The Ponson Case · Chapter 13 (1/3)

XIII

Blackmail?

When Inspector Tanner reached his office in New Scotland Yard, he found an instruction from Chief Inspector Edgar, informing him that Mr. James Daunt, of Lincoln’s Inn, had important evidence to give him relative to the Ponson case. Accordingly, after he had made a formal report on his Portuguese expedition, he called up Jimmy and arranged a meeting. A few hours later he was seated in the solicitor’s office, smoking one of the latter’s best cigars.

“My Chief says you have something to tell me?” he began, after mutual greetings.

“Why yes,” Jimmy replied. “Did your Chief tell you what it was?”

“Didn’t see him. He’s in Manchester.”

“I fancy you’ll be surprised. You recollect you told me you had suspected Cosgrove Ponson, but that he had established an alibi and so must be innocent?”

Tanner nodded as he drew at his cigar.

“That’s right,” he agreed.

“You were satisfied the alibi was sound?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s a fake,” said Jimmy quietly.

Tanner took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at the other.

“Get along now, Mr. Daunt,” he answered. “You’re trying to pull my leg.”

“No. The thing’s a fake right enough. Cosgrove was at the boathouse that night.”

Tanner stared incredulously.

“You seem in earnest,” he said slowly. “But you’ve made a mistake. I went into it carefully. There’s no doubt it’s sound.”

“It’s you that have made the mistake,” Daunt answered pleasantly, and he went on to tell the Inspector what he and Lois had done, and all they had discovered.

To say that Tanner was amazed and disappointed would be to understate the case. He was woefully chagrined.

“God bless my soul!” he cried, “but that sort of takes a chap down. Here was I looking down on you and that splendid girl as a pair of meddling nuisances, and I’m blowed if you haven’t had it over on me all the time.”

“Well,” said Jimmy, “tit for tat.”

The Inspector eyed him almost aggressively.

“And what now?” he demanded.

“Why this. I’ve told you what we did about Cosgrove. Now you tell me what took you to Portugal.”

“Oh, that,” answered Tanner looking relieved. “It’s irregular, but I’m blessed if I care.” He re-lit his cigar, which in his agitation he had allowed to go out, and beginning with the day of the adjourned inquest, he recounted his adventures in London and in Devon, the midnight run to Southampton, the flight to Paris, the journey to Lisbon, and finally the arrest of William Douglas. When he had finished, James Daunt was nearly as surprised and mystified as the Inspector had been a few minutes earlier.

“ ’Pon my soul, a most extraordinary business,” he commented. “There’s Austin, first suspected, then cleared, then suspected again and arrested, and now cleared again. Then there’s Cosgrove, first suspected, then cleared, and now suspected again. And now, here’s a third man mixed up in the thing. I suppose the next thing that comes out will clear Douglas!”

“I don’t think,” Tanner answered. “But what do you mean by saying Austin is now cleared again? It’s the first I’ve heard of that.”

“Why, Cosgrove was clearly impersonating him.”

“Not on your life,” said Tanner with decision. “Mark my words, Mr. Daunt, they were all there⁠—Sir William and Austin and Cosgrove and Douglas. Every blooming one of them was there. See here,” he continued as the other showed signs of dissent, “there’s evidence against every one of them. Sir William was seen there. Austin was seen too, and there’s no doubt he faked that business about the shoes. Yes, I know,” as Daunt would have spoken, “his story about the shoes seems all right, and it’s very clever, but it won’t wash. He was seen there, and he was there. Then Cosgrove was there, for you’ve proved that. And lastly this man Douglas was there also, for I saw his footmarks on the boathouse floor. Yes, they were all there, and there’s some conspiracy between them.”

Though Daunt had to admit this conclusion seemed sound, it was by no means what he wished the Inspector to arrive at. His business was to clear Austin, and while the bringing in of first Cosgrove and now this man Douglas had at the time seemed all to the good, it did not help if it merely led to a conspiracy charge. But Tanner’s voice broke into his cogitations.

“You see,” the detective said, following on his own line of thought, “they were together in London. Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove lunched together⁠—both Austin and Cosgrove denying it, mind you⁠—and then immediately Sir William went to see Douglas. There was some business between the four of them. There’s not a doubt of it.”

It gave Daunt a nasty shock to recall that Austin had to him also denied having seen Sir William on that Monday. If it could be proved that Austin had lied about this, as apparently it could, what reliance could be placed on any of his other statements?

There was silence for some moments, and then Daunt moved impatiently.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he asked.

“Get the names of that taxi-man and those other witnesses from you,” the Inspector answered promptly, “and check over your conclusions about Cosgrove. Not that I doubt you, of course, but it’s business. Then if I’m satisfied, I’ll arrest him. Among his or Douglas’s papers there’ll be surely something to put us on the track.”

When Tanner had taken his leave Daunt sat motionless for some minutes, thinking over what he had just heard. And the more he thought, the less he liked the turn affairs had taken. All his doubts as to Austin’s innocence had returned. If his client had really met Sir William on the Monday in question, why had he denied it? It would take an even more ingenious explanation to account for it than that he had given about the shoes.

To satisfy himself, when his work for the day was finished, Daunt put a photograph of Austin in his pocket and drove to the Étoile restaurant in Soho. But a few moments’ inquiry was sufficient to convince him. Austin had been there beyond question, and therefore his statement to Daunt had been a direct falsehood.

Sorely puzzled as to what he should say to Lois, Jimmy Daunt returned to his rooms. There after much thought he decided he would see Austin next morning and tax him directly with the lie.

Another point had been worrying him. He recalled his surprise at the manner in which Austin had received the news of his and Lois’s discovery that Cosgrove had been at the boathouse on the fatal night. Austin had professed incredulity, but all the same had seemed terribly shocked. He had ridiculed their idea that Cosgrove could have been impersonating him, and utterly refused to sanction a defence on these lines.

At the time Daunt had put this down to cousinly affection, but in the light of Tanner’s theories it seemed to take on a more sinister interpretation. What if Tanner were right, and both cousins were involved in the murder? Would not that make a horribly complete explanation of Austin’s attitude? Might the latter not fear that the bringing in of Cosgrove might be a step towards the elucidation of the whole affair? It was therefore with foreboding that Daunt set out next morning to see his client.

He had determined to try a little test. He conversed at first as on previous visits, and then when the other’s mind was occupied and he was off his guard, he said suddenly, but as carelessly as he could, “By the way, William Douglas has been arrested.”

The effect on Austin surpassed his most gloomy prognostications. Surprised out of himself, the accused man started back, his face paled and he gave vent to an exclamation of what seemed to Daunt to be veritable consternation. Then rapidly controlling himself, he tried to simulate indifference.

“William Douglas?” he repeated questioningly, “I have heard my father speak of him. An old gardener, wasn’t he? What on earth has he been doing?”

Daunt felt instinctively the reply did not ring true.

“That’s what I’ve come to ask you,” he retorted. “What were you and he doing at the boathouse on that Wednesday night?”

“My dear fellow,” Austin answered⁠—he was evidently shaken, but still spoke with a certain dignity⁠—“you forget yourself. You have no right to ask me such a question.”

“Then I withdraw it and ask you another. You told me, I think, that the Sunday evening when you dined at Luce Manor was the last occasion on which you saw Sir William alive?”

“Certainly.”

“And you repeat that now?”

“Why, of course I do.”

Daunt leant forward and spoke impressively.

“Then how do you explain your having lunched with him on the next day at the Étoile in Soho?”

Again Austin started. Daunt was sure that the shot had told. But the other only said:

“It seems to me you have mistaken the side you’re on. Are you taking prosecuting counsel’s place?”

“Good Lord, Ponson, don’t play with words,” cried the solicitor angrily. “It’s far too serious. If I’m to act for you, I must have an explanation of these things. Why have you denied being there when you were?”

“Who says I was?”

“Everyone concerned. The manager, two waiters, the porter⁠—all agree. There’s no mistake. I saw them myself. Tanner knows all about your lunch there with Sir William and Cosgrove, and about Sir William’s visit afterwards to Douglas.”

Austin was pale, and a look of positive dread showed for a moment in his eyes. But he preserved his calmness and only replied:

“They were mistaken. I was not there.”

Daunt dropped his detached air, and spoke with all the earnestness at his command.

“Look here, Ponson,” he said. “What the truth in this wretched business is I don’t know, but I do know that for you to go on like this means a certain verdict of ‘Guilty.’ That’s as sure as you’re sitting there. If you don’t care about yourself, for God’s sake think of that girl that’s giving up her all for you. You must tell her the truth⁠—in common honour you must tell her. Your actions must look suspicious to her as well as others. If you can explain them, for Heaven’s sake do so, and if not, don’t let her commit herself too far to get out.”

Austin slowly raised his head and smiled unhappily.

“You’re a good fellow, Daunt,” he said. “God knows I’m ten times more anxious for Lois than for myself. But all I can tell you is to repeat what I have already said; I was not there. There must be some ghastly mistake.”

Daunt felt his anger rising.

“It’s a mistake that will cost you your life if you don’t rectify it,” he answered sharply. “If you can’t be open with me I must give up the case.”

“Then you don’t believe me?”

“Believe you? How can I believe you? I show your photograph to four separate men at that café and all identify you without hesitation. But see here”⁠—he spoke as if a new idea had occurred to him⁠—“the thing can be easily settled. If you weren’t at the café with Sir William where were you? Tell me that?”

“I lunched that day at the Savoy.”

“For three hours?”

“Well, no. I sat and smoked in the lounge. Then I got one or two things⁠—tobacco and those two pairs of shoes.”

Jimmy Daunt did not believe him, but all the persuasion of which he was a master failed to induce Austin, whatever he might or might not know, to supplement or vary his statement. But the latter consistently scouted the idea that the trial could end in a conviction, stoutly maintaining that there was no evidence to lead to such a conclusion.

At last Jimmy took his leave, intensely dissatisfied with the result of the interview. As had been arranged between them, he sent a wire to Lois asking her to come to town that afternoon, though he looked forward to the meeting with anything but pleasure.

It was nearly five when she arrived. He greeted her with no hint that his news was bad, and as before insisted on an immediate visit to the quiet restaurant. Over a cup of tea he told her all of Tanner’s adventures and discoveries, with the single exception of his learning of the meeting between Sir William, Austin, and Cosgrove at the Étoile restaurant. But when they had returned to his office, he became more serious.

“I’m frightfully sorry, Lois,” he began, after seeing that she was comfortably seated, “but I haven’t told you all the news yet, and I’m afraid the rest of it is not too good.”

Her expressive face became clouded and anxious, but she did not speak. Then Daunt told her as gently as he could of the lunch at the Étoile, and Tanner’s theories resulting therefrom.

“But that’s not such bad news,” she said with evident relief. “Inspector Tanner must have made a mistake. Austin said he didn’t see his father after the Sunday evening.”

Daunt moved uneasily. It was a confoundedly awkward job, and he wished he was through with it.

“Dear Lois, it sounds a perfectly horrible thing to say, but that is just the difficulty. In spite of Austin’s denial, Tanner is convinced the meeting took place. I believed he was mistaken, so I went down to the restaurant myself. I took Austin’s photograph, and the manager, two waiters, and the porter recognised it instantly. All four are prepared to swear Austin was there.”

“Did you tell Austin?”

“Yes. He stuck to his denial.”

Daunt had expected and feared an outbreak from Lois on hearing the news, but though her face showed extreme pain, she spoke very quietly.

“There is no reason to suppose the four men in the café are dishonest. They couldn’t have been bought to swear this?”

“It’s possible, I suppose, but I fear there’s no evidence of it, and even if it were true, we would never get evidence.”

“In that case, as Austin wasn’t there, they must have been mistaken.”

She looked steadily in Jimmy’s eyes as if challenging him to contest her statement. He marvelled at the faith a good woman will show in the man she loves, and he felt if Austin had by word or deed deceived her, hanging would be too good for him. He hesitated in replying, and she went on:

“You understand what I mean? Austin was supposed to have been seen at the boathouse, and as he wasn’t there we deduced an impersonator. We find, in my opinion, the same thing here⁠—probably the same man.”

“In the boathouse case we imagined Cosgrove was the impersonator. Here it could not be Cosgrove, as he was present also.”

She nodded.

“That is true certainly. Tell me honestly, Jimmy, what you think yourself.”

Jimmy hedged.

“It’s not what I think, Lois, or for the matter of that, what you think, or even what Tanner thinks; it’s what the jury will think; and as you’ve asked me the direct question, I must tell you I greatly fear they will disbelieve Austin.”

“I fear so too,” she answered quietly. He felt she was conscious he had not answered her question, and was thankful she was going to let it pass. But his relief was short-lived.

“You thought he was”⁠—she hesitated for a moment⁠—“not telling you all he might?”

Jimmy hated doing business in opposition to a clever woman. Again and again he had found that except for their own purposes they seldom considered either his words or actions, but always his quite private and secret thoughts. He realised that Lois knew exactly what was in his mind regarding Austin.

“To be strictly truthful,” he answered, “I admit he did give me the impression that he was holding something back. But of course it was only an impression, and I may have been wrong.”

She nodded slowly and then said, “I think, Jimmy, I must see him myself.”

This was what her cousin had feared, and he felt he must exert all his powers of diplomacy to prevent it.

“Well, you know, Lois,” he answered truthfully, “I had that in my mind. I hardly liked to suggest it. But undoubtedly if he does know anything, he would tell you when he mightn’t tell me.”

She looked at him in unveiled surprise, but only said:

“Can you arrange an interview for tomorrow?”