Crime at Guildford Read online

  Sheen’s was the next name on French’s list. From him he hoped to learn more. There were not only the general questions about possible unusual happenings, but he wished to get the secretary’s statement about his and Sloley’s meeting with Minter on the Saturday evening, as well as his story of the events at Guildford on the Sunday. He spent a good deal of time with Sheen, but he didn’t learn anything of importance which he had not already known. Sheen said that the idea of making use of the list of shareholders had occurred to him on that Saturday morning, but he was doubtful as to its utility and had not then mentioned it to anyone. He wanted first to work the thing out and see if the result seemed worth while. When he had finished he was agreeably surprised to find that the information it gave was really helpful. He would have then discussed it with the others, but by that time they had left the building. In the afternoon and evening he had social engagements, at which Sloley was also present. He had, however, taken an opportunity of mentioning the thing to Sloley, and, Sloley seeming impressed, he had rung up Minter to tell him his results, and to ask his opinion on one or two points about which he himself was not satisfied.

  Minter had also seemed interested, and when he told Sheen that he was not going down to Guildford till the 8.15 train, Sheen asked him to call at the office on the way, where he would meet him and give him the actual papers. Minter had agreed, saying he would look over them in the train and report to the others.

  This arrangement had been carried out. Between his engagements, he and Sloley had met Minter at the office, handed him the list, and discussed the points in question. Minter had then gone on to Waterloo, and Sheen and Sloley had walked across to the Aldwych Theatre.

  French did not greatly take to Sheen. The man seemed self-opinionated and interested only in his own affairs, and French found himself sympathising with Miss Barber’s view that he was a fool.

  Sloley was not often to be found in the Norne offices, but the burglary had kept him hanging about in the hope of learning further details, and French seized the opportunity to get his statement also.

  Sloley, however, had nothing fresh to tell. He confirmed in all essential points what Sheen had said—what, indeed, had been said by Norne at French’s first interview. Sloley was willing enough to give his information, but French did not take to him either, believing him to be noisy and aggressive and a potential bully.

  Mrs Rebecca Turbot, the head charwoman, interviewed at her home, said that she and her helpers usually cleaned the offices on Saturday afternoon. On the previous Saturday, however, she had an engagement in the early afternoon which made her late getting to work. Instead, therefore, of finishing about six, it was eight o’clock before she had done. Just before leaving she had seen the three men arrive; Minter first by himself, and then Sloley and Sheen together. She had left immediately after, and on her way out had noticed a taxi standing before the door.

  This confirmed Sloley’s and Sheen’s statements, and French felt that he had obtained all the information he could hope for from these persons. Norne, Sir Ralph Osenden, and Miles, the foreman, he had already interrogated, and as he had now heard the most promising witnesses without obtaining any very clear lead towards a working theory, he began to feel a little baffled and uncertain as to what should be his next step.

  However, as he was considering the matter, it was settled for him. A clerk came up to say that he was wanted on the telephone in Miss Barber’s room.

  6

  Enter the Borough Force

  The call was from Superintendent[fn1] Fenning of the Guildford Borough Police, sent through the Yard. It was Fenning with whom French had already been in communication about the death of Minter, and from whom he had obtained the deceased’s finger-prints.

  A couple of years previously he had met Fenning. That was when he had been in Guildford in connection with what had come to be known as the Hog’s Back Mystery; the strange disappearance of Dr James Earle from his house not far from Seale. During that long drawn-out investigation French had got to know the triangle of country between Guildford, Farnham and Godalming like the palm of his own hand, and though he had not come a great deal in contact with the Guildford super, he had seen enough of him to form a high opinion of his merits.

  ‘There has been a development down here,’ came Fenning’s voice. ‘I don’t know that I care to discuss it over the ’phone. I wondered if you would care either to come down or to send a representative who could report to you?’

  For French the suggestion came at just the right moment. He was feeling at a loose end, and it was obvious that if his presence were required at Guildford, no one could say that his activities in Town were lacking in energy.

  ‘I’ll go myself,’ he replied promptly. ‘You may expect me by the next train.’

  Having satisfied himself that the men who were interviewing the Norne staff were getting on reasonably well, he set off for Waterloo. There he had time for a snack before his train. An hour later he was greeted by Superintendent Fenning at the Borough headquarters.

  ‘Very pleased to see you again, chief-inspector,’ said the super heartily. ‘And very pleased to have to say “Chief.” We were all very glad when we heard of that little addition to your title.’

  He was a good fellow, Fenning. French found it pleasant to be greeted in so kindly a way.

  ‘Very good of you, super,’ he answered. ‘I feel myself lucky, I meet with so much kindness. All the same I envy you people who live within reach of the country, particularly when it’s country like yours here.’

  For a time they chatted. Fenning had a nephew at the Yard and he begged for an unbiassed opinion of the young man. French asked after Superintendent Sheaf of Farnham and several other friends he had made at the time of the Hog’s Back case. At last they came to business.

  ‘It’s about the death of this man Minter,’ Fenning began. ‘I don’t know if you heard the details?’

  ‘I heard what Norne and Sloley and Sheen and Ricardo had to say about it,’ French answered. ‘I don’t know if their stories covered everything.’

  ‘I should fancy not,’ Fenning returned dryly. ‘I’ll tell you. As you know, Minter was unwell on the Saturday afternoon, but was able to come down to Norne’s by the 8.15 from Waterloo. He had to go to bed on arrival and was seen only by the butler and Norne. Norne reported him looking ill to the other guests, and that,’ Fenning made a gesture emphasising the point, ‘was all.’

  ‘I heard about that.’

  ‘Quite: I needn’t repeat it. In the morning Minter was found dead and the doctor wouldn’t give a certificate. Everyone assumed natural causes, though one or two suggested suicide or accident as an alternative.’

  ‘What sort of accident? Poison?’

  ‘That was the suggestion: that the man had taken by mistake an overdose of some drug or sleeping draught. There were no facts to support the idea, except that the man was dead, and if it should prove not to be from natural causes, no other explanation could be put up.’

  French nodded without speaking. ‘Well, I had a chat with Dr Hawthorn, who examined him, but he’s a secretive sort of chap and I didn’t get a lot out of him. He said he couldn’t say anything definite until he had made a post-mortem, but he advised me not to banish the idea of foul play from my mind.’

  French whistled. ‘A broadish hint!’

  ‘Yes. As a result, of course, I made a much more careful inquiry than I otherwise would. I found one or two interesting things about which I’ll tell you in a moment. But I confess I didn’t take the case very seriously till this morning. Shortly before I rang you up I got the result of the autopsy. I think, chief-inspector, it will surprise you. Minter was murdered by suffocation.’

  ‘Suffocation!’

  ‘I thought you weren’t expecting that. Dr Hawthorn says there’s no doubt of it whatever. He gives the technical details. Shall I read them?’

  ‘No good to me. The results are all I want.’

  ‘He says it was done with gre
at care and skill; there is scarcely an outward sign on the body. All the same its appearance suggested suffocation. But he was by no means sure. So when he could find no other cause of death, he refused the certificate. He wasn’t going to say it was murder till he was certain, but neither was he was going to take any risks. He therefore rang us up and remained in the room till we arrived.’

  ‘A good man.’

  ‘One of the best, though as I said, secretive: he might have told me what was in his mind. He says the deceased had been tied up. Both wrists and ankles show bruises, but they are so extremely slight that the tying must have been done gently and with something soft. He suggests broad bands of silk or something of that kind. And he says that the appearances suggest to him, though he can’t be sure of it, that the deceased did struggle, though in a very feeble way.’

  ‘What about the mouth? Does that not show marks?’

  ‘Quite right: he had been gagged. The mouth is bruised, but surprisingly little. Here again something soft must have been used.’

  French moved uneasily. ‘By heck, super, this is a surprising turn. And a nasty one. I’m always glad when a chap that murders by suffocation goes to the scaffold. Hanging’s about too good for him.’

  ‘I agree. In this case it was an easy job. The poor fellow couldn’t put up any real resistance. Hadn’t the strength.’

  ‘That all the doctor says?’

  ‘There was just one other point. The inside of the mouth was more bruised than the outside. The doctor suggests that a cloth must have been used and the mouth stuffed full, and then the nose held.’

  ‘We’ll have to get that fellow, super.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fenning slowly, ‘that I haven’t got him already. I have something more to tell you.’

  French grinned. ‘You’re as bad as Dr Hawthorn,’ he declared. ‘What have you still got up your sleeve?’

  ‘Perhaps a good deal: perhaps nothing,’ the super rejoined. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll have to wait for the analyst’s report before I can tell you.’

  ‘What is that: the stomach and organs?’

  ‘Yes, and something else as well. I’ll tell you.’

  The super paused to light a second cigarette, then went on. ‘On the table at the head of the bed we found two objects. One was a small-sized bottle of aspirin, half-empty. The other was an ordinary glass or tumbler, containing a drop or two of what looked like water. The bottle had apparently belonged to the deceased, as no one admitted having seen it before. The glass was part of the room furniture and had been taken from the wash basin.

  ‘Owing to the doctor’s attitude we tested both for finger-prints, a precaution that I dare say we mightn’t otherwise have troubled about. We got a rather curious result. I wish, chief-inspector, you could have seen the glass yourself. I’d be interested to hear your remarks. But it’s with the analyst.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I can do a little better. Here are some fairly decent photographs.’ Fenning opened a folder and passed over four full-plate prints. ‘These are of the glass, showing it slightly enlarged. They’re taken from north, east, south, and west, so that when placed in that order they give a record of the markings right round the glass. That thumb-print, for instance, that you see on the left of what I call the east print, is the same as that on the right of the north print. You follow?’

  ‘Clearly. It’s as good as having the glass.’

  ‘Then what do you make of it?’

  There were six prints on the glass, all clearly marked. But whereas five of them were reasonably complete, the sixth was partially wiped out. The top and bottom were gone as if the glass had been cleaned in those areas, leaving a narrow sharp-edged band across the centre of the print. The complete five represented the thumb and four fingers of a right hand.

  ‘Are these Minter’s?’ French asked.

  For answer Fenning passed over a set of cards. ‘Those are Minter’s,’ he said.

  It scarcely needed the lens Fenning also pushed across for French to identify them. The prints were Minter’s; that is, the five complete ones. The portion of the sixth belonged to someone else. French looked up inquiringly.

  ‘Something interesting about those prints, chief-inspector,’ Fenning said, sitting back in his chair and rubbing his hands; ‘unless I’m altogether barking up the wrong tree.’

  French began whistling softly below his breath as he bent over the photographs. ‘Do you mean the five?’ he asked.

  ‘The five, yes. But you may not be able to see what I’m trying to get at on the photographs. It’s much clearer on the glass itself. In fact, it wasn’t till I noticed it that I had the photos taken.’ He paused, then continued. ‘I should tell you that on the bottle of aspirins there were three prints, Minter’s thumb and first and second fingers, very clear.’

  ‘Only those?’

  ‘Only those.’

  ‘And except for that bit of a sixth print, only Minter’s five on the glass. Is that what you mean, super? That there should be more?’

  Fenning nodded. ‘That’s one thing, chief-inspector, though it’s not the most important.’

  ‘If the glass was taken from the washing-table, it must have been put there by someone, presumably the chambermaid. Should it bear her prints? She might have given it a final wipe with a cloth on setting it down and not handled it with her bare fingers.’

  ‘Something else about the prints, chief-inspector. Have another look at them.’

  French frowned as he concentrated on the problem. It would not do for a country policeman, not even the superintendent of an important borough like Guildford, to see anything that he, French, had missed. The prints seemed all right. They were clear and they were obviously genuine. And they were just where one would expect to find them if the glass had been lifted to drink from it.

  Ah! but were they? French looked with even keener interest. The fingers seemed to be correctly placed and spaced. But what about the thumb?

  ‘Have you another glass there?’ French asked.

  Fenning clapped his hands. ‘Good for you, chief-inspector,’ he exclaimed. ‘I see you’ve got it.’ He stepped out of the room, returning in a moment with a glass. French picked it up, placing his fingers as nearly as possible in the positions shown on the photographs. Then he stared at his thumb. The axis or centre-line lay at a different angle to that of Minter’s: different by about thirty degrees.

  Slowly he began to experiment. Holding the glass in his other hand, he tried to alter his grip so as to turn his thumb through that thirty degrees. But he could not do so. He looked at Fenning.

  ‘They’ve been faked on,’ he said.

  Something like admiration showed in Fenning’s eyes. ‘Because of the thumb?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, the thumb’s, so to speak, out of drawing.’

  ‘That’s the phrase! As I see it, someone has wiped that glass and pressed the fingers on it. The fingers are right enough because they were all done together and they held their position. But the thumb was put on separately at the opposite side of the glass. In doing it the glass got twisted, and the thumb-print doesn’t register up with the others.’

  ‘I entirely agree,’ said French. ‘I had a case something like it before.’

  ‘You had?’

  ‘Yes: case of a solicitor found shot. He was supposed to have committed suicide, and we got his prints on the gun: his prints only. But we found the same thing there: the prints were badly put on. They were all there, but they didn’t register the relative positions of the fingers of a hand.’

  The admiration of the superintendent seemed to suffer a slight eclipse.

  ‘Well, there it is,’ he said with truth. ‘But there’s more in it than that, chief-inspector. Have another look.’

  ‘I know,’ said French, who had regained his self-assurance. ‘You mean the other print? The print that was only partly wiped off?’

  ‘The print that was missed when the glass was cleaned,’ Fenning said g
rimly. ‘Yes, we recognised the importance of that print. We sent a photograph up to your people to see if they could identify it.’

  ‘And could they? I didn’t hear about it.’

  ‘They could. It was Norne’s!’

  French gave an ejaculation of surprise, partly because he really was surprised, and partly to indicate appreciation of the super’s story. Then he sat silent, thinking over this unexpected development.

  The more he did so, the more significant it seemed to become. It was true, of course, that he had recognised that the accountant might have been murdered and that any member of Norne’s household might have murdered him. But he had looked on the matter as a mere academic possibility; something that should be noted if every contingency were to be covered, but not something which need be seriously considered. Now consideration of it had become vital.

  But might there not be even more in it than that? French whistled below his breath as he followed up the thought. It was a habit his subordinates knew well, and and they also knew that when they heard the soft hissing sounds, it was more prudent to keep silence than to speak. Fenning heard them and took them as a tribute to his story.

  French continued his mental groping. If Norne had murdered Minter, could it be that the crime was connected in some obscure way with the theft? Admittedly he didn’t see how; and yet … If there were no connection, it would certainly be a strange coincidence that the two things should happen in the same surroundings.

  ‘By Jove, super,’ he said at last, ‘that gives one something to think about.’

  Fenning beamed. His story had gone better even than he had hoped. ‘I thought it would probably interest you,’ he admitted.

  ‘Norne didn’t mention the aspirin in his first statement,’ went on French. ‘What does he say now?’

  ‘I’ve not asked him. I’ve only just got to know what I’ve told you.’

  ‘Quite. Now, I’d like to be clear about your theory, super. From your sending the bottle and glass to the analyst, it looks as if you suspected poison. But if Minter was suffocated, how would that come in?’