Crime at Guildford Read online

  A little consideration convinced him as to the adequacy of the motive. If these two persons were really deeply in love, their present way of living would be unendurable. Of course, it might be said, why keep it secret? Why not go away together and be done with it? But this might not have suited Ricardo. He was a man of some standing and had lived all his life in his place at Ely, as had his father before him. He might not have been willing to give up his position and circle of friends as, even in these days, he would have had to do if he had gone off with another man’s wife. Yes, there was certainly motive on Ricardo’s part, and probably on Mrs Minter’s as well.

  But had either of them opportunity? French writhed as he thought of this difficult point. Mrs Minter was at the theatre with the Sloleys and Sheens and was therefore out of it. But Ricardo, he supposed, had as much opportunity as anyone else at Guildford; though that, as far as he could see, was none at all.

  That really was the puzzle in a nutshell: no one had any opportunity!

  The fact, then, that he, French, couldn’t see how Ricardo could be guilty of the murder, didn’t prove him innocent, because French couldn’t see how anyone could be guilty. Quite definitely, there was some factor about the murder which he, French, had overlooked, and this factor might show Ricardo as guilty as anyone else.

  But this question of guilt of the murder was, after all, not his, French’s, job. He really must confine himself to the robbery, and here he couldn’t see that his new discovery was any help at all. The fact that Ricardo and Clara Minter were in love didn’t explain why Ricardo, a man apparently with plenty of money, should burgle the safe. Still less did it explain how he could have done it.

  French put through another call to the police at Ely. He would like a secret report on Ricardo, with special regard to his finances and domestic affairs. Could this be managed?

  The officer said he would put it in hand at once and French rang off.

  His thoughts went back from his own case to Fenning’s. Both he and Fenning had made some hideous oversight. It must be so, because the evidence, as at present understood, was contradictory. Where such conditions obtained, experience had told him that the fault was his own. He was misreading some of the apparent facts.

  For the hundredth time he considered that Saturday night in Norne’s house. Norne had visited Minter about ten; the only visitor for hours. The doctor said Minter had been murdered about ten. How could there be any doubt of Norne’s guilt?

  There couldn’t be; and yet French wasn’t sure. His instincts told him to believe Norne’s denials. Of course, instincts were not infallible, but still …

  Then an idea recurred to him which had already entered his mind, but which he had not seriously considered. If no one other than Norne had entered Minter’s room by the door, what about the window? Had someone paid a secret visit to the deceased shortly after ten?

  If this could be proved, the whole case, as far as the murder was concerned, would fall into line and become intelligible.

  But this would not help the robbery. Well, damn the robbery for the moment. French felt he must consult with Fenning about that window idea. He rang him up and said he was going down to Guildford by the next train.

  13

  Enter a Rope

  Superintendent Fenning listened with politeness but no great enthusiasm to French’s new idea.

  ‘Yes,’ he said when he had heard it to the end, ‘I agree that if someone had used the window, that would explain a good deal. Who have you in mind? Norne?’

  ‘Norne admits he left the others for ten or twelve minutes about half-past ten. Ricardo and Osenden may also have left the room. If so, any one of them could have carried out any trick, unknown to the other two.’

  Fenning nodded expectantly.

  ‘Suppose,’ continued French, ‘Norne threw out a rope ladder when he was up at ten. Or if you like, suppose Ricardo or Osenden found out that Minter was to have that room and threw out a rope ladder before ever Minter arrived. Couldn’t whoever did that have climbed up, killed Minter, climbed down again, and gone back into the library, without anyone being a bit the wiser?’

  ‘And conveniently closed the window from the inside and removed the ladder from the ground.’

  ‘H’m,’ said French, ‘that’s a nasty one. My point is simply this: Minter was probably murdered about ten. If Norne didn’t do it during his known visit and if Jeffries’ statement is true, entrance through the window is the only possibility left.’

  Fenning saw that French was keen on his idea and evidently wished to humour him, for he said: ‘Let’s go up and have another look at the room.’

  This was what French had really wanted and he agreed with alacrity. Fenning rang for his car, and a few minutes later the two men reached Severno.

  Norne had not required the room Minter had occupied, and as the adjourned inquest had not yet been held, Fenning had kept the door sealed. He now broke the seals and they entered. French crossed the room to the window.

  It was an ordinary four-sectioned window with lead lights and steel frames. Three vertical wooden bars divided it into the four sections. The whole of the two end sections opened outwards on side hinges, the hinges being at the extreme sides of the windows. The bottom portions of the two centre sections were fixed, but their upper two-fifths opened outwards, the hinges being along the tops. The wooden bars and surrounding casing were painted cream and the steel frames black.

  ‘Now, let’s see,’ said French when he had assimilated these facts, ‘you found the two side windows shut and latched, and the upper quadrants of the centre ones partly open?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Well, see, super. Suppose a man set a ladder up against the sill, he could put his arm in through one of the centre upper quadrants and reach down and unlatch the adjoining side window.’

  ‘Those latches should always be put to the side of the frame away from the quadrant for that very reason.’

  ‘Yes, but they very seldom are. They weren’t here, at all events. Do you agree with that, super?’

  ‘That a man standing on the sill could stretch in through the quadrant and open a side window? Yes, I suppose he could.’

  ‘And if he could open a side window, he could enter by it?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘And again, if he left the room by a side window, he could close it and latch it while standing on the sill?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  French slowly rubbed his hands. ‘Well, you know,’ he declared, ‘I believe that’s what was done.’

  For a moment the super did not reply. Then he shook himself slightly. ‘I’m blessed but it sounds likely enough,’ he admitted. ‘And, of course, if Norne had given Minter the dope at ten o’clock, Minter would have been asleep by half-past.’

  French agreed as he moved close up to the window and looked down. ‘A wooden ladder would have done the trick,’ he went on. ‘The gravel path down there is hard; the butts wouldn’t show.’ Really, this idea looked more and more likely the longer he thought over it.

  Fenning was looking more impressed. ‘As a matter of routine we tested the window hasps for prints,’ he said, ‘and there were none on any of them. It seemed not unreasonable, for the maid said they hadn’t been touched for some time. But in the face of what you’ve been saying, we ought to know how much time.’

  French nodded quickly. ‘That’s it, super,’ he approved.

  ‘We’ll have her up now.’ Fenning crossed the room and pressed the bell. Presently Jeffries entered.

  ‘Send up Alice, will you, please.’

  The maid was sure of her facts. The side windows had been opened and closed on the Thursday preceding Minter’s death, when the room had had its usual turn out. The quadrants had been left open on that occasion and since then neither had been touched.

  ‘Thursday to Sunday,’ the super said when she had gone. ‘Prints should have remained for that time, surely?’

  ‘Was there anything else
handled on that Thursday and not again till Sunday?’ French asked. ‘Get that girl back.’

  Alice was not able to answer this question so readily. In fact, it took a deal of prompting before she thought of anything. At last, however, she said that on that same Thursday she had opened and closed the door of a built-in cupboard near the bed. This, she believed, had not been opened since.

  ‘That’s right,’ Fenning agreed. ‘I remember this girl’s prints were on the door handle. And if so, chief-inspector, it looks as if you were right about the window.’

  ‘I wish, Alice,’ said French suddenly, ‘you’d take us to another room with a window like this.’

  ‘Next door?’

  ‘The very thing.’

  They went in next door and French resumed: ‘Now, I want you to open that window just as you did the other one on that Thursday, and then close it again. Wait; let me clean the handles.’

  When she had done so, French let her go. Then he got some powder from his emergency case in the car and dusted the handles. Clear prints came out.

  The super nodded several times. ‘That about fixes it, chief,’ he declared with something approaching awe in his manner. ‘You’re on to a bull’s eye this time. The absence of prints in the next room proves that somebody cleaned the handles.’

  ‘It looks like a true bill right enough,’ French agreed. Though this was not really his case and he kept on reminding himself of the fact, he was as nearly excited as his dignity would allow. ‘I think we may take it someone has used a ladder, and that could only be for the one thing.’

  Fenning agreed. ‘And the man that used the ladder,’ he concluded, ‘is the man we want for the murder.’

  As they spoke they had been walking slowly back to the room Minter had occupied. French crossed once again to the window.

  ‘Let’s have another squint at this window,’ he suggested. ‘If a ladder was used, it would have rested against the sill. With luck we might find dents, or perhaps a scratch from a shoe.’

  They settled down to it, scrutinising every inch of the window, inside and out, as well as the floor adjoining.

  For a time neither spoke, each being fully occupied. Then French gave a little exclamation. ‘Look here, super,’ he went on. ‘What do you make of those?’

  They were two slight scrapes on the centre mullion, the vertical wooden division between the two middle sections of the window. It was as if a stiff brush had been passed horizontally round the two inner corners of the bar at the level of the bottom of the quadrant openings. That on the left was more pronounced, and examination with a lens showed faint marks across the flat of the bar, connecting those at the corners.

  For a few moments Fenning looked at the marks in a puzzled way. Then his expression changed and he gave vent to a mild oath. ‘Got it again, chief,’ he cried. ‘There can’t be much doubt about that.’

  ‘No,’ French agreed, trying to hide his excitement. ‘We may take it that’s the murderer’s visiting card which he left after his call on Minter. A pity we can’t read his name.’

  ‘We’ll get him,’ Fenning returned with more enthusiasm than he had yet shown. ‘This opens a completely new line.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said French more soberly. ‘Let’s put it into words, super. Sometimes doing that shows you a snag you’ve missed in your mind. Here, I take it, we have a mark made by drawing a rope round the mullion. It suggests to me that the murderer made his getaway by means of a rope which he brought in through one of the quadrant windows and out through the other, both ends hanging down to the ground. The height of the scratch suggests that the rope was resting on the top bars of the lower fixed panes in those centre sections. You agree?’

  Fenning nodded. ‘I agree. And the deeper mark on the left shows that when he had got down he pulled the rope out through the left window.’

  ‘Quite; the deeper mark was on the last corner it passed round.’

  ‘That seems all O.K.’ Fenning thought for a while, then went on with more hesitation; ‘But, look here, how do you think he got in?’

  ‘Why not up the rope?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s right enough—provided the rope was there. But how did he get it there?’

  ‘Well, so far as I can see, if he didn’t use a wooden ladder, he could only have put it there from the inside. But if he had a wooden ladder, he wouldn’t have wanted the rope. Therefore, he had no wooden ladder. Therefore, he fixed the rope from the inside of the house—after the curtains were drawn. Therefore, does it not follow that he was Norne or one of the visitors?’

  Fenning somewhat doubtfully thought that that was so. Then they rang once again for the long-suffering Alice to ask when the curtains had been pulled, and learned that it was about half past six.

  After a good deal of further discussion they agreed that their discovery proved the following facts:

  1. That Minter had not been murdered by Norne when he went up to see him about ten.

  2. That he had been murdered by some person or persons unknown shortly after that visit of Norne’s.

  3. That the unknown escaped to the ground by means of a rope.

  4. That when he had climbed down he pulled it after him and removed the rope.

  5. That in order to get the rope in position, he or an accomplice had placed it from inside the room.

  6. That this had either been done by an unknown between 6.30, when the curtains were pulled, and Minter’s arrival at 9.15, or by Norne when he went up to see Minter at 10.

  7. That Norne (or Osenden or Ricardo, if either of these had left the room) might have climbed the rope and committed the murder at 10.30, though this was unlikely owing to their age.

  Before leaving Severno French rang up the Yard, where for once he had left Carter, instructing that worthy to get in touch with Osenden and Ricardo and ask whether they had remained in the library while Norne was getting his print. Then he and Fenning inquired into the question of who could have known the room Minter was to occupy, satisfying themselves that unless Osenden or Ricardo had asked Norne—which was unlikely—neither could possibly have done so.

  Considerably puzzled, the officers drove back to headquarters. There French found waiting for him a message from the Yard. The Ely police reported that while Ricardo lived well at Garth House, he was known to be very hard up. Inquiries had shown that he was trying to raise money on his estate and finding it extremely difficult, for the simple reason that it was already mortgaged to nearly its full value. The police informant had said that he wouldn’t be surprised at any time to see the place in the market.

  This information at once opened a new vista for speculation. If Ricardo was so hard up as all this, could he have committed the theft? Could he have committed both theft and murder? Could his affair with Mrs Minter have only been a strengthening of a motive already in existence? French put the point to Fenning and they discussed it for some time. Finally French summed up their conclusions.

  ‘It comes to this, then, super. The evidence of the rope shows that Minter was murdered by someone inside the house. Now, that someone was unlikely to have been a servant.’

  ‘Agreed. In my judgment not one of them could be guilty.’

  ‘That leaves Norne, Osenden and Ricardo. Now, Norne’s unlikely for the same reason as we thought it unlikely that he had committed the murder at ten o’clock: that he allowed it to be known that he was alone there with Minter. You remember we agreed that if he had been intending to commit the murder at ten, he would have gone to the room secretly. That argument applies equally to a visit at ten-thirty.’

  ‘Agreed again.’

  ‘Osenden is to my mind the very last type of man who would commit murder and robbery. Besides our report from the Ryde police pictures him as altogether unlikely. That leaves Ricardo.’

  ‘Agreed again.’

  ‘Ricardo was running after Minter’s wife and probably wanted Minter out of the way. And now we learn he was hard up and probably going to have to sell his family pl
ace. This business of which he was a director was about to crash, so that would be the last straw that would tip Ricardo into the soup—so to speak.’

  ‘A good phrase, chief,’ Fenning said with unction. ‘I congratulate you.’

  ‘Well, here’s financial ruin and the loss of Mrs Minter on the one hand, and on the other a fortune and the possibility of an honourable marriage on the other—so to speak again. Yes, super, there’s no doubt about motive.’

  ‘And opportunity.’

  ‘We’ve already discussed that. Ricardo somehow finds out which is Minter’s room, and while supposed to be dressing for dinner, he slips in and fixes his rope. When Norne leaves the room to get his print, let’s assume Ricardo does so also. Why should he not have gone out of the front door and round to Minter’s window?’

  ‘It’s a question of time.’

  ‘Then let’s estimate. It would take him, say, a minute to shut the door and run round to the window.’

  ‘One minute.’

  ‘Say three or four minutes to climb up the rope, open the window, and get into the room.’

  ‘Say five minutes altogether.’

  ‘Five minutes to smother Minter.’

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  ‘A minute to get the keys and take an impression.’

  ‘Eleven minutes.’

  ‘Three minutes to get down to the ground, pull down the rope and hide it in some prearranged place near by.’

  ‘Fourteen minutes.’

  ‘A minute to get back to the door and let himself in.’

  ‘Say fifteen minutes altogether. It seems tight.’

  ‘It might have taken him less than fifteen minutes. Minter in his poor state of health might have died in less than five. Ricardo could have slid down the rope in a matter of seconds. Besides, Norne said ten or twelve minutes. It might have been fifteen.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Fenning admitted, ‘it would have been just possible.’

  ‘If that didn’t happen, something equally unlikely must have.’