Call Mr. Fortune · Case IV (3/3)

When he came back he sat himself down in the window-seat and opened the big casements. There was a low stone sill which held a box of flowers. The smell of oak-leaf geranium and verbenas came into the room. “Rather oily scents, aren’t they?” Reggie said. “I’m afraid he was rather oily, the late Herbert. How are you getting on?”

“He was certainly pressed for money,” Lomas said. “Here’s his passbook and a letter from his bank manager complaining that he’s overdrawn again. The £20,000 he came in for under his uncle’s will⁠—he wanted it badly.”

“And yet as soon as he knows of that will he goes and gets drowned. Suggestive, isn’t it?” Reggie smiled.

“I’m hanged if I know what it suggests.” Lomas stared at him.

“Oh, my dear Lomas! Somebody expected Herbert was going to get more than £20,000 by his uncle’s death; going to scoop the whole estate. Only he didn’t. So he’s found dead. Can you make out from that passbook when Herbert got into difficulties?”

“About nine months ago. He’s been living with nothing in the bank ever since.”

“About nine months ago. Then for nine months his uncle did nothing to help him. The murdered uncle wouldn’t help the impecunious nephew. Well, Lomas, old thing?”

“I suppose you’re playing some hand of your own,” Lomas frowned.

Superintendent Bell came forward. “Here’s a sort of betting-book, sir. He put his luck at cards in it too. He was some gambler.”

“Any names?” Lomas said quickly.

“All sorts of names, sir. Nothing instructive, so to speak. You might say that’s curious.” He pointed to a page on which, in a large, blank space, appeared the one letter, N.

Reggie leapt from the window-seat and rang the bell. “As ever the Superintendent touches the spot,” he laughed. Herbert Charlecote’s manservant, pallid and frightened, answered the bell. “Now, my man, in one minute Dr. Newton will be at the door; you will let him in; he will ask for Mr. Herbert Charlecote; you will say nothing to him, nothing at all, and Superintendent Bell will be out in the hall to see that you do say nothing; you will show Dr. Newton in here. Go on, Bell. Look after him.” He bustled them out.

“So N stands for Newton, does it?” Lomas said. “How do you know he’ll come?”

“Because he’s just driven up in his car. Because I phoned to say Mr. Herbert Charlecote was asking for Dr. Newton. Now you get in there.” He thrust Lomas into an inner room.

Dr. Newton, more florid than ever, hurried in, and pulled up short at the sight of Reggie. “Mr. Fortune? Oh, delighted to meet you.” He was out of breath. “But I thought I was to see Mr. Charlecote.”

“Did you though? That was very sanguine of you.”

“I don’t understand you, Mr. Fortune. Are you here professionally?”

“For the Criminal Investigation Department.”

“Really, though, really?” Dr. Newton was still short of breath. “And it was you wanted to see me? Anything I can do, of course.”

“You can tell me what was your little bet with Herbert Charlecote.”

Dr. Newton lost some of his colour. “You bewilder me, Mr. Fortune. I am not a betting man. Pray explain yourself. And I must request you to take a different tone.”

“Where is Herbert Charlecote?”

“Well, where is he?” Dr. Newton echoed. “I confess I don’t understand the situation. I am told over the telephone that Mr. Charlecote wishes to see me, and⁠—”

“That gave you a bad quarter of an hour, didn’t it? There’s worse coming, Newton. Yesterday afternoon”⁠—Reggie strolled round the table and put himself between Dr. Newton and the door⁠—“yesterday afternoon you took Herbert Charlecote for a drive in your car. When you came to the Basingstoke Canal, a nice lonely place by the Basingstoke Canal, you clapped a chloroformed wad on his mouth, and when he was senseless you dropped him into the water and left him there to finish by drowning. It was a neat thing, Newton. But he was fished out, Newton, and I’ve been all the morning with him, Newton.”

Dr. Newton began to laugh. “Do you really wish me to take this tale seriously, Mr. Fortune? Then I must refer you to my legal advisers. I am sure that you will see that I must.” He made for the door.

“Not much,” Reggie said, and stood in his way.

Dr. Newton’s bland expression changed. He tried to push past and, failing, sprang on Reggie. The two locked together and swayed across the room. Reggie freed himself a moment and stooped. Dr. Newton went out of the open window. As Lomas broke into the room they heard the thud of his fall on the stones.

“Good God, did he throw himself out?” Lomas cried.

“No, I pitched him out,” Reggie said, smoothing his hair.

Lomas rushed out of the room. Reggie, lounging after him, went to the telephone.

In the forecourt of the flats the body of Dr. Newton lay. Lomas and Bell and the hall porter were fidgeting with it, a little crowd on the pavement gaping at them, when Reggie arrived. “You don’t really want me,” he said, but he bent by the body. “It’s all over. His neck’s broken. Fractured skull also. But that doesn’t matter.”

Bell stood up and blew a police whistle.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do it,” said Reggie irritably, his first sign of troubled nerves. “I have telephoned for the ambulance and all that. Why don’t you think of things beforehand?”

Superintendent Bell was startled out of his wonted composure. “God bless my soul!” he exclaimed, and stared at Reggie.

And Lomas took Reggie’s arm. “Come upstairs, Fortune, please,” he said gravely.

Reggie let himself be taken up to Herbert Charlecote’s room, and when he was there again flung himself down on the couch. “Thirdly and lastly,” said he. “And that’s the end of the Charlecote case, Lomas, old dear.”

“Oh, don’t take that tone,” Lomas cried. “We’re in a very difficult position, Fortune.”

“My dear Lomas! Oh, my dear Lomas! We have emerged with credit from a most difficult case. We have tracked and caught a very cunning criminal, who, when taxed with the murders of which he was guilty, became desperate, and committed suicide by flinging himself from a fourth-story window.”

“You said you threw him out.”

“Lomas, dear, my little jokes aren’t evidence.”

“You’ll have to give evidence at the inquest, you know.” Reggie nodded. “You’ll tell this suicide story?”

“Sure,” said Reggie.

Lomas wiped his forehead. “Damn it, man, I can’t leave it like this,” he cried.

“Oh, don’t be so pedantic. The scoundrel had two murders at least on his soul. We hadn’t evidence enough to hang him. He was much too dangerous to live, and he gets his neck broke quietly and without scandal. What’s worrying you?”

“And what evidence have you got?”

“Ah, now reason resumes her sway. Let’s begin at the beginning. Herbert Charlecote, rather less than a year ago, was at his wit’s end for money. His uncle wouldn’t give him any. Remember the betting-book and passbook. But at that time he was his uncle’s heir. He arranged with the family doctor, Newton, to have the old man killed. Newton would want to be paid. Probably the arrangement was a bet. Suppose Herbert bet Newton ten thousand to one his uncle wouldn’t die within the year. Remember the N in the betting-book. Newton began treating the old man for gastric catarrh. Sent him gallons of medicine. Probably that was poison. But nothing happened because the old man didn’t take it. Remember the valet said he had it all put down the sink. I suspect old Charlecote didn’t much care for his family doctor. The time began to run out. And then came the reconciliation with Geoffrey. There was no time to lose. If the will was altered in Geoffrey’s favour, no use in killing the old man. So Newton had to hustle. He was pretty neat. He chose an Italian knife, and did the killing close to the house where the Italian Mrs. Geoffrey lived. But he did it. Remember the extraordinary efficiency of the assassin. Neat piece of surgery, that murder. And then the bottom fell out of the bucket. The will had been altered. Herbert only got twenty thousand. Hardly enough to pay his debts. And so he wouldn’t stump up Newton’s price. Newton would cut up rough, of course. He threatened, I suppose, and Herbert threatened back. You know, I don’t fancy the late Newton was a man to take kindly to being bilked. It may have been revenge. It may have been that he thought Herbert would give him away. Anyway, he took Herbert out in his car yesterday afternoon. Now we’re coming to evidence which is evidence, Lomas. Newton was out in his car yesterday afternoon. I sent my chauffeur to make inquiries. And Newton drove himself. And his car fits the marks on that road⁠—24 Dunois Orleans, two steel-studded Blake tyres. When they got to that bridge, I suppose Newton stopped the car, pretended there was something wrong, got down, and prepared a chloroformed wad of cotton wool. He clapped that on Herbert, anaesthetized him, and dropped him in the canal. I found scraps of the wool in Herbert’s mouth and nostrils. That’s the case, Lomas, old thing. Come and have tea. There’s rather decent muffins at the Academies’.”

“Good God!” said Lomas. “Muffins!”