CHAPTER X
THE CASE AGAINST GRANT
Next morning, after a long conference with Superintendent Fowler, fromwhich, to his great chagrin, P. C. Robinson was excluded, Furneaux wentto the post office, dispatched an apparently meaningless telegram to acode address, and exchanged a few orthodox remarks with Doris and herfather about the continued fine weather. While he was yet at the counter,Ingerman crossed the road and entered the chemist's shop.
"Let me see," said the detective musingly, "by committing a slighttrespass on your left-hand neighbor's garden, can I reach the yardof the inn?"
"What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve over," smiled Doris."Mrs. Jefferson went to Knoleworth early to-day, and took her maid. Byshopping at the stores there, they save their fares, and have a day outeach week."
"May I go that way, then?" he said. "Suppose you send that goggle-eyedskivvy of yours on an errand."
This was done, and Furneaux made the desired transit.
Now, Tomlin, to whom the comings and goings of all and sundry formed thestaple of the day's gossip, had seen the detective go out, but could"take his sollum davy" that the queer little man had not returned. He,too, had watched Ingerman going to Siddle's. Ten minutes later Elkin camedown the hill, and headed for the same rendezvous. Five minutes more, andHobbs, the butcher, joined the others. Tomlin was seething withcuriosity, but there were some casual customers in the "snug," so hecould not abandon his post.
Soon, however, Ingerman led Elkin and Hobbs to the inn. Evidently, the"financier" had been making some small purchases. He was in high spirits.Ordering appetizers before the mid-day meal, he announced that he wasreturning to London that afternoon, but would be in Steynholme again forthe adjourned inquest.
"No matter how my business suffers, I mean to see this affair through,"he vowed. "You gentlemen can pretty well guess my private convictions.You were good enough to give me your friendship, so I spoke as openlyas one dares when no charge has actually been laid against anyparticular person."
"Ay," said Elkin, with whom sunshine seemed to disagree, because helooked miserably ill. "We know what you mean, Mr. Ingerman. If the policewere half sharp they'd have nabbed their man before this ... Did you putany water in this gin, Tomlin?"
"Water?" wheezed Tomlin indignantly. _"Water?"_
"Well, no offense. I can't taste anything. I believe I could swallow dopeand not feel it on my tongue."
"You do look bad, an' no mistake, Fred," agreed Hobbs. "Are you vettin'yerself? Don't. Every man to his trade, sez I. Give Dr. Foxton a call."
"I'm taking his medicine regular. Perhaps I need a change."
"'Ave a week-end in Lunnon," said Hobbs, with a broad wink.
"Change of medicine, I mean. I'm not leaving Steynholme till things makea move. My next trip to London will be my honeymoon."
"You look like a honeymooner, I don't think," guffawed Hobbs.
"You wouldn't laugh if I told _you_ what you really look like," criedElkin angrily. "Bet you a level fiver I'm married this year. Now, put upor shut up!"
Furneaux peeped in, through a door, always open, which led to the stairs.
"Can I have my account, Mr. Tomlin?" he said. "I'm going to town by thenext train."
"You don't mean to say, Mr. Furneaux, that you are abandoning the case sosoon?" broke in Ingerman.
"Did I say that?" inquired the detective meekly.
"No. One can't help drawing inferences occasionally."
"Great mistake. Look at our worthy landlord. He's been drawing inferencesas well as corks, and he's beat to the world."
Tomlin was, indeed, gazing at his smaller guest open-mouthed.
"S'elp me!" he gurgled. "I could ha' sworn--"
"Bad habit," and Furneaux crooked a waggish forefinger at him. "Even thewisest among us may err. Last night, for instance, I blundered. I reallyfancied I had a clew to the Steynholme murderer. And where do you thinkit ended? In the loft of your club-room, Mr. Tomlin. In a box of oldclothes at that. Silly, isn't it?"
"Wot! Them amatoor play-hactin' things?"
"Exactly."
Elkin grunted, though intending to laugh.
"Not so sharp for a London 'tec, I must say," he cried. "Why, those propshave been there since before Christmas."
"Yes. I know now," was the downcast reply. "Twelve hours ago I thoughtdifferently. Didn't I, Mr. Tomlin?"
Tomlin tried hard to look knowing.
"Oh, is that wot you wur drivin' at?" he said. "Dang me, mister, I couldsoon ha' put you right 'ad you tole me."
"Well, well. Can't be helped. I may do better in London. What do _you_say, Mr. Ingerman? The City is the real mint of money and crime. Whoknows but that a stroll through Cornhill may have some bearing on theSteynholme mystery?"
"May be you'd get a bit nearer if you took a stroll along the KnoleworthRoad, and not so very far, either," guffawed Elkin.
"Who knows?" repeated Furneaux sadly. "Good-day, gentlemen. Some of thismerry party will meet again, of course, if not here, at the Assizes.Don't forget my bill. Mr. Tomlin. By the way, one egg at breakfast hadseen vicissitudes. It shouldn't be rated too highly."
"I'm traveling by your train," cried Ingerman.
"So I understood," said Furneaux over his shoulder.
There was silence for a moment after he had gone. Ingerman lookedthoughtful, even puzzled. He was casting back in his mind to discoverjust how and when the detective "understood" that his departure wasimminent, since he himself had only arrived at a decision after leavingthe chemist's.
"That chap is no good," announced Elkin. "I'll back old Robinson againsthim any day."
"Sh-s-sh! He may 'ear you," muttered the landlord.
"Don't care if he does. Cornhill! What the blazes has Cornhill to dowith the murder at The Hollies?"
Ingerman appreciated the value of that concluding phrase. Elkin had usedit once before in Siddle's shop, and was quietly reproved by the chemistfor his outspokenness.
Ingerman, however, did not inform the company that his office lay in analley off Cornhill. He elected to rub in Elkin's words.
"Mr. Siddle seemed to object to The Hollies being mentioned as the sceneof the crime," he said. "I wonder why?"
"Because he's an old molly-coddle," snapped the horse-dealer. "Thinkseveryone is like himself, a regular slow-coach."
Tomlin closed the door into the passage, closed it for the first time inliving memory, whereat Furneaux, on the landing above, grinnedsardonically, and ran downstairs.
"Wot's this about them amatoor clo'es?" he inquired portentously. "Oo 'asthe key of that box?"
"_I_ have," said Elkin. "I locked it after the last performance, and,unless you've been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds arethere yet."
"You're bitin' me 'ead off all the mornin', Fred," protested theaggrieved landlord. "Fust, the gin was wrong, an' now I'm supposed to'ave rummidged yur box. Wot for?"
Furneaux popped in.
"My bill ready?" he squeaked.
"No, sir. The train--"
"Leaves at two, but I'm driving to Knoleworth with SuperintendentFowler."
The door closed behind him. Tomlin shook his head.
"Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon," he said darkly, turning to adog-eared ledger.
Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of thedetective, though he was anxious either to make the journey in thecompany of the representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an earlyappointment with him. True, he was not inclined to place thestrange-mannered little man on the same high plane as that suggested bycertain London journalists to whom he had spoken. But he wanted to winthe confidence of "the Yard" in connection with this case, and the beliefthat he was being avoided was nettling. He found consolation, of a sort,in the illustrated papers. One especially contained two pages of localpictures. "Mr. Grant addressing the crowd," with full text, was veryeffective, while there were admirable studies of The Hollies and the"scene of the tragedy." His own portrait was not flattering.
The sun hadetched his Mephistophelian features rather sharply, whereas Grant lookeda very fine fellow.
Ingerman would have been more than surprised were he privileged tooverhear a conversation which began and ended before he reached his flatin North Kensington.
Furneaux, who had jumped into the fore part of the train at Knoleworth,and was out in a jiffy at Victoria, handed his bag to a stationdetective, and turned into Vauxhall Bridge Road, one of the quietest ofLondon's main thoroughfares. There he met a big man, dressed in tweeds,whose manifest concern at the moment seemed to center in a rather badwrapping of a very good cigar.
"Ah! How goes it, Charles?" cried the big man heartily, affecting to beaware of Furneaux's presence when the latter had walked nearly a hundredyards down a comparatively deserted street.
"What's wrong with the toofa?" inquired Furneaux testily.
"My own carelessness. Stupid things, bands on cigars.... Well, what'sthe rush?"
"There's a train to Steynholme at five o'clock. I want you to take hold.I must have help. Like your cigar, this case has come unstuck."
Mr. James Leander Winter, Chief Inspector under the CriminalInvestigation Department, whistled softly.
"Tut, tut!" he said. "One can never trust the newspapers. Reading thismorning's particulars, it looked dead easy."
"Tell me how it struck you. Sometimes the uninformed brain is vouchsafeda gleam of unconscious genius."
Winter appeared to be devoting his mind to circumventing the vagaries ofa fragile tobacco-leaf. He was a man of powerful build, over forty, heavybut active, deep-chested, round-headed, with bulging blue eyes whichradiated kindliness and strength of character. The press photographerdescribed him accurately to Grant. The average Londoner would have takenhim for a county gentleman on a visit to the Agricultural Show atIslington, with a morning at Tattersall's as a variant. Yet, Sam Weller'sextensive and peculiar knowledge of London compared with his as afreshman's with a don's of a university. It would be hard to assess, incoin of the realm, the value of the political and social secrets stowedaway in that big head.
"First, I must put a question or two," he said, smiling at a baby whichcooed at him from the shaded depths of a passing perambulator. "Is thereanother woman?"
"Yes, the postmaster's daughter, Doris Martin."
"Shy, pretty little bird, of course?"
"Everything that is good and beautiful."
"Is Grant a Lothario?"
"Excellent chap. Quarter of an hour before the murder he was giving Dorisa lesson in astronomy in the garden of The Hollies."
"Never heard it called _that_ before."
"This time the statement happens to be strictly accurate."
"Honest Injun?"
"I'm sure of it. If anything, the death of Adelaide Melhuish cleared thescales off their eyes. Those two have never kissed or squeezed--yet.They'll be starting quite soon now."
"How old is Doris?"
"Nineteen."
"But a really good-looking girl of nineteen must have had admirers beforeGrant went to the village."
"She had, and has. Having educated herself out of the rut, however, sheleft many runners at the post. One is persistent--a youngish horse-copernamed Elkin. Adelaide Melhuish probably saw her with Grant. Neither Dorisnor Grant knew that Adelaide Melhuish, as such, was in Steynholme. Thatis to say, the girl had seen Miss Melhuish in the post office, andrecognized her as a famous actress, but that is all. And now I shan'ttell you any more, or you'll know all that I know, which is too much."
The cigar was behaving itself at last, having burnt down to the fracture,so Winter's thoughts could be given exclusively to the less importantmatter of the Steynholme affair.
"To begin with," he said instantly. "Ingerman can establish acast-iron alibi."
"So I imagined. But he's a bad lot. I throw in that item gratuitously."
The oddly-assorted pair walked in silence until Vauxhall Bridge was insight. Winter pulled out a watch.
"What time did you say my train left Victoria?" he inquired.
"Plenty of time yet to make your guess and listen to further details,"scoffed Furneaux.
"Frankly, I give it up. But, if I must share in the hunt, I tell you nowthat, metaphorically speaking, I shall cling to the postmaster's daughtertill torn away by sheer force of evidence."
Furneaux dug his colleague in the ribs.
"That's the effect of constant association with me, James," he cackledgleefully. "Ten years ago you would have pounced on Elkin. You've hit it!I'm a prood mon the day. The pupil is equaling the master."
"You little rat, I had hanged my first murderer before you knew themeaning of _habeas corpus_! Let's turn now, and get to business."
Few Treasury barristers, leading for the Crown, could have marshaled thefacts with such lucidity and fairness as Furneaux during that saunter toVictoria Station.
"Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice," said Othello toLodovico, and these Scotland Yard men, charged with so great aresponsibility, never forgot the great-hearted Moor's advice.
When Winter took his seat in the train at five o'clock he could havedrawn a plan of Steynholme, which he had never seen, and marked thereonthe exact position of each house mentioned in this record. Moreover, hewas acquainted with the chief characters by sight, as it were. And,finally, he and Furneaux had arranged a plan of campaign.
Furneaux refreshed a jaded intellect by an evening at the opera. Nextmorning, at eleven o'clock, he was inquiring for Mr. Ingerman at anoffice in a certain alley off Cornhill.
A smart youth interposed a printed formula between the visitor and a doormarked "Private." Furneaux wrote his name, and put "Steynholme" in thespace reserved for "business." He was admitted at once. Mr. Ingerman,apparently, was immersed in a pile of letters, but he swept them allaside, and greeted the caller affably.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "I missed you on the trainyesterday. Did you--"
"Nice quiet place you've got here, Mr. Ingerman," interrupted thedetective.
"Yes. But, as I was about to--"
"Artistically furnished, too," went on Furneaux dreamily. "Oak,self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings, also,show taste in the selection. 'The Embankment--by Night.' Fitting sequelto 'The City--by Day.' I'm a child in such matters, but, 'pon my honor,if tempted to pour out my hard-earned savings into the lap of a Citymagnate, I would disgorge here more readily than in some saloon-bar offinance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the typewriters click likemachine-guns."
Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
"You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position," he said, with astaccato quality in his velvet voice. "I am not a magnate, and I toilhere to make, not to lose, money for my clients."
"A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line."
"And I'm sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which leadsto the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two o'clocktrain yesterday?"
"Yes. I avoided you purposely."
"May I ask, why?"
"My mind was weary. I wanted my wits about me when I tackled you."
Ingerman smiled, and leaned back, resting both elbows on the arms of thechair, and bringing the tips of his fingers together.
"Proceed," he said.
"You prefer that I should drag out a statement piecemeal rather thanreceive it _en bloc_?"
"Put it that way, if you like."
"I shall even enjoy it. To clear the ground, are you the Isidor G.Ingerman who exploited the A1 Mine in Abyssinia?"
Ingerman's finger-tips whitened under a sudden pressure, but his voiceremained calm.
"An unfortunate episode," he said.
"And the Aegean Transport Company, Limited?"
"Into which I was inveigled by Greeks. But why this history of ruinedenterprises?"
"It's a sort of schooling. I have noticed that the smartest counselinvariably begin with a few fireworks in order to in
duce the proper frameof mind in a witness."
"Does that mean that you want me to blurt out bitter and prejudicedaccusations against Mr. Grant?"
"I want to hear what you have to say about the death of your wife. Youforced the cross-examining role on me. I'm doing my best."
Ingerman kept silent during many seconds. When he spoke, his culturedvoice was suave as ever.
"Perhaps it was my fault, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "You gave me a stronghint. I should have taken it, and we might have started an interestingchat on pleasanter lines. So, with apologies for my insistence about thetrain, I make a fresh start. I believe firmly that Grant was directlyconcerned in the murder. And I shall justify my belief. Within the pastfortnight a _rapprochement_ between my wife and myself became possible.It was spoken of, even reduced to the written word. I have her letters.Mine should be found among her belongings. May I take it that they _have_been found?"
"Yes," said Furneaux.
"Ah. So far, so good. My poor wife reached the parting of the ways. Shesaw that her life was becoming an empty husk. I think the theater waspalling on her. But I see now that she still cherished the dream ofwinning the man she loved--not me, her husband, but that handsomedilettante, Grant. I take it, therefore, that she went to Steynholme todetermine whether or not the glamour of the past was really dead.Unfortunately, she witnessed certain idyllic passages between herone-time lover and a charming village girl. Imagine the effect of thisdiscovery on one of the artistic temperament. 'Hell hath no fury like awoman scorned,' and my unhappy wife would lash herself into an emotionalfrenzy. She would tear a passion to rags. Her very training on the stagewould come to her aid in scathing words--perhaps threats. If Grantremained cold to her appeal the village beauty should be made to suffer.Then _he_ would flame into storm. And so the upas-tree of tragedy spreadits poisonous shade until reason fled, and some demon whispered, 'Kill!'I find no flaw in my theory. It explains the inexplicable. Now, how doesit strike you, Mr. Furneaux?"
"As piffle."
"Is that so? I have the advantage, of course, in knowing my wife'speculiarities. And I have made some study of Grant. He admits alreadythat he is under suspicion. Why, if he is innocent? Mind you, I paylittle heed to the crude disposal of the body. Horace, I think, has atruism that art lies in concealing art. My wife's presence in Steynholmewas no secret. She would have been missed from the inn. Search would bemade. The murder must be revealed sooner or later, and the murdererhimself was aware that by no twisting or turning could his name escapeassociation with that of his victim. Why not face the music at once? hewould argue. The very simplicity of the means adopted to fasten a kind ofresponsibility on him might prove his best safeguard. Even now I doubtwhether any jury will find him guilty on the evidence as it stands, butmy duty to my unhappy wife demands that I shall strengthen the arm ofjustice by every legitimate means in my power."
"Is that your case, Mr. Ingerman?"
"At present, yes."
"It assumes that the police adopt your view."
"Not necessarily. The police must do their work without fear or favor.But Grant can be committed for trial on a coroner's warrant."
"Grant is certainly in an awkward place."
"Only a little while ago you dismissed my theory of the crime as airypersiflage."
"That was before you quoted Horace. I have a great respect for Horace.His ode to the New Year is a gem."
"Would you care to see my wife's recent letters?"
"If you please."
"They are at my flat, I'll send you copies. The originals are always atyour disposal for comparison, of course. Now may I, without offense, aska question?"
"Yes."
"Is it wise that the emissary of Scotland Yard should leave Steynholme?"
"But didn't I tell you that I might obtain light in the neighborhood ofCornhill?"
"True. I could have given you the facts in Steynholme."
"I'm a greater believer in what the theater people call 'atmosphere.'Some of your facts, Mr. Ingerman, remind me of an expert's report in amining prospectus. When tested by cyanide of potassium the gold in theore often changes into iron pyrites. But don't hug the delusion that Ishall neglect Steynholme. The murderer is there, not in London, and,unless my intellect is failing, he will be tried for his life at the nextLewes Assizes. Meanwhile, may I give you a bit of advice?"
"By all means."
"Employ a sound lawyer, one who will avoid needless mud-slinging. Goodday! Send those letters to the Yard by to-night's post if practicable."
"It shall be done."
When the door closed on Furneaux, Ingerman smiled.
"I've given that little Frenchman furiously to think," he murmured.
But the "little Frenchman" was smiling, too. He had elaborated the schemealready discussed with Winter. It was much to his liking, thoughunorthodox, rather crack-brained, more than risky, and altogether opposedto the instructions of the Police Manual. Each of these drawbacks was acommendation to Furneaux. In fact, the Steynholme mystery had taken quitea favorable turn during that talk with Ingerman.