Eleven

Inspector Colgate was reporting to the Chief Constable.

“I’ve got on to one thing, sir, and something pretty sensational. It’s about Mrs. Marshall’smoney. I’ve been into it with her lawyers. I’d say it’s a bit of a shock to them. I’ve got proof of theblackmail story. You remember she was left fifty thousand pounds by old Erskine? Well, all that’sleft of that is about fifteen thousand.”

The Chief Constable whistled.

“Whew, what’s become of the rest?”

“That’s the interesting point, sir. She’s sold out stuff from time to time, and each time she’shandled it in cash or negotiable securities—that’s to say she’s handed out money to someone thatshe didn’t want traced. Blackmail all right.”

The Chief Constable nodded.

“Certainly looks like it. And the blackmailer is here in this hotel. That means it must be one ofthose three men. Got anything fresh on any of them?”

“Can’t say I’ve got anything definite, sir. Major Barry’s a retired Army man, as he says. Livesin a small flat, has a pension and a small income from stocks. But he’s paid in pretty considerablesums into his account in the last year.”

“That sounds promising. What’s his explanation?”

“Says they’re betting gains. It’s perfectly true that he goes to all the large race meetings. Placeshis bets on the course too, doesn’t run an account.”

The Chief Constable nodded.

“Hard to disprove that,” he said. “But it’s suggestive.”

Colgate went on.

“Next, the Reverend Stephen Lane. He’s bona fide all right — had a living at St. Helen’s,Whiteridge, Surrey—resigned his living just over a year ago owing to ill health. His ill healthamounted to his going into a nursing home for mental patients. He was there for over a year.”

“Interesting,” said Weston.

“Yes, sir. I tried to get as much as I could out of the doctor in charge but you know what thesemedicos are—it’s difficult to pin them down to anything you can get hold of. But as far as I canmake out, his reverence’s trouble was an obsession about the devil—especially the devil in theguise of a woman—scarlet woman—whore of Babylon.”

“H’m,” said Weston. “There have been precedents for murder there.”

“Yes, sir. It seems to me that Stephen Lane is at least a possibility. The late Mrs. Marshall was apretty good example of what a clergyman would call a Scarlet Woman—hair and goings on andall. Seems to me it’s not impossible he may have felt it his appointed task to dispose of her. That isif he is really batty.”

“Nothing to fit in with the blackmail theory?”

“No, sir, I think we can wash him out as far as that’s concerned. Has some private means of hisown, but not very much, and no sudden increase lately.”

“What about his story of his movements on the day of the crime?”

“Can’t get any confirmation of them. Nobody remembers meeting a parson in the lanes. As tothe book at the church, the last entry was three days before and nobody had looked at it for about afortnight. He could have quite easily gone over the day before, say, or even a couple of daysbefore, and dated his entry the 25th.”

Weston nodded. He said:

“And the third man?”

“Horace Blatt? It’s my opinion, sir, that there’s definitely something fishy there. Pays incometax on a sum far exceeding what he makes out of his hardware business. And mind you, he’s aslippery customer. He could probably cook up a reasonable statement—he gambles a bit on theStock Exchange, and he’s in with one or two shady deals. Oh, yes, there may be plausibleexplanations, but there’s no getting away from it that he’s been making pretty big sums fromunexplained sources for some years now.”

“In fact,” said Weston, “the idea is that Mr. Horace Blatt is a successful blackmailer byprofession?”

“Either that, sir, or it’s dope. I saw Chief Inspector Ridgeway who’s in charge of the dopebusiness, and he was no end keen. Seems there’s been a good bit of heroin coming in lately.

They’re on to the small distributors, and they know more or less who’s running it the other end,but it’s the way it’s coming into the country that’s baffled them so far.”

Weston said:

“If the Marshall woman’s death is the result of her getting mixed-up, innocently or otherwise,with the dope-running stunt, then we’d better hand the whole thing over to Scotland Yard. It’stheir pigeon. Eh? What do you say?”

Inspector Colgate said rather regretfully:

“I’m afraid you’re right, sir. If it’s dope, then it’s a case for the Yard.”

Weston said after a moment or two’s thought:

“It really seems the most likely explanation.”

Colgate nodded gloomily.

“Yes, it does. Marshall’s right out of it—though I did get some information that might havebeen useful if his alibi hadn’t been so good. Seems his firm is very near the rocks. Not his fault orhis partner’s, just the general result of the crisis last year and the general state of trade and finance.

And as far as he knew, he’d come into fifty thousand pounds if his wife died. And fifty thousandwould have been a very useful sum.”

He sighed.

“Seems a pity when a man’s got two perfectly good motives for murder, that he can be provedto have had nothing to do with it!”

Weston smiled.

“Cheer up, Colgate. There’s still a chance we may distinguish ourselves. There’s the blackmailangle still and there’s the batty parson, but, personally, I think the dope solution is far the mostlikely.” He added: “And if it was one of the dope gang who put her out we’ll have beeninstrumental in helping Scotland Yard to solve the dope problem. In fact, take it all round, oneway or another, we’ve done pretty well.”

An unwilling smile showed on Colgate’s face.

He said:

“Well, that’s the lot, sir. By the way, I checked up on the writer of that letter we found in herroom. The one signed J.N. Nothing doing. He’s in China safe enough. Same chap as MissBrewster was telling us about. Bit of a young scallywag. I’ve checked up on the rest of Mrs.

Marshall’s friends. No leads there. Everything there is to get, we’ve got, sir.”

Weston said:

“So now it’s up to us.” He paused and then added: “Seen anything of our Belgian colleague?

Does he know all you’ve told me?”

Colgate said with a grin:

“He’s a queer little cuss, isn’t he? D’you know what he asked me day before yesterday? Hewanted particulars of any cases of strangulation in the last three years.”

Colonel Weston sat up.

“He did, did he? Now I wonder—” he paused a minute. “When did you say the ReverendStephen Lane went into that mental home?”

“A year ago last Easter, sir.”

Colonel Weston was thinking deeply. He said:

“There was a case—body of a young woman found somewhere near Bagshot. Going to meether husband somewhere and never turned up. And there was what the papers called the LonelyCopse Mystery. Both in Surrey if I remember rightly.”

His eyes met those of his Inspector. Colgate said:

“Surrey? My word, sir, it fits, doesn’t it? I wonder….”