Читать книгу Sir Adam Disappeared - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 8

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The visit to the club was duly paid with satisfactory results. Afterwards the two men drove round to the prison where they were received by the Inspector.

"Dr. Steward has only just finished in the mortuary, sir," the latter announced. "He would like to see you. Afterwards I have some suggestions waiting for your approval."

"We will see the doctor at once," Elmhurst agreed. "Does he want us in the mortuary?"

"I think he would rather come in to you here first."

The police surgeon presented himself within the next few minutes. He had changed his linen overalls and was prepared to depart.

"Nothing more that I can do, Captain Elmhurst," he reported. "The dead man's age would be about thirty-seven, he was fairly healthy and I should judge that he had lived in hot countries for part of his life. The direct cause of death was without doubt a bullet wound which seems to have actually penetrated the heart. He must have died instantaneously. It would appear to me--I have the notes all written down for your perusal afterwards--but it would appear to me that the wound was inflicted from some distance by a marksman of accuracy, as the course of the bullet shows signs of a trajectory."

"What about the head injury?"

"The wound at the back of the head," the surgeon continued, "might have been caused by a fall or it might have been the result of a blow with some blunt instrument of which so far there is no sign whatever. It is impossible to give a final decision about that unless the possible weapon were produced, but under the circumstances I don't think we need go further than the bullet wound for the cause of death. I see no alternative but to call it murder, as from the position of the wound suicide is out of the question. The other considerations are not in my line of country, of course, but it is perfectly obvious that the young man was in a good position of life. His nails and feet were excellently cared-for and the nails must have been manicured within the last few days. His clothes have the name of a Savile Row tailor upon the tabs and his silk underwear has also the name of a well known firm of Bond Street outfitters. That, however, the Inspector will tell you about. As I said, it is not my line of country."

"Wait a moment, doctor," Captain Elmhurst begged. "There is one point you will certainly be asked about in the Coroner's Court and a little previous knowledge might help us. You were there when the body was found. Could you reconstruct the crime? Do you think that the man was advancing down those stairs and was shot by someone in the bank parlour behind, or was he climbing the stairs and shot by someone who might have been hiding in the vault?"

"From the spread-eagled nature of the fall," the surgeon told them, "it is exceedingly difficult to say. Either might have happened. There is no reason why the man should not have spun round even in the moment of death and his collapse might then have become a matter of gravitation. I will send my notes round to you later, before they go into the books if you like. In the meantime, I have a case waiting, unless you wish to examine the body. I must warn you that it is not a pleasant sight and unless you were well acquainted with the young man's appearance identification would be difficult."

"I have not the slightest desire to examine the body," Martin Mowbray declared. "I saw it once almost immediately after Lady Diana and it was quite enough for me."

"One moment," Elmhurst intervened. "You know that the inquest will be adjourned, doctor, and it will be necessary for you to apply the usual treatment?"

"I have all that in my mind," the surgeon replied. "Good night, gentlemen."

He hurried off and his place was taken by the Inspector, who produced his book.

"This will be a very difficult case, sir," he began, addressing the Chief Constable. "At the present moment there is no evidence of any quarrel or of any other person having been in conflict with the murdered man. He may have been, of course, making an ordinary burglarious attempt upon that curious series of safes; but if so he must have been shot before he commenced his work, as there is no sign of any one of them having been tampered with nor in the very few possessions contained in the dead man's pockets was there anything even faintly resembling a burglarious implement. The only unusual article in his possession was a large bunch of quaintly shaped keys. The vault has been thoroughly searched, without result. The young man's presence in it seems to have been as objectless as the murder itself, unless he was there as a thief."

"Well, that's all very well so far, Inspector. What is your idea of handling the affair?"

"Identification must be the first thing to work for," was the prompt reply. "Identification may lead to motive. At present we have nothing to go on whatever. Identification, however, should not be difficult. We have the tailor's name and the date the clothes were supplied. The haberdasher's evidence in support can also be easily obtained. I should like, sir, to send these clothes up to the tailor by special messenger to-night."

The Chief Constable nodded.

"What about his personal belongings?"

The Inspector unlocked a cupboard, brought out a little canvas bag with a label attached and turned it upside down upon the table. The articles revealed consisted of a wrist watch of good make, several odd keys which were a little tarnished from lack of use and a larger bunch of keys of unusual design. There was also a gold chain of the type which is kept attached to a trouser button, with a thin gold cigarette case and a lighter. Neither bore any initial or crest and the cigarette case was empty. There was a pocketbook which contained a page cut out of the A.B.C. and a sum of money amounting to about thirteen pounds. There was also a return first-class ticket to London. There was a handkerchief of good quality, but again without initials. There were no letters or cards.

"There you are, sir, that's the lot," the Inspector concluded. "None of these things disclose any traces of fingerprints but I am not worrying about that for I fancy that identification should be easily established. If you agree to my sending or taking these things up to London, sir, I have not the least doubt that we shall discover the identity of the murdered man. As for the murderer, I am afraid that may be a little more difficult, especially under the present extraordinary circumstances."

"On the other hand," Martin Mowbray remarked, "one thing should help the other. The extraordinary disappearance of Sir Adam seems as though it must be connected in some way with the tragedy which has happened to this young man. You don't get a murder and a disappearance like this within a few yards of one another without making an effort at any rate to link them up."

Elmhurst lit a cigarette and considered for a moment.

"What do you think, Martin?" he asked. "I am in favour of letting the Inspector take these things up to London to-night. He can get back by to-morrow afternoon or he can telephone us immediately he knows the name and address of the dead man. We can get to work then at once upon his relatives if he has any."

"I would not presume to interfere," Mowbray declared. "This is purely, it seems to me, a routine business. We certainly ought to be able to get to know the name and address of this young man from his tailors."

The Chief Constable was for a moment absorbed.

"I think, Inspector," he decided after a brief reflection, "that before you leave London it would be as well for you to speak to me on the telephone. I may decide that it would be advisable for you to call round at Scotland Yard."

The Inspector was clearly disappointed. His Chief patted his arm.

"I should not think of taking such a course," he explained apologetically, "if this were a straightforward case, but there are one or two points about it, or rather connected with Sir Adam's disappearance, which suggest to me that we might need help. I will keep it to ourselves if I possibly can. At the same time--"

He rose to his feet in some difficulty as to how to proceed. He was placed, he felt, in an unusual position and he realised that whilst this strange murder case might be capable of a very obvious explanation, the matter of Sir Adam's disappearance contained far more complicated possibilities.

"Anyhow, Inspector," he wound up, "you can get the report from the tailor and the hosier and we will see what happens here. I won't send you to Scotland Yard unless I feel it to be my bounden duty."

The door closed upon the man's respectful word of thanks. The Chief Constable pushed the cigarettes across the table and collapsed into an easy chair.

"Much doing at the office just now, Martin?" he asked.

"Any quantity of conveyancing work," the young man replied. "That is not much in my line. I am not busy personally. If this had not turned up, I was thinking of going down to Brancaster for a few days' golf."

"As things are, of course you won't do it," his friend begged. "On the face of it this affair is puzzling, but tantalisingly simple. One has the feeling that Sir Adam's disappearance might be explained at any moment and also this young man's death. But think of this, Martin--think it out for yourself: This man is found dead in the vault. There is no shadow of doubt about that. Even if the body were brought there after the murder, the issue would remain the same. One of these highly respectable people whom we have been cross-questioning must have been telling us point-blank lies."

There was a sudden light in Mowbray's eyes.

"I wondered when we should both face that!" he exclaimed. "Now tell me--"

Elmhurst stretched out his hand.

"I'm not going to tell you anything, Martin," he interrupted, "and I don't want you to tell me anything, either. We must think it out separately, step by step. Who is telling the lie and why? Don't let us compare notes yet. We should only confuse one another. When you have asked yourself that question long enough, Martin, I think you will find it quite worth while giving up that trip to Brancaster."

Martin Mowbray laughed scornfully.

"I'll tell you something, Elmhurst," he confided. "There isn't any golf in the world would move me from this spot at the present moment. I'm going to have a mouthful of dinner with my uncle, see how the old man is and ask him a few questions which he probably won't answer, and then I'm off to Wrotton Park."

"The Tidswells'?"

"Yes. I promised I would either telephone or go over for an hour after dinner, and I hate telephoning."

The Chief Constable played thoughtfully for a minute with his upper lip, from which his military moustache had long since disappeared.

"I sent a message over there an hour or so ago," he confided.

"What--to Sir George?"

"No, to Lady Diana."

"The mischief you did! What about?"

Elmhurst hesitated for a moment.

"Look here, Martin," he said, "I don't want to come the official over you--in fact I am going to answer your question--but I warn you a murder is a very much more serious affair than the freakish disappearance of an elderly gentleman and involves a good many more grave responsibilities for a person in my position. I sent a note over to Lady Diana begging her to return by the messenger, a sergeant of police on a motor-bicycle, the letter she took away addressed to Sir Adam."

"Stop me when I get impertinent," Martin Mowbray begged. "What made you do that?"

"I think that it is a letter which should at once pass into the keeping of the police," Captain Elmhurst pronounced. "It may be of no consequence. On the other hand any communication addressed to a person who has disappeared and who must be in some way connected with the visit of that poor fellow lying in the mortuary is a police matter."

Martin reflected for a moment.

"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "Supposing she has opened it?"

"We should have no complaint to make," Elmhurst replied. "On the other hand I hope that she hasn't."

"You must remember," Martin persisted, "that Sir Adam had not opened it himself. That seems to make it almost impossible that it could explain in any way his disappearance."

"Quite true," Elmhurst agreed, "but, you see, of course, in a case like this, one has to think of every possibility--however unreasonable. Why should not that letter contain an intimation to Sir Adam that someone known to Lady Pengwill was paying him a visit?"

"Possible, of course," the other was compelled to acknowledge.

"It might have been someone," Elmhurst went on, "whom Sir Adam was determined not to see. This is all guesswork, naturally, but he might have been a blackmailer."

"How did he get into the vault?" Martin asked bluntly.

"There you have got me," Elmhurst admitted. "That is stark mystery and nothing else to be said about it, unless that bunch of keys answers the question. But still the first thing one would look for, bearing in mind the fact that a murder has been committed within a dozen yards of the old man's chair, is the contents of his morning's letters. Well, we know the rest of them. This one was not opened. Therefore I say that the police ought to open it at the earliest possible moment. A hundred-to-one chance, if you like, but I will admit that half the murders in the world have been discovered through one of these clever detective chaps taking a hundred-to-one chance."

"Sound reasoning," Martin acknowledged, rising to his feet. "I must get along. The old boy likes his dinner punctually."

"You see, it really does not matter very much," Elmhurst concluded, rising and walking with his visitor to the door, "if Lady Diana has opened it. She would pass on the information to us as a matter of course. The only disaster would be if the letter had disappeared in some way, and we were unable to satisfy ourselves that we had not missed the hundred-to-one chance."

"More of the policeman about you than I ever realised," Martin declared cheerfully. "Don't worry about the letter. If your sergeant returns without it I am perfectly certain Lady Diana won't be obstinate when I have explained matters."

"You see that she's not, young fellow," Elmhurst enjoined with a farewell wave of the hand.