Читать книгу The Shop Window Murders - Vernon Loder - Страница 12

DEVENISH had a hasty meal in a café when he returned to town, then went off to Gandy Mews to see the man who had been Tobias Mander’s London chauffeur.

Robinson had been hanging about home all day, expecting a visit from the police, and he had made his mind up to take himself and his wife to the cinema, when Devenish suddenly descended on him.

He was a sleek, meek-looking fellow, and the first of Mander’s servants who was not openly much touched by his master’s death. It had startled without shocking him very much, and he was quite composed when he replied to the inspector’s questions.

Yes, he said, he had called several times at the block of flats where Miss Tumour lived. He did not understand why the guv’nor went there, but understood that Mr Mander was in the habit of having business inspirations during his leisure hours, and might then want to consult the head of this or that department. He said this with the air of a man who does not believe what he is saying but obediently presents the excuse his master has given him.

‘Where did you drive them?’ asked Devenish, noting all this.

‘Sometimes up the river, sir, and sometimes to a hotel restaurant.’

‘Surely that would have been commented on by the paid gossips in the papers?’

Robinson shook his head. ‘We always went to the Sangrado Hotel, sir.’

Devenish knew of it; a small hotel where the cooking was very good. But it had not been taken up by the Bohemians in society, and it was quite possible that Mander had not been noticed there.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now we’ll take yesterday. Mr Kephim was under the impression that Mr Mander had been at Gelover Manor.’

‘He was going, sir,’ replied the chauffeur, ‘but he got a telephone message, and I drove him to Parston Court. We were there till the evening.’

The inspector nodded. Parston Court was Mrs Peden-Hythe’s country place, where her son, Jameson, lived most of the year.

‘Was Mrs Peden-Hythe at home?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir; it was her the guv’nor went to see.’

‘Was Mr Jameson Peden-Hythe there too?’

Robinson’s face underwent a slight change. It expressed at once a general knowledge of the relations between the Peden-Hythes, mother and son, and Mr Tobias Mander.

‘He bolted off as soon as we came, sir.’

Devenish looked at him reflectively. ‘You mean to say that Mr Jameson, the son, was not very friendly with your master?’

‘If looks are anything to go by, he couldn’t abear him,’ replied the chauffeur. Not that he’s any great shakes himself, I should say. Looks as if he couldn’t get very far away from a bottle if he tried.’

When Devenish left the mews it seemed to him that Mr Mander’s movements on the Sunday had been less mysterious than they had seemed at first. What more natural than that the woman behind the business should wish to see the man she was financing? He returned at once to Scotland Yard, to report to Mr Melis. But Mr Melis had left a note saying that he was going out of town.

Devenish determined to do another job before he wound up for the night. He had a hasty talk with two or three of his subordinates, and then learned that the Mauser automatic pistol found in the ballroom at the Stores had been taken from the sports department.

‘Then you had better go round at once, and impound all the rifles they have of a similar bore. .303 high-velocity ammunition was used, I believe.’

It was now nine o’clock, but he set out to see Mrs Hoe in Bester Street. But first he took the precaution of ringing up and making sure that she would be at home. She expressed her horror at the tragedy, felt quite stunned by it, she said, and was ready to answer any question.

The Bester Street address turned out to be another flat, a very small but cosy one this time, and Mrs Hoe a woman journalist. After a short talk, Devenish discovered that she was one of the paid propagandists of the Stores, and had met Miss Tumour in that way, and taken a liking to her.

Devenish studied the pretty face of the little woman opposite to him with appreciation. She spoke clearly, explained lucidly, and was very intelligent. It struck him that she was a woman whom it would be hard to impose on.

‘Now, Mrs Hoe,’ he said presently. ‘You and I know enough of the world to understand that the character of the person murdered often gives as clear a clue to the tragedy as that of the murderer. I know you were a friend of the dead woman. Could you throw any light on the situation from that angle? What sort of woman was she?’

Mrs Hoe screwed up her eyes a little. ‘She was charming, and a great pal. But I don’t think she was very warm-hearted really, and I feel sure she would be ready to sell nothing for something. I know that sounds catty, but it isn’t. She was born so. I didn’t like her less for guessing the truth about her.’

‘You can only put it at “guessing”,’ he replied. ‘But what you say may be important. As you will realise this business of being found in the Stores during the weekend will suggest to many a possible intrigue.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. Not of that kind—if you mean that kind. If she was going to marry, it was because she was conventional. I mean to say she was the sort of woman who had to have a husband and house—an establishment. She would have hated to be an old maid, because old maids are sometimes stupidly looked down on. But I don’t think she would have made love her whole existence. I’m not sure that she was in love at all.’

He nodded. He was glad he had come. ‘You mean she was temperamentally cold?’

‘Yes, I am sure she was. She wouldn’t go anywhere for adventures. She wasn’t that type.’

‘But undoubtedly she did go to the Stores yesterday.’

She shrugged. ‘I see you are wondering where Mr Mander came in? She never mentioned him to me except in connection with business, but if he was infatuated with her, he would stand a lot, wouldn’t he?’

‘“Faint yet pursuing”,’ quoted Devenish, thoughtfully; ‘well, that sort of thing has happened. But if he was infatuated with her, and her engagement to Mr Kephim was announced, would it help her? You are hinting so far at an ambitious but cold woman who might lure Mander on to improve her own position.’

‘That’s how I see her. But did Mr Mander know that she was engaged to Kephim?’

He bit his lip. ‘That is a point. But it would be bound to come out.’

Mrs Hoe offered him a cigarette, and lit one herself. ‘That may be the trouble,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think so?’

‘You have met her fiancé, Mr Kephim?’ he asked, letting the other question slide.

‘Several times. It struck me that he was a nervous man, and rather in awe of her.’

‘I suppose you could not say if he was likely to be a jealous man?’

‘Let us say “guess”, inspector. You corrected me before on that. I should certainly say he—guess he—might be jealous. He was very much wrapped up in her. But then you would have to prove he was there—’

Devenish shrugged.

‘We don’t know where Mr Kephim was last night.’

She stared. The journalist in her made her avid for details, though she had no intention of selling them. It was not her line, even if she had not remembered Kephim; timid and affectionate, one of those weak men that some women naturally like and despise at the same time.

‘Has he no alibi?’

Devenish did not say yes or no. He simply told her one of the bits of stock knowledge a detective-officer is bound to pick up.

‘Ah, that’s one of the layman’s ideas,’ he said lightly. ‘We generally find that only a lunatic fails to provide an alibi of some sort.’

She smiled. ‘He is a well-known rifle shot, but, if you will forgive me saying so, the idea of a rifle is absurd. Where’s the bullet? Why use a rifle at all? Why use a knife, and then a rifle? And where is the rifle? Can’t you fire a high-velocity bullet from an automatic?’

‘A certain length of barrel is necessary for high velocity, I believe,’ he replied; ‘the Mauser pistol is one of the few automatics sighted to a fairly long range. For that reason, you can have a skeleton shoulder-stock fitted to it. But there are technical reasons why we don’t think the bullet was fired by a Mauser.’