Inspector French and the Starvel Hollow Tragedy. Freeman Crofts Wills

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СКАЧАТЬ Tarkington seemed slightly taken aback.

      ‘Well, that’s true,’ he admitted slowly. ‘I forgot about the ten pounds. I—’

      ‘And there’s another twenty that didn’t,’ Mr Oxley continued, ‘and that’s the twenty that turned up in London. I don’t get your idea, Tarkington. Just what is in your mind?’

      Mr Tarkington moved uneasily in the big arm-chair.

      ‘It seems far-fetched, I know, and I hardly like putting it into words, but are you satisfied in your own mind that business was all just as it appeared to be?’

      ‘What? The fire? How do you mean “as it appeared to be”?’

      ‘That it really was the accident we thought it.’

      Mr Oxley whistled.

      ‘Oh, come now, Tarkington, that’s going a bit far, isn’t it? Do you mean arson? What possible grounds could you have for suggesting such a thing?’

      ‘I don’t exactly suggest it; I came to ask your opinion about it. But what passed through my mind was this: There have been several burglaries lately—skilful burglaries, and, as you know, the police have been completely at fault. Averill was universally believed to be wealthy—the legend of the safe was common property. Is it impossible that some of these burglars might have decided to make an attempt on Starvel? Remember the situation was one of the loneliest in England. Assume that they got in and that something unexpected happened—that they were surprised by Roper, for example. In the resulting disturbance Roper might easily have been killed—possibly quite accidentally. The intruders would then be fighting for their lives as well as their fortunes. And in what better way could they do it than to murder the other members of the household; lay them on their beds and burn the house down?’

      Mr Oxley did not reply. The idea was chimerical, fantastic, absurd, and yet—it was certainly possible. There had been a number of daring burglaries within the last few months, which were generally believed to be the work of one gang, and in no single instance had the police been able to effect an arrest. The belief in the old miser’s hoard was universal, and from the point of view of the thief, Starvel would be one of the easiest cribs to crack. Moreover, on second thoughts Tarkington’s suggestion as to the origin of the fire was not so fanciful, after all. The safe containing the money was in Averill’s bedroom, and the old man would have to be quieted in some way before it could be opened. Roper’s attention might easily have been attracted, and the burglars, either by accident or in self-defence, might have killed him. If so, the fire would be their obvious way of safety. Yes, the thing was possible. All the same there wasn’t a shred of evidence that it had happened.

      ‘But, my dear fellow,’ Oxley said at last, ‘that’s all my eye! Very ingenious and all that, but you haven’t a scrap of evidence for it. Why invent a complicated, far-fetched explanation when you have a simple one ready to hand? Sounds as if you had been reading too many detective stories lately.’

      Tarkington did not smile with his friend.

      ‘You think it nonsense?’ he asked earnestly. ‘You think I needn’t tell the police about the note?’

      ‘I don’t think you have any evidence: not evidence to justify even a suspicion. You’ve no real reason to suppose Averill did not hand that twenty-pound note to someone from whom it passed to the man who paid it in.’

      ‘To whom, for example?’

      ‘I don’t know. Neither of us knows what visitors the old man might have had. But that doesn’t prove he had none.’

      Mr Tarkington seemed far from satisfied. He threw away his cigarette and took another from the box, handling it delicately in his long, thin fingers. He moved nervously in his chair and then said in a low voice:

      ‘I suppose then, Oxley, I may take it that you were quite satisfied about that business—I mean at the time?’

      Mr Oxley looked at his friend in surprise.

      ‘Good gracious, Tarkington, what bee have you got in your bonnet? Do you mean satisfied that the fire was an accident and that those three poor people were burned? Of course I was. It never occurred to me to doubt it.’

      The other seemed slightly relieved.

      ‘I hope sincerely that you’re right,’ he answered. ‘But I may tell you that I wasn’t satisfied—neither at the time nor yet since. That’s the reason that when I heard about the note I came at once to consult you. There’s a point which you and the coroner and the police and everyone concerned seem to have overlooked,’ he dropped his voice still further and became very impressive. ‘What about the papers that were burnt in the safe?’

      Mr Oxley was surprised at his friend’s persistence.

      ‘Well, what in Heaven’s name about them? For the life of me I don’t see what you’re driving at.’ ‘Haven’t you ever been in Averill’s bedroom?’

      ‘Yes. What of it?’

      ‘Did you notice the safe?’

      ‘Not particularly.’

      ‘Well, I’ve both been there and noticed it,’ He bent forward, and his thin face seemed more hawk-like than ever as he said impressively: ‘Oxley, that safe was fireproof!’

      Mr Oxley started.

      ‘Good Heavens, Tarkington! Are you sure of that?’ he queried sharply.

      ‘Not absolutely,’ the other replied. ‘It was certainly my strong opinion and if I had been asked before the fire I should have had no doubt. When I heard the evidence at the inquest I concluded I had made a mistake. But now this affair of the twenty-pound note has reawakened all my suspicions.’ He paused, but as Oxley did not reply, continued: ‘Perhaps I’ve got a bee in my bonnet as you said, but I’m now wondering if Roper’s drunkenness doesn’t support the theory? Could he not have been enticed into Thirsby by some member of the gang and treated so as to make him sleep well and not hear what was going on? Remember, he was an absolutely temperate man.’

      ‘Not absolutely. Ruth had smelt drink on other occasions.’

      ‘You are right. Perhaps that is a trifle far-fetched. But what do you think on the main point, Oxley? Ought I to tell the police of my suspicions?’

      Mr Oxley rose and began to pace the room. Then he went to the window and stood for some moments looking out. Finally he returned to his chair, and sat down again.

      ‘I declare, Tarkington, I think you ought,’ he said slowly. ‘When you first made your—I might perhaps say—your amazing suggestion I confess I thought it merely grotesque. But if you are right about the safe it certainly puts a different complexion on the whole business. I take it it’s not too late to ascertain? The safe is not too much damaged to trace the maker and find out from him?’

      ‘I should think the police could find the maker quite easily.’

      ‘Well, I think you should tell them. If you are wrong no harm is done. If not, there are murderers to be brought to justice and perhaps a fortune to be recovered for Ruth.’

      Mr Tarkington rose.

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