every side street great mounds lay unmelted, and the park was dingily
white. Reggie shivered as he got out of his car in Scotland Yard, and
he scurried upstairs and put himself as close as he could to Lomas’s
fire--ousting Superintendent Bell.
“I’m waiting for you,” said Lomas quietly. “There’s a new fact. Three
thousand pounds has been paid into Sandford’s account. It was handed
in over the counter in notes of small amounts yesterday morning.
Cashier fancies it was paid in by a stoutish man in glasses--couldn’t
undertake to identify.”
“It’s a wicked world, Lomas. That wouldn’t matter so much if it was
sensible. Some day I will take to crime, just to show you how to do
it. Who is Sandford, what is he, that such queer things happen round
him?”
“I don’t know so much about queer, sir,” said Superintendent Bell. “I
suppose this three thousand is his share of the swag.”
“That’s what we’re meant to suppose,” Reggie agreed. “That’s what I
resent.”
“You mean, why the devil should he have it put in the bank? He must
know his account would be watched. That’s the point I took,” said
Lomas wearily.
“Well, sir, as I was saying, it’s the usual sort of thing,”
Superintendent Bell protested. “When a city gang has bought a fellow
in a good position and got all they can get out of him, it often
happens they don’t care any more about him. They’d rather break him
than not. It happened in the Bewick affair, the Grantley deal----” He
reeled off a string of cases. “What I mean to say, sir, there isn’t
honour among thieves. When they see one of themselves in a decent
position, they’ll do him in if they can. Envy, that’s what it is. I
suppose we’re all envious. But in my experience, when a fellow isn’t
straight he gets a double go of envy in him. I mean to say, for sheer
spiteful envy the crooks beat the band.”
Reggie nodded. “Do you know, Bell, I don’t ever remember your being
wrong, when you had given an opinion. By the way, what is your
opinion?”
Superintendent Bell smiled slowly. “We do have to be so careful, sir.
Would you believe it, I don’t so much as know who did the open-air
work in the Coal Ramp. There was half a dozen firms in the boom,
quite respectable firms. But who had the tip first, and who was doing
the big business, I know no more than the babe in arms.”
“Yes, there’s some brains about,” Lomas agreed.
But Reggie, who was watching the Superintendent, said, “What’s up
your sleeve, Bell?”
The Superintendent laughed. “You do have a way of putting things, Mr.
Fortune.” He lit a cigarette and looked at his chief. “I don’t know
what you thought of Mr. Sandford, Mr. Lomas?”
“More do I, Bell,” said Lomas. “I only know he’s not a man and a
brother.”
“What I should describe as a lonely cove, sir,” Bell suggested.
“Chiefly interested in himself, you might say.”
“He’s a climber,” said Lomas.
“Well, well! Who is Sandford--what is he, that all the world don’t
love him?” Reggie asked. “Who was his papa? What was his school?”
“Well, now, it’s rather odd you should ask that, sir,” said
Superintendent Bell.
“He didn’t have a school. He didn’t have a father,” said Lomas.
“First he knows he was living with his widowed mother, an only child,
in a little village in North Wales--Llan something. He went to the
local grammar-school. He was a kind of prize boy. He got a
scholarship at Pembroke, Oxford. Then Mrs. Sandford died, leaving him
about a pound a week. He got firsts at Oxford, and came into the Home
Civil pretty high. He’s done well in his Department, and they can’t
stand him.”
“Good brain, no geniality, if you take my meaning,” said the
Superintendent.
“I hate him already,” Reggie murmured.
“That’s quite easy,” said Lomas. “Well, he’s a clever second-rater,
that’s what it comes to.”
“Poor devil,” Reggie murmured.
“There’s swarms of them in the service. The only odd thing about
Sandford is that he don’t seem to have any origins. Like that fellow
in the Bible who had no ancestors--Melchizedek, was it? Well, Mrs.
Sandford had no beginning either. She wasn’t native to
Llanfairfechan--that’s the place. She came there when Sandford was a
small kid. Nobody there knows where from. He says he don’t know where
from. Nobody knows who his father was. He says he don’t know. He says
she left no papers of any sort. She had an annuity, and the fifty
pounds a year she left him was in Consols. He never knew of any
relations. Nobody in Llan-what’s-its-name can remember anybody ever
coming to see her. And she died ten years ago.”
“You might say it looked as if she wanted to hide,” said
Superintendent Bell. “But, Lord, you can’t tell. Might be just a
sorrowful widow. It takes ’em that way sometimes.”
“Has anybody ever shown any interest in Melchizedek?” said Reggie.
“O Lord, no! Nobody ever heard of him out of his Department. And
there they all hate him. But he’s the sort of fellow you can’t keep
down.”
“Poor devil,” Reggie murmured again.
“You won’t be so damned sympathetic when you’ve met him,” Lomas said.
A slip of paper was presented to him. “Hallo! Here’s Kimball. I
thought he was leaving me alone too long. Well, we’ve got something
for him to-day.”
“He has a large fat head”: thus some perky journalist began a sketch
of the Rt. Hon. Horace Kimball. And he faithfully reported the first
elementary effect of seeing Mr. Kimball, who looked a heavy fellow,
with the bulk of his head and neck supported on a sturdy frame. But
on further acquaintance people discovered a vivacity of movement and
a keenness of expression which made them uncomfortable. Yet he had,
as I intend you to observe, a bluff, genial manner, and his cruellest
critics were always those who had not met him. For the rest, he aimed
at a beautiful neatness in his clothes, and succeeded.
He rushed in. “Well, Lomas, if we don’t make an end of this business,
it’ll make an end of us,” he announced, and flung himself at a chair.
“Anything new?”
“I have just been discussing it with Mr. Fortune.”
“That’s right. Want the best brains we can get.” He nodded his heavy
head at Reggie. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t wonder you find it harassing,” Reggie said.
“Harassing! That’s putting it mildly. I’ve lost more sleep over it
than I want to think about.” He became aware that Reggie was studying
him. “Doctor, aren’t you?” he laughed ruefully. “I’m not a case, you
know.”
“I apologize for the professional instinct,” Reggie said. “But it
does make me say you ought to see your doctor, sir.”
“My doctor can’t tell me anything I don’t know. It’s this scandal
that’s the matter with me. You wouldn’t say I was sentimental, would
you? You wouldn’t take me for an innocent? Well, do you know, I’ve
been in business thirty years, and I’ve never had one of my own
people break faith with me. That’s what irritates me. Somebody in my
own office, somebody close to me, selling me. By God, it’s maddening!”
“Whom do you suspect?” said Reggie.
Kimball flung himself about, and the chair creaked. “Damn it, man,
we’ve had all that out over and over again. I can’t suspect any one.
I won’t suspect any one. But the thing’s been done.”
“As I understand, the only people who knew the scheme were yourself
and Sandford, your secretary?”
“I’d as soon suspect myself as Sandford.”
“Yesterday three thousand pounds in notes was paid by somebody, who
didn’t give his name, into Sandford’s account,” said Lomas.
“Great God!” said Kimball, and rolled back in his chair, breathing
heavily. “That’s what I wouldn’t let myself believe.”
“Have you got any brandy, Lomas?” said Reggie, watching his pallor
professionally. Lomas started up. Reggie reached out and began to
feel Kimball’s pulse.
“Don’t do that,” said Kimball sharply, and dragged his hand away.
“Good Lord, man, I’m not ill! No, thanks, Lomas, nothing, nothing. I
never touch spirits. I’ll be all right in a moment. But it does
rather knock me over to find I’ve got to believe it was Sandford.” He
struggled out of his chair, walked to the window, and flung it up and
dabbed at his forehead. He stood there a moment in the raw air, took
a pinch of snuff, and turned on them vigorously. “There’s no doubt
about this evidence, eh? We can’t get away from it?”
“I’m afraid we must ask Sandford for an explanation,” said Lomas.
“Most unpleasant thing I ever did in my life,” Kimball said. “Well,
there’s no help for it, I suppose. Still, he may have a perfectly
good explanation. Damn it, I won’t make up my mind till I must. I’ve
always found him quite straight--and very efficient too. Cleverest
fellow I ever had about me. Send for him then; say I’ll be glad to
see him here. Come now, Lomas, what do you think yourself? He may be
able to account for it quite naturally, eh?”
“He may. But I can’t see how,” Lomas said gloomily. “Can you?”
“I suppose you think I’m a fool, but I like to believe in my
fellows,” said Kimball, and they passed an awkward five minutes till
Sandford came.
He looked a good young man. He was rather small, he was very lean, he
wore eyeglasses. Everything about him was correct and restrained. But
there was an oddity of structure about his face: it seemed to come to
a point at the end of his nose, and yet his lower jaw looked heavy.
He made graded salutations to Kimball his chief and to Lomas. He
looked at Reggie and Superintendent Bell as though he expected them
to retreat from his presence. And he turned upon Kimball a glance
that bade him lose no time.
Kimball seemed to find some difficulty in beginning. He cleared his
throat, blew his nose, and took another pinch of snuff. “I don’t know
if you guess why I sent for you,” he broke out.
“I infer that it is on this matter of the gamble in coal shares,”
said Sandford precisely.
“Yes. Do you know of any new fact?”
“Nothing has come before me.”
“Well, there’s something I want you to explain. I dare say you have a
satisfactory explanation. But I’m bound to ask for it.”
“I have nothing to explain that I know of.”
“It’s been brought to my knowledge that yesterday three thousand
pounds in notes was paid into your account. Where did it come from?”
Sandford took off his eyeglasses and cleaned them, and put them on
again. “I have no information,” he said in the most correct official
manner.
“Good God, man, you must see what it means!” Kimball cried.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I have no notion of what it means. I find it
difficult to believe that you have been correctly informed.”
“You don’t suppose I should take up a charge like this unless I was
compelled to.”
“There’s no doubt of the fact, Mr. Sandford,” said Lomas gloomily.
“Indeed! Then I have only to say that no one has any authority to
make payments into my account. As you have gone into the affair so
carefully, I suppose you have found out who did.”
“He didn’t give his name, you see. Can you tell us who he was?” Lomas
said.
“I repeat, sir, I know nothing about the transaction.”
“And that’s all you say?”
“I need hardly add that I shall not accept the money.”
“You know the matter can’t end there!” Kimball cried. “Come, man,
you’re not doing yourself justice. Nothing could be worse for you
than this tone, can’t you see that?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I do not see what you wish me to say. You
spoke of making a charge. Will you be so good as to state it?”
“If you must have it! This boom was begun on information which only
you had besides myself. And immediately after the boom this large sum
is paid secretly into your account. You must see what everybody will
say--what I should say myself if I didn’t know you--that you sold the
plan, and this money is your price. Come, you must have some
explanation for us--some defence, at least.”
“I say again, sir, I know nothing of the matter. I should hope that
what scandal may say will have no influence upon any one who knows my
character and my career.”
“Good God, man, we’re dealing with facts! Where did that three
thousand pounds come from?”
“I have no information. I have no idea.”
For the first time Reggie spoke. “I wonder if you have a theory?”
“I don’t consider it is my duty to imagine theories.”
“Do you know any one who wants to ruin you? Or why any one should?”
“I beg your pardon. I must decline to be led into wild speculations
of that kind.”
Kimball started up. “You make it impossible to do anything for you. I
have given you every chance, remember that--every chance. It’s beyond
me now. I can only advise you to consider your position. I don’t know
whether your resignation will save you from worse consequences. I’ll
do what I can. But you make it very hard. Good morning. You had
better not go back to the office.”
“I deny every imputation,” said Sandford. “Good morning, sir.”
Half apologetically Kimball turned to the others. “There’s nothing
for it, I suppose. We’ll have to go through with it now. You’ll let
me have an official report. The fellow’s hopeless. Poor devil!”
“I can’t say he touches my heart,” said Lomas.
Kimball laughed without mirth. “He can’t help himself,” he said, and
went out.
“I shouldn’t have thought Kimball was so human,” said Lomas.
“Well, sir, he always has stuck to his men, I must say,” said
Superintendent Bell.
“I wonder he could stick to Sandford for a day.”
“That Mr. Sandford, he is what you might call a superior person,”
Bell chuckled. “Funny how they brazen it out, that kind.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt he thinks he was most impressive. Well, Fortune,
there’s not much here for you, I’m afraid.”
Reggie had gone to the window and was fidgeting there. “I say, the
wind’s changed,” said he. “That’s something, anyway.”
PHASE III.--THE MAN UNDER THE SNOW
The porter of Montmorency House, awaking next morning, discovered
that even in the well of his flats, where the air is ever the most
stagnant in London, the snow was melting fast. After breakfast he saw
some clothes emerging from the slush. This annoyed him, for he
cherished that little court. The tenants, he remarked to his wife,
were always doing something messy, but dropping their trousers down
the well was the limit. He splashed out into the slush and found a
corpse.
After lunch Reggie Fortune, drowsing over the last published play of
Herr Wedekind, was roused by the telephone, which, speaking with the
voice of Superintendent Bell, urged him to come at once to the
mortuary.
“Who’s dead?” he asked. “Sandford hanged himself in red tape? Kimball
had a stroke?”
“It’s what you might call anonymous,” said the voice of the
Superintendent. “Just the sort of case you like.”
“I never like a case,” said Reggie, with indignation, and rang off.
At the door of the mortuary Superintendent Bell appeared as his car
stopped.
“You’re damned mysterious,” Reggie complained.
“Not me, sir. If you can tell me who the fellow is, I’ll be obliged.
But what I want to know first is, what was the cause of death. You’ll
excuse me, I won’t tell you how he was found till you’ve formed your
opinion.”
“What the devil do you mean by that?”
“I don’t want you to be prejudiced in any way, sir, if you take my
meaning.”
“Damn your impudence. When did you ever see me prejudiced?”
“Dear me, Mr. Fortune, I never heard you swear so much,” said Bell
sadly. “Don’t be hasty, sir. I have my reasons. I have, really.”
He led the way into the room where the dead man lay. He pulled back
the sheet which covered the body. “Well, well!” said Reggie Fortune.
For the dead man’s face was not there.
“You’ll excuse me. I shouldn’t be any good to you,” said the
Superintendent thickly, and made for the door.
Reggie did not look round. “Send Sam in with my things,” he said.
It was a long time afterwards when, rather pale for him, his round
and comfortable face veiled in an uncommon gravity, he came out.
Superintendent Bell threw away his cigarette. “Ghastly, isn’t it?” he
said with sympathy.
“Mad,” said Reggie. “Come on.” A shower of warm rain was being driven
before the west wind, but he opened everything in his car that would
open, and told the chauffeur to drive round Regent’s Park. “Come on.
Bell. The rain won’t hurt you.”
“I don’t wonder you want a blow. Poor chap! As ugly a mess as ever I
saw.”
“I suppose I’m afraid,” said Reggie slowly. “It’s unusual and
annoying. I suppose the only thing that does make you afraid is
what’s mad. Not the altogether crazy--that’s only a nuisance-but
what’s damned clever and yet mad. An able fellow with a mania on one
point. I suppose that’s what the devil is, Bell.”
“Good Lord, sir,” said Superintendent Bell.
“What I want is muffins,” said Reggie--“several muffins and a little
tea and my domestic hearth. Then I’ll feel safe.”
He spread himself out, sitting on the small of his back before his
study fire, and in that position contrived to eat and drink with
freedom.
“In another world, Bell,” he said dreamily--“in another and a gayer
world it seems to me you wanted to know the cause of death. And you
didn’t want me to be prejudiced. Kindly fellow. But there’s no
prejudice about. It’s quite a plain case.”
“Is it indeed, sir? You surprise me.”
“The dead man was killed by a blow on the left temple from some
heavy, blunt weapon--a life-preserver, perhaps; a stick, a poker. At
the same time, or immediately after death, his face was battered in
by the same or a similar weapon. Death probably occurred some days
ago. After death, but not long after death, the body received other
injuries, a broken rib and left shoulder-blade, probably by a fall
from some height. That’s the medical evidence. There are other
curious circumstances.”
“Just a few!” said Bell, with a grim chuckle. “You’re very definite,
sir, if I might say so. I suppose he couldn’t have been killed and
had his face smashed like--like he did--by the fall?”
“You can cut that right out. He was killed by a blow and blows
smashed his face in. Where did you find him?”
“He was found when the snow melted this morning in the well at
Montmorency House.”
“Under the snow? That puts the murder on the night of the fifteenth.
Yes, that fits; that accounts for his sodden clothes.”
“There’s a good deal it don’t account for,” said Bell gloomily.
“I saw him just as he was found?” Bell nodded. “Somebody took a lot
of pains with him. He was fully dressed--collar and tie, boots. But a
lot of his internal buttons were undone. And there’s not a name, not
even a maker’s name, on any of his clothes. His linen’s new and don’t
show a laundry mark. Yes, somebody took a lot of pains we shouldn’t
know him.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, sir.”
“Don’t you? Is it likely a man wearing decent clothes would not have
his linen marked and his tailor’s name somewhere? Is it likely a man
who had his tie and collar on wouldn’t do up his undershirt? No. The
beggar’s clothes were changed after he was killed. That must have
been a grisly business too. He’s not a tender-hearted fellow who did
this job. Valet the body you’ve killed and then bash its face in!
Well, well! Have some more tea?”
“Not me,” said Bell, with a gulp. “You talked about a madman, sir,
didn’t you?”
“Oh, no, no, no. Not the kind of mad that runs amuck. Not homicidal
mania. This isn’t just smashing up a chap’s body for the sake of
smashing. There’s lots of purpose here. This is damned cold,
calculating crime. That kind of mad. Some fellow’s got an object that
makes it worth while to him to do any beastliness. That’s the worst
kind of mad, Bell. Not homicidal mania--that only makes a man a
beast. What’s here is the sort of thing that makes a man a devil.”
“You’re going a bit beyond me, sir. It’s a bloody murder, and that’s
all I want.”
“Yes, that’s our job,” said Reggie thoughtfully. Together they went
off to Montmorency House.
“How would you describe deceased, sir?” said Bell.
“Man of about fifty, under middle height, inclined to be stout,
unusual bald.”
“It ain’t much to go by, is it?” Bell sighed. “We don’t so much as
know if he was clean shaved or not.”
“He was, I think. I saw no trace of facial hair. But it’s rash to
argue from not finding things. And he might have been shaved after he
was killed.”
“And then smashed? My Lord! And they smashed him thorough too, didn’t
they?”
“Very logical bit of crime, Bell.”
“Logical! God bless my soul! But I mean to say, sir, we haven’t got
much to go on. Suppose I advertise there’s a man of fifty missing,
rather short and stout and bald, I shall look a bit of an ass.”
“Well, I wouldn’t advertise. He’d had an operation, by the way--on
the ear. But I wouldn’t say that either. In fact, I wouldn’t say
anything about him just yet. Hold your trumps.”
“Trumps? What is trumps then, Mr. Fortune?”
“Anything you know is always trumps.”
“You’ll excuse me, but it’s not my experience, sir.”
They came to Montmorency House, where detectives were already
domesticated with the porter, and had done the obvious things. The
body, it was to be presumed, had fallen from one of the windows
opening on the well. The men who had flats round the well were all
accounted for, save one. Mr. Rand, tenant of a flat on the top story,
had not been seen for some days. Ringing at Mr. Rand’s door had
produced no reply.
“Well, we do seem to be getting a bit warmer,” said Superintendent
Bell. And his subordinate in charge of the inquiries at the flats
beamed and rubbed his hands, and remarked that Rand seemed to have
been a mysterious chap--only had his flat a few weeks, not used it
regularly, not by any means; no visitors to speak of, civil but
distant. “That sounds all right,” said Bell, and looked at Reggie.
“What was he like?” said Reggie.
“Middle size to biggish, wore glasses, well dressed, brown hair,
which he wore rather long, they say,” the inspector reeled off glibly.
“That’s put the lid on,” said Bell. “Won’t do for the corpse, Warren.
Not a bit like it. Well, sir, where are we now?” He turned to Reggie.
“You will go so fast,” Reggie complained, and sat down. “I’m pantin’
after you in vain. What’s the primary hypothesis, Bell?”
“Sir?”
“Do we assume the corpse is Rand, or that Rand chucked the corpse out
of window?”
“Ah, there’s that,” said the inspector eagerly. “We hadn’t worked on
that.”
“We haven’t worked on anything, if you ask me,” said Bell gloomily.
“What’s your opinion then, Mr. Fortune?”
“The primary hypothesis is that we’re looking for an able, masterful
madman. Therefore my opinion is that the whole thing will look
perfectly rational when we’ve got it all combed out--grantin’ the
madman’s original mad idea.”
“Am I to go round London looking for a rational madman?” Bell
protested.
“My dear chap, you could catch ’em by the thousand. There’s nobody so
damned rational as the lunatic. That’s where he falls down. Do not be
discouraged. He’s logical. He don’t keep his eye on the facts. That
is where we come in.”
“We’ve come in all right, but we don’t seem like getting out,” Bell
grumbled. “I’m keeping my eye on the facts all right. But they won’t
fit.”
“You’re very hasty to-day, Bell,” said Reggie mildly. “Why is this?”
“I can see that fellow’s face,” Bell muttered.
“Well, well! He’s told us all he can, poor devil. We’ll get on, if
you please. Because Rand’s away, it don’t follow that Rand’s the
corpse. It might have come out of some other tenant’s window. Know
anything about the other tenants?”
“All most respectable, sir,” said the inspector.
“My dear man, the whole affair is most respectable. Do get that into
your head. I dare say we’ll find the corpse was a conveyancer
murdered by a civil servant. A crime of quiet middle-class taste.
What sort of fellows are the other fellows?”
“Well, sir, there’s a retired engineer, and a young chap, just
married, in the Rimington firm, and a naval officer, and several
young doctors with consulting-rooms in Harley Street, and one of the
Maynards, the Devonshire family. That’s all with any rooms on the
well. I’ve seen ’em all, and, if you ask me, they’re right out of it;
they’re not the sort, not one of them.”
“I dare say,” said Reggie. “They don’t sound as if they would fit.
None of them heard anything?”
“No, sir; that’s queer, to be sure.”
“It happened the night of the blizzard. You wouldn’t have noticed a
bomb. Well, who was Rand?”
“That’s what no one knows, sir. He’d only been here a few weeks.
They’re service flats, you know, and furnished. He gave a banker’s
reference. Bank says he has no money reason to be missing. Quiet,
stable account. Income from investments. Balance three hundred odd.
But the bank don’t know anything about him. He’s had an account for
years. He used to live off Jermyn Street, apartment-house. The
landlady died last year.”
“And the landlady died last year,” Reggie repeated. “He’s elusive, is
Mr. Rand. Same like our corpse. But is Rand missing, Bell? He’s not
been seen for a few days. There’s not much in that. He never used his
flat regularly.”
“And, so far as we know, deceased isn’t Rand.”