While all this long drawn out police investigation was in progress, Parry carried on steadily at his job. For some time he had not been feeling well, and now the inquiry had got on his nerves. At intervals he heard of French’s activities. These seemed to continue endlessly till at last French and French’s doings ran like a leit motif through the whole texture of life on the Widening. He had been observed entering the police station at Whitness; he had called at the head office and had an interview with Marlowe; he had been out at Cannan’s Cutting; he had spent an hour talking to various men in the contractors’ yard; he had been seen at unexpected places along roads, discussing unknown subjects with strangers: mysteriously he moved about, apparently busy, though what exactly he was doing no one knew. Rumours naturally thrived in such an atmosphere and each fresh comer had a new tale to add to the general stock.
It would be safe, however, to say that no one anticipated the dénouement which was actually reached. The arrest of Lowell came like a bomb to everyone concerned. Lowell was popular enough, and no one for a moment suspected him of murder. It was true the wiseacres at once began to shake their heads and to say that they had always felt that there was something, well, not just quite, you know, about him. But such tales were taken for what they were worth.
To Parry the worst feature of the arrest was its effect on Brenda. Poor Brenda! After a pretty hard life of it, she had scarcely begun to look forward to happiness when this terrible blow had fallen. When he heard of it, Parry at once put aside his work at the office and went down to see her.
He found her dressed and about to go out.
‘Oh, Cliff,’ she cried, ‘I’m glad to see you. Come with me, will you? I hate going alone.’
‘Of course, Brenda. Where to?’
‘To the police station. He has no one to do anything for him. His people live in Italy; his mother’s health is poor and she can’t stand this climate. There’s no one to act for him except me.’
‘But, Brenda, what for? Tell me before we go. Perhaps I could do it for you.’
‘Well, you see, he is to be brought before the magistrates at eleven and he must have a solicitor. I was going to find out if he wanted any special person and then go and ask him to act.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ said Parry. ‘I’ll do all that. Is he at the police station here?’
‘Yes, I’ve just been speaking on the ’phone to the sergeant. He said something should be arranged about a solicitor.’
‘Of course it should,’ Parry declared firmly, though he had not thought of it till Brenda spoke. ‘I’ll see to it at once. I suppose you’ve no idea which solicitor he would like?’
‘I don’t expect he knows. But it seems to me it must be someone in Whitness: there’s no time to get anyone else. And if so, I’m sure it must be Mr Horler. He has a good reputation. I know him pretty well and I’m sure he would do everything possible.’
‘Right,’ said Parry, ‘I’ll find out who Lowell wants, and unless he’s got his mind fixed on someone else, I’ll arrange with Horler. Don’t come, Brenda. I’ll fix it and I’ll ring up at once if there’s any hitch.’
The police station was not far away and in a few minutes Parry had explained his business to Sergeant Emery.
‘I’ll give Mr Lowell your message, sir,’ the officer answered. ‘Then whoever he agrees on can come and see him.’
‘If I can’t see him now,’ Parry went on, ‘tell him that all this has been arranged by Miss Brenda Vane, who is doing everything she can for him.’
‘I’ll tell him, sir.’
In a few moments the sergeant came back. Lowell sent messages of appreciation to Miss Vane, and he would like Mr Horler to defend him, if this could be arranged.
Parry reached Messrs Reid & Horler’s office at the same moment as Mr Horler himself. He quickly introduced himself and stated his business.
Horler had not heard of the arrest, but said at once that he knew Lowell slightly and would be pleased to act for him. Upon this Parry insisted on ringing up Brenda to tell her the news. Horler knew little more of the case than had appeared in the papers, and he spent a few minutes in questioning Parry.
‘There’s really no hurry about it,’ he said presently. ‘The police would never have made an arrest unless they had ample evidence to justify a remand. I’m afraid you must make up your mind that Lowell will be remanded without bail.’
‘I expected so,’ Parry admitted.
‘It’s just ten: that gives me an hour. I’ll go and see Lowell now and I’ll appear for him when he is brought before the magistrates.’
Parry also attended the court. The proceedings lasted only a minute or two. Emery gave evidence of arrest and Lowell was remanded for a week. Then Parry went once more to ‘Serque’ to report to Brenda.
‘We can’t do anything for the present,’ he concluded. ‘Horler will see to things. Well, Brenda, I’ll have to go, but I’ll look in tomorrow night and if there’s anything I can do in the meantime, ring me up.’
On the following afternoon Brenda did ring up, asking Parry to go to ‘Serque’ for dinner, as she wanted to see him as early as possible. When he arrived she told him she had had a telephone call from Horler, who had asked her to call up and have a chat about the case. She had asked if the evening would do as well, to which he had replied, ‘Better.’ Brenda had not wanted to go alone. Would Parry take her?
Parry felt complimented and said so.
‘We’re to go to Mr Horler’s private house,’ she said as they started off. ‘It’s out on the Drychester Road; about a mile. Do you mind the walk?’
‘I’d love it,’ said Parry.
Horler seemed pleased to see Parry. He greeted them both pleasantly and chatted about everything except the case while coffee was brought in. Then when cigarettes had been lit up he came to business.
‘I knew your interest in this affair, Miss Vane, and I thought you’d like to hear just how it appears to me. I’m glad you’ve brought Parry with you, for three heads are better than two. I’ve seen the police and I’ve seen Lowell, and I’ve got a rough idea of what we’re up against. Not in complete detail as yet; there hasn’t been time; still a fairly good idea. Now, I want to tell you the truth, and I’m afraid I must begin by saying that we’ve got our work cut out for us.’
‘They can’t have anything serious against him,’ Brenda objected.
‘They’ve got something against him all right,’ Horler returned, ‘how serious I’m not going to say. But I will say that the young ass has gone and made a damned fool of himself. He’s been too clever and he’s made things a lot worse for himself than they need have been.’
Brenda had paled. ‘Oh, Mr Horler, don’t say that,’ she implored. ‘I know he’s innocent and there can’t be anything serious against him.’
‘I believe he’s innocent myself,’ Horler declared with comforting assurance, ‘and what’s more I don’t doubt that we’ll be able to prove it. But I’m not going to pretend it can be done without an effort. Now, here’s roughly the case the police have built up. I’m sorry, Miss Vane, extremely sorry that your name comes into it, but unfortunately it does.’
Brenda made a gesture of impatience. ‘Oh, what does that matter?’ she cried. ‘Never mind me. We must think of him.’
‘I thought you’d say that. But you’re wrong. You matter very much. However, that in a sense is an aside. Let us get on to the case itself.’
He leant forward, gesticulating slightly as he talked, and marking his points by prods of his right forefinger.
‘The police say that both Lowell and Carey were very much in love with you, Miss Vane. They say that because of it feeling between the two men ran high. Apparently they can bring evidence to prove that on two separate occasions Lowell threatened to murder Carey. You see, I’m being perfectly straight and keeping nothing back.’
Brenda had gone whiter still and a terrible look of pain had appeared in her eyes. She nodded without speaking. Parry, who had heard something about the scenes, was surprised only by the rapidity with which the police had learnt of them.
‘That,’ resumed Horler, ‘is what they are going to put up for motive. Now, as to opportunity. First of all, it is obvious that Lowell was so circumstanced that he could have committed the crime. By that I mean he had the necessary knowledge of the office and of Carey’s movements. He had as good a chance as anyone of drugging Carey. He had a key for the office: all that sort of thing.
‘Now, it is known that Lowell left the contractors’ office about quarter to six on the evening of the murder and did not reach ‘Serque’ till just seven. The police suspect—though I don’t think they can prove it—that the murder took place during that hour; at all events it might have done so. The question of how Lowell occupied his time during the hour was, therefore, raised. He was asked to account for his movements. And this is where the young ass made such an idiot of himself.
‘He told the police that at quarter to six that night he remembered that he had not inspected the steelwork of a bridge at which concreting was to begin on the following morning, and that feeling unhappy about it, he decided to go off then and there to see it. This was quite a reasonable decision, because the steelwork would have been covered by the concrete, so that if he didn’t go to see it then, he wouldn’t have seen it at all. He said nothing, however, to the other men in the office, simply because he didn’t wish to admit his forgetfulness.
‘The police then asked Lowell could he prove this story and he told them a long rigmarole about a rule which he had lost. He had had the rule on that Tuesday afternoon—Pole had seen him with it. He had had it at the bridge, because he was measuring with it. The next day, the day Carey’s body was found, he discovered he had lost the rule. The day after that, Thursday, the rule was found at the bridge, and as Lowell had not been there a second time, he put forward that the finding of the rule proved his visit.
‘Well, that seemed all right. The police went into the story. They found that it was true that Lowell had had the rule on the afternoon of the crime and that it was found at the bridge, and that all the remainder of Lowell’s time was accounted for, and that he could not have gone out again. The alibi seemed to be perfectly established; then suddenly it went to bits.’
‘Went to bits?’ Parry repeated in amazement, while Brenda stared incredulously.
‘Yes, the young fool had told them a string of lies. The police discovered that had the rule been dropped at the time Lowell stated—on the Tuesday evening—it almost certainly would have been found on Wednesday. The man who found it on Thursday had looked in that very place on Wednesday and it wasn’t there. This made the police suspicious and they next found a gang of men—post office men, not railway men—who had been working on the railway during the hour in question. If Lowell had gone to the bridge he must have passed them, and they swore he hadn’t. Then the police inquired further and found a young woman—that Mrs Dunn, who lives beside you, Miss Vane—who told them that about three o’clock on the Thursday morning she had been up with her sick child and had seen Lowell hurry up from the direction of the tunnel and creep stealthily into “Serque”.
‘From all this they naturally concluded that Lowell had not been at the bridge on Tuesday evening, but that he had gone out and planted the rule there in the small hours of Thursday morning, so as to bolster up a false alibi. They reasoned that he wouldn’t have done that unless he was guilty, and they decided to arrest him.’
Brenda was terribly taken aback and even Parry had seldom felt so surprised. ‘Oh,’ Brenda moaned, ‘there is some mistake; there must be. He didn’t lie. He couldn’t have.’
‘Oh, but he did,’ Horler returned. ‘I put it to him in so many words and he admitted it. Admitting it was the one sensible thing he has done all through. The ass! Then he told me what I believe to be the truth. In a sort of way it explains his action, though it certainly doesn’t excuse it.’
Brenda with a terrible eagerness was hanging on Horler’s words.
‘He got a letter that Tuesday; so he says and I believe it’s true. A nasty letter which I’m afraid will hurt you. However, you’d better see it. Recognising that it might become important, he had hidden it in his office, and I got it before the police.’ Horler passed over a sheet of paper and Parry, moving behind Brenda, read it over her shoulder.
It was typed on a sheet torn off one of those writing-blocks which are sold by the hundred thousand, and read:
‘Tuesday
‘SIR,
‘Take warning. Brenda Vane is playing crooked with you. She is meeting Carey every other night. If you go to the Whirlpool Cave at 6.15 tonight you’ll see for yourself. I only write because I don’t like to see a decent young man fooled.
‘WELL WISHER.’
Instead of still further depressing Brenda, this epistle had a highly salutary effect. She became so furious that she could hardly speak. Her eyes flashed and bright red spots appeared in her cheeks. Parry thought he could read what was passing in her mind. It was not, he felt sure, the slight on herself which had so moved her. It was its effect on Lowell. It was the ugly means which had been used to get him into this trouble; for in some way this letter had evidently done so.
‘Lowell tells me,’ went on Horler when Brenda had somewhat cooled down, ‘that this note upset him terribly. He swears he never for one moment believed it and his first reaction was to throw it into the fire. But as the day passed, he became more and more certain that he would have to go out to the Cave and see for himself. Not, he repeated again and again, and I think we can understand him, not that he doubted you, Miss Vane, but he felt that if he didn’t see for himself that the thing was a lie, a little gnawing feeling would always rankle. He vacillated during the whole afternoon; then in the end he went.
‘Needless to say, he saw neither you nor Carey, for this sort of letter represents a trick so old as to be threadbare. But he hadn’t eased his mind. He now felt so ashamed of himself for having gone, that he could scarcely bring himself to speak to you. He was miserable all that evening.
‘Next day came the discovery of Carey’s death. Now Lowell, of course, knew of the doubt that Ackerley had really met with an accident. He himself had been unable to understand a man of Ackerley’s experience being run over as he was supposed to have been. When Carey was found dead, Lowell, semi-instinctively, I suppose, connected it with Ackerley’s death, and wondered if it was really just suicide. He explains that this was a mere idea and that he did not consider it seriously. But he happened to overhear some remarks made by the police, from which he gathered that it was supposed that Carey might have died between six and seven. Then suddenly he got a hideous idea. He believed he saw the purpose of the letter. Carey had been murdered and he was to be made the scapegoat. By sending him that letter the murderer had contrived to leave him without an alibi.
‘Lowell realised clearly enough that if doubts of the suicide were raised he might be in a very serious position. He thought of the bad feeling between himself and Carey and remembered his threats. Moreover, he couldn’t prove that he had gone to the cave; he had seen no one on the way. Even if he produced the letter it would do no good; the police could argue that he had typed it himself to back up his story.’
Horler paused, threw the stump of his cigarette into the fire, and took another. Then, as neither of the others spoke, he continued:
‘So far all this story is reasonable enough, but it is just here that Lowell lost his head. What he should have done, of course, was to have gone to the police and told them about the letter. He says he didn’t do so for two reasons. Firstly, he had no guarantee that he would be believed, and secondly, he thought the affair had been definitely taken as suicide and that no question of murder would ever arise. You can sympathise with that in a way, but you can’t sympathise with Lowell’s next step.
‘He thought that if he were asked where he was at the time of the murder—if it proved to be murder—he must be able to give a convincing answer. Therefore, as he had no alibi, he proceeded to concoct one. It was clever, enough in its way, but I confess I can’t get over his imagining he could hoodwink a body like the British police. The fact that the concreting of the bridge was started on the day Carey’s body was found gave him his idea and he worked out the details to suit, slipping out of “Serque” in the middle of the night to plant the rule. He thought there would be no one along the route, either between six and seven on the Tuesday night or early on Thursday morning, so that no one would know whether he passed or not. But that’s the sort of contingency on which these clever little arrangements are apt to trip one up. He knew there’d be no railwaymen on the line on that Tuesday evening, but he didn’t know about the post office men. Nor did he know that Mrs Dunn would be up all Thursday night with her sick child and might look out of the window at an awkward time.
‘So there you have the whole story. Personally I believe that if Lowell hadn’t been such an ungodly ass as to give way to panic and fake that alibi, he would never have been arrested.’
Horler paused and the three sat smoking in silence for some moments. Then Parry moved uneasily.
‘What do you think we should do?’ he asked.
‘Ah,’ returned Horler, ‘now you’re talking. That’s what we’ve got to consider. The first thing obviously is to try to prove Lowell was out at the Whirlpool Cave during the critical hour. That, of course, would clear him instantly.’
‘He wasn’t able to suggest how that might be done?’
‘He wasn’t. He was discouraging, in fact. He said he’d seen no one on his way either out or in. However, he may have been seen without his knowledge and we’ve got to make sure. Then failing that we must try to find out who wrote the letter. This might do as well. Indeed, it might do better; it might give us a line on the real murderer.’
‘Not very easy,’ Parry commented.
‘Not very easy, I agree. But not impossible to a skilful man. But whether we can do anything ourselves is another matter.’
‘How do you mean, Mr Horler?’ Brenda asked.
Horler shrugged. ‘Well, look at it this way. To find out these things is detective work, that is, it is work which can best be done by a specialist. I might say, indeed, can only be done by a specialist. Now, I’m a lawyer, Parry’s an engineer, and you, Miss Vane, have your own duties. Is it likely that anyone of us should succeed at this specialised work?’
‘Then what do you suggest?’ Brenda persisted.
‘I think we shall have to employ a specialist to do it for us.’
‘A private detective?’ said Parry. ‘That would be rather an expensive item, wouldn’t it?’
‘I didn’t necessarily mean a private detective. I fancy we might do better than that.’
Both the others looked their question.
‘Tell me,’ went on Horler. ‘Both of you have seen this Inspector French who is in charge of the case. What sort of man is he?’
Parry and Brenda exchanged glances.
‘All right, I think,’ said Parry at last. ‘Very civil and pleasant spoken and all that, but I dare say he could be as stiff as any of them.’
‘Yes, I agree with that,’ Brenda added, ‘but I must admit that he struck me as both straight and kindly.’
‘I know Sergeant Emery well,’ Horler returned; ‘have known him for years, and I’d say just the same about him. I believe him to be both straight and kindly. Now, my idea is this, though I should say it is a purely tentative idea and would require a lot of thinking over before being adopted; Why shouldn’t we take these men into our confidence and ask them to make the necessary inquiries? With their organisation they could do it much better than anyone else. The only question is whether they would. Personally, I believe they would, but that’s the point we shall have to consider.’
To this Brenda and Parry reacted differently. Brenda thought it an excellent idea, while Parry was dubious. He suggested that it was rather too much to expect the police to work energetically to break down the case to which they had committed themselves, and thought that they would probably make a superficial investigation and then report that they could obtain no results. ‘Then,’ Parry went on, ‘our pitch would be queered. If we started an investigation we would be told: “Oh, the police have already gone into that. Go to the police about it.”’
Horler concurred. ‘I realise all that,’ he answered, ‘and, therefore, I say that we must carefully consider the thing before taking any step. However, in spite of the objection, I’m not at all sure that confiding in the police may not still prove our best policy. We won’t decide for a day or two.’
‘Could we try first ourselves,’ Brenda suggested, ‘and if we fail, then go to the police?’
‘That’s a good idea, Brenda,’ Parry exclaimed. ‘What do you think, Mr Horler?’
Horler was not enthusiastic. ‘We have,’ he explained, ‘to remember another point. I must show this letter to the police. It would be most improper to hold it back now and then bring it forward at the trial. It wouldn’t even pay us. The prosecution would say that it was a fraud, invented at the last moment to bolster up the defence. At least, if they didn’t say so in so many words they’d manage to throw enough doubt on it to discredit it with the jury. The question then arises: Should the whole story not be told to the police at the same time? It mightn’t be so easy to do it so convincingly afterwards. I’m not putting these questions to you in the expectation of an answer.’ Horler gave a dry smile. ‘I’m merely thinking aloud so that you may see just where we stand.’
For some time Horler continued to think aloud, while the others questioned and commented. Finally it was decided that for a day or two Horler would keep his own counsel, while he explored the possibilities of investigation apart from the police. Unless, however, he became speedily convinced that a private inquiry had a good chance of success, he would ask French to call and put the whole facts before him.
‘There’s one other thing, Mr Horler,’ Brenda said when this decision had been reached. ‘Can I see Harry?’
Horler shook his finger warningly.
‘Now, Miss Vane,’ he said, ‘I want you to think of what is wise and politic as well as what is kind. The police case is that Lowell was profoundly in love with you. Don’t strengthen that case unnecessarily. I’ll see Lowell about it and I’ll give him any message you like, but personally you keep out of the thing as far as you can. It’s even a pity you approached the sergeant about getting a solicitor. That can’t be helped, but don’t do anything more of the kind.’
For some time longer they continued discussing the affair and then Brenda said it was getting late and that she must go home.