They Found Him Dead (13 page)

Hannasyde looked up. "I thought Mrs. Kane was supposed to be very infirm?"

The inspector smiled wryly. "Well, she is and she isn't, Superintendent, if you take my meaning. Some days she'll be carried pretty well everywhere, or at the best creep about with a stick and someone's arm to lean on, and others she'll get taken with a fit of energy and move without anyone's help. She says she went for a stroll towards the lake, and I'm bound to admit I shouldn't be surprised if she did. The way she has it in for Mrs. Clement it's quite likely she'd go to spy out what young Madam was up to with her fancy boy. What's more, if her story's true, she'd be out of sight of the terrace in about three minutes, even walking at her pace. She'd go through the rose garden, and that's surrounded by a big yew hedge, as you'll see when you go up to Cliff House."

"And the maid went to look for her through the gardens?"

"She says she did. She says she found her, beyond the rose garden, by the potting-shed and the glasshouses. Well, that's certainly on the east side of the house, same as the shrubbery—call it southeast—but it's far enough away from the study for a deaf person not to have heard the shot. But it's only their word for it that we've got, Superintendent. By the time anyone else got out to the terrace Mrs. Kane had got back there. Mind, I don't say her story isn't true; but what I do say is that it wouldn't make a bit of difference to Jane Ogle if it wasn't. She'd lie herself black in the face to protect the old lady, and the impression she gives me is that that's just what she is doing. That, or she was up to something herself."

"Oh!" Hannasyde considered for a moment. "A bit far-fetched, isn't it?"

"Exactly what I say," nodded the colonel. "I'm ready to admit Emily Kane's a ruthless old woman—to tell you the truth, I'm scared stiff of her!—and she never made any secret of the fact that she detested Clement. But somehow I don't see an old lady of eighty being able to commit that murder, get to cover before Jim Kane could see her——"

"If we are going to consider the possibility of Mrs. Kane's having committed the murder, sir, mustn't we also take into consideration that James Kane would be very unlikely to give his great-aunt away?" interposed Hannasyde.

The colonel was silent for a frowning moment. "Yes, I suppose you're right there. But damn it all, the idea's preposterous!"

"Yes sir; I can't get round to it myself that it was the old lady," agreed the inspector. "My idea is the maid might have shot Clement Kane, either with Mrs. Kane's knowledge or without it." He saw a sceptical look in Hannasyde's eye and added: "I'm not saying it doesn't sound crazy, Superintendent, but the point is, Jane Ogle is crazy where her mistress is concerned. Ever since Clement Kane came into the fortune, and Miss Allison got herself engaged to young Kane, she's been going about saying how there's no one cares about the old lady but her, and a lot of silly talk about her seeing to it no one should make her mistress's last days a misery to her."

"What about the gun?" asked Hannasyde. "I see the bullet was a .38. Any line on it?"

"Yes, Superintendent, there is a line on it. We've established the fact that old John Kane—that's Emily Kane's husband that was—once owned a .38 Smith and Wesson."

"That's interesting," Hannasyde said. "Has that gun been produced?"

"No, it hasn't, sir; and it doesn't look as though it will be. No one's seen it for years, according to the evidence. I've asked for it to be found, but you know what a big household like that is. If the gun's really lost, it would take anyone a month of Sundays to look for it through all the chests, and lumber rooms, and cupboards full of junk, that there are in the place. But if it wasn't lost, anyone living in the house—and James Kane, too, for that matter—might have known where to put their hands on it any time they wanted."

"I see." Again Hannasyde seemed to be considering the point. He glanced down at the typescript and said after a slight pause: "Some dissension in the firm of Kane and Mansell, apparently. Can you give me any line on these Mansells?"

The inspector glanced at Colonel Maurice. "Nothing known against them, is there, sir? They do say Paul Mansell's a bit sharp, but you might say the same about a lot of businessmen. Mr. Mansell's well spoken of, but people don't like the young one much. Bit of scandal there, on account of him being divorced. Nothing relevant to the case."

"Paul Mansell's a flashy young bounder," stated the colonel suddenly. "Old Mansell's all right, but I don't like what I know of his son. I don't see Joe murdering his partner for the sake of putting through a deal that would ease his finances; but, frankly, I wouldn't put it above Paul—if he had the courage to do it. Mind, that's nothing but prejudice on my part."

Hannasyde nodded. "This man, Oscar Roberts—he's representing the agency in Australia?"

"That's right. By what I can make out," said the inspector, "he was very anxious to come to terms with the firm. Of course, they've got a name."

Hannasyde wrinkled his brow. "Yes, but so have several other firms. I can't see that he had the least motive."

"No sir, nor me. What's more, even though he might have murdered Silas Kane—if he was murdered, that is—we know he couldn't have murdered Clement. He was in the hall with the butler and Miss Allison when the shot was heard."

"Oh yes, I wasn't seriously considering him," Hannasyde replied.

He looked up as the door opened to admit a constable who came in with a folder which he laid on the desk at the inspector's elbow. The inspector picked it up and handed it to Hannasyde. "You'll find all the facts concerning Silas Kane's death there, Superintendent."

Hannasyde took the folder and opened it. While he read through the notes on the case the colonel and the inspector sat in silence, waiting for him to finish. When he at length laid the folder down the colonel said: "Well, Superintendent, what do you make of it?"

"I should like to go into it again, sir."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Now Clement's been murdered, it does look suspicious. You think the two deaths hang together?"

"There's a big fortune at stake, sir. At the same time the methods employed—assuming Silas Kane's death was contrived—are very different. In the first instance, you have the murder made to look like an accident; in the second, there's no attempt at camouflage. One point strikes me: I see that James Kane was present at Silas' birthday-party and left shortly after eleven o'clock to motor back to London."

"Well?" said the colonel rather curtly.

Hannasyde looked at him. "Doesn't it seem rather a long way to come, just to attend a dinner party, sir?"

"Oh, Jim wouldn't make anything of a three-hour motor run! Besides, he didn't come only to see Silas. He brought his stepbrother down—Timothy Harte. Really, I don't think there's anything in that, Superintendent."

"You know him, of course, sir," said Hannasyde in a noncommittal voice. "The rest of the servants—and Miss Allison: nothing there?"

"No possible motive," said the inspector. "Of course, I suppose you could say that Miss Allison had a motive, since she's engaged to be married to James Kane; but she was with Mrs. Kane at the time Silas must have met his death, and in the hall along with Roberts and the butler when Clement was shot." He paused and added hopefully: "Do you get any sort of line on it, Superintendent?"

"Well, no, not at present," replied Hannasyde. "One or two points seem to stand out. I'd like to keep the notes on Silas Kane's death, if I may. I'll go up to Cliff House and take a look round and have a talk with all these people."

"I don't know about the rest of them, but you can be sure of getting a welcome from Master Timothy Harte," said the inspector with a grin.

This prophecy was fulfilled. From the moment of hearing that a superintendent from Scotland Yard had taken charge of the case, Mr. Harte's spirits, a little quenched by this first sight of violent death, rose to dizzy heights. His elders might look upon the affair with anxiety, but Mr. Harte anticipated nothing but the keenest enjoyment to be derived from association with a member of the C.I.D. Superintendent Hannasyde, who was a large thick-set man with a square, good-humoured countenance and little conversation, he regarded with awe, not altogether unmixed with disappointment; but the superintendent's satellite, a birdlike sergeant, with bright eyes and a flow of small talk, at once took his fancy. Realising instinctively that there was little to be got from Hannasyde (who annoyed him by regarding him with a palpable twinkle in his eye), he attached himself firmly to Sergeant Hemingway, while the superintendent pursued his investigations in peace.

Finding his footsteps dogged by Mr. Harte, the sergeant suggested that he would be better employed in the pursuit of his usual avocations. Timothy said simply: "I'd rather watch you, thanks."

"Oh!" said the sergeant. "You would, would you? You take care I don't have you up for obstructing me in the execution of my duty."

This piece of facetiousness did not please. Timothy said somewhat severely: "You must think I'm a pretty good ass to swallow that. Besides, I'm not obstructing. I bet I can help you a lot more than you know."

"Well, what I don't know I shan't grieve over, see?"

"All right!" said Timothy with an air of veiled menace and left him.

Twenty minutes later the sergeant, pursuing investigations in the shrubbery, discovered that Mr. Harte was once more with him.

"Say, Sarge," quoth Mr. Harte cheerfully, "if you're looking for the gat I reckon you've got another guess coming to you."

The sergeant looked at him with assumed ferocity. "Scram!" he said.

"Nothing doing," replied Mr. Harte. "Whose garden is this, anyway?"

"Well, if it's yours, it's the first I've heard of it," said the sergeant, allowing himself to be led into argument.

"It isn't. As a matter of fact, it belongs to my stepbrother now, so it's all the same. Besides, he told me to come out here."

"Told you to come out and pester me?" demanded the sergeant, revising his first favourable impressions of Mr. James Kane's character.

"No, of course not!" said Mr. Harte impatiently. "He said I was to clear out into the garden, and I have."

"I don't blame him," said the sergeant.

"Well, can't I help?" said Timothy, suddenly adopting an ingratiating tone. "Honestly, I won't bother you; but I do most frightfully want to see how a real detective works!"

Sergeant Hemingway met the appeal in the worshipful blue eyes upturned to his and felt himself weakening.

He explained afterwards to his superior that he had always been a softy with kids. "I don't mind you trotting round after me as long as you don't get in my way," he conceded. "But mind, now, if I tell you to scram, you scram double-quick!"

"All right, it's a deal," said Timothy, promptly abandoning his wistful expression.

"And you're not to talk me silly!" added Hemingway.

"No, rather not. I say, do you wear a badge, like American policemen?"

"No," replied the sergeant.

"Oh! Rather rotten. It's great when the detective suddenly turns up the lapel of his coat, and there's his badge. What do you do?"

"Hand in my card. Know what I think would be a good idea?"

Timothy eyed him rather suspiciously. "No?"

"If you'd give over wasting my time with asking me silly questions."

"Well, I wanted to know. Besides, you're wasting your time, anyway. I told you the gat wasn't here, only you wouldn't listen. I looked for it myself, ages ago, because I thought probably the murderer would be pretty likely to hide it amongst the bushes. Well, he didn't, and I don't think it's in the bushes on the other side of the drive either. I haven't actually combed them, but I've got a theory about it. I'll tell you what it is, if you like."

"The way I look at it is, you'll tell me whether I like it or not," said the sergeant. "Go on; what is it?"

"Well, look here!" said Timothy eagerly; "I know we haven't proved anything yet, but suppose it was Mr. Dermott who did it?"

"All right, I'm supposing it."

"He had a row with Cousin Rosemary down by the lake—at least, not exactly a row, but a Big Scene, with her turning him down, and him realising that while Cousin Clement was alive he would never see her again——"

"Look here, where did you get all this from?" demanded the sergeant, shocked. "Nice thing for a boy of your age to be talking about!"

"Oh, can it!" begged Timothy. "All the skivvies say Cousin Rosemary would have got a divorce if it hadn't been for Cousin Clement inheriting a fortune. Besides, I've seen lots of films where things happen just like that. Only now I come to think of it," he added, frowning, "it isn't ever that man who actually did the murder. You simply see him absolutely livid, and stiff with motives, just to put you off the scent. Still, I dare say it's different when it really happens. Suppose it was Mr. Dermott."

"I've been supposing it for five minutes," said the sergeant.

"All right. He parts from Cousin Rosemary in a complete flat spin, gets his gun out of the car, which he left halfway down the drive, and bursts up through the shrubbery to the study window, shoots Cousin Clement, bunks into the shrubbery again, and instead of making for the wall beyond the bushes on the other side of the drive, as Mr. Roberts thinks he did, goes back to the lake, chucks the gun in, and makes for his car. When I met him he was definitely coming from the lake, and he looked absolutely batty. I've worked it all out, and he could easily have done it. What's more, the only person who could have seen him was Cousin Rosemary, and naturally she wouldn't split on him."