Читать книгу Murder in Four Degrees: Being Entry Number Two in the Case-book of Ronald Camberwell - J. S. Fletcher - Страница 6

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The messenger went away to fetch in the two Scotland Yard men, and Chaney looked after him with a smile.

‘Old pals of mine, those two!’ he remarked. ‘Doxford entered the force when I did, and Windover not so long after. Good, safe, capable men, Miss Hetherley—amongst us, we ought to be able to hammer something out. Perhaps these chaps have made a discovery by now and will have some news for us?’

The two detectives, entering, looked as if they had no news for us or for anybody. Two more stolid, unconcerned, phlegmatic individuals I had never seen. Each was on the further side of forty; each looked eminently respectable; neither looked like what people who know nothing about it think a detective should look like. And neither showed the faintest surprise on finding Chaney and myself in company with Miss Hetherley.

‘Hullo!’ said the leading man, Doxford, glancing calmly at his former associate, ‘So you’re here, are you? Partner?’ he added, glancing at me. ‘Heard you’d got something of the sort.’

‘Mr. Camberwell—as you say, my partner,’ replied Chaney. ‘Yes, we’re here, my lad, as you see. Lord Cheverdale’s desire—wants a bit of purely private help as well as your official labours.’

‘More the merrier,’ said Doxford. ‘Multitude of counsellors, eh?’ He sat down and indulged himself in a keen inspection of me. ‘Well,’ he went on, again turning his attention to Chaney. ‘Got any ideas?’

‘Not in this case!’ answered Chaney. ‘So far, anyway. Have you?’

Doxford yawned.

‘Should say it’s a political business,’ he replied. ‘That’s what we think—at present.’

‘At present,’ echoed Windover. He, too, was taking a good look at me. Suddenly he smiled. ‘For a good reason, too,’ he went on. ‘Nothing else to think!’

‘Just that!’ agreed Doxford. He yawned again, and turned apologetically to Miss Hetherley. ‘Been up since midnight,’ he said. ‘Getting a bit sleepy. Nothing more transpired here, I suppose?’

‘Nothing!’ replied Miss Hetherley.

Doxford nodded, as if to imply that he didn’t expect anything had transpired. He looked at me again.

‘You two been up to Cheverdale Lodge?’ he asked. ‘Yes? Find anything out there?’

‘Nothing but what I’ll bet you’d already found out,’ answered Chaney. ‘We saw the place where the body was found, and we talked to Harris, the footman, a bit, and we got some orders from Mr. Watson Paley and came here. And here we’ve heard Miss Hetherley’s story of the mysterious woman. What more do you know?’

‘Oh, you’re welcome to all we know!’ replied Doxford. ‘It doesn’t amount to much. This is only the start out. We’ve been trying, since we left this office, to find out something about Hannington’s movements after he left here at nine o’clock last night. It was just about midnight when the footman found his dead body in Lord Cheverdale’s grounds, so there were three hours to account for. Where had he been? We’ve been trying to find that out.’

‘Any luck?’ enquired Chaney.

‘Not a scrap! We went first to his flat——’

‘By-the-bye, was Hannington a married man?’

‘He was not. Bachelor. Had a small flat in Mount Street and a manservant there. He hadn’t been there last night—after he left here, I mean. Well, then, he was a member of two clubs—the National Liberal, one; the Savage, the other. He wasn’t at either last night. Then we tried the House of Commons, because we heard he went there sometimes.’

‘Not often,’ interrupted Miss Hetherley.

‘But sometimes,’ continued Doxford. ‘However, last night wasn’t one of ’em. He was well known by sight there, of course, and this paper has a man in the Lobby and another in the Press Gallery. Neither of ’em saw him last night. So—we don’t know what he did with himself after Miss Hetherley saw him go down the street towards the Embankment. One thing’s certain—he didn’t go straight from here to Cheverdale Lodge. He went somewhere in between. Of course, when Miss Hetherley told us that she saw him go off in the direction of the Embankment, my idea was that he was going on the Underground to either Charing Cross or Westminster Bridge—Charing Cross for the National Liberal Club; Westminster for the House of Commons. But he went to neither. And if he’d walked all the way from here to Regent’s Park it wouldn’t have taken him three hours. No!—he went to see somebody. But who it was, Heaven knows! We’ve issued a request to drivers of taxi-cabs—some one or other of ’em must have driven him up to Cheverdale Lodge. If we can find the man who did—and I’ve no doubt that we shall—he’ll be able to tell us where he picked him up.’

‘There’s something I particularly want to know,’ remarked Chaney. ‘Do you know at what time Hannington was killed?’

Doxford fumbled in his breast pocket and brought out a note-book. He began to turn its pages.

‘I know what the doctors said who were on the spot when Windover and I got there at one o’clock in the morning,’ he answered. ‘I wrote it down, and you’re welcome to it if you like. I’ll read it:

‘Dr. Henry John Price-Webb, of Hanover Terrace, N.W., says he was called to Cheverdale Lodge almost half-an-hour after midnight on February 8th. Arrived there he was taken into the grounds by Mr. Watson Paley, Lord Cheverdale’s private secretary, and shown the dead body of a gentleman, who, Mr. Paley said, was Mr. Thomas Hannington, editor of the Morning Sentinel. Dr. Price-Webb says he immediately examined the body. In this he was assisted by Dr. Hydeson, who arrived just after he himself got to Cheverdale Lodge. He found that Mr. Hannington had been killed, almost instantaneously, by blows on the head from some blunt instrument. He will give a detailed technical account of the injuries at the inquest. Dr. Price-Webb is of opinion that Mr. Hannington had been dead about from thirty to forty minutes when he examined the body.’

‘That would fix the time at just before twelve o’clock,’ remarked Chaney. ‘It was just after twelve when the footman found Hannington.’

‘Here’s a note, too, of what the other doctor said,’ continued Doxford. ‘Nothing much, though——

‘Dr. Charles James Hydeson, of Albany Street, says he agrees with Dr. Price-Webb as to the cause of death, nature of injuries, and time of murder.’

‘Did you take statements from anybody else?’ asked Chaney. ‘But you would, of course. Harris, no doubt.’

‘Oh, we got one from Harris,’ replied Doxford. ‘He found the body. Want to hear it?’

‘No—we’ve heard Harris’s account from his own lips,’ said Chaney. ‘But if you’ve made a note of it, we’d like to know what Mr. Watson Paley had to say. Because we heard from Harris that when he ran to the house to give the alarm he found Mr. Paley up, reading in the library, and it strikes me as a rather queer thing that Mr. Paley heard nothing. You’d think that Hannington would have let out one cry, at any rate—and the grounds, after all, are not so big as all that.’

‘Ah, I don’t know,’ replied Doxford, shaking his head. ‘From what the two doctors said, I gathered that in their opinion Hannington may have been killed outright by the very first blow. At any rate, the first blow would render him instantly unconscious. He might let out a groan, as he fell—but I don’t think there’d be any cry or scream. However, here’s my note of what Mr. Paley told us:

‘Mr. Watson Paley, private secretary to Lord Cheverdale at Cheverdale Lodge, Regent’s Park, and resident there, says that last night, February 8th, Lord Cheverdale had a small dinner-party of intimate friends. There were present Sir Robert Kellington, Mr. James McCallum, Mr. Alfred Stack, all business friends, and Mr. Francis Craye, who is Lord Cheverdale’s business manager and is the fiancé of his daughter, the Honourable Miss Chever. Of these guests the first-named three left together in Sir Robert Kellington’s car at 10 o’clock. Mr. Craye left on foot about 10.30. After Mr. Craye had gone, Lord Cheverdale and Mr. Paley had a game of piquet in the library. At 11.15 Lord Cheverdale retired. Mr. Paley remained up, reading. Shortly after 12 o’clock, the first footman, Harris, came hurriedly into the library and told Mr. Paley that a man was lying on one of the paths in the shrubberies, and that he appeared to be dead. Mr. Paley immediately went back with Harris to the place spoken of, and found the man to be Mr. Thomas Hannington, editor of the Morning Sentinel, of which paper Lord Cheverdale is proprietor: he also found that Mr. Hannington was dead. Mr. Paley at once telephoned for the police and for medical assistance. Mr. Paley heard no cry for assistance nor any sound of a struggle during the time which elapsed between Lord Cheverdale leaving him and Harris entering the room.

‘Mr. Hannington had not been to the house, nor was he expected. He had not ’phoned to say he was coming. It was most unusual for Mr. Hannington to visit Cheverdale Lodge. He never came there unless asked to a dinner or garden party. Lord Cheverdale was in the habit of visiting the Morning Sentinel office three or four times a week.

‘Mr. Paley, as private secretary to Lord Cheverdale, and intimately familiar with his business affairs and correspondence, has not the remotest idea as to the cause of Mr. Hannington’s presence in the grounds of Cheverdale Lodge. He can only surmise that Mr. Hannington had some very urgent reason for visiting Lord Cheverdale at that late hour.’

Chaney, after a moment’s reflection on these communications, turned to Miss Hetherley.

‘I suppose you know Mr. Watson Paley?’ he asked.

‘Very well indeed!’ replied Miss Hetherley.

‘Comes here with Lord Cheverdale, I suppose?’

‘Regularly!’

‘Is he the sort to be trusted? Straight?’

Miss Hetherley glanced from one to the other of us and shrugged her shoulders. She made no verbal reply.

‘Ah!’ said Chaney. ‘You don’t like him!’

‘Frankly, I don’t!’ assented Miss Hetherley. ‘Never did!’

‘Well,’ said Chaney, slowly. ‘I don’t either. Don’t know why—but I don’t.’

‘Yes—but Lord Cheverdale does,’ remarked Miss Hetherley. ‘Paley’s the power behind the throne, there. Whatever Paley does or says, goes!’

‘Did Paley shove his oar in here?’ asked Chaney. ‘Interfere with—what do you call it?—policy of the paper?’

‘He made his opinions and influence felt—sometimes,’ admitted Miss Hetherley. ‘There were occasions when suggestions—or orders—came from him rather than from Lord Cheverdale.’

‘Did Hannington like him?’ persisted Chaney.

‘I don’t think he did.’

‘Ever know of any quarrel between ’em? Bad blood, you know?’

‘No, I can’t say that, Mr. Chaney. Not to my knowledge.’

Chaney became silent and sat twiddling his thumbs—a habit of his when he was thinking hard. Doxford spoke.

‘What are you getting at? Are you suggesting—best to be plain-spoken amongst each other—are you suggesting that Paley killed Hannington?’

‘Somebody killed Hannington in Lord Cheverdale’s grounds last night,’ said Chaney, waking up with alert look. ‘Paley was on the spot!’

‘But—motive?’ retorted Doxford. ‘What motive?’

‘Got to be sought for,’ replied Chaney. ‘Secret! Paley looks to me the sort of chap who’s got secrets. Lots of secrets. Deep ‘uns, too. Born like that—if you ask me. Wire puller!’

‘You’re a psychologist, Mr. Chaney,’ remarked Miss Hetherley. ‘However—I agree with your last word. Mr. Paley is—a wire-puller.’

Windover, who had been showing signs of impatience, raised his voice into prominence.

‘This is all speculation!’ he said. ‘I see no reason to suspect Mr. Paley—he gave us a straightforward account of things. Might as well suspect the footman. I think the thing’s plain enough. That woman who came here with some political secret. She was followed here. When she went away, a man remained hereabouts to watch Hannington when he left. Hannington was followed—wherever he went after leaving this place, he was followed to Regent’s Park, and attacked and finished off in Lord Cheverdale’s grounds. What did they want—these people who attacked him? Those papers that the woman left with him. Well, they got ’em! That’s my line, anyhow—I reckon it’s as straight as a length of railway metal. Obvious!’

Doxford yawned again. He nodded at Chaney.

‘Don’t think Windover’s far out,’ he said, sleepily. ‘Obvious is a good word.’

‘Um!’ muttered Chaney. ‘I’ve no great belief in the obvious. Strikes me——’

Before he could say more the telephone bell rang at the desk at which Miss Hetherley was sitting, and she picked up the receiver. In a minute or two she turned to the rest of us.

‘That’s from Mr. Paley,’ she said. ‘Lord Cheverdale wishes Mr. Chaney, Mr. Camberwell, Inspector Doxford and Sergeant Windover to go up there at once. I’m to go, too.’