Chapter XIV.A Dramatic DiscoveryThe shades of evening were falling when Inspector Tanner reached Newcastle. He had not been favoured with his usual travelling weather. For the first time since he started work on the Ponson case, the skies had remained all day grey and leaden, and the rain had poured ceaselessly and hopelessly down. It had not been possible to open the carriage windows, and he was tired from so long breathing the stuffy atmosphere of the train.It was too late to do anything that night, but the next morning, which fortunately was fine, he took the train to Tynwick. It was a village of about five hundred inhabitants, an attractive little place, with pleasant creeper-covered cottages, separated from the road by narrow gardens, all ablaze with colour. In the centre was the church, and strolling slowly into the churchyard, Tanner had no difficulty in identifying the spot from which the photograph had been taken. As the sergeant had said, the headstone was still standing, and Tanner paused and re-read the inscription of which he already had received a copy.Close by the churchyard and connected with it by a gate in the dividing wall, stood an old, grey stone house—evidently the vicarage. Tanner pushed open the gate, and walking slowly up to the door, knocked.‘Could I see the vicar for a few moments?’ he asked courteously, as the door was opened by a trim maid.He was shown into a comfortable study, and there after a few moments he was joined by an elderly man, clean shaven, white haired, and kindly looking.‘Good morning,’ said the latter. ‘You wished to see me?’Tanner rose and bowed.‘Yes, sir,’ he answered, ‘for a moment.’‘Sit down, won’t you?’ His host waved him to an arm-chair and seated himself at his desk.‘My business, sir,’ went on Tanner, ‘is, I expect, of a rather unusual kind for you to deal with. My name is Tanner—Inspector Tanner of New Scotland Yard, and I have come to ask your kind help in obtaining some information of which I am in need.’If the clergyman was surprised he did not show it.‘And what is the nature of the information?’ he asked.Tanner took the photograph from his pocket.‘We have had,’ he explained, ‘to arrest a man on suspicion of a serious crime—murder, in fact. The only clue to his antecedents we have is this photograph. You will see it represents part of your churchyard, and the headstone in the foreground is in memory of John Dale and his wife, Eleanor. We thought if we could find out something about these Dales, it might help us.’‘Is Dale the name of your suspect?’‘No, sir, he is called Douglas, but of course that may not be his real name.’The clergyman thought for a few moments.‘I fear I cannot tell you very much,’ he said at last. ‘When I came here thirteen years ago there was no one of that name in the parish. I do remember hearing of the family you mention, but they had moved some years previously.’‘You don’t know to where?’‘Unfortunately I do not.’‘Perhaps, sir, some of your remaining parishioners could tell me?’‘That’s what I was going to suggest.’ The clergyman again paused. ‘There is a family called Clayton living close by, gentlemen farmers, who have been here for generations. Old Mr Clayton is well over seventy, but still remains hale and hearty—a wonderful man for his age. I should think that if anyone could give you your information, he could. He’ll probably be at home now, and if you like, I’ll go down with you and introduce you.’‘I should be more than grateful.’‘Come then,’ said the vicar, leading the way.The Claytons lived on the outskirts of the village in a charming little creeper-covered house, standing in small but perfectly kept grounds. As the two men passed up the rose-bordered path to the door, they were hailed from the lawn behind. An old gentleman with a full white beard, a grey felt hat, and a tweed suit was approaching.‘Mornin’, vicar,’ he cried cheerily.‘How are you, Mr Clayton? Beautiful morning. Can we have a word with you?’‘Delighted, I’m sure. Come in here. It’s always better out of doors than in, eh, Vicar?’He shook hands with the clergyman, and turned expectantly to Tanner.‘May I introduce Mr Tanner? Mr Tanner has just called with me in search of some information which I unfortunately was unable to give him, but which I thought you possibly might.’‘I had better introduce myself more fully, Mr Clayton,’ said Tanner. ‘I am a detective officer from Scotland Yard, and I am trying to trace a family named Dale, who, I understand, formerly lived here.’Mr Clayton led the way to a delightfully situated arbour, and waved his guests to easy chairs, but the vicar excused himself on the ground that his part in the affair was complete. On his departure Tanner produced the photograph and explained his business to his host.‘The Dales? Yes, I knew them well. They lived at the other end of the village for many years, until indeed John Dale, the father, died. Then they moved into Gateshead. They weren’t left too well off, I’m afraid. But I don’t know that any of them are alive now.’‘What did the family consist of?’‘The mother and two sons. She died some years after her husband—you have the date on your inscription.’‘And can you tell me anything about the sons?’‘Yes, I remember them well. They were very like each other—good looking, with taking manners, well dressed and all that, but a couple of rotters at heart. They were always out for what they could get, and there was drink and gambling and worse. When they cleared out they weren’t much loss.’‘Place too hot to hold them?’‘In Edward’s case, I think so. Edward was the younger. He was in debt heavily, I know, and he slipped off quietly one night to the States, and was never heard of again.’‘And the other?‘The elder brother, Tom, was a bad lot too. He had a tragic end. He was drowned. But I don’t think anyone mourned for him. He had well-nigh broken his young wife’s heart in the three years they were married.’Tanner was like a bloodhound on a hot scent. This was very interesting. He remembered that Sir William Ponson had married a Mrs Dale from this part of the country, whose husband had been drowned on his way to Canada. It looked like as if the Tom Dale of whom Mr Clayton had been speaking might have been this man.‘What was the business of the Dale brothers?’ he asked.‘They were both in the same firm—the Eagle Ironworks. You know it maybe—in Gateshead? It was Peter Howard’s then. I remember young Ponson joining it—poor fellow, he’s gone now—it was he that made it. When he started as office boy there was just one small shed and about a dozen men, and now it’s a company employing over a thousand hands. A wonderful change.’‘Wonderful indeed, Mr Clayton.’‘Ay. A man of my years can look back over great changes. That’s more than a young fellow like you can do, eh, Mr Tanner?’‘It’s true, sir. And you say Tom was drowned?’‘Yes. He got a sudden call. He was in theNumidian. You wouldn’t remember about her?’‘I don’t think so.’‘No, it would be before your time. A terrible business it was. TheNumidianwas a big boat, big for those times, I mean. She was running from Glasgow to Quebec, and she struck a berg. Went down off the banks in a few minutes. Nearly every soul on board was lost, and Tom Dale was one of them. A sudden call, it was.’‘A terrible affair. I do remember hearing of it.’‘Ay, no doubt. A sudden call for Tom, that it was.’‘You said he nearly broke a good woman’s heart, Mr Clayton?’‘Ay, and so he did. Little Ethel Osborne was fool enough to marry him. And it wasn’t long till she was sorry for it. They say she saw him drunk for the first time the night after the wedding. But it wasn’t the last, not by a long chalk. He was a bad boy all through, was Tom.’‘Then his death must have been something of a release to her?’‘Yes, poor soul. But she had more sense the second time.’‘The second time?’‘Ay, she did what she ought to have done at the start—married young William Ponson.’‘Never neglect the smallest clue!’ thought Tanner triumphantly, as he recalled his doubt of the wisdom of following up the photograph. The connection between Douglas and Sir William was strengthening. Doubtless he was on the right track at last, and maybe if he questioned him skilfully, this old man would let something drop which would give away the secret.Mr Clayton was glad to talk—the old gentleman seemed lonely—and presently the whole story came out. Substantially it was the same as that Tanner had already heard from Mr Arbuthnot, the late manufacturer’s lawyer. Mr Clayton told of William Ponson’s start in life as office-boy in the Eagle Ironworks of John Howard; of his rapid rise to the position, first of manager, then partner, and finally of sole owner; of his taking his brother John, Cosgrove’s father, into the concern; of their extraordinary prosperity; of William’s municipal life, culminating in his knighthood, and of John’s death, followed by Sir William’s sale of the business, and retirement to Luce Manor.With all of this Tanner was familiar, but he found Mr Clayton was able to give him rather more details of the manufacturer’s family affairs than he had yet learnt.It seemed that when the deceased knight was aged seven-and-twenty, he had fallen deeply in love with a Miss Ethel Osborne, the daughter of a Gateshead doctor. Miss Osborne was a pretty, though not very brilliant girl of some twenty summers, with a placid, pleasure-loving disposition, and a little money. The Dale brothers at this time held positions in the firm, Tom, the elder being a traveller, and his brother Edward a clerk. Tom was a handsome youth with rather fascinating manners. He was considerably below middle height, had delicate features, small and beautifully shaped hands and feet, and dark, passionate eyes.When William Ponson began to press his attentions on Ethel Osborne, he soon found he had a rival in Tom Dale. For a long time the young lady was unable to decide between her two admirers. For Ponson she had more respect, and she felt that as his wife she would have an assured position and a comfortable home. But Ponson was ‘stodgy.’ His thoughts were centred in his work, and his own advancement, and he had forsworn that lighter side of life—theatres, dances, excursions—which the young girl found so attractive. With Dale she believed her prospects might be less secure, but life would certainly be pleasanter. He seemed to understand her, and respond to her moods better than the other, and he was a delightful companion. And who shall blame her if she sacrificed material prosperity to the joy of life, rather, who shall not praise her?In due time she married Dale, and at once, on the very self-same day, her disillusionment began. That night, as has already been mentioned, he returned drunk to the Scottish hotel at which they were to spend the honeymoon. And that was only the first occasion of many. Soon she learned of an entanglement with a barmaid which had been going on at the very time of the wedding. It was not long before their numerous quarrels led to an open rupture, and Dale made no secret to his wife of the fact that he had married her for her money. Matters went from bad to worse, till debt began to fasten on them its horrid shackles, and ruin stared them in the face. The one alleviating circumstance was that there had been no children from the marriage.All this William Ponson watched, grieving for Ethel, but of course helpless. Then it became necessary for the firm to send a representative to Canada, and the choice fell on their traveller, Tom Dale. Whether or not Ponson had any say in this decision was not known, but at all events Dale sailed for Quebec in theNumidian. As will be remembered, the vessel was lost off the coast of Newfoundland, a mere handful of her complement being saved. Dale’s name was amongst the lost. Ethel Dale therefore found herself not only without assets, but called upon to meet a considerable crop of debts. Her father having died since her marriage, she was thus absolutely destitute.It was believed to be owing to William Ponson’s efforts that a small pension was granted her by the firm, and the debts were wiped out by a presentation from some of the employees. She took a small house, and by letting rooms contrived to make a living.William Ponson, though he had acted throughout in a strictly honourable manner, had never ceased to love Ethel. He bided his time for over two years, then, calling on the widow, he told her of his love and boldly pressed his suit. She then realised that she had loved him all along, and though at first she refused to consider his proposal, his steady insistence wore down her opposition and in 1887, five years after he had first loved her, he obtained his desire, and they were married. The trouble through which she had passed had profoundly modified her character, sobering her and bringing out all that was best in her, and her life with William Ponson, though quiet, had been truly happy. Two children were born, Austin and Enid.‘And you said the other Dale went to the States, I think?’ asked Tanner, when he had learnt the above facts.‘Edward? Yes, he got into difficulties too. He was a born gambler. He was owing money everywhere, and the place got too hot for him. He went to the States shortly after Tom was married.’Tanner felt he had done well. Almost first shot he had found this Mr Clayton and obtained information which must prove of the utmost value. But he had stayed chatting to and pumping the old man for an unconscionable time, and he began to express his thanks, preparatory to taking his leave. And then an idea flashed into his mind, and he sat motionless for some moments, thinking.‘What was the Dale brother, Edward, like in appearance?’ he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.‘Like enough to his brother Tom, but not so good looking, nor with such good manners by a long chalk. But passably well looking for all that.’‘But was he a small man?’‘Small? Ay, that he was—like Tom. Both were small men.’Could it be? Edward Dale, a little man with small hands and feet, knowing all about William Ponson’s youth—knowing probably a good deal more than Mr Clayton had told or perhaps knew—Edward Dale, a clerk, had gone to America and disappeared. William Douglas, a little man with small hands and feet, and apparently knowing intimate facts about Sir William Ponson—William Douglas, a clerk, had come from America, his youthful history being unknown. Could they be one and the same?The more Tanner thought over this theory, the more likely it seemed. As he sat smoking with Mr Clayton in the pleasant garden, he went over in his mind all that he had learnt of each man, and was unable to recall anything inconsistent with the hypothesis.But how could he test it? He must make sure. But how?There was of course one obvious possibility. Mr Clayton, if confronted with Douglas, might recognise him as Edward Dale. Or Douglas might recognise Mr Clayton, and so give himself away. It was not a certainty, but it would be worth trying. The Inspector turned to his host.‘I believe, sir,’ he said, ‘that if I told you just what was troubling me, you might be able to help me out, if you would. I was asking you about Edward Dale, but I did not tell you much about the man we arrested. In the first place, Douglas, as he says his name is, came to England from New York, where he was employed as a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway for several years. We have traced his movements back to 1892, previous to which we can discover nothing whatever about him. Now, you tell me Edward Dale left for the States about the year 1882, and has since been lost sight of. That is coincidence Number One.’Mr Clayton nodded without speaking. He was listening with eager attention.‘Next,’ continued Tanner, ‘I did not tell you whose murder the man Douglas was suspected of. It was that of Sir William Ponson.’‘God bless my soul!’ cried the other, ‘you don’t say so? A terrible affair that. And you think you’ve got the man, do you? All I can say is, I’d like to see him hanged.’‘It seems clear from various things,’ Tanner went on, ‘that the trouble originated before Douglas went to America. Now Edward Dale knew Sir William in those days. That is coincidence Number Two.’‘You said, I think, that Douglas’s history could not be traced before he became a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway? How then do you know he left England prior to that?’‘We don’t absolutely know, but we think it for two reasons: first, he can speak with a North of England accent, and secondly, that in an old book of his we found the photograph of the Dales’ grave.’The other nodded.‘That photograph,’ continued Tanner, ‘is coincidence Number Three. Few men would have such a photograph unless it represented something connected with their own families. And coincidence Number Four, Mr Clayton, is this. Douglas is a very short man with very small hands and feet.’‘God bless my soul!’ Mr Clayton exclaimed again. ‘But this is most interesting. Go on, Mr Tanner.’‘Well, sir, that leads me up to a very obvious question. You must have guessed it. You have known Dale intimately in the past; could you identify him now?Tanner sat back in his chair and drew at his cigar. The other did not answer for a moment. Then as he slowly refilled his pipe, he said hesitatingly:‘I hardly like to say. Thirty-eight years is a long time, and a man might change a lot during it. I think I would recognise Edward if I saw him, but I couldn’t be sure.’‘Then, sir, my second question follows naturally. Will you come up to London and try?’The other smiled.‘It’s a long journey for a man of my years,’ he said, ‘but I imagine I have no choice. You Scotland Yard people are so autocratic.’Tanner smiled in his turn.‘If you will come at our expense, sir, you will confer a great favour on us. Do you prefer day or night travel?’‘Day. When would you like me to go?’‘The sooner the better, sir. Tomorrow, if it would be convenient.’‘One day is much like another to me. I will go tomorrow, if you like.’They sat on for some time longer smoking and chatting. In spite of his years Mr Clayton’s mind remained active and vigorous, and he had kept himself well abreast of recent events. He evidently enjoyed exchanging ideas with the Inspector, and the latter exerted himself to entertain the old gentleman, relating several of the adventures he had met with in his professional career.In the afternoon Tanner called at the Eagle Works. But there he got no help. The firm’s official records did not go back far enough to include the Dales’ names, and none of the office staff recalled the brothers’ affairs.On the following day the Inspector and Mr Clayton travelled up to town together, and the former saw his new friend to an hotel. The interview with Douglas was to take place next morning.Inspector Tanner delighted in a dramatic situation, especially when he was thedeus ex machina. In the present instance he thought he was sufficiently sure of his ground to risk an audience. After consulting his chief, he accordingly rang up James Daunt.‘I think I am on to a clue at last,’ he said. ‘As you and Miss Drew are interested and have helped so much I will stretch a point from strict etiquette and invite you both to be present while we test it tomorrow.… Yes, here at the Yard at eleven o’clock.’At the time appointed a little group sat in the Inspector’s room. There was first of all Miss Drew, dressed quietly in a navy blue coat and skirt, and a small hat. Her kindly, dependable face was pale and somewhat drawn, as if the strain of the last few weeks had taken its toll of her. But she was calm and pleasantly courteous as usual, and did not betray by word or deed the anxiety which was gnawing at her heart.Jimmy Daunt, who sat beside her, seemed the more nervous of the two. He was extremely dissatisfied at the way his case was going, and eagerly anxious to learn in what direction the Inspector’s fresh information would tend.Mr Clayton, who sat next to Daunt, was anxious too. He devoutly hoped that after all the fuss and trouble of his visit to London, he should be able to give a decided opinion—to say definitely whether the man he was to see was or was not Dale.On the other side of Tanner sat Chief Inspector Edgar. On Tanner reporting what he proposed to do, the latter had expressed a desire to be present. He it was who had suggested having the meeting at the Yard, in order to avoid the necessity of Miss Drew’s visiting the prison. But he took no part in the proceedings, Tanner conducting all the business.When the visitors had been introduced to each other, Tanner rose, and bowing to Miss Drew and her cousin, said:‘I have taken the liberty of asking you to be present this morning, as I know the keen interest you take in this case. Following a certain line of inquiry, with the details of which I need not now trouble you, I had the good fortune to come across Mr Clayton here. From what he told me there seemed a reasonable probability that the man whom I arrested in Portugal, and who gave his name as William Douglas, was not so named at all, but was a certain Edward Dale, a clerk in the late Sir William Ponson’s Ironworks, who emigrated to the States in the year 1882. Mr Clayton has been good enough to come up all the way from Newcastle to put this theory to the test. I propose now to confront Douglas with Mr Clayton, so as to see whether the two men recognise each other. I may add that if Douglas has to admit he is Dale, it is more than possible he may make a statement explaining the whole affair. Now, Mr Clayton, might I ask you to sit here at my desk with your head bent as if writing, and when I sign to you, to move round so that Douglas may see your face suddenly.’A roll top desk was placed at right angles to the wall beside the large double window, and Mr Clayton crossed over and sat down on the swing chair, bending forward as if to write. Anyone entering would see only his stooped shoulders, and the back of his head, but when he swung round his features would be fully lighted from the window. The others placed themselves with their backs to the light, and in view of the door. When he was satisfied as to the position of each, Tanner pressed a bell and a sergeant of the police entered.‘You may bring him in now.’The man withdrew, closing the door, and silence came down on the little group. To Lois Drew such scenes were new, and on her expressive features there was a look of compassion for the unhappy man for whom the trap was set, and whose life might depend on his actions during the next few moments. To her the whole business was evidently extremely distasteful, and it was not hard to conclude that only the possibility of helping her lover had induced her to continue to take part in it.Tanner’s emotions were evidently far otherwise. The eagerness of the hunter showed in his eyes, and his whole body seemed on the stretch. He was by no means a cruel man, but he had pitted his wits against the other, and the issue between them was now about to be joined.A knock came to the door, it was thrown open, and William Douglas entered.The man seemed to have aged since Tanner had first seen him at his house at Yelverton. His face was paler, his hair seemed greyer, and he was even smaller and more stooped. Innocent or guilty, he was already paying for his connection with the crime.‘Take a seat, Mr Douglas,’ said Tanner, moving forward and placing a chair where the full light from the window shone on the other’s face. ‘I have asked you to meet my friends here, to discuss some points about this case. But I have to repeat my warning that you are not bound to make any statement or to answer any questions you may be asked unless you choose. This lady is Miss Drew, a friend of the Ponson family; this gentleman,’ he indicated Daunt, ‘is Mr Austin Ponson’s solicitor, and this,’ he waved his other hand, ‘is Chief Inspector Edgar. I think you already know our friend at the desk.’As Tanner spoke he signed to Mr Clayton, who swung round suddenly and faced Douglas.The latter had seemed very much mystified by the whole proceedings. His eyes had followed Tanner’s gestures as each member of the party had been mentioned, and he had made each a slight bow. But when he saw Mr Clayton’s face he remained as if turned to stone. At first for a moment he seemed puzzled and doubtful, then his eyes fixed themselves in a tense stare on the other’s features, his face grew slowly pale and drops of sweat formed on his forehead. Then, as if some second thought had passed through his mind, an expression of something like relief showed in his eyes. So he sat, staring, motionless.But if the effect of the meeting on Douglas was disconcerting, it was as nothing to that produced on Mr Clayton. On first seeing the newcomer, he too looked puzzled and doubtful. Then gradually an expression of utter astonishment spread over his features. He literally gasped, and seemed so overwhelmed with amazement as to be bereft of the power of speech.The surprise on the countenances of the two chief actors in the scene was reflected faintly on the faces of Lois Drew and the solicitor. But on Tanner’s there was triumph. If the girl and her cousin had not realised what was happening, he had. His plan had succeeded. That these two knew each other was established beyond any possibility of denial. It was as if each had shouted his recognition of the other aloud. He spoke quietly to the suspected man.‘So you really are Edward Dale?’The words seemed to restore the power of movement to Mr Clayton.‘No,’ he almost shouted in his excitement. ‘It’s not Edward Dale. It’s Tom!’Tanner jumped as if struck in the face.‘What?’ he stammered. ‘What’s that you say? Tom? But—but—I thought—’His voice trailed away into silence as the meaning of this discovery began to penetrate into his mind. Tom Dale was lost in theNumidiandisaster thirty-five years before—so he had been told, and so every one had believed. But every one must have been wrong. If this were Tom, he must have escaped from the wreck. He must have escaped and he must have concealed his escape. Why? Why should he conceal it? Why, to get rid of his wife, of course. It was a case of desertion. He had had all her money; he hated her. Of course that was it. He would take the opportunity to change his name and make a bid for freedom. But his wife—And then Tanner gasped in his turn as he saw the further consequences involved. His wife had married Sir William Ponson, thinking her first husband was dead. But now it was clear that had been no marriage at all. Lady Ponson was Lady Ponson no longer, but Mrs Tom Dale—the wife of the drunken ex-clerk and suspected blackmailer! Sir William was not married. Austin and Enid were illegitimate! No wonder Sir William submitted to blackmail rather than allow such a scandal to become public. As innocent in the matter as the babes unborn, Sir William and the woman he had considered his wife, as well as his son and daughter, would have had to pay as dear as if the whole affair had been deliberate.Tanner glanced at Mr Clayton. His excitement had subsided, and a look of fierce indignation against Dale was showing on his face. Tanner spoke.‘I suppose there can be no mistake?’‘Mistake?’ the other burst out. ‘Man alive, look at him. By heaven I wish there was a mistake!’‘We had better bring him up to Gateshead, and see if anyone else will confirm your identification.’There was an interruption from the prisoner.‘You needn’t trouble,’ he said sadly. ‘I admit it. I am Tom Dale.’‘You escaped from theNumidian?’‘I escaped. I was picked up by a fishing smack and taken into Gloucester. I was on board four days before we got in, and I had plenty of time to make my plans. I don’t pretend I wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t so bad as you think. I dare say you won’t believe me, but I did it for Ethel’s sake. She was tied to me, and I knew I was a bad egg and had all but ruined her. And what’s more, I knew I would ruin her outright if I went back to her. So I deserted her. But all I rid her of was trouble. I thought I would give her another chance with her life, and I did. I swore she would never know. And if I did go wrong, she at least has had her life happy since because of it.’The man spoke simply, and with a certain dignity which impressed his hearers.‘How did you conceal your identity?’ Tanner asked.‘Very easily. I had made friends on the voyage with another passenger. He had told me he was alone in the world. I saw him drown. I took his name.’‘And then you came here and blackmailed the man you had injured?’Dale nodded his head slowly.‘I admit that too,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘I most bitterly regret it, but I must admit it. I do not want to make any excuses for that, but here again the facts are not quite so black as they look. When I had been out there about thirty years I got a longing for the old country. I had made a little money in the States, and I left my job and came over to England. I was afraid to go back to Gateshead, so I looked around and took that cottage in Devonshire. Then one day in London I met Ponson—I didn’t know he had a handle to his name then. He recognised me, and there was a scene. I thought he would have killed me in the street. Then I got him into a bar, and we took a private room and had it out. I understood he had a right to have a down on me for deserting Ethel, but at first I couldn’t understand why he was so absolutely mad. Then I learnt. I hadn’t known what had happened to Ethel, for I was too much afraid of arousing suspicion as to who I was, to go back to Gateshead or make any inquiries. He threatened me so wildly I got afraid for my life, and then I saw how I could turn the tables on him. I told him that so far from me being in his power, he was in mine. I told him I would make the affair public myself, and that if I could be punished I would take it, and he could have the scandal. He blustered at first, then gradually he saw his position, and then he crawled. He offered to make the thing a business proposition. He would pay for my silence. He pressed his offer on me, and I accepted it at last. And I have at least kept my word. Not a whisper of the affair has passed my lips. But I admit taking the money. I was very hard up, and it meant a lot to me. You don’t understand, gentlemen, how much a few pounds means to a poor man. And with all his thousands he didn’t miss it. Not any more than you would miss a penny if you dropped it. I took it and I admit I pressed him for more.’‘Was that what you went to the Luce Manor boathouse for on the night of the murder?’Chief Inspector Edgar moved suddenly.‘Come, Tanner, that won’t do,’ he advised, and then to Dale: ‘You needn’t answer that unless you like.’Dale hesitated. To the others it seemed as if he was on the verge of a confession. Then he bowed to Edgar.‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I had perhaps better consult my solicitor first.’Tanner looked annoyed, but he controlled himself and again addressed the prisoner.‘Then you don’t wish to make any statement?’‘No. Not at present, at any rate.’Tanner nodded and rang his bell. The same sergeant re-entered and signed to Dale to follow him. Then, including the whole party in a slight bow, the latter rose from his chair and the two men left the room.The silence which fell when the door was closed lasted a full thirty seconds, and then Daunt broke it.‘Well, Inspector, this has been very interesting, but I’m hanged if I can make head or tail of it. Maybe you’d explain to Miss Drew and me what it’s all about.’Chief Inspector Edgar rose.‘I think that’s all I’m concerned in,’ he said, and turning to Mr Clayton, he invited him to smoke a cigar in his room.When Tanner was left alone with the cousins, he realised that he had an extremely unpleasant task to perform. Miss Drew, as the affianced wife of Austin Ponson, was personally interested in the story. Though from his knowledge of her he thought she would not place so great importance on the unfortunate occurrence as might a shallower and more conventional woman, yet the news could not be otherwise than a shock to her. He wished someone else had the telling of it.But no purpose would be saved by delay. The sooner he began, the sooner the unwelcome job would be over.Asking Miss Drew’s permission, he passed his cigar case to Daunt, then drew forward his chair and began to speak.‘I am afraid the story I have to tell you will come rather as a shock to you,’ he said, as he examined the end of his cigar. ‘This man Dale had been blackmailing Sir William Ponson for the last four years. There was an exceedingly unfortunate secret in Sir William’s life—unknown to him until he learnt it from Dale at that time, four years ago. Sir William was in no wise to blame for what had taken place. So far as I can learn, he had acted with scrupulous honour all through. The fault was Dale’s and Dale’s only. But to make it clear I must tell you from the beginning.’The cousins remained almost motionless while the Inspector related the details of his journey north, and the facts he had there learnt; the family history of the Dales; how the brothers came across Sir William in the Eagle Ironworks; the rivalry between Ponson and Tom Dale for the hand of the pretty Ethel Osborne; Tom’s success in the contest; the unhappy married life of the young couple; Tom’s mission to Canada; the loss of theNumidian, and his presumed death; Sir William’s marriage with Mrs Dale, and the birth of Austin and Enid; Tom Dale’s return to England; and finally the blackmailing, culminating in the presumed negotiations for the purchase of the annuity.‘But the murder?’ asked Daunt when at last the Inspector paused. ‘What about that?’‘The murder unfortunately remains as great a mystery as ever,’ Tanner answered slowly; ‘indeed, even more so,’ and he explained his difficulty about, as he expressed it, the wrong man having been killed.The two men discussed the affair for some minutes further, Miss Drew remaining silent. When they got up to take their leave her eyes were very bright, and there was an expression on her face the Inspector could not quite fathom.‘Mr Tanner,’ she said as she held out her hand, ‘I would like to thank you for the way you told your story.’Outside the Yard she dismissed Daunt.‘I am going to write to Austin,’ she announced. ‘I shall leave the letter at your office shortly after lunch, then, like a dear man, you will take it to him immediately, and bring me the answer.’‘Of course, I will, old girl,’ Daunt answered her as they parted.
The shades of evening were falling when Inspector Tanner reached Newcastle. He had not been favoured with his usual travelling weather. For the first time since he started work on the Ponson case, the skies had remained all day grey and leaden, and the rain had poured ceaselessly and hopelessly down. It had not been possible to open the carriage windows, and he was tired from so long breathing the stuffy atmosphere of the train.
It was too late to do anything that night, but the next morning, which fortunately was fine, he took the train to Tynwick. It was a village of about five hundred inhabitants, an attractive little place, with pleasant creeper-covered cottages, separated from the road by narrow gardens, all ablaze with colour. In the centre was the church, and strolling slowly into the churchyard, Tanner had no difficulty in identifying the spot from which the photograph had been taken. As the sergeant had said, the headstone was still standing, and Tanner paused and re-read the inscription of which he already had received a copy.
Close by the churchyard and connected with it by a gate in the dividing wall, stood an old, grey stone house—evidently the vicarage. Tanner pushed open the gate, and walking slowly up to the door, knocked.
‘Could I see the vicar for a few moments?’ he asked courteously, as the door was opened by a trim maid.
He was shown into a comfortable study, and there after a few moments he was joined by an elderly man, clean shaven, white haired, and kindly looking.
‘Good morning,’ said the latter. ‘You wished to see me?’
Tanner rose and bowed.
‘Yes, sir,’ he answered, ‘for a moment.’
‘Sit down, won’t you?’ His host waved him to an arm-chair and seated himself at his desk.
‘My business, sir,’ went on Tanner, ‘is, I expect, of a rather unusual kind for you to deal with. My name is Tanner—Inspector Tanner of New Scotland Yard, and I have come to ask your kind help in obtaining some information of which I am in need.’
If the clergyman was surprised he did not show it.
‘And what is the nature of the information?’ he asked.
Tanner took the photograph from his pocket.
‘We have had,’ he explained, ‘to arrest a man on suspicion of a serious crime—murder, in fact. The only clue to his antecedents we have is this photograph. You will see it represents part of your churchyard, and the headstone in the foreground is in memory of John Dale and his wife, Eleanor. We thought if we could find out something about these Dales, it might help us.’
‘Is Dale the name of your suspect?’
‘No, sir, he is called Douglas, but of course that may not be his real name.’
The clergyman thought for a few moments.
‘I fear I cannot tell you very much,’ he said at last. ‘When I came here thirteen years ago there was no one of that name in the parish. I do remember hearing of the family you mention, but they had moved some years previously.’
‘You don’t know to where?’
‘Unfortunately I do not.’
‘Perhaps, sir, some of your remaining parishioners could tell me?’
‘That’s what I was going to suggest.’ The clergyman again paused. ‘There is a family called Clayton living close by, gentlemen farmers, who have been here for generations. Old Mr Clayton is well over seventy, but still remains hale and hearty—a wonderful man for his age. I should think that if anyone could give you your information, he could. He’ll probably be at home now, and if you like, I’ll go down with you and introduce you.’
‘I should be more than grateful.’
‘Come then,’ said the vicar, leading the way.
The Claytons lived on the outskirts of the village in a charming little creeper-covered house, standing in small but perfectly kept grounds. As the two men passed up the rose-bordered path to the door, they were hailed from the lawn behind. An old gentleman with a full white beard, a grey felt hat, and a tweed suit was approaching.
‘Mornin’, vicar,’ he cried cheerily.
‘How are you, Mr Clayton? Beautiful morning. Can we have a word with you?’
‘Delighted, I’m sure. Come in here. It’s always better out of doors than in, eh, Vicar?’
He shook hands with the clergyman, and turned expectantly to Tanner.
‘May I introduce Mr Tanner? Mr Tanner has just called with me in search of some information which I unfortunately was unable to give him, but which I thought you possibly might.’
‘I had better introduce myself more fully, Mr Clayton,’ said Tanner. ‘I am a detective officer from Scotland Yard, and I am trying to trace a family named Dale, who, I understand, formerly lived here.’
Mr Clayton led the way to a delightfully situated arbour, and waved his guests to easy chairs, but the vicar excused himself on the ground that his part in the affair was complete. On his departure Tanner produced the photograph and explained his business to his host.
‘The Dales? Yes, I knew them well. They lived at the other end of the village for many years, until indeed John Dale, the father, died. Then they moved into Gateshead. They weren’t left too well off, I’m afraid. But I don’t know that any of them are alive now.’
‘What did the family consist of?’
‘The mother and two sons. She died some years after her husband—you have the date on your inscription.’
‘And can you tell me anything about the sons?’
‘Yes, I remember them well. They were very like each other—good looking, with taking manners, well dressed and all that, but a couple of rotters at heart. They were always out for what they could get, and there was drink and gambling and worse. When they cleared out they weren’t much loss.’
‘Place too hot to hold them?’
‘In Edward’s case, I think so. Edward was the younger. He was in debt heavily, I know, and he slipped off quietly one night to the States, and was never heard of again.’
‘And the other?
‘The elder brother, Tom, was a bad lot too. He had a tragic end. He was drowned. But I don’t think anyone mourned for him. He had well-nigh broken his young wife’s heart in the three years they were married.’
Tanner was like a bloodhound on a hot scent. This was very interesting. He remembered that Sir William Ponson had married a Mrs Dale from this part of the country, whose husband had been drowned on his way to Canada. It looked like as if the Tom Dale of whom Mr Clayton had been speaking might have been this man.
‘What was the business of the Dale brothers?’ he asked.
‘They were both in the same firm—the Eagle Ironworks. You know it maybe—in Gateshead? It was Peter Howard’s then. I remember young Ponson joining it—poor fellow, he’s gone now—it was he that made it. When he started as office boy there was just one small shed and about a dozen men, and now it’s a company employing over a thousand hands. A wonderful change.’
‘Wonderful indeed, Mr Clayton.’
‘Ay. A man of my years can look back over great changes. That’s more than a young fellow like you can do, eh, Mr Tanner?’
‘It’s true, sir. And you say Tom was drowned?’
‘Yes. He got a sudden call. He was in theNumidian. You wouldn’t remember about her?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘No, it would be before your time. A terrible business it was. TheNumidianwas a big boat, big for those times, I mean. She was running from Glasgow to Quebec, and she struck a berg. Went down off the banks in a few minutes. Nearly every soul on board was lost, and Tom Dale was one of them. A sudden call, it was.’
‘A terrible affair. I do remember hearing of it.’
‘Ay, no doubt. A sudden call for Tom, that it was.’
‘You said he nearly broke a good woman’s heart, Mr Clayton?’
‘Ay, and so he did. Little Ethel Osborne was fool enough to marry him. And it wasn’t long till she was sorry for it. They say she saw him drunk for the first time the night after the wedding. But it wasn’t the last, not by a long chalk. He was a bad boy all through, was Tom.’
‘Then his death must have been something of a release to her?’
‘Yes, poor soul. But she had more sense the second time.’
‘The second time?’
‘Ay, she did what she ought to have done at the start—married young William Ponson.’
‘Never neglect the smallest clue!’ thought Tanner triumphantly, as he recalled his doubt of the wisdom of following up the photograph. The connection between Douglas and Sir William was strengthening. Doubtless he was on the right track at last, and maybe if he questioned him skilfully, this old man would let something drop which would give away the secret.
Mr Clayton was glad to talk—the old gentleman seemed lonely—and presently the whole story came out. Substantially it was the same as that Tanner had already heard from Mr Arbuthnot, the late manufacturer’s lawyer. Mr Clayton told of William Ponson’s start in life as office-boy in the Eagle Ironworks of John Howard; of his rapid rise to the position, first of manager, then partner, and finally of sole owner; of his taking his brother John, Cosgrove’s father, into the concern; of their extraordinary prosperity; of William’s municipal life, culminating in his knighthood, and of John’s death, followed by Sir William’s sale of the business, and retirement to Luce Manor.
With all of this Tanner was familiar, but he found Mr Clayton was able to give him rather more details of the manufacturer’s family affairs than he had yet learnt.
It seemed that when the deceased knight was aged seven-and-twenty, he had fallen deeply in love with a Miss Ethel Osborne, the daughter of a Gateshead doctor. Miss Osborne was a pretty, though not very brilliant girl of some twenty summers, with a placid, pleasure-loving disposition, and a little money. The Dale brothers at this time held positions in the firm, Tom, the elder being a traveller, and his brother Edward a clerk. Tom was a handsome youth with rather fascinating manners. He was considerably below middle height, had delicate features, small and beautifully shaped hands and feet, and dark, passionate eyes.
When William Ponson began to press his attentions on Ethel Osborne, he soon found he had a rival in Tom Dale. For a long time the young lady was unable to decide between her two admirers. For Ponson she had more respect, and she felt that as his wife she would have an assured position and a comfortable home. But Ponson was ‘stodgy.’ His thoughts were centred in his work, and his own advancement, and he had forsworn that lighter side of life—theatres, dances, excursions—which the young girl found so attractive. With Dale she believed her prospects might be less secure, but life would certainly be pleasanter. He seemed to understand her, and respond to her moods better than the other, and he was a delightful companion. And who shall blame her if she sacrificed material prosperity to the joy of life, rather, who shall not praise her?
In due time she married Dale, and at once, on the very self-same day, her disillusionment began. That night, as has already been mentioned, he returned drunk to the Scottish hotel at which they were to spend the honeymoon. And that was only the first occasion of many. Soon she learned of an entanglement with a barmaid which had been going on at the very time of the wedding. It was not long before their numerous quarrels led to an open rupture, and Dale made no secret to his wife of the fact that he had married her for her money. Matters went from bad to worse, till debt began to fasten on them its horrid shackles, and ruin stared them in the face. The one alleviating circumstance was that there had been no children from the marriage.
All this William Ponson watched, grieving for Ethel, but of course helpless. Then it became necessary for the firm to send a representative to Canada, and the choice fell on their traveller, Tom Dale. Whether or not Ponson had any say in this decision was not known, but at all events Dale sailed for Quebec in theNumidian. As will be remembered, the vessel was lost off the coast of Newfoundland, a mere handful of her complement being saved. Dale’s name was amongst the lost. Ethel Dale therefore found herself not only without assets, but called upon to meet a considerable crop of debts. Her father having died since her marriage, she was thus absolutely destitute.
It was believed to be owing to William Ponson’s efforts that a small pension was granted her by the firm, and the debts were wiped out by a presentation from some of the employees. She took a small house, and by letting rooms contrived to make a living.
William Ponson, though he had acted throughout in a strictly honourable manner, had never ceased to love Ethel. He bided his time for over two years, then, calling on the widow, he told her of his love and boldly pressed his suit. She then realised that she had loved him all along, and though at first she refused to consider his proposal, his steady insistence wore down her opposition and in 1887, five years after he had first loved her, he obtained his desire, and they were married. The trouble through which she had passed had profoundly modified her character, sobering her and bringing out all that was best in her, and her life with William Ponson, though quiet, had been truly happy. Two children were born, Austin and Enid.
‘And you said the other Dale went to the States, I think?’ asked Tanner, when he had learnt the above facts.
‘Edward? Yes, he got into difficulties too. He was a born gambler. He was owing money everywhere, and the place got too hot for him. He went to the States shortly after Tom was married.’
Tanner felt he had done well. Almost first shot he had found this Mr Clayton and obtained information which must prove of the utmost value. But he had stayed chatting to and pumping the old man for an unconscionable time, and he began to express his thanks, preparatory to taking his leave. And then an idea flashed into his mind, and he sat motionless for some moments, thinking.
‘What was the Dale brother, Edward, like in appearance?’ he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.
‘Like enough to his brother Tom, but not so good looking, nor with such good manners by a long chalk. But passably well looking for all that.’
‘But was he a small man?’
‘Small? Ay, that he was—like Tom. Both were small men.’
Could it be? Edward Dale, a little man with small hands and feet, knowing all about William Ponson’s youth—knowing probably a good deal more than Mr Clayton had told or perhaps knew—Edward Dale, a clerk, had gone to America and disappeared. William Douglas, a little man with small hands and feet, and apparently knowing intimate facts about Sir William Ponson—William Douglas, a clerk, had come from America, his youthful history being unknown. Could they be one and the same?
The more Tanner thought over this theory, the more likely it seemed. As he sat smoking with Mr Clayton in the pleasant garden, he went over in his mind all that he had learnt of each man, and was unable to recall anything inconsistent with the hypothesis.
But how could he test it? He must make sure. But how?
There was of course one obvious possibility. Mr Clayton, if confronted with Douglas, might recognise him as Edward Dale. Or Douglas might recognise Mr Clayton, and so give himself away. It was not a certainty, but it would be worth trying. The Inspector turned to his host.
‘I believe, sir,’ he said, ‘that if I told you just what was troubling me, you might be able to help me out, if you would. I was asking you about Edward Dale, but I did not tell you much about the man we arrested. In the first place, Douglas, as he says his name is, came to England from New York, where he was employed as a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway for several years. We have traced his movements back to 1892, previous to which we can discover nothing whatever about him. Now, you tell me Edward Dale left for the States about the year 1882, and has since been lost sight of. That is coincidence Number One.’
Mr Clayton nodded without speaking. He was listening with eager attention.
‘Next,’ continued Tanner, ‘I did not tell you whose murder the man Douglas was suspected of. It was that of Sir William Ponson.’
‘God bless my soul!’ cried the other, ‘you don’t say so? A terrible affair that. And you think you’ve got the man, do you? All I can say is, I’d like to see him hanged.’
‘It seems clear from various things,’ Tanner went on, ‘that the trouble originated before Douglas went to America. Now Edward Dale knew Sir William in those days. That is coincidence Number Two.’
‘You said, I think, that Douglas’s history could not be traced before he became a clerk in the Pennsylvania Railway? How then do you know he left England prior to that?’
‘We don’t absolutely know, but we think it for two reasons: first, he can speak with a North of England accent, and secondly, that in an old book of his we found the photograph of the Dales’ grave.’
The other nodded.
‘That photograph,’ continued Tanner, ‘is coincidence Number Three. Few men would have such a photograph unless it represented something connected with their own families. And coincidence Number Four, Mr Clayton, is this. Douglas is a very short man with very small hands and feet.’
‘God bless my soul!’ Mr Clayton exclaimed again. ‘But this is most interesting. Go on, Mr Tanner.’
‘Well, sir, that leads me up to a very obvious question. You must have guessed it. You have known Dale intimately in the past; could you identify him now?
Tanner sat back in his chair and drew at his cigar. The other did not answer for a moment. Then as he slowly refilled his pipe, he said hesitatingly:
‘I hardly like to say. Thirty-eight years is a long time, and a man might change a lot during it. I think I would recognise Edward if I saw him, but I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Then, sir, my second question follows naturally. Will you come up to London and try?’
The other smiled.
‘It’s a long journey for a man of my years,’ he said, ‘but I imagine I have no choice. You Scotland Yard people are so autocratic.’
Tanner smiled in his turn.
‘If you will come at our expense, sir, you will confer a great favour on us. Do you prefer day or night travel?’
‘Day. When would you like me to go?’
‘The sooner the better, sir. Tomorrow, if it would be convenient.’
‘One day is much like another to me. I will go tomorrow, if you like.’
They sat on for some time longer smoking and chatting. In spite of his years Mr Clayton’s mind remained active and vigorous, and he had kept himself well abreast of recent events. He evidently enjoyed exchanging ideas with the Inspector, and the latter exerted himself to entertain the old gentleman, relating several of the adventures he had met with in his professional career.
In the afternoon Tanner called at the Eagle Works. But there he got no help. The firm’s official records did not go back far enough to include the Dales’ names, and none of the office staff recalled the brothers’ affairs.
On the following day the Inspector and Mr Clayton travelled up to town together, and the former saw his new friend to an hotel. The interview with Douglas was to take place next morning.
Inspector Tanner delighted in a dramatic situation, especially when he was thedeus ex machina. In the present instance he thought he was sufficiently sure of his ground to risk an audience. After consulting his chief, he accordingly rang up James Daunt.
‘I think I am on to a clue at last,’ he said. ‘As you and Miss Drew are interested and have helped so much I will stretch a point from strict etiquette and invite you both to be present while we test it tomorrow.… Yes, here at the Yard at eleven o’clock.’
At the time appointed a little group sat in the Inspector’s room. There was first of all Miss Drew, dressed quietly in a navy blue coat and skirt, and a small hat. Her kindly, dependable face was pale and somewhat drawn, as if the strain of the last few weeks had taken its toll of her. But she was calm and pleasantly courteous as usual, and did not betray by word or deed the anxiety which was gnawing at her heart.
Jimmy Daunt, who sat beside her, seemed the more nervous of the two. He was extremely dissatisfied at the way his case was going, and eagerly anxious to learn in what direction the Inspector’s fresh information would tend.
Mr Clayton, who sat next to Daunt, was anxious too. He devoutly hoped that after all the fuss and trouble of his visit to London, he should be able to give a decided opinion—to say definitely whether the man he was to see was or was not Dale.
On the other side of Tanner sat Chief Inspector Edgar. On Tanner reporting what he proposed to do, the latter had expressed a desire to be present. He it was who had suggested having the meeting at the Yard, in order to avoid the necessity of Miss Drew’s visiting the prison. But he took no part in the proceedings, Tanner conducting all the business.
When the visitors had been introduced to each other, Tanner rose, and bowing to Miss Drew and her cousin, said:
‘I have taken the liberty of asking you to be present this morning, as I know the keen interest you take in this case. Following a certain line of inquiry, with the details of which I need not now trouble you, I had the good fortune to come across Mr Clayton here. From what he told me there seemed a reasonable probability that the man whom I arrested in Portugal, and who gave his name as William Douglas, was not so named at all, but was a certain Edward Dale, a clerk in the late Sir William Ponson’s Ironworks, who emigrated to the States in the year 1882. Mr Clayton has been good enough to come up all the way from Newcastle to put this theory to the test. I propose now to confront Douglas with Mr Clayton, so as to see whether the two men recognise each other. I may add that if Douglas has to admit he is Dale, it is more than possible he may make a statement explaining the whole affair. Now, Mr Clayton, might I ask you to sit here at my desk with your head bent as if writing, and when I sign to you, to move round so that Douglas may see your face suddenly.’
A roll top desk was placed at right angles to the wall beside the large double window, and Mr Clayton crossed over and sat down on the swing chair, bending forward as if to write. Anyone entering would see only his stooped shoulders, and the back of his head, but when he swung round his features would be fully lighted from the window. The others placed themselves with their backs to the light, and in view of the door. When he was satisfied as to the position of each, Tanner pressed a bell and a sergeant of the police entered.
‘You may bring him in now.’
The man withdrew, closing the door, and silence came down on the little group. To Lois Drew such scenes were new, and on her expressive features there was a look of compassion for the unhappy man for whom the trap was set, and whose life might depend on his actions during the next few moments. To her the whole business was evidently extremely distasteful, and it was not hard to conclude that only the possibility of helping her lover had induced her to continue to take part in it.
Tanner’s emotions were evidently far otherwise. The eagerness of the hunter showed in his eyes, and his whole body seemed on the stretch. He was by no means a cruel man, but he had pitted his wits against the other, and the issue between them was now about to be joined.
A knock came to the door, it was thrown open, and William Douglas entered.
The man seemed to have aged since Tanner had first seen him at his house at Yelverton. His face was paler, his hair seemed greyer, and he was even smaller and more stooped. Innocent or guilty, he was already paying for his connection with the crime.
‘Take a seat, Mr Douglas,’ said Tanner, moving forward and placing a chair where the full light from the window shone on the other’s face. ‘I have asked you to meet my friends here, to discuss some points about this case. But I have to repeat my warning that you are not bound to make any statement or to answer any questions you may be asked unless you choose. This lady is Miss Drew, a friend of the Ponson family; this gentleman,’ he indicated Daunt, ‘is Mr Austin Ponson’s solicitor, and this,’ he waved his other hand, ‘is Chief Inspector Edgar. I think you already know our friend at the desk.’
As Tanner spoke he signed to Mr Clayton, who swung round suddenly and faced Douglas.
The latter had seemed very much mystified by the whole proceedings. His eyes had followed Tanner’s gestures as each member of the party had been mentioned, and he had made each a slight bow. But when he saw Mr Clayton’s face he remained as if turned to stone. At first for a moment he seemed puzzled and doubtful, then his eyes fixed themselves in a tense stare on the other’s features, his face grew slowly pale and drops of sweat formed on his forehead. Then, as if some second thought had passed through his mind, an expression of something like relief showed in his eyes. So he sat, staring, motionless.
But if the effect of the meeting on Douglas was disconcerting, it was as nothing to that produced on Mr Clayton. On first seeing the newcomer, he too looked puzzled and doubtful. Then gradually an expression of utter astonishment spread over his features. He literally gasped, and seemed so overwhelmed with amazement as to be bereft of the power of speech.
The surprise on the countenances of the two chief actors in the scene was reflected faintly on the faces of Lois Drew and the solicitor. But on Tanner’s there was triumph. If the girl and her cousin had not realised what was happening, he had. His plan had succeeded. That these two knew each other was established beyond any possibility of denial. It was as if each had shouted his recognition of the other aloud. He spoke quietly to the suspected man.
‘So you really are Edward Dale?’
The words seemed to restore the power of movement to Mr Clayton.
‘No,’ he almost shouted in his excitement. ‘It’s not Edward Dale. It’s Tom!’
Tanner jumped as if struck in the face.
‘What?’ he stammered. ‘What’s that you say? Tom? But—but—I thought—’
His voice trailed away into silence as the meaning of this discovery began to penetrate into his mind. Tom Dale was lost in theNumidiandisaster thirty-five years before—so he had been told, and so every one had believed. But every one must have been wrong. If this were Tom, he must have escaped from the wreck. He must have escaped and he must have concealed his escape. Why? Why should he conceal it? Why, to get rid of his wife, of course. It was a case of desertion. He had had all her money; he hated her. Of course that was it. He would take the opportunity to change his name and make a bid for freedom. But his wife—And then Tanner gasped in his turn as he saw the further consequences involved. His wife had married Sir William Ponson, thinking her first husband was dead. But now it was clear that had been no marriage at all. Lady Ponson was Lady Ponson no longer, but Mrs Tom Dale—the wife of the drunken ex-clerk and suspected blackmailer! Sir William was not married. Austin and Enid were illegitimate! No wonder Sir William submitted to blackmail rather than allow such a scandal to become public. As innocent in the matter as the babes unborn, Sir William and the woman he had considered his wife, as well as his son and daughter, would have had to pay as dear as if the whole affair had been deliberate.
Tanner glanced at Mr Clayton. His excitement had subsided, and a look of fierce indignation against Dale was showing on his face. Tanner spoke.
‘I suppose there can be no mistake?’
‘Mistake?’ the other burst out. ‘Man alive, look at him. By heaven I wish there was a mistake!’
‘We had better bring him up to Gateshead, and see if anyone else will confirm your identification.’
There was an interruption from the prisoner.
‘You needn’t trouble,’ he said sadly. ‘I admit it. I am Tom Dale.’
‘You escaped from theNumidian?’
‘I escaped. I was picked up by a fishing smack and taken into Gloucester. I was on board four days before we got in, and I had plenty of time to make my plans. I don’t pretend I wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t so bad as you think. I dare say you won’t believe me, but I did it for Ethel’s sake. She was tied to me, and I knew I was a bad egg and had all but ruined her. And what’s more, I knew I would ruin her outright if I went back to her. So I deserted her. But all I rid her of was trouble. I thought I would give her another chance with her life, and I did. I swore she would never know. And if I did go wrong, she at least has had her life happy since because of it.’
The man spoke simply, and with a certain dignity which impressed his hearers.
‘How did you conceal your identity?’ Tanner asked.
‘Very easily. I had made friends on the voyage with another passenger. He had told me he was alone in the world. I saw him drown. I took his name.’
‘And then you came here and blackmailed the man you had injured?’
Dale nodded his head slowly.
‘I admit that too,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘I most bitterly regret it, but I must admit it. I do not want to make any excuses for that, but here again the facts are not quite so black as they look. When I had been out there about thirty years I got a longing for the old country. I had made a little money in the States, and I left my job and came over to England. I was afraid to go back to Gateshead, so I looked around and took that cottage in Devonshire. Then one day in London I met Ponson—I didn’t know he had a handle to his name then. He recognised me, and there was a scene. I thought he would have killed me in the street. Then I got him into a bar, and we took a private room and had it out. I understood he had a right to have a down on me for deserting Ethel, but at first I couldn’t understand why he was so absolutely mad. Then I learnt. I hadn’t known what had happened to Ethel, for I was too much afraid of arousing suspicion as to who I was, to go back to Gateshead or make any inquiries. He threatened me so wildly I got afraid for my life, and then I saw how I could turn the tables on him. I told him that so far from me being in his power, he was in mine. I told him I would make the affair public myself, and that if I could be punished I would take it, and he could have the scandal. He blustered at first, then gradually he saw his position, and then he crawled. He offered to make the thing a business proposition. He would pay for my silence. He pressed his offer on me, and I accepted it at last. And I have at least kept my word. Not a whisper of the affair has passed my lips. But I admit taking the money. I was very hard up, and it meant a lot to me. You don’t understand, gentlemen, how much a few pounds means to a poor man. And with all his thousands he didn’t miss it. Not any more than you would miss a penny if you dropped it. I took it and I admit I pressed him for more.’
‘Was that what you went to the Luce Manor boathouse for on the night of the murder?’
Chief Inspector Edgar moved suddenly.
‘Come, Tanner, that won’t do,’ he advised, and then to Dale: ‘You needn’t answer that unless you like.’
Dale hesitated. To the others it seemed as if he was on the verge of a confession. Then he bowed to Edgar.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I had perhaps better consult my solicitor first.’
Tanner looked annoyed, but he controlled himself and again addressed the prisoner.
‘Then you don’t wish to make any statement?’
‘No. Not at present, at any rate.’
Tanner nodded and rang his bell. The same sergeant re-entered and signed to Dale to follow him. Then, including the whole party in a slight bow, the latter rose from his chair and the two men left the room.
The silence which fell when the door was closed lasted a full thirty seconds, and then Daunt broke it.
‘Well, Inspector, this has been very interesting, but I’m hanged if I can make head or tail of it. Maybe you’d explain to Miss Drew and me what it’s all about.’
Chief Inspector Edgar rose.
‘I think that’s all I’m concerned in,’ he said, and turning to Mr Clayton, he invited him to smoke a cigar in his room.
When Tanner was left alone with the cousins, he realised that he had an extremely unpleasant task to perform. Miss Drew, as the affianced wife of Austin Ponson, was personally interested in the story. Though from his knowledge of her he thought she would not place so great importance on the unfortunate occurrence as might a shallower and more conventional woman, yet the news could not be otherwise than a shock to her. He wished someone else had the telling of it.
But no purpose would be saved by delay. The sooner he began, the sooner the unwelcome job would be over.
Asking Miss Drew’s permission, he passed his cigar case to Daunt, then drew forward his chair and began to speak.
‘I am afraid the story I have to tell you will come rather as a shock to you,’ he said, as he examined the end of his cigar. ‘This man Dale had been blackmailing Sir William Ponson for the last four years. There was an exceedingly unfortunate secret in Sir William’s life—unknown to him until he learnt it from Dale at that time, four years ago. Sir William was in no wise to blame for what had taken place. So far as I can learn, he had acted with scrupulous honour all through. The fault was Dale’s and Dale’s only. But to make it clear I must tell you from the beginning.’
The cousins remained almost motionless while the Inspector related the details of his journey north, and the facts he had there learnt; the family history of the Dales; how the brothers came across Sir William in the Eagle Ironworks; the rivalry between Ponson and Tom Dale for the hand of the pretty Ethel Osborne; Tom’s success in the contest; the unhappy married life of the young couple; Tom’s mission to Canada; the loss of theNumidian, and his presumed death; Sir William’s marriage with Mrs Dale, and the birth of Austin and Enid; Tom Dale’s return to England; and finally the blackmailing, culminating in the presumed negotiations for the purchase of the annuity.
‘But the murder?’ asked Daunt when at last the Inspector paused. ‘What about that?’
‘The murder unfortunately remains as great a mystery as ever,’ Tanner answered slowly; ‘indeed, even more so,’ and he explained his difficulty about, as he expressed it, the wrong man having been killed.
The two men discussed the affair for some minutes further, Miss Drew remaining silent. When they got up to take their leave her eyes were very bright, and there was an expression on her face the Inspector could not quite fathom.
‘Mr Tanner,’ she said as she held out her hand, ‘I would like to thank you for the way you told your story.’
Outside the Yard she dismissed Daunt.
‘I am going to write to Austin,’ she announced. ‘I shall leave the letter at your office shortly after lunch, then, like a dear man, you will take it to him immediately, and bring me the answer.’
‘Of course, I will, old girl,’ Daunt answered her as they parted.