to hear his defence.”
Reggie struck his hand on the table. “There it is! A man who is
nobody--he can stand trial. Not a Cabinet Minister. Oh dear, no!”
“My dear fellow, the world is what it is. You know very well that if
I wanted to charge Kimball on this evidence it would be turned down.
I couldn’t force the issue without a stronger case. Do have some
sense of the practical.”
Reggie smiled. “I’m not blaming you. I only want to rub it in.”
“Thanks very much. We are to suspect Kimball, I suppose.”
“Like the devil, and watch him.”
“I see. Yes, I think we shall be quite justified in watching Mr.
Kimball. But, my dear fellow, you are rather odd this morning. If you
want Kimball watched, why the devil do you handle him so violently?
You know, you almost accused him of the murder. Anything more likely
to put him on his guard I can’t imagine.”
“Yes, yes. I think I made him jump,” said Reggie, with satisfaction.
“Quite intentional, Lomas, old thing. He’s on his guard all right.
But he don’t know how little we know. I meant to put him in a funk. I
want to see what a funk will make him do.”
Lomas looked at him steadily. “For a very moral man,” he said, “you
have a good deal of the devil about you.”
“I think I ought to say, Mr. Fortune,” said Bell, “we’ve all been in
a hurry to judge Mr. Kimball. I said things myself. And I do say he’s
not a Christian man--an unbeliever, I’m afraid. But I had ought to
say too, he lives a very clean life. Always has. Temperate, very
quiet style, a thorough good master, generous to his employees, and
always ready to come down handsome for a good cause.”
“Who is Kimball, Bell?” said Reggie quietly.
“Sir?” Bell stared. “He’s always been known, sir. Started in
Liverpool on the Cotton Exchange. Went into rubber. Came to London.
That’s his career. All quite open and straight.”
“And we don’t know a damned thing about him.”
“Well, really, Fortune, you’re rather exacting. You’re after his
soul, I suppose,” said Lomas, with something like a sneer.
“Who is Kimball?” Reggie insisted. “There’s two unknown quantities.
Who is Kimball? Who is Sandford?”
“I’m afraid you want the Day of Judgment, my dear fellow,” said
Lomas. “‘Unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known’--that sort
of thing. Well, we can’t ring up the Recording Angel from here. It’s
a trunk call.”
“I know you’re worldly. But you might know your world. Look about,
Lomas, old thing. I’ve been looking about.” He took out a newspaper
cutting.
Lomas read: “‘SANDFORD. Any one who can give any information about
Mrs. Ellen Edith Sandford, resident Llanfairfechan from 1882-1900,
formerly of Lancashire, is urgently begged to communicate with XYZ.’”
He looked up. “Of Lancashire? That’s a guess?”
Reggie nodded. “North Wales is mostly Lancashire people.”
“Well, there’s no harm in it. Do you want us to advertise for
Kimball’s wet nurse?”
“And his sisters and his cousins and his aunts. Yes. All in good
time. But watch him first. Watch them both.” He nodded, and sauntered
out.
Lomas lit a cigarette and pushed the box to Bell. Both men smoked a
minute in silence. Then Lomas said, “That’s a damned clever fellow.
Bell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve often thought he was too clever by half. But, damme, I don’t
remember thinking he was uncanny before.”
“I have noticed it,” said Bell diffidently, “in a manner of speaking.
Of course he does know a lot, does Mr. Fortune, a rare lot of stuff.
But that’s natural, as were. What upsets you is the sort of way he
feels men. It’s as if he had senses you haven’t got. Very strange the
way he knows men.”
PHASE V.--THE REPLY
Their admiration for Reggie Fortune received a shock the next day. It
came by telephone. Just after his late and lazy breakfast, Reggie was
rung up from Scotland Yard. Bell spoke. Mr. Lomas thought that Mr.
Fortune would like to know that Sandford had gone down to Mr.
Kimball’s place. Reggie answered, “Oh, Peter!” In a quarter of an
hour he was in Lomas’s room asking for confirmation. There was no
doubt. The detective watching Sandford’s chambers had followed him to
Victoria, and heard him take a ticket to Alwynstow, Kimball’s place,
and was gone with him.
“So that’s the next move,” said Lomas, “and if you can tell me what
it means I shall be obliged to you.”
Reggie dropped his hand on the table. “Not a guess,” he said. “How
can a man guess? We don’t even know how much they know, or whether
one knows what the other knows. I could fancy Sandford--what’s the
use?
“‘So runs my dream. But what am I? An infant crying in the night, An
infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.’
Same like you, Lomas.”
“I notice you are not so much the moral sage this morning,” Lomas
said sourly.
“Lomas, dear, don’t be unkind. I can’t abear it. I wish to God I was
down there!”
“Damn it, we’ve got two men down there now--one on Sandford, one on
Kimball. They’ll be knocking their heads together. What the devil do
you think you could do?”
“Nothing. Lord, don’t I know it? Nothing. That’s what makes me
peevish.”
Lomas said severely that he had work to do, and Reggie left him,
promising to come back and take him out to lunch, which he received
as if it were a threat.
But when Reggie did come back, Superintendent Bell was in the room
and Lomas listening to the telephone. Bell looked oddly at Reggie.
Lomas raised a blank and pallid face from the receiver. “Sandford has
murdered Kimball,” he said.
“Oh, Peter! I wonder if he’s brought it off,” Reggie murmured. “Has
he brought it off after all?” He bit his lip. Lomas was talking into
the telephone. Asking for details, giving instructions. “Hold the
line. Cut that out,” said Reggie. “We’ll go down, Lomas, please. Tell
your chap to meet us at the house. My car’s here.”
Lomas gave the orders and rang off. “I’ll have to go, I suppose,” he
agreed. “One doesn’t kill Cabinet Ministers every day. More’s the
pity. Damn the case! There’s nothing in it, though, Fortune. Sandford
was walking up to the house. He met Kimball in the lane. They were
crossing the ornamental water in the park when they had a quarrel.
Kimball was thrown in. He called out, “You scoundrel, you have
murdered me.” When they got Kimball out he was dead. That’s all. I’m
afraid it washes your stuff about Kimball right out.”
“Well, well,” Reggie drawled, looking through his eyelashes. “Where
is he that knows, Lomas? From the great deep to the great deep he
goes, Lomas. We’ll get on.”
“What about lunch?”
“Damn lunch!” said Reggie, and went out.
The other two, who liked food far less than he but could not go
without it, lingered to collect sandwiches, and found him chafing in
the driver’s seat.
They exchanged looks of horror. “I’m too old for Mr. Fortune’s
driving, and that’s a fact,” Bell mumbled.
“When I got out alive after that day at Woking I swore I’d never go
again,” said Lomas.
But they quailed before Reggie’s virulent politeness when he asked
them if they would please get in. . . . It is in the evidence of
Lomas that they only slowed once, when an old lady dropped her
handkerchief in the middle of Croydon. He is in conflict with the
statement of Bell as to the most awful moment. For he selects the
episode of the traction-engine with trucks at the Alwynstow
cross-roads, and Bell chooses the affair of the motor-bus and the
caravan at Merstham. They agree that they arrived at Alwynstow Park
in a cold sweat.
A detective came out on the steps to meet them, and watched
reverently Bell and Lomas helping each other out. Reggie ran up to
him. “Which are you?”
“Beg pardon, sir? Oh, I’m Hall. I had Mr. Kimball. It was Parker had
Mr. Sandford.” He turned to Lomas. “Good morning, sir. I tried to get
you on the telephone, but they said you were on your way down.”
“Oh, you’ve been on the telephone too?”
“When I heard what Parker’s information was I rung up quick, sir.
It’s a very queer business, sir.”
“Where is Parker? And where’s Sandford? I suppose you’ve arrested
him?”
“Well, no, sir. Not strictly speaking. We detained him pending
instructions.”
“Damme, you’re very careful. Parker saw the murder committed, didn’t
he?”
“Well, sir, if I may say so, that’s drawing conclusions. I don’t
understand Parker would go as far as that.”
“Good Gad!” said Lomas. “Where the devil is Parker?”
“Keeping Mr. Sandford under observation, sir, according to
instructions. Beg your pardon, sir. I’ve heard his story, and I quite
agree it all happened like that. But you haven’t heard mine.”
Lomas looked round him. The house was too near. “We’ll walk on the
lawn,” he announced. “Now then. Parker says the two men quarrelled on
the bridge over the lake and Kimball was thrown in, and as he fell he
called out, ‘You scoundrel, you’ve murdered me!’ And you say that
isn’t murder.”
“Did Serjeant Parker say ‘thrown in’?” said Hall, with surprise in
his face and his voice.
“I believe he didn’t,” said Lomas slowly. “No. He said Kimball was
thrown off, and as he fell in he called out.”
“That’s right, sir,” said Hall heartily. “But I reckon there is more
to it than that. When Mr. Kimball came out this morning I was waiting
for him in the park. It was rather touch and go, because he had some
men at work above the lake. He went down that way to the station. As
he was crossing the bridge he tried the rails. It’s very odd, sir,
but a bit of the bar--it’s a sort of rustic stuff--was that loose it
came off in his hand. He put it back and went on. He met Mr. Sandford
in the road and turned back with him. I had to get out of the way
quick. I judged they were coming back to the house, so I did a run
and dropped over the fence, and was away on the other side of the
lake. Then I went into the rhododendrons and waited for them to pass.
You see, sir, Parker had to keep well out of sight behind, and I was
as near as makes no matter. Well, if you’ll believe me, it was Mr.
Kimball made the quarrel, and all in a minute he made it. One minute
they were walking quite friendly, the next he whips round on Mr.
Sandford and he called him a bad name. I couldn’t hear all, he was
talking so quick, but there was ugly words in it. Then he made to
strike Mr. Sandford, and Mr. Sandford closed and chucked him back,
and into the water he went just where that same rail that he looked
at was loose. But it’s true enough as he fell he called out, ‘You
scoundrel, you’ve murdered me!’”
“Well, well. So he didn’t bring it off after all,” said Reggie. “We
trumped his last card.”
“Sir?” said the detective.
“You were the trump,” said Reggie. “Oh, my aunt, I feel much better!
I wonder if there’s any lunch in these parts? What about it, Lomas,
old thing?”
“I’m damned if I understand,” said Lomas. “I want Sandford. Let’s go
up to the house.”
They found Sandford sitting in an easy-chair in the dead man’s
library. He was reading; to Reggie’s ineffable admiration he was
reading a book by Mr. Sidney Webb on the history of trade unions.
Serjeant Parker, the detective, made himself uncomfortable at the
table and pored over his notebook.
“All right, all right, Parker. Quite understood.” Lomas waved him
away. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sandford. Sorry to detain you. Most
unfortunate affair.”
“Good afternoon. It is not necessary to apologize,” said Sandford,
completely himself. “I realize that the police must require my
account of the affair. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Kimball rang me up at
my rooms. I did not learn from where he was speaking. He said that my
affair--that was his phrase--my affair had taken a new turn, and he
wished me to come and see him here this morning. He named the train
by which I was to travel. I thought it strange that he should bring
me into the country, but I had no valid ground of objection.
Accordingly I came this morning. I thought it strange that he sent no
conveyance to meet me. I started to walk to the house. In the lane he
met me walking. He talked of indifferent things in a rather broken
manner, I thought, but that was common with him, and yet I was
surprised he did not come to the point. He was, however, quite
friendly until we reached the bridge over the lake. Then without any
warning or reason he turned upon me and was violently abusive. His
language was vulgar and even filthy. He attempted to strike me, and I
defended myself. I was, in fact, a good deal alarmed, for he was, as
you know, much bigger and heavier than I, and he was in a frenzy of
rage. To my surprise, I may say my relief, I was able to resist him.
I pushed him off--really, you know, it seemed quite easy--and the
hand-rail behind him gave way and he fell into the water. As he fell
he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you have murdered me!’ I can only
suppose he was not responsible for his actions.”
“Much obliged,” said Lomas. “I’m afraid you’ve had a distressing
time.”
“It has been a remarkable experience,” said Sandford. “May I ask if
there is any reason why I should not return to town?”
“No, no.” Lomas looked at him queerly. “You have an uncommon cool
head. They’ll want your evidence at the inquest, of course. But it’s
fair to say I quite accept your story.”
“I am obliged to you,” said Sandford, in a tone of surprise, as if he
could not conceive that any one should not. “I am told there is a
train at 3.35. Good afternoon.”
“One moment. One moment,” said Reggie. “Do you know of any reason in
the world Kimball had to hate you?”
“Certainly not,” said Sandford, in offended dignity. “Our relations
were short and wholly official. I conceive that he had no reason to
complain of my services.”
“And yet he meant to murder you or have you hanged for his murder.”
“If he did, I can only suppose that he was out of his mind.”
“Was he out of his mind when he worked the Coal Ramp to ruin you?”
“Dear me,” said Sandford, “do you really suggest, sir, that Mr.
Kimball was responsible for that scandalous piece of finance?”
“Who else?”
“But really--you startle me. That is to say, as a Minister he
betrayed the secrets of the department?”
“Well, he didn’t stick at a trifle, did he?”
“The poor fellow must have been mad,” said Sandford, with grave
sympathy.
“Yes, yes. But why was he mad? Why did he hate you? My dear chap, do
search your memory. Can you think of any sort of connection between
Kimball and you?”
“I never heard of him till he became prominent in the House. I never
saw him till he came into the office. Our relations were always
perfectly correct. No, I can only suppose that he was insane. Is it
any use to try to discover reasons for the antipathies of madness? I
have not studied the subject, but it seems obvious that they must be
irrational. I am sorry I cannot help your investigations. I believe I
had better catch my train. Good afternoon.”
“You know, I begin to like that fellow. He’s so damned honest,” said
Reggie.
“Cold-blooded fish,” said Lomas. “Begad, he don’t know how near he
was to dead. Did you ever hear anything less plausible than that yarn
of his? If we didn’t know it was true we wouldn’t believe a word of
it. Good God, suppose Hall hadn’t been down here watching! We should
have had the outside facts. Sandford, who had been accused and
suspended by Kimball, suddenly comes down to Kimball’s house, meets
him, quarrels with him, and throws him into the lake.”
“And the men working in the park a little way off just saw the
struggle, just heard Kimball call out that he was murdered,” said
Reggie. “Don’t forget the men. They’re a most interesting touch. He
always thought of everything, did Mr. Kimball. He had them there,
just the right distance for the evidence he wanted. I don’t know if
you see the full significance of those men working in the park.”
Lomas sat down. “I don’t mind owning I thought they were accidental.”
“My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap, there was very little accidental in
the vicinity of the late Kimball. They were there to give evidence
that would hang Sandford. And that proves Kimball didn’t mean to
throw Sandford into the lake. He wanted to be thrown in, he wanted to
be killed, and get Sandford hanged for it.”
“I suppose so,” Lomas agreed. “It’s a case that’s happened before.
And you couldn’t always say the creatures that planned it were mad.”
“Not legally mad. Not medically mad. I always said that. No, I don’t
know that it’s even very strange. Quite a lot of people would be
ready to die if they could get their enemies killed by their death.
Only they don’t see their way. But he was an able fellow, the late
Kimball.”
“Able! I should say so. If our men hadn’t been here, Sandford would
have been as good as hanged. Nobody could have believed his story.
Why did he come here? There could be no evidence of Kimball’s
telephone call. What did Sandford come for? There’s no reasonable
reason. Kimball put him under a cloud, he was furious, he meant
murder, and did it. The jury wouldn’t leave the box.”
“That’s right, sir,” said Superintendent Bell. “If it wasn’t for Mr.
Fortune he’d be down and out. What you might call a rarity in our
work, that is, to save a man from a charge of murder before it comes
along.”
“How do you mean?” Reggie seemed to come back from other thoughts.
“Oh, because I told you to have Kimball watched. Well, it was pretty
clear he wasn’t the kind to go about without a chaperon. We took that
trick. I suppose Kimball’s thinking, wherever he is, that we won the
game. But I wouldn’t say that--I wouldn’t say that. Why did he hate
Sandford?”
“My dear fellow, the man was mad.”
“You mean he didn’t like the way Sandford does his hair--or he
thought Sandford was a German spy. No. He wasn’t that kind of mad.
There’s something we don’t know, Lomas, old thing. I dare say it’s
crazy enough. I’ll bet you my favourite shirt it’s something the
ordinary sane man feels.”
“If we are to go looking for something crazy which sane men feel!”
said Lomas.
“Speakin’ broadly, all the human emotions,” said Reggie. “Didn’t you
ever hate a man because he married a girl who was pretty? Don’t be so
godlike.”
“They weren’t either of them married, sir,” said Bell, in grave
surprise.
“How do you know?” Reggie snapped. “No, I don’t suppose they were.
But we don’t know. We don’t know anything. That’s why I say we
haven’t won the game. Well, well. For God’s sake let’s have some
food! There was a modest pub in the village. I saw it when you let
off your futile scream at the traction-engine. Let’s go. I don’t seem
to want to eat Kimball’s grub.”
PHASE VI.--JANE BROWN
Two or three days after Lomas received an invitation to lunch in
Wimpole Street.
“I owe you one,” Reggie wrote. “I owe myself one. I want to forget
the high tea of Alwynstow. Do you remember the pickles? And the
bacon? What had that pig been doing? A neurasthenic, I fear. A
student of the Nematoda.”
So naturally when Lomas came his first question was what may Nematoda
be.
“Never mind,” Reggie sighed. “It’s a painful subject. A disgusting
subject. Same like what we make our living by. They are among the
criminals of animal life. Real bad eggs. A sad world, Lomas, old
thing. Let’s forget all about crime.”
They did. For an hour and a half. At the end of which Lomas said
dreamily, “You’re a remarkable fellow, Fortune. I don’t know how you
can retain any brain. You do yourself so well. Yes, most seductive
habit of life. I meant to say something when I came. What was it? I
believe you have talked of everything else in creation. Ah, yes, did
you ever hear of the Kimball case? Well, I think we have combed it
all out.”
“Have you, though?” Reggie sat up.
“Yes. We’ve been dealing with a stockbroker or two. I’m really afraid
there was a little bullying. We hinted that there might be
developments about a certain murder case. And two of them began to
talk. We’ve got Rand-Mason’s past.”
“Oh, that!” Reggie said. “Quite obvious, wasn’t it? Kimball meant to
use this coal scheme to ruin Sandford. He sent Mason, who had
probably been his go-between in other financial things, to give the
brokers the tip. It was also Rand-Mason who paid the money into
Sandford’s account. Remember the stout man in glasses. Then probably
he struck for better pay or they had a row. Anyway, he threatened to
give the show away. Kimball couldn’t trust him any more. Daren’t
trust him. So he wiped Rand-Mason out. Is that right, sir?”
“I’m not omniscient myself. But certainly Rand-Mason was the man who
put the brokers on to it. There is not much doubt he went to
Sandford’s bank. By the way, Kimball had several big sticks. His
valet says he liked weight.”
“I dare say. Had Kimball any papers?”
“Not a line that throws light on this. As you know everything, I’d
like to hear why Kimball tried this murder plan last instead of
first?”
“How can you be so unkind, Lomas? I keep telling you I don’t know
anything. I come and shout it in your ear. I don’t know the thing
that really matters. Who was Kimball? Who is Sandford? What is he
that Kimball couldn’t bear him? I said that at the beginning. I say
it now in italics. Good Lord, you can hear Kimball laughing at us!”
“Don’t be uncanny.”
“Well, I’m not really sure he is laughing at us. Wait a while. But
why did Kimball try murder last instead of first? Oh, that’s easy. He
was an epicure in hate! He didn’t want mere blood. He wanted the
beggar to suffer--to be ruined, not just dead. Hence he went to break
Sandford. Then Rand-Mason complicated the affair. Kimball had a
murder on his back and I scared him. He thought we had enough to
convict him or that we’d get it. He said to himself, ‘I’m for it,
anyway. I’ll have to die. Well, why shouldn’t my death hang
Sandford?’ And he played that last card.”
“I suppose so,” Lomas agreed. “In a way it’s all quite rational,
isn’t it?”
“I always said it would be. Grant that it was worth anything to ruin
Sandford and Kimball’s a most efficient fellow. But why was it worth
anything to ruin Sandford?”
“Ah, God knows,” said Lomas gravely.
“Yes. I wonder if Jane Brown does.” He handed Lomas a letter.
“DEAR SIR,--Your advertisement for information about Mrs. Ellen Edith
Sandford. I have some which is at your service if you can satisfy me
why you want it.--Yours truly, JANE BROWN.”
“I should say Jane is a character,” said Lomas.
“Yes, she allured me. I told her who I was and she said she’d come to
tea.”
She kept her appointment. Reggie found himself facing a large young
woman. In her construction nature had been very happy. She had
decorated its work with admirable art. She was physically in the
grand style, but she had a merry eye, and her clothes were not only
charming but of a sophisticated elegance.
Reggie, there is no doubt, stared at her for a moment and a half.
“Miss--Jane--Brown,” he said slowly.
“I haven’t brought my godfathers and godmothers, Mr. Fortune,” she
smiled. “But I am Jane Brown really. I always felt I couldn’t live up
to it. I see you know me.”
“If seeing were knowing, I should know Miss Joan Amber very well.
It’s delightful to be able to thank her for the real Rosalind--all
the Rosalind there is.”
She made him a curtsy. “I’m lucky. I didn’t think you’d be like this.
I expected an old man with glasses and----”
“This,” said Reggie maliciously--“this is the Chief of the Criminal
Investigation Department--Mr. Lomas.”
Lomas let his eyeglass fall. “I also am young enough to go to the
theatre. I shall go on being young so long as Miss Amber is acting.”
“May I sit down?” said she pathetically. “You’re rather overwhelming.
I thought it would be terrific and severe and suspicious. But you
know you are bland--simply bland.”
“This is your fault, Lomas,” said Reggie severely. “I have often been
called flippant and even futile, but never bland before--never bland.”
“It is a tribute to your maturity, my dear Fortune.”
Her golden eyes sent a glance at Reggie. “Mature!” she said. “I
suppose you are real? Oh, let’s be serious. I am Jane Brown, you
know. Amber--of course I had to have another name for the
stage--Amber because of my hair.” She touched it.
“And your eyes,” said Reggie.