J. J. Connington

“ Sir Clinton rose to his feet with a gesture which invited the doctor to remain in his chair.
“Of course, doctor,” he pointed out, “a good deal of your story is like What the Soldier Said—it isn't first-hand evidence. We'll have to get it for ourselves, again, from the people who gave it to you: Dr. Markfield and this maid next door. That's only routine; and doesn't imply that we disbelieve it in the slightest, naturally.”
Dr. Ringwood agreed with a faint smile.
“I prefer getting a patient's symptoms at first-hand myself,” he said. “Things do get distorted a bit in the re-telling. ”

“ Ringwood nodded.
“He must have been a pretty hard case to murder a defenceless woman.”
Sir Clinton's face showed a faint trace of a smile.
“There are two sexes, doctor.”
“What do you mean? . . . Oh, of course. I said ‘he must,’ and you think it might have been a woman?”
“I don't think so; but I hate to prejudge the case, you know. All that one can really say is that someone came here and killed that unfortunate woman. The rest's simply conjecture and may be right or wrong. It's easy enough to make up a story to fit the facts.”
Dr. Ringwood walked across to the nearest chair and sat down. ”

“ If he had expected to read any sympathy in Sir Clinton's face, he must have been disappointed. The Chief Constable betrayed nothing of the feelings in his mind.
“Was it not most inopportune?” Renard continued. “Or most opportune indeed, for Silverdale, that things fell out as they have done. A coincidence, of course. Life is full of these things. I have seen too many to be astonished, myself. But is it not most apt that she should die just at that juncture? Another day of life, and the twelve thousand pounds goes into one pocket; a death, and the money falls into other hands. ”

“ Sir Clinton ignored it.
“What were your ideas about the relations between Mr. Hassendean and Mrs. Silverdale?”
Miss Hailsham's thin lips curled in undisguised contempt as she heard the question. She made a gesture as though averting herself from something distasteful.
“It's hardly necessary to enter into that, is it?” she demanded. “You can judge for yourself.” ”

“ Sir Clinton waited until the prolonged peal of the bell ended when the doctor took his finger away, then he bent down to the slit of the letter-box and listened intently.
“I could swear I heard someone moving about, just then,” he said, as he rose to his full height again. “There must be someone on the premises to account for the shadow we saw at the window. This looks a bit rum, doctor. Ring again, will you?”
Dr. Ringwood obeyed. They could hear the trilling of a heavy gong somewhere in the back of the house.
“That ought to wake anyone up, surely,” he said with a nervous tinge in his voice. ”

“ Sir Clinton inquired.
“Well, sir, it's a bit early yet. But I've been wondering about one thing, certainly.”
“And that is?”
“And that is whether Peeping Tom's name wasn't Thomasina,” Flamborough announced gravely.
“There are two sexes, of course,” Sir Clinton admitted with equal gravity. “And inquisitiveness is supposed to be more strongly developed in the female than in the male. The next thing will be to consider whether Mr. Justice shouldn't be rechristened Justitia. One ought to take all possibilities into account.” ”

“ Sir Clinton's face expressed his sympathy, but he made no attempt to interrupt.
“As I told Inspector Flamborough when I saw him last,” Renard continued, “the figure of her fortune came as a surprise to me. I had no idea she was so rich. She lived very simply, very parsimoniously, even. I had always thought of her as hard-up, you understand? Figure to yourself my astonishment when I learned that she had accumulated over £12,000! That is a great sum. Many people would do almost anything to acquire £12,000.” ”

“ Justice? He seems to be in the know, somehow. If we could lay hands on him, we might be near the centre of things. He knew before anyone else that something had happened at the bungalow. He knew about the hyoscine at the Institute—although as Silverdale's a fairly well-recognised authority on alkaloids, that might have been just a shot aimed on chance. Anyhow, look at it as you choose, Mr. Justice has information, and he seems to have a motive. Who is he, can you guess?”
“Somebody who won't come out into the open until he's dragged there, evidently. It might be an unwilling accomplice, sir.” ”

“ Sir Clinton confessed. “I've a chemical friend—the London man who's going to act as a check on Markfield for us in the search for the poison, as a matter of fact—and he talks to me occasionally about chemistry. You don't know what a ‘mixed melting-point’ is, I suppose?”
“No, sir. It sounds confused,” said the Inspector mischievously.
The Chief Constable treated this as beneath contempt.
“I'll explain the point,” he pursued, “and then you'll know as much as I do. A pure substance melts at a higher temperature than it does when it's contaminated by even a trace of some foreign material. ”

“ He glanced over the telegram disparagingly.
“What does he mean by ‘Lizardbridge road justice’? There's no J.P. living on the Lizardbridge Road; and even if there were, the thing doesn't make sense to me.”
“I think ‘justice’ is the signature, Inspector—what one might term his nom-de-kid, if one leaned towards slang, which of course you never do.”
The Inspector grinned. His unofficial language differed considerably from his official vocabulary, and Sir Clinton knew it.
“Justice? I like that!” Flamborough ejaculated contemptuously, as he put the telegram down on the desk. ”

“ Why come to me? Presumably you mean that it's a bit torn off Dr. Silverdale's laboratory coat. Well, I can't swear to that. It may be, for all I know. Why not compare it with the coat, and if the coat's torn, you've got your evidence, whatever it may be. I don't see why you drag me into the thing at all.”
Flamborough's voice grew hard as he answered:
“There's one thing I want you to bear in mind, Dr. Markfield. A man may very easily become an accessory after the fact in a murder case; and the penalty runs as high as penal servitude for life. ”

“ Sir Clinton reassured him. “Not being a member of the public—for this purpose, at least—I know enough to appreciate your difficulties. There's no burking the fact that whoever's at the back of this affair is a sharper man than the usual clumsy murderer. He hasn't left you much of a chance to pick up usable clues.”
“I've followed up every one that he did leave,” Flamborough argued. “I don't think I've been exactly idle. But I can't arrest Silverdale merely because I picked up his cigarette-holder in suspicious surroundings. Confound the public! ”

“ Sir Clinton acknowledged. “And the cash affair makes the death of Mrs. Silverdale peculiarly opportune. It's no use burking the plain fact that either money or a woman might tempt a man to murder; and when you've got both of them together, one can't brush them aside cavalierly. But go on with your list, Inspector.”
“There's that money-lender, Spratton,” Flamborough pursued. “If young Hassendean's death can be proved to be a murder, then Spratton lifts some thousands out of the pocket of the insurance company in return for the payment of a single premium. That's a motive, certainly.” ”

“ The Inspector took the diary home with him and spent a laborious evening, lightened at times by flashes of cynical enjoyment when the writer laid bare certain aspects of his soul. Next day Flamborough presented himself at Sir Clinton's office with the books under his arm; and the paper slips which he had used as markers made a formidable array as they projected from the edges of the volumes.
“Good Lord!” exclaimed the Chief Constable in consternation. “Do you mean to say I ought to read through about a hundred and fifty passages in inferior handwriting? Life's too short for that. ”

“ Inspector Flamborough straightened himself up and turned to Sir Clinton.
“It seems that he must have driven the car back himself, sir. If someone else had done the driving, the blood would have been on some of the other seats instead of this one.”
Sir Clinton acquiesced with a gesture.
“I suppose that's possible, doctor? A wound in the lung wouldn't incapacitate him completely?”
Dr. Ringwood shook his head.
“It would depend entirely on the sort of wound it was. I see nothing against it, prima facie. Driving a car isn't really much strain on the body muscles.” ”

“ Sir Clinton commented ironically. “Now what about the rest of the affair, Inspector? If you accept Miss Deepcar's evidence, then the bottom's out of your case against Silverdale. He couldn't be with her and at the bungalow simultaneously.”
“Why should we accept her evidence at all?” Flamborough demanded crossly. “She had as much interest in getting Mrs. Silverdale out of the way as Silverdale himself had. Their interests are absolutely at one in the affair. It's more than an even chance that she was his accomplice in the business—standing ready with this tale of hers to prove an alibi for him. ”

“ A doctor isn't supposed to have a bed at all. I expect the next thing will be a fatal case of ingrowing toe-nails. It's a damned nuisance to have one's time frittered away on that sort of thing when one's at one's wits end to do what one can for people at the last gasp with something really dangerous.”
“Still got the notion that human life's valuable? The war knocked that on the head,” Markfield commented, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Human life's the cheapest thing there is. It's a blessing I went over to the scientific side, instead of going in for physicking. ”

“ Markfield, do you know if Miss Hailsham's here this morning?”
“I believe so,” Markfield answered. “I saw her as I came in.”
“I'd like to have a few words with her,” Sir Clinton suggested.
“Officially?” Markfield demanded. “You're not going to worry the girl, are you? If it's anything I can tell you about, I'd be only too glad, you know. It's not very nice for a girl to have the tale going round that she's been hauled in by the police in a murder case.” ”

“ Ringwood grumbled, as he thought of the fog and his own sketchy knowledge of the local geography.
Markfield seemed to reflect for a moment or two before answering.
“Tell you what,” he said at last, “I've got my car at the door—I'm just down from the Research Station. If you like, I'll pilot you to Silverdale's. I'll manage it better than you possibly could, on a night like this. You can drive behind me and keep your eye on my tail-light. You could get home again all right, I expect; it's easier, since you've only got to find your way to a main street and stick to it.” ”

“ However, let's get on to something more immediately interesting. What did you make of the Hailsham girl?”
“What did I make of her?” Flamborough repeated, in order to gain a little time. “I thought she was more or less what I'd expected her to be, sir. A hard vixen with a good opinion of herself—and simply mad with rage at being jilted: that's what I made of her. Revengeful, too. And a bit vulgar, sir. No decent girl would talk like that about a dead man to a set of strangers.”
“She hadn't much to tell us that was useful,” Sir Clinton said, keeping to the main point. ”

“ Sir Clinton began, “two people got their deaths at the bungalow last night. Young Hassendean didn't actually die there, of course, but the shooting took place there.”
Flamborough refrained from interrupting, but gave a nod of agreement.
“Deaths by violence fall under three heads, I think,” the Chief Constable pursued—“accident, suicide, and homicide, including murder. Now at the bungalow you had two people put to death, and in each case the death must have been due to one or other of these three causes. Ever do permutations and combinations at school, Inspector?” ”

“ Naturally, my maid has been babbling about it and everyone knows the police have been on the premises. It's put me in a dreadful position; and you'll have to give me an explanation and an apology. It's no use trying to deny the facts, you know. I can prove what I've said. And I want my letters back at once—the ones you stole. . . . You've no right to them, and I simply won't put up with this kind of thing.”
She broke off once more, evidently afraid that she was letting her feelings get the better of her. For a moment or two Sir Clinton made no reply. ”

“ What could a burglar want except jewellery or plate? And he might take all the plate I keep away with him and not be much the richer.”
Flamborough seemed unable to think of any fresh question to put on that particular subject. His face took on a new expression.
“I'm afraid we've got worse news for you, sir,” he began, and in a few sentences he put Silverdale in possession of the barest outline of the bungalow tragedy. Sir Clinton, watching the manner in which the bereaved husband received the news, had to confess to himself that he could make nothing of what he saw. ”

“ Only once did Sir Clinton halt for any time, and that was in the pantry. Here he examined the cups suspended from hooks on the wall and pointed out to Flamborough the faint film of accumulated dust on each of them.
“None of that crockery has been used for weeks, Inspector. One can't live in a house without eating and drinking, you know.”
“A port of call, then?” the Inspector persisted. “She and young Hassendean could drop in here without rousing any suspicion.”
“Perhaps,” Sir Clinton conceded abstractedly. “Now we'll get Dr. Ringwood to give his assistance.” ”