David Henderson sat at his desk correcting the history essays of the Lower Fifth. Occasionally he chuckled at some outrageous pronouncement about the habits of the Hanovers, periodically he sighed over some howler of grammar or punctuation. From time to time he made antiseptic marginal notes with a blue pencil. On the whole, however, he found the history essays more entertaining than his new library book. He had decided on the subject for the next essay: “America’s Influence as a World Power”. That should be really entertaining.
“It was a funny thing, but the King of France at that time could only just talk French.…” Mortimer Campbell had penned in a spidery hand. Funny indeed, thought Henderson. He was just sharpening his blue pencil for another onslaught when Mrs. Williams poked her head round the door. “Mr. Ford’s here and would like to see you, sir,” she announced.
Henderson looked up. “Mr. Ford?”
“Yes, sir. Could you spare him a few minutes?”
“Of course. Ask him to come in, will you?”
Ford smiled cheerfully at Henderson as they shook hands. “I hope I’m not disturbing you when you’re busy,” said the inspector.
“Not at all,” said Henderson. “When I’m correcting history essays a respite is very welcome.”
Ford grinned. “I can believe that, sir,” he said. “Got to Roger’s yet?”
“That,” said Henderson, “is a pleasure in store for me. Oh, and before I forget—Roger’s expecting you on Thursday morning. Seven o’clock.”
“I’ll be there. How’s the boy getting on?”
“First rate. A bit shaky on Latin, though.”
“Can’t see that Latin matters much,” observed Ford. “All I know is Habeas Corpus and that’s served me all right since I’ve been a policeman.”
“Frankly, I agree with you,” said Henderson. “But not a word to Roger. Incidentally, was it about Roger you came to see me?”
“Well, no, sir, it wasn’t. I expect you’ve heard about the murder on the houseboat.”
Henderson said: “Yes, indeed I have. So they’ve put you in charge of that, have they?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“And you think I can help you solve it? Detection’s not much in my line, I’m afraid.”
“It’s mostly a matter of common sense,” said Ford modestly. “Now, sir. The murdered man was an Italian, name of Paul Rocello. He came from Venice. I seem to remember you telling me that you’d spent some time in Italy—Venice, I believe you said, sir.”
“Yes, I was in Italy from April ’44 until December ’ 46,” said Henderson. He sounded mildly surprised. “Why d’you ask?”
“I just wondered if you’d heard of the name Rocello whilst you were in Venice?”
Henderson looked amused. “Venice is a very large place, Inspector.”
“I suppose it is, sir. I just thought it might be a common name in those parts.”
“It very probably is,” said Henderson. “I’m afraid I’m not being terribly helpful, Inspector. Try me with something else.”
Ford smiled. “This might be more your line of country.” He produced a piece of paper from his pocket. “This inscription was written on the back of the dead man’s wristlet watch. All I know is that it’s in Latin. But the standard of Latin in the police force is—er—not of the highest. So perhaps you’d translate it for us.”
Henderson took the piece of paper and looked at it. “Let’s see, now,” he said. “ ‘Suavitor in modo, fortiter in re.’ Damned if my own Latin isn’t a bit rusty—my principal function is to instil the rudiments of English into these vandals, you know. But I think I can manage this one for you. It means ‘gentle in the manner, but vigorous in the deed’.”
“ ‘Gentle in the manner, but vigorous in the deed,’ eh?” said Ford grimly. “Very appropriate, in the circumstances. The murderer was certainly vigorous in the deed, all right. He smashed the poor devil’s face in.” He took the piece of paper from Henderson. “Many thanks, Mr. Henderson. Sorry to have troubled you.”
“Any time, Inspector,” said Henderson. “An intriguing case, I should think.”
“That’s putting it mildly, sir,” said Ford. He picked up his hat. “At the moment the nigger in the woodpile seems to be Cooper, the owner of the houseboat. A real mystery man. Everyone in these parts thought he was a solicitor and worked for a firm called Dawson, Wyman and Clewes.”
“And doesn’t he?”
“They’ve never heard of him.”
“So that makes him Suspect Number One, does it?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, sir,” said Ford cautiously.
“Oh, come, Inspector. A bogus solicitor who disappears? I’d call that highly suspicious. Not that it’s any business of mine, of course.”
Pulling my leg a bit, thought Ford. Probably thinks policemen never have a sense of humour when they’re working on a case. He grinned suddenly.
“Shall we say, sir, that ‘he’s a man the police think may be able to help them in their inquiries’. That’s the expression we always keep for the press.” He looked at his watch. “I must be getting along. Perhaps you’d be good enough to keep what I’ve told you about Cooper to yourself.”
“Yes, of course. Well, good luck to you, Inspector. I’m glad you’re investigating this case and not me.”
As he moved towards the door Ford said: “We’re not doing badly so far. A girl called Katherine Walters—she’s Doctor Sheldon’s niece—happened to be on the river on Thursday afternoon and saw a car drive up to the houseboat.”
Henderson realized that Ford was watching him closely. He gathered up a small pile of exercise books.
“Did anyone get out of the car?” he inquired casually.
“No, but she saw someone get into it.”
Henderson seemed immersed in sorting the books into the correct order.
“Have you any idea who it was?” he asked.
“We don’t know,” Ford admitted. “She says she saw a man on the deck of the houseboat.”
Henderson added another couple of books to the pile.
“That increases the suspects to three,” he said slowly. “I reckon you’ll pick the right one, Inspector.”
“I am sure we shall, sir.”
At the door he shook hands. “It’s been good to see you again, sir.” The friendly note had returned to his voice.
“I’ll tell Roger I’ve seen you,” said Henderson.
He stood in the doorway until the stocky figure had disappeared, then he returned to his desk. Mortimer Campbell’s exercise book was still open. “On the whole the Hanovers were a poorish lot.…” Picking up his blue pencil again he read on. Then he lit his pipe and sat back in his chair. He was thinking about Cooper.…
The next morning Doctor Sheldon drove his car to the main entrance of Rockingham College. Katherine Walters was with him.
“This won’t take a minute, my dear,” said Sheldon. He picked up his bag and got out of the car.
“Who’s ill?” inquired Katherine.
“I’ve just got to stick a needle in the Bursar.”
“How brutal,” murmured Katherine. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Hay fever. The poor chap’s a martyr to it. I don’t know which he hates most, the injection or the hay fever. Won’t be a minute.”
The Bursar was stout, fiftyish and red-faced. He was always inclined to be liverish in the morning. Touch of blood pressure to go with the hay fever, diagnosed Sheldon. Too fat, never takes any exercise and worries too much.
The Bursar eyed Sheldon balefully over his desk. “It beats me, Doctor,” he said, “why you medical men can’t cure a simple thing like hay fever without diggin’ blasted needles into a feller.”
“Well, we can,” prevaricated Sheldon, searching in his bag for a hypodermic, “but it takes longer. Now, would you mind rolling up your sleeve? A little higher, please. That’s right.…”
“Well, that’s that,” said Sheldon as he got back into the driving seat. He started the engine and drove slowly through the school grounds.
As they approached the tennis courts Katherine looked idly at two men who had obviously just finished a game. One of them waved to Sheldon who returned the greeting. Katherine looked at the man again and seized her uncle’s arm. “That man,” she said urgently. “Who is he?”
Sheldon looked at her curiously. “Which one?”
“The one you just waved to—the taller one.”
“That was David Henderson, one of the housemasters. Delightful chap. Why all the agitation?”
“You mean he’s a housemaster at Rockingham?” said Katherine slowly.
“That’s right. Where else could he be a housemaster?” The doctor chuckled at his own joke, but there was no answering smile on Katherine’s face. “Look, what on earth’s the matter, my dear? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“I’m not sure that I haven’t,” said Katherine. “You see, David Henderson is the man I saw on the deck of the houseboat.…”
Sheldon laughed. “You must have made a mistake.”
“I’m quite sure; I’d know that man anywhere,” she asserted.
Sheldon took his attention from the road ahead for a moment and looked at her.
“You could have made a mistake at that distance. This is serious, you know. It means getting in touch with the inspector right away.”
Inspector Ford came into the drawing-room through the french windows. He looked fresh, alert, and determined.
“Good morning, Doctor,” said Ford briskly. He smiled at Katherine. “Hallo, Miss Walters.”
“Hallo, Inspector,” said Sheldon. He looked distinctly unhappy and Ford raised his eyebrows.
“I got your message and came round right away,” said Ford. “Anything wrong, sir?”
“Well, something rather disturbing has happened. This morning Miss Walters and I were driving through the school grounds—I’d been treating the Bursar for hay fever—and we passed two of the staff. I—er—really don’t know—” Sheldon broke off and looked at Katherine and then at Ford.
“I recognized one of them,” interposed Katherine. “The man I saw on the houseboat last Thursday.”
“One of the masters, eh?” queried Ford, betraying no sign of surprise.
“I’m sure there must be some mistake,” put in Sheldon hastily. Ford waved him aside.
“You know the man’s name, Miss Walters?”
“My uncle says it’s a Mr. Henderson.”
A tiny jerk of the lower jaw gave Ford away.
“Henderson?” he repeated blankly. “But that’s absurd. It couldn’t have been Henderson.”
“But it was,” insisted Katherine.
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Absolutely.”
For a moment Ford appeared to have been shocked into silence and immobility. Sheldon said: “When Katherine told me I didn’t know what to do. At first I thought I ought to speak to Henderson about it. You see, he happens to be a good friend of mine and I didn’t want him to think——”
“I hope you didn’t speak to him,” said Ford.
“No, as a matter of fact I didn’t. Katherine advised me not to.”
“That was good advice, Miss Walters,” said Ford.
“You think I made a mistake, don’t you, Inspector? You don’t think it was Henderson I saw.”
Ford rubbed the side of his nose. He looked worried. “Frankly, Miss Walters, I don’t know what to think. On the face of it there seems every reason to suppose that it was Henderson. I don’t mind telling you that this news has come as a great shock to me——” he broke off to look at Doctor Sheldon— “well, you know what I think of Henderson, Doctor. If it hadn’t been for his coaching my boy would never have got that scholarship to Rockingham. Roger owes everything to him. And now this——” He looked almost appealingly at Katherine.
“I’m awfully sorry,” the girl said, “I really am. But I’m afraid I didn’t make a mistake. It definitely was Henderson that I saw on the houseboat.”
“Of course, there may be a perfectly simple explanation,” said Sheldon.
Ford emitted a heavy sigh. “I sincerely hope so, sir. What puzzles me is that I was talking to Henderson about the murder only yesterday. He never said he knew Cooper.”
“Did you ask him?”
“No. But it seems odd that he never mentioned him.” He rose from his chair and reached for his hat. “This is a very odd sort of case altogether.”
“Possibly Henderson went to the houseboat to see Cooper but found he was out,” suggested Sheldon.
“Possibly he did, sir,” said Ford quietly. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that he must have been on the houseboat after the murder had been committed. In that case he could hardly have failed to have seen the body.”
“I still think Henderson will produce some perfectly logical explanation for being there,” said the doctor. “It’s absolutely fantastic that he should be connected with a murder.”
“I agree with you, sir,” said Ford, “and I very much hope you’re right.” He turned to Katherine. “I take it you’re staying down here for some little time?”
“Certainly for the next week or two.”
Ford said: “I’ll keep in touch with you.” He smiled briefly; a wry smile in which there was little humour. “I’m afraid you’re both what are commonly known as material witnesses.”
Ford wore a worried frown as he walked away from Doctor Sheldon’s house. He was not looking forward to his forthcoming interview with Henderson. Henderson, he realized ruefully, had temporarily ceased to be a close and respected friend. Until he gave a satisfactory account of his movements on the previous Thursday he was an official entry in Inspector Ford’s notebook. With the best will in the world Ford could not regard him as anything else except a suspect.
Ford’s frown deepened as he got into the waiting police car. On the way home he thought briefly of his wife, dead these three years, and the motherless son who showed such promise. David Henderson alone had been instrumental in getting Roger into Rockingham. In his own time he had encouraged, coaxed and cajoled the boy towards the scholarship. Without Henderson’s help Roger would probably have found himself pounding the beat in five years time, just as he, Detective-Inspector Michael Ford had done. Now, he had no alternative but to add Henderson to the list of suspects in the houseboat murder. But the job had to be done. He would have to question Henderson as he had questioned hundreds of other suspected criminals. He would check his movements, test his alibis and probe the innermost recesses of his mind with all the professional skill at his command.
But the thing’s crazy, he thought irritably. As Sheldon had said, Henderson must have an explanation for his movements.
But the nagging doubt persisted. What had Henderson been doing on the houseboat? How could a housemaster at Rockingham College be involved in the murder of an unknown Italian?
The police car drew up outside the gate of his house. The driver was concerned: usually old Mike Ford had a cheery greeting, a word about the missis and the kids, an observation or two about the Test Match, the Budget, police pay or dangerous motor-cyclists. But today he’d sat hunched up in his seat without so much as a word. Worrying case, probably. These plain-clothes men got a bit more pay and perks but taken by and large the uniform branch was a lot less trouble.
“Anything else, sir?” said the driver.
“No, that’s the lot, Barker.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Afternoon, Barker.”
The driver watched Ford, shoulders hunched, fit his latch-key and vanish through the front door. As he engaged first gear and pointed the nose of the car towards headquarters, he wondered vaguely what new headache the inspector could have run up against in the murder case.
At the end of each term David Henderson was called upon to produce a brief word-picture of the sixty-five boys in his house. Frequently, he reflected, he was kinder on paper to many of the boys than they deserved. About Stanton Minor, for instance, a flabby and spotty youth who shirked all games and was perpetually gorging himself on chocolate he had written “he would benefit considerably from more physical exercise.” That, he considered, must be the understatement of the year. He was just debating in his mind whether to be more truthful about young Wentworth when the telephone rang.
Henderson laid down his pen and picked up the receiver. “Hallo?” he said.
The voice at the other end said: “This is Cooper. Are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone. You can talk.”
Cooper’s voice had a note of urgency in it. “Henderson, listen—I’ve got to see you at once. It’s very urgent.”
“What’s happened?”
“I can’t tell you over the telephone. Is your housekeeper away, by any chance?”
Henderson said: “Yes, she’s in London. She won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Good,” said Cooper. “I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”
Henderson replaced the receiver thoughtfully. He would have preferred to concentrate upon the reports this evening and avoid Cooper and his problems which were always so urgent and distracting.
However, when he went to open the front door a few minutes later, it was even more disturbing to see not Cooper but Inspector Ford standing there.
Ford looked serious and worried. He looked at Henderson through slightly narrowed eyes. His tone was friendly but guarded. He said: “I couldn’t make Mrs. Williams hear so I came straight up. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Henderson.” He’s got his official face on, thought Henderson; it’s all the same to him whether I mind or not. Here comes another interrogation.
But Henderson greeted Ford as one man greets another when he pays an unexpected social call. “Delighted to see you any time, Inspector, you know that. As a matter of fact I’ve got some rather good news for you.”
“Really, sir?” Ford’s tone implied that he was unlikely to be receptive to good news.
“I was talking to the Head this morning,” continued Henderson amiably. “He seems to have a good opinion of Roger—an opinion that I share, I may say. He suggests that we move him up a form next term.”
“Good,” said Ford shortly.
“Well, I think it’s good,” said Henderson. “I only hope Roger is more impressed by the news than you seem to be.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t come here to talk about my son,” said Ford.
“Oh? Then what did you come to talk about?”
Ford sat down rather heavily. “It’s rather in the nature of an official visit.”
“I see.” Henderson raised his eyebrows. “I hope I’m not suspected of anything. I’m really painfully respectable.” He smiled benignly at the inspector but the humour of the situation was evidently lost on Ford.
“Better get it off your chest, Inspector,” he suggested. “If you’re going to ruin my reputation, I’d sooner know the worst at once.”
“Shall we be serious, Mr. Henderson?” said Ford quietly.
“By all means, Inspector.”
Ford’s expression had softened a little. He said: “I’ve always regarded you as a friend of mine. Indeed, since my wife died you’ve been an exceptionally good friend.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you to say so, Inspector,” said Henderson. “I might even go so far as to say that I’ve always regarded you as one.”
“I shall never be able to thank you enough for what you did for Roger.”
“Forget it, my dear fellow. I’d have done the same for anyone else. Now, what about this official visit of yours?”
Ford did not answer for a second. At length he said: “I find myself in the unpleasant position of having to ask you a few questions, sir.”
“Why unpleasant?”
“Last time I asked you about a man called Rocello.”
“So you did. What about him?”
“You said you’d never heard of him.”
“A reasonable enough thing to say. I never have.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Perfectly sure.”
Ford sighed. He said in a quiet and faintly hurt voice: “Mr. Henderson, why didn’t you tell me that you visited that houseboat?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
Ford’s mouth tightened. He was almost certain now that Henderson was holding something back. “We discussed the murder at some length,” he reminded him, and there was an edge to his voice now. “You asked me questions about it and I gave you all the details.”
“Now, just a minute, Inspector! You merely told me what I already knew. What I’d read in the newspapers.”
“I appreciate that,” said Ford. “What I want to know is why didn’t you tell me what you knew? Why no mention of your visit to the houseboat?”
Henderson was unshakeably urbane. “What makes you think I did visit the houseboat?”
“Because someone saw you on it.”
“Then someone made a mistake.”
“Miss Walters was most definite that it was you she saw, sir.”
“Miss Walters, whoever she is, made a mistake. I’m sorry, Inspector, but you’re questioning the wrong man. I’ve never heard of anyone called Rocello and I’ve never set foot on that houseboat.” Henderson smiled apologetically. “Very sorry, but there it is. Wish I could be more helpful.”
He thought: “I’ve got to get rid of him before Cooper turns up. It’s absolutely imperative.” At that moment a car’s headlights flickered across the window.
“Of course,” said Henderson, “Miss Walters could have seen me in Medlow.”
“So you went into Medlow that afternoon?”
With any luck, thought Henderson, Cooper will realize there’s someone with me and will wait. “I’m sorry, Inspector. You were saying——?”
With his usual all-embracing patience Ford said: “I asked you if you did go to Medlow that afternoon, sir.”
Henderson said: “Yes, as a matter of fact I did.”
“May I ask what you were doing there?”
“Of course you may. I went to get my hair cut.”
Ford raised his eyebrows. “At Taylor’s?”
“Er—yes. That’s right, Taylor’s.”
Ford slowly shook his head. He looked reproachfully at Henderson. “No, sir. Not Taylor’s.”
“Not Taylor’s?”
“Not Taylor’s, sir.”
Henderson grinned. Thank God Cooper seemed to have taken the hint. He said: “Looks as though I’ll have to think again, doesn’t it? But I could have sworn it was Taylor’s. That other chap always sends you away looking like a convict. I went there once, but never again. Reminds me of when——”
“Mr. Henderson,” said Ford with an italicized effort at patience, “shall we be perfectly frank with each other?”
“By all means, Inspector.”
“Miss Walters told me that she’d seen you near High Tor—that’s the name of the houseboat. I made certain inquiries and found out that you didn’t actually take your car into Medlow, but parked it in a field about a quarter of a mile from the houseboat.” Ford looked at Henderson searchingly. “Well, am I right, sir?”
Henderson thought for a moment. He said: “I had no idea I was near the houseboat. But you’re quite right about the car. I had a petrol stoppage or something, so I parked it and walked the rest of the way.”
“All the way into Medlow?”
“That’s right. After all, it isn’t far.”
Disbelief was mirrored sharply in Ford’s face. “I’m afraid that won’t do, sir,” he said sternly, “I made further inquiries in Medlow—at the library, the post office, the cinema and most of the shops and garages. No one had seen you.”
“No one?” inquired Henderson.
“No one.”
“Not even Miss Walters?”
The inspector sighed. “As I’ve already said, sir, Miss Walters saw you leaving the houseboat.”
“Either Miss Walters imagined the whole thing or she needs glasses,” said Henderson unconcernedly.
Ford stood up. He looked hard at Henderson. He’ll worry at this damned case like a terrier at a bone, said Henderson to himself.
“I don’t think Miss Walters imagined it,” said Ford quietly. “We’ll find out if she needs glasses. Good night, Mr. Henderson.”
“Good night, Inspector,” said Henderson. “Don’t forget Roger Thursday morning. Seven o’clock.”
“I’ll be there,” said Ford. He gave Henderson a final, searching look and went out of the room.
Henderson went to the sideboard and mixed himself a rather larger whisky and soda than usual. He was just splashing in the soda when a voice from the door said: “You might pour me one, too.” Henderson looked round and saw James Cooper.
Cooper was a shortish, dapper man of about fifty. In spite of his somewhat insignificant stature he had an undoubted presence. He was neat, almost pernickety in his dress. He had iron grey hair and very piercing pale blue eyes. One could not imagine a situation from which Cooper would not emerge smart, brisk and confident. From time to time Henderson wondered a little about Cooper—a process, he thought wryly, that would get him precisely nowhere. Cooper was not given to talking about himself.
Henderson handed a drink to Cooper who sipped it appreciatively. Cooper took a slim cigarette case from his pocket and snapped his lighter. All his movements were definite and efficient. “Who was your friend?” he inquired.
“That,” said Henderson significantly, “was Detective-Inspector Ford.”
“Oh, was it?” said Cooper. He continued to sip his drink and smoke unconcernedly. His voice, like his face, was quite expressionless.
“Did he see you, d’you think?” asked Henderson.
“No. I spotted his car and drove round the back.”
“Just as well. Your appearance at that moment would have required a little explaining.”
“I take it,” said Cooper equably, “that something must have gone wrong.”
“Somewhat,” said Henderson. “Someone saw me leaving the houseboat on Thursday afternoon.”
Cooper registered neither surprise, alarm or concern. He merely said: “Who?”
“Her name’s Walters.”
“Katherine Walters?”
“That’s right.”
“And she’s staying with Doctor Sheldon?”
“Yes,” said Henderson. “You seem to know quite a lot about the young woman.”
“I know a little,” replied Cooper enigmatically. “Miss Walters is the reason that I’ve come to see you.”
“I don’t quite understand, Cooper. What——?”
“Have you met her?”
“No. I know Doctor Sheldon, of course. But why all the interest in Miss Walters?”
Cooper said casually: “Two weeks ago she was in Venice.”
Henderson, his glass half-way to his lips, started. “In Venice, did you say?”
“That’s what I said.”
Henderson drank some whisky and soda. “Well, that’s a concidence.”
“Is it?” said Cooper. “I wonder.”
“What else d’you know about this girl?”
Cooper ignored the question; instead he said: “You say that she saw you on the houseboat?”
“Yes.”
“But you’ve never actually seen her?”
“Never, as far as I know.”
“And as a result of seeing you she told Inspector Ford?”
“Exactly.”
Cooper looked thoughtful. “Is Sheldon your doctor, by any chance?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact I went to see him about a month ago. I had a spot of muscular trouble in my shoulder.”
“Excellent,” said Cooper. “I suggest you manufacture a slight recurrence of that trouble.”
“What exactly d’you mean?”
Cooper said quietly, “I mean that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on Miss Walters.” The thin lips twitched momentarily into the semblance of a smile. “A pleasant enough duty, I should imagine.…”