‘I shall never get engaged again,’ said Gertie. ‘It only leads to misery. Still, I’m glad all’s well that ends well—and glad, too, that Tatty got him before I did. If I’d been engaged to him then I’d have had it all to deal with.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Freddy absently. She looked at him curiously.
‘What is it? You’re thinking of something else.’
‘I’m just hoping for Irene’s sake that Tom Chetwynd didn’t murder Douglas Westray,’ said Freddy.
‘You don’t really think he did, do you?’
‘He had a big enough motive that night. Douglas was wandering around drunk, dropping loud hints about what Tom had been getting up to. And Tom said himself that with Douglas dead his secret was safe—until now, at any rate, although he couldn’t have foreseen what was going to happen today. But no, as it happens, I don’t really think Tom killed him. He doesn’t have the brains, for a start, and something tells me this murder was a cunning affair. Besides, his story bears out what Colonel Lomas told me at Skeffington’s, which is that Douglas went to Tom’s flat because he’d discovered something and wanted Tom’s advice on what he should do about it. Tom was in no condition to listen, but he did remember that Douglas had said something about someone who’d got away with murder.’
‘That’s just a figure of speech,’ said Gertie.
‘True enough, but he said a similar thing to Colonel Lomas, only in slightly different words: he told Lomas that he couldn’t decide whether or not to speak up, and that if he didn’t then he would be a party to murder, which puts an altogether different aspect on it, don’t you think?’
Gertie looked sceptical.
‘But nobody’s been murdered,’ she pointed out. ‘Apart from Doug, I mean.’
‘No, that is the difficulty,’ Freddy admitted.
They fell silent, considering the matter, then Gertie gave an exclamation.
‘Oh, but there is someone!’ she said excitedly. ‘Don’t you remember what Lois told you about Captain Dauncey? He was booted out of the Air Force because of some incident in which two people died. It was thought to be an accident, but what if Douglas had found out that it wasn’t?’
‘Now that is a thought! Yes, perhaps you’re onto something there. I wonder, now—I might be able to do a little snooping into his war record and find out what exactly happened. We already know he’s up to no good, but the question is: has he taken it as far as murder?’
‘I’m sure he must have,’ said Gertie. ‘He killed these two men, whoever they were, then Doug somehow found out about it and threatened to expose him, so he killed him too.’
‘If that’s true, we shall have to be very careful. I’ve already put the wind up him once, remember? I don’t want him to have a second go at running me down flat.’
‘No, but still, we must work quickly before he decides things are getting too hot around here and disappears,’ said Gertie.
But as it transpired, they were too late, for Corky Beckwith had been hard at work on his own version of the story following his adventure in East London, and was all set to steal a march on them. On the Tuesday following the garden-party, the Herald ran a big story, hinting in the strongest terms that a certain foreign individual, whose name would not be unfamiliar to regular readers of the company news, had been involved in the incitement of underhand practices to the great detriment of the reputation of the British engineering industry. The Herald’s correspondent had run no little risk of harm to his own person in his zeal to uncover the truth, and had ascertained in the course of his investigations that a certain company, Stamboul Export Co, had been secretly employing people to spy on large engineering companies, and in some instances, perform despicable acts of sabotage on their machines. Further inquiry had revealed that Stamboul Export Co. was an indirect subsidiary of the world-renowned engineering firm Rawson Welbeck, and that its chief executive officer was Mr. Anatoli Salmanov, who, readers would remember, had been named as one of the leading figures in the Celebes copper mining scandal, although no action was ever brought against him.
Further, the paper’s correspondent regretted to say that a deeper examination of the matter had revealed that a certain person closely associated with the field of aviation, whose name had for many years been on the lips of everyone in the country thanks to his heroic exploits in the air during the war, was in the pay of Stamboul Export Co, and had been employed by them to engage in acts of industrial espionage and sabotage. The latest example of this had taken place in full view of everyone who had attended the Heston air show less than two weeks ago, when a new fighter aircraft developed by the Nugent Corporation had failed in mid-air, and disaster had, to all appearances, narrowly been avoided. However, the Herald’s correspondent was in a position to state with authority that the pilot of the plane had, in fact, tampered with its engine himself—a perilous act indeed, for only a pilot of his daring and expertise would have risked flying the machine while it was in such a state. It was not to be supposed that Rawson Welbeck was cognisant of what was going on at its subsidiary, but questions were bound to be asked. The Herald did not name the famous pilot, but there was no need to, for it was perfectly obvious whom it was talking about.
Freddy was reading the article eagerly on Tuesday morning when Gertie swept in and up to his desk, brandishing her own copy of the paper.
‘Have you seen the news in the Herald this morning?’ she demanded.
‘I have, but what are you doing, buying the Herald? Don’t mention it too loudly or old Bickerstaffe will peg you as an enemy of all right-thinking people and run unflattering stories about you.’
‘Silly—the head footman gets it and lets me read it. But have you seen what it says about Dauncey? He sabotaged the plane himself! Can it be true?’
‘It had better be, or the Herald is going to be in deep trouble. No, even Corky isn’t that stupid. I can only suppose he must have found some solid evidence that Dauncey nobbled the plane, or they’d never have let him run the story.’
‘True enough. Oh, Freddy, can there be any doubt now that he murdered Doug? Doug must have known that Dauncey was up to no good and told him so, and Dauncey killed him to keep him quiet.’ Her face fell. ‘Oh, but that means Lois must have been in on it too. If she was with Dauncey on the balcony then she must have been lying about his not going through the window.’
‘No, I don’t think she was lying.’
‘But then how did he get in to kill Doug?’
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about that. What do you say to a walk?’
‘A walk? Where to.’
‘Tatty’s house.’
‘Can’t we just telephone her?’
‘I don’t want to speak to her. I want to see something.’
Despite her badgering he refused to answer any more of her questions, and persisted in whistling exasperatingly all the way to St. James’s Square.
‘This had better be good,’ said Gertie darkly as they went up the steps and Freddy knocked smartly on the Browncliffes’ front door. It was answered at length by Sally, the maid.
‘Miss Patricia is out with her ladyship, and Mr. Whitcomb isn’t here,’ she said doubtfully, upon their request to enter the house.
‘He won’t mind. And nor will Miss Patricia,’ said Freddy. ‘I promise I’ll take full responsibility for it and won’t let Gertie steal the silver, even though she’s rather inclined that way.’
‘Ass,’ said Gertie, and went in without waiting for any further invitation.
‘May we go up to her ladyship’s dressing-room?’ said Freddy.
‘It’s locked, sir,’ said Sally.
‘Do you know where the key is kept?’
Sally did know, but had misgivings. On further promises from Freddy that she would not get into trouble for any of this, she was persuaded to fetch it, and they all went upstairs.
‘You may stay and watch if you like,’ said Freddy.
He glanced around the room. Gertie and Sally were gazing at him expectantly.
‘Go on, then,’ said Gertie. ‘If he didn’t use the window, then how did he get in—or out, rather?’
‘Through the door, of course,’ said Freddy.
‘But it was locked on the inside.’
‘It was bolted on the inside, which is quite a different thing.’ He turned to the china plates that were hanging on the wall by the door and indicated the blue and gold one with the flowers. ‘When we got in through the window and discovered Douglas’s body, this plate was on the floor, standing against the wall. Whitcomb saw it and hung it back up, thinking it had fallen down because of the shot, but in actual fact it had been taken down deliberately.’
He took down the plate carefully and leaned it against the wall again.
‘You see this hook?’ he said. ‘Notice that it’s at the same height as the bolt on the door.’
‘What of it?’ said Gertie.
Freddy turned and crossed to the little table on which Lady Browncliffe’s sewing-box was standing, gathering dust.
‘I need a needle and thread,’ he said. He peered into the box and took out a bobbin of pink silk embroidery thread, then selected a long needle. ‘And a hook of some sort. A bent pin might do it, or some wire—aha! I see we have some ready-made ones.’ He brought out a small card of metal hooks. ‘One missing, I see. Not that that proves anything—after all, Lady Browncliffe might have used it herself.’
He took some scissors and cut a long length of the pink thread, then fastened the hook to one end of it. The other end he threaded through the needle.
‘I remember playing a trick of the sort at school,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying it at home, but it doesn’t work very well because the only bolt I have is too stiff. The bolt on this door slides easily, though, so it might work. Now, watch. We hook this end onto the bolt fastener—’ he suited the action to the word, ‘—then pass the thread around the plate hook, keeping it taut. Then the needle goes through the keyhole, like so. You see? The plate hook acts as a kind of pulley. Now, I duck outside the door and close it, still keeping the thread taut.’
He squeezed out through the almost-closed door and shut it behind him.
‘Now, look what happens when I pull on the needle,’ came his voice from the other side of the door.
Gertie and Sally watched in fascination as the bolt slid across and into its fastening.
‘Did it work?’ called Freddy.
‘I’ll say!’ said Gertie.
‘Now all I have to do is let the thread go slack and the hook should fall off the bolt.’
He demonstrated, and they watched as the thread and the hook disappeared through the keyhole.
‘Well I never!’ exclaimed Sally. ‘It’s like magic!’
‘Let me in, won’t you?’ said Freddy.
Gertie unbolted the door, her eyes shining.
‘I believe you’ve got it!’ she said. ‘So nobody went through the window at all! Here, let me try.’
After one or two fumbling attempts she, too, succeeded in bolting the door from the outside, then Sally was allowed to try it. It seemed clear that this was how the murder had been done, and how the killer had made Douglas’s death look like suicide.
‘We’ve been looking at the wrong part of the house all along,’ said Gertie. ‘We ought to have been asking who went upstairs, rather than who went onto the balcony.’
‘Yes, and it might have been anyone,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, but it must have been Dauncey.’
‘I’m inclined to think it was. But I’d still like to know what happened to Douglas’s shoes.’
‘Does it matter? It’s not important, surely.’
‘Perhaps not, but I don’t like things to remain unexplained.’
‘Well, we can think about it afterwards,’ said Gertie. ‘Now that we’ve got a motive, and we know that Dauncey was up to no good, all we have to do is find some proof that he came in here.’
‘Easier said than done.’
‘We’ll think of something, I’m sure,’ said Gertie.
They took their leave of Sally and came out, to find Corky Beckwith loitering outside the house.
‘Not you again,’ said Gertie. ‘What is it this time? Have you come to ask where I buy my stockings?’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Corky. ‘I’m merely passing the time on this beautiful day. There’s nothing like a spot of sunshine to fill the heart with gladness and joy, don’t you think?’
‘Rot. I suppose you’re looking for a story again. Well, you won’t find one.’
‘Then you have nothing to tell about any impending nuptials? I must say, the two of you seem inseparable lately. I never see one of you without the other. Tell me, when can we expect an announcement? Speaking of which, a little bird tells me that the much-vaunted and wildly fêted betrothal between two people of your close acquaintance is about to come to naught. I don’t suppose you’d care to expand upon the subject?’
‘No,’ said Freddy.
‘Pity. News is a little sparse on the social side of things, although Lord knows I’ve plenty of other news to keep me going. I suppose you saw my piece this morning, Freddy? First off the mark again, you’ll note. You really ought to try harder to keep up. But that’s what you get for employing Lady Gertrude to do your dirty work for you. Very decorative, the ladies, but lacking in mental acuity as a rule. No,’ he went on blithely, before Gertie could formulate a trenchant interjection, ‘one doesn’t like to boast, but I rather think I’ve come out well in this story. I have a series of follow-ups planned for the rest of the week. The police have taken an interest, you know. They searched the offices of Stamboul Export Co, and have found a whole set-up, with spies planted in dozens of companies here and abroad. Of course, it will be difficult to prove Rawson Welbeck knew anything about it, although the fact of their having employed Anatoli Salmanov indicates it was deliberate.’
‘But what about Captain Dauncey?’ said Gertie. ‘How can you be sure he won’t sue you for libel?’
‘He may try if he likes,’ said Corky. ‘But since you ask, I don’t think the Herald will be troubled with legal action, since we’ve had word this morning that Dauncey has “done a bunk,” as the vulgar saying goes. I’ve found a witness who is prepared to sign a statement to the effect that on the day of the air show he was paid to keep a look-out while Dauncey sabotaged the Nugent Nuthatch shortly before take-off, and I dare say that’s what has spurred him to this present action.’
‘He’s disappeared?’ said Gertie in dismay. ‘You idiot! You’ve driven him off just when we were about to prove he killed Douglas!’
Freddy nudged her sharply, but it was too late, for Corky had pricked up his ears immediately.
‘Douglas?’ he said. ‘Do you mean Douglas Westray? Surely that was suicide?’
‘Of course it was suicide. Gertie didn’t mean it literally,’ said Freddy quickly. ‘She thinks they might have had a row that contributed to Westray’s depressed state of mind, that’s all.’
‘That’s right,’ said Gertie, recollecting herself. ‘I meant what Freddy said.’
‘Is that so?’ said Corky, regarding them both narrowly. ‘Hmm, I shall have to look into that. Perhaps I can lay another charge at his door and stretch the story out for day or two.’
‘That’s right, kick a man when he’s down,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s a pity they stopped hanging people in public, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Corky with perfect sincerity.
Freddy glanced at his watch.
‘Well, it’s been delightful to pass the time, old chap, but I must get back to the office,’ he said.
Gertie was also wanted back at home, and so they parted for the present. Corky dithered over whether to pester Freddy all the way back to Fleet Street or follow Gertie, and eventually decided on the latter. Freddy callously left her to Corky’s tender mercies and set off back to the Clarion’s offices. It was exasperating that Corky had driven Dauncey away just when they had been starting to make material progress in the investigation, but when all was said and done it did look very much as though Dauncey were a guilty man, and in any case there was nothing that could be done for the present until he was found, so Freddy returned to work and tried to forget about the matter, supposing that the case had at least reached some sort of conclusion, even if no-one had been arrested.
Sure enough, the Herald ran a series of stories about the sabotage scandal, as it was being called, over the next few days, and each one showed Captain Dauncey in a worse light than before. Soon, the whole country was talking about it, and shaking their heads over the fall from grace of their former hero. There were those who said that Dauncey’s brave feats ought not to be forgotten, however far he had sunk since, but most people were quite happy to forget they had ever admired him, and to condemn him as a traitor and the worst of men.
On Thursday, Freddy was sitting in the office, reading over some notes with a dissatisfied air, when Jolliffe came in, looking busy.
‘Can’t stop,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be late for the Finkley inquest.’
‘Eh? What’s that?’ said Freddy absently.
‘You know, the woman who was flattened by a car at the air show. Hilda Finkley, her name was. Very unfortunate, and all because of the crowds, I understand.’
Freddy looked up and frowned.
‘Hilda Finkley—now, where have I heard that name before?’ he said.
‘Couldn’t tell you, old chap. Let me know when you remember, but not now. Must dash!’
With that he rushed off, and Freddy went back to his work. After a minute he sat up straight, for he had just remembered Hilda Finkley. She was the engineer’s widow he had spoken to on the day of the air show. She must have died only an hour or two after he had spoken to her. What an odd coincidence. He reflected briefly and poignantly on the vagaries of Fate, then returned again to his notes. But his work was destined to be left unfinished, for once again a memory darted into his brain and he straightened up in his chair.
‘Now, what the devil—?’ he murmured.
He frowned over the thought for a while. It could not be a coincidence, surely, although he could not see how exactly it fitted into the mystery. Still, there was no concentrating on his work while the thing was on his mind. He reached a decision and made a short telephone-call, then replaced the receiver and stared straight ahead for several minutes.
‘How very odd,’ he said at last.