The Ponson Case · Chapter 7 (1/3)

VII

Cosgrove’s Trip North

On leaving Cosgrove Ponson, Inspector Tanner walked slowly up the shady side of Regent Street, his mind still running on the statement to which he had just listened. To test its truth was his obvious first duty, and as he sauntered along he considered the quickest and most thorough means of doing so. From the very nature of the story he felt inclined to believe it. Too much independent testimony seemed to be available for the alibi to be a fraud.

And if this was so, he, Tanner, was on the wrong track, and was wasting time. He had already lost nearly a week over Austin, and all the time he was working on these blind alleys the real scent was getting cold. But as he reviewed the facts he had learnt, he felt he could hardly have acted otherwise than as he had.

He considered Cosgrove’s statement point by point. Firstly, was it true he could only have gone to Scotland on the night in question of all others? In answer to this it should be easy to find out if he really was at the Duchess of Frothingham’s on the same afternoon. Then the missing of the train at King’s Cross must be known to several persons⁠—the clerk at the stationmaster’s office, the barmaid who sold the cigars, as well possibly as the sleeping-car attendant, and the telegraph-office clerk, and copies of the wires to Grantham and to Montrose should be available. He was not sure that confirmation of Cosgrove’s visit to the Empire would be obtainable, though some attendant might have noticed him. But there should be ample proof of his call on Miss Belcher at the Follies Theatre. Not only would there be the testimony of Miss Belcher herself, but some of the many attendants must almost certainly have seen him. Then, if Cosgrove was not actually seen leaving London by the 10:30 p.m., he must have been observed in that train at Grantham, where his luggage was handed in to him. Finally, to ensure that he did not leave the train there and return to Luce Manor, as well as to test the genuineness of the whole journey, Tanner could see Colonel Archdale, the horse owner of Montrose.

And then another point struck him. What, he wondered, were the precise relations between Cosgrove Ponson and Miss Betty Belcher? From their demeanour at the restaurant, they were certainly on pretty intimate terms. In this case could Miss Belcher’s testimony to Cosgrove’s call at the theatre be relied on? Here was what undoubtedly might be a flaw in the alibi, and he felt he must handle this part of it with special care.

As he reached this point in his cogitations he arrived at the goal of his walk⁠—a small but extremely fashionable tobacconist’s in Oxford Street. Handing in his card, he asked to see the manager.

He was shown into a small, neatly-furnished office, and there after a few minutes a tall young man in a grey frock coat joined him.

“Hallo, Tony,” said the Inspector when the door had closed.

The newcomer greeted his visitor breezily.

“Why, Tanner, old son,” he cried, “how goes it? You’re a stranger, you are. And what’s blown you in today?”

“Business as usual. I want your help.”

“You bet your life! And when you want help you know the right place to come. Tony B. won’t see you left, eh?”

“I know that. You’re not as bad as you look.”

The other winked slowly.

“And what’s little Albert’s trouble this time?” he asked.

“Why this,” Tanner answered, taking out his two little boxes and shaking the cigarette ends on to the table. “I want to know what kind of cigarettes these are, and when they were smoked.”

“H’m. Think I’m a blooming crystal-gazer, do you? Or one of those Zancigs⁠—what do you call ’em?”

As he spoke he was examining the ends with a strong glass. Then he smelt them, drew out a shred of tobacco from each and tasted it, and finally picked them up and took them out of the room.

“Sit tight, Albert,” he remarked as he left, “and keep your little hands out of mischief till daddy comes back.”

In a few minutes he reentered and laid the ends down on the table with beside them a whole cigarette of a dark yellow colour.

“There you are, sonny,” he announced. “All chips of the old block, those are.”

“And what are they?” Tanner queried, examining the little brown tube with interest.

“Costly rubies, rich and rare,” his friend assured him. “They’re what we call ‘Muriquis,’ and they’re made in Rio by a firm called Oliveira. There ain’t many in this village, I tell you. Who are you trailing now? Is it Henry Ford or only his Majesty the King?”

“Neither,” Tanner returned seriously, “it’s that Ponson case I’m on.”

“Never heard of it. But Ponson knows his way about in cigarettes anyway, you bet your life.”

“And how long since they were smoked? Can you tell me that?”

“Nope. Not Tony B. This one about an hour; this one about a week at a guess. But don’t you take all you hear for gospel. I don’t know, as the girl said when her lover proposed.”

Tanner, though more bored with his friend’s conversation every time he met him, remained chatting for some minutes. The two men had been at school together, and the Inspector kept up the acquaintanceship because of the valuable information he frequently got on matters connected with tobacco. But as soon as possible he took his leave, breathing a sigh of relief when he found himself once more in the street.

His interest was considerably aroused by the news he had just received. The suspicions he had entertained of Cosgrove had been somewhat lulled to rest by the latter’s story. But the fact that the cigarette-end found in the boathouse at Luce Manor was of that same rare kind which Cosgrove smoked revived all his doubts, and made him more than ever resolved to test the alibi to the utmost limit of his ability.

Before leaving Halford, Tanner had written to the photographers whose names he had found on the prints in the drawing-room at Luce Manor, ordering copies of Sir William’s, Austin’s, and Cosgrove’s photographs. The studio was in Regent Street, and hailing a taxi, Tanner drove there. The photographs were ready, and he put one of each in his pocket. Also he selected prints of three or four other men as like in appearance to the cousins as he could find. Then he went on to the Duchess of Frothingham’s house in Park Lane.

He saw her Grace’s butler, and representing himself as a reporter on the staff of a well-known society journal, asked for a list of the guests present at the “At Home” on the Wednesday of the murder, discreetly insinuating that he was prepared to pay for the trouble given. The addendum had the desired effect, and after a considerable delay a copy of the list was in Tanner’s hands. A glance at it showed Cosgrove’s name among the others, and a few judicious questions established the fact that he had actually been present.

Once more in the street, Tanner looked at his watch. It was after six o’clock.

“A little dinner and then the Empire,” he said to himself as he turned into Piccadilly. He had decided his first step must be to apply to those sources of information which could not possibly be interested in Cosgrove’s affairs; afterwards, if need be, hearing what Miss Belcher had to say on the same subject.

A couple of hours later he reached the Empire. Here he made exhaustive inquiries, but without finding anyone who had seen his man. But he was not greatly disappointed, as he had already realised that confirmation of this part of the alibi was problematical, if not unlikely.

Returning to his taxi, he continued his journey till he reached King’s Cross. It was just nine o’clock, and the great station was partially deserted, there being a lull in the traffic about that hour. For the first time that day Tanner felt cool, and he began to realise that he was tired. But apart from the general urgency of his business, he expected the persons he wished to see were on evening duty, and he decided he must finish his inquiries then and there. He therefore went to the stationmaster’s office, and sent in his card. A dark, intelligent looking young man with an alert manner received him, and to him Tanner explained his business.

“I did hear something about it,” the young man returned. “If you will wait a moment I’ll make inquiries.”

He left the room, returning presently with a clerk.

“Mr. Williams here remembers the affair. He dealt with it. Tell this gentleman what you know, Williams.”

“On Wednesday evening, the 7th instant, about 7:20 or 25,” began Williams, “a man called at the office and said he had booked a berth to Montrose on the 7:15 p.m., but that he had missed the train while in the refreshment room. He said his suitcase and waterproof had gone on in the train, and he asked what I would advise him to do.”

“That’s the man,” said Tanner, nodding. “Yes?”

“I told him the trains. The next to Montrose was the 10:30 p.m., and his mistake only meant that he would reach there at 8:24 a.m. instead of 5:25. But it seemed he wanted to arrive early, and I mentioned the 8:30 p.m. which runs from here to Dundee, suggesting he could go on by car. But on going into it he decided even this would be too late, and said he would travel on the 10:30. With regard to his luggage I offered to wire Grantham, which is the first stop of both the 7:15 p.m. and the 10:30, to have it collected from the sleeping car on the 7:15 p.m., and put into the 10:30. He agreed to this, and I sent the telegram at once.”

“Would you know the man if you saw him again?”

“Yes, I believe I should.”

“Any of these he?” and Tanner handed over the half-dozen photographs.

The clerk instantly passed over Sir William’s and those of the strangers, then he examined Austin’s for some moments with a puzzled expression, but when he came to Cosgrove’s he hesitated no longer.

“That’s the man,” he said, repeating Tanner’s words of a moment before, “I should know him anywhere.”

“So far so good,” thought Tanner as he stepped out once more on to the concourse. “Now for the refreshment room.”

He found the platform from which the 7:15 had started on the night in question, and looked about him. There was little doubt as to where Cosgrove had gone for his cigars. On the platform itself was a large sign “First-Class-Refreshment Room.” The Inspector pushed open the door and entered.

“Good evening,” he said, raising his hat politely to the presiding goddess. “I want a few cigars, please.”

“I have only these,” the girl answered, placing two partially emptied boxes before him.

Tanner examined them.

“I am not much of a judge,” he informed her, “but these look the lighter. I’ll have half a dozen, please. That is,” he went on with a whimsical glance at the clock, “if it’s safe.”

The barmaid looked at him as if she thought he was crazy, but she did not speak and Tanner explained:

“A friend of mine had an experience here the other night buying cigars, so he told me. He missed his train over the head of it. I was wondering if I should do the same.”

A light seemed to dawn on the girl. She laughed.

“I remember your friend. I couldn’t help smiling, but I was sorry for him too. He came in here and chose a dozen cigars, and then he looked up and saw the clock.

“ ‘Your clock’s fast,’ he says.

“ ‘I don’t think,’ I says, and with that he hooked it out of the door, fair running, and all the cigars lying on the counter. I couldn’t but laugh at him.”

“But he didn’t laugh, for he missed his train,” prompted Tanner.

“Oh, he missed his train right enough. He came back and showed me his watch⁠—three minutes slow. But he got his cigars all right.”

Tanner took Austin’s photograph from his pocket, and glancing at it casually, passed it to the girl.

“He’s a good old sport, he is,” he announced, “but to look at him there you wouldn’t think butter would melt in his mouth. What do you say?”

The girl wrinkled her pretty eyebrows.

“But that isn’t the man,” she exclaimed.

Tanner took the card.

“I’m a blooming idiot,” he said. “I’ve shown you the wrong photo. This was the one I meant.” He handed over the print of Cosgrove.

“Why, yes,” the girl answered unhesitatingly. “That’s him and no mistake.”

“He’s a good soul enough,” went on Tanner, “but he was very sick about that train, I can tell you.”

They conversed for a few moments more as the Inspector lit one of his purchases. Then with a courteous “Goodnight,” he left the bar.

Whatever else might be true or false in Cosgrove’s statement, thought Tanner, it was at least bedrock that he had missed the 7:15 train as he had said. The thing now to be ascertained was whether he really had travelled by the 10:30.

By dint of persistent inquiries the Inspector found a number of the men who had been on duty when that train left. But here he was not so successful. No one so far as he could learn had seen Cosgrove.

But this was not surprising. Tanner could not and did not expect confirmation from these men. They had had no dealings with Cosgrove which would have attracted their attention to him. The point could be better tested at Grantham, where whoever gave him his luggage should remember the circumstance.

Inspector Tanner glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes to ten. Why, he thought, when he was so far, should he not carry the thing through right then? He looked up the time tables. A train left at 10:00 p.m. for Grantham, arriving at 12:28. The 10:30 p.m., following, reached the same station ten minutes later, proceeding at 12:43. If he went by the 10:00 he would have fifteen minutes at Grantham to make inquiries, and he could go on by the 10:30 to Montrose and interview Colonel Archdale. And if fifteen minutes proved insufficient for his Grantham business he could sleep there, and go on in the morning.

Five minutes later he was in the train. Though, compared to that following, it was a slow train, it only made four stops⁠—at Hatfield, Hitchin, Huntingdon and Peterborough. A minute before time it drew up at Grantham.

Here Tanner had even less difficulty than at King’s Cross. An official at the stationmaster’s office remembered the episode of the telegram, and was able in a few seconds to find the porter to whom he had entrusted the matter. This man also clearly recollected the circumstances and unhesitatingly identified Cosgrove from his photograph.

“Just tell me what occurred when you met Mr. Ponson, will you?” asked Tanner.

“Well, sir,” the man answered, “I was going along the train with ’is bag and coat, and ’e comes out of a first-class carriage bare ’eaded, and when ’e sees the bag ’e says, ‘that’s my bag, porter,’ ’e says, and ’e gives ’is name. ‘Shove it in ’ere,’ ’e says. ’E ’ad ’is ’at on the seat for to keep ’is place, and that’s all I knows about it.”

The confirmation seemed so complete that Tanner was tempted to return to town instead of taking the long journey to Montrose. But before everything he was thorough. He had paid too dearly in the past for taking obvious things for granted. In this case every point must be tested.

Soon, therefore, he was moving slowly out of Grantham on his way north. He had not been able to get a sleeping berth, but he made himself as comfortable as possible in the corner of a first-class compartment, and there he slept almost without moving till the bustle at Edinburgh aroused him. Here a restaurant car was attached, and shortly after Tanner moved in and breakfasted.

At Montrose he went to a barber’s and was shaved, then, hiring a car, he was driven out to the training stables.

Colonel Archdale was an elderly man of a school Tanner had imagined was extinct⁠—short, red-faced and peppery, and dressed in a check suit and riding breeches. The Inspector had called at the house, a low, straggling building of the bungalow type, but had been sent on to find its master at the stables, half a mile distant.

“Mornin’,” the Colonel greeted him, as Tanner handed him his card and asked for a few moments conversation. “Certainly, I’ll go up to the house with you in a minute.”