Complete works of peter.., p.309
Complete Works of Peter Cheyney. Illustrated, page 309
She said: "It was suicide, surely."
Callaghan raised his eyebrows. "You really think so?" he said. He went on: "I got my assistant Nikolls round and we took the fingerprints off the gun. They were the prints of your boy friend Mr. Lyster. If it had been suicide they should have been the prints of your husband. They weren't. And Lyster had no alibi. He told me that he went round that evening to see your husband to have a showdown with him, that he changed his mind and went away. Incidentally, the gun belonged to Lyster."
She said: "My God! So Eustace killed him."
Callaghan said casually: "Yes, that's what the police would have thought, but I didn't see why they should. I didn't think it was a good idea. You see, Mrs. Raven, you're my client and I knew you were in love with Lyster. I knew you wouldn't want him pulled in on a murder charge."
She looked at him steadily. She said: "So...?"
Callaghan said: "So I cleaned the prints off the butt of the gun."
She said: "Wasn't that an extraordinary thing to do. Surely there ought to have been some prints on the gun. Somebody must have held it."
Callaghan said: "No, the prints of the person who shot your husband never appeared on it."
She moved a little in her chair. She said: "Exactly what do you mean?"
Callaghan said: "I mean you killed Raven." He looked at her. He was smiling.
She said: "Mr. Callaghan, I think you must be mad."
"No," said Callaghan. "I'm not mad—merely intelligent. You see, I had an idea that I'd like to keep an eye on you, so when I left the house after I'd found your husband's body, and we'd taken the prints off the gun, I got Nikolls to keep an eye on you. He's been on your tail for the last two days. He knows about the gentleman you've been meeting—the man you're really in love with."
She looked at Callaghan. Her eyes were like burning coals.
He said: "You killed Raven before you even came to see me. Quite a clever idea, you know."
She laughed—a brittle laugh. She said: "Really, Mr. Callaghan, having regard to the fact that my husband telephoned you and warned you against me just before I came into your office, it would be difficult to know how I could have killed him."
Callaghan said: "Nevertheless, you killed him. You see, he didn't telephone me. The man who telephoned me was the man you've been visiting during the last two days—not Lyster. Lyster was just your stooge." He went on: "About seven o'clock on the night that you came to see me, you had a talk with your husband in the sitting-room at St. John's Wood. You had stolen the automatic pistol from Lyster's desk, but you never handled it with your hands. You were wearing gloves. You carried it inside that muff that you had on the night you came to see me.
"Well... you went up near to your husband. You put the muff close to his head, and you shot him. You held the gun so close that there'd be powder marks round the wound. Then you put the gun by his side. The only fingerprints on it were Lyster's. You knew that. I rather think you encouraged Lyster to go and have an interview with your husband that night. He was stupid enough to go, but he didn't see your husband because he couldn't get in. He rang the doorbell but nobody answered. Then you came to see me. You knew I wasn't in my office. You'd watched me leave. You came afterwards. You sent my assistant out to find me. You'd probably seen me go into the bar round the corner. You waited outside in the darkness. When you saw me come back to the office you telephoned your boy friend No. 2, and he rang through pretending to be your husband. He warned me against you—a very clever scheme."
He yawned. "That's why you made the fire up and turned on the electric fire in the St. John's Wood sitting-room before you left, so that the body should still be warm, so that rigor mortis wouldn't set in, so that the police doctor couldn't say within an hour or two as to what time Raven was actually killed."
He looked at her. She said nothing. Callaghan went on: "A marvellous idea. You got rid of Raven. Lyster would have been picked up for the murder if the police had seen his prints on the gun, if they'd known he'd been round to the St. John's Wood house on that night. And you'd have got your five thousand pounds and the man you want. As it is..." He shrugged his shoulders.
There was a knock at the door. Effie Thompson came in. She said: "Mr. Callaghan, the police car's here. Detective-Inspector Gringall is waiting outside."
Callaghan got up. He said: "Well, they've come for you, Mrs. Raven."
She said in a hard voice: "You're damned clever, Callaghan. But it was a good scheme."
Callaghan said: "Not too bad. Somebody once said that the criminal always makes a silly mistake. You made it."
She smiled. She looked very beautiful. She said: "Tell me my mistake, Mr. Callaghan."
Callaghan said: "At your first interview I asked you how your husband knew you were coming to see me. You told me you'd left the telephone book open, that you'd scored underneath my name, with your fingernail, that he would realize you'd been me." He stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray.
She said: "Well...?"
Callaghan said: "Well, you see, Mrs. Raven, my telephone number isn't in the telephone book."
6. — IN THE HALL
IT was beginning to get dark. Callaghan got up, pulled the black-out curtains. He went back to his desk, opened a drawer, took out a quart bottle of Bourbon whisky and a glass. He poured out four fingers, handed it to the man who sat slumped in the chair opposite the desk. He said: "Drink this, Lennan. And stop jittering. Tell me exactly what happened."
Lennan drank some of the whisky, took the cigarette offered him. He said: "Frayle wanted to see me to-night. He said he'd got to see me to-night. I know exactly what he wanted to see me about. He had me in a corner. I owed him four thousand pounds. He'd got something on me. He wanted the four thousand I'd taken him for. But he didn't mind losing the money so much—it was the fact that I'd been a bit too clever for him that annoyed him. He wanted to know how I'd done it."
Callaghan said: "So he'd got something on you, had he?"
Lennan nodded.
"All right," said Callaghan. "Go on."
Lennan gulped down the rest of the whisky. He said: "I thought there'd be a hell of a row, so I suggested he'd better come round to my flat. I arranged that with him on the telephone. I told him if he'd be at the flat just before seven to-night, I'd get there as soon as I could. I told him I wasn't quite certain as to what time I could get there, that I was going to spend the day trying to think out some way of getting some money for him. I sent him round the door key in an envelope with a note. I told him to let himself into the flat and wait for me."
Callaghan asked: "Any other keys to the flat?"
Lennan shook his head. "No," he said. "That key was the only key in existence. I was worried sick," he went on. "I knew I'd got to think out something—some way out of the jam. This afternoon I took a train out to the golf course. I've always found it easier to think on a golf course. Well, I couldn't think. I came back to London. I told you I wasn't looking forward to my interview with Frayle."
Callaghan asked: "What time did you get back?"
"A few minutes before seven," said Lennan. "I went into the Clover Leaf Club. That's about three minutes' walk from my flat. I felt I needed a little Dutch courage. I went into the bar and had three double whiskies and sodas."
"And then you went round to the flat?" Callaghan asked.
Lennan said: "No, I didn't. I went out of the bar and took my golf clubs upstairs. I put them in the cloakroom. There was nobody looking after it. I hung about the cloakroom and walked up and down the passage outside." He grinned feebly. "Between you and me and the doorpost," he went on, "I was scared of the meeting with Frayle. I knew he was going to be damned tough. Eventually, quite a time afterwards—it must have been somewhere round about a quarter to eight—I went downstairs and began to walk towards the flat. The devil of it is nobody saw me go out. Nobody knew I was hanging about upstairs all that time."
Callaghan said: "I see. The girl in the bar on the first floor is going to say you were only there a few minutes?"
Lennan ran his tongue over his lips. "That's right," he said. "When I got to the apartment block I walked upstairs to my flat on the first floor and rang the bell. There was no answer. I stood there for about five minutes. Then I thought that possibly Frayle had got fed up and gone away. But I knew he wouldn't do that. I knew he'd be there. I wondered what was the matter. Then I got an idea. At the end of the passage outside is a chair. I went and got it, stood on it and looked through the ventilator that's about three feet over the top of the doorway—just a little slit.
"I looked through into the hallway of the flat and I saw Frayle lying there half way between the door and the telephone table on the far side of the hall. I could see he was dead all right."
"I see," said Callaghan. "And what did you do then?"
"I lost my head," said Lennan. "I got off the chair, put it back, went out and started walking about the streets. I realized I was in a bad jam."
Callaghan asked: "Why? Why were you in a bad jam?"
Lennan said: "Listen. Everybody knows that I hate Frayle like hell, I've said half a dozen times I'd like to kill him. All right. It's known that he had an appointment with me at seven o'clock. The girl in the Clover Leaf Club is going to say that I left there at three or four minutes past seven. She's not going to know I was hanging about there until nearly a quarter to eight upstairs. I can't account for that half hour, see? Everybody's going to believe that I was waiting for Frayle and shot him."
Callaghan said: "Who's going to believe that? Who knows you had an appointment with him?"
"His partner, Varney, for one," said Lennan. "Varney's not a bad chap. Varney doesn't dislike me.'He tried to put the brake on Frayle over this business, but Frayle wouldn't listen. Varney knew about that meeting."
Callaghan said: "If Varney didn't dislike you, and he was Frayle's partner, why couldn't he influence Frayle to be a little more reasonable about you?"
Lennan grinned cynically. "You don't know Frayle," he said. "Varney's his partner all right, but only in a small way. He has to do what Frayle tells him. Everybody has to do what Frayle wants. You don't know Frayle."
Callaghan said: "No. It looks as if I never shall now, doesn't it?"
Lennan said: "Well, I walked about the streets for half an hour. Then I knew I'd got to do something about it. I'd heard about you from a man I did some business with. You handled an insurance case for him. I thought I'd come round and see you."
Callaghan said: "And what am I supposed to do?"
Lennan said: "I don't know. Can't you do anything?"
Callaghan grinned. He said: "Yes. There's one thing we can do right anyway. We'll tell the police about this."
He took up the telephone.
CALLAGHAN finished his whisky and soda, lit a cigarette. He said to the girl behind the Clover Leaf Club bar: "Do you remember Mr. Lennan coming in here last night?"
She said: "Oh yes. He was here for a few minutes. I remember noticing he drank three double whiskies and sodas in five minutes. I thought he looked ill."
Callaghan asked: "Do you know what he did when he left the bar?"
She said: "No. All I know is he went out. He took his golf clubs with him. I thought he was going." She went on: "There was a murder in his flat, wasn't there? I read about it in the mid-day paper. I'm sorry for Mr. Lennan."
Callaghan said: "Yes. So am I. So long!"
He went out of the bar. He closed the door quietly behind him. He stood for a moment on the landing, then he turned and walked up the stairs. On the second floor was a room used as a writing room and library. It was empty. Callaghan went up to the third floor. On the right of the landing was a cloakroom, on the left was a passageway, with windows on the far side.
Callaghan went into the cloakroom. In the far corner, leaning up against a telephone call box, he saw a golf bag, covered and locked. From where he stood he could recognize Lennan's initials. He threw away his cigarette stub, lit a fresh one. He walked out of the cloakroom across the landing and along the passage. One of the windows was open. Callaghan leaned on the window-sill and looked out. His mind was so concentrated on the Frayle killing that it was quite three or four minutes before he realized that he was looking, across an open space, at the back windows of the apartment house in which Lennan lived. Opposite him, two floors down, a window was open. Callaghan calculated that the window was only fifty yards away at most.
He drew back from the window, stood in the passage smoking quietly. After a few minutes he went back to the cloakroom. He crossed over to where Lennan's golf bag was. He took a key ring out of his pocket and began operations. Two minutes afterwards the bag was unlocked. Callaghan whistled quietly. In the bag, with a golf club over the butt, was a medium calibre sporting rifle.
Callaghan put the cover on the bag, locked the padlock. He threw his cigarette away and went out.
CHIEF DETECTIVE-INSPECTOR Gringall said: "I'm glad you came along, Slim. It makes things easier. This is a new idea for murder suspects to go running round to private detectives, isn't it? What did he think you could do?"
Callaghan said: "I don't know. But I don't like it. It smells."
Gringall nodded. He said: "Lennan got back to London some time before seven. He went to the Clover Leaf Club. He spent a few minutes in the bar. Then he went upstairs in the cloakroom."
Callaghan raised his eyebrows. "How did you know?" he asked.
"His golf bag was there," said Gringall. "There was no one on duty in the cloakroom—the attendant's been called up—so Lennan must have taken it up himself. The point is," said Gringall, "just how long was he up there?"
Callaghan asked: "What does the medical evidence say?"
"Frayle was shot about seven o'clock," said Gringall. "Just about seven o'clock. They were able to get pretty near the exact time." He leaned back in his chair, began to fill his pipe. "I wonder why Frayle was in the hall," he said. "There's no doubt about it that he had the only key. There's only one key to that flat and it was found in Frayle's pocket in an envelope with a note from Lennan confirming what he told you about having sent the key round to Frayle."
Callaghan said: "What do you think?"
Gringall shrugged his shoulders. "The obvious thing to think would be that Frayle was on his way to open the door for someone when he was shot."
Callaghan lit a cigarette. He said casually: "Did any of your people look in Lennan's golf bag by any chance?"
Gringall nodded. "You mean the rifle? Yes, we found that. It had been fired recently. Lennan could have shot Frayle quite easily from the third floor back of the Clover Leaf Club, from the window in the passageway leading from the cloakroom. It faced on to the back of the apartment block where Lennan has his flat, and the window at the rear of the hall of the flat was open."
Callaghan asked: "What about the bullet? Can you check it with the rifle?"
Gringall said: "No. Somebody had been very clever. The bullet that killed Frayle could have been fired from that rifle, but whoever fired that shot knew a thing or two. The nose had been cut off the bullet and there must have been several cuts across the face of it. So that when it hit Frayle it spread like a penny."
Callaghan said: "He must have been reading detective stories." He got up. "Well, I'm glad I've talked to you, Gringall," he said. "I wasn't a bit happy-"
Gringall said: "That's all right. You haven't broken faith with your client." He sighed. "The thing I don't like about this case is that it looks so bad for Lennan. It almost looks as if he's been trying to frame himself for the murder, doesn't it?"
Callaghan said: "I know. That's the way I thought—"
Gringall interrupted: "What did you think?"
Callaghan stopped at the doorway. He said: "It looks like a red herring to me. I had an idea that Lennan had planted all this just because he'd killed Frayle some other way. See?"
"I see," said Gringall.
VARNEY was sitting in the waiting-room when Callaghan got back to the office. He said: "I'm John Varney—Frayle's partner. Lennan rang me up and said he'd been to see you. I felt it was my duty to come round and see you about it."
Callaghan said: "Come into my office, Mr. Varney. So you know something about this?"
Varney said: "I know plenty about it. Normally I should have gone down to Scotland Yard, but as Lennan came to you, and you're sort of representing him, I thought I'd come here first. Then you could do what you liked."
Callaghan sat down at his desk. He said: "Righto! Sit down, have a cigarette and go ahead."
Vamey took a cigarette from the silver box and lit it. Callaghan thought he was a well set-up man, that his expression was frank and open. He looked good.
Varney said: "Lennan didn't kill Frayle. I can prove it, and I'm quite prepared to go into the box and do so."
Callaghan said: "That's interesting."
Varney went on: "I knew what the situation was. I knew about the trouble between Lennan and Frayle. Strangely enough, in an odd sort of way I sympathized with both of them."
Callaghan said: "How do you know that Lennan didn't kill Frayle?"
"I'll tell you," said Varney. "Frayle told me that he was going round to see Lennan, that he was going to wait for him at his flat. He was rather enjoying the situation. He knew that Lennan was half mad with worry, that he was going to spend the day trying to raise that four thousand pounds. Frayle rather liked the idea of sitting there like a spider waiting for the fly to come into the web. Because even if Lennan had raised the four thousand—which was more or less an impossibility—Frayle was still going to make it hot for him. You see, Lennan had twisted Frayle for that four thousand. Frayle's idea was to get the whole story from Lennan as to how he'd done it, get what money Lennan could raise—if he could raise any—and then turn him over to the police at the end of it."
"I see," said Callaghan. "Not a very nice fellow, this Frayle?"
"Not very," said Varney. "I've been his partner for five years. He was a good business man but a nasty person to work with. I don't know how I stuck it."
