It was in a frame of mind, partly apprehensive, partly cheerful, that Brenda and Parry left Horler’s. Both felt assured of Lowell’s innocence, but with both a dreadful doubt lurked as to the outcome of the affair. Would the jury believe, as they believed, that Lowell really did receive the letter and go to the Whirlpool Cave? It seemed so reasonable, indeed, to them, so obviously true. Yet both had to admit that this tale of the letter was exactly the kind of story that would be put up if an explanation had to be found for Lowell’s falsification of his alibi.
Just before lunch two days later Parry was called to the telephone. It was Brenda and he could tell from her voice that she was overwhelmed with excitement.
‘Oh, Cliff,’ she said eagerly, ‘I’ve made such a discovery. I must tell you. Come down here to lunch, will you? I’m quite alone. Mother’s in bed and Mollie’s out. You’ll come, won’t you?’
‘I’ve to go and pay a call,’ Parry said to Ashe. ‘I’ll probably get lunch somewhere in town. Don’t wait for me.’
He found Brenda quite as excited as her voice suggested.
‘Do you know, Cliff,’ she exclaimed, ‘if anything comes of this it’ll be largely due to my reading a detective story. I’ve forgotten its name, but it was about a typewritten letter and it said that typewriting was almost as distinctive as handwriting, and that a skilful observer could identify the machine upon which any given piece of work was done.’
Parry shook his head.
‘You mean the make surely,’ he objected. ‘The types of the various makes are slightly different and an expert could pick them out. But surely no one could distinguish between two machines of the same make?’
‘Oh, yes, they could; I mean both between the makes and the individual machines of any given make. But don’t mind about that. Hear what I have to tell you.’
‘Tell me, Brenda.’
‘When I got home that night from Mr Horler’s I was dreadfully bothered, wondering what you and I could do. I worried over it all that night and then I thought of something. I didn’t really imagine it would lead to any result, but it would be something to do, and I felt if I hadn’t something to do I should go mad. You do understand, don’t you?’
‘Of course, I understand. Very natural. What did you do?’
‘I rang up Mr Horler and asked him for an enlarged photograph of the letter. I thought I would examine the type and see if there was anything about it which might be identifiable. Then I thought I would ask you to get samples from the different machines in the offices, so as to see if the letter had been done on any of them.’
For a moment Parry seemed dubious, but soon his face cleared. Neither of them knew that French had already made this investigation.
‘My word, Brenda,’ Parry said warmly, ‘but you’re the goods. A clinking notion, I call it. It might give the very proof we want.’ His face changed again. ‘But also it mightn’t. Have you thought of that side of it? Suppose it turned out that it was done on the machine in Lowell’s office? Wouldn’t that—’
Brenda made a gesture of impatience.
‘Don’t be in such a hurry, Cliff. Wait and hear what I have to tell you. That’s only what I thought we might do.’
‘Sorry. Go ahead.’
‘I rang up Mr Horler and he agreed my suggestion could do no harm, provided I didn’t let anyone know what I was after. He got the photograph taken and I have just received it: just before I rang you up. Here it is. Do you see anything remarkable about it?’
The print was full plate size and showed the typescript nearly three times as big as the original. Parry read it over carefully.
‘You wouldn’t notice it,’ Brenda went on, ‘because you don’t know what I know. And don’t forget I am a trained typist.’
‘I can type too,’ said Parry.
‘I know you can, but it’s more than that. See here.’ She took the card and pointed. ‘Do you see that “r”? Do you see that it’s considerably below alignment and also slightly bent to the side? It occurs twelve times in the letter and it has these defects every time. You see, it’s quite unmistakable.’
Parry grew more interested. It was with something like eagerness that he waited for Brenda to go on.
‘There are other defects which would confirm any conclusions we come to. This “t,” for instance, has a little defect in its stem. It occurs thirteen times and the same defect shows always. The “n” also is slightly twisted. But all this is not the point. I only mention it to show that the machine on which it was done could be identified if we could find it.’
Parry moved impatiently. ‘Then what is the point, Brenda?’
‘This,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Do you remember that other letter, that one Mr Carey showed me in which I was supposed to have asked him to meet me at the Whirlpool Cave? It had the same crooked “r”!’
Parry whistled. ‘What!’ he cried. ‘Written by the same person? By Jove, Brenda, that’s a discovery and no mistake. Are you sure?’
‘I’m as sure as that I’m alive. I noticed the “r” in the first letter. I didn’t notice the “t” and the “n” because I wasn’t looking for defects. Besides I had no enlargement.’
‘We could ask Horler to get a photo of the first letter. The police are sure to have kept it. That would check the thing up.’
‘We don’t want to check it,’ Brenda returned with some heat. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Of course,’ Parry agreed hastily, ‘but Horler will want to check it. Have you told him about it yet?’
‘No. I wanted to see what you thought.’
‘Well,’ said Parry, ‘I’ll tell you. It’s all important, I think, that we should find that machine and I suggest I should do what you thought of; get samples from all the machines about the railway and contractors’ offices. But until that’s done, Brenda, I shouldn’t advise you to say anything to Horler.’
‘Why not, Cliff? Surely he should know as soon as possible?’
Parry did not answer for some moments. ‘You know, Brenda,’ he said at last, ‘I don’t want to throw cold water on your discovery; it may save Lowell. At the same time you mustn’t forget that it may cut both ways. Suppose it is proved that both letters were done on a machine to which Lowell had easy access. That might injure his case instead of helping it. You see, don’t you, what I mean? Better say nothing till we know more.’
He could almost feel her disappointment. Obviously she had believed she held the keys of Lowell’s prison in her hands, and it was a terrible blow to find that she might be only holding an additional bolt. But she admitted at once that Parry was right and the meeting was turned into a committee of ways and means as to how the necessary samples were to be obtained.
‘By a stroke of luck I can do something this afternoon,’ Parry declared. ‘I have to attend a conference at Lydmouth at four o’clock. I’ll take the opportunity to get samples from the machines there. I don’t think I should have time to get them from our own offices before I start. I’m going on the 3.10.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Indeed I must run now.’
‘Then when shall I see you?’
‘What about tomorrow night? I should have all the samples by then.’
‘Splendid, Cliff. I’ll expect you tomorrow night.’
Parry hurried back to the hut. Nothing of importance had come in and he went on to the station to get his train.
In due course he attended the conference, after which by various wiles he induced the typists to let him have samples from their machines. So far as he knew, he got something from every machine in the office, more than he had hoped to do. He was afraid Brenda would be a good deal disappointed with the result, for even he could see that none of these machines was that required. On the other hand he had thought out one or two suggestions for extending the range of the inquiry, which he believed would please her.
As he entered his lodgings his landlady shouted up from the kitchen. There had just been a caller to see him, a young lady, a Miss Brenda Vane. She had come only a few minutes before and had asked if he was in. Mrs Peake had told her she was expecting him every minute and the young lady had said, first, that she would leave a message and then, as he was not likely to be long, that she would come in and wait. She had done so. Mrs Peake had shown her up to Parry’s room and she had remained there for some little time. Then she had come downstairs and said that she was sorry that she had an appointment, she could not wait any longer. She had hurried off, but without leaving any message.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Peake,’ Parry said pleasantly. ‘It was to remind me about some letters. I’m going down to see Miss Vane tomorrow and I’ll take them with me.’
It just showed, Parry thought, Brenda’s extreme eagerness. It was evident that she could not contain herself till he went to ‘Serque’. She had wanted to get the samples and take them down with her. Well, she wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
Parry was tired, really terribly tired. As he sat down to wait for dinner to be brought up, his bones ached. He thought he would turn in after dinner. He could read in bed for a couple of hours and he would be all right in the morning. This Lowell affair had got on his nerves. His mind remained full of it in spite of himself and it didn’t help him with his work on the railway. The Widening was enough for all his energies, and he thought ruefully of no less than two matters which he had overlooked during the day, both of which would mean trouble among the men and unpleasant explanations to the office. He had meant to attend to them before lunch, but had been interrupted by Brenda’s telephone, and after lunch he had forgotten. Curse it all, he’d better go back to the office after dinner and see if he couldn’t get messages through before the men started work next morning.
Suddenly his eyes strayed to the chimney piece and he cursed again. Dash it, there was his letter to Pearl Ackerley! Parry had recently been seeing as much of Pearl as he could, and at last he was beginning to think that she was growing fond of him. She had been broadcasting and he had written on the previous night congratulating her on her performance. But because he hadn’t a stamp he had left the letter there beside the clock so that he would see it in the morning. And with his mind full of Lowell’s affairs, he had forgotten it. It was lucky that Pearl was such a sport. She would understand and wouldn’t mind.
As Parry sat there before the fire a very unusual thing suddenly happened. He felt his heart give a flutter. His heart was strong, he knew, and except for occasional returns of his shell shock trouble, he was now physically fit. But now his heart faltered, as if about to stop, and immediately he got quite faint. For a moment he sat still, while a cold sweat came out on his forehead. Then fearing he would lose consciousness, he pulled himself out of his chair, staggered blindly across the room, and with shaking hands poured himself out a glass of whisky. He drank it neat.
It pulled him together. Still he felt strangely shaken. Such a thing as this had never before happened to him. For a moment the awful thought that death was approaching filled his mind, and he grew cold in sheer panic. Horror stricken, he took some more whisky. Slowly the crisis passed.
By the time that he had made a rather unsuccessful attempt to dine, the whisky had done its work. Once more his heart was beating normally and the sickly qualms had passed. He even felt better than before the attack came on; more rested, more energetic. He decided he would go at once to Whitness and fix up the matters he had overlooked. Also he would see Brenda about her call.
He sat for a few moments thinking, then became suddenly restless. He now could not stay quiet. He felt himself on pins and needles and consumed by a desire for movement. He wondered what Brenda had done. Had she gone back to Whitness? She did not like buses and usually travelled by train, but there had been no train at the time she had left his rooms. In fact, the next train had not yet gone. He wondered if he would have time to get to the station before it started. Scarcely, he thought.
Still far from normal, Parry left the house. He began to wonder had he taken too much whisky. No, there was no use in trying for the train; he would just miss it. In a sort of dream he began to walk. He came to a telephone box. He entered and rang up ‘Serque’ to say he was going down. He spent a long time fumbling with the telephone. He had certainly taken too much whisky. He came out. He saw a bus labelled ‘Whitness’. He boarded it. It put him down close to ‘Serque’. As he approached a girlish figure left it and hurried off in the opposite direction. He knocked at the door. Mollie Vane opened it. She seemed strangely upset.
‘Oh, Clifford, is it you?’ she cried. ‘Brenda’s just gone this very minute. You must have seen her.’
‘Gone?’ Parry echoed. ‘Gone where?’
‘Of course, you don’t know,’ Mollie answered excitedly, still standing in the hall. ‘We’ve had such a quarter of an hour, mother and I. Brenda was out, you know. First there was your telephone, saying that you were coming down. You had scarcely rung off when there was a second message. Sergeant Emery wanted Brenda. He was speaking from the contractors’ yard and he was with Inspector French, and they wanted Brenda to go up there at once. He said they had made a vital discovery which might clear Harry Lowell, and they wanted some information about Harry which they thought she could give. Well,’ Mollie’s eyes were starting from her head, ‘as if that wasn’t enough, Brenda herself came in a few minutes later, so excited that she could scarcely speak. She shouted out in a sort of triumph that she had just got proof of Harry Lowell’s innocence. But she didn’t tell us what it was. When she heard about Sergeant Emery’s message she cried, “Oh, my God!” and hurried off. I wanted her to wait so that I could go with her. But, no, she wouldn’t. She was beside herself with excitement and just dashed off.’
Parry seemed suddenly, as it were, sobered. His dreaminess dropped from him and he looked keen, efficient, and very grim.
‘I don’t like all that, Mollie,’ he said quickly. ‘I must telephone.’
He ran to the instrument and at once gave the word ‘Police.’ Then Mollie heard: ‘Is Sergeant Emery there?’ Then: ‘Speaking? Good God, sergeant, I’m afraid there’s something badly wrong! Miss Brenda Vane has just had a telephone purporting to be from you, saying you and French were in the contractors’ yard and wanting her to go up there at once … Yes, she’s gone. It seems she said she had found out something establishing Lowell’s innocence. That may mean proving someone else’s guilt. It looks bad to me, sergeant, as if someone had got to know about it.’
For some moments there was silence, then: ‘Right, I’ll follow her now and you’ll send some help in case there’s trouble. I’m frightened; for God’s sake don’t be long.’
Without a word to Mollie, Parry ran out of the house and disappeared in the direction Brenda had taken.
When Brenda received the message asking her to meet French and Emery in the contractors’ yard, it never for one moment occurred to her to doubt its authenticity. Her mind was in a whirl from the discovery which she believed she had made, and which she hoped would establish Lowell’s innocence. So excited was she that she was almost incapable of consecutive thought, much less the critical analysis which the situation really demanded. She hurried on, her one thought being to get as quickly as possible to her destination.
There were two routes by which she could go. The best was up through the town, across the railway by the overbridge at the station, then out through the suburbs by what was called the ‘back’ road to Redchurch. This road passed immediately behind the yard and joined the main road just after the latter had passed under the viaduct. The other was along the sea front and then up through the Whitness Public Park to a lane which passed over the railway just beside the yard gates. This latter route was dark and lonely, the park not being lit up at this time of year. This was the shorter way. Because it was shorter Brenda took it.
Though the lamps in the park were not lighted, it was not absolutely dark. There was no moon, but the night was clear and the stars were bright. A cold wind was blowing in from the sea, which moaned dismally among the trees and shrubs. There had been no rain for several days and Brenda’s footsteps rang sharply on the hard ground.
It was very lonely in the park. As she hurried along the quality of her surroundings seemed to change. She could not explain it, but an unreasoning feeling of foreboding took possession of her. The moaning of the wind became eerie, the atmosphere grew dark and sinister, the shrubs seemed like crouching beasts menacing her passage.
Brenda shivered. She was not given to imaginative fears and she did not know what had gone wrong with her. Just this excitement, she supposed. Well, never mind. It was only natural that there should be a reaction. She was nearly through the park and then there would be only the short lane and the level crossing, and she would be with the police.
Suddenly she heard what sounded like steps, the steps of a running man: somewhere in the distance, she couldn’t tell exactly where. Then as suddenly they stopped. She looked all round her. There was no one in sight.
Her path at this point was bounded by two long beds of tall evergreen shrubs. For forty or fifty yards it was like a miniature railway cutting. The path here crossed a dip in the ground, and the city fathers in their wisdom had planted the shrubs to screen the path from the wind which usually blew up the tiny valley.
For a moment Brenda was downright frightened. Not that someone should be running, but about her own condition. What had happened to her? There was no one there. She had imagined the steps. It was this dreadful anxiety through which she was passing. It was affecting her mind. Or was it only her nerves that were getting unstrung? She really—
A sudden movement caught her eye. She stared, then stopped dead in her tracks, frozen stiff with horror. She had just reached the end of the beds of shrubs. Behind a thick bush crouched a man. As she saw him he sprang up and rushed at her. There was something in his hand, something that glinted dully as he raised his arm. Then she recognised his dreadful, distorted features. And in them she saw Death.
As he leaped she screamed, screamed as if her life depended on it. Power came back to her and like a hare she turned, and as if all Hell was after her, fled back the way she had come.
The man raced behind. He was gaining. His hand touched her arm. With a superhuman effort she jerked it away. She felt her sleeve tear. Again she screamed, despairingly. Then she tripped. The ground, as it were, flew up. It hit her in the face. She felt no pain. The man tripped over her. For a moment he staggered, then recovered himself. He swung back. He was standing over her. He raised his arm. She gave herself up for lost …
Then the miracle happened. The blow did not fall. There was a sudden rush of feet. Two dusky figures appeared. The man dropped his club and tried to bolt. The figures closed with him. They struggled on and on and on. But at last it ended. There was the sound of a snap.
Brenda slowly dragged herself to her feet. Grasped by two policemen, his face hideous and almost unrecognisable with hate and rage, stood Clifford Parry.