‘Now,’ said French, coming to a halt on the footpath, ‘Let’s see what we’ve to do still. We’ve got to see Minter’s doctor and we’ve got to find that blessed taxi. Which shall we do first?’
‘The doctor lives in this street, sir,’ Carter answered. ‘I asked the maid.’
‘Good!’ French approved. ‘Let’s get the doctor off our hands.’
A hundred yards farther on a brass plate gleamed across the road. They went over and read: ‘J. Mortimer Fotherby-Wentworth, M.D.’ Another five minutes and they were in the doctor’s consulting room, asking for information as to the state of the late Minter’s health.
Dr Fotherby-Wentworth, however, had little new to tell them, beyond the technical name for the deceased’s malady. He confirmed the statements already made to French about the attacks, their severity, symptoms, and duration.
‘Can you tell me whether the deceased was accustomed to use aspirin?’ French went on.
The doctor shook his head. ‘If you mean, did I order it to him, I did not. But you know as well as I do, chief-inspector, that many people use it without asking their doctor. Whether he did or not, I don’t know.’
This being all they seemed likely to learn, they took their leave. ‘Let’s get on to that garage,’ French said. ‘Where is the place?’
Inquiries from a passing postman and a five minutes walk brought them to Nuttall’s garage, and a short further delay ran Mr Nuttall, the proprietor, to earth. French showed him his official card and was promptly invited into the office.
‘I’m anxious, Mr Nuttall,’ he began, ‘to trace a taxi which took the late Mr Minter of “Rapallo,” Peacehaven Avenue to Waterloo on last Saturday evening. I understand Mr Minter dealt with you, and I have called to ask if you did the job?’
Nuttall looked up uneasily. ‘Yes, we did it. Nothing wrong, I hope?’
‘Not a thing,’ French assured him. ‘The matter concerns the late Mr Minter only. We want to know if he made any calls on his way to the station.’
Nuttall nodded, opened a book, and began to turn over the pages.
‘What time on Saturday was the car ordered for?’ went on French.
The man’s finger stopped on its way down the page. ‘This is it, I reckon,’ he said. ‘Rapallo, Peacehaven Avenue, 4.45 changed to 7.30 prompt.’
‘That’s the ticket,’ French returned. ‘Can you tell me how the change of time was sent?’
‘By ’phone.’
‘At what time?’
‘It happens that just by chance I can tell you that. We don’t note the time of the order, you understand, but only when the taxi’s wanted.’
‘Lucky for me, Mr Nuttall. What was the time?’
Nuttall looked reminiscent. ‘It must have been just about three,’ he explained. ‘I took the call myself. I remember thinking the boy was away a long time on a message I’d sent him, and I looked at the clock.’
This did not quite clear up the situation. Martha Belden had said that the ringing of the telephone had called Minter out of the drawing room both at 3 and at 4.30.
‘You didn’t by any chance ring Mr Minter up in the first instance, I suppose?’ French asked. ‘We were told he was rung up for that call, not that he rang up himself.’
‘He rang me up all right.’
It looked then as if Minter had received some other call at the time, and had taken advantage of his being at the instrument to ring up the garage. The same explanation probably obtained in the case of the 4.30 call, when Minter had spoken to Norne’s butler. All the same French was mildly surprised that this call had not been made at 3 with the other.
‘Thank you, Mr Nuttall, that’s all I want from you,’ he said. ‘But I should like a word with the driver of the taxi.’
French was having a run of luck. It appeared the man was in the garage. Nuttall sent for him.
Joseph Weekes was an elderly man with brusque manners and a surly appearance. However, he seemed reliable, and when once he was made to understand that the interview was not a prelude to trouble for himself, told his story willingly enough.
He had been instructed, he said, to call at Rapallo at 7.30 prompt, and he had done so: four or five minutes before his time in fact. Mr Minter had been waiting for him and came out at once and they started before time. The servant put a suitcase into the taxi and saw Mr Minter off.
He had driven Mr Minter on different occasions, and knew his appearance. Mr Minter had told him to drive to Norne’s Limited, in Ronder Lane at the bottom of Kingsway. He had done so. Mr Minter had got out, had told him to wait, and had gone into the building. He had used a key.
He, Weekes, had waited about quarter of an hour, and then Mr Minter had come out again with another man. The man was tall and he, Weekes, would know him if he saw him again. The tall man put Mr Minter into the taxi and told him, Weekes, to go on to Waterloo. He had done so. At Waterloo Mr Minter had paid him, adding a tip. Mr Minter had disappeared into the station and he, Weekes, had driven back to the garage.
This testimony seemed to French finally to clinch that he had already received. Minter was innocent! The proof was complete and conclusive. And now it was borne in on French that at bottom he had never really suspected Minter. Theft of this kind was not in the man’s character, as he judged it.
French felt as if he were completing a chapter of the inquiry as he marked Minter’s name off his list of suspects, and turned to consider the next which figured there.
Norne! From the discovery of Norne’s finger-print on the glass in Minter’s room, with the suggestion this carried that he was the murderer, Norne had been the likely man. French saw that he must now concentrate on Norne as he had already done on Minter. An inquiry on similar lines should give him his result.
Before going home that night he rang up Fenning at Guildford to report progress. He was guarded in the way he spoke, mentioning no names, and the super took the same precaution in his reply. It was clear from his investigations, French said, that the deceased was innocent of the robbery, and he was now considering whether the man they had suspected of murder couldn’t also be the thief. He was about to start checking up this man’s movements during the critical period.
To this Fenning replied that in his own investigation he had already checked up the whole of the time spent by the man in question while at his home. This included two periods. The first was from his arrival about two o’clock on the Saturday afternoon up till his departure for Town about 10.15 on the Sunday morning. The second was from his return from Town about 1.30 on the Sunday, up till his leaving for the office on Monday morning. This left only the Sunday visit to Town to be inquired into.
‘What about the two nights?’ French asked.
‘I think you may take it the nights are all right,’ Fenning returned. ‘The car was definitely not taken out, and I don’t think he would have been fool enough to use anyone else’s.’
To French this sounded reasonable, though he took a note to discuss the point with Fenning on their next meeting.
To decide Norne’s innocence or guilt of the theft, French had then only to find out what the man did during Sunday morning. Had he paid his visit to Mrs Minter and then cleared out the safe before returning to Guildford? He could, French reminded himself, have cut a key from Minter’s during the night.
French struck an apologetic note when next morning he called for the second time on Mrs Minter. He was exceedingly sorry to trouble her again, but as she would understand, in an inquiry of the kind fresh points kept on arising. He would keep her only a moment.
Martha, who opened the door and listened to all this, seemed somehow taken aback. She said she thought Mrs Minter was engaged, but she would make inquiries. In the meantime would the chief-inspector wait in the dining room?
French was by nature observant, and by use he had still further developed this faculty. He, therefore, noted when passing through the hall that a man’s coat, bowler hat and gloves were lying on a side table. He saw, further, that the hat, which was upside down with the gloves across it, bore upon its band the initials A.R. It was obvious that Mr A.R., whoever he might be, was madam’s guest in the drawing room.
Now, French had many times noted the laying down of bowler hats. Most men place them as they are worn, crown uppermost. But a few invariably do the opposite and keep the brim up. Some, moreover, put their gloves into or on to the hat, and some lay them beside it.
French gave no more than an automatic passing attention to the matter, which indeed did not interest him. He settled down to wait, but in less than five minutes there were masculine steps in the hall, the growl of a man’s voice, Martha’s ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ and the closing of the hall door. At once the maid came to the dining room and asked French if he would go to her mistress.
On seeing Mrs Minter, French repeated his apology, adding that he hoped he had not come at an inopportune time.
‘Don’t apologise, chief-inspector,’ the lady answered in the same coldly contemptuous way as before. ‘It was only my cousin. What can I do for you?’
French said he was grateful. He wanted, if Mrs Minter would kindly give it to him, a more detailed account of what happened on the previous Sunday morning in connection with Mr Norne’s visit. When he came, when he went, and things of that kind.
Mrs Minter raised her eyebrows. ‘Surely Mr Norne would have told you that if you had asked him?’ she replied. ‘I don’t see why you have come to me.’
‘It’s because our business is handled in a less pleasant way than we should like ourselves, madam,’ French answered. ‘Mr Norne has told me what happened, but I am required by our regulations never to take a statement without getting all the confirmation I can. I shall have next to ask the same questions of your maid. I assure you that that doesn’t mean that I doubt what either you or Mr Norne say. It is purely routine and if I didn’t do it I should lose my job.’
‘Rather unpleasant that, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think so, madam. Most of our cases get to court sooner or later, and such information is required for court.’
Mrs Minter nodded. ‘I see. I didn’t appreciate that at first. In any case, I suppose if you ask questions, we have to answer?’
‘Not necessarily: you can refuse if you wish to. But that’s unwise because it arouses unnecessary suspicions. When you see that my questions are merely routine, I don’t see why you should object to them.’
She shrugged with a bored air. ‘Well, what do you want to know?’
‘About Mr Norne’s visit, principally from the point of view of time. When did he arrive, Mrs Minter?’
‘I can tell you that. His call was so unusual that I looked at the clock. It was just half-past eleven.’
‘And when did he leave?’
Mrs Minter was not so sure of this. She had been upset by the news and not paid much attention to anything else. After thought, however, she was able to give approximate times, not only of when Norne left for the last time, but also of when he went for her sister and brought her back.
‘What is your sister’s name and address, please, madam?’
‘Have you to see her too?’
‘I’m afraid so. Our rule is, get every check possible.’
‘What a ghastly job!’ Skilfully she managed to convey that it was he, rather than the job, that she thought objectionable. ‘Very well, my sister’s name is Kershaw, Mrs Milly Kershaw, St Neot’s, 25 Upper Broad Walk, Golders Green.’
French completed the afternoon with the detailed inquiries on which he had dilated to Mrs Minter. On leaving the presence he once again interviewed Martha Belden. She, interested in the matter of the approaching lunch, had kept a wary eye on the clock, and she was able to reply more convincingly, if not more accurately, to French’s questions. As a matter of fact, however, both women agreed fairly closely in their recollections. When he left St John’s Wood he was pretty well satisfied that Norne had arrived at 11.30, had left for Golders Green at 11.45, and had returned at 12.15. On this second call he had not gone in, leaving immediately for Guildford.
This seemed to be tending towards the conclusion that Norne had not deviated from the path of rectitude on that Sunday morning, but French deliberately forbore to reach a conclusion until he had seen Mrs Kershaw.
‘Get a taxi,’ he said to Carter, and when he had given the Golders Green address, he went on: ‘We want to time this run, Carter. Make a schedule, will you, noting traffic delays.’
Their driver was a smart fellow and they didn’t lose much time. On Sunday morning, of course, the streets would be clearer of traffic, but even so, French did not think that Norne could have gone much quicker. The run took sixteen minutes, including four minutes delay at crossings. French decided to drop a couple more minutes, and take ten minutes as the minimum time Norne could have taken.
‘Ten and ten makes twenty, and twenty from thirty leaves ten. Now, if we find that Norne was ten minutes at this place, he couldn’t have visited the office on his way.’
Indeed, French already knew that he couldn’t have done so in any case. The whole ten minutes would scarcely have allowed it, even if he had made no call at ‘St Neot’s.’
Mrs Kershaw, however, fully substantiated the call and her statement was confirmed by her servant. As both women seemed reasonably reliable, French had no doubt as to its truth.
Here then was Norne’s complete Sunday morning. He had left his home at 10.15 and reached Mrs Minter’s at 11.30. An hour and a quarter was obviously a reasonable time to have taken. He could not have called at the office during his stay in Town, and as he had taken about the same time to return to Guildford as he had to come up, this period was equally covered.
There was then no escaping the conclusion that Norne had not personally robbed the safe. Unless, therefore, he had an accomplice, he was innocent of theft.
As French returned to the Yard he kept turning the affair over in his mind. What was there against Norne in this matter of the robbery? Why was he a suspect at all?
There was nothing against him—nothing whatever—except the one thing, the suspicion that he had murdered Minter. If he were proved innocent of that, suspicion of the theft would collapse immediately.
Was he guilty of the murder? Here again the idea hinged on one thing and one thing only. The fingerprints. If Norne could explain those prints, there would be nothing against him on any count.
Could he explain them? French wondered if the time had not arrived to ask him.
When he reached the Yard he rang up Fenning and put the question to him. Fenning, it appeared, had been about to ring up French. The analyst’s report had just come in, together with a further statement from Dr Hawthorn, and as these seemed important to the superintendent, he wondered whether French would care to go down to discuss them. ‘We could then consider interrogating our friend,’ he added.
‘I’ll be with you about three,’ replied French and rang off.
Fenning was ready for them when a couple of hours later French and Carter were shown into his office.
‘Good of you to come down, chief-inspector,’ he began. ‘I hope you won’t be disappointed. But it’s much more satisfactory to discuss these things directly than over the ’phone. Here’s the analyst’s report. I suggest we take it first.’
The document was couched in technical language most of which, in spite of French’s long experience, was beyond him. But the essential fact was as clear and unmistakable as it was unexpected. A short time before his death Minter had had a fairly large dose of a butyl-chloral hydrate sleeping draught.
‘So that’s what Norne was giving him,’ French exclaimed. ‘My word, he’s no fool! He has the aspirin bottle and pretends to shake out the tablets from it, and Minter, therefore, takes them without hesitation. But really Norne drops in this powerful hypnotic instead.’
Fenning glanced at him curiously. ‘That was what I thought when I first read it,’ he said slowly.
‘And that explains Minter’s not struggling,’ went on French, not noticing the other’s manner. ‘Before he was suffocated, he was doped.’
‘Why, then, should he be tied?’
‘Precaution. He was asleep, but he might awake. Norne was taking no chances.’
‘The gag?’
French stared. ‘Hang it all,’ he said presently, ‘I had forgotten the gag. I don’t know. Or, yes, I do,’ he went on in a moment. ‘Norne would gag him before he tied him up, lest he might wake and cry out. Then he would tie him up, lest he might wake and struggle. What about that, super?’
‘It’s neat, chief-inspector. It’s very neat, I admit.’ He paused, then added, ‘But I’m afraid it’s not the truth.’
‘Not the truth?’
‘Well: if it were, it would mean that Minter was murdered after one o’clock, wouldn’t it?’
‘After two: for Norne would scarcely act till the house had settled down. Norne doped him at ten, then when the house was quiet by two o’clock, he slipped back into the room and smothered him. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Only that it won’t work.’ Fenning made a gesture of apology. ‘It was a shame not to tell you at first, chief, but there’s a further statement from the doctor—in answer to a question from me. The doctor estimates Minter was murdered about ten.’
For a moment French looked annoyed, then he began to laugh. ‘Now, that was too bad, super,’ he exclaimed, ‘to lead me up the path like that! I said already you were as bad as your doctor, and so you are.’
Fenning laughed deprecatingly. ‘I didn’t mean to pull your leg,’ he declared. ‘I wanted to see if you’d get into the same difficulty as I have. This opinion of the doctor doesn’t seem to work in with anything.’
‘They can’t tell the time of a death, these doctors. He may be hours wrong. Is he a good man?’
‘He’s the police doctor and as good as they’re made. He seemed pretty sure of it. I was going to ask you to come over and hear what he has to say.’
‘I’d like to, but he’ll not convince me.’
Fenning nodded. ‘You see, if he’s right, it means that Minter must have taken the stuff himself: which would be almost too lucky for Norne.’
‘He never did,’ French returned. ‘Minter asked Jeffries to send Norne in about ten o’clock. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d kown he’d be asleep.’
‘That’s so. Suppose he took it when Norne was in?’
‘Then that gets us back to the difficulty of carrying out the murder without dope.’
‘You’re right.’ There was silence for a moment and then Fenning went on. ‘It would look almost as if Jeffries was in it and had given him the dope ready for Norne.’
French shook his head. ‘I don’t believe that,’ he declared, ‘though, of course, I’ve no proof. Norne may have tricked Jeffries by pretending the butyl-chloral hydrate was aspirin. But I can’t imagine Jeffries party to the affair.’
‘I agree. But it’s a bit puzzling.’
There was silence for a moment, then French spoke.
‘Did you have the matter in the glass analysed?’
‘Yes: pure water only. But that would obtain whichever tablets were taken, unless they were broken up for quicker action.’
‘Were the remaining tablets examined?’
‘They were aspirin.’
French got up and began to pace the room. ‘I don’t think it’s such a puzzle after all,’ he said. ‘The doctor’s mistaken as to the time of death. That’s my belief at all events.’
‘What about coming along and seeing him?’
‘I’m ready.’
Fenning got up, but French stopped him with a gesture.
‘But look here, super. We’re forgetting the fingerprints on the glass. Norne must have given Minter the dope. Else why the business of the prints?’
‘I know, but that only makes it worse. If Norne committed the murder at ten o’clock, why did he bother with the dope, which wouldn’t have had time to act?’
‘Oh, damn,’ said French, ‘I don’t know. Let’s go on and see the doctor.’
Fenning laughed. ‘That’s pretty much the way I feel too,’ he declared. ‘And I don’t know that a dose of Dr Hawthorn is going to cure either of us.’
‘The nastier the medicine, the better the cure,’ French grunted. Fenning said nothing, but rang for his car.