Freeman Crofts – Inspector French and the Starvel Hollow Tragedy (страница 9)

Mr Oxley did not reply. The idea was chimerical, fantastic, absurd, and yet—it was certainly possible. There had been a number of daring burglaries within the last few months, which were generally believed to be the work of one gang, and in no single instance had the police been able to effect an arrest. The belief in the old miser’s hoard was universal, and from the point of view of the thief, Starvel would be one of the easiest cribs to crack. Moreover, on second thoughts Tarkington’s suggestion as to the origin of the fire was not so fanciful, after all. The safe containing the money was in Averill’s bedroom, and the old man would have to be quieted in some way before it could be opened. Roper’s attention might easily have been attracted, and the burglars, either by accident or in self-defence, might have killed him. If so, the fire would be their obvious way of safety. Yes, the thing was possible. All the same there wasn’t a shred of evidence that it had happened.

‘But, my dear fellow,’ Oxley said at last, ‘that’s all my eye! Very ingenious and all that, but you haven’t a scrap of evidence for it. Why invent a complicated, far-fetched explanation when you have a simple one ready to hand? Sounds as if you had been reading too many detective stories lately.’

Tarkington did not smile with his friend.

‘You think it nonsense?’ he asked earnestly. ‘You think I needn’t tell the police about the note?’

‘I don’t think you have any evidence: not evidence to justify even a suspicion. You’ve no real reason to suppose Averill did not hand that twenty-pound note to someone from whom it passed to the man who paid it in.’

‘To whom, for example?’

‘I don’t know. Neither of us knows what visitors the old man might have had. But that doesn’t prove he had none.’

Mr Tarkington seemed far from satisfied. He threw away his cigarette and took another from the box, handling it delicately in his long, thin fingers. He moved nervously in his chair and then said in a low voice:

‘I suppose then, Oxley, I may take it that you were quite satisfied about that business—I mean at the time?’

Mr Oxley looked at his friend in surprise.

‘Good gracious, Tarkington, what bee have you got in your bonnet? Do you mean satisfied that the fire was an accident and that those three poor people were burned? Of course I was. It never occurred to me to doubt it.’

The other seemed slightly relieved.

‘I hope sincerely that you’re right,’ he answered. ‘But I may tell you that I wasn’t satisfied—neither at the time nor yet since. That’s the reason that when I heard about the note I came at once to consult you. There’s a point which you and the coroner and the police and everyone concerned seem to have overlooked,’ he dropped his voice still further and became very impressive. ‘What about the papers that were burnt in the safe?’

Mr Oxley was surprised at his friend’s persistence.

‘Well, what in Heaven’s name about them? For the life of me I don’t see what you’re driving at.’ ‘Haven’t you ever been in Averill’s bedroom?’

‘Yes. What of it?’

‘Did you notice the safe?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Well, I’ve both been there and noticed it,’ He bent forward, and his thin face seemed more hawk-like than ever as he said impressively: ‘Oxley, that safe was fireproof!’

Mr Oxley started.

‘Good Heavens, Tarkington! Are you sure of that?’ he queried sharply.

‘Not absolutely,’ the other replied. ‘It was certainly my strong opinion and if I had been asked before the fire I should have had no doubt. When I heard the evidence at the inquest I concluded I had made a mistake. But now this affair of the twenty-pound note has reawakened all my suspicions.’ He paused, but as Oxley did not reply, continued: ‘Perhaps I’ve got a bee in my bonnet as you said, but I’m now wondering if Roper’s drunkenness doesn’t support the theory? Could he not have been enticed into Thirsby by some member of the gang and treated so as to make him sleep well and not hear what was going on? Remember, he was an absolutely temperate man.’

‘Not absolutely. Ruth had smelt drink on other occasions.’

‘You are right. Perhaps that is a trifle far-fetched. But what do you think on the main point, Oxley? Ought I to tell the police of my suspicions?’

Mr Oxley rose and began to pace the room. Then he went to the window and stood for some moments looking out. Finally he returned to his chair, and sat down again.

‘I declare, Tarkington, I think you ought,’ he said slowly. ‘When you first made your—I might perhaps say—your amazing suggestion I confess I thought it merely grotesque. But if you are right about the safe it certainly puts a different complexion on the whole business. I take it it’s not too late to ascertain? The safe is not too much damaged to trace the maker and find out from him?’

‘I should think the police could find the maker quite easily.’

‘Well, I think you should tell them. If you are wrong no harm is done. If not, there are murderers to be brought to justice and perhaps a fortune to be recovered for Ruth.’

Mr Tarkington rose.

‘I agree with you, Oxley. I’ll go down to the police station and tell Kent now.’

Mr Oxley waved him back into his seat.

‘Steady a moment,’ he said. ‘Don’t be in such a hurry.’ He drew slowly at his cigarette while the other sat down and waited expectantly.

‘It seems to me,’ went on Mr Oxley, ‘that if your suspicions are correct the thing should be kept absolutely quiet. Nothing should be said or done to put the criminals on their guard. Now Kent, you know as well as I do, is just a bungling ass. My suggestion is that we both take the afternoon off and go see Valentine. I know him pretty well and we could ring him up and make an appointment.’

‘Valentine, the chief constable of the County?’

‘Yes. He’s as cute as they’re made and he’ll do the right thing.’

‘Kent will never forgive us if we pass him over like that.’

‘Kent be hanged,’ Mr Oxley rejoined. ‘Can you come in by the three-thirty?’

‘Yes, I’ll manage it.’

‘Right. Then I shall ring up Valentine.’

Five hours later the two friends found their way into the strangers’ room of the Junior Services Club in Leeds. There in a few moments Chief Constable Valentine joined them, and soon they were settled in a private room with whisky and sodas at their elbows and three of the excellent cigars the chief constable favoured between their lips.

Mr Tarkington propounded his theory in detail, explaining that he was not sure enough of his facts even to put forward a definite suspicion, but that he and his friend Oxley agreed that Major Valentine ought to know what was in his mind. The major could then, if he thought fit, investigate the affair.

That the chief constable was impressed by the statement was obvious. He listened with the keenest interest, interjecting only an occasional ‘By Jove!’ as Mr Tarkington made his points. Then he thanked the two men for their information, and promised to institute inquiries into the whole matter without delay.

Two days later Mr Tarkington received a letter from Major Valentine saying that he thought it only fair to inform him in the strictest confidence that his belief that the safe was fireproof was well founded, that he, the chief constable, strongly suspected that more had taken place at Starvel on that tragic night than had come out in the inquest, and that as he considered the matter was rather outside the local men’s capacity he had applied to Scotland Yard for help in the investigation.

Mr Tarkington, honouring the spirit rather than the letter of the chief constable’s communication, showed the note to Mr Oxley, and the two men sat over the former’s study fire until late that night, discussing possible developments in the situation.

4

Inspector French Goes North

The stone which Messrs Tarkington and Oxley had thrown into the turbid waters of the British Police Administration produced ripples which, like other similar wave forms, spread slowly away from their point of disturbance. One of these ripples, penetrating into the grim fastness of the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard, had the effect of ringing the bell of a telephone on the desk of Detective Inspector Joseph French and of causing that zealous and efficient officer, when he had duly applied his ear to the instrument, to leave his seat and proceed without loss of time to the room of his immediate superior.

‘Ah, French,’ Chief Inspector Mitchell remarked on his entry. ‘You should be about through with that Kensington case, I fancy?’

‘Just finished with it, sir,’ French answered. ‘I was putting the last of the papers in order when you rang.’

‘Well, you’ve had a lot of trouble with it and I should have liked to have given you a breather. But I’m afraid I can’t.’

‘Something come in, sir?’

‘A Yorkshire case. A place called Thirsby, up on the moors not far, I understand, from Hellifield. We’ve just had a request for a man and I can’t spare anyone else at present. So it’s you for it.’

‘What is the case, sir?’

‘Suspected murder, robbery and arson. The people there appear to know very little about it and the whole thing may turn out a mare’s nest. But they’re darned mysterious about it—say they don’t want it to be known that inquiries are being made and suggest our man might go to the Thirsdale Arms, the local hotel, in the guise of an angler or an artist. So, if you’re a fisherman, French, now’s your chance. You’re to call down at the police station after dark, when Sergeant Kent, who’s in charge, will give you the particulars.’