The Ponson Case · Chapter 10 (1/2)

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A Woman’s Wit

After dinner on that Saturday evening, Lois Drew had a long conversation with her cousin, James Daunt. She waited until he was seated in the most comfortable chair in the drawing-room with his cigar well under way, and then she spoke of the subject next her heart.

“Tell me, Jimmy,” she begged, “just what you really think. I want to understand exactly what we have to meet.”

He told her. Directly and without any attempt to gloss over the uglier facts, he told her all he knew. She listened in silence for the most part, but occasionally interjected shrewd, pertinent questions. Jimmy, who knew and respected his cousin’s intellect, yet marvelled at her grip, her power of letting go irrelevant details, and the unhesitating way in which she went straight to the essential heart of the various points. When he had finished she remained silent for a considerable time.

“It seems to me then,” she said at last, “that Austin’s suggestion must be the truth⁠—that the murderer forged the notes purporting to be from me, and which brought Austin to the Abbey that night, that he waited for Austin’s arrival at the Old Ferry, that either he had an accomplice there or he himself was disguised as Mrs. Franklyn’s servant, that on Austin’s leaving for the Abbey he made himself up to look like Austin, that he rowed to the boathouse, committed the murder, and returned the boat to the Old Ferry before Austin got back. What do you think, Jimmy?”

“It seems a possible defence.”

“It seems more than that; it seems to be what happened. If so, let us consider what that teaches us about the murderer. Several things, I think. Tell me if I go wrong. Firstly, he must have had a strong motive for Sir William’s death. Secondly, he must have known all about the family⁠—Sir William’s habits, the lie of Luce Manor, the household arrangements, and that sort of thing. Thirdly, he must have been acquainted with Austin, and his house and habits, and fourthly, he must not only have been aware of my existence and friendship with Austin, but he must have had my handwriting to copy. Surely there can’t be many persons in the world to whom all these conditions apply?”

“One would say not,” Daunt returned slowly. “It’s very unfortunate, of course, but you must see how the prosecution will use all these points you bring up⁠—every one of them can be turned against Austin.”

“I know, but that’s only wasting time. The fact that Austin’s innocence rules him out surely makes the search for the real murderer easier?”

“Why, that is so, I suppose.” Daunt tried to make his voice cheery and sanguine.

“Very well. I came to that conclusion days ago. Now Jimmy, it’s a horrible thing to say, but who is the only other person we know of that fits the conditions?”

Daunt looked up swiftly. It was suddenly evident to him that Lois was speaking with a more direct object than he had thought.

“I don’t know, Lois,” he answered. “Who?”

“Who but the cousin⁠—Mr. Cosgrove Ponson?”

“Good Heavens! That never occurred to me. But does he fill the bill?”

“I have thought so for some time, but it’s a matter for you to find out. But just consider. Mr. Cosgrove benefits by the will⁠—Austin told me so. He knew Sir William and all about Luce Manor; he knew Austin and all about him; he was like Austin in appearance; and lastly he knew me⁠—he has dined here with Austin.”

“Your handwriting?”

“I wrote to thank him for sending me the name of an English pension at Cannes⁠—a friend of mine wanted to know.”

“When was that?”

“About two months ago.”

“Seems rather a long time. And when did he dine?”

“About a week before that. I happened to mention about the pension, and he said he had some addresses and would look them up.”

“And what kind of man is he personally?”

Lois did not reply for some moments.

“That’s hardly a fair question,” she said at last. “I have to admit taking a dislike to him. But it’s not a question of my likes or dislikes. I think it is essential that you should find out something about him. Find out where he was on that Wednesday evening.”

Daunt smoked in silence. He was thinking that if Austin were out of the way as well as Sir William, Cosgrove’s gains would not improbably be considerably increased. There might be something in this idea of Lois’s after all. A few inquiries would do no harm at any rate.

“Well,” he said at last, “I’ll do as you say. I’ll find out something about him.”

They continued the discussion, and it was arranged that as soon as any information was forthcoming, Lois would go to town, and they would have another talk.

As Sir William Ponson’s will was to be one of the factors in the Crown case, Daunt had no difficulty in obtaining a copy. That, and a few judicious inquiries convinced him of the importance of Lois’s suggestion. There seemed no question that Cosgrove’s motive for the deed was at least as strong as Austin’s.

For some time Daunt puzzled over the best way to get hold of his information. Then it occurred to him that so wide-awake an official as an Inspector of Scotland Yard would certainly have foreseen and considered all that he and Lois had discussed. As Cosgrove had not been arrested, there must be some flaw in the case he was trying to make. He decided to see Tanner once more, in the hope of gaining some information.

With a man like Tanner there was nothing to be gained by any but the most direct methods. Daunt could ask for what he wanted, and either get it or be refused, but he felt he could not obtain it by a trick. To try his luck he called at the Yard and inquired for the Inspector.

“I want to get some information, Mr. Tanner,” he said, when they had conversed for a few moments. “I’m going to ask you for it in confidence, but you may not consider it proper to give it to me, and if so, there is of course no more to be said. It’s not directly about the case.”

“What is it, sir?”

“It’s this. In going into this matter it has struck me that the nephew, Cosgrove Ponson, had as much to gain by his uncle’s death as the accused. It is obvious that that must have struck you also. I wondered if you would tell me why you acquitted him in your mind?”

“Now don’t you get astray on that notion, Mr. Daunt. It won’t wash. I went into that, and I may tell you for your private information Cosgrove is as innocent as you are.”

“So I gathered from your action, in the matter, but if you could see your way to give me particulars, I should be greatly obliged. You see, it’s Miss Drew. She’s got it into her head Cosgrove was the man, and I’d like to be able to clear the thing up to her.”

Tanner thought for some moments.

“I’d like to oblige both you and Miss Drew,” he said, “but I’m not just sure that I ought. However, as you say, it’s not exactly on the case, and if you give me your word to keep the thing to yourself I’ll tell you.”

“I promise most gratefully.”

“Very well. The man has an alibi,” and Tanner repeated Cosgrove’s story of the visit to Montrose, the missing of the 7:15, the return to his rooms, the call at the theatre on Miss Belcher, and the final journey north by the 10:30. Then he explained how he had checked Cosgrove’s statements, and produced his calculation of times and distances, showing that Cosgrove could not have motored to Luce Manor.

To Daunt the whole thing seemed utterly conclusive. Apart from the mere fact that it had satisfied Tanner⁠—no mean test⁠—he could not himself see any possibility of a flaw. With considerable apprehension of the disappointment Lois would feel, he telephoned to her and arranged their consultation for that evening.

She heard his story almost in silence. But she did not show the chagrin he expected.

“If the thing was obvious,” she said in answer to his comment, “Cosgrove would have been arrested and not Austin. But I feel absolutely certain that that alibi of Cosgrove’s is a fraud. He has tricked Inspector Tanner. How he has done it is what you’ve got to find out.”

“My dear girl,” Daunt remonstrated, “it’s all very well to talk like that, and I’ll do my best of course, but you know, if Tanner with all his opportunities was taken in, it’s not too likely I shall find the flaw.”

“It’s quite likely,” she declared. “Inspector Tanner was not specially looking for a flaw; you are. Don’t you see⁠—there must be a flaw. Look at it like this. A man resembling Austin was met by Sir William at the boathouse on that Wednesday night. It must have been Cosgrove, because no one else is sufficiently like Austin to be mistaken for him. No kind of facial makeup will meet the case, because Sir William himself evidently was satisfied. Therefore Cosgrove’s alibi must be false. Don’t you agree with me?”

“It seems reasonable,” Jimmy admitted. “But the alibi certainly looks right enough too.”

“I admit that. It may be so good that we’ll never find the flaw. But we must try. Oh, Jimmy,” she turned to him beseechingly, “remember what is at stake⁠—his life⁠—both our lives. You will try, won’t you?”

“Of course I’ll try, and what’s more, I expect to succeed,” Jimmy lied bravely. And he spoke in the same confident tone as, after dinner, he went to the station with her, and saw her off by the 9:30 to Halford. But his secret feelings were very different.

Two days later he had another call from Lois.

“You needn’t be frightened,” she smiled at him; “I am not going to haunt the office and make your life a burden to you. But I have been thinking over our problem. I want you, Jimmy, to begin an investigation. Will you?”

“Why certainly, if I can. What is it?”

“If you haven’t time yourself, and I don’t expect you will have, employ a private detective. But get a good man who will do the work thoroughly.”

“Yes, yes. But what exactly is to be done?”

“This. The evidence seems to me overwhelming that Mr. Cosgrove missed the 7:15 at King’s Cross on that Wednesday night, and went to Montrose by the 10:30. But what did he do in between?”

Daunt was puzzled.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “We have the butler’s and Miss Belcher’s evidence to corroborate Cosgrove’s own story there. I don’t see that we can reasonably doubt he did what he said.”

“Don’t you? But I do. Probably both these people were interested. Miss Belcher we know was⁠—she was on too friendly terms not to be. And the butler may have been well paid to tell his story. Another thing makes me doubt Miss Belcher. You remember the conversation Mr. Tanner overheard between her and Mr. Cosgrove in the restaurant? They mentioned an alibi. Mr. Tanner thought they were talking about Austin. I don’t believe it. It was Mr. Cosgrove’s own alibi they were discussing. What do you think?”

“It’s possible, of course,” Daunt answered slowly, “but I question if we can be sure of it.” He began to think Lois had got an obsession.

“Well, whether or not is immaterial. What matters is that Mr. Cosgrove’s whereabouts after 7:30 has not been proved.”

“But you forget Tanner’s time table. Cosgrove wouldn’t have had time to go to Luce Manor between the trains.”

“Yes!” cried Lois excitedly, “he would! That’s the point I’ve been coming to. According to Mr. Tanner’s calculations he would have had time or almost time, to go to Luce Manor and back, but he wouldn’t have had time to commit the murder. But Mr. Tanner assumed he had first driven to his rooms. If he had gone direct from King’s Cross he would have had time for all.”

This was a new idea to Daunt, and he had to admit its possibility.

“It may be so certainly,” he answered, “but how are we to prove it? That butler won’t give himself away if he has lied.”

“I’ve thought of that, too, and there seems to be one way we might get at it. Mr. Cosgrove said he took three drives during that time⁠—first, from King’s Cross to Knightsbridge; second, from Knightsbridge to the Empire; and third, from the Follies’, to King’s Cross. Could we not find the cabmen, or at least one of them?”

“By Jove, Lois, you should have been a detective,” Daunt said with half-unwilling admiration. “I believe it’s a good notion.”

“You see, if we were to search for these men thoroughly and fail to find them, it would greatly strengthen my theory. On the other hand, if we found them we would be sure of what we are up against, for if Mr. Cosgrove took any one of the drives, his statement must be true. Will you try to find them, Jimmy? Or”⁠—her eyes brightened eagerly⁠—“let’s do it together. Would you mind?”

“Mind?” he echoed. “Dear girl, what do you take me for? I’m ready to begin now⁠—in collaboration with you, that is.”

“Dear Jimmy, you are so good. I can never thank you enough.”

“What utter rubbish. Now let’s get to work. Have you made any plans?”

“I thought perhaps we could get lists from the taxi companies of the men on the various stands. Then I thought we could see all those on the stands nearest the three starting points. If it was none of these could we not send a letter to each driver in London⁠—get some office supplies place to do it, you know? If this failed we might try newspaper advertisements.”

“Excellent. We could get the lists of the men through Tanner, if he would give them. I’ll ring him up now.”

Inspector Tanner was at the Yard. On Daunt satisfying him as to the reason of the demand, he promised to have the information looked up and supplied.

The next day the lists came and the cousins set off to commence their investigations. They saw a number of the men on the stands in question, others at the depots and still others at their homes. After three strenuous days they had gone over them all. But they learnt nothing. None of the men had driven Cosgrove.

“It’s hopeful,” Lois announced as they dined together that evening, “but we must now try the circular.”

They drafted a letter offering a reward of £5 for information as to the identity of the man who had driven a fare answering to Cosgrove’s description on any of the three trips in question. With this Daunt called to see Tanner on the following morning. He told him what they had done, and what they proposed, and asked for a complete list of the taxi and cabdrivers of London. Tanner, nothing loath to have his own conclusions verified, had the information made out. Then Daunt went to an office supplies firm in New Oxford Street, and arranged for a circular to be sent to each man on the list⁠—several thousand.

Two days passed and there was no answer, but on the third day a taxi-driver giving his name as John Hoskins called at Daunt’s office. Jimmy saw him at once.

“It was abaht this ’ere letter,” said the man. “I guess I’m the man you want.”

“Yes? You drove a fare on one of those trips on that Wednesday evening?”

“Yes, sir. I were just passing out of King’s Cross after setting down a lady and gent, when the gent ’e hails me, ‘Engaged?’ ’e asks. ‘No, sir,’ I says. ‘174B Knightsbridge,’ ’e says. I drove ’im there, and that’s all I knows abaht it.”

Daunt opened a drawer and took out half a dozen cabinet photographs, which, in unconscious imitation of Tanner, he had procured. One was of Cosgrove, the others of men as like Cosgrove as Jimmy could find.

“Is the man you drove among those?” he asked, handing them over.

The driver glanced over them and unhesitatingly picked out Cosgrove’s.

“That’s ’im, mister,” he said decisively.

“And what time did you pick him up?”

“Abaht 7:30. I left ’im in Knightsbridge at a quarter to eight.”

“That’s all right, my man. It’s what I wanted to know. If you give me your name and address I’ll give you the five pounds.”