CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Francis Hammerton, standing the following morning in the dock of the Magistrates’ Court, heard himself charged, in the name of Harold Vaughan, with the wilful murder of William Rabone, together with some further offences of subordinate but sufficiently serious character.

He heard Inspector Combridge give formal evidence of his arrest, after which Mr. Dunkover, who had been briefed for the Crown, rose and said that he did not propose to call further evidence. He asked for a week’s remand.

The magistrate, Mr. Garrison, looked at the solicitor to the accused: “Any objection, Mr. Jellipot?”

Mr. Jellipot replied in a hesitant manner. He lacked the carrying voice and the confident demeanour of the advocate who is accustomed to practise in the criminal courts. Mr. Garrison, who had occupied his seat of office for twenty years with an ever-increasing reputation, both for good law and good sense, and for an occasional witticism which might even be considered worthy of repetition by the American press, had a moment’s doubt as to whether the prisoner could be considered fortunate in the solicitor he had instructed.

“It is an application,” Mr. Jellipot said, with a slow formality, and in the tone of one who advises a client on an intricate point of law, “which I cannot resist. But I must ask you to allow me to express the reluctance with which I agree, my client being anxious to meet and repudiate the charge which has been made against him at the first possible moment.”

Mr. Garrison, looking keenly at the speaker, was inclined to a revision of his first opinion. He decided that Mr. Jellipot might be more sheep-like than leonine in his aspect, but that he was a sheep who might stand his ground in a very obstinate way. The manner might be diffident, but there was a fighting quality in the words which did not suggest that there would be any lack of confidence in the way in which the prisoner’s defence would be set up.

“Very well,” he said. “Ten a.m. on the thirteenth. That convenient?”

He glanced at Mr. Dunkover, who half rose, and bowed. Francis felt a warder’s hand on his arm. He was hurried from the dock to make way for a costermonger whose barrow was alleged to have obstructed the Park Lane traffic....

An hour later, Inspector Combridge was received by Sir Reginald Crowe in his private office.

“I’ve got some rather interesting information for you,” the banker said, “but before we go into that I think I ought to tell you that I’ve just had Jellipot on the phone, and I’ve asked him to come here as quickly as he can.... The fact is that he says he’s sure you’ve got the wrong man.”

If Inspector Combridge felt any pleasure in hearing this, he concealed it successfully. He knew Mr. Jellipot, with whom he had been associated previously in a very difficult and dangerous case. He liked him personally, and respected his abilities. But that did not alter the fact that they were now on opposite sides, and he was not one who would allow personal friendships to impede his duty, or deflect his judgement. He knew that Sir Reginald was always more likely than not to take the unusual course; but, to his mind, the fact that he was personally acquainted with the accused’s lawyer was a particular reason why they should not meet to discuss the case in unofficial ways.

He replied cautiously: “Well, of course, he’s got to say that.”

“So he has. But in this case you can take it from me that it’s what he really believes. I may say he’s sure. Anyhow, he’s willing to give you some facts that you wouldn’t be likely to get so easily or completely in other ways.”

“Of course, I’ll listen.... I know you wouldn’t lead me up the wrong path.... He’ll have to say what he thinks wise at his own risk.... We’ve found out a few things ourselves.”

“Traced Miss Jones?”

“Not yet. But we soon shall. It seems probable that she was one of the gang, even if she didn’t have any part in the actual crime. From her description, it’s practically certain that it was she who got the cheque-book from the bank that we found in Vaughan’s pocket. She used a note that’s certainly forged, though we haven’t had time to follow that up yet. I’ve sent a man to interview a Mr. Hammerton, in whose name it was obtained, and I shall know more about that before the day’s over.”

Sir Reginald looked amused. He controlled an expression the Inspector did not enjoy, to ask: “You think that Vaughan and the girl were both members of a forging gang?”

“That’s how it looks. We know something about Vaughan’s character and associates from the conviction we’ve obtained against him already. We don’t know anything about the girl yet, except this cheque-book business, and the way she escaped.... By the way, there was one cheque gone from the book. If it’s been used, we may get some help from that.”

Sir Reginald smiled openly. “I think you’ll find that it has.... You say you know how the girl escaped, if that’s the right word to use?”

Inspector Combridge, being very far from a fool, saw that Sir Reginald must know more of these matters than he had yet said; but he suppressed a slight and not unnatural feeling of annoyance. It was his business to get at the truth, from whatever source, and whatever it might prove to be. He did not doubt that the banker would give him all the help he could, in his own way. But he was human enough to wish to show that he had his own sources of information, and that he had already learnt some things of which Sir Reginald might not be aware.

“Yes,” he answered. “We know how she got away, or, at least, we’re practically sure; and it’s that that seems to show what she really is.

“There’s a house nearby—four doors away—where there’s a lodger in whom we’ve been interested for a long time past, and by scratches on the roof and windows, and other signs, it’s evident that people have been in and out between the two places, probably more than once.

“You’ll probably find, before we’ve finished, that that’s why Rabone chose to lodge in an attic room.... But you’ll see that, if the girl knew the way to escape to that house, it’s a black mark against her.”

“Have you any proof that she did?”

“There’s the open window in her room, and the fact that she must have gone by the roof, because there was no other way. And—beyond that—there’s another lodger—not the man we’re after—one on a lower floor—who heard footsteps going down the stairs during the night that sounded to him too light for those of a man.”

“I can see you haven’t been losing time.... Inspector, we’re going to help each other quite a lot in this matter.

“...I’ve got a witness for you myself, a Miss Weston, with a tale you’ll be quite interested to hear.... But Jellipot may be at the door any moment now, and before he comes I’ve got something to show you that bears on the crime—if such it were—from another angle.”

Sir Reginald took a letter from his desk, and passed it over to the Inspector.

“That,” he said, “appears to have been written by Rabone less than two days ago. It was received by our General Manager yesterday. It isn’t conclusive, of course. But read in the light of the investigation we were making, and of his death or suicide a few hours after it was written—”

“It wasn’t suicide. That’s certain.”

“Very well. Murder.”

The Inspector’s attention was already concentrated upon the letter. He read:

DEAR SIR,

In reference to the recent forgeries which have caused, and are still causing, so much loss to the Bank, I should be obliged if you would grant me a private interview, at which I could place certain facts before you.

Yours faithfully,

WILLIAM RABONE

Inspector Combridge considered this document carefully.

“As it reads,” he asked, “might it not be the letter of an honest man, who had made certain discoveries in the course of his work, by which his suspicions had been aroused?”

“Yes, on the face of it, so it might. No doubt, that is intended to read. But he would hardly have asked for a private interview with the General Manager under such circumstances. He would have included it in his ordinary report, or perhaps communicated direct with the Committee which has this investigation in hand. Or, had it been a case of urgency, he would not have proceeded by letter at all. He would have come here at once.”

Before the Inspector could discuss these aspects of the matter, Mr. Jellipot was announced.