Till after supper that night not another word about the case was spoken. It was not till they were settled in arm-chairs before the fire and Mrs French as a tribute to her guest had brought in coffee, that French deemed the hour had come.
‘Pipe drawing properly?’ he asked. ‘Well, the sooner we get at this thing, the sooner we’ll be finished. I’ve got the dossier in case some question arises.’
‘Good,’ Shaw approved. ‘And I’m to be counsel for the defence?’
‘Not quite so drastic as that,’ French returned. ‘But if you see any flaws, shout out.’
‘A watching brief? Right. Then go ahead.’
French laid his open notebook on his knee, paused for a moment as if to arrange his thoughts, and then began: ‘The first thing is that I’m really worried about pulling in those two men. Or rather about Davenport. Buller’s all right. He’s guilty and I can prove it. But I can’t prove Davenport’s guilt.’
‘You’re morally certain of it?’
‘Moral certainty isn’t evidence. I have enough to justify an arrest, but not to go into court.’
‘You’ll get your verdict all right,’ Shaw declared easily. ‘Go ahead and let’s hear the tale.’
‘Very well, this is how it looks to me. Here’s this Geoffrey Buller, a very ordinary young man, working in a house agent’s office in Plymouth. For some reason he goes out to Chicago and starts in the same line. He does neither very well nor very badly: holds his job, but misses promotion, proving his mediocre qualities. Then this old boy over here dies and he suddenly becomes a British baronet with a large estate in Surrey. He throws up his job and comes home, full of large ideas about playing the country squire and filling his house with people in his new social sphere.
‘Unhappily he has neither the manner nor the training for the job, and he fails to make the contacts he expected. He is disappointed, and as he is lonely, his disappointment festers. He finds that his predecessor was not a businessman and that the estate has been run in a haphazard way, and he begins to put this right and see where he stands. He has, for instance, an inventory made for insurance purposes, and the premium is adjusted to give adequate cover. You’ll see I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt and assuming that this was not a deliberate prelude to fraud.’
‘That’s wise. It’s the sort of thing that counts with a jury.’
‘It might even be true. Well, his researches lead to a further discovery, much more serious and fundamental. He’s short of cash. He expected a fortune with the estate, but death duties have seen to that and he finds he hasn’t enough to keep the place going.
‘But he has an immense potential source of wealth—his pictures. He hasn’t realized how valuable they are till the inventory opens his eyes.’
French poured out second cups of coffee.
‘Now,’ he resumed, ‘we come to a hiatus. Somehow, whether out of his own inner consciousness or, as I should imagine, as the result of a suggestion from Davenport, he decides on the substitutions. Probably his first intention is merely to sell, and knowing nothing of art, he commissions Davenport to conduct the sale. Probably it was in the subsequent conversation that the suggestion was made. That’s guesswork, but in some way it is arranged that Davenport will make the copies, presumably selling the originals and dividing the spoils. So far the intention need not necessarily have been fraudulent.’
‘Plausible at all events.’
‘That has to be cleared up. Then we go back to certainty. All this shortage of money and worry about the pictures, for it must have been a worry, still further increases Buller’s disappointment. It grows so bitter in fact that he determines to give up the Manor and go back to America. His hopes and his dreams are dead and he hates the place and everyone connected with it. He decides to sell. Then he has a third disappointment—the greatest of the three. He can’t sell; no one wants so large a house. He is left with a white elephant on his hands.
‘But one thing runs on—his expenditure. To keep up the place, even untenanted, will take more money than he has. He grows desperate. Then comes another hiatus, though I think we can bridge it in our minds. Buller might have reasoned—if all legal action leads to bankruptcy, why not try illegal? Somehow the arson idea is born, either through him or through Davenport. At all events Buller burns his house down after making elaborate plans to avoid suspicion.’
‘Also destroying the evidence of the substitutions.’
‘Quite. Whether the substitutions had been fraudulent from the start or not, they become so now. When the camel of the greater crime is being swallowed, why strain at the gnat of the lesser? What were those copied pictures worth?’
‘About forty thousand. But Davenport couldn’t have sold them secretly for that. Say twenty or twenty-five.’
‘There you are. Why lose twenty-five thousand when you can get it as safely as the rest?’
‘I agree. You mean then that Buller’s shortage of cash drove him to arson?’
‘I mean it was his only hope. Arson would change a huge liability into a still vaster asset. And if he had scruples, he would know that the loss would fall heavily on no one, owing to its wide distribution. Your people reinsured, I suppose?’
‘Oh Lord, yes. we only covered about a tenth of the liability ourselves. No firm would take on so big a risk.’
‘I thought so. Well, the plan works perfectly. While Buller is in Italy the house is burnt down. He comes home, sees you and your manager on the ground, and says that in due course he will put in a claim for the damage. The pictures are actually discussed, their great value being mentioned, but Buller says nothing about the substitutions. And in that omission lay, in my opinion, the seeds of the murder.’
‘That’s right. His silence could only mean that he intended to defraud us.’
‘Quite. Then a new factor arises. Buller learns that Barke has seen the substituted pictures. There’s no chance that a man of Barke’s qualifications will be taken in, nor any doubt but that he’ll tell what he has seen. What’s to be done?’
‘Nothing for him but to put Barke out of the way.’
‘That’s as I see it. In a way it doesn’t matter if Barke has told what he has seen. No statement that he might have made would be evidence, so if he was out of the way, Buller and Davenport would be safe.’
Shaw nodded, but without conviction. French glanced at him doubtfully, then with some hesitation went on.
‘Are you sure that’s sound, Shaw, or is there a flaw? Could Buller not still have gone to your company and admitted the substitutions?’
Shaw considered this. ‘I don’t think he could,’ he said at last. ‘If Buller told about the substitutions after having kept it back in the first instance, our manager would ask himself why in both cases. He would hear of Barke’s visit and spot the answer. It would suggest fraud. He would reason. If there was fraud about the pictures, why not about the fire? And I can tell you that if our manager once grew suspicious of the fire, he’d stick at it till he found out the truth. Buller daren’t risk it.’
French was listening with satisfaction. ‘That’s what I thought but I’m glad to hear you confirm it. You mean that if Buller confessed about the substitutions he’d fear it would lead to the discovery of the arson?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And if the arson was discovered, instead of going to the States with about half a million sterling, he’d lose his fortune and have a long stretch in a British prison. Quite, there’s a motive there, all right.’
‘To my way of thinking it would depend on whether he believed he could get Barke out of the way without risk.’
French nodded approvingly. ‘That’s it. You’ve got it now. Which was the greater risk: to raise a suspicion of arson, or to do Barke in? I’m satisfied he thought the murder absolutely safe.’
‘I agree. And Davenport?’
‘Party to both substitution and murder.’
Shaw leant forward, knocked out his pipe, and began to refill it. ‘This is a good story, French,’ he declared. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds. Carry on.’
‘Directly Buller learns that Barke has seen the substitutions, we may presume he gets in touch with Davenport, and together they work out their scheme. And a very ingenious scheme it is, and only for you discovering the arson, they might easily have got off with it.’
Shaw made a gesture of dissent. ‘Handsome, French,’ he acknowledged, ‘very. But not true. We both know how they’ve been caught.’
‘Well, we needn’t quarrel over it. Their first difficulty is to find out whether Barke has already passed on his information, because even though his statement can’t be used in court, there’s the vital point you make about raising your manager’s suspicion.’
‘The probabilities would be against Barke speaking.’
‘That’s right. Firstly, because he hasn’t seen Mrs Stanton, who is the only really interested person, and second, because making copies of masterpieces and selling the originals is a common and perfectly legitimate way of realizing money. Fraud will only arise if the insurance is claimed. Barke will therefore wait to see what is done before speaking.
‘But Buller and Davenport will wish to prevent him speaking—if he hasn’t already done so. And how can this be better accomplished than by taking away the motive for speech; in other words, by making him believe that Buller has himself reported the substitutions to the Thames & Tyne? Buller cannot move in the matter, as he is known to Barke. But Davenport can. So we have the lunch with the representative of the Thames & Tyne, which Buller is prevented from attending by a motor accident. Buller can thus deny any knowledge of the affair.’
‘And thus Davenport demonstrates that he is an accessory before the fact.’
‘Yes, if we can prove it. If someone in the Holly can identify him as Barke’s host, we’re all right. But after a month will anyone do so?’
‘There’s a chance at all events.’
‘I hope so. Well, Davenport finds out that Barke has kept his observations to himself, going on to satisfy him that there are no fraudulent intentions in connection with the pictures. Then he offers him a job at his own fee. He says the pictures were done by a M. Picoux in Paris, and will Barke go over with himself and Buller to inspect two pictures on which Picoux is then actually at work? Finally he pledges him to silence until they have seen Picoux, on the ground that a distorted view of the story might give rise to unpleasant rumours. This is a good enough tale to satisfy Barke, who agrees to meet the others at Victoria in time for the nine o’clock train on the following morning.’
‘Very plausible,’ Shaw, commented again. ‘You can’t blame Barke for getting hooked.’
‘No, particularly as he appears to have been a kindly trustful sort of chap who wouldn’t expect well-mannered people to be crooks. Very well, that lunch takes place on the Thursday, and Davenport crosses to Paris by the four-thirty service that afternoon. He takes with him the picture he was then about to copy, ostensibly to consult his former art masters about its restoration, actually to provide a motive for the journey as well as an alibi for the next day. That Friday morning he spends at the Atelier Voges, really discussing the picture, and in the afternoon he returns to London by the four twenty-five train. But between these two activities there’s a blank period which enables him to carry out his part of the plot.
‘Meanwhile Buller is making his contribution. So far he has been able to deny his connection with the affair. There is nothing to connect him with the lunch, and he can always say, if challenged, that “Vincent” has used his name improperly. He wishes to remain uncompromised, therefore for his Friday motoring he can’t use his own car. On the Thursday he hires a Colorado in a garage not far from Victoria. As you know, this American car has an unusually large boot, and Buller, on the excuse that he wants to carry the equipment of a theatrical party, satisfies himself that this sample is no exception to the rule. On this Thursday he also buys a small second-hand suitcase.
‘On Friday morning he calls for the car, drives to Victoria, parks, and meets Barke on the platform. What he says to him we don’t know, but we may imagine that it is something to the effect that a cleaned picture has been discovered unburnt at Forde Manor, and he would like him to see it before crossing: at all events he makes some excuse to get Barke to Forde. This meeting with Buller will reassure Barke as to “Vincent’s” bona fides, had he doubted it, and Buller will probably say that “Vincent” will meet them either at Forde or in Paris.’
‘Very plausible. Nothing suspicious so far.’
‘No, it will all look quite natural. Now here we come to another hiatus. Somewhere on that journey down to Forde, Buller murders Barke. Whether he actually reaches Forde or makes some excuse for turning elsewhere, we don’t know. What we are sure of is that he drives to some deserted place where he gets Barke out of the car and sandbags him.’
‘Risky, that part of it.’
‘It’s a risk he has to take. But when the rest of the scheme is so good, it’s unlikely that he’ll fail here. In fact, as we know, he doesn’t fail.’
‘You’re right. Carry on.’
‘Now he strips the body of the outer clothing, which with Barke’s passport, keys and the other articles in the pockets, he puts in the small suitcase he has bought. Then we see the need for the large boot. He puts the body in and locks the boot. He has reckoned that Barke is a small-sized man. He drives to Croydon and books the two suitcases, the one he has bought, and Barke’s own, to Davenport at Le Bourget. They have arranged to use the name “Roland Brand”, about whom Mrs Stanton must obviously have talked to Buller, partly that the name should be in a directory, and partly to shift any suspicion which may be aroused on to someone connected with the case.’
‘Dirty, that.’
‘I don’t think so. They will know that nothing can be proved against Brand. Buller then drives back to the garage, leaving the car till the evening. The body of course is inside, but the boot is locked.’
French paused to rake the fire together. ‘Throw on a log or two, will you?’ he directed, as he got up and crossed the room. ‘I think the time has come for a drink,’ he went on, busying himself with bottles and glasses. ‘What do you say, Shaw?’
Very politely Shaw indicated that it was overdue. ‘Nice situation,’ he went on, reverting to French’s exposition. ‘A car in a busy garage, worked at by the staff—we know at least that someone read the trip mileage; and probably it was dusted down—and all the time there’s the body of a murdered man within a foot or two of them. Sort of dramatic when you come to think of it.’
French grunted. ‘It’s what must have happened,’ he asserted; ‘nothing else will account for the facts. Now,’ he went on with a change of tone, ‘let’s switch over to Davenport. He does his picture stunt at the atelier, setting up as much of his alibi as he can. Then instead of lunching at Les Quatre Plumes, he goes out to Le Bourget, claims the suitcases as Roland Brand, and comes back to Paris. Another slight hiatus here. We don’t know what he does with Barke’s: probably pushes it into the consigne at the Gare du Nord. But he returns to the Maréchal Ney with the small suitcase containing Barke’s outer clothes and passport, going to his room openly, ostensibly to lie down because of his headache. For all of this we have no proof, but it just must have taken place.
‘In his room he changes into Barke’s clothes—they are much of a size—and no doubt makes up to look as like Barke as possible. Then he used something which he has no doubt made before leaving London: a passport stamp. You remember he has developed picture stamping in rubber as an aid to his woodblock work, and it will probably be easy for him to make a stamp for registering entry into France at Boulogne. Doubtless he has a sample to work from in Butler’s passport, if not in his own. Whether he has some photographic process to cut the rubber with chemicals, or whether he builds it up from rings and type, I don’t know, though an investigation of his studio may tell us. All I’m sure of—and can’t prove—is that he has made it, and there in the Hôtel du Maréchal Ney he stamps Barke’s passport and misleads us all.’
‘You’ll get proof of that later.’
‘I hope so, for I’m afraid what’s coming now is also guesswork. Made up as Barke and with Barke’s passport in his pocket, Davenport walks out of the Maréchal Ney. As you know, it’s a big place with two sets of lifts and a continual stream of people passing in and out. Having taken care to use one set as Davenport, he is unlikely to be recognized if he uses the other as Barke. It’s a risk, of course, but he must take it.
‘He now gets Barke’s suitcase, goes to the Gare du Nord and meets the train at 3.48, mingles with the stream of people coming from it, and takes a taxi to the Vichy. In the taxi he puts Barke’s passport into Barke’s suitcase. At the Vichy he does the play acting we know about: arriving as Barke, registering, sending his luggage up to his room, saying he has an appointment and walking out. It’s only five minutes back to the Maréchal Ney, and he slips up to his room as he came down, immediately telephoning the office to get his picture ready. He quickly changes back to his normal exterior, goes down to the lounge, gets his picture, and leaves for London.’
Shaw removed his pipe from his mouth and moved round in his chair as if to make a pronouncement. ‘I do congratulate you, French,’ he said with deliberation, ‘I really do. That’s about the best reconstruction I’ve ever heard. And I’d bet a hundred to one in flyers it’s the truth.’
‘It’s going to be the mischief to prove all that about Davenport.’
‘I congratulate those two also,’ went on Shaw judicially. ‘Their scheme was good and it deserved to succeed.’
‘I expect they thought it invincible. Just consider it as they would see it. Buller is safe because Barke disappears in Paris and Buller never leaves London. Davenport is safe because he can’t be charged with murder unless the body is produced, and the body is not in France. Oh yes, it was a good scheme all right.’
For some days French’s anxiety remained acute, then gradually subsided as one item of information after another came in.
In the case of Buller the final proof of guilt was given by the discovery of his purchase of the chains in which the body of Barke was wrapped. Buller had made the mistake of having the chain cut into four pieces: probably because he could not otherwise have carried it. This fixed his personality on the salesman’s mind, with the result that in the time-honoured manner he picked out first his customer’s portrait from French’s gallery and later the man himself from an identification parade.
A somewhat longer shot on similar lines brought the evidence French wanted, in the case of Davenport. A search of his studio showed no photographic method for making rubber impressions, but did bring to light mechanical apparatus for engraving the rubber in straight lines and circles. It seemed to French, therefore, that Davenport could have made all of the Boulogne stamp except the lettering. Accordingly he had inquiries made as to the purchase of rubber letters. From three shops in the City he had answers. At these a man, identified in two of them as Davenport, had called on the morning of Thursday, 14 March, bringing no less than five samples of lettering and asking if similar letters could be supplied. Between the three they made up the required fonts. What specially pleased French was that Davenport had also obtained two E’s with acute accents. These of course he would have wanted for the words ‘Spécial’ and ‘Débarquement’. He had also obtained certain numerals. In most cases the salesman remembered the type chosen, and when French saw that these were similar to those used on the Boulogne stamp, he felt he need go no further.
But though he believed this purchase of letters would give him all the proof he needed, it turned out that he was able—or Dieulot was able for him—to obtain something even more satisfying. Dieulot, feeling that so far French detection had not scintillated with the brilliancy of English, had gone out to Le Bourget and interviewed the clerk who had handed over the suitcases to ‘Roland Brand’. By dint of judicious suggestion he had so stimulated the man’s memory that he suddenly declared that he recalled ‘Brand’. A telephone conversation with French followed, and that afternoon the clerk flew over to London, and at a parade in Brixton prison unhesitatingly picked out Davenport as the man.
At the ensuing trial defending counsel made a brilliant fight for his clients’ lives, but the weight of evidence amassed by French was overwhelming, and both men’ received the supreme sentence of the law. During the trial the arson was proved up to the hilt, so that Shaw and his company were well satisfied with the result. Buller accepted his fate, but Davenport appealed on the ground that he was overborne by his stronger partner. This plea failed, and at the end both men met their death bravely.
When he saw that nothing could save him, Davenport made a confession which cleared up the one or two points of which French was still in doubt.
It appeared that the conspiracy was deeper and more deliberate than even French had imagined. Buller and Davenport had been in the same set in Chicago, and as both desired expensive pleasures and neither could afford them, both were chronically hard up. One night they were playing in a friend’s rooms, when Buller, having taken more than was good for him, plumped wildly and lost to his friend more than he could pay. Davenport had not pressed for the money, though he had used the debt as a lever to force Buller into helping him in one or two small swindles, which, however, they had managed to keep secret. Davenport had always paid Butler his agreed share in these adventures and the partnership had grown strong and intimate.
Then came Buller’s legacy. He received the news with mixed feelings. He had grown fond of America and had no desire to return to England, while English society and the life of an English county magnate were anathema to him. What he wanted was money. The bars of luxury cruising liners and of palace hotels at Miami or Palm Beach were what really drew him, and from the very beginning his only idea was to change his inheritance into cash.
In all this Davenport, the stronger spirit of the two, saw a heaven-sent opportunity. He declared that if Buller would let him in on the thing to a strictly limited extent, he would forget the debt and do all in his power to help in the turning of the estate into money. Buller, who wanted a companion and really liked Davenport, agreed readily enough. They set off together from America, booking their passages on the Nicarian.
Buller, however, had foreseen the difficulties which might arise through death duties and lack of purchasers, and it was then, before ever they left their rooms in Chicago, that Davenport suggested arson. It was, he advised, only to be treated as a last resource. If the place could be turned into money legally, so much the better. But if honest methods failed, they would burn down the house, collect the insurance, cut their losses on the land, and clear out with the swag.
At first Buller demurred, but the stronger Davenport talked him over, and having done so, took charge of the proceedings. It was he who decreed that from the very beginning precautions against suspicion should be taken. Thus, their association was to remain unknown in England, so that Davenport could the better help on the good work. Buller was to arrive enthusiastic to see and take over the property, and to let it be known that he intended to settle down at Forde Manor and take his share in the life of the community. It was for this reason that he was so anxious to engage Betty, whose presence at the Manor would, he felt, help on the deception. Davenport was to account for himself by taking a studio in London and continuing his painting, and they were to meet secretly as occasion offered to discuss subsequent steps.
The first of these steps was naturally to increase the insurance on the property, and both believed that Buller had done this without giving rise to suspicion. Then occurred the first of the difficulties which Buller had foreseen. The death duties really bad robbed him of sufficient cash to carry on.
At this point they made their fundamental mistake. Davenport suggested the picture substitution, to which, against his better judgement. Buller agreed. Davenport’s motive was sheer greed. He knew that he could sell the originals at reasonably good prices to collectors who would ask no questions, but who would understand enough of what they were doing to keep the transactions secret for a year or two—at least until he and Buller had vanished, and taken on new personalities. It was a risk of course, but every picture done meant thousands of pounds more for the conspirators. As confirmatory evidence of the cleanings, should such be required, Davenport took three pictures over to his old masters in Paris, ostensibly for consultation as to the best way of carrying out the work. Incidentally this fact was afterwards used to supply a motive for Davenport’s visit to Paris to help with the carrying out of the murder.
When Buller reached the Manor after the fire he met the manager of the Thames & Tyne and discussed the loss of the pictures without mentioning the substitutions. Naturally he later asked questions as to visitors to the galleries, and when he heard that Barke had seen the pictures on the day before the fire, he realized that danger threatened. That Wednesday evening he had a long discussion with Davenport. Their problem was whether to confess the substitutions to the Thames & Tyne, thus losing some £25,000 and inevitably arousing suspicion of arson, or in some way to silence Barke. Buller was for the former, Davenport for the latter, and as always, the stronger personality won.
The details of the murder were practically as French had surmised. Davenport worked most of the Wednesday night at his passport stamp, obtaining the necessary type to complete it on Thursday morning. He had foreseen the possibility of rubber stamps being needed to forge official documents in connection with their fraud, and had adopted the scheme for testing woodblock work as a screen for such activities. This suggested the faking of the passport. The lunch with Barke was that day, and Davenport left for Paris in the afternoon.
Next morning Buller met Barke at Victoria and told him that one of the cleaned pictures had escaped the fire. It had just arrived from M. Picoux in Paris and was in his workshop. He wanted Barke to inspect it before interviewing Picoux, explaining that the delay would be trifling, as they could go on by the next service. Barke was quite willing, but asked where was Vincent? Buller said he had crossed on the previous night.
They drove towards Forde Manor, Barke sitting in front with Buller. When crossing Ockham Common near the lake, a place practically deserted at that time of the year, Buller looked both ways, saw that no one was in sight, glanced out of Barke’s side window, cried, ‘Why, there’s Relf! Can you attract his attention?’ and stopped the car. Barke turned his back towards his companion to look for the elusive caretaker. Buller, seizing a lead pipe which he had covered with a soft cloth, struck, killing his victim instantaneously. Buller then backed the car in among the trees, took the outer clothes off the body, and put it in the boot, as French had suggested. This was the only real risk he ran, but he could not see how to avoid it.
That night Buller drove down to Forde Manor, entering by the back drive gate, and parking among the pines near the lake. On the Thursday he had bought the chain. Hiring another car, he had that night taken it down to the lake at Forde and hidden it in the water near the boathouse. He now wrapped it round the body, and taking out the dinghy, dropped the body into the water. Then during the remainder of the night he feigned sleep on Ockham Common.
Two matters alone remain to be mentioned. The first was the congratulations received by French from Sir Mortimer Ellison himself, ending up, ‘You’ll be glad to be done with trips to Paris and such nonsense and to get back to your beloved East End slums,’ for which French dutifully grinned his appreciation.
The second matter was that Betty Stanton’s book proved, if not a best, at least a very good seller, and with delight she signed an agreement to give her publisher the first refusal of her next three efforts. Agatha Barke wishing to leave London, the two women settled down together near San Remo, at which place the subsequent masterpieces were to achieve birth.