Hannasyde nodded, as though satisfied, and turned back to the typescript under his hand. His finger travelled down a list on one page, and stopped. ‘Trevor Dermott,’ he read out, and looked up inquiringly.
The Colonel pursed his lips and glanced at the Inspector. ‘Yes,’ said the Inspector. ‘That’s a queer-looking business all right, Superintendent. There’s more to it than comes out in the evidence, if you understand what I mean. He don’t admit it, and she don’t either, but there’s plenty of people in this town to tell you how things were between Mr Trevor Dermott and Mrs Clement Kane.’
The Colonel removed his horn-rimmed spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief. ‘I don’t listen to scandal; but there’s no doubt there’s been a lot of talk about Mrs Clement and Dermott. May be nothing in it: don’t know the fellow myself: he’s not a Portlaw man. Big, handsome chap, the sort of brute some women fall for. I can only tell you he’s been living pretty well in Mrs Clement’s pocket for the past three months.’
‘Well, sir, but there’s a bit more to it than that, isn’t there?’ said the Inspector. ‘By what Mrs Clement’s servants say she’d have run off with Dennott if it hadn’t been for Clement Kane coming into the property.’
‘Don’t know that I set much store by servants’ gossip,’ said the Colonel. ‘Both under notice, too. But I’m not saying that Dermott isn’t badly hit where Mrs Clement’s concerned. I should say he was head over ears in love with her. She’s a remarkably beautiful young woman. Mercenary, of course, but I dare say a man like Dermott wouldn’t see that. You couldn’t picture Rosemary Kane giving up a fortune for the sake of a grande passion.’
‘No, sir,’ agreed the Inspector. ‘What’s more, his actions on the day of the murder make it look very much as if Mrs Clement had told him she wouldn’t, down there by the lake. I mean to say, when a man goes off to his hotel and drinks himself silly, and then drives off into the blue, and gets pinched for driving a car under the influence of drink at five o’clock in the afternoon, it looks as though he’s had a bit of a facer, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, I certainly think we want to go rather carefully into Trevor Dermott’s movements that afternoon,’ said Hannasyde. ‘I see here that Mrs Clement Kane appeared to be anxious to convey the impression that he was an old friend of hers and of her husband.’
‘Which I’m ready to swear he was not, Superintendent. He may have known Mrs Clement before he started coming down here to see her – that I can’t say; but he was no friend of Mr Kane, either old or new.’
‘Does anyone corroborate this story of the schoolboy’s about him driving off at a – oh yes, I see the head gardener’s wife at the lodge also saw him. He seemed in a great hurry, and looked ever so queer.’ Hannasyde smiled slightly. ‘Yes, that looks to me like someone being wise after the event. If he was driving at a reckless speed, I doubt whether the gardener’s wife would have had time to notice what he looked like.’
‘No, I don’t suppose she did have,’ said the Inspector. ‘But the boy, Timothy Harte, met him on foot, making for his car, and told Mr Roberts he looked like “nothing on earth” before he even knew of his cousin having been murdered.’
‘What about this boy?’ inquired Hannasyde. ‘Fourteen – seem to you reliable?’
The Inspector grinned. ‘Well, I couldn’t say, Superintendent, not for certain. He’s as sharp as a sackful of monkeys, but by the way he talks, he’s got crime on the brain. American gangster stuff, you know. It seems he would have it all along that Mr Silas Kane was murdered.’
‘Mm, yes,’ said Hannasyde. ‘I’d very much like to look over the police record of that case if I may. Accidental death, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s what it was brought in,’ replied the Inspector rather guardedly. ‘There wasn’t any evidence – nothing to make a case on. He was an old man, and not a good life either. If he was murdered, the likeliest person to have done him in was Clement Kane – you might say the only person who had what you could call a real motive. But we established the fact that Clement drove from Cliff House to his own home that night, and he could hardly have got back to Cliff House in time to catch Mr Kane on his walk. But I’m bound to say that that case looks different in the light of this fresh one. I’ll send for the records.’
While these were being fetched, Hannasyde continued to run down the list of suspected persons. He said after a moment: ‘I see you’ve put a query against Jane Ogle’s name. She’s the old lady’s maid, isn’t she?’
‘That’s right,’ said the Inspector. ‘She’s been in service up at Cliff House for a matter of thirty years. She fair dotes on Mrs Kane. You know the style, I dare say. Well, it’s hard to know how to take her. She’s one of those who can’t answer a simple question without thinking you’re trying to trap her into saying something she doesn’t mean to. On the face of it, her way of carrying on is highly suspicious, but at the same time I know she’s an eccentric old maid, and it doesn’t do to set too much store by the silly way she acts. You’ll see by my notes she was in the garden at the time of the murder. According to what I’ve been able to get out of her, she thought the old lady ought to have her rug, and took it down to her before ever Mr James Kane went to ask her for it. She says she carried a tray down to the pantry at the same time, thus accounting for having gone out into the garden by way of the back door. By the time she reached the terrace, where Mrs Kane should have been sitting, James Kane had gone into the house after the rug, and there was no sign of the old lady.’
Hannasyde looked up. ‘I thought Mrs Kane was supposed to be very infirm?’
The Inspector smiled wryly. ‘Well, she is and she isn’t, Superintendent, if you take my meaning. Some days she’ll be carried pretty well everywhere, or at the best creep about with a stick and someone’s arm to lean on, and others she’ll get taken with a fit of energy, and move without anyone’s help. She says she went for a stroll towards the lake, and I’m bound to admit I shouldn’t be surprised if she did. The way she has it in for Mrs Clement it’s quite likely she’d go to spy out what young madam was up to with her fancy boy. What’s more, if her story’s true, she’d be out of sight of the terrace in about three minutes, even walking at her pace. She’d go through the rose-garden, and that’s surrounded by a big yew hedge, as you’ll see when you go up to Cliff House.’
‘And the maid went to look for her through the gardens?’
‘She says she did. She says she found her, beyond the rose-garden, by the potting-shed and the glass-houses. Well, that’s certainly on the east side of the house, same as the shrubbery – call it south-east – but it’s far enough away from the study for a deaf person not to have heard the shot. But it’s only their word for it that we’ve got, Superintendent. By the time anyone else got out to the terrace, Mrs Kane had got back there. Mind, I don’t say her story isn’t true; but what I do say is that it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to Jane Ogle if it wasn’t. She’d lie herself black in the face to protect the old lady, and the impression she gives me is that that’s just what she is doing. That, or she was up to something herself.’
‘Oh!’ Hannasyde considered for a moment. ‘A bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’
‘Exactly what I say,’ nodded the Colonel. ‘I’m ready to admit Emily Kane’s a ruthless old woman – to tell you the truth, I’m scared stiff of her! – and she never made any secret of the fact that she detested Clement. But somehow I don’t see an old lady of eighty being able to commit that murder, get to cover before Jim Kane could see her –’
‘If we are going to consider the possibility of Mrs Kane’s having committed the murder, sir, mustn’t we also take into consideration that James Kane would be very unlikely to give his great-aunt away?’ interposed Hannasyde.
The Colonel was silent for a frowning moment. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right there. But damn it all, the idea’s preposterous!’
‘Ye
s, sir; I can’t get round to it myself that it was the old lady,’ agreed the Inspector. ‘My idea is the maid might have shot Clement Kane, either with Mrs Kane’s knowledge, or without it.’ He saw a sceptical look in Hannasyde’s eye, and added: ‘I’m not saying it doesn’t sound crazy, Superintendent, but the point is, Jane Ogle is crazy where her mistress is concerned. Ever since Clement Kane came into the fortune, and Miss Allison got herself engaged to young Kane, she’s been going about saying how there’s no one cares about the old lady but her, and a lot of silly talk about her seeing to it no one should make her mistress’s last days a misery to her.’
‘What about the gun?’ asked Hannasyde. ‘I see the bullet was a .38 – that’s not a very common calibre in this country. Any line on it?’
‘Yes, Superintendent, there is a line on it. We’ve established the fact that old John Kane – that’s Emily Kane’s husband that was – once owned a .38 Smith and Wesson.’
‘That’s interesting,’ Hannasyde said. ‘Has that gun been produced?’
‘No, it hasn’t, sir; and it doesn’t look as though it will be. No one’s seen it for years, according to the evidence. I’ve asked for it to be found, but you know what a big household like that is. If the gun’s really lost, it would take anyone a month of Sundays to look for it through all the chests, and lumber-rooms, and cupboards full of junk, that there are in the place. But if it wasn’t lost, anyone living in the house – and James Kane too, for that matter – might have known where to put their hands on it any time they wanted.’
‘I see.’ Again Hannasyde seemed to be considering the point. He glanced down at the typescript, and said after a slight pause: ‘Some dissension in the firm of Kane and Mansell, apparently. Can you give me any line on these Mansells?’
The Inspector glanced at Colonel Maurice. ‘Nothing known against them, is there, sir? They do say Paul Mansell’s a bit sharp, but you might say the same about a lot of business men. Mr Mansell’s well spoken of, but people don’t like the young one much. Bit of scandal there, on account of him being divorced. Nothing relevant to the case.’
‘Paul Mansell’s a flashy young bounder,’ stated the Colonel suddenly. ‘Old Mansell’s all right, but I don’t like what I know of his son. I don’t see Joe murdering his partner for the sake of putting through a deal that would ease his finances; but, frankly, I wouldn’t put it above Paul – if he had the courage to do it. Mind, that’s nothing but prejudice on my part.’
Hannasyde nodded. ‘This man, Oscar Roberts – he’s representing the agency in Australia?’
‘That’s right. By what I can make out,’ said the Inspector, ‘he was very anxious to come to terms with the firm. Of course, they’ve got a name.’
Hannasyde wrinkled his brow. ‘Yes, but so have several other firms. I can’t see that he had the least motive.’
‘No, sir, nor me. What’s more, even though he might have murdered Silas Kane – if he was murdered, that is – we know he couldn’t have murdered Clement. He was in the hall with the butler and Miss Allison when the shot was heard.’
‘Oh yes, I wasn’t seriously considering him,’ Hannasyde replied.
He looked up as the door opened to admit a constable who came in with a folder, which he laid on the desk at the Inspector’s elbow. The Inspector picked it up, and handed it to Hannasyde. ‘You’ll find all the facts concerning Silas Kane’s death there, Superintendent.’
Hannasyde took the folder and opened it. While he read through the notes on the case, the Colonel and the Inspector sat in silence, waiting for him to finish. When he at length laid the folder down, the Colonel said: ‘Well, Superintendent, what do you make of it?’
‘I should like to go into it again, sir.’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Now Clement’s been murdered, it does look suspicious. You think the two deaths hang together?’
‘There’s a big fortune at stake, sir. At the same time the methods employed – assuming Silas Kane’s death was contrived – are very different. In the first instance, you have the murder made to look like an accident; in the second, there’s no attempt at camouflage. One point strikes me: I see that James Kane was present at Silas’s birthday party, and left shortly after eleven o’clock, to motor back to London.’
‘Well?’ said the Colonel rather curtly.
Hannasyde looked at him. ‘Doesn’t it seem rather a long way to come, just to attend a dinner-party, sir?’
‘Oh, Jim wouldn’t make anything of a three-hour motor-run! Besides, he didn’t come only to see Silas. He brought his half-brother down – Timothy Harte. Really, I don’t think there’s anything in that, Superintendent.’
‘You know him, of course, sir,’ said Hannasyde in a noncommittal voice. ‘The rest of the servants – and Miss Allison: nothing there?’
‘No possible motive,’ said the Inspector. ‘Of course, I suppose you could say that Miss Allison had a motive, since she’s engaged to be married to James Kane; but she was with Mrs Kane at the time Silas must have met his death, and in the hall along with Roberts and the butler when Clement was shot.’ He paused, and added hopefully: ‘Do you get any sort of line on it, Superintendent?’
‘Well, no, not at present,’ replied Hannasyde. ‘One or two points seem to stand out. I’d like to keep the notes on Silas Kane’s death, if I may. I’ll go up to Cliff House and take a look round, and have a talk to all these people.’
‘I don’t know about the rest of them, but you can be sure of getting a welcome from Master Timothy Harte,’ said the Inspector with a grin.
This prophecy was fulfilled. From the moment of hearing that a Superintendent from Scotland Yard had taken charge of the case, Mr Harte’s spirits, a little quenched by this first sight of violent death, rose to dizzy heights. His elders might look upon the affair with anxiety, but Mr Harte anticipated nothing but the keenest enjoyment to be derived from association with a member of the C.I.D. Superintendent Hannasyde, who was a large, thick-set man with a square, good-humoured countenance and little conversation, he regarded with awe, not altogether unmixed with disappointment; but the Superintendent’s satellite, a bird-like Sergeant, with bright eyes and a flow of small talk, at once took his fancy. Realising instinctively that there was little to be got from Hannasyde (who annoyed him by regarding him with a palpable twinkle in his eye), he attached himself firmly to Sergeant Hemingway, while the Superintendent pursued his investigations in peace.
Finding his footsteps dogged by Mr Harte, the Sergeant suggested that he would be better employed in the pursuit of his usual avocations. Timothy said simply: ‘I’d rather watch you, thanks.’
‘Oh!’ said the Sergeant. ‘You would, would you? You take care I don’t have you up for obstructing me in the execution of my duty.’
This piece of facetiousness did not please. Timothy said somewhat severely: ‘You must think I’m a pretty good ass to swallow that. Besides, I’m not obstructing. I bet I can help you a lot more than you know.’
‘Well, what I don’t know I shan’t grieve over, see?’
‘All right!’ said Timothy with an air of veiled menace, and left him.
Twenty minutes later the Sergeant, pursuing investigations in the shrubbery, discovered that Mr Harte was once more with him.
‘Say, Sarge,’ quoth Mr Harte cheerfully, ‘if you’re looking for the gat I reckon you’ve got another guess coming to you.’
The Sergeant looked at him with assumed ferocity. ‘Scram!’ he said.
‘Nix doing,’ replied Mr Harte. ‘Whose garden is this, anyway?’
‘Well, if it’s yours, it’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ said the Sergeant, allowing himself to be led into argument.
‘It isn’t. As a matter of fact, it belongs to my brother now, so it’s all the same. Besides, he told me to come out here.’
‘Told you to come out and pester m
e?’ demanded the Sergeant, revising his first favourable impressions of Mr James Kane’s character.
‘No, of course not!’ said Mr Harte impatiently. ‘He said I was to clear out into the garden, and I have.’
‘I don’t blame him,’ said the Sergeant.
‘Well, can’t I help?’ said Timothy, suddenly adopting an ingratiating tone. ‘Honestly, I won’t bother you; but I do most frightfully want to see how a real detective works!’
Sergeant Hemingway met the appeal in the worshipful blue eyes upturned to his, and felt himself weakening. He explained afterwards to his superior that he had always been a softy with kids. ‘I don’t mind you trotting round after me so long as you don’t get in my way,’ he conceded. ‘But mind, now, if I tell you to scram, you scram double-quick!’
‘All right, it’s a deal,’ said Timothy, promptly abandoning his wistful expression.
‘And you’re not to talk me silly!’ added Hemingway.
‘No, rather not. I say, do you wear a badge, like American policemen?’
‘No,’ replied the Sergeant.
‘Oh! Rather rotten. It’s great when the detective suddenly turns up the lapel of his coat, and there’s his badge. What do you do?’
‘Hand in my card. Know what I think would be a good idea?’
Timothy eyed him rather suspiciously. ‘No!’
‘If you’d give over wasting my time with asking me silly questions.’
‘Well, I wanted to know. Besides, you’re wasting your time, anyway. I told you the gat wasn’t here, only you wouldn’t listen. I looked for it myself, ages ago, because I thought probably the murderer would be pretty likely to hide it amongst the bushes. Well, he didn’t, and I don’t think it’s in the bushes on the other side of the drive either. I haven’t actually combed them, but I’ve got a theory about it. I’ll tell you what it is, if you like.’