By the time French had completed his notes the theory he had formed
had become cut and dry and detailed. He was immensely delighted with
it and with himself for having evolved it. Except for the failure to
explain Roper’s death it seemed to him flawless, and for that one weak
point he felt sure that a simple explanation existed. In the hope of
lighting on some such he decided before putting away his papers to go
once more in detail over the whole case as he now saw it.
First there was the character of Roper. Roper was a clever and
unscrupulous man with a cynical and discontented outlook on life. He
was, in fact, the sort of man who might have planned and carried out
the Starvel crime.
His anxiety to get the job at Averill’s was an interesting feature of
the case. It must have been a poor job for a man who had been male
nurse in the Ransome Institute. It was not only a hard and thankless
job in itself, but it meant being buried in one of the bleakest and
most barren solitudes of England. Moreover, such a job would lead to
nothing, and as Averill was paying, it was unlikely that the salary
was other than miserable. Of course after dismissal from the Institute
Roper might have been glad of anything, but French did not feel
satisfied that this really explained the matter. His thoughts took
another line.
The belief in Averill’s wealth was universal and Roper could scarcely
have failed to hear of it when inquiring about the place. The
feebleness of the old man and the isolation of the house were, of
course, patent. Was it too much to conclude that the idea of robbery
had been in Roper’s mind from the first? If so, a reason why he had
ceased to blackmail Philpot might be suggested. The doctor was the one
person in the neighbourhood who knew his real character. If anything
untoward happened at Starvel, the doctor would immediately become
suspicious. It was, therefore, politic to suggest a reformation of
character to Philpot, and the best way in which this could be done was
undoubtedly the way Roper had chosen. But he was not going to spoil
the affair by haste. This was the one great effort of his life and he
was out to make a job of it. No time nor trouble nor inconvenience was
too great to devote to it. So he waited for over a year. How many a
wife murderer, thought French, has aroused suspicion by marrying the
other woman within the twelve months. Roper was not going to make the
mistake of acting too soon.
During this time of waiting the man had doubtless been perfecting his
scheme. And then another factor had entered into it. He had come to
hate his wife. Why not at one fell stroke achieve both wealth and
freedom? The same machinery would accomplish both.
In the nature of the case French saw that all this must necessarily be
speculative, but when he came to consider the details of the crime he
felt himself on firmer ground.
The first move was to get Ruth Averill out of the way, and here the
_modus operandi_ was clear. Roper had evidently either heard enough
about Mrs. Palmer-Gore from Mr. Averill to give him his idea, or he
had discovered her existence from old letters. He had forged the note
to her from Averill, and intercepting its reply, had used its
enclosure to induce Ruth to go to York. As he couldn’t prevent the
girl from visiting her uncle, he had drugged the old man so that the
fraud would remain hidden.
His next care was to make sure that Averill’s bank notes could be
passed without arousing suspicion; in other words, that their numbers
were unknown. To this end the fraud on Whymper was devised. Whymper
was to be used to test the matter, and in the event of the theft being
discovered, Whymper was to pay the penalty. So Whymper was brought out
to the house on the night of the crime and there given the fateful
money, being told some yarn which would make him spend it in a
mysterious way for which he would be unable to account. That that yarn
was connected with something discreditable about Ruth’s parents French
shrewdly suspected, and he determined to see Whymper again and try to
extract the truth from him.
Whymper duped and sent away from Starvel, French thought he could
picture the next sinister happenings in the lonely old house. Averill
first! The frail old man would prove an easy victim. Any method of
assassination would do which did not involve an injury to the
skeleton. A further dose of the drug, smothering with a pillow, a
whiff of chloroform: the thing would have been child’s play to a
determined man, particularly one with the training of a male nurse in
a mental hospital.
Then Mrs. Roper! How the unfortunate woman met her end would probably
remain for ever a mystery. But that she died by her husband’s hand
French was growing more and more certain.
Witnesses to the theft removed, the safe must have claimed Roper’s
attention next. French in imagination could see him getting the keys
from under their dead owner’s pillow, opening the safe, and packing
the notes in a suitcase. How it must have gone to Roper’s heart to
leave the gold! But obviously he had no other course. Gold wouldn’t
burn. It must therefore be found in the safe. Then came the
substitution and burning of the newspapers. Here Roper made his first
slip. Doubtless he was counting that the safe would fall to the ground
level when the floor it stood on burned away and the churning of the
sovereigns would reduce the paper ashes to dust. But there he had been
wrong. Enough was left to reveal the fraud.
There was plenty of petrol and paraffin in the house and Roper’s next
step must have been to spill these about, so as to leave no doubt of
the completeness of the holocaust. In that also he was only too
successful.
So far, French felt he was on pretty firm ground. He was becoming
convinced that all this had happened, substantially as he had imagined
it. But now came the terrible snag. Or rather two snags, for the one
did not entirely include the other. The first was: What had happened
to Roper? The second: Where was the money?
The more French puzzled over the first of these problems the more he
came to doubt his first idea that some quite simple explanation would
account for it. That nearly every criminal makes some stupid and
obvious blunder during the commission of his crime is a commonplace.
Still French could not see so astute a man as Roper making a blunder
so colossal as to cost him his life. What super-ghastliness had
happened upon that night of horrors? Had Roper started the fire before
killing his wife and been overcome by fumes while in the act of
murder? Had he taken too much drink to steady his nerves and fallen
asleep, to meet the fate he had prepared for others? French could
think of no theory which seemed satisfactory.
Nor could he imagine where the money might be. Was it burned after
all? Had the receptacle in which it had been packed been left in the
house and had its contents been destroyed? Or had Roper hidden it
outside? Here again the matter was purely speculative, but French
inclined to the former theory. All the same he determined that before
he left the district he would make a thorough search in the
neighbourhood of the house.
There was still the matter of the Whymper episode to be fully cleared
up, and French thought that with the help of his new theory he might
now be able to get the truth out of the young man. Accordingly he left
the hotel and walked up the picturesque old street to the church.
Whymper was busily engaged with a steel tape in giving positions for a
series of new steps which were to lead up to the altar and French,
interested in the operation, stood watching until it was complete.
Then the young fellow conducted him for the second time to the vestry
room, and seating himself, pointed to a chair.
“As no doubt you can guess, I’ve come on the same business as before,”
French explained in his pleasant, courteous tones. “The fact is, I’ve
learned a good deal more about this Starvel business since I last saw
you, and I want to hear what you think of a theory I have evolved. But
first, will you tell me everything that you can of your relations with
Roper?”
“I really hadn’t any relations with Roper except what I have already
mentioned,” Whymper returned. “Of course I had seen him on different
occasions, but the first time I spoke to him was the first time I
called on Miss Averill. He opened the door and showed me into the
drawing-room. The next time I went we spoke about the weather and so
on, but I had no actual relations with him until the night of the
tragedy, when he gave me Mr. Averill’s message at the church gate.”
“It never occurred to you to doubt that the message did come from Mr.
Averill, I suppose?”
“Of course not,” Whymper answered promptly. “You forget the note Mr.
Averill sent me when I got to Starvel.”
“I don’t forget the note. But suppose I were to suggest that Roper had
forged the note and that Mr. Averill knew nothing whatever about it? I
should tell you that it has been established that Roper was a very
skilful forger.”
“Such an idea never occurred to me. Even if Roper was a skilful forger
I don’t see why you should think he forged this note. What possible
motive could he have had?”
“Well, I think we possibly might find a motive. But let that pass for
the moment. Go over the circumstances again in your mind and let me
know if you see any reason why Roper should not have arranged the
whole business himself.”
Whymper did not at once reply. French, anxious not to hurry him,
remained silent also, idly admiring the pilasters and mouldings of the
octagonal chamber and the groining of the old stone roof.
“I don’t see how Roper could have done it,” Whymper said presently.
“There’s the money to be considered. The £500 couldn’t have been
forged.”
“No. But it could have been stolen, and I have no doubt it was.”
“Surely not! You don’t really believe Roper was a thief?”
“At least he might have been. No, Mr. Whymper, you haven’t convinced
me so far. Does anything further occur to you?”
“Yes,” said Whymper: “the story he told me. No one could have known it
but Mr. Averill.”
French leaned forward and his face took on an expression of keener
interest.
“Ah, now we’re coming to it,” he exclaimed. “I suggest that that whole
story was a pure invention of Roper’s and that it had no foundation in
fact. Now tell me this.” He raised his hand as Whymper would have
spoken. “If the story were true would you not have expected to hear
something of M. Prosper Giraud and Mme. Madeleine Blancquart at
Talloires?”
Whymper seemed absolutely dumbfounded at the extent of the other’s
knowledge.
“Why,” he stammered with all the appearance of acute dismay, “how do
you know about that? I never mentioned it.”
“You did,” French declared. “To the police at Talloires. I traced you
there and found out about your inquiries. It was perfectly simple. If
the story had been true would you not have had an answer to your
inquiries?”
A sudden eagerness appeared in the young man’s face. He leaned forward
and cried excitedly:—
“My Heavens, I never thought of that! I supposed Roper had made a
mistake about the address. Oh, if it could only be so!” He paused for
a moment, then burst out again: “You may be right! You may be right!
Tell me why you thought it might be Roper’s invention. I must know!”
“In the strictest confidence I’ll tell you everything,” French
answered and he began to recount, not indeed everything, but a good
many of the reasons which had led him to believe in Roper’s guilt.
Whymper listened with painful intensity, and when the other had
finished he seemed almost unable to contain his excitement.
“I must know if you are right,” he cried, springing from his chair and
beginning to pace the room. “I must know! How can I be sure,
Inspector? You have found out so much; can’t you find out a little
more?”
“That’s what I came down for, Mr. Whymper,” French said gravely. “I
must know too. And there’s only one way out of it. You’ve got to tell
me the story. I’ll not use it unless it’s absolutely necessary. But
I’ll test it and get to know definitely whether it’s fact or fiction.”
Whymper paused irresolutely.
“Suppose,” he said at length, “suppose, telling you the story involved
letting you know of a crime which had been committed—not recently;
many, many years ago. Suppose the criminal had escaped, but my story
told you where you could find him. Would you give me your word of
honour not to move in the matter?”
French glanced at him sharply.
“Of course not, Mr. Whymper. You know it is foolish of you to talk
like that. Neither you nor I could have knowledge of that kind and
remain silent. If you learn of a crime and shield the criminal, you
become an accessory after the fact. You must know that.”
“In that case,” Whymper answered, “I can’t tell you.”
French became once more suave, even coaxing.
“Now, Mr. Whymper, that is quite an impossible line for you to take
up. Just consider your own position. I have ample evidence to justify
me in arresting you for the theft of Mr. Averill’s money. If I do so,
this story that you are trying to keep to yourself will come out: not
privately to me, but in open court. Every one will know it then. By
keeping silent now you will defeat the very object you are striving
for. Attention will be forced on to the very person you are trying to
shield. And when it comes out you will be charged as an accessory. On
the other hand, if you tell me the whole thing here and in private you
will ease your mind of a burden and may clear yourself of suspicion of
the theft. And with regard to the other crime we may find that it is a
pure invention and that no such thing ever took place. Now, Mr.
Whymper, you’ve got to take the lesser risk. You’ve got to tell me. As
I say, I’ll not use your evidence unless I must.”
Whymper made no reply and French, recalling his theory that the secret
concerned Ruth’s parentage, decided on a bluff.
“Well,” he said, quite sharply for him. “If you won’t speak I shall
have to get the information from Miss Averill. I shall be sorry to
have to force her confidence about her parents, but you leave me no
option.”
The bluff worked better than French could have hoped. Whymper started
forward with consternation on his face.
“What?” he cried. “Then you know?” Then realising what he had said, he
swore. “Confound you, Inspector, that was a caddish trick! But you
won’t get any more out of me in spite of it.”
French tried his bluff again.
“Nonsense,” he answered. “It would be far better for Miss Averill that
you should tell me than that she should. But that’s a matter for you.
If you like to tell me, well; if not, I shall go straight to her. Look
here,” he leaned forward and tapped the other’s arm, “do you imagine
that you can keep the affair secret? I’ve only got to trace Mr. Simon
Averill’s history and go into the matter of Miss Ruth’s parentage and
the whole thing will come out. It’s silly of you.” He waited for a
moment, then got up. “Well, if you won’t, you won’t. You’ll come along
to the station first and then I’ll go to Miss Averill.”
Whymper looked startled.
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“What else can I do?” French returned.
Whymper wrung his hands as if in despair, then motioned the Inspector
to sit down again.
“Wait a minute,” he said brokenly. “I’ll tell you. I see I can’t help
myself. It is not that I am afraid for myself, but I see from all you
say that I have no alternative. But I trust your word not to use the
information if you can avoid it.”
“I give you my word.”
“Well, I suppose that is as much as I can expect.” He paused to
collect his thoughts, then went on: “I have already explained to you
about Roper meeting me when I reached Starvel and his saying that Mr.
Averill was too ill to see me, and you have seen the letter that I
took to be from Mr. Averill, stating that he did not wish to put the
matter in question in writing, that Roper was his confidential
attendant, that he understood the affair in question and had been
authorised to explain it to me. Of course on receipt of that letter I
was prepared to believe whatever I heard, and I did believe it.”
“Quite natural,” French admitted suavely.
“Roper began by saying that his part in the affair was very
distasteful to him, that he felt he was intruding into a family and
very private matter, but that he had no alternative but to carry it
through as Mr. Averill had given him definite instructions to do so.
He added that he was particularly sorry about it, as the matter was
bound to be very painful to me. It was about Miss Averill.”
Whymper was evidently very reluctant to proceed, but he overcame his
distaste after a moment’s hesitation and in a lower voice continued:—
“He went on to ask me, again with apologies, whether Mr. Averill was
correct in believing I wished to marry Miss Averill. If I did not, he
said the information would be of no interest to me and he need not
proceed with the matter. But if I did wish to marry her there was
something I should know.
“As a matter of fact, I wanted the marriage more than anything else on
earth, and when I said so to Roper he gave me the message. He told me
that, a few days before, Mr. Averill had received a letter which upset
him very much and, Roper thought, had brought on his illness. But
before I could appreciate the significance of the letter he would have
to explain some family matters.
“Mr. Simon Averill had a brother named Theodore—I shall call them
Simon and Theodore to distinguish them. As a young man Theodore had
all the promise of a brilliant career. He had gone into business in
London and held a very good position as French representative of his
firm. He had married a French lady of old family and great beauty. One
child was born, a daughter, Ruth.
“But unfortunately he was not steady, and as time passed he grew
wilder and wilder and his relations with his wife became more and more
strained. At last when Ruth was four years old and they were living in
London, there was some fearful trouble which finished him up.
“Roper did not know the details, but it was a scandal in some illicit
gambling rooms in London. Theodore was caught cheating. They were all
half drunk and in the row that followed a man was killed. It was never
known who actually fired the shot, but Theodore was suspected. At all
events he disappeared and was never heard of again. It was the last
straw for his wife and she collapsed altogether. She brought Ruth, a
child of four, to Simon, begged him to look after her, and then
committed suicide.
“Nothing more was heard of Theodore Averill and every one concerned
believed him dead. Simon’s surprise may be imagined then, when during
the last two or three days he received a letter from him. This was the
letter which I told you had upset him so much.
“I didn’t see the letter, but Roper told me it said that Theodore was
living under the name of Prosper-Giraud at Talloires in Savoy. He had
escaped from London to Morocco and after wandering about for a year or
two had entered the French Foreign Legion. After serving several years
he left that and went to Talloires, where he supported himself by
writing short stories for the magazines. He did fairly well, and was
comfortable enough, but recently a disastrous thing had happened to
him. He had been in poor health for some time and had begun to talk in
his sleep. His old housekeeper, Mme. Madeleine Blancquart, must have
listened and heard something which gave his secret away, for one
morning she came to him and said she had discovered all, and asked
what he was going to pay to have the matter kept from the English
police. He was unable to give what she demanded and for the sake of
his family he prayed his brother Simon to help him. If Simon wouldn’t
do so, nothing could save him. He would be brought to England and
perhaps executed, and Simon and Ruth would have to bear the shame.”
The recital of these facts was evidently very painful to Whymper, but
he went on doggedly with his statement.
“Simon in his delicate state of health was much upset by the whole
thing, so Roper said. If the story was true he was willing to make
some allowance, both because he didn’t wish to have his brother come
to such an end and also for his own and Ruth’s sake. He had,
therefore, replied sending twenty pounds, and saying that he would
either go over himself to Talloires or send a representative within a
month to discuss the situation.
“He found he was too feeble to go himself and for the same reason he
couldn’t well spare Roper, so he cast round for some one who could do
it for him, and he thought of me. He thought that if I wanted to marry
Miss Averill the secret would be safe with me and also I should be
just as anxious to have the matter settled as he was.
“Of course I agreed to go. You can understand that I really hadn’t any
option, though as far as I was concerned myself I didn’t care two pins
what Theodore had done or hadn’t done. Roper said Simon would be
extremely relieved to hear my decision. He said also that Simon did
not wish me to go for about three weeks, lest it would look too eager
and Mme. Blancquart would think she had frightened us.
“Roper went on to say that Simon was giving me £500. Out of this I was
to take my expenses and the balance was to buy off Mme. Blancquart. He
did not want me to give her a lump sum, but to arrange a monthly
payment which she would know she would lose if she informed. I was to
find some one in Talloires who would take the money and dole it out
for a percentage. The _curé_ possibly might do it, or I could employ a
solicitor. He left the arrangements to my judgment. In any case I was
to make the best bargain I could with the woman.
“That was all on the Wednesday night before the fire started. Then
came the tragedy. With Simon dead I didn’t know what on earth to do.
Of course I saw that I must carry out my promise just the same, and go
out to Talloires and try to arrange for Theodore’s safety, but I
thought that if Simon’s money went to Ruth, Theodore might try to make
trouble with her. However, I could do nothing until I saw him and Mme.
Blancquart, and I arranged to go to Talloires at the end of the three
weeks as Simon had asked me.
“You can guess the rest. I took the money and went to Talloires. But
as you know, I could find no trace either of Prosper Giraud or Mme.
Blancquart.
“I was in a difficulty then. I had no doubt that the message was
really Simon’s. It never occurred to me that Roper could invent the
story or steal the money, and when I failed to find the people I
simply thought he had made a mistake in the address. I was pretty
bothered, I can tell you. I was expecting every day to read of
Theodore’s arrest, and I could do nothing to prevent it.” The young
man was very earnest as he added: “I swear to you that what I have
told you is the literal truth. I don’t know whether you will believe
me, but whether or not, I am glad I’ve told you. It is a tremendous
weight off my mind, and if you can prove that the story was only
Roper’s invention I’ll be ten thousand times more relieved.”
French felt that he might very well believe the statement. Not only
had Whymper’s manner changed and borne the almost unmistakable impress
of truth, but the story he told was just the kind of story French was
expecting to hear. No tale that he could think of would have better
suited Roper’s purpose: to make this young fellow change stolen bank
notes the possession of which he could not account for. The more
French thought it over in detail, the more satisfied he felt with it.
It was true that there were two minor points which he did not fully
understand, but neither would invalidate the tale, even if
unexplained. Of these the first was: Why had Roper asked Whymper to
wait three weeks before going to France? And the second: If the young
man was as enamoured of this girl as he pretended to be, why had he
not proposed to her so as to be in a proper position to offer her his
protection?
A little thought gave him the answer to the first of these problems.
Evidently no suspicion must fall on Whymper other than through the
notes. If he were to rush away directly the tragedy occurred, any
general suspicion which might have been aroused might be directed
towards him for that very reason. That would be no test of the safety
of passing the notes. But if three weeks elapsed before he made a
move, suspicion must depend on the notes alone.
With regard to the second point French thought he might ask for
information.
“I don’t want to be unnecessarily personal, Mr. Whymper, but there is
just one matter I should like further light on. You were, I understand
you to say, anxious to marry this young lady and desired to protect
her from trouble with Mme. Blancquart. If that were so, would it not
have been natural for you to propose to her and so obtain the right to
protect her?”
Whymper made a gesture of exasperation.
“By Heaven, I only wish I had! It might have come out all right. But,
Inspector, I have been a coward. To be strictly truthful, I was
afraid. I’ll tell you just what happened. After the tragedy I was very
much upset by this whole affair. And it made me awkward and
self-conscious with Miss Averill to have to keep secret a thing which
concerned her so closely. I tried not to show it in my manner, but I
don’t think I quite succeeded. I think my manner displeased her. At
all events she grew cold and distant, and—well! there it is. I didn’t
dare to speak. I was afraid I would have no chance. I thought I would
wait until I found something out about her father. Then when this
began to seem impossible, I determined to risk all and speak, but then
you came threatening me with arrest for theft. I couldn’t propose
until that was over. And the question is, is it over now? Are you
going to arrest me or how do I stand?”
“I’m not going to arrest you, Mr. Whymper. You have given me the
explanations I asked for, and so far I see no reason to doubt your
story. I am glad you have told me. But though I believe you, I may say
at once that I believe also the whole thing was Roper’s invention. Why
did he not show the letter he alleged Theodore Averill had written?”
“I don’t know. I assumed there was something further in it which Mr.
Averill wished to keep from Roper and me.”
French shook his head.
“Much more likely it didn’t exist and he wanted to save the labour and
risk of forging it. Now, Mr. Whymper, there is only one thing to be
done. You or I, or both of us together must go to Miss Averill and ask
her the truth. I do not mean that we must tell her this story. We
shall simply ask her where her father lived, and where she was born.
Records will be available there which will set the matter at rest.”
Whymper saw the common sense of this proposal, but he said that
nothing would induce him to ask such questions of Miss Averill. It
was, therefore, agreed that French should call on her and make the
inquiries.
Ruth was at home when French reached the Oxleys’, and she saw him at
once. French apologised for troubling her so soon again, and then
asked some questions as to the possible amount of petrol and paraffin
which had been at Starvel on the night of the fire. From this he
switched the conversation on to herself, and with a dexterity born of
long practice led her to talk of her relatives. So deftly did he
question her, that when in a few minutes he had discovered all he
wished to know, she had not realised that she had been pumped.
In answer to his veiled suggestions she told him that her father’s
name was Theodore Averill, that he had lived in Bayonne, where he had
held a good appointment in the wine industry, and that he had married
a French lady whom he had met at Biarritz. This lady, her mother, had
died when she was born and her father had only survived her by about
four years. On his death she had come to her uncle Simon, he being her
only other relative. She was born in Bayonne and baptised, she
believed, by the Anglican clergyman at Biarritz. Her father was a
member of the Church of England and her mother a Huguenot.
“This,” French said when, half an hour later, he was back in the
vestry room of the old church, “will lead us to certainty. I will send
a wire to the Biarritz police and have the records looked up. Of
course, I don’t doubt Miss Averill’s word for a moment, but it is just
conceivable that she might have been misled as to her birth. However,
we want to be absolutely sure.”
He wired that evening and it may be mentioned here that in the course
of a couple of days he received the following information:—