Читать книгу The Secret of Sheen - John Laurence Pritchard - Страница 10

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Doctor Bessbury, his chief task accomplished, had left Rowmands over an hour before Inspector Lanner came out of the bedroom and carefully locked the door behind him. During that time the inspector had gone over the room minutely, not only to discover, if possible, any direct clues to the murderer of Leonard Bilsiter, but to obtain what were equally important to him—impressions.

In a way he had come out rather content than otherwise, though many another man would have been profoundly dissatisfied with the results of that patient search. A thorough investigation of the dead man’s belongings had brought to light several things which were useful, which threw a certain amount of light on his character. His clothes were expensive, but the patterns were rather on the loud side. A diamond tie pin, diamond cuff-links and a diamond ring on the dead man’s finger added to the notion the inspector received.

“Liked to make an impression,” he muttered to himself. “And made it in the wrong way, I don’t doubt. Kind of man who considered himself a gent, at one time, and when money came to him tried to become a gentleman. Never got over his early habits. Must make a few inquiries into his past. Wonder how he’s got into this crowd?”

A find he pounced upon eagerly, in a pocket of a coat, was a diary in which the dead man appeared to have noted down all his appointments. All were brief, nearly all references were by initials, but that did not detract very much from their importance in the eyes of Lanner. He turned immediately to the last day’s entries and whistled cheerfully as he saw the very last note in the book, a note made in the crabbed handwriting which was characteristic of all the entries. It was quite short.

“Told A.A. about Sheen. Had expected effect.”

“Now who’s A.A. and what did the dead man tell him about Sheen?” asked Lanner of himself. “If A.A. is in the house——”

He allowed himself to speculate on the possibilities for a while. It was rather a remarkable coincidence that the last entry in the murdered man’s diary, he reflected, should be about the man who had murdered him.

“It’s more than a coincidence,” he said aloud. “It’s significant, that’s what it is. What effect did he expect on A.A.? To frighten him, eh? Or did he guess who Sheen was and is that why Sheen murdered him? If so it looks to me that Sheen was too late, and at least one other person knows who he is. Very well, I’ll know in that case.”

Just above the entry which had aroused his interest to such an extent there appeared two other entries.

One ran, “R. agrees to my terms,” and the other, “T.A. midnight. No decision.”

“ ‘Rowmands agrees to my terms,’ ” expanded Lanner glibly. “T.A. visited him at midnight, and the two didn’t come to terms. We shall see what we shall see.”

He slipped the diary into his pocket. A further search of the dead man’s clothing brought to light nothing further likely to shed a light on the mystery of Bilsiter’s death. Loose money, keys, a pocket-book filled chiefly with notes, and some personal cards, a cheque book, a cigarette case, and other odds and ends which most men carry were the inspector’s garnering.

It was not until he turned his attention to a search of the room itself that he made his second discovery: a genuine Egyptian scarab in a gold setting. It had rolled under the bed, and Lanner placed it in his pocket. He did not allow himself to speculate whether it belonged to the dead man or not. That was something he could soon find out, and if it did not belong to Bilsiter its presence underneath the bed would need explaining.

There were one or two other things which rather puzzled him, which he noted without thinking too much about them. They were minor points in his investigation which might have been overlooked by most men, but Lanner overlooked nothing he could not explain. Lying on the foot of the bed were two things; one the cord from the dead man’s dressing-gown, and the other a strap from one of his trunks.

“Curious,” he muttered.

And that was all the comment he made mentally until other events called his attention once more to them and threw a fresh light on their presence there.

On his way downstairs he passed one of the servants, who looked at him in a scared way. She was evidently one of those who always associate the police with the possibilities of prison, even when they are fully conscious that they have done nothing which could possibly bring them within reach of the law.

“Please tell his lordship that I have finished upstairs,” said Lanner. “I will go into the morning-room if it is empty.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the girl, flushing as she turned away quickly and ran along the passage.

“May I use the telephone?” asked the inspector as soon as Lord Rowmands entered the room. “There are one or two things I should like to talk to the station about, one or two formalities to arrange.”

“Of course,” replied the other. “If there is anything we can do to help, please count it as done. Have you found out anything?”

“Not very much,” replied Lanner guardedly. “It is very kind of you to offer to help. I expect your guests are very upset? I must see them all, of course, before they leave. It is purely formal, but someone may have heard something in the night or have some suggestions to make which might help me.”

“I quite understand, Inspector Lanner,” replied Rowmands. “I am afraid we shall all find it disagreeable, but murder is not a pleasant thing anyway. I have been talking to my guests, naturally, while you have been upstairs, but none of them seems to have the slightest idea why the unfortunate man should have been murdered.”

“Is there anything missing?” asked the inspector.

“Nothing at all, apparently.”

“Any signs of forced entry into the house?”

“The only thing is that Culvering this morning reported that one of the windows leading into the pantry was open. The house is fitted with burglar alarms, including that window.”

“Ah, I’ll have a look presently. Meanwhile, while I am telephoning, my lord, I should be glad if you will draw up a list of the full names of all your guests and servants. I’ll be better able to talk to them. Perhaps you might tell them I will see them one at a time here as soon as I have finished telephoning and have examined the pantry window. I shall have a general look round the house as well, if I may.”

“I will get the names for you immediately and instruct the servants to place themselves entirely at your disposal,” returned Rowmands quickly, evidently relieved at having something definite to do.

Over the telephone Lanner told his second in command the brief facts of the murder and instructed him to make the necessary arrangements for informing the coroner, sending up a photographer and the finger print apparatus.

“Send up as well,” he finished, “the docket dealing with Sheen.”

For another half hour he wandered about the house, with Culvering in attendance, learning the lie of the rooms and who had been sleeping in particular bedrooms the previous night. It was striking eleven o’clock when he returned to the morning-room. On the table his eye immediately caught sight of a sheet of paper on which was a list of names, and as he looked them over two at once caught his attention.

“Avril Abbleway and Thomas Abbleway,” he said in a tone of surprise. “They’re the children of the Commissioner. Surely——”

He broke off and looked thoughtfully out of the window, as there came back to him that entry in the dead man’s diary: “Told A.A. about Sheen.”

There was no other name in the whole list with those initials. But the daughter of a Commissioner at Scotland Yard! And yet, why not? It was natural for Bilsiter to have told her who he suspected Sheen to be. But Lanner did not feel quite satisfied. The reasoning was faulty somewhere.

He sat down at the table for some minutes to think out his general plan of campaign. This cross-examination he meant to be brief in the first instance, more to gain impressions and certain facts as quickly as possible. If, as a result of his investigations, anything more definite appeared, he could then follow it up.

He began by examining the servants, and from them learnt only one fact—that one and all who had come in contact with the dead man did not like him. But he did not progress any further so far as solving the mystery was concerned, nor did he with the first few guests who appeared.

It was not until the son of the Commissioner entered the room that the inspector felt he was making progress.

“I fancy I have met you before, Mr. Abbleway,” he said with a smile. “Up at Scotland Yard once. You were in your father’s room when I happened to have come up about some document or other.”

“Very likely,” answered Abbleway. “Though I don’t often go to Scotland Yard. I haven’t enough brains to be a policeman.”

“Don’t say that,” replied Lanner. “Did you know the dead man?”

“Well, I have met him before,” said the other. “Met him in town once or twice, chiefly in other people’s houses.”

“Know much about him?”

“Frankly, all I know about him is that he was a shady customer. He’s not a personal friend of mine, if that’s what you mean.”

“In what way a shady customer?”

“He lent money to people and then put the screw on,” answered Abbleway. “There were some nasty tales going round.”

“Well, the son of a Commissioner is hardly likely to have had the screw put on him,” said the inspector, idly tapping the table with his forefinger.

“No,” answered Abbleway shortly. “Anything more I can tell you?”

“Yes, you can tell me a lot more,” reflected the inspector to himself, “particularly how he has been putting the screw on you, but you probably won’t without a little screwing on my part.”

“When did you see him last?” he said aloud.

“Sometime during the evening,” answered Abbleway, looking out of the window. “I think he drifted into the billiard-room while I was playing with Lord Rowmands’ son.”

“By the way, I found this in the passage,” said the inspector. “I expect one of the guests dropped it. Those who have been in do not recognise it, however.”

He held out the Egyptian scarab.

“Looks like my sister’s,” answered Abbleway at once, as though glad to get off the topic of Bilsiter. “She carries it about because it brings her luck. Shall I give it to her?”

“Oh, I will when I see Miss Abbleway,” replied Lanner casually. “Women are superstitious about these things, eh?”

“She got it from some Arab in Cairo. They’re as common as the sand out there.”

“I don’t think there is anything more I need ask you for the moment, Mr. Abbleway,” added Lanner. “If anything does crop up I know how to get in touch with you.”

“What do you think is likely to turn up?” asked Abbleway, rising from his chair. The inspector fancied he detected an anxious note in his voice.

“I haven’t any particular thoughts on the subject at present,” he replied. “But you know it is often the unexpected which happens in these cases. Bilsiter’s papers will have to be examined pretty carefully, for one thing. They’ll throw a light on some of the people who were under his thumb, if all I hear is correct, and we shall then be having some startling revelations.”

Abbleway gripped the back of the chair and his face went white.

“But—but you wouldn’t have to make known all you find?” he asked. “A man—may have owed him money without—murdering him.”

“Oh, no, but naturally there’s a motive of a sort there, eh?”

Abbleway nodded and then turned quickly and walked out of the room.

“Now I wonder what paper Bilsiter had about him?” commented the inspector to himself. “If I know anything, young Abbleway’s thoroughly frightened about something. If he’s got anything to do with it, it will be deuced awkward for Sir John—devilish awkward. And awkward for me, too.

“So the scarab belongs to his sister,” he continued. “What the dickens was it doing under Bilsiter’s bed? I don’t like it.”

His ruminations were cut short by the appearance of Sturridge, who eyed the inspector coldly. But Lanner affected his usual genial manner.

“Sorry to take up your time, Mr. Sturridge,” he said suavely. “But mine is a necessary if painful duty. Did you know the dead man at all?”

“Only by meeting him here,” answered Sturridge in his curious uninflected tones. “I’ve heard a lot about him, of course. Most people have.”

“You heard nothing in the night?”

“Nothing at all. I went to bed just after twelve. I played bridge after dinner and went to bed when the table broke up.”

Lanner inspected a rough plan of the bedrooms on the table in front of him.

“I see, Mr. Sturridge, that your bedroom was in the same corridor as that of the dead man, though almost at the other end. You would pass his room on the way to your own.”

“Well?”

“Did you by any chance hear anyone speaking in Bilsiter’s room as you passed?”

Sturridge eyed the other without any change of expression. He did not reply at once.

“It is curious you should ask that,” he replied at last. “Because I did hear Bilsiter and someone else talking. Their tones were rather high pitched.”

“Ah, that is helpful. Did you recognise the other man’s voice?”

“I can’t say I did,” replied Sturridge. “It was only as I walked by. I was thinking about bridge and I didn’t pay much attention. It was only when I was in my bedroom that it occurred to me as a little curious. I hadn’t seen Bilsiter all the evening, that is to say, after dinner.”

“It may have been his murderer you heard,” remarked Lanner.

“The doctor, I suppose, fixed the hour of death?”

“Approximately.”

“It’s a pity I didn’t go in then,” observed Sturridge. “But why did you think there was someone with Bilsiter?”

“Guesswork,” replied the inspector, with a smile.

Penricarde, the K.C., who followed; Frampton, an elderly cheerful man who seemed incapable of taking anything seriously; and Hickson, the head of the famous iron and steel firm—they were unable to throw much light on the mystery. The K.C. proved to be the most useful, in that he told the inspector of the conversation at the dinner table during which Bilsiter had announced that he had been threatened by the man who called himself Charity Sheen. From him Lanner obtained a fairly accurate summary of what had been said.

“The son and daughter of Sir John Abbleway are staying here,” finished Penricarde. “And Miss Abbleway was very vehement about Sheen, attacking him for all she was worth and backing up Bilsiter, while Sir Richard Lulworth openly, and I fancy some of the rest of us secretly, rather defended him. Bilsiter, you see, wasn’t popular. Did you find the paper he had, by the way?”

“I found several things which may help,” fenced the inspector, who had not the slightest intention of telling the K.C. or any of the other guests exactly what he had found. “And of course a number of papers.”

The last man to undergo the inspector’s cross-examination, with the exception of Lord Rowmands himself, was Sir Richard Lulworth.

“I am afraid I can’t help you much, inspector,” he said quietly. “This is a terrible business for Lord Rowmands.”

“A still more terrible one for Mr. Bilsiter,” pointed out the inspector.

“Yes, that is only too obvious,” replied the baronet.

“When did you last see the dead man, Sir Richard?”

The inspector had asked the same question of all who had entered that room.

“Shortly after dinner,” replied the other, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Where?”

“In the garden. I was talking to Lord Rowmands when he went by.”

“Alone?”

“No. He was walking with Miss Abbleway. A few minutes afterwards I saw her returning alone. She went in to make up a four at bridge.”

“You didn’t hear anything in the night, Sir Richard?”

Lulworth shook his head.

“Not a sound,” he replied.

“I thought, perhaps, you might have heard something,” continued the inspector. “You didn’t hear anyone talking to Bilsiter as you went to bed?”

“No,” replied Lulworth.

“Well, now I have got the task of interviewing the ladies,” said Lanner with a wry smile. “That’s always rather difficult.”

“I don’t envy you,” remarked Lulworth over his shoulder, as he walked towards the door. “But don’t be too rough on them. I don’t suppose they had anything to do with it.”

To one woman and one only did the inspector pay particular attention, and that was Avril. He was struck at once by her complete self-possession when she entered the room, and as he placed a chair for her he felt that here, at any rate, he would find that he had not got an easy task.

“I don’t expect you can help me much, Miss Abbleway,” he said easily. “But I understand that Mr. Bilsiter went for a stroll with you in the garden after dinner. Did he say anything further than he had said at the dinner table about the threat made against him by this man Sheen?”

“He did not,” answered Avril quietly.

“May I ask what he talked about?” asked Lanner, keeping his eyes fixed on her face.

Boldly her eyes met his.

“It was nothing important. I really don’t think I can remember what it was.”

“Try to remember, please. Every word Bilsiter said last night might be important, Miss Abbleway.”

Avril sat silent for a moment. The inspector did not fail to notice that her fingers were lacing in and out of one another nervously, though her face betrayed no signs of the agitation he was sure she was feeling. Only caution prevented him from challenging her outright, telling her that he knew what the conversation had been about.

“Now I come to think of it,” she answered at last, in a low voice, “Mr. Bilsiter did say something about Sheen. He was grumbling that Scotland Yard had done nothing, and he asked me if my father had not told me anything. Naturally, I replied that my father never spoke to me about what he did at Scotland Yard. Mr. Bilsiter was rather insistent that I should try to find out as he had been threatened, and I am afraid I was rather indignant, and left him in a bit of a huff.”

“He had no suggestions to make about Sheen himself?”

Avril looked up sharply, but the inspector was apparently looking out of the window.

“None, except that the police were incompetent,” she replied.

The inspector took no notice of the sly dig.

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, Miss Abbleway. It just struck me that he might have said something which would help in the investigation, that is all. The threat by Sheen rather points, for the moment, to the fact that he is the murderer.”

“Sheen is not that type of man, Inspector Lanner,” cried Avril quickly. “You are making a great mistake thinking that.”

“I am not,” he replied slowly.

From Penricarde he had learnt that only the previous evening she had nothing good to say about the man who called himself Sheen. This sudden outburst surprised and puzzled him. Now she was defending him. What had happened in the meanwhile to change her attitude? And then, as an inspiration, it flashed across his mind what had happened. She had learnt who Charity Sheen was, and the knowledge had come as a shock to her. She was defending him because he was someone she knew, someone she cared for. And inevitably Inspector Lanner’s thoughts turned to Avril’s brother. But he allowed no sign of his surprise to escape him. He must think the whole situation out carefully lest he make a mistake. Good heavens, what a sensation if the criminal who had been hunted for the last two years should turn out to be the son of a Commissioner at Scotland Yard!

He took the Egyptian scarab out of his pocket and put it on the table.

“Is that yours?” he asked quietly.

Lanner flattered himself that he had his voice under control, but something in his tones put Avril sharply on her guard.

“Yes,” she answered. “Where did you find it?”

“In Mr. Bilsiter’s bedroom,” he answered, and this time his eyes made no pretense of leaving her face. The flush which suffused her cheeks told him that his reply had moved her deeply, and he saw that it was only by a supreme effort that she kept control of herself.

“In Mr. Bilsiter’s bedroom,” she echoed slowly. “I—I must have dropped it in the garden. He—he must have found it.”

And though Inspector Lanner nodded his agreement with her as he handed her the charm, he knew that Avril Abbleway was lying. With that knowledge there came to him, too, a realization of the task he had got before him.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered as the door closed behind her.