Hoaxed?
As soon as it was light next morning Inspector Tanner let himself out
of the hotel, and taking the sergeant’s bicycle, rode out along the
London Road. It was again a perfect morning, everything giving promise
of a spell of settled weather. The dew lay thick on the ground,
sparkling in the rays of the rising sun, which cast long, thin shadows
across the road. Not a cloud was in the sky, and though a few traces
of mist still lingered on the river, they were rapidly disappearing in
the growing heat. From the trees came the ceaseless twittering of
birds, while from some unseen height a lark poured down its glorious
song. The roads had dried up after the recent rains, but were not yet
dusty, and as the Inspector pedalled along he congratulated himself on
the pleasant respite he was likely to have from London in July.
He crossed the Cranshaw River, and gradually diverging from it, rose
briskly through the smiling, well-wooded country. About a mile from
the town a grass-grown lane branched off to the left, leading, he
presumed, back to the river at the Old Ferry. From it began the stone
wall which bounded the Luce Manor grounds, and he passed first the
small door at the end of the footpath from the house, and then the
main entrance. A little farther, some two miles from the town, he
reached the cross roads and, turning to the left and still skirting
the Manor lands, arrived after a few minutes at the two-arched bridge
which crossed the Cranshaw immediately above the falls. Here he hid
the bicycle among some bushes, then stepping on to the bridge, he
looked around.
The river had greatly fallen, as he could see from the high water mark
along the banks. But even now it was running fast, and swirled and
eddied as it raced through the archways beneath. Below the falls the
two distinct channels were visible, and Tanner could understand how
objects passing through the right arch would almost inevitably get
among the boulders and be smashed up, while those carried through the
other might slip downstream uninjured.
In the opposite direction the river curved away between thinly-wooded
banks, and on those banks the Inspector decided his work must begin.
From the medical evidence it had seemed clear to him that Sir William
Ponson had first been murdered, the body afterwards being placed in
the boat. With the ground in the soft condition produced by the recent
rains, this could hardly have been done without leaving traces. He
must therefore search for those traces in the hope of finding with
them some clue to the murderer’s identity.
Not far from the bridge there was a gate in the Luce Manor wall,
leading from the road into the plantation of small trees which fringed
the river. He passed through, and getting down near the water’s edge,
began to walk upstream, scrutinising the ground for footprints. As he
expected, most of the bank was still soft from the rain, but where he
came to hard or grassy portions or where the rock out-cropped, he made
little detours till he reached more plastic ground beyond. It was
during one of these deviations, some quarter of a mile from the
bridge, that he made his first discovery.
At this point a small stream entered the river, and the ground for
some distance on each side had been trampled over by cattle coming to
drink. The brook, which was not more than a couple of yards wide by a
few inches deep, was crossed by a line of rough stepping-stones. The
Inspector, looking about, saw that several persons had recently passed
over. Their tracks converged like a fan at each end of the stones.
Here, he thought, is where Austin Ponson and the butler, valet and
boatman walked when searching for the body.
But Tanner was a painstaking and conscientious man. He never took
probabilities for granted and, therefore, at the approaches to the
stepping-stones, he set himself to check his theory by separating out
the four prints for future identification. It gave him some trouble,
but he presently found himself rewarded. Instead of there being four
different prints, there were five. Four men had walked together down
the river; the fifth had crossed slightly diagonally to the others,
and had gone upstream. In all cases where the steps of this fifth man
coincided with others the former were the lower, showing that their
owner had passed up before the others came down. He had worn boots
with nailed soles, and his steps were smaller and closer together than
any of the others. Tanner deduced a small-sized man of the working
classes.
He was about to move on, when, looking up the little tributary, he saw
another line of steps crossing it some thirty yards above the stones.
These were heading downstream, and the owner had evidently not
troubled to diverge to the stones, but had walked right through the
water. The soil at the place was spongy, and the tracks were not
clear, but Tanner, by following them back, was able to identify them
as those of this same fifth man.
The Inspector at first was somewhat puzzled by the neglect of the
stepping-stones. Then it occurred to him that one of two things would
account for it. Either the downward journey had been made at night
when the unknown could not see the stones, or he had been too
perturbed or excited to consider where he was going. And Tanner could
not help recognising that anyone hastening from the scene of the
murder would in all probability show traces of just such agitation.
He continued his search of the bank, seeing no traces of an approach
to the river, but finding here and there prints of the four men going
downstream, and of the fifth leading in both directions.
About a hundred yards before he reached the boathouse a paling went up
at right angles to the river, separating the rough, uncared for bank
along which he had passed from the well-kept lawn he was approaching.
The grass on this latter was cut short, and looking up under the fine
oaks and beeches studded about, he could see the façade of the house.
A gravel path connected the two buildings, leading from the Dutch
garden in front of the terrace straight down to the door of the
boathouse. From the latter point another path branched off at right
angles to the first, running upstream along the river bank. This,
Tanner remembered from his examination of the map, afterwards curved
round to the left, and joined the narrow walk from the house at the
road gate. A third short path ran round the boathouse, and terminated
in a flight of broad landing steps, leading down into the river.
A careful search of the ground near the boathouse revealed occasional
impressions on the closely cut sward. The Inspector spent over an hour
moving from point to point, and was at last satisfied as to what had
taken place. The four men whom he had assumed were Austin and the
servants, had evidently come down the path from the direction of the
house. They had turned to the right before reaching the boathouse,
thus approaching the river diagonally, and had crossed the paling
bounding the lawn close to the water’s edge. These men had walked
together and the tracks were exactly in accordance with the statement
of their movements they had made to the sergeant.
The fifth man had crossed the paling almost at the same place as the
others—it was the obviously suitable place—but instead of turning up
towards the house, his steps led direct to the boathouse! Another line
of the same steps led back from the boathouse to the fence—in neither
case continuously, but here and there, where the grass was thin. And
at two points along these tracks the Inspector gave a chuckle of
satisfaction. At one there was a perfect impression of part of the
right sole, and at another of the remainder and the heel. Tanner
decided he must take plaster casts of these prints before they became
blurred.
[Illustration: A ground plan of a boathouse situated on the bank of
River Cranshaw, with two different sets of footprint tracks passing
nearby.]
Passing the boathouse—he felt that marks in it, if any, would keep—he
continued his careful search of the bank above flood level. Very
painstaking and thorough he was as he gradually worked his way up, but
no further traces could he find. At last after a good hour’s work he
reached the Old Ferry. Here the track approaching the ruined pier was
hard; and he recognised that, shut in as it was by trees, it would
have made an ideal place for disposing of the body. He thought he need
hardly expect traces above this, but, as he wished to cross the river,
and he could do so no nearer than the London road bridge at Halford,
he continued along the bank, still searching. Then, reaching the
bridge, he crossed and worked in the same way down the left bank till
he reached the other bridge at the Cranshaw Falls. When the work was
completed, he felt positive the body could only have been set adrift
at either the boathouse or the Old Ferry.
It was now eleven o’clock, and he had been at it for over five hours.
Taking the bicycle, he rode back into Halford, where he had a hurried
meal. Then he left again to attend the inquest at Luce Manor.
A long, narrow room, with oak-panelled walls, and three deep windows,
had been set aside for the occasion. Round the table, which ran down
the centre, sat the jury, looking self-conscious and important. At the
head was the Coroner, and near him, but a little back from the table,
were Austin and Cosgrove Ponson, Dr Ames, the butler, valet, boatman,
sergeant, and a few other persons. As Tanner entered and slipped
quietly to a seat, the Coroner was just rising to open the
proceedings.
He made a brief speech deploring the unhappy event which had robbed
their neighbourhood of so worthy and so useful a man as Sir William,
and expressing on his own behalf and that of those present the
sympathy which they felt for the surviving members of the family. Then
he lamented the fact that the law required an inquest, and promised
that on his part at least the proceedings should be conducted so as to
give the least possible amount of annoyance and pain. Partly on that
account, and partly because the authorities for technical reasons
required some information which there had not as yet been time to
obtain, he did not propose to complete the inquest that day, but after
formal evidence of identification had been taken he would adjourn the
proceedings to a more convenient date.
The speech was cleverly worded. While it stated nothing explicitly,
its whole suggestion was that as every one knew an accident had
happened, further inquiry must be mere waste of time. He touched but
slightly on the adjournment, proceeding at once to call the roll and
swear in the jury.
While he was speaking Tanner ran his sharp eyes over the faces of
those present, memorising their features, and noting their demeanour.
There sat Parkes, the butler, solemn and ponderous, surveying the
scene with grave and decorous interest. Innes, sharp-eyed and alert,
seemed to be watching the proceedings with an eye for flaws in the
Coroner’s law. Smith, the gardener-boatman, somewhat overawed with his
surroundings, was evidently there, a plain man, to tell a plain man’s
tale. After registering a mental picture of each, Tanner’s gaze passed
on, but when it reached Austin Ponson it halted and remained steady.
The son and nephew were seated together. There was a considerable
similarity in their appearance. Of middle height, both had blue eyes,
clear complexions, and clean-shaven chins. Their features were not
unlike, but Austin was stouter, and seemed younger, and more easy
going. Cosgrove looked as if he had lived hard. He was thin, and lines
radiated from the corners of his eyes while the hair near his temples
showed slightly grey. He had the indefinable stamp of a society man,
which Austin lacked. But both were well looking enough, and would have
passed unnoticed among any crowd of well-dressed Englishmen of the
upper classes.
But it was not on these points of superficial resemblance that
Tanner’s gaze rested. He was a reader, so far as he was able, of
hearts. And it was the expressions of the cousins which had specially
attracted his attention.
That both were shocked and upset by the tragedy there could be no
doubt. But, while this seemed the sum total of Cosgrove’s emotion, the
detective’s keen eye recognised something more in Austin’s face and
bearing. He was anxious—unquestionably anxious—and he was trying to
hide it. And when the Coroner mentioned the adjournment he started,
and a look of undoubted fear showed for a moment in his eyes.
Inspector Tanner’s interest was keenly aroused. That Austin knew
something he felt sure, and he decided his first business must be to
learn what it was.
Accordingly, when the body had been viewed and formally identified,
and the proceedings had come to an end, he sought out his victim, and
quietly introduced himself.
‘I am exceedingly sorry, Mr Ponson,’ he said politely, ‘to intrude
myself upon you at such a moment, but I have been sent here by
Scotland Yard to make certain inquiries into this unhappy occurrence,
and I have no option but to carry out my instructions. Could you spare
me a few moments?’
Austin’s face paled as the other made his occupation known, and again
the look of fear showed in his eyes. But he answered readily enough:
‘Certainly, Inspector. I am at your service. Come in here; we shall
not be disturbed.’
He led the way into a small study or office on the left of the hall,
plainly furnished in mahogany, with dark red leather upholstering.
Drawing forward two arm-chairs he motioned his visitor to a seat.
‘I should feel greatly obliged, sir,’ began Tanner, as he accepted a
cigarette from the case the other held out, ‘if you would tell me all
you can about this unhappy affair. I have practically only arrived,
and I have not heard the details.’
‘There’s not much I can tell you, I’m afraid,’ Austin answered, and
then he repeated almost word for word the statement he had made to the
sergeant. He spoke calmly, but the Inspector could see that he was ill
at ease.
‘It seemed to my people,’ went on Tanner, ‘that a good deal hinged on
the motive Sir William had for taking out the boat. You cannot form
any theory about that?’
‘None whatever. It was the last thing I should have expected him to
do.’
‘There is no one whom he might have wished to visit?’
‘The butler suggested that,’ and Austin mentioned Dr Graham. ‘But,’ he
ended up, ‘we could find nothing to bear out that theory.’
‘Can you tell me if Sir William had anything on his mind recently?’
Austin hesitated and moved uneasily.
‘No,’ he said, ‘not to my knowledge.’ But his voice changed, and the
Inspector felt he was not speaking the truth.
‘When did you see him last, Mr Ponson?’
‘On Sunday. I dined here and spent the evening.’
‘And you noticed nothing unusual in his manner then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You will be wondering what is the point of all these questions. I am
sorry to tell you, Mr Ponson, that my superiors have got an
exceedingly unpleasant suspicion into their minds. I hardly like to
mention it to you.’
The Inspector paused, watching the other keenly. He was evidently on
tenterhooks. Seemingly unable to remain quiet, he threw his cigarette
away, and then with quick, jerky movements lit another. But he
controlled himself and spoke calmly.
‘Yes? What do they think?’
‘They are not satisfied,’ went on Tanner, slowly watching all the time
the effect of his words, ‘that the affair was an accident at all.’
Austin paled still further and tiny drops of sweat appeared on his
forehead.
‘In the Lord’s name,’ he cried hoarsely, ‘what do you mean?’
‘They fear suicide, Mr Ponson.’
‘Suicide?’ There was horror in the man’s eyes, but to the Inspector
there was relief also. ‘What infernal drivel! They did not know my
father.’
‘That is so, of course, sir. I’m only telling you what the Chief said.
That’s the reason they postponed the inquest, and that’s the reason I
was sent down.’
‘I tell you, Inspector, the thing’s absurd. Ask anybody that knew him.
They will all tell you the same thing.’
‘I dare say, sir, and probably correctly. But might I ask you when you
go home to turn the matter over in your mind, and if you think of
anything bearing on it to let me know?’
‘Of course,’ assented Austin, and the relief in his manner was now
unmistakable.
‘There’s just one other point,’ Tanner continued. ‘I have to ask a
question I deeply regret, but I can only assure you it is one asked
invariably, and as a matter of routine in such cases. I trust you will
not mind. It is this. Will you please let me have a statement of your
own movements on last Wednesday night?’
Austin Ponson threw up his hands.
‘I have been afraid of that question, Inspector, ever since I first
heard the news, and now you’ve asked it, by Jove, I’m glad! I have
been trying to make up my mind to tell the police since—since it
happened, and it’ll be a huge relief to do so now. I tell you,
Inspector, I’ve been actually _afraid_ when I thought of it. Here goes
for the whole thing.’
He spoke with excitement, but soon calmed down and went on in ordinary
tones.
‘On Wednesday night I was the victim of what I then thought was a
stupid and rather unkind hoax, but what since this affair I have
looked on in a more sinister light. At the same time I confess I am
entirely puzzled as to its meaning. In order that you may understand
it I must tell you a few facts about myself.
‘I have lived, as you perhaps know, alone in Halford for several
years. I have some private means, and I pass my time in research work
in connection with certain disease-carrying insects, besides writing
on scientific and social subjects. Recently I became deeply attached
to a young lady living close by—a Miss Lois Drew—and on last Saturday
I put fate to the test, and asked her to marry me. She consented, but
wished our engagement kept a secret for a few days. I only mention her
name to you, Inspector, on her own authority, indeed at her express
direction, but at the same time I trust you will respect my confidence
in the matter.’
Tanner bowed without speaking.
‘About six o’clock on Wednesday evening, my butler handed me a note.
He had found it, as I afterwards learnt, in the letter box of the hall
door, and as it had not come through the post, it must have been
delivered by private messenger. But there had been no ring, nor had he
seen anyone approaching the house.
‘The note was in Miss Drew’s handwriting, and it said that she and her
sister were going that evening to call on a Mrs Franklyn, who lived a
mile or more from the town along the London road. They would be
returning about nine, and if I liked to take a boat down to the Old
Ferry and wait for them there, I could row them home.
‘I need hardly say I was delighted, and I went to the Club to get a
boat, intending to be down at the Old Ferry in good time. But there
was a delay in getting the boat I wanted, and in spite of rowing hard
it was a little past the hour when I reached the place. There was no
one there, but I had not waited more than five or ten minutes when a
girl came walking up. It was getting dusk, and I thought at first it
was Miss Drew’s sister, but when she got nearer I saw she was a
stranger. She was below medium height, dark, and badly dressed, with a
thin muffler up round her face, as if she had toothache. I could not
see her features distinctly, though I think I should know her again.
She asked me if I was Mr Austin Ponson.
‘“I am Mrs Franklyn’s housemaid,” she said, “and I was sent to give
you this note.”
‘It was a pencil scrawl from Miss Drew, saying that she and her sister
had gone with Tom and Evelyn Franklyn, the two younger members of the
family, to the Abbey, where the ghost was reported to be abroad. I was
to follow, and the girl, Mrs Franklyn’s housemaid, would watch the
boat till we returned.
‘The Abbey, I should explain, is an old ruin, a little farther away
than Mrs Franklyn’s house—about two miles from the town. It is reached
by a narrow and little used path from the London road, perhaps half a
mile or less long. According to the local tradition it is haunted, and
every now and then the ghost is supposed to walk. I don’t know the
exact details of the superstition, but as the place is interesting,
and the walk there pleasant enough, to look for the ghost is often
made the joking excuse for paying the old place an evening visit.
‘“You will watch the boat till I come back?” I said to the maid, and
she answered:
‘“Yes sir, Mrs Franklyn told me so.”
‘I set off to walk the mile or more to the Abbey, reaching it in about
twenty minutes. I was a little surprised by the whole business, for
though the Abbey would have been a likely enough walk for Miss Drew
and the others to take under ordinary circumstances, the path that
night was a good deal wetter and muddier than I thought any of the
ladies would have cared for. As you know, the weather only cleared up
that morning after a long spell of rain. However, I pressed on till I
reached the Abbey. Inspector, there was no one there!
‘I searched the whole place, and called aloud, but not a creature did
I find. Quite mystified, and a good deal annoyed, I turned and hurried
back.
‘“I have been hoaxed by those four,” I thought, and I decided to go
round to the Franklyns’ and enjoy the joke with them. But when I
reached the house it was in darkness, and the door was shut. I
knocked, and rang, and walked round it, but nowhere was there any
lights, and I had to conclude it was empty. I returned to the Old
Ferry and found the boat still there, but Mrs Franklyn’s servant was
gone. Sorely puzzled, I rowed back up the river. By the time I reached
the boat club it was quarter to eleven, and the place was closed. I
had to root out the caretaker to get the boat in. Then I walked on to
the Drews’, arriving about eleven, just as they were preparing for
bed; I apologised, of course, for turning up at such a time, but when
I explained the reason, Miss Drew cried out that the whole thing was a
hoax. She hadn’t been out that evening, and she hadn’t written any
notes. Furthermore, she knew the Franklyns had been called away
unexpectedly the previous day to see their son who was ill, and had
sent their servants home, and closed the house.
‘So there, Inspector, you have the whole thing. At the time, as I
said, I thought it merely a stupid practical joke, but since I heard
of this affair I cannot but wonder is there no connection. I recognise
anyway that I am in an exceedingly unpleasant position, for I am quite
unable to prove what I have told you.’
Beyond a murmured acknowledgment, Inspector Tanner did not reply for
some moments, as he thought over what he had just heard. There were
obviously two theories about it. First, if the story were true it
cleared Austin, not merely as an alibi, but it accounted for his
suspicious manner. And the Inspector could see no reason why it should
not be true. Such a plant on the part of the murderer, with the object
of throwing suspicion on Austin, and therefore off himself, would be
quite possible. It would be proved that Austin took a boat, and went
down the river, and was away long enough for him to have reached the
Luce Manor boathouse and committed the murder. And the ruined Abbey
was just the place the inventor of such a plant would choose, a
deserted spot where Austin would be unlikely to meet anyone who could
confirm his story.
On the other hand, Austin might really know the truth, even if he was
not himself the actual murderer. If so, the story was a clever
invention on his part, well designed and thought out. But whichever of
these theories were true, it was obvious to Tanner that he must test
the whole thing as thoroughly as he possibly could.
‘If you will allow me to say it, sir,’ he observed, ‘you did a wise
thing in telling me this story. Had you not done so, and had I found
out about your using the boat, I should have taken a very different
view of the affair. And now for your own sake, as well as mine, I feel
sure you won’t object to my testing your statement. You say the path
to this ruin was muddy. There has been no rain since Wednesday. Your
footprints will therefore be clear. Come into Halford with me now, and
lend me the shoes you wore that night, and I will go out to the place
and see the marks with my own eyes.’
Austin slapped his thigh.
‘Capital, Inspector!’ he cried. ‘The more you test it the better I’ll
be pleased. It will be no end of a weight off my mind. I don’t deny I
have been horribly worried.’
His manner did not belie his statement. As a few minutes later he
drove Tanner and the sergeant into Halford, he seemed to have thrown
off his depression, and chatted easily and almost gaily.
They drew up at the door of his small villa. It was opened by a butler
rather resembling Parkes, but younger and slighter.
‘Come in, Inspector, and I’ll give you what you want. Will you wait
here a moment?’
Austin led the way into a cheerful room fitted up as a study and
workroom. A large table in the corner was littered with papers and
manuscripts, there was a fine microscope in the window, while
everywhere were strewn books and periodicals. The Inspector moved
about noting and memorising what he saw, till Austin returned.
‘There you are,’ the latter exclaimed, holding out a pair of tan
shoes, ‘and here’s a bag to put them in.’
‘New?’ queried Tanner as he took the shoes, and glanced at their
soles.
‘Quite. I got them on Monday, and I have only worn them once.’
The Inspector nodded.
‘Thanks, Mr Ponson,’ he said, as he took his leave, ‘I’ll keep you
advised how I get on.’
Remaining in the town only long enough to hire a car and buy some
plaster of Paris, Inspector Tanner and the sergeant drove out once
more along the London road. The weather had come in hot, and the air
hung heavy and motionless beneath the trees. The cattle had moved into
the shade, and except for an occasional impatient switch of their
tails, remained standing rigid, the embodiment of placid
unintelligence. Aromatic scents floated across the road, and masses of
colour blazed out from the adjoining gardens. In the distance the
hills showed faint and nebulous in the haze, while objects closer at
hand quivered in the heated atmosphere. The car slid rapidly along,
its rubber treads purring in a companionable way on the smooth road.
On the left the sergeant pointed out the lane leading to the Old
Ferry, then on the right the entrance to Mrs Franklyn’s villa. On the
left again were the large gates of Luce Manor, and quarter of a mile
past them, and on the opposite side, a grass-grown path branched off.
At this the motor pulled up.
‘Abbey Lane,’ the sergeant explained, and having arranged for the car
to wait, the two men dismounted and passed down the path.
At first the surface was hard, some traces of old macadam remaining.
But as they went farther it grew softer and more grassy. They examined
the ground, and for a long way could find no marks. But later they
came on what they wanted. Not far from the ruins the path crossed a
shallow valley where, the water having run down from each side, the
bottom was soft and muddy. Here clear and distinct were two lines of
footprints, one going and one returning. Tanner compared Austin’s
shoes with the impressions. They fitted exactly.
Notwithstanding this discovery, the officers continued till they
reached the ruins. Here a careful search revealed three prints of
Austin’s shoes, but there were no traces of other visitors.
To check another point in Austin’s statement, Tanner noted the time it
took them to walk quickly from the Abbey to Mrs Franklyn’s house. Here
they made another search, with the result that at several points close
to the building they found prints of Austin’s shoes. That he had been
there also was beyond question, and his story was therefore true so
far.
Having ascertained the time, occupied in walking from Mrs Franklyn’s
to the Old Ferry, the two men were driven back to Luce Manor. Here
they took plaster casts of the various footprints on the river bank.
Then, re-entering the car, they returned to Halford, tired out from
their day’s work.