Crime at Guildford Read online

  ‘Only just now, sir. It’s queer that you should come up at this moment. The A.C.’s still talking to Jackson, or was a moment ago.’

  ‘H’m; very interesting,’ French repeated. ‘Now, young feller me lad, take that film out of your apparatus and put this in.’ Carefully he took from his pocket-book his treasure trove.

  Cooper had been keen enough before, but when he saw the fragment of film his enthusiasm grew greater than ever. ‘By Jove, sir, you’ve got ’em on the spot this time! Where’d you get this, if I may ask?’

  ‘Sheen’s workshop. I could see screw-holes all round the windows, which suggested that frames had been fitted.’

  ‘Using it as a dark room?’

  ‘Secrecy was what I imagined. I didn’t think these films were developed in the dark?’

  ‘They are, sir, as a rule. They’re generally wound spirally round a glass cylinder hung over the dish of developer, so that the film gets wet all along as the cylinder is turned. You see it developing and know when to stop. But I don’t think they would have used the cylinder.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Cooper pointed to French’s find. ‘They’ve cut the film. You see, sir, that shows the key well forward, though probably not yet in the lock. I mean it’s a view out of the middle of the series. They must, therefore, have cut the film.’

  ‘I don’t follow. What for?’

  ‘To develop it in an ordinary dish. I suggest they used ordinary whole-plate dishes and cut the film in strips about eight inches long. You see, for this job you wouldn’t want every picture. Two or three from different angles, got as the key was moved forward, would be enough. When cutting before development they might cut through a picture, but that wouldn’t matter. They’d simply trim the ruined picture off, as soon as the development had shown where its edge came. They evidently did cut it as I suggest, and this bit got knocked down and they overlooked it.’

  ‘It was in a crack in the floor.’

  ‘Just so, sir. They would have a lot of cuttings and they wouldn’t have missed it.’

  Though it would be true to say that French was delighted by his find, he could not but realise that he was still far from the end of his case. To him this piece of film was proof that so far as the robbery was concerned he had got his men. But he doubted whether it was sufficient proof for court. And, of course, in the case of the murder, he was no nearer a solution than ever. It was, therefore, with qualified optimism that he went in to report to the Assistant Commissioner.

  The interview he found satisfactory on the whole. Sir Mortimer Ellison did not minimise the progress which had been made, but he harped rather more than French appreciated on the amount that still remained to be done. French knew who had robbed the safe? Good! But what about the proof? And where was the stuff which had been stolen? Also had the thieves committed the murder? Never mind about the murder being a local police job. The crimes were probably connected and French should know all about both. Had French been inclined to rest on his oars—which, indeed, he had not—the A.C.’s views would have made such an attitude highly undesirable.

  That night, though it was his weekend holiday, French set himself for the nth time to struggle with his difficulties. Obviously the best proof of the guilt of the trio would be the discovery of the swag. But it was exceedingly unlikely that this would be found—if found at all—until after the arrest. A search of the men’s belongings would probably indicate where it had been hidden, or the channels by which it was hoped to convert it into money. But an arrest could scarcely be made until clearer proof of the robbery had been obtained. The thing was a vicious circle. French was fed up with it.

  He turned from the theft, as he had turned so many times before, to the murder. If the three could be arrested for the murder, the necessary search would follow just the same. Could he not get anything on these lines?

  Suppose Lyde had murdered Minter in that bedroom at Norne’s. If so, he had left by a rope from the window. What had become of him?

  French wondered if this line of investigation had been fully explored. He picked up his telephone, got through to Fenning’s house, and asked the super what he had done about it?

  Fenning said that he had made a general inquiry as to whether anyone had been seen leaving the neighbourhood on the fatal night, but this had produced no result. Could French suggest anything better?

  French suggested assuming that Lyde was the murderer, and repeating the question with the inclusion of Lyde’s description. Fenning, eager for anything which might help him out of his difficulties, said he would have the fullest inquiries made.

  On Monday morning Fenning rang up. He believed that Lyde had been seen. He wondered if it would suit the chief-inspector to run down to Guildford, when he could hear the report for himself?

  Two hours later French was seated with Fenning in the latter’s room at police headquarters.

  ‘I think it was Lyde all right,’ Fenning said after greetings. ‘He passed two of our patrols who had met at the end of their respective beats. I have the men here. You’d better hear what they have to say.’

  Two stalwart constables were summoned and reported that they had met as Superintendent Fenning had stated and were exchanging a few remarks when a man appeared coming towards them. When he saw them he seemed to hesitate, and looked quickly to each side, as if searching for a road down which he might turn. There was none, and after that momentary hesitation, he came on past them. He walked quickly as with a purpose, and both supposed he was simply hurrying home. He was like Lyde in height and build, and also walked with the rising motion in his gait which had been mentioned in the description. He had passed on out of sight and they had thought no more of the matter, not of course, connecting him with the murder.

  ‘Where did you see him?’ French asked.

  ‘On the new bridge where the by-pass goes over the railway to Reading.’

  ‘Perhaps that doesn’t convey as much to you as it does to anyone knowing the town, chief-inspector,’ said Fenning. He got down a large-scale map from a shelf and spread it on his desk. ‘See here,’ he went on, ‘here’s the Hog’s Back and the main Guildford-Farnham road. Here,’ he pointed to a parallel track, ‘is the old road, one of the oldest roads in England, believed indeed to be prehistoric. It carries on from the Guildford High Street along the top of the Hog’s Back spine, and is joined by the new road a couple of miles out. Here is a steep hill, which the newer road avoids.’

  French nodded.

  ‘Now, here beside that old track is Guildown where Norne’s house is built. The house is not shown on this map, but it’s there.’ He made a pencil cross. ‘Now, there’s a foothpath here, nearly opposite Norne’s house, from the old track to the newer road, so that anyone leaving Norne’s could get quickly down to the newer road at that point. You follow?’

  French followed.

  ‘Very well. Here, on the opposite side of the newer road, the path runs on through Guildford Park, which is not completely shown on the map. It covers this area, and is well laid out with roads and largely built over. So that a man leaving Norne’s could cross the newer road and pass northwards through this area. Now here, to the north side of this area, runs the Guildford-Reading railway, and here, not shown, of course, is the new by-pass bridge. So you see that if a man were heading north from Norne’s he would pass over this bridge.’

  ‘That’s very suggestive, super. And where would he get to if he had gone on in that direction?’

  Fenning shrugged. ‘Woking? Bagshot? Town? Unless it was a roundabout to confuse a possible scent.’

  ‘If it was Lyde, he crossed by Newhaven and Dieppe on the Sunday morning. Have you tried any of those places you mention?’

  ‘All of them. So far there’s been no reply.’

  ‘It looks a pretty sure thing,’ French mused. ‘Tell me, what time was the man seen?’

  ‘That’s the only thing that doesn’t work in so well,’ Fenning said. ‘It was about one-fifteen in the morning
.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ French exclaimed. ‘There’s a snag there right enough. If the murder was committed about ten, as the medical evidence proves, what would Lyde have been doing for three hours? How long should it have taken him to walk from Norne’s to the bridge?’

  Fenning looked at his men. ‘Quarter of an hour?’ he suggested, with which both agreed. ‘Well,’ he went on to French, ‘there you have it. I take it you’ve done with these men?’

  French and Fenning continued discussing the affair after the constables had left. Here was another case of strong probability, but no more. There was none of that absolute proof for which French’s soul yearned.

  ‘What about letting those two men of yours see Lyde?’ French said presently. ‘If they picked him out, it should be good enough for court.’

  ‘I expect you’re right. Will you make the necessary arrangements?’

  ‘I’ll do so if you send them up.’

  This was agreed on, and French soon left, having promised to telephone Fenning when he had arranged the identification.

  Seated in the train, he continued thinking over what he had just learnt. This information would have been highly satisfactory, had it not been for that hitch about the time. But it was inconceivable that the murderer would have remained on the scene of his crime for three hours longer than was necessary. Therefore, surely the man seen was not Lyde? French began to fear this discovery of the super’s wasn’t going to be much of a help.

  Then another point struck him. Suppose Lyde had travelled down to Norne’s with Sloley and Sheen and then set off to walk, the time would have worked in exactly. Could he have done so?

  French thought not. If Lyde had come with the others he couldn’t have committed the murder, and if he hadn’t committed the murder, what had he come for? Again it looked as if the man wasn’t Lyde. Well he must fix up that identification as quickly as possible.

  Reaching the office, he got in touch with the divisional officer responsible for the area containing Sheen’s house, and secured his co-operation. Then he rang up Fenning and asked him to send his men up on the following morning. Having seen them rigged out in Metropolitan uniform, he posted them, as if on beat, near the house. He himself remained close by, sometimes in a police car, usually strolling aimlessly along, occasionally pausing at shop windows. He had a very boring morning, but towards lunch his patience was rewarded.

  About half-past twelve one of the constables made the prearranged sign and indicated a short thin man who was walking with quick nervous steps away from Sheen’s. French, who was then in his car, drove slowly past and had a look at the man. It was Lyde.

  Quickly French picked up the second constable and drove past Lyde again. This man pointed out the actor at once, though when he came closer he admitted he could not swear to him. But the first officer made no bones about swearing to him. He was, he said, absolutely certain.

  So that was Lyde! Lyde had gone down to Guildford. But when? And what for? The affair was confoundedly puzzling.

  French thought again of his idea that Lyde might have driven down with Sloley and Sheen. Was there any way, he wondered, in which he could settle the point?

  He remembered that Sloley had said he had parked opposite the office door in Ronder Lane. Was there the slightest hope that their start had been observed?

  He thought it unlikely though just possible. Still the matter offered another line of inquiry. In the absence of anything more promising, he decided he would do his best with it.

  In the ordinary routine of inquiry the constable on patrol duty on that Saturday night in the area containing the Norne building had been interrogated. He had stated that he had noticed a car standing immediately in front of the Norne door, of a similar type to Sloley’s. He did not remember the number, but there could have been no doubt it was Sloley’s. He had remarked it particularly because it had remained there longer than any of the others. He had seen it after the theatres had emptied, the one car in the street, and he had gone back specially a few minutes later to see if it was still there. It had, however, then gone.

  French decided he would go down to Ronder Lane that evening and have a look round. At these temporary car parks it often happened that some out-of-work hung about in the hope of picking up a few coppers. It was not a very hopeful proposition, but it was just worth trying.

  As theatre time approached the cul-de-sac began to fill up. French, dressed in his oldest lounge suit and smoking his shortest pipe, lounged about, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings. For half an hour he killed time, then his interest in the scene suddenly quickened.

  An old man was trying to get a job as watchman. He was opening the doors of parking cars, touching his hat to the occupants, and evidently offering his services. Though French had his own troubles, he could not but feel sorry for the old fellow, as he watched the ill-mannered way in which nine out of ten motorists turned him down, and imagined the continual disappointment he must feel.

  Presently it became apparent that all the cars which were coming to park had arrived. The old man had had no luck, and now he was beginning to shuffle despondently off. French followed him and touched him on the shoulder.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching you. No luck?’

  The old fellow, though obviously in the last stages of poverty, looked decent and as clean as his circumstances would permit. There was no whine in his voice or obsequiousness in his manner as he replied respectfully, ‘No, sir, no luck tonight.’

  French felt for half a crown. ‘Put that in your pocket,’ he said, ‘in place of the job you didn’t get. But I want something in return.’

  The man stood holding the coin. ‘I thank you, sir,’ he said doubtfully. ‘What is it that you wish?’

  ‘I’m a police officer,’ French returned, ‘and as such I’m not allowed to give money like this. So that’s an unofficial gift and we’ll both forget it.’

  At the mention of French’s calling an expression of alarm came over the man’s face. ‘I wasn’t doing any harm, sir,’ he said earnestly. ‘I was only asking the gentlemen if I might watch their cars. Sometimes things are stolen from cars. I would have watched that.’

  French shook his head. ‘I’m not saying you were doing any harm. In any case, I’m not interested in that. What I want is some information that you may be able to give me. Do you come round here every night?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I do. Sometimes someone lets me look after a car: just once in a while.’

  ‘Do you remember last Saturday evening three weeks? It was the evening before the robbery was discovered in Norne’s. You heard about the robbery, I suppose?’

  The man nodded with some eagerness. ‘That I did, sir. I heard about it on the Monday. Everyone was talking about it.’

  ‘Well, it’s about the robbery I’m interested, not about anything that you were doing. Were you out here that evening?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I was.’

  ‘Did you get a job?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I had a bit of luck that night. A gentleman with an open car let me watch it for him. There were two rugs in it and some parcels. I watched it for him from close on eight till eleven and he gave me a bob. Yes, I had a stroke of luck that night.’

  French wondered was he going to have a stroke of luck on this night. ‘Where was the man’s car parked?’ he went on. ‘Come and show me the place.’

  It proved to have been along the wall of Norne’s building, some three cars’ length from the entrance. From it Sloley’s car must have been clearly visible.

  ‘Did you see a car parked just opposite the entrance door?’

  ‘Yes, sir, a dark saloon. I saw it. It must have come early, for it was there when I arrived.’

  French was getting more and more interested. Quietly he asked the fateful question. ‘Did you see that car start, the car that was before the door?’

  The man seemed slow of replying. French tried to look bored, but in reality he hung on his words. Then the old
man pronounced the thrilling words: ‘Yes, sir, I saw it.’

  For a moment French wondered if his half-crown was working too well. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘then did it leave before the one you were watching?’

  But he saw he had been about to misjudge the other. ‘No, sir,’ the man said, ‘it was the last to go. It waited three or four minutes after the rest.’

  ‘Then how did you come to stay so long?’

  ‘I could hardly say, sir. I just wasn’t in a hurry. When you’ve no job you get info the way of spending as much time everywhere as you can. There’s always too much of it.’

  ‘Where were you when it left?’

  ‘Just about to turn into Kingsway, sir. I happened to look back and I saw the men getting in and the car starting.’

  ‘Oh, you saw the men getting in? Two men?’

  ‘Three men, sir.’

  French stared. Three men? Then Lyde had gone with the others after all!

  ‘Three men, you say? Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir, I’m sure. Perfectly sure. There’s a lamp just beyond the door, and I saw them in the light quite distinctly.’

  ‘Three men. Did you see where they came from?’

  ‘Yes, sir, they came out of the building.’

  Again French paused. This certainly was unexpected. Neither Sloley nor Sheen had mentioned that they had gone back into the office after the show. Then he saw that it was not unreasonable that they should have done so. Presumably they had suitcases, and because of possible thieves had left them inside the door rather than in the car.

  ‘Had their suitcases in their hands?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  French grunted. ‘Can you describe the men?’ he went on.

  For the first time the old fellow hesitated. ‘I don’t know that I can, sir,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t see them so well as that. I saw the three figures, but I couldn’t see their faces.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you could,’ French admitted. ‘They didn’t seem to be carrying anything?’

  The man shook his head. ‘No, sir, I’m sure they weren’t. I think I should have seen it. One of them didn’t seem to be well and the other two were helping him.’