Inspector Tanner Becomes Convinced
After dinner that same evening Inspector Tanner, having lit his pipe,
and selected the most comfortable arm-chair he could find, set himself
to take stock of his position, and see just where he stood with his
new case.
He realised that the lawyer’s communication contained food for
thought. Certainly a lot of the information he had gained seemed to
point in a rather unmistakable way to Austin. That the latter had
murdered his father he felt it hard to believe, and yet he had known
men to be convicted on slighter evidence than that he already held.
Absent-mindedly pressing down the tobacco in his pipe, he closed his
eyes, and tried to view the facts he had learnt in a proper
perspective.
Here was a son who had never been able to get on with his father, so
much so that they could not live in the same house. To the father he
had been a continual disappointment, and no doubt that irritation
would show in the father’s manner, and could not but increase the bad
blood between them. It was true they had agreed to differ, and Sir
William had allowed Austin £1000 a year, but agreeing to differ did
not necessarily prevent very unpleasant feelings on both sides, and as
for the money, though it seemed handsome at first sight, it was very
small compared to what Sir William might have paid without missing it.
From what Tanner had seen of Austin and his villa, he thought the
latter must be living at the rate of well on to a thousand a year.
That was to say, nearly at the rate of his income. Under these
circumstances he falls in love and decides to marry. The lady would
have but a small dot, if any. The two of them must therefore live on
what had before been enough for Austin only. What does Austin do? He
sees his father the day after the engagement, probably to tell him the
news, and possibly to ask for an increased allowance. As in the
ordinary course of nature a large portion of Sir William’s money would
soon become his in any case, this would not be an unreasonable demand.
But what does Sir William answer? Tanner could only surmise, but from
what the dead man had said to Mr Arbuthnot it was probable he had not
only refused the increase, but had threatened altering his will
adversely to Austin if the marriage took place. If, as appeared
possible from the words overheard by Innes, Sir William had said
anything derogatory to the lady, Austin’s feelings, already
considerably aroused, would probably reach white heat. At all events,
whether the interview between father and son had or had not taken this
course, it was bed-rock fact that they had quarrelled about some
woman.
Tanner continued his surmises. Assuming he was correct so far, Austin
would inevitably be faced with a very terrible temptation. If his
father should die without altering his will, it would mean £150,000 to
himself. £150,000! Quite a respectable sum of money! There would then
be no question of love in a cottage with Miss Drew. He could give her
all those things which men delight to give women. And the irritation
of the constant unpleasantness with Sir William would be gone. The
more Tanner considered the matter, the more powerful he felt this
temptation would have been. Many a stronger man than Austin seemed to
be had succumbed to less.
Then coming down to details. The murderer had unquestionably known his
way about Luce Manor. He had either gone to the library by the side
door, and there committed the crime, carrying the body down to the
boathouse, or, more probably, he had devised some scheme to make Sir
William go there of his own accord. He had also taken the particular
oars belonging to the boat used. All the knowledge necessary for this
Austin of course possessed.
But more suspicious than that, Austin by his own showing had actually
taken a boat down the river on that night, and the hours of leaving
and returning were such that he would just have had time to reach the
Luce Manor boathouse, commit the murder, and return the boat to the
club. Of course, he had claimed to have an alibi for this period, but
alibis could be faked, and the very readiness and apparent
completeness of this seemed to Tanner slightly indicative of
prearrangement.
There was then the question of the oars. This also had a suspicious
look. At first Tanner had accepted without question the boatman’s
theory that the boat and oars had become separated in the upper
channel and had passed down to the falls through different arches of
the road bridge. Indeed, his own inspection of the place had led him
to the same conclusion. And this losing of the oars had seemed to
explain adequately enough how the accident happened.
But when it was shown that the affair was not an accident at all, the
matter of the oars took on a very different complexion. Evidently it
was part of the plant—deliberately arranged to create the very
impression it had produced. And Tanner now saw that the murderer had
overreached himself. Sir William might easily have lost one oar, but
he would not have let both go. And it was very unlikely, even if he
had dropped both, that they would have separated far enough from the
boat to have taken the other archway. Here again one might have done
so, but not both. No, Tanner was driven to the conclusion that the
boat must have been sent adrift close to the Luce Manor bank of the
river, while the oars were taken over to the opposite side in another
boat, and there thrown overboard. And Austin had had such a boat down
the river that night.
Lastly, and most suggestive of all was Austin’s start and look of
fear, when the Coroner had announced the adjournment of the inquest.
It was true he had accounted for his apprehension. An investigation
might bring up the question of the alibi in which, as he was unable to
prove its truth, no credence might be placed, leaving him in an
awkward position. But was this a satisfactory explanation? Were these
consequences not too remote to be seen with such immediate clearness
as to cause an actual start? Did it not involve too instantaneous a
perception of the facts? The Inspector thought so.
But he saw as he still smoked and pondered, that it was equally
possible that his whole conclusions were erroneous. Austin
unquestionably might be, as he pictured himself, the innocent victim
of the real murderer’s plant.
His thoughts turned to Cosgrove Ponson. Here was another man who had
an interest in Sir William’s death. And from what Mr Arbuthnot had
said, his interest might be quite as strong, or even stronger, than
Austin’s. When a man about town who had been living a rather fast life
got into financial difficulties, he was not usually very squeamish as
to how he extricated himself. £75,000 to a man perhaps faced with ruin
would be worth taking a risk for. And if Cosgrove had become hardened
enough to commit the crime, he would probably not have jibbed at
making the plant to throw the suspicion on Austin. Tanner concluded
that if Austin’s alibi held, his next work must be the investigation
of Cosgrove’s life as well as his movements on the night of the
murder.
His whole cogitations therefore simply brought him back to the point
from which he had started. Before he did anything else, every point of
Austin’s alibi must be gone into with the most meticulous care.
Accordingly, having refilled his pipe, he set himself to go over in
detail the story Austin Ponson had told him of his movements on the
night of the murder. He wished not only to be clear in his own mind as
to the sequence of events, but to make a list of the points upon which
he could reasonably hope to obtain confirmatory evidence.
Austin, according to his own statement, left the pavilion of the
Halford boat club at about ten minutes before nine. He rowed to the
Old Ferry, sat there for about ten minutes, until the maid arrived
with the note, then walked to the Abbey and spent a few minutes
searching for Miss Drew and her friends. Failing to find them, he went
to the Franklyns’ house, satisfied himself it was empty, returned to
the Old Ferry, and rowed back to Halford, arriving at the pavilion
about quarter before eleven. There he had waked the caretaker to get
the boat in. He had walked to the Drews’, stayed with them some ten
minutes, going on to his own house, which he reached about twenty
minutes past eleven. Now, first, as to the checking of these hours.
Tanner took a sheet of paper, and looking up his note of the times it
had taken him to walk the various distances, and estimating for the
rowing, he made a statement something like a railway time table. When
he had finished he found that the total estimated time which the
journeys should have taken worked out at practically that mentioned by
Austin. So far, then, the story hung together.
Next with regard to outside testimony. What confirmation would it be
reasonable to expect?
From the attendant at the boat club pavilion he should be able to
learn if Austin did take out a boat, and if so, at what hour. Possibly
other persons in the club might have been present, and could
substantiate this point. The attendant would also know the hour at
which he was called out on Austin’s return. The Drews would certainly
have remarked the time of Austin’s call, and lastly, the latter’s own
servants would be sure to remember the hour of his return. There
should be ample—indeed overwhelming—evidence of the times at which
Austin set out with his boat and returned.
So far so good, but it was clear to Tanner that if he could get no
further corroboration than this, the whole alibi was worthless. One
point—but that a vital point—would remain unsubstantiated. Austin
might have left and returned at the hours he stated, but where was he
between them? Did he go to the Abbey and the Franklyns’? If he did, he
could not have been to Luce Manor, and necessarily was innocent. How
was this to be ascertained?
There were, of course, the footprints. That these were made by
Austin’s shoes was beyond question. The fact that the latter were new
prevented the marks showing the individuality that might otherwise
have been expected, but against that, at one point on the edge of the
left sole there was a slight dint—caused possibly by striking a
stone—and this dint was faithfully reproduced in the prints. It was
too much to suppose that two separate pairs of similar shoes should
have similar dints.
But two other points were by no means beyond question. Though it was
certain that Austin’s shoes had passed over that ground, how could it
be proved that Austin was then wearing them? How, again, could it be
known that they were made at the time stated? Could not Austin really
have been at Luce Manor on that evening, and have made the tracks to
the Abbey at some other time? Tanner was puzzled. He did not see how
this point was to be cleared up.
Next morning he began his investigation at the pavilion of the Halford
boat club. It was quite a large place, situated on a kind of bay on
the river, just below the town. The house was built of red brick, with
heavy overhanging eaves, and a kind of piazza in front. Before the
piazza and stretching a good way past it in each direction, was the
wharf wall, with several broad flights of steps leading to the river.
Out on the water were moored some dozen or more boats, and others were
in the railed-off space surrounding the house. Tanner pushed open the
gate of this railing and entered.
At first he could see no one about, then, as he walked round the
house, he came on a youngish man in a cap and a blue jersey, who was
washing out one of the boats. He hailed him, and they got into
conversation in a leisurely way. Tanner praised the house and general
appearance of the place, and then gradually came to the object of his
call.
He had no trouble in obtaining the required information. The caretaker
remembered Austin taking out the boat on the Wednesday night. He
confirmed the latter’s statement on all points, and was quite certain
of the hours he had left and returned.
‘Mr Ponson was in a rare old hurry to be away,’ went on the man. ‘The
boat he wanted was out, but it was just coming round the bend there,
and I told him to wait a moment and he could have it. Well, he did
wait, but he was all jumping like a hen on a hot griddle to be off.
“Hang it, Stevens,” he says, “are those people going to be all night?”
But Mr Brocklehurst, that was him who had out the boat, was sculling
in quite fast. Well, sir, I fixed up the boat, and let him have it,
and he rowed off like a blooming paddle steamer. I couldn’t but laugh
when I watched him going down the river.’
‘What time did you say that was?’
‘It was ten minutes to nine. Mr Brocklehurst got ashore about the
quarter, and it took me about five minutes to get the boat squared
up.’
‘And you say he rooted you out of bed when he got back?’
‘Yes, sir. It was a quarter to eleven, and I had just put out the
light.’
Tanner was nothing if not thorough. He went to the police station,
learnt that Mr Brocklehurst was a solicitor with an office in the main
street, and promptly called on him. In five minutes he had his
information. Mr Brocklehurst had reached the pavilion about quarter
before nine, for he recollected that as he had arrived at his house
the town clock had struck nine.
The inspector then turned his steps to Elm Cottage, the residence of
the Drews. Apart from the question of the alibi, he was anxious to
meet Miss Drew and form his own conclusions as to the part she would
be likely to play in the matter.
Elm Cottage was a small detached villa, set some twenty yards back
from the road, and surrounded by a tiny, but well-kept garden. Tanner
sent in his card, and was taken to a low and rather dark drawing-room
at the back of the house, from which however there was a fine view of
the river. Everything bore traces of culture and taste, but of rather
straitened means. The room wanted papering, the carpet was worn, the
furniture shabby. But what there was of it was good, there was
everywhere neatness and spotless cleanliness, and the otherwise
somewhat drab effect was met by means of flowers in bowls and vases.
If the room bore the impress of Miss Drew’s character, as Tanner
suspected, it showed her a fine girl, bravely determined to make the
best of things which she could not remedy.
In a few moments she joined him, and as the Inspector looked at her
face, he felt the character he had imagined of her was there. A low,
broad forehead crowned by masses of dark hair surmounted two dark,
intelligent eyes, which met his own with steady directness. Her nose
was small, her lips rather full but delicately modelled, and her chin
firm and well-rounded. Indeed, if anything, the lower part of her face
might be considered a trifle too much developed for perfect symmetry.
It gave her almost too pronounced an appearance of strength and
determination, and Tanner felt she would be a person to be reckoned
with. But as they talked he became convinced her power would never be
used except to further what she believed to be just and right.
‘I have to apologise, madame, for this intrusion,’ he said
courteously, ‘but I have been sent down by Scotland Yard to inquire
into the circumstances attending the death of Sir William Ponson. Mr
Austin Ponson has told me of the hoax which was played on him on the
same evening, and we discussed whether there might not possibly be
some connection. He mentioned your name, and I ventured to call to ask
you if you would please tell me what you know about it.’
‘Did Mr Ponson tell you we are engaged?’
‘He did, Miss Drew, under promise of secrecy. He gave that as his
excuse for mentioning your name, also saying he had your authority to
do so.’
‘And what precisely do you want me to tell you?’
‘Anything you can about it, please. What, for example, was the first
you heard of it?’
The girl did not reply for a moment. Then she answered with another
question.
‘Just let me understand you, if you please, Mr Inspector. Do you doubt
Mr Ponson’s story, and are you looking for confirmation?’
Inspector Tanner hesitated in his turn.
‘I think, Miss Drew,’ he said quietly, ‘that you would probably prefer
me to tell you the exact truth.’
She nodded and he went on.
‘The answer to your question is Yes and No. In the ordinary routine
way I asked Mr Ponson where he himself was on Wednesday night. Such a
question is always asked under such circumstances, and it has no
unpleasant significance. In answer to it he told me about the hoax.
The story seemed to me probable, and I saw no reason for doubting it.
But that did not absolve me from trying in every way I could to test
its truth. You must see that I was bound to do so. And I may be
allowed to say that all the inquiries I have made up to the present
confirm what Mr Ponson told me.’
‘But why does it matter whether or not his story is true?’
Tanner felt very uncomfortable. Though hardened by a life of contact
with crime, he was a good fellow at heart, and he disliked intensely
giving pain, especially to women. But as he looked into the steady,
truthful eyes of the girl before him, he felt he could not
prevaricate.
‘I would rather not tell you,’ he answered, ‘but if you insist, I
will.’
‘I insist.’
‘Well, I am sorry to say we don’t exactly understand how Sir William
died. There is a doubt that it may have been suicide or even murder.
Let me make it clear that this is by no means certain, but I am bound
to say that the idea has occurred to us that the murderer, if there
was one, hoaxed Mr Ponson to try to throw suspicion on him.’
The girl’s face paled, but she gave no other sign of emotion.
‘I dreaded it,’ she replied in a low tone, ‘and he dreaded it too. We
talked the whole thing over on the afternoon of the day the body was
found, and we couldn’t see any reason why Sir William should have gone
down to the boat of his own accord. And then this hoax looked as if it
had been made for just what you say. But I am at least thankful you
take that view and don’t suspect Mr Ponson of inventing the whole
thing. That, I may say now, was what I really feared.’
‘I can only repeat that all the inquiries I have made up to the
present have confirmed Mr Ponson’s story, and I have no reason
whatever to think he invented it.’
‘Thank you for that at all events. Now what do you want me to do?’
‘To tell me at what hours Mr Ponson came and left here on the
Wednesday night, and what took place while he was here.’
‘He came at eleven—almost exactly. I looked at the clock when the ring
came, for we seldom had so late a call. He showed me the two notes he
had received, and asked me about them. When I explained I had not
written them he told us—my father was present—the whole story of the
hoax. As I have said, he did not stay, leaving in about ten minutes.’
Tanner rose.
‘Thank you, Miss Drew. That is all I want to know. I am sorry for
having come on unpleasant business, and exceedingly grateful for the
way you have met me.’
She also rose and held out her hand.
‘I hope you will let me know how you get on,’ she said.
‘You may trust me,’ he promised, and bowing low, took his leave.
As he walked slowly towards Austin’s villa, Tanner thought over the
interview he had just had. He felt sure that the accounts he had heard
of Miss Drew—that she was ‘a fine girl’ and ‘a real lady’—were true.
He believed she was the kind of girl who would marry neither for
wealth nor position, and the fact that she had consented to an
engagement with Austin seemed to speak well for the latter.
His thoughts turned back to the point about the alibi which still
worried him—whether Austin had really been at the Abbey at the time he
said. And suddenly a way in which he might test the matter occurred to
him. The shoes which made the tracks Tanner had found had, so Austin
had said, been bought by him in London on the Monday. He, Tanner, had
got them from Austin after the inquest on Friday. If he could trace
the movements of those shoes from Monday to Friday, would light not be
thrown on the problem? Tanner thought it worth while trying.
Not far from the door of Austin Ponson’s house a police constable was
moving slowly along his beat. The Inspector went over to him.
‘Have you seen Mr Ponson lately?’ he inquired.
‘Yes, sir,’ answered the man, ‘he and Lady and Miss Ponson passed in
the car about half an hour ago, going towards London.’
This was a fortunate chance, and relieved the Inspector of a possibly
tedious wait, as he wished to make his call at the house when Austin
was from home. He now rang at the door. The butler appeared.
‘Is Mr Ponson at home?’
‘No, sir. He went out about half an hour ago. I expect him back about
six. What name shall I say?’
‘Tanner. Inspector Tanner of New Scotland Yard. I am sorry Mr Ponson
is out as I wished to ask him for a little information, but perhaps if
you would be so kind you might be able to give it to me.’
The butler was obviously impressed by the occupation of his visitor,
and Tanner felt sure his curiosity would also be aroused.
‘If you will come in I shall be glad to do what I can.’
‘Now, Mr—? I didn’t hear your name?’
‘Lewis. John Lewis.’
‘Well, Mr Lewis, Mr Ponson told me a curious story of a hoax that had
been played on him last Wednesday night. I was down, you know, about
Sir William’s death, and we got talking. You know about the hoax, I
suppose?’
‘Not a word,’ the butler answered, his manner portraying keen
interest.
‘He didn’t tell me it was any secret. He got a note on Wednesday
evening asking him to go out to meet some friends that night at the
Abbey ruin.’
The butler nodded several times.
‘Yes, I remember that note. I found it in the hall-door letter-box. It
must have been left by private messenger, for there was no postmark on
it. After Mr Austin had read it he came asking me where I had found
it. He seemed kind of puzzled about it.’
‘That would be it,’ Tanner agreed. ‘He went out to the Abbey, but when
he reached it there was no one there and he had his journey for
nothing. Someone had hoaxed him properly.’
‘Bless us all!’ ejaculated the butler. ‘You don’t say?’
‘Mr Ponson asked me when I was here to look into the thing for him and
I did. I found some footsteps there that might give a clue, but the
worst of it is I don’t know whether they weren’t made by himself.
Maybe, Mr Lewis, you would help me there. I would be much obliged, I’m
sure.’
‘Certainly, Mr Tanner. I’d be pleased if you’d tell me how.’
‘All I want is to see the shoes Mr Ponson wore on Wednesday night, so
as I can compare them with the prints.’
The butler’s face fell.
‘That’s just the one thing I can’t do,’ he answered. ‘They’re not
here. I missed them on Friday, and told Mr Austin. He said they were
not comfortable, and he had sent them to be stretched.’
‘They were new, then?’
‘Yes, he got them in town on Monday.’
‘It was curious he should wear them that night if they weren’t
comfortable.’
‘I suppose he hadn’t found it out. That evening was the first time he
had had them on.’
‘I see.’ Tanner nodded his head, then continued, ‘What time did he go
out, Mr Lewis?’
‘About eight or a bit after.’
‘And when did he get back?’
‘A little before half-past eleven. I brought him some whisky, and when
I was coming out of his room the clock struck the half-hour.’
‘And he didn’t go out again that night?’
‘No, he went to bed about twelve. I heard him go up.’
‘I see. And what was the next occasion he wore those shoes?’
‘There wasn’t no next occasion. That was the only time he had them
on.’
Tanner considered. This seemed to be pretty conclusive, but he was
anxious to obtain even stronger evidence. After a moment he went on
again.
‘I’m afraid I’m not quite clear about the thing yet. What I want to
get at is whether anyone else could have got hold of those shoes and
made the tracks I saw at the Abbey.’
‘If that’s all’s worrying you, you may make your mind easy. Those
shoes were in my charge from Monday evening till Mr Ponson put them on
on Wednesday after dinner. Then I brought them down to clean before I
went to bed that night, and they were there till he took them on
Friday. I remarked them particularly because they were new, and if
anyone had touched them I would have known. Besides, there was no one
about that could do it.’
‘What state were they in when you cleaned them?’
‘Muddy—very wet and muddy. I couldn’t think where Mr Austin had been
to get them into such a condition.’
‘One more question, Mr Lewis. You tell me the shoes were not worn
except on Wednesday evening. But could someone else not have worn them
then? Suppose Mr Austin went out wearing some other pair, and some one
else slipped in and got hold of these and made the tracks, and then
put back the shoes without your knowing?’
The butler looked at the other with an expression of pitying scorn.
‘Why, Mr Inspector, I’m not altogether a fool. I tell you I saw them
on Mr Austin’s feet when he was going out, and I saw them on his feet
when he was coming in, so they weren’t in the house for anyone else to
take. And what’s more, if that doesn’t convince you, every other pair
of Mr Austin’s boots and shoes were in the house that evening. I know
because I happened to look over them to see if any wanted mending. So
if anyone else had his new shoes he must have been going about himself
in his socks.’
It was enough. This placed the affair beyond doubt, or it would if one
other point were settled. Tanner rose.
‘I am extremely obliged to you, Mr Lewis, and now I must beg your
pardon for having played a little trick on you. I have the shoes. Mr
Ponson gave them to me on Friday. Come with me to the hotel and have a
drink, and tell me if the shoes I have are the ones you were speaking
of, and that’ll be all I’ll ask you.’
That the butler was suspicious there was more in the questions than
met the eye was obvious, but he made no remark, and on seeing the
shoes, he identified them unhesitatingly as Austin’s.
Tanner was pleased with the result of his inquiries. As he summed up
the situation it stood as follows:
Austin had left Halford and returned to it at such hours as would have
just enabled him to reach the Abbey in the interval. Therefore, if he
did reach it he could not have been at Luce Manor, and if he was not
at Luce Manor he was innocent. Footprints were made at the Abbey by a
certain pair of shoes. Those shoes were at Austin’s house every moment
of the time from their purchase till they came into Tanner’s
possession, except during the particular period in question. The
tracks at the Abbey must therefore have been made during this period.
Further, during this period Austin himself must have been wearing the
shoes, as not only had he left his house and returned to it wearing
them, but he had no others to put on—the remainder were all at his
house. If, therefore, Austin did not himself make the tracks at the
Abbey, he must have had no shoes during the time this was being done,
in which case he could hardly have been at Luce Manor committing the
murder. To Tanner the alibi was complete. Short of seeing Austin at
the Abbey, he could expect no stronger evidence.
Even if the truth of Austin’s story were unlikely, Tanner would have
felt compelled to believe it. But, as he had seen from the start, it
was by no means unlikely. On the contrary the whole thing was just the
kind of plant the real murderer might probably enough devise to shift
suspicion from himself to Austin. That it was such a plant Tanner now
felt certain.
And if so, had it not one rather suggestive point? The man who made
the plant was familiar with Austin and his affairs. Who, of those who
knew the affairs of both Austin and Sir William, had an interest in
the latter’s death?
The answer was not far to seek. One such at least was Cosgrove Ponson.
He had both the knowledge and the motive. Tanner felt his next
business must be with the cousin.
And then a more sinister idea entered the Inspector’s mind. What if
there was more in the plant than a mere attempt to shift the suspicion
off the murderer? What if the plan was to encompass Austin’s death as
well? If Austin were convicted and executed it would make a great
difference to Cosgrove apart from rendering his position safe. Tanner
recalled the terms of the will. If Sir William died Cosgrove received
£75,000, but if Austin also should lose his life his cousin would net
another £30,000. Here was motive enough for anything.
Tanner recollected the woman who, Austin had stated, had handed him
the note at the Old Ferry. As the latter’s story must now be taken as
true, this must be a real woman, and if Cosgrove were the guilty man
she must be his accomplice.
Here was a line of inquiry which might lead to something. Tanner
decided he would return to town by the next train, and start this new
phase of the case.