The Ponson Case · Chapter 4 (2/3)

That afternoon and the next morning the Inspector saw all the other servants at Luce Manor, both indoor and out, but here again without result. In the case of the men he took prints from their boots to compare with those he had found on the river bank. This was a tedious operation, involving troublesome explanations and reassurances, but at last it was done, and Tanner was able to say with certainty that three of the four men who had walked together were the butler, the valet, and the gardener, while the tracks of the fifth man, who had stood in the boathouse, were not made by anyone belonging to the estate. It was probable, therefore, that this fifth man was concerned in the tragedy, and Tanner was glad he had lost no time in setting Sergeant Longwell to work to trace him.

In the afternoon the Inspector called at Austin’s villa, and interviewed first Lady Ponson, and secondly Enid. Apologising courteously for his intrusion, he questioned both ladies on all the points about which he was in doubt, but once more without gaining any fresh information. Both had noticed Sir William had not been quite up to his usual form for a few days before their departure for London, but both had put it down to some trifling physical indisposition, and neither could throw light on any possible cause of worry to him. Asked if he had an enemy who might have been giving him annoyance, they emphatically negatived the suggestion, saying that as far as they knew Sir William had been universally beloved. As they had been in London on the night in question, they of course knew nothing of the actual details of the tragedy.

Inspector Tanner was sure from the bearing and manner of both ladies that they were telling him the absolute truth, and really were ignorant of anything which might have been at the bottom of the affair. They clearly were terribly shocked and distressed, and he made his interview as short as possible.

The next day was Sunday, and, as he had mentioned to the valet, Tanner determined to spend it in going over the late Sir William’s papers. He brought the sergeant out to help him, and they were soon settled in the library, immersed in their work. Tanner, seated at the big roll top desk, went through paper after paper, while the sergeant, with the keys found on the body, unlocked drawers and carried their contents to the desk for his superior’s inspection. The work was tedious, but they kept hard at it, and when after some time Parkes came into the room, they found with surprise that it was nearly two o’clock.

“What about a bite of lunch, gentlemen?” the butler invited them. “I should be pleased if you would join me.”

“Very good of you, I’m sure, Mr. Parkes,” Tanner answered. “We’ll be through in ten minutes.”

“And have you found anything to help you?” went on Parkes, running his eye over the open safe and drawers.

“Not a blessed thing. There’s not the slightest hint of anything out of the common that I can see.”

“Well, come to my room when you’re ready.”

On the previous day Parkes had shown the Inspector over the house, and among other things Tanner had noticed large framed photographs of Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove. Before following the butler he slipped up to the room in which these were hanging and, deftly removing the frames, noted the photographer’s name. Then locking up the library they went to lunch, soon afterwards taking their leave.

Though Tanner’s statement to Parkes that he had made no helpful discovery among Sir William’s papers was true, he had noticed one thing which had puzzled him. He had been turning over the blocks of the dead man’s cheque book, and he had found that on the previous Monday and Tuesday⁠—the two days before the tragedy⁠—Sir William had written two cheques, both payable to self. That dated for the Monday was for £100, and that for the Tuesday for no less a sum than £3,000. That the deceased should have required such sums immediately prior to his murder was interesting and suggestive enough, but that was not all. What had specially intrigued the Inspector’s imagination was the fact that below the word “self” was in each case one letter only⁠—a capital X. He looked back through the book, and in every other instance found below the name the purpose for which the money was required. These two sums must therefore have been for something so private that it could be designated only by a sign. It was evidently something quite definite, as the blocks of other cheques payable to self bore such legends as “personal expenses,” “visit to Edinburgh,” and so on. What, the Inspector wondered, could it be?

Considerably interested, he went back through some of the completed books, and at intervals he found other cheques bearing the same mysterious sign. Without a real hope that it would lead him anywhere he had set the sergeant to go back over all the blocks he could find, and make a list of these X cheques, noting the date, number, and amount. He found they had been drawn during a period of four years, were all made out to self, and were all for even hundreds, all excepting the last, varying from £400 down to £100. In all £4,600 had been paid.

It seemed to Inspector Tanner that there was here some secret in Sir William’s life which might or might not be important. Was it gambling, he wondered, or perhaps women? From what he had heard of the deceased’s life and character both these suppositions seemed unlikely, but, as he said to himself, you never know. He remembered that Innes had stated Sir William had called at the bank on his way to the train on the Monday morning, and he wondered if this was to cash the cheques. He thought that some inquiries there would do no harm.

He went to the bank as soon as it opened next morning and saw the manager. The cashier recollected Sir William’s visit on the previous Monday. The deceased gentleman had, it appeared, cashed a cheque for £100, and on comparing the number, Tanner found it was that belonging to the X-marked block. He had been paid in Bank of England fives⁠—twenty of them. None of the officials could tell anything about the £3,000 cheque which apparently had not been cashed, nor indeed about any of the other X cheques.

Tanner was anxious to learn something of the dead man’s history, see his will, find out who would benefit by his death, and who, if anyone, might have a grudge against him. He had discovered when going through the papers on the previous day that Sir William’s lawyers were Messrs. Greer, Arbuthnot & Greer, of Lincoln’s Inn. To call on them, therefore, seemed his next step. From the station he telephoned making an appointment for two o’clock, then, taking the 10:55 a.m. train, he went up to town.

He saw Mr. Arbuthnot, a tall, rather stooped man with strongly marked, clean-shaven features, a thick crop of lightish hair slightly shot with grey, and a pair of very keen blue eyes. He bowed his visitor to a chair.

“We had your message, Inspector,” he said. “I hope there is nothing wrong. We look on you Scotland Yard gentlemen rather as stormy petrels, you know.” His face as he smiled lit up and became friendly and human. Tanner took an instinctive liking to him.

“I dare say you can guess my business, Mr. Arbuthnot,” he began. “It is in connection with the sad death of Sir William Ponson.”

“Yes?”

Tanner hesitated for a moment.

“I think, sir,” he said at last, “if you will treat what I am about to say as confidential, I had better tell you the complication which has arisen.”

Mr. Arbuthnot nodded, and the Inspector went on.

“You know the circumstances, of course, of Sir William’s death? Everything seemed to point to an accident. Well, we are not so sure about it. I am sorry to say there is a suspicion of foul play.”

The lawyer looked up sharply.

“Foul play?” he repeated. “Good Lord, I hope not!”

“I’m afraid, sir, there is little doubt of it. The medical evidence points in that direction at any rate.”

Mr. Arbuthnot, it seemed, had been more than merely legal adviser to the deceased gentleman. They had been close personal friends, and the solicitor was profoundly shocked by Tanner’s news. It had the effect of eliciting his warm sympathy with the Inspector’s efforts, and he hastened to assure the latter of his cordial help and cooperation. “Tell me now,” he concluded, “what I can do for you.”

Tanner thanked him, and went on:

“I want you, sir, if you will be so kind, to tell me what you can about Sir William⁠—his history, his family, his money affairs, and so on. May I ask first if you act for the remainder of the family?”

“For Lady Ponson only.”

Tanner bowed, and Mr. Arbuthnot, going to a press, took out a despatch box labelled “Sir William Ponson,” from which he removed some papers. Consulting these from time to time for dates and names, he told the Inspector the following history:

Sir William’s wealth and position, it appeared, had come from very small beginnings. His father and mother, Mr. Arbuthnot believed, had died while he was quite young, leaving him and his brother John alone in the world. He had got work as an office boy in a small iron-foundry at Gateshead, where, owing to his extraordinary industry and energy, he had worked himself up to the position of manager at the comparatively early age of twenty-nine. Under his guidance the concern, which for years had been moribund, had prospered amazingly, and thirteen years later he was taken into partnership. This consummation had been reached only six years when the former owner died, leaving him in sole control. William then sought out his brother John, who also had prospered, having worked himself up to the chief-engineership of one of the large Cunarders. William took John into partnership with the result that, the mechanical side of the work being reorganised, the firm advanced still more rapidly, the two brothers becoming wealthy men. William next turned his attention to civic affairs. He was elected a member of Newcastle Corporation, and during his time of office as mayor, he received his knighthood on the occasion of a royal visit to the town. When Sir William was some sixty years old his brother John died suddenly, and he, not caring to work on alone, sold his interest in the firm, and moving south, purchased Luce Manor, where he devoted his still abundant energies to experiments in the application of machinery to farming.

With regard to his home life, Sir William, thought Mr. Arbuthnot, had been, in his later years at all events, a happy man. He had at the age of thirty married a widow, a Mrs. Ethel Dale. It was believed, though Mr. Arbuthnot could not vouch for it, that there had been quite a romance about it. According to the generally accepted story, William Ponson, then a clerk in the iron works, and Tom Dale, a traveller for the same concern, had both loved the pretty Ethel Osborne, the daughter of a doctor in the neighbourhood. Dale was outwardly a rather fascinating personality, good looking, always well dressed, and with attractive manners, though at heart he was a rotter. But the serious and somewhat pompous young Ponson had failed to bring his more sterling merits into prominence, with the result that the lady had preferred his rival. She married Dale, and regretted it from the first evening, when he returned drunk to the small seaside hotel at which they were spending their honeymoon. Things went rapidly from bad to worse. Dale continued drinking, they got into debt, and Ethel began to fear her husband’s dismissal, and consequent poverty. Then, after some three years of unhappiness, Dale was sent to Canada on the business of the firm. He sailed on the Numidian, but off Newfoundland the ship struck an iceberg, and turning turtle, went to the bottom in thirteen minutes. There was an appalling casualty list, but to Mrs. Dale it meant release, for her husband’s name was among the drowned.

The lady was left in absolute destitution. Ponson managed to help her anonymously, then after a couple of years he renewed his suit, and some time later she capitulated and they were married. There had been no children to her previous marriage, but now Austin and Enid Ponson were born.

The two children were very different in disposition. While Enid, sweet-tempered and charming, was beloved by all, and was her father’s life and soul, Austin was somewhat difficult. When first he went to a boarding school, it was a relief to all at home. From Rugby he progressed to Cambridge, then, as the Inspector had already learnt, he threw up his studies there and devoted himself to social and entomological subjects. He had gone back at this time to his father’s house at Gateshead, but the two rubbed each other up the wrong way, and Sir William, making his son a handsome allowance, advised him to live elsewhere. Austin had then taken the villa at Halford, amid surroundings suitable to the pursuit of his hobbies.

“But,” explained Mr. Arbuthnot, “you must not think from this Austin is a man of bad or weak character. The separation was due purely to incompatibility of temperament. Austin, so far as I know, is an honourable, kindly man, and I have never heard of him doing a shady thing. He is a hard worker too, and I believe has carried out some quite valuable original research into the distribution of disease by insects. Sir William recognised this, hence the allowance, and the fact that, though they couldn’t pull together, they never really quarreled.”

“I rather gathered that from the way the servants spoke,” Tanner answered. “But there is another Ponson you haven’t mentioned⁠—Cosgrove.”

“Cosgrove is the only child of Sir William’s brother John, consequently he and Austin are first cousins. Cosgrove is the least estimable member of the family. He was, I am afraid, a bit of a waster from the first. He did badly at school, and was all but sent down from college. His father kept some kind of control over him during his life, but on his death he inherited a large sum of money, and I fear it had the usual result. He now lives in bachelor quarters in Knightsbridge, and is reported to be in a rather fast set. I happen to know he has run through most of his money, and is now considerably pinched. But he always got on well with Sir William. The old man liked him, and passed over his follies as mere youthful indiscretions. I think his disappointment in Austin rather drove him to make a friend of Cosgrove, but of that of course I can’t be sure. He left Cosgrove a good slice of his fortune at all events.”

“That was the next thing, Mr. Arbuthnot, I wished to ask you⁠—about the financial position of the various members of the family.”

“Obviously, I can give you only very approximate figures. When the death duties are paid I fancy Sir William’s capital will be worth about £500,000 to his legatees. He has been up to the present allowing Austin £1,000 a year, and Miss Ponson and Cosgrove £500 each. His will preserves the same proportion between them⁠—Austin gets £150,000, and Miss Ponson and Cosgrove £75,000 each, the remainder, about £200,000, going to Lady Ponson.”

“Suppose any of these four should die intestate?”

“If that question should arise the deceased’s share is to be divided between the survivors in the same proportions as was Sir William’s money. It is a little complicated, but it would mean for example that if Austin were to die without leaving a will, Lady Ponson would get about £90,000 and Cosgrove and Enid £30,000 each of Austin’s £150,000.”

“Has Austin any means other than this £1,000 a year?”

“Not very much, I fancy. He has written a good deal on social and scientific subjects, which must bring him in something, and he had a legacy of £5,000 from his Uncle John. But I don’t suppose he has more than twelve or thirteen hundred a year.”

“And Cosgrove? You do not know exactly how he is fixed financially?”

“No, except that from his point of view he is in low water.”

“Do you happen to know anything about a Miss Lois Drew of Halford?”