Crime at Guildford Read online

  Then French whistled as he saw the significance of his conclusion. If Sloley and Sheen had lied about what took place that night, were they guilty?

  They were certainly not guilty of Minter’s murder. Quite definitely they had been at the Aldwych Theatre when that had taken place. But were they guilty of the theft? Had they made a new key by photographing Norne’s, and had they got Minter’s from him during his visit to the office? Then French saw that they couldn’t have got Minter’s key from him unless the accountant was a party to the theft, which from his later actions seemed entirely unlikely. Besides, if they had been able to get Norne’s key by photography, they could have got Minter’s equally easily by the same method. Where, in fact, did Minter come into it?

  French, who had been growing gradually more and more eager, swore at this check. For some minutes he concentrated fruitlessly on the problem. Then realising that for the moment he could get no further, he turned to another point: Who might that fourth man have been?

  This, he saw at once, should be easier to solve. He knew quite a lot about that fourth man. He was small and slight of build, else Mrs Turbot couldn’t have mistaken him for Minter. His back view must be somewhat like Minter’s, though French didn’t build much on this latter point. There was in Mrs Turbot’s conclusion the fruits of suggestion. She expected to see some member of the staff. The unknown was unlike everyone except Minter: therefore he was Minter. However, roughly speaking, he must have been of the same type.

  Then this man must have been an acquaintance of Sloley’s, Sheen’s, or Minter’s. He must also have known the office, either from a previous visit or from a description by one of the others. Further, it looked as if an actual meeting had been arranged for that evening. If not, why did the parties head with one consent for Miss Barber’s office?

  Systematically, French went through the names and descriptions of every member of the firm who could possibly be suspected. French had himself met most of them, and he was satisfied that none of them quite filled the bill. For some time he pondered over the problem, then suddenly made a little gesture of comprehension.

  Lyde! Might the fourth man not have been Lyde?

  Lyde, French remembered, was very much the size and build of Minter. Lyde, moreover, was an actor, and if he had wished to pass for Minter, he could doubtless have done so. Lyde, again, was known intimately by Sheen: he was his brother-in-law and was living in his house.

  French sat back in his chair and lit his pipe as he turned this idea over in his mind. Lyde! Yes, Lyde would undoubtedly fill the bill. Had Lyde gone to the office at 7.40 on that Saturday evening?

  And if he had, why had he?

  If he had, the visit was not innocent. There had been too much secrecy about it for that. Was it connected with the robbery, or with the murder, or with both?

  Then French saw another point. The evidence of the pawnbroker had suggested that Minter had pawned the ciné camera. This had seemed unlikely at the time, and French had hesitated to accept it. But suppose the depositor had been Lyde? If French could prove this, it would show at once that Lyde, Sloley and Sheen were guilty of the theft!

  But stay: was another vista not opening up? Though Sloley and Sheen could not have been guilty of the murder, what about Lyde? Could Lyde have gone down to Guildford, climbed somehow into that room after Norne had left it, and smothered the unhappy Minter? Was Lyde the man for whom Superintendent Fenning was looking?

  Here was something to think over. French thought over it, and it did not take him long to reach the conclusion that his next business must be an investigation into the movements of Lyde.

  Once again full of an eager enthusiasm, he settled down to work out his plans.

  16

  Enter a Passport

  For a considerable time French pondered the problem of whether he could find out what he wanted to know about Lyde without approaching the man in person. To ask him to account for his movements on the Saturday evening was the obvious course, but it had the serious drawback of showing French’s hand. Lyde would be put on his guard, and not only Lyde, but Sloley and Sheen also.

  It was entirely undesirable that this information should be given away, but French could not see how to avoid it. Under the circumstances the only way to learn what Lyde had done was to ask him.

  Accordingly, French made it his business to call with Carter at Sheen’s house early next morning. Once again Mrs Sheen opened the door. She looked at the two officers without speaking. French explained their call.

  It appeared Lyde was at home, and French and his companion were shown to the same room as on their previous visit. With a curt remark to her brother that the chief-inspector wished to see him, Mrs Sheen withdrew and left them to it.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Lyde,’ French began. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but one or two further points have come up in this Norne inquiry, and I am in hopes that you will kindly help me with some information.’

  ‘Still at it?’ Lyde replied with a scarcely veiled sneer. ‘Another serious crime unsolved by Scotland Yard? We read of a good many these days.’

  ‘That’s so,’ French agreed amicably. ‘But you will understand that we have to make a show of working at them. Otherwise we should lose our jobs.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose it doesn’t do any harm, if it doesn’t seem to do much good.’

  ‘Quite, and if one can make one’s living harmlessly it’s all to the good. Everyone doesn’t achieve that, you know, Mr Lyde.’

  Lyde shrugged impatiently, as if anxious to make an end of such foolish talk. ‘Well, what do you want now?’ he asked rudely.

  ‘May we sit down?’ French answered as he took a chair at the table and placed his open note book before him. Carter, with another note book, sat beside him.

  ‘Make yourselves at home,’ said Lyde, still standing on the hearthrug.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ French rejoined innocently, ‘I think we’re all right now. It’s about that Saturday night, the night before Mr Minter died. Now, you made a statement about your movements that evening, which I have here in my book. That statement was satisfactory as far as it went, but I’m hoping that you may be able to amplify it a little for me now.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean by saying it was satisfactory?’ Lyde asked roughly. ‘Do you think I’m called upon to justify my actions to you?’

  ‘Every citizen may be called upon to justify his actions before one of his country’s courts,’ French pointed out, ‘but it’s usually easier for him to talk matters over in private instead. I have come to you for this information, but it is my duty to inform you that you are not bound to answer my questions and that anything you say may be used in evidence. That is a formal warning which I am bound to give you.’

  ‘Well, then,’ Lyde said with a sneer, ‘if I needn’t answer your questions, I’m not going to.’

  ‘That’s a matter for yourself, sir, but in that case I shall have to ask you to come with me now to Scotland Yard where your views and attitude may be put on record.’

  Lyde looked taken aback at this and some of the offensiveness went out of his manner. ‘What’s that?’ he asked. ‘Are you accusing me of some crime?’

  ‘No, sir,’ French said in an unmoved tone. ‘But I’ve got to get my information, or account to my superiors for my failure to do so. It’s immaterial to me which it is. You please yourself.’

  Lyde looked at him venomously, then threw himself into an armchair and took out his pipe. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘but you know that information obtained by threats isn’t usually worth much.’

  ‘No threats at all, sir: only a statement of cause and effect. Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to let us have our talk here. As a matter of fact, it’s more comfortable than at the Yard.’

  ‘Oh, to hell!’ the actor growled. ‘Get on with your blasted job, and get done with it and get out. And look here, I’ve an appointment with Otto Goldstein at twelve, so you can’t be all day.’

  ‘Right, sir, I’ll n
ot be long. As I said, I want a more detailed statement as to your movements on that Saturday evening. You said,’ French rapidly turned over the pages of his book and read some items, ‘that after the children’s party you packed for France and went from here by tube to Victoria, where you caught the 8.20 Continental boat-train. Do you adhere to that statement?’

  ‘Of course I adhere to it.’

  ‘I suggest you think carefully before doing so. Suppose I told you that you were seen in the Norne building just before eight o’clock, would you still adhere to it?’

  French was still consulting his notes, but he managed to steal a glance at the other. This was certainly a blow. Figuratively speaking, the man staggered under it. But he quickly recovered.

  ‘I couldn’t have been seen in the Norne building, for the simple reason that I wasn’t there. If anyone says I was, he’s mistaken.’

  ‘Well, now,’ French persisted, ‘I’ll give you something to think about. When you reached the top floor, the floor of Miss Barber’s office, did you notice that the light was on?’

  French now gave up any pretence of looking at his notebook and stared at the other full in the face. Lyde did not reply at once, and an expression of doubt, not unmingled with fear, grew in his eyes. French experienced a sudden thrill. Up to now he had been bluffing, a somewhat dangerous game for a man in his position. But now suddenly he was satisfied. He knew. The man was lying and the bluff had been justified.

  Lyde, however, quickly pulled himself together. ‘Is that a usual trick in your abominable business?’ he asked scornfully. ‘I wasn’t in the Norne building and I don’t see how I could know about the light.’

  ‘That would seem reasonable,’ French admitted. ‘At the same time consider the facts. The lobby light, as a matter of fact, was on. It was on before Mr Sloley or Mr Sheen reached the building. Who turned it on? Well, I’ll tell you. There was another person in the building that night. This person has made a statement to the police, a statement to the effect that a certain person—who shall be nameless—climbed the stairs to the office—eight double flights—treading softly in rubber-soled shoes. He reached the top floor and went directly into Miss Barber’s room.’ French leaned forward confidentially. ‘You see, Mr Lyde, all that can be proved in court.’

  ‘But you can’t prove it was me.’

  French shrugged. ‘Do you think if I couldn’t, I would talk to you as I have? Do be reasonable, Mr Lyde. I expect you have a perfectly innocent explanation for your call and I’m giving you the chance to make it, if you care to do so. But, of course, my formal warning stands.’

  French could follow the man’s thoughts as if some kind of lid had been raised from his mind, leaving it bare and open to observers. It was the light being on in the lobby that had done the trick. Lyde had been there and he had noticed that the light was on. Whether or not this had given him furiously to think at the time, it had done so now. He realised that someone else must have been there, and this so weighted French’s bluff as to make it invincible.

  For some time silence reigned, then at last Lyde seemed to come to a decision.

  ‘I told you the truth in my statement. I said I went from here to Victoria by tube and caught the 8.20, and so I did. I didn’t say I didn’t call at Norne’s on the way. You didn’t ask me.’

  ‘Then you admit now that you called?’

  ‘There’s no “admitting” about it. On that previous occasion you didn’t ask me the question.’

  ‘Very well, sir, we’ll put it this way. You now amplify your previous statement by saying you called at the Norne building on your way to Victoria.’

  ‘I did, and I’d like to know why I shouldn’t and why you’re making such a song about it?’

  French’s heart was beginning to sink. It was unlikely, he thought, that the man would take this line if he were guilty.

  ‘My reason for asking should be perfectly clear. We know that a crime was committed in Norne’s during that weekend, and we must, therefore, inquire into everything that went on there. You yourself aroused my suspicions because you didn’t mention your visit. I haven’t said you did anything wrong: I said that I wanted an explanation of your call. Now, will you please give it.’

  Lyde was obviously unwilling to speak, but he did so at length.

  ‘The thing’s perfectly simple,’ he said in a sulky voice. ‘When I was giving my last turn at the children’s party, it suddenly occurred to me that my sister had borrowed a fiver from me that day to pay some bill. I wanted the money to go to France with, and I had taken a mental note to get it from Sheen when he came home. But I had forgotten all about it, and I was short for my journey. I spoke to Sheen, but by an unlucky chance he hadn’t the money in the house. It was too late, of course, to get it at the bank, so he said, “I’ll tell you: come along round to Norne’s and I’ll get it for you out of the petty cash. I can return it on Monday.” I said, “I’ll not be ready to go with you and Sloley; I’ve got to wash this blasted paint off my face.” “Then come direct to the office,” he said. “Here’s my key and I’ll meet you in Miss Barber’s room at quarter to eight.” I knew the office slightly, for I had been there on one occasion with my brother-in-law.

  ‘I went as he said, but when I came to the lift I didn’t try to use it. I had noticed it was run by an attendant and I was afraid I might not be able to work it. So I did climb those damned stairs, as your observer said. And when I got to the top I wasn’t on for any big man stuff. I just crept to Miss Barber’s room as best I could and sat down to try and get my breath.’

  ‘I follow. And what happened then?’

  ‘In three or four minutes Sloley and the brother-in-law turned up. Sheen went out of the room and came back directly with five pounds. I took the money and cleared off to Victoria. Is that enough for you?’

  ‘I think so,’ French replied cautiously. ‘But tell me: If there was so little in the thing as all that, why should you have made a mystery about it? Why couldn’t you have mentioned it at first and saved all this trouble?’

  Lyde’s unpleasant manner returned. He laughed scornfully. ‘Well, I think you might have seen that,’ he said offensively. ‘The brother-in-law wanted it kept dark. He didn’t think it would look any too well if it were known that he borrowed from the office funds, even if he intended to pay back at once.’

  French had to admit to himself that this was reasonable. In fact, the whole story was reasonable. He wondered if it were true. However, some tests were possible. Had Mrs Sheen borrowed that five pounds? Had Sheen obtained the sum on Monday, when presumably he had paid it back into the petty cash? Had there been five pounds in the petty cash on that evening; if so, where was the money kept and had Sheen access to it? Some work would be required on the story and French felt that he must put it in at once.

  But his suspicion of Lyde was not confined to that visit to the office. Lyde might also have pawned the camera. Lyde might even have murdered Minter. It would be better, therefore, to see what proof there was that he did cross to France by that evening’s train.

  ‘That’s excellent, Mr Lyde, so far as it goes,’ French declared. ‘Now, while we’re at it I want you please to continue your story to cover the weekend. Except that you went to France I know nothing about it.’

  ‘And why should you?’ Lyde asked truculently.

  ‘If you must know,’ French returned bluntly, ‘I want to be sure of two things. The first is that you really did go. The second, that you didn’t come back on Sunday.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s it, is it? You still think I burgled that safe?’

  ‘I never said anything of the kind. But it’s obvious that if you were in France during the weekend, I can be no longer interested in your movements.’

  For some moments Lyde digested this, then sulky once again, he repeated his original question. ‘Well, what do you want?’

  ‘Some proof that you were in France over the weekend. Tell you what; if you’ll say just what you did when you were there, it
should do the trick. You can’t have moved about for two days without meeting people who would remember it.’

  ‘And you are going over to see them?’

  ‘Not if your statement is satisfactory. But I might do so.’

  ‘Well, you’re candid at all events. I suppose I may as well tell you. I crossed over by the 8.20 from Victoria, that is, via Newhaven and Dieppe. I got into Paris early in the morning, about six. I hadn’t slept very well, so I went to the bathrooms at St Lazare and had a bath. I had a good slow soak in hot water, which rested me and I felt fine again. I was hungry when I came out of it and I went round to the restaurant at the station and had my breakfast. By the time I had finished it was getting on to eight o’clock. I took the Metro then to the P. L. M. station and got a train for Fontainebleau about quarter to nine. I should explain that some years ago, when I was living in Paris, I used to go a good deal to Fontainebleau, and I wanted to take advantage of this visit to France to have a day’s tramp over my old haunts. Sentimental, I dare say, but one does these things.’

  ‘I’ve done it myself,’ French agreed, ‘though unhappily not at Fontainebleau. It’s one of the places I’m still hoping to visit before I die.’

  Lyde looked as if he would prefer French to die first, but he continued without putting this into words.

  ‘I bought some lunch at the P. L. M. buffet, left my suitcase in the consigne and took the train. I don’t know just at what time I arrived at Fontainebleau, but it must have been about ten. Then I set off for my tramp. I visited the places I wanted to see, had lunch in the forest, and returned to the station. I don’t remember the exact time of the train, though if it’s important you can look it up: it was getting on to five. I got back to Paris about six, and then I took the Metro to my hotel, the Hotel de Belleville, in the Rue Mallet, off the Boul’ Miche. I changed and had some dinner, and then I went out to keep my appointment.’