Crime at Guildford Read online

  He settled down at his desk to consider the matter systematically. Assuming his photographic theory were correct, it was clear that the man who operated the camera must have been well known to Norne. No stranger would have been allowed to put his case on the file and work with it while Norne and Minter were opening the safe. Secondly, it was improbable that the thief possessed a camera of the required type. If the photographic method became known, this would lead to instant suspicion. He would be more likely to buy a camera for the occasion and get rid of it again when it had served its purpose. Probably also he would buy it under a false name, so that the transaction should not be easily traced.

  French’s routine inquiries had established the fact that none of the senior members of the Norne staff was a photographer. This, however, as he had just seen, was no reason to assume their innocence. A line of research then would be an attempt to discover the purchase and disposal of a suitable camera.

  French began by starting a number of men to go round the principal shops and pawnbrokers on this errand. They were armed with photographs of the Norne staff, which at the start of the inquiry French had made a point of procuring. He warned them not to overlook the possibility of someone having bought a camera on the hire purchase system, and relinquishing it after paying one or more instalments.

  French went himself to the firm mentioned by Cooper and had a chat with the manager. He saw the beautiful little cameras they turned out, both ordinary and ciné, and also the work these did. He was soon satisfied that one of them would have been ideal for the thieves’ purpose.

  But when he tried to trace the postulated purchase, he found himself at once up against difficulties. A number of cameras of both kinds had been sold over the counter during the four weeks before the theft—the period which he had assumed would cover the transaction. But of these no note of the names of the purchasers had been kept. And none of the assistants could recall a customer resembling any of the photographs French produced.

  After a careful inquiry French realised that his efforts had drawn blank. The thief might have bought his apparatus from this firm or he might not.

  Of course the camera used—if one had been used—might not have been of this type. French saw his inquiry spreading to all shops which sold ciné instruments—half the photographers in London. He, therefore, began to consider whether he could do what was necessary by circular or advertisement. Neither, of course, was so satisfactory as a personal visit, but a personal visit to all dealers would be scarcely practicable.

  However, information came to him much more quickly than he had anticipated. As he was drafting a circular, his telephone rang. It was one of his men, speaking from a public call office in Shaftesbury Avenue.

  He had, he said, just come from Messrs Dobson & Hall, the very superior pawnbrokers of that street. They had there a ciné camera, of the special type mentioned by Cooper. It had been pledged on the Wednesday before the theft by a small thin man who had given his name as Hunt. The camera looked new, and the constable thought the chief-inspector might like to inquire into the transaction himself.

  ‘Right,’ French returned. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  Constable Hemingway was waiting for French at the pawnshop door, and without delay they saw the manager. The camera was new and valuable and they had allowed £20 on it. Their customer was small and thin, and though no one who had spoken to him could actually identify him as the original of any of the photographs, he was not unlike No. 17. No. 17 was that of Minter.

  This was not at all what French had expected to hear. He had not imagined that Minter was guilty of the theft or had used a camera for an improper purpose. But, of course, the theory would work in well enough with the circumstances of the case. Minter had his own key, but not Norne’s, and if he wanted to rob the safe the photograph would be a ready means.

  That he was on the right track as to this being the camera which had been used, French soon became convinced. In the first place no one named Hunt was known at the address the customer had given, so that there was something fishy about the transaction. In the second, when he had taken the camera to the shop he had just left, they were there able to trace the sale. All these high-class cameras bore a serial number, and this one had been sold five weeks before the theft. And that, French noted, was just three days after the question of a possible bankruptcy had been mooted by Norne.

  It looked then as if French was on to the truth in his photograph idea. The sequence of events seemed to prove it. Norne raises the question of the firm’s dangerous position. Three days later Minter—if it was he—buys the camera. On the following Sunday he or someone else is seen experimenting in Norne’s office. The key made, the camera would have served its turn, and three or four days before the theft, it is pawned. Probably there was never any intention of redeeming it: it was doubtless pledged simply to cut the loss on it as far as this could be done. Yes, it all worked in. French with growing excitement believed he was right so far.

  He worked hard to establish the identity of the depositor, but without success. No one would state it was Minter, though when French learned that the unknown had spoken in a high-pitched voice, the assumption grew more likely. But it stopped short of proof.

  In fact, at this point all advance along this line of research ceased. French did everything he could think of to connect up the purchase or sale of the camera with one of his suspects, and to find out who could have been experimenting in Norne’s office. But he could get no more information of any kind.

  This did not mean that he could relax his efforts. Being brought to a standstill in one direction merely meant starting in some other. He thought again of the discrepancy between the recollections of Mrs Turbot, the charlady, of what had taken place in the office on the Saturday night before the crime, and that of Sloley and Sheen. Here was something still to be cleared up. He determined he would really go into it this time.

  15

  Enter the Unknown

  Mrs Turbot lived in a small court at the back of Fleet Street, a poor locality, though not as bad as some of the dreadful slums farther down the river. French thought he might get more from her if he saw her by herself, so once again he left Carter behind and sallied forth alone.

  The good lady was out when he arrived, but an interested neighbour was able to run her to earth in an adjoining shop. She came hurrying, begged the gentleman’s pardon for keeping him, and opening her room, showed him in.

  French was not to be outdone in politeness. He expressed his regret for troubling her and trusted she could spare him a few minutes.

  ‘That’s all right, sir,’ she answered. ‘I’d be coming back for my dinner soon in any case.’

  ‘What I want, Mrs Turbot,’ French went on, these preliminaries satisfactorily completed, ‘is to ask you for a little more information about what you saw on that Saturday evening before the robbery. You said, I think, that as you were preparing to go home, you saw Mr Minter come upstairs and go into Miss Barber’s room, and that a few moments later Mr Sloley and Mr Sheen followed him. Then you left the building. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s correct. That’s what I said and that’s the truth.’

  ‘Quite. But I must tell you that there’s some other evidence which doesn’t square with it, and there must, therefore, be a mistake somewhere. It’s really to find the mistake that I’ve come. I’d like to ask you a few more questions, but I don’t want you to think I’m doubting your word.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. Ask what you like and I’ll answer it; if I can.’

  ‘Well now, first, about the layout of the office and where you were when you saw the gentlemen arrive. The lift I have seen for myself is in the well of the staircase, and the flight of steps goes down at one side of it. That being the top floor there’s no flight at the other side going up, as there is on all the floors below.’

  Mrs Turbot agreed that that was so.

  ‘Outside the stairs on that top floor a pas
sage goes to the men’s lavatory; I know that for I’ve been in it. Now, I understand a similar passage at the other side of the lift goes back into the ladies’ lavatory?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘And besides that ladies’ lavatory there’s a room which you use for your brushes and so forth?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s in the ladies’ lavatory, as you might say: a store room that I keeps locked up, with the brushes and buckets and the rest of the stuff.’

  ‘Quite. Now, when you saw Mr Minter, where were you?’

  ‘In the passage.’

  ‘In the passage to the ladies’ lavatory?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I was in my store, tidying up before going home, when I heard soft steps on the stairs. There didn’t ought to be anyone there at the time, so I went into the passage and looked out to the lobby. It was Mr Minter and he went into Miss Barber’s room.’

  ‘You had a good view from there?’

  ‘I had a good view of his back, but I didn’t see his face.’

  ‘Quite. Miss Barber’s door is facing the lift and so facing where you were standing, and there was nothing to make Mr Minter turn round. You didn’t speak to him?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And he didn’t see you?’

  ‘No, sir, I’m sure he didn’t.’

  ‘You said soft steps. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘He wasn’t making much noise when he walked. It was only by chance I heard him.’

  ‘Do you mean that he was walking on tiptoe?’

  ‘No, sir, he was wearing rubber soled shoes.’

  ‘I see. Now, what lights were on, Mrs Turbot?’

  ‘There was the centre light in the lobby and the light in the ladies’ lavatory.’

  ‘He could see the lobby light, of course. Could he see the one in the ladies’ lavatory?’

  ‘No, sir. He could have seen the light from it, of course, if he had looked round. But he didn’t look round.’

  ‘He saw the light in the lobby and he didn’t look round. That would suggest that he expected to find it turned on, wouldn’t it?’

  For the first time the woman hesitated. This was not a matter of observation but of deduction, and she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Well, let’s consider it,’ French went on. ‘You’ve explained that eight o’clock was not your usual time to be in the office. Therefore, Mr Minter couldn’t have expected you to be there at that time?’

  Mrs Turbot shook her head. She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t say for sure. The gentlemen wouldn’t trouble their heads whether she was there or not.

  ‘Don’t you think that Mr Minter, seeing a light in the lobby, would have made a search to see who was in the building?’

  Mrs Turbot admitted politely that she certainly should have thought so, though French felt her conviction was that under no circumstances could you tell what gentlemen would do.

  He was not satisfied. It seemed to him that Minter, seeing the light, must have expected to find the other two in the office. If he had seen they were not in Miss Barber’s office, would he not then have come to see who had turned on the light in the lobby? Did this evidence of Mrs Turbot’s not contradict her own statement, and prove that Sloley and Sheen were really the first in the building, as they themselves had said? It almost looked like it.

  ‘Now, let’s turn to another point,’ he went on presently. ‘You first heard Mr Minter when he was coming up the stairs? Do you mean that he didn’t use the lift?’

  ‘No, sir. I wondered at it myself, a man in that weak state of health, climbing up all that way.’

  ‘All that way? Eight double flights?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘But you don’t know he came up all that way, do you?’

  ‘He must have, sir. The lift didn’t move. I would have heard it if it had.’

  French was genuinely puzzled at this. He hadn’t realised that Minter had climbed up from the ground floor. It was true that there was an attendant to operate the lift in the daytime, but it was of the automatic type, and the office staff could surely work it.

  ‘Did the gentlemen not use the lift without the attendant?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes, sir; often.’

  French frowned. To climb eight double flights was no joke for any infirm person, and French couldn’t conceive Minter doing it. However, Mrs Turbot was positive he had.

  ‘Very well,’ French said presently, ‘Mr Minter walked upstairs and went into Miss Barber’s room. Now, what was the next thing you saw?’

  ‘The next thing I heard was the lift coming up. By that time I had finished squaring up and was ready to go. I looked out again, same as I had done before, and I saw Mr Sloley and Mr Sheen. They came out of the lift and went into Miss Barber’s room.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I went home then.’

  ‘By the lift?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Would the gentlemen have heard the lift in Miss Barber’s room?’

  Again Mrs Turbot hesitated. ‘I don’t think so. It’s a very silent-running lift. I only heard it because I was beside it, but Miss Barber’s office is a good step away. They’d have heard it if I’d banged the gates, but I didn’t want to disturb the gentlemen and I shut them quietly.’

  Here was a matter for experiment, and French noted it accordingly. He was not getting much by the inquiry. Indeed, except that Minter had walked all the way upstairs, he had learned nothing fresh whatever. Mrs Turbot had made a very clear statement both this time and previously, and she seemed quite certain of her facts. There was just one other point he wished to clear up.

  ‘I’d like to get the times fixed when these gentlemen arrived. Can you do that for me? First of all, what time did you leave?’

  ‘I can tell you that. I left about a quarter to eight. I’m sure, because I was hurrying to get home and I was watching the clock.’

  ‘Quite. Now, how long was it before you left that Mr Sloley and Mr Sheen arrived?’

  ‘Just no time at all: a minute or two, if you like. As soon as they went into Miss Barber’s office I went into the lift. In fact, I would have been away a minute or two earlier only for hearing the lift coming up. I waited till it would be vacant.’

  French nodded. ‘I think this is my last question, Mrs Turbot. Can you tell me how long the other two were after Mr Minter?’

  The charlady was not so sure of this. It might have been three minutes or four, or it might have been five or six. But she was sure it wasn’t more than six at the outside.

  ‘Now tell me,’ French went on confidentially, when he had brought the routine inquiry to an end, ‘it has been stated that the men arrived the other way round, that Mr Sloley and Mr Sheen went together first and that Mr Minter followed them. Are you perfectly sure that you haven’t made a mistake about that? If you have, for goodness’ sake say so, because a mistake’s nothing, but for me to get mixed up on a point like that is very serious.’

  Mrs Turbot was quite sure. Indeed, for the first time she appeared a little indignant. She had said Minter had arrived first because that was the fact. He had done so, and that was all there was to it. Who had said the contrary?

  French intimated that the misguided people who had said the contrary were not worth mentioning by name, and presently he took his leave.

  The discrepancy then held. French went back to the Yard, and taking out his notes of his interviews with the misguided people who had said the contrary, he proceeded to study them once again.

  Sheen had stated he had dined with Sloley at the Holborn after the children’s party, and they had then walked down Kingsway to the office. Sheen had checked up all the times and had been positive they had reached the office about quarter to eight. Sloley independently had given the same testimony. But both had stated definitely that the office was empty when they arrived and that Minter had not come till a good five minutes later.

  French noted with interest that the time of their arrival which the
y gave agreed with that stated by Mrs Turbot. After consideration he came to the deliberate conclusion that this time must be accepted as correct.

  The discrepancy then lay in the time of Minter’s arrival. French wondered if there was any further evidence on this point. At once he saw that there was. The taximan had given the time as ten minutes to eight. He had said he remembered this because he had waited outside the door for quarter of an hour, leaving for Waterloo at five minutes past eight.

  The time of leaving Minter’s house was also known. The times at which the taxi had left the garage, reached Peacehaven Avenue, and left it, were stated by the garage proprietor, the taximan, and Martha Belden respectively, and their various statements checked up.

  French left his office and, calling a taxi, was driven to the end of Peacehaven Avenue. There he told the driver to go as fast as he could to Ronder Lane. He noted the time it took, discounting any traffic hold-ups on the ground that when Minter drove on the Saturday evening the streets would be clearer of traffic.

  The result was conclusive. It was obviously impossible that Minter could have arrived at twenty minutes to eight. Ten minutes to eight, as stated by Sloley, Sheen and the taximan, was just about correct.

  But the discrepancy involved an even more puzzling feature: the fact that Mrs Turbot stated she had seen Minter arrive, when in reality she had left the building before he turned up. French wondered what he could make of that?

  As he turned the matter over in his mind he found himself gradually forced to a conclusion. These facts could only mean that Mrs Turbot had never seen Minter at all. She had seen someone else, someone whose back view was like that of the deceased accountant. This was the only explanation French could think of which met the situation.

  But if it were true, it followed that four men, not three, had visited the Norne offices on that Saturday night. First an unknown, then Sloley and Sheen, and lastly Minter.

  This theory at once cleared up that mysterious point about Minter’s not using the lift. Apparently he had used the lift, and it was the unknown who had come softly up the stairs in rubber-soled shoes. Looked at from this point of view that first soft approach became stealthy and guilty. There was a suggestion of something secret, something to be hidden, a suggestion which was powerfully confirmed in the statements of Sloley and Sheen, which had omitted all reference to the silent-footed stranger.