A Fresh Start
“Well, where do we stand now?” said Superintendent Wilson, as he
turned back into the room after showing his visitors out.
“Nowhere at all, sir, I should say,” was the inspector’s discontented
reply. “You have let the bird in the hand go, and all the other birds
are safer than ever in the bush. Are you so sure there’s no doubt
about that _alibi_?”
“Still harping on that, are you, inspector? Come, put the idea of
Walter Brooklyn’s guilt out of your head. It’s not often I take much
stock in _alibis_; but this one is absolutely convincing.”
“I’m not so sure, sir, all the same. At least, I’d have kept hold of
the man we had got till we could lay some one else by the heels.”
The superintendent shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “That’s the
worst of you, inspector,” he said, “you are impervious to evidence.
You never will give up an idea when you’ve once been at the trouble of
forming it. And therefore you don’t see how this morning’s business
really helps us.”
“Helps us? No, I’m jiggered if I see that. If you’re in the right we
are in a worse hole than ever.”
“No, my dear inspector, it does help us.” And the superintendent
rubbed his hands with satisfaction. He smiled to himself as he
reflected that he could see further than most people through a brick
wall.
“How do you mean?” asked the inspector.
“Well, if Walter Brooklyn was not in the house, it is clear that he
did not send that telephone message. But some one did send it. Who was
that some one? Find him, and you find the murderer. It was clearly
sent with the deliberate intention of throwing suspicion on Walter
Brooklyn.”
“Yes, if you’re right about the _alibi_, I see that. But I don’t see
that we’re any nearer to finding out who did send it.”
“Well, at least,” said the superintendent, “there are certain things
to go upon. First, there is no doubt at all that the message was sent,
and sent from Liskeard House. The inquiries at the Exchange prove
that.”
The inspector nodded.
“That being so, is it not safe to conclude that it was sent by one of
the inmates, or by the murderer, before making his escape? If the
murderer was an inmate of the house, the two possibilities are reduced
to one. Probably he was at any rate some one familiar with the house
and the family.”
“I see,” said the inspector, and his face brightened up for the first
time. “That is certainly a point. You mean that Winter could without
difficulty have sent the message?”
“Doubtless he could; and so could others. Don’t jump to conclusions. I
agree that it would fit in with the theory your mind is now forming
that Winter is guilty. But remember that we have really nothing
against him. Even if the story about the quarrel and his engagement
turns out to be true, that doesn’t carry us very far. It is not enough
to prove motive. If everybody who had a motive for murder killed his
man there would be nobody left alive. Direct evidence is what counts.”
“But direct evidence isn’t easy to get.”
“Nothing that is worth while is easy to get. Our job is to do things
that are difficult.”
“That’s all very well, but——”
“But me no buts, inspector. So far from being depressed by this
morning’s events, I am greatly encouraged. They fit in exactly with my
own view.”
“But, if you don’t believe Winter did it, who do you think did?”
“Come now, inspector. That is a question for the end of the argument,
not the beginning. I had at least fully made up my mind, before I knew
anything at all of this _alibi_, that Walter Brooklyn did not do it.”
“What on earth made you think that? Had you some fresh evidence?”
“No, inspector, merely some fresh use of the old evidence. The more I
thought about it, the plainer it became that both those sets of clues
were deliberately laid by the same person—I mean the murderer. Don’t
you see my point?”
“But why did the murderer lay two inconsistent sets of false clues?”
“That, my dear inspector, _is_ the point. He laid them both in the
hope that we should see through the one set, and not through the
other. Which is just what you have done. He is a clever scoundrel. He
meant us to hang Walter Brooklyn.”
“He’s too clever for me, if that’s so. But, supposing you’re right, I
don’t see that we are much nearer to finding out who he is.”
The superintendent assumed the air of one instructing a little child,
and, as he spoke, ticked off the points on his fingers. “My dear
Blaikie, we have to trace the murderer through the false clues which
he left. Point number one. Walter Brooklyn’s stick was found in
Prinsep’s room. If Walter Brooklyn did not put it there, who did?”
“Dashed if I know,” said the inspector.
“Who could have put it there? Some one must have got it from Walter
Brooklyn.”
“He said he left it in a taxi, didn’t he?”
“No, he said he didn’t know where he had left it. It might have been
in a taxi, or it might have been in any of the places he visited that
afternoon—in Woodman’s office, for example, or in the Piccadilly
Theatre. You must find out again exactly where he went, and, if
possible, where he did leave the stick. There is just the chance that
Prinsep found it and took it up to his room. But I don’t think so. I
think it was clearly left on the floor of Prinsep’s room in order that
it might serve as a clue to mislead us.”
“I see your point. I’ll find out what I can.”
“Then there’s the telephone message. It is not very difficult to
imitate a man’s voice over the telephone; but I doubt if the murderer
would have risked it unless he had known the man he was imitating
pretty well. He may even have been something of a mimic. The idea of
imitating the voice would have occurred to such a man. Find out if
there is any one connected with the Brooklyns who is much of a mimic.”
“Why, old Sir Vernon Brooklyn used to be the finest impersonator in
England in his younger days, before he took to serious acting.”
“I was not thinking of him. There may be others. That sort of talent
often runs in families.”
“I’ll make inquiries.”
“Now I come to a much more important point. When one man takes
elaborate measures to get another hanged, it usually means he has
either some violent grudge, or some strong reason for securing the
removal of that particular person. If the murderer tried to get Walter
Brooklyn hanged, when he might apparently have got away without
leaving any clue at all, he must have had either a violent hatred, or,
more probably, a very strong motive for wishing Walter Brooklyn out of
the way. We have to find out who had such a motive.”
“Motive seems a dangerous line to go on. You remember that Walter
Brooklyn had the strongest financial motive for killing his nephews.
He gets a pot of the money when Sir Vernon dies.”
“I know he does; but what I want you to find out is who would get the
money if Walter Brooklyn were removed. When you found out about the
will, did you discover that?”
“No. It seemed quite enough to find out that Brooklyn stood to get it
by killing his nephews. So far as I remember, there was nothing in the
will to say who would get the money if they all died.”
“That’s a point you must make quite sure of—not merely what is in the
will, but who is the next of kin after Walter Brooklyn. It may be the
decisive clue.”
“I believe you have some definite suspicion in your mind.”
“My dear inspector, if I have I’m not going to say any more about it
just now. You go and find out what I have asked; and then we can
talk.”
“I’m to do nothing, then, about Winter?”
“I certainly did not say that. That man Thomas seems to have found out
something you had missed. It is your turn to pick up something that
has escaped him. Watch the servants at Liskeard House—the maids as
well as Winter and Morgan. Keep an eye on the whole household. And
meanwhile I will find out all about that girl at Fittleworth. I can
have inquiries made locally on the spot.”
“Then you’re inclined to think Winter may have done it?”
“Not at all. There you are jumping to conclusions again. I’m not at
all disposed to say anything definite just at present. What we need is
further information, and all we can do for the present is to follow up
every hint we get.”
“I’ll do my best, sir. But it doesn’t look to me very hopeful.”
“Oh, never say die. Even if we could not find out the whole truth for
ourselves—and I believe we can—there is plenty of chance still for the
murderer to give himself away. In my experience that is how
ninety-nine out of a hundred murderers get caught—I mean of those who
do get caught at all. You watch Winter carefully, but don’t jump to
the conclusion that he’s guilty. Watch them all: keep your eyes and
your mind wide open. We’ll pull it through yet.”
“But,” said the inspector, unable any longer to keep back the
question, “if you think neither Walter Brooklyn nor Winter did it, who
do you think did?”
“If I knew that, my dear inspector, I shouldn’t be giving you these
instructions. The real criminal may be some one quite outside our
previous range of suspicion. Indeed, I shan’t be at all surprised if
he is.”
“But you mean that the immediate thing is to go fully into these new
aspects of the case?”
“Quite so. Do that, and report progress. And remember to keep your
eyes wide open for anything that may turn up. We must trust largely to
luck.”
As Inspector Blaikie left Superintendent Wilson’s room, he was in a
curiously divided state of mind. At one moment he still said to
himself that all his good labour could not have been wasted, and that
Walter Brooklyn must really be guilty after all. The next he found
himself assuming, with greater assurance, that Winter was the
murderer. He was one of those men who can only keep their minds open
by entertaining two contrary opinions at the same time. He shook his
head over what seemed to him the weakness of his superior in letting
Walter Brooklyn go without arresting some one else.
Meanwhile, in the lounge at Liskeard House, Joan and Ellery were
sitting very close to each other on a sofa making their plans for the
discovery of the criminal.
“How had we better begin?” he asked, running his hand despairingly
through his hair.
“I can see only one way,” Joan replied. “We have nothing to go
upon—nothing, I mean, that would make us suspect any particular
person. So the only thing to do is to suspect everybody—to find out
exactly where everybody was when the crime was committed, and what
they were doing that evening.”
“That’s something of an undertaking.”
“I don’t mean all the world. I mean everybody who was, or was likely
to have been, in this house. Of course, it may have been some one
quite different; but I think that’s the best way to start. And we
mustn’t rule out anybody—even ourselves—however sure we are they had
nothing to do with it. Even if that doesn’t find the criminal, it may
help us to light on a clue.”
“But it is still a tall order. We don’t even know at what time the
murders were committed.”
“Isn’t that a good point to begin upon? Let me see. When were George
and John last seen alive?”
“Both at some time after eleven. George was seen leaving the house at
half-past, and Prinsep was seen rather before that time in the garden.
Isn’t that so?”
“Then that,” said Joan, “definitely fixes the time of both the murders
as being later than say 11.15, and one of them definitely after 11.30.
That is something to go upon.”
“Ah, but stop a minute. May not either the people who thought they saw
George, or the others who thought they saw John, have been mistaken?
Neither of them was seen close to.”
“It doesn’t seem very likely. Winter would hardly have mistaken some
one else for George when he saw him going out by the front door.”
“Still, my dear, it’s possible. Winter was at the other end of the
hall and only noticed him by accident. He probably caught no more than
a glimpse.”
“Yes, Bob; but the other man saw him from quite close. You remember he
said he went to open the door for him; but George slipped out before
he could get there.”
“Yes, I know; but did the other man know George by sight? He was only
a hired waiter, in for the evening. Winter probably told him
afterwards it was George, and he took it for granted.”
“I think you’re romancing, my dear. If it wasn’t George, who was it?”
“Surely, Joan, in that case it was the murderer, whoever he may have
been.”
Joan sighed. “Follow up that idea of yours by all means,” she said,
“but it doesn’t sound to me very hopeful. The people who said they saw
John are much more likely to have been mistaken. They only saw him
from a window some way off; and it was half dark.”
“Do you know, Joan, I’m half inclined to believe that neither of them
was really seen then at all. What I mean is, they may both have been
dead by half-past eleven. Suppose they were neither of them seen. Yes,
and by Jove, that would get rid of one difficulty. I’ve never been
able to see how George got back into the grounds after the place was
all locked up. But suppose he didn’t have to get back at all, because
he never went out. Then the man who went out, and was mistaken for
George, would be the murderer. Joan, aren’t you listening?”
“Yes, Bob, I heard what you said, and I half think you’re right. I was
thinking of that telephone message.”
“Why, what about it?”
“What I mean is, if that message was sent with the object of shifting
the suspicion on to some one else, isn’t it more likely to have been
sent after, than before, the murders?”
“You’re right. At least, it was probably sent after one of them.
There’s no necessary reason to suppose that they were both done at the
same time. We don’t even know that the same man did them.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. Two murders in one night is bad enough;
but to ask me to believe in two different murderers is too much of a
strain on my credulity.”
“Then you don’t think Prinsep killed George?” Ellery asked.
“No, I’m nearly sure he didn’t. It isn’t, I’m afraid, dear, that I
don’t think he was morally capable of it. I simply feel sure he
wouldn’t have been such a fool.”
“Not even if George had told what he thought of him about Charis Lang?
They’d both probably have lost their tempers pretty badly.”
“No, Bob, not even then. At least I’m nearly sure. I’m convinced there
was only one murderer. Remember they were both killed the same way.”
“Well, let’s assume you’re right. Then if what you said about the
’phone message was right, it was probably sent after one of the
murders—I mean immediately after. The murderer wouldn’t have wasted
time on the premises.”
“Yes, that means that 11.30, or thereabouts, is the critical time.
Then half-past ten is the earliest possible. Winter went up to get
John’s letters then, and everything was all right.”
“Oh, but George was seen long after that. Winter let him in by the
front door at a quarter to eleven.”
“Yes, it was certainly George he let in. They spoke, and he couldn’t
have made a mistake. That narrows it a bit.”
“Then probably it all happened after a quarter to eleven—unless George
found Prinsep dead when he got upstairs, and chased the murderer down
the private stairs into the garden, and got killed by him out there.
How does that strike you, Joan?”
“It’s possible, Bob; but it looks as if we couldn’t fix the time very
nearly. It was somewhere between a quarter to eleven and half-past;
but that’s as near as we can get.”
“Let it stand there: and now let’s follow out our original plan, and
see what we know about everybody who might have been mixed up in it.
Let’s write it down. I’ll write.”
Losing no time, they got to work. First, they made a list of every one
who had been present at the dinner on the evening of the tragedy—Sir
Vernon. John Prinsep, George Brooklyn and his wife, Carter and Mrs.
Woodman, Lucas, Mary Woodman—and themselves. Next came the
servants—Winter, Morgan, Agnes Dutch, the two other maids, the hired
waiters. These were the only persons who, as far as they knew, had
been in the house that night. Next, they wrote down exactly what they
knew of the doings of every one of these people, leaving spaces in
which they could fill in further particulars as they discovered more.
When it was finished the list and comments took this form:—
_Persons_ _Movements _ _Evidence for Movements_
Sir Vernon Went to bed 10.15 Joan, Mary
Remained in room Woodman
Joan With Sir Vernon Sir Vernon
10.15 to 10.30
With Mary Woodman, Mary Woodman
10.30 to 10.40
Then bed Self
“That ‘self’ looks very suspicious,” said Joan, as Ellery wrote it
down.
“Yes, we are suspecting ourselves as well as others. I strongly
suspect you.”
“And I you. But get on.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Mary Woodman In landing-lounge Joan to 10.40
till after 11
Then bed Self
“Another suspect,” said Ellery.
“Poor Mary,” said Joan. “She couldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Then I suspect her all the more.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Winter Downstairs with Other servants
servants till after
11.30
Lets in Morgan Morgan
soon after 11.30
Then bed Morgan
“He went to bed. But did he stay there? That’s the point.”
“Put down ‘Did he stay there? No clear evidence.’ After all, Morgan
says he did.”
“Yes, but Morgan isn’t sure.”
“We come to him next.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Morgan At Hammersmith Unconfirmed, but may be
till 11 capable of confirmation
Arrived at Liskeard Winter
House soon
after 11.30
Went to bed Winter
Stayed there Winter
“I say, there wouldn’t be much evidence of what Morgan did, if it
wasn’t for Winter. Suppose they were both in it. Winter’s story
depends on Morgan’s almost as much as Morgan’s on his.”
“We suspect them both. At least I don’t, but I mean to pretend to do
so. Who’s next?”
“Agnes Dutch.”
“Put her down.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Agnes Dutch Dismissed by Joan Joan
for night 10.30
Went to bed
“Next, please.”
“The maid-servants.”
“They’re all in the same position. Put them down.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Maid-servants Downstairs till Winter and waiters
after 11 One another
Then bed
“More collusion.”
“Don’t be silly. Now we come to the people who weren’t sleeping in the
house.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Marian Brooklyn Back to hotel 10.20 Carter and Helen Woodman
Talked with Helen Helen Woodman
till 11.30 in
Helen’s room
Then bed No confirmation
“But she’s out of it anyway.”
“Yes, poor Marian.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Carter Woodman Back to hotel 10.20 Marian and Helen
In hotel writing-room Told above had
till 11.45 letters to write
Gave letters to porter Porter and liftman
to post 11.45
“That seems all right.”
“Yes. Helen’s next.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Helen Woodman Back to hotel 10.20 Marian and Carter
With Marian till Marian
11.30
Then bed Carter Woodman after 11.45
“And now we come to you, Bob.”
“Oh, I’m no use. I have a proved _alibi_ already. I’m in the same
position as your revered stepfather.”
“Put yourself down all the same.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Ellery Walking about 10.15 Gloucester
to about midnight
Home and bed Landlady
“But did you stay in bed?”
“And slept like a top.”
“That only leaves Uncle Harry.”
“Oh, he left in his car at 10.15, and went straight back to Hampstead.
He told me the police had made inquiries, and confirmed that he got
back at 10.45, and did not go out again.”
“Put him down.”
_Persons_ _Movements_ _Evidence for Movements_
Lucas Left Liskeard House All of us
by car 10.15
Arrived home 10.45 Police satisfied
and stayed there
“And that’s everybody.”
“Yes, and I don’t know that we’re much further. There is no one on
this list you can possibly suspect, except perhaps Morgan, and he can
hardly have done it unless Winter was in it too.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Then whom do you suspect.”
“No one and every one. I want time to think that list over. Leave it
with me, and I’ll put on my considering cap, and tell you to-morrow.”
“Don’t you go suspecting poor Winter, like the police.”
“My dear Joan, this is most undetective-like advice. You ought to make
a point of suspecting everybody.”
“I make an exception of Winter.”
“I’m afraid you want to make an exception of everybody. I have a far
more suspicious nature.”
“Is there anything I can do while you’re thinking it over?”
“Yes. Go and see Carter Woodman and find out all you can about John’s
circumstances at the time of the murder. Carter may know something
about this Winter story, or be able at any rate to tell you something
useful we don’t know. Then come here to-morrow morning, and I’ll tell
you if I’ve had a brain-wave.”
Then at last Ellery said good-bye, and Joan went to get the sleep she
badly needed.