A Case of Identity
“Certain of that?” queried Bannister. “How do you know she didn’t
commit suicide?”
The Sergeant nodded vigorously in affirmation of the Inspector’s first
question. “It’s murder for certain! All her personal belongings seem
to have been taken and all around the poor girl’s mouth hung that
unmistakable bitter almonds smell. You couldn’t mistake it. I was sure
that’s what it was before Doctor Renfrew, the divisional surgeon,
arrived. When he did he quickly confirmed my idea. He says she had a
pretty considerable dose of the stuff, too. Enough to kill three
people. The murderer, whoever he was, didn’t intend taking any risks.
Besides Branston’s story rules out the idea of suicide.”
“H’m,” said Bannister fingering his chin reflectively, “it certainly
seems an extraordinary case. At first appearances to all events. It
all seems to have been done in so short a time. Still it may turn out
quite a simple affair before you’ve done with it.”
A grim smile played round Godfrey’s lips. Albeit he strove hard to
conceal his disappointment. “I was hoping you would say ‘before
_we’ve_ done with it,’” he ventured.
Bannister frowned. “You were—were you?” Then he turned to his
companion with a mixture of impatience and ill-temper. “Can’t you
leave me alone when I’m on a holiday? For a time at least, that is. As
I said it may be quite an easy case to solve when you get all your
data!”
Godfrey looked dismayed at the Inspector’s remark. “No chance of that,
I’m afraid, sir,” he said. “The fact is I can’t see any light at all.
I’m up against it from the very commencement. I don’t even know _who
the young lady is_.”
“What?” interjected Bannister. “Surely she has something on her or
with her that will help to identify her—it’s inconceivable to me that
she hasn’t.”
Godfrey shook his head. “She may have—some of her clothes may have
marks that will lead to her identity. I haven’t examined any of them
yet. I considered my best plan was to leave her almost exactly as she
was when Stannard sent for me to come to the Surgery. I thought if I
did that, sir, better intelligences than mine might read something
into the case that was not apparent to me. I was thinking of you, sir.
All the same—not knowing who she is means losing valuable time.”
Bannister was temporarily proof against flattery. “Who told you I was
here?” he demanded curtly.
“I’ve a cousin at ‘the Yard,’ sir,” explained the Sergeant, “he
happened to mention the fact in a letter I had from him a few days
ago.”
“Like his damned interference,” interjected Bannister, “why couldn’t
he mind his own business and let me finish my holiday in peace?”
“I’m sorry, sir—but if I may make the suggestion—you’re suffering from
what I should describe as the penalty of fame, sir.”
Bannister grinned cynically. “Oh—naturally—and all that.” Then he
reluctantly resigned himself to his fate—the Sergeant’s last remark
had been in the nature of a “_coup de grâce_.” He submitted himself to
the inevitable. “How far away is the place, Godfrey?”
“I’ve a car outside the ‘Cassandra’,” Godfrey answered—relief
manifested in every tone of his voice. “It will get us there in ten
minutes easily.” The car proved equal to the task.
During the short journey, Bannister remained silent. Two attempts that
Godfrey made to re-open discussion of the crime were waved aside
unceremoniously. “Let me wait,” he declared. “Otherwise my brain will
be full up with other people’s impressions and observations, which is
a condition I always try to avoid, if at all possible.”
Ronald Branston’s Dental Surgery lay at the corner of Coolwater Avenue
and the Lower Seabourne Road in the direction of Froam, a watering
place some eight miles away. The entrance to the Surgery for the use
of patients was situated in Coolwater Avenue, the outer door being
open. The Inspector and Sergeant Godfrey made their way to the main
entrance which was in the Lower Seabourne Road and rang the bell. A
woman with a scared face answered their summons and admitted them,
with a suggestion of reluctance in her manner. She addressed Godfrey
however, with a certain deference.
“Doctor Renfrew has come back,” she announced. “He’s upstairs with Mr.
Branston.”
Godfrey turned to the Inspector. “Constables Stannard and Waghorn are
on duty up in the room, sir,” he explained, “they had instructions
from me to stay till I returned.”
Bannister nodded in understanding. “Take me up,” he ordered,
decisively. Godfrey obeyed.
Bannister noticed that the operating room lay nearer to the left-hand
side of the house—that is to say, the Coolwater Avenue side. As
Godfrey had stated in his first account of the case—Branston’s
appointments and furniture-equipment were without exception, of
excellent quality. The stair-carpet was luxuriously thick and heavy
and everything about the place denoted unmistakably that no expense
had been spared in the matter of its furnishing and decoration. Doctor
Renfrew came out of the large room—a spacious front room overlooking
the Lower Seabourne Road—and glanced inquiringly at Godfrey’s
companion.
“This is Chief-Inspector Bannister of Scotland Yard!” Godfrey was
quick to introduce them. “_The_ Bannister,” he supplemented rather
grandiloquently. The Doctor shook hands.
“Proud to meet you, Inspector.”
“Good evening, Doctor.”
Doctor Renfrew, a tall, thin, nervous man, with watery eyes that
blinked repeatedly behind gold-rimmed spectacles motioned to the door
of the surgery.
“Will you go in at once?” he asked. Bannister nodded curtly and the
three men entered the room. Constables Stannard and Waghorn sprang to
their feet and saluted.
“Wait downstairs, you two men,” ordered Godfrey. He turned to the
Doctor. “Where’s Mr. Branston?”
“Downstairs—he had dinner very late, I believe. I told him he’d
probably be wanted before very long.”
Bannister in the meantime had walked across to the motionless shape
that lay huddled in the dentist’s chair. He removed the silk
handkerchief that covered the face. As far as he could judge from her
appearance she was in her early twenties and in life must have been
very beautiful—the face having an exquisite delicacy of line. She was
dressed in what is usually termed a “three-piece suit”; of jumper,
skirt and sleeveless coat. The coat and skirt were of a fine wool, in
colour Cedar brown—the jumper being striped to tone. Her brown shoes
were semi-brogue; like her stockings they were of the very best
quality. She wore no jewellery and her fingers were ringless. Doctor
Renfrew walked out of the room and returned a moment or two later
carrying a hat and a pair of gloves.
“She left these in the ladies’ waiting-room,” he explained. “Mr.
Branston has a separate room for ladies in which to wait if they so
desire—it opens out of the front room, which is used more as a general
waiting-room.”
Bannister nodded and looked at the hat. It was a pull-on waterproof
felt with a pleated crown and turned-down brim. He glanced inside at
the maker’s name. “Moore—Knightsbridge! A lady in very comfortable
circumstances, I should say,” he declared. Godfrey nodded in
agreement. “I think so too!” “Well, Doctor Renfrew,” continued the
Inspector, “what have you got to tell me?”
Doctor Renfrew wasted no time in telling him. “When I examined the
deceased, it was apparent to me at once that death had been caused by
narcotic poisoning—hydrocyanic acid to be precise. It was impossible
to mistake the odour round the lips and mouth. She had had a big dose
administered.”
Bannister pursed his lips. “How was it administered—any idea? For
instance—can’t it be suicide?”
The doctor’s reply came quickly and readily. “In my opinion—judging
from the position of the body—the poison was given from a small
hand-syringe. After locking Branston in, the murderer entered the room
through the door here—she heard him—turned in his direction and he
used the syringe immediately. Her face would be right in front of him.
Quite an easy matter—he had doubtless worked out all the details
beforehand.”
“Cold-blooded business,” muttered Godfrey. “The kind of man I should
take a delight in hanging.”
“Any purse or anything with her?” demanded Bannister.
“Nothing,” answered the Sergeant. “Everything seems to have gone
except the hat and this pair of gloves.”
A knock sounded on the door and Doctor Renfrew crossed the room to
open it. Ronald Branston stood outside. “May I come in?” he queried.
Bannister beckoned to him. “I was just about to send down to you, Mr.
Branston,” he commenced, “you must have read my thoughts to arrive so
opportunely.”
Branston bowed. “A dreadful affair this,” he declared, “dreadful from
whatever point of view you look at it. Pretty rotten for me, you
know—in the business sense. It sounds frightfully callous, I know, but
self-preservation’s the first law of nature. This job isn’t going to
do my business any good and every man has to think of himself.” He
flushed under his dark skin.
Bannister eyed him sternly. “I am Chief-Inspector Bannister,” he said,
“of ‘Scotland Yard.’ Sergeant Godfrey has requested my assistance.
Tell me exactly what happened.”
Branston’s nostrils quivered slightly as he began to tell his story
but he rapidly regained control over himself and his words came
clearly and without a shade of tremor in his voice. “I can only repeat
to you,” he stated, “what I have already told Sergeant Godfrey here.
This unhappy lady entered the room in which we are now standing a few
minutes before two o’clock this afternoon. I had just attended to a
previous patient who was my first of the afternoon. She asked me to
perform an extraction. I administered a simple local anæsthetic and
extracted a left-hand bicuspid. The lady seemed quite comfortable
after the extraction. I gave her the usual glass of water as a
mouth-wash—there’s the very tumbler on that stand—just as she must
have put it down before she was murdered—and then went along to my
work-room. I had a special job on this afternoon as I’ve previously
explained to the Sergeant and it’s my customary practice to let a
patient alone for a moment or two after an extraction.”
“One minute,” broke in Bannister. “Was the extraction a necessary
one?”
“Oh, undoubtedly—the tooth had been filled on a previous occasion and
the filling had worn away. The patient had been in considerable pain,
she informed me, and I could well understand it. She had probably
caught cold in the bad tooth.”
“Thank you,” observed the Inspector. “Please proceed.”
“Well, here comes the extraordinary part of the story.” Here
Branston’s nervousness began to show itself again. “The job took me a
little longer than I had anticipated—when I turned to open the door of
the room in which I was working, I found to my complete astonishment
that I was shut in. Somebody had shot the brass bolt on the outside of
the work-room door. I called out and banged on the door but there I
had to stay until my housekeeper heard me yelling and released me. I
rushed back to the operating room and discovered—this.”
“How long were you away—as accurately, now, as you can possibly place
it?”
Branston knitted his brows in reflection. “I wouldn’t put it at more
than seven minutes,” he answered, calculatingly.
“Did you hear any step at all when you were in the work-room?”
He shook his head decisively. “No! I didn’t! The carpet on the stairs
and along the landing to the work-room is very thick, you know.”
Bannister went to the door and looked out. “This back staircase leads
to the patients’ entrance in Coolwater Avenue—I suppose?”
“That’s so, Inspector.”
The Inspector closed the door and came back. “The lady of course, was
a chance patient—not an appointment case?”
“A complete stranger.”
“Were any other patients waiting, do you know?”
“I had no definite appointment till half-past two. I couldn’t say if
there were any other chance cases waiting in either of the
waiting-rooms. Certainly I can remember nobody coming out when we
discovered what had happened.”
Bannister thought hard for a moment. “Did the expected client arrive
at half-past two?”
Branston smiled for the first time. “’Pon my soul,” he exclaimed,
“I’ve never given him another thought. It was twenty minutes past two
when I ’phoned up for the Police—I must have clean forgotten him. If
he came—he probably cleared off in the ‘schemozzle.’”
“What’s his name?” demanded Bannister.
“He’s a Mr. Jacob Morley—a local gentleman—I rather fancy he styles
himself a Turf accountant.” Branston permitted himself the suggestion
of a smile.
“Sound man?”
Branston shrugged his shoulders. “I know nothing to the contrary.”
“All right, then, Mr. Branston,” put in Bannister after a slight
pause, “I don’t think I need detain you any longer. That is all I want
to know for the moment.”
Branston bowed and withdrew, Doctor Renfrew following him.
Sergeant Godfrey caught his superior’s eye and understood the intended
meaning. “I’ve told Stannard and Waghorn to watch points in that
direction—that will be all right.”
“Very good,” rejoined the Inspector, “let’s hear Mrs. Bertenshaw’s
story.”
The housekeeper corroborated Branston in every particular and was
allowed to withdraw. Bannister looked at his watch. “It’s so
confoundedly late, that it will be extremely difficult to get anything
much done to-night. Tell me all you’ve done, so far, Godfrey.”
“I’ve had the body photographed and I’ve sent round to all the hotels
and boarding-establishments to try to trace by discreet inquiries any
young lady visitor who’s been missing, say, since luncheon time
to-day.”
The Inspector showed his approval. “That’s all right as far as it
goes. But she may be a new arrival to the town. She may have just come
in. Stay—what about luggage?”
“She might have left it somewhere,” responded Godfrey. “At the railway
station or at an hotel. The latter, I should be inclined to suggest as
the more likely, taking into consideration the class of girl she
appears to be.”
“Yes,” conceded Bannister. “I think perhaps you’re right. Now about
this work-room Branston has been telling us of—have you taken a look
in there—I suppose his story is authentic—eh? I can’t help feeling
there’s something ‘fishy’ about it somewhere.”
“I’ve seen the room—you can come along and see it yourself before we
go—I’ll say this—I found nothing there that seemed in any way to
contradict his story. I’ve also had the brass bolt on the door treated
for finger-prints.”
“Good man,” smiled Bannister. “You should certainly find Mrs.
Bertenshaw’s there—I suppose you’ve taken hers and Branston’s?”
“You bet I have, sir,” grinned the Sergeant. “I’ve got them tucked
away all serene.”
Bannister frowned and walked across to the stand where stood the
tumbler of water. It was almost full. He smelt it. “The purest of pure
water, Doctor Renfrew says. Seems like it,” said Bannister. “No odour,
certainly.”
The Sergeant who was watching him seemed suddenly struck by an idea.
“By Jove, sir,” he exclaimed, “I ought to have treated that glass for
‘prints’ as well as the bolt—don’t you agree?”
Bannister held the glass high up to the electric light and carefully
examined it. “Perhaps you had,” he replied, “if it isn’t too late now
to be effective.”
Godfrey went through the insufflating process in his usual
workman-like manner. With a small insufflator or powder-blower, he
exhaled a cloud of light yellow powder which settled on the glass in
an even coating. Then he blew at it sharply. Most of the yellow powder
was blown off, but a number of smeary yellow impressions were left
behind, standing out in strong saffron relief against the white glass.
“Something to work on here,” he said. “I’ll have the job completed.”
He slipped out but was quickly back. “I suggest we get Mrs. Pearson up
here from the station,” he said after a short interval.
“The female searcher?” queried the Inspector.
“Yes—then we can have the body removed in the morning. If the poor
girl’s still unidentified by then, perhaps the underclothes——”
“Sergeant Godfrey!” Branston’s voice sounded outside. “You’re wanted
on my telephone, downstairs.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Bannister. “It may be news.”
Godfrey took off the receiver, listened and replaced it. “It’s the
‘Lauderdale Hotel’—they think they can identify the lady. At my
suggestion they’re sending the reception-clerk along to us
immediately. He will be here any moment—the Manager’s coming along
with him.”
“Good,” said Bannister. “We are moving at last.” He offered his
cigarette-case with a gesture of satisfaction to Sergeant Godfrey.
And judging from the manner in which he selected a cigarette—Sergeant
Godfrey thought so too!