Part 12

“Then why the devil do you bother me?” Kimball cried.

Reggie sat up suddenly. “Because this is something you must know.” He rearranged his coat and slid down into the chair again, and drawled out what he had to say. “Some time the end of last year--point of fact--last December--bein’ quite precise, from fifth to twenty-ninth--in one of the nursin’-homes in Queen Anne Street--speakin’ strictly, No. 1003--there was a man bein’ operated on by Sir Jenkin Totteridge for an affection of the middle ear. This chap was called Mason. You went to see him several times. Who was Mason?”

Kimball stared at him with singular intensity. Then he swung half round in his chair with one of his characteristic jerky movements, and pulled out his snuffbox. He took a pinch. “You’ve found a mare’s nest,” he said, with a laugh, and took another pinch.

As he spoke, Reggie sprang up with some vehemence, bumping into his arm. “Sorry--sorry. A mare’s nest, you say? Now what exactly do you mean by that?”

Kimball stood up too. “I mean you’re wasting my time,” he said.

“That isn’t what I should call an explanation,” Reggie murmured. “For instance, do you mean you didn’t go to see Mason?”

“Don’t let’s have any more of this damned trifling,” Kimball cried. “Certainly I went to see Mason.”

“Good! Who is he?”

“Jack Mason is a fellow I knew in my early days. I went up and he didn’t. I’ve seen little of him this ten years. When he had that operation, poor chap, he wrote to me, and I went to see him for the sake of old times. And what the devil has it to do with Scotland Yard?”

“Mason is the man who was found at the Montmorency House flats with his face smashed in.”

“God bless my soul! Mason! Poor chap, poor chap! But what are you talking about? The papers said that was a man called Rand.”

“Mason, otherwise Rand. Rand, otherwise Mason. Who was Mason, and why did somebody kill him?”

Kimball made one of his jerky gestures. “Killed, was he? I thought he fell out of the window.”

“He was murdered.”

“Good God! Old Jack Mason! It’s beyond me. I haven’t a notion. You know this upsets me a good deal. I’ve seen little of him for a long time. I can hardly believe he’s gone. But why the devil did he call himself Rand?”

“What was he?” said Reggie sharply.

“God bless me, I couldn’t tell you,” Kimball laughed. “He was always very close. An agent in a small way, when I knew him--colonial produce, and so forth. I fancy he went in for building land. Comfortably off always, but he never got on. Very reserved fellow. Loved to be mysterious. No. I suppose it isn’t surprising he used two names.”

“Why was he murdered?” said Reggie.

“I can’t help you.”

“That’s all you can say?”

“Yes. Afraid so. Yes. Let me know as soon as you have anything more. Good morning, good morning.” He bustled out.

“A bit hurried, as you might say,” said Superintendent Bell.

Reggie picked up a paper-knife and fell on his knees. He rose with some fragments of white powder on the blade. “I suppose you saw me jog his arm,” he said. “And that’s cocaine.” He tumbled Lomas’s paper-clips out of their box and put the stuff in. “Do you remember the first time we had him here, he took snuff? I thought he was rather odd about it and after it, and I went over to the window where he stood to see if I could find any of the stuff he used. But he’d been careful. He is careful, is Kimball.”

“He is damned careful,” Lomas agreed, and began to write on a scribbling-pad, looking at each word critically.

There was a pause. “Beg your pardon, sir,” said Superintendent Bell. “You talked about the murder being a madman’s job. Do you mean Mr. Kimball, being a dope fiend, is not responsible for his actions?”

“O Lord, no. Kimball’s not a dope fiend. He uses the stuff same like we use whisky. He’s not a slave to it yet. Say he’s a heavy drinker. It’s just beginnin’ to interfere with his efficiency. That’s why he left the box behind in the bathroom; that’s why he’s a little jerky. But he’s pretty adequate still.”

“You talked about mad. You were emphatic, as you might say,” Bell insisted. “What might you have in your mind, sir? Mr. Kimball’s generally reckoned uncommon practical.”

“He isn’t ordinary mad,” said Reggie. “He don’t think he’s Julius Cæsar or a poached egg. He don’t go out without his trousers. He don’t see red and go it blind. But there is something queer in him. I doubt if they’re physical, these perversions. Call it a disease of the soul.”

“Ah, well, his soul,” said Bell gravely. “I judge he’s not a Christian man.”

“I wish I did know his creed,” said Reggie, with equal gravity. “It would be very instructive.”

Lomas tapped his pencil impatiently. “We’re not evangelists, we’re policemen,” he said. “And what do we do next?”

“Take out a warrant and arrest Kimball,” said Reggie carelessly.

Bell and Lomas looked at each other and then at him. “I don’t see my way,” said Lomas.

“The corpse can be identified as Mason. I’ll swear to the operation. Totteridge will swear it’s the man he operated on as Mason. Kimball admits several visits to Mason. In the room from which the corpse was thrown was a gold snuff-box containing cocaine. Shortman’s will swear that box is their make and exactly similar to a box sold to Kimball. And Kimball takes cocaine. It’s a good prima facie case.”

“Yes. Did you ever see a jury that would hang a man on it?”

“We do have to be so careful,” Bell murmured.

Reggie laughed. “And Kimball’s a Cabinet Minister.”

“Damn it. Fortune, be fair!” Lomas cried. “If I had a sound case against a man, he would stand his trial whoever he was. I don’t wink at a fellow who’s got a pull. You know that. But there’s a reason in all things. I can’t charge a Cabinet Minister with murder on evidence like this. What is it after all?” He picked up his scribbling-pad and read: “‘Three circumstances--Kimball knew the murdered man; a snuff-box like Kimball’s was found on the scene of the murder; that snuff-box held cocaine, and cocaine is what Kimball uses.’ Circumstantial evidence at its weakest. Neither judge nor jury would look at it. There’s no motive, there’s no explanation of the method of the crime. My dear chap, suppose you were on the other side, you’d tear it to ribands in five minutes.”

“On the other side?” Reggie repeated slowly. “I’m not an advocate, Lomas. I’m always on the same side. I’m for justice. I’m for the man who’s been wronged.”

Lomas stared at him. “Yes. Quite--quite. But we generally take all that for granted, don’t we? My dear chap, you mustn’t mind my saying so, but you do preach a good deal over this case.”

“I had noticed the same thing myself,” said Superintendent Bell, and they both looked curiously at Reggie.

“Why am I so moral? Because the thing’s so damned immoral,” said Reggie vehemently. “What’s most crime? Human. Human greed, human lust, human hostility. But this is diabolical. Sheer evil for evil’s sake. Lomas, I’ll swear, when we have it all out, we’ll find that it still looks unreasonable, futile, pure passion for wrong.”

“Meaning Mr. Kimball mad. You do come back to that, sir,” Bell said.

“Not legally mad. Probably not medically mad. I mean he has the devil in him.”

“Really, my dear Fortune, you do surprise me,” Lomas said. “I perceive that in all things you are too superstitious. The right honourable gentleman hath a devil! It isn’t done, you know. This is the twentieth century. And you’re a scientific man. Consider your reputation--and mine, if you don’t mind. What the devil are we to do? Try exorcism?”

“You won’t charge Kimball?” Lomas signified an impatient negative. “Very well. You say you don’t let a man off because he’s in the Government. Suppose you had a prima facie case like this against a nobody. Suppose I brought you as good grounds for arresting Sandford. Wouldn’t you have him in the dock? On your conscience now!”

Again Bell and Lomas consulted each other’s faces. “I wonder why you drag in Sandford?” said Lomas slowly.

“He’s in it all right. I asked you a question.”

“Well, if you insist. One might charge a man on a prima facie case, to hear his defence.”

Reggie struck his hand on the table. “There it is! A man who is nobody--he can stand trial. Not a Cabinet Minister. Oh dear, no!”

“My dear fellow, the world is what it is. You know very well that if I wanted to charge Kimball on this evidence it would be turned down. I couldn’t force the issue without a stronger case. Do have some sense of the practical.”

Reggie smiled. “I’m not blaming you. I only want to rub it in.”

“Thanks very much. We are to suspect Kimball, I suppose.”

“Like the devil, and watch him.”

“I see. Yes, I think we shall be quite justified in watching Mr. Kimball. But, my dear fellow, you are rather odd this morning. If you want Kimball watched, why the devil do you handle him so violently? You know, you almost accused him of the murder. Anything more likely to put him on his guard I can’t imagine.”

“Yes, yes. I think I made him jump,” said Reggie, with satisfaction. “Quite intentional, Lomas, old thing. He’s on his guard all right. But he don’t know how little we know. I meant to put him in a funk. I want to see what a funk will make him do.”

Lomas looked at him steadily. “For a very moral man,” he said, “you have a good deal of the devil about you.”

“I think I ought to say, Mr. Fortune,” said Bell, “we’ve all been in a hurry to judge Mr. Kimball. I said things myself. And I do say he’s not a Christian man--an unbeliever, I’m afraid. But I had ought to say too, he lives a very clean life. Always has. Temperate, very quiet style, a thorough good master, generous to his employees, and always ready to come down handsome for a good cause.”

“Who is Kimball, Bell?” said Reggie quietly.

“Sir?” Bell stared. “He’s always been known, sir. Started in Liverpool on the Cotton Exchange. Went into rubber. Came to London. That’s his career. All quite open and straight.”

“And we don’t know a damned thing about him.”

“Well, really, Fortune, you’re rather exacting. You’re after his soul, I suppose,” said Lomas, with something like a sneer.

“Who is Kimball?” Reggie insisted. “There’s two unknown quantities. Who is Kimball? Who is Sandford?”

“I’m afraid you want the Day of Judgment, my dear fellow,” said Lomas. “‘Unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known’--that sort of thing. Well, we can’t ring up the Recording Angel from here. It’s a trunk call.”

“I know you’re worldly. But you might know your world. Look about, Lomas, old thing. I’ve been looking about.” He took out a newspaper cutting.

Lomas read: “‘SANDFORD. Any one who can give any information about Mrs. Ellen Edith Sandford, resident Llanfairfechan from 1882-1900, formerly of Lancashire, is urgently begged to communicate with XYZ.’” He looked up. “Of Lancashire? That’s a guess?”

Reggie nodded. “North Wales is mostly Lancashire people.”

“Well, there’s no harm in it. Do you want us to advertise for Kimball’s wet nurse?”

“And his sisters and his cousins and his aunts. Yes. All in good time. But watch him first. Watch them both.” He nodded, and sauntered out.

Lomas lit a cigarette and pushed the box to Bell. Both men smoked a minute in silence. Then Lomas said, “That’s a damned clever fellow. Bell.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve often thought he was too clever by half. But, damme, I don’t remember thinking he was uncanny before.”

“I have noticed it,” said Bell diffidently, “in a manner of speaking. Of course he does know a lot, does Mr. Fortune, a rare lot of stuff. But that’s natural, as were. What upsets you is the sort of way he feels men. It’s as if he had senses you haven’t got. Very strange the way he knows men.”

PHASE V.--THE REPLY

Their admiration for Reggie Fortune received a shock the next day. It came by telephone. Just after his late and lazy breakfast, Reggie was rung up from Scotland Yard. Bell spoke. Mr. Lomas thought that Mr. Fortune would like to know that Sandford had gone down to Mr. Kimball’s place. Reggie answered, “Oh, Peter!” In a quarter of an hour he was in Lomas’s room asking for confirmation. There was no doubt. The detective watching Sandford’s chambers had followed him to Victoria, and heard him take a ticket to Alwynstow, Kimball’s place, and was gone with him.

“So that’s the next move,” said Lomas, “and if you can tell me what it means I shall be obliged to you.”

Reggie dropped his hand on the table. “Not a guess,” he said. “How can a man guess? We don’t even know how much they know, or whether one knows what the other knows. I could fancy Sandford--what’s the use?

“‘So runs my dream. But what am I? An infant crying in the night, An infant crying for the light, And with no language but a cry.’

Same like you, Lomas.”

“I notice you are not so much the moral sage this morning,” Lomas said sourly.

“Lomas, dear, don’t be unkind. I can’t abear it. I wish to God I was down there!”

“Damn it, we’ve got two men down there now--one on Sandford, one on Kimball. They’ll be knocking their heads together. What the devil do you think you could do?”

“Nothing. Lord, don’t I know it? Nothing. That’s what makes me peevish.”

Lomas said severely that he had work to do, and Reggie left him, promising to come back and take him out to lunch, which he received as if it were a threat.

But when Reggie did come back, Superintendent Bell was in the room and Lomas listening to the telephone. Bell looked oddly at Reggie. Lomas raised a blank and pallid face from the receiver. “Sandford has murdered Kimball,” he said.

“Oh, Peter! I wonder if he’s brought it off,” Reggie murmured. “Has he brought it off after all?” He bit his lip. Lomas was talking into the telephone. Asking for details, giving instructions. “Hold the line. Cut that out,” said Reggie. “We’ll go down, Lomas, please. Tell your chap to meet us at the house. My car’s here.”

Lomas gave the orders and rang off. “I’ll have to go, I suppose,” he agreed. “One doesn’t kill Cabinet Ministers every day. More’s the pity. Damn the case! There’s nothing in it, though, Fortune. Sandford was walking up to the house. He met Kimball in the lane. They were crossing the ornamental water in the park when they had a quarrel. Kimball was thrown in. He called out, “You scoundrel, you have murdered me.” When they got Kimball out he was dead. That’s all. I’m afraid it washes your stuff about Kimball right out.”

“Well, well,” Reggie drawled, looking through his eyelashes. “Where is he that knows, Lomas? From the great deep to the great deep he goes, Lomas. We’ll get on.”

“What about lunch?”

“Damn lunch!” said Reggie, and went out.

The other two, who liked food far less than he but could not go without it, lingered to collect sandwiches, and found him chafing in the driver’s seat.

They exchanged looks of horror. “I’m too old for Mr. Fortune’s driving, and that’s a fact,” Bell mumbled.

“When I got out alive after that day at Woking I swore I’d never go again,” said Lomas.

But they quailed before Reggie’s virulent politeness when he asked them if they would please get in. . . . It is in the evidence of Lomas that they only slowed once, when an old lady dropped her handkerchief in the middle of Croydon. He is in conflict with the statement of Bell as to the most awful moment. For he selects the episode of the traction-engine with trucks at the Alwynstow cross-roads, and Bell chooses the affair of the motor-bus and the caravan at Merstham. They agree that they arrived at Alwynstow Park in a cold sweat.

A detective came out on the steps to meet them, and watched reverently Bell and Lomas helping each other out. Reggie ran up to him. “Which are you?”

“Beg pardon, sir? Oh, I’m Hall. I had Mr. Kimball. It was Parker had Mr. Sandford.” He turned to Lomas. “Good morning, sir. I tried to get you on the telephone, but they said you were on your way down.”

“Oh, you’ve been on the telephone too?”

“When I heard what Parker’s information was I rung up quick, sir. It’s a very queer business, sir.”

“Where is Parker? And where’s Sandford? I suppose you’ve arrested him?”

“Well, no, sir. Not strictly speaking. We detained him pending instructions.”

“Damme, you’re very careful. Parker saw the murder committed, didn’t he?”

“Well, sir, if I may say so, that’s drawing conclusions. I don’t understand Parker would go as far as that.”

“Good Gad!” said Lomas. “Where the devil is Parker?”

“Keeping Mr. Sandford under observation, sir, according to instructions. Beg your pardon, sir. I’ve heard his story, and I quite agree it all happened like that. But you haven’t heard mine.”

Lomas looked round him. The house was too near. “We’ll walk on the lawn,” he announced. “Now then. Parker says the two men quarrelled on the bridge over the lake and Kimball was thrown in, and as he fell he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you’ve murdered me!’ And you say that isn’t murder.”

“Did Serjeant Parker say ‘thrown in’?” said Hall, with surprise in his face and his voice.

“I believe he didn’t,” said Lomas slowly. “No. He said Kimball was thrown off, and as he fell in he called out.”

“That’s right, sir,” said Hall heartily. “But I reckon there is more to it than that. When Mr. Kimball came out this morning I was waiting for him in the park. It was rather touch and go, because he had some men at work above the lake. He went down that way to the station. As he was crossing the bridge he tried the rails. It’s very odd, sir, but a bit of the bar--it’s a sort of rustic stuff--was that loose it came off in his hand. He put it back and went on. He met Mr. Sandford in the road and turned back with him. I had to get out of the way quick. I judged they were coming back to the house, so I did a run and dropped over the fence, and was away on the other side of the lake. Then I went into the rhododendrons and waited for them to pass. You see, sir, Parker had to keep well out of sight behind, and I was as near as makes no matter. Well, if you’ll believe me, it was Mr. Kimball made the quarrel, and all in a minute he made it. One minute they were walking quite friendly, the next he whips round on Mr. Sandford and he called him a bad name. I couldn’t hear all, he was talking so quick, but there was ugly words in it. Then he made to strike Mr. Sandford, and Mr. Sandford closed and chucked him back, and into the water he went just where that same rail that he looked at was loose. But it’s true enough as he fell he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you’ve murdered me!’”

“Well, well. So he didn’t bring it off after all,” said Reggie. “We trumped his last card.”

“Sir?” said the detective.

“You were the trump,” said Reggie. “Oh, my aunt, I feel much better! I wonder if there’s any lunch in these parts? What about it, Lomas, old thing?”

“I’m damned if I understand,” said Lomas. “I want Sandford. Let’s go up to the house.”

They found Sandford sitting in an easy-chair in the dead man’s library. He was reading; to Reggie’s ineffable admiration he was reading a book by Mr. Sidney Webb on the history of trade unions. Serjeant Parker, the detective, made himself uncomfortable at the table and pored over his notebook.

“All right, all right, Parker. Quite understood.” Lomas waved him away. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sandford. Sorry to detain you. Most unfortunate affair.”

“Good afternoon. It is not necessary to apologize,” said Sandford, completely himself. “I realize that the police must require my account of the affair. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Kimball rang me up at my rooms. I did not learn from where he was speaking. He said that my affair--that was his phrase--my affair had taken a new turn, and he wished me to come and see him here this morning. He named the train by which I was to travel. I thought it strange that he should bring me into the country, but I had no valid ground of objection. Accordingly I came this morning. I thought it strange that he sent no conveyance to meet me. I started to walk to the house. In the lane he met me walking. He talked of indifferent things in a rather broken manner, I thought, but that was common with him, and yet I was surprised he did not come to the point. He was, however, quite friendly until we reached the bridge over the lake. Then without any warning or reason he turned upon me and was violently abusive. His language was vulgar and even filthy. He attempted to strike me, and I defended myself. I was, in fact, a good deal alarmed, for he was, as you know, much bigger and heavier than I, and he was in a frenzy of rage. To my surprise, I may say my relief, I was able to resist him. I pushed him off--really, you know, it seemed quite easy--and the hand-rail behind him gave way and he fell into the water. As he fell he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you have murdered me!’ I can only suppose he was not responsible for his actions.”

“Much obliged,” said Lomas. “I’m afraid you’ve had a distressing time.”

“It has been a remarkable experience,” said Sandford. “May I ask if there is any reason why I should not return to town?”

“No, no.” Lomas looked at him queerly. “You have an uncommon cool head. They’ll want your evidence at the inquest, of course. But it’s fair to say I quite accept your story.”

“I am obliged to you,” said Sandford, in a tone of surprise, as if he could not conceive that any one should not. “I am told there is a train at 3.35. Good afternoon.”

“One moment. One moment,” said Reggie. “Do you know of any reason in the world Kimball had to hate you?”

“Certainly not,” said Sandford, in offended dignity. “Our relations were short and wholly official. I conceive that he had no reason to complain of my services.”

“And yet he meant to murder you or have you hanged for his murder.”

“If he did, I can only suppose that he was out of his mind.”

“Was he out of his mind when he worked the Coal Ramp to ruin you?”

“Dear me,” said Sandford, “do you really suggest, sir, that Mr. Kimball was responsible for that scandalous piece of finance?”

“Who else?”

“But really--you startle me. That is to say, as a Minister he betrayed the secrets of the department?”

“Well, he didn’t stick at a trifle, did he?”

“The poor fellow must have been mad,” said Sandford, with grave sympathy.

“Yes, yes. But why was he mad? Why did he hate you? My dear chap, do search your memory. Can you think of any sort of connection between Kimball and you?”

“I never heard of him till he became prominent in the House. I never saw him till he came into the office. Our relations were always perfectly correct. No, I can only suppose that he was insane. Is it any use to try to discover reasons for the antipathies of madness? I have not studied the subject, but it seems obvious that they must be irrational. I am sorry I cannot help your investigations. I believe I had better catch my train. Good afternoon.”

“You know, I begin to like that fellow. He’s so damned honest,” said Reggie.

“Cold-blooded fish,” said Lomas. “Begad, he don’t know how near he was to dead. Did you ever hear anything less plausible than that yarn of his? If we didn’t know it was true we wouldn’t believe a word of it. Good God, suppose Hall hadn’t been down here watching! We should have had the outside facts. Sandford, who had been accused and suspended by Kimball, suddenly comes down to Kimball’s house, meets him, quarrels with him, and throws him into the lake.”

“And the men working in the park a little way off just saw the struggle, just heard Kimball call out that he was murdered,” said Reggie. “Don’t forget the men. They’re a most interesting touch. He always thought of everything, did Mr. Kimball. He had them there, just the right distance for the evidence he wanted. I don’t know if you see the full significance of those men working in the park.”

Lomas sat down. “I don’t mind owning I thought they were accidental.”