois comprehendingly.‘If Austin,’ Jimmy went on desperately, ‘is really holding anything back, we may take it he has a good reason for doing so. Unless it becomes really necessary—and it has not, so far—it would be better not to try to force his confidence. He will tell us when he thinks it right.’‘Really, Jimmy,’ Lois smiled faintly, ‘you are quite coming on. I don’t say you have persuaded me, but I will agree to postpone my visit—shall we say for a week?’‘When Tanner returns from Devonshire I shall see him, and let you know his report immediately,’ returned the relieved but suspicious Daunt.They continued discussing the affair for some time. Jimmy could see that in spite of the brave face Lois put on things, she was deeply worried and despondent. Never had he admired her more. He marvelled at her belief in Austin, her assurance that he, Jimmy, was doing the utmost possible, her fairness to Tanner, and her utter and absolute forgetfulness of herself. As he saw her to the train he felt his resolution strengthened, to spare himself neither time nor money to bring about the result she desired.When Tanner left Daunt’s office on the previous day, he returned at once to the Yard. First he arranged for Cosgrove to be shadowed, in case that gentleman, learning of Douglas’s arrest, might consider discretion the better part of valour and disappear. Then he busied himself in re-examining the witnesses of Cosgrove’s movements on the night of the murder, which the efforts of Lois and Daunt had unearthed. When he had heard their statements he had to admit himself convinced of the cousin’s duplicity.After a consultation with his chief a warrant was issued, and Tanner went to the flat in Knightsbridge and executed it. When cautioned, Cosgrove made no statement beyond earnestly and emphatically protesting his innocence, and declaring that a terrible mistake had been made.A detailed search of the flat revealed one or two things which Tanner had not already known. As he had suspected on the occasion of his first visit, Cosgrove had a second desk for his more private papers. In the dressing-room was an old Sheraton escritoire, and there the Inspector found complete information about his prisoner’s finances. The latter appeared even more involved than Tanner had suspected, which of course strengthened the motive for the murder, and therefore the case against the accused.But this was not all. The motive had been stronger than any merely financial embarrassment could have made it. In the same desk was a bundle of letters from the actress at the Follies, Miss Betty Belcher. These showed that Cosgrove’s relations with her had been extremely intimate. For a considerable time he had evidently been pressing her to marry him, and in one letter, dated about three weeks before Sir William’s death, she had openly admitted she loved him and would marry him if only he were rich. ‘You know, Cos.,’ the rather cynical letter went on, ‘it would be absurd for me to think of marrying a poor man. I have been too long accustomed to all that money gives to contemplate any other kind of life. If you had a fortune—well, I might consider it, but as things are you must see it would be out of the question.’‘He must have been far gone to want to marry her after that,’ mused Tanner, ‘but he evidently did, for here a week later is another letter in the same strain.’He filed the papers in the Cosgrove dossier, from which they duly found their way into the hands of the public prosecutor.The next item on Tanner’s list was a similar search in Douglas’s cottage, and on this business the detective found himself once more seated in the 10.30 a.m. from Paddington, on his second journey to Devonshire.He thought he was beginning to get some kind of grasp of the case. It was evident that Austin and Cosgrove, separately and individually, had each the two strongest motives known to weak humanity for desiring Sir William Ponson’s death. In each case there was the direct want of money. But in each case also, to this crude desire was added the more subtle and infinitely more powerful consideration that the money was for the loved one. Neither man could accomplish the marriage upon which he had set his heart, and live afterwards in the way he wished, without more money, and by Sir William’s death this money could alone be obtained.So much was obvious, but the facts seemed to permit a further conclusion. Suppose these two, knowing of each other’s position, had conspired together to commit the crime which would relieve the necessities of both? In some way not yet clear they had lured Sir William to the boathouse, met him there, committed the murder, and arranged the matter of the boat to create the impression of accident. In case suspicion should be aroused, each had worked out a false but ingenious alibi.Tanner felt himself so far on fairly firm ground, but when he came to consider Douglas and the part he had played in the affair, he had to confess himself absolutely at sea. However, the search on which he was now engaged might throw some light on that.He reached Yelverton at the same time as on his first visit, and went at once to the police station. The sergeant had got together some information for him. Douglas, it appeared, had come to the neighbourhood some seven years previously from, the sergeant believed, New York. He had taken a ten-year lease of Myrtle Cottage, had engaged an elderly housekeeper who was still with him, and had settled down to a quiet existence of gardening and bee farming. That he had some money was obvious, but he was not well off, and seemingly had at first found it difficult to make ends meet. But during the last four years his prospects appeared to have improved, as he had carried out a number of alterations to the house, had purchased a small car, and generally seemed to have taken things more easily. The sergeant, after Tanner had left on the day of the attempted arrest, had made a careful search of the house, but without finding anything suspicious. He had then admitted the housekeeper, who had been visiting friends in Princetown, and she had been living there since. Douglas had not borne a very lofty reputation in the neighbourhood. He was morose and ill-tempered, and drank more than was good for him. But he kept himself to himself and there had been no open disputes with his neighbours.So much Tanner knew when he reached the house to conduct his own examination.A lengthy interrogation of the housekeeper led to nothing fresh. And then began another of those exhaustive searches to which Tanner was so well accustomed, and which always bored him so exceedingly.He found nothing of interest till he came to examine Douglas’s papers, but from them he learned a good deal of the man’s life. Douglas had been, it was evident, a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railroad Terminal in New York, there being letters on railway paper and photographs of groups of employees, as well as a testimonial from the head of the office. This was dated seven years earlier, and referred to Douglas’s service of twenty-one years. The man must therefore have held the position since 1892. Of his life since settling in Devonshire there were records, principally connected with bee-keeping, but of his history before his connection with the Pennsylvania Railroad Tanner could discover nothing.‘He is surely either an Englishman or a wonderful mimic,’ thought the Inspector, as he recalled the north-country accent with which the man had spoken on the day of his bolt for liberty.The search dragged on, and at last, as it was nearly concluded, Tanner made three finds, though none of them seemed of much value. The first was that when examining with a mirror the blotting paper on Douglas’s desk, he saw that an envelope had been addressed to Sir William Ponson. Unfortunately, in spite of his careful efforts he could trace nothing of the letter presumably sent therein, but the marks were a still further proof of the relations which had obtained between the two men.The second discovery appeared at first sight of even less importance, and Tanner noted it principally as being the only thing he had yet come on which, it seemed possible, might refer to Douglas’s early life. In an old and apparently little used book on American passenger rates, the leaves of which the Inspector was painfully turning over in the hope that some old letter might lie therein concealed, he came on a photograph. Evidently of considerable age, it was faded to a light brown and discoloured as if at some time it had been wet. It was a view of a tombstone and grave with a building—presumably the porch of a church—in the background. A lich-gate showed in the farther distance, while on the stone the inscription appeared as dark, broken lines, the only word decipherable being the first—‘Sacred.’ Tanner put the photograph in his pocket with the idea that this might represent Douglas’s family burying ground, which, if traceable, might throw light on his birthplace. At the same time he felt that such information, even if obtainable, could not help much in his quest.The third find was that in an engagement book or diary there was a reference to the visit to London, and to certain calls to be paid there. On the space for the Thursday before the murder was written ‘London, 10.25 train, Judd’s Hotel, Dunlop Street.’ On the next space, for Friday, was an entry, ‘Insurance Co., 77B Gracechurch St.’ There was a list of articles—probably purchases—‘Collars, handkerchiefs,The Apiarist, by S. Wilson Holmes,’ and some other items. Last, but not least, for the evening of the murder there was ‘X—9.30 p.m.’This last entry set Tanner puzzling. ‘X,’ he presumed, stood for the Luce Manor boathouse, and its use seemed to show the same desire for secrecy about his visit there as had been noticeable with the others who had been present. But Tanner had to confess that this entry did not square with the theory that the murder had been its object—at least on Douglas’s part. It was inconceivable that a man about to commit such a crime should have required a reminder of the hour of the deed. Every detail of the plan would have been seared into his brain. Was the suggestion of this entry, wondered the Inspector, not that Douglas had been made a tool of by the cousins? If the man should make that case this would certainly be corroborative evidence. Tanner attached some weight to the point, as he felt it was too subtle to have been designed.Having seen from the papers that Douglas had an account in the Plymouth branch of the Western Counties Bank, Tanner next day called on the manager. Here, after a study of the accused’s finances, he made an interesting discovery. At intervals during the last four years Douglas had lodged sums of money—invariably in notes, so he was told—and what particularly intrigued the Inspector’s imagination was the fact that each such lodgment had taken place a few days after the drawing of an ‘X’ cheque by Sir William Ponson, and in each case it was for just a trifle less than the amount of that cheque. It seemed evident that Sir William had been paying Douglas these sums, and the method of lodging showed the latter equally eager to keep the transactions secret. What service, mused Tanner, could Douglas have possibly done Sir William to have merited such a return?It was an anxious and disappointed Inspector who that afternoon stepped into the London train at Millbay Station, Plymouth. He had been hoping for great things from his search of Douglas’s rooms, and he had found practically nothing—only an old photograph and the address of an insurance company in London. And neither of these seemed the slightest use. Could anything be learned by tracing that tombstone or calling at that insurance office? He did not think so.But more than once he had learnt the folly of neglecting any clue, no matter how slight. Therefore on arrival in London he prepared a circular to be sent to every police station in England. It bore a reproduction of the photograph, together with a paragraph asking if the recipient could identify the place and send in a note of its whereabouts, as well as a copy of the inscription on the tombstone.Next morning he set out for 77B Gracechurch Street.A suite of offices on the second floor of a large building bore the legend ‘The Associated Insurance Company, Limited,’ and Tanner, entering, asked for the manager. After a short delay he was shown into the presence of a tall, gaunt man, with iron-grey hair, and tired looking eyes. Tanner introduced himself as an Inspector from the Yard.‘I have called, sir,’ he went on, ‘with reference to a man named William Douglas, a small, elderly man with a grey beard, who lives near Yelverton in Devon. I understand that he has had some dealings recently with your Company. I imagine, but am not certain, that he came here on Friday, the 2nd of July last.’‘I cannot recall the man myself,’ the manager returned. ‘What is the precise point in question?’‘We have had to arrest him on a serious charge—in fact, that of murder. I am endeavouring to trace his recent history and movements. I want to know if he did call, and if so, on what business.’The manager pressed twice a button on his desk. An elderly clerk answered.‘Mr Jones, do you recall our doing any business recently with a man called William Douglas from Devonshire?’‘Yes, sir,’ the clerk replied. ‘We were in correspondence about an annuity, but the matter fell through.’‘This gentleman is Mr Tanner, an Inspector from Scotland Yard. You might let him have all the particulars he wants.’ Then to Tanner, ‘If, sir, you will go with Mr Jones, he will tell you everything he can.’Mr Jones led the way to a smaller office, and waved his visitor to a chair.‘William Douglas?’ he said, bending over a vertical file. ‘Here we are, Mr Tanner.’He withdrew a folder, and settling himself at his desk, took out some papers.‘Here is the first letter. You will see it is an application from William Douglas of Myrtle Cottage, Yelverton, South Devon, for particulars of annuities. He wanted to purchase one which would bring him in £500 a year. Here is our reply enclosing the information and a form for him to fill in, and here is the form which he returned to us duly filled. You will notice he is aged sixty-six. We then wrote him this letter explaining that the annuity would cost him £4600, and asking his further instructions. He replied, as you see, to proceed with the matter, and he would send on the cheque in due course. We prepared the necessary documents, but received no further communication from Mr Douglas until about ten days later we had this note stating that he regretted the trouble he had given, but that he found himself unable to proceed with the matter at present. And so it stands.’‘Then Douglas didn’t call here?’‘No.’Tanner was considerably puzzled by this information. As he walked slowly along the Embankment back to the Yard, he racked his brains to understand Douglas’s motive or plan. What had been the ex-clerk’s idea? The figures of his bank account showed that at no time since he came to live at Yelverton had he had more than £600 to his credit. As he could not possibly have paid the four thousand odd himself, where did he expect to raise it?And then a sudden idea flashed into the Inspector’s mind. Sir William Ponson had been paying Douglas sums ranging from £100 to £400 at intervals during the last four years. These sums were all paid by cheques marked ‘X’ on the block. On the day before his death Sir William had written an ‘X’ cheque for £3000. This cheque had never been cashed.Was there not a connection? Had that £3000 ‘X’ cheque of Sir William’s not been written for the purpose of paying for Douglas’s annuity? It certainly looked like it. And had the sudden death of Sir William not prevented its being cashed?Of course, the amounts did not tally—the cheque was for £3000, while the price of the annuity was £4600. But it was obvious that these sums might represent the different opinions the two men held of what was due. Possibly also negotiations were in progress between them on the point. This was of course guesswork, but at least it would explain the facts.The Inspector walked like a man in a dream as he concentrated his thoughts on the whole circumstances. There seemed just one link of his chain missing—some one point which, if he could find it, would flood the whole of these mysterious happenings with light and make the disconnected facts he had learnt fall into their places like the closing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. And then suddenly he wondered if he had not got it, as another and more sinister idea occurred to him.What if the business were blackmail? It had a nasty enough look. Could Douglas have got hold of something discreditable in Sir William’s life, and could the latter be paying for his silence?The more Tanner thought over it, the more likely this theory seemed. It would explain the facts generally, as well as the secrecy with which both parties had acted. And yet there were difficulties. This annuity business was a difficulty. From Douglas’s point of view it was easy enough to understand. If the blackmailer thought his receipts were precarious, or if time was reducing or about to reduce the value of the secret, it would be a natural step for him to try to convert his vanishing doles into a fixed and certain income. But Sir William’s motive would be different. His only hold on the preservation of his secret was the expectation on Douglas’s part of sums yet to be paid. If the manufacturer agreed to the annuity his hold would be gone. That he should do so was inconceivable to Tanner. And yet apparently he had. He had at least written the £3000 cheque.But the second difficulty to the blackmail theory was more serious. The wrong man had been murdered! If Douglas had been the victim it would have fitted in well enough. It would have been argued that Sir William had taken a desperate remedy to escape from an intolerable situation. But Sir William’s death would have been the last thing Douglas could have desired. He would never have cut off the source of his income. No; attractive as the blackmail theory had seemed at first, Tanner found its difficulties rather overwhelming.He had by this time reached the Yard, and sitting down at his desk, he lit a cigar, and continued his ruminations.Suppose again that blackmail had been levied, where did Austin and Cosgrove come in? They must in this case obviously have taken sides. Either they must have been assisting Sir William to extricate himself, or else they must have been party to the blackmail.But as Tanner pondered these alternatives, he could not see how either would meet the facts. If the cousins were acting for their relative, they obviously would not have murdered him—it was a contradiction in terms. Here again the wrong man had been killed.On the other hand, it was difficult to see how they could have been in league with Douglas against Sir William. Anything discreditable to the manufacturer would react on both the son and nephew, and their threat to make the matter public would therefore hardly be convincing. For their own sakes the cousins would be as anxious as Sir William to keep the thing quiet. It was also clear to Tanner that they would never have put themselves in the power of a man like Douglas. If they had wished to murder Sir William for his money, they would have done so at some time when Douglas would not have witnessed the crime.So far had Tanner progressed when he realised his argument really was that Sir William could not have been murdered at all! He swore angrily, and went back to see the point from which he had started. Blackmail. It would seem, then, that blackmail could not be the explanation. And yet … It was an attractive theory …Some days later, rather to Tanner’s surprise, he received from a sergeant of police in the north of England an answer to his circular about the photograph. It read:‘Sir:We have found the churchyard illustrated in your view attached. It belongs to the Parish Church of Tynwick, a village six miles south-east of Gateshead. The headstone is still standing. It bears the inscription—“Sacred to the memory of John Dale, aged 53, who departed this life on 4th September 1871, and of Eleanor, his beloved wife, who entered into rest on 25th March 1890, at the age of 67.” ’‘Gateshead? Dale?’ thought the Inspector. ‘Those names sound familiar.’He turned to his notes of the case. And then he got rather a thrill. Gateshead was the place from which Sir William had come to Luce Manor. It was there the deceased gentleman had been born and had spent his life, and where the ironworks he had owned was situated.And Dale? This was more interesting still. Dale was the name of his wife’s first husband! He had married a Mrs Ethel Dale. Here at last was a connection between the manufacturer and William Douglas.But after all was it not a very slender one? What exactly did it amount to? That Douglas had in his possession a photograph of the grave of a man and woman of the same name as Lady Ponson’s first husband, and who lived somewhere in the same locality. Not much to go upon, and yet it was suggestive, and where there had been nothing before, Tanner welcomed it eagerly. Who knew what it mightn’t lead to? He determined he must go to Tynwick and make inquiries.
When Inspector Tanner reached his office in New Scotland Yard, he found an instruction from Chief Inspector Edgar, informing him that Mr James Daunt, of Lincoln’s Inn, had important evidence to give him relative to the Ponson case. Accordingly, after he had made a formal report on his Portuguese expedition, he called up Jimmy and arranged a meeting. A few hours later he was seated in the solicitor’s office, smoking one of the latter’s best cigars.
‘My Chief says you have something to tell me?’ he began, after mutual greetings.
‘Why yes,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Did your Chief tell you what it was?’
‘Didn’t see him. He’s in Manchester.’
‘I fancy you’ll be surprised. You recollect you told me you had suspected Cosgrove Ponson, but that he had established an alibi and so must be innocent?’
Tanner nodded as he drew at his cigar.
‘That’s right,’ he agreed.
‘You were satisfied the alibi was sound?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘It’s a fake,’ said Jimmy quietly.
Tanner took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at the other.
‘Get along now, Mr Daunt,’ he answered. ‘You’re trying to pull my leg.’
‘No. The thing’s a fake right enough. Cosgrove was at the boathouse that night.’
Tanner stared incredulously.
‘You seem in earnest,’ he said slowly. ‘But you’ve made a mistake. I went into it carefully. There’s no doubt it’s sound.’
‘It’syouthat have made the mistake,’ Daunt answered pleasantly, and he went on to tell the Inspector what he and Lois had done, and all they had discovered.
To say that Tanner was amazed and disappointed would be to understate the case. He was woefully chagrined.
‘God bless my soul!’ he cried, ‘but that sort of takes a chap down. Here was I looking down on you and that splendid girl as a pair of meddling nuisances, and I’m blowed if you haven’t had it over on me all the time.’
‘Well,’ said Jimmy, ‘tit for tat.’
The Inspector eyed him almost aggressively.
‘And what now?’ he demanded.
‘Why this. I’ve told you what we did about Cosgrove. Now you tell me what took you to Portugal.’
‘Oh, that,’ answered Tanner looking relieved. ‘It’s irregular, but I’m blessed if I care.’ He re-lit his cigar, which in his agitation he had allowed to go out, and beginning with the day of the adjourned inquest, he recounted his adventures in London and in Devon, the midnight run to Southampton, the flight to Paris, the journey to Lisbon, and finally the arrest of William Douglas. When he had finished, James Daunt was nearly as surprised and mystified as the Inspector had been a few minutes earlier.
‘ ’Pon my soul, a most extraordinary business,’ he commented. ‘There’s Austin, first suspected, then cleared, then suspected again and arrested, and now cleared again. Then there’s Cosgrove, first suspected, then cleared, and now suspected again. And now, here’s a third man mixed up in the thing. I suppose the next thing that comes out will clear Douglas!’
‘I don’t think,’ Tanner answered. ‘But what do you mean by saying Austin is now cleared again? It’s the first I’ve heard of that.’
‘Why, Cosgrove was clearly impersonating him.’
‘Not on your life,’ said Tanner with decision. ‘Mark my words, Mr Daunt, they were all there—Sir William and Austin and Cosgrove and Douglas. Every blooming one of them was there. See here,’ he continued as the other showed signs of dissent, ‘there’s evidence against every one of them. Sir William was seen there. Austin was seen too, and there’s no doubt he faked that business about the shoes. Yes, I know,’ as Daunt would have spoken, ‘his story about the shoes seems all right, and it’s very clever, but it won’t wash. He was seen there, and he was there. Then Cosgrove was there, for you’ve proved that. And lastly this man Douglas was there also, for I saw his footmarks on the boathouse floor. Yes, they were all there, and there’s some conspiracy between them.’
Though Daunt had to admit this conclusion seemed sound, it was by no means what he wished the Inspector to arrive at. His business was to clear Austin, and while the bringing in of first Cosgrove and now this man Douglas had at the time seemed all to the good, it did not help if it merely led to a conspiracy charge. But Tanner’s voice broke into his cogitations.
‘You see,’ the detective said, following on his own line of thought, ‘they were together in London. Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove lunched together—bothAustin and Cosgrove denying it, mind you—and then immediately Sir William went to see Douglas. There was some business between the four of them. There’s not a doubt of it.’
It gave Daunt a nasty shock to recall that Austin had to him also denied having seen Sir William on that Monday. If it could be proved that Austin had lied about this, as apparently it could, what reliance could be placed on any of his other statements?
There was silence for some moments, and then Daunt moved impatiently.
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ he asked.
‘Get the names of that taxi-man and those other witnesses from you,’ the Inspector answered promptly, ‘and check over your conclusions about Cosgrove. Not that I doubt you, of course, but it’s business. Then if I’m satisfied, I’ll arrest him. Among his or Douglas’s papers there’ll be surely something to put us on the track.’
When Tanner had taken his leave Daunt sat motionless for some minutes, thinking over what he had just heard. And the more he thought, the less he liked the turn affairs had taken. All his doubts as to Austin’s innocence had returned. If his client had really met Sir William on the Monday in question, why had he denied it? It would take an even more ingenious explanation to account for it than that he had given about the shoes.
To satisfy himself, when his work for the day was finished, Daunt put a photograph of Austin in his pocket and drove to the Étoile restaurant in Soho. But a few moments’ inquiry was sufficient to convince him. Austin had been there beyond question, and therefore his statement to Daunt had been a direct falsehood.
Sorely puzzled as to what he should say to Lois, Jimmy Daunt returned to his rooms. There after much thought he decided he would see Austin next morning and tax him directly with the lie.
Another point had been worrying him. He recalled his surprise at the manner in which Austin had received the news of his and Lois’s discovery that Cosgrove had been at the boathouse on the fatal night. Austin had professed incredulity, but all the same had seemed terribly shocked. He had ridiculed their idea that Cosgrove could have been impersonating him, and utterly refused to sanction a defence on these lines.
At the time Daunt had put this down to cousinly affection, but in the light of Tanner’s theories it seemed to take on a more sinister interpretation. What if Tanner were right, and both cousins were involved in the murder? Would not that make a horribly complete explanation of Austin’s attitude? Might the latter not fear that the bringing in of Cosgrove might be a step towards the elucidation of the whole affair? It was therefore with foreboding that Daunt set out next morning to see his client.
He had determined to try a little test. He conversed at first as on previous visits, and then when the other’s mind was occupied and he was off his guard, he said suddenly, but as carelessly as he could, ‘By the way, William Douglas has been arrested.’
The effect on Austin surpassed his most gloomy prognostications. Surprised out of himself, the accused man started back, his face paled and he gave vent to an exclamation of what seemed to Daunt to be veritable consternation. Then rapidly controlling himself, he tried to simulate indifference.
‘William Douglas?’ he repeated questioningly, ‘I have heard my father speak of him. An old gardener, wasn’t he? What on earth has he been doing?’
Daunt felt instinctively the reply did not ring true.
‘That’s what I’ve come to ask you,’ he retorted. ‘What were you and he doing at the boathouse on that Wednesday night?’
‘My dear fellow,’ Austin answered—he was evidently shaken, but still spoke with a certain dignity—‘you forget yourself. You have no right to ask me such a question.’
‘Then I withdraw it and ask you another. You told me, I think, that the Sunday evening when you dined at Luce Manor was the last occasion on which you saw Sir William alive?’
‘Certainly.’
‘And you repeat that now?’
‘Why, of course I do.’
Daunt leant forward and spoke impressively.
‘Then how do you explain your having lunched with him on the next day at the Étoile in Soho?’
Again Austin started. Daunt was sure that the shot had told. But the other only said:
‘It seems to me you have mistaken the side you’re on. Are you taking prosecuting counsel’s place?’
‘Good Lord, Ponson, don’t play with words,’ cried the solicitor angrily. ‘It’s far too serious. If I’m to act for you, I must have an explanation of these things. Why have you denied being there when you were?’
‘Who says I was?’
‘Everyone concerned. The manager, two waiters, the porter—all agree. There’s no mistake. I saw them myself. Tanner knows all about your lunch there with Sir William and Cosgrove, and about Sir William’s visit afterwards to Douglas.’
Austin was pale, and a look of positive dread showed for a moment in his eyes. But he preserved his calmness and only replied:
‘They were mistaken. I was not there.’
Daunt dropped his detached air, and spoke with all the earnestness at his command.
‘Look here, Ponson,’ he said. ‘What the truth in this wretched business is I don’t know, but I do know that for you to go on like this means a certain verdict of “Guilty”. That’s as sure as you’re sitting there. If you don’t care about yourself, for God’s sake think of that girl that’s giving up her all for you. You must tell her the truth—in common honour you must tell her. Your actions must look suspicious to her as well as others. If you can explain them, for Heaven’s sake do so, and if not, don’t let her commit herself too far to get out.’
Austin slowly raised his head and smiled unhappily.
‘You’re a good fellow, Daunt,’ he said. ‘God knows I’m ten times more anxious for Lois than for myself. But all I can tell you is to repeat what I have already said; I was not there. There must be some ghastly mistake.’
Daunt felt his anger rising.
‘It’s a mistake that will cost you your life if you don’t rectify it,’ he answered sharply. ‘If you can’t be open with me I must give up the case.’
‘Then you don’t believe me?’
‘Believe you? How can I believe you? I show your photograph to four separate men at that café and all identify you without hesitation. But see here’—he spoke as if a new idea had occurred to him—‘the thing can be easily settled. If you weren’t at the café with Sir William where were you? Tell me that?’
‘I lunched that day at the Savoy.’
‘For three hours?’
‘Well, no. I sat and smoked in the lounge. Then I got one or two things—tobacco and those two pairs of shoes.’
Jimmy Daunt did not believe him, but all the persuasion of which he was a master failed to induce Austin, whatever he might or might not know, to supplement or vary his statement. But the latter consistently scouted the idea that the trial could end in a conviction, stoutly maintaining that there was no evidence to lead to such a conclusion.
At last Jimmy took his leave, intensely dissatisfied with the result of the interview. As had been arranged between them, he sent a wire to Lois asking her to come to town that afternoon, though he looked forward to the meeting with anything but pleasure.
It was nearly five when she arrived. He greeted her with no hint that his news was bad, and as before insisted on an immediate visit to the quiet restaurant. Over a cup of tea he told her all of Tanner’s adventures and discoveries, with the single exception of his learning of the meeting between Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove at the Étoile restaurant. But when they had returned to his office, he became more serious.
‘I’m frightfully sorry, Lois,’ he began, after seeing that she was comfortably seated, ‘but I haven’t told you all the news yet, and I’m afraid the rest of it is not too good.’
Her expressive face became clouded and anxious, but she did not speak. Then Daunt told her as gently as he could of the lunch at the Étoile, and Tanner’s theories resulting therefrom.
‘But that’s not such bad news,’ she said with evident relief. ‘Inspector Tanner must have made a mistake. Austin said he didn’t see his father after the Sunday evening.’
Daunt moved uneasily. It was a confoundedly awkward job, and he wished he was through with it.
‘Dear Lois, it sounds a perfectly horrible thing to say, but that is just the difficulty. In spite of Austin’s denial, Tanner is convinced the meeting took place. I believed he was mistaken, so I went down to the restaurant myself. I took Austin’s photograph, and the manager, two waiters, and the porter recognised it instantly. All four are prepared to swear Austin was there.’
‘Did you tell Austin?’
‘Yes. He stuck to his denial.’
Daunt had expected and feared an outbreak from Lois on hearing the news, but though her face showed extreme pain, she spoke very quietly.
‘There is no reason to suppose the four men in the cafe are dishonest. They couldn’t have been bought to swear this?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I fear there’s no evidence of it, and even if it were true, we would never get evidence.’
‘In that case, as Austin wasn’t there, they must have been mistaken.’
She looked steadily in Jimmy’s eyes as if challenging him to contest her statement. He marvelled at the faith a good woman will show in the man she loves, and he felt if Austin had by word or deed deceived her, hanging would be too good for him. He hesitated in replying, and she went on:
‘You understand what I mean? Austin was supposed to have been seen at the boathouse, and as he wasn’t there we deduced an impersonator. We find, in my opinion, the same thing here—probably the same man.’
‘In the boathouse case we imagined Cosgrove was the impersonator. Here it could not be Cosgrove, as he was present also.’
She nodded.
‘That is true certainly. Tell me honestly, Jimmy, what you think yourself.’
Jimmy hedged.
‘It’s not what I think, Lois, or for the matter of that, what you think, or even what Tanner thinks; it’s what the jury will think; and as you’ve asked me the direct question, I must tell you I greatly fear they will disbelieve Austin.’
‘I fear so too,’ she answered quietly. He felt she was conscious he had not answered her question, and was thankful she was going to let it pass. But his relief was shortlived.
‘You thought he was’—she hesitated for a moment—‘not telling you all he might?’
Jimmy hated doing business in opposition to a clever woman. Again and again he had found that except for their own purposes they seldom considered either his words or actions, but always his quite private and secret thoughts. He realised that Lois knew exactly what was in his mind regarding Austin.
‘To be strictly truthful,’ he answered, ‘I admit he did give me the impression that he was holding something back. But of course it was only an impression, and I may have been wrong.’
She nodded slowly and then said, ‘I think, Jimmy, I must see him myself.’
This was what her cousin had feared, and he felt he must exert all his powers of diplomacy to prevent it.
‘Well, you know, Lois,’ he answered truthfully, ‘I had that in my mind. I hardly liked to suggest it. But undoubtedly if he does know anything, he would tell you when he mightn’t tell me.’
She looked at him in unveiled surprise, but only said:
‘Can you arrange an interview for tomorrow?’
‘I would try if you thought that would be best. But I was going to suggest waiting until Tanner has investigated the affairs of Douglas. He believes, and I agree with him, that there was some private business between Douglas and Sir William, which, if we knew it, would clear up the whole affair.’
‘Ah,’ said Lois comprehendingly.
‘If Austin,’ Jimmy went on desperately, ‘is really holding anything back, we may take it he has a good reason for doing so. Unless it becomes really necessary—and it has not, so far—it would be better not to try to force his confidence. He will tell us when he thinks it right.’
‘Really, Jimmy,’ Lois smiled faintly, ‘you are quite coming on. I don’t say you have persuaded me, but I will agree to postpone my visit—shall we say for a week?’
‘When Tanner returns from Devonshire I shall see him, and let you know his report immediately,’ returned the relieved but suspicious Daunt.
They continued discussing the affair for some time. Jimmy could see that in spite of the brave face Lois put on things, she was deeply worried and despondent. Never had he admired her more. He marvelled at her belief in Austin, her assurance that he, Jimmy, was doing the utmost possible, her fairness to Tanner, and her utter and absolute forgetfulness of herself. As he saw her to the train he felt his resolution strengthened, to spare himself neither time nor money to bring about the result she desired.
When Tanner left Daunt’s office on the previous day, he returned at once to the Yard. First he arranged for Cosgrove to be shadowed, in case that gentleman, learning of Douglas’s arrest, might consider discretion the better part of valour and disappear. Then he busied himself in re-examining the witnesses of Cosgrove’s movements on the night of the murder, which the efforts of Lois and Daunt had unearthed. When he had heard their statements he had to admit himself convinced of the cousin’s duplicity.
After a consultation with his chief a warrant was issued, and Tanner went to the flat in Knightsbridge and executed it. When cautioned, Cosgrove made no statement beyond earnestly and emphatically protesting his innocence, and declaring that a terrible mistake had been made.
A detailed search of the flat revealed one or two things which Tanner had not already known. As he had suspected on the occasion of his first visit, Cosgrove had a second desk for his more private papers. In the dressing-room was an old Sheraton escritoire, and there the Inspector found complete information about his prisoner’s finances. The latter appeared even more involved than Tanner had suspected, which of course strengthened the motive for the murder, and therefore the case against the accused.
But this was not all. The motive had been stronger than any merely financial embarrassment could have made it. In the same desk was a bundle of letters from the actress at the Follies, Miss Betty Belcher. These showed that Cosgrove’s relations with her had been extremely intimate. For a considerable time he had evidently been pressing her to marry him, and in one letter, dated about three weeks before Sir William’s death, she had openly admitted she loved him and would marry him if only he were rich. ‘You know, Cos.,’ the rather cynical letter went on, ‘it would be absurd for me to think of marrying a poor man. I have been too long accustomed to all that money gives to contemplate any other kind of life. If you had a fortune—well, I might consider it, but as things are you must see it would be out of the question.’
‘He must have been far gone to want to marry her after that,’ mused Tanner, ‘but he evidently did, for here a week later is another letter in the same strain.’
He filed the papers in the Cosgrove dossier, from which they duly found their way into the hands of the public prosecutor.
The next item on Tanner’s list was a similar search in Douglas’s cottage, and on this business the detective found himself once more seated in the 10.30 a.m. from Paddington, on his second journey to Devonshire.
He thought he was beginning to get some kind of grasp of the case. It was evident that Austin and Cosgrove, separately and individually, had each the two strongest motives known to weak humanity for desiring Sir William Ponson’s death. In each case there was the direct want of money. But in each case also, to this crude desire was added the more subtle and infinitely more powerful consideration that the money was for the loved one. Neither man could accomplish the marriage upon which he had set his heart, and live afterwards in the way he wished, without more money, and by Sir William’s death this money could alone be obtained.
So much was obvious, but the facts seemed to permit a further conclusion. Suppose these two, knowing of each other’s position, had conspired together to commit the crime which would relieve the necessities of both? In some way not yet clear they had lured Sir William to the boathouse, met him there, committed the murder, and arranged the matter of the boat to create the impression of accident. In case suspicion should be aroused, each had worked out a false but ingenious alibi.
Tanner felt himself so far on fairly firm ground, but when he came to consider Douglas and the part he had played in the affair, he had to confess himself absolutely at sea. However, the search on which he was now engaged might throw some light on that.
He reached Yelverton at the same time as on his first visit, and went at once to the police station. The sergeant had got together some information for him. Douglas, it appeared, had come to the neighbourhood some seven years previously from, the sergeant believed, New York. He had taken a ten-year lease of Myrtle Cottage, had engaged an elderly housekeeper who was still with him, and had settled down to a quiet existence of gardening and bee farming. That he had some money was obvious, but he was not well off, and seemingly had at first found it difficult to make ends meet. But during the last four years his prospects appeared to have improved, as he had carried out a number of alterations to the house, had purchased a small car, and generally seemed to have taken things more easily. The sergeant, after Tanner had left on the day of the attempted arrest, had made a careful search of the house, but without finding anything suspicious. He had then admitted the housekeeper, who had been visiting friends in Princetown, and she had been living there since. Douglas had not borne a very lofty reputation in the neighbourhood. He was morose and ill-tempered, and drank more than was good for him. But he kept himself to himself and there had been no open disputes with his neighbours.
So much Tanner knew when he reached the house to conduct his own examination.
A lengthy interrogation of the housekeeper led to nothing fresh. And then began another of those exhaustive searches to which Tanner was so well accustomed, and which always bored him so exceedingly.
He found nothing of interest till he came to examine Douglas’s papers, but from them he learned a good deal of the man’s life. Douglas had been, it was evident, a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railroad Terminal in New York, there being letters on railway paper and photographs of groups of employees, as well as a testimonial from the head of the office. This was dated seven years earlier, and referred to Douglas’s service of twenty-one years. The man must therefore have held the position since 1892. Of his life since settling in Devonshire there were records, principally connected with bee-keeping, but of his history before his connection with the Pennsylvania Railroad Tanner could discover nothing.
‘He is surely either an Englishman or a wonderful mimic,’ thought the Inspector, as he recalled the north-country accent with which the man had spoken on the day of his bolt for liberty.
The search dragged on, and at last, as it was nearly concluded, Tanner made three finds, though none of them seemed of much value. The first was that when examining with a mirror the blotting paper on Douglas’s desk, he saw that an envelope had been addressed to Sir William Ponson. Unfortunately, in spite of his careful efforts he could trace nothing of the letter presumably sent therein, but the marks were a still further proof of the relations which had obtained between the two men.
The second discovery appeared at first sight of even less importance, and Tanner noted it principally as being the only thing he had yet come on which, it seemed possible, might refer to Douglas’s early life. In an old and apparently little used book on American passenger rates, the leaves of which the Inspector was painfully turning over in the hope that some old letter might lie therein concealed, he came on a photograph. Evidently of considerable age, it was faded to a light brown and discoloured as if at some time it had been wet. It was a view of a tombstone and grave with a building—presumably the porch of a church—in the background. A lich-gate showed in the farther distance, while on the stone the inscription appeared as dark, broken lines, the only word decipherable being the first—‘Sacred.’ Tanner put the photograph in his pocket with the idea that this might represent Douglas’s family burying ground, which, if traceable, might throw light on his birthplace. At the same time he felt that such information, even if obtainable, could not help much in his quest.
The third find was that in an engagement book or diary there was a reference to the visit to London, and to certain calls to be paid there. On the space for the Thursday before the murder was written ‘London, 10.25 train, Judd’s Hotel, Dunlop Street.’ On the next space, for Friday, was an entry, ‘Insurance Co., 77B Gracechurch St.’ There was a list of articles—probably purchases—‘Collars, handkerchiefs,The Apiarist, by S. Wilson Holmes,’ and some other items. Last, but not least, for the evening of the murder there was ‘X—9.30 p.m.’
This last entry set Tanner puzzling. ‘X,’ he presumed, stood for the Luce Manor boathouse, and its use seemed to show the same desire for secrecy about his visit there as had been noticeable with the others who had been present. But Tanner had to confess that this entry did not square with the theory that the murder had been its object—at least on Douglas’s part. It was inconceivable that a man about to commit such a crime should have required a reminder of the hour of the deed. Every detail of the plan would have been seared into his brain. Was the suggestion of this entry, wondered the Inspector, not that Douglas had been made a tool of by the cousins? If the man should make that case this would certainly be corroborative evidence. Tanner attached some weight to the point, as he felt it was too subtle to have been designed.
Having seen from the papers that Douglas had an account in the Plymouth branch of the Western Counties Bank, Tanner next day called on the manager. Here, after a study of the accused’s finances, he made an interesting discovery. At intervals during the last four years Douglas had lodged sums of money—invariably in notes, so he was told—and what particularly intrigued the Inspector’s imagination was the fact that each such lodgment had taken place a few days after the drawing of an ‘X’ cheque by Sir William Ponson, and in each case it was for just a trifle less than the amount of that cheque. It seemed evident that Sir William had been paying Douglas these sums, and the method of lodging showed the latter equally eager to keep the transactions secret. What service, mused Tanner, could Douglas have possibly done Sir William to have merited such a return?
It was an anxious and disappointed Inspector who that afternoon stepped into the London train at Millbay Station, Plymouth. He had been hoping for great things from his search of Douglas’s rooms, and he had found practically nothing—only an old photograph and the address of an insurance company in London. And neither of these seemed the slightest use. Could anything be learned by tracing that tombstone or calling at that insurance office? He did not think so.
But more than once he had learnt the folly of neglecting any clue, no matter how slight. Therefore on arrival in London he prepared a circular to be sent to every police station in England. It bore a reproduction of the photograph, together with a paragraph asking if the recipient could identify the place and send in a note of its whereabouts, as well as a copy of the inscription on the tombstone.
Next morning he set out for 77B Gracechurch Street.
A suite of offices on the second floor of a large building bore the legend ‘The Associated Insurance Company, Limited,’ and Tanner, entering, asked for the manager. After a short delay he was shown into the presence of a tall, gaunt man, with iron-grey hair, and tired looking eyes. Tanner introduced himself as an Inspector from the Yard.
‘I have called, sir,’ he went on, ‘with reference to a man named William Douglas, a small, elderly man with a grey beard, who lives near Yelverton in Devon. I understand that he has had some dealings recently with your Company. I imagine, but am not certain, that he came here on Friday, the 2nd of July last.’
‘I cannot recall the man myself,’ the manager returned. ‘What is the precise point in question?’
‘We have had to arrest him on a serious charge—in fact, that of murder. I am endeavouring to trace his recent history and movements. I want to know if he did call, and if so, on what business.’
The manager pressed twice a button on his desk. An elderly clerk answered.
‘Mr Jones, do you recall our doing any business recently with a man called William Douglas from Devonshire?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the clerk replied. ‘We were in correspondence about an annuity, but the matter fell through.’
‘This gentleman is Mr Tanner, an Inspector from Scotland Yard. You might let him have all the particulars he wants.’ Then to Tanner, ‘If, sir, you will go with Mr Jones, he will tell you everything he can.’
Mr Jones led the way to a smaller office, and waved his visitor to a chair.
‘William Douglas?’ he said, bending over a vertical file. ‘Here we are, Mr Tanner.’
He withdrew a folder, and settling himself at his desk, took out some papers.
‘Here is the first letter. You will see it is an application from William Douglas of Myrtle Cottage, Yelverton, South Devon, for particulars of annuities. He wanted to purchase one which would bring him in £500 a year. Here is our reply enclosing the information and a form for him to fill in, and here is the form which he returned to us duly filled. You will notice he is aged sixty-six. We then wrote him this letter explaining that the annuity would cost him £4600, and asking his further instructions. He replied, as you see, to proceed with the matter, and he would send on the cheque in due course. We prepared the necessary documents, but received no further communication from Mr Douglas until about ten days later we had this note stating that he regretted the trouble he had given, but that he found himself unable to proceed with the matter at present. And so it stands.’
‘Then Douglas didn’t call here?’
‘No.’
Tanner was considerably puzzled by this information. As he walked slowly along the Embankment back to the Yard, he racked his brains to understand Douglas’s motive or plan. What had been the ex-clerk’s idea? The figures of his bank account showed that at no time since he came to live at Yelverton had he had more than £600 to his credit. As he could not possibly have paid the four thousand odd himself, where did he expect to raise it?
And then a sudden idea flashed into the Inspector’s mind. Sir William Ponson had been paying Douglas sums ranging from £100 to £400 at intervals during the last four years. These sums were all paid by cheques marked ‘X’ on the block. On the day before his death Sir William had written an ‘X’ cheque for £3000. This cheque had never been cashed.
Was there not a connection? Had that £3000 ‘X’ cheque of Sir William’s not been written for the purpose of paying for Douglas’s annuity? It certainly looked like it. And had the sudden death of Sir William not prevented its being cashed?
Of course, the amounts did not tally—the cheque was for £3000, while the price of the annuity was £4600. But it was obvious that these sums might represent the different opinions the two men held of what was due. Possibly also negotiations were in progress between them on the point. This was of course guesswork, but at least it would explain the facts.
The Inspector walked like a man in a dream as he concentrated his thoughts on the whole circumstances. There seemed just one link of his chain missing—some one point which, if he could find it, would flood the whole of these mysterious happenings with light and make the disconnected facts he had learnt fall into their places like the closing pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. And then suddenly he wondered if he had not got it, as another and more sinister idea occurred to him.
What if the business were blackmail? It had a nasty enough look. Could Douglas have got hold of something discreditable in Sir William’s life, and could the latter be paying for his silence?
The more Tanner thought over it, the more likely this theory seemed. It would explain the facts generally, as well as the secrecy with which both parties had acted. And yet there were difficulties. This annuity business was a difficulty. From Douglas’s point of view it was easy enough to understand. If the blackmailer thought his receipts were precarious, or if time was reducing or about to reduce the value of the secret, it would be a natural step for him to try to convert his vanishing doles into a fixed and certain income. But Sir William’s motive would be different. His only hold on the preservation of his secret was the expectation on Douglas’s part of sums yet to be paid. If the manufacturer agreed to the annuity his hold would be gone. That he should do so was inconceivable to Tanner. And yet apparently he had. He had at least written the £3000 cheque.
But the second difficulty to the blackmail theory was more serious. The wrong man had been murdered! If Douglas had been the victim it would have fitted in well enough. It would have been argued that Sir William had taken a desperate remedy to escape from an intolerable situation. But Sir William’s death would have been the last thing Douglas could have desired. He would never have cut off the source of his income. No; attractive as the blackmail theory had seemed at first, Tanner found its difficulties rather overwhelming.
He had by this time reached the Yard, and sitting down at his desk, he lit a cigar, and continued his ruminations.
Suppose again that blackmail had been levied, where did Austin and Cosgrove come in? They must in this case obviously have taken sides. Either they must have been assisting Sir William to extricate himself, or else they must have been party to the blackmail.
But as Tanner pondered these alternatives, he could not see how either would meet the facts. If the cousins were acting for their relative, they obviously would not have murdered him—it was a contradiction in terms. Here again the wrong man had been killed.
On the other hand, it was difficult to see how they could have been in league with Douglas against Sir William. Anything discreditable to the manufacturer would react on both the son and nephew, and their threat to make the matter public would therefore hardly be convincing. For their own sakes the cousins would be as anxious as Sir William to keep the thing quiet. It was also clear to Tanner that they would never have put themselves in the power of a man like Douglas. If they had wished to murder Sir William for his money, they would have done so at some time when Douglas would not have witnessed the crime.
So far had Tanner progressed when he realised his argument really was that Sir William could not have been murdered at all! He swore angrily, and went back to see the point from which he had started. Blackmail. It would seem, then, that blackmail could not be the explanation. And yet … It was an attractive theory …
Some days later, rather to Tanner’s surprise, he received from a sergeant of police in the north of England an answer to his circular about the photograph. It read:
‘Sir:We have found the churchyard illustrated in your view attached. It belongs to the Parish Church of Tynwick, a village six miles south-east of Gateshead. The headstone is still standing. It bears the inscription—“Sacred to the memory of John Dale, aged 53, who departed this life on 4th September 1871, and of Eleanor, his beloved wife, who entered into rest on 25th March 1890, at the age of 67.” ’
‘Sir:We have found the churchyard illustrated in your view attached. It belongs to the Parish Church of Tynwick, a village six miles south-east of Gateshead. The headstone is still standing. It bears the inscription—“Sacred to the memory of John Dale, aged 53, who departed this life on 4th September 1871, and of Eleanor, his beloved wife, who entered into rest on 25th March 1890, at the age of 67.” ’
‘Gateshead? Dale?’ thought the Inspector. ‘Those names sound familiar.’
He turned to his notes of the case. And then he got rather a thrill. Gateshead was the place from which Sir William had come to Luce Manor. It was there the deceased gentleman had been born and had spent his life, and where the ironworks he had owned was situated.
And Dale? This was more interesting still. Dale was the name of his wife’s first husband! He had married a Mrs Ethel Dale. Here at last was a connection between the manufacturer and William Douglas.
But after all was it not a very slender one? What exactly did it amount to? That Douglas had in his possession a photograph of the grave of a man and woman of the same name as Lady Ponson’s first husband, and who lived somewhere in the same locality. Not much to go upon, and yet it was suggestive, and where there had been nothing before, Tanner welcomed it eagerly. Who knew what it mightn’t lead to? He determined he must go to Tynwick and make inquiries.