Chapter Twenty-One

Remand

“… unless we get fresh evidence,” Fenn had said. His brown eyes were turned intently towards Mannering, his pause seemed deliberate; as if he were inviting comment.

The door opened unexpectedly, and Fenn looked away; Mannering had a moment’s respite. It wasn’t one that he enjoyed. The case against Brash must be overwhelming, or Fenn wouldn’t talk like this.

The newcomer was a tall, melancholy faced Superintendent, Fisher.

“Sorry, Nick, didn’t know you had distinguished company.” He grinned dolefully at Mannering. “Had anything more from Midham?”

“No.”

“Thought I’d tell you, only prints at Crummy’s place, apart from those we’d expect, are Brash’s and Pendexter Smith’s.” He put two sheets of paper, foolscap size, down in front of Fenn. “The fingerprints of these bad men always turn up sooner of later, don’t they, Mr. Mannering?”

Mannering kept a straight face.

“Invariably,” he said.

Fisher chuckled, and went out.

Mannering lit a cigarette.

“On the evidence we have, Brash will hang all right, but I’ve an uneasy feeling that we don’t know everything,” Fenn said. “Crummy Day’s wife is venomous against Brash. I think she could gladly have killed him when we let them meet, early this morning. If we can take what she says as gospel, Crummy helped Brash out of the goodness of his heart, and for some unknown reason, Brash killed him. She’s quite sure that the killer was Brash, but there was plenty to suggest that it was an outside job.”

Mannering kept a poker face.

“Was there?”

Fenn said, “A hole in the stairs, back door forced—nice job of burglary. But Brash could have fixed all that.”

“Why should he?” Mannering asked.

He was thinking of Bristow, who was in South Africa. Bristow would have been after him by now, suspicious, menacing, knowing that the evidence of burglary at Crummy Day’s shop had the hallmark of the Baron. Fenn didn’t know. Fenn wasn’t high-pressuring him. Fenn had a ready-made suspect in Brash, and was vaguely uneasy, that was all.

New evidence was needed to save Brash.

Was Mannering the only man who could give it?

“If Crummy Day knew that Brash killed Revell, he could have been deadly to Brash,” Fenn said. “Can you see why I’m worried?”

“Pendexter Smith’s prints?”

“That’s it. He was at the Aldgate shop. We found a hand kerchief of his, and several letters—I was pretty sure be fore we got the prints. You know that he swears he doesn’t know what happened, but went dizzy, was helped by a stranger, and woke up at Dragon’s End. No doubt he was at Day’s, but whether he knew it or not, I don’t know.”

“Does Brash mention him?”

“Brash hates the sight of him,” Fenn said. “He says that Pendexter Smith is afraid that he, Brash, can get Miranda Smith free from his influence, and that Pendexter Smith would kill in order to keep his hold on her. That’s anyone’s guess. We knew that Pendexter was held at Crummy Day’s and that Brash was on the scene of both murders. I’d like to make Pendexter Smith tell all he knows,” Fenn added, with rare feeling.

Mannering said evenly, “Did Brash say why he went to Dragon’s End?”

“He tells a story—that he thought that Pendexter was trying to get legal control of all Miranda’s fortune, and wanted to find out. He’d an idea that Smith was seeking power of attorney.”

“Was he?”

“I’ve no evidence.”

“How long had Brash and Crummy been working together?” asked Mannering.

“I don’t know. Mrs. Day says that Crummy was fond of Brash, that they didn’t work together—were more like father and son. I can’t find a motive to explain why Brash should do all this, unless—”

Mannering said for him, “Unless he’s after Miranda’s fortune, blackening Pendexter Smith’s reputation as he goes. If he thought Smith was going to get power of attorney, then he’d want to act fast.”

“That’s it,” said Fenn. “Brash hates Smith, Smith hates Brash, either could be after Miranda’s money. And Brash might have killed Revell because Revell caught him at Dragon’s End and because Crummy knew about that. We now know that the two prisoners and Dibben have been on Crummy Day’s pay-roll, but Brash could have hired them for a special job—”

Mannering said, “There’s an angle I don’t think you’ve seen.”

“What’s that?” Fenn almost barked.

“Brash went to Dragon’s End. Crummy could have sent him there and planned to frame him. That would give Brash a motive against Crummy Day.”

“Where does Smith come in?”

“He was at Crummy’s. Did he work with Crummy? Were they conspiring together, and did Brash find out? Is that it?”

“Could be,” Fenn conceded. “But why did Pendexter Smith come to you to sell the nest-egg? He just says they wanted it turned into cash—but he was in a big hurry, according to you.”

“He was in a hurry,” Mannering asserted dryly.

“I know, I know, we haven’t got the truth out of him yet,” Fenn said. “But if he’s a crook, why did he come to you? There’s the big flaw in your theory.”

Mannering said, “Don’t I know it.”

“I’ve a theory, too,” grunted Fenn. He rubbed his nose. “You’ll hoot.” He rubbed his nose again. “Have you considered the possibility that Miranda Smith is putting on an act?”

Mannering positively gaped.

“I have not.”

“No physical or psychiatric explanation of her affliction,” Fenn said gruffly. “Oh, I know I’m crazy. But could she be playing one man off against another?”

“For Pete’s sake, why?”

Fenn said, “There’s a catch in her father’s will. She inherits, but until she’s twenty-five, she can only touch capital with Pendexter Smith’s approval. It just makes me wonder if she’s all she seems. Supposing she and Brash—”

“Forget it,” Mannering said brusquely.

But it wasn’t so easy.

Nor was it easy to forget that Brash was being held on a capital charge and that he, Mannering, could clear him only by damning himself.

Only?

Now the hope was Pendexter Smith.

Mannering had to see him soon.

Chittering of the Record stood at the door, smiling cherubically, looking angelic. His fair hair was turning slightly grey, but that showed very little. He wore an old raincoat and a battered trilby on the back of his head, for he liked to ape the casual reporter of the screen.

“Hi, Maestro,” he greeted, as Mannering got up from a chair in the office of Quinns, a little after two o’clock that afternoon. “Busy?”

“Clearing up a few odds and ends,” Mannering said.

“So Ned Wainwright gave me to understand,” said Chittering, squatting on a corner of the desk. That meant that his face was just a little too close to Mannering’s for comfort, and Mannering couldn’t move away without bumping the back of his head against the wall. “John, how’s the silent beauty?”

“Miranda? About the same.”

“I have been doing considerable research,” declared Chittering, “and I don’t know how much Fenn’s told you, but so has he. Researched, I mean. Into the past of our Miranda. Or your Miranda. Or just Miranda. Even before the accident, she used to visit Crummy Day quite often. And I think there’s a lot of evidence that Crummy Day used to sell a lot of hot stuff to Mortimer Smith, down at Dragon’s End. It wouldn’t surprise me to know that Miranda was a go-between. Have you had another shot at Pendexter Smith?”

“I’m going this afternoon.”

“Taking Miranda?”

“Yes.”

“John on the target,” said Chittering mildly. “I’ve a feeling that if Pen Smith told you the real reason why he came here in the first place, you’d have the answer to a lot of puzzling questions. Set one or two innocent traps for Miranda,” urged Chittering. “Just make sure that she is as deaf as she makes out.”

Mannering said flatly, “She’s deaf.”

“I hope she isn’t fooling us,” said Chittering, as if he meant it. “By the way, heard what happened to Brash?”

“An eight-day remand.”

“And a hangman’s rope already dangling over his head. It’s an odd business. I can’t find anything else against Brash. He lives within his modest income, has a good record, seems just to be another young man in love with a girl who won’t have anything to do with him. Taken by and large, I like the bashful, blushing Billy Brash. I’d like to find another villain. Mind if I come down to Dragon’s End with you?”

“Why don’t you follow?” Mannering asked.

Chittering chuckled, but Mannering found it difficult to be flippant. The fate of young Bill Brash was heavy on his mind. This was much more than a vengeful search for Sylvester’s killer; for the murderer of the others; or for explanation of Miranda Smith’s affliction.

He had told Lorna everything, but they hadn’t talked much about it. She also knew that there was only one answer: find the truth, and pray that it would clear Brash of Crummy Day’s murder. That – or full confession.

Pendexter Smith must be made to talk.

Miranda?

Fenn was a realist, Chittering was also down to earth. Neither had any reason for wanting to damn Miranda; no personal motive, anyway. Both were seekers after the truth, both had a soft spot for Bill Brash.

Mannering rang the bell, and Wainwright came to the office at the double.

“Yes, sir?”

“Ned, I’m going down to Dragon’s End, with Miranda Smith. I want you to follow. You do drive, don’t you?”

“Oh, lord, yes!”

“Hire something nippy and fast from Bladdon’s, the garage near me at Bell Street. Follow us, at a distance. Chittering may follow too, but don’t worry about him. I don’t know what else to expect, I’m not even sure that I expect anything, but keep your eyes open.”

“Think they’ll have another crack at you?” Wainwright asked.

“They might.”

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Wainwright said, “I spoke to that Sergeant Grimble about a licence for a gun. He said Fenn said I could carry one, provided I’d applied for the licence. I have.”

Mannering found himself smiling; and more cheerful.

“All right,” he said. “It’s half-past three now. I’ll be leaving Chelsea at five, and should reach Dragon’s End about half-past six. I’ll drive straight up to the house. You stay at the entrance to the drive unless I send for you.”

“Right ho,” Wainwright said, then gulped and spoke more quickly; almost nervously. “I suppose you’re right about letting Miranda go back there.”

“I hope I’m right.”

“If anything happens to her,” said Wainwright, very softly, “I’ll murder the man who does it.”

Here was more evidence of the effect of Miranda on young men. Brash would follow her anywhere, make any sacrifice for her. Wainwright was in a very similar frame of mind. There might be others, several others.

What had he, Mannering, seen at Dragon’s End to justify the attack on him?

Or had it been at Dragon’s End? Could it have been something Miranda had made clear to him?

He telephoned Fenn, told him where he was going, and added, “I hope you won’t have me followed, but you could keep track of me en route, and warn your Midham people to stand by. Pendexter Smith might talk more freely if he doesn’t expect the police are at his ear, but I’d be happier to have them fairly handy.”

“Bristow wouldn’t recognise you,” Fenn said, dryly.