The Ponson Case

He made a brief speech deploring the unhappy event which had robbed their neighbourhood of so worthy and so useful a man as Sir William, and expressing on his own behalf and that of those present the sympathy which they felt for the surviving members of the family. Then he lamented the fact that the law required an inquest, and promised that on his part at least the proceedings should be conducted so as to give the least possible amount of annoyance and pain. Partly on that account, and partly because the authorities for technical reasons required some information which there had not as yet been time to obtain, he did not propose to complete the inquest that day, but after formal evidence of identification had been taken he would adjourn the proceedings to a more convenient date.

The speech was cleverly worded. While it stated nothing explicitly, its whole suggestion was that as every one knew an accident had happened, further inquiry must be mere waste of time. He touched but slightly on the adjournment, proceeding at once to call the roll and swear in the jury.

While he was speaking Tanner ran his sharp eyes over the faces of those present, memorising their features, and noting their demeanour. There sat Parkes, the butler, solemn and ponderous, surveying the scene with grave and decorous interest. Innes, sharp-eyed and alert, seemed to be watching the proceedings with an eye for flaws in the Coroner’s law. Smith, the gardener-boatman, somewhat overawed with his surroundings, was evidently there, a plain man, to tell a plain man’s tale. After registering a mental picture of each, Tanner’s gaze passed on, but when it reached Austin Ponson it halted and remained steady.

The son and nephew were seated together. There was a considerable similarity in their appearance. Of middle height, both had blue eyes, clear complexions, and clean-shaven chins. Their features were not unlike, but Austin was stouter, and seemed younger, and more easy going. Cosgrove looked as if he had lived hard. He was thin, and lines radiated from the corners of his eyes while the hair near his temples showed slightly grey. He had the indefinable stamp of a society man, which Austin lacked. But both were well looking enough, and would have passed unnoticed among any crowd of well-dressed Englishmen of the upper classes.

But it was not on these points of superficial resemblance that Tanner’s gaze rested. He was a reader, so far as he was able, of hearts. And it was the expressions of the cousins which had specially attracted his attention.

That both were shocked and upset by the tragedy there could be no doubt. But, while this seemed the sum total of Cosgrove’s emotion, the detective’s keen eye recognised something more in Austin’s face and bearing. He was anxious—unquestionably anxious—and he was trying to hide it. And when the Coroner mentioned the adjournment he started, and a look of undoubted fear showed for a moment in his eyes. Inspector Tanner’s interest was keenly aroused. That Austin knew something he felt sure, and he decided his first business must be to learn what it was.

Accordingly, when the body had been viewed and formally identified, and the proceedings had come to an end, he sought out his victim, and quietly introduced himself.

‘I am exceedingly sorry, Mr Ponson,’ he said politely, ‘to intrude myself upon you at such a moment, but I have been sent here by Scotland Yard to make certain inquiries into this unhappy occurrence, and I have no option but to carry out my instructions. Could you spare me a few moments?’

Austin’s face paled as the other made his occupation known, and again the look of fear showed in his eyes. But he answered readily enough:

‘Certainly, Inspector. I am at your service. Come in here; we shall not be disturbed.’

He led the way into a small study or office on the left of the hall, plainly furnished in mahogany, with dark red leather upholstering. Drawing forward two arm-chairs he motioned his visitor to a seat.

‘I should feel greatly obliged, sir,’ began Tanner, as he accepted a cigarette from the case the other held out, ‘if you would tell me all you can about this unhappy affair. I have practically only arrived, and I have not heard the details.’

‘There’s not much I can tell you, I’m afraid,’ Austin answered, and then he repeated almost word for word the statement he had made to the sergeant. He spoke calmly, but the Inspector could see that he was ill at ease.

‘It seemed to my people,’ went on Tanner, ‘that a good deal hinged on the motive Sir William had for taking out the boat. You cannot form any theory about that?’

‘None whatever. It was the last thing I should have expected him to do.’

‘There is no one whom he might have wished to visit?’

‘The butler suggested that,’ and Austin mentioned Dr Graham. ‘But,’ he ended up, ‘we could find nothing to bear out that theory.’

‘Can you tell me if Sir William had anything on his mind recently?’

Austin hesitated and moved uneasily.

‘No,’ he said, ‘not to my knowledge.’ But his voice changed, and the Inspector felt he was not speaking the truth.

‘When did you see him last, Mr Ponson?’

‘On Sunday. I dined here and spent the evening.’

‘And you noticed nothing unusual in his manner then?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You will be wondering what is the point of all these questions. I am sorry to tell you, Mr Ponson, that my superiors have got an exceedingly unpleasant suspicion into their minds. I hardly like to mention it to you.’

The Inspector paused, watching the other keenly. He was evidently on tenterhooks. Seemingly unable to remain quiet, he threw his cigarette away, and then with quick, jerky movements lit another. But he controlled himself and spoke calmly.

‘Yes? What do they think?’

‘They are not satisfied,’ went on Tanner, slowly watching all the time the effect of his words, ‘that the affair was an accident at all.’

Austin paled still further and tiny drops of sweat appeared on his forehead.

‘In the Lord’s name,’ he cried hoarsely, ‘what do you mean?

‘They fear suicide, Mr Ponson.’

‘Suicide?’ There was horror in the man’s eyes, but to the Inspector there was relief also. ‘What infernal drivel! They did not know my father.’

‘That is so, of course, sir. I’m only telling you what the Chief said. That’s the reason they postponed the inquest, and that’s the reason I was sent down.’

‘I tell you, Inspector, the thing’s absurd. Ask anybody that knew him. They will all tell you the same thing.’

‘I dare say, sir, and probably correctly. But might I ask you when you go home to turn the matter over in your mind, and if you think of anything bearing on it to let me know?’

‘Of course,’ assented Austin, and the relief in his manner was now unmistakable.

There’s just one other point,’ Tanner continued. ‘I have to ask a question I deeply regret, but I can only assure you it is one asked invariably, and as a matter of routine in such cases. I trust you will not mind. It is this. Will you please let me have a statement of your own movements on last Wednesday night?’

Austin Ponson threw up his hands.

‘I have been afraid of that question, Inspector, ever since I first heard the news, and now you’ve asked it, by Jove, I’m glad! I have been trying to make up my mind to tell the police since—since it happened, and it’ll be a huge relief to do so now. I tell you, Inspector, I’ve been actually afraid when I thought of it. Here goes for the whole thing.’

He spoke with excitement, but soon calmed down and went on in ordinary tones.

‘On Wednesday night I was the victim of what I then thought was a stupid and rather unkind hoax, but what since this affair I have looked on in a more sinister light. At the same time I confess I am entirely puzzled as to its meaning. In order that you may understand it I must tell you a few facts about myself.

‘I have lived, as you perhaps know, alone in Halford for several years. I have some private means, and I pass my time in research work in connection with certain disease-carrying insects, besides writing on scientific and social subjects. Recently I became deeply attached to a young lady living close by—a Miss Lois Drew—and on last Saturday I put fate to the test, and asked her to marry me. She consented, but wished our engagement kept a secret for a few days. I only mention her name to you, Inspector, on her own authority, indeed at her express direction, but at the same time I trust you will respect my confidence in the matter.’

Tanner bowed without speaking.

‘About six o’clock on Wednesday evening, my butler handed me a note. He had found it, as I afterwards learnt, in the letter box of the hall door, and as it had not come through the post, it must have been delivered by private messenger. But there had been no ring, nor had he seen anyone approaching the house.

‘The note was in Miss Drew’s handwriting, and it said that she and her sister were going that evening to call on a Mrs Franklyn, who lived a mile or more from the town along the London road. They would be returning about nine, and if I Iiked to take a boat down to the Old Ferry and wait for them there, I could row them home.

‘I need hardly say I was delighted, and I went to the Club to get a boat, intending to be down at the Old Ferry in good time. But there was a delay in getting the boat I wanted, and in spite of rowing hard it was a little past the hour when I reached the place. There was no one there, but I had not waited more than five or ten minutes when a girl came walking up. It was getting dusk, and I thought at first it was Miss Drew’s sister, but when she got nearer I saw she was a stranger. She was below medium height, dark, and badly dressed, with a thin muffler up round her face, as if she had toothache. I could not see her features distinctly, though I think I should know her again. She asked me if I was Mr Austin Ponson.

‘“I am Mrs Franklyn’s housemaid,” she said, “and I was sent to give you this note.”

‘It was a pencil scrawl from Miss Drew, saying that she and her sister had gone with Tom and Evelyn Franklyn, the two younger members of the family, to the Abbey, where the ghost was reported to be abroad. I was to follow, and the girl, Mrs Franklyn’s housemaid, would watch the boat till we returned.

‘The Abbey, I should explain, is an old ruin, a little farther away than Mrs Franklyn’s house—about two miles from the town. It is reached by a narrow and little used path from the London road, perhaps half a mile or less long. According to the local tradition it is haunted, and every now and then the ghost is supposed to walk. I don’t know the exact details of the superstition, but as the place is interesting, and the walk there pleasant enough, to look for the ghost is often made the joking excuse for paying the old place an evening visit.

‘“You will watch the boat till I come back?” I said to the maid, and she answered:

‘“Yes sir, Mrs Franklyn told me so.”

‘I set off to walk the mile or more to the Abbey, reaching it in about twenty minutes. I was a little surprised by the whole business, for though the Abbey would have been a likely enough walk for Miss Drew and the others to take under ordinary circumstances, the path that night was a good deal wetter and muddier than I thought any of the ladies would have cared for. As you know, the weather only cleared up that morning after a long spell of rain. However, I pressed on till I reached the Abbey. Inspector, there was no one there!

‘I searched the whole place, and called aloud, but not a creature did I find. Quite mystified, and a good deal annoyed, I turned and hurried back.

‘“I have been hoaxed by those four,” I thought, and I decided to go round to the Franklyns’ and enjoy the joke with them. But when I reached the house it was in darkness, and the door was shut. I knocked, and rang, and walked round it, but nowhere was there any lights, and I had to conclude it was empty. I returned to the Old Ferry and found the boat still there, but Mrs Franklyn’s servant was gone. Sorely puzzled, I rowed back up the river. By the time I reached the boat club it was quarter to eleven, and the place was closed. I had to root out the caretaker to get the boat in. Then I walked on to the Drews’, arriving about eleven, just as they were preparing for bed; I apologised, of course, for turning up at such a time, but when I explained the reason, Miss Drew cried out that the whole thing was a hoax. She hadn’t been out that evening, and she hadn’t written any notes. Furthermore, she knew the Franklyins had been called away unexpectedly the previous day to see their son who was ill, and had sent their servants home, and closed the house.

‘So there, Inspector, you have the whole thing. At the time, as I said, I thought it merely a stupid practical joke, but since I heard of this affair I cannot but wonder is there no connection. I recognise anyway that I am in an exceedingly unpleasant position, for I am quite unable to prove what I have told you.’

Beyond a murmured acknowledgment, Inspector Tanner did not reply for some moments, as he thought over what he had just heard. There were obviously two theories about it. First, if the story were true it cleared Austin, not merely as an alibi, but it accounted for his suspicious manner. And the Inspector could see no reason why it should not be true. Such a plant on the part of the murderer, with the object of throwing suspicion on Austin, and therefore off himself, would be quite possible. It would be proved that Austin took a boat, and went down the river, and was away long enough for him to have reached the Luce Manor boathouse and committed the murder. And the ruined Abbey was just the place the inventor of such a plant would choose, a deserted spot where Austin would be unlikely to meet anyone who could confirm his story.

On the other hand, Austin might really know the truth, even if he was not himself the actual murderer. If so, the story was a clever invention on his part, well designed and thought out. But whichever of these theories were true, it was obvious to Tanner that he must test the whole thing as thoroughly as he possibly could.

‘If you will allow me to say it, sir,’ he observed, ‘you did a wise thing in telling me this story. Had you not done so, and had I found out about your using the boat, I should have taken a very different view of the affair. And now for your own sake, as well as mine, I feel sure you won’t object to my testing your statement. You say the path to this ruin was muddy. There has been no rain since Wednesday. Your footprints will therefore be clear. Come into Halford with me now, and lend me the shoes you wore that night, and I will go out to the place and see the marks with my own eyes.’

Austin slapped his thigh.

‘Capital, Inspector!’ he cried. ‘The more you test it the better I’ll be pleased. It will be no end of a weight off my mind. I don’t deny I have been horribly worried.’

His manner did not belie his statement. As a few minutes later he drove Tanner and the sergeant into Halford, he seemed to have thrown off his depression, and chatted easily and almost gaily.

They drew up at the door of his small villa. It was opened by a butler rather resembling Parkes, but younger and slighter.

‘Come in, Inspector, and I’ll give you what you want. Will you wait here a moment?’

Austin led the way into a cheerful room fitted up as a study and workroom. A large table in the corner was littered with papers and manuscripts, there was a fine microscope in the window, while everywhere were strewn books and periodicals. The Inspector moved about noting and memorising what he saw, till Austin returned.

‘There you are,’ the latter exclaimed, holding out a pair of tan shoes, ‘and here’s a bag to put them in.’

‘New?’ queried Tanner as he took the shoes, and glanced at their soles.

‘Quite. I got them on Monday, and I have only worn them once.’

The Inspector nodded.

‘Thanks, Mr Ponson,’ he said, as he took his leave, ‘I’ll keep you advised how I get on.’

Remaining in the town only long enough to hire a car and buy some plaster of Paris, Inspector Tanner and the sergeant drove out once more along the London road. The weather had come in hot, and the air hung heavy and motionless beneath the trees. The cattle had moved into the shade, and except for an occasional impatient switch of their tails, remained standing rigid, the embodiment of placid unintelligence. Aromatic scents floated across the road, and masses of colour blazed out from the adjoining gardens. In the distance the hills showed faint and nebulous in the haze, while objects closer at hand quivered in the heated atmosphere. The car slid rapidly along, its rubber treads purring in a companionable way on the smooth road. On the left the sergeant pointed out the lane leading to the Old Ferry, then on the right the entrance to Mrs Franklyn’s villa. On the left again were the large gates of Luce Manor, and quarter of a mile past them, and on the opposite side, a grass-grown path branched off. At this the motor pulled up.

‘Abbey Lane,’ the sergeant explained, and having arranged for the car to wait, the two men dismounted and passed down the path.

At first the surface was hard, some traces of old macadam remaining. But as they went farther it grew softer and more grassy. They examined the ground, and for a long way could find no marks. But later they came on what they wanted. Not far from the ruins the path crossed a shallow valley where, the water having run down from each side, the bottom was soft and muddy. Here clear and distinct were two lines of footprints, one going and one returning. Tanner compared Austin’s shoes with the impressions. They fitted exactly.

Notwithstanding this discovery, the officers continued till they reached the ruins. Here a careful search revealed three prints of Austin’s shoes, but there were no traces of other visitors.

To check another point in Austin’s statement, Tanner noted the time it took them to walk quickly from the Abbey to Mrs Franklyn’s house. Here they made another search, with the result that at several points close to the building they found prints of Austin’s shoes. That he had been there also was beyond question, and his story was therefore true so far.

Having ascertained the time, occupied in walking from Mrs Franklyn’s to the Old Ferry, the two men were driven back to Luce Manor. Here they took plaster casts of the various footprints on the river bank. Then, re-entering the car, they returned to Halford, tired out from their day’s work.

CHAPTER IV

INSPECTOR TANNER GROWS SUSPICIOUS

INSPECTOR TANNER was an early bird. Though on the next morning he did not attempt to emulate his performance of the day before, half-past eight o’clock saw him cycling out to the Luce Manor boathouse to undertake the examination which had been postponed from the previous evening. Leaving his bicycle among the shrubs at the entrance gate, he walked down the path which ran along the river bank, and which he had not yet examined. But here he found nothing of interest.

The boathouse was a modern structure in the Old English style, with brick sides, half-timbered gables, and a red tiled roof. The door was in the wall opposite the river, and the Inspector unlocked it, and entered a chamber of about thirty feet square, lighted from a louvre in the roof. The water basin occupied about half the floor area, and was in one corner, leaving an L-shaped wharf, laid down in granolithic. Along the walls were racks for oars and presses for rowlocks and fishing tackle. An archway at the end of the basin led out to the river, and was closed by a grill or portcullis raised by chains from a small windlass. Two boats were floating in the basin.

For some minutes Tanner stood motionless, noting these details, and looking round in the hope of seeing something that might help him. This cursory inspection proving fruitless, he settled down to make a methodical examination of the entire building.

If, as seemed likely, the man who had made the fifth set of tracks on the river bank had really entered the house, his muddy boots must surely have left traces. Tanner therefore began with the floor, and crawling on his hands and knees backwards and forwards, scrutinised the cement-coloured surface. It was tiresome work, but at last he found what he thought looked like footprints. On the quay not far from the corner of the basin were a number of tiny mud-coloured spots. At first he could not connect these to make a complete whole, but by lying down on his face and using a lens he was able to find several other patches of coagulated sand, which he marked with a pencil; and when he had finished there showed out on the granolithic the nail patterns of two clearly marked heels with the corresponding middle portion of the soles in front. It was evident a man had stood with his back to the door, and facing the basin, and had remained there long enough to allow the moisture from the soles of his shoes to run down the nail heads, and settle on the floor.

It was the work of a few seconds for Tanner to compare these marks with those of the fifth man on the river bank. They were identical.

He resumed his search. There were no more footmarks, and he made but one other discovery. In the left-hand corner of the quay, at the very edge of the basin, and hidden behind the mooring rope of one of the boats, lay the stump of a cigarette. Clearly the intention had been to throw it into the basin, but it had just missed going down, and had fallen unnoticed. Tanner had a good working knowledge of cigarettes, but this one he could not place. The paper was yellow, and the tobacco very dark in colour. He thought it looked South American. But he was pleased with his find, for it seemed to have been but recently smoked, and as he put it away in his pocket, he thought he had perhaps gained a clue.

An examination of the door handles and styles, winch handle, backs of chairs and similar objects with a powdering apparatus revealed several finger prints, but, alas! all too smudged and blurred to be of use. Nor could he find anything else of interest.

He was disappointed that the boathouse had yielded so little. It was true that either the footprint or the cigarette end might prove valuable, but on the other hand neither were necessarily connected with the murder. Both might have got there in a perfectly ordinary and legitimate manner.

He sat down on one of the chairs to consider his next step. There were three lines of inquiry open to him, and he hesitated as to that on which to begin. First, there was the general investigation, the interviewing of the servants, Lady Ponson, Miss Enid, and any others from whom he might gain information, the examination of Sir William’s papers, the tracing of his movements for some time previous to his death, the consideration of his finances, the ascertaining whether anyone might benefit by his death—all routine details, each step of which was suggested by his training, and his experience in similar cases. This work he knew he would have to carry out some time, and obviously the sooner it was done the better.

Next came the testing of Austin’s alibi. Though he had made a beginning with this, a great deal remained to be done before he could feel satisfied as to its truth. And satisfied he must be. The circumstances were too suspicious for anything less than utter certainty to suffice.

As he turned the matter over in his mind he slowly came to the conclusion that he could work on these two points simultaneously. The same information would, to some extent at least, be required for both, and the same people would have to be interviewed.

But there was a third point which, equally urgently, required attention. The man who had made the fifth line of footsteps must be traced. And here, again, no time should be lost in getting to work.

Tanner felt he could not take on this inquiry with the others. There was work in it alone for another man. He therefore decided he would wire for an assistant to whom he could hand over this portion of the case.