24: The House in Bernard Street

THE three men closely watching and listening to Crench had been aware, all through his statement, that he was addressing himself mainly to Richard Marchmont, as if in him lay his chief hope of escaping from what was still a probable eventuality. And Crench suddenly became entreating in manner, and, as if ignoring the police officials, turned himself to Richard.

“Mr. Marchmont! Those women that came to see your uncle the morning of that day---the day he met his death, of which, God knows, I’m as innocent as you are, sir!---you saw them---you know them, Mr. Marchmont! Simpson saw your uncle introduce them to you, outside the office! Mr. Marchmont!---it must have been one of those women that I saw running away---saw from the window! Liversedge, there!---I know he means to charge me and Simpson with the murder, I know he does!---I can see it!---Mr. Marchmont, you know those women!---for God’s sake, Mr. Marchmont, find the one that ran away from the door as I looked out!---don’t let me be charged with murder! Mr. Marchmont----”

Liversedge came to Richard’s rescue.

“Keep quiet, Crench!” he said. “You don’t know anything at all of what’s in my mind. We’ll investigate your statement about the woman, right enough! Leave that alone---you tell me something else. What had you and Simpson to do with Garner? What were you doing with him at the hotel in Wapping?”

Crench made a gesture that seemed to signify some past helplessness.

“Garner!” he answered thickly. “Garner---he got the whip hand of me---of me and Simpson. It was after hearing Lansdale’s evidence at the adjourned inquest the other day; about the twenty thousand pounds’ worth of bank-notes. He taxed Simpson and me with having got possession of the money. He was there, at the adjourned inquest; he heard all that Lansdale had to say, and he put two and two together. He chanced to come across me and Simpson talking privately after the inquest, and he accused us of having taken the twenty thousand pounds and threatened us. We---we had to come to terms with him. He’d got his money out of the Lansdale-Vandelius deal, and he wanted to go abroad at once, to start on some financial game of his own, with as much capital as he could rake up, and of course he wanted to get more out of us. Blackmail!---that’s what it was!---blackmail! We had to give in to him---he was a dangerous man, Garner! Of course, we’d negotiated nearly all the five hundred pound notes by that time, successfully. Garner forced everything out of us: there was no other way than to square him. We took him the money last night---to that hotel in Wapping. He was going to catch an early morning boat for some Dutch port; from there he was going across France to---I forget which French port it was---to get a ship for South America.”

“How much did Garner get?” asked Liversedge.

“One-third!” replied Crench. “Six thousand seven hundred, roughly speaking. It would be on him---but he had other money of his own. As---as we had.”

“How much did you and Garner get out of that deal in which Vandelius and Lansdale were concerned?” inquired the detective.

“We had five thousand pounds each---cash,” answered Crench. “Vandelius gave up his cheque for our shares as soon as he and Lansdale had signed the papers. That’s my money, of course---you can’t touch that!”

“Do you know what Vandelius got out of it?” asked Liversedge. “If you do---tell!”

“I don’t! A very big amount, I’m sure,” said Crench. “What we got would be a mere nothing to it!”

“And---just think carefully, before you answer this---if anything had occurred to put that deal off, Vandelius would have lost all that very big amount?”

“It was possible---yes, you might say probable. Certainly!”

“Then it was in his interest to keep Mr. Henry Marchmont quiet?---to prevent him from telling anything of his own beliefs or impressions about Lansdale?”

“It was certainly in his interest!” replied Crench eagerly. “When Lansdale told the three of us---Vandelius, Garner, and myself---at my office about the unfortunate meeting with Mr. Henry Marchmont at the City dinner, Vandelius said that Henry Marchmont must be kept quiet at any cost---any! Until the deal was through. We were all anxious nothing should be said; we all urged Lansdale to do all he could that night to convince Henry Marchmont that he was not the dishonest and fraudulent man Henry Marchmont believed him to be.”

“Then it comes to this,” said Liversedge. “It was quite probable that on Henry Marchmont’s silence depended a vast gain to Vandelius, and a smaller one of five thousand pounds to Garner?”

“That is so!” asserted Crench.

“Very well!” continued Liversedge. “Now you tell me this---did you never suspect either Vandelius or Garner?”

“No!---because of what I saw. The woman, you know, who ran away!”

“Why should she have shot Mr. Henry Marchmont?” asked the detective.

Crench shook his head.

“I don’t know; I can’t suggest anything!” he answered. “All I know is that’s what I saw. The woman---a woman---running away across the street as if from Marchmont’s front door.”

“Well, just another question, Crench,” continued Liversedge, after a pause, during which the solicitor looked anxiously from one to the other of the three men. “You say you and Simpson were together when you heard that shot?”

“Together, yes---just within the cupboard I told you about.”

“He ran straight downstairs, and you ran to the window of the private room?”

“Yes!”

“Did Simpson do anything about searching the place? Did he look into any rooms, opening from the stairs, or the landings?”

“No!---he did nothing, except to take the key of the safe from Henry Marchmont’s pocket. It was he, Simpson, who suggested taking and sharing the notes---upon my honour, I hadn’t thought of it! I wish I’d never listened to him---but I did! Still, I tell you again, I know nothing of the murder---I’m as innocent of that----”

“You’re not charged with murder,” interrupted Liversedge. “You’re not charged with anything at present. You’ve been found in possession of money that was undoubtedly stolen from the late Mr. Marchmont’s office in Bedford Row on the night of his death, and you’ll be detained till we know more.”

“I know nothing of the murder!” repeated Crench.

When he had been taken away, the three men left together looked at each other.

“What do you make of that, Liversedge?” asked the inspector. “Do you think he’s been telling the truth?”

“Yes, I think so!” answered Liversedge. “He’s not the sort of chap whose word I should take in a general way, but I believe we got the real truth out of him this time! Crench is frightened!---he sees the dock at the Central Criminal Court and the gallows, too, for that matter, in certain eventualities! For, if you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be a difficult thing to convict him and Simpson of murder. On Crench’s own admission they were there!---who’s to prove their innocence?”

“If you’re asking me,” remarked the inspector dryly, “there’s no innocence about it! I don’t believe a word of what Crench has said!---except that he and Simpson took the money, and, of course, that they were there eavesdropping. My notion is that the story we’ve heard is only true up to a certain point. I think they overheard the talk between Mr. Marchmont and Lansdale and saw Lansdale put the money down and go away and afterwards saw Mr. Marchmont go out to post the letter they say he wrote. But there---at that point!---I think Crench moved off from the truth. I think one or other of the two probably waylaid Mr. Marchmont on his return and shot him---for the twenty thousand pounds!”

“You’ll not be alone in thinking that, either,” said Liversedge. “But---I don’t think it!”

He turned to Richard. “Mr. Marchmont,” he continued, “the inspector here doesn’t know all we know! Crench has spoken of seeing a woman run away across the street. Well”---here he turned back to the inspector---“there is a woman known to Mr. Marchmont and myself who’s half-crazy, or wholly crazy, with murderous designs on Lansdale! Her name’s Cora Sanderthwaite. She believes herself and her family and others to have been deeply wronged, financially, and perhaps otherwise, by Lansdale. Mr. Richard Marchmont and I have both heard her---well, rave about these wrongs, which, if Lansdale’s to be credited, are purely imaginary. Now what I know about her fits in with Crench’s story. In fact, as he talked, I came to an opinion. I think it very likely that Cora Sanderthwaite, having been told by Mr. Henry Marchmont that Lansdale was going to the office at Bedford Row that evening, went there with the fixed idea of meeting him and revenging herself, and that she shot Mr. Henry Marchmont in mistake for Lansdale---the two men were very much alike in build and figure, and one could easily be mistaken for the other in a half-light. Considering what we know now, Mr. Marchmont, I think that’s a reasonable theory---what do you think?”

“I think there may be a great deal in it, Liversedge,” replied Richard. “It’s in accordance with my own conclusions after hearing what Crench had to say and with what I know. But I have here,” he went on, drawing an envelope from his pocket, “something that may perhaps strengthen it---that is, if it really relates to what we’re talking about. This is a letter, an anonymous letter, which I found in my letter-box this evening, just before you rang me up on the telephone. I brought it along in case it might be of use to you, Liversedge. As I say, it’s anonymous, and there’s no address, but it seems to have been posted this afternoon in the south-west district, I’ll read it---the handwriting’s that of an elderly man, I should say, and I don’t think there’s been any attempt at disguising it.”

He drew a sheet of letter-paper from the envelope, smoothed it out, and read:

“Richard Marchmont, Esq.

“Dear Sir,—I venture to write to you believing you to know Mr. Lansdale or Land and to be interested in his daughter. If you wish to avoid sorrow and trouble for her and her father, advise him strongly to get out of this country as quickly as he can. His life is in danger. It is not safe for him to go about, nor for his daughter to be with him when he is about. Tell him to take a hint and go away as soon as possible; the sooner the better for everybody concerned.

“One Who Knows.”

Richard tossed the letter across to Liversedge; the detective re-read it.

“Mr. Marchmont,” he said, “as sure as fate that refers to Cora Sanderthwaite! It probably comes from some member of her family---maybe from her brother, maybe from her sister. They may have concocted it between them. Anyway, they, or whoever’s written it, knows that Cora Sanderthwaite’s crazy brain is still prompting her to go for Lansdale! That’s my reading of this letter. And late as it is, I’m going round to Bernard Street!---Mr. Marchmont, you might come with me.”

The clocks were striking midnight as Richard and the detective gained the open air. Liversedge, as he stepped out, stretched his arms and then rubbed his hands---the involuntary gesture of a man who is physically tired and yet has work to do.

“A fair lot’s happened since this evening began, Mr. Marchmont!” he remarked. “But I really do believe we’re getting at a solution of things, or, at any rate, making some progress towards a solution. Of course, there’s a lot to be cleared up, and there are still several puzzling details. Now, I was wondering as Crench told us his story who it was that your uncle sat down and wrote to after Lansdale left him that night? That letter, which, if Crench’s tale be true, Mr. Henry Marchmont went out to post with his own hands, may be of some importance. I’d like to know if it had any relation to the interview he’d just had with Lansdale?”

“You’d think it had---as, according to Crench, he wrote it immediately the interview was over,” replied Richard.

“You would! My first notion about it was a letter to the police. But it can’t have been, or I should have heard of it. Yet whoever it was to, it must have been about the business that had just occupied his thoughts---you could hardly conceive his sitting down immediately Lansdale had gone to write about any other matter.”

“Part of the mystery!” said Richard. “But, Liversedge---what are you going to do about this Cora Sanderthwaite? Things are pointing that way. And in my opinion the poor thing’s mad!”

“Half-mad, Mr. Marchmont, half-mad!---and therefore doubly dangerous,” answered the detective. “I don’t know---yet. What I want to find out is what her relations, her sister and brother, have to say. Then---I can decide. But I’m getting more and more convinced that my notion about her is not far off the truth! I know of a bit of evidence that helps me to think so.”

“What’s that?” asked Richard.

“Well,” replied Liversedge, “it’s not a nice thing to mention to you, but the fact is, I’ve seen the bullet which caused your uncle’s death! The surgeons showed it to me after their examination. Mr. Marchmont!---that bullet had never been fired out of a modern fire-arm---that is, a fire-arm of the present day. What it had been fired out of was a revolver of the sort they made about thirty years ago. Now, a family like these Sanderthwaites coming from the country, as I understand they did, might be very likely to have a weapon of that sort, eh? But here we are at their house---all in darkness, as I rather expected at this time o’ night, though it is a boarding establishment. No matter!---I’m going to have somebody up.”

Lionel Sanderthwaite appeared at last, in a shabby dressing-gown, a lamp in his hand. He showed no surprise at seeing Richard and the detective, and when they had followed him into the hall Liversedge went straight to the point.

“Mr. Sanderthwaite!” he said. “Don’t be alarmed---but where is your sister, Miss Cora?”

Lionel shook his head with a half-perplexed gesture.

“I can’t tell you!” he answered. “My sister Cora has left us!”