Delphi collected works o.., p.486
Delphi Collected Works of Peter Cheyney Illustrated, page 486
“Have you any idea, Mrs Selks,” asked Vaness, “as to who would be likely to murder your husband?”
“Not the slightest. I can’t understand it at all, and I can’t understand what he was doing in Grange Road. He never comes home that way. There’s a short cut from the police station through a lane opposite, which he always takes.”
“Do you know if he received any letter, or anyone had made an appointment with him in Grange Road?” Vaness asked.
“He had a letter yesterday morning, and I was rather surprised, because immediately after reading it he tore it up. I know all his business, and when he gets letters he usually throws them across to me to read, but he didn’t on this occasion. He just read the letter, frowned, and put it in his pocket. After a minute, he took out the letter and read it again. Then he tore it up and walking over to the fireplace, threw the pieces in the fire. I haven’t any idea what it was, for he never said a word about it to me.”
Vaness considered for a moment before he spoke.
“Mrs Selks, I’m going to tell you the truth. I came out here to Pinner tonight to meet your husband. A letter was sent to a friend of mine saying he would be coming off duty and would be at the south end of Grange Road at eleven fifteen. I was to meet him because the writer of the letter suggested your husband knew quite a lot about this Strex murder which you’ve probably read about in the papers. I came out tonight, and when I arrived in Grange Road your husband had apparently been murdered a few minutes before. Do you know if he knew anything about the Strex case?”
Mrs Selks searched her mind.
“I don’t know anything,” she said. “Only this: the morning when the report of the Strex murder was in the newspapers, he picked up his paper at breakfast, read it, and laughed. I thought it funny he should laugh because someone had been murdered, and told him so, but he simply smiled as he put the newspaper in his pocket, and muttered something about ‘they always get what’s coming to them in the long run.’ That’s all I know.”
“Look here, Mrs Selks,” said Vaness, “would you do me a favour? Has your husband any private papers, a diary, or anything I could look at, and would you mind if I went through them? I’ve got an idea the murder of your husband and the Strex murder are associated in some way. I’d be awfully obliged to you if you’d let me look at anything he has.”
She pondered the request.
“There’s a box upstairs in which he kept a lot of old papers. I think some had to do with the Durward case. He used to go up there at night and make notes. I believe he was trying to work out how it was that he was falsely accused about faking evidence, but he never seemed to do anything about it, except write notes. If you’d like to look at those papers you’re welcome, Mr Vaness.”
“Thank you, Mrs Selks. I would like to look through them. As a matter of fact, I wonder if you’ve ever seen any writing like this...”
He felt in his pocket and took out the second letter to Alexia, the letter telling her to meet Selks. He folded it over so that Mrs Selks could only see the bottom half of the letter.
“Tell me,” he said, “have you ever seen that writing before?”
The woman looked intently at the folded letter which he held before her eyes. “My God!” she said. “That’s Garrington’s handwriting. Garrington wrote that letter.”
“Garrington?” Vaness echoed, “and who is Garrington?”
Mrs Selks hesitated. “My husband made me promise never to talk about this business to anybody. His reason, of course, was that he hoped to clear up the whole matter; but as he’s dead I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you. If you could find out the truth of all this affair, even after my poor man is dead, it would mean something to me.
“My husband never saw Garrington in his life, but he first heard of him during the Durward trial, ten years ago. When Selks was first assigned to the case he helped Chief Inspector Ralston. About three or four days after he had started taking statements from the people concerned he received an anonymous letter written in the same handwriting as the letter which you’ve just shown me. At first he took no notice, but afterwards he was keen to find out who the writer was. He became more keen because as the Durward case progressed, so he received more and more of these mysterious letters. The letters, in each case, contained some definite hint as to how my husband should conduct his investigations. They made all sorts of suggestions that certain witnesses were not speaking the truth, and, although the letters were not in any way favourable of John Durward’s case, my husband had a decided idea that something was wrong, and that the whole business was much more mysterious than it seemed on the surface.
“Eventually a letter arrived informing my husband that if he would be prepared to falsify one or two statements taken from important witnesses the writer would be prepared to pay him a large sum of money. A meeting place was mentioned, and my husband was asked to be there. It was a little teashop in Cursitor Street at four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. My husband had said nothing of these letters to his superiors. He was a terribly keen police officer, and he was hoping that by continuing an independent investigation he would be able to throw new light on the Durward case. His idea was, when he had completed his case, to take it to Ralston and get any kudos there were for himself.
“He told me, therefore, that he would keep the Cursitor Street appointment. If this individual, whose name he didn’t know at the time, turned up, he intended to arrest him on a charge of attempted bribery, and get to the bottom of the business. On the Thursday afternoon, he went off to keep the appointment. Soon afterwards, an urgent message came from Inspector Ralston asking my husband to go to Scotland Yard at once, so I went after him to give him this message.
“As I approached the teashop I saw a man hanging about on the other side of the narrow street. He was a tall man, with a mass of fair hair — I noticed this because he wore no hat — and bushy eyebrows. He had a big moustache, too. I don’t know why, but I thought he looked rather like a seafaring man. I went into the cafe, found my husband, and gave him the chief inspector’s message. He said the writer of the mysterious letters hadn’t appeared, but in my heart I was certain that the man I had seen waiting on the other side of the road was the man — the man who we afterwards thought was Garrington.
“I told my husband, and we left at once, but when we got outside the man was gone. Afterwards it seemed a deliberate plot to throw suspicion on my husband, because when he was accused after the trial of accepting bribes, he was asked if he had kept an appointment with someone who had written him letters offering him money. He had to admit he had, and I don’t think they believed him when he said he was doing this from the point of view of duty, and not one of personal interest. After he had been sent out here to Pinner, he believed his hope of reinstatement lay in finding this man. He said his name was Garrington. How he had found out I don’t know, but he was sure of it. He used to spend hours wandering about all sorts of weird places in London looking for this Garrington. Every moment he had off duty would be spent on this same fruitless search... That’s all I can tell you.”
“I see,” said Vaness. “All this is very interesting, Mrs Selks, and it makes me more anxious than before to look through any notes your husband may have made. It may still be possible to find this man, and I’m perfectly certain that once we do find him we shall get some evidence which will not only clear up the circumstances surrounding your husband’s death, but may also enable us to prove him innocent of the charges that were brought against him.”
Mrs Selks rose from her chair.
“If you’ll come upstairs you can look through the papers,” she said. She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth in an endeavour to prevent a fresh outburst of sobbing. “It was only last night that he was up there writing.”
Vaness followed her up the stairs. On the top floor of the house was a small room, an attic, which had evidently been used as a box-room. The collection of litter had been pushed away from one corner where a plain kitchen table stood — a table covered with notebooks and closely-written sheets of paper. By the side of the table on the floor was a large tin box.
Mrs Selks turned up the gas, and by its dim light Vaness sat down and looked through the books. They were all concerned with the Durward case and the whereabouts of Garrington. There were notes suggesting certain districts in London should be searched. There were the names of every cheap tavern and house of ill repute in the Pennyfields district of Limehouse. Vaness was amazed. Selks must have spent weeks if not months of his life checking up and collating this mass of evidence and suggestions.
He turned his attention to the tin box. It was locked, but the lock was an old and cheap one. A good wrench with a chisel which Mrs Selks produced opened it. Inside were bundles of papers. One of them, which she pointed out, contained the anonymous letters received by Selks during the Durward trial.
Vaness examined them. He had not the slightest doubt they were written in the same thin, shaky handwriting as the two letters which Alexia had received. Glancing quickly through the letters, he saw the suggestions in them were very much the same; that it would be worth Selks’s while to do this or to suggest that.
He reached the last letter, the one suggesting Selks should meet the writer at the Green Cat tearooms in Swallow Lane off Cursitor Street. He closed the box and sat down in the chair before the table.
“This is going to be a long job I think, Mrs Selks,” he said. “I want go through all this stuff, and I want to do it now. Will you mind?”
“Indeed I won’t, Mr Vaness,” she said. “I’ll go down and make some tea while you start. Perhaps you’d like a cup.”
“I should,” replied Vaness. “That’s very good of you.”
He turned the pages of the top notebook on the table. “I see that the last few pages in this book look as if they were written recently. Do you see? The ink’s a different colour.”
Mrs Selks looked over his shoulder.
“Those must have been the pages he wrote last night,” she said. “He told me yesterday morning he was going to do some work up here, and I noticed when I was in the room in the morning that there was no ink, so I got a fresh bottle. I remember it was a different colour from what I usually get. He must have written those pages last night.”
She went off, and Vaness heard her slow footsteps descending the stairs. He lit a cigarette, and began to read the last pages of the notebook, the pages written by Selks, according to his wife, the night before. He read:
The question is whether the person Garrington really exists or whether we were wrong in thinking that the man who was standing in the street outside the teashop, was Garrington. The only two persons who as far as I can make out would be concerned in endeavouring to bribe a police officer during the Durward case are Durward’s daughter, Alexia, or Garrington, his head clerk. Garrington was not charged as an accessory to Durward as there was no evidence to connect him with the actual embezzlement although both Ralston and myself believed that he had something to do with it. I believe that immediately after the trial Garrington left this country for South Africa, but by a coincidence I learnt that a man answering the description which my wife gave of him was seen in the neighbourhood of Kennington Green. My own investigations which I have since carried out in that district cause me to believe that such a man is living at 17 Pa —
Vaness muttered a curse. Selks had apparently stopped writing just as he was about to put into black and white the very address Vaness wanted. He got up, and commenced to pace up and down the attic.
Soon he heard Mrs Selks’ footsteps approaching, and as she entered the room with the tea tray an idea struck Vaness so forcibly that he gave an exclamation.
“Look here, Mrs Selks! Here’s a coincidence. Last night your husband was about to write down the address where he thinks this man Garrington is living. Apparently he was interrupted because you can see he has finished abruptly right in the middle of a word. Now it’s obvious by what he’s written that he had been investigating in Kennington Green in the hope of finding this man Garrington. Isn’t it a remarkably strange thing, when he seems to have brought these investigations to a successful issue, at a moment when he appears to have found Garrington, that he should have been murdered? Don’t you see?”
The woman put the tea tray on the table. “I’m afraid I don’t, Mr Vaness,” she said. “What do you mean?”
“Just this,” said the journalist. “Garrington knew that your husband was watching him, and he felt that the time was approaching when he’d got to do something. The letter which my friend received asking her to meet your husband at the south end of Grange Road was probably written without your husband’s knowledge. At the same time another letter was, in all probability, written by this same Garrington to your husband asking him to meet him, Garrington, at the corner of Grange Road at eleven fifteen. This was the letter which your husband received yesterday morning, and which unluckily he destroyed.
“Garrington knew that your husband would keep the appointment. He knew that his one idea was to find out who Garrington was. Selks was getting too dangerous; he was beginning to find out too much, and Garrington had made up his mind that his mouth must be stopped. His idea was to turn up, murder your husband, expecting my friend would in all probability be accused of the crime.
“The technique adopted by the letter writer in the case of the murder of Strex and that of your husband is exactly the same. I’m certain that Garrington murdered both, and I’m going to find Garrington.
“I’m going to waste no time. I’m not even going to stop to drink your tea, Mrs Selks, and directly I know something definite I promise you I’ll let you know at once. In the meantime don’t say a word about this Garrington matter to anybody.”
Vaness shook hands quickly, and ran out of the house.
He drove rapidly to the telephone box in Pinner High Street, and got through to his flat. In a moment he was speaking to his sister-in-law.
“Listen to me, Mary,” he said, “and don’t argue. I’m going to drive direct from Pinner to the back entrance of Garron Mansions. If I know anything of the police they are watching the front entrance to see where Alexia goes when she leaves. Take her through the back way, and I’ll meet you at the Manchester Street entrance. I’m going to drive you both to your bungalow at Billericay, and you’re going to stay there until I tell you to leave. I’ll meet you in forty minutes. Now do it, and don’t argue, there’s a good girl.”
He rang off, and restarted his car. He knew his sister-in-law would do exactly as he said. Like most middle-aged women, she adored adventure.
CHAPTER VIII
RALSTON, SITTING IN his chair in front of his study fire, regarded Vaness quizzically through the smoke of his cigar.
“New developments, eh, my lad?” he said. “I suppose you know all about this Selks murder.”
“I know a little bit,” replied the journalist. “Strangely enough, I happened to be out there last night. I was going to see Selks, but, unfortunately, he was killed before I had time to talk to him.”
The detective laughed. “I thought you’d be going to see our unfortunate friend Selks eventually,” he said. “I had an idea that you would think he might be able to produce a new line which would help you in your theories. By the way,” — Ralston knocked the ash from his cigar, and grinned at Vaness— “I suppose you haven’t got an idea where our little charmer Alexia Durward has disappeared to, have you? All right, don’t tell any lies, my lad!”
He held up his hand as Vaness was about to answer. “Apparently we lost her last night. The man we had watching her flat, being a careless young devil, was at the other end of the street when she left, and apparently she didn’t return.”
Vaness said nothing. It was a wonder, he thought, that the detective, who had been assigned to keep an eye on Alexia should not have known she had come to Garron Mansions last night.
“I wouldn’t mind betting,” continued Ralston, “that I can make two guesses as to where that young lady went.”
Vaness looked up, interested. “Where do you think she went, Ralston?”
The detective looked into the fire. “I wouldn’t like to be certain, but I don’t think I’m far wrong in saying that our young lady had a meeting last night with the man who killed Selks.”
Vaness let out a deep breath. “I must say, Ralston, I feel rather relieved. I thought you were going to tell me she killed Selks, too.”
“Well, I wouldn’t like to say that she hadn’t got something to do with it,” said Ralston. “Candidly, I believe that the Selks murder is an offshoot of the Durward trial. Possibly I’m prepared to change my theory a little bit about the Strex murder. Under certain circumstances I might even go so far as to say that since this Selks business a faint shadow of doubt exists in my mind as to whether Alexia Durward actually killed Strex. Oh, don’t look surprised! I’m not eating my previous theory. I’ve simply allowed myself to take the line of thought that the Strex and Selks murders are connected, and that two people are jointly responsible for both.”
“Those two people being?” queried Vaness.
“Those two people being Alexia Durward and a gentleman whose name, I think, is Garrington,” said Ralston.
Vaness whistled. “This is indeed a surprise,” he said. “May I ask who this Garrington is?”
